Mansfield Park 2

by Merry Christensen

Undervalued foster child Tawny Price's loveliness is finally recognized (set in the 1970's).

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Mansfield Park 2

By Merry Christensen

During her senior year Frances ruined her friendship with Maria and Nan when she eloped with a GI whose only worldly possession was his motorcycle. Even though they weren't quite old enough, Frances, Maria and Nan, like other girls at Fairview High, had done their bit for the war effort by serving as hostesses at USO dances. But Frances, according to Maria and Nan, had taken everything too far. Both believed Frances should never have considered the man with whom she eloped because he was dirt poor and common.

Frances's parents agreed but not with her friends' reasons. Their reason centered on the belief that Frances had a bright future. For one, along with Maria and Nan, Francis had been accepted into Bryn Mawr, attendance at which she would now forgo. Because she was married, Frances, their only child, had to drop out of high school which automatically put college out of reach. Naturally, her parents felt this was unfortunate.

Even though it was months away, Frances, Maria and Nan had agreed to share a room once they reached Bryn Mawr. But when Frances eloped her spot went begging. Maria, with her spirit of indolence, would have – despite cost – left it empty. But Nan, frugal and energetic in nature, could not rest until Frances's spot was filled.

Once it was, Maria thought as little about Frances's replacement as she did about Frances. Despite this, she did pin a picture from happier days of herself – flanked by Frances and Nan – onto a walls in their room. Maria was pretty. But as anyone who looked at the photograph could see so was Frances. Poor Nan was only so-so.

Because Nan was a young woman in whom the spirit of justice reigned, she was not satisfied with the picture's mounting: She wished Maria had cut Frances out. But since she could hardly suggest such a petty and vengeful act she otherwise satisfied her notions of justice when she wrote Frances a harsh letter which effectively cut off any thoughts of additional communication of Frances's part.

Frances conceived a honeymoon baby and when Sergeant Price, her husband, shipped out to the Pacific Theater, she moved home. Her parents, chagrined by her condition – she was already showing and many of their friends were whispering: Did Frances have to get married – only reluctantly agreed. Well, when Sergeant Price learned about his in laws' reluctance, his pride over his future offspring swelled, and he suggested that Frances live with his mother.

Once he sent her the gas money, Frances rode his motorcycle from her childhood home to the hills of Tennessee where she moved into his mother's trailer, which is where their child was born.

At Bryn Mawr Maria caught the eye of a young man who had almost completed his residency in surgery. He too had been drafted and would, once the residency was complete, ship out, but to the European theater. So Maria also became a war bride and also quickly conceived. Happy to have a reason to quit school, once she said, "I do," she did so. And when her husband, Lieutenant Bertram, shipped out, she returned to her parents' home where, now pregnant with a second child, she waited for his return.

In the meantime, Nan completed college then found a position teaching in the area around Bryn Mawr. During this time period, she and Maria kept in constant contact by letter. Neither, however, wrote to Frances. Nor did Frances want to write to them. So Frances knew nothing about Maria's marriage, Nan's education, or Nan's job.

Dr. Thomas Bertram had became a colonel. And when mustered out of the Army had his pick of places in which to set up his practice. He hoped Maria would not mind if he moved home. And of course, Maria was so unconcerned about everything that as long as she physically did not have to help, one move was the same as another.

His parents had left him a house which was downtown and small, though in their day – by which is meant his parents' day – it had not been considered small. Maria and Thomas lived in this house while their family quickly grew: from two sons to two sons and the same number of daughters.

A medic Dr. Bertram knew from the Army, formerly a sergeant, had, when contacted by Dr. Bertram, moved into an apartment downtown so that he could become Dr. Bertram's office manager and right hand man. Not idle, Reggie Norris had already begun to earn a college degree via correspondence and the G.I. Bill.

Once Maria had written to Nan about her move, Nan obtained a teaching position in Maria's new location. The small town, awash with growing families, was – like other communities in the country that were experiencing a baby boom – thrilled to have another qualified teacher. When Nan married Dr. Bertram's friend she became Mrs. Norris.

At this juncture the Bertram's felt they needed a bigger house and Mr. and Mrs. Norris, who had no children, wanted out of their apartment.

Houses were being built in two tracts which were adjacent to each other. Both extended upward from downtown along the long slow hill that, off in the distance, ended at the base of what is still known as the Spring Mountain Range. The tract that was higher (albeit slightly) in elevation, called Waverly, was filled with small homes, and the lower, called Mansfield Park, contained larger tract homes along with large customs that had already been built, plus building lots.

Since Cashman was the street that divided Waverly from Mansfield Park Mr. and Mrs. Norris bought a cracker-box on the Waverly side of Cashman and Dr. and Mrs. Bertram bought an acre building lot on the Mansfield Park side of the same street. The Bertram's lot stood across from the Norris' new home plus the houses flanking it. This was because the lots in the Waverly tract were small, considerably less than a quarter of an acre.

As a person of great ease, Mrs. Bertram could not muster the interest needed to look at, let alone, discuss the merits of different house plans, not to mention exposures. Just as she could no less fathom the choices which would follow: which cabinets for the kitchen, which type of countertops. And when it came to the bathrooms and their fixtures, floor coverings or paint chips she was too fatigued even to begin to consider such minutiae.

To back up a bit, Dr. Bertram had chosen Mansfield Park over an area called Valley Circle which was walled and gated. Mansfield Park was not. There were other differences as well. The lots in Valley Circle were all acre lots and the homes already built there were large. And if Las Vegas could be said to have an upper crust – one of the places it was buying and building in was Valley Circle. Dr. Bertram had been shown an existing home in Valley Circle and Mrs. Bertram was inclined because it was a turnkey. But after a great deal of thought Dr. Bertram had decided that he did not want his children to think of themselves as elite, so he chose to build in Mansfield Park instead.

Mrs. Norris would like to have chosen the plan for the pending house but Dr. Bertram, after trying to discuss the merits of various plans with his wife, chose one when Mrs. Bertram, after looking at the exterior views of several plans, seemed to nod toward one.

When Mrs. Bertram lacked the strength to choose the finishes, Dr. Bertram let Mrs. Norris try. But when Mrs. Norris suggested cheap but serviceable Dr. Bertram let the contractor choose, which gave the Bertram's an attractive house inside and out.

Though the house itself was attractive, its approach was not. Dr. Bertram, house proud, only discovered this when he learned that someone had said, "Because you don't come at it straight all you notice are the cracker boxes across the street.

Dr. Bertram gave more than passing thought to this. And as he did he realized a great deal offset the lack of an approach to the house. This great deal had everything to do with the fact that more and more Mrs. Bertram rarely attended functions – their children's school functions, the functions of the church to which the Bertram's and Norris's belonged, nor his children's recitals etc. But Mrs. Norris did. In fact, Mrs. Norris could often be found after a church supper in their church's kitchen doing the dishes. So her presence along with her husband's and Dr. Bertram's served as guideposts to the Bertram children. And no, Dr. Bertram did not regret marrying his wife. Her beauty and ease of manner pleased him. To get back to the point, since the Norris's were ever ready and very public exemplars to the Bertram children, living without an approach to his home was worth living across the street from Mr. and Mrs. Norris.

Before the Bertram's moved, the Norris's, who had already left their furnished apartment downtown to live in their largely unfurnished new house, visited. Well, when Mrs. Norris learned that the Bertram's planned to take Dr. Bertram's parents' furniture to the Bertram's new house she talked Dr. Bertram into giving her his parents' pieces by telling him that such old-fashioned furniture would look amiss in his modern, new home. Mrs. Norris had long had her eye on Dr. Bertram's parents' pieces because she realized they had value as most were antiques and antiques that because they had descended down in her family Dr. Bertram's mother had cherished. Mrs. Norris was so thrifty that she got Dr. Bertram to move the pieces in the van he rented. So, she furnished her house at no cost to her and her husband.

Chapter Two

More than a decade had passed when Mrs. Price, whose parents were now dead, located the address of Mrs. Bertram (who was the closest thing Mrs. Price had to family) and wrote to her to ask for help. With her disabled husband (Mr. Price had irretrievably hurt himself in a factory accident); her growing family (Mrs. Price was on the verge of her ninth lying in); her meager income (and one that was spent in large part by Mr. Price on drink) the poor woman had to set her pride aside.

The letter closed old wounds, and since Mrs. Price had asked that the Bertram's function as godparents to the child she was expecting, Mrs. Bertram asked Mrs. Norris to buy baby clothes which was an action for which Mrs. Bertram could not find strength: Penney's and Sears were downtown, the parking was parallel and metered, finding space near either store was never guaranteed as was having the change for the meter. Plus the packaging – which would have to be done at home – the locating of the brown paper, the correct tape, the string, addressing the parcel, getting it back downtown to the post office where parking for a second time would have to be found – seemed insurmountable. So Mrs. Bertram gave Mrs. Norris the money and on a Saturday, when Mrs. Norris did not have to teach, she drove downtown, parked in an area that was not metered – Mrs. Norris was ever more frugal – walked to Sears then Penney's, bought the clothes, returned home, showed them to Mrs. Bertram, and when Mrs. Bertram nodded as if to say "how pretty," Mrs. Norris went home, packaged the clothes and sent them along with a generous sum of money (provided by the Bertram's) to their old friend, Mrs. Price.

Since Mrs. Price had also asked for help for her oldest child William, who, like the Bertram's oldest, was in his final year of high school, Dr. Bertram agreed, and was especially happy to help when he learned that William who, despite the fact that he lived in a trailer, was, unlike Dr. Bertram's oldest son, an "A" student. To help, Dr. Bertram used his contacts in the Army to obtain a commission at West Point for William. William now had a future and one which intrigued him.

Mrs. Bertram certainly thought no more of the matter but not so Mrs. Norris, who finally, when in company with Dr. and Mrs. Bertram, said, "I cannot stop thinking about Mrs. Price and her family. Why not give added help?" When Dr. Bertram asked how, Mrs. Norris continued, "By fostering her eldest daughter."

A great discussion ensued between Mrs. Norris and the Bertram's about the subject. In particular, Dr. Bertram wondered whether it would prove wise or kind to take the child from her family. And he wondered about his children and the effect the oldest Price girl might have. He specifically worried that a relationship might develop between her and one of his sons. Although Dr. Bertram had never seen Mrs. Price, he had seen pictures. Mrs. Price was more than pretty and if her daughter looked like her, one of his sons might eventually form an attachment to her especially if she were living in close proximity.

Mrs. Norris offset any objections when she said, "Thomas, it is of course wise, and so like you to think through the advantages and disadvantages to all. But the education she will receive here will be worth removing her from her family." Mrs. Norris greatly believed in the efficacy of the educational system in which she worked and sincerely doubted Tennessee had anything of like caliber. "And as to forming an attachment to one of your sons, both are older by almost a decade. Plus, by living together they shall grow up like siblings. So forget your fears." After Mrs. Norris added, "I pledge my mite," she pointed out the advantages which would come to a girl from an association with the Bertram's. And since no Bertram – even Dr. Bertram – could contradict so fine a point, fears about a relationship between Mrs. Price's oldest girl and one, or both, of Dr. Bertram's sons lay forgotten.

Chapter Three

She would travel by train, and since the trip was long Dr. Bertram felt that an adult from their number ought to ride out to accompany her. Since school had started Mrs. Norris could not. Neither could her husband who, once he had used the GI bill to obtain a degree, now functioned as an early morning seminary teacher. After teaching from five to six am, he opened Dr. Bertram's office where, as has been said, he functioned as its manager. He had also been called as lay pastor of the church which he and the Bertram's attended. So he, too, could not go. Nor could Dr. Bertram. And since Mrs. Bertram hardly went out – except perhaps to her hairdresser – someone out of their circle had to be found.

When Mr. Norris discovered that an elderly couple from their parish would soon return from a mission in Tennessee he contacted them and they agreed to shepherd the child on their train trip to Las Vegas together.

The couple could not help but notice how unlike most of the Bertram's the child on the train was. The Bertram children, excluding Edmund, were either careless or vain or forward. But the child on the train was modest, morally upright and entirely respectful. The couple would gladly have taken her into their home. But Mrs. Norris, car keys in hand, stood on the platform to drive Tawny (last name: Price) to Cashman Drive and the Bertram's.

When the child appeared, Dr. Bertram learned that Tawny would live with him. Because this surprised him, he asked, "Why? I imagined she would live with you."

In answer Mrs. Norris explained, "Our house is small, and though we have no children to fill the bedrooms, one is ours, one is Mr. Norris's 'at home' pastorate office, and though the other is empty – were Tawny to inhabit it she might over hear parishioner's conversations which could violate the sanctity of my husband's office."

When Mrs. Bertram, who had come downstairs to welcome Tawny heard this news she quietly said, "I hope she will not tease Puff." Puff (full name Cocoa Puff) was Mrs. Bertram's chocolate teacup poodle.

Once Mrs. Bertram saw how pretty Tawny was – she could see Frances in Tawny – she signaled to Tawny to come and sit beside Puff and her. She even had Edmund toast a Poptart and bring it in. But Puff, the Poptart and Mrs. Bertram could not alleviate Tawny's fears. Tawny was too frightened to say anything other than, "Thank you," and her voice was so soft the thank you was almost inaudible.

Each of the children in the Bertram household had a room of his own, and to have any two of them double up was unthinkable. In consequence, Tawny was given the guest room in the partial basement. This bedroom had a bath next door. But this bath also had an outside entrance so that it could be used by those who swam in the Bertram's pool. It was too chilly to swim now, but when the weather warmed "Tawny's" bath would be filled with wet pool towels and the floor would be tracked with water. Tawny would learn to carry the towels to the laundry – also in the basement – where Tawny would wash, dry, and fold them. After they were folded, she would take them upstairs to the linen closet and put them away. But, as has been said, it was now too cold to swim, so Tawny did not yet function as towel girl.

Perhaps because she did not yet have this function she felt displaced, and the house, cavernous compared to the single wide trailer she had lived in, heightened her loneliness. She felt friendless. At home, her siblings depended on her, and she and William, her older brother, were dear friends. Now she had no one. And even though Mrs. Bertram smiled, and was in no way stern like her husband, because she was vague – in fact, both Bertram's were, in their way, vague and distant – Tawny felt alone. Plus, she was frightened. Everything in the house was grand and breakable. In particular, a large vase on a tall, slender stand petrified her. She felt in walking near it, it would topple and break.

Her female counterparts Maria and Julia were a year apart and Maria, the eldest, was two years older than Tawny and Julia one. But though the three were actually close in age they seemed light years apart. The Bertram girls were sophisticated and spoiled whereas Tawny was not. And the Bertram girls felt they had nothing in common with Tawny. For instance, both Bertram girls were amazed that Tawny could fit her wardrobe into one suitcase. "And one," said Julia, "not much larger than my Barbie Dream House." They were equally unimpressed by her shy nature. To treat Tawny, both Maria and Julia had performed a duet on the piano and then had performed in tandem with their batons. But when Tawny did not express effusive praise because Tawny was too shy Maria and Julia ran across the street to report all to Mrs. Norris. Struck almost dumb by Tawny's reported silence, Mrs. Norris could only say, "Hmmmm."

To this Julia added, "With a name like Tawny she must be white trash."

"Hush," said Mrs. Norris. She knew the girls' father hated slang of any kind so she added, "Never use words like white trash again." But she herself adopted the girls' point of view. The name Tawny was low class, as was the trailer – not even a double wide – and its location: some little known town in Tennessee, was also second rate. Tawny had not even come from someplace recognizable like Nashville, or Chattanooga.

Fanny's clothes were not vulgar. The few pieces she owned were sedate and made of good quality fabric. But Maria and Julia – behind Tawny's back – mocked her to Mrs. Norris. "Tawny," said Maria, "doesn't even know the rule of plaids. And because she doesn't I had to explain it. How can someone not know why I can wear my red plaid scarf with my navy coat? I actually had to point the navy threads in the red plaid scarf out to her then hold my navy coat next to the threads so that Tawny could see that the blues were the same color and therefore could be worn together."

With such a grave lack of knowledge, Mrs. Norris further feared Tawny would be ill-received at school. But when Mrs. Norris spoke with her teacher friends she found that all considered Tawny an apt pupil. In fact, their school's art specialist was more than pleased. "Tawny can draw from life, and," said the specialist, "her drawings are more than accurate. They emit the kind of light I associate with fine artistry." Because Mrs. Norris thought the art teacher a kook – emit light? What does that mean? – and because Mrs. Norris did not wish to afford Tawny any praise, she simply said,

"Thank you." And cut further conversation off.

A month had passed when Tawny, still friendless and afraid, sat herself down on the wide steps in the split level that led to the basement.

When Edmund, the Bertram's second oldest son, saw her there he came and sat beside her. And when he saw that tears were welling in her eyes he asked, "Tawny, why are you crying?" His sincerity almost made Tawny reveal what she truly felt. But her timidity overcame her and instead she said, "I'm not, and only have dust in my eyes."

To learn the cause of her sadness Edmund asked added questions like: "Are you ill; are you angry; have you disagreed with Maria or Julia; has something happened at school?"

Since the answer to each was no Edmund had no choice but to persevere. When he finally mentioned Tawny's family back home and Tawny audibly sobbed he learned what no one supposed could be the case. Tawny missed her family.

When Edmund learned that she was especially fond of William, her brother, he took her to his father's den on the main floor where he found paper, envelopes, a pen, and stamps, and after finding them he suggested she write to William, and to everyone in her family for that matter.

Tawny was no longer friendless.

As he watched her write the letters he realized that her appearance and artless ways appealed to him. In consequence, the two talked a good long while. As they did Edmund gave Tawny advice about getting on with Maria and Julia. His advice was to be as merry as possible.

Because she had a friend Tawny now felt at home and was no longer startled by Mrs. Norris's voice and could also now appear before Dr. Bertram without fear. And when Maria and Julia needed a third in their schemes, they turned to Tawny. And because Tawny was now useful, when Mrs. Norris asked a second time about Tawny's temperament, Julia and Maria said, "She's fun enough."

Tom, unlike his younger brother Edmund, laughed at Tawny, but just as often he brought presents to her. Usually trinkets from the 5 & Dime. An early one was a small narrow box of water color paints that had a brush inside. The set was the sort children are given and quickly use to make muddy creations. Tawny, however, unlike other children her age, used the colors judiciously so that they didn't blend together into mud. With Tom's set Tawny graduated from drawings to paintings. And when she reached junior high art was an elective she chose and continued to choose throughout high school. But Tawny's art – like Tawny herself – was something which no one in the Bertram house noticed. She kept her work in a folder in her basement room, which was a room no one went into except herself. For all intents and purposes Tawny was talentless.

In fact, Mrs. Norris often remarked on the differences between Maria and Julia and Tawny. And though such differences did exist – Maria and Julia were naturally clever, confident, musical, and so on – her remarks did not encourage self-reflection in anyone but Tawny. As a consequence, Maria and Julia grew more forward and never developed Tawny's artless ways, Tom's generosity, or Edmund's rectitude and humility.

Chapter Four

In the years leading up to Tawny's graduation from high school, which is the point at which this chapter begins, Edmund, though away at college during terms, had remained her friend. College held no interest for Maria and Julia, and since their mother had never seen much reason to attend, both sisters stayed home. "Why cram oneself," Julia had said, "into a tiny dorm room when we can live at home in comfort and ease?" The two were unemployed and had no plans to seek employment. Edmund, alone, was making a success of himself. Tom had flunked out of several colleges, and was now aiming to do the same at another.

The day after Tawny's high school graduation Mr. Norris died. And because Mrs. Norris was now alone both Bertram parents believed Tawny would move in with her. As a consequence, a week after the funeral Mrs. Bertram said, "When shall someone help ferry Tawny's clothes across?"

Mrs. Norris, supposing Mrs. Bertram wanted her to mend Tawny's clothes, answered, "I can walk across and mend them as well at your house, especially if Tawny needs something mended by machine as your machine is superior." Because she was frugal, Mrs. Norris tried to use anything that belonged to someone else. And as a frugal woman she was greatly surprised when she learned that the clothes were to be ferried because both Bertram's expected that Tawny would move across the street to keep Mrs. Norris company. Such a move would mean that Mrs. Norris would buy Tawny's food and buy her clothes and since Tawny planned to attend college Mrs. Norris believed she would also have to pay for Tawny's university tuition. This was unthinkable and because it was Mrs. Norris explained that as a widow she could not afford the scheme.

When Mrs. Bertram asked what Mrs. Norris would use her two extra bedrooms for – if not for Tawny – Mrs. Norris began to recite figures related to Mrs. Norris's now reduced income. She concluded by referring to her income from her teaching job as once again a widow's mite. And since figures always gave Mrs. Bertram a headache, to keep from one, Mrs. Bertram quickly agreed to continue to house Tawny.

And when she further considered the matter, she realized how dependable Tawny was. It had been years since Mrs. Bertram had gone out – especially in the evening. And on every evening Tawny was there to fetch, run errands, and so on. As Mrs. Bertram sat and made her hairpin lace – which she did while she watched television programs – she could depend on Tawny to roll skeins of yarn into balls, straighten out her tangles, make her popcorn, pour her drinks; even change channels for her. What a comfort Tawny was. So silent. She never talked or rustled things during Mrs. Bertram's programs. And Tawny was good to Puff, who was now old and ailing. Tawny brushed him and whenever Puff had accidents on the floor, Tawny cleaned up.

As per usual, no one had considered Tawny and how she might feel about yet another uprooting. Before Mrs. Bertram had asked Mrs. Norris about ferrying Tawny's clothes, Edmund, who had heard his mother and father discuss Tawny's move across the street, had spoken to Tawny as if such a move were already a fait accompli. "So Tawny, you will now live with Mrs. Norris who will be of help to you." When Tawny wondered how, Edmund added, "By sponsoring you in your scheme to attend college. Because she is a teacher I think she will prove immensely helpful." Tawny subconsciously felt that Mrs. Norris had never helped her, especially immensely. And though she said nothing the planned scheme upset her immensely. First, because Tawny had her heart set on attending UNLV and since Mrs. Norris was frugal she would, although she herself had a degree, never agree to Tawny obtaining one. Tawny realized long ago that she was very much a second class citizen in the Bertram's and Norris's eyes, which would mean that Mrs. Norris would feel that Tawny ought to get some type of job to finally earn her keep. It would further mean that Tawny would pay rent to Mrs. Norris and probably buy groceries as well. Tawny longed for the freedom an education could buy. She wanted the education her mother had foregone and did not wish to be more under the thumb of Mrs. Norris who was far and above the person in her life who was cruelest in that she thought so little of Tawny and withheld so much. So it was a relief to Tawny when Edmund later said, "Well Tawny, Mrs. Norris can't house you after all. You are to continue as you are which suits me. Even my mother agrees that your help here is invaluable."

Chapter Five

Mrs. Norris's income had been cut in half, and for this reason she resented Dr. Grant, her husband's replacement. The University of Nevada at Las Vegas now had a religious institute at which Dr. Grant taught classes. So, he not only taught early morning seminary, but classes at UNLV later in the day. For all of this, he was paid. He also became the pastor of their parish and since he had been ordained, for this he was paid too. Of course Mrs. Norris was envious about the income because her late husband had performed many of Dr. Grant's duties, but without pay. Plus, she was envious about the respect and influence that the positions of pastor and teacher conferred because both had formerly belonged to her husband and, because of her marriage to him, to her. She was now diminished and had to rely solely on the respect she received from the Bertram's and the influence she held over them. She especially concentrated on her darlings Maria and Julia, which vaunted their feelings about themselves.

Dr. Grant was about forty-five, his wife some fifteen years younger, and the pair – like the Norris's – were childless. This provoked comparisons in their parish. "It is such a coincidence," parishioners said, "that the Grant's are so like Mrs. Norris and her late husband."

Mrs. Norris could see no similarities. She rated Mrs. Grant a careless woman, especially because she had no interest in economy. As Mrs. Norris said to her friend Mrs. Bertram, "I caught Mrs. Grant at Panorama shopping obviously according to whim. Can you imagine shopping according to whim? Letting thoughts of the moment dictate what one buys?" Mrs. Norris was at odds with Panorama Market because its displays – especially on the end caps and those as one waited in line at the register were tempting. Not to her. But tempting to those less interested in saving money. Mrs. Norris also said to her friend Mrs. Bertram, "And Mrs. Grant's cart was piled high with expensive cuts of meat. When I commented on the expense of the cuts Mrs. Grant said, 'Dr. Grant likes a solid meal and to him a solid meal is one with meat and potatoes.'" Still speaking to Mrs. Bertram Mrs. Norris said, "When she mentioned meat and potatoes I thought, 'then give him hamburger.' As you know, I could have given her an excellent, because it's cheap, recipe for meat loaf. But as you also know I never interfere."

Mrs. Bertram was unconcerned with the extravagance of Mrs. Grant's table but expressed dismay over her looks. To say it plainly, Mrs. Bertram could not see how someone so plain could have engaged so handsome a man and said as much. "Her features are irregular, especially her mouth which is overly large. And her face is squished. What can a man like Dr. Grant see in her?"

With summer here, Edmund had returned home to swell the circle of family at the Bertram's. This circle was on the cusp of being further swelled when a Leland Rushworth moved to Las Vegas with his recently widowed mother. His mother had chosen Las Vegas because of its mild winter weather. Leland's father had been a petroleum distributor in New York State where he also served as the chairman of his state's petroleum board. Mrs. Rushworth kept their home – a large home on Long Island – out of sentiment, but sold their business for a fortune. Now free of the cares of the business, she planned to devote herself to their son (whose father had never found him clever) and in particular to his search for a bride, a bride who could give her grandchildren.

Maria met Leland at a social, a large social to which the entire Las Vegas population of the young people of their faith had been invited.

Because the Bertram girls were clever, they could use their arts to appear artless. But Leland Rushworth, who was gullible, would have fallen either way. Maria was handsome, confident, she conversed well, and she had enough sense to ply Rushworth with compliments. On her part, Maria, who on her next birthday would turn twenty-one, realized she ought to marry and Rushworth had money.

After she had met Leland Rushworth, but before anyone in her family, excluding Julia, could do the same, Dr. Bertram got called up. Dr. Bertram had, when World War II ended, opted to join the Reserves and now that the conflict in Vietnam was growing, Dr. Bertram had been called to serve as chief of surgery in a military hospital in Japan. As he understood it, if a soldier had wounds which could be treated at a field hospital near the battle, there the soldier would be treated. Soldiers with wounds which were more severe might be flown to a floating hospital ship. And those with wounds which were too severe for the ships, would be flown in special planes to military hospitals in Japan. The special planes were filled with bunks for the patients – some who would not live through the flight. Such planes were staffed by nurses.

Even though accommodations were available for Dr. Bertram and his wife, Dr. Bertram could not imagine his wife leaving home. To help ease her mind he asked that Edmund delay further schooling so he could run his practice. Dr. Bertram had hired a surgeon (newly out of school) to work the practice, but Edmund would oversee the business end. Edmund would also take over the household accounts which he did admirably. So admirably, Mrs. Bertram hardly noticed her husband's absence.

Her daughters Julia and Maria, although both said to all who asked, "We're lost now that he's gone," did not feel his absence quite so keenly. Their father was so forbidding and grave and moralized so often that both were relieved to be spared from his grave looks and exacting morals. Both could now do as they pleased. Edmund might try to stop them, but Edmund was not the disciplinarian their father was, and their mother disciplined no one.

Tawny too was relieved. But Tawny had enough of a conscience to realize her feelings were ungrateful because Dr. Bertam had done a good deal for her. He had given her a home, clothes, food, even an allowance. On the advice of Mrs. Norris, it wasn't as large as that of the Bertram children. But it was larger than anything her siblings back in Tennessee received. And sometimes Dr. Bertram would compliment Tawny for not exceeding her allowance – in fact for saving some of it. Plus, Tawny appreciated all that Dr. Bertram had done for William and for the rest of her siblings as they grew. But, she was glad he was gone. He intimidated her, as did Mrs. Norris.

Mrs. Norris hated children, which was funny because she taught elementary school and was stern, but not with her darlings, Maria and Julia. Dr. Bertram had, in part, entrusted them to Mrs. Norris, whom he felt to be a watchful shepherd.

Once Mrs. Norris learned of Rushworth's fortune, she arranged to meet his mother. The two women taught Sunday school, but taught Sunday school at different locations. So to effect the meeting, Mrs. Norris had a teacher friend who taught Sunday School at the same location as Leland's mother, arrange an introduction. After the introduction, Mrs. Rushworth, who was as friendless as her son Leland, invited Mrs. Norris to her house, which was large – in fact sprawling – and had been built on a number of acres of land.

