Searching for Pemberley

“No, it can’t. I’m sorry I’ve made my mother unhappy. Hopefully, over time, that will change.”

Beth thought it might be helpful if she talked to Mom, explaining how the relationship between Michael and me had come to be.

“That’s fine,” I said, “but I’d be surprised if it did any good. That is one lady who can dig in her heels.”

By the time Beth and Jack had arrived at the Lenehan house to meet my family, everyone knew a great deal about them, including Beth’s being the daughter of a baronet. The fact that she was also the wife of a butler’s son got less playing time. Mamie wanted to know if she should address Beth as Lady Elizabeth, and I explained that Beth’s only title was Mrs. Jack Crowell.

Beth was as charming as she could be. She didn’t react when Uncle Mike, who was missing all but his thumb and forefinger on his right hand, shook her hand very much the way a lobster would. She admired Uncle Joe’s shrapnel scar from World War I that ran just below his ribs, and she pretended to be impressed when Mamie pointed out that, as the wife of a prominent Democrat, she entertained so much that she had to special order extra leaves from Philadelphia for her dining room table. When introduced to J.J., she offered her condolences for his loss of my Aunt Marie and later spent a generous amount of time listening to the story of their unmarried life together.

Jack made an excellent impression as someone who didn’t stand on ceremony, and since many of the young men were earning a living in highway construction, Jack shared some stories of building railway bridges in India while listening to the difficulties of paving roads on the steep inclines of the Pocono Mountains. With my father, Jack discussed the one American baseball game he had seen during the First War. The Yanks had invited the British to an exhibition game of their national pastime, and Jack readily conceded that baseball was a lot less boring than cricket. Dad took the opportunity to boast of all of the local talent that had come out of our little town, including Steve O’Neill and his brothers, Chick Shorten, and Mike McNally, all of whom had gone on to play in the majors.

Michael had already worked himself into the fabric of the town and walked about the room with confidence. He ended up sitting next to a toothless Sally Bluegoose, who showed up at every social event. Sally, who earned money for her keening, took her pipe out of her mouth and gave Michael and Jack an on-the-spot demonstration, which was the only time during the evening when Beth looked rattled. Without missing a beat, Jack told Sally it reminded him of “the night birds in India that scared the tar out of my boys when they were little.” He said that he could understand why her services were so sought after, which delighted Sally.

And then there was Geoff. There were good reasons why women loved Geoff, and he demonstrated it with my Aunt Agatha. She was the worker bee of the family, preferring to stay in the background, washing dishes, replenishing the food, making coffee. But Geoff had wandered into the kitchen while she was doing the dishes and had picked up a dish towel. In short order, he had her talking about her children and Aunt Marie. He also won praise from Sadie: “I don’t get him, but he’s cute.”

Whenever Mom got really dressed up, she always wore her favorite navy blue dress with tiny red flowers, and she had gone to the expense of buying a matching hat and shoes. Tonight, she was wearing one of her older Sunday dresses. The Crowells didn’t know any better, but I understood Mom was sending a clear message that she was unhappy with me. Before the end of the evening, Beth asked Mom if they could possibly have lunch together — just the two of them. My mother agreed and suggested they go to her sister’s house.

The next morning, I delivered a bag full of groceries to my aunt’s house. Aunt Agatha had never recovered from the night when her husband went out to buy a pack of cigarettes and kept walking, leaving her to raise four children on her own. Uncle Leo’s desertion had condemned his family to a life of poverty.

My mother had chosen Aunt Agatha’s house because she wanted Beth to know: “You are not like us, and we are not like you.”

As instructed, I returned an hour later to pick them up. As soon as I saw the two women come through the battered screen door, I knew that Beth had gotten nowhere. The mood in the car was so strained that I knew I was in for it when I got home. After walking through our kitchen door, Mom immediately slipped on her apron in an effortless exercise repeated thousands of times during her lifetime. Within a minute, she was washing and peeling potatoes for dinner. One by one, I transferred the potatoes from the sink to the cutting board and waited for what proved to be an explosion.

“Do what you want. I don’t care. If you are willing to turn away from your faith, your upbringing, everything you’ve been taught just so you can live in England and have a rich husband, go ahead.”

“Why are you saying I’ve turned away from my faith? I go to Mass; I receive Communion. And Michael is not rich. Besides, he will be going to school for years, and I’ll have to keep working as long as he’s in school. And, believe me, we won’t be living in the lap of luxury in England because it’s as if the country is still on a wartime footing. Beth and Jack and Michael all carry ration books because there are still shortages of just about everything, including bread and fruit and gasoline. It’s worse than anything we had during the war.”

Mom stopped peeling potatoes and looked at me and shook her head. “Maggie, you and Michael are so different, just like your father and I were different. He was so smart, and I always hoped it wouldn’t matter, but it did. I’m afraid the same thing is going to happen to you. Look at where you come from, and then look at his mother. She grew up in that big house with servants. I left school at sixteen to go to work, and I changed linen at the Heidelberg Inn during the summer. I was a servant.”

“Mom, Michael’s grandparents were servants, too, and you don’t know Beth. She’s had so much heartache in her life. The reasons were different, but Jack kept her at a distance, just like Dad did to you. Her baby daughter died, just like Bridgit did. She lost two brothers in the war, and a third nearly went insane.

“It’s true Beth and you are from very different backgrounds, but your values are exactly the same. There is nothing more important to Beth than her family. She has raised two fine sons, pretty much on her own, and she is the moral center of her family, just like you are for ours. Mom, you’ve always been my guiding light, and that’s not going to change, no matter where I live.”

“I hope for your sake you’re right, Maggie.” After squeezing my hand, she went back to peeling potatoes.

The evening before the engagement party, Michael presented me with a beautiful diamond ring in an antique setting. “It has a bit of history to go along with it. A friend of my mother’s, who was killed in the First War, left it in her care, and knowing how sentimental you are, she thought you might like it. If not, there are plenty of jewelry stores in New York and London.”

I told him that I would gladly wear it. Colin Matheson’s ring had finally found a home.

At the party, while Beth mingled comfortably among all of my family and friends, Jack sat down with Father Shea and my father. He wanted to get to know Dad, and by “chatting him up,” it also cut down on the number of trips he took to the bar.

Despite her reservations, Mom was a gracious host to her British visitors. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but she was wearing her navy blue dress with the tiny red flowers. I could only hope that was a small step toward reconciliation. One of the best sights of the evening was my Aunt Agatha wearing a brand new, store-bought dress. Where on earth had she gotten the money to buy a new frock? And I looked at Geoff, and he gave me a sly smile.