“No. That’s not the way it works.” She offered up what she hoped was a brave smile. “Our only chance lies in this evening’s festivities. Don’t let my father get to you. Not tonight.”
“Best behavior, I promise.”
Harry glanced back at his parents. “You already told us that. I said I would behave.”
“Not you, my love. Your father.”
Relief flooded Harry’s face before he broke into a grin. “Father’s in trouble?”
“He will be, if he doesn’t say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ at the table and be careful not to make a spill.”
“I never spill.” Jack waved his arms about like a windmill, making Harry double over with glee. Pearl, meanwhile, carried on, refusing to acknowledge the ridiculous antics of the male members of her family.
They had so much to be grateful for this holiday season. Harry had started making friends, finally, even if he didn’t get the same glowing reports from his teachers that his sister did. Jack was happy at work, and Laura adored graduate school. Now if she could only stay on.
The Christmas tree in the parlor dripped with garlands and ornaments, a contrast to the empty bookshelves where valuable vases had once been displayed and the bare spot where the grand piano had stood. The glass bulbs on the tree couldn’t be sold off, or at least weren’t worth the effort, but the lavish decorations only made the gloomy room—electric lights dimmed to save a few extra cents—feel off-balance.
Laura hated to bring up the subject of money with her mother and father. At the same time, they were her last hope. Her mother hugged the children in turn while her father greeted them stiffly, glaring at the unseemly show of emotion. His eyebrows rose up into black arches when he was disappointed or dismayed, and became an angry slash when crossed. A man pickled in misery.
The maid brought out sherry for the grown-ups and chocolate for the children, who took one sip before racing to the tree and plucking out the gifts with their names. Laura sat on the settee with Jack and exclaimed politely as the presents were opened, although their contents barely registered in her mind.
“How is your journalism course, my dear?” her mother asked as the maid cleared away the wrapping paper and ribbons.
She’d hoped to put off the conversation until later, at least during dinner. But Jack gave her a quick nod that she knew meant it was better to address the situation right off. He was right. Doing so gave them time to warm up to the idea.
“It’s brilliant. Everything I expected. By May, I’ll be able to find a well-paying job with the connections I’m making.”
“Women ought not to be working.” Her father gestured to where Pearl and Harry were engrossed in a game of jacks on the floor. “Your children need you.”
So many rebuttals came to Laura’s mind. That if her mother had found a job so that the sole burden didn’t fall upon her husband, the tension and blame in the household might have been lessened considerably. That if her mother had followed her heart—
Her mother sat, smiling, perched on the end of her chair. She’d been a handsome young woman once, before the lines crinkled her white skin and her hair turned gray. Now she was brittle, though she still retained some of the bubbliness of her youth. When Laura was a little girl, she would often sneak into her mother’s dressing chamber and sit at the vanity, where the jewelry box was kept. She’d load up her arms with thick bracelets and place diamond-encrusted pins in her hair, like an empress. One day she’d reached for a brooch and discovered the box had a false bottom. Underneath lay a locket containing a lock of strawberry-blond hair.
“He was my first beau,” her mother had said when Laura had softly inquired that evening at bedtime. “I loved him more than anything, but we weren’t deemed a good match.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t have the resources to take care of me.” She’d leaned in close. “I promise you I won’t let you make the same mistake.”
“Mistake?”
“I want you to marry whomever you love.”
She’d stayed true to her word, forcing the issue with her husband when Jack had asked for Laura’s hand in marriage. The impending baby, of course, had a great deal of influence in that matter. But where her father had sulked through the wedding, Laura’s mother had beamed with happiness. Laura wore a locket with Jack’s hair around her neck now. It wouldn’t be hidden away, ever.
“Are you listening to me? I said your children need you.” Laura’s father, his cheeks red, gestured like a conductor from where he sat in a leather wingback chair.
“They’re both fine, I assure you. Mother has been helping out when I’m at class.” Laura took a sip of sherry and placed it on the side table. “There is one problem, however.”
“Is there?” The eyebrows lifted.
“I received a scholarship for the first term, but I’m afraid I’m slightly short on the coming one.”
She sensed her mother stiffen.
“How much?” asked her father.
“A hundred dollars. But I’ll repay you as soon as I start working.”
Jack leaned forward. “With luck, my book will sell next year, in which case we could repay you sooner.”
Laura had told him to keep quiet, and now he’d gone and said something sure to make her father turn against the request. The eyebrows turned into two nasty arrows, practically touching in the middle of her father’s forehead. “Another novelist, just what the city needs.” He turned to Laura. “And yet another journalist, raking the muck.”
“The things I’m learning at journalism school are important, and will make a difference in the world. For example, I’ve done a story on a doctor, a woman doctor, who’s saved the lives of thousands of babies in the slums. The professor said the story was worthy of being in a real paper, like the New York Times.”
“A woman doctor?” Her mother nodded encouragingly, her eyes darting to her husband and back to Laura. “That’s lovely.”
“Her name is Dr. Potter. I went to school with her at Vassar,” added Laura.
Her father scowled, unimpressed. He addressed his wife as if they were the only people in the room. “Exactly. Laura’s already been to Vassar. Not sure why she needs more schooling.”
“Darling, I remember you saying that she’d meet the best of the best at university.”
“I did?”
“You certainly did. And you were right about that.”
His eyebrows settled into a neutral line. Progress.
“I’ve come this far. It’s only for another five months. Please.” She thought of her father turning up day after day to an office where his was the only desk, all the clerks having been let go years before. Having lunch exactly at noon, going over the figures again and again. Watching the balance decline. “You always said one shouldn’t quit.”