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Folly

Susan Minot

Man is so necessarily foolish that not to be a fool is merely a varied freak of folly.

BLAISE PASCAL

I: Mr. Eliot

I

Mr. Eliot

1 • Fairfield Street, Boston, 1917

I’M AFRAID there’s been a change of plan, Mr. Eliot said. He stood in the dining room where Lilian was having her breakfast and reading a book. Her father had completed his breakfast some time before, having risen as usual at dawn. There are to be no guests at dinner tonight.

Lilian looked up, marking her place with a knife. Why not?

Because I was not informed.

But Ma told you Saturday that Walter Vail was coming. Remember, when you got home.

I said there will be no guests. Mr. Eliot lowered his chin and the light caught his rimless glasses, making them go white.

But he’s expecting to come. I’ve already asked him.

I have said all I am going to say. Mr. Eliot cleared his throat. So we’ll see you, just you, this evening. He turned his shoulders toward the door without moving his feet.

I’ll think about it, said Lilian in a very small voice.

Mr. Eliot’s feet moved. Then we won’t expect you, he said and departed the room, leaving her quite alone.

Immediately Lilian sent off a note to Walter Vail saying she was being forced to withdraw her invitation for dinner that evening, making no mystery about who was to blame. Then she found herself suggesting that Walter Vail come anyway, after dinner, after her parents had retired. Lilian was eighteen years old and had never had a rendezvous before, at least not one she had instigated. But everything was different now with the war and she felt different along with it.

His answer came that afternoon and she thrilled to see the handwriting.

Shall I wear a black cloak? Do I climb a trellis? Tell me when and I’ll be there.

Yours,

Walter Vail

She composed her reply a number of times, trying for the right tone. She was first cordial then businesslike. She imitated his comic tone then tried for something offhand, anything but being as serious as she felt. She thought of the time she’d met Jimmie Weld on the second green the summer before, and how different this was. She hardly knew what had come over her.

She finally settled on something.

They go up at 9:00. Come to the back garden and I’ll let you in at 9:30.

Your accomplice,

Lilian Eliot

That morning while Mr. Eliot was leaving for the office, out in the hall where Lilian could hear, Mrs. Eliot had said, Edward, but the young man is going off to fight. Is now the time to be so strict?

I didn’t like the look of him, Mr. Eliot said getting into his topcoat.

Whatever do you mean?

I’ve met his father. Mr. Eliot’s voice had taken on the rich tones of judgment. The man is a fool, and probably not honorable on top of it.

But this is his son. Mrs. Eliot had sounded weak.

The son takes the look from the father, Mr. Eliot said. He has the same look about him.

It was the most preposterous thing Lilian had ever heard.

2 • A friend advises

2 • A friend advises

THAT AFTERNOON she went to tea at Dolly Cushing’s. Lilian’s best friend had always been Jane Olney, stern Jane who had the kindest heart she knew, but Jane was in Florida with her family. Besides, Jane was not as interested in boys as Lilian had lately become and so Dolly Cushing’s company was more satisfactory.

Dolly Cushing liked nothing better than to flirt. She was the sort of girl who said just what was on her mind whether it offended someone or not. As a young girl Dolly had once locked Lilian in a closet with Dolly’s brother Ted who liked Lilian, leaving the two young people silent and mortified staring at the white strip of light while Dolly laughed and stamped out in the hall. Dolly Cushing got away with a lot on account of her looks. She had developed more quickly than the other girls and grew to be like a statue, everything about her larger: great shoulders, mammoth head, wide mouth. It was as if the extra bit which had gone into her physique left that much less for her brain. She maintained a steely positive outlook, remembering only pleasant things, striking the matches for her cigarettes with an optimistic air. She wore her shiny black hair with a clean white part down the middle.

Lilian told her about Walter Vail, trying for the offhand, and Dolly immediately sniffed the intrigue. Her eyes shone.

All right, Dolly said, and resettled herself against the cushions. First things first: he’s going away.

Lilian nodded. I wanted to say something to him about —

God no! cried Dolly. You must never let a boy know how you feel. Dolly Cushing was delighted to advise Lilian. Being unofficially engaged to Freddie Vernon, she saw herself as an experienced older woman.

