She glances at Daniel, notes his discomfort, and wraps her hand around the crook ofhis right arm, momentarily throwing his steering off.
They are riding through the village now, past the church in which the four ofthem heard the
She remembers Daniel and Iris, the little looks they traded.Was he al-ready fucking her? He claims not, but it’s probably ridiculous to assume scrupulous honesty from him.Maybe he was.Maybe Kate was already be-ing played for a fool.When she was young the thought ofsomehow being the butt ofa joke was at the absolute zenith ofher jealousy, nothing was worse than thinking someone might be reveling in putting something over on her.But now, to her surprise, the possibility that Daniel and Iris might have taken some grotesque pride in fooling her barely registers in Kate.It seems the most trivial part ofthe story.This is a story about sad-ness and loss, about getting a shocking wake-up call to put her house back in order, this is a story about what she had to learn in order to make things right again.She wonders ifshe is deluding herself, but that thought is sim-ply too painful.Instead she thinks:
They drive on the curving, bucolic blacktop that goes past Leyden’s riverside mansions.The estate next to Eight Chimneys, which for two hundred years had been known as Eliade, has finally been sold offby the dissolute progeny ofits original owners and is now called Leyden Farms.
A wooden roadside stand has been built across the road from the en-trance gate where bushels ofgolden delicious and Macintosh apples are sold—a puzzling bit offrugality on the new owner’s part.He is a middle-aged television producer, specializing in hospital dramas, and he paid close to eight million dollars for the estate.It’s difficult to see how the two or three hundred dollars made annually from selling apples could make much difference to him.Perhaps they’re a tax dodge.
A mile later, they come to the crumbling stone gates ofEight Chimneys.
The estate’s gatehouse sits at the edge ofthe road—a small stone house that is an architectural miniature ofthe mansion, and in even worse repair.
“These people are so crazy,”Kate says.“Everything is falling apart, it’s just chaos everywhere.”
“I’d think you’d like this sort ofthing,”says Daniel.“It’s sort ofsouthern.It’s Faulknerian.”
“IfI wanted to be in the South, I would have stayed in the South.I think people ought to take care ofwhat they have.I hate things going to wrack and ruin.And Daniel?This isn’t Faulknerian.Everything creepy and south-ern isn’t Faulknerian, just like everything annoying isn’t Kafkaesque.”
The long driveway between the road and the main house has somehow gotten worse since the last time he drove it.The potholes have dou-bled in depth, and now Daniel must dodge the crowns offallen trees—once he drives directly into one ofthe craters.When they reach the main house, there are only five cars in front, and one ofthem has no tires and has obviously been there for quite a while.
“You said it was going to be a big party,”Ruby says.
”It will be,”Daniel says.“We’re just a little early.”
“When’s Nelson coming?”Ruby asks.She hugs her doll close to her.
”I don’t know ifhe’s coming at all, Monkey,”Daniel says.“But there will be other kids, I promise.”
“You promise?”asks Kate, amazed.
”Yes,”Daniel says.And Kate shakes her head, clearly implying that Daniel, ifhe had the proper humility, would never make another prom-ise for as long as he lived.
They are met at the door by Susan, wearing a rust-colored corduroy jumper, such as you would see on a schoolgirl.Her graying hair is twisted into a long braid.Her face looks moist and dense, like the inside ofan apple.
“Hello, Kate,”Susan says, extending her hand.Her voice is frosty, edged with contempt.She is punishing him for his participation in Fer-guson’s and Marie’s scheme.“It’s nice to see you.We’re putting coats in here.”Then, turning toward Daniel,“Ifany ofthe politicians show up, I’ll leave them to you.I can’t stand politicians.”
She leads them into what had once been the conservatory, a large room with floor-to-ceiling casement windows.The room is empty, ex-cept for an antique telescope standing gawkily in a corner, and a long oak table upon which the guests can deposit their coats.“Isn’t this the room where Professor Plum did it, usinga… candlestick?”Kate murmurs to Daniel.Susan is walking a few feet in front ofthem, with her hand rest-ing on Ruby’s shoulder.
“We haven’t met,”Susan says to Ruby.“I’m Susan Ferguson.”
