Jane Smiley: Early Warning

The Langdons

Walter Langdon (1895)

Wilmer Langdon — Walter’s father

Elizabeth Chick — Walter’s mother

Ruth Cheek and Lester Chick — Walter’s maternal grandparents

Etta Cheek — mother of Ruth Cheek

Lester and Howard — Walter’s brothers

Rosanna Vogel Langdon (1900)—Walter’s wife

Otto Vogel — Rosanna’s father

Mary Augsberger — Rosanna’s mother

Charlotta Kleinfelder — Otto’s mother

Hermannand Augustina Augsberger (“Opa” and “Oma”) — Rosanna’s maternal grandparents

Rolf, Eloise, John, Gus, and Kurt — Rosanna’s siblings

Julius Silber — Eloise’s husband

Rosa — Eloise and Julius’s daughter

Elton Jackman — Rosa’s first husband, Lacey’s father

Lacey — Rosa and Elton’s daughter

Ross — Eloise’s second husband

Shelia — John’s wife

Gary, Buddy, Jimmy — John and Sheila’s sons

Angela — Gus’s wife

Francis “Frank” Langdon—first child of Walter and Rosanna

Hildegarde Andrea Bergstrom “Andy”—Frank’s wife

Janet — Frank and Andy’s eldest daughter

Jared Nelson — Janet’s husband

Emily — Janet and Jared’s daughter

Richard “Richie”andMichael — Frank and Andy’s twin sons

Ivy — Richie’s wife

Loretta Perroni — Michael’s wife

Chance, Tia, Beatrice “Binky”—Michael and Loretta’s children

Joseph “Joe” Langdon—second child of Walter and Rosanna

Lois Frederick — Joe’s wife

Roland and Lorena Frederick — Lois’s parents

Minnie — Lois’s sister

Ann “Annie” and Joseph “Jesse”—Joe and Lois’s children

Jennifer Guthrie — Jesse’s wife

Joseph “Guthrie” and Franklin Perkins “Perky”—Jesse and Jennifer’s sons

Mary Elizabeth Langdon—third child of Walter and Rosanna

Lillian Elizabeth Langdon—fourth child of Walter and Rosanna

Arthur Brinks Manning — Lillian’s husband

Sarah Cole DeRocher and Colonel Brinks Manning — Arthur’s parents

Timothy “Timmy,” Deborah “Debbie,” Dean Henry, and Christina Eloise “Tina”—Lillian and

Arthur’s children

Hugh — Debbie’s husband

Carlie and Kevin “Kevvie”—Debbie and Hugh’s children

Linda — Dean’s wife

Eric — Dean and Linda’s son

Henry—fifth child of Walter and Rosanna

Claire—sixth child of Walter and Rosanna

Paul Darnell — Claire’s husband

Grayson and Bradley — Claire and Paul’s sons

THE FUNERAL WAS a riot of floral exuberance — not just lilies, but daffodils and tulips and sprays of apple and pear blossom. Frank Langdon sat with his daughter, Janny, about six pews back on the right; his wife, Andy, and their month-old twins, of course, couldn’t come all the way to Iowa. Janny, two and a half, was behaving herself. Frank took his hand off her knee, and she stayed quiet. The broken sounds of tears being suppressed rose all around him. Frank’s sister Lillian, her husband, Arthur, and their four kids were two pews ahead on the left. Mama was sitting in the front pew, staring straight ahead. Granny Elizabeth was sitting next to her, alone now — Grandpa Wilmer had died in the summer; in the intervening nine months, Granny had traveled to Kansas City, St. Louis, and Minneapolis. His mother liked to cluck knowingly and say, “She’s blossomed, hasn’t she?”

His brother Joe’s baby, the same age as his twins, looked like she weighed what they did together. Joe’s wife, Lois, and her sister, Minnie, passed the baby back and forth to keep her quiet. Frank stared at Minnie for a moment. He had known her his whole life, walked to school with her for years, known always that she was on his side. Maybe she loved him still. Frank cleared his throat. Annie, the child’s name was. Janny couldn’t get enough of her — she talked to her and stroked her head if she got a chance. Across the aisle from Minnie were Frank’s brother Henry, his communist aunt Eloise, and Eloise’s daughter, Rosa. His sister Claire — fourteen, nineteen years to the day younger than Frank himself — kept turning her head and looking at Rosa, and why not? The girl was at her peak at twenty, severe and slender, with the look of a French actress. She made Henry, who was only months older, look like a girl, Claire look like a sheep, Andy, even glamorous Andy, look like a frump. Rosa was much more alluring than his aunt Eloise had ever been. Frank looked away. It was his father’s funeral.

After the interment (where Janny wanted to walk from grave to grave, smelling the daffodils in full bloom; Frank didn’t stop her), Frank calculated that he’d kept that sad smile on his face for eight solid hours. He held his drink, Scotch and soda — supplied by Minnie, who was now assistant principal at the high school and lived here, apparently comfortably, with Lois and Joe. Frank watched the neighbors come and go. This house, much grander than the house they’d grown up in, was industriously clean. The famous dining room with the sliding French doors that had been the envy of farmers around Denby, Iowa, all through Frank’s childhood, still had flowered wallpaper and heavy moldings. While he was pondering the double-hung windows, Arthur Manning came up to him, as if they were merely brothers-in-law who just happened to see each other at a family funeral. Frank often wondered if his sister Lillian had any idea of what her husband talked to Frank about, or the uses he put him to.

Arthur held Tina against his shoulder. She was three months now, wiry and active, as if she planned to head out the door any moment. Arthur’s tweed jacket was festooned with a folded diaper. Arthur jiggled and comforted a baby the way a great athlete hit a ball, as if his adept grace and evident reproductive success were the easiest thing in the world. Tina burbled and muttered, wide awake and not crying. Frank admired this.

Arthur said, “How are Richie and Michael doing?”

“Coming along,” said Frank.

“What are they now?”

“A month. But they were four and a half weeks early, so let’s call them newborns.”

“Precocious, then,” said Arthur, with a straight face, and Frank smiled a real smile. He said, “It’s a good thing Mama hasn’t seen them. She might suggest putting them down.”

Arthur’s eyebrows lifted.