A Ship Made of Paper

[13]

There was a break in the black sky and the platinum moonlight poured down on them.The whites of Hampton’s eyes glittered.His shirt was dirty, his khaki trousers were covered in burrs and black with mud at the knees.Daniel looked down at his own hands.There was a scrape on the heel of his hand.And then the crack in the sky healed, and the moonlight disappeared.

TwoSundays later, there is an afternoon party at Eight Chimneys, to inaugurate the Eight Chimneys Foundation, which MarieThorne has set up as a first step in turning the old house into an official NewYork State Historical Site.Despite Susan Richmond’s antagonism to the proj-ect—she can’t bear the thought ofticket-holding strangers traipsing around her property, and she also knows that the entire scheme has cre-ated a little dome ofprivacy, a secret spot in which Ferguson and Marie can carry on their repulsive flirtation—leaving the planning ofthe party itselfto Ferguson and Marie is beyond her powers offorbearance.Fergu-son is as domestic as Buffalo Bill, and Marie’s ideas for the party are pa-thetic, culled from some grotesque guide to“elegant living”—caterers cooking and serving hot appetizers, expensive booze, chamber musicians from Marlowe College, vases filled with Casablanca lilies.Marie, despite having been born and raised on the property, seems to have no idea that such froufrou touches have no place at Eight Chimneys, where one en-tertains simply and cheaply.Susan feels that ostentation is the province of the middle class, who always seem to be saying“Look what we have!”

whereas at Eight Chimneys one likes to behave in such a way that implies

”We’ve all had enough chamber music and porcini tarts, and the long, tiresome trek through the gardens ofplenty has led us to believe it’s a hell ofa lot more fun to fill up a few bowls with potato chips, get store-brand sodas at the Price Chopper, jeroboams ofcheap wine, and not make such a big deal out ofeverything.”Susan cannot resist a chance to express her own artistic talents, and on each ofthe ninety invitations sent out she cre-ates a tiny watercolor, usually just a few wavy blue lines to symbolize the river, but sometimes a finely wrought chimney, or a cow.

The invitation in Kate’s hand has been personalized with the wavy blue lines.Beneath the times ofthe party, from2:00to4:00p.m.,there is a line that readsdonation: twenty-five dollars per person.On Daniel and Kate’s invitation, Susan has drawn a circle around the amount, with a line running offthe circle that leads to the messageno exceptions!Kate has been going on about the boorishness ofthis re-minder since its arrival onTuesday, and now, sitting at her dressing table, putting on her lipstick, with the invitation propped up against the mir-ror, she suddenly sees Daniel in the glass and begins again.

“Does Susan Richmond really think we’re going to try and sneak in without paying?”she asks.She doesn’t turn to face him but watches his reflection in the mirror.His hair is still wet from the shower;his eyes are dark and startled in the middle ofhis scrubbed face.He has lately be-come meticulous about his grooming, as he has with every other detail ofdomestic life, from getting up with Ruby every morning and making breakfast for the family, to the dutiful little good-night kisses he places on Kate’s cheek at night.He is like a British officer in captivity, keeping up his own morale with close shaves and crisp salutes.

“I’m sure it’s a joke,”he says.He checks the time.“You look very nice.”Which is his way ofsaying,“Hurry up, it’s time to leave.”

“I’ve started a new novel,”she suddenly announces.

“That’s good.It’s great.I’m really glad.”

“You are?”

“Ofcourse I am.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see.But it does seem that connubial bliss was interfering with my creativity.Ever since…youknow, the big confession, I’ve really felt inspired.And this book—well, I don’t even want to talk about it.I don’t want to jinx it.It could all disappear.I could spend the rest ofmy life just writing articles.”

“I’m really glad,”Daniel says.“Are you almost ready?”

“Ruby?”she asks, still gazing at him in the mirror.

”I think she’s all set.I’ll go check.”

Except for not loving Kate, Daniel has been a model partner since his confession in the hotel room two weeks ago.No socks on the floor, im-peccable table manners, he has even purchased over the Internet some spray he squirts on the back ofhis throat at night, which has virtually eliminated his snoring.The respect he shows for her sleep is boundless.

