After the Fire

Solid in status, circled by wide lawns and lavish shrubbery, the house stood where the outer suburbs met the countryside and the road wound toward the Berkshire hills. The land rose in ripples. In the morning the rising sun washed the hilltops in hazy pink light; at day's end the afterglow, lingering above them, lay like a scarlet stripe between the dark land and a foaming gray sea of clouds. On such an evening, Hyacinth put aside the sketches and charcoal on her desk to gaze with pleasure at the scene. Except for the faintest rustle of leaves in the warm September air, it was quite still. And at the open window, she too stood quite still, in awe of the evening. A mood, one of those that in occasional self-mockery she called her "poetic moments," had overcome her. Yet the mood ought not to be mocked, especially now when she was so incredibly happy. So secure, contented, and loved -- so incredibly happy! Abruptly then, she heard voices. Her parents, following their custom, were sitting on the open porch below. She had never eavesdropped and was certainly not about to do so now. But she had heard her name. "Hy is twenty-one," Dad said. "She's not a child anymore." "Hyacinth is twenty-one going on twelve." "You amaze me, Francine. Here's a girl, an A student, only one year out of college, and already interning in one of the finest museums in the country. And," he went on, in the proud, earnest tone that a father assumes when he is boasting about an only daughter, "she's an artist! She'll make a name for herself. Wait and see." "I'm not talking about academics. I'm talking about emotions. Haven't you noticed how she walks around with a smile all the time? I wouldn't be surprised if she was already planning a wedding. Oh, I'd like to ship that fellow to Australia, or Tierra del Fuego, or anyplace." Hy pulled the desk chair to the window and