Seasons of the Heart Page 3

  Stella nodded. “Who did you go out with?”

  “His name is Phillip Coulter.”

  Stella thought her heart had stopped beating for a moment. Her fists clenched and the muscles in her neck became taut. Coulter! That name had been her nemesis, and life was conspiring against her once again, threatening her with the past. Almost fearfully she repeated the name to herself: Coulter.

  But maybe she was just conjuring up ghosts. Even though Coulter wasn’t a common name, maybe Ann’s young man wasn’t related to the family she hated, the family that had made her the bitter, cruel woman she was today.

  “What kind of a name is Coulter?” she asked in a calm voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, is it Irish?”

  “No, it’s Jewish.”

  “Jewish?” Stella said. “How do you know?”

  In spite of herself, Ann laughed mirthlessly. “I just know.”

  “But Coulter is not a Jewish name.”

  “Maybe not, but he comes from a distinguished Jewish family.”

  “Oh? And what does this distinguished Jewish family do for a living?”

  “Phillip is an attorney and his family used to own a chain of men’s shops.”

  Stella almost fainted. It was the family! Of all the men in the world, Ann had to pick Eva Coulter’s son. “Used to?” Stella said in a cold voice.

  “Yes, they lost them during the Depression. Ruthie told me about it.”

  Ann saw that Stella’s face was almost viciously contorted. She couldn’t understand. On the verge of tears, she burst out, “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Interrogating me like this!”

  Ben popped a nitroglycerine under his tongue. When Stella was hell-bent on one of her tirades it did no good to protest. So he bit his lip and silently cursed his weakness. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears to block out the sound of her harsh voice saying, “You see what I mean, Ben? This is what I’ve put up with all these years. You always accuse me of not being motherly towards Ann, and here I show a decent motherly concern over who Ann goes out with, and she resents me.”

  “I don’t resent your concern, Stella,” Ann said softly. “It’s the way you question me. You make me feel as though I’ve done something wrong.”

  Stella enjoyed seeing Ann squirm. “Well, how did you meet this young man?” she asked.

  “At Ruthie’s wedding.”

  “At Ruthie’s wedding? Why, that was months ago! You mean to say that you’ve been seeing him all this time and haven’t said a word? Why? Were you ashamed to bring him home?”

  “No, that isn’t it at all. Let me explain.”

  “Explain? What is there to explain?”

  Ann felt hopelessly drained. Her supreme moment was not quite the scene she had fantasized. The night before, she had pictured walking into the living room hand in hand with Phillip and breathlessly announcing: “Stella, Daddy, we’re engaged!”

  Now she said nervously, her heart pounding and her hands trembling, “Stella, we’re going to be married.”

  The statement caught Stella off-guard. She sat with her mouth open, in complete shock. Then, quickly, her expression changed to one of unmistakable contempt.

  Ann was completely bewildered. She knew Stella resented her, but her stepmother’s reactions this morning seemed unreasonable even for her. Finally Ann pleaded softly, “Please be happy for me, Stella. Please? I haven’t had much happiness.”

  The room was silent. Finally, Ben seemed to find his voice. “Ann, don’t you think it was only right that you bring this young man home to meet me? I am your father, after all.”

  “Please, Papa, don’t be angry. I didn’t know how Phillip felt about me until last night. It was the first time we’d gone out. I mean, on a real date.”

  Ben was about to respond when Stella said quickly, “You want us to believe that you went out with a boy for the first time last night and now you’re engaged?”

  Ann fought to hold back the tears. Finding her voice, she tried to explain why Phillip had held back. Even how she said they would have to wait for at least a year before getting married. “I guess it sounds a little unconventional,” she admitted, “but … there really aren’t any rules for people in love.”

  “You think it sounds unconventional?” said Stella. “I think that he’s playing some kind of game.”

  “That’s enough, Stella!” Ben uncharacteristically interrupted his wife, making her fury even greater.

