Hers the Kingdom (61 page)

     "Sally came onto the front porch in her nightdress, her hair flying in all directions . . . and she didn't seem to know where she was. She must have been sleeping soundly, so soundly that she walked onto the balcony as if in a dream, having no notion where she was, and she walked ahead, and fell off.

     "It was a short drop to the sand; she landed on her knees, and the shock was all she needed to come full awake. She sat back on her haunches, looking at the band in wide-eyed amazement as they blasted out their music. Then she began to smile, to laugh. She saw us, let her eyes wander over each of us, let them come to a full halt with Thad.

     "'You!' she shouted, and was up and running in an instant, chasing him. He raced ahead of her down the beach, turning to see if she was gaining, she still in her nightdress, her red hair blazing now in the first light, laughing. He ran into the water, splashing with his boots, and she was after him there, trying to dunk him under the wave.

     "It was the beginning of a full day of games and fun for the young people—a boatload of whom had come out with the band, having set out in full darkness in order to be there for the surprise.

     "Thad had planned separate picnics for the band members—which included the Loyal Order of the Oaks, as well as the high school musicians. It was, everyone agreed, exactly the sort of birthday surprise one should plan for Sally Fairleigh. And nobody enjoyed it more than Sally herself, unless it was Porter and Kit. This time, Sally made sure they were included in everything.

     "Thad walked Sally back to her cottage that night. The sun had set, but it was not altogether dark yet. She felt at peace, and happy. 'Thank you,' she said to him.

     "'Thank you,' he answered, and touched his lips to hers.

     "She looked at him, ran her tongue across her top lip carefully, and said, 'That was very nice.'

     "Thad smiled his beautiful smile, and kissed her again."

"I would like for you to see your brother," Willa said.

     "Why?" Thad wanted to know.

     "Because. Because I don't want to sever all contacts with him," she went on, "because he's my son and your brother and I hope that someday, in spite of all he's done, we might be friendly again."

     "He doesn't feel very friendly toward you," Thad said, watching to see how she would respond.

     "Then you have already seen him?"

     Thad nodded. He had been leaning far back in the swivel chair in the office, but now he came forward, his face softer.

     "He sent me a message asking to see me. That was about three weeks ago. So the last time I was in town I went to his office."

     "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

     Thad shrugged, "I'm not sure. I suppose I felt as if I would be spying or something. I don't know. Maybe it was because I'm out here with the family, and everything is good with me, and Wen isn't having such a good time of it."

     "What do you mean? What about his job with Charles?"

     "He quit. At least that's what he says. I think Charles gave him the boot. So Wen has opened his own law office, but I got the idea that business isn't too good."

     Willa's face became a study in confusion. Thad knew what she was thinking.

     "No, don't try to help him, Mother. You've always done that, you and Papa and Joseph. This time let Wen work it out himself."

     "That sounds like Joseph talking. Is it?" Willa asked, but in a friendly way, so he wouldn't mind admitting it.

     "Yes, I have talked it over with Joseph. I had to."

     "You
had
to?" She didn't understand.

     Thad became uncomfortable. He stood, walked around the room. Willa decided to change the subject. "How is your brother doing otherwise?" she asked.

     "He's gained some weight. He has a couple of rooms in a hotel on Broad Street, not very fancy."

     "Poor Wen," she said with a small smile, "he does so love elegant surroundings. Perhaps it will teach him some humility."

     "I doubt it," Thad answered, "he's going to be married, to Abby Fleet."

     Willa was shocked.

     "Married? Why?" she blurted.

     "Why?" Thad laughed. "I can think of all kinds of reasons, but in this case it is because she has a big inheritance, and because she has what Wen considers to be, as he put it, 'excellent family connections.' Abby Fleet is going to see that Wen is welcome in all those monstrosities on the beach at Newport."

     "Thad, be serious now. What's she like, this girl?"

     Thad was serious when he said, "I'll be kind and say only that she is plain, so plain in fact that her family couldn't even buy her a lesser title in England or on the Continent."

     "I'm not concerned with her appearance, Thad," Willa insisted, "tell me what sort of person she is."

     "I don't know, Mother," Thad answered, "I've only just seen her a few times. Someone told Joseph that she is exactly as interesting as she looks."

     Thad could see that Willa's hands were shaking as she rose.

     "Mother, I'm sorry," he started, but she silenced him with a small wave of her hand. He waited.

     "When?" she asked in an even voice. "When is the marriage to take place?"

     "Next month, I believe. It is to be a small, private affair—five hundred of the best people, Wen says."

     After another long pause, she asked, "What has he said about us, about his family? Surely the Fleets want to know something about us?"

     Thad cleared his throat. She could see he was reluctant to go on, that he was trying to decide how much to tell her. "Don't try to spare me, son," she said, "I need to know it all. If you've had to go to Joseph, there must be something more I need to know."

     "Wen asked me to go East with him, to stand with him at the wedding as a family representative. He has painted you as a recluse. Our 'family' is to be represented by Charles and Helen Emory."

     Willa flinched, but motioned him to continue.

     "I told him that I could not go with him, not under the circumstances."

