Harlem Redux (23 page)

Tuesday, January 21, 1925

Jameson leaves me alone a great deal. He says he must, because of his work. That’s true, but only to a certain extent. The truth is, he spends as little time with me as possible. He either locks himself in Daddy’s old office or makes arrangements to meet friends, and he always meets them elsewhere, never inviting them to the house, carefully avoiding any overlap between his friendships and our marriage. I once asked him why.

Don’t you want me to know your friends, darling?

He only smiled. Enigmatic. Charming. Unattainable.

But darling …

He never answered. His habit of evading my questions infuriates me. Like a cloud, he seems solid but is as insubstantial as mist when I reach for him. He’s always gently kind, astutely considerate and sweetly polite when we pass in the hallway or sit down to dinner, but his manner is detached, as though I’m a neighborly acquaintance instead of his wife. He’s gentlemanly and affectionate in public, holding my hand, supporting me by the elbow, making sure I’m properly seated in restaurants and at dinner parties. To all outer appearances, he’s the perfect husband, but he leaves my side the moment our front door closes behind us.

We still share the same bedroom, but during the day he never enters the room when I’m in it, and on most nights, he eases into our bed only when he believes I’m asleep. Once a month, he exercises his husbandly privileges, but he’s mechanical, distracted. I wonder why he bothers. Ours is a shell of a relationship, a lovely, beautiful shell.

Friday, January 30, 1925

He has never loved me. I knew it from the beginning. I hoped I could change him, but the more I do for him, the less he cares.

He’s only interested in my money and his career. I’m scared to tell him about the baby. He doesn’t want children. But I’m determined to have this child, come what may.

Sometimes I think of the years Mama endured Daddy’s cruelty. I always sympathized with her; now I can empathize with her, too. But Mama had it better than I do. Deep down, Daddy did love her. And she sensed it. She felt that he needed her all along, even though he didn’t know it himself. And that gave her strength. I wish I could feel that way about Jameson. But I can’t. My only sources of comfort are my church and this child. All my hope I put into this one small human being. And all my love.

Wednesday, February 4, 1925

Jameson loves someone else. I’m sure of it. I’ve discovered that I can be intensely jealous. I’ve searched his jacket and coat pockets for bits of paper, checked his shirts for lipstick smears, read his mail. In short, I’ve done everything I could think of to find evidence that he’s been somewhere he shouldn’t have been, with someone he shouldn’t have been. But I’ve found nothing. I should feel relieved. Instead, I feel worse. It sounds crazy, but the very lack of evidence seems proof that Jameson is being careful to hide something—or some
one
—from me.

Saturday, February
7,
1925

It’s hard to remember the way it was when we first got married. I was so deeply in love with him, so grateful to have him, that it didn’t matter that his ardor was weak. I wanted to believe that he was cool by nature, but loyal and committed. I was proud to have such a brilliant lawyer as my husband. But with the pregnancy, I can no longer ignore his lack of affection. I must find the strength to tell him about the baby.

Tuesday, February 10, 1925

Jameson continues to be solicitous and overwhelmingly kind, but today I realized that I hate him. I’ve heard of pregnant women coming to loathe their husbands, but my feelings don’t stem from my condition. My feelings toward him have been changing for some time. I just didn’t want to admit it. I wouldn’t have believed that I could detest anyone so intensely.

Why did I marry such a lower-class social climber? What was I thinking of? Jameson should be grateful I even looked his way. Most women of my class wouldn’t have given him the time of day, and here I went and married the man. Daddy would’ve never stood for it. I can’t believe I made such a mistake.

I’m compelled to spend the rest of my life with him. That realization horrifies me. But the thought of losing him to someone else is worse. The shame, the scandal, would be unthinkable. Yet, I don’t know how I can go on with him. The very sight of him makes me shake with rage.

Friday, February 13, 1925

If only I could get him away from me. But he’s ever present, always there with his potions and medicines. I have to force myself to submit to his ministrations. I’m sure he can feel my loathing for him, but he ignores it. He’s outwardly concerned, attentive and responsive to my every murmured wish. He pretends that the only problem is my “nerves,” as he calls it.

I wish I had someone to talk to. If only Mama were here, but she’s long gone. There’s Annie, but as much as I love her, she’s still just a servant and I can’t see myself stooping so low as to confide in the help. I think of David. Often. But he has problems of his own. And to be truthful, I’d rather not have to admit to him that I’ve made a mess of my life.

Then there’s Gem.