Ruby has never been addressed in quite this tone.There is no inflection in Susan’s voice that would suggest she is speaking to a child.Con-fused, and a little thrilled, as well, Ruby looks up at the strange woman.
”Is this your house?”she asks.She holds her doll behind her back to hide it from Susan.
“Oh please, don’t remind me.Look.”She gestures toward the wallpaper, faded blue and dirty white, showing a repeated pattern ofa little girl in a pinafore holding a hoop through which jumps her dingy little dog.“Not to mention…”She points to the warped floorboards, then the copper-colored stains on the ceiling.Susan sighs, takes Ruby’s coat from her.“You know, at a certain point, you just give up.”She looks down at Ruby, gives her a curious little frown, as she wonders why this child seems so unresponsive.“Are you in school?”she asks.
The party is centered in what the Richmonds still call the ballroom, and, in fact, it is a room where dancing sometimes occurs—though now it is either raucous, sweating rock and roll, or the sacred, ceremonial steps ofApache rain dancers or Sufi dervishes, performers brought in by Susan.People are beginning to arrive, but Daniel is too nervous by now to do more than nod a distant hello to each ofthem.It is striking him with some force that coming to this party is a grave mistake.IfIris doesn’t show up, it will break his heart, his indelible disappointment will show like blood on a sheet.Ifshe does appear—then what? How will he be able to keep away from her?
He stands, with Kate, near the fireplace where four-foot white birch logs are smoldering.The brick wall ofthe hearth is coated with creosote, black and sticky.Kate speaks to him through the side ofher mouth.
”Thank God we hurried getting here.I think it’s important to be among the very first to arrive.Don’t you?”
“There’s no kids here,”Ruby says.
”There will be, I’m sure ofit,”Daniel answers.
”I want Nelson,”says Ruby.
Daniel stares at the fire.He knows Kate is looking directly at him, but he pretends to be absorbed by the progress ofthe flame as it slowly burns through the logs.His face is scalding;the fire burns his thoughts away, and he stands there as ifhypnotized.When he finally steps away he sees a few more people have arrived, and that Ruby has found the food on the other side ofthe room and is grabbing handfuls ofpotato chips.
Susan has taken it upon herselfto point out a mural on the ballroom’s ceiling to Kate, who has a plastic cup ofwine in her hand.
“Ferguson’s great-grandfather Payson Richmond commissioned a Portuguese artist to make this mural.Payson wanted a picture ofheaven, he wanted stars, which you see, and a moon, over there, and he wanted to see God.More than anything he wanted God up there, looking down on all the wonderful people.But the artist, whose name was Barbieri, was a devout atheist.You see, no saints, and certainly no God.Payson in-sisted that Barbieri get back on the scaffolding and find a place for God and Barbieri ofcourse refused, and before anyone could intervene the two ofthem were fighting like kids, slapping each other in the face, push-ing, and Payson ended up slipping on the floor and hitting the side ofhis head, which caused him to lose the hearing in his right ear.”
Kate seems amused as she listens to this.She has a taste for the sort ofceaselessly self-referential anecdotes families like the Richmonds like to tell.She herselfuses phrases like“old family”and“good family.”She believes in genealogy, she believes in birthrights, she feels that the deeds and misdeeds ofour ancestors are a large part ofwho we are.Daniel prefers not to believe in such things, the idea that who we are is deter-mined by our ancestors has never appealed to him, and now, ofcourse, it is repellent.Yet he is relieved to see Kate staring up at the mural with Susan.Kate’s neck is long and still firm.She is wearing a black skirt, flat-tering and tight, a bolero jacket, clip-on pearl earrings.Her hands are on her hips.She looks lithe, high-spirited, ifhe didn’t know her he would want to.How strange it feels not to love her.That love had once felt so stable, dependable, its very lack ofdrama made it feel eternal, and now, to feel so little, to feel almost nothing outside ofrespect, and a desire not to hurt her too badly, is like waking up one morning and finding that you no longer can enjoy the taste ofbread.
Ferguson, meanwhile, is on the third floor, in the room into which Marie has moved.There’s a little hooked rug on the floor;the walls are bare except for an old brass bell that used to be connected to a system ofpulleys controlled from a panel in the butler’s pantry and could be rung to summon whatever maid might be using that
