Good-bye and Amen Page 8

  Eleanor Applegate Nika was in rough shape. Depressed. I didn’t like the way she sounded on the phone, and Jeannie said she didn’t either. It’s surprising how an organ you’ve never seen in your life could mean so much. She wanted to get out of New York, go to Dundee and sit in the sun on the bathing beach with a book, and only talk to people who loved her. She asked Mother if she could stay at Leeway, and Big Syd said no. Can you believe that? The cottage wasn’t opened yet and she couldn’t put Shirley to the trouble of changing the schedule. (And why, hello, would the housekeeper’s convenience be so much more important to her than Nika’s?)

  I called Shirley and asked her to open our house early and of course she was delighted to do it. Everything was ready for Nika two days later. She packed the car and took Edie and the dog and went north.

  Monica Faithful That was how I happened not to be in town when the news came from Hawaii. After the finalists preach, there’s a diocesan convention with two groups of delegates voting, ordained and lay. They keep it up until one candidate has a majority in both groups. It only took four ballots, and Norman came in third.

  Norman Faithful It was all political. I was on the phone with a couple of my supporters, and they went through it vote by vote. Bishop Simmons, who made my nominating speech, had his enemies among the conservatives, and it was felt by some that he’d been so warm in supporting me, I must have promised to make him dean of the cathedral.

  Also, I guess, there had been grumbling about my referring to notes during my sermon. I usually don’t prepare like that. I usually just pray on my topic for a while beforehand and then get up on my hind legs and see what happens. But I thought it was important to show them I don’t always go around doing things by the seat of my pants, since Simmons told me it was a concern he’d heard. I’d prepared that speech like a lawyer. Maybe I wasn’t at my best, I don’t know. I think it’s all politics. The guy they hired came from Iowa but he had worked in the diocese and had friends there.

  Monica Faithful It was like running away from home. Bobby and Eleanor’s house has no heat except fireplaces, so it was bloody cold at night still. There were blackflies, which I’d heard about but never seen. They get in your eyes and up your nose. I spent a lot of time walking by myself and, I suppose, crying. Edith was adorable but children shouldn’t be made to feel responsible for their parents.

  Sylvia Faithful I was in New York that year, working and taking classes at the New School. I was waiting on tables at a tiny restaurant in SoHo that was just getting hot. I worked weekend evenings, the best time because it’s busiest. But it meant I was up to like four A.M. every Friday and Saturday night, and had no social life of my own at all. Out of the blue, Dad called me and said he was batching it and offered to take me to dinner. I said I’d go if he promised not to show up in his dog collar. I was pleased, actually. I thought maybe this would be a time when we could reconnect.

  We went to the NoHo Star, which was kind of my local for after school or after work. My choice. Once we were there I realized it was going to be too loud for Dad. He was beginning to lose his hearing and didn’t want to admit it. Tant pis.

  I didn’t really mean to, but I started talking about Mom, not that he’d asked. Mom has always been kind of high-strung, but lately everything was exaggerated. She was alone too much, she believed things that weren’t true. If I called her all the time or went to see her, she came to expect it and lit into me if I missed a day. If I told her I couldn’t deal and stayed away, she’d call me up and cry, and tell me she’d been so good, not calling me for six days, that she thought I’d reward her by calling her on the seventh. She thought I knew that was going on in her mind. When she cried it broke my heart and when she attacked me I wanted to hang up on her. Why was her unhappy life my problem? Where was everybody else? Where were her sisters, where was Sam? Did she do these things to him? (Answer: no. Sam is a guy. Guys don’t like it when women cry, so for him she turns on the charm.) I had just turned twenty-one and no one in my family even noticed.

  You want to know something amazing? The only person in my whole family—families—who called me on my birthday was Uncle Jimmy. He called me from California and asked me what I was doing to celebrate. When I told him nothing, he said to get a friend and go to Raoul’s on Prince Street. When we got there, he’d called ahead and bought us a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and left us an open tab so we could have dinner and everything. And he’d told them to card me, so soon everyone in the place knew it was my birthday and people kept sending us drinks and we stayed all night. Actually, a great birthday. Go figure.

