EIGHT
Two weeks after Ernest’s proposal, I made the necessary trip to Chicago to greet an entire contingent of Hemingways. I was so nervous I drank the better part of a bottle of wine first, pacing the living room at the Domicile, while Ernest tried to reassure me as best he could. It didn’t help that Kate had finally turned up that afternoon. Ernest was at work and she found me at Kenley’s alone.
“You’re not really going to
“Kate, please sit down and be reasonable.”
“You’re going to regret this. You know you will. He’s so young and impulsive.”
“And I’m what? A sedate little spinster?”
“No, just naive. You give him too much credit.”
“Honestly, Kate. You’re supposed to be his friend. What did he do to turn you against him?”
She stopped ranting suddenly and sat down heavily on the davenport. “Nothing.”
“Then why all this?” I lowered my voice and moved to sit near her. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head slowly. Her eyes were clear and sad. “I don’t want things to get any uglier, and neither do you. I’ll be happy for you, I swear I will.”
I felt a roaring in my ears then that wouldn’t quiet for the rest of the afternoon. When Ernest came home from work, I was still so upset I nearly ambushed him at the door. “Is there anything you want to tell me about Kate? I think she’s quite in love with you.” I was surprised to hear myself say it out loud, but Ernest took it with a strange calmness.
“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s no fault of mine. I didn’t encourage her.”
“Didn’t you? I think she’s very hurt by something.”
“Listen. Kate is Kate. That’s all behind us now. Do you really want to know everything?”
“I do. I want to know all of it. Everyone you’ve ever kissed or imagined yourself in love with for even two minutes.”
“That’s crazy. Why?”
“So you can tell me how much they don’t matter and how you love me more.”
“That’s what I am telling you. Aren’t you listening at all?”
“How can we get married if there are secrets between us?”
“You don’t want to get married?”
“Do you?”
“Of course. You’re making much too much of this, Hash. Please be reasonable.”
“That’s what Kate said.”
He looked at me with such exasperation I couldn’t help bursting into tears.
“Oh, come here, little cat. Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”
I nodded and dried my eyes. And then asked for a drink.
We borrowed Kenley’s car to drive out to the big family house in Oak Park. The closer we got to Kenilworth Avenue, the more agitated Ernest became.
“Don’t you think they’ll like me?” I asked.
“They’ll adore you. They’re not crazy about me is the thing.”
“They love you. They have to.”
“They love me like a pack of wolves,” he said bitterly. “Why do you suppose I board with Kenley when my family’s just fifteen miles away?”
“Oh, dear. I never thought of it like that. Is it too late to turn around?”
“Much too late,” he said, and we pulled into the long, circular drive.
Ernest’s mother, Grace, met us at the door herself, literally pushing the servants to the side to do it. She was plump and plush, with a sheaf of graying hair piled on her head. I was barely over the threshold when she charged at me, swallowing my hand in hers, and even as I smiled and did my best to charm her, I could see why Ernest fought against her. She was bigger and louder than anything else around her, like my own mother. She changed the gravity in the room; she made everything happen.
In the parlor, there were fine sandwiches on finer plates and pink champagne. Ernest’s older sister, Marcelline, sat near me on a chaise, and although she seemed a pleasant enough girl, it was a bit unsettling that she looked so much like her brother. Ursula, too, had his looks, his smile to the letter, and his dimple. Sunny was sixteen and sweetly turned out in pale yellow chiffon. Little Leicester, only six, trailed Ernest like a puppy until he submitted to a round of shadowboxing in the dining room. Meanwhile, Grace had me pinned in the parlor, talking about the superiority of European lace, while Dr. Hemingway hovered with a plate of cheeses and beets he’d preserved himself, from his garden at Walloon Lake.
After dinner, Grace asked me to play the piano as she stood by it and sang an aria. Ernest was clearly mortified. Greater mortification arrived when Grace insisted on showing me a photo in an obviously much-cherished album of Marcelline and Ernest dressed alike, both in pink gingham dresses and wide-brimmed straw hats trimmed with flowers.
“Hadley doesn’t want to see any of that, Mother,” Ernest said from across the room.
“Of course she does.” Grace patted my hand. “Don’t you, dear?” She fingered the photograph in a proprietary way. “Wasn’t he a beautiful baby? I suppose it was silly of me to dress him like a girl, but I was indulging a whim. It didn’t hurt anyone.”
Ernest rolled his eyes. “That’s right, Mother. Nothing ever hurts anyone.”
She ignored him. “He always loved to tell stories, you know. About his rocking horse, Prince, and his nurse, Lillie Bear. And he was a terrible card, even as a baby. If he didn’t like something you’d done, he’d slap you hard, right where you stood, then come around for kisses later.”
“Mind you don’t do that with Hadley,” Marcelline said, arching an eyebrow at Ernest.
“She might go in for that,” Ursula said, flashing a smile.
“Ursula!” Dr. Hemingway snapped.
“Put the book away, Mother,” Ernest said.
“Oh, pooh,” Grace said, and flipped the page. “Here’s one of the cottage at Windemere. Beautiful Walloona.” And she was off again, rhapsodizing.
The evening went on and on. There was coffee and little thimblefuls of brandy and delicate cakes, and then more coffee. When we finally had permission to leave, Grace called out after us, inviting us to Sunday dinner.
“Fat chance,” Ernest said under his breath as he led me down the walk.
Once we were safely back in the car and on our way to Kenley’s, I said, “They were awfully civil to me, but I can see why you’d want to distance yourself.”
“I’m still a child to them, even to my father, and when I strain against that, I’m selfish or thoughtless or an ass, and they can’t trust me.”
“It wasn’t so different for me when my mother was alive. Our mothers are so alike. Do you suppose that’s why we’re attracted to each other?”
“Good God, I hope not,” he said.
With the onset of our engagement, new rules applied to our living situation at Kenley’s. I was still invited to stay in my usual room, but Ernest was asked to impose on other friends for the duration of my visit.
“I don’t know why Kenley’s acting so square suddenly,” Ernest said when he delivered the news. “He’s hardly pure as the driven snow.”
“It’s my reputation he’s protecting, not his own,” I said. “It’s rather gallant if you think about it.”
“It’s a pain in the neck. I want to see you first thing, just after your eyes open for the day. Is that too much to ask?”
“Only for now. As soon as we’re married, you can see me any way you like.”
“What a nice thought.” He smiled.
“The very nicest.”
It wasn’t any great secret that I was a virgin. Aside from a passionate kiss here and there from various suitors, my experience as a lover was nil. Ernest liked to hint that he’d known lots of girls. I assumed he’d been with Agnes
