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Letter #62 Epilogue December 31st, 1977 - Well Dad, it’s New Year’s Eve! - What a year! Last year at this time we were holding our breath every time Mars had a contraction and sorry we’d stubbornly won the argument with Heather Cox about moving to one of her apartment buildings in town so we could be closer to the hospital and stuck ‘way out there’. There’ve been a few sporadic shots but we still have fifteen minutes until midnight by Liz’s fancy mantle clock on Mean Greenwich Time, which Troy mistook for meaning it was mean instead of being nice, the way his Mom insists he treat other people. I saw something I’d rather not have seen, of a sense of loss in Liz’s eyes as she hugged him near, but we all live with the consequences of our decisions, and there’s never a ‘convenient’ time to have a baby, is there, Pops. We had champagne and roast goose at Liz Conti’s elegantly decorated table, which I don’t remember having as a boy, although Aunt Penny tells of waiting for the Snow Geese to arrive and having to shoot the pair if you guys shot any at all, since they mate for life. Although Aunt Penny’s first marriage to a Jewish boy ended after only a few short months, she and the Don are Messianic Jewish by choice, and he because his family has been for several generations, so none of us insisted on glazed ham, although I’m sure Liz’s French chef would have found a way to make it delicious and still seem ’home-style’ like he did with the mashed potatoes, green bean casserole and home grown yams. But then, I’ve never been forced to eat radishes or turnips either, just because they could grow quicker to grow in the garden than the weeds. Most of our food comes from tin cans or wrapped in shrink-wrap from the butcher counter. We buy half-a-beef at a time from the stockyard, but we’re removed a pace from the actual knacking and butchering, and I won’t pretend I’m sorry about that. We just don’t get all the cuts of beef that Caitlin took for granted in her kitchen. Ole Betsy survived the flames! When we removed the soot, the old decals were still visible! Can you imagine that? Mars wants to have her installed in the kid’s playroom rather than a cast-iron heater, but she’ll have an uphill battle with Aunt Sunni, who wants it for her house in Maine. I’m as wise as Solomon, Daddy; I’m staying out of the argument! Ten minutes till Midnight. Oh Dad! When we stopped by the house to pick up Uncle Sandy tonight, the smell of burnt wood was still thick on the still air. He was leaning up against the rail on the smaller barn and as cold as it was, he kept staying there, looking at figures only he could see and telling me stories about you and Tom and Beau working on some ancient Motel ‘T’ Ford none of you ever got to running, even though Tom got good enough with car engines to make some money fixing them. How Aunt Queenie’s Mom Laura MacCafferty used to hang on the rail and flutter her eyelashes at him because she had such a wild crush on him. How it was the climax of her six-mile walk from her Dad’s farm if Tom’s greasy fingers brushed her hand as she gave him the wrench he needed… Innocence…and yet I remember how my heart rate pumped up when I’d glance up at the skating rink to find Mars watching me shyly from under her lashes! Eight minutes to Midnight To think that at one time, you could see the Indian Village from here! All four of the powerful men who built the town wanted this site, but the Dutchman who’d bought it sight unseen for his only son wouldn’t give it up, even after he died in the Diphtheria Epidemic. It was his grandson Willis who left the castle on the Fiords to marry a local girl Pauline and then stay true to her even when they had no children of their own. That’s love. Of course it fell to her sister’s only child, Aunt Penny’s best friend growing up, but I think the old Baron, or whatever they called them in Finland would be right at home with the restored house based on the family mansion from home. It’s a little too gaudy for me, but I could force myself to learn to be pampered by a discrete team of professional servants who take pride in doing a job well. Not that I’ll ever have too. My mistress is dirt and premium grade bug powder…oh well, at least Mars loves me! Six minutes to Midnight. How still and calm it is. The stars look near enough to take your mittens off and warm your hands up by them, you know? George Crowley tried to block it but we went to court to allow the wildlife in our woods to remain un-trapped, and the State is talking about taking the shale valley and making them a kind of in-sutra wilderness. So many species of birds and migrating animals that sustained our forefathers have been hunted to extinction. We want to do what little we can to keep this small preserve in the endless miles of cornfields, ranches, and small farm buildings. Even if the City Girl has returned to open up a “Spa” – read elegant, mindless pampering with hugely inflated prices since her chief rival Nicole Crowley is still living in Argentina, having made the South of France too small to contain her whispered adventures, and Liz has forgotten that rest of the world exists as she prepares to house at least three notable novelists and a jaded New York Playwright in her opening ‘Season’ She and Cynthia Cromwell’ll scratch and hiss at one another but play off the strengths and the needs of the other. Maybe things do change after all, but they use the blue print of the past, don’t you think Pop? Five minutes …. Can anyone define wealth as something other than my wife’s smile at me as she touched my good wrist to see what time it is on the watch? We’ll rebuild the house that Woodrow Harkness built, though this time we’ll include a garage rather than a carriage house. A playroom for the kids rather than a maid’s narrow chambers, and we’ll put in forced air heating and reroute the septic pipes for the day when the municipal sewer system comes out this far to inevitable envelope us, in our sons or grandson’s time in the house.
Four Minutes…. Three Minutes…
Two minutes and counting….
One… Happy New Years, Pops! God Bless America! Your loving son and daughter-in-law, Hank and Marsha Webb + Family - - - - The Harkness Family Chronicles “ American Sojourn “ THE END
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Asia Rachael Cohen
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