It is with great pleasure that Orville and Irma Porter announce the welcome engagement of their only daughter Alice Mary, 22, of Brookline, to Harold Barrington, 23, of Barrington. Miss Porter is a worthy and exemplary young lady and is popular with her friends. She is one of the city’s best-known society ladies. Mr. Barrington, an upright and enterprising young businessman, is a summa cum laude graduate of Harvard University, where he read economics and philosophy. Miss Porter, a Radcliffe attendee, is the heiress of East Timber, the largest lumber company in New England and one of the largest in the United States. The date for the wedding has not yet been set, but the engagement dinner will take place by invitation only at the home of Mr. Porter in Brookline on July 18 at two o’clock in the afternoon. May their future happiness be well seasoned with all the spices of life.
6
Gina found him on Charter Street overseeing the placement of new window frames into an old building. Ben was on the second floor, guiding the crane’s jaws into proper position in the opening, while Harry was down below on the street. He didn’t see Gina come up to him. It was a late June afternoon. They both stood shielding their eyes from the sun, looking up at Ben.
Ben waved. That’s when Harry turned and saw her.
“Oh, hello,” he said, taking off his hat, leaving it dangling in his left hand. His gray eyes deepened slightly, and then became blank. “How do you do?”
“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”
He mumbled something in reply. “What are you doing in North End?”
“I’ve come to ask you a question,” she said, wasting no time. It was to her great satisfaction that she saw Harry become as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him. He shifted from foot to foot, paid phenomenal attention to the slightly loose laces in his shoes, nearly dropping his hat, and searching in vain through his five pockets for a non-existent pair of glasses. Gina watched him calmly as he twitched through the maneuvers.
What saved him was Ben, who had come downstairs and outside. “Hello, Gina.” He was cool at first, but couldn’t help but smile at seeing her. “It’s been such a long time,” he added mildly, with a bow to her, something Harry had not done. “My mother has been asking after you. So many wonderful guest speakers are attending Thursday nights. Last week Frederic Heath came.”
“I’m sorry I missed that,” said Gina. She had no idea who Frederic Heath was. “Verity and I wanted to come to the city for the annual Charles River Festival.”
“Oh, yes, you should. That’s lots of fun.”
“I’m sure. But it starts too late. Eight in the evening is too late for us to be in Boston.”
“It’s also on Saturdays during the day,” Ben said quickly. “At two, I think.”
“I know. But I work Saturdays. I have the market early and then it’s our busiest afternoon at the restaurants.”
“Yes, Harry told me about the restaurants.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
The three of them stood. Harry said nothing.
“Congratulations on graduating,” Gina said.
“Thank you.”
“How is the banana business?”
“Exploding.”
“Exploding bananas!”
And they chuckled.
“What about the canal?” she asked.
“Still ongoing—in the research phase.” Ben paused. “I’m sorry if that delayed train back in November caused you trouble,” he said at last.
“Oh, it did,” Gina said dismissively. “But that was a long time ago. It’s forgotten now.” She paused. “Of course we can’t go to the meetings anymore, which is unfortunate. But otherwise, all’s forgotten. Verity is turning nineteen next week. She has graduated herself.” Ruefully Gina smiled. “She may be able to come to the meetings. If she can get one of her other friends to accompany her.”
“Not you?” said Ben.
“Not me.” She struggled against letting her shoulders slump under the great weight of her regrettable youth. Managing a smile, despite the prickles of pain, she stood stiff like the stalk of a flower. “I actually have to run, Ben. I can’t stay. I just came to ask Harry a quick business question regarding some items we need at the restaurant. But it’s nice to see you again,” she finished. “I hope I see you again someday.”
The smile left Ben’s face. “Of course,” he said. “Nice to see you too, Gina. Excuse me.” He walked away before they could stop him.
Charter Street was stale and heavy with the reek of their awkward silence.
“Why is Ben upset with me?” asked Gina.
“He isn’t. Why would he be?”
“He shouldn’t be. Why is he upset with you then?”
“Just preoccupied,” Harry said. “He befriended a geologist who hammers him daily about the folly of carving up the eroding rock of a millennial river.”
“I bet Ben is sorry he ever made the gentleman’s acquaintance.”
Harry almost smiled.
Gina wanted to say—just like I’m sorry I ever made yours. But she didn’t mean it. So she couldn’t say it. She fidgeted, studying the hem of her properly long skirt. No shoes in sight this time, or swollen ankles on pavements, no blue satin ribbons, bare elbows, mouthfuls of fragrant air. “I haven’t seen you in Lawrence.”
“No. Is that your question? I thought my sister explained. She had to take over for me. I’ve gotten enormously busy here.”
“So I see.” She watched him standing with his hand in his pocket in the middle of the street.
“Esther is swell. I think you’ll get along with her. She has a good head for business—much better than mine.”
“Really? You had been doing quite well yourself. Salvo and I wanted to ask you about opening a beer garden in the back of Alessandro’s. We think it would bring in even larger crowds on summer evenings, or for Saturday afternoon drinks.”
