He had begun. The conflicts that tore Archie Sanger’s soul were the same that had plagued man since Cain and Abel, the same that raged in the Kohle household. As a writer and as a man, Harry Kohle understood that. He was writing about a different time, a war fought on the battlefield rather than in a peaceful New York brownstone, but Harry realized the new passion he brought to his work was fueled by the strife in his own family.
It wasn’t until the moonlight touched a corner of his desk that he knew that he had worked without stopping for twelve straight hours. He got up and stretched. In spite of the stiffness in his joints he felt exhilarated. He had written forty pages, pages he really believed in. He would have liked to share his elation with Lily, but they had agreed that there would be no unnecessary phone calls.
As the weeks passed, Harry developed a hardworking routine which was mirrored by Lily’s own hectic schedule at the farm. Missing Harry as she did, Lily was happy her days were so busy, because at night, lying alone on her bed, she was filled with longings. She remembered only the good times, when she and Harry had been newly married, before the children were born, before all of the misunderstandings. When Harry had gotten on that train, she had felt not just the sadness of parting, but the misery from her youth, of being deserted—even though she knew that Harry, unlike her parents, really loved her. But despite her bravery, the responsibility of providing for the family proved an incredibly heavy burden. The physical strain of working and caring for the children was bearable; she was young and strong. But many times she feared that she had taken on more financial responsibility than she was capable of handling. For the first time, she realized the extent of the pressures Harry felt. Since he had always paid the bills, she had had no idea how quickly the money flowed out the door. Her complacent reliance on their nest egg now seemed ludicrous. If her jams, jellies, and handiwork didn’t sell, they would soon be penniless. Once, when she had failed to add enough pectin to the raspberry jelly and it had boiled down into a rubbery mess, she had actually sat down on the kitchen floor and cried.
Even more worrisome than the money situation was her increasing inability to control the children. Jeremy was a good little boy, but Randy was stubborn as a mule, and Drew was a wild Indian, always into mischief. Melissa was the worst of all, for she was given to loud tantrums when she didn’t get her own way. Vainly, Lily tried to reason with them, not realizing that they simply needed a firm “No!”
Terrified of repeating her parents’ mistakes, Lily had decided early on that the only thing children needed was unconditional love. In time, everything would fall in line; they would obey, she thought vaguely, because they loved her.
But in Harry’s absence she realized that there might be more to raising children than that. As they ran rings around her, she found herself longing for a firm hand.
One evening when Randolph called from the city she was so pleased at the prospect of his company she almost burst into tears.
“Can you come up for the weekend?” she asked eagerly.
“I’d love to. How is my little godson?”
“Just fine—he’ll be so thrilled to hear that you’re coming. And the others, too, of course.”
When the big Packard pulled up in front of the farmhouse, the back seat was filled with the gifts Randolph’s secretary had selected at F.A.O. Schwartz—teddy bears, roller skates, and best of all, a new football.
As the children ran out into the field to toss it around, Randolph went into the house with Lily, where they sat down over freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee cake.
“Did you make this?” he asked in surprise. “It’s fabulous.”
“Of course I made it.”
“You never cease to amaze me,” he commented, shaking his head. “Isn’t Harry going to have a piece? Or is he sleeping in today? I don’t hear the usual clatter of typewriter keys.”
“Well.” She drew a deep breath. “Harry’s not here.”
“Oh?”
“I guess I didn’t tell you. He’s in New York, working.”
“Working? At what?”
“He’s going to stay at the Y for a few months while he finishes his novel.”
Looking at her searchingly, he asked, “Lily, is there something you’re not telling me? Have you and Harry separated?”
“Of course not!” she answered indignantly.
“Come on, Lily—since when does a married man with four kids move out? Can’t he do his writing here?”
“It’s the kids. They just make so much noise he can’t concentrate. It’s not the right atmosphere.”
“And he’s getting it at the Y? That’s a lovely atmosphere, I’m sure. Pardon my asking, but what are you and he using for money while he’s gone?”
“I’m working, Randolph.”