Not only has the snoring stopped, but he no longer tugs at the blanket, and when he rolls over nothing ofhim so much as grazes her, she cannot even feel his breathing, he has less presence than the dead, and in the mornings he is quieter than the rising sun when he slips out ofbed to mind Ruby and get her offto school.Yet he is not entirely cold, not like someone who is furious, or who wishes to punish you.Ifshe rolls next to him in bed, he is accepting.Ifshe presses herselfagainst him he gathers her in.Ifshe kisses him, he kisses her back.Ifshe wants to fuck, he fucks.

He is entirely at her disposal.Her every wish, it seems, is…no, not his command, but his opportunity to commit some further act ofpenance.

”Got me one ofdem penitent boyfriends,”Kate said to Lorraine over the telephone the other day.“Dem’s the best kind,”answered Lorraine.

Daniel finds Ruby in her room, brushing the bright-yellow hair ofa chubby-faced doll with a pug nose, a prissy mouth, and blue, unforgiv-ing eyes.Neither Daniel nor Kate would have bought such a toy for Ruby—they would rather supply her with little cars, plastic horses, building blocks, books—but she’d fallen under the doll’s spell at day care and the teachers let her take it home.“Are you about ready, Monkey?”

Daniel asks.He feels so guilty around Ruby that he has made his voice overly cheerful.

“I want to play with Ginkie,”Ruby says.She turns the doll around on her lap, gazes into its bright blue eyes.

“You can bring Ginkie with you, ifyou want.”

“No.She can’t go out.”Ruby has long contended that the doll is afraid to leave the house—it seems part ofa strategy to make certain that it never gets returned to the day care center.

“It’s going to be fun,”says Daniel.“And besides, there’s not going to be any grown-ups home, so you have to come along.”

“What about Mercy?”

“She’s busy.”

“Is she going to be at the party?”

“You never know.”

“Can I really take Ginkie?”

Daniel picks Ruby up, notches her onto his hip.The weight ofher balances him, somehow damps down the anxiety.

The three ofthem drive to the party, through a mild November afternoon.The sun is high and hazy in the pale-blue sky, it looks like a little stain on a shirt.The wreckage oflast month’s storm is still everywhere in evidence—collapsed old barns, fallen trees, heartbreaking wreaths on the side ofthe road where people lost their lives.

He drives slowly, not wanting to telegraph how anxious he is to arriveat the party.Kate, who since beginning her novel has taken up smok-ing again, lights a cigarette and cracks the window to let out the smoke.

“Don’t smoke!”Ruby cries out, the way they all do in unison at her day care center, duringAwarenessTraining, when the kids are introduced to all God’s dangers:Don’t smoke! Don’t drink! Don’t touch me!

Kate rolls her eyes, inviting Daniel to share her exasperation, but at the same time she reaches behind her and gives Ruby’s knee a humorous little squeeze.

“Are there going to be other kids at the party?”Ruby asks.

After a briefsilence, Daniel answers.“I don’t really know for sure.I imagine so.”

“I want Nelson to be there,”Ruby says.“Was he invited?”

“I don’t know who was invited,”Daniel says.He feels Kate’s eyes on him, and his voice wavers.

“Oh, I certainly hope Nelson is there,”Kate says, taking one last drag ofher cigarette and then tossing it out the window.“With his lovely par-ents.That would make everything special.”

“He’s nice,”Ruby says, stretching her arms and legs.The child seat seems suddenly a size too small for her.

“Oh, he’s fantastic,”Kate says.“The whole family.”

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 theMessiaha few weeks ago.It seems like months, years.

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:I should thank them,trying that one on for size.But no, it doesn’t fit, either.Too big.Or too small.Something.

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 room.Ferguson sits on the edge ofMarie’s bed, dressed in work pants, a frayed white shirt, while she dips a comb into a glass ofwater and grooms him.“Hey, take it easy,”he says, as she rakes the comb through his hair, but she is deter-mined to bring his unruly mop under control.She combs his hair straight back and when she finally finishes, Ferguson stands up and walks stiff-leggedly to the window, where he sees his faint reflection swimming in the old wavy glass.“Great,”he says.“Now I look like a Mexican.”

“I doubt it,”says Marie.She kisses his forehead.“IfI help you save Eight Chimneys…”

“I’ll be forever in your debt,”Ferguson says.

”That’s sort ofwhat I’m counting on.It’ll put us on the same level.I won’t be poor little Marie, I’ll be the girl who saved you.”

When the party is in full swing, Marie plans to make a little speech.