Leland Rushworth had described Maria's beauty. In fact, it was all he seemed to talk of. And once his mother understood Mrs. Norris's connection to Maria she had nothing but praise. She also confided that her ardent wish was that Leland marry, and that Maria, with her fine qualities, would suit him well.

Mrs. Norris complimented Mrs. Rushworth's taste by saying, "Maria is an angel. And Leland, from all accounts, is a young man who is more than worthy of one."

After Rushworth and Maria went on several dates, and after Leland had introduced Maria to his mother, the two were unofficially engaged. The official stamp waited on Dr. Bertram's approval which, with the urging of Mrs. Norris, Mrs. Bertram applied for by mail.

Pleased that his wife had actually written him a letter – she generally just included regards to him through letters written by Edmund – Dr. Norris wrote back giving his approval to the match. He did ask, though, that the wedding not take place until his return. This was perfectly understood by Leland Rushworth and his mother. With Leland's own father deceased, Dr. Bertram would become Leland's, and what of the wait? After all, Dr. Bertram's tour of duty had already begun. And anyway, a wedding as grand as theirs would take a good year or two to plan.

Everyone who was home, excluding Edmund, thought the impending marriage a fine idea. Only Edmund found Rushworth silly and believed that without his money Maria would not have considered him.

Tom was still away taking summer school classes at yet another college, one out of which he would soon flunk. Despite Tom's foolishness over certain matters like education, Edmund believed Tom would agree with him. He would think that Rushworth had no aptitude for anything. Tom at least had brains, though he regularly chose to misuse them. And Tom was a leader, though at present he was generally leading himself and others in the wrong direction. But people did look up to him. No one, though, looked up to Rushworth. Rushworth was not witty and did not have the sense to keep quiet. Instead he talked nonstop. And since his thoughts were idle, so was his chatter. Edmund felt that in time Maria would tire of his chatter. He just hoped she would tire of it before she married. Hope springs eternal.

Chapter Six

Tom Bertram, who had cheated on a summer school midterm, was expelled – if colleges can be said to expel students – and arrived home in mid July. Since he could no longer claim a student deferment he was called up and taken into the Army. He was part way through basic training but of course had not yet shipped out – and never would – because one night he took a jeep, a bottle of Scotch, a buddy, and two Army nurses to a local theater to see a film. After the fact, in the now empty parking lot, Tom drove in ever tighter circles until the Army jeep the four were driving in flipped. He was happy no one but himself had been hurt. Tom himself had permanently injured his little finger, and because he had wrecked a jeep, he was sent home with a dishonorable discharge. When his father received word, he called around and had enough of a reputation and enough power, or connections rather to people with it, that "dishonorable" was removed from the discharge.

Tom now continued his antics at home. Edmund suggested Tom do something with his time, and whenever Tom needed an ear Tawny would listen. But Tom had no interest in taking classes at UNLV (as Tawny was about to do) and he did not wish to help Edmund at their father's office (as Edmund had suggested). Instead, he slept late and took his car and caroused at night.

When it came to cars, the Bertam family had enough to fill a fleet, which is why Edmund couldn't understand why Tawny hadn't one. And it was Tawny who would need one to travel back and forth to her future classes at UNLV.

Mrs. Norris insisted, "Tawny can continue to take the bus to the places she needs to go. Maria needs her car, Julia hers, Tom's back and now drives his, your mother needs hers and while he's away, I need your father's. And Edmund, you need yours for your duties at your father's office."

Edmund found an old gray Volkswagen for sale in the ads in the back of the local paper. The price was six-hundred dollars and Edmund took Tom, who was something of a mechanic, with him to test it. When Tom pronounced the Volkswagen sound, Edmund, who had charge of his father's accounts, bought it for Tawny. When she heard of the purchase Mrs. Norris said, "With your father's finances unsettled – his income is not what it was – you should not have purchased a car for Tawny. As I've already said, between walking and taking the bus, she can get anywhere. Plus, I still say you should not have bought Tawny a horse. First that horse, now a car. What next?"

Edmund had not actually bought Tawny the horse. Instead he had talked his father into buying Tawny the horse so she could ride with them (more about that later) but because he had talked his father into it Mrs. Norris held it to Edmund's account. And as to the car, here is why Edmund had bought it for her. Tawny had walked to the bus stop which had no bench, and between walking to and waiting at it had practically fainted. A neighbor had seen her wavering as she reached to hold onto the sign that said "Bus Stop" and had reported this to Edmund. (Tawny was not physically strong, or a natural at anything – like baton twirling – that required physicality.)

Just like the horse, the car was given to Tawny over Mrs. Norris's objections. Moreover, Edmund, again over her objections, continued Tawny's allowance.

But Mrs. Norris had more than made up for what she considered to be the extravagances lavished on Tawny by closing the register in Tawny's room years before. This made her room cold in winter, which was bearable, but very hot come summer. Of course, no one but Tawny knew, because no one went into her bedroom, in part because Tawny was rarely in it. Instead, she was generally, at the behest of Mrs. Bertram, out in other parts of the house keeping Mrs. Bertram company. And when she was not she was running errands for Mrs. Norris.

Edmund and Tawny still talked just like they had done on the stairway years before. When they did Edmund told Tawny about the classes he had taken and she told him about those she would. In one of their little talks Edmund told Tawny that he wished to go to divinity school. She was curious about the nature of divinity school: what was its purpose? Tawny recognized that though educations did not solely exist to prepare one for a vocation, educations often did. So naturally she wondered which vocation divinity school prepared someone for. According to its catalog, UNLV didn't have a divinity school, so such a program was alien to her, and she also realized that Dr. Bertram hoped both his sons would follow him into medicine. She further knew that Edmund had a chemistry major, a high grade point average, and an equally high score on the medical school admission test. So she was surprised, but not against his recent interest in whatever divinity school was.

To explain what it was Edmund said, "Such schools prepare one to become a clergyman."

"Oh," said Tawny. "Like Mr. Norris."

"Yes," said Edmund. "Only I would be more than a lay pastor. Not that I am minimizing Mr. Norris's commitment nor his effect. In fact, he is my inspiration."

When Tom learned about Edmund's desires he said, "Father will be disappointed. He wants both of us to be doctors."

To this Edmund answered, "As eldest, that birthright falls to you."

Tom laughed as Edmund continued, "I have broached the subject and to my surprise Father agreed and offered his support." Fanny could understand why Dr. Bertram would support such a scheme because Dr. Bertram was, for all his severe approach, genuinely devout and genuinely moral.

Dr. Grant was someone who had been to divinity school, so naturally he and Edmund spoke of it, which made Edmund something of a regular at the Grant's.

He was not there when Mrs. Grant's half siblings arrived, though he knew they were coming.

Mrs. Grant had a younger half sister and half brother. Mrs. Grant's father was not their father, but they shared a mother. When their mother died the half sister Mary and her brother Henry went to live with their father's brother, an Admiral Crawford and the admiral's wife. The two Crawford's doted on the children, but had little else in common. The admiral's wife was a woman with morals. The admiral had none which was evident when, after his wife died, he moved his mistress – who was a schemer – into his home.

To rescue Mary – who was at odds with the woman – Mrs. Grant had invited her to live with the Grant's. And Henry, who was older, even though he had his own home, accompanied his sister. If Mrs. Grant and Mary and Henry had taken Mrs. Norris and Mrs. Bertram into their confidence, Mrs. Bertram would now realize how someone with so little beauty could captivate a man like Dr. Grant, and Mrs. Norris would realize why Mrs. Grant did not have to economize. Mrs. Grant, and Mary and Henry for that matter, had substantial trust funds, and Henry had inherited their family's estate in Newport Rhode Island plus a brownstone in New York City.

Why hadn't Mary moved into his estate or his brownstone? Because Henry, who liked to travel, was rarely at either.

The Crawford's, who arrived in late summer, had not been in their sister's house a moment before both realized that their sister had been matchmaking. As proof their sister said, "Tom Bertram is the older and more handsome of the two brothers and once he settles, (by this she meant marries), will do nicely. He has a first rate mind and his father means for him to study medicine. I know for a fact that his father's alma mater will admit him as a legacy once he completes his undergraduate work. And Henry – Julia, the Bertram's younger daughter, will suit you. I would have chosen Maria, the older, but she is lately engaged."

Mary, Mrs. Grant's half-sister, said, "Best of luck marrying Henry off. He avoids marriage at all cost."

Henry confirmed this by saying, "In reciting the axiom, marriage is heaven's last best gift, I emphasize last."

When Mrs. Grant said nothing Mary added, "In our circle of friends Henry is known as The Playboy, and his house in Newport is called The Mansion."

Because Mrs. Grant, a moral woman, did not wish to think of her half brother as a playboy – at least not a perennial one – she mentioned Julia again, and her belief that Henry's single status was on the verge of change.

The young people at the Grant's and those at the Bertram's met when Mrs. Grant, a woman who liked to entertain, invited the Bertram's to dinner. Mrs. Bertram begged off. But since Mrs. Bertram had asked Mrs. Norris to call with Mrs. Bertam's regrets, Mrs. Norris at last found herself on the guest list.

When at the table Mrs. Norris could not fathom the expense, but rather than speak of it she only tallied it mentally. Veal! And cooked to perfection. Mrs. Norris could argue with the cost, but not with Mrs. Grant's skills in cookery. Edmund noticed Mary Crawford's beauty and realized, subconsciously, that it had begun to captivate him. Silent Tawny noticed this too: Edmund stole many glances at Mary.

Maria and Julia, at first-glance, did not find Henry Crawford handsome. But as he spoke they, on a subconscious level too, realized that his knowing air, appealed to them. The Bertram's, excluding Tom, were soon focusing on Mary and Henry's every word. Tom, who was smart enough to do well in school if he hadn't hated it, was engrossed in conversation with Dr. Grant over one of Tom's two passions, his horses – in particular, a racehorse he had bought. So Tom hardly heard Mary Crawford say, "Henry and I ate at a restaurant yesterday. Its menu listed two drinks, one a pina colada, the other the same but a virgin. The virgin was more expensive than the drink with alcohol. When I asked our waiter why he answered, 'I suppose because virgins are hard to come by in Vegas.' But to what do you attribute the reason?"

Because no one drank (except for Tom and he wasn't about to admit it), and because Mary Crawford's question was somewhat rhetorical, it was glossed. But the vision of a white drink that was a virgin, and her connection to it was – at least subconsciously – not lost on Edmund.

Because the Bertram's had a pool and the Grant's didn't, as the two families finished dinner up, the Bertram's invited the Crawford's for a swim. "With it so hot," Maria said, "you ought to take advantage of our pool and Jacuzzi."

"Oh," Henry said, "a hot tub party. I like it."

The Bertram's gave no reply but Henry Crawford's remark caught Maria's fancy.

Out of form the Bertram's invited the Grant's too, but the Grant's, knowing the invitation was only meant for Mrs. Grant's siblings, begged off. This pool party would mark the second time the young people would mix, and the first time the Crawford's and Leland Rushworth would meet.

Before the Crawford's arrived and while the Jacuzzi was heating, Edmund found Tawny because he wished to talk to her about Mary. Tawny had a longstanding and secret crush on Edmund – at first he was only her protector, but when she reached that age when romantic feelings develop and she had not yet met anyone Edmund's equal – her crush had formed. So, naturally, Tawny did not welcome Edmund's wish to talk about Mary because it was further proof of what Tawny had suspected at the Grant's, that Edmund was attracted to her. Tawny was generally silent and not given to voicing her opinions, especially if they differed from another's, so when Edmund asked her opinion of Mary Tawny said, "She's pretty, and has the confidence I lack."

Drawn temporarily off topic by his concern for Tawny Edmund said, "You do lack confidence. But why? You're anyone's equal when it comes to looks and talent?"

Rather than disagree, Tawny said nothing. After more enraptured speech about Mary Crawford, Edmund asked, "Did you enjoy her account of the pina colada? It made me laugh." When Tawny answered,

"No," and Edmund asked why Tawny added, "You know I rarely laugh."

Because Edmund wished to like Mary Crawford unreservedly Edmund asked no further. He did realize, though, that Tawny's modesty was a foil for Mary Crawford's lack. Though no one had put words to it Mary Crawford had drawn attention to herself with innuendo which, had Edmund given it unbiased thought, he would have recognized as a trick. In using a tall, white drink called a virgin, Mary had drawn attention to self in way that even Edmund's sister, Maria, practiced in various arts, had not yet learned to do. And if Edmund had tapped into his subconscious he would have recognized that Mary's brother Henry was Mary's equal in the uses of innuendo. For Tawny's part, she had recognized Mary's trick and already felt that Mary and Henry, in a subtle way, were forward and too sophisticated for the Bertram's. But both were so subtle that one could hardly accuse them of acting in a forward manner in part because to do so would make Tawny seem forward and presumptuous when Tawny was neither.

After a long silence Edmund began again, "Even Mrs. Grant laughed."

"Yes," said Tawny. "But then, Mrs. Grant does strike me as a woman of the world."

Chapter Seven

At the pool party, once the swimming began, Maria realized that Henry's build eclipsed Rushworth's. Rushworth was almost a foot taller than Henry, but Henry's shoulders were wide; whereas, Rushworth's were the width of his hips. Henry's chest opened up from his waist like a funnel. But Rushworth looked like a straw. Same, same, same all the way down except for the pudgy love handles at his waist. And Henry could swim; whereas, Rushworth only seemed to paddle.

When someone suggested they line up and, one by one, dive off the board, Maria realized Rushworth couldn't dive. No matter how many times he walked to the end of the board, pointed his hands up over his head and bent over to dive in, well before he reached the water he had straightened up so that he went in feet first. Tawny overheard Henry whisper, "Maria, Rushworth paddles like a dog." She saw Maria smile and when Henry saw the smile he touched Maria lightly on her waist.

Julia, Maria and Mary were dressed in suits – all three in little bikinis. Maria's was white, Julia's red, and Mary's a sophisticated black. But Tawny, who wasn't there to swim – her part was to pour soda into plastic cups, then keep track of whose cup was whose – had not donned a suit. She had also brought out chips and emptied them into a bowl which she, from the house, periodically replenished.

From her position as server, Tawny saw Henry touch Maria again when the two, along with Rushworth, sat in the bubbling Jacuzzi. Here is what occurred. The bubbles and the fact that Rushworth's eyes had been directed away by Henry who said, "Rushworth, look at that 747 overhead," obscured the fact. But Tawny, who at Maria's request was bringing Maria her cup of 7up, had seen Henry fleetingly place his right hand on Maria's thigh. Tawny could see this as she bent down to hand Maria her cup.

Henry showed further daring when he climbed onto the roof via sturdy latticework covered by a vine. Once on the roof, although he could dive beautifully, he chose to cannonball into the pool. The splash made the swimmers shriek, and Tawny felt that that and Henry's other daring had put an eager, excited look into Maria's eyes.

As the pool party came toward a close, Tawny picked up the towels of those who were finished after which she disappeared to her basement lair to wash them. Once the machine was running she would quickly return for the plastic cups and chip bowl, but first she wanted to get the towels into the wash in case Mrs. Norris came and criticized her for not keeping the pool area tidy. Once Tawny was gone with the towels, Mary Crawford said to Edmund Bertram, "What is Tawny's place? Is she a member of your family? Or a quasi-servant? And if not a servant, why is she so silent, and why does she serve and pick up after the rest of you?"

These were questions to which Edmund had never given thought. So without ready answers he said, "She lives here as something of a foster child." When Mary asked why, Edmund added, "Because Tawny is the daughter of a woman who, when they were in high school, was my mother's close friend."

Mary Crawford said, "She is very quiet."

To this Edmund answered, "She does tend toward silence, I think because she thinks a good deal."

Because Rushworth had not stopped talking except when his head was under water Mary Crawford quietly said, "Then Leland must rarely think." This made Edmund laugh.

Because Henry wanted to stay behind and swim laps Edmund offered to walk Mary Crawford home. As they walked down the drive toward the street and Mary saw what she did not yet know to be Fanny's gray VW parked in front of the Bertram's house she said to Edmund, "I don't know how to drive a stick." Discussion followed during which Mary learned that a few newer Volkswagens did not have sticks but that the one in the driveway, an old one, did and that it had been bought for Tawny's use. Mary said, "Use for what?"

"Largely," said Edmund, "to drive back and forth between here and UNLV."

"I have no use for school," Mary said.

Edmund answered, "In that you match Tom and my sisters. But Tawny and I value it."

Mary said, "It doesn't seem like you do. You're not at present enrolled."

"True," said Edmund. "But only because I've come home to oversee my father's office and our family's affairs. But when he returns I intend to attend divinity school like your sister's brother."

"To what end."

"His. I wish to be a pastor."

"Why? It pays nothing. And is hard work. People come at all hours of the day or night with their problems. If you want to be well paid for helping people with problems, go to medical school. Although I have not met him, I understand this is your father's wish for both you and Tom."

Edmund gently argued for the place of religion in this world while Mary expressed her interest in money. When they reached her sister's house she said, "Money's not an evil. It makes for a life of ease. I intend to be rich. Isn't wealth your goal?" He left her question unanswered.

Mary now had her hand on the doorknob, and though she invited Edmund in, since he was in his wet suit he declined. But not before he had promised – in the near future – to teach Mary to drive. To be more specific to use Tawny's Volkswagen to teach Mary how to drive a car with a stick.

Because Maria had stayed outside to watch Henry swim, Rushworth – after going inside to call his mother for permission himself to stay – sat beside Maria to talk to her as she watched Henry. From the start Maria wished Rushworth had gone. His talk – about his mother, about his plans for the future (of which beyond marrying Maria he'd none) and his descriptions of the model airplanes which he'd saved since he'd made them as a child – annoyed Maria. She wanted to sink into reverie about Henry. But Leland Rushworth and his litany of the models he had made, right down to their colors, interrupted this reverie. Plus she could not, because of Rushworth's ineptitude – he could not even dive – believe Rushwoth's collection was much more than a gluey mess.

Maria also wanted to be alone with Henry when Henry exited the pool, but Rushworth stayed long after Henry had gone. So it was to Rushworth she found herself giving a goodnight kiss.

Chapter Eight

Two nights later, the Bertram children again found themselves at the Grant's, this time to play the card game Uno. Since this was a game Tom did not like to play, and since Mary Crawford could not decide between Tom and Edmund as the object of her romantic focus, and since Tom had not been at the pool party, and since Mary did not know how to play Uno, she joined Tom.

Mary wanted to marry, and in particular she wanted to marry someone who could afford to buy her a home and give her an elegant and worry free style of life. Though she knew Tom couldn't afford to do any of those things now she also knew that his parents had loads of money. This she had discovered from the Grant's who knew the sums the Bertram's paid in tithes and offerings. She figured Tom would eventually go to medical school and become, as the elder son, a partner in his father's medical practice. And that even if she married him when he was a student, between her money and that belonging to his parents, he and she would live in relative ease until Tom made something of himself.

Dr. Grant didn't like Uno either so he joined Mary and Tom as the latter was saying, "Day after tomorrow I'll leave with Princess, my new horse, for Beaver." When Mary asked why Tom added, "the races. Lots of owners, from Southern California for instance, bring fledgling racers to Beaver because the grand stand's small. Plus, the course is regulation length, but compared to tracks like Santa Anita or Delmar there are considerably fewer slots in the starting gate. That makes Beaver a good spot for a beginner. After Beaver I'll take Princess to the other tracks I've mentioned and try her there."

To stroke Tom's vanity, Mary said, "Racing is the sport of kings."

Not vain, Tom said, "Is it?"

To answer her next question, "Will you ride Princess in the race?" Tom answered,

"No. Jockeys are small and a special breed. I've contracted with a jockey in Beaver and will do the same in Southern California."

Dr. Grant asked, "Do you have a man in mind in Southern California?"

When Tom answered, "Two or three," and Dr. Grant asked,

"Whom do you consider best?" to reinsert herself into the conversation, Mary asked Tom about any movies he'd recently seen. Tom was too polite to say, "We aren't discussing movies," so he mentioned one – but quickly returned to Dr. Grant's question about jockeys.

Mary tried several times more to interest Tom in her, or at least to get him to talk to her, but Tom wished to talk strictly about racing, horses, his hunting dog, and hunting and fishing, and he could see she had no real knowledge or interest in those passions; whereas, Dr. Grant did. Since Mary knew Tom liked horses she said, "I should so like to ride."

Tom quickly fobbed her off on Edmund when he said, "Maria, Julia, Edmund and Tawny ride every Saturday morning. You could ride with them." When she wondered where the Bertram's kept their horses, Tom added, "Excluding Princess, whom I board elsewhere, we board two with a gentleman on Palomino and the other two in a corral in the backyard of a lady with a tiny house on Shetland."

To demonstrate her breadth of knowledge, Mary asked if Shetland ponies originated from the Shetland Islands. When Tom answered her question with an, "I don't know," he really meant, I don't care. But Tom was too good natured to talk or think in such a way, so he answered as if he genuinely did not know, which was the case.

At this point Mary gave up on talking to Tom and decided to learn Uno. To do so she joined the others at play. Once she was at the table Mary was dealt in where her novice status set Edmund's chivalry into motion. At least it went into motion after Mary failed at two hands. At this point Edmund moved closer to Mary so he could manage both their hands. But because Uno is a fast game Edmund failed with his and hers. After two failures he said, "Deal me out," and prepared to manage only Mary's cards. Although Mary held them Edmund pulled them out and threw them down which meant that he and Mary's fingers often touched.

Observant Tawny noticed and was sad. Mary Crawford noticed as well because, of course, she had engineered it. Mary also noticed that though Edmund seemed taken with her, Tom did not. As she thought of this she mentally compared the two. Edmund did not lack for integrity, but Tom seemingly did. At least, she'd heard about his expulsion for cheating and that fact that he'd wrecked a jeep. She knew he caroused. Many of his habits reminded her of Henry's. And he was tall and better looking than his brother. Another plus in Tom's favor was that Mary's brother-in-law Dr. Grant spoke well of Tom. "He's a Tom Jones and like a Tom Jones, despite his wild oats, I believe he's honest and good at heart. And once he sets his hand to making money Tom will."

Again, what Mary Crawford found disappointing was that Tom had no interest. At least, she thought, not so far. But Mary, like her brother Henry, had a way with the opposite sex. Eventually those she liked responded. And, competitive like Henry, she was not ready to give up and decided at that moment she would win both brothers' hearts.

Mary's move to the Uno table had left Tom and Dr. Grant alone to discuss manly pursuits. Dr. Grant, an epicure, was particularly interested in getting Tom to give him some of the game he shot when hunting season began. This was because Dr. Grant's life centered around eating. What his wife served at his table was of highest importance.

Chapter Nine

It was now early September and Tawny had a class that met from 10 a.m. to 11 a.m. on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. On a Friday morning, which was a morning when Dr. Bertram's office was generally closed Tawny went outside at 8 a.m. to drive to UNLV. Though her class didn't start till 10 she wished to visit the UNLV library before her class began. Tawny had embarked on a project of great interest to Dr. Davenport, her US history professor, a project that required research in the library.

Tawny did many things well and of this Dr. Davenport already had taken note. She was a perceptive reader and though she was too shy to talk in class she wrote well. The essays she had written during the exam over the first chapter had been full of ideas, aptly phrased. Dr. Davenport required an end-of-course project and rather than a written prospectus he met at the beginning of the semester with each student to hear the student generate ideas. As you know, Tawny painted. By now she used many mediums but had settled lately back on watercolors – in particular watercolor portraits. She practiced on people she knew and those who saw the portraits she had painted declared them extraordinary likenesses. She could produce extremely recognizable portraits of others whether from life or from photographs. This gave her part of the idea she had presented to Dr. Davenport when she met with him. At that time she had explained to him that she would like to use photographs of artists who had worked for the WPA to create watercolor portraits of them. Along with the portraits she would include short biographies and, if possible, samples of each artist's work. Professor Davenport was charmed. Moreover, his wife was a professor in the art department, so he knew from her how difficult watercolor was. It was a medium which did not allow for mistakes. Any over-painting made the work look muddy. It required sure eyes and hands and quick work. So when he talked to his wife about Tawny's project – especially when his wife had seen a sample of Tawny's portraiture – his wife suggested a joint show showcasing Tawny's project. This would be presented by the history and art departments and would take place at the end of fall semester. Dr. Davenport was excited because like any professor he loved students with novel and meaningful ideas. And Tawny's was both.

Back to the morning in question. It was Friday – 8 a.m. when Tawny went out to her Volkswagen which was not there. She at first thought it was stolen until she saw it jerk by – jerk by because Mary Crawford, who did not quite know how to drive a stick shift, was at the wheel. Edmund was in the passenger seat and his head was turned toward Mary so he didn't see Tawny looking for her car. Nor did Mary who was concentrating on shifting gears and on trying to smoothly work the gas and clutch, to which she fairly quickly adapted.

Tawny wished the driving lesson had been scheduled for later in the day but supposed by afternoon when she returned it would be too hot and by evening visibility would be lessened. Tawny thought about waving them down so she could drive to school. But Tawny never put herself forward in such ways. So, instead she took her books, papers, and purse and sat on the front steps to read until her Volkswagen returned.

Meanwhile, in the car, fun, Mary's sexuality and a sense of adventure reigned. Edmund had shown Mary how to press the stick shift down and go left for reverse, and how to reach the rest of the gears by moving the stick shift in an H pattern. He had also explained how to let the clutch out as one applied the gas.

To Mary it was all like a game and Edmund liked putting his hand on top of hers when Mary was moving the stick shift in the wrong direction. Indeed, during their first few trips around the block Edmund had largely kept his hand on top of hers.

When 9:30 came and the Volkswagen had not been returned, Tawny set out – at a run – for the bus stop. The bus came at 9:35 and if she ran she could reach the stop in time.

It was so late that Tawny would have to run both ways – to the stop and from the end point to her class – so that she would arrive on time. Tawny had not run far, but far enough to look the opposite of calm and collected when Edmund, with Mary still at the wheel, overtook her. Edmund, genuinely worried that Tawny might pass out, jumped out, took her books etc. with one arm and her arm with his other and helped her toward the driver's seat. To do her part Mary had turned the car off then jumped out. She did apologize, but as she jumped out she had also said, "I so enjoyed myself that though I knew it was late, and have now made you so, I did all I did anyway."

As she got into the driver's seat Tawny said, "I still have time."

To this Mary said, "Please, you must forgive me. I have been nothing but selfish. But as you know, selfishness must always be forgiven because it's incurable."

Edmund said, "Let her go. She is late. You can assuage your guilt to me. And I can make our apologies later."

Tawny drove off with Edmund's word our in mind. Her Edmund was now connected to someone else. That pronoun our hurt. But soon Tawny had little time to think of it what with the heavy traffic, her race across campus, and the rigors of class. Dr. Davenport's class was not one she could sleep through.

Chapter Ten

Mary appropriated Tawny's gray pony next. Here is how this occurred. Edmund, Maria, Julia and Tawny usually rode together early every Saturday morning, especially during the summer but also during fall or spring when even late morning could be hot. They would drive over to pick up the gray pony which was Tawny's and get the red mare which was Julia's, saddle both then ride tandem on the horses to Palomino which was just around the corner where they would saddle Maria and Edmund's horses. From there, the four would ride their horses to "the course." This "course" had originally been set up by who knows whom. And the Bertram's had simply added to it. It consisted of a definite path, jumps over cottonwood stumps or sawhorses, rides down gullies, a ride through a set of old barrels and so on. The course was the western version of a steeplechase.

The Bertram's and Tawny met beforehand in the kitchen. Tawny tended to do the cooking (not only of breakfast but of many meals). And though it is off topic, Tawny shopped for groceries as well. Generally Mrs. Norris, who inserted herself into the life of the Bertram family as often as possible, made the list, which Tawny took to Mrs. Bertram. After looking it over, Mrs. Bertram changed it all around so that Tawny would buy the brands and the food the Bertram's liked instead of the brands and other cheap food Mrs. Norris favored. Once she changed the list and gave Tawny money off Tawny went. Tawny had a number of unfounded fears, one of which was that she might run across Mrs. Norris at Panorama Market where Mrs. Norris would chide Tawny over the expense of the food in the cart and wonder for instance why Tawny was buying Kleenex when toilet paper, which was cheaper, would do. If Tawny had given her fears rational thought she would've realized that she did Mrs. Norris's grocery shopping too, generally at the same time she did Mrs. Bertram's. Mrs. Norris was able to slip her groceries onto the Bertram's list by adding them underneath the words: Nan's little wants. Mrs. Bertram didn't mind. Mrs. Norris was cheap, so cheap she never added anything costly to the list. And of course Mrs. Bertram did not have the strength of mind to confront Mrs. Norris nor the energy. This meant that Mrs. Bertram generally paid for most of Mrs. Norris's upkeep, because Mrs. Bertram was too full of lassitude and disinterest to check the bill against the groceries in the Bertram house. Indeed Mrs. Bertram was too detached to regularly enter the kitchen which meant she never knew the number of times Mrs. Norris came, after the fact, to retrieve her groceries. Mrs. Norris made sure Tawny had had them bagged separately so she could quickly whisk them away. It also meant that Mrs. Bertram never knew the number of times Mrs. Norris borrowed from the Bertram cupboard. Tawny did which is why she bought extra.

