Authors: Danielle Steel
Peter picked them up late Wednesday afternoon, and as usual Gabby had too many bags, and Paxton only had one small one. She was wearing a serious navy blue dress and her gray winter coat, and the only pair of dressy heels she’d brought, a pair of simple black ones. She looked very pretty and neat, and she had pulled her hair back in a ponytail and tied it with a navy satin ribbon, and she was wearing her grandmother’s tiny Victorian pearl earrings.
“You look like Alice in Wonderland,” Peter said with a smile as she got into his battered Ford. He had been talking about buying one of the new Mustangs, but said he didn’t have enough money saved up from the summer. His father had offered him a trip or a car as a graduation gift, and he had opted for two months in Europe in Scotland, England, and France, and he had no regrets about it as he drove around in the same wreck he’d had all through college.
“Should I have worn something dressier?” Paxton asked Gabby nervously. She had a black velvet dress she could have worn, but she was saving it for Thanksgiving rather than their arrival.
“You’re fine. Don’t listen to him.” Gabby was wearing a red velvet miniskirt and a black sweater, high-heeled red shoes, and her red hair sprang out from her head like Shirley Temple’s. “My mother will be wearing a plain black dress and pearls, and my father will be wearing plaid pants and a velvet jacket. Their uniforms.” Paxton laughed nervously and hoped she wouldn’t embarrass them, especially Peter. Suddenly it all mattered so much to her, and that frightened her too. She had never been “brought home” by anyone, as a potentially serious girlfriend, and she had the sinking feeling that that was what Peter was doing.
They came across the Bay Bridge at full speed, and drove west on Broadway past Carol Doda’s place and all the topless bars, and as soon as they went through the Broadway Tunnel and crossed Van Ness, they began to pass the stately homes on Broadway. Paxton was impressed, and suddenly even more nervous. And then they were there. Peter brought the car to a screeching halt, Gabby hopped out, and rang the bell, and a moment later, they were standing in the enormous front hall of a very large brick house with Peter’s parents, dressed exactly as Gabby had said, making her feel welcome. Their mother was a small woman with fading red hair, combed into a sleek bun, and bright green eyes not unlike Paxton’s, and his father was long and lanky like his son, with once blond hair now turned snow white, and an air of aristocratic good humor. His wife was warm, and when she hugged Paxton, she seemed to mean it.
She had Gabby show her to her room, and a few moments later they were all downstairs, in a handsome wood-paneled library filled with old leather-bound books, overstuffed antique furniture, an Oriental rug, and a fire blazing. It was the kind of room one read about in books, and Paxton had had no idea that they were so wealthy. And suddenly she felt uncomfortable about her dress again, but no one seemed to care what anyone else was wearing. Whereas her own mother would have made comments about Gabby’s miniskirt, Marjorie Wilson seemed to find it amusing, and they were talking animatedly about the party she’d gone to the previous weekend, and the boy she’d met whom she considered a “serious hopeful,” her favorite term for the kind of boy she’d like to marry. And across the room, Paxton heard Peter ask his father how things were at the paper.
“Interesting, since this recent business in Viet Nam. The attack at Bien Hoa may change things a little bit now, whether Johnson wants it that way or not. We can’t sit on our hands over there forever.” Peter didn’t say much, as he knew his father had been a staunch supporter of Goldwater, although it was a point of view he had chosen not to discuss with Peter.
“I don’t think even being there is the answer. We should get the hell out before we get in over our heads, like the French did,” Peter said somberly to his father.
“We’re smarter than they are, son.” His father smiled. “And we can’t let the Communists take over the world, can we?” It was an endless conversation they’d had for years, and their views were always different. Peter didn’t think the U.S. forces belonged there, but like most people of his generation, his father did, and thought they could kick ass quick, teach them a lesson, maybe even do some good, and get out without getting too badly hurt. But the big question always was, how much was “too badly”?