She wants to thank everyone for coming and to give a briefoverview of the Eight Chimneys Project, which is what she is now calling the plan to turn the house into a historical site.Ferguson has come to her room, however, not only to kiss her, and to walk with her down to the old ball-room, but to talk her out ofmaking her speech.Susan must not be over-shadowed in that way, it will be humiliating to her, and that would be unkind and even a little dangerous.But now that he is with Marie he finds that he doesn’t have the heart to tell her not to address the guests.

She deserves the credit and she deserves the recognition.And the per-sonal significance that this afternoon must hold for Marie has suddenly become touchingly clear to him.What a triumph, what a turn ofevents, what a change offortune.Here, after all, is a girl who was raised by one ofthe estate’s old servants, a girl whom destiny seemed to have marked for a life ofutter insignificance.How could anyone with a heart interfere with her moment ofglory?I’ll stand next to Susan while Marie makes her speech,he thinks.Maybe I’ll put my arm around her.

“Are you ready?”he asks Marie.

She touches her throat, and then the pearl necklace that Susan and Ferguson gave her on her sixteenth birthday.She is dressed in an oatmeal-colored woolen suit.It seems like something women wear to the office.Ferguson has no idea how she chooses her clothes;he’s meant to ask her but it keeps slipping his mind.

“Do I look all right?”she asks.

”You’re beautiful.You make me very, very happy.”

She seems truly surprised by his tenderness.He rarely says sweet things to her ifthey aren’t in bed—in fact, the best part ofsleeping with him is getting to hear that gentle voice.

“I wish Dad were here,”she says.

”I do, too, honey,”says Ferguson.“I really do.Now let’s go down there and shock the hell out ofeverybody.”

Marie stops in her tracks.“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.Nothing.I have no idea why I said that.Fumes from the lead paint on these old walls.”He links his arm through hers and steers her through the doorway.

Ferguson and Marie come down just as State Senator Phil Russell joins the party.Russell is a stocky, ravenous man, dressed in a brown suit.Thirty years ago, he was a football star at Sacred Heart, aWindsor County Catholic high school, and his chin, nose, and forehead still show the scars ofhis three years on the offensive line.He surveys the room with wary eyes—this bastion ofthe faded aristocracy is not on his regu-lar beat.Russell runs on the Republican and the Right to Life tickets;he has been warned by his staffthat while the Richmonds’Republican roots are deep, Ferguson and Susan are at the end ofthe line and their house is a gathering place for eccentrics and flakes.

As Ferguson and Marie make their way toward Russell, Susan swoops him up and escorts him over to meet Daniel.By now, forty or fifty people have shown up, but not Iris, and Daniel is trying to keep his composure.

“Daniel, I’m sure you know Phil Russell,”Susan says.“Mr.Russell,

Daniel Emerson has agreed to act as our attorney in this whole business.

Isn’t that nice ofhim?”

For a moment, Daniel wonders ifSusan is somehow under the impression that he’s not going to bill them, but then he realizes this is merely her manner.

“Nice to see you,”Russell says, squeezing Daniel’s hand, his shoulder.

“What a wonderful party.”

“It certainly is,”Daniel says.He has found a place to stand near the center ofthe room where he can feel the cool draft whenever the front door opens, so he knows when new people have arrived.He feels the flutter ofthe breeze on his pant legs, but when he looks past Russell he sees Upton Douglas, a portly, white-haired real estate broker, swinging his way in on a pair ofyellow crutches.Douglas was knocked to the ground by a falling branch during the October storm and he broke his leg in four places.They’ve known each other casually for years, and when Douglas sees Daniel staring at him he smiles.

Daniel suddenly notices that Phil Russell is looking oddly at him, and Daniel quickly says,“It’ll be great to see this old place brought back to its former glory.”

“It’s really something,”Russell says.He has been taking in his surroundings and his eyes are registering some alarm.Eight Chimneys’ derelict state unnerves him, it seems to suggest a kind ofmadness.“What do you think the square footage is in this place?”

“I don’t think houses like thishavesquare footage.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”He smooths his shirt over his cinderblock stomach.“It’s going to take a lot more than state historic money to put this puppy back on its hindquarters again.We’re going to have to think about the Fed, and private donations.”He smiles his high school hero smile.“But that’s okay, we’re going to make it happen because it’s the right thing to do.”