Back to the ride. On the day in question, Tawny had breakfast waiting – pancakes and eggs – when Maria, Julia, Edmund, and Mary Crawford entered. From the conversation aired as the five sat down to eat, Tawny realized that Edmund had gone to the Grant's to walk Mary over because he had invited Mary to ride a few days before. Edmund explained any difficulties connected to five riders but four horses away by telling Tawny that she could ride once Mary had finished. Tawny suggested that she herself stay home – she had a good deal of homework and her usual cooking and chores – but Edmund wouldn't relent. Edmund wasn't cognizant enough to realize he had put Mary in Tawny's place and still believed both could coexist.

Mary rode first, and of course Tawny never did. Horses were like driving a stick. Mary was a novice with both. She had never been up on a horse, but took to riding naturally. As Tawny could see, Mary Crawford had a good seat which meant she sat a horse like she'd always done so. Tawny was rather timid and would never ride the course. In trying to take a jump she was like Leland trying to dive. No matter how many times she approached the jump she rode around rather than over it. In other words, she went in feet first instead of executing a dive. Tawny barely cantered. But Mary, shortly after she got up on the horse, got its rhythm, cantered, then zigzagged through the barrels and eventually rode down the gullies and took some jumps. When she stopped, Edmund came to her and under the guise of managing her bridle, put his hands on hers.

Where Tawny was fearful, Mary was fearless. It had taken Tawny years to ride with some degree of confidence, which in a few moments in the saddle Mary had surpassed. Edmund was attracted to Mary's spirit, wit and independence, and she returned the favor though not for his reasons. Edmund's integrity appealed to Mary.

The riders came home to Henry and Rushworth. Rushworth, who had been out of town for several days while he visited a friend who had recently bought a place, was full of descriptions of it. "It has the grounds my house lacks. And his house has style. Of course it has. It's a Frank Lloyd Wright."

Tawny, who was interested in history of every sort, asked which house it was.

Of course, Rushworth with his faulty memory and lack of intellect, did not know. "Phil told me," (Phil was his friend), "but I cannot now remember." Tawny asked the home's location. Rushworth said, "I cannot remember the number or street." Tawny kindly explained that all she probably needed would be the city in which the house was located for as she said,

"Lloyd's houses are well-documented via photograph. So if you tell me the city I can most likely check out a book at UNLV's library which will have a picture of the house and the name that has been given to it." Rushworth told her the city and Tawny promised to research it come Monday. Rushworth – elated – went back to his problem at hand. His house had no design beyond those of the many ranch houses in Las Vegas and the previous owner had done nothing with the yard except plant lawn and trees. Rushworth believed the trees should be cut.

Tawny said, "You can't fell trees."

No one really wanted to talk to Rushworth but because, with his constant talk, he was insistent, Maria said, "Henry has an estate. Henry, what about your grounds?"

"Beautifully designed and kept," answered Henry.

"Maybe," said Maria. "Henry could offer ideas."

Rushworth wanted to hire a professional to quickly redesign his land. Following which the work would be done wholesale.

To this Edmund said, "I would suggest living with it awhile and as ideas come adopting them."

Since Maria surmised that ideas never came to Rushworth she suggested they all visit Rushworth's and that Rushworth give the ideas of Henry, who was the one among them who had an estate, the most credence. As soon as Rushworth called his mother and she agreed, a visit was planned.

Initially, Tawny, though invited by Rushworth, was not to be included. The reason given was stated by Mrs. Norris who said, "Tawny must stay behind and keep Mrs. Bertram company. Plus, if Mrs. Bertram requires something from a store, Tawny must be on hand to get out and buy it." Mary, who had become Tawny's champion – except when she was stealing Edmund away – insisted Mrs. Bertram could stay alone. Tawny said,

"I don't mind. In fact, I enjoy time spent with Mrs. Bertram." Not one to easily give up, when Mary went home she got her sister Mrs. Grant to agree to babysit Mrs. Bertram. When she found out, Mrs. Norris was annoyed as she did not like to see Tawny anywhere near the same level as the Bertram children. But what could she say? So, on the following Saturday, an hour before lunch, Henry, Mary, Maria, Julia, Edmund, Mrs. Norris (who wished to see her new friend Mrs. Rushworth) and even Tawny prepared to drive to the Rushworth house where Rushworth and his mother would host them and hear their opinions.

Chapter Eleven

They decided to drive to the Rushworth's in Mrs. Bertram's car, a station wagon. With a bench seat in front, a second seat, a full bench seat too, and even a short bench seat which could be pulled up in the "way back," the car could nicely fit everyone. Maria insisted Henry drive and with Maria Mrs. Norris' favorite, Henry was given the keys and sat in the driver's seat. Maria slid in beside him, which left Julia stuck between Maria and the door. Since Maria was engaged to Rushworth Julia felt she and Maria's seats should have been reversed. Maria should have let Julia slide next to Henry and so on, but Maria seemed intent on having Henry too. Edmund, Mary and Mrs. Norris took the bench seat directly behind the front seat of the car and Tawny was stuck by herself in the way back. This seemed per usual to everyone except Mary Crawford who whispered in Edmund's ear, "Why not let Tawny come up with us? She's our age."

Edmund whispered back, "It would be disrespectful to expect someone of Mrs. Norris' age to climb in the way back."

Mary supposed this was true, and when she thought of Mrs. Norris, climbing in her tight-fitting knit suit, into the rear compartment of the station wagon, the vision amused her enough that she left off angling for Tawny's rights.

Rushworth was so excited that he and his mother were waiting outside for everyone. Rushworth was pacing, but his mother had seated herself on a bench to the left of the front door.

As the station wagon approached, Tawny, in looking at the house, mentally agreed that it lacked style. But rather than say so, especially later, when Rushworth asked her how he could give it some "Frank Lloyd Wright" appeal, Tawny remained quiet.

Someone suggested making the house, which was a long ranch with a low pitched roof, look more cottage like. As "more cottage like" was said Tawny thought, this house doesn't begin to look like a cottage, so how can it become more like one?

The front lawn because it had two large firs planted in it, was patchy. These were the two trees Rushworth wished to cut down.

The Rushworth's had a woman who lived in. The house was much larger than the Bertram's so Maria silently noted that she would eventually be mistress of a home and fortune which exceeded her parents'. But Maria did not wish to discuss the house – especially not the two portraits hanging in the entry hall – which Mrs. Rushworth, her future mother-in-law, now was expounding on. To get further out of earshot, Maria stepped aside which left Julia in front. Once Julia listened a bit she too stepped aside. This left Tawny front and center. And Tawny with her interest in history and portraiture was pleased. While Maria huddled with Henry, and Julia attempted to, Tawny listened as Rushworth's mother said, "We're lucky to have these portraits."

"Yes," Tawny said – and meant it.

The portraits were not a pair even though one was of a man and the other of a woman. This Tawny could easily see. Plus Mrs. Rushworth beforehand had explained that the portraits were from different ages so not of a husband and wife, no matched pair. The woman was Mrs. Rushworth's great grandmother times four and her large portrait had been painted in, according to the date at the bottom of the portrait next to the artist's name, 1812. 1812 was the year, according to the entries in Mrs. Rushworth's family Bible that the sitter had married, which was when the sitter was 18. The sitter was pretty and though Mrs. Rushworth was older now she bore a resemblance to her progenitor. Tawny remarked on this when she said, "I should so like to see a photo of you at this same age because I believe your features and facial structure are similar to your progenitor's." Tawny went with Mrs. Rushworth to a photo album where the requisite photo was found. This photo was taken back to the portrait where Tawny decided Mrs. Rushworth was, as she suspected, similar in feature to the pretty young woman in the portrait. Mrs. Rushworth was pleased.

While the two left to find the photo album the others waited in the entry, a room that held a settee and various chairs which most of the others were now sitting in or on. Maria had taken the settee and before Rushworth could sit beside her Henry had. This left Rushworth pacing.

The other portrait, painted in the Edwardian age, was, at 11 by 13, much smaller than the portrait of the woman. The smaller portrait was an oil of the late Mr. Rushworth's great grandfather who, like Leland, was not a handsome man. Both their features were too heavy and pronounced. So, rather than comment on any likeness between Leland and his great- great grandfather Tawny chose to comment on the expert brushwork and the fact that the artist had captured his sitter's character, which Tawny could see was considerable. Mrs. Rushworth was further pleased because she believed her late spouse and his forbears had immense integrity.

Tawny offered to paint Mrs. Rushworth's portrait. Mrs. Rushworth agreed, and at a later date Tawny arrived with her watercolors and produced an accurate and appealing portrait. The offer, the sitting, the portrait itself and Tawny's integrity and kindness made Mrs. Rushworth subconsciously wish her son had chosen Tawny not Maria. Maria was beautiful, one of the most beautiful girls Mrs. Rushworth had seen, but Tawny was pretty. Tawny's only lack, in Mrs. Rushworth's opinion, was that Tawny's family was, unlike Maria's, not rich, or prominent.

Back to the visit and its main purpose – to help Leland improve his grounds and give his house character.

Before everyone ate, which they would do before tackling the backyard, which was immense, as was the front, Mrs. Rushworth prepared to lead all concerned through the house. Everyone, including Mrs. Rushworth and Tawny, the two who had left to find the photograph but were now returned, was still congregated in the entry hall which like everything connected to the house was immense. To decorate the room Mrs. Rushworth had placed her family Bible on a white altar-looking, wide pedestal based lectern. Lectern makes the piece sound like it belonged in a school but it was clearly a decorative object meant to give prominence to the family Bible. It was, as said, the family Bible, the one in which, over generations, births, deaths, and marriages had been recorded. Rushworth, who had taken Maria from the settee and now stood with her before the open Bible, showed her where, once they married, their names would be recorded. "And recorded," he said, "by my fair mother's own hand."

Rushworth was to Maria's left, Henry, who'd also left the settee, had gathered to her right and Tawny, who had never sat down, stood close enough to the pair to hear Henry whisper to Maria, "I do not like to see you stand so close to something that looks like an altar."

Maria started and stepped back.

Though Mrs. Rushworth did not hear what Henry had said she gave a look of concern. Tawny supposed because Maria looked to all as if she welcomed Henry's whispers and advances. But because her son was besotted with Maria, and because Mrs. Rushworth had always pampered Leland, she dismissed her concern and looked away. (Mrs. Rushworth was also somewhat vain about Leland's lineage and because it was impeccable believed that in the end no one would be able to best her son.)

Before they left the entry hall, Mrs. Rushworth explained that though she and Leland attended church her late husband had not. To this Mary Crawford said, "Abandoning religion is another modern convenience, almost akin to a dishwasher." Tawny hated to hear Mary talk disparagingly about religion but it was Edmund who spoke Tawny's thoughts, perhaps because the two often thought alike.

Edmund said, "Let us hope God is not out of vogue."

Mary said, "Do you mean Vogue magazine?"

Edmund answered, "Mary, "I think you're bright enough to know what I mean. God has a place in this world. And not simply because he created it."

Mary said, "Edmund, you sound like the clergyman you hope to be. But I can't help but still hope you choose some other vocation. Do not waste your intellect and sense of ethics on religion. Please, choose medicine. Or, second best, the law. Perhaps you could go into politics."

This talk was broken up as Mrs. Rushworth led the parties concerned through the house. When they reached the master which was inhabited by Mrs. Rushworth Henry said, "Leland, in which bedroom will you and Maria sleep?"

Although Mrs. Rushworth thought it was none of Henry's business she said, "When Leland and Maria marry I intend to live out a long cherished dream and to do so have already bought a pied a terre in Paris."

Henry, who liked to travel, redeemed himself in Mrs. Rushworth's eyes by asking where it was. And further redeemed himself with his knowledge of the area. The two spent the rest of the house tour discussing Paris and its many delights.

With the house tour complete Mrs. Rushworth, with Henry now at her side, led the guests to the dining room where all sat down to eat. Once they were seated Mrs. Rushworth, who was taking teaching Sunday School extremely seriously, said, "According to the most recent Sunday School Bulletin, heroin use has grown while attendance at Sunday School has shrunk."

Before anyone could decry this fact, Mary Crawford said, "Though I haven't tried it, I think I might prefer heroin to Sunday School."

Mrs. Rushworth looked surprised. It was an impertinent remark.

In answer Edmund said, "I know that you speak irreverently for shock value. But never say things you don't mean." After saying so, Edmund changed the subject and the remainder of lunchtime conversation stayed on an even keel.

After lunch Mrs. Norris repaired to the kitchen to sponge leftovers from the cook and Leland led the young people, sans Julia, to the backyard.

Julia was forced to stay inside because during lunch she had expressed an interest in Mrs. Rushworth's flower arrangements. Consequently, out of politeness, she had been forced to stay with Mrs. Rushworth who took her again from room to room, this time to look at and discuss flower arrangements. Mrs. Rushworth force fed Julia morsels such as where every flower came from. Plus, she gave Julia a peek down each arrangement so that Julia could see the flower frogs. Mrs. Rushworth also explained the principles of design as they related to flower arranging. Added to this the woman explained in so minute a detail how to cut each type of flower that Julia quickly regretted her offhand remark. She wished she could think of a way out, so she could get out to speak to Henry Crawford on whom she – along with her sister Maria – had developed a crush.

Outside, a pretty splashing fountain that was lined with colorful tiles first attracted everyone's attention. When Maria remarked on its beauty and soothing sound Henry sought to decrease her interest in anything Rushworth had as he said, "Too bad it's not a pool." Upon hearing this Rushworth looked crestfallen and Maria, who thought Henry had great taste and Rushworth none, didn't have the integrity to stand up for her intended.

The lot was very deep but the backyard which was enclosed by a high ornamental brick wall was not, so after the silence that followed Henry's remark about the nonexistent pool Henry asked, "What's behind the wall?"

Rushworth walked to an iron gate set into brick before saying, "It's impossible to see through it because it's a solid sheet of iron, but this gate, which is locked, leads to corrals and stables, both of which are not used."

Henry said, "Where's the key so that we might see what can be done with the property as a whole?" As he added, "Perhaps the wall, corrals and stable could be leveled," Maria added,

"I like to ride so I hope we keep the corrals and stables." Rushworth, after making his apologies – he had not thought about the key even though the visit had been planned for the purpose of viewing the entire yard – ran into the house to search for it.

When he had been gone about fifteen minutes, Henry said, "It must be lost. Let's climb over the wall."

The wall was pretty high and the women in dresses so Edmund said, "How can we top it – especially Tawny and my sister and yours? I mean, how can they top it delicately?"

When Henry wondered what Edmund meant by delicately Edmund said, "Well, to put it without delicacy, how can they climb it without showing their slips et cetera?"

Henry said, "I promise not to peek. And most of us are brother and sister."

Edmund sometimes found some of what Henry said verging on lewd. And here was an example. But he decided, out of politeness, not to comment on it and focus instead on what he saw as the physical impossibilities of scaling a ten foot brick wall.

In places the wall contained pieces of brick which, for purposes of decoration, protruded. Henry pointed to a chevron of such protrusions as he said, "These bricks could be used as steps."

The ladies – excluding Tawny, who was to sit on the side of the fountain and wait for Rushworth, so she could tell him where the others had gone – lined up before the chevron. Mary went first and with Henry's and Edmund's help stepped up the chevron then pulled herself to the top of the wall. Once there she scooted over and sat. Maria came next then Edmund and Henry. Once the four were sitting on the top of the wall Henry and Edmund jumped to the other side where they prepared to help "catch" their sisters. The drop on the other side was shorter than expected because the ground was higher in the rear portion of the yard, so the jump was not much.

Once the four had seen the stables and corrals they disappeared into the desert beyond. The stated reason was to see if in the area behind the stables and corrals they could create a course like the one they used near their neighborhood. But the real reason was so Henry and Maria could be alone and so Mary and Edmund could be alone too. At least this must have been the actual reason because the four quickly split into two and two and went separate ways.

When Tawny had sat for almost an hour by herself she too began to wonder whether there was a key. Perhaps the gate was locked because no key existed and the Rushworth's had not gone to the trouble of having one made.

Julia, now free of Mrs. Rushworth, finally came out. She assured Tawny there was probably a key because Mrs. Rushworth, whom Julia deemed a bore, just like her son, was helping Leland and the woman who lived in, look for it. As was Mrs. Norris.

"That sponger Mrs. Norris," said Julia, "is at work ingratiating herself and has a pile of leftovers that she can feed on for a week. Leland's mother thinks Mrs. Norris is helping. What a fool. Mrs. Norris is using looking for the key as her excuse for going through the cupboards and drawers in the house from which she will no doubt sponge further." Although Mrs. Norris was Julia's ally – Mrs. Norris loved Maria and Julia like her own – Julia was angry that Mrs. Norris, who had supposedly come to keep Mrs. Rushworth company, had left that duty to Julia. "Mrs. Norris," said Julia, "should have been on hand to look at and learn all that can be learned about flower arrangements – to relieve me. And I should have been free to go with the others over the wall."

Recognizing that Julia was out of sorts, Tawny apologized for Julia's bad luck.

It was at this junction that Leland rushed out, key in hand. When he did not see Maria he asked, "Where has she gone?"

Angry and vindictive, Julia said, "Off with Henry. And Mary went with Edmund."

When Leland wondered how they had scaled the wall Tawny pointed to the decorative brick they had used as footsteps.

Julia wished to follow her sister and after saying as much asked that Leland unlock the gate. After he did and Julia had disappeared but left the gate open Rushworth returned to the fountain where he sat beside Tawny.

When they had sat a good while Rushworth said, "I think they might as well have waited for me. My mother and I went to a good deal of trouble to find this key."

Tawny agreed but because she was embarrassed for him and for the Crawford's and Bertram's she tried to make excuses to explain the others bad behavior. "When we are waiting," she said, "we are such bad judges of time. Five minutes seems like five hours." She suggested that he join them. He said, "To what end?"

Tawny answered, "I heard them once they were over the wall, propose to look over the desert behind your lot to see whether it could support a riding course. You must know that Maria loves to ride."

This Rushworth again remembered. And since his property contained corrals and a stable, both of which Maria hoped they would – against Henry Crawford's recommendations keep – he felt again like the king of Maria's heart and so proposed to go after her. Before he left he said, "Miss Tawny, are you as big an admirer of Henry Crawford as some people are? For my part I can't see much in him. He's not very tall. Five nine at most, and more likely he's only five-eight. And not handsome. In my opinion, we did very well before the Crawford's came."

He realized Tawny agreed when a small sigh escaped her. After hearing it, off he went, which again left Tawny alone.

Mary Crawford and Edmund returned first. When Edmund said, "Tawny, you're alone," he put words to what Tawny had felt now for the last hour and a half. But when he immediately resumed his conversation with Mary Crawford and when both laughed because both so obviously enjoyed each other's company Tawny wished she had stayed home and kept Mrs. Bertram company. To have Edmund so obviously prefer Mary Crawford's company was unpleasant and Tawny, who now wished to excuse herself, did so under the pretext of going inside to avoid the sun.

Through the window Tawny saw Julia and Rushworth, both of whom had found Maria and Henry, return. Rushworth led the way followed by Julia while Henry and Maria lagged behind. Once all were inside Tawny heard Henry quietly say to Julia, "I hope you will sit by me on our way home." Julia, appeased, accepted.

To capitalize on Maria's love for riding and his property's stable and corrals, Rushworth said, "Since my house is ranch in style, I shall have a ranch style fence built in my front yard – out of rustic logs. Maybe I'll even rename my property "Rushworth Ranch." I could have a wooden sign made with the name branded on it and hang it from an eave."

Although she was not in a hurry to hurry her wedding, Maria hoped Leland would not get very far with his plans because his plans would have to be undone once she became mistress of "Rushworth Ranch."

Chapter Twelve

When a Sunday School Convention to be held in Atlanta was advertised and attendance by women who taught Sunday School encouraged, Leland's mother suggested she and Mrs. Norris attend. Adept at sponging – to do so she often mentioned her widow's mite – Mrs. Norris had soon obtained Mrs. Rushworth's promise to pay her way.

On the day both were to leave, Leland offered to drive them to the airport. At Leland's request, Maria came too. After Leland parked he and Maria accompanied the two ladies into the airport and later stood on the tarmac and waved as Mrs. Rushworth and Mrs. Norris, once the steps had been rolled up, climbed up to the door of the plane. Mrs. Rushworth, who went in first, handed her boarding pass to the flight attendant. On her heels, Nan Norris did likewise, As the two settled themselves into their seats Mrs. Rushworth who, per her promise was paying for the trip, said, "I always fly and first class."

Mrs. Norris, who'd never flown before, said, "Yes. I can surely see why." But once Mrs. Norris learned the cost of the flight versus the cost of coach, Mrs. Norris wished she could somehow have flown coach and pocketed the difference.

As you know, saving money was Mrs. Norris's blind spot and one supposed it was this blind spot which kept her from seeing how dangerous Henry had become to Maria. On the day of the visit to the Rushworth's, Mrs. Norris had been so busy sponging that she had not seen Maria run off with Henry. Nor had she heard Leland's later lamentations over it. And as you also know, Mrs. Rushworth's two blind spots – her money and her and her late husband's illustrious ancestors, kept her from seeing that Henry Crawford was eclipsing her son because Mrs. Rushworth could not fathom that anyone with less money and a lower pedigree could best Leland.

Back to the convention. After the steps on the Atlanta side were rolled up and the two ladies descended them but before they collected the bags they'd checked, Mrs. Rushworth had secured a porter to carry the bags and hail a taxi. Mrs. Rushworth, no novice at travel, gave the porter a tip.

As Mrs. Norris watched from the back seat as the money ticked up on the taxi meter, and as she thought about the tip to the porter and the coming tip to the driver, she wished she could put it all in the bank. But she was not foolhardy enough to suggest saving money by personally carrying their luggage and taking the bus. And she kept silent too when her new friend had a porter at the hotel take their bags to their rooms.

Mrs. Rushworth had already mentioned a possible desire for a companion when she travelled to France and though she had not asked Mrs. Norris to be such Mrs. Norris considered the trip to Atlanta as a dry run. So she kept quiet abut the expense. But how her mind ran ahead of itself: If she did go to Paris as Mrs. Rushworth's guest she knew she could contrive ways to pocket some of the money. And since Mrs. Rushworth liked clothes Mrs. Rushworth would probably spring for some for Mrs. Norris during the many fantastic shopping trips they would take in Paris. Mrs. Norris was alive to any free-of-charge augmentations to her wardrobe. Not to mention the errands Mrs. Rushworth would no doubt have her run, errands after which Mrs. Rushworth would of course say, "Keep the change, please."

The rooms at the hotel in Atlanta were luxurious, especially compared to the few hotel rooms in which Mrs. Norris had stayed. She and Mr. Norris had stayed in one on their honeymoon, but it was not nice. Mr. Norris had wished to rent the bridal suite, but because of cost Mrs. Norris vetoed this. And in after years if the Norris's had to travel they usually imposed on friends in the area they were traveling to by sleeping in their beds and eating their food. And if this failed they stayed in motels which were econoline.

But here was a sponger's paradise: free bars of soap (albeit small), free bottles of shampoo (again small) and, as Mrs. Norris learned from Mrs. Rushworth, one could ask the front desk for toothbrushes, razors and other items one could say one forgot.

That evening over dinner in one of the restaurants in the hotel Leland's mother confirmed, "I shall take breakfast in bed via room service. Please do likewise and then we will make our way to the opening session of the conference," (which was being held at the Hilton Hotel at which they were staying.)

Of course, during every session they devoted themselves to the matter at hand: Sunday School. But in off hours – as Mrs. Rushworth shopped (and sometimes bought Mrs. Norris items: harbingers of Mrs. Norris's future Parisian wardrobe) – the two spoke about Leland and Maria's love for one another. This fiction kept them from any doubts.

As a teacher, Mrs. Norris was the admitted master when the two concentrated on Sunday School. Mrs. Rushworth was indeed impressed when in talking about Sunday School and how vital it was for small children, Mrs. Norris said, "We must train them up in the way they should go so that when they are old they will not depart from it."

Mrs. Rushworth pronounced the words a maxim, "and so sound." How funny. Mrs. Rushworth seemed to think Mrs. Norris had coined the maxim. Well, thought Mrs. Norris, if Leland's mother doesn't know Proverbs well enough to realize I'm borrowing from it, that's her folly.

Between sessions, which were short indeed, the two women toured a mansion noted for representing the grace of the old south. Mrs. Rushworth praised its beauty and said, "I long for the languor of the past."

This made Mrs. Norris wonder if Mrs. Rushworth had originated from the south.

"No," said Mrs. Rushworth. "My late husband and I both grew up on Long Island and our business took us into the city quite a bit. So, as a New Yorker I simply admire the lifestyle of the old south."

"Complete with slavery," asked Mrs. Norris?

"Certainly not. Slavery was inhumane. I know so from stories from Bonnie Mae." When Mrs. Norris asked the identity of Bonnie Mae Mrs. Rushworth answered, "A maid who'd come from the deep south."

What came out during further conversation was that Bonnie Mae'd had many ancestors who were slaves. Her personal connection to Mrs. Rushworth also came out as Leland's mother said, "My parents, whom I idolized, were busy, my father with business, my mother with her community duties. She chaired many charitable organizations. Both were natural leaders. But seldom home. So, before I was sent to school, I often spent my hours at Bonnie Mae's side. She listened intently, which is the reason I listen intently to Leland."

No wonder, thought Mrs. Norris, Leland talks so much. Mrs. Norris, like Dr. Bertram, believed children should be seen not heard. Not that she didn't listen intently to her darlings Maria and Julia, but because Dr. Bertram rarely did and Mrs. Bertram listened only to her TV shows, both girls knew when to speak and when not to so that neither seemed idle minded but instead clever, which both were.

The southern mansion contained an object of interest to the teacher in Mrs. Norris. It was a glass flytrap. Because Mrs. Norris had a forceful and oft times vindictive personality, her grandmother used to say, "Nan, you'll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." Because she was insulted that her lack of a sweet temper was often noted, Mrs. Norris never asked the question her grandmother's statement always posed which was, why would anybody want to catch flies?

Here, in the mansion they were touring, was the answer: a flycatcher, a glass contraption with a tortured interior at the heart of which lay a crumb of bread which according to the docent had been soaked in honey. The flies found their way to the honey by its scent and there were trapped down at the bottom of the tortured glass tube in the interior. It is like a pest strip, thought Mrs. Norris, only lots prettier. Had she not been a person of rectitude she would have lifted the item and, flies and all, put it in her purse.

Instead she commented, "Of what interest this would be to my students. How artifacts make the past come alive."

At this juncture Mrs. Rushworth mentioned two revolutionary war muskets which her late husband's ancestor, an aide-de-camp to General Washington, owned. "Each time I see them I can almost hear the musket fire. How they stir my patriotism."

Since Mrs. Norris had not seen them when she toured Mrs. Rushworth's house she asked their whereabouts.

"Oh. Over two of the mantles in my house on Long island. I shall have to show you someday."

Back to the convention. On its final day Mrs. Norris saw something which reminded her of Tawny. It was a beautiful cameo brooch of Jesus with children at his knee which was worn at the breast of a conference attendee. The cameo's subject should have brought back sweet thoughts. But did not. Instead it resurrected the part Tawny played or rather the part Mrs. Norris believed Tawny had played in cheating Mrs. Norris out of owning such a cameo. Here is what occurred. Mrs. Norris was procuring items for a sale table at her school's Halloween carnival fundraiser. She had approached Mrs. Bertram about a donation, in particular a piece of jewelry. The only piece Mrs. Bertram considered parting with was an heirloom, a cameo of Jesus with children at his knee. She had never worn it and since it was an heirloom from her husband's family: his great grandmother had been given it by her husband and had subsequently passed it down – it meant little to Mrs. Bertram. The family connection was meaningless as was the connection to religion.

Mrs. Norris planned to price it cheaply and since she'd be manning the sales table she planned to buy it as she put it out. But Dr. Bertram's arrival in the room as Mrs. Norris was placing the cameo into the collection box stymied Mrs. Norris's plan. He was hurt that his wife would give the brooch away, but since she obviously didn't care for it he decided to place it elsewhere. His first thought was into one of his daughters' hands. Both were called, but neither wanted the brooch. It was too old-fashioned for their needs.