     "Is that all, then?" she pushed, knowing there was more to it.

     "He asked me to find out if he had been disinherited," Thad said.

     She reeled back as if she had been slapped.

     "I'm sorry, Mother. Joseph said we shouldn't bother you with this, that it would only hurt. Wen is convinced that you are going to leave everything to the twins, that you plan to cut us out."

     "What?" she said, amazed. "Why does he think that?"

     Thad shrugged again, anxious to be done with it. "I told him that, so far as I knew, there had been no change in Papa's will, and that you didn't plan any. I wasn't being entirely truthful, because I didn't tell him what you said about the ranch—about leaving it to me."

     "Thad," she told him in a voice of great patience, "the ranch is only part of our family holdings, and it is not even an eighth of the whole. I plan to leave an equal share of whatever the inheritance is to each of the four of you. Joseph knows that, he could have told him."

     "He did," Thad answered.

     Willa bit her lip. Of course Joseph would have told him. Dear Joseph, he would have tried to spare her this.

     Thad slipped his arm around his mother's shoulders. "Try not to be too disappointed in Wen," he said, "he is getting what he wants. That should make him happy."

     "He will live in the East, then?" she asked.

     "No, I thought he would, too. But Abby seems to want to come West. Or maybe her parents want her to come West. I understand that they will be able to live quite nicely on the combined earnings
from their trust funds. Not lavishly, but nicely, Wen says. But he seemed happy enough at the prospect of coming into his share of the Reade properties, which Joseph assured him would compare nicely with Abby's inheritance."

     "So he will be practicing law in Santa Monica?"

     "In Los Angeles, actually. He says Papa's name is an advantage, out here especially. He'll need all the advantages he can get, I suspect, because I don't think he is a very good lawyer."

     She squeezed her son's hand, but her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking about another marriage, about an apple orchard and her brothers all in a row, about Wen's birth and Owen's unbounded delight.

     She tried to remember the last time she had felt delighted with Wen.

It was no accident that on the day in June 1911 when Wen was to have been married at the Berwinds' "The Elms" in Newport, in a garden wedding that would receive mention in society columns in Boston and New York, Willa chose to give a tea dance at the Malibu. It was the first time she had entertained formally since Owen's death, eight years before.

     It was a soft, summery day, the ocean breezes riffled the palms and stirred the egret plumes on the ladies' afternoon hats. Chinese lanterns were hung in the trees, and Japanese parasols shaded the rattan garden chairs that ringed the greensward. A new dance floor had been built and covered with filigreed lattice work. The dance orchestra warmed up by playing popular tunes—"In the Good Old Summertime," a great favorite, and "Come, Josephine, in My Flying Machine." A yellow and white striped marquee had been raised as a place to dispense refreshments and, later in the day, a cold supper. We marveled at the carnival air and how pretty it all looked.

     A list of more than one hundred names had been given to Francisco at the gate, a source of amusement to those of us who knew the old man could not read. Joseph described how Francisco had met them, asking for the names of the guests they had brought with them, and making a great show of crossing them off and waving them through the gate with welcoming flourishes.

     Sara, Joseph, and Arcadia stood with Willa in an informal receiving line, while I sat close by with the twins. Willa, in ice-blue lace and an afternoon toque that framed her face, looked the picture of elegance.

     A group of Thad's friends—and Sally's, now—roared up in a Haynes Touring Car, followed by others in an Oldsmobile. They gathered around the machines, admiring the shining brass fittings and, out of the corners of their eyes, each other. The girls were wearing lingerie dresses, all in white, sheer linens and lace insets, while the young men were natty in summer white suits and straw boaters. They were glorious to see, and they knew it.

     Only Porter fussed at the finery. At the age of seven, he considered his short pants and blouse altogether silly. Getting him dressed for any formal occasion was a trial. "I should rather spend the afternoon off with Wing Soong," he argued, "or even in the schoolhouse, I should sooner be working on my history theme."

     "Porter," I tried to sound stern, "it is equally important that you learn how to conduct yourself in company."

     "Why
equally
," he wanted to know, "I can't believe it is
equally
important."

     Kit came to my rescue. "Hush, Porter," she said in the voice of quiet reasonableness, "you cannot always do what you like. One way to learn discipline is to do things you don't like."

     Porter looked at his sister and I could tell that he accepted, if not her logic, his fate. He took a seat, gazed ahead stoically, folded his hands. By mid-afternoon, I knew, Kit would have devised a game that would keep them happy and busy.

     "Look at Miss Sally," Kit cried. Our eyes turned to see Sally,
in a lovely white dress of the softest batiste with a pink ribbon in her hair. "Only Sally would think to wear pink and red." I smiled, watching as a young man led her to the dance floor.

     The music began, a waltz. Couples drifted to the dance floor, moved effortlessly about in widening circles, smiling and swaying gracefully. "I suppose we should think about the two of you taking dance lessons," I teased, looking at my son. Kit and I burst into laughter at the face he made.

     Music and dancing, filtered sunlight and champagne, leaves stirring gently in the breeze, the echoes of the ocean rising and falling; it was lovely enough, almost, to blur the image of another celebration on another seacoast.