menu_book Chapter 32

Book III, Chapter II, Sections III-IV, of Bread. At one o'clock dinner was announced. There was little ceremony about the Beardsley's meals, the important business was to be fed. Kate the cook and waitress, a big-bosomed, wide-hipped Irish woman, with the strength of a horse and the disposition of a bear, had scant regard for the preferences of any one member of the family she served. Her attention was concentrated upon her

work. Indeed, it required a considerable amount of clear thinking and planning to dispatch it at all, and she brooked no interference. Roy, Alice, and the children were frankly afraid of her, Even Jeanette admitted a wholesome respect. Oh, Kate's in an awful tantrum. The whisper would go around the house and the family would deport itself with due regard to Kate's mood. She piled the food on the table, rattled the bell, and departed kitchenward, leaving the Beardsleys

to assemble as promptly or as tardily as they chose. There never were but two courses to a meal, meat and dessert. Kate had no time to bother with soup or salad. Her cooking was good, however, and there were always great dishes of potatoes and other vegetables, as well as a large plate of muffins or some other kind of hot bread. Jeanette firmly asserted that Kate's meat pie with its brown crisp crust could not be surpassed in any kitchen. Today there were but seven at

table as Nettie remained upstairs in bed. She would have crackers and milk later, her mother announced. Milk toast, Jeanette suggested, but Alice shook her head and made a motion in the direction of the kitchen. She doesn't like anyone fussing out there, she whispered, and I don't like to ask her to do it herself. It's extra work, no matter how trivial. The graham crackers will do just as well. Nettie's quite fond of them. It was a cheerful scene, this gathering at the table of

Roy, his wife, and their children. Tongues wagged constantly. There was happy laughter and loud talk, much clatter of china and clinking of silverware. Roy stood up to carve, and he served generously. Plates were passed from hand to hand around the table to Alice, who sat opposite him, and she added heaping spoonfuls of creamed cauliflower or string beans and mashed potatoes. The pile of food set down in front of each seemed, by its quantity, unappetizing to Jeanette,

but the others evidently did not share her feeling, for they cleaned their plates, while Frank and Baby Roy almost always asked for more. The remarks that flew about the board had small relevancy, but she found them interesting, liked to lean back in her chair with wrists folded one across the other in her lap and listen comfortably. Mr. Koons tells me he's sold the Carlton place. The Hirschsteins bought it, Roy might observe. Oh golly, those kikes! Frank,

you mustn't speak that way. Mrs. Hirschstein's a nice woman and Abe Hirschstein's very public spirited. They may be Jews, all right, but I wouldn't consider them kikes. There's a lot of difference. Ralph's drawl often had that irritating quality his aunt disliked. Well, she's certainly a dumbbell, if there ever was one. Jeanette would infer this was of the daughter. That's because Buddy Eccles is after her. Etta, with curling lip, would dismiss this without comment. He likes to

drive her marmon. That's what he's after. She spoke about taking us all over to Long Beach Saturday, and Buddy's going to drive. Hot dog! You can't go, Smarty. Why? Why can't I go? Because you've got to go to the dentist's. Ah, cusses. Do you think I'd better have the storm windows put up tomorrow, Roy, when that man comes to fix the radiators? I wouldn't hurry about it. it isn't November 1st yet. I know, but it keeps the house so much warmer, and I was thinking

about Nettie. Ralph and I can do it when you need them. We get Barthelmae's at the Plaza Friday and Saturday. Oh, can I go a month? We'll see. Perhaps your father will take you. Do you let the children go to the movies much, Alice? Depends on the picture. Barthelmae's is always clean and good. Friday I'll be late coming home, and Saturday night I'm afraid I'll have to go to the Civic improvement meeting. Bet I'm chipped. Don't worry, baby Roy. I'll let you go by yourself

Saturday afternoon if you're a good boy. Pulitzer's closing out his meat market, going to handle nothing but groceries from now on. Well, I guess he's made money. He's a good citizen, all right? He subscribed 250 for the district nurse. Did you get onto my classy hair part, Aunt Jan? All the women getters at school do their hair this way now. Really, Frank, your language. I don't know where or how you pick up such phrases. Don't be too critical, Alice. He

attaches no significance to them. You know what boys are. There was an endless stream of such talk, Roy and his wife frequently maintaining one conversation between ends of the table, while their children carried on another across it. Kate crammed the soiled dishes on the oval black tin tray, piled them high, and, grasping the tray with strong arms, bore it to the kitchen, kicking the swing door violently open as she passed through. Dessert made its appearance,