Mrs. Norris saw her opening – the cameo could be hers – but at that instant Tawny came into the room to bring something Mrs. Bertram had asked for so Dr. Bertram asked, "What do think of this piece?"

As Tawny handled it she said, "What a tender scene, and so finely carved."

Since she appreciated it Dr. Bertram made it his gift. And now she often wore it at the high neck of a midi-length dress she owned. If Mrs. Norris were to admit the facts, which of course she would not, the brooch best fit Tawny and her kind nature and would have looked out of place on Julia and Maria who were selfish as can be, and on Mrs. Norris who hated children, and even on Mrs. Bertram who loved her children, but in such an abstract way.

What made up for the loss was a souvenir presented to her by Mrs. Rushworth. It was a crown brooch of gold whose significance was that the women's group to which all the ladies at the convention belonged was called the King's Daughters. How proudly Mrs. Norris wore the brooch, which was 18 carat, during the remainder of the convention and once she returned home.

Chapter Thirteen

"Tom's home," said Julia to Mary Crawford. "He came last night." It's a wonder Mary had not seen him as she was so often at the Bertram's now. Because Mary still had an interest in Tom she found him. But when she found him all he said was, "I know you came to stay, but has Henry gone?"

After Mary answered, "No," Tom added,

"I thought Henry was dropping you off then returning to his holdings."

"That was," said Mary, "his intent. But our sister's house so agrees with him he's extended his stay." As Edmund and Tawny entered the room she looked at her watch and said, "He ought to be here any moment now. After all, we were both invited to swim, but Henry was still writing letters, so he stayed behind to finish them. Which he can quickly do. He's not much of a correspondent. But no one's brother is."

Edmund, who overheard this, said, "A generalization which is not entirely true. Tawny, tell Mary about your brother William's letters to you."

Tawny said, "William writes faithfully and his letters are long. When he was in Vietnam I felt I was hearing from a war correspondent. Not that he gave out significant details."

Henry arrived as his sister Mary Crawford asked who and where William was. In this way both learned that William was Tawny's brother, who, as a West Point graduate and a veteran of the war, had recently been made a captain. With the Viet Nam war so unpopular, Tawny expected Henry and Mary to criticize William's involvement. But Tawny's love and admiration for her bother so shone neither could. Plus, with their uncle an admiral this was something neither would likely do. Added to this, both were apolitical. So perhaps this lack of interest in world affairs kept potential comments about the war in check

Tom liked William. The two had met once. And he loved Tawny, And William, like Tawny, was unpretentious – like Tom. But because of Tom's recent failure in the Army, Tom – even though he knew Tawny loved to talk about her brother – steered the conversation away from William by talking about Princess, his horse, and how she'd fared in the races. "She made a good showing. But as I expected, did not place."

Mary looked at Edmund and Tom. Tom was by far the handsomer of the two and the more outgoing. And she had it from her brother-in-law Dr. Grant that Tom was Edmund's intellectual equal, but did not apply himself. Mary had been prepared to prefer Tom, even while she had spent most of her free time with Edmund because Tom was gone. As late as when she heard the words "Tom's home," to prefer Tom had been her intent. But Mary found herself beginning to prefer Edmund. Leastways as Tom talked about Princess Mary thought about Edmund, not Tom and Princess.

Because she did she paid no attention to Tom as he said, "I had such hopes for Princess and they're not dead but as one of the new friends I made said, 'Forget about Princess for a while and add to your stable. Your trailer fits two. Buy a second horse.' So right now I have feelers out for a second thoroughbred." At the races Tom had consorted with owners far and wide and was now contemplating a visit to a man he met from Kentucky who had a foal that looked promising.

Mary felt slighted because she recognized Tom's disinterest. Tom had been gone for months and she hadn't been what drew him back. He had returned because with the racing season over and hunting ready to begin his home was the best base from which to do the latter.

Although she had done an inadequate job of engaging Tom, she had done the opposite when it came to his brother Edmund.

Tawny and Edmund had many traditions, one of which was stargazing especially on a summer night. The two would look for both big and little dippers, the north star and Edmund had once driven Tawny toward a town called Mesquite where because they were away from the lights of the city they had seen the Milky Way. Tawny was amazed that Earth was part of the Milky Way but that the Milky Way could be seen from it. "It's like being able to see the forest and the trees. The Milky Way must be immense."

Edmund agreed. "The Milky Way is many light years in length and breadth."

But the two stargazed no more. Edmund spent his free evenings with Mary, her brother, and Maria and Julia, which meant that Tawny and Edmund no longer bothered with the night sky.

Because she rarely talked, but listened often, Tawny realized that Edmund preferred Mary, that Maria, though engaged to Rushworth (who spent his days at the Bertram house), preferred Henry, and that Julia, jealous of Henry's obvious preference for Maria, preferred Henry too. Rushworth sensed Maria's preference for Henry as well, as did Mary Crawford.

Henry should not have encouraged Maria. But Henry, used to attracting any woman he wished to, never discouraged her interest, which was perhaps because Henry was vain.

The Bertram house – without Dr. Bertram there to impose order – had grown chaotic. Cable had come to Las Vegas and because it had Mrs. Bertram rarely left her room. Though she did not fully recognize it, her house was now full of the Crawford's who were two young people her husband only knew by letter rather than by sight. The Crawford's were there by day and into the night and when they were not present Edmund's thoughts were of Mary and Julia and Maria's of Henry.

Even though it was no longer summer the Bertram's – by heating the pool – continued to host pool parties. Most of them were impromptu but Tawny noticed that Mary and Henry Crawford kept a suit or two at the Bertram's and that several of the Bertram's pool towels had now been designated as Mary and Henry's.

Prior to Dr. Bertram's departure and the Crawford's arrival, the Bertram house was not one where young people gathered. Dr. Bertram was so strict in his governance that he did not feel that to keep his eye on his children's behavior he needed to make his home a gathering place for his children and their friends. He was content to let them gather elsewhere and indeed if he had seen the swimming pool with rafts often left floating in it, towels heaped up, food, drinks, plates etc. all out of the kitchen and by the pool – especially on the weekends when Edmund was off, he would have stopped it. In a way, he and his wife were similar: They liked their home to themselves.

One afternoon when Tawny was in the entry she heard the postman push the letters through the slot set into the door. She walked to the scattering of envelopes and circulars now spread out on the floor, gathered them together and began to look through them in the hope that William had written. When she saw a letter to Mrs. Bertram from Dr. Bertram she took it upstairs.

Too lazy to look for her reading glasses, Mrs. Bertram said, "Open it and read it for me will you, Tawny?"

Tawny and Mrs. Bertram soon grasped the purpose of the letter which was that Dr. Bertram – his tour nearing its end – would be home once his replacement arrived which would be as Dr. Bertram had written, "By Christmas, I hope."

Mrs. Bertram wanted Tawny to call Edmund at his father's office with the news, and since her call was heard by Julia who told Maria who told Mary who told Henry, soon everyone but Rushworth knew. It was not Maria who told Rushworth, but Mary and with a good deal of ironic satisfaction. It delighted Mary to do so because she realized that Maria was not eager to marry Rushworth because Maria preferred Henry now. Upon hearing the news Rushworth's excitement knew no bounds but Mary could well see that Maria wished it did. To Maria, Mary later said, "When your father returns you can marry Rushworth. Then your happiness will be complete."

When Mary answered, "Yes," but without even glancing up, Mary further realized Maria's complete lack of interest where Rushworth was concerned. Maria might not have been pleased at news of their father's return but Julia was because she believed that Maria would marry Rushworth and that once she did Henry Crawford would be hers.

But really, no one relished the thought of Dr. Bertram's return because once he returned all the parties that had been occurring would end. His grim look and constant quizzing his children as to their activities would ensure they behaved. But, since Christmas was practically three months away – it was now only October first – his children and their friends intended to continue as before except they would soon substitute something other for swimming because now, even with the Indian summer and heating of the pool it would grow too cold.

This something other was suggested by a young man named Yates who showed up at the Bertram's – professional movie camera and projector in hand.

Dr. Bertram considered his home his haven and was never one to enjoy his children's friends – even on the odd evening. As has been said, if his children and their friends wanted to congregate they congregated at someone else's house. The Bertram children didn't host parties; they did not bring friends home after school. In other words the Bertram house was not a gathering place for people other than the Bertram's and Mrs. Norris. But, when the cat's away – which is why Yates, a young man Tom had met on the racing circuit, was able to invite himself to stay.

Tom was gregarious – more so than his father and Edmund, but even Tom wished Yates had not come – or at least had not come unannounced and intending to stay. After all, what Tom had given Yates was not a real invitation. Instead, he had said what one says when parting with an acquaintance that's casual – stop by if you're ever my way.

Yates was the son of a movie producer or perhaps director. Tom could not remember. This was because out of disinterest, Tom had paid little attention to Yate's history. Yates was just someone Tom had met on the racing circuit. John Yates was somewhat like Tom Bertram only more so. Like Tom, Yates had enough ready cash to float here and there, where he indulged his passion of the moment. Yates had just come from the home of a man named Ravenshaw whom Yates declared to be a powerhouse in the movie industry.

Although Yates liked racing Yates was, in Tom's opinion, like everyone from southern California in that his real interest was the film industry. At least, this was something Tom had noticed when he was in Southern California. Anywhere he sat, whether in the grand stands, or at a restaurant, he heard those around him talk incessantly about their screen tests, their screen plays, the parts they hoped to snare and so on. Yates was onto such a part at Ravenshaw's. Ravenshaw was putting together a movie and had agreed that the young people – his son's friends of which Yates was one – could have parts. "Speaking parts," said Yates, "which would then put us into the Screen Actor's Guild, which would then lead to further parts. But everything got broken up," Yates said, "when Ravenshaw Senior's mother died. The whole idea bagged. The old woman couldn't have died at a worse time. I don't know why Mr. Ravenshaw didn't simply suspend the project to be later resumed. But like I said, the whole thing was scrapped. There went my SAG card."

Tom asked Yates, "Why the camera?"

"Oh," said Yates, "this old thing. One of my father's castoffs. But it works perfectly well. I brought it in the hopes of making a movie." When Tom wondered what about and with whom Yates answered the latter by saying, "With you, your siblings and friends." The plot of the suggested movie was left unclear, and for the time being Yates suggested, "Screen tests for all." He tested everyone, even Rushworth, Tawny and the Crawford's. Then played the film back on a big white wall in the Bertram living room. Even Mrs. Bertram left her bedroom to watch the tests.

Edmund saw nothing wrong with the screen tests. His father took, and then they watched home movies. But when Yates suggested they make a film – especially when he revealed details – Edmund had second thoughts.

Yates wanted to use a screenplay his father had bought (which his father did now not intend to use) and have everyone act the parts.

The screenplay, a non-musical version of something akin to Hair, contained lots of scenes of drug use, much subversive talk and several love relations complete with love scenes.

"We don't have to make the movie entirely as written. We can leave the nudity out. There's lots of room in a screenplay for change," explained Yates.

Edmund could not believe Tom had invited Yates in, although Edmund realized that Tom couldn't have known Yates's true intent, especially at the instant when Yates had arrived on their doorstep. Edmund soon learned that Yates had brought a stash of weed along with the camera. The purpose of the weed: to lend authenticity to the script. "It will make the drug scenes hazy," Yates explained. Over Yates's protests Edmund flushed the weed down the toilet.

A conference was called at which Yates presented the script. Rushworth wanted to do a period piece: "Something with capes. And swords." He thought a movie about everyday life was not a movie, and wanted something set back in time.

Yates reminded one and all that this screenplay was not set back in time. Someone suggested that they set it back in time, but the screenplay contained no action really and no conflict (which is most likely why Yates' father had dumped it.) It amounted to several love scenes, and lots of drug use and talk which everyone – even those who wished to make the film – agreed was not interesting.

Yates still argued that if they did not use the script in hand, they had none.

Henry picked up the script and said, "Even with it, we haven't. This plot is stupid."

"I agree," said Rushworth, "and it calls for no capes."

Henry looked at Maria and suppressed a laugh then said, "Yes. Who wants to sit around in jeans talking politics through smoke-filled air? No one will want to watch something like that, let alone act in it."

"Well, find another script," said Yates.

At this juncture Edmund did what he ought to have done when Yates proposed his plan, which was to say, "Dad wouldn't like the commotion linked to making a movie. He likes a serene house." Tawny silently agreed. But others thought Dr. Bertram would like the idea of his children making a film.

"As long," said Maria, "as it's worthwhile. Something with a positive theme." Soon, everybody excluding Edmund and Tawny were suggesting worthwhile themes.

Eventually Leland said, "Family. What about a movie about someone who at a young age (as did I) buried his father and how his mother, a woman (courageous as is my own) carries on? And how the young man steers himself right, and finds the love of his life," – here he paused to look at Maria – "remodels his house, remakes its grounds – all in the face of great sadness." As Leland said the last words he looked as if he might cry.

To him Yates – and not very nicely – said "Such a plot would interest no one."

By this time, Mary Crawford had met a young man, a Charles Maddox, who had asked her out. She had gone with him on several dates and by talking to his sisters Edmund learned that Mary liked him.

When the play Romeo and Juliet – with a twist: double Romeos and Juliets – was suggested as a vehicle for their film – something akin to Franco Zeffereli's film version of the play – and Edmund refused to play one of the Romeos and Mary suggested Charles Maddox instead, Edmund capitulated. Despite his father's disliking commotion Edmund felt he must step onto the boards if only to keep another stranger out of his father's house. Edmund would play Romeo to Mary's Juliet, which was Yates' decree and Henry would play Romeo to Maria's Juliet. When Yates made Julia the nurse, Julia refused to take part in the film. She couldn't see why she should play an old woman. This disappointed Yates because he found Julia attractive, but also because he feared the play/film without the requisite number of actors could not move forward. But rather than let her refusal stop him Yates now applied to Tawny who, because she felt film making would not be in keeping with the doctor's wishes, declined. Much pressure was applied. But unlike Edmund Tawny stayed constant. So Yates, through Mary, applied to Mrs. Grant who agreed to play the nurse in the play.

Rushworth asked if he could play Mercutio. Behind his back Henry said, "Rushworth is not a wit like Mercutio is. Plus, Rushworth is too clumsy to handle a sword." But since Rushworth was backing the venture with money – Yates had applied to Rushworth for cash – he got the part he asked for. Mrs. Norris offered to make Rushworth's doublet and cape and the two were closeted for hours talking about colors, lines etc. Rushworth wanted something shiny and hoped the cape would fall to the floor but Tawny suggested, "a short cape, to show off your sword."

Problems arose as Rushworth tried to memorize Mercutio's lines. He so constantly mixed lines up that his character's death in Act III Scene i was a blessing. He wished they had chosen Hamlet because in high school Leland had memorized Polonius's advice to Laertes. He knew it so well that he often quoted it as Tawny tried to help him memorize Mercutio's lines. Whenever Tawny tried to stop Polonius's advice to Laertes Leland would say, "But his advice is sound," which was why Leland was eager to give it.

Tawny felt sorry for Rushworth and when she was not in class or running errands for Mrs. Norris and Mrs. Bertram, she could be found running lines with Rushworth. Rushworth had counted the lines in Mercutio's Queen Mab speech – forty-three and a half – and spent more time making mention of their number than learning even a few of the forty-three point five lines. Tawny did not give up and constantly prompted him.

When Yates saw Tawny's watercolor portraits he suggested she make dummy boards as stand-ins for Romeo and Juliet's parents. The boards – life size recreations on cardboard (Yates located refrigerator boxes) would fill in for the parents of the principals and by doing so obviate the need for additional actors. Yates said, "We're not strong enough in number to have actors for each part, and the prinicipals' parents have few lines. With the cut out characters Tawny's painting, we'll have parents who won't need actors to play them. And Tawny paints well-enough to make the cutouts look artsy. Your work, Tawny, will give our movie a real avant garde touch. The silent mummy-like quality of the parents will contribute to the eventual theme of death." Yates had a way of commandeering everyone's time. Not only Tawny's but Tom's who wished to hunt not act.

It was at this point that Mrs. Norris doubly interjected herself. Her stated purpose was to more fully help, but to sponge was the purpose left unstated. For example, when Mrs. Norris learned about the silent cutouts she said, "Let's buy a reel to reel." When Yates wondered why Mrs. Norris added, "So that I can read and record Lady Montague's speeches. And then I could record Mrs. Bertram, who has fond memories of acting in plays when she was younger, as she reads Lady Capulet's lines. And Dr. Grant, as a skilled orator who can change the sound of his voice at will, can read while I record Lord Montague's and Lord Capulet's lines. After the recordings are finished, I'll set myself behind the dummy boards and play the lines when they're called for." Yates thought this an excellent idea and felt it would further add to the film's artistic merit. "Not even Zeferelli," he said, "incorporated so much art. And he's an Italian." Mrs. Norris was pleased. She actually wanted a part. And now, in a way, she had four. Plus, with filming complete she would have, at no cost to herself – the Bertram's would pay for the reel to reel – a fine recorder for her classroom.

Yates was not through. He decided to move things about. His biggest move involved a piece of furniture in Dr. Bertram's home office. Because the opposing walls in this office had double doors – one set that could be used for an entrance; the other for an exit – it was perfect for many scenes. The only problem was the large bookcase on the back wall. Over Edmund's objections, but with his, Tom, and Rushworth's help, the bookcase was emptied and moved. It was left in the middle of another room with the books stacked around it. Yates enlisted Tawny's help again – this time to paint a series of backdrops – one for the street scenes, others for interior scenes, all of which could be nailed up. Edmund said, "My dad will not appreciate the nail holes in his office walls"

"Oh," said Yates, "When we're finished filming we can easily spackle the holes and repaint the room."

Mrs. Norris wished to make a curtain which, like the curtain in an old fashioned theater, would drop down like an Austrian shade. This was because she wanted a new curtain for the main room in her house. She knew Mrs. Bertram would pay for the theater curtain which, after the movie making, would – gratis – become Mrs. Norris's. But Yates indicated, "A curtain is unnecessary because we're filming the play."

In the end Mrs. Norris had to settle for the scraps left over from the costume making of which she was chief.

Yates even appropriated Dr. and Mrs. Bertram's bedroom. Mrs. Bertram didn't mind because the room had a chaise she could lie on when her bed was needed for rehearsals. Even when only the balcony off the master was needed for rehearsals Mrs. Bertram often took to the chaise anyway. As a side note, Mrs. Bertram's portrayal of Lydia Languish in a college play is what caught her husband's eye. So to be around young people acting brought back fond memories.

Yates soon scrapped the double Romeos and Juliets, which had only been a ruse to get Edmund involved and therefore in agreement with the scheme. But now that Edmund was involved Yates reminded one and all of the lack of actors – "what with the double Romeos and Juliets and Julia refusing to accept a part, likewise Tawny, we're undermanned." When Yates learned that Edmund wished to be a clergy man – he learned this when he found Edmund, now that Dr. Bertram was returning home sooner than expected, readying his applications to divinity school – he recast Edmund as Friar Laurence. Henry, who actually could act, still wanted Maria to be his Juliet, which further angered Julia to the point she refused to "ever play a part." Since Henry wanted to play Romeo to Maria's Juliet and Edmund was no longer her Romeo Mary Crawford put her hair up, lowered her voice and was recast as Tybalt, the prince, and several other male parts. Mary also helped Edmund run his lines by playing both Romeo and Juliet. This meant that many times over she played Juliet, only not to Edmund's Romeo. This further meant that Edmund, as Friar Laurence, watched Mary as Romeo and Juliet, marry multiple times which kept the idea of marrying her in Edmund's mind.

On a bright October day play length rehearsals began. Various bird hunting seasons such as duck, quail, pheasant and so on opened in October as well, as did hunting for deer, elk, bighorn sheep etc. So with Tom often gone hunting, Tawny read his lines. Plus she continued to help Rushworth. Yates had no worries about Tom remembering his lines, but Rushworth was hopeless and needed constant prompting from Tawny. All the prompting and the filling in for Tom and the help with the costumes required by Mrs. Norris of Tawny meant that Tawny was often on hand during rehearsals. What she saw worried her. Henry often found a sly way of touching Maria when no one was around. Tawny realized that even though she was there she was no one, which meant Henry wasn't careful about touching Maria when Tawny was in view. Tawny also worried because she felt Maria welcomed Henry's advances. Henry Crawford had offended Julia by preferring Maria. And this worried Tawny too. She could not think highly of a man who would attempt to engage a young woman when she was officially engaged elsewhere. Nor could she think highly of a man who tried to divide sisters. One day Tawny tried to talk to Edmund about her observations. She timidly said, "If your sister were not engaged, I would almost think Henry Crawford preferred her to Julia." Edmund, too interested in his own preference for Henry's sister Mary, dismissed what Fanny said with a,

"Fanny, how little you know of the world and of men and women and their hearts. But I'm convinced you will learn." Since Edmund was the only person in the Bertram house who Fanny trusted with her notions she said nothing more of the matter. But with the beginning of the staged rehearsals it seemed everyone had thoughts or made statements about who was attracted to whom.

This was apparent when Mrs. Norris said to Mrs. Rushworth – who had come to the Bertram's for dinner – "I believe Henry Crawford prefers Julia Bertram." At the moment Mrs. Norris said this Henry, though sitting across from Julia, was complimenting Maria, and Maria, her face lit up like it never was when she spoke to Rushworth, was returning, with her lit face, Henry's compliment.

Mrs. Rushworth, as selfish about her offspring as Mrs. Norris was about Mrs. Bertram's, blandly said, "Yes, a pretty match." On this occasion she had failed to notice that Henry paid no attention to Julia but rather paid his attentions to Maria.

Mrs. Rushworth had already forgotten the concern she felt when the Crawford's and Bertram's had visited her home, and because of their money and because she doted on Leland she again had no doubts that Maria doted on him too. How could she not? For whatever her reason she hadn't bothered to notice the number of times Maria spoke to Henry rather than to her son. Although the fact that Maria had been seated by Henry rather than by her son had masked the supposed reason Maria had not spoken to Rushworth, which was that she was not near enough to do so. Even after dinner, when Maria did not seek Leland out and instead gathered, like the rest of the young people, around Mary and Henry, Mrs. Rushworth gave it little thought. She felt Leland was a cut above the others his age. She felt he was a serious young man who in time would command great respect. Why, with his height, their money, and her airs, he might one day become governor of their newly adopted state.

While Mrs. Rushworth was thinking of Leland as governor, Mrs. Grant, noticing how cool Julia now seemed to Henry, whispered to Mary, "I'm surprised Julia is not in love with Henry."

Mary answered back, "Both sisters are."

When the two women returned home Mrs. Grant said, "Maria must not think of Henry, but rather of Rushworth."

To this Mary said, "You ought to tell Maria Bertram to think about Leland Rushworth. It might do her some good. Though it must be hard to think of Leland when he's such a fool."

Mrs. Grant said, "How can you call him a fool? All one can say is that he is young and inexperienced. But I venture Dr. Bertram will help Leland develop his consequence."

Mary said, "If he's a magician."

To this Mrs. Grant said, "You undervalue Dr. Bertram. He's rated very high by other physicians and by those in our congregation, and he has a very dignified manner that keeps everyone in his place. Mrs. Bertram seems a cipher without him and only he can keep Mrs. Norris in her place."

Mary said, "Even with the help of such a man Leland would be no match for Henry."

When Mrs. Grant required further explanation Mary Crawford said, "Leland Rushworth would not have a chance, if Henry proposed."

To this Mrs. Grant said, "If such is the case, we must send Henry off once Yates's movie is made."

Back to Yates's movie. Henry suggested that it adopt for Romeo and Juliet's wedding night a technique from Zeferreli's film. When someone asked for particulars Henry said, "Like his Romeo and Juliet we should perform it unclothed. Well, not entirely unclothed but give the illusion."

When someone asked how this could be accomplished Henry said, "Easily. Maria and I will get under the sheets in our swimsuits. She can pull her straps down so that her shoulders are bare like mine. The camera will film our shoulders. And, we could also expose for the camera bare entwined legs by having the sheet draped only across our torsos."

Yates thought the idea good and wondered why he as producer, director and someone who had almost snagged a SAG card had not thought of it instead of Henry.

No one realized that Henry was seeking to increase the intimacy of acting by "acting unclothed" and they did not realize this because the lack of clothes wasn't actual; just suggested. When he watched the first run through of the swimsuit scene Rushworth turned to Tawny and said, "Do you think there is anything so fine in this? You have taste. As far as I can see there's not a bit to Henry Crawford. He's not handsome and he's short so that for him to play Romeo is ridiculous in my opinion." Tawny pitied Rushworth. He was jealous – that she could see. He couldn't act. Henry could. And Rushworth's lack of skill with women did not help counteract Henry's smooth skill in this area. To help Rushworth Tawny took even greater pains to help him learn his lines. But all he seemed to remember was the number of lines in his Queen Mab speech: three and a half and forty. Consequently, he stayed lost even when Tawny whispered key words such as: Queen Mab, the faries midwife, atomies, spider's web, whip, chariot, and so on.

And Rushworth was in further agonies when he heard Romeo say lines to his fiancé such as, "But soft, what light through yonder window breaks," but was relieved each time Maria called out, "Oh happy dagger." Only he wished that line were Romeo's.

Tawny's feelings mimicked Rushworth's only she was not silly enough or impressed enough with herself to utter them. But everytime she saw Edmund with Mary Crawford her heart hurt.

Chapter Fourteen

After seeing how she could paint and asking about her skill, Mary Crawford learned about Tawny's upcoming show at UNLV. To learn more about it Mary invited herself to Tawny's basement room, which is where Tawny was painting the watercolor portraits of WPA artists. Mary was amazed. The paintings Tawny had completed had been painted from photographs in books, and the paintings were absolutely accurate. As she later said to Edmund, "Tawny's portraits have a life of their own. They look like the photographs she copies but they're works of art." When Edmund wondered what Mary meant Mary added, "As a non-artist, I do not entirely know – just that Tawny's paintings have a definite style. I know her talent must be underestimated. I never regularly frequented art galleries when I lived in New York City, but have been to enough to know her work would not look out of place there. I hope I can see her show, if she'll invite me."

"Of course she will. And I'll drive." Mary's appreciation of Tawny upped Edmund's regard – not for Tawny, but for Mary, which had Tawny known would have further hurt her.

"Plus," Mary said, "she has books galore. I should be so studious."

Thinking she was degrading herself Edmund said, "You naturally have a superior knowledge of the world and people and have garnered it without study." This, in part, was true. Mary Crawford was very worldly and had developed her knowing air by living with her very worldly uncle. And she read people well. She knew Henry's tricks and had her own. Both siblings could, with relative ease, engage the hearts of others, which is something some learn to do, but not from books.

Tawny's paintings were of interest to others beyond Yates and Mary. For instance, when Mrs. Rushworth had come to dinner – since Tawny had now painted and delivered to Mrs. Rushworth her portrait – she mentioned Tawny's skill. Yates, who was seated near her at the table, said, "Yes. Tawny is talented. After dinner I'll show you."

Good to his word, after dinner Yates – who seemed to think the house was his – took Mrs. Rushworth first to see the dummy boards and second to Tawny's room to view her WPA portraits.

So impressed was Mrs. Rushworth that when she was next with Mrs. Norris, her friend, Mrs. Rushworth said, "Tawny is quite talented. Were you aware?"

Mrs. Norris hated to sound uninformed, but she also hated to see Tawny promoted. Had Mrs. Rushworth known, she might have wondered why. The reason lay in the past. As anyone could, that is anyone who had seen the picture that Maria (the present Mrs. Bertram) had pinned to the wall in their college bedroom – Tawny's mother Frances was much prettier than Mrs. Norris. She was as pretty as Mrs. Bertram. And Tawny looked like her. And Mrs. Norris hated this. She felt Frances had come down in the world and dragged her children with her. And she couldn't stand to see any of Frances's children praised. Tawny should know her place. She was of no account. Her looks were not to be praised, her desire to educate herself was not to be praised either, nor were her talents. But rather than say the preceding Mrs. Norris said, "Assuredly. I am very aware of Tawny and her talent."

"You surely, then, realize she ought to attend art school and not here but in New York or even Paris."

Paris, thought Mrs. Norris, Tawny will push me out as Mrs. Rushworth's traveling companion, which would never do. But rather than say this Mrs. Norris said, "Yes. A fine idea and one I shall broach with Dr. Bertram the moment he is home. I have and shall always be Tawny's advocate. She lives here because of me. Were it not for my efforts she would still live in a single-wide."

Mrs. Rushworth was not stupid but as someone of great wealth she had no clue as to what "single-wide" meant.

The educator in Mrs. Norris stepped forward to explain trailer sizes.

"Oh." Said Mrs. Rushworth. "I see."