“That’s a good idea. An excellent idea.”
“There’s room in the back, but the area would need to be paved with stone, and tables and chairs would need to be bought.” She broke off. “Maybe some landscaping,” she added quietly. “Some flowers.”
“Yes, why not? Some tulips in spring.” He blinked. “Absolutely. Leave it with me. I’ll talk to Billingsworth about it tomorrow. He’ll increase Salvo’s line of credit to cover the expense.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. It’ll be good for business.”
“Yes.” They stood. “Well, that’s all I came to ask,” Gina said. “I’d better head back. I don’t want to miss my train. Though it’s not far from here, this is much closer than Old South. The station is just up the street. Up Causeway. I passed the men fishing in Mill Creek.” She paused. “Not ice fishing. Just ordinary fishing.”
Ever so slightly he shifted on his foot toward her—just an inch. But Gina noticed. “Oh, by the way,” she said, as if just remembering. “I almost forgot. Congratulations on your engagement.” Her voice was brassy bright. “Three years in the making, huh?”
A long slow blink was Harry’s only response. Now he moved a foot away.
“Your fiancée sounds like a very special girl,” Gina continued. “Esther kindly directed me to the Boston Register announcement. She is quite the socialite, your Alice.”
Quietly Harry agreed that Alice came from a good family.
“I should say. And she is very beautiful.”
He squinted at her, trying to see her more clearly through his narrowed vision. “Thank you,” he said.
“Is your father in business with her father? For the raw materials?”
“Sometimes.”
“For example, is any of the lumber used for Salvo’s restaurants from your fiancée’s father?”
Harry became stuck for words. “The contract my father has is with East Timber. So, yes, I suppose so.”
“Well, the quality of the wood is excellent.” Gina became stuck for words.
“Gina, I deeply apologize if anything I ever did or said was misconst
rued by you in any way to cause you aggravation or hardship.”
“Of course you didn’t. No need to apologize.”
“You are a very …”
“Please, no need to say more.”
“… spirited and delightful young lady.”
“Thank you.”
“It has been a pleasure to help you and your family, and I wish you the very best. If there is anything at all I can do to help, please don’t hesitate …”
“Thank you.” Her lip trembled ever so slightly. She hoped he didn’t notice.
But he did notice. Because he stepped toward her, hat in hand, and lowered his voice. “We are from different worlds, Gina!” he said in a near whisper.
“Absolutely. No need to … please …” She wouldn’t and couldn’t lift her eyes.
“And—I’m twenty-three! And you’re—”
“Almost sixteen …”
“A child.”
“Harry!”
She was surprised she had raised her voice, the way she was feeling—so flattened. Yet she found the strength from somewhere to stop him from speaking. She raised her palm and shook her head, took two breaths to keep the tears from her eyes and two steps back from him because sometimes you had to put up your hand against the people who had the power to wound you the most. “Most sincerely, you helped my family, my brother—you saved him.” One of her hands went on her heart. “I’m always going to be grateful to you for giving him a chance to realize his dreams. I don’t want to cause you a moment of trouble. With your father, or sister—or fiancée. No more words are required.” She took another deepest breath. “Or desired.”
“Gina …”
“There is nothing between you and me.”
And before he had a chance to speak another stilted syllable, she swirled around and walked unhurriedly down the street and away from him.
Once, last fall, Harry had reluctantly admitted to Ben, after much prodding, that the one thing about her that seemed slightly older than her years was how she carried herself, how she walked with dignity, with understated grace. He thought that especially intensely today after he had pricked her pride and hurt her feelings, and then watched her walk away like a high society duchess. His skimmer hat still dangling from his fingertips, he shifted half a step to go after her, his heart pounding, and then looked up and from behind the second-floor window frame caught sight of Ben’s stricken face.
Lifting his hat in a short salute, Harry replaced it firmly on his head, and turned toward the harbor, away from Ben, away from Gina, away from the fishermen of Mill Creek.
7
“Gina,” Angela consoled her, “you think you weren’t smart enough for him? That’s how you know he is right—you are still a child. Don’t you know anything? The cleverest woman is the one who makes her man seem clever. Men don’t like smart women. They don’t like educated women. They certainly don’t wish to have them as wives.”
“He does.”
“Why do you think this?”
“Because the woman he asked to marry him went to Radcliffe!”
“Oh, phooey, Radcliffe.” Angela couldn’t be less impressed. “You say it like she received a diploma. Harvard calls Radcliffe its ‘annex.’ They throw them a certificate! A bone to placate them for not giving them a proper degree. So what? She went to a library. Read some books. Maybe someone spoke to her about the books she read.”
“Ange, you’re describing what an education is.”
“No. An education is wisdom acquired through experience. And you have neither. For all I know neither does the lumber princess.”
“Then why would he want to marry her? I know he felt something for me. I know this.”