Daniel sees Kate across the room, talking with noticeable animation to a man in his fifties, a writer from the city named Barry Braithwaite.Braith-waite, a small, sickly man with bloodshot eyes and yellowed fingers, has written several articles about O.J.Simpson, mostly concentrating on the sociopathology ofthe coddled athlete.Kate has her hand on his shoulder and whispers something in Braithwaite’s ear.Braithwaite tucks his chin in and looks at her with considerable amazement, as ifshe has just made the most transgressive remark he has ever heard, and then he laughs.

Just then, Derek Pabst comes in, dressed in a dark-brown suit, a yellow shirt, and brown tie.He looks uneasy as he sways in the entrance to the ball-room, squeezing his large hands together, rolling his broad shoulders, and casting his eyes around for a familiar face.It is not that Derek is a stranger to the people here, but most ofthem are too wealthy and too grand to be a part ofhis social life.He has issued them speeding tickets, brought them sad news about missing dogs and cats, shot rabid raccoons on their porches, been in their homes after break-ins, and even responded to a couple ofdo-mestic abuse calls, but drinking wine and chatting with this collection of doctors, lawyers, academics, writers, and the idle well-to-do on a Sunday afternoon in a mansion by the river is outside his usual experience.When he sees Daniel across the room, his face lights up with relief.

“Hello, good buddy,”he says, grabbing Daniel’s elbow.

”Hello, Derek,”Daniel says.He is about to ask,What are you doing

here?but he stops himself.

Derek looks around, taking in his surroundings.“You hear all these rumors about what this place is like on the inside, but it’s not so bad, not like I thought.”

“Derek Pabst,”Daniel says.“This is Phil Russell.”

Russell puts his hand out and Derek shakes it, but he is clearly distracted.

“Is Kate here?”he asks.

”She’s over there.What about Stephanie?”

“She’s home with Chelsea.”Derek peers around the room.“Where’s Kate.I actually need to talk to her.”He senses the confusion in Daniel’s eyes.“I’ve got a little more information about those runaway kids from Star ofBethlehem, I know she’s concerned.”He suddenly sees her.

”There she is.”He smooths his tie against his shirt.“I’ll be right back.”

As soon as Derek is gone, Russell looks at his watch.“Point Mary Thorne out for me, will you?”he asks Daniel.“She’s the one who sent us the invitation.”

“Marie.She’s right over there, come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Russell repeats the name softly to himself, committing it to memory.

As they make their way to the other side ofthe ballroom, Daniel looks for Ruby, who is suddenly not in sight.By now, most ofthe guests have ar-rived.The talk is loud and excited;people are still telling their storm sto-ries.Ferguson is in front ofthe fireplace, heaving a four-foot birch log in, and Susan is at his side, with her finger hooked through his empty belt loop, and looks to be speaking to him with extreme displeasure.Marie, holding a plastic cup ofwhite wine, is talking with Ethan Greenblatt, Marlowe Col-lege’s young president.Marie’s attention is rapt, though she seems not to realize how unusually tall Greenblatt is and her eyes are fixed not on his face but his chest.IfGreenblatt finds this unnerving, he is nevertheless unde-terred from going on at some length about oddities in the history ofEight Chimneys—though born in Montreal and raised in PaloAlto, Greenblatt knows as much as any ofthe river aristocracy about the town’s grand past.

“Do you know,”he says, in a voice that is at once declamatory and ironic,“MarkTwain, Charles Dickens, EdithWharton, and Ernest Hem-ingway all have spent the night in this house, and there is no other struc-ture on record in which all four ofthese luminaries have stayed.”When Greenblatt sees Daniel and Russell approaching, he rests his hand on Marie’s shoulder, as ifto prevent them from stealing her away.“And its political past is actually more extensive and, well, paradoxical than its cultural past.Dorothy Day, Frederick Douglass, Winston Churchill, Oc-tavio Paz, all the Roosevelts, ofcourse, WoodrowWilson—”

“Sorry to interrupt,”Daniel says.

”I’m just finishing, Daniel,”Greenblatt says.“I’m making a plea.”He raises both hands as ifto hold Daniel off, and then petitions for Marie’s attentions again by touching her lightly.“I would like Marlowe College to be somehow involved in the Eight Chimneys Project, in either curat-ing or administrating the museum, ifit so happens that it comes to pass.

