Fortune's rocks_ a novel - Anita Shreve [120]
Olympia is unnerved but not stunned, not stunned as she might once have been. And neither is she disturbed. But though she cannot know for certain, and though she cannot truly understand this knowledge, she cannot help but regard Philbrick as a somewhat different man than he was just moments ago. And as she thinks about the pictures of the other young men in silver frames on the walnut desk (perhaps not brothers after all), she remembers Philbrick’s statement about love, words she thought slightly odd at the time but now make perfect sense. I daresay I have some understanding of difficult love and its consequences, he said to her.
Portraits, she thinks as she replaces the marquetry frame. We are all unfinished portraits.
When she returns to the sun parlor, Philbrick comes through with plates of sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea, condensation dripping from the glass. The sight of Philbrick in blue linen amidst these humble surroundings — and further, the image of Philbrick in his paisley silk dressing gown conversing with a young man standing at a bureau and knotting his tie — moves her, and for a moment she forgets her manners and cannot help but stare at the man. But then she is herself, the smell of the food awakening her, the vision of the gruff Philbrick bearing plates of sandwiches so astonishing that she wants to smile despite the gravity of her mission.
She opens her mouth to speak, but he holds up a hand.
“I know you have come on important business,” he says, “but it is my belief that one should never discuss serious matters on an empty stomach, as such a condition will lead only to light-headedness and a faint heart.”
This is logic Olympia cannot argue with; and besides, she is unexpectedly ravenous. Later she will remember this small lunch as one of the half dozen best meals of her life, the simplicity of the food and its circumstances fueling a hunger that had lain dormant for weeks.
For a time, they speak of fish paste, blue willow plates, the lamentable license in bathing attire, and the garish arcade in town. “You are a woman of appetite,” Philbrick says appreciatively when between them they have devoured nearly all of the sandwiches. “Now, you must have some of Mrs. Marsh’s incomparable marionberry pie.”
He brings from the kitchen two white plates stained with dark juices. “It is a local berry,” Philbrick explains, handing her a dessert plate and fork. “A cross between a raspberry, a blueberry, and a cranberry.”
Olympia tastes the pie, a claret droplet falling from her fork and onto her peach shirtwaist. Philbrick reaches forward to dab the spot with his napkin. For a time, they eat in companionable silence, the only sounds the industrious buzzing of bees outside the sunporch window. “This is delicious,” Olympia says after a time. “Both sweet and tart. I did not know such a thing existed.”
“A well-kept secret,” Philbrick says.
Olympia sets down her glass. “Mr. Philbrick,” she begins. “I know you are a busy man, and I will not take too much of your time. Let me tell you why I have come.”
“Please do. What is this grave matter?”
“In April of 1900, as you know, I gave birth to a baby boy,” she says boldly, the blood pounding in her ears at her audacity. She has never spoken that sentence aloud to any person before. Philbrick, who has been leaning forward to put his glass on the table, slowly sits back in his chair.
“The child was immediately taken from me,” she continues. “My father had made arrangements. I do not know to whom he gave the child. I know that he himself did not leave the house that day or the next day.”
“I see,” he says.
“When you came to my house, I did not know that the child had been brought to Ely Falls,” she says.
Earlier, she made the decision to be forthcoming and honest with Philbrick, for she knows him to be a man who can detect falseness in a person. And if he detects this in her, she will fail in her campaign. “It was a shock for me to comprehend