The Carousel (16 page)

The party transferred itself to the screened porch, which was furnished in white wicker, and shaded by green-striped awnings. Through the trees there blew a mild, soporific breeze; lying back on soft upholstery after a heavy meal, it was hard not to yawn. Only Oliver in his linen suit sat upright.

“There’s nothing to play with,” whined Tina, who was understandably bored.

“You might take the new doll for a walk. Show her the pigeon house,” Sally suggested for lack of a better idea.

“I don’t want to. I hate this doll.” And Tina threw it on the floor.

Dan intervened. “It’s naughty to treat a beautiful present like that and when Uncle Oliver is so nice to you. You should tell him you’re sorry.”

“I won’t. I’m not sorry. It’s an awful doll. It’s ugly.”

Happy and Ian were considerately looking the other way. Their consideration made Sally’s embarrassment more painful. It wasn’t hard to guess what they were thinking about Tina.

“I’ll be glad to get you a different one,” said Oliver. “The minute I saw this one in the window, I thought you’d like it. But that’s all right. Just tell me what you’d rather have.”

“Uncle—” began Sally, wanting to suggest that he not reward the child’s behavior.

But she was interrupted by Oliver. “Tell me, Tina. Come here and whisper it in my ear.”

“No, I said. You’re deaf. No, I said.”

Oliver walked across the porch and, lifting the shrieking child, coaxed, “Listen to me—”

In the midst of this disturbance came the sound of voices on the gravel path.

“Guests, Father?” asked Happy.

Oliver put Tina down and looked across the lawn. “I’m not expecting any. Why, it’s Clive! Clive with somebody.”

Up the steps and onto the porch came Clive, holding by the hand an astonishingly beautiful young woman who wore a fine, cream-colored silk suit and a matching straw hat above a magnificent cascade of burnished red-brown hair. They stopped before Oliver, and Clive spoke.

“Father,” he said in a loud, clear voice, “I’ve brought you a surprise. This is Roxanne Grey. We were married last night.”

“A surprise,” said Oliver. “A surprise. You’re quite serious? Not joking?” he cried.

At this the girl stretched out her hand up to the level of Oliver’s face. “Not on your life. And here’s the ring to prove it.”

Oliver blinked and sat down. Shock overwhelmed the little group on the porch. It was as if a giant wave had crashed upon a beach and then receded into silence.

No more than a few seconds could have passed, but it seemed like a long time before Clive said gaily, “I’ve dropped a bomb, haven’t I? This is the last thing you expected me to do, and to tell you the truth, I never expected to do it, either. Until I met Roxanne.”

Wicker creaked in the stillness as the little group shifted in their chairs, waiting for the head of the family to respond.

“Of course, we wish you all the happiness in the world,” Oliver said in his formal way. “But there was no need for secrecy like this.”

“Not secrecy, Father. Haste. Impulse. Blame it on me. I didn’t have patience for the usual fuss and delay.”

Disjointed thoughts sped through Sally’s mind. The pair looked awkward there, like people who perch uncertainly in dentists’ waiting rooms or unemployment offices. It’s strange that no one of us has cried out in amazement or with curiosity, or stood up to make some attempt at congratulations. A handshake or a hug. We’re all numb as stones. It would make a stunning photo, forbidding in a way, like the painting “American Gothic,” stiff and painful.

Dan’s astonished eyebrows were practically up at his hairline, and Happy’s mouth had dropped open. Ian raised himself from his chair and fell back. His face was a raging crimson. With that temper, he would have a premature stroke one day. It’s no business of his, anyhow, that his brother decided to elope, Sally thought indignantly.

And somebody really ought to
welcome
the girl! So, saying the first trivial thing that came to her head, she addressed her.

“Roxanne! What a pretty name.” She went over and took Roxanne’s hand. “We might as well
introduce ourselves. It seems that the bridegroom, like all bridegrooms, is too flustered to do it.” And dropping a kiss onto Clive’s forehead, she continued, “I’m Sally. This is my husband, Dan.” For Dan, too, had risen and gone over to shake hands.

Now everyone stood, and things began to fall into place.

“This is Happy—her real name is Elizabeth—but everyone calls her Happy, and this is her husband, Ian.”

Ian bowed over the extended hand. “Roxanne. Do people call you Roxy?”

“No,” said the bride with a sweet smile, “no, they never do.”