  The more I talked about Mom, the edgier Dad got. He said, “Your mother was always an unhappy woman. I tried to fix it and I couldn’t. People choose their paths and if they don’t like where it takes them, they have to figure it out.” I said, “She didn’t choose her path. You chose it for her.” He said, “Things happen. If she hadn’t been so angry and sad, we might still be together.” I said, “If you hadn’t slept with someone younger and fancier you might still be together,” and he snapped back, “Watch your mouth, Rachel.”

  Then we stared at each other, hearing what he’d just said. Finally he said, “Sorry, Sylvie. I know you and your mother are very different people.”

  But does he?

  Norman Faithful The day I got the call from Honolulu, I was stunned, frankly. I didn’t want to be alone. Nicky had taken Edith and gone to Maine. I thought of Sylvia. I hadn’t seen nearly enough of her since we’d been back. She was working hard, and seemed to have a lot of friends and a full life, and of course, we’d had a lot of settling in to do, not to mention Lady McChesney and her little power trip, and then there was Edie wheezing away at night. But I thought of all those times when maybe Sylvie had cried in the night and wanted her daddy and I wasn’t there. I’d hoped this might be a time to pick up where we left off. But too much had happened to her while I was gone. I liked to think of her as my pink and cream little girl, with her braids and her little beads strung onto her shoelaces, wanting me to read her a story before she could go to sleep.

  Sylvia Faithful Every time Dad sees that I’m an adult, an adult who sees through him, he gets this sentimental expression, and I know he’s going to start in on some sneakers I had when I was five. I don’t even remember the damn things. I’m not really sure they were my sneakers; maybe they were Edie’s.

  Norman Faithful I reached my hand across the table to hers, and said, “Sylvie. Remember when you were a little girl in pigtails, and—”

  Sylvia Faithful I said, “Norman, stop it. I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman. I support myself, I’m getting As in college, you have no idea who I am! You think our whole relationship is me sitting on your lap while you read Uncle Wiggly! Get over it! Our whole relationship is me standing around at the coffee hour after church, wanting to blow my brains out, I’m so bored, while you receive your adoring subjects. I’m the one you don’t have a single picture of in your living room. You even have pictures of the dog in your living room!”

  He looked stunned. He said, “I’m sure that’s not true,” and I said, “Fine. Bet.” I took out five twenties and put them on the table, and the question wasn’t worth that much to him, he didn’t want to lose a hundred dollars. So he said, “Where did you get so much money?” And I said, “I earned it, Dad.” And then I couldn’t sit still any more. I was afraid I’d start crying or screaming at him, so I left. And I left the money on the table. I could see him through the window as I walked down Lafayette Street toward SoHo. He was still sitting there, staring down at the table as if he didn’t know what had just happened to him.

  I almost went back in, because he looked confused and sad. But I didn’t. I thought, Let him figure it out.

  Norman Faithful She never even asked me about Hawaii.

  Monica Faithful I stayed in Dundee all that summer. It was the first time since I was little that I’d been there from June to September. It was bliss. I know now that it was a mistake, but I’m still not s
ure I would go back and change it if I could.

  Papa was so glad to have me there. Mother was beginning to repeat herself and be confused. Shirley Eaton had taken over from Ellen Gott, who had retired, and she wasn’t used to Mother. I talked her out of quitting two or three times, and by the end of the summer she was so fond of Papa that I knew it would be all right.

  I stayed with Eleanor for a couple of days when she came up with Charlesie and Nora over the Fourth. Nora and Edie are almost exactly the same age and they really found each other that summer. When Eleanor’s houseguests started arriving, Edie and I moved over to Leeway Cottage. I spent a lot of time in the garden with Mother, and we went sailing with Papa most fine days.

  Amelia came up to visit her parents; we had a week together. I read for hours on the porch at Leeway. In August Jeannie came, and all the young began to arrive, Adam and Annie Applegate and Amelia’s daughter Barbara. Toby Crane showed up; I hadn’t seen him in years. He told me he’d been in love with me when I was fifteen. Unlikely to be true, but sweet of him to say. He and Papa and I cruised down to Camden overnight. Long lazy days and crisp smoky nights. It was just what the doctor ordered.