Now that Mrs. Rushworth was seeming to see Tawny's low-class background Mrs. Norris further elaborated on it, in particular she dredged up Tawny's mother's elopement which Mrs. Norris felt was in and of itself a negative. She also told Mrs. Rushworth that Tawny's mother had eloped with a man who had nothing, no education, no family of note and who in fact used words like ain't and double negatives.

Mrs. Rushworth, herself a graduate of Wellesly, again said, "I see."

Mrs. Norris thought this would shut her up but after a pause Mrs. Rushworth added, "All the more reason to help. She has innate talent and with your help and that of the Bertram's has already made something of herself. Perhaps I should speak to Mrs. Bertram. Maybe I could take her to lunch?"

To effect the luncheon date, Mrs. Rushworth sent a note with Leland which forced Mrs. Bertram to send back a note full of her regrets. She was feeling rather low as she indicated in her note. The approaching holidays always made her blue and with her husband gone her mood had worsened. Could Mrs. Rushworth, in all her generosity, forgive?

Mrs. Rushworth did, but planned to speak with Mrs. Bertram the next time Mrs. Rushworth was invited to dinner at the Bertram's.

This occasion did arise. But after Mrs. Rushworth said, "Tawny is quite talented. Were you aware?" and Mrs. Bertram answered (quite vacantly) – "Yes. Tawny has prodigious talent. She is so soundless when she brings my drinks, and never rustles anything as I watch my programs," – Leland's mother realized that the poor dear was too lost to notice anything, and that helping Tawny would need to wait for Dr. Bertram's return.

Chapter Fifteen

Mrs. Bertram, the poor dear, always slept with Puff, and never rose early enough to let him out. For this reason, a doggie door had long ago been installed next to the back door of the Bertram's house. When Puff felt the urge, he jumped off the bed – no mean feat for a dog which was now twelve – hopped or sometimes rolled down the stairs, went to the backyard through the doggie door, relieved himself, sometimes wandered around a bit, then came inside where he stayed downstairs in a sunny spot –usually his doggie bed – until Mrs. Bertram either came down to retrieve him or called to Tawny to do so.

It was cold – too cold to swim, too cold for Mrs. Bertram to rush out of bed when she woke, and she wanted Puff, so she called, "Tawny," any number of times before after looking at the clock she remembered that today was a day Tawny was at school. After calling the names of her other children she realized everyone was out, which meant she would have to get out of bed and retrieve Puff herself. She put on her robe to go downstairs where she expected to find Puff curled up in the sun asleep. But Puff was not in his doggie bed underneath the south window and calls to him and a subsequent search through the downstairs rooms proved he was nowhere downstairs. Mrs. Bertram climbed back up the stairs to search the rooms up there. But this search proved fruitless too, so she went back downstairs and through the back door where to her horror she saw Puff motionless in the middle of the pool.

The poor dear did not know what to do so it was lucky for her that at that moment she heard Tawny pull up and turn the ignition of her Volkswagen off.

Mrs. Bertram raced through the house then opened and called out the front door. "Hurry, Tawny. Hurry." Tawny raced in alongside Mrs. Bertram who was too unglued to say anything beyond, "Puff!"

When she saw Puff afloat in the center of the pool, Tawny grabbed the net and with its long handle maneuvered the net out to Puff, pulled his carcass to the side of the pool closest to her then scooped him out with the net, which flat and stiff, now served as Puff's catafalque.

Hope against hope – Mrs. Bertram asked, "Is he dead?"

Tawny answered as gently as possible, "Yes," after which Tawny was charged with relating the news to Edmund, who was at his father's office.

Over the phone Edmund said, "Put a towel over Puff and I'll be home, but first I'll find a wooden box.

The box, in which instruments had recently been shipped, had a hinged lid, and Edmund thanked whoever had saved it.

Once he arrived his mother, after saying the box was handsome and sturdy, admitted she didn't like the fact that a medical company's name was lettered on the top.

Edmund said, "We'll paint it."

Mrs. Bertram agreed. "Yes, but the color? I hope not black."

Tawny said, "True. Too somber. What about dove gray? It's a mourning color, gray doves are beautiful, and doves are symbols of peace and hope."

Dove gray it was. After the paint was purchased and the box painted – Edmund gave it two coats – and dried, Mrs. Bertram, now concentrating on the inside of the box, said, "It lacks padding. It's too hard for Puff."

After Mrs. Bertram thought about inserting Puff's dog bed which proved too large Tawny offered, "What about some of your lace?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Bertram. "My hairpin lace."

So it was. The box was lined with many of the lengths of hairpin lace that Mrs. Bertram had made over the years. These, she had never quite joined into anything serviceable. (Some people joined lengths of hairpin lace into afghans or shawls, but Mrs. Bertram generally took nothing to such useful conclusions.)

A modest funeral was held. First, Tom dug a hole, next Edmund placed Puff's coffin into it, then said a few words – mostly about his mother and her bravery – after which Maria and Julia tenderly sang "Puff the Magic Dragon." Even though neither had played with Puff in years both girls' eyes welled with tears as they sang the section of the song where Puff, now forgotten, slinks into his cave and quits frolicking.

Edmund shoveled the dirt in and Tom placed the wooden cross he had made. It contained Puff's name and epitaph. The epitaph read: loved by all.

Not too many days later Mrs. Bertram said, "Tawny. I must have a puppy. One as close to Puff in looks as possible, but this time female as I mean to breed it. Tawny quickly realized that finding, breeding, whelping, and monitoring the activities of all the concerned dams and sires would fall to her. In this way Puff would live forever – at least in Tawny's activities Puff would.

Chapter Sixteen

Puff's funeral was quickly forgotten, at least by Maria who was now anxious to film the wedding night scene. She was something of a narcissist so the idea of having all eyes including the camera's on her as the fantasy of Henry's love for her was played out appealed to her. Only she did not believe it was fantasy. Henry Crawford did love her. She only awaited his proposal. Now that they had filmed Romeo and Juliet's marriage and were about to film their wedding night Maria felt a proposal was eminent. Henry was by proxy Romeo; she by proxy Juliet; and Romeo and Juliet were by proxy Henry and Maria. Soon, they would no longer act but would in reality declare their love for each other, which Henry would legitimize by asking for her hand in marriage.

The fact that he had not yet asked her to marry him was vexatious. But every participant had his vexation. Edmund wished Mary could understand the value of a clergyman and the value of God in this world. She was good enough to recognize Tawny's talent and worth which meant she should be able to recognize God's and religion's, but hadn't. For Mary's part, she wished Edmund would scrap divinity school and his proposed occupation for something of greater worth moneywise. The two had constant conversations about Edmund's future – or lack of one as Mary saw it.

Tom was vexed about cutting his deer hunt short because of filming. As he said, "A waste of a tag. I have yet to hit a deer and won't get back in the field again before deer hunt season's through."

Rushworth continued to be vexed by Henry's charm and by the fact that Henry had (because of short stature) no right to it. And Mrs. Norris, once again thinking how the camera had cheated her out of a beautifully festooned Austrian shade, was equally vexed.

The only two who were not vexed were Mrs. Bertram, who was too indolent to be so, and Tawny who, with her studies, and watercolors, and patience, and true concern for others – was the reverse: too busy to be so.

For the scene in her parents' bedroom Maria had chosen her skimpiest swimsuit and had already pulled the straps down. Henry, also clothed in a swimsuit, got under the sheet beside her then Yates pulled part of sheet away to reveal the actors' unclothed entwined legs. As Henry took Maria's face tenderly in his hands, he said, "It was the lark, the herald of the morn….I must be gone and live or stay and die." Before Henry could speak Romeo's next line Julia burst in and yelled,

"He's here. Father. He's home."

To describe what had transpired, Dr. Bertram, his replacement arriving unexpectedly and early, had arrived home in the same way – unexpectedly and early. Julia had seen him walk in, look in surprise at his misplaced, empty (with its books surrounding it) bookcase, walk from there to his "in home" office where he found the backdrop for what he did not yet know was a movie nailed up on the wall.

Since he had to make his way around the life size cutouts of the Montagues and Capulets, plus the reel to reel which had been placed on top of his desk, Julia was able to run ahead to warn – with a huge amount of glee – the players that Dr. Bertram had returned.

Dr. Bertram was astonished to find his engaged daughter in his bed and with someone whom he would shortly discover was not her fiancé. His house was in disarray. The peace he expected to find was gone and the lack of order was no comfort.

Yates was equally surprised that anyone would interrupt his filming. Filming was as sacred to Yates as home was to Dr. Bertram.

For that reason Yates thought filming would resume once Dr. Bertram realized that filming was in process.

Personally, Yates could not understand how Dr. Bertram could miss the fact that filming was underway. Was there not an industry grade camera mounted and whirring? To this Yates now directed Dr. Bertram's attention. But Dr. Bertram seemed unimpressed – even indignant.

Despite the fact that he was in bed with Dr. Bertram's daughter, and despite the fact that he was not her fiancé, Henry Crawford kept his hands on Maria's face and his bare legs entwined with hers. This gave Maria hope, and boldness: Hope that Henry loved her and boldness in the face of her father's ire, which was well-controlled. But she recognized it as ire. His children and their friends – the friends, strangers to him – had made free with his house, his peace and his comfort.

He called his sons into the hall where he said, "On your judgment Edmund, I depended. What's this about?" Sheepish answers were given or rather as their answers were given Tom and Edmund's faces adopted sheepish looks.

Dr. Bertram suggested everyone repair to the family room and as they did the Crawford's snuck out and made their way to their sister's. But not before Rushworth asked, "Shall I go to the family room too?" When he had asked several times Tawny heard Henry encourage him with great glee.

Dr. Bertram was pleased to find that Maria was not engaged to the young man in the swim suit. And once Maria was dressed and in the family room and sitting alongside Rushworth, who was not in costume (since Mercutio, his character, had died numerous scenes before in Act III), all seemed well. Dr. Bertram was a bit confused when he asked about the Crawford's and Rushworth said, "Henry Crawford is very short. At most five-foot eight." But otherwise Rushworth, though unexceptional, seemed a decent young man especially when he added, "I don't care for filmmaking. It's a lot more pleasant to sit with family and talk."

Mrs. Norris was bustling needlessly. She asked Dr. Bertam if he would like food, which he declined. She asked again, and again – right when Dr. Bertram was in the middle of describing how a soldier who was a particularly difficult case had received his wounds.

As someone who was not actually a part of the family Tawny had made her way late to the family room. When she entered it Dr. Bertram said, "Tawny. My little Tawny. How you've changed." He came toward her with a kindness she had not before seen and on seeing it she reproached herself for thinking him grave and stern. She should never have been frightened of such a man especially when she now noticed how tired and worn he looked. She supposed the weight of operating on the wounded – of being all that kept some from death – and perhaps of having helped in so hated a war had tired him. Dr. Bertram was patriotic and so Tawny supposed the gulf between his patriotism and those who objected to the war weighed on him. Despite his fatigue he continued the life of the party and as it grew dark and as the air because it was now November grew cold, especially now that the sun had sunk, Dr. Bertram asked whether a fire could be built.

Yes it could. Edmund, knowing his father would be home soon (soon but not quite so soon) had arranged with a young man from their congregation who cut then supplied logs for fires, to have a supply delivered. Tom, to make Yates scarce for the moment, took him with him so that each could carry an armful of logs in. Once the logs were inside Tom set up and lit the fire and the family talked around it till dinner time.

Even Mrs. Bertram was energized enough by her husband's return to display signs of life. Instead of laying herself out across her sofa – when she was in the room no one used the sofa but her – she sat up and let Dr. Bertram sit beside her while she listened to him. Mrs. Grant was correct. Mrs. Bertram was less of a cipher when her husband was home. She even looked up from her drink now and then.

But though she listened that evening and had lived with him for years, Mrs. Bertram was oblivious to what he felt about his home, his very bed being used as a film set. This was because she was too indolent to think quite so far. And Mrs. Norris – proud of herself for cadging the reel to reel and proud of herself for being of use – remained oblivious too. Tawny, who was said by Maria and Julia, to have a conscience big enough for all three, wasn't oblivious. She had known all along what Dr. Bertram would feel and because she had she now felt infinitely more shame than Maria, who unlike Tawny, had taken part in the film.

And of course Julia felt no shame because she, like Tawny, had not taken a part. And Yates with his film camera remained oblivious even when Dr. Bertram himself assured him filming would not resume. The snug family party ended at ten p.m. when the fire died down. By then the Bertram's sheets had been changed and the doctor and his wife retired to their bed.

Chapter Seventeen

Edmund found his father early that following morning in the hope he could vindicate himself by indicating he ought to have known better. In the process Edmund said, "Tawny did know better. She alone is blameless. She knew the film would not agree with your ideas about peace and home. And realized it would make your home far less the sanctuary you desire."

"It is not simply the sanctuary I desire because my home belongs to all of us. So when it is not a sanctuary it stops protecting us." Although Edmund now realized the scheme had placed Maria in a position where her fiancé might question her feelings for him, he said no more and let his silence on the subject best explain what he now knew to be the problems of the filming scheme.

His father was now silent too, but not when he spoke with Mrs. Norris. To Mrs. Norris Dr. Bertram said, "How could you not have known better? All my children except Edmund have unsteady characters. Knowing that, how could you agree to the making of a movie – especially one in which Maria was cast as Juliet to a young man to whom she's not engaged? You should have had more sense. To see my daughter seemingly unclothed in my bed with a young man, also seemingly unclothed – did that not set a spark off in your head? And though minor in comparison, what about the nail holes in my office wall and the freedom with which my house has been misused?"

Mrs. Norris, who believed herself always helpful, felt at the very least unappreciated, and once home when she thought about her friend's harsh words – she felt more ill used than his house. But habit is strong and Mrs. Norris was back at the Bertram's that following morning. And to increase her value Mrs. Norris decided that Dr. Bertram did not understand the part Mrs. Norris played in Maria's engagement to Leland Rushworth, but now he would. She said, "The engagement could not have occurred had I not been attentive to matters, in particular had I not cultivated Leland's mother's friendship. Leland has a good deal of money – much more than you – and it will be something to have a daughter who's all of twenty married to so wealthy a man."

Dr. Bertram said, "In retrospect, nothing about Rushworth strikes me as superior. Let's hope he has more to him than money. Though I think he showed good sense when he said he preferred sitting together as a family to filmmaking."

Mrs. Norris answered, "He's not a shining star but with a father who recently died he has looked forward to meeting you and holds you in high esteem."

Dr. Bertram – now taken in by Mrs. Norris's flattery and by her power to evade his critique of her – gave up and attributed what Mrs. Norris had let happen to her great love for his children and its ability to sometimes cloud her judgment.

Yates lingered due to two hopes. The first was that Julia would respond to him. Since she had ignored him early on and had continued to ignore him this first hope was unfounded. The second was a lingering hope that the film would resume. He thought of it again when Henry Crawford and Crawford's brother-in-law Dr. Grant arrived, on Dr. Grant's part, to welcome Dr. Bertram home, and on Henry's to meet Dr. Bertram, but to also take his leave. Henry said, "I must meet my uncle in Newport where it's his custom to visit this time of year. I generally open my house and stay with him there until Christmas. But one word from you as to resuming the film and I'll return again to the footlights."

Dr. Bertram said, "Filming shall not resume." Henry was not long gone when Dr. Bertram had the backdrops put out at the curb, the nails from his office wall removed, the holes spackled and the spots repainted. After Yates helped the doctor and his sons return the books and bookcase to their rightful place, knowing his dreams of the film were truly lost, he left too.

Chapter Eighteen

Dr. Bertram, though home almost a month early, chose to get back to work. He suggested his substitute leave at once and take the requisite pay and a bonus and use the extra time and money to secure a new position. Dr. Bertram felt his life and house would return to normal if he returned to work, which is what he did.

With no film and no Henry Crawford, Maria Bertram had time to think, which in some respects she did more clearly than ever before. She saw clearly that Henry did not care for her. That, for instance, when he held her face in his hands he was acting. She also realized that though Henry did generally spend the fall with his uncle in Newport, he didn't have to because Henry did nothing unless Henry wished to. Had he wished to remain with the Grants he could have. And here Maria had been hoping Henry would propose, in which case Maria would break her engagement to Leland Rushworth.

Suddenly, a speedy marriage to Rushworth became a remedy. However, now that Dr. Bertram knew Rushworth a little better he had reservations about Maria's plan. "Are you certain," he said, "he's a match for you?" Dr. Bertram did not say, "Rushworth's a simpleton." But he thought it.

Maria would not be dissuaded. And, to spite Henry, she decided to quickly marry Rushworth. And to assure Henry that she had decided against him Maria planned to send Henry an invitation before she wed, an announcement after she had and at Christmas she would send him a card signed, Maria and Leland.

Maria ignored Mrs. Norris's advice to take it slowly. Mrs. Norris urged her to because doing so would insure bargains. Instead, Maria rented the first hall she saw. "At an exorbitant price," Mrs. Norris said. Mrs. Norris claimed Maria and Leland could have had the Elks Lodge on Charleston for half the price of the hall they rented. "If only the pair had been willing to wait till spring when the calendar at the Elks was free. But both are impatient."

Maria bought a dress off the rack and paid – as Mrs. Norris deemed it, " a fortune to have it immediately altered when she could have avoided doing so if she could have waited the requisite six weeks to have that same dress, but in her size, sent in." To accommodate the bulk of the brides that came in, the wedding dresses in the bridal shop were for the most part size twelve. Since Maria was a size six she had a twelve cut down rather than wait for a six to be ordered and come in.

Since Mrs. Norris had made the match and since Mrs. Bertram rarely left the house because of her TV programs and fatigue Mrs. Norris accompanied Maria on every quick step of her way to the altar. Needless to say, the flowers were expensive. Mrs. Norris had a teacher friend with connections at a mortuary who could get many "slightly used" flowers for free. "Of course," Mrs. Norris said, "we would have to redo the arrangements as many are burial wreaths and so on. It would not do to have burial wreaths up over the altar. Or to use them as centerpieces on the tables in the hall. But I've been talking to Mrs. Rushworth who arranges her flowers and I believe she could give us ideas." Since Maria had already ordered the flowers for her wedding and for the supper in the hall she said, "Don't trouble my future mother-in-law – especially by asking for her help with cheap-o plans. Let's not make ourselves look foolish before her wealth."

"Sound reasoning," Mrs. Norris said. "I see now that I was about to take my colleague's idea too far. Still, if we could learn how to arrange without letting Mrs. Rushworth know…."

Maria begged, "Stop. Please."

Maria also dispensed with bridesmaids or a maid-of-honor which meant Leland could dispense with a best man and groomsmen. Leland was relieved. Although he had visited what he called a friend earlier that year – the young man who had bought the Frank LLoyd Wright house – Leland had no friends really. Maria and her siblings and even the Crawford's were as close as Leland had come. So not to have to call on anyone to stand up with him was a relief. Maria, who had patched it up with her sister could have asked Julia – Tawny even. But dresses would have to be made or ordered, which did not suit Maria's hurried plans.

Dr. Grant married them, and while he did, Maria thought fleetingly of Dr. Grant's brother-in-law Henry. But then turned her thoughts to her honeymoon. Leland and Maria – and Julia – would spend many months in Europe. The three would use Mrs. Rushworth's pied de terre in Paris as their base. So, instead of leaving Las Vegas for Paris as formerly planned Mrs. Rushworth would stay behind so that Leland and Maria and Julia could enjoy the delights the continent could offer.

"Well Tawny," said Mrs. Norris once the three had left, "you shall have to make do without the Bertram sisters' fine example. At least until they return."

Dr. Bertram, who'd overheard the comment, said, "Tawny? Make do? Tawny is her own fine example."

Dr. Bertram, who'd paid little attention to Tawny over the years, now paid more. He now noticed her. Her presence was pleasant. And her interest in gaining an education pleased Dr. Bertram as well. He wished his daughters had been so industrious. Once home Dr. Bertram had begun to take a great deal of interest in Tawny Price's project and upcoming show – so much so that he had arranged to have photographs of the artists, which were in books, taken to his office and copied so that they – instead of the books – which would be cumbersome – could be placed alongside Tawny's watercolor portraits at Tawny's upcoming show. "Let the world readily see," said Dr. Bertram, "your talent and scholarship." He had also paid to have color copies made of some of the WPA artists' work. And it was he – not Professor Davenport – who suggested Tawny make replicas of some of the artists' paintings to further demonstrate her skill. The extent of Tawny's show had grown, and many people were excited over it.

Edmund lamented the loss of Mary Crawford's daily presence at the Bertram house. (With Dr. Bertram home she shied away.) In addition to his lamentations he also said, "Mary believes others underestimate you. She says you're brilliant. And Mary is a good judge of talent and character."

Tawny, out of respect for the compliment, said nothing other than, "I must thank Mary for her opinions." But she felt that someone who lacked character – and she sometimes felt Mary did – couldn't actually be a good judge of character. Tawny did not wish to sound or act a prude, but she felt Mary's periodic jabs at religion, especially when she knew it was Edmund's aspired to vocation – showed something wanting in her character. And if not in her character, it was, as personality traits go, as intolerant to deride others for religious beliefs as it was to chide them for lack of. Plus, Tawny could see that Edmund preferred Mary to herself and for that matter to anyone else he had met. This hurt, but also worried her. If Edmund were to marry Mary, which she believed he wished to do, how would they get on? Mary was worldly; Edmund was not. Edmund valued religion; Mary mocked it. And though, because of Yates and the Crawford's, Edmund had of late been always in the company of others, Tawny knew Edmund was more like his father. Once he married and had children, his home and family would have his heart. And society, beyond the parish he was pastor of, would become meaningless. Mary, on the other hand, would seek to be in society. She could not see Mary a clergyman's wife, especially when she did nothing but mock clergymen. Her brother-in-law, for example, "Had," in Mary's words, "nothing much to live on and did little more than give sermons once a week." Of course, when Tawny had heard this she chose not to contradict it out loud even though she knew of the many hours Dr. Grant spent at pastoral care. He was ever-ready when a knock came at his door. Maybe not as ready as a clergyman like Edmund would be, but ready enough. Tawny looked into the future and saw Mary Crawford deriding Edmund for the time he would devote to others. And for the lack of recognition his work would garner. Mary had even said, "You will never be independent as a clergyman." When Edmund had asked the foundation for such a statement Mary said, "Dr. Grant is in Las Vegas because he did not get on as well in his last congregation as he had wished to." When Edmund asked for further details, Mary said, "My brother-in-law was at odds with some of the women of his flock who thought he should side with them."

When Edmund asked, "Over what?"

Mary answered, "I can't remember. Some inconsequential point. But over it he and my sister were forced to pull up stakes and move here." Dr. Grant had formerly been pastor of a large flock in New York City and Mary thought New York City superior to Las Vegas which at that time had about 80,000 souls and what was worse: only a Penney's, a Sears, and a Montgomery Wards. Mary truly lamented the lack of stores such as New York had and for this reason and others would forever miss visiting the Grant's in New York City.

Tawny's reverie broke as Edmund said, "Don't you think my father would like to associate with the Grant's and Mary? He used to with Mr. and Mrs. Norris, so I believe he would like the company of Mary and Dr. and Mrs. Grant."

Tawny said, "Beyond Mrs. Rushworth," (who now as the mother-in-law of their daughter, the Bertram's often invited over) "I doubt your father wants additional company. He likes the serenity of his home and family. Before he left, no one laughed in his presence. He and your mother did not give parties. He never suffered flippant remarks. Every time Tom made one he was chastised. Most of us were different when he was away. But he and all his seriousness have returned. So, no. I don't think he would welcome dinner with the Grant's or the daily presence of Mary." Edmund looked hurt so Tawny added, "not that the rest of us wouldn't welcome it." And everything was left as such for the next few weeks until Tawny inadvertently ran into Mrs. Grant and Mary Crawford at Panorama Market.

Chapter Nineteen

Tawny could thank Mrs. Norris for her new-found friendship with Mary Crawford because it began when Mrs. Norris sent Tawny to Panorama Market for butter. Mrs. Norris believed Tawny existed, in part, to run errands for her. Tawny's other role was that of second best to the Bertram family. This was why Mrs. Norris was surprised that upon seeing Tawny at Panorama Mary Crawford would invite her over. Mary had invited her for the following day at noon. As Mrs. Norris understood it, Mary had invited Tawny to lunch with Mrs. Grant and herself.

The Grant's pretty house, which, here to for, Tawny had only seen by moonlight, sat on Cashman. To be more precise, the Grant's lived at the end of Cashman that ran into a street called Oakey. Whereas, the Bertram's and Mrs. Norris lived at the other end, the end that ran into a street called Charleston. This meant that Tawny had almost a half mile walk. And she did choose to walk rather than drive.

Once she saw it by daylight Tawny liked the look of the house which, unlike Leland's, looked liked a cottage. In part, Tawny realized because its exterior was made of stone, but also because it had a steeply pitched roof punctuated by a chimney and two homey dormers. It also looked like a cottage because, more vertical than horizontal, it didn't sprawl like Leland's ranch house. Though she had also not recognized this before, as she now stood before it, she recognized that Mrs. Grant, with plantings, had given her home a lot of curb appeal.

Along with cooking Mrs. Grant liked to garden and with her good eye she had created a yard that was different from most of the yards in her neighborhood. Hers had a winding front walk installed to the sides of which she had planted herbaceous borders of flowers and shrubs. She had kept the Italian cypress that flanked the property lines of the lot – Mrs. Grant, unlike Leland Rushworth, knew the value of trees – and the cypress stood like guardians, protecting the Grant's home.

At lunch, Mary and Mrs. Grant asked about Tawny's upcoming show and when both learned that Tawny had painted a portrait of Leland's mother, and when Tawny agreed to paint theirs, they invited Tawny back to choose from photos to do so. Though, both had planned to invite her again with or without her offer.

It started to rain when the appointed hour of Tawny's departure arrived, so Mary and Mrs. Grant persuaded Tawny to stay. The three built a fire and sat in front of it and watched the drops slide down the panes of the windows in the room.

Because of the rain, Tawny arrived at the Bertram's an hour later than expected. Mrs. Norris, on hand to scold Tawny, said, "Whatever could have persuaded you to stay? That selfish streak of yours, I venture. Did you consider I might have needed your help?"

Because she did not know that Mrs. Norris was speaking hypothetically, Mrs. Bertram, who was downstairs refreshing a glass of water, asked, "Help with what?"

"My roses need cutting back, and you may well have needed an errand run."

When Mrs. Bertram admitted that she did not need an errand run, and when Mrs. Bertram remembered that her friend, Mrs. Norris, had mentioned the cutting back of her roses but had also mentioned that the moment for this task was not yet at hand – not yet for another month – she suggested Mrs. Norris free her mind from worry.

At this juncture Dr. Bertram entered the room and as he did Mrs. Bertram and Mrs. Norris learned – because the doctor asked – that the luncheon had gone so successfully that Tawny had been invited back. Mrs. Norris could not see why. Yes, she supposed Mary Crawford was, without Maria or Julia here, alone, but she also believed that Tawny was a poor substitute. Mrs. Bertram, however, knew the value of Tawny as a companion. In fact she knew it so well she feared its loss. So she said, "Thomas, shall Tawny return? Why would Mary Crawford seek Tawny's friendship?"

Dr. Bertram said, "I can't think of a woman who would prove a better friend."

Mrs. Norris felt the doctor was slighting his daughters who, as finer women, would, of course, make better friends, but she left those thoughts unspoken.

Because Mary wished for it – even after the portraits (which were painted at the Bertram's via photos) had been delivered, a pattern emerged. Every day or two Tawny, by Mary's invitation, visited Mary at the Grant's. Because Tawny felt she was just a substitute – were Julia home she would have been the friend invited – Tawny could easily have foregone the visits. She also could have forgone them because Mary Crawford mocked ideals Tawny valued. Whether it should or not, listening made Tawny feel disloyal. Tawny was uncertain of herself – of her place in the world – but not of her beliefs. But since Tawny was a peacemaker, and as said, unsure of herself, Mary Crawford mocked when Tawny visited and Tawny said nothing. She also said nothing because she was a guest, and a polite one. But as has been said, she could easily have forgone the visits.

Periodically, Mary also let slip the fact that Edmund regularly visited. And the fact that Tawny found this hurtful made her visits even more of a burden.

On a visit which was not many weeks into the future Tawny found that Henry Crawford had returned.

The Grant's backyard was pretty like the front. The back's winding gravel path contained a bench in a nook that when one was near the house was hidden from view. When Tawny and Mary rounded the corner and went into the straight away which led to the nook Tawny was surprised to see Henry arise from the bench and walk toward them. Especially because Mary had not mentioned that Henry had come.

