The Carousel (17 page)

“He’ll never stop,” Ian retorted, “unless he develops cancer or something.”

To Sally the remark was nothing less than brutal. A fine thing to tell a bride! Yet Ian had always been capable on occasion of such insensitivity. And probably Roxanne, to judge by her remark about her father, was used to it, for she gave no sign but merely waited for Clive to come back. After two or three minutes, teary-eyed and exhausted, he returned.

“Okay now?” she asked him pleasantly.

He gave a weak smile. “Okay. Sorry, everybody. Let’s go on with the party.”

Happy and Sally passed plates of biscuits and
cakes. When Tina took three at a time instead of one, Sally did not remonstrate; there had been enough commotion for one day.

Ian was still presiding over the champagne, urging everyone in a loud and bullying voice to drink up. “Come on, what is this, a meeting of the temperance society? It’s a wedding feast, folks. This is Taittinger that we’ve got here, and you’re letting it go to waste. Well, if you won’t, I will.”

Gently enough, Happy protested. “You’re getting drunk, Ian.”

“Well, I need liquor to wash these biscuits down. It’s a man’s privilege to get drunk if he wants to. At weddings you’re supposed to get drunk, anyway. And I don’t give a damn.”

Oliver said sternly, “But I do. This is no way to behave, to welcome—”

“Welcome!” Ian cried, not seeing his father’s grim expression. “That’s it! I haven’t welcomed the bride. May I kiss the bride, Clive? A chaste, brotherly kiss? You won’t mind?”

“I should say that’s up to the bride,” Clive replied.

Although Roxanne had pulled away, Ian seized her and, turning her resisting head with both hands, kissed her roughly on the mouth.

“Ian!” gasped Happy.

Oliver took Ian by the shoulders. “Now, sit down and cool off,” he said. His anger, although he did not raise his voice, was powerful. “My son is not a drinker,” he explained to Roxanne, “and I apologize for him. The champagne has gone to his
head.” He smiled wryly. “Champagne has a way of doing that.”

“It’s all right. All well meant,” she replied nicely.

With Ian restrained and safely planted in a chair next to his father’s, Oliver steered the conversation toward Greece and Italy.

“Since you’re going to the lakes, be sure not to miss Isola Bella. Take the morning boat,” he recommended, “before it gets too hot. I hope you have brought or will find a shady hat, Roxanne. You will need it.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” said Clive. “But thank you, Father.”

“Clive thinks of everything,” said Roxanne, squeezing his arm.

Sally thought, Every move she makes is seductive. Is it an art or are you born with it? Some of both, probably. I would photograph her from the back with that long neck and a quarter face, eyes almost shut to show those lashes—

Ian made a dreadful sound. His face had gone from bursting red to greenish white. He got up and ran. Then when they heard a crash in the hall, everyone else got up and ran.

“ ‘S’all right,” he said, stumbling up. “I tripped. Need bathroom.”

Dan took him by the arm, saying quietly, “He’ll be fine. Let me take care of him.”

Happy wrung her hands. “I can’t imagine what’s got into him. He’s never in all our years
been drunk like this. He doesn’t even like liquor all that much.”

“Only gambling,” Oliver said, trying to laugh, trying to inject some humor into the situation.

They all went back and sat down.

“Let’s see, where were we? Oh, at Isola Bella. Now, when you drive from there to Venice, you must show Juliet’s balcony to Roxanne.”

“The real one?” Roxanne was excited. “It’s still there?”

“Well, so they say,” replied Oliver. “But Juliet was only a character in a play, you know.”

And the conversation, like the proverbial ball, went gently back and forth with everyone making sure to toss enough balls, easy balls, to Roxanne.

Presently Dan returned with a report. “He’s all right. When he threw up, he felt better. I made him lie down for a while, then I gave him coffee, and he’s gone home. He left apologies to you all. We’ll drive you back with us, Happy.”

“My God, you didn’t let him drive? You should have called me to take him.”

“He insisted, Happy. And he says it wasn’t only the champagne. He hadn’t been feeling well before he drank it. He thinks it’s a stomach virus, and he’ll be perfectly fine resting at home.”

