The House on Seventh Street (15 page)

Both lack of forgiveness and faithlessness are disastrous vices in a woman, Juliana.

In your last letter, you speak of nothing but your father's business affairs, Daisy's latest slight, the stories you plan to write, and the gifts you received for your birthday. You show no interest in my welfare and ask no questions about my work. You say nothing of our love. It might as well have been a letter to a brother.

Are you punishing me? If so, I am all but mortally wounded by your silence, your cold refusal to speak of our love.

Rose has generously introduced me to a representative at Alfred A. Knopf, a just established New York publisher who is interested in my novel. For you alone, Juliana, I informed her that I cannot stay on for the season this year and must return to my fiancée in July. We have a wedding to plan.

My hope is that you will return to Providence with me in August, just as we have always promised. You will love the world I inhabit here—a world of wealth, beauty, and high art. A world where you belong. Rose has arranged several appearances for me in both New York and Newport in April and May.

In truth, all I look forward to is being with you, Juliana. Please write and salve my wounds. Don't be cruel, my own dear kindred spirit.

Dolph

How had Juliana interpreted this last letter? In Winna's mind, Dolph seemed full of ambition for both art and love. The letter seemed to reveal a decline in their bond and she found herself sympathizing with Dolph. Those were vastly different times. She reread the paragraph beginning with “Rose.” It was the first letter where he had called her by her given name. Was there a romantic involvement with Mrs. A., his Rose? How had Juliana responded to this? Without Juliana's letters, her view was incomplete, but one fact was plain.

The rhythm of Dolph's visits to Grand Junction saw him arriving in early to mid-summer and returning to Providence in late August. Winna decided she would scan the library's microfilm for editions printed in August 1915-1917 to see if they mentioned the death of a man on an eastbound train.

Before she left the house for the library, she called John to tell him about the light in the attic and what had happened the night before.

After listening quietly to the whole story, John said, “I don't like this. I'm concerned about you being alone in that house. Have you told Emily and Hugh?”

“No. That's why I'm telling you. I didn't want to worry them or Chloe. But I guess someone should know.”

“You thought I wouldn't worry?”

“Well—”

“Have you called the police?”

“Yes, last night,” she said, feeling as if he was grilling her. “I guess I thought you might have some kind of level-headed idea. Like who the hell was in my attic at ten-thirty last night, or what I should do now?”

“You might start by locking your kitchen door,” he said without a trace of humor in his voice. “Do you think that by locking the front and side doors you've fooled someone bent on getting in?”

“We've never locked the kitchen door,” she said, sounding lame even to herself.

“Thank God you didn't try to be a hero and approach him. You could be dead this morning.”

THE NEWSPAPERS
FROM
late July 1916 were full of stories about the aftermath of the World War I Battle of the Somme, where British troops suffered sixty thousand casualties at the onset of their attack. German saboteurs blew up a munitions plant on Black Tom Island, New Jersey. Winna shook her head in disbelief. German saboteurs in New Jersey? In the days that followed, Romania declared war on Austria-Hungary and Germany declared war on Romania—nothing about a death on a train in Colorado in July, August, or September 1916.

Winna returned to the file drawer and looked for July and August of 1915. On July 28, US forces invaded Haiti. She was shocked by how little she knew of this period in history. Europe was at war and President Woodrow Wilson feared that Germany might invade Haiti in order to establish a military base there. German settlers in Haiti were begging Germany to invade and restore order to the chaos there. In sleepy little Grand Junction, the new dam on the Colorado River at De Beque Canyon made the news, as did the successful fruit harvest aided by the first water that had been routed into the Grand Valley canals. Miss Gustafson was teaching ladies how to make their own hats, but no mention of Adolph Whitaker's death appeared in any of the late summer editions.

Next, she tried 1917. On July 28, ten thousand Negroes marched on Fifth Avenue in New York in silent protest to the race riot in East St. Louis, Illinois, where thousands of blacks were forced to flee the city when their homes were burned. The silent marchers walked behind a row of drummers and carried banners calling for equal rights and justice, the only sound the beat of muffled drums. In August, the
Daily Sentinel
printed a story about the Russian newspaper
Pravda
calling on all citizens to kill capitalists and priests. Later in the month, ten suffragists were arrested as they picketed the White House.