By the time she had finished describing her various projects, Randolph was open-mouthed with astonishment. “Good Lord, Lily, you have got to be joking!”
“No, I’m not—I’ve been making a good profit. In fact, I’ve already started taking orders for Christmas aprons and pinafores.”
“I’m not going to stand by and see you struggle this way. How much do you figure it takes to support you and the kids for a year?”
“I don’t care to talk about it, Randolph.”
“Lily, this is ridiculous. I have more money than I’m ever going to be able to spend, and I’m a bachelor with no obligations. Can’t you let me help you out? Call it a loan, if you will.”
“We prefer to make our own way, Randolph. Harry’s pride would never allow him to accept help—why, he will barely accept mine.”
“Don’t tell him, then.”
“That’s out of the question.”
Sighing, he gave up. “All right, if that’s the way you really feel. But I want you to know that if you ever need anything for any reason, I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, covering his hand with her own. “You’re such a good friend, Randolph. Just about the only one I have. I don’t know what I would have done without you all these years.”
Randolph smiled and kissed her. In the beginning, he had been terribly hurt that Lily had gotten married without so much as a telephone call. He had really felt that Harry was the wrong husband for her, but when he had seen how happy she was, how much they loved one another, he had forgiven her. Loving his cousin as he did, he felt that she was entitled to the man of her choice.
Over the years, his friendship for Harry and Lily had grown, but there was an even stronger motive for his visits: little Randy. Resigned to the fact that he could never have children, he believed this nephew had been sent by God as a kind of compensation. This was the son he would never have—and to his secret joy, Randy adored him. The little boy even resembled the Goodhues, in both looks and stature. If Randolph had fathered him, Randy could not have looked more like him. Before the boy was two years old, Randolph had told Lily of his intention to make the boy his heir. If Charles Goodhue had known, he would have spun in his grave. He had disowned Lily for marrying a Jew. And now her son would one day inherit the entire fortune.
As for Lily, she had never cared about the money. She had always adored Randolph and was grateful he cared so much for her and her children.
T
HE FARM AND THE
92nd Street Y were just an hour and a half apart by train, but Harry and Lily might have been separated by hundreds of miles, they saw each other so rarely. Though Harry tried to go home at least one weekend a month, the train was expensive and every minute away from the manuscript kept him that much longer from reaching the end.
As summer turned to fall, his urgency to get on with his work compelled him to sit at the desk for hours on end, immersing himself so completely that he almost forgot what day it was. Since he rarely remembered to eat, he lost fifteen pounds. The only thing that kept him going was gallons of black coffee from the Thermos always at his elbow. He smoked constantly, which cast a hovering gray pall over the room. His sleep was erratic, never more than four hours at a time, for even his nights were consumed by his ever-present obsession with the book.
He had just seated himself at the desk one morning when he heard a knock on his door. At first he thought he was imagining it. Who would be coming to visit? But there it was again, that knocking sound! Irritated, he stood up and abruptly flung it open.
There was Lily, surrounded by the children, who were smiling and chorusing, “Hello, Daddy!”
Suddenly, he was aware of an unmistakable feeling of resentment at their intrusion. Just as quickly, he attempted to smother it. What was wrong with him? This was his family! He looked at the five of them and forced a smile.
Then Melissa was in his arms, touching his cheek with her chubby fingers, and any remaining annoyance at the interruption vanished.
“God, I’m glad to see you, Lily!” he whispered, taking her in his arms.
Then Jeremy piped up. “Daddy, can we go skating in Central Park?”
Before he could respond, Randy interrupted. “No! I want to go see Cousin Randolph’s cars.”
“Cars! Who wants to see stupid old cars? I want to go skating.” Drew, as always, stubbornly supported Jeremy.
Lily quickly quieted them. “Randy, you know that we agreed to go skating.”
And skating they went, but not without vociferous complaints from Randy. He and Drew argued all the way to Central Park.
