Ceremony of the Innocent (75 page)

Her color was returning; all at once she looked young and eager and alive. “No, I could never stop loving him! It is wonderful to think, perhaps, that he still loves me.”

Without that surety, she suddenly thought, I would die. She said, “The very thought that perhaps he still loves me, as he once did, makes my life—worthwhile.”

The priest gave her a beautiful smile. “He loves you, is waiting for you, and he knows, if you do not, that you as a human soul are ‘worthwhile.’ For your own sake. Not only he knows that, but God also.”

She looked away. “I believed in God—but when Jeremy was killed, because he was a good and noble man, I lost faith.”

“Sad,” said the priest. “When we lose faith in the face of calamity our faith has not been so strong after all, has it?”

She smiled a little mischievously, and the doctor rejoiced. A dimple even appeared in her cheek. “You see how weak I am, Father. I told you I was not brave.”

He replied with slow and somber emphasis, “Ellen, I am a priest. I was always a priest, even as a child, in my heart. Yet, there have been times when my faith was shaken. Once or twice it was totally lost. Then I was desolate, for I had alienated myself from God. Once knowing Him, then rejecting Him, is our present and future Hell, for we cannot live without Him, remembering the glory of our lost faith and our adopted sonhood with God. What, in this world, can replace the bliss of our former knowledge?”

Ellen thought of the sweet serenity which had pervaded her childhood, when she had had a child’s utter faith, in spite of the circumstances of her life, and now the tears ran over her eyes in silence.

“How poor are they who have never known God,” said the priest, taking her hand firmly. “Don’t they deserve our utmost compassion, our prayers, our solicitude? For what is any man’s life without the reality of God? It is a dream, a fantasy; it is barren and fruitless. When such men think they know life and its teeming, they are only seeing mirages in a desert. What gives everything reality” is not there. The Godless are not alive; they are the truly dead. But then, they never lived, either.”

Her tears, dropping heedlessly on her breast, spotted the silk darkly. But the priest knew they were healing tears. He raised his hand and blessed her, and she did not know what he was doing, though it strangely comforted her, as if a loving pact had been made between herself and a friend. When his hand dropped she took it like a child and held it, and smiled through her tears, and he knew that he did not need to promise her his prayers. She knew that he would pray for her.

Outside the suite, the priest said to Dr. Cosgrove, “She is a beautiful woman, in her soul as well as her flesh. She is also very fragile and delicate of personality. Yet, she also has an innate fortitude. That is not a paradox. We must teach her to endure, as she has the capacity for endurance, which she is no longer exercising. We must help her.”

“I think she is already exercising her native bravery. She doesn’t have the terrible nightmares she once had. So we have reason to hope.”

Still, Dr. Cosgrove, natively cheerful and optimistic, felt a sudden terrible premonition. Without knowing exactly what he meant, he said, “God help her.” He and the priest returned, smiling, to Ellen, for the champagne, and she laughed, as she had not laughed for years. Her face was young.

C H A P T E R   41

ON OCTOBER 24, 1929, Ellen was discharged from the hospital. Charles Godfrey had warned her children, “Pretend, as you always did, that you love her and want to help her. If you don’t—then I promise you that I will do the very worst I can to you.”

He said to Francis, “Don’t intrude on Ellen at any time, Frank. I know you care about her. The best you can do for her is to see her as little as possible.” He felt pity for the sorrowful man. “It isn’t your fault that this is necessary. She’ll never forget Jeremy. Yes, you may remain in her house. In fact, I recommend it. She needs protection from her children, and you must guard her. I know you don’t believe how frightful they are, but I know.”

“She looks so well now! When she saw me for the first time, a few days ago, she smiled at me, as once she used to smile, when she was young.”

“Yes. Well. Be the ‘Mr. Francis’ to her, as you were in her childhood.”

Maude, while Ellen was in the hospital, had rid Ellen’s house of Mrs. Akins and Joey, and had replaced them with sound people. She had ordered the cleaning of the house and its redecoration, and it was as bright and as fresh as when Jeremy was alive, and filled with flowers. Ellen’s old clothes had been thrown away, by Maude. She had bought gay new ones for the sick woman. Ellen did not know what her real friends had done for her, for she had never recognized them as friends.