They wandered over to talk to the women then, and Paxton was amused to see how much Peter looked like his father. He had the same fire, the same zest for life, the same lively blue eyes that she loved in Peter, the same warm manner. They were all warm and lively people, and she found herself totally at ease with them over dinner, more so than she had ever been with her own family in Savannah. She also discovered that they talked about the morning paper constantly, and halfway through dinner, she realized that Peter’s father worked there, and then, as they talked about what Peter was going to do the following summer, she found out something more, and for a moment the realization stunned her. Peter was talking about working for corresponding papers somewhere in the country, and as she listened, Paxton understood it all, even why Peter’s father had had to keep his support of Goldwater quiet at the office. Because the
Morning Sun
had officially come out in favor of Johnson, and the paper had always been staunchly Democratic. But its owner was not. And its owner was Peter and Gabby’s father. In fact, the Wilson family had owned the
Morning Sun
for over one hundred years and as it all came clear to her, Paxton started to laugh, as Peter looked at her in confusion. He had just said that he wasn’t sure he wanted to work for a newspaper the following summer at all, but he was thinking of volunteering for a law project in Mississippi or working for Dr. Martin Luther King, especially since he had won the Nobel peace prize in October. And she was laughing.
“What’s so funny about that?” He looked surprised, she usually took things like that fairly seriously, and he knew she shared his views about most things, especially that one.
“Nothing, I’m sorry. I just figured something out that neither of you bothered to tell me. I thought you just talked about the
Morning Sun
all the time because your father works there. I never figured out until just now that you … that …” She looked mildly embarrassed and Peter grinned as his father laughed.
“Don’t feel bad, Paxton. When he was a little boy, he used to tell his friends I sold newspapers on Mission Street, at least his humility doesn’t go quite that far anymore, or maybe it does. Is that what he told you?”
“No.” She shook her head as she laughed, and Gabby grinned. She had never said anything to Paxton either. They had never liked bragging to friends, and Paxton could see why. Although they lived beautifully, they weren’t showy people. It was the kind of old money, and discretion, that would have really impressed her mother. “Actually neither of them ever said anything. I never gave it a thought.”
“I didn’t think it was important,” Peter explained quietly, knowing that she liked him for himself and not what his father owned. And Paxton was quick to reassure him.
“It isn’t. But it’s interesting. At least you can talk about something intelligent at home. All we ever talk about is who’s getting married, who bought a new house, and which of my brother’s patients is dying.”
“Is your father a doctor too?” Marjorie Wilson asked with a warm smile.
“No,” Paxton said quietly, feeling sad somewhere deep inside. She wished she still had a father, like Gabby and Peter. “My father was an attorney. He died seven years ago, when his plane crashed.”
“I’m sorry,” Gabby’s mother said softly.
“Me too.” It was so different being with them, it was all so normal and so happy. They played dominoes that night, and teased and laughed. Peter talked to his father in front of the fire for a long time, and then he included Paxton. They talked about Viet Nam again, and Diem, and Johnson’s position with the Russians since the recent coup d’état had stripped Khrushchev of power in September. And Paxton found herself full of admiration for Edward Wilson. He was intelligent and reasonable and he had great foresight, which she respected, even though their opinions on Viet Nam differed. They talked about the realities of integration in the South, and Martin Luther King, and even the recent developments and student unrest at Berkeley. The Free Speech Movement had gotten out of hand in the past few days, and the Board of Regents were taking a tough position, refusing to negotiate with the students, which Peter’s father agreed with, and Paxton said she did too, although it was not a popular view on campus. It turned out that President Kerr was a friend of his, and they had had a long conversation only that morning.
“He’s not going to play ball with those kids. There’s too much at stake. If he gives in, they’ll lose all control at the campus.” Peter strongly disagreed with him, and they talked about it for a long time, but Paxton found all of its discussions exhilarating and refreshing. It was exciting being with people who talked about intelligent things, and were aware of what was happening in the world. In Savannah, she felt so cut off from the real world sometimes, so bogged down by the South, and its desperate fight to hang on to the past and a way of life that had to go by the wayside. And Paxton said as much to Ed Wilson.
“You have a wonderful paper down there, though. W. S. Morris and I are old friends.”