  “What’s wrong with you, Ben?” Stella shrilled. She knew that without knowledge of her previous relationship with the Coulters, she must appear entirely unreasonable, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her gaze shifted to Ann. “You expect us to give you our blessing? We haven’t even met him. He hasn’t even given you a ring, has he?” Without waiting for an answer she attacked again. “Why won’t he marry you now?”

  “I just told you, Stella. He simply can’t get married right now.”

  “I don’t care. It’s just not natural when people are in love. What’s he going to do in the next year, become a millionaire? Let me tell you something, Ann. If you do anything wrong, you’ll never be allowed back into this house! Do you hear what I’m saying?” Stella was all but screaming.

  “I’m sorry you feel you have to say that to me, Stella. But I’m not going to sit here and take this kind of abuse from you!” Tears streaming down her cheeks, Ann pushed back her chair and fled the room.

  Ben sat shaking his head in despair. Stella was behaving like a madwoman, but as his angina increased he knew he didn’t dare fight back. It would kill him.

  “See what I’ve been putting up with all these years?” Stella was shouting.

  Ben wanted to scream, You should be overjoyed. You’ll have the chance to get rid of her. But instead he said gently, “Ann’s my daughter, not yours, Stella. And I’m not all that upset. Why are you?”

  “Because I’ve tried to be a mother to her and she didn’t even have the decency to tell us that she was seeing this boy.”

  “But she explained that he hadn’t called her for two months.”

  “And you believed her? Why does this Don Juan insist on postponing marriage? For all you know, he’s just using Ann.”

  “What do you mean by that?” he asked with difficulty.

  “That she could get pregnant.”

  “What a vile thing to say! I haven’t met Phillip, but I’m sure he’s a fine boy.”

  “A fine boy? Look, you can close your eyes to the truth, but I won’t. You don’t see anything. How long can two young people be engaged without sleeping together?”

  “Ann is my daughter and I trust her.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful,” Stella said bitingly. “The truth is that I know more about your daughter than you do. She’d do anything to get away from this house. If she got pregnant, he’d have to marry her. Right, Ben?”

  If Stella had struck him between the eyes, he could not have been more stunned. Without a word, Ben got up from the table and went up to see Ann. He could no longer force himself into believing that he had married Stella to provide a mother for Ann. He should have sensed the coldness under the amiable surface. He could not forgive his selfish weakness, not this morning.

  Sighing, he knocked softly on Ann’s door. When there was no answer, he turned the doorknob and entered. Ann was lying on her bed, sobbing. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gathered her to him, rocking her gently back and forth.

  Through the tears, Ann asked, “Papa, why does Stella hate me so much?”

  Ben swallowed. “It’s not you, sweetheart. She hates herself … the world.”

  “But it’s so unreasonable. I just don’t understand what it is I do that upsets her so much.”

  “Ann, please don’t allow Stella to spoil your happiness. This should be the happiest time of your life.”

  “Papa …”Ann murmured brokenly. “Papa, I’m sorry I didn’t bring Phill
ip home, but there wasn’t time. I didn’t even think he liked me.”

  “That’s all right, sweetheart.”

  “But, Papa, what am I going to do now? How can I ask him to meet my family with Stella acting like this? I can’t bring him into this house, I just can’t!” Ann started sobbing again.

  “We’ll have to figure something out, honey. But, Ann, I want you to know that I’m overjoyed for you. I don’t know if I can explain to you how grateful I am that God has spared me to see you find happiness.”

  “Thank you, Papa. I want so much for you to be friends with Phillip. He’s the most wonderful person—I know you’ll love him.”

  “Of course I will. But the most important thing is that you love him—and that he loves you.”

  “But I want you to meet him. Maybe we could all go out for lunch? That way Stella wouldn’t have to know about it.”

  Chapter Four

  DOWNSTAIRS STELLA SAT AT the kitchen table, marshaling her forces. Life hadn’t beaten her. If she could create dissension between Ann and Phillip Coulter, she would do so.

