Chapter 8 - The Nursery in the East Wing
Two weekslater,the firstrealblizzardof the seasonburiedBedfordin eighteeninchesof dry,powderysnow.
The worldoutsideHollisManorhadturnedinto a great,muffledstillness.The hemlockbranchesbowedlowunderthe weightof the whitepack,theirstipssweepingthe driftsbesidethe kitchenporch.Inside,the giantovaltablewhereThanksgivinghadendedhadbeencoveredwithboltsdrawnfromthe attic:oldunbleachedmuslin,flannel,andhand-embroideredlinenpillowslipsthat hadbelongedto threegenerationsof womenwhoneveraskedpermissionto keeptheirfiresburning.
Clarahadcomehomeon Thursday.
The NICUteamhadwatchedherweightclimblikea determinedmountaineer:fourpounds,fiveounces;fourpounds,elevenounces;fivesturdy,vigorouspoundsby the secondweekof December.Her lungs,unassistednowby anythingotherthanthe cold,cleanairof the Bedfordforest,movedwitha quick,softrhythmthat filledthe eastwingwiththe sweetestmusicalnoteI hadeverheard.
Shelayin the centerof Harold’soldbassinet,whichI haddraggeddownfromthe loftandstrippedwithboiledlinseedoiluntilthe whitebirchslatsglowedlikebutterin the firelight.Rosemarysat besideit in herlowrocker,her oldhandsmovingsteadilywiththe greenalpacawool,hummingan oldEpiscopalhymnthat hadno wordsof angerin it.
A knockcameat the backpantrydoor.
It wasArthurPennington,wearingkneehighpack-bootsanda beaver-skinhatthat shookclumpsof snowontothe braidedmatas he steppedinside.He helda yellowlegalpadandseveralstripsof faxpaper.
“Roadsareterrible,”he said,stampinghis feetwitha heartygrunt.“The plowsarebarelykeepingthe 117open.ButI thoughtyouwouldwantto seethesebeforethe weekendrecess.”
He laidthe sheetson the kitchencounter,nextto the potof split-peasoupI hadbeensimmeringon the restoredwoodrange.
“Daniel’sattorneysfiledforChapterElevenreorganizationforHollisDevelopmentGroupthismorningin the SouthernDistrictof NewYork,”Penningtonannounced,takinga mugof hotciderfromRosemary’shandwitha nods.“The Tarrytownprojecthasbeentakenoverby the seniorlender,the Bankof NovaScotia.Danielhaslosthis developer’scommission,his developmentrights,andthe apartmenton EastSeventy-Second.Hisprivateliabilitiesarecurrentlyestimatedat threepointonemilliondollars.”
“Andthe Prescottgirl?”Rosemaryasked,hervoicetiltedwitha delicate,deadlysatisfaction.
“MissPrescothaspubliclydissociatedherselffromDaniel’sfirm,”Penningtonsmiledthincrimsonlips.“Sheissueda pressreleasethroughthe ArchitecturalDigestwirestatingthatshewasmerelya ‘retainedconsultant’unawareof the company’sbalance-sheetcomplexities.I understandfromCaldwellthatsheleftManhattanforPalmBeachto stagethe homof an elderlysugar-refiningheir.Danieliscurrentlystayingin a studioapartmentabovea garagein Brewsterownedby oneof his formersubcontractors.”
I lookedoverat the bassinet.Clara’ssmallhand,pinkandtranslucentas sea-glass,curledaroundthe edgeof the greenalpacablanket.The firelightcaughtthe tinycurveof herfingernails,cleanas pearls.
“Doeshe haveanyclaimlefton her?”I asked,the oldnursingreflexof proteciveterrorstirringlightlyin mychest.
“None,”Penningtontappedthe yellowpadfirmly.“I haveservedCaldwellwithan agreementof separatesupportandsolecustody.In exchangefor Mrs.Hollisnotpursuinga criminalcomplaintfor the Thanksgivingassaultandrecklessendangermentof an unbornyouth—an actionAlvarezandthe ERteamwerequiteeagerto assistwith—DanielhasrelinquishedallparentalrightsandvisitationuntilClarais eighteenyearsold.He isnotrequiredto paychildsupport;in return,he hasno rightto stepfootwithinone-halfmileof thischildorthe groundsshe standson.”
I pickedup the legalpad.There,beneaththe dense,iron-cladclausesdraftedby Pennington’sancientpractice,wasa signature.Notthe bold,expansive,arrogantDanielHollisof the corporateprospectuses,buta thin,scratchedlineof blackinkthat lookedlikea spiderhadwalkedacrosswetpowderanddrowned.
It wasdone.The whole,poisonedstructureof my pasttenyearshadbeenlifted,foldedup,andconsignedto the shreddingfilesof the SouthernDistrict.
“Thankyou,Arthur,”I said.
May you like
The oldlawyerdrankhis cider,set the mugdownwitha softclink,andlookedat me overthe rimof his glasses.“Yourfather-in-lawonceaskedme,Margaret,whatI thoughtthe differencewasbetweenan estateanda home.I toldhiman estatewasan inventoryof disputesboundin sheepskin,whilea homewasa placewherea personcouldsit downwithoutexpectingthe floorto fallaway.Haroldtoldme I wasa foolforusingtoomanywords.Hesaida homewasanyplacewhereMargaretwaskeepingthe tea-kettlewarm.”
He pickedup his hat,shookmy handwithhis dry,hardgrip,andsteppedout into the fallingdriftsof Bedford.