It was familiar to be given advice. Her mother had plenty of it. Always look happy. Always be clean. Don’t cross your legs. Thank the host and hostess. Stand up when a grownup enters and leaves a room. Make your own bed. Don’t talk back. Don’t argue with your brother. Ask to be excused from the table. Never raise your voice. Be punctual. Don’t frown.

And there were all the things one wasn’t to talk about. One’s health. Bodily functions. Drinking habits. One ought never to speak of other people in a derogatory way — unless of course they were absolutely worthy of it, like Mrs. Harrower who gossiped, or Mr. Quincy who wouldn’t let them walk through his woods to the pond. The family itself was never discussed with outsiders, nor, Lilian had noticed, with insiders either.

If you let a boy know you like him, Dolly Cushing went on, puffing on her cigarette, he’ll think he can do whatever he wants. Her eyes narrowed as she related her experience with José Cutler.

Lilian remained mystified. As far as she could see Walter Vail could do whatever he liked. If he liked it, she felt sure she would like it too.

The problem with you, said Dolly Cushing, is that you are too nice.

Yes, Lilian thought. She hoped no one would consider her to be something as bland as nice, and of course everyone did. She felt weak because of it. Thank goodness for Dolly who was telling her where she went wrong. She did not want to make a mistake with Walter Vail.

Can’t wait to meet him, said Dolly whose interest in things quickly waned. Wait. Was he at the Spragues’ the other day? With Madelaine! Good-looking, with a sort of tea stain on his face?

Lilian blushed to hear him described out in the world. Yes, she said. That’s him. And feeling encouraged, Lilian told her about the rendezvous that evening.

Are you going to let him kiss you? Dolly asked. She wore satiny harem pants and a shirt with brocade trim on the sleeves. Lilian reflected how Jane Olney, dear stern Jane, would never have worn something so interesting, and felt glad to have a friend like Dolly Cushing who smoked cigarettes and asked about kissing. She supposed that a boy from New York, one so clearly at ease rubbing a girl’s fingers as Walter Vail had done at the skating pond, would probably expect a kiss. It was just what Lilian needed to know. But her curiosity was unsatisfied as Dolly lost interest and began talking about the first time she had kissed Freddie Vernon at the country club dance. It was technically their first kiss, but the first long one came after on the shore at night where they watched the lighthouse blinking 1-4-3 which everyone knew meant I-love-you. Lilian could not imagine kissing Freddie Vernon. His poppy eyes and large nostrils made him look distinctly like a bulldog.

Lilian listened to Dolly, hoping to glean something instructive from her ramblings. She heard that a girl should always be interested in what a boy thought, that it was important to have the right sort of wrap, and that boys liked it if you hit them playfully on the arm. Dolly Cushing detailed her success with Freddie Vernon on these points. Dolly knew how to have fun, and if Lilian caught a little of her spirit she too might not take things so seriously. After leaving Dolly Cushing’s house she walked home along a darkening Dartmouth Street and tried to digest this information. It seemed as if there were a web of interference circulating through her head, preventing her from having a clear thought.

3 • The visitor from New York

3 • The visitor from New York

HE WAS a guest of the Fenwicks’, staying with them through the holidays, and Madelaine Fenwick had been taking him around. Lilian first shook his hand at the Nobles’ lunch the previous week and learned he was from New York.

He was there again at the Fenwicks’ tea party a few days later, holding his back stiffly, still wearing the uniform. He had a straight nose, a finely defined mouth and a distracted air. Lilian placed him as one of those visitors who find life in Boston dull. As a Bostonian, Lilian could criticize Boston all she liked, but to an outsider she had the urge to defend it. He was not the sort of boy to be interested in Lilian Eliot, not that she would be drawn to him at all. Just the fact of his proximity to cold Madelaine Fenwick and his hovering over her by the tea tray was enough to put Lilian off. But he was in the armed forces, and it was hard not to be curious about someone ready to go off and fight.

When he said hello to Lilian he remembered her name, which threw her into confusion. She went to the opposite side of the room.

Some time later he reappeared. Running away from me? he said. He sat down on the needlepoint hassock almost at her feet.

I don’t even know you.

We met last week, he said. Walter Vail.

Oh, yes.

You’re not one of those Boston snobs, are you? Sniffy about people from New York?