  Yet, in spite of herself, she was vulnerable. The ghosts of her past still lay ready to destroy her. Stella vividly remembered herself at Ann’s age. The resemblance between them was almost frightening. But the parallels in their lives that should have made Stella more compassionate did not. She was so immersed in her self-pity that it left no room for love.

  Stella’s mother, like Ann’s, had died when she was six. But her father, unlike Ann’s, had been unwilling to shoulder the responsibility of taking care of a child. He had eventually placed her in an orphanage in Seattle, where she had remained until she was eighteen. She had then found a job in a small dress shop where she had saved enough money to pursue her dream of moving to San Francisco.

  When Stella stood in front of the Ferry Building and looked up Market Street, she thought, for the first time in her life, that the gods had not perhaps completely abandoned her. After settling herself into a dark, narrow room at the YWCA, she managed to get a job as an alterations lady at I. Magnin’s, which allowed her to come into contact with the most elegantly dressed ladies in San Francisco. Stella had a gift: she was a brilliant seamstress. Patrons began to specially request her services.

  Sitting at Ben’s kitchen table, Stella remembered kneeling on the floor of Eva Coulter’s bedroom, making the final adjustments to the hem of her evening gown. Perhaps it was destiny. If Mrs. Coulter had been satisfied with the original fit of her lovely gown, she would never have summoned Stella to the Coulter mansion in Sea Cliff. But Stella was there and Mrs. Coulter was a gracious patron. She not only gave Stella a sizable gratuity, she also was generous with her praise.

  “You’re an absolute genius, Stella. An hour ago I would have sworn that this dress would never go to the opera tonight, but you’ve done a splendid job.”

  Glowing from the kind words, Stella was just preparing to leave when the door to the bedroom was flung open, and in strolled the most handsome man Stella had ever seen. She was transfixed by the lean, elegant figure in impeccable white flannels.

  Without turning, Eva greeted her brother. “The prodigal returns. I haven’t heard from you in a week. Now hurry, dear boy, and change for the opera.”

  Ignoring her reprimand, he pecked her on the cheek. “You could say that you’re glad to see me.”

  Narrowing her eyes in feigned disapproval, she said, “I’m not.”

  He laughed. “You look divine as usual, dear sister. As if you’d been poured into that gown.”

  “Thank you.” Pointing to Stella, she added, “The one responsible is this genius … Stella—this is my brother, Roger Haas.”

  Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed Stella at all. Suddenly he realized she was quite lovely, with dark hair framing her oval face and eyes the color of dark amber. Were she dressed in Eva’s elegant gown, she would look equally lovely.

  As Roger looked at her and smiled, Stella felt a melting sensation. “Where have they been keeping you stashed away?” he asked.

  “In the back room at I. Magnin’s,” Stella answered, then regretted her comment immediately; it was far too bold.

  Her misgivings were well-founded. Eva looked up sharply and saw the two figures behind her reflected in her mirror. At the sight of Roger’s expression, she said quickly, “Don’t dally, dear boy. I think it’s time for you to dress.”

  Nevertheless, one afternoon the next week as Stella walked out through the employees’ service door, she found Roger Haas waiting out by the curb. He was even more handsome than she remembered.

  “I just happened to be passing,” he said, “and thought that maybe if you weren’t busy for dinner this evening, I might have the pleasure of taking you out.”

  She had no idea what she said, but it must have been yes, because a short time later she found herself sitting across the table from him in the dimly lit dining room of the Palace Court. It was so elegant, and Roger was so attentive, that Stella was swept off her feet. She was entirely ready to believe that he was smitten with her.

  Later that evening Stella never stopped to wonder whether it was naive to allow herself to be seduced by Roger. She only knew that he thrilled and excited her more than she had ever dreamed possible. And she had every reason to suspect that Roger was in love with her. Just a few days later he declared, “I’m mad about you, Stella. Come live with me.”

  But however persuasively Roger argued, Stella couldn’t bring herself to live with him publicly unless they were married. In spite of the loosening of morals that followed the first world war, Stella was basically conventional. Finally they reached a compromise: Roger found her a tiny apartment near the beach and she became his mistress. He stayed with her almost every night until the small hours of the morning, but always left before dawn.