Obviously, we can’t help in terms offinances, but we could bring a lot ofexpertise and legitimacy to the project, and it would be a real boon to our history department, which, by the way, already rivals the best his-tory departments in the country.”

“We’re okay on legitimacy, Ethan,”Marie says.“What we’re looking for is money.”

Just then, Daniel hears Ruby’s voice rising high above the wall-towall murmur ofthe party.At first, the sound alarms him, but then he hears it for what it is:a long trill ofjoy, and he knows there is only one person who can make Ruby quite that happy.Nelson’s here.

Daniel hurries to the entrance hall.Ruby holds Nelson’s hand and jumps up and down, trying to incite him to her level offrenzied joy, but Nelson is having none ofit.He is glancing over his shoulder at his par-ents, who are taking their coats offand looking around, trying to figure out where to put them.

“Ruby, Ruby, calm down,”Daniel says, making his presence known.

He would like to think he is smiling casually, though he can’t be sure.

“You were right!”Ruby says.“They’re here!”She pushes her doll onto Daniel.“Hold this,”she says, and then turns to Nelson.“You want chips?”

“Hey, you two,”Daniel says to Iris and Hampton.In his desire to sound chipper, his voice comes out far too strongly.“Coats are in there, in the conservatory.”A rush ofdizziness.It seems he has forgotten how to distribute his weight when standing.He tries to look only at Hampton but is unable to keep his gaze offIris.She is wearing a black sweater and jeans;she has a little Band-Aid on her right thumb and he resists the im-pulse to ask her how she hurt herself, and further resists the more ab-surd but equally powerful impulse to take her hand and kiss it.Iris has Hampton’s coat and she carries it offwith her own, leaving the two men alone for a moment.A wild stab ofdisappointment goes through Daniel—ifIris had given the coats to Hampton, she and Daniel could have had ten seconds ofprivacy.

“Nelson, come back here,”Hampton commands.Nelson stops as if on the end ofa leash and turns around to look at his father.Hampton crooks his finger and Nelson dutifully walks back to his side.Like Daniel—just like Daniel, in fact—he wears khaki trousers and a blue blazer, though his are more expensively tailored.The ceiling fixtures cast a brilliant light on his hairless dome.

“Where are we?”Hampton asks Nelson.

”Sorry,”Nelson says.

”Question repeated.Wherearewe?”

Iris emerges from the coatroom.She is pushing up the sleeves ofher sweater.Her face is expressionless.

“In a house,”Nelson says.

”Correct.So? Can we please haveinsidebehavior?Which means no running, no loud voices.All right?”

How would it play ifI slugged him? Daniel wonders.

Nelson nods yes, and backs out ofthe entrance hall without taking his eyes offHampton, as ifto never turn his back on the king.

Then Daniel and Hampton, and Iris between them, walk into the ballroom, without looking at each other and without saying a word.Fer-guson is standing on an old harp-backed chair in front ofthe fireplace, with his hands cupped over his mouth.“Attention, everybody,”he calls out.His voice is authoritative, but with something good-natured in it, too, something that recognizes the absurdity ofshouting at a roomful of people inWindsor County on a warm Sunday afternoon in November.

”We’re going to take you all on a grand tour ofthis house, this wonder-ful house, which I speak ofnot with the pride ofownership but the hu-mility ofstewardship.”There is a smattering ofapplause;someone even sayshear hear.

“What’s this about?”Hampton asks.

”We’re here to support the house,”Iris says.“So they want to show it to us.Why is that a problem?”

Hampton shakes his head.He is clearly here against his wishes.He sees Nelson and gestures for him to come, which the boy does, immedi-ately, with Ruby following.

Ferguson jumps offthe chair and tosses wine from his plastic cup into the fireplace, igniting a sudden whoosh offlame.“Everybody line up along the west wall, and we’ll exit the ballroom through the double doors, and go straight to the portrait gallery.”

The guests are good-natured and compliant, and a line immediately forms.“I’m going to find Kate,”Daniel announces, forcing himself away from Iris and Hampton.

He cranes his neck, trying to find her in the crowd.

”Ruby can come with us,”Iris says.

The suggestion seems intimate and kind.Daniel cannot even look at her for fear ofgiving everything away.There is still no sign ofKate, and Daniel is the last out ofthe ballroom as the tour begins.Then he sees her, coming out ofa bathroom near the main stairway.She seems startled to see all the guests in a line, making their way up the stairs.The tip ofher nose is red;it looks as ifshe might have been crying.