“The world was just as screwy back then as it is now,” she said to herself. Discouraged, bleary-eyed, and fatigued from hunger, Winna wondered if she had missed something. Would she have to retrace her steps? Just to be sure, she decided she would and found herself enjoying the journey back in time as she wandered off into pleasure reading stories like the early motoring adventurers who had decided to drive nine cars from Grand Junction to Salt Lake City on a road that disappeared in places, then picked up again as wagon tracks.

Admonishing herself for getting off track, she wheeled back to August 1915. Nothing. If Dolph died in August, it may not have been reported for several weeks. Armed with a candy bar, she moved forward in time and found what she was looking for in the September 5 edition of the
Daily Sentinel
.

Railroad Reports Former Resident Dead

GRAND JUNCTION: Mrs. Laura M. Whitaker of 357 First Street, Grand Junction, has received news from authorities at the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad that her son, Adolph G. Whitaker, 26, of Providence, Rhode Island, died en route to his home after a visit to Grand Junction this summer.

No details about the circumstances of death, which occurred on August 27 after Mr. Whitaker boarded the eastbound train, are yet available to this newspaper. Mr. Whitaker was a graduate of Grand Junction High School and Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. He was employed as an English teacher at Moses Brown School in that same city. He is survived by his mother, widow of the late Edgar D. Whitaker. Funeral arrangements are pending.

Sugar and adrenaline combined, Winna felt giddy. Especially interested in Whitaker's address, she reread and copied the tiny article. “I want to see that house,” she mumbled to herself.

Adolph Whitaker suddenly seemed very real. A peculiar sadness crept inside, as she wondered how Juliana had felt when she saw the article. It must have been a terrible shock. Or had she known about the death before the story appeared? Perhaps Dolph's mother had sent word to her? But she was a married woman. It was likely that the lovers had concealed their love affair from Mrs. Whitaker just as they had from Juliana's husband.

She remembered the day her grandmother had told her about her lover's death on the train and how terribly sad she had looked.

“He died of a broken heart,” Winna had said as she reached for her grandmother's hand.

Juliana closed her eyes and tears spilled onto her cheeks. “And I've lived with one, precious.” She asked for a Kleenex and Winna handed her the box. She blew her nose, then smiled at her granddaughter. “One day, when you are a woman, you'll not be so surprised by my story. You'll be glad your grandmother was treasured by—” She stopped without saying his name.

Winna bent to kiss her cheek. “I'm glad now, Gramma. I'm glad you had a special love.”

Juliana smiled as if she had a secret she could not reveal—the same expression Winna had seen on her grandmother's face on the day she stole a look at Juliana hiding Christmas presents in a closet.

ARRIVING HOME FROM the library shortly after four o'clock, Winna had to rummage in her handbag for the key to the kitchen door. She unlocked it and stepped inside, deciding to lock the door behind her. Bone tired from her day at the library, she headed upstairs to Juliana's bathroom, hoping that a loll in the bath would both cool and revive her.

As tepid water filled the big tub, she undressed, leaving her clothes in a puddle on the floor. She relaxed into the water trying to put the newspaper article out of mind—evidence of a major tragedy in her grandmother's life. The whole puzzle exhausted her and she forced herself to think of something else—the room itself.

Of late, she had found herself looking critically at all the rooms, imagining how she would get rid of the wallpaper and repaint, refinish the hardwood floors and restore the magnificent tiles, and whether or not she would invest in a new furnace. Seth had looked disappointed when she had hired a company to paint the exterior, but reassured when she told him that he was too valuable to waste on such a long project. A display of drapery fabric in the window of a store downtown had nearly pulled her inside. In truth, she had noticed herself behaving as if she planned to stay—to make the house her home.

