Seasons of the Heart (4 page)

“I just told you, Stella. He simply can’t get married right now.”

“I don’t care. It’s just not natural when people are in love. What’s he going to do in the next year, become a millionaire? Let me tell you something, Ann. If you do anything wrong, you’ll never be allowed back into this house! Do you hear what I’m saying?” Stella was all but screaming.

“I’m sorry you feel you have to say that to me, Stella. But I’m not going to sit here and take this kind of abuse from you!” Tears streaming down her cheeks, Ann pushed back her chair and fled the room.

Ben sat shaking his head in despair. Stella was behaving like a madwoman, but as his angina increased he knew he didn’t dare fight back. It would kill him.

“See what I’ve been putting up with all these years?” Stella was shouting.

Ben wanted to scream,
You should be overjoyed. You’ll have the chance to get rid of her
. But instead he said gently, “Ann’s my daughter, not yours, Stella. And I’m not all that upset. Why are you?”

“Because I’ve tried to be a mother to her and she didn’t even have the decency to tell us that she was seeing this boy.”

“But she explained that he hadn’t called her for two months.”

“And you believed her? Why does this Don Juan insist on postponing marriage? For all you know, he’s just using Ann.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked with difficulty.

“That she could get pregnant.”

“What a vile thing to say! I haven’t met Phillip, but I’m sure he’s a fine boy.”

“A fine boy? Look, you can close your eyes to the truth, but I won’t. You don’t see anything. How long can two young people be engaged without sleeping together?”

“Ann is my daughter and I trust her.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Stella said bitingly. “The truth is that I know more about
your
daughter than you do. She’d do anything to get away from this house. If she got pregnant, he’d have to marry her. Right, Ben?”

If Stella had struck him between the eyes, he could not have been more stunned. Without a word, Ben got up from the table and went up to see Ann. He could no longer force himself into believing that he had married Stella to provide a mother for Ann. He should have sensed the coldness under the amiable surface. He could not forgive his selfish weakness, not this morning.

Sighing, he knocked softly on Ann’s door. When there was no answer, he turned the doorknob and entered. Ann was lying on her bed, sobbing. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gathered her to him, rocking her gently back and forth.

Through the tears, Ann asked, “Papa, why does Stella hate me so much?”

Ben swallowed. “It’s not you, sweetheart. She hates herself … the world.”

“But it’s so unreasonable. I just don’t understand what it is I do that upsets her so much.”

“Ann, please don’t allow Stella to spoil your happiness. This should be the happiest time of your life.”

“Papa …”Ann murmured brokenly. “Papa, I’m sorry I didn’t bring Phillip home, but there wasn’t time. I didn’t even think he liked me.”

“That’s all right, sweetheart.”

“But, Papa, what am I going to do now? How can I ask him to meet my family with Stella acting like this? I can’t bring him into this house, I just can’t!” Ann started sobbing again.

“We’ll have to figure something out, honey. But, Ann, I want you to know that I’m overjoyed for you. I don’t know if I can explain to you how grateful I am that God has spared me to see you find happiness.”

“Thank you, Papa. I want so much for you to be friends with Phillip. He’s the most wonderful person—I know you’ll love him.”

“Of course I will. But the most important thing is that you love him—and that he loves you.”

“But I want you to meet him. Maybe we could all go out for lunch? That way Stella wouldn’t have to know about it.”

D
OWNSTAIRS STELLA SAT AT
the kitchen table, marshaling her forces. Life hadn’t beaten her. If she could create dissension between Ann and Phillip Coulter, she would do so.

Yet, in spite of herself, she was vulnerable. The ghosts of her past still lay ready to destroy her. Stella vividly remembered herself at Ann’s age. The resemblance between them was almost frightening. But the parallels in their lives that should have made Stella more compassionate did not. She was so immersed in her self-pity that it left no room for love.

Stella’s mother, like Ann’s, had died when she was six. But her father, unlike Ann’s, had been unwilling to shoulder the responsibility of taking care of a child. He had eventually placed her in an orphanage in Seattle, where she had remained until she was eighteen. She had then found a job in a small dress shop where she had saved enough money to pursue her dream of moving to San Francisco.