So Ellen, returning to her house, felt its freshness and beauty, and it seemed alive to her with the presence of Jeremy. A surge of sweetness came to her, and comfort, and peace. She asked Gabrielle and Christian about Mrs. Akins and Joey, and Gabrielle, after a glance at her brother, said soothingly, “Oh, they were really no good, Mama. Very careless. We replaced them. I think they were stealing, too.”

Gabrielle and her brother were simmering with hatred and frustration. They had passionately hoped that Ellen would die in the hospital, and so leave them free of her presence and, above all, give them access to her money, and the estate. They had always despised her and mocked her, from their earliest childhood. They hated her now for her renewed youth and health and the clarity of her eyes and her bright color. Her voice enraged them, because of its strength and cadences, the voice of her young womanhood. When she kissed and embraced them they wanted to strike her. They smiled at her lovingly. She had so far recovered that she could shake hands placidly with Francis, and the poor man was quite overcome. Perhaps, in spite of what the doctor had said, Ellen would forget Jeremy and look with kindness and affection at himself, as once she had done. That would be enough for him, and he asked nothing else.

Miss Hendricks, Ellen’s nurse, was to remain with her in her house for a week or two. She was a cheerful and motherly woman, and she had come to love Ellen. She had her orders from Dr. Cosgrove, and she was wise. After the greetings to her children and her husband, Ellen was put firmly to bed by her nurse. “We must rest as much as possible. And every day we are going to have a nice walk, aren’t we, and perhaps a nice drive. We will even go to the new talking pictures; it’s really amazing to hear the actors’ voices on the screen. Lifelike.”

“I feel so alive,” said Ellen, as she undressed and permitted herself to be put to bed. “Don’t I have the most wonderful children? Imagine Gabrielle going to all that trouble to replace my wardrobe, and put all these flowers around, and have my house redecorated! And all those plants in the garden! I am blessed, in my children, aren’t I, Miss Hendricks?”

“Yes,” said Miss Hendricks, and her pleasant face became grim for a moment. She was grateful that she had never married and so had no children. Ellen, softly rapturous, smiled contentedly, and fell into a deep and quiet sleep. Gabrielle and Christian had gone to Wall Street. Something appalling was happening there, and they were concerned and apprehensive.

They had reason for this. The disquieting news had begun at ten o’clock that morning. It was a chill and cloudy day in New York, yet dusty. The gloom was not only on a frantic Wall Street, but in the natural air also. To the perceptive, it was as if the ground were rumbling in preparation for a devastating earthquake, and those tremors were reverberating all over the country, in every broker’s office. By noon the rout was on. Charles E. Mitchell of the National City Bank in New York was reputed to have appeared suddenly on Wall Street, thrusting unheard-of millions into the Market. Standard Oil of New Jersey, the Aluminum Corporation of America, and the Bethlehem Steel Company, among many others, delivered even more millions of dollars for “call money.” By one o’clock these loans had reached the incredible amount of over seven hundred and fifty millions. Now more than rumors were flying frenziedly about, and the rumors were proved true. Trading, selling, were frenzied. General Motors sold at 57 1/2, twenty thousand shares; Kennecott Copper, twenty thousand shares, at 78. Brokers spoke wildly to their customers, and the selling mounted precipitously. U. S. Steel, which had sold, only a month ago, at 261, collapsed to 194.

Who was selling, and why? No one knew but the deadly quiet men, as Jeremy had called them. They were meeting today in the barred building of the Committee for Foreign Studies, and coded messages were constantly being delivered to them from all over the world. They smiled coldly together when news arrived that Thomas W. Lamont had met with the foremost bankers of New York, and had produced a two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar “fund” to stabilize the shaking Market. Richard Whitney, of J. P. Morgan and Company, bought twenty-five thousand shares of Big Steel at 205. In the meantime he also bought large blocks of the leading stocks at the last-quoted price. There was a sudden resurgence of hope among stockbrokers. But the tickers were over five hours late all over the country, and when they finally stopped their frantic clickings, some ominous facts were evident: A record had been established. Nearly fourteen million shares of stock had been sold, at a loss of nearly twelve billion dollars. Nothing like it had ever happened to the Market before.

“My God,” said Charles Godfrey to Jochan Wilder, “so Jeremy was right, after all! It has begun—the planned economic collapse of America. Thanks to your own warnings, Jochan, I sold off much of my doubtful stock over the past three months.” He paused, then smiled a tight small smile.

