Exodus - Leon Uris [18]
Sir Edgar decided then and there that his son had been damned lucky. After all, the Sutherlands were known to have a tradition of inclining toward actresses and some of them had become the grandest dames in the family’s long history.
There was, of course, the touchy business of Deborah Davis being a Jewess, but the matter was closed when she agreed to take instructions in the Church of England.
Harold and Deborah had three children. There was Mary, their only girl, and there was moody, irresponsible Adam. And there was Bruce. Bruce was the oldest and Deborah’s favorite. The boy adored his mother. But as close as they were she never spoke of her own childhood, or of her parents. He knew only that she had been very poor and run away to the stage.
The years passed. Bruce took up his army career and married Neddie Ashton. The children, Albert and Martha, came. Harold Sutherland died, and Deborah moved along in age.
Bruce remembered so well the day that it happened. He was coming to Sutherland Heights for a long visit and bringing Neddie and the children. Deborah would always be in the rose garden or the conservatory or floating about gaily on her duties—smiling, happy, gracious. But this day as he drove up to Sutherland Heights she was not there to greet him nor was she anywhere about to be found. At last he discovered her sitting in darkness in her drawing room. This was so unlike mother that it startled him. She was sitting like a statue, looking at the wall, oblivious to her surroundings.
Bruce kissed her on the cheek softly and knelt beside her. “Is something wrong, Mother?”
She turned slowly and whispered, “Today is Yom Kippur—the Day of Atonement.”
Her words chilled Bruce to the bone.
Bruce talked it over with Neddie and his sister, Mary. They decided that since Father had died she had been alone too much. Furthermore, Sutherland Heights was too big for her. She should move into an apartment in London where she could be closer to Mary. Then, too, Deborah was getting old. It was hard for them to realize, because she seemed to them as beautiful as when they were children.
Bruce and Neddie went off for his tour of service in the Middle East. Mary wrote happy letters that Mother was getting along fine, and the letters from Deborah told of her happiness to be in London near Mary’s family.
But when Bruce returned to England it was a different story. Mary was beside herself. Mother was seventy years old now and acting more and more strangely. A creeping on of senility. She could not remember something that had happened a day ago, but she would utter disconnected things about events that took place fifty years ago. It was frightening to Mary because Deborah had never spoken of her past to her children. Mary was most alarmed of her mother’s strange disappearances.
Mary was glad that Bruce had returned. He was the oldest and mother’s favorite and he was so steady. Bruce followed his mother one day on one of her mysterious walks. It led to a synagogue in Whitechapel.
He thought it all over carefully and decided to leave her alone. She was old; he did not feel it proper to confront her with things that had happened over fifty years before. It was best to let it pass quietly.
At the age of seventy-five Deborah Sutherland lay on her deathbed. Bruce got back to England just in time.
The old woman smiled as she saw her son sitting on the edge of the bed. “You are a Lieutenant Colonel now ... you look fine ... Bruce, my son ... I haven’t too many hours left ...”
“Hush now, Mother. You’ll be up and about in no time.”
“No, I must tell you something. I wanted to be your father’s wife so badly. I wanted so much ... so very very much to be the mistress of Sutherland Heights. I did a terrible thing Bruce. I denied my people. I denied them in life. I want to be with them now. Bruce ... Bruce, promise that I shall be buried near my father and my mother ...”
“I promise, Mother.”
“My father ... your grandfather ... you never knew him. When ... when I was a little girl he