Henry's first thought on seeing Tawny was of Maria so he said, "Leland and his fair bride are in Paris I understand – happy man!" His smile and mocking tone made Tawny mistrust him. And when he added, "Poor Rushworth and his butchered Queen Mab speech. I doubt the lovely Maria will ever welcome speeches from him. She's too good for him," Tawny further mistrusted him.

Even when he changed tone and became sincere, when he said to Tawny, "You were Rushworth's best friend. Your kindness and your patience cannot be forgotten," Tawny could not trust him, especially when he added, "I was never happier." Tawny couldn't fathom how Henry's overtures to Maria – especially because they were accomplished at the expense of Leland and Julia – could make him happy. It showed both a lack of kindness, and a character that was corrupt. She felt so strongly she said, "You ought to have been Leland's friend too." Henry was surprised she had said as much, and in the face of the truth she had spoken Henry fell silent. But soon he added,

"True." After his admission Henry tried to further engage Tawny in conversation but after having said so much she was unable to continue.

Although Tawny sometimes inadvertently met Edmund at the Grant's, which further hurt her because when he was with Mary his preference for her was plain, they generally visited separately. One night, though, not far in the future this was to change. This was because Tawny and Edmund had been invited to dinner. Though Tawny did not realize it – because Mary did not tell her so – Henry, like Dr. Bertram, had begun to notice Tawny. "I hadn't noticed," he said, "but everything about Tawny has changed. She's a chameleon who's changed into a beauty." Everyone present agreed with Henry so heartily that if the notion that one's ears burn when talked of by others were true Tawny's would have reddened. And at the very least, had Tawny known others were discussing her looks and complexion she would have blushed.

But she did not know; so, in the face of the invitation, her worry was what she ought to wear.

She applied to Mrs. Bertram whose notions of what to wear to a dinner invitation were, because of her languor and lack of memory, distinctly hazy. In the end Tawny applied to Mary herself who said, "Why not wear the dress the doctor bought you for Maria's wedding?"

When Edmund learned of Mary's suggestion he said, "Then I ought to wear a suit." (He was glad he had because Dr. Grant and Henry appeared in suits too.)

Edmund decided they should walk. So, under a newly minted moon the two set out. Rather than wear her coat Tawny wore the beautiful and elegant shawl Dr. Bertram had bought for her when he'd learned of the dinner invitation.

Mrs. Norris was shocked and said as much though not in so many words. Her actual thoughts ran, why buy someone like Tawny who's nothing an expensive shawl when she can wear her coat? Although she only voiced the latter portion about wearing the coat.

Her mention of the coat made Dr. Bertram picture Tawny's tweed coat over the flowing silk dress he had bought for her for Maria's wedding and thinking about the dress and coat together made him again realize that a shawl and dress were a much better match. And when he saw her in it and since she had become his favorite he was glad he had given Tawny the long rectangular shaped crème colored shawl, the sheen of which complimented the sheen in the silk dress she was now wearing.

Back to the walk. As Edmund and Tawny proceeded to the Grant's one side of Tawny's shawl slipped off her shoulder. Before she could pull it up Edmund noticed and did so for her. Tawny was pleased. She was also pleased that they looked up and talked of the stars.

Edmund and Tawny and Tawny's absent brother William proved the focus of the evening. Edmund, when he mentioned that he had received early admission (starting in less than a month in January) from one divinity school and fairly certain, though not actual, confirmation from two others. The names of the schools caught Dr. Grant's ear and soon Dr. Grant, an old hand at divinity school, and Edmund were deep in discussion over the merits of the various schools mentioned.

Mary Crawford hated the thought of Edmund attending divinity school so she mocked his choice. Dr. Grant, who was sincere in his devotion, said to Edmund, "Unlike Mary, I admire your interest."

To this Mary Crawford said, "Who attends divinity school today? Religion is dead."

"Untrue," answered Dr. Grant. "I have it from a friend who is now a professor at my alma mater that applications are up at all schools by at least twenty-five percent, and at Andover by almost forty."

When Edmund asked the reason Dr. Grant said, "He and I can only speculate. But we suppose that as people your age have become disappointed with politics probably because of the war some of you have turned to religion to make a difference. Also, we think a fair number of you have turned away from materialism to religion now that the poor in other countries are so often visible in the news."

Mary thought a moment before she said, "Why turn from materialism? We're crazy."

Like her husband, but unlike her half-siblings, Mrs. Grant was old enough to have memories of the Second World War and the great Depression so she said, "Mary, have a heart and some sense. Life is not exclusively a chase after money, and it's to Edmund's credit he's realized so." Tawny silently agreed and was pleased – but wondered if Mary entirely meant what she said when she shortly agreed with her sister's words. At least she seemed to agree when she said, "I've learned from living with you that life as a clergyman's wife is more agreeable than I once thought. You are happy here and often have the pleasure of helping those in need. But Edmund could help as well by going into law or medicine." Turning to Edmund she said, "Look at all your father has done – especially for the badly injured in Viet Nam."

The conversation now logically drifted to Viet Nam and then to William. When Henry learned that William had been in the heart of battle he said, "Oh, to put one's life on the line in the service of others is courageous." Henry momentarily longed to be of use: to work his way to fortune, to be useful instead of self-indulgent – and expressed these feelings. But when he realized the work involved in heroism compared to his life of ease he easily admitted how quickly he could relinquish his momentary notions.

He did manage, though, to ask where William was. To this Tawny answered, "En route here."

When Henry wondered why, Edmund said, "To visit us and see Tawny's show." Henry supposed he had heard of Tawny's show – he had vague memories of such, but also supposed he hadn't formerly thought enough of her to ask for further details. Now, though, she was of interest enough to ask. So, in his mind, he planned to ask for further details from his sisters once Edmund and Tawny had gone.

For Tawny, the night at the Grant's ended on a disappointing note. It was a trifle, but Tawny had draped her shawl on a chair near the door. So, as they prepared to leave Edmund had gone for it and was coming toward her to drape it around her shoulders when Henry grabbed it so that he could.

Chapter Twenty

Dr. Davenport and his wife had suggested that Tawny attend other shows given by the fledgling art department so that she could see the space and how the shows were set up and run.

From speaking with Dr. Davenport's wife Tawny knew that personnel from the university would mount or somehow display the works which included her portraits of the WPA artists, the photographs that would be used for comparison, the other works she had painted, and additional samples of the WPA artists' work (some samples were paintings, some were writings, some were music). Altogether it was quite a complicated exhibit.

After reviewing three shows Tawny, with the help, as in advice of Dr. Davenport's wife, chose to have everything suspended from hanging wire which came from the ceiling. Each portrait et cetera would be suspended from two wires. Both Tawny and Davenport's wife felt this arrangement would help viewers feel more involved as they would be inside the exhibition rather than simply looking at it.

For hors d'eouvre, which the art and history departments were paying for, Tawny chose wine, cheese, stuffed mushrooms and in season fruit, in particular, sections of apples and oranges.

Invitations were sent to professors, community leaders and to any friends and family Tawny wished to personally invite.

William had received one of these written invitations and as indicated was en route. He would arrive via Greyhound six hours before the show which would give Tawny time to pick him up from the station then once at the Bertram's he could ride with her and Edmund to campus. Tawny needed to be on hand there early to make last minute decisions if there were any and Edmund had agreed to accompany her. The other Bertram's and the Grant's would follow later.

Though uninvited, Henry wished to attend. In fact, he wanted to ride over early with Tawny, Edmund, and now William. Tawny wanted nothing to do with Henry so she said, "I had not planned to invite him. But if he comes shouldn't he drive Mary?" She regretted saying this because in a matter of moments Edmund had suggested that they all – Henry, Edmund, Mary, William and Tawny – ride over early and together.

Tawny was immediately grateful that William took her part when the five had approached the car and Edmund, who had the keys, suggested that Mary sit in front with him and that Tawny, William and Henry take the back seat. To Edmund's suggestion William said, "Since it's Tawny's night, she rides shot gun and I'll sit between her and you. Your car doesn't have bucket seats. And I'm sure the Crawford's won't mind sitting together in the back. Without me back there there'll be plenty of room." William's arguments about it being Tawny's night and his air of command were such that Mary and Henry relented.

On their way to the university Henry said, "Why didn't you wear your uniform, William?"

William answered, "Because I respect it and with the war so unpopular people have been known to spit on it."

To William Henry said, "That's not very brave."

William turned around to say with a laugh, "Now that I've faced enemy fire, spit doesn't frighten me. Believe me. I truly did not wear it out of respect for it."

This shut Henry up. In fact everyone was silent until William said, "Shoot. I almost forgot." Following which he pulled a tissue wrapped packet out of the breast pocket of his best and only suit. After handing it to Tawny he said, "I bought it in Viet Nam and the woman whom I bought it from assured me the stones in it are Burmese." By now Tawny had the tissue wrapped packet open and could see that it contained a cross set with red stones.

Tawny asked, "Are they garnets?"

In answer William said, "I hope not. They're supposed to be rubies. And someone in the know said, 'They certainly sparkle like them and they're the color of rubies rather than garnets.' Sorry, Tawny, I couldn't afford a chain. When I mentioned this to the wife of my superior officer she suggested black ribbon which as you can see I've bought." William had already threaded the ribbon through the bale so that Tawny could put it on. As she raised the ribbon Henry, from the back seat, leaned forward and said,

"Let me help."

As he reached his hands forward to grab the ribbon Captain Price looked back at him before he said, "Stand down, man. It's my gift not yours." He then helped fasten the ribbon, for which Tawny was grateful. Not only for the beautiful cross but for the protection William afforded her from Henry Crawford.

As Henry watched William fasten the ribbon he again longed to do something with his life, and to be forthright and commanding. He felt it would be something to work in a forthright manner rather than by subterfuge and innuendo.

Tawny's show was a success. Professors from the Art and History departments attended along with students from both. Dr. Bertram and Tom came and stood with Tawny who in the midst of great attention seemed lost.

Unbeknownst to Tawny, Henry had called the newspapers and both sent reporters and cameramen. So rather than speak with William or Edmund Tawny spent a portion of her show being interviewed and photographed. And Henry had the nerve to stand beside her in all but one shot.

Chapter Twenty-one

Once he had learned that William was on his way, Dr. Bertram planned to host a party in honor of William and Tawny. It was scheduled for the Saturday night after her show and since this was only a few days before Christmas it was seen by many as a holiday party. To it Tawny planned to wear the small but beautiful ruby cross which William had given her. All who saw the cross declared it beautiful and Mrs. Grant believed it was old, as in antique. Mrs. Norris, who hadn't been able to attend Tawny's show because of a very bad head cold was surprised when she saw the cross and sincerely felt Tawny did not deserve it. The Bertram girls had nothing quite as nice and therefore Tawny shouldn't. But because everyone was taken with it and with Tawny's show she kept her ideas to herself. The cross looked very elegant and because it did all who saw it, including Mrs. Norris, silently agreed that a chain would better secure the pendant (what if the ribbon had come untied) and better show the cross off.

The cross had been such a surprise that during her show Tawny did not think at all about a ribbon's lack of security. Nor did she think that suspending a pendant from a ribbon was not in style.

Henry Crawford, however, who had told his sister he intended to make Tawny love him, had given thought to all of the above and had already bought a fancy chain which he planned to somehow foist on Tawny.

When he had told his sister that he planned to make Tawny love him, Mary had said, "You only want her love because you're bored. She's decent. Leave her alone. Aren't you content with having made her foster sisters love you? Aren't Maria and Julia enough? Must you make very woman your prey?"

But when he asked Mary to help him foist his chain on Tawny, Mary agreed and so began the subterfuge. Mary put Henry's chain and two of hers into a box, then set out on foot with the box to the Bertram's. Partway there she met Tawny who was coming with the cross to her. Like she had done with her question about what to wear to the Grant's to dinner she was now coming to her style maven with her question about the ribbon and cross.

Mary agreed that she had never seen a pendant suspended on a ribbon and also agreed that a ribbon, which could only be tied, was insecure. The knot could come loose. Tawny agreed. The ribbons she had sometimes worn at the ends of her braids – this was when Tawny was a child – often came loose and had to be retied or at least tightened. What could she do? She wanted to honor William by wearing his cross, but by wearing it safely and in fashion.

Mary said, "Turn back with me and we'll sort through this box." As she said "box" she held the box which was now in her right hand up prominently. When the two got to Mary's room and Mary had opened the box Tawny saw three chains. She also saw that Mary pointed more often to the chain in the box which was most ornate – the most expensive Tawny assumed. At this juncture Tawny, realizing that Mary had come to her with the box, began to wonder if some subterfuge on the part of Henry was involved. It would be like Henry, thought Tawny, to try to persuade a woman with gifts. As she thought about this she thought about "The Wife of Bath's Tale." It catalogued the arts men used – flattery, lust, riches, attention – to seduce women. This made Tawny think that the ornate chain was Henry's attempt to seduce her like he had seduced Julia and Maria.

Mary had told her that the chains were old; ones she no longer wore and two did look – if one looked carefully – slightly worn. But the most ornate looked new so Tawny said, "Did Henry have a hand in this? Is this Henry's gift?" Tawny was so old-fashioned she felt that one should not accept a gift of jewelry from a man who was not a family member.

In answer Mary said, "I assure you. All three chains are my own and as to accepting a gift from me, how can one call these a gift when they're chains I no longer wear?"

Mary so persistently wore Tawny's objections away that Tawny eventually gave way. After all, she didn't want others to think she was proud – too proud to accept a gift or too obstinate or indifferent to do so.

Mary had repeatedly pointed to one chain in preference to the others, and though it was the most ornate, and looked to be the most expensive, since Tawny guessed it was the chain Mary most wished to dispose of, Tawny settled on it. She would rather have had a shorter plainer chain and none from the box Mary proffered. But when Mary fastened the chain around Tawny's neck, Tawny said, "When I wear this I shall think of you and your kindness."

"You must think," said Mary, "of Henry too because this necklace was first Henry's gift to me."

Tawny tried to unfasten it, and as she did said, "Then I must not take it. Doing so would be like giving something to you which William had given to me which would make William believe I did not value his gift."

Mary stayed Tawny's hand as she said, "Take it. It's a trifle and Henry will not care. He constantly gives gifts to me. Or, do you suspect a plot between us and feel that I am giving the chain to you at his request?"

Tawny blushed as she said she suspected no plot. But since she did, she took the chain to prove otherwise.

As she walked home she more fully realized that Henry Crawford liked her, and she wished he did not. He had cheated Maria and Julia out of their tranquility and she guessed he wished to do likewise with her. And whether it was done inadvertently or not Henry had begun to cheat her with the chain she still wore round her neck.

For years Tawny had been beholden to others. A fact Mrs. Norris made constant mention of. In Mrs. Norris's opinion Tawny owed everything to the Bertram family and to Mrs. Norris herself.

Tawny didn't wish to be indebted to the Crawford's too. She found Mary careless and Henry corrupt. And though others might find her concerns silly the thought that she had accepted a gift – albeit perhaps second hand – from a man, and especially from a man whose character she could never esteem, had stolen her tranquility, and had alloyed her joy over the cross William had presented to her. Tawny longed to be independent, to finish her schooling, find a job and, like William, become self sufficient which returned her thoughts to UNLV and her recent show. She thought: it was my show, the result of my hard work, and the cross came from William, and the party Dr. Bertram is hosting tonight is in my honor and William's too. But with this chain, the Crawford's are further insinuating themselves into my life.

Tawny wished she had not asked Mary about ribbons versus chains. She realized it was foolish to fret over a chain. Yet, on her way home from her visit with Mary Crawford she could not help but ruminate.

When Tawny arrived at her basement lair she found Edmund – pen to paper – at her desk. When Edmund saw her he said, "Ah Tawny, your arrival saves my finishing my note. Accept this trifle. I should have bought it sooner, but with divinity school looming I only went out this morning to choose and buy it."

She unwrapped then opened the small box he handed her. Inside she found a plain gold chain which, unlike the fancy chain she still wore round her neck, seemed made for William's cross.

Edmund knew Tawny owned nothing fine, so when he noticed the chain round her neck he asked its origin. She said, "Mary urged it on me to wear with William's cross, but I'll wear yours." As she touched the cross, which she had carefully – still on its ribbon – laid out on her desk the night before she said, "Oh, to be relieved of this burden." When William wondered what she meant she explained all: that the chain, though supposedly second hand, looked new; that at the very least it had been Henry's gift to Mary and as such Tawny had not wished to accept it and that now with Edmund's gift which better matched William's cross, she could return the Crawford's.

Edmund said, "Please don't. It will make you seem ungrateful. And it was kind of Mary. And if she doesn't mind giving up her brother's gift, you, out of graciousness, ought to adopt her lack of concern."

Since Edmund was a sage Tawny agreed. But as she dressed for the party in her and William's honor how relieved she was that the chain Mary had given her was too thick to fit through the bale of William's cross. Whereas the chain Edmund had given her, fit perfectly. This meant she could join together the gifts from the two people she most loved. After she put Edmund's chain through the bale of William's cross then fastened the chain with the ruby pendant now dangling from it around her neck, an idea struck her. It was that she could wear Mary's chain too. So she donned it as well.

At the party she learned some news, all of it happy, though part tinged with disappointment. The first happy news was an offer made by Henry to William. William would soon leave to return – because of cost – again by bus to his base. And this was to be the case until Henry offered him a spot in the vehicle Henry was driving. He was driving it to his uncle's home which was close to the base William was stationed at. William laughed when he learned that the vehicle the Admiral had purchased was a yellow cab. When Tom, suddenly fascinated with the idea of owning a cab, asked Henry why the admiral had bought it, Henry said, "His whim, I suppose. Maybe he means to ferry visitors from JFK to his home in it. I do not know. To a certain extent I know it's a joke. I only hope it's not a broken down piece of junk."

When Tawny looked alarmed, Henry said, "William's safe. My uncle assures me it's highway worthy. And because I've talked him up, my uncle's anxious to meet William."

Dr. Bertram said, "Perhaps your uncle can advance William's career."

To this Henry said, "Though he's Navy and William's Army, my uncle must think he can or he would not have asked to meet him." William (along with Henry, who would stay longer) had been invited to spend a night at the Admiral's before he went back to his base.

The second happy news was that Edmund had decided to accept early admission to divinity school. Of course Tawny was happy Edmund was following his dream, but when Edmund left, in less than a month, Tawny would miss him.

Tawny supposed the news would displease Mary and in part it did. When he announced his plans Mary again suggested Edmund choose medicine. But she also announced her plan to return in early February to her uncle's. Her uncle had married his long time paramour, which made his house once more acceptable – at least for visits. Tawny was happy Mary was leaving but when Mary described how close her uncle's home was to the divinity school Edmund had chosen Tawny felt sunk. Mary would marry Edmund given time, and would – given the way Edmund looked at her – talk Edmund into medical school.

For a moment, though, she was relieved. Soon, the Crawford's would be out of her life. But no sooner had she thought the preceding than Henry Crawford said, "After I deliver the taxi I will fly back and once I have I hope you who know the area will help me find a home. I can't impose on the Grant's forever. I intend to transplant here. And will settle for nothing less than a home in Mansfield Park."

As the evening drew to its close Dr. Bertram began to think that Tawny had captured Henry's interest. This was because Henry talked and sat by Tawny as often as he could and when he couldn't his eyes were drawn to her.

His interest became a certainty when Henry returned from his uncle's. UNLV was still in recess (Christmas break) and would not resume until February. Hence, Tawny was home. Henry arrived at the Grant's late in the evening on December 29th and on the morning of December 30th appeared at the Bertram's. Since it was a Saturday Dr. Bertram was home enjoying a late breakfast with Edmund and Tawny. Mrs. Bertram was up in her room not yet awake, and Julia and Maria were still in Paris.

Henry had brought exciting news. It was that through the offices of his uncle, William had been appointed as adjutant to a fast-rising colonel. Tawny was pleased, but when Henry waited until the doctor and Edmund had left then followed her to the kitchen she felt uncomfortable. And when he professed his love and asked her to marry him, her heart sank. She would not, could not marry him and said as much. How she wished Henry would leave, but he stayed long enough to repeat his overtures. She repeated her refusal and when Henry left after hearing Tawny say no a second time she believed the matter closed.

As has been said, Dr. Bertram was not surprised by Henry's interest in Tawny because he suspected it. So he was not surprised to see Henry in his home office early that following morning. Nor was he surprised when he learned the purpose of Henry's visit: to ask permission to marry Tawny. In fact, it pleased him because it satisfied one of Dr. Bertram's old-fashioned ideas which was that a young man who wished to marry should obtain permission of the head of the house of the young woman that he desired.

Tawny had seen Henry arrive, and to avoid him, had retreated to her basement lair where, wrapped in a coat because it was cold and the vent closed, she sat on a chair and hid. The only person in the house who might have called on her for assistance at this hour would have been Mrs. Norris who was in her own home. So Tawny felt safe from intruders one and all because Mrs. Bertram, never awake at this hour, would not have occasion for Tawny's help. So Tawny was surprised when she heard footsteps, a man's whom she soon recognized as Dr. Bertram's.

Her door was closed, so he knocked. When he understood she was dressed and he could come in, he took a few steps into Tawny's room but the sight of Tawny fully dressed and in her coat stopped him. He said "Why is it icy in here?" Then, after looking up and noticing that the vent was closed, still looking at it, he said, "Because this is closed." When he wondered why it was and learned that it was because of one of Mrs. Norris' decrees, after excusing her meanness by saying, "She means well, but sometimes takes her economies and her notions of your place in my home to extremes," he dragged a chair over, stood on it, and opened the vent. Nice warm air flooded in. He told Tawny to keep the vent open, and promised to speak to Mrs. Norris.

Now, wishing to come to the heart of the matter, Dr. Bertram said, "I understand Henry has proposed and that though you did not accept, you have given him every reason to hope." As he added, "I've always known you, Tawny, to be an old-fashioned girl, one who waits for your guardian's permission, which I freely give," Dr. Bertram smiled.

Tawny tried to explain that she had not encouraged Henry – quite the opposite. And that furthermore she could never like, let alone love or marry him.

Surprised, Dr. Bertram asked, "Do you love someone else?" His mind fixed on one of his sons, but dismissed this as impossible. Even though he had dismissed it he said, "I would be pleased if Tom had settled down to his studies. Had he, he would now be in his final year of medical school. And with such a degree almost in hand he could marry. But Tom is in no position. Nor do I feel that he has your heart." He paused before adding, "When I compare Tom to Henry and Henry's wish to marry, and his income and ability to live within it, how can I not prefer Henry to my own son? But such is not the point. Do you love Tom?"

She answered, "As a brother."

He then asked the same, but about Edmund. But before he did he mentioned Edmund's apparent interest in Mary Crawford. All too aware of it, Tawny also indicated that she loved Edmund, but only as her brother. Tawny disliked lies but the one she'd just told she would have to come to believe as she could not continue to love Edmund in the way she did if his heart lay elsewhere.

Another old-fashioned notion to which Dr. Bertram subscribed was that if a young man was financially and otherwise stable, a woman almost had a duty to accept his offer of marriage. And still another old-fashioned notion was that women were property, especially a woman like Tawny who often functioned as a servant.

In the continuing conversation, Tawny found herself caught in a web. Henry was corrupt, but to show this to Dr. Bertram would mean he would need to believe his daughters were not what he thought they were. And what was the use, thought Tawny. Dr. Bertram would never believe her. Plus, Henry had money from a trust fund. That word trust made him trustworthy, as did his money, as did his connections, as did everything about him. And she was nothing, and was nobody.

Still, though, Tawny managed to hold her ground, which displeased Dr. Bertram. He had always found her complacent and pliable. But now deemed her willful. "You are like many women your age. Disdaining marriage. Burning bras." Though he was angry, Dr. Bertram could not actually picture Tawny doing either. But because he could not understand why she would refuse Henry he continued, "Had he asked for either of my daughters' hands in marriage I should happily have assented. And you may never receive an offer with as much merit. Men with money and sense are not abundant." He began to say, "Look at Rushworth," but stopped.

As Tawny was now in tears, and as Dr. Bertram recalled her shy and timid nature he decided that in time Tawny would relent. So he added, "Dry your eyes and since I won't – you must explain to Henry Crawford why you cannot marry him. Go to him. He's in my office. Reveal your heart."

Once there Tawny repeated her refusal, which she thought was so blatant Henry would quickly disappear. But her meeting with him lasted longer than she had hoped for and didn't contain her wished for result. She had believed she could state her disinterest, which he would accept and they would part. But he was vain, and because he was he couldn't believe Tawny didn't love him. He felt she did, but did not quite yet know her heart. He felt he could make her love him – just as he had made Maria love him and Julia do likewise. Her disinterest and exquisite character increased his desire. He didn't realize she loved Edmund and this added to his unfounded notion that because she was inexperienced in love Tawny would easily fall prey to his advances. And how pleasant that would be. And since in the past he had quickly and easily won any heart he had hunted – in fact he had won every young woman's heart, usually without effort – he believed Tawny would shortly be his. Even after Tawny again plainly told Henry she did not love him and never could – Henry continued to speak as if she would. When he finally asked why she couldn't love him Tawny said, "Because we are incompatible."

Tawny may have spoken plainly but her manners were too soft and pliant to conceal the sternness of her purpose.

After Henry left and Tawny went to her basement lair she became angry when she realized Henry was too vain to accept her rejection.

And even though he had sent her to give it, Doctor Bertram did not believe she had until the following day when Henry Crawford, who had come again, told him. At first Doctor Bertram was surprised. How could Henry, a persuasive young man, who had spent an hour with a young woman like Tawny, who obliged everyone, not have succeeded? But when he saw how confident and determined Henry was he felt that Tawny would relent, especially because everybody in both families wanted her to. (Mary Crawford had been deputized to help plead Henry's case and often came to the Bertram's to plead it.)

For his part Doctor Bertram would not coax her. Such entreaties would come only from Henry. But Doctor Bertram planned to soften Tawny's sternness in refusal by treating her with kindness and he asked that his family follow suit.

Tom could have cared less whether or not Tawny married Henry. Unlike Edmund, Tom was not in love with Henry's sister, and though Tom didn't share Leland's opinion (that Henry's height was against him) Tom found Henry mediocre. So Tom, already kind to Tawny, continued to treat her as kindly as he had before.

Edmund was swayed by Mary and could think of nothing better than his marriage to Mary and Tawny's to Henry. Then the four, as they say, could keep it all in the family.

Mrs. Bertram was, for once in her life, lively. This was because Mrs. Bertram, when young, had been a beauty, as had her friend, Tawny's mother, Mrs. Price. So she supposed Tawny had blossomed into a beauty too, which created a kinship. (Because Mrs. Price had been the beauty and Mrs. Norris not, Mrs. Bertram had always regretted Mrs. Price's elopement. Indeed, she sometimes wished that fate had fallen to Mrs. Norris. Furthermore, Mrs. Price had, like her daughter, been sweet, rather than bossy like Mrs. Norris. Another reason to like Mrs. Price better.)

Mrs. Bertram, never mean to Tawny except in commanding her time, remained kind. She spoke, as in the past, no harsh words to Tawny, and to that now added the kindness of compliments. She had not fully understood that Tawny had refused Henry Crawford, so she talked as if Tawny had not and would, at some soon moment, marry Henry.

Only Mrs. Norris was unkind. Her looks alone, which were fueled by the disbelief and anger that Henry had chosen Tawny over Julia, were harsh. And despite Doctor Bertram's request to the contrary, Mrs. Norris let angry words slip about Tawny's unworthiness to receive not just Henry's admiration, but anyone's.

Tawny suffered, but with an end in sight. Henry and his sister were soon to leave, and how light that moment would be. Edmund, Tawny's guiding star, would leave soon as well. She would miss Edmund, but not the Crawford's. She did, though, look forward to the days when everyone would be gone because those days coexisted with the time period when spring semester at UNLV would begin. And Tawny looked forward to the start of the semester because with her education she would gain independence, the independence that has been said, she longed for.

Shortly before Henry and Mary were to leave they were asked to the Bertram's for dinner. Dr. Bertram had gone alone to a Medical Association New Year's party. He'd wanted his wife to accompany him – she sometimes did – but on this occasion many reasons had kept her home: it was cold outside, especially for Las Vegas; she had nothing new to wear; and fatigue from the party recently given in Tawny and William's honor had sapped her strength. Of course, Mrs. Bertram had made none of the preparations for the party for Tawny and William, and had not cleaned up, but the fatigue of conversation during the party and the worry over how it would all "turn out" had taxed her.

Consequently, Mrs. Bertram sat mute at the dinner table and remained mute when she, Edmund, Henry, Mary and Tawny had moved into another room.