The reversal in my feelings toward Jameson, dramatic as it is, still amazes me less than the change in my attitude toward Gem. After so many years, the two of us have come to share a closeness that I’d only heard other sisters speak of. She and I are at ease with our differences now. And we’ve discovered similarities that surprise us. Our rivalry will always be there, but it has lost its bitter edge. We can laugh and joke with one another.

Wednesday, February 18, 1925

I wonder whether Gem has noticed my changed feelings toward Jameson. She’s very cool toward him. Sometimes I watch the two of them together. She’s clearly not thrilled to see him when she runs into him. She’s extremely cordial, but she seems blatantly relieved when he goes off on one of his business trips. I haven’t told Gem about the baby, either. I’ve tried several times, but I just can’t bring the words out. I don’t know why. Instead, I’ve confided in Rachel. That choice confuses me. I went outside the family. Why? It seemed right at the time.

For a moment, David stopped breathing.
Rachel? She told Rachel?
He closed the diary, too angry to read further.
If Rachel knew then surely Annie knew, too, and neither one of them said a damn thing.
He glanced at his pocket watch, left lying on his night table. It was nearly ten. Annie was in bed—it was too late to see her now … although he was sorely tempted to wake her—and Rachel was probably busy at the hospital. He sat for a moment, trying to get his emotions under control.
There are too many damn secrets in this house, too many.
His gaze dropped back down to the diary; he flipped it open. Only two more pages left.

Tuesday, February 24, 1925

I took a walk down by the Hudson River to see the sunset this evening. It was such a pleasure to get out of the house, away from the smell of medicines. The air was cold but crisp and clean. And the colors were magnificent. As though a mad painter had taken his brush and, in florid strokes, splashed the horizon with streaks of red, orange, violet, and gold. For one intense fleeting moment, I wished that I were as free as Gem, to simply pick up and go and never look back. But that will never be. I have responsibilities, status, property. I’m a wife and soon will be a mother. I’m rooted to my place, as firmly shackled to it as a prisoner wearing handcuffs.

Saturday, February 28, 1925

Our lives are falling apart. Snyder has broken with Gem. He did it in the most degrading way, right out in public, and now the town is buzzing about it. She has fled to the Hardings’ estate in Amagansett. I feel for her and I envy her ability to escape.

Monday, March 2, 1925

Gem has sent me a message. She’s still in East Hampton, feeling alone and humiliated. It isn’t just the breakup with Adrian. She says there’s no place for her here, with Jameson and me. I’m trying to convince her otherwise, but she doesn’t believe me. It’s ironic that this miserable marriage to Jameson has brought me closer to Gem. I’m almost ashamed to recall my earlier fears that she would try to take him. True to her word, she has become a loyal friend and ally. The thought of what has happened to her saddens me.

Thursday, March 5, 1925

My health seems to be worsening. Something must be very wrong with me. I’m so tired. I’m ready to collapse. My head throbs continually. The pain is almost unbearable. I seem to have lost my sense of balance and I stumble a lot. I’m afraid of falling and hurting the baby. I’m worried about my bouts of forgetfulness, too. These memory lapses are humiliating. And the dreams. Miserable, shifting images that invade my sleep. Maybe I’m losing my mind. I lay awake at night, the blood pounding in my temples, unable to raise my head from the pillow or even turn it sideways without stabbing pain. The doctors poke and prod but find nothing. Jameson wants me to see a psychologist. I don’t want to. I’m not crazy. I know I’m not. I can’t be.

That was the final entry, the last words of a voice now stilled. He would have to speak to the living to learn the rest of Lilian’s story.

He closed the diary and weighed the little book in his hand. It was so small to contain such misery. He thought of Lilian’s letters. What effort it must have cost her to sound cheerful. He recalled how her last letter had asked him to return and how he hadn’t answered it. And he gave a long, deep sigh. He’d been so obsessed with his own dilemma that he had never considered, had refused to consider, that she might need him. And this ... this was the consequence.

13. The Picnic

“Why did you tell me he was a good husband?”

“Because he was.”

“Lilian’s diary tells a different story.”

“Her diary? You found her diary?”

It was late Monday morning and they were sitting in Rachel’s living room. Her thin shoulders were hunched and tense under her cheap white cotton shirt. She folded her arms across her chest. He felt a spark of pity for her and quashed it.

“And why didn’t you tell me that Lilian was pregnant?”

“Because I ...” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Well, I wasn’t sure. I mean I ... I knew she claimed to be—”

“Claimed
to be?”

She licked her lips. “Remember, I told you there was a time when Lilian and I didn’t see each other?”

He nodded.

She took a deep breath. “Well, there were two times when we did see each other ... two times that ...” She swallowed and looked at him. “David, this is so hard to tell you.”