Seasons of the Heart (7 page)

Just for one moment, Ann noticed the worn linoleum and the chipped paint. Then she dismissed the apartment’s flaws from her mind.
But the furniture is really quite pretty
, she decided. In fact, the living room was cozy and attractive, with a green velour sofa and matching chair. A lamp sat on the end table between them, and a pastoral print hung over the sofa. A heavy, ornately carved coffee table from Grand Rapids, Michigan, sat in front of it, and in the middle of the room lay an imitation Oriental rug in brilliant colors.

“Do you like it?” Phillip whispered.

“I love it! But you best of all,” she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. To think of actually
living
here—with Phillip! It was her vine-covered cottage. And she and Phillip were the only two people in the world.

A month later, Ann stood in front of the mirror as she and Ruthie watched the seamstress pin the hem of Ann’s skirt. She had abandoned her fantasies of floating down the aisle in yards and yards of white tulle. It was enough not to have to wait any longer, and she understood they had no money to waste on dreams. She could wear the little suit over and over again when she and Phillip were married. Feeling very practical, she said, “Oh, Ruthie, I never thought anyone could be as happy as I am! It seems as though the days can’t pass fast enough!”

But it was just a week later that she woke up to the most important day of her life. At four o’clock that afternoon she would become Mrs. Phillip Coulter. As she gazed around her bedroom, a strange emotion seized her. In spite of the fact that she had prayed for the moment when she could leave Stella and all the dissensions, the place where she had been born was still home, a familiar and safe place. And in spite of her love for Phillip, she faced married life with a certain trepidation. She was glad when Ben interrupted her thoughts with a breakfast tray.

Ann felt a lump in her throat when she saw the white rosebud. Ben had been such a loving father. Since his marriage to Stella, the sentimental side of his nature had waned and the sight of the rose was bittersweet.

“Thank you, Papa!” she cried. “You’re the dearest man who ever lived. I’ll never forget this morning.”

As Ben held his daughter close, he was happy that God had let him live long enough to see her married. His only sorrow was that Stella had unreasonably refused to attend Ann’s wedding.

“You can’t do this!” Ben had shouted the night before. “What’s the reason for this insanity? First you didn’t want Phillip here because you were afraid he wouldn’t marry Ann. Now you won’t come to the wedding. Stella, do you have any idea of the embarrassment you will cause Ann? You don’t have to like the Coulters; all you have to do is be civil. Is that too much to ask? Can’t you just do this one thing for my sake?”

Ben had taken Stella’s silence for contempt, but in reality she was battling an impulse to tell Ben the truth. In the end, pride won out over affection.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she had said. “I’m not going. And I won’t try to make you understand my reasons. You’ll all get along fine without me. Make whatever excuses you want, but—after all—I’m not Ann’s mother. I’m only the wicked stepmother.”

Something in her face made Ben realize that she was not doing this just to be cruel. For a moment he had wanted to press her for the truth. Then, years of passivity made him retreat and he had resolved to simply do the best he could to make Ann enjoy her special day to the fullest.

Now, as he sat on the edge of his daughter’s bed, his heart filled with joy at the thought of her happiness.

“Ann, you are the best thing I’ve had in my life.” He turned away and cleared his throat. “Now, drink your coffee.”

From the moment Ann got out of bed the day seemed to pass in a dream. She seemed to float up the stairs to the sanctuary, with her father at her side. She was so joyful that she was no longer upset by Stella’s absence. She told Eva that Stella had been struck with the flu, and was not even disturbed by her mother-in-law’s look of obvious disbelief.

Moments later, her father was walking her down the aisle to where Phillip waited with his best man, Kenny.

Ruthie smiled rather thinly as she stood to one side as Ann approached the altar. How sad to be married with only eight people present. She had argued, “For heaven’s sake, Ann, why not get married in the rabbi’s study?”

“I’ve dreamed about walking down the aisle to meet my husband all my life. The number of people watching doesn’t matter at all. My father will be there, and for me that will fill up the whole room. And besides, my situation is a little different from yours, Ruthie. My father gave us a thousand dollars, and most of that has to be used for setting up a household. Ruthie, I loved your wedding, but no one could be happier than Phillip and I.”