Tawny knew that later she would have to clear the table and wash the dishes but for the present she sat in the circle and listened to Edmund, Mary and Henry talk. As she listened she crocheted: Tawny was making gifts for her younger sisters in Tennessee, hats that looked like the one Ali McGraw wore in Love Story. At present she was crocheting one for Susan, her sister who was two years younger. Susan's hat was blue and halfway finished. Tawny did not look up from the hat, and because she did not, and because of her general demeanor whenever Henry was around, Edmund felt Tawny would never accept Henry's proposal. He felt Henry had asked too quickly and had done so because he had always had immediate success with women. As he watched Tawny's lack of interest – she continued to look down at the hat – Edmund felt that in the face of such disinterest Henry would soon stop his chase.

But, when – because it was New Year's Eve and because as January wore on everyone but Tawny would depart – Henry took to the piano to play and sing, and Tawny eventually set her needlework in her lap and looked while she listened, Edmund changed his mind.

Henry had chosen to play and sing "Auld Lang Syne," and he played and sang with such feeling that even Mrs. Bertram woke up. Henry certainly had talent – he played and sang well – and he displayed his talent without consciousness or effort. Unlike Rushworth, Henry was very smooth.

After Henry sang, he and Edmund discussed Edmund's future vocation: that of a clergyman. Much to Mary's amusement Henry said, "I admit that my mind always wanders during a sermon. But I might like to preach them!"

When Edmund asked why Henry answered, "I've discovered I like to act and isn't preaching a form of acting?" When Henry said this Tawny again suspected that Henry would always forgo substance for show because of his flawed character. And when Henry admitted he would not wish to preach every Sunday, just now and then and further admitted the reason: "I'm inconstant – easily bored." Tawny said,

"This is further proof of our lack of compatibility. I am constant. You are not."

To this Henry said, "While gone I'll prove I'm constant. And when I've returned you'll find me as much – if not more – in love with you, Tawny." Those words made Tawny feel sick. In fact, later she went to bed with a headache.

Chapter Twenty-two

When Doctor Bertram asked Edmund to talk to Tawny naturally Edmund agreed. Edmund found Tawny in the garden which she had gone to for solace. When Edmund began to speak Tawny thought Edmund understood her especially when the first words out of his mouth were, "I commend you and your desire to marry for love." But later, when he said, "In time, you should accept Henry's proposal," Tawny realized Edmund didn't. Edmund also commended her for acting disinterested but believed that now that Henry had declared his love Tawny ought to prove she was a woman by accepting Henry. As Edmund continued Tawny came to understand that to Edmund being a woman meant being grateful and tender-hearted and in the end accepting proposals from rich men.

After all his efforts, when Tawny indicated that she would never accept Henry, and said so with such feeling that her face turned red, Edmund looked surprised. He thought Tawny was becoming more pliant, especially in the face of his advice. Despite her resistance, he continued to urge her. "You and Henry have so much in common." Tawny thought, like what? While she was thinking thus Edmund further explained that Tawny was duty bound to love Henry and their differences would help them succeed because they would complement one another.

Tawny realized that Edmund had been affected by Mary and Mary's wish – because it was Henry's – that Tawny and Henry marry. And she now felt utterly alone. Edmund, her only ally in the Bertram house, had deserted her.

To plead her case, Tawny said, "Edmund, Henry lacks character." Edmund considered this a moment before he answered,

"As someone who's conscientious and serious-minded you may see Henry as someone who jokes around too much. But we can't all be solemn like you."

In answer Tawny said, "Jokes around? A word like jokes cannot describe Henry's simultaneous advances to both your sisters, to Maria who was engaged and to Julia. Henry was mean to everyone involved – including Rushworth."

When Edmund tried to make light of Tawny's charges she added, "I feel Maria will be forever drawn to Henry. And to play the three for fools cannot be considered harmless." She then added, "Though I have no experience with men, it seems they all believe their proposals of such worth that each will be accepted."

When Edmund again predicted Tawny would in time marry Crawford, and she looked back with weariness and pain, Edmund talked of everything other and finally left. But Tawny was too much of a nothing – even in his eyes – for him to believe she would not at last be persuaded. Instead, he reverted to his belief that Crawford had proposed too soon – that he should have wooed Tawny longer.

To reach everyone excluding Tawny's desired end, Edmund sent Mary to again try to persuade Tawny.

At first, Mary scolded Tawny. Next she reminded Tawny of happier days, of past scenes and of Mary's interest in Edmund. Once Mary started to talk about Edmund Tawny felt she was safe. And Mary did talk about Edmund at length, but did, in time, come round to Henry. But, before she did she said, "Kind, gentle, Tawny. I shall not see you for quite some time. You must know that it is inconceivable to do anything but love you, and that I feel we are destined to become sisters."

Tawny cried because no one had ever talked to her so kindly.

After a silence Mary began a litany, a litany which listed the hearts Henry had broken. She used it to prove to Tawny that Tawny was Henry's only love. Tawny rightly supposed Mary considered this a great honor.

In the course of the conversation, the fact that Henry had bought the chain, and that Mary had conspired with him to get Tawny to accept it, was made plain and this further sunk Henry and even Mary in Tawny's estimation. In the minds of others, not wishing to accept a gift might be perceived as ingratitude. But for Tawny, a young woman who longed for independence, to be tricked into accepting a gift was at odds with her desired-for independence.

When Tawny said, "I suspected the necklace was Henry's gift," Mary answered,

"So, despite what Edmund thinks, you knew about Henry's interest earlier than we thought?"

"Yes," said Tawny, "but I supposed, and yet do, that his interest was akin to his interest in Maria and Julia – all a meaningless game."

Mary, after saying, "Henry is a playboy," added, "But not with you."

To this Tawny answered, "I cannot think well of a man who plays with others feelings." Tawny's mind discriminated between the words forgive and forget. She could easily forgive but to forget Henry's nature would put her at peril. And though no one recognized that she was in peril she did, and did not intend to become further subject to this peril. Her position in life was already precarious.

Since Mary could not defend Henry against the charge that Henry had "played" with the feelings of others, she reminded Tawny of the part Henry had played in William's promotion.

To this Tawny said, "Yes, and for it I shall always be grateful."

As they embraced goodbye Mary said, "At our uncle's," which is where she and Henry were going, "Henry and I are sure to see Edmund, and Julia, and Maria and Rushworth. And when we do we shall think of you."

Tawny was perplexed. So after Mary left she asked Edmund how the Crawford's would see everyone in their circle. In answer Edmund said, "When Maria learned that Henry and Mary were to visit their uncle in New York City and realized that the Rushworth's had moved from but still owned a home on Long Island she suggested they visit there after leaving Paris, which is what Leland has agreed to do. His mother will join them. And you already know that the divinity school to which I've been accepted is an hour's drive from both homes. So I believe I shall visit both quite frequently.

Completely depressed Tawny said, "I see."

Chapter Twenty-three

A surprise visit from William, who had obtained leave between postings, lifted Tawny's spirits. The first day of his visit the two drove to Lake Mead and though it was cold, walked on the dock and beach and picked up rocks and skipped them. William couldn't help but see that Tawny was down and when he learned the reason – a proposal from Henry – William, even though he had driven cross country with Henry and had stayed with Henry's uncle, could easily divine why his sister would not want to marry him. Before his sister said, "We're incompatible," he knew they were.

As they walked William said, "I wish I wouldn't have accepted help from his uncle because it's put you in his debt."

Tawny said, "Never mind. Had you refused, Henry would no doubt have found another way to tie me to him."

To try to lighten her mood William suggested they do ten things that she loved. One was a walk around UNLV's campus where Tawny showed William the newly laid grass commons, growing pine trees and the buildings in which her classrooms lay. A second was horse riding. The two drove to Shetland in Tawny's Volkswagen and saddled up and rode. A third was a quick portrait Tawny painted of William. As a fourth the two sat on the swings at the nearby elementary school. The swings sat in the kindergarten yard which had a mural on its north wall titled: The Peaceable Kingdom. As she looked at the peaceful lamb, lion and child she said, "I long for peace and could have it if Henry did not implore me."

Before the two could finish doing the ten things Tawny loved, Tawny learned that Dr. Bertram meant to send her home to Tennessee. The reason he gave was, "So you can visit your family." But the actual purpose was to force Tawny by comparison to accept Henry's proposal. Let her see, thought Dr. Bertram, the difference between a trailer and comfortable homes like ours and Henry's. She will soon relent.

Although Dr. Bertram had been kinder to Tawny in the recent past he had now reverted to type. He didn't like disobedience. And though it was extraordinary that someone in the 20th Century would force what seemed like an arranged marriage onto an unwilling young woman this was his plan, perhaps because the proposal and wedding stroked his vanity. After all, he had plucked Tawny as a child from poverty so to now let her refuse an alliance with wealth and one which living with him had propelled her to, made him feel like a fool. Or perhaps it was only that his own children didn't listen to him, but until this moment Tawny did. And Dr. Bertram did not want to let go of the only child whose reins he felt he held.

Since Tawny was on the cusp of a new semester at UNLV, Dr. Bertram had her withdraw – she had not yet paid her tuition – and on her own Tawny asked for a leave of absence. When Dr. Davenport learned of these developments – he did so because Tawny had planned to take another class from him yet she was now no longer on its roster – he called and spoke to Tawny. And when he learned the reason for her withdrawal he asked to speak to Dr. Bertram with whom he tried to reason. The professor felt so strongly that he and his wife took Tawny to lunch. During lunch they suggested she live with them so she could continue her education. The two even promised to help her find an on campus job. What both said made perfect sense but Tawny's sense of duty to the Bertram's was stronger. So, after explaining her decision she refused their offer.

The Davenport's were amazed. In an age when everyone seemed to defy his parents, Tawny submitted to what the Davenport's classed a crazy scheme.

Chapter Twenty-four

Years before, Tawny had come to Las Vegas by train shepherded by an elderly couple who were returning from a mission in McMinnville, the tiny town in which Tawny's family the Price's lived. Now that Tawny was old enough, she could travel unchaperoned. And this time she did not go by train, but rather by bus. William went home by plane, not a commercial liner but by an Army transport plane which he caught at the Air Force Base. Since he would be traveling on an Army transport plane Tawny could not accompany him, and he could not accompany her. To forgo the Army transport plane would not have been in his best interests because someone had pulled strings for him.

Tawny didn't begrudge William the plane flight. Flying home would give him time to visit with their family before he had to report to his new post. William apologized to Tawny about leaving her alone to make her way halfway across the country, "and," he said, "in the worst possible way – by bus."

Tawny said, "William, you're not the one sending me home to what is now not home. Enjoy your flight." William gave her a smile before he said,

"Always so undemanding, Tawny."

At times the bus was crowded and Tawny's head ached from conversations she could not help but hear. She soon decided that strangers said the strangest things to the strangers that sat beside them. They would open their hearts, lay out crazy schemes and even form what she supposed would be temporary relationships. One couple which formed locked themselves into embrace after embrace punctuated by long, involved kisses. Tawny had to look away. A lone woman talked at length about the work she would find at her journey's end. In listening – which Tawny could not help but do: the woman talked so loudly – Tawny also learned that the woman had no promise of a job, and a quick look back on Tawny's part made Tawny think the woman – who looked to be as disorganized as she sounded – would not find work, let alone the work of her dreams.

With her quiet personality, Tawny did not link up with anyone on the bus, which meant each time the bus stopped for meals Tawny sat alone at the coffee shop to which the passengers had been directed. To pay for her meals she used some of the money Dr. Bertram had given her, which was several hundred dollars. And when she reached her destination if Dr. Bertram's money ran dry she had money she had saved in the bank (from years of receiving allowance.)

When the first thirty-six hours of the bus trip had passed Tawny supposed she had begun to smell. She got this notion when the woman who sat in the seat in front of her turned around and doused Tawny with a can of air-freshener. At the next stop Tawny hurriedly bought a sandwich she could later eat on the bus then found a drugstore where she bought deodorant, toothpaste and a toothbrush. (Tawny, not realizing the bus trip would last longer than a long day, had packed her toilet articles, and the luggage compartment they were in was inaccessible.) Tawny barely had time to visit the lavatory in the bus station where she did her best to give herself a spit bath after which she applied the deodorant and brushed her teeth.

For some reason – most likely the fact that her family knew she was on her way – Tawny expected that someone, at the very least William, who would still be there, would be waiting at the bus station to fetch her. But there was no one so Tawny got her bag then asked directions. Her family's trailer was a short walk up a hill. As she walked up the hill Tawny could see that the houses along the way had yards which were lush. Each had large magnolias, maples or other trees and clipped lawns. Tawny could also see that her parents' trailer sat on land which here and there had items – parts of old rusted cars, metal rims from wheels et cetera – which should have been hauled off long ago. She also noticed that everything that grew on her parents' property was not well-kept, probably because nothing had been planted by design but instead had grown up because the wind in a haphazard fashion had blown seeds here and there. As she came close to the trailer she could hear the sounds of what she would later learn was a small tributary of the river. This tributary, part of the Collin's, lay down a long and overgrown path that in part ran through the trailer's back yard. She would also soon learn that inside and out, her family was not the tidy type. She began to realize this the moment she entered the trailer because once inside she entered a scene of confusion. William had been called to his new post early which meant it was so to speak "all hands on deck" to get him there. Her mother, who even for her age, was as pretty as Mrs. Bertram, was ironing William's uniform which was wool. As she ironed she said, "Oh, the wrinkles won't come out."

Tawny asked for a clean towel and once given it wet it, turned the iron up high, placed the towel over part of the uniform, put the iron on the towel and by doing so on each section, steamed the wrinkles out. Her mother was amazed and said, "With all that college you're forced to attend I felt you would prove impractical. But you have know-how and no doubt common sense." Here is a woman, Tawny thought, smart enough to be accepted into a prestigious college, but now brought so low she mocks college.

The TV blared and as Tawny would soon discover it always did – either it or the radio. Quite a difference from the Bertram's. It was true, Mrs. Bertram often watched television. But she kept the volume low and since Mrs. Bertram generally fell asleep early into any program she watched Tawny could always turn the sound down even lower or sometimes off. Tawny hated to seem so neurasthenic, but the noise and commotion in the trailer quickly brought on one of her headaches.

When she asked where she ought to put her things her father, beer bottle in hand, said, "Stow 'em where you can and you can sleep wherever you can find an empty bed."

Tawny's mother had given more thought to Tawny's arrival than Tawny's homecoming seemed to indicate. And Tawny recognized this when her mother said, "Susan, show Tawny to your room." Once there Tawny realized Susan's room had two beds, one of which was meant for Tawny. Susan had even given Tawny space in her dresser. Tawny put her clothes into the dresser drawers and the art supplies she had packed on the dresser's top.

Although the Price's had ten children living, less than half lived at home. The four that did were Tom and Charles, aged eight and nine respectively, Susan now sixteen, and Betsy, the youngest who in looks resembled Mary, Tawny's sister who had died several years after Tawny had been sent to the Bertram's.

What became early on quite apparent to Tawny was that she didn't belong anywhere. She did not really belong to the Bertram's. She lived with them, but wasn't part of their family. Nor had she remained part of her own – even though she bore their name. She was also struck with her mother's partiality to everyone but Susan. Boys dominated the Price family in number and in preference. William, as evidenced by the all hands on deck notion, was both his parents' favorite and Tawny's other brothers, whether the two little boys who lived at home, or those who, like William, were out on their own were all her parents talked of. Her mother had also – at Susan's expense – made a favorite of Betsy, her youngest living female child. Tawny supposed this was because Betsy so resembled Mary who had died.

Tawny had barely arrived in her parents' trailer when she began to realize this. Here is what had prompted her realization. Betsy had been sent to the kitchen drawer for the towel that Tawny used for ironing and when there had taken something which turned out to be a silver charm attached to a likewise silver bracelet. But for the time being Betsy had kept the hand holding the charm and bracelet tightly closed. Once William was gone, though – a buddy had honked for him and out he ran – Betsy opened her hand and showed the bracelet on her palm. When Susan saw it she yelled, "She's taken it again." After saying so Susan began to chase Betsy through the trailer. Then the chase continued outside. Betsy was fast and nimble and Susan slow and plodding. This meant Susan never caught up with her sister-thief. Susan was persistent though, as persistent about retrieving her bracelet as Betsy had been about stealing it. To get it back, later that night, Susan said, "Mother, make Betsy return what's mine."

As Tawny would learn, the charm and bracelet had been given to Mary from Mary's godmother. And in turn, on her deathbed Mary had given the bracelet to Susan, and Betsy, who knew her mother favored her and guessed she wished the bracelet were really Betsy's, stole it as often as possible. Mrs. Price eventually did intervene. She said, "Give it back, Betsy my dear."

As Betsy did Tawny remembered that Mrs. Norris was Betsy's godmother. Poor Betsy, Tawny thought. As if she could read her thoughts Tawny's mother said,

"Nan Norris is too cheap to treat anyone – especially with bracelets and charms that are silver. Bad luck, Betsy."

Tawny quickly realized that her position as something of a servant in the Bertram household could ease matters here. She could see that her mother – though someone who worked harder than Mrs. Bertram did – did not manage matters well. She was too disorganized perhaps due to the number of children she had and the fact that the trailer was small.

Tawny felt that to come in and quickly rearrange matters would make her unwelcome – even more an intruder than she was. But she early on decided to help all she could. In her walks to town she learned about a man who dealt in scrap. After checking with her father – no, he had no use for the junk in the yard – she talked the dealer into hauling it and though he hauled she did manage to get some money from him for the scrap. On another outing she stopped at a church bazaar where for a small price she found a silver bracelet with one charm. The charm was of the Statue of Liberty. Tawny supposed it had been a gift someone had brought home from New York City. She also supposed the gift had gone begging because it was still brand new in a box. The box was cardboard with a cellophane opening in the top cover. When Betsy – even without opening it – eyed the bracelet inside she shrieked, "It's new, Susan. And prettier than yours. Your charm is nothing compared to mine."

Susan later indicated how grateful she was. But even before Tawny had found the bracelet for Betsy a kinship had grown up between Susan and Tawny. It had grown up in part because both somehow realized they were in the way, or to put it in kinder terms: both realized they were far from being anyone's favorite. The reasons they weren't were this and that. One, as already indicated was their sex. But the other was that both were somber and dutiful. Susan by force. If Susan had not helped their mother, the house would not have run even as poorly as it did.

Tawny further realized how valuable Susan was to their mother when on the third morning of Tawny's visit their mother said, "Susan, you'll have to skip school." When Tawny mentally wondered why the answer soon became apparent when her mother, after a pause, said, "The laundry's piled up."

Tawny, worried already her family thought her uppity, hesitated to intervene, but did ask Susan as soon as they were alone how school and the laundry intersected.

Susan said, "The laundry is my responsibility and I am behind."

When Tawny offered to wash the clothes so that Susan could attend school Susan said, "But my clothes are dirty too which means I have nothing to wear." To learn the ropes, Tawny helped Susan gather the clothes, take them to the Laundromat, wash them, bring them home wet, hang them out on the line that stretched between two trees on the property to dry, bring them in when they were – at which point even though it was late Tawny ironed so that the following day Susan and Betsy, and Tom and Charles for that matter, would have clean, freshly ironed clothes to wear to school.

On their way to the Laundromat Tawny had noticed a beautiful, old two-story red brick building set with multi-paned windows. The wooden parts of the windows were painted white. When asked, Susan revealed that the building was the library. Later, when Tawny said, "Let's visit it," Susan agreed. Tawny worked extra hard so that all their work was finished which meant that when Susan returned from school that following day the two set out for the library.

Once there, as they browsed together, Susan, who wasn't entirely interested in the books, said, "Look, our junior doctor is looking at you." Tawny looked up to find Susan pointing toward a young man who now quickly looked away from Tawny.

From a distance the librarian motioned with a finger to her lips to Tawny and Susan to hush. Both obliged. Tawny also noticed that as she and Susan left the young man whispered something to the librarian and that the librarian, an older woman, whispered back. Once they were outside Tawny said, "What is a junior doctor?"

"Oh," said Susan. "I don't actually know. All I know is that 'junior doctor' is what everyone calls him, and the others who preceded him. I do know he's a student."

When Tawny wondered where Susan said, "Some college, I think. I only know he works with our doctor."

When Tawny asked why he worked with their doctor Susan answered, "I guess to learn about medicine in rural areas."

For further information Tawny applied to her mother who said, "The junior doctor is a medical student and one of many who have come here to fulfill their graduation requirements."

When Tawny asked the name of the school which had sent him her mother said, "That I do not know. A university somewhere. Why do you wonder?" At this point Tawny feigned disinterest so as not to appear uppity. Even her visit to the library had seemed so. So expressing interest in a university would be doubly deemed so, which meant that if McMinnville had a university (which it did not. The "junior doctor's" program sent its medical students to towns like McMinnville) Tawny would stay unenlightened about its existence.

When Tawny's mother sent her for butter – shades of Mrs. Norris – Tawny and the medical student's paths crossed again. When he smiled and she smiled back he took her smile as an opening to introduce himself.

After he introduced himself he offered to walk her home. She agreed, and so silence would not fall, she asked first about his work, then she asked where he had come from. Next, she asked the size of his family and any other question she could dream up. Her mother happened to be out on the makeshift porch that had been erected in front of the trailer's front door, so she invited the young man in and when he met Tom and Charles and invited them and Tawny to fish for muskie on the Collins (the river that a small part of which ran behind their yard and through McMinnville) Tawny had no choice but to accept as Tom and Charles, clamoring for it, would accept nothing other.

At the appointed hour and as the four were on their way to the part of the river where muskie could be found Tawny learned that the Collins originated in East Central Tennessee. The junior doctor also explained that the Collins sometimes flowed underground and that it occasionally featured waterfalls which fell over ledges of lime. When Tawny mentioned that she'd never seen a waterfall her host said, "Nor will you today as the muskie do not frequent those sections. But what a shame you've never seen one. On my next day off I'll remedy that."

The junior doctor's supervising doctor had loaned them the use of four "muskie" poles, a boat and various muskie lures. In fact, he had loaned the Jeep Wagoneer and boat trailer that pulled the boat, which the junior doctor had patiently backed into the water as her brothers, by using hand signals, helped. How had Tawny helped? With the sandwiches and oranges she had brought and the cookies she had made.

Tom and Charles knew that fishing required quiet and obliged. From this Tawny learned that her two brothers could keep quiet. The junior doctor fixed the lines and lures up and helped the three cast out into the water. The group sat for awhile then reeled in and cast out again. But when they sat for an hour without so much as a nibble they decided not to cast out for a third time there. Instead, they putted upstream to a section where long grass edged the water. "Here," the junior doctor said, "we might have better luck." When another hour went by without a nibble the four broke out the food. Then in the final stretch of the expedition – the boat was due back by three – they chose a third likely spot. More quiet sitting until at once Tawny felt a jerk on her line and then the line on her reel seemed to run away with itself, and very quickly. The junior doctor said, "Pull." Tawny without looking up said,

"I am. But whatever has my line has more strength than I." The doctor had heard of something that might help and when he mentioned it Tawny said, "Give it a try." With her okay he flipped the bail on the reel so that additional line could now not feed out. But instead of stopping the fish's progress the line broke. Her little brothers were thrilled. Both claimed it must have been a large muskie to have broken a 50 pound line and the junior doctor agreed. On the way home Charles said,

"Well, Tawny, you'll now have a good story about the muskie that got away." Tawny silently hoped that where Henry was concerned she would be the muskie that got away.

When the four came home from fishing Tawny saw that she had received a letter from Mary Crawford. While Tawny eyed the letter her brothers and the junior doctor talked up Tawny's brush with the muskie "Loch Ness Monster" to Mr. Price.

Once the junior doctor left Tawny read Mary's letter which said, My letter will not be worth your reading because it can give you no offering of love from Henry. This is because Henry has taken our uncle to Newport in an effort to improve the same's health (the clean sea air and so on). I have seen your cousins. Julia and Maria visited yesterday. Shall I describe how Maria looked when your name was mentioned? I used to think her less wanting in self-possession, but she does not have enough to conceal how jealous she is of you now that you possess Henry's love. Both told me Yates is in town – with his father—(Yates's father is on location making a film) and that Yates now squires Julia about. I hope she meets someone better and perhaps will on the twenty-eighth. That is the date of Leland and Maria's first party. Leland and his mother own one of the finest houses on Long Island. It is so fine that it has a name: Sotherton. Henry could not have bought Maria such a house which I hope she'll realize. Let her satisfy herself with being queen of such a palace though her king and his mother will be better left in the background. We have seen Edmund several times. Whenever he can break from his studies he steals up here. And when he cannot come in person he writes.

Mary's letter closed with wishes for Tawny's health and happiness. What an epiphany! Edmund wrote to Mary with regularity. But Tawny had not yet received a note from him or for that matter a letter from any Bertram. She was out of sight and evidently out of mind.

Chapter Twenty-five

On the morning of Leland and Maria's party, Leland's mother tried to impress upon Maria the need to fill all the vases in the house with flowers. When Maria asked, "Why?" Leland's mother answered,

"Tradition. I have always treated my guests to beautiful flowers."

Maria looked up and said, "But I know nothing about flower arranging." She wanted to add, "and don't want to." But was wise enough not to. She didn't want to incur her mother-in-law's ire. Not tonight anyway, on the night of her first party.

Maria was frustrated. After spending several months on the continent with Leland, and now with him and his mother, Maria realized Leland's money was not yet his and that he and it were controlled by his mother, which to Maria's mind was worse than being controlled by her father. At least she could sometimes charm her father or ask Mrs. Norris or her mother to speak to him on her behalf.

But Leland's mom wasn't quite the fool Leland was. So Maria figured she'd have to submit to helping with the flowers until Julia appeared. When she did, Maria remembered how Julia had complained about having to learn the intricacies of flower arranging at the Rushworth's Las Vegas home. Maria laughed as she remembered that learning about flower arranging had kept Julia inside with Mrs. Rushworth instead of outside with Henry and the rest of the people their age.

Upon seeing Julia Maria said, "How Julia enjoys flower arranging and since you're such a fine teacher and have already taught Julia so much could she help in my stead?"

Since she was speechless, Julia was drafted, which left Maria free so she could shop for a cocktail dress which would impress everyone. The one she bought was red, low cut, and short. And though she glared at Henry Crawford in the receiving line – glared as if she despised him – she was pleased that he, after greeting her, looked from her face to her legs, then up to her decolletee, after which he looked around the enormous room whereupon his eyes shot up to the high ceiling. The Rushworth's house had a large ballroom which was the room they were in. As Henry looked everything over Maria felt vindicated and planned to continue – with the Rushworth's money – to show Henry up.

Up until the evening of this party, Maria had given her mother-in-law no qualms. But after the party when Maria compared Henry to Rushworth and again realized how insipid Rushworth was she began to lampoon her husband – sometimes in the hearing of her mother-in-law. And on occasion she lampooned Mrs. Rushworth Sr. For instance, Mrs. Rushworth Sr. prided herself on her social connections. Once when she was doing so Maria said, "Without your money you'd have none." Mrs. Rushworth Sr., not stupid like her son, answered,

"Nor would you, without my money." Maria tried to regain her footing with obsequious behavior. She even learned to arrange flowers, but Mrs. Rushworth Sr. was now alive to any slights to herself and to her son.

For this reason, when Maria and Julia were invited to Newport by Yates and his father they left for a two day visit. Leland was sorry to see them go but not his mother. Mrs. Rushworth Sr. was glad to again have Leland to herself.

Chapter Twenty-six

Good to his word, on his next day off the junior doctor took Tawny on a tour of the falls. From speaking to select locals the junior doctor had marked the locations of the falls out on a map he had bought from a gas station. The junior doctor had learned from experience not to trust, in entirety, directions from locals which often went like so: take this road to the second fork and follow it till you get there. Such directions were fine at one time, but sometimes two more forks had been added since the person giving the directions had followed them.

The junior doctor's supervising doctor and the librarian's husband were locals and avid outdoorsmen. As such they helped the junior doctor annotate the map and since both from recent visits to the areas knew the roads, the forks, the paths – practically the stones along the way – the junior doctor knew he could trust them.

Once again the supervising doctor loaned the Jeep Wagoneer – this because it had four wheel drive and sometimes the dirt roads which the two would at points have to take could be muddy. Even if it did not rain roads close to the river could be thick with mud.

Throughout the long day the two drove through lush country and saw many falls. Tawny had never seen a waterfall – not even Mary Jane Falls which was not too far outside Las Vegas. Tom was the only outdoorsman in the Bertram family and though he teased Tawny and brought her trinkets he never thought to bring her into his outdoor adventures.

