The Wapshot Chronicle - John Cheever [75]
“Your name was given to me by an acquaintance. I’m an accredited representative of the Institute for Self-Improvement. We still have a few subscriptions open for eligible men and women. Dr. Bartholomew, the director of the institute, has divided human knowledge into seven branches. Science, the arts—both the cultural arts and the arts of physical well-being—religion …”
“Who gave you my name?” Leander asked.
“Dr. Bartholomew thinks it’s more a question of inclination than background,” the stranger said. “Many people who’ve been fortunate enough to have a college education are still ineligible by Dr. Bartholomew’s standards.” She spoke without emphasis or feeling, almost with dread, as if she had come about something else, and she kept her eyes on the floor. “Educators all over the world and some of the crowned heads of Europe have endorsed Dr. Bartholomew’s methods and Dr. Bartholomew’s essay on ‘The Science of Religion’ is in the Royal Library in Holland. I have a picture of Dr. Bartholomew here and …”
“Who gave you my name?” Leander asked again.
“Daddy,” she said. “Daddy gave me your name.” She began to wring her hands. “He died last summer. Oh, he was good to me, he was like a real daddy, there wasn’t anything in the world that he wouldn’t do for me. He was my best beau. On Sundays we used to take walks together. He was awfully intelligent but they cheated him. They did him out of everything. He wasn’t afraid, though, he wasn’t afraid of anything. Once we went to a show in Boston. That was on my birthday. He bought these expensive seats. They were supposed to be in the orchestra but when we came to sit in them they put us in the balcony. We paid for orchestra seats—he told me—and we’re going down and sit in that orchestra. So he took my hand and we went downstairs and he told the usher—he was one of those stuck-up fellows—we paid for orchestra seats and we’re going to sit in that orchestra. I miss him so much it’s all I can think about. He never let me go anywhere without him. And then he died last summer.”
“Where is your home?” Leander asked.
“Nahant.”
“Nahant?”
“Yes. Daddy told me everything.”
“What do you mean?” Leander said.
“Daddy told me everything. He told me how you came there after dark, like thieves, he said, and about how Mr. Whittier paid for everything and how Mother kept me from drinking her wicked milk.”
“Who are you?” Leander said.
“I’m your daughter.”
“Oh no,” Leander said. “You’re lying. You’re a crazy woman. Get out of here.”
“I’m your daughter.”
“Oh no,” Leander said. “You’ve thought this all up, you and those people in Nahant. You’ve made it all up. Now get out of my house. Leave me alone.”
“You walked on the beach,” she said. “Daddy remembered everything so’s you’d believe me and give me money. He even remembered the suit you had. He said you had a plaid suit. He said you walked on the beach and picked up stones.”
“Get out of my house,” Leander said.
“I won’t go away from here until you give me money. You never once asked was I living or dead. You never gave me a thought. Now I want some money. After Daddy died I sold the house and I had a little money and then I had to take this work. It’s hard for me. It’s too hard for me. I’m not strong. I’m out in all weathers. I want some money.”
“I don’t have anything to give you.”
“That’s what Daddy said. He said you’d try to get out of helping me. Daddy told me that’s what you’d say, but he made me promise to come and see you.” Then she stood and picked up her brief case. “God will be your judge,” she said at the door, “but I know my rights and I can bring you into court and blacken your name.” Then she went down the hall and when she got to the door Leander called after her, “Wait, wait, wait, please,” and went down the hall. “I can give you something,” he said. “I have a few things left. I have a jade watch fob and a golden chain and I can show you your mother’s grave. It’s in the village.”
“I would spit