She was taken aback. I don’t know many people from New York, she said. Her Aunt Tizzy lived there, though she was from Boston, and there were Marian Lockwood’s cousins from New York who used to visit at Easter, all smart clothes and ringlets, with a fondness for pickles.

I don’t know many people from Boston, Walter Vail said.

Haven’t you been meeting any this week?

I’ve been trying. He looked at her sideways.

She felt herself change a little under his gaze. I’m not one to tell you much, she said. I’m not one of those girls who goes to a dinner party for fourteen every night.

Is that what girls in Boston do?

Some of them.

And you’re not a normal Boston girl?

I’m subnormal, she said.

Walter Vail expressed some interest in architecture about which Lilian knew a few things, having done some Saturdays with the Historical Society tours. He agreed with her that Hawthorne was preferable to Emerson, against the current fashion. As he spoke, there was something restless about him — Lilian imagined it had to do with his being in the forces — something urgent moving beneath the surface, hungry. Now and then his attention would be snatched up by someone passing, and he would glance up, startled, then return to her as if he hadn’t known what had come over him, concentrating again, asking her questions.

He said, I played hockey with your brother yesterday.

Lilian found it odd he knew she and Arthur were brother and sister. Really?

Yes, an interesting fellow. Very amusing.

Not everyone thinks so, Lilian said.

He told me a little about you.

He did? Lilian found that odd too.

Walter Vail nodded. Lilian discovered she had no idea what he was like, the way she did with other boys.

Will you go overseas? she said.

The day after Christmas.

They both fell silent.

You want to go, Lilian said.

Got to see what it’s all about over there, he said, sounding robust.

Don’t your parents mind?

Al and Mimi? He shrugged.

Lilian had never heard of parents being called by their first names.

I suppose, but they’re always away themselves. He hooked his hands around his knees, keeping his back straight. Steaming up from Brazil this week.

What does your father do?

Drinks mostly. Walter Vail laughed. He’s a nice man — doing his best to make sure I have no inheritance.

Lilian stared at the talk of money. The Eliots were well off, not fancy, but well off. They were not rich like the Cunninghams or the Wiggins or the Cabots, but as Arthur liked to point out, their father did not exactly need to work. Nonetheless, he went to the law office six days a week, taking off two weeks’ vacation a year, just as his father had. Lilian’s grandfather’s money came from banking and her grandmother, Henrietta Baker of the railroad Bakers, also had money. Lilian had never known exactly how much money there was. She knew only what her father had told her one Sunday afternoon, having summoned her to the library, and speaking of her future.

Walter Vail apparently did not have similar assurance.

… invested in the theatre, Walter Vail was saying. The fastest way to lose a fortune. But he met my mother — she was an actress then — backing a play she was in. The play went under, but he got Mimi out of it. He must wonder about his investment.

Lilian tried not to look shocked. She glanced down at Walter Vail’s hands, clasped around his leg, and saw that they were normal-size hands and thought he was not so different. She felt reassured.

He said his parents were meeting him here, and Lilian asked him why not in New York.

My mother’s cousin lives here.

In Boston? Who?

I don’t think you’d know him, Walter Vail said. He lives on Lime Street when he’s in town.

I know most of the names on the Hill, Lilian said, trying not to sound boastful.

Well, he’s called Paul Harte. An artistic type.

Is he married? Lilian said.

Walter Vail hid a smile. Ah, no, he prefers being a bachelor, a different situation altogether.

Lilian nodded with a comprehending air, but had only a vague notion of what he was getting at. Once again she came across the fact — the war made her think of it, too — that there were many different worlds far from the one she knew in Boston, though the way everyone around her behaved one would have thought Boston was the universe.

Later, sitting with a group among the cigar ashes and cold tea, Lilian watched Walter Vail across the room. He was laughing near the mantelpiece, his belt strapped across his chest, exhibiting a different, less intense personality from the one he’d shown her. Had she drawn special attention from him? It gave her a superior feeling to think so. Her thoughts were interrupted by Emmett Smith’s whining at Elsie Sears who disagreed with him about the criteria needed to make the Social Register. It was the usual talk at tea, yet Lilian felt the world was not so usual. She supposed it was the war.

As the guests were leaving Walter Vail appeared in the coatroom and grabbed Lilian’s wrist. I’d like to see you again, he said.

Was this how they did things in New York?