When Stella stood in front of the Ferry Building and looked up Market Street, she thought, for the first time in her life, that the gods had not perhaps completely abandoned her. After settling herself into a dark, narrow room at the YWCA, she managed to get a job as an alterations lady at I. Magnin’s, which allowed her to come into contact with the most elegantly dressed ladies in San Francisco. Stella had a gift: she was a brilliant seamstress. Patrons began to specially request her services.

Sitting at Ben’s kitchen table, Stella remembered kneeling on the floor of Eva Coulter’s bedroom, making the final adjustments to the hem of her evening gown. Perhaps it was destiny. If Mrs. Coulter had been satisfied with the original fit of her lovely gown, she would never have summoned Stella to the Coulter mansion in Sea Cliff. But Stella was there and Mrs. Coulter was a gracious patron. She not only gave Stella a sizable gratuity, she also was generous with her praise.

“You’re an absolute genius, Stella. An hour ago I would have sworn that this dress would never go to the opera tonight, but you’ve done a splendid job.”

Glowing from the kind words, Stella was just preparing to leave when the door to the bedroom was flung open, and in strolled the most handsome man Stella had ever seen. She was transfixed by the lean, elegant figure in impeccable white flannels.

Without turning, Eva greeted her brother. “The prodigal returns. I haven’t heard from you in a week. Now hurry, dear boy, and change for the opera.”

Ignoring her reprimand, he pecked her on the cheek. “You could say that you’re glad to see me.”

Narrowing her eyes in feigned disapproval, she said, “I’m not.”

He laughed. “You look divine as usual, dear sister. As if you’d been poured into that gown.”

“Thank you.” Pointing to Stella, she added, “The one responsible is this genius … Stella—this is my brother, Roger Haas.”

Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed Stella at all. Suddenly he realized she was quite lovely, with dark hair framing her oval face and eyes the color of dark amber. Were she dressed in Eva’s elegant gown, she would look equally lovely.

As Roger looked at her and smiled, Stella felt a melting sensation. “Where have they been keeping you stashed away?” he asked.

“In the back room at I. Magnin’s,” Stella answered, then regretted her comment immediately; it was far too bold.

Her misgivings were well-founded. Eva looked up sharply and saw the two figures behind her reflected in her mirror. At the sight of Roger’s expression, she said quickly, “Don’t dally, dear boy. I think it’s time for you to dress.”

Nevertheless, one afternoon the next week as Stella walked out through the employees’ service door, she found Roger Haas waiting out by the curb. He was even more handsome than she remembered.

“I just happened to be passing,” he said, “and thought that maybe if you weren’t busy for dinner this evening, I might have the pleasure of taking you out.”

She had no idea what she said, but it must have been yes, because a short time later she found herself sitting across the table from him in the dimly lit dining room of the Palace Court. It was so elegant, and Roger was so attentive, that Stella was swept off her feet. She was entirely ready to believe that he was smitten with her.

Later that evening Stella never stopped to wonder whether it was naive to allow herself to be seduced by Roger. She only knew that he thrilled and excited her more than she had ever dreamed possible. And she had every reason to suspect that Roger was in love with her. Just a few days later he declared, “I’m mad about you, Stella. Come live with me.”

But however persuasively Roger argued, Stella couldn’t bring herself to live with him publicly unless they were married. In spite of the loosening of morals that followed the first world war, Stella was basically conventional. Finally they reached a compromise: Roger found her a tiny apartment near the beach and she became his mistress. He stayed with her almost every night until the small hours of the morning, but always left before dawn.

At first it was sheer ecstasy. Months passed and everything was wonderful. Then one evening Stella said, “Roger, there’s something we have to talk about.”

“What’s that, Stella, my love?”

“Well”—she smiled up at him—“I think that the time has come for us to get married.”

He disengaged himself from her embrace, got out of bed, and slipped into his robe. “What brought this on?” he asked.

“Roger, I just can’t go on this way.”

“Oh? I thought you were happy.”

“I am happy when we’re together, but I’m devastated whenever you leave. I love you, Roger.”

