Chapter 22

"A party for the Blenkers? The Blenkers?"

Mr. Welland put down his knife and fork. He looked across the lunch table in worried disbelief. Mrs. Welland fixed her gold eye-glasses and read the invitation aloud.

Her voice made the words sound like a high comedy. "Professor and Mrs. Emerson Sillerton request Mr. and Mrs. Welland's company."

"The Wednesday Afternoon Club meets on August twenty-fifth. It begins at three o'clock exactly. The guests are Mrs. Blenker and her daughters."

The party would be at Red Gables on Catherine Street. The card asked for an answer.

"Good heavens," Mr. Welland breathed. A second reading made the strange news feel real.

Mrs. Welland sighed. "Poor Amy Sillerton. No one can guess what her husband will do next. He has just discovered the Blenkers, I suppose."

Professor Emerson Sillerton caused Newport society much pain. Yet no one could push him out. His roots grew from a very old and respected family.

People said he received every possible social gift. His father was Sillerton Jackson's uncle. His mother came from the rich Pennilows of Boston.

Both sides brought money and position. Both seemed to fit each other perfectly. Emerson could have lived a safe and usual life.

Nothing forced him to become an archaeologist, a person who studied old human places and objects. Nothing forced him to become any kind of professor.

He even lived in Newport during winter. This was another act against good sense. Mrs. Welland often listed these needless wrongs.

If he must fight custom, he could remain unmarried. Instead, he married poor Amy Dagonet. She deserved a different life.

Amy also had enough money for her own carriage. No one understood why she calmly accepted her strange husband.

Emerson filled their house with long-haired men and short-haired women. When they traveled, he took Amy to study graves in Yucatan. He did not take her to Paris or Italy.

The pair followed their own path. They seemed unaware that other people found them strange. Each year, they held a dull garden party.

Every family on the Cliffs needed to send someone. The Sillerton, Pennilow, and Dagonet names required it. Families almost drew lots to choose the unlucky guest.

"They might choose the Cup Race day next," Mrs. Welland said. "Remember their party two years ago?"

"They gave it for a black man. They chose the day of Julia Mingott's tea dance. At least nothing else happens this time."

She accepted the painful truth. "Of course, some of us must go."

Mr. Welland gave a nervous sigh. "Some of us? Must more than one go? Three o'clock is very difficult."

"I must return by half past three for my medicine drops. Bencomb's new treatment requires perfect order. Missing one time may ruin it."

"If I join you later, I shall miss my drive."

He put down his knife and fork again. Worry reddened his finely lined face.

"You have no reason to go, dear," his wife said brightly. This kind of calm answer now came without thought.

"I must leave some cards near the end of Bellevue Avenue. I can visit Amy at half past three. A short stay will show respect."

Mrs. Welland looked carefully at May. "Perhaps May can drive you with the ponies. She can try their new brown leather straps."

"That will work if Newland's afternoon has a plan."

In the Welland family, every hour needed a plan. Mrs. Welland feared empty time. Neither card games nor games for one person pleased everyone.

Without a plan, those people might need to kill time. This thought followed her like a ghost. She worried over it as rich helpers worried over jobless people.

Another rule protected married children from their parents. Parents must never openly control their plans. Mrs. Welland needed great skill to follow both rules.

May must seem free. Mr. Welland must receive full care. Solving both needs left no free second in Mrs. Welland's own day.

"Of course I shall drive Papa," May said. "Newland will surely find something to do."

Her gentle voice reminded Newland that he gave no answer. His poor planning always troubled Mrs. Welland.

For two weeks, she often asked about his afternoons. Sometimes he gave a playful answer. "Today I may save my afternoon instead of spending it."

Once, May and her mother made several delayed visits. Newland spent those hours under a rock below the house. He calmly told them so.

"Newland never looks ahead," Mrs. Welland once told May.

May answered without worry. "It does not matter. When nothing needs doing, he reads a book."

"Yes, like his father," Mrs. Welland said. She accepted this as a family strangeness. After that, she stopped speaking about Newland's empty time.