“Something’s just given me a lot of pleasure. As Jerry’s administrator and executor, I sold off a lot of somewhat doubtful stocks, and bought blue-chip and sound bonds, and so, so far, the estate is in a good position. But my real pleasure is in thinking about the estate left to Christian and Gaby Porter by their grandparents. Really all dubious stocks, and they’ve gone down almost to the vanishing point today. Those two were practically wiped out—in a few hours—and I could dance with joy. Of course, that doesn’t affect what they will receive from Jerry’s estate—” His smile vanished. “When Ellen dies.”

Jochan said, his amiable smile wider, “They both shook off your advice, and bought the wilder stocks for themselves. You were too pessimistic, Christian said. He saw himself with about a two-million profit by the end of this year, and so did his sister. I wonder what they’re thinking today.”

Charles’ pleasure returned, and he laughed. Then he was suddenly uneasy. Jeremy’s estate, held in trust for Ellen during her lifetime, was in excellent order, though it, too, had rapidly declined to lower figures today. But the stocks and bonds were sound, if depreciated in value. The capital was intact, if not as large as only yesterday. Ellen could not take that stock and restore the fortunes of her children. Jeremy had planned well for her safety.

Only on her death would they inherit the capital—her children. Only on her death—

“Now what’s wrong?” asked Jochan, seeing his friend’s grim expression. So Charles told him. Jochan shook his head in smiling denial.

“Oh, come now. They might wish her dead, but they wouldn’t dare do anything openly against Ellen. What they had tried wouldn’t even be condemned by the most suspicious. They were just trying to ‘help’ their poor mother, and had engaged well-known and respected psychiatrists. They’re no fools, Charlie. They aren’t going to put themselves in jeopardy. Don’t let your imagination stray. You’ve warned them enough, and they do love their precious selves.

Do you actually fear they might poison or strangle or shoot Ellen?” Jochan laughed. “Covert and heartless bastard and bitch—but they’d never be grossly overt. Too dangerous.”

Charles considered, and then he said sheepishly, “Of course, you’re right. Smooth scoundrels. But—the coolest rascals, the most calculating and careful, can be driven mad—and do murder, when their fortunes are threatened. Never mind. I’m probably using my imagination, my Irish imagination, too vividly.”

His uneasiness returned. If only Ellen trusted him; if only he could approach her as a realistic mother, with warnings. But Ellen did not trust him, and she loved her children with a passionate devotion, and she was not realistic and did not credit the full evil in the human heart, and its endless and bloody and very probable machinations, when it was forced to act, violently.

Charles began to think of the great financiers and bankers in New York who were buying up incredible amounts of stock. Why were they doing this? To stabilize the Market, to reassure the terrified country? To encourage more buying among the millions of smaller stockholders—to the latter’s ultimate ruin? There I go again, thought Charles, using my imagination. But he now had another uneasiness, stronger than before.

“The sweet smell of money,” Jeremy had once remarked to him. “Men lose their wits when it comes to money. They have no other allegiances.”

When Ellen awoke from her afternoon rest she said to Miss Hendricks, “Are my children having dinner with me tonight?”

Miss Hendricks said, “I don’t think so, dear. There was a call for them, on Wall Street. Something to do with the Market.”

Ellen was disappointed, but she said with firm brightness, “Yes. I read something about it last night, rumors, in the newspapers.” Then she remembered something with vague alarm. What had Jeremy once told her? “The ultimate collapse of the American economy, planned for a long time, will soon arrive—then will come the tyrants and a planned economy and the slavery of the American people.” She thought of her children’s inheritance from their grandparents—surely that was safe? She did not think of her own income or the effect of a coming collapse on Jeremy’s estate. Her anxiety grew, for Christian and Gabrielle. Ah, well, she had money, and so she could help them. At this thought there came to her a strange and disquieting stiffening in herself, a resistance, which alarmed her. Father Reynolds had visited her frequently in the hospital after his first visit. He had said to her, “He who does not protect himself, even from his family, has made himself contemptible and a victim. We have no right to tempt others. ‘Thou shalt not tempt.’ That is another of my amendments to the original Ten.” He had smiled, but his eyes had remained grave.