usually a deep apple pie, a chocolate pudding, or a mound of flavored jelly in which slices of banana careened at various angles. Kate refused flatly to bother with ice cream. Once in a while, she condescended to make a layer cake. During the meal, it was customary for the telephone to ring several times. Instantly, at each summons, Etta would be upon her feet and make a quick dash for the instrument, long conversations would ensue in which Etta's voice would drift down to

the dining room. Well, I didn't. Well, you tell him I didn't. Well, you tell him I didn't say anything of the kind. I never did. He's just crazy. I never said anything of the kind. Well, you tell him I didn't. Etta, her father would call presently. The voice would continue unfalteringly, and roy at intervals would repeat her name until finally the long-winded parley would be brought to an end by two o'clock on this particular day the meal was over and there was a general breaking up of the group Alice went out into the kitchen to prepare Nettie's tray. Frank vanished in pursuit of his

own affairs, which usually took him to the house of Chinny Langland, whose parents were wealthy and had lavished everything they could think of on their one son, including an elaborate wireless outfit. Buddy Eccles arrived a few minutes past the hour, planting himself on the front steps, and waited ostensibly for Etta to go walking with him. Jeanette had her own ideas as to where they actually went. She suspected they made their way without delay to the home of some girlfriend,

whose parents were absent or had lax ideas about the Sabbath, and there, having carefully pulled down the window shades out of deference to the possible prejudices of passers-by, they rolled back the rugs, turned on the Victrola, and with other couples as frivolous as themselves, danced until within a minute or two of the time when it was necessary to return to their respective families. Ralph disappeared up into his den, a wretched, ill-lighted, cramped chamber he had built himself

in the attic. He kept the door of this apartment carefully locked at all times, and when within, by the light of a kerosene lamp, read what his aunt earnestly hoped were entirely edifying literature, and where she was thoroughly persuaded, he indulged secretly in cigarettes. Baby Roy wandered amiably and uncomplainingly about, listening to his elders' conversation, or took himself off into the scraggy garden where he hid in strange nooks and told himself

stories in a droning voice which always ended in frightening him. Jeanette regarded him the strangest of her sister's children. She frankly declared she did not understand him and thought Alice outrageously lenient where he was concerned. Today's visit was an unusually happy one for Jeanette. Nettie drifted off to sleep while her mother and aunt established themselves in shabby grass rockers on the side porch and had a long, comfortable talk. The day had turned unexpectedly

warm and there was a reviving touch of dead summer in the air. In a neighbor's garden, chrysanthemums and cosmos were still in bloom, and the brilliant colors made the Beardsley's own unkempt little yard appear gay and luxuriant. A mechanical piano tinkled pleasantly somewhere, and every now and then there came the vibrant hum of a passing motor car. Kate marched past her mistress and her mistress's sister presently, clad in sober town clothes and

wearing one of Jeanette's discarded hats, which the giver thought, at the moment, became her nicely. Kate was off for the rest of the day, and Alice, with Etta's help, would manage the cold supper for the family at half-past six. A stillness on this mid-afternoon settled about the house, usually teeming exuberantly with life. Through an open window near at hand, the women on the porch could hear an occasional rustle of papers as Roy, prone upon the leather-covered couch in the

living room, read the Sunday news. Alice drew deep sighs of weary comfort. I ought to get at my sewing, I suppose, but I don't like bringing it out on the porch Sunday. People can see you from the street. It's so pleasant out here. I hate to go in. Sit a while, encouraged Jeanette. You're always worrying yourself about something, Alice. I have to. Frank's stockings have got to be darned or he can't go to school tomorrow.

Baby Roy's cap is torn, and I noticed his school suit needs cleaning. You ought to make Etta do these things. Etta does enough. Her mother defended her. She's only young once, you know, and Sunday ought to be as much of a holiday for her as it is for other young folks. And there's some letters I must write, one to Nettie's teacher for Frank to take to school with him in the morning.

mercy, there's never any let up to it. I've got to go over this month's bills with Roy sometime today and decide what we're going to do about them. You know, I just won't bother him about money matters when he comes home all tired out at night, and I have to wait until Sunday. How are you off this month? Any worse than usual? Roy's premiums fall due. I've got the money all right, but some of the monthly bills will have to wait. You know, Jan, I'm sick to death of this

ever constant worry about money. I've had it all my life, ever since I was a little girl. I wish to goodness I could earn something on the side. When the children were little, I couldn't spare the time, but that isn't a consideration now. Etta could perfectly well take care of the house, and I could devote several hours a day to some kind of work that would bring in money. I thought I'd knit a few sweaters and see if I could induce some shop in

the city to handle them. It would only cost me the wool. If I'd learned typing, I think I could get some copying to do. You know, it makes me ashamed to realize how little I could earn if I was obliged to get out and seek my living. I'd be worth about ten dollars a week. That would be what they'd call my economic value. Economic value, cried Jeanette. What do you mean? The mother of Five children has an economic value of ten dollars a week.