Ruthie’s attention was diverted as she watched Ben kiss his daughter as he left her at the
chuppa,
the traditional wedding canopy, and returned to the empty front pew opposite the Coulters.

Whatever thoughts, feelings, or misgivings anyone had in that small assembly vanished as the rabbi began to intone the marriage ceremony.

When the short ceremony ended, Phillip took Ann into his arms. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you the happiest woman in the world.”

“You already have.”

Phillip was in such a joyous state of mind as he walked up the aisle with Ann that he was oblivious to his mother’s tears. Later, Simon shook hands with his son, then kissed Ann on both cheeks. “To the loveliest daughter anyone could wish for. Mrs. Phillip Coulter—welcome to our family.”

A quarter of an hour later they were all seated at the St. Francis Hotel for the wedding luncheon. It was a rather awkward affair. Kenny toasted the bride and groom, but the other guests were a little subdued. Ann was happily oblivious to anything except the fact that she and Phillip were together. Then, before she knew it, she and Phillip were standing in front of the hotel, saying goodbye to them.

The Pine Inn at Carmel, where they were spending the honeymoon, exceeded Ann’s wildest dreams. It was just like in the movies. A fire had been lit in their room and champagne was cooling in an ice bucket. Until tonight, she hadn’t quite realized how very romantic Phillip could be. There had always been so little money, but tonight he refused to let expense be an object. He had thought of everything: red roses in a crystal vase, black caviar on a bed of silvery crushed ice.

Phillip put his arms around her and whispered, “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

“Oh, Phillip. I hope I always will.”

Gently disengaging her embrace, he warned himself to go slowly.

“How about some champagne?”

For the life of her, Ann couldn’t explain why she suddenly felt rejected, but she just smiled and said, “I’d love some, darling,” hoping that the hurt did not show.

“This is to you, sweetheart,” he said, touching his glass to hers. “I hope that our lives will always be as happy as this night.”

Ann sipped her champagne, then went into the bathroom to change into her new white chiffon peignoir. Seeing her, Phillip realized what a fool he had been not to have married her six months ago.

Ann slipped under the covers and nervously watched as Phillip switched off the bedside lamp and took her very gently into his arms. He had waited so long that he was having trouble controlling his passion. Yet, knowing this was the first time for Ann, he waited until he felt that she was ready to receive him.

But when the ultimate moment came, she found it shockingly unlike her fantasies. No one had ever fully described the act of love, certainly not Stella, and not even Ruthie, who had extolled the joys of married life without providing any intimate details.

So, after Phillip had spent himself, the best Ann could do was pretend she had enjoyed it as much as he. Resting her head on his shoulder, feeling his arms around her, she realized that the thing she loved most was the closeness and warmth of his embrace. For her, that was better than the actual passion.

Three days later, Phillip carried her over the threshold of their apartment on Beach Street. Putting her down, he said, “I love you more every day.” Ann blinked back her tears. Marriage was everything she’d hoped.

That afternoon they went shopping, and Ann found the five-and-dime on Chestnut Street a source of treasures. Her father’s wedding gift of Wedgwood china had been stored away, as had been the set of silver from the Coulters. They would be used only for company. Now, she carefully selected a set of crockery with blue forget-me-nots on a white background and picked a set of cutlery for four as well as a saucepan, a frying pan, a small blue agate roaster, and a coffeepot.

On the way home they shopped for groceries at the Rossi Market and served dinner by candlelight. That night they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next evening was not so relaxed. Ann invited Phillip’s parents to dinner, and everything that could possibly go wrong with the meal did. After the Coulters left, she could barely sleep, and the next morning, as soon as Phillip left for work, she called Ruthie.

“Oh, God,” she wailed. “Everything went wrong. The chicken was overcooked, the carrots were hard, the potatoes were watery. And I know it will be just as bad the next time. Phillip’s mother makes me feel so unsure of myself. She doesn’t like me. And the funniest thing is that she doesn’t say anything that I can put my finger on.”

“Well, don’t worry about it too much,” Ruthie said when Ann paused for breath. “She’ll get over it. After all, you stole her little boy.”