  At first it was sheer ecstasy. Months passed and everything was wonderful. Then one evening Stella said, “Roger, there’s something we have to talk about.”

  “What’s that, Stella, my love?”

  “Well”—she smiled up at him—“I think that the time has come for us to get married.”

  He disengaged himself from her embrace, got out of bed, and slipped into his robe. “What brought this on?” he asked.

  “Roger, I just can’t go on this way.”

  “Oh? I thought you were happy.”

  “I am happy when we’re together, but I’m devastated whenever you leave. I love you, Roger.”

  “And I love you, too, Stella. In fact, I adore you.”

  “Then prove it.”

  Roger poured himself a drink from the bottle of brandy on the bedside table. Why had he been foolish enough to assume that Stella would be content to go on like this indefinitely? He took a sip. “Darling, this isn’t like you at all.”

  “How would you know what’s like me or not?” Stella asked bitterly.

  “Well, my dear, we’ve gotten to know each other rather well these last six months.”

  “Well, then—how much longer do we have to know each other before we get married?”

  “Stella, my love, I never promised you anything like that.”

  “Maybe not,” Stella cried, “but things have changed!” She had hoped that it would be unnecessary to force his hand. Roger had been so wonderful, so generous and considerate. But it seemed she would have to tell him her secret. Painfully, she blurted out, “Roger, I’m pregnant.”

  Dear God, Roger thought, how could I have been so stupid as to fall in love with this girl? Personally, he didn’t give a damn that she had no background, no education. To him, she was as elegant and refined as any of the society girls Eva paraded before him. As lovely as Peggy Morgenthau, to whom Eva was currently urging him to propose. But he knew Eva would have a fit if he suggested marrying Stella, and he also knew he did not have the guts to defy his sister. She had been a mother to him. She was the one who had loved him and reared him.

  When he finally recovered his composure, he said gently, “I’m sor
ry, Stella … truly. But, darling, I just cannot marry you.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” she cried out. “For God’s sake, Roger! I’m pregnant, can’t you understand that? This is your child!”

  “I know,” he said quietly.

  “Then marry me for the baby’s sake.”

  Roger looked at her, not saying a word.

  On the verge of hysteria, she wept, “I love you, Roger. And you said you loved me. You gave me every reason to believe it!”

  “Stella, dearest, I do love you. I don’t want to be cruel. But we come from different worlds. I have obligations …” His voice trailed off.

  Stella began to sob uncontrollably. Roger put his arms around her and murmured soothingly, “Please don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you cry, darling.”

  Clinging to him, she cried, “Then marry me—please marry me. I’m frightened. Please marry me.”

  After a long pause, Roger seemed to find his courage and said, “Yes, Stella. I will.”

  When he left her he had every intention of doing the honorable thing. After all, it was his child. He couldn’t ignore that responsibility. But the moment he faced Eva, he knew he would never be able to stand up to her.

  Pacing back and forth, she shouted, “How could you have gotten yourself into this situation? I must tell you, Roger, if you marry this girl I’ll cut you off without a dime. Remember—everything Mama and Papa left is now Simon’s and mine. And in due course it should come to you and Phillip.”

  “Eva, I never thought you could be so ruthless. We’re talking about my child.”

  “I’m not being ruthless, Roger. I just won’t let you ruin your life. I promised Papa I would look after you, and I intend to keep my promise.”

  Roger poured himself a brandy. “It’s my child, Eva. I want to take care of it.”

  Eva drew a deep breath. She knew she had to be strong enough for both of them. “You may marry this girl if you wish, Roger, but you cannot have it both ways. You will not get one cent. I know that Mama and Papa would have wanted it that way.”

  Roger looked at his sister, now standing silhouetted against the onyx fireplace. “That child is mine, you know. But you win. You see,” he said sadly, “I’m not strong enough to fight you, Eva. I’ve never been poor, and the prospect frightens me. I’ve never trained to do anything but play polo, and that hardly qualifies me to take care of a family.”