Remembering the upstairs hall closet she wanted to look through, she promised herself to get to it soon. Only with her grandmother's permission and supervision had young Winna been allowed to look at the gowns Juliana had saved. Some looked very old, like she had worn them as a girl. All were special occasion dresses, the kind you wear once or twice to a ball or wedding. All were made from rich fabrics: laces, satins, and silks. Some sparkled with sequins and faceted beads, just the thing to dazzle a child.

Relaxing against the cool slanted back of the claw-foot tub, Winna looked around the room. Juliana had thought of everything, even a bidet. She may have lived with a broken heart, but she knew how to do it in style. Above the white tile wainscoting, the walls had been painted a soft, almost imperceptible green. The floor, decorated in a pattern of tiles shaped like ginkgo leaves in the same but more saturated green, lay over a white ground. The etched-glass windows glowed with a gentle light giving the room a feeling of peace and cleanliness. Even the old fixtures were in good condition.
There is nothing I'd change here. It's perfect
, she thought, closing her eyes, letting herself sink farther into the luscious cool water.

Suddenly, Winna felt the hand of reality touch her for the first time.
Gramma lied to me. Daddy was not a toddler when Dolph died—he wasn't born until 1916, the year after Whitaker died.
It was possible that he was Whitaker's son.

1945

AT NIGHT,
FOR A BRIEF
time during the war, people in Grand Junction dimmed their lights and covered their windows with shades or heavy curtains. Children went to bed hoping that no careless child had left a lamp shining in the window. Folks worried that if German aircraft flew overhead, they could see the lights of towns, of lonely farms, of a single car making its way down a country road, of a match struck in the dark.

At the picture show, Juliana saw newsreels with scenes from the war in Europe—whole villages full of lost and bewildered people on the move. Big-eyed children wrapped in heavy coats, boots, and shawls, walking down country roads pushing carts full of their belongings because the hated Germans were coming. In the newsreels, Juliana heard the screaming air-raid sirens and saw people run through the streets of London looking for shelter. After the bombs, everything fell silent as the camera panned over the rubble, the destruction of historic buildings, precious art, precious lives.

Evenings, Juliana and Edwin drank nightcaps in the parlor beside the radio. As he spoke to the British people, Churchill's reasoned, refined voice comforted the English-speaking world. She even welcomed the voice of FDR. Without her vote, he had recently been reelected to a fourth term. Juliana conceded that the middle of a world war was probably a bad time to change the government.

It was a necessary war. She knew that. Almost everyone but pacifists, socialists, and isolationists agreed. Newscaster Edward R. Murrow brought them the day's news from the front. He spoke of battles won and lost and how the Allies were now winning. He spoke of meetings between world leaders, of Princess Elizabeth joining the British Army as a driver. In January, three months before his suicide, the Führer's terrifying voice entered her well-furnished and decorated parlor. He was speaking to the German people, admitting that, at the moment, things weren't going well for the Fatherland. He had not lost hope and wanted them to know that, in time, they would rule the world if they kept up their spirits and fought hard. Juliana did not understand German, but as in all his rants, she understood the evil passions he stirred. She, like most people, was mesmerized and could not turn off the radio.

In Grand Junction, Juliana suffered few war-related hardships, but sugar, gasoline, butter, coffee, and meat were rationed. She fussed over the fact that she couldn't get silk or the new nylon stockings. Both fibers were needed for parachutes. Some women used leg paint and learned how to draw straight, dark lines up the backs of their legs to simulate stocking seams, but Juliana would not stoop to that. Housewives saved tin cans for use in armaments and their bacon grease—collected door to door in Grand Junction—for use in ammunition. The war with Japan raged on and in May, Pvt. Henry S. Grumman, #36289471, waited for his orders at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. From the beginning, they had not drafted fathers, but hundreds of thousands of American soldiers had died and with the war in the Pacific still raging, they finally had to draft Juliana's son.

Crazy with worry, Juliana saw Nora's brave front for the sake of her children as certain evidence that she didn't care what happened to Henry. Edwin firmly expected divine providence to protect his son. Juliana kept her worries from the children. Winna and Chloe were too young to even imagine anything bad happening to their father. With a brave face, she told her granddaughters that when the war was over, their daddy would come home and they believed her.