Well …

I mean it, he said, as if that were in question. There was a dark slant to his eyes, and she noticed a faint birthmark like a waterstain running down one cheek. He still held her wrist.

All right.

The Fenwicks used gas lamps in their hall, and in the rosy light Lilian glimpsed Madelaine Fenwick smiling, but with flat eyes, talking to a stooped fellow on his way out. She did not seem to care what her guest was doing with Lilian.

Walter Vail peered into the air. Then he thought of something. Do you skate?

Not well. Lilian thought of Madelaine Fenwick’s skating trophies.

How about skating with us tomorrow? Bring along your brother. In the afternoon?

I will, said Lilian, and took back her wrist.

Good, said Walter Vail. He turned away abruptly, back straight, with the relieved air of someone having completed some distressing business.

4 • A girl from Boston

4 • A girl from Boston

IT WAS not unusual for Mr. and Mrs. Eliot to sit in the same room for hours on end without exchanging a word. That night Mr. Eliot sat at the living room desk, a cushion pressed to his lower back, glancing at papers, with Mrs. Eliot at her usual end of the Sheraton sofa, embroidering. They’d eaten at seven and would be in bed by nine.

Mrs. Eliot stood. She wore a corset, but even without it her carriage was erect. I’m going up, she said dimly, and folded her cloth into the Chinese box and snapped shut the lid.

Mr. Eliot grunted and bowed his white head.

Mrs. Eliot took the last sip from her sherry glass and fingered the lace at her neck, considering something. The ends of her mouth were upturned in a pleasant, blank expression.

Above them past the bedrooms with canopy posts and hallways with framed ancestral silhouettes, through the low-eaved attic piled with striped hatboxes and slatted trunks, out on the frozen slate roof in a gabled corner sat Lilian. Her cheeks were the same as her mother’s, smooth and round, and her bottom lip protruded obstinately like her father’s, but the eyes were her own, liquid brown, pooled and shiny.

The night was cold the way she liked it. Bits of light glinted in the sky. From where she sat she could see the dark mound of Beacon Hill, the candlelit windows here and there picking out a sliver of snow on the sill, and over the rooftops tilted stovepipes and dormers blacker than the sky. She was too low to see the harbor, but toward Cambridge she saw the Charles River with streetlamps making smudged reflections in the icy water.

It was the Christmas season, and all the going out put Lilian in a low mood. Of course, the talk always ended up being about the war and how wrong one felt breaking off ribbon candy and pouring brandy while the boys over there were freezing and nearly getting blown to bits every minute, and as her mother said, what would be the point sitting at home and being glum? Still, it disturbed. Tonight, after the Fenwicks’, they’d thankfully dined at home and Lilian had got away as soon as possible. Her mother had tried to get her to eat more, thinking her too thin, and Lilian said in what she thought were perfectly polite tones that they could donate it to the effort which made Arthur laugh and Mr. Eliot turn his eagle profile to each of them to say that was enough. After dinner her nurse Hildy had been roaming around the second floor wanting to measure Lilian’s new dress. Lilian had fled.

She wondered if the boys in France could see the same stars if they looked up, the same, that is, six hours before. Since the war, her own usual life had dwindled to a point — it was all so unimportant compared to what was going on over there. Her best friend Jane Olney’s cousin Christopher had been with the Ambulance Corps for a year now, and wrote about having to drive thirty hours at a stretch and of seeing a boy with his face torn completely off. Whenever Lilian saw a boy in uniform she thought of how he might not come home. Charlie Sprague, whom she’d known since they’d ridden as children in the swan boats, had shipped over that fall, and Tommy Lattimore’s brother enlisted despite his father’s being against it. And there was that fellow from New York, Walter Vail …

She thought of Benjy Rogers and wondered if he were going over too. Not that she was thinking of him anymore, but he had said he was going last summer at the Promontory, though it had most likely been a boast to Nancy Cobb and, she had hoped at the time, to herself as well. But Nancy Cobb had had the advantage of having Benjy Rogers as her brother’s house guest … The loss of his attentions may have bothered her then, but she was over it now — what a thing to be thinking about with the war on! She never even saw Benjy Rogers; he was from Philadelphia. Still, he was the last boy she’d thought of, with his socks rolled loose around his ankles and the way he colored quickly …

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