“Tour,”Daniel says.

“Let’s get out ofhere.”She looks at the doll in Daniel’s hand, furrows her brow.

“We just got here.Come on.They’ll show us around.You’ve never really seen this place.”

They can hear Ferguson’s voice from the landing ofthe second floor.

“On the way to the portrait gallery, you’ll notice quite a few first-rate paintings in the hallway.And you’ll also notice a few blank spots, where paintings have been taken down and brought to Sotheby’s.”

“Did you know she was going to be here?”

“Who?”

“Please, don’t insult me.”

He hadn’t meant to, it was just the first word out ofhis mouth.“No,”

he says.“How could I?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question.I’d actually rather be lied to than subjected to that.It’s how my father spoke to me, that demean-ing, patriarchal bullshit.”

“I didn’t know she was going to be here.”He feels he could make things a little easier ifhe could only touch Kate right now, just put a hand on her shoulder, but he is somehow unable to manage the gesture.It is as ifthat hand, the hand that could bring comfort to Kate, has been am-putated, he has cut it offlikeVan Gogh’s ear.

Kate exhales as ifshe has been holding her breath for a long while.

“We should have brought two cars,”she says.

The tour passes directly over them, thunderously, shaking the ceiling.

Marie says in her high, ringing voice,“The rooms to your left will not be public space, but over here, to the right…”

“They’re being given a tour by a blind woman,”Kate says.

They are interrupted by the sound offootsteps coming down the stairs.It’s Susan Richmond, moving in a daze, holding on to the banister for support.She stops midway and peers down at Daniel and Kate, and then shakes her head and continues her descent, holding her chin up now, to affect a certain grandeur.“Intolerable,”she says, and then when she has reached the bottom ofthe stairs she walks up to Daniel and Kate, as ifthey were exactly the people she had hoped to find.“That little weasel is leading a tour ofmy house.IfI stayed up there for one more second I was going to go insane.”She steps in front ofthe mirror hang-ing in the entrance hall, the glass wavy, the backing showing through, framed in plain wood and shaped like a large slice ofbread.She peers at her reflection, frowns.“Hmm.Maybe I’ve already gone insane.”And then, turning toward Kate, she says,“I never told you how much I en-joyedPeaches and Cream.I just roared, that poor, ugly girl, and all the troubles she had.I gave it to Ferguson to read, but he never reads any-thing.Oh well, at least he doesn’t pretend to, he’ll actually come right out and say he hates reading.Either he disagrees with the author, in which case it annoys him, or he agrees, in which case it’s a waste of time.”

“I don’t see how he could agree or disagree with my book,”says Kate.

“It’s a novel, it would be like disagreeing with someone’s dream.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.That’s marvelous.”She turns to Daniel.

“We’re going to have to pull the plug on this, Daniel,”she says.“I don’t care what Fergie and his little friend say.This is intolerable.Ifwe’re hav-ing money problems we’ll just have to find another way to solve them, even ifit means that we go into the village every day and work at the hardware store.Anything would be better than this.”

As Susan announces this, the tour, with Marie at the head ofit, begins down the stairs.The force ofthe collective footsteps is so great that a faint cloud ofplaster fills the sunlight that pours into the entrance hall.

“Next,”Marie is saying,“we’ll go down to the house’s original cellar, which was part ofthe famous Underground Railroad, in the years pre-ceding and during theAmerican CivilWar.”The strain and the excite-ment ofconducting this tour seem to be exacting their price.Marie’s voice has become a little shrill, and she gestures wildly, as ifwaving away a swarm ofgnats.“We envision this as one ofthe highlights ofthe tour.

Right now, you’ll have to use your imagination, but when we have every-thing set up it will be a sort ofdiorama ofthe period, with lifelike fig-ures ofslaves.”She turns to face the guests and suddenly loses her footing.Ethan Greenblatt, who is directly behind her, manages to catch her by the jacket—ifit weren’t for him Marie would be in a heap at the bottom ofthe stairs.

“She’s not above a lawsuit,”Susan says to Kate.Then, to Daniel:

“Don’t mention anything to Marie about our stopping this ridiculous project ofhers.I’ll tell her myself, it seems only fair.”

