ROBBINS Harold - The Carpetbaggers

In a way, Ellen felt a sort of triumph. Her husband had finally returned to the church. She thought of how it had been early that morning. She'd been all dressed and ready to leave for church when she called Jennie. She opened the door of Jennie's room. Her daughter was sitting in a chair, staring out the window. "You're not dressed yet, Jennie," she said in a shocked voice. "It's time we were leaving for Mass."

"I'm not going, Mama," Jennie said tonelessly.

"But you've not been to church since ye came home from the hospital You've scarcely been out of the house."

"I've been out, Mama." She turned toward her mother and the dark circles under her eyes looked even darker in the light. "And everybody stared at me and whispered as I went by. I can't stand it. I won't go to church and be a freak for everybody to stare at."

"You're denying the Savior!" Ellen said heatedly. "How do ye expect forgiveness for your sins if ye don't attend church?"

"What sins does the child need forgiveness for?" Her husband's voice came from behind her. She whirled around, her temper immediately rising. "It's enough we have one traitor to the church in this house," she said. "We don't need another." She turned to Jennie. "Get dressed. You're coming with me if I have to drag ye."

"I’m not going, Mama," Jennie said. "I can't."

Ellen took a threatening step toward her daughter. She raised her hand. Suddenly, she felt her wrist caught in a grip of steel and she turned to look up into the face of her husband. His usually soft blue eyes were cold and hard. "Leave the child be! Have you gone completely mad?"

She looked up at him for a moment and then the flashing anger dissolved within her, leaving her spent and weak. The tears started in her eyes. "Father Hadley asked me to bring her. He said he'd offer up a prayer for her comfort."

He felt the release of her anger and let go of her wrist. Her arm fell limply at her side. He turned to his daughter. "Is that the reason you won't go to church, Jennie Bear?" he asked gently. "Because they stare at you?"

She nodded silently.

"Would you go if I were to come with you?" he asked suddenly.

Jennie looked into his eyes and saw the love there. After a moment, she nodded. "Yes, Daddy."

"All right, then. Get dressed. I'll be shaved in a minute." He turned and left the room quickly. Ellen stared after him, almost too surprised to realize what had happened.

There had been a buzz of surprise as they walked down the aisle to their pew. Tom could see heads twisting as they gaped, and a shudder ran through him at all the cruelty that was inherent in all human beings. His hand tightened on his daughter's and he smiled as he knelt toward the altar and crossed himself before taking his seat.

But as bad as it had been when they came in, it was that much worse when they came out. The curious had had time to gather on the steps in the bright morning sunshine. It was like running a gantlet of idiots.

"It's over now," he said softly as they turned the corner.

They crossed the street, walking toward the drugstore on the next corner. A group of boys were lounging about the store window, dressed in their Sunday best. The boys fell silent as they approached, staring at them with their wise, street-corner eyes. Tom stared back angrily at them and their eyes fell before his. They walked by and turned the corner to their house.

From around the corner behind him, Tom could hear the sudden explosion of their whispered conversation. Then one boy snickered and another boy laughed and the merriment had a sick, dirty sound to it that tore at his heart. Abruptly he let go of Jennie's arm and walked back around the corner. They looked at him in surprise, the laughter frozen on their lips.

"What's the joke, boys?" he asked, his anger making his face white and cold. "Tell it to me so I may laugh with you."

They stared at him silently, shamefaced. They looked down at their feet, they shuffled awkwardly, glancing at each other with secret looks filled with a meaning that Tom remembered from his own youth. It was as if they'd been surprised looking at dirty pictures.

A shame for what he'd been at their age came over him and a sick weariness replaced the anger. "Get off this corner," he said softly. "And if ever I hear of any of you laughing or making any remarks about me or any member of my family, I’ll come down here and tear the lot of you apart with my bare hands!"

The tallest of the boys took a step toward him. His eyes were sly and insolent. He was slightly taller than Tom and he looked down at him with a faint, contemptuous smile. "It's a free country. We can stand here if we like."

The resentment in Tom suddenly exploded. He seized the boy by his jacket lapels and forced him to his knees. "Free, is it?" he shouted, his veins purple on his forehead. "Free for you to stand here and choose who you'll rape tonight?" He raised an open hand to slap the boy across the face.

The boy cringed, the insolence gone from his face. "What yuh pickin' on us for, Mr. Denton? We aren't the ones fucked Jennie."

The words seemed to freeze the blood in Tom's veins. He stood there, his hand still upraised, staring down at the boy. Fucked Jennie. They could say that about his own daughter and there was nothing he could do that could change the fact of it. Slowly he let his hand fall to his side, then with a violent gesture, he flung the boy away from him.

Tom glared at them, looking from one to another. They were only boys, he told himself. He couldn't hate all boys because of what two had done. The boy was right. They weren't the guilty ones.

A sense of failure came over him. If anyone was guilty, he was the guiltiest of all. If he'd been a man and kept his job, all this might never have happened. "Get off this corner," he said. "If any of you ever see me coming this way again, you'd better be on the other side of the street."

They looked at him and then at each other and it almost seemed now as if they were pitying him. Suddenly, as if a secret message had been passed mysteriously between them, they began to disperse in ones and twos.

A moment later, he was alone on the corner. He stood there for a moment to quiet the sudden trembling that came over him, then he, too, turned and walked around the corner to where his wife and daughter were waiting for him. "It's over now," he said for the second time that morning, as he took Jennie's arm and started for the house again. But this time, he knew, even as he said it, that it wasn't over – that it would never be over as long as he was alive to remember.

The cool September breeze held the first hint of autumn. Jennie looked out the cable-car window toward her stop. Her father was standing there under the street lamp, waiting for her as he did each night now. The car stopped and she stepped down.

"Hello, Daddy."

"Hi, Jennie Bear."

She fell into step beside him as they turned the corner toward home. "Any luck today?"

He shook his head. "I don't understand it. There just are no jobs."

"Maybe there'll be one tomorrow."

"I hope so," he said. "Maybe after the election, things will look up. Roosevelt says the government has to take the lead in providing work, that big business has fallen down on its responsibilities. He makes more sense for the working man than Hoover and the Republicans." He looked at her. "How did it go today?"

"All right," she said. But there still was an uncomfortable feeling in the office. Many of the company agents had taken to stopping at her desk on their way in and out of the office. Sometimes they just chatted, but some of them had tried to date her. Maybe if things had been different, she'd have gone out with them. But when she looked up from her desk into their eyes, she knew what they were thinking. She'd refuse politely and some of them would stammer or even blush, for they knew somehow that she knew.