Angela sighed. “Gina, he is a Harvard graduate, and you hate school and are counting the days until you can quit. He is a wealthy Bostonian, descendant of warriors and Founding Fathers, and you’re an immigrant wearing hand-me-downs. You wear the clothes his cook throws away! Just think about that for a second. Also he is nearly a geriatric and you’re at the beginning of your life. Also, his fiancée is a debutante who has gone to fifty balls and who has traveled to Paris. You probably can’t even find Paris on a map, darling.”
“I thought you just said education is not important?”
“It’s not education. It’s everything. It’s the station in life. He is Grand Central Terminal in New York. And you’re Jericho, Utah.”
“Utah? Do they even have train stations in Jericho?”
Angela gazed at her with affection. “My point entirely.” She lay down on the bed next to her cousin and put her arm around her. “Read some books by all means. Save for a new feather hat. But, angel, if he doesn’t love you because you haven’t read The Manifesto of the Communist Party, he isn’t going to love you even if you do.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Will he fall off his horse for you like wild-eyed Tommy?”
“He’d never fall off a horse, he is too good a horseman.”
“So not even you could throw him off his horse, Gia?”
“You’re impossible. Have you heard a word of what Mother Grace teaches Verity and me?”
“Fortunately for me, no.”
“She constantly quotes us Marcus Aurelius.”
“What a helpful and historically-minded Reverend Mother she is.”
“She is a humble servant of God. She tells us, hasten thee to the goal. Lay idle hopes aside. And come to your own help, if you care at all for yourself, while still ye may.”
“You see,” said Angela, “what I take away from that is that the humble servant of God who knows about these things ordered you to lay your idle hopes aside.”
“And, what I take away,” said Gina resolutely, wiping her face and getting up from the bed, “is come to your own help, while still ye may.”
Part Three
EARTH'S HOLOCAUST
Oh, she has decked his ruin with her love,
Led him in golden bands to gaudy slaughter,
And made perdition pleasing: She has left him
The blank of what he was:
John Dryden
Chapter Thirteen
MINSTREL SONGS
“THE question before us, then, is not are there class antagonisms. Because we know that’s as old as the sea. Of course there are class antagonisms. The question before us is, how are they different from the Roman antagonisms, or from the Greek? How are they the same? And where will they lead us? What can we do to resolve these differences of class, this fundamental unfairness in the distribution of wealth in this country and all industrialized nations?”
Someone shouted from the back of the room interrupting his flow. “Do away with industry?”
“Okay, Mr. Smith, and thank you. Please raise your hand next time, but I appreciate your contribution. Certainly we can try to do away with industry. Do we want to go back to agrarian times? Reaping the land by the ox and plow?”
“That’s not very fair to the ox,” Edgar from the front piped in.
The students laughed.
“And there is a lot of antagonism in this class,” said Murdock. “What do we do about that? Maybe we should start with that, then follow by dismantling industry.”
Harry, Edgar and Mr. Smith leveled disapproving looks at Murdock. He was always saying provocative things to distract the class and unsettle the professor. Harry sighed. Was it time to go?
“For Thursday, please write me two thousand words comparing the serf to the modern urban man working in factories: five similarities, five differences. Write that down. I don’t want you to come back with just a paragraph on one disparity.”
He watched them wearily as they shuffled out, and got his lesson plan together for Economic Theory after lunch. When was spring recess? Must be right around the corner. No one wanted to be inside now and even he was looking forward to the end of term and summer. They were sailing to Europe for two months in August and September. So much to do before then. His doctoral thesis was due
in three weeks. He wasn’t going to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather; he was going to be in Gore from dawn till closing.
Down the hall he spotted the chair of the History and Political Science Department, Thomas Carver. Who could miss him—the man looked seven feet tall. He had been raised on a farm in Iowa, which is why he taught the Economics of Agriculture so passionately, and he rowed crew in Cornell, which made him broad-shouldered and imposing. “I can pitch hay with the best of them,” Carver was fond of saying. Harry thought it was his way of intimidating assistant instructors like him.
“Professor Carver!” Harry hurried to catch up. Was it his imagination or did Carver hasten his step when he heard Harry calling? He had been trying to get an appointment with him for weeks. He wanted to teach another course in the fall—maybe Outlines of Economic History of Western Europe in the Nineteenth Century. Three courses would make a full load, and would take his status from an adjunct to an associate. He might actually make a salary then, rather than just a stipend. What they paid him now wasn’t enough to pay for dinner at the Colonial Club with his friend Vanderveer.
“What is it, Harry? I have a meeting I can’t be late for.”
“Professor Carver, I left you a letter a week or so ago”—Harry was nearly panting, that’s how quickly he gathered speed to catch up with the man—“with yet another request to add a third class to my curriculum. Have you had a chance to think about it?”
“I barely had a chance to read your note, Harry,” Carver said.
“But you did read it, sir?”
“Yes, but … I’m late for my Methods of Social Reform. Would you like to sit in on it with me? Why don’t you come? I’m discussing Communism today.”