How ridiculous of him to bow like that as if he were a viscount greeting a baroness! The gesture had been almost ironic.

“And this is Tina, our daughter.”

“What a pretty girl,” said Roxanne.

“I’m not,” Tina said crossly.

“That’s not polite,” Dan remonstrated. “You should say thank you and shake hands.”

Tina bellowed, “I don’t want to shake her hand.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Roxanne said.

It was distressing. You got tired of it after a while. Other children didn’t behave like this. Distressing.

“Don’t feel bad,” Roxanne said gently. “I’ve been around kids. Mothers always feel bad when kids act up.”

At this point Oliver resumed charge. “Well,
Clive, I must say you have good taste. Now that we’ve seen your beautiful wife, you must tell us something about her. Are you from Scythia, my dear?”

“Oh, yes. My family’s always lived here. We’ve all worked at Grey’s. I work in the shipping department.” She spoke easily and frankly.

Sally liked that. Most girls coming into Hawthorne in these circumstances would be intimidated. Obviously, this girl was sure of her own worth. She had traded her exquisite body for the right to be here. That was evident enough. You might not approve, but you had no right either to condemn. At any rate, the situation was interesting, a minor drama.

Clive put his hand over Roxanne’s and corrected her. “You did work there. In the shipping department. You don’t anymore. We have bought a house, Father. It’s not far from here, on Brookside Road, about two miles out.”

“I’m flabbergasted.” And Oliver shook his head in bewilderment.

Dan looked at Sally.
He must be
, the look said.

“We’ll take possession next month. In the meanwhile, I have someone working on the furniture.”

“Oh, it’s simply gorgeous,” Roxanne cried.

“And in the meantime you’ll be staying here?” asked Oliver. “Or with your parents, Roxanne?”

“Parents? I only have my father, and I darn sure don’t want to go back to him.” She gave a hearty
laugh with her head thrown back. “No, I’m starting a whole new life with Clive.”

No comments were made, no one spoke, until Clive entered the silence with an announcement that they would be away on their honeymoon during the next month.

“We’re going on a cruise of the Greek islands. After that, Italy. Venice and the lakes, Cuomo and Maggiore.”

“Ideal choices for a honeymoon. Some of the most beautiful places in the world,” Oliver said agreeably.

Unlike Ian, whose outrage was almost palpable, Oliver had, typically, regained his equilibrium in these few moments. His thoughts, however, could only be imagined as he regarded his son and his new daughter, the son so exceptionally unattractive at the moment, sweating in collar and tie through the midday heat, half slumped on the sofa and dwarfed beside the cool, graceful girl. The contrast was grotesque. Characters out of Dickens, Sally thought.

“If only you had come earlier and had dinner,” Oliver said. “But we must have some sort of celebration, anyway. A little supper tonight instead.”

“We’ll have to postpone it till next month, Father. From here we’re going to drop in at Roxanne’s father’s for a minute and then catch the plane to New York to spend the night before we fly overseas tomorrow.”

“Very well, but we can’t let you go without some festivity. Ian, will you go to the kitchen,
please, and ask them to bring up the champagne from the cellar? And plenty of it. Perhaps some little cakes or biscuits or whatever they have. You’re boiling red, Ian. Don’t you feel well?”

But Ian had already rushed out of hearing.

Meanwhile, Happy invited Roxanne to take a short tour of the house. “Women always like to see houses, don’t they? And this is the kind that will never be built again, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I’d love to. I said to Clive when we were coming up the driveway, this place must have cost a fortune. More than a million, I’ll bet. Not counting the furniture, I mean. Am I right?” Roxanne asked, turning to Oliver. “A million at least?”

“I really can’t say. It was built right after the Civil War. The value of money has changed considerably since then.” Graciously, he smiled.

And again, Dan’s glance met Sally’s. It was as though they were automatically exchanging their similar impressions. Oliver would in his propriety be shrinking inside at such a question concerning his home. But considerate gentleman that he also was, he would accept an accomplished fact. He would make the best of this marriage.

Gathered now in the library, they waited for Oliver’s “festivity” to begin. Growing slightly impatient, he asked what Ian was doing.

“Gone for the champagne,” Dan reminded him.

“I didn’t expect him to bring it up himself.”

“Oh, this is a gorgeous house. And this is a
gorgeous room,” cried Roxanne, looking around at the carved stone mantel, the beamed ceiling, and the tall shelves crammed with curios and books.

“Yes, isn’t it?” Happy agreed. “It’s my favorite room in the house.”

“My brother and I used to hate it because we had our piano lessons here, and neither of us was very good at piano. In fact, we were terrible. But your mother, Clive, was a pretty fair pianist and spent many evenings at that piano. Of course, you fellows didn’t appreciate it then,” Oliver said with a kind of twinkle toward Clive and Dan, “but you did develop an ear for music by listening to her. Even in the one year you spent here before she died, Dan. Yes, this room is filled with memories,” he finished gravely. Then abruptly, he turned cross. “Where the dickens is Ian anyway?”

Dan rose. “Shall I go see?”

“No, no, sit still.”

There followed a few seconds of another stilted silence. Roxanne was the one to break it, murmuring as she looked toward Oliver, “So many books! I guess you must have a book about everything in the world.”

“Not quite. But more than I’ll have time to read during my lifetime.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t say that, a man as young and healthy as you.”

Sally felt a sudden sympathy for the girl, which was odd because, gold digger that she must be, she had dug so successfully and wasn’t in need of anybody’s
sympathy. Yet Roxanne was on display, at the judgment seat, and she was trying very hard.

Dan would be amused to know of her sympathy. “You’d take pity on a man who mugged you,” he always said.

“Father has a book that tells about Scythia almost two hundred years ago. Would you like to see it?” she started to say, but Happy, who had the greater talent for making conversation, was ahead of her.

“Father’s been all over the world, Roxanne, and he’s brought back some wonderful things. Come look at these. Every coin in this tray is from Rome, before Christ.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Roxanne with appropriate awe.

“Oh, yes. And look over here at these porcelain flowers. This rose is my favorite. There’s even a drop of dew on it. Isn’t it lovely? And daisies with a petal beginning to curl. And over here, why—where’s the carousel, I wonder? There’s the most marvelous car—merry-go-round. Where has it gone?”

Tina cried out, “In my house. It’s mine.”

“Yours, darling. Really?”

“Yes, it’s in our house,” Sally said. “A present for Tina.”

“Mine, mine, mine!” Tina shouted, jumping up and down. “And you can’t have it,” she whimpered.

“Of course it’s yours,” Clive reassured her. “A
present for a sweet girl. Come sit on my lap the way you always do, and don’t cry.”

“I don’t want to sit on your lap. I don’t like you.”

“She doesn’t mean it, Clive,” Dan said, seeing that he was injured. “You know her better than that. That damn carousel,” he muttered aside to Sally, “has made more trouble. The child’s obsessed with the thing.”

“Well, here we are,” said Oliver at sight of Ian, followed by the cook and the houseman, who had very likely been roused from an afternoon nap. Between them they rolled a two-tiered cart with a double-sized bucket containing three bottles of champagne in ice and a silver tray of assorted biscuits and miniature iced cakes. The newlyweds were brought to the fore so that the two servants might give congratulations and receive thanks, after which they disappeared. The family festivities began.

It was Ian rather than Oliver who suddenly undertook the role of host. It was he who filled each flute, who had remembered a glass of lemonade for Tina and who made the toast.

“To the lovely, happy bride,” he cried, raising his glass. “May her dreams come true. Trite but traditional. Right?”

Softly, his father corrected him. “It seems that you’ve forgotten the groom, Ian.”

“Oh, have I? Sorry, Brother. Accept my apologies. I’m always so moved by the sight of an innocent young bride that I don’t think straight. Here,
let me replenish your glasses. Not ready yet? Well, I am. Here goes. To Clive, hardworking, faithful, brilliant Clive. You deserve the best, and we can all see that you now have it. Good luck, Brother, from the bottom of my heart.” And he gave Clive a hearty slap on the back.

What was this all about? And Sally saw that Happy also was bewildered.

Clive rose with dignity and began, “It’s hard to put into words how I feel and I know Roxanne feels, too. It’s like a dream—”

A cough convulsed him. Gasping and choking, bent in two, he was racked from head to foot. Roxanne sprang toward him, but Oliver waved her away, saying calmly, “Let him be. He does better alone.”

When Clive ran from the room, Dan remarked, “He’ll have these spells until he stops smoking.”