Why, Alice, you talk like a crazy woman. I may be worth a great deal more than that to the nation, but that's all I'd be worth to a businessman. The government ought to give you an annual income the rest of your life for every child you bring into the world.

That would represent your economic value. Well, there's no likelihood of their doing it, laughed Alice. I wish I had a definite way of earning money. I mean, a profession like a stenographer or a nurse. I've always claimed, Janie, that every woman, married or single, ought to learn a trade or profession.

You have no idea how I envy you sometimes. You're independent. You're beholden to no one. You're utterly free of all these cares and responsibilities that harass me from morning to night. Janette shook her head emphatically.

You don't know, Alice, she said. If you envy me my life, I envy you a hundred times more. I envy you these very cares and responsibilities of which you complain. I envy you your husband and your children and all those things that go to make a home. Oh, I think sometimes I was a blithering fool to have left Martin.

His name had not crossed her lips for months, and for a little time there was silence on the porch. Do you ever hear from him? asked Alice in a lower key. No, I understand he's in Philadelphia in the automobile business. You know as much about him as I do. And he's never married?

We've never been divorced. Again, there was an interval of silence. Would you go back to him, Jan? Jeanette stared out into the warm sunshine, and her rocker ceased its slow movement. I've thought about it, she admitted.

I'd like a home. I'm so tired of the office. There's nothing to work for in the business anymore. I've got as far as they'll let me go. There's no future for me.

Why don't you write him? Alice suggested, watching her sister's serious face. He may be as lonely as you are. It's fourteen years, mused Jeanette. We've both changed.

He may be very different. He may still be thinking of you and blaming himself for having treated you so unkindly. Why don't you write him and just say you'd be glad to know how he's getting on? I don't know his address. Well, that could be found out easily enough.

There was a sound within, and Roy came stumbling out on the porch to stretch himself luxuriously. Phew, he said, enjoying a great yawn. I nearly went to sleep in there. Why didn't you? A nap would have done you good.

I don't like to miss a single minute of my one day at home. It's too pleasant out here. Alice began to fidget, clearing her throat nervously. Do you feel like going over some bills with me, Roy? She ventured with obvious reluctance. Sure, he agreed good-naturedly. He sat down on the steps while his wife went indoors and presently returned with a sheaf of bills, a pad and pencil. She established herself next to him.

Now you see, Roy, she began, in the first place there's the two hundred and forty that's due on the fifth. I've got one hundred and fifty saved up, and that means I must take ninety out of next week's salary. It's going to leave me precious little, and there's your commutation for next month that's got to come out right away. I figure we owe about, well, it's not over six hundred, and I'm not counting Frank's teeth nor Gimbel's. They can wait. But here's the first of the month

coming, and Pulitzer, you know, won't let you charge unless you pay up by the tenth. Now I was thinking. The voices went on, murmuring, and Jeanette mused. Here it was again, the eternal war against want, the fight for existence, the battle for bread. There was never any end to it. It was perpetual, incessant, unending. In all the houses within the range of her vision, in all the trim, orderly little dwellings that made up Cohasset Beach, in all

the thousands and thousands of homes that dotted Long Island, in the millions that were scattered over the United States and over the world, this struggle was going on. It was easy in some, it was bitter hard in others. Alice, who was among the most readily satisfied and uncomplaining of women, had protested against the everlasting drudgery a moment ago. Well, she, Jeanette, had solved that particular problem for herself pretty much to her satisfaction. It was many years since she had had

to worry about a bill. Her income more than covered her expenses. She had saved, and was going on saving. She had nearly enough money in the bank to buy another bond. In a few years, she would have ten thousand dollars securely invested. Then she would resign from the Corrie Publishing Company. They would pay her something, part salary, as long as she lived, the way they did Miss Holland. and perhaps she would travel, or perhaps make her home with Roy and Alice. They would not want her

particularly, but theirs might be the only place to which she could go. She knew their loyalty and affection would make them urge her to come to them. And there was Frank. She would like to do something for that boy, pay his way through college, or make him some kind of a handsome present that would render him eternally grateful to her. But she supposed he would be getting married as soon as he was grown up, and would have no eyes nor time for anybody except the

fluffy-haired doll he would select for a wife. Love was a funny thing. Her mind drifted to Martin, Martin with his youth, his charm, his good looks, his winning personality. Ah, he was a man of whom any woman might be proud. Well, she had been proud of him. She had always admired him. He had always had a particular appeal for her. It was the self-same thing that was agitating Roy and Alice today that had caused her disagreement with Martin. This struggle for money, for the means to pay

bills, for the wherewithal to buy bread. Ah, and they had had enough, more than enough, if Martin only had been reasonable. Undoubtedly he was very successful now. An agency for a motor car in Philadelphia indicated success. He was, in all likelihood, a rich man. She wondered what would have happened to him and to her if she had stuck to him. Her mind wandered into strange speculations. She had once viewed the streets of Philadelphia from a car window on her way to Washington.

