Geoffrey appeared in the doorway.
“Elizabeth’s here,” he said to the figure in lotus position on the bed. “I would have brought her up, but Mother snared her with wedding work.”
Charles nodded, or perhaps undulated to the music; it was hard to tell.
“Anyway, you’ll see her at dinner,” Geoffrey continued. “We are having swine flesh, as you so colorfully put it, and Mildred seems to be fixing some sort of fodder for you.”
“Soybean casserole,” said Charles. “Much better for your body.”
“On the contrary, cows eat it constantly, and they only live to be twenty-three. On that scale, you may not last out the month.”
“Do you want to know what I’m making?” asked Charles, indicating the sticks and jackrocks.
“It looks like a reindeer,” snapped Geoffrey. “What I
“It helps me to visualize covalent bonding,” Charles answered, screwing another white stick into a jackrock. “I am building a molecular structure.”
“Fine, as long as you don’t put it up across the street!” He scowled in the direction of the window. “Bill didn’t come, by the way.”
“No? That’s unfortunate. I would have liked to discuss my proton theory with him.”
“Why don’t you discuss it with Satisky?” asked Geoffrey. “You might bore him to death and put an end to this circus.”
“What circus? Oh, the wedding! Now
“I doubt if he forgets it for a second,” said Geoffrey grimly.
“I’m sure it will work out,” murmured Charles, running his finger along the page of the chemistry book.
“Don’t be too sure,” said Geoffrey softly.
Michael Satisky had sought temporary refuge in the downstairs library, where he sat in blessed solitude in a leather armchair, with a copy of
Eileen was down by the lake painting, and fortunately she refused to let him come with her, or to see the painting. It was probably to be a wedding gift to himself, he reflected, wondering if there were any tactful way to express a fondness for German handicrafts: Leicas, Mercedes, Porsches… Probably not, he decided, turning a page of Browning. He had promised Eileen an Italian sonnet as a wedding gift, but composing one wasn’t as easy as he had expected. He wished he could settle for free verse, since that was his usual style, and he could produce a specimen in a matter of minutes, but somehow he felt that the formality of the occasion required more structured poetry. He wondered if she were thoroughly familiar with Browning… Well, maybe a line-to start himself off…
What was that bit about “a creature loved by you might forget to weep”? How close to true that was, he mused. The frail, waiflike Eileen had almost vanished in a flurry of bridal veils and documents.
He had seen her for the first time at a Milton seminar on campus. She was a small, drab creature who sat alone and listened to the discussion with an expression that suggested she hadn’t heard a word of it. So he had befriended her, and offered to slay dragons for her-only to learn that she had enough money to buy a battalion of dragon-slaying mercenaries if she chose.
After a semester of free campus movies and long walks around the duck pond and the arboretum, Eileen had shyly suggested that he come home with her. He had pictured a widowed mother and a mortgaged farm; and now- this! Windsor Castle with ten bathrooms, and a family consisting of Clytemnestra, Walter Mitty, Victor Frankenstein, and Oscar Wilde. He shuddered at his own analogy. He was even beginning to sound like them.
He told himself that he couldn’t call off the wedding, because the shock might be too great for her reason, but he caught himself visualizing a honeymoon in Nassau, studies at Oxford, not having to work to support his writing habit… Eileen’s money.
“If thou must love me, let it be for naught except love’s sake only,” he wrote carefully.
Eileen Chandler frowned thoughtfully at the paint-splattered canvas in front of her. The shadowy part of the lake needed more gray, and the trees looked wrong somehow.
Perhaps she should have tried painting Alban’s castle, since he had been so insistent that she do its “portrait.” “Don’t forget the mice and pumpkins!” Geoffrey had quipped, so she decided to do the lake instead. After all, this was going to be a wedding gift for Michael. She hoped he liked landscapes; perhaps she should put a sailboat there in the middle of the lake.
No, better not. She was sure to get something wrong, like a rope out of place, and then Captain Grandfather would go on forever. Once she had painted him a picture of the Titanic, using a book illustration for accuracy, and even then something went wrong. He kept insisting that smoke couldn’t come out of all four smokestacks, because one of them was a fake, and even when she had showed him the book, he had waved it away.
Michael wouldn’t be so critical, of course. He almost never made her head hurt. She felt very safe with him, and very protected, as though she could finally be “real,” somehow. It wasn’t that her family didn’t understand her. That was just it-they did. Once when she had gone trembling to Charles to tell him she saw demons’ faces in her window, he had wanted to know if any of them had purple eyes, because if so, he’d seen it once while he was tripping on yellow sunshine. It was all right if you saw demons when you were stoned, but she saw them anyway. Finally the family had realized how trapped she was and let her go away to get better.
But they didn’t seem to mind, really, whether she improved or not. In fact, they hardly noticed any change. Michael would mind, though. He wouldn’t want her to hear voices or hurt herself. For him, she must be the fairy-tale princess and live happily ever after.
Suddenly her eye caught a detail of the lake that she hadn’t noticed before. With a brief smile, she dipped her brush into a smear of paint and began to shape it into the painting.
While she worked, a corner of her mind wondered if it were really there.
CHAPTER THREE
“HOW ARE YOU coming with the invitations, Elizabeth?” asked Amanda, setting aside a silver ashtray on the pile of gifts.
“I’m down to the Ss already. Carlsen Shepherd.”
“Yes. Dr. Shepherd. Be sure to put ‘Doctor’ on the invitation. He’s Eileen’s analyst, and he’s coming down before the wedding for a visit.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “What’s he like?”
“We haven’t met him,” Amanda replied. “I believe he’s connected with the university. Eileen consulted him entirely on her own, so naturally we’re anxious to meet him. I can’t help feeling that his connection with us is just temporary. Eileen’s own physician, Nancy Kimble, is spending a year in Vienna. I do wish she could have come for the wedding, but she sent Eileen some lovely linen napkins.”
“Kimble…” murmured Elizabeth, looking over the list of addresses. “Aunt Amanda, Dr. Kimble isn’t listed here. Did you mean to send her an invitation?”
“Oh, we did, dear. Several weeks ago. Your family should have gotten one about the same time. I sent out the invitations that mattered first. These are just after-thoughts-Eileen’s school friends and some people Michael wanted to ask.”
“How many people are you expecting?” asked Elizabeth, deciding to let Amanda’s last remark pass without comment.
“Oh, less than a hundred, I think,” her aunt replied. “Most of our friends from the country club will be there, of course, but I really don’t think anyone from out of town will drive all the way down here. Such a pity that Bill couldn’t come.”
“I think so, too,” said Elizabeth evenly.
“I suppose your father’s sales convention couldn’t be helped. Although I do think Margaret might have let him