“Yes, I suppose—but it doesn’t make it any easier, and she wants us to spend every Sunday with them. I’ve told Phillip that I think we should, but he told me no, Sunday is our day. So I guess she’ll have something else to hold against me.”

“Just don’t let it interfere with your relationship with Phillip.”

“I won’t,” said Ann, but when she hung up she felt much less confident.

Still, her days soon fell into a pleasant pattern. Phillip might be bored by his job, where he was progressing less rapidly than he had hoped, but if his days were dull, Ann’s were not. She had quit her job at Magnin’s and busied herself keeping their tiny apartment spotless, finding inexpensive decorations, and searching out recipes. Sometimes she would spend hours in the kitchen, and the results would be disastrous: the soufflé fell, the meat loaf would be rock hard; and many times she would have to feed them to Mrs. DiVincenzo’s dog and run up to Lucca’s Delicatessen for a last-minute replacement. But when it turned out well, she could hardly wait for Phillip to come home from the office. Everything seemed to take on new meaning, even such chores as washing and ironing.

She was particularly happy the night they celebrated their first month’s anniversary. She fell asleep certain there were no clouds on the horizon.

At 4:00
A.M
. the phone rang and she heard Phillip mutter a sleepy “hello” into the receiver.

He listened briefly and then sat staring at the receiver. “What’s wrong?” Ann asked, turning on the light.

He hung up and took Ann in his arms. Holding her very tight, he said, “Sweetheart, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but that was Stella. Your father died about an hour ago.”

Ann was too stunned to react, but when the shock wore off, she wept uncontrollably. “There must be a mistake! There must be! He can’t be gone. I just spoke to him today!”

All Phillip could do was to hold her gently until she ran out of tears.

T
HE NEXT MORNING, AS
Stella sat watching her stepdaughter and her stepdaughter’s husband as they planned the funeral, she looked at Phillip for the first time. He was the spitting image of Roger. Ironically, she realized she might as well have gone to the wedding, as there would be no way to keep the Coulters from the funeral. As usual the last laugh was on her.

“How did it happen?” Ann asked, bringing her stepmother back to the present.

“Well, as you know, your father had a bad heart.” Watching Ann’s grief, she realized that all the anger she’d felt toward the girl in the past was spent. Suddenly the years of hatred seemed meaningless. She was almost glad Ann had found someone with whom to share her life. When Ann asked if her stepmother and Ben had been fighting, Stella didn’t react with her usual temper.

“No—not that things were ever very good between us. There seemed to be very little to fight about since you left.”

Ann merely nodded.

“Well, to answer your question, your father went to bed about nine o’clock, and at eleven I was ready to go to my room when I realized that his light was still on. I went in and turned it off. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Stella sighed. “About an hour later, I heard a thud and got out of bed. Your father was lying on the bathroom floor.”

Ann began to cry quietly. “Was he dead?”

“I felt for his pulse, but there was nothing. I called an ambulance, but by the time they got there, there was nothing they could do. He was gone.”

A myriad of thoughts ran through Ann’s head. She wanted to scream,
He’s dead because of you, not because of his heart!
But what would that accomplish? It wouldn’t bring her father back to life.

Slowly, Ann got up. It had taken Ben’s death for Stella to allow Phillip into the house, but now her argument with her stepmother no longer seemed important to her either.

At the door, Stella looked at Ann for a long moment. “I’m sorry, Ann … truly I am.”

The sad group that gathered at the grave site was almost identical to the guests at Ann’s wedding, only this time Stella was present and Ben no longer the happy father of the bride, but the cold focus of the ceremony. Stella watched Phillip put an arm around Ann as if to shelter her from the pain. Her eyes drifted past her stepdaughter to Eva Coulter. All Stella’s fears about meeting the woman had evaporated like mist the moment they had met on the chapel steps. While Stella would have recognized Roger’s sister anywhere, Eva had no idea who Stella was. Despite financial reverses, Eva was as regal and lovely as she had been twenty years earlier. But time had not been as kind to Stella. Her continued bitterness had narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips in a hard expression that bore little resemblance to the girl who had loved Roger. Anyway, Stella thought sorrowfully, who remembered a little chit one had only met doing alterations? What a waste. Roger’s life. Hers. Her futile jealousy of Ann.