She liked the sight and sound of the falls and when she learned that the junior doctor had visited Niagara she asked him to compare it to what they were seeing. The junior doctor said, "The enormity of Niagara is astounding. The biggest part of the fall which is shaped like a horseshoe, is high and wide and rainbows play in the mist above it. And it thunders as the water rushes over. My youngest sister has curly hair which she straightens using pink rollers the size of orange juice cans. It was funny. The mist in the air from the falls destroyed her work and made her hair a mass of frizz."

Tawny laughed. The junior doctor said, "I have a plan. It's a dream. I want to see the world's biggest falls."

Tawny said, "A world waterfall tour. Now that you've seen Niagara what fall will you see next?"

"In my dreams, Victoria Falls and then Iguasu. But in reality, I'll start with falls in the US. I've already seen the Little Falls of the Potomac and Cuyahoga Falls and I live near Paterson Falls, so I guess out west. Yosemite for one. It's high and long like Angel Falls in Venezuela."

Clouds had been gathering overhead but neither had given thought to them until lightening followed closely by thunder heralded rain. Since the water began to immediately fall in sheets the junior doctor said, "Hop in. Let's go or we shall be stranded in mud." The rain came down so hard that even the wipers on high couldn't keep the water off the windshield. The junior doctor had to strain at the windshield to see where they were going and once they'd reached the paved road he said, "It's good we made it out without getting stuck in mud. Now, if we can get you home before the roads flood."

When they arrived back at the trailer Tawny said, "Thanks. I mean that. No one's treated me before."

He looked intently at her and tilted his head as if he were thinking and though he left his thoughts unsaid they were: Tawny, come on my world waterfall tour with me. He had left his thoughts unsaid because he knew how shy and serious Tawny was – not at all flirtatious. And as such he felt she would be unable to produce a comfortable answer.

He continued to think about showing Tawny the world long after he returned her to her parents and the jeep to his supervising doctor.

As he thought about Tawny he wondered why no one had claimed her. From the fact that she had been sent here in what seemed a capricious manner – at least sending her here had occurred all of a sudden and after ten years without a visit to her parents' home – it seemed the Bertram's did not claim her. And her parents did not seem keen on having her come home. It seemed she meant little to both sets of parents.

He also realized from her manner and from certain things she said that she had never been on a date till she went out with him. She was very pretty and this made him wonder again why no one had claimed her heart. He did not know that Edmund had claimed it which was just as well because, not entirely sure of himself when it came to women – the junior doctor was not a Henry Crawford – if he'd known he had competition he might have stopped his pursuit. But since he did not know he planned to continue to ask her out on dates. In fact, as he went to sleep that evening he tried to imagine where he could take her next. The town was small and had little in the way of venues. He fell asleep with nothing in mind but when he awoke and realized he'd been dreaming of a beautiful grove of trees he'd seen when visiting a patient – the grove was adjacent to the patient's farm – and when he further remembered the grove opened into a meadow which was perfect for a picnic he invited Tawny. She made some of the food: potato salad, and he bought a chicken which his landlady – in exchange for most of the pieces – cut up and fried. The landlady grew green beans called Kentucky wonders that were twelve to fifteen inches long and tender. She cooked some for the picnic and baked a cake and gave him, also for the picnic, several wedges. By using his imagination or his dream life, or the diner, the bowling alley or the theater in town he and Tawny continued to date.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Two small, oval braided rag rugs sat, one on either end in front of the sofa in the Price's living room. Both rugs sat on top of old wall to wall carpeting and directly underneath where Tawny's father placed his feet when he read his newspaper. He traded ends of the sofa, but always started with the same section of the paper: the sports section.

Tawny came to realize why the rugs were there when she tripped over the edge of one and in tripping over it moved it a bit. Underneath Tawny saw a worn spot with a diameter slightly smaller than the rug itself. She guessed the worn spot had been made by her father's feet and when she lifted the braided rug at the other end of the sofa she saw a worn spot there. Since the worn spots went down to the pad and were well concealed Tawny admired her mother's ingenuity and spirit for making do.

When she asked her mother where she had obtained the carpets her mother said, "From your grandmother Price. She cut old clothes into rags, braided the strips, then sewed them together. Both could use a good cleaning."

On the strength of this hint and to protect a part of their family's heritage, on Saturday Tawny took the rugs – one straight from under her father's feet – put them over the line, beat them with an old carpet beater she had found lying around, after which she bought a can of Woolite, took the rugs from the line, placed them in a huge old wash tin, put Woolite in then got the garden hose to fill the tin with water. When the tin was partway full she put her fingers over the opening of the hose to create the spray that would in turn, create more suds. Though the rugs were heavy – especially because they were now wet, Tawny raised and lowered them and swirled them too so that the agitation of the water and soap would further clean the rugs. When she was satisfied they were clean she dumped the soapy water, after which she replaced it with clear water to rinse the soap. When she felt the soap was gone she pulled the rugs out, lay them on the now clean boards of the makeshift porch and tightly and repeatedly rolled both rugs to force the water out. Though they were still heavy she now carried each rug back to the line where she draped the rugs (each of which was about a two by two and a half foot oval) over the line to dry. Such activity would have tired her immensely at the Bertram's. But here, she thought, the air must be different: somehow invigorating to me.

Once she returned to the trailer she planned to go to her room to change: the rug washing, hose spraying, kneeling etc. had dirtied or wet what she had on. To give you an indication of time, on the day that Tawny washed the rugs she had been at her parents' a month.

On the day in question, after she had hung the rugs out on the line, she had come through the front door. Indeed the front door was the only door into the trailer. Once inside she intended to go straight to her room. But when she saw her mother in the kitchen – which was to the left of the front door and her father still on the sofa – the sofa sat to the right of the front door, she stopped to talk about the rugs. She marveled at the rag rugs' construction and asked what other items her paternal grandmother had made. Her parents offered to think about, and if possible, find any articles and they would certainly find the photo they had of her somewhere. Tawny said, "Please do. If I have a photo I can paint a portrait of her for you."

Now, Tawny was ready to head to her room to change when someone knocked at the door. Because Tawny was closest to the door she answered it. She supposed it would be a neighbor. So did her mother and because her mother did she was close on Tawny's heels. Imagine Tawny's surprise when she opened the door to find Henry Crawford, feet planted on the rubber welcome mat. Though she wished he had not come she introduced him to her mother as "William's friend." When her father, bottle of beer in hand, heard "William's friend" he leapt to his feet and walked to the door so that he could shake Crawford's hand.

As Crawford sat on the sofa, which was near the door – everything was – he glanced at the holes in the carpet then looked up and kindly kept his eyes away. He was staying at the Crown Inn, a local hotel, which was said to be haunted. So, once Tawny's parents thanked Henry for his kindness to William and ascertained his stated reason for the visit – the business of his trust and Tawny's father had mentioned that he had "sumpin' of a trust himself" (with "sumpin of a trust himself" he was referring to his disability payments, the ones he received from his factory accident) Mr. Price began to discuss the haunted Crown Inn. Mr. Price even hollered for Susan to come in to turn the television down so that everyone could hear. After Susan turned the television down, she joined in the conversation. In fact, everyone crowded into the tiny room to eye Henry, specter that he was. Mr. Price said, "The two principal ghosts was lovers who always 'ron-day-vooed' at the Crown. Both was there naked in bed when the husband of the cheatin' woman got wind and went in search of his foe. He kilt him with his father's very own pistol, a pistol he then he used on his wife."

As exciting as the ghost story was, Henry now suggested that he and Tawny take a walk, which they did. During it, Tawny learned that Henry had come not on the business of his trust, but to see her, which she already suspected. He did seem to have more of a conscience now and evidenced it when he spoke of the nature of the town. "This town," he said, "Seems full of people who are poor – and my guess is no one here has much in the way of opportunity. If only I could start something which would help them, or reopen the factory. I don't know."

She said, "You have already helped someone here. My brother."

When he said he would like to help another by way of marrying her Tawny wished she had kept her mouth shut. She would never marry him.

As luck would have it, as Henry alluded to marrying her, the two walked past the "junior doctor" who said "hello" to Tawny.

When Henry asked who the young man was Tawny was happy to turn the conversation to the details surrounding the "junior doctor's" stay in McMinnville.

And, as luck would further have it, when Henry asked her out for that very night she was truthfully able to say she could not (because of a date with the junior doctor. He was taking Tawny to the diner to eat and to a movie afterward.) Tawny felt it was impolite to mention the preceding and initially stated she couldn't go because of a previous engagement, but when Henry pressed her and practically called her a liar it all came out.

Henry, who had not envisioned competition, had only allowed one evening for his visit before he returned home. Before he deposited Tawny back at the trailer he alluded to Edmund's and Mary's impending marriage – at least to what he believed would be their impending marriage and Tawny could think of no reason for doubt. When they paused for a moment on the makeshift porch and Henry talked of past hours – happy hours in the Mansfield Park neighborhood – it made Tawny's heart ache. She had no home. She again remembered that she didn't belong in McMinnville. Her parents had sent her away so long ago. And the Bertram's, she believed, had forgotten her. Especially Edmund. It seemed the Crawford's, whom she'd known less than a year, were the only two people from what she used to think of as home, who remembered that she existed.

The junior doctor made her forget how alone she was. He was alone too, but not without family and letters, both of which he freely talked of. He also drew Tawny out with his interest in her. It was a small town so he had learned from the librarian and other town members more of Tawny's history: how she had been sent away to live with rich friends of her mother's. However, he could find no further information regarding why she had been sent back. Just that it was sudden and, according to the librarian, that her parents seemed to care so little about her that neither had asked for a reason.

From the longing in Tawny's voice when she talked about her semesters at UNLV the junior doctor learned that Tawny wanted to finish her education. He even got her to talk a bit about her show and when he learned she painted portraits he took his pen out, turned his paper placemat over and teasingly said, "Prove it."

She did, and rather nicely. After he asked that she sign it he added, "May I keep this?"

"Yes," she said, and after he tucked the portrait into the inside pocket of his jacket off the two went to the picture show.

Chapter Twenty-eight

What the junior doctor had first noticed about McMinville was that the main street was not very long. Though it was not, at a place where four corners met a church had been built at each corner. All were small and had steeples. One had a fine plaster exterior that glistened in the sun, two were covered in clapboards, and one had been built of limestone. All the steeples had bells. All services began on Sunday at the same time and that meant that the bells jarred with each other.

Once the junior doctor knew Tawny by sight and had realized she interested him he noticed that she attended the church built of limestone. So, on a subsequent Sunday, one on which he was free from rounds, he followed Tawny in. And subsequently, anytime rounds didn't conflict, he did likewise. And of course, once he and Tawny'd met and he'd taken her out he, after asking, "Is this seat taken?" sat beside her and walked or drove her home afterward. In the early moments of their conversation on the morning he had first sat beside her, the junior doctor confessed, "My attendance at church has grown spotty."

In a simple effort to continue the conversation Tawny asked, "Why?"

He answered, "On Sundays I'm usually on call."

From further conversation Tawny learned that being on call meant being in the hospital, usually for longer than a twenty-four hour stretch. And that generally on the weekends – because established doctors liked their weekends free – residents and medical students took call. Tawny said, "Where do you sleep?"

"If we do," he said, "There are beds."

She could not understand the need for such long hours. To answer her, the junior doctor said, "Well, from them I've learned a lot. To read about a textbook case is not like seeing one. And hospitals want doctors on site to handle …"

Tawny said, "Emergencies?"

"Yeah. But little stuff too. Stuff established doctors would never want to be hauled out of bed for. Medicine's a dog pile and right now I'm at bottom."

"But," Tawny said, "You shall rise."

She also learned that he was self-made. His parents could not pay for his schooling. So he had worked to pay for his undergraduate degree and had now taken out loans. "Although," he said, "an uncle sold a cow to help me."

"A cow?" said Tawny.

"Yes. One with a fine pedigree and for a large price."

"I didn't know," she said, "you were a country boy."

"I'm not. He is."

At times, just as in the beginning when he confessed his attendance had grown spotty, their talk turned to religion. The junior doctor wanted to know if his spotty attendance and lack of religious zeal would hamper what he hoped was their growing relationship so he asked, "How important is religion to you?"

She answered, "One dogma over another is immaterial – at least to me. But one part of religion became crucial. When I was sent to the Bertram's I was alone. My mother's friends both attended a church, so I was taken too. In Sunday school, pretty early on, we sang a hymn, the message of which was that Jesus was our friend. I believed in that and it became a comfort to me. And later, someone gave me a Bible and I started to read. And though I still find parts difficult, it's a comfort. I've been so alone that my opinions about God are distinctly my own. But don't you believe everyone's are?"

Although the question seemed rhetorical he said, "Yes." And though he could have, he did not relate any more of his beliefs, which were nothing beyond the fact that he believed in God, to Tawny, mostly because he was almost awe struck by how alone she was. Even here with her family she worshipped alone. No one in her family came with her.

When the junior doctor saw an advertisement for a tent meeting, he invited Tawny. She accepted at once. "I have never been to a tent meeting and have wanted to."

He said, "Revivals don't come to Las Vegas?"

"To my knowledge not. But I don't know everything."

When he wondered why revivals did not occur there, she said, "When the weather is fine, it's awfully windy. So maybe the wind might blow the tent down."

He said, "If they've never come to Las Vegas, how do you know about such things?"

She said, "My American History class at UNLV. The text was very good and said that tent meetings used to dominate our landscape and still do in the south. Migration of Europeans to America began with religion. So isn't religion a part of our heritage?"

Tawny claimed the tent meeting was joyful. It was full of singing, and preaching, and joyful praising of the Lord.

The junior doctor asked, "Is the church you attend in Las Vegas similar?"

Tawny said, "No. Its meetings are somber."

"So," said the junior doctor, "it's not a holy roller church?"

Tawny said, "Holy roller? I've never heard such an expression."

"It's my uncle's. The one who sold the cow."

"Well," said Tawny, "someone as generous as he must be kindly. So perhaps the slang is kindly meant."

"I don't know about the intent of the slang, but he is kind. And awfully proud of me."

As the junior doctor fell to sleep that night he thought about how proud of him his relations were and then of Tawny and how none of hers seemed to have pride in her. What a puzzle.

Chapter Twenty-nine

It was her mother who hunted for and found the picture of Tawny's father's mother – mainly because Tawny's father's mother was the woman who'd gladly taken Tawny's mother in when Tawny's mother was first married and pregnant and her own parents had all but abandoned her. As she handed Tawny the photo – an old black and white – she said, "Your grandmother Price could make a living off a flat stone. While she was alive we fared well."

When Tawny wondered what "making a living off a flat stone" meant her mother said, "She didn't inherit the property her brothers did – forests, land on which they raised corn, pasture land – so she was not well off. And her brothers gave her no handouts. So, she made little dresses, Christmas wreaths, hot pads, different types of rugs, quilts – anything she could sew or fashion with her hands. And then she drew up a door to door route on which to sell them. I loved her. She was a mother to me."

Tawny looked at the photo from which she was to make a portrait of this grandmother. It was taken when she was old. All Tawny could see were long jowls, small eyes under drooping lids, many wrinkles and white, thin, dry hair. She asked, "Do you have a photo of her when she was young?"

Her mother said, to her knowledge, none existed. Next Tawny asked, "What about a quilt she made? Did you keep any?" Tawny's mother brought out a quilt containing pastel octagons of cotton which were pieced together in a pattern called grandma's flower garden. It had been so oft used that in places portions of the top had worn away to reveal the batting underneath. Tawny took the quilt on her lap then asked, "What color was her hair when she was young?"

"I didn't know her when she was young, but your father claims it was brown like mine – or like mine was."

For a while Tawny was stumped. She didn't wish to paint an unflattering portrait and age had so consumed the woman in the photo that Tawny did not know what to do until she remembered Norman Rockwell's painting of Betsy Ross sewing the flag. If he painted her face it was something Tawny couldn't remember. So when she learned that her mother's build and height were similar to that of her father's mother she had her mother sit, quilt on her lap as if she were finishing it, and head bent over her work so that her hair, which was shoulder length, covered most of her face. Tawny made the hair in the portrait and the quilt pristine.

And as with any portrait Tawny painted it was a success. Even her father was touched and pronounced it because it showed his mother at work, "Perfect." He even paid Tawny a compliment. "You're a craftsman like my mother. And a worker and nothin' like those no good friends of your mother's you was sent to live with."

Tawny might have taken offense at her father's words if the Bertram's had written, but none had.

Chapter Thirty

A week after Henry left, Tawny received a long letter from Mary. It said: I have to report to you dear Tawny that Henry delighted in his visit with you last week in McMinnville – also in meeting your family.

Edmund has dined with us and our friends and all are struck with his character.

I had almost forgot, Henry talks of coming again to McMinnville and we would be most pleased to rescue you – to take you home or to our uncle's. And would do so at a moment's notice – only, make it after the fourth because on the fourth I'm giving a party and Henry can't be spared. At my party we'll see the Rushworth's. I am as interested in seeing them again as is Henry – if he would admit it.

From the letter Tawny gleaned that Mary's interest in Edmund and his in hers had not waned and that Henry still professed to love Tawny. All of it disturbed her. And she did not like that Mary should host the Rushworth's because it would mean another meeting between Henry and Maria. Such a meeting seemed unnatural and in neithers best interest. Mary was too worldly for Edmund. The Crawford's were too worldly for the Bertram's. Maria, thought Tawny, might feel she's sophisticated enough. But Tawny felt she wasn't. She felt that Maria had been too protected by her father's morals to have had any experience with people like the Crawford's.

After she had been at her parents for two months, Tawny finally received a letter from Edmund. Edmund's letter blamed Mary's deficiencies of character on her friends and her relations – especially on her uncle. Despite the many deficiencies he listed – three pages full – his letter said, "I cannot give her up, Tawny. She is the only woman in the world whom I could think of as a wife." The letter further indicated that Edmund hoped, come June, to enlist Tawny's help. As Edmund's letter further explained, in June Edmund would come home for summer break from divinity school at which time Mary would return to the Grant's. Since Edmund wrote as if Tawny would be returned to his parents by June too, Tawny supposed she would. The letter expressed no interest in Tawny's welfare. Only an interest in securing a "yes" from Mary. As the letter said, "If I can ask when she is away from her rich uncle and friends and their glittering social life, Mary might accept my proposal and content herself with being a clergyman's wife."

Edmund's letter ended with news about Maria and Julia and Leland and Henry. Edmund said, "Henry is unwavering in his devotion to you. I could not see him and Maria in the same room at Mary Crawford's party without recollecting what you once said: that my sister preferred him. But upon seeing him Maria abruptly turned away. And they scarcely spoke the entire evening." In a later portion of his letter Edmund indicated, "Julia enjoys herself immensely and Maria will too – soon – since Leland is about to accompany his mother on a long trip which will free Maria up from the time she devotes to Leland and his mother."

Edmund's letter was so full of disappointing news that Tawny thought, I'll never wish for another.

But as she readied herself for her date that evening (another with the junior doctor) she began to forget about Edmund and his letter and Mary and Henry Crawford and Julia and Maria. Instead, she thought about the junior doctor. He was better looking than Henry or Edmund and interesting. And, Tawny realized, he was interested in her. Plus, though McMinnville had little in the way of entertainment – only a diner, a McDonald's and a few other venues – he, to use and old-fashioned term, courted Tawny in fanciful yet simple ways. For example, the previous Saturday the two had flown kites. In flying them Tawny learned that they both liked to run wild in the wind and that both liked to look at the sky which was immense. And on the following Saturday when he took her star gazing she didn't think of Edmund till she got home. It was only then that she remembered that she and Edmund, too, used to gaze at the stars.

Tawny no longer felt forgotten. And a week later when the junior doctor, who did have a name: Steve Ward, told Tawny during their date that evening that it would be their last because he was leaving McMinnville Tawny felt sad until he asked if could write.

Which he did, regularly. As she read his letters she thought about something that she had read in high school. It was that letters mingle souls.

In his most recent letter Steve had explained that barring failure on his state boards he had obtained admission as a resident in obstetrics. He made Tawny understand that a residency was salaried and that once he began he wanted Tawny to become his wife. They could marry wherever she wished and once wed, could find a place in the city where he'd serve his residency and there begin life together.

Before she could answer his letter she received a frantic call from Edmund. Tom had been injured in a hunting accident. Could she fly home? If she could, his father would buy a ticket out of the nearest airport. She could pick this ticket up at will call. Dr. Bertram was also arranging transport for Tom home – once Tom was stable. A gunshot wound had grazed Tom's jugular. As Edmund said, "My father fears first for Tom's life but also wonders, if Tom does survive how healthy will he be with a jugular vein which has been nicked. He fears there will be a good deal of residual damage."

Once Tawny was home (as in back at the Bertram's) she learned the details of Tom's accident. Tom had been fishing – stream fishing with a friend – when a bullet from the gun of someone who was hunting out of season shot through the side of Tom's neck and grazed a large vein, his jugular. The man who shot him happened to be a physician so, good luck following ill, saved Tom from a bleed which most likely would have proved fatal. The physician loaded Tom into his jeep, had Tom's friend drive, while the physician used his fingers to somewhat close the gap in the grazed vessel, which did help control the bleed. And the two got Tom to a hospital as quick as quick.

When Tom was back at home and convalescing he – between labored breaths – said to Tawny, "Since hunting was not in season I hadn't worn red." He took a labored breath then said, "not my red jacket or red cap." He took another labored breath followed by, "Needless to say I was surprised to hear shots then afraid because they were close."

He took another labored breath during which Tawny said, "Save your strength and tell me later."

Instead of following her directive he said, "I called out, 'I'm here.' but not soon enough and certainly not loudly enough. Once I was hit my buddy called out that I had been, and this time the shooter heard and came at once. Tawny, I believed I would die."

Tawny said, "I'm grateful you didn't. And what's more, for some reason, and you must believe me because you know I am not given to fanciful thinking, I think you'll recover and live a long life."

Whether he believed her or not Tom said, "I thank you Tawny for your kindness and for the fact that I've never know anything but sweetness from you." With this Tom closed his eyes and slept again.

Tawny was everyone's comforter: from Tom to his parents.

Despite her duties as comforter to one and all, Tawny did not neglect Steven Ward. She let him know she would answer his proposal as soon as she could. But she also let him know about Tom's condition. Further, she asked that he now write to her in care of the Bertram's and sent him their address.

Hearing from Edmund that Tawny was now back at home, Mary Crawford sent her next letter to Tawny there. In it, Mary relished the thought of Tom in decline and asked that Tawny confirm it. Mary couched her gruesome wish for Tom's demise by saying, "Edmund is worth twenty of Tom and deserves to inherit Tom's share, as Edmund will do good with Tom's share whereas Tom would only squander it." The letter also let Tawny know that Henry – though he had seen a lot of Maria in the social whirl – still thought only of Tawny.

After reading such a letter Tawny thought, poor Edmund. If only he could see the real Mary. And Tawny supposed Tawny herself had always seen the real Henry. After giving Mary's letter further thought, Tawny again feared for Maria because she believed Henry would always revert to type, and that Maria was still attracted to him. Edmund's report of Maria's cold treatment of Henry had told Tawny this. Had Maria lost interest she would have been friendly to Henry, but her coolness, which Tawny believed was a cover for interest, gave her away.

Tom quickly recovered, and without the chronic debilitation Dr. Bertram feared. It was May now. Edmund would soon be home and soon Mary Crawford would return to the Grant's. Tawny assumed Henry Crawford would again appear there too. But before either Crawford did, the Bertram's received an upending phone call from Edmund: the gist of which was that Maria had left Leland for Henry Crawford. At first, no one but Mary, who told Edmund, knew. Mary still wanted Henry to marry Tawny and guessed Henry wanted such as well, but since Mary knew that Henry, by virtue of this recent act had forfeited Tawny she was, with her stealth, now only trying to retain Edmund. In her heart Mary blamed Henry's actions on Tawny: if Tawny had accepted Henry, all would be well.

Leland, embarrassed, wanted to hush it all up. He said to his mother, "If we don't tell anyone and Maria returns, I can salvage my marriage."

His mother had no wish to salvage her son's marriage. She felt Maria had slighted them both and by doing so had played them both for fools. And Mrs. Rushworth Sr. was not a fool and having taken umbrage now intended to take nothing further from her disrespectful and, as she of late had become, disreputable daughter-in-law.

In his silent moments (which were few) Leland couldn't fathom how Henry (with his lack of height) and Maria had reconnected. Here is how. As you know, when Maria first reached Long Island she and Henry met twice. The first was at Maria's and Leland's party and then just as quickly at Mary Crawford's. Maria was so pleased with her appearance at both that she felt triumphant, and in that triumph she felt she had spited Henry. And since Maria had acted the opposite of interested in Henry Leland gave both meetings no thought.

The two's third meeting occurred by chance. Here is how that chance meeting occurred. Yates and his father once again invited Julia and Maria to Newport. Since Leland and Mrs. Rushworth Sr. were to be away – and for some time – Julia and Maria accepted. (Mrs. Rushworth approved of Yates's father who was sober in appearance and since Leland did not see Yates as a threat permission was granted. With it in hand off to New Port Julia and Maria went.)

On the second day of their visit, as the three gadded about town – Maria needed cosmetics, Yates drove and Julia tagged along – they came across Henry Crawford who was in New Port without his uncle.

Henry had a car and said privately to Yates, "Shall I take Maria so that you and Julia have time alone?"

When this appealed to Yates Henry invited Maria for a spin. To where? A footpath leading to a secluded beach. Though it was still too cold to swim, the two walked a long time on the beach and eventually snuck behind an outcropping of rocks that put them out of anyone's view. Maria returned to the Yates's exhilarated and Julia, no longer interested in Henry, silently wished her well. The two (Julia and Maria) had been so under Mrs. Rushworth Sr.'s thumb, that of course Julia wished Maria well. Let her have fun, thought Julia.

Many further meetings in Newport, then in New York City occurred. Only the meetings in New York City were so secret no one, not even Julia, suspected that they had.

And the meetings in Newport, many of which Julia knew of, seemed to Julia innocent. In Julia's opinion, Maria, as a married woman, knew her duty. In Julia's mind the meetings were full of harmless flirtations on Maria's and Henry's parts. Which is why no one expected Maria and Henry to run off, least of all Leland. And since no one had a clue that Maria would bolt, no one had a clue as to where she might be found.

Maria remained unfound for two months. Then, when Henry jettisoned her she called. Could someone in her family bring her home? Edmund, now home himself, flew to retrieve her.

To further complicate matters, Maria, now four months pregnant, had begun to show. When she learned of this Mrs. Rushworth Sr. guessed the child was Henry Crawford's. Secretly, Leland hoped it was his. Because there was a baby on the way Mrs. Rushworth Sr.'s attorneys suggested Leland take it slowly, which meant the divorce was still not final when the child was two.

Leland, still secretly pleased he might be a father – and to what he supposed would be a fine little boy – wrote to Maria from his mother's home on Long Island to request pictures. Maria sent them. These Leland hid, but his mother found them. Well, when she realized Maria's son looked exactly like Leland had when Leland was two she called for a reconciliation which took place. (As an addendum, when Mrs. Rushworth Sr. recognized her daughter-in-law's acumen when it came to business, the two began to distribute petroleum in Las Vegas. And because the population was expanding their business grew. And because Leland was rich, well-connected, and six feet tall, political handlers took him in hand and though he did not become governor he did become the mayor of Las Vegas and its goodwill ambassador. As its ambassador Leland sometimes traveled throughout the country flanked by two show girls. Maria did not mind the trips with the showgirls because they kept Leland busy. And the position let Leland believe that Henry Crawford, with his lack of height, could never have accomplished half so much.)

About this time Edmund was graduating from divinity school – just as Tawny gave birth to her first child. As a resident in obstetrics, Tawny's husband Steven Ward delivered their baby after which he put it in Tawny's arms.

Since the day he learned of Tawny's engagement to Steven Ward, Edmund had felt the pangs of loss. He had, too late, realized that he loved Tawny. He supposed that he had always loved her: Tawny with her quiet ways and devotion, but had lost her when he fell for Mary Crawford.

When he and Mary parted ways, which was long after Maria had left Leland, Edmund met a quiet and sincere young woman in a parish to which he had been sent for a summer internship. The two later married.

Steven Ward helped Tom take an interest in medicine and Tom – not because his father wished it but because Tom himself finally did – worked his way through medical school. Mrs. Bertram continued to watch television from her chaise. Tawny's sister Susan was now Mrs. Bertram's companion. And Mrs. Norris continued to pinch pennies. Though she stated her reason as being to add to the Bertram's children's inheritances she was too cheap to have a will drawn up which meant she died intestate. As a result, her small fortune went to her nearest kin: a profligate niece who spent Mrs. Norris's money no doubt unwisely.

As an addendum, Julia married Yates and both worked in the film industry, but in the production side. Though both had happy lives neither snagged a SAG card which bothered Yates tremendously.