“I’m hoping to work for him, or for the paper anyway, next summer. I’m a journalism major, or I will be next year.” Peter smiled proudly at her, and reached out and took her hand, which did not escape his father. Ed Wilson didn’t say anything to him, but he did to Marjorie that night, when they were undressing in their bedroom.
“I think your son is seriously smitten, my love.” He looked tenderly at his wife. She loved her children so much, he wondered if it would be hard for her when they finally fell in love and got married and had lives of their own, apart from their parents. “Something tells me he’s really in love with that girl.”
“I think so too,” she said pensively as she sat at her dressing table and brushed the once red hair. “But you know something, I like her. She’s quiet at first, but there’s a lot to her. She really cares about him, and she’s decent and straightforward and very honest.”
“And much too young to get married,” her husband added. “At eighteen, it would be crazy to even consider marriage.”
“I don’t think she is considering it. Something tells me that there’s a lot she wants to do with her life. I think she’s even more levelheaded than Peter.”
“I hope so.” He sighed. And then as he bent and kissed his wife’s neck with a tender smile, “I’m not ready for grandchildren yet.”
“Neither am I.” She laughed. “But in that case, talk to Gabby.”
“Oh, no, don’t tell me, not another true love this week. Do I need to worry, or will it be over by next Tuesday?”
“Long before that. Thank God no one’s taken that child seriously yet. She’s going to kill me.”
“Is she?” He returned to Marjorie’s side in the pajamas he had made twice a year in London and took the hairbrush from her hand and put it on her dressing table. “I love you, do you know that?” She nodded, and without a word, put her arms around him and kissed him. And then, quietly, she turned off the lights and went to bed, and he lay there with his arms around her. They were happy people with a life that meant a lot to them, and a family they had always cherished.
And it showed the next day, as they sat down together for Thanksgiving. Paxton wore her black velvet dress, and Gabby wore a white Chanel suit her mother had bought her the year before in Paris. It made her look very grown up suddenly and it reminded Paxton of when Jackie Kennedy was setting the fashions. And as Ed Wilson said grace, he looked serious and distinguished. And Paxton caught a glimpse of a private smile that had more than a little spice to it, between him and Gabby’s mother.
They had an enormous meal that left them all stupefied with satisfaction, and even Paxton had to admit that it almost rivaled Queenie’s. She told them about their Thanksgiving meals, and spoke with obvious love for the woman who had raised her. And in the afternoon, friends came by, and Paxton was impressed to realize that one of them was the governor of California. They were all talking about the demonstration that was taking place at Berkeley that afternoon, led by Mario Savio and the other members of the Free Speech Movement. Apparently Joan Baez was singing there, and a thousand students had staged a sit-in, protesting the university’s positions against free speech, no longer wanting them or the other causes to use university property to raise money or pass out leaflets for their causes. The university said that traffic was being blocked and leaflets were littering the campus. Finally the university had compromised, saying they could use the same space they had previously used, but they could not advocate action. To Paxton, it all seemed like a tempest in a teacup, but tempers had flared, liberties had been questioned, and the time was right for a contest of wills and a major explosion. And by that night, almost eight hundred students had been arrested. And Paxton found it fascinating to be in the Wilson home, where everyone was so aware of what was going on in the world, and in close touch with people of action and power.
They all watched the continuing demonstrations on the news the next day, and as a result, she and Peter never went to Stinson. On Saturday, she went to the football game with Peter and his father, while Gabby went shopping with her mother. Paxton had called her own mother on Thanksgiving Day, and spoke to her and George, and Queenie. They seemed to be alright and she had assured them that she was having a good Thanksgiving, although only Queenie seemed worried about it. And she had whispered into the phone that she hadn’t made her best mince pie that year, since Paxton wasn’t there to enjoy it.
Paxton had a good time at the game, and by the end of the weekend, she felt close to all of them. She felt like a member of the family, as she said good-bye to them, and thanked them for a wonderful Thanksgiving. It had been the best one she’d had in years, the best one since her father died, and her eyes shone happily as she thanked Peter and Gabby on the way back to Berkeley.