“And I love you, too, Stella. In fact, I adore you.”

“Then prove it.”

Roger poured himself a drink from the bottle of brandy on the bedside table. Why had he been foolish enough to assume that Stella would be content to go on like this indefinitely? He took a sip. “Darling, this isn’t like you at all.”

“How would you know what’s like me or not?” Stella asked bitterly.

“Well, my dear, we’ve gotten to know each other rather well these last six months.”

“Well, then—how much longer do we have to know each other before we get married?”

“Stella, my love, I never promised you anything like that.”

“Maybe not,” Stella cried, “but things have changed!” She had hoped that it would be unnecessary to force his hand. Roger had been so wonderful, so generous and considerate. But it seemed she would have to tell him her secret. Painfully, she blurted out, “Roger, I’m pregnant.”

Dear God, Roger thought,
how could I have been so stupid as to fall in love with this girl?
Personally, he didn’t give a damn that she had no background, no education. To him, she was as elegant and refined as any of the society girls Eva paraded before him. As lovely as Peggy Morgenthau, to whom Eva was currently urging him to propose. But he knew Eva would have a fit if he suggested marrying Stella, and he also knew he did not have the guts to defy his sister. She had been a mother to him. She was the one who had loved him and reared him.

When he finally recovered his composure, he said gently, “I’m sorry, Stella … truly. But, darling, I just cannot marry you.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” she cried out. “For God’s sake, Roger! I’m pregnant, can’t you understand that? This is your child!”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“Then marry me for the baby’s sake.”

Roger looked at her, not saying a word.

On the verge of hysteria, she wept, “I love you, Roger. And you said you loved me. You gave me every reason to believe it!”

“Stella, dearest, I do love you. I don’t want to be cruel. But we come from different worlds. I have obligations …” His voice trailed off.

Stella began to sob uncontrollably. Roger put his arms around her and murmured soothingly, “Please don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you cry, darling.”

Clinging to him, she cried, “Then marry me—please marry me. I’m frightened. Please marry me.”

After a long pause, Roger seemed to find his courage and said, “Yes, Stella. I will.”

When he left her he had every intention of doing the honorable thing. After all, it was his child. He couldn’t ignore that responsibility. But the moment he faced Eva, he knew he would never be able to stand up to her.

Pacing back and forth, she shouted, “How could you have gotten yourself into this situation? I must tell you, Roger, if you marry this girl I’ll cut you off without a dime. Remember—everything Mama and Papa left is now Simon’s and mine. And in due course it should come to you and Phillip.”

“Eva, I never thought you could be so ruthless. We’re talking about my child.”

“I’m not being ruthless, Roger. I just won’t let you ruin your life. I promised Papa I would look after you, and I intend to keep my promise.”

Roger poured himself a brandy. “It’s my child, Eva. I want to take care of it.”

Eva drew a deep breath. She knew she had to be strong enough for both of them. “You may marry this girl if you wish, Roger, but you cannot have it both ways. You will not get one cent. I know that Mama and Papa would have wanted it that way.”

Roger looked at his sister, now standing silhouetted against the onyx fireplace. “That child is mine, you know. But you win. You see,” he said sadly, “I’m not strong enough to fight you, Eva. I’ve never been poor, and the prospect frightens me. I’ve never trained to do anything but play polo, and that hardly qualifies me to take care of a family.”

Once Roger had left the room, Eva sighed deeply and poured herself a stiff drink. She felt no sense of triumph. She knew what he had said was true. He was not equipped to make a living without her. He hadn’t been trained for anything, and he hated Simon’s business. Well, she’d make it up to him. And he would find another woman, and forget this Stella. Perhaps she could send him to the Riviera.

When Roger went back to see Stella, he felt like a cad. He was bartering her life for his, but he felt helpless to do otherwise.

“Darling, I will support you for the rest of your life. But much as I would like to, dear, I just cannot marry you.”

Quite composed, she answered, “But you knew that from the very first night we slept together, didn’t you?”

“Frankly, at first I was just overwhelmed by your beauty. But I would marry you now if I could.”

“So … what’s stopping you?”

“Fear, Stella.”