She thought of the city as blocks and blocks of small brick houses with pointed roofs, standing close together, row after row, each with a little square bit of lawn beside brown stone front steps. She imagined herself and Martin in one of these. She was keeping house again, and she had a cook and perhaps a maid, and of course she would have an automobile, since Martin had the agency for one. Her life was full of friendships. She was able to dress beautifully.

Martin's associates admired her, thought her handsome, regal. She took a keen interest in her children's schooling, for of course there would be children. A twelve-year-old Frank, and perhaps a younger Frank as well, and one daughter, a girl different from either Etta or Nettie, a tall girl with a fine carriage, gracious, dignified, beautiful. How she would enjoy dressing her and how proud Martin would be of his children and of herself, her poise and beauty, her fine

clothes and the way she wore them, her graciousness to his friends and her capable management of his home. No man ever had a better wife than I have. No man was ever prouder of his wife and children. No man was ever more grateful. You're a wonder, dear. Have always been a wonder. Other men envy me. Envy me. Your beauty and your goodness and your devotion. Everything I've amounted to in this life I owe to you. You've made me what I am. You've made our home what it is. My friends look

at you and think how lucky I've been. I look back on all the hard years we've been together, on all the tough times we've had and somehow pulled through, and I know it's to you and not to me the credit belongs. Oh yes, it does. You've made my home for me, you've given me my children, you've taken the burden of everything on your shoulders, you've carried us both along and made our venture as man and wife, as father and mother, successful. I owe everything in the world to you,

and to me you're the loveliest and dearest woman in the world. It was Roy's voice that she heard in the hush of the warm Sunday afternoon, and it blended with the queer thoughts of the woman who sat so still in her rocker as to be thought asleep. No, no, Roy, Alice interrupted him. We've done it together. Money doesn't count with me. Really, it doesn't.

Sometimes I protest a bit when I think of what the children have to do without, but there is nothing that can take the place of the love we all share. We're a little group, a little clan that's always clung together, and I'd rather be cold and hungry and see the children shabby and needy than have one less of them or have discord among us.

You and I have had our trials and our disagreements, but we've always loved each other and loved the children. Alice was crying now, softly crying with her head against her husband's shoulder and his arm about her, and the hot prick of tears came to Jeanette's eyes, and a burning trickle ran down the side of her nose. She dropped her forehead into her hand and shielded her face with

her palm. We'll weather this difficulty as we've weathered many another, Roy said consolingly. I'll go into the insurance company's office tomorrow and fix it up with them. We'll pay them half on the fifth, and I'm sure they'll give me thirty days on the balance. Then you can settle what's most pressing and give the others a little on account. I say, we've faced worse times than this. Do you remember that Christmas when Ralph was only three and we'd been out trying to find

the kids some cheap presents and I lost that ten dollar bill out of my pocket? And do you remember when I was so rotten sick with pneumonia and the doctor thought I was going to get TB? And do you remember the time when baby Roy was coming and you fell downstairs and broke your collarbone? I tell you, Alice, we've lived, you and I. We haven't had very much to do it on, but we've lived. You're such a comfort, Roy. You're always so sweet about everything, and you always put heart into me.

You're wonderful. It's you that are the wonder, Alice, the most wonderful wife a man ever had. Their heads turned toward one another in mutual inclination, and their lips met lovingly. They sat on for a while in silence, Alice's head once more against her husband's shoulder, their hands linked, the man's arm about his wife.

There came a faint sound from somewhere in the house. That's Nettie, Alice said, immediately arousing herself and getting to her feet. I'll go up. The child's slept quite a while. It's almost four o'clock. She crossed the porch with careful tread not to disturb her sister, and in another minute her voice and her daughter's alternately floated down from an upstairs window.

Roy produced a pipe from his coat pocket and proceeded to empty, fill, and light it with attentive deliberation. When he had it briskly going, he rose and leisurely crossed the strip of lawn to his neighbor's yard, vaulted the low-wire fence, and was lost in a moment beyond the cosmos and chrysanthemums. Jeanette remained as she was, head in hand, thinking, thinking. The tears had dried upon her face, her eyes were staring, and there was an empty hunger in her heart that she recognized at last had been there for a long, long time.