Not long after Henry was drafted, atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. When Juliana saw the mushroom clouds in the newsreels, she vowed never to go to the pictures again. She kept that vow. Just nine days after the bombs fell, it was announced on the radio that the Japanese had surrendered and the war was over. Henry Grumman did not have to go into battle. He would not have that adventure, but he didn't come home for a long time. They sent him from Fort Leavenworth to Fort Hood, and then to Camp San Luis Obispo for his postwar duties.

By late 1946, Juliana could not get out of bed in the morning, sometimes rising as late as noon. Often, she was unable to eat until dinnertime. After dinner, she drank bourbon to help her fall asleep. She began to lose weight, lose interest in her house, in everything. She stopped calling on friends. She wanted to be alone.

By fall, when Henry had not yet come home from the army, she found herself spending most of her days rocking herself in the gold damask rocker that had belonged to her grandmother. If anyone had noticed and asked her why, she would not have known what to tell them. It had become hard for her to concentrate on anything, even her own thoughts, which seemed jumbled and senseless.

ONE EVENING, EDWIN came home from work and found Juliana sitting in the middle of the library floor, the world globe in her lap, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Dear, dear girl,” he said, going to her. “What's troubling you?” He bent to offer his hand, but she looked as if she did not hear him. “Juliana,” he said, kneeling beside her. His wife's head drooped as if her neck was broken, her hair in tangles, her tears dripping off Europe like a river running south toward the pole.

“Juliana! What's going on here?” He tried to take her father's old globe from her hands and return it to its floor stand, but she only hugged it tighter and moaned.

Edwin straightened up and tried another tactic. “Get up off the floor this minute. I'll not stand for this kind of behavior from a grown woman!” He demanded. “I'll not be frightened like this by women's tears.” He used the toe of his wingtips to nudge at her back. “You look like a crazy woman.”

Suddenly, she turned and looked up at him. No new tears wet her cheeks, her eyes were vacant. “Yes, I'm afraid I am—crazy.”

When she stood, the globe slipped from her lap and thundered across the floor, stopping under the Boston ferns. She reached for her husband and the crying came again in horrible anguished gasps. He led her into the alcove and made her sit down on the window seat.

“Don't move, Juliana. I'll get us both a drink.”

When he returned, they sipped their bourbon and water in silence. Juliana propped up on needlepoint pillows with Edwin beside her, his elbows resting on his knees. Soon, both felt better.

Juliana wanted to talk. “I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me—some terrible sadness—I've been—”

“Don't try to explain, dear. Just put it out of your mind. You mustn't dwell on it. You are fine now.” Edwin was uncomfortable with all that emotion. He was embarrassed for his wife, ashamed. He was sure the servants had heard.

“Now you rest here and I'll see what Maria has for dinner,” he said and left her for the kitchen.

THE TIME CAME when Edwin knew his wife was not fine and he called the doctor to the house. He found Juliana in a stupor, staring at the wall, unwilling or unable to look at anyone or speak. The doctor encouraged Edwin to take her to Minnesota for treatment at the Mayo Clinic.

Edwin had hoped it wouldn't come to this. He wondered why, with her less than stable history, he hadn't seen it coming. He'd just read a newspaper story about the war's contribution to the public's decline in mental health. People everywhere were suffering from anxiety and depression. The ramping up of the Cold War didn't help. The US was testing atomic bombs in the Pacific. The Russians had been at work developing a bomb. The arms race was on. The mushroom clouds over Japan were enough to undo a woman of Juliana's delicate temperament. Edwin knew that much. Most people believed that the bombs dropped on Japan had saved lives, that they had ended the war. Still, people felt the horror of it. Like a killer after a murder, Edwin thought, they return in their dreams to the scene of the crime.

At the Mayo Clinic, Juliana underwent a course of both talk therapy and electro-shock therapy. She stayed for three months and returned to Grand Junction greatly improved. Not long after her return her parents died. Edwin was afraid that would send Juliana into another downward spiral, but she grieved reasonably and kept busy tending to her sizeable inheritance. Her beloved son had finally come home.