The Sillerton party came closer. May began to worry about leaving Newland alone. She suggested a tennis match at the Chiverses'.

She also suggested sailing on Julius Beaufort's small fast boat. Either pleasure could pay for her absence.

"I shall return by six, dear," May said. "Papa never drives after that."

Still, she worried until Newland offered a plan. He would rent a light carriage and drive north. A stud-farm there might have a horse for May's brougham.

A stud-farm was a place that raised horses. The Archers needed a second matching horse. They searched for one for some time.

May looked at her mother with quiet victory. Her face seemed to say Newland could plan as well as anyone.

Newland first formed the stud-farm plan after hearing about the party. He kept it secret. Some hidden part of the plan seemed wrong.

He feared that discovery might stop him. So he rented the carriage well in advance. Two old fast horses came with it.

The horses could still cover eighteen miles on level roads. At two o'clock, Newland quickly left the lunch table. He jumped into the light carriage and drove away.

The day was perfect. A north wind moved small white clouds across a deep blue sky. Below them, the bright sea moved and shone.

Bellevue Avenue was empty. Newland left the stable boy at Mill Street. Then he turned onto Old Beach Road and crossed Eastman's Beach.

He felt the excitement of a school holiday. In childhood, a free afternoon opened an unknown world. This drive gave him the same feeling.

He let the pair move at an easy speed. The farm stood just beyond Paradise Rocks. He expected to reach it before three.

He would study the horse and test it if needed. Afterward, four golden hours would remain. He could use them as he wished.

When he first heard of the party, he thought of Medora. She would surely visit Newport with the Blenkers. Ellen might visit her grandmother again.

At least the Blenker house would probably stand empty. Then Newland could satisfy his strange interest without causing talk.

He did not know whether he wanted to see Ellen. Yet the sight of her above the bay changed him. Since then, he wanted to see where she lived.

He imagined her moving through each room and path. At the shore, he watched her real body from far away. Now he wanted to follow its imagined path.

The need stayed with him through day and night. It was like a sick man's sudden need for one lost taste. He could not name the food or drink.

Newland could not see where this desire led. He did not clearly want to speak to Ellen. He did not even ask to hear her voice.

He only wanted a picture of her small piece of earth. He wanted the sky and sea around it. Perhaps that image could make the world less empty.

One look at the farm horse ended his hope. It was not right for May's brougham. Still, Newland drove it once around the field.

He wanted to prove that he was not in a hurry. At three, he took his rented horses again. He turned onto the country roads toward Portsmouth.

The wind stopped. A weak line in the distance showed fog gathering. The changing water would soon pull it up the Saconnet.

Around Newland, fields and woods lay in golden light. He passed grey farmhouses among fruit trees. Cut grass dried in open fields.

Groups of oak trees lined the road. White church towers rose above small towns. Their points cut sharply into the fading sky.

Newland stopped and asked field workers for directions. Soon he entered a narrow road between high banks. Yellow flowers and wild thorny plants grew there.

At its end, the river shone blue. On the left stood a long, broken house. Its old white paint fell from the wooden walls.

An open farm building faced the gate. Local farmers kept tools there. Visitors also left their horses inside it.

Newland jumped down and led his pair under its roof. He tied them safely to a post. Then he turned toward the house.

The front grass grew tall like a field. An old square garden lay to the left. Its paths disappeared under too much growth.

Large bright flowers and old rose bushes filled it. They surrounded a pale summer-house made from crossed wood. Once, its wood was white.

A wooden Cupid stood on top. Cupid was the little god of love in old Roman stories. This Cupid lost his bow and arrow.

Still, his empty hands continued to aim. The useless act seemed to guard the garden.

Newland leaned against the gate. No person appeared. No sound came through the house's open windows.

An old grey Newfoundland dog slept before the door. The huge dog guarded the house no better than Cupid. This quiet broken place seemed wrong for the noisy Blenkers.

Yet Newland knew he found the right house. He stood there for a long time. The sleepy scene slowly held him.

Then he remembered the passing hours. Should he look until satisfied and drive away? Suddenly, he wanted to enter the house.

