The sister and brother exchanged a mute look. Elmore? they mouthed.
Fumbling with his umbrella, the plump man awkwardly removed his coat and hat and then dropped them all, one by one. Louis helped him pick everything up, as the three Barringtons stood and watched. Herman was tall, gray, stately, impeccably groomed and crisply dressed in a chocolate sports coat and tan slacks. He looked like a male, more elegant version of Esther.
Elmore was dwarfed by Herman.
“Elmore Lassiter, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Esther, and my son, Harold.”
Harry shook Elmore’s soft hand. “Please call me Harry.”
“Yes, thank you,” the young man said. “Please call me Elmore.”
With great amusement, Harry glanced at an exasperated Esther.
“When is everyone due to arrive?” Herman asked. “They’re running late.” His punctuality was legendary.
“Not for another thirty minutes,” Harry replied. But he didn’t carry a watch on Sundays.
“Shall we take our drinks in the drawing room? No, let’s go outside. It’s a beautiful day. Jones!”
“I’m right here, sir.”
“Ah,” Herman said. “There you are. Please tell Bernard to hold dinner so it doesn’t burn.”
“Dinner won’t be ready for another ninety minutes, sir.”
“Well, let’s hope the tardy guests get here before then. Otherwise, Elmore, we’ll just have to eat the entire feast. Bernard is a wonderful cook. Would you like a refreshing mint julep? Esther, come, please. Would you like a tour of the house? Esther will be glad to show you around. Perhaps there’s time for a walk. Have you been to our little town before? No? Well, it’s a fine place.” Herman’s hand went soothingly around Elmore’s tense shoulder as he led him down the enormous high-ceilinged hall to the French doors that opened into the yard. “Esther, Elmore is a resident at Mass General … surgical unit, is that right?”
“That’s correct. I’ve got another two years of residency.”
“It’s a good thing you’re at Mass General and not City Hospital,” Herman said to Elmore as they exited the house onto the rolling and manicured lawn. “I hear they’ve closed five or six wards there, including the men’s surgical unit.”
“Oh, yes,” said Elmore. “You’re quite right. The men’s, the women’s, the medical beds, even the gynecological ward.”
Harry and Esther were following close behind. Speechlessly they turned to each other. “Did he just say what I think he said?” Esther whispered.
Harry shook his head. “Get your mind out of the sailor’s gutter, Esther,” he said. “Honestly. What kind of gentleman would he be, saying something like that in the presence of a lady the first time he meets her?”
“Or even the fiftieth. Father,” Esther called, pulling Harry to a stop. “I’m going to run back and get my shawl.”
“I’m going to help her,” said Harry, and turning, they hightailed it back inside through the open doors. He put his arm around his sister. “That’s what you get for gallivanting with medical students. I don’t know how you’ll be able to resist.”
“Who said I’m going to resist, Harry?” countered Esther as they ambled through the center hall, both having no intention of going back outside. Lightly she shoved her brother. “Father continues to make the vulgar error,” she said, “that to a woman, love is her whole existence.”
“Isn’t it?” said Harry, at the very moment Ben opened the front door and walked in unannounced, followed by his mother and the three chattering Porters.
“Mrs. Shaw, hello, how good of you to come today,” said Harry to Ben’s mother. Ellen Shaw was the epitome of deceptive appearances. She was tiny and round, had a pleasant nondescript face, an unfashionably short, austere hairstyle, was friendly to strangers and carried a benevolent smile. Yet she was Harry’s brother-in-arms when it came to unpopular political notions and a lot less silent about them at the dinner table.
Carrying a bunch of yellow bananas like flowers, Ben headed straight for Esther. “Est! Look what I have.”
“Oh, no. Not bananas again.”
“Esther, you simply must develop a taste for them.” Ben pulled off one of the bananas like a rose and handed it to a reluctant but smiling Esther.
“You mean a distaste,” said Esther, taking one from his hands. Her entire demeanor changed. She became soft like chiffon, almost girlish.
A pristine Alice approached Harry.
“Hello, darling,” she said, raising her face for a kiss.
“Hello, dear.” He kissed her cheek. “What have you been up to today?”
“I played tennis after church, and then went riding, as always.”
“You look so fresh, you don’t look as if you’ve been playing tennis and riding.” His hand went to her back.
“I cleaned up, darling, before I arrived at your father’s house.”
“And you clean up quite nicely,” purred Harry. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Porter, Mr. Porter, sir. How are you this afternoon?”
Alice didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a girl who managed lumberyards and sawmills, and this is what appealed to Harry. She was petite, blonde and a debutante. A few years before she met Harry, she had been one of the most sought-after young ladies in Boston, bejeweled, dazzlingly dressed, spending the entire of her eighteenth year dancing and glad-handing at coming-out balls and social functions. By the time Harry had met her, she had already been courted by all the Lowells and the Cabots, and he wasn’t forced to compete. As if he would have. He deemed her out of his league, and it took several slight breaches of etiquette by Alice herself to show Harry she was interested before he invited her and her best friend Belinda for a stroll along the Charles with him and Ben. Belinda wasn’t what Ben was looking for, but Alice was what Harry had been looking for. Alice, whose clothes were crisp, her blonde hair ironed, her makeup flawless—and yet who rode horses and canoes, played tennis and golf, was a senior member of four different charities, arranging fundraisers, cookie bakes, plant sales, old book swaps to raise money for hospitals for the poor. She read history and loved poetry. She was bright and indefatigable, and it was she who chose Harry over the swarm of other eligible Boston men and now stood confidently and silently by his side, while Ben fraternized with Esther.
“Are you going to eat one, or aren’t you?” Ben said to her. “They are the future.”
“If I eat one, will you promise to stop bringing them?” Esther said, peeling down the skin. “Bananas are the future?”
“Your brother’s friend is not entirely wrong, Esther,” said Elmore in the banquet-hall dining room that afternoon. “Tropical fruits are the future.” He was seated to the right of Herman, the most honored place at the table. Even Ellen Shaw, usually Herman’s most welcome guest, today sat one demoted place over. Herman’s two children did not sit by their father. Ever. Ben sat there once, after he had been accepted at Harvard (“On a scholarship, no less!” pointed out a delighted Herman. “Didn’t cost his sainted mother a penny.”). Alice sat there half a handful of times, because Herman was quite fond of her. Often Alice’s father sat there, because they were friends and business partners. But not today. Alice sat between her mother and father. Ben sat between Harry and Esther, who was seated mutely next to the verbose Elmore.
“I know I’m not wrong,” Ben said, casting a sideways look at Esther, as if to say, I need this person to approve of my bananas?
“Benjamin is soon starting his last year at Harvard,”