  Norman Faithful All through July, Bella McChesney could be found huddled in groups that would break apart from one another when I approached. Then she began taking notes whenever we spoke. I mean, at the coffee hour! I asked her to come in to talk about her concerns, and when she arrived, she asked if she could tape the conversation. I said I didn’t care to talk to an unseen audience, that this was a private meeting for the benefit of two people only. She got up and left.

  Monica Faithful Norman was supposed to come up for two weeks in August, but he kept moving the dates and in the end he didn’t come at all. I missed him, but not as much as I would have if I’d been anywhere but Dundee. If he holds that against me, I guess he’s entitled.

  Anyway, I didn’t press him. I thought at the time with the McChesney insurrection heating up that he was wise to stay. He found a perfect apartment for us, and I flew down one weekend to see it before he signed the lease. He seemed awfully distracted. But I didn’t like leaving Edie alone with Mother, so I didn’t stay to sort it out. He had our furniture all moved into the new apartment by the time we got home. Edie never had to spend another night in the mouse house.

  The first Sunday we were back in New York, Bella McChesney came up to me at the coffee hour and said, “Your husband’s been a busy boy.” I said, “Yes, and I’m so grateful to him.” She stood looking at me as if deciding whether to answer. I held my ground, even though it was clear she was dying to say more, and finally she walked away. Norman came over and put his arm around me. He said, “I’m glad you’re back.” I could see why. At least I thought I could.

  Sylvia Faithful Monica invited me to dinner the first week they were back. I could tell Dad hadn’t told her about our little contretemps. I brought a loaf of bread and a box of salt as a housewarming present. Monica looked puzzled. It’s a Jewish custom; Mom taught it to me, which I told Monica and she was pleased. I’d also brought a really good bottle of wine, from the restaurant. It was a hot night, and they had the windows open so we’d get the evening breeze. The apartment was on a high floor but you could hear the street noise, which I liked.

  While Monica and Edie were in the little kitchen, getting ready to serve the supper, Dad came over to me and put an arm around me, and at the same time, slipped something into my jacket pocket. I took it out and looked: my hundred dollars. He said, “Please take it.” Then he looked over at the bookshelf and I saw there was a picture of me from my high school graduation in a silver frame. Wearing my gown and that dorky hat with the tassel. I put the money into my pocket.

  At dinner, Edie and I got into a tickling game. I’d wait for her to be distracted, then I’d sneak in a tweak in the ribs. She’d wait for me to be eating and then get me in the armpit, or try to. We got to giggling and Dad had to say, “Now, girls!” but he didn’t really seem to mind. Edie kept sneaking looks to see if she could get me again. Then she said, “What’s around your neck, Sylvie?” I took it out and showed her.

  She said it was pretty, and I told her it was jade, and Monica said, “That looks like a Buddha.” I said that it was one, and Dad put down his fork. He said, “And does it have special meaning for you, or…” I said, “Or is it just jewelry? It has special meaning for me, Dad.” He gave me this really long look, and then went back to his dinner.

  I said, “You know what, Daddy? Not everything I do is about you.” He raised one hand, as if to wave me away, and went on eating.

  III

  NORA’S PHOTO ARCHIVE

  (SO FAR…)

  Photographic Insert

  The Elms. Date?

  James Brant.

  James with Berthe Hanenberger!

  Dundee Golf Association Clubhouse; c. 1912.

  Back says: “Sunporch, 1916.” I know it’s The Elms, but who are these people? Great-great-grandmother Annabelle in wheelchair, and we think the very pretty lady is Mrs. Maitland.

  Candace Lee (left) with her sister Charlotte. Knoxville.

  Candace Lee Brant—engagement picture?

  Laurus Moss, 1918 (?)

  Annabelle Sydney Brant. On the back in Candace’s writing: “ASB, 1919. Last time she looked anything like a Lee.”