Marie is rattled by her near fall, but she continues with the tour, bringing the guests down to the ground floor, turning left in the entrance hall and leading them all through the conservatory, the dining room, the main kitchen, and then the summer kitchen, where the door to the cel-lar can be found.

Iris and Hampton walk through the entrance hall, followed by Ruby and Nelson.When Ruby sees Kate and Daniel, she calls out to them with her customary exuberance.“You’re missing it, you guys.Come on, we’re going down to see where the slaves hid.”She holds her hand out.

“Let’s take a look,”Daniel says to Kate, taking Ruby’s hand.

Ferguson has seen to it that the cellar is well lit for today’s party—

there are standing and clip-on lamps every few feet—but he has not been able to dispel the dank gloominess ofthe place.With its packed dirt floor and thick, fabriclike cobwebs, it seems more like a cave than a part of someone’s house.It smells ofrain and mold.Strips ofpink fiberglass in-sulation hang from the ceiling.Generations ofbroken wooden chairs line the walls, awaiting repair.In fact, the entire place is a terminal ward for stricken furniture, some ofit too valuable to dispose of, some saved for no apparent reason.Old leather chairs ooze cotton, dozens ofold oak chairs stand along the wall with their cane seats torn, unraveled, or miss-ing altogether.There is a small QueenAnne sofa upon which someone seems to have poured white paint.There’s a rolltop desk missing all ofits drawers, and with one ofits legs replaced by an unpainted two-by-four.

There are skis, tennis racquets, a croquet set, sleeping bags, a punching bag covered in dust hanging from a beam.There seem to be literally hun-dreds ofpaint cans, some without their tops appear to be empty, others seem brand-new.There are at least twenty large cartons ofchina, a dozen rolled-up rugs secured with twine and stood up on their ends, drooping and leaning into each other like a family ofdrunks.In a corner, someone has abandoned an old, elaborate model train set, its tracks ravaged, its cars toppled, its miniature landscape oftrees, cows, and water towers scattered—it looks like the transportation system ofa country that has lost a long, ruinous war.

At the north end ofthe old cellar is a cast-iron coal-burning furnace, unused for decades.Some twenty feet to the side ofthe furnace, the dirt and stone wall is paneled over with wide wooden planks, newly painted white.Marie stumbles for a moment on her way to the wall, and then when she reaches it she rests her hand on it.“Is everybody watching?”she calls out.

She spreads her small hand out as far as her fingers will reach, and then, applying pressure, slides a false panel in the wall over a few inches.

Then she grabs hold ofthe edge ofthe opened panel and drags it further to the side, revealing a vast, dark emptiness.

“This is where the runaway slaves were kept,”she calls out.“Sometimes there’d be just one or two ofthem, sometimes as many as ten.

Then, when the coast was clear, they’d get herded out and sent on their way—to Canada, mostly.Where they’d be free.The great thing about this space is that the temperature is always sixty degrees, winter and summer, as is true with many ofthe rooms in Eight Chimneys.”

Marie goes on for a while longer, telling everyone aboutWendell Richmond, who was the master ofthe house from1820to1882,and about the escaped slave who gave birth to a child in this cellar, and about the artifacts ofthat time that have recently been recovered—the little tin earrings, the diary filled with sketches oftrees, fields, and other fleeing slaves, the un-explained human teeth.Then, finally, she steps into the old cloister and feels in the air for the lamp that has been set up—she has never looked more like a blind girl than at this moment, groping for the switch with al-most spastic waves, like a kid pretending to have lost her sight.

The light comes on, revealing two mannequins that Ferguson got from the Fashion Bug at theWindsor Mall.One ofthem is dressed in overalls and a straw hat, the other in an old gingham dress, and both of them have been freshly painted brown.Ten by ten, the guests walk into the secreted room, have a look, and presumably imagine themselves hid-ing and hungry in such a place.It smells ofmud that has been there for-ever, and the paint that only yesterday was sprayed on the mannequins’ faces.When Daniel crowds in to look around for himself, Kate, refusing to be a part ofthe tour’s grand finale, has already left, and when he feels the tip ofa finger against his backbone, Daniel’s heart quickens:he knows it is Iris’s touch.He takes a deep breath and feels it again.It is just one fin-ger, a circumspect gesture, a child’s, a prisoner’s, but the force ofher fin-gertip stirs his blood.Then it is time for them all to turn around and let the next wave ofguests come in to look at what is, after all, just a storage room in the cellar ofan old house.When Daniel faces the other direction, he is behind Iris and Hampton, Nelson and Ruby.He could return the se-cret little touch, but he doesn’t dare.He doesn’t trust his hand;it is not inconceivable that once he touches her he will not be able to stop.