Harry had a throbbing headache as he led them into the rink. Good God, they had been here only ten minutes, and already they were grating on him. Had he and his brothers squabbled like this when they were little? He was sure they had not. His father and mother would never have stood for it. Why didn’t Lily do something? All she said was a gentle, “Children, children, behave. Be good.” To which the children paid absolutely no attention.
Randy skated next to Harry, but he felt a strange irritation to see Jeremy hanging back, clinging to Lily’s hand—she held Melissa on her free arm—while Drew skated confidently by.
But quickly he admonished himself. For God’s sake, they were only little boys.
Even on the ice, the boys remained irritable and unmanageable, and after an hour Harry had had enough. Perhaps lunch at the Automat would quiet them. Lily sat them down at a table and went to get a dollar’s worth of nickels. The mistake she made was to ask, “What would you like?”
“Peanut butter and jelly!” they chorused.
“They don’t have that, dears. How about ham, or cheese?”
“I don’t like ham,” Drew announced.
Randy added, “I don’t like cheese, either.”
Annoyed, Harry broke in, “Why don’t you just bring them whatever sandwiches there are?” He turned to the children. “You have to make do with what there is.”
Melissa stuck out her lower lip defiantly. “Won’t.”
Feeling as though things were degenerating, Harry turned and took away the catsup bottles she was playing with. “You’ll do as I say, Melissa!”
Pouting, the little girl cried, “Mama! Want Mama!”
“Harry, please don’t upset them.”
“Upset them?” Harry expostulated. “For God’s sake, Lily—can’t you exercise a little discipline?”
But the little gladiators had numbers on their side, and after a while Harry gave up. It was easier simply to tune out the cacophony.
After spending twenty-five dollars to have them all stay at the Lido Hotel overnight, he felt almost a sense of shame at his relief when he saw them off on Sunday. He couldn’t wait to get back to his script. Archie Sanger now brought more solace to him than did his family.
After that one weekend, Lily planned no more surprise visits. She realized it was easier to wait for Harry’s rare weekends at home. Her business was doing better and better and she spent most of the long winter evenings bent over her sewing machine. The first thaw had arrived by the time Harry called to tell her the novel was done.
Spring had come and gone and Harry hadn’t even noticed the buds on the trees. Gentle rains had given way to summer heat, and then to autumn chill. The first winter snow had fallen by the time he wrote, Finis. Harry bent over his typewriter and wept.
It was finished. Finished at last! Two thousand pages of it. He held it close to him, cradling it as though it were a living child. All that was missing now was Lily. Harry needed her to share this moment.
After drying his eyes, Harry fished in his pants pocket for a coin. He ran to the phone down the hall to call her. He didn’t pause for a second, even though it was four in the morning.
“Lily!” he all but screamed as he heard the receiver lift. “It’s finished! Can you believe it?”
“Oh my God!” she cried, instantly awake. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks. “Harry, darling—that’s wonderful!”
“I’m coming home this morning on the first train. I can hardly wait.”
“Oh, Harry, neither can I.”
“And Lily—I love you. I don’t think you’ll ever know how much.”
After she hung up, she raised her eyes to heaven. It had been worth it. Every little hardship had been worth it, if only to hear the joy in Harry’s voice. He would be home by noon. His arrival was all she could think of. She couldn’t go back to sleep; instead, she dressed and began to straighten the house for his homecoming.
After breakfast she bundled the children up and sent them out to pick armloads of pine and holly.
Finally it was time to meet Daddy. Lily looked on as they assembled, their hair combed into place, their faces shining, wool caps over their ears and mufflers around their necks. Yesterday’s transgressions were forgotten. She turned to them, her heart bursting with joy and love.
“Now, I’m going to ask you to do me a big favor. When Daddy comes home, I want you to be very sweet and very polite—let him have a little time to get used to us again. He is going to work at home now, and during the day you will have to be as quiet as possible. We’re all going to have to cooperate. Is that a deal?”
They nodded their heads.
With the buckles on their galoshes jangling, they raced out and piled into the Model T, then drove away in a cloud of glory on the icy road. Lily thought her heart would stop as she saw Harry step down from the train. Even the children were forgotten for the moment as Lily and Harry ran to each other.