  Sydney. On back, Candace’s writing: “ASB on left. What is she wearing? With Tiny Charlotte. Knoxville, 1926.”

  Leroy Faithful. From Edie’s baby book. Cruel mustaches!

  Henrik and Ditte Moss. Nyborg, Denmark, 1938.

  Jimmy Moss. Back says, “1950.” Can we Photoshop those shadows?

  Eleanor Moss, senior year.

  Bobby Applegate. Back says, “Dundee, 1963.”

  Monica Moss with Annie Applegate. Thanksgiving in Connecticut, 1968.

  Norman Faithful. Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1969?

  Edith Faithful, left, in Colorado with her friend Shannon and the headmaster’s dog.

  Sam and Sylvia Faithful. Massachusetts, 1991.

  Uncle Jimmy. From silver frame on Sydney’s bureau. What year? And what boat is that?

  Mom and Dad. (Great picture…)

  IV

  THE SUMMER OF SHARING

  There is a cloud of unknowing about Heaven and Hell, apparently. Those forever places, after the spirit work is done. You understand what some of us call karma? The gyre, on which you come around again and again to the same psychic knots or dilemmas you faced before, but always on a different level? So they are the same but changed? Until you learn how to pass through them unscathed?

  No?

  All right, then. A simpler way of saying it.

  No one is “sent” anywhere. You choose. Or find that you have chosen.

  There are plenty in Hell, for want of a better word, but they don’t know it’s Hell. To them, it’s just more of what they always chose to believe about how the world works.

  Josslyn Moss I know they think I’m a Valley Girl moron. The summer after Jimmy and I were married, I sat through a family dinner where Bobby Assholegate took a quarter out of his pocket, and every time I used the word like, he tapped it on the table. What did he think, I didn’t notice? He’d be like turned away from me, talking to Monica, and I’d answer a question and down the table I’d hear that coin click on the table. See? Just telling you that made me say it. Asshole.

  The Leeway Cottage Guestbook, August 19, 1988 (Laurus’s hand) We’re back from Santa Barbara, where Jimmy and his girl were married on the beach at sunset. Jimmy slew the fatted calf for us. Long layover in Chicago on way home, otherwise, everything perfect.

  Eleanor Applegate Mother was slipping faster by 1988. I don’t know if that was the reason, he was trying to spare her having to organize things, or maybe protecting Josslyn, but Jimmy insisted on giving his whole wedding himself. It was just our family and Josslyn’s, but we all stayed at the Santa Barbara Biltmore. It has beautiful flowers and palm trees, and the most heavenly view of the Pacific
. The kids adored it.

  Mother had bought a new dress for the wedding and a big matching hat, and she looked so pretty. We all had to take our shoes off on the beach and walk on the sand in our stockings to where the chairs were set up. Mother was quite girlish and sweet about it. I was just glad I’d had a pedicure. The service was performed by a friend of Jimmy’s who was a Universal Life Church minister. You know, a divinity degree you can buy in the mail.

  Josslyn Moss We had it timed perfectly, so that the sun went below the horizon just as we said our vows. Then we all walked back to the hotel by the light of torches and had dinner. We didn’t have any attendants because my sister Melaynie is pretty heavyset, and self-conscious about it; it would have been hard to find matching dresses for her and anybody else. We asked Norman to bless our rings, since we weren’t going to have him do the service, since we aren’t Christians. But he said he doesn’t do cameos. I was afraid he was going to be a prick about it, but he was fine. He didn’t wear his collar or anything and he said he liked being able to sit with his wife at a wedding for once. They held hands the whole time.

  Eleanor Applegate Josslyn’s mother was a hoot. Salt of the earth. She’d been married four times and counting and two of her husbands came to the wedding, Josslyn’s father and another one, and it was not the one she was married to at the time! You never knew what was going to come out of her mouth. We sat with her at the dinner and she suddenly said to me, “You know, I was seventeen the first time I got married and when the pastor asked me, ‘Do you take this man,’ I fainted!” Then she roared with laughter. She told me she’d made her own wedding dress out of a tablecloth.