Upstairs in the ballroom, the party has become more animated.The guests, released now from the dutiful march through the house and its claustrophobic conclusion in the cellar’s secret room, and further re-leased from the slightly hectoring quality ofMarie’s voice, are gossiping and joking with each other in increasingly excited voices.Daniel is look-ing to see where Kate is now and finally sees her across the room, stand-ing with Derek, whose face is very close to hers and who is speaking to her with what appears to be great seriousness.Daniel sees Iris, too;she’s talking with Ethan Greenblatt.Then he sees Susan with Marie.Susan is holding Marie by the upper arm and seems to be scolding her.Marie tries to yank her arm away but Susan’s grip is too strong.She continues to speak to Marie, with a rather cruel, powerful smile on her face, and suddenly Marie breaks free.

Marie leaves the ballroom and heads straight out ofthe house, without so much as a jacket or a sweater.Seeing this gives Daniel a small jolt ofconcern, but before he can give it much more thought, Daniel is set upon by Upton Douglas, who swings his way over on his crutches, accompanied by a willowy middle-aged woman with an elegantly un-happy face, a widow from Buffalo, to whom Douglas has been showing houses in the area.Upton wants Daniel to talk to her about how grand it is to live in Leyden, its beauty, and convenience, its friendly atmo-sphere and myriad cultural events, and Daniel is trapped in this seem-ingly endless conversation.

Finally, he feels a tug at his back pocket.It’s Ruby.

”Can I have Ginkie?”she asks.

It takes him a moment to understand she wants her doll, and another moment to realize he no longer has it in hand.And then he remembers: when he felt Iris’s finger on his spine, his hands instinctively opened and the doll slipped from his grasp.

“Oh, you know what, Ruby?”he says, scooping her up.“I think I accidentally left her downstairs.”

“Where?”

“Just wait here.Find Mommy, and I’ll find Ginkie.”

He sets Ruby down and waits there for a moment while she hurries offto find Kate.When she has disappeared into the crowd, Daniel walks out ofthe ballroom and makes his way through the dining room, the kitchen, and the summer kitchen, where he finds Ferguson and Derek huddled together in intense conversation.Ferguson’s shoes are covered with fresh, wet dirt;there is a muddy patch on his right knee.

“Daniel,”Ferguson says,“Marie’s gone missing.”

“Have you seen her?”Derek asks.

”I saw her leave,”Daniel says.“Maybe halfan hour ago.”He has his hand on the door leading down to the cellar.He can barely even form this thought in his own mind, but the fact is that he hasn’t seen Iris for a while and he cannot help but wonder ifshe is still somehow in the cellar.

“Well, you know whatIthink,”Derek says to Ferguson.“She’s blind.

I don’t care how well she knows the property, things are torn up out there and where there used to be paths there’s nothing but fallen trees.

And those boys from the juvey home are still at large and for all we know they could be out there right now.”

“My God,”says Daniel.“You and Kate are really focused on thosekids.”

“You would be, too, ifit happened to you,”Derek says sharply.

”What do you think I should do?”Ferguson asks.

”You want me to call it in?”

Ferguson sighs, looks away, and Derek presses him.

”I appreciate your wanting to be discreet…”

Ferguson sighs.“Call it in,”he says.

”I’ll be right back,”Daniel says, opening the cellar door.

”Where are you going?”Ferguson asks.

”My kid left her doll down there,”Daniel says.He waits for a moment and then quickly heads down the stairs, holding on to the banister, his legs trembling.

A few lights have been left burning and he easily makes his way past the Richmond family’s cast-offpossessions.The sliding door to the secret room is still halfopen, and by the time he pulls it all the way to the side his heart is pounding violently.

“Hello,”Iris says.She has been sitting on a small, rough-hewn bench and she rises as Daniel walks in.She is holding Ruby’s doll.She and Daniel stand there facing each other for a moment, and then she hands the doll to him.“Here.”

“Thank you,”he says.The two painted mannequins seem to be staring at him.He looks at Ruby’s doll for a moment and then lets it drop from his hands.He puts his arms around Iris.

“I was waiting for you,”she whispers.