He could then imagine the exact room where Ellen sat. Nothing stopped him from ringing the bell. If everyone was away, he could ask to write a message inside.

Instead, Newland crossed the tall grass toward the old garden. Something bright waited in the summer-house. He soon saw a pink parasol.

A parasol was a small sunshade carried by a woman. It pulled Newland forward like a strong magnet. He felt sure it belonged to Ellen.

He entered the summer-house and sat on its weak seat. Then he picked up the soft pink object. He studied its handle.

Someone carved the handle from rare wood. A warm, sweet smell rose from it. Newland lifted the handle to his lips.

Women's clothes moved softly against the garden bushes. Newland did not move. He held the parasol handle in both hands.

The sound came closer. Still, he did not raise his eyes. He always knew this meeting must happen.

"Oh, Mr. Archer!" cried a loud young voice.

Newland looked up. The youngest and largest Blenker daughter stood there. She had fair hair and a full, soft face.

Her dirty white dress hung badly. A red mark covered one cheek. That cheek seemed to rest on a pillow moments before.

Her half-awake eyes studied him with welcome and confusion. "Good heavens, where did you come from?"

"I must have slept deeply in the hanging bed. Everyone else went to Newport. Did you ring the bell?"

Newland felt more confused than she did. "No, but I was about to ring. I came north to see a horse."

"Then I drove here hoping to find Mrs. Blenker and her guests. The house looked empty, so I sat down to wait."

Miss Blenker became more awake and interested. "The house is empty. Mother and the Marchioness are away. Everyone is gone but me."

She looked slightly hurt. "Did you forget the Sillertons' garden party? They are giving it for Mother and all of us today."

"I was very unlucky. My throat hurts, and Mother feared the evening drive. Can anything be more disappointing?"

Then she smiled too brightly. "Of course, knowing about your visit would help."

Miss Blenker began trying to charm him. Her efforts were heavy and clear. Newland quickly broke into her speech.

"But Madame Olenska went to Newport too?"

Miss Blenker stared. "Madame Olenska? Did you not know someone called her away?"

"Called her away?"

Miss Blenker noticed the object in his hands. "Oh, my best parasol! I lent it to foolish Katie. It matched the bands on her dress."

"She must have dropped it here. We Blenkers are all like that. We are true Bohemians."

Bohemians were people who ignored usual social rules. Miss Blenker opened the parasol with one strong hand. Its pink top spread above her head.

"Yes, Ellen left yesterday. She lets us call her Ellen. A telegram came from Boston."

"She may be gone for two days. I love how she arranges her hair. Do you?"

Newland looked through the girl as if she were clear glass. He saw only the cheap pink parasol above her laughing face. It did not belong to Ellen.

After a moment, he found another question. "Do you know why Madame Olenska went to Boston? Was there bad news?"

Miss Blenker found the idea unlikely. "I do not think so. She never told us what the telegram said."

"I think she wanted to hide it from the Marchioness. Ellen looks like a woman in a love story, does she not?"

"She reminds me of Mrs. Scott-Siddons reading _Lady Geraldine's Courtship_. Did you ever hear her?"

Thoughts crowded through Newland's mind. His whole future suddenly opened before him. It was an endless empty road.

Far down that road walked a man growing smaller. Nothing would ever happen to him. Newland knew that man was himself.

He looked at the wild garden and falling house. Evening gathered under the oak trees. This seemed exactly where Ellen should be.

Yet she was far away. Even the pink parasol was not hers.

Newland frowned and waited. "Perhaps you know where she is staying. I shall be in Boston tomorrow. I might see her."

Miss Blenker's interest in him was already fading. Her smile remained. "How lovely of you. She is at the Parker House."

"It must be terrible there in this weather."

Newland remembered little of their later talk. Miss Blenker begged him to wait for her family. She wanted him to share their large late tea.

He firmly refused. At last, he walked back across the garden with her beside him. They passed beyond the reach of the arrowless Cupid.

Newland untied his horses and drove away. At the turn, he looked back. Miss Blenker stood at the gate, waving her pink parasol.