“Well, I don’t know—”

“He was quite able to drive, Happy, otherwise I wouldn’t have let him go.”

The party had wound down; Roxanne was looking at the gold watch on her wrist, and Clive was making a little speech of thanks. Everyone
went out to the driveway to see them off, and as soon as their car was out of sight, went back to the porch to discuss them.

Oliver began. “Well, I must say, I was stunned. Somehow one never—at least I don’t—think of Clive as a man who would do something so impetuous.” No one present was able to disagree with that. And Oliver continued, ruminating with his eyes fixed on the trees at the far end of the lawn, “How can they possibly have met? She doesn’t seem uh, uh, the kind of girl he would—well, not like you two,” he finished, turning toward Happy and Sally.

Happy’s remark was typical of her. “She’s certainly a friendly person, not that you would expect her to be unfriendly, coming here like this. I mean—well, I mean she wasn’t shy, was she? I remember when I came to visit you, Father, I was scared to death.”

Oliver smiled. “Worlds apart. But she’s Clive’s choice. We must only hope she makes him happy.”

“Oh, I do hope it will work out,” Happy repeated.

“I have a hunch it will,” said Dan. “She’s so vivacious that she may draw him out of himself. Besides, face it, it’s in her interest to make him happy.”

“Time will tell,” said Oliver. “We will all do our best to smooth their way, I’m sure.”

Sally exclaimed, “No wonder he was so interested in decorations the other evening at our
house! It seemed so out of character. He seemed tense, too, as I think of it. Tense, and excited.”

“Yes,” said Oliver. He sighed. “Clive has always held a special place in my heart. Not a warmer place than your husband, Happy, just different.”

“I understand,” she said soberly.

“I know. Working with children as you do, of course you understand.” He looked out again toward the far trees. “The thing is, Clive was never a joyous child, never one who did much laughing. Nor does he do so now. Ian was the rascal who gave me more trouble as an adolescent. Clive never gave trouble. But I never worried about Ian. I always knew he’d turn out fine. Life was an adventure for him, everything came easily, athletics, popularity, and graduation with honors. And finally, a wife like you, Happy. Clive, well, Clive was different, as we all know.”

“Still, I’m worried about Ian, Father,” Happy said. “He certainly wasn’t himself today. He hasn’t been for weeks now. Ask Dan. You must have noticed something at the office, Dan, and been puzzled, I imagine.”

“I noticed,” Dan admitted, “but I won’t say I’m so puzzled. Shall I speak frankly, Uncle Oliver? I know it upsets you to hear about business arguments. You want things to run as smoothly as they did when you and my father had the business, and when you had it later, alone. But they’re not running smoothly now.”

Sally longed to speak her mind, but it was not
her place to give public opinions about Grey’s Foods any more than it would be Dan’s place to interfere in her work. She could have her private opinions, though, and she very well had them. Ian, efficient and industrious as he was, had streaks of laziness and greed. Big, wide streaks.

“He’s still growing up. He hasn’t quite gotten there yet,” she had once remarked to Dan. And laughing, he had asked her whether she thought he ever would.

“But he’s a good guy at heart,” Dan said, “good-natured, kind to the employees, and wonderful to Happy.”

True enough, but the performance this afternoon had been horrible, not so much that he had drunk too much, but because he had been mean. Yes, mean. Even if the marriage had looked ridiculous to his eyes, it was disgraceful to let it show like that.

“Ian’s determined to sell to the foreign buyers, and my sister encourages him,” Dan said emphatically. “She’s giving him another reason, with her demands for money that we can’t afford, to press for the sale. If it weren’t for her, I really think Ian might be talked out of it.” And Dan pressed on, perhaps too boldly, Sally thought. “We all know how precious that forest is to you, Uncle. Your grandfather bought that land piece by piece. And it’s precious to me, too. We think alike on that subject. We’d do anything to preserve it. If only you would talk to Amanda, I believe it would help so much. Some words from you—”

Oliver twisted in the chair to face Dan. “Amanda is—but I don’t want to speak against your sister, Dan,” he said.

“You won’t hurt me if you do. Anything you say will be fair, I’m sure. It always is.”

“Dan, I’m sorry. This isn’t the time. In fairness to us and to the women here, we’ve been all talked out this afternoon. And I’m sure Happy wants to get home to Ian.”

All at once, Sally gave a cry. “Oh my God, where’s Tina?”

“I don’t know,” Dan said, looking puzzled. “She was just here, wasn’t she?”

“She must be inside,” Happy said calmly. “She’s probably eating the last of the pastries.”

In the commotion that Clive had brought about, they had quite forgotten the child. Now Dan and Sally went back into the house, first to the library, where they did not find her, then calling through the rooms, living room, dining room, front hall, back hall, even Oliver’s den, still calling. There was no answer.

“Did you look upstairs?” asked Happy.

All three clambered up the stairs into bedrooms, sitting rooms, and bathrooms. Now they looked in alarm at each other.

“She must have gone outside,” said Oliver, who waited at the foot of the stairs. “Let’s not get frantic. She has to be here.”

The pool, thought Sally. Dan, obviously with the same thought in mind, had already raced toward it. But there it lay, bright blue in the strong
light, and so unruffled that the bottom was clearly seen.

Without a word now, the four adults spread out through the grounds. Hawthorne had greenhouses, garages, vegetable and flower gardens, and in the center of the rose garden, it had a little summerhouse. So they went calling and calling everywhere, while their terror mounted.

“Let’s try the house once more,” suggested Happy. “Perhaps she’s hiding. Children think that’s so funny. It’s a game.”

They found her sitting under the piano, concealed by the heavy curtain that fell behind it. She was just sitting there, sucking her thumb.

“What are you doing? You scared the life out of us,” Dan cried.

“Yes,” Sally said. “We called and called. You should have answered us.”

Happy tried to soothe. “You were making a little house for yourself to hide in, weren’t you, honey?”

Tina gave Happy a blank stare and did not answer. Evidently, this was no jolly game.

Sally knelt down. “Do you feel all right?” she asked, putting her hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Maybe you had too many of those cakes. Does your tummy feel all right?”

Tina looked up at the adults and did not answer.

Happy, who sometimes spoke to children as her grandmother had spoken to her, said kindly, “Cat got your tongue?”

“What’s wrong with you?” demanded Dan.

Tina was not only refusing to answer, it seemed almost as though she wasn’t hearing.

“This isn’t funny,” Sally said, although no one was even smiling. And a chill went through her. The little girl had withdrawn herself from them all. Perhaps no one else but a mother could sense that something very strange was happening to Tina.

“She’s tired, that’s all it is,” said Oliver, after a few minutes of fruitless appeals and commands. “Better pick her up, Dan, and take her home.”

Then Tina was picked up, unprotesting, and was carried home, still without having spoken a word.

August 1990

“O
h, you darling!” Sally said.

Susannah had sat up straight for the first time without toppling over backward. Pleased with herself and with her new perspective of the world, she gurgled. What a love she was, plump and pink and bare, except for her diaper. With the creases at her elbows and dimples on her knees! Her eyes, almond-shaped and light like Dan’s, not green nor gray nor blue, but a little of all, were fixed on Sally in a studious gaze, as if she were thinking, You look so different from the way you did when I was lying down looking up at you.

Sally took her out of the crib and kissed the back of her neck. “You darling,” she said, “I love you, I love you. Do you know how much? No, of course you don’t. And what’s more, you never will until you have your own baby.”

Far, far in the future that will be. And in the
meantime, we will watch you, sweet Susannah, care for you and guard you every minute of your life. Please God, let nothing ever harm you.

Last week a baby bird had fallen out of the nest in the curve where the roof met the roof of the kitchen wing. Every year a new family had made a house in that spot. Every year she and Dan had watched the dun-colored mother sit patiently for two long weeks on her eggs, while the rosy-headed father flew back and forth on his errands. When tragedy struck, Sally watched the two parents’ frantic flutterings over the blind, naked weakling, half the size of a human thumb, that lay struggling and dying on the grass. She watched their vigil, heard their peeping cries and recognized their grief. You might not call it grief in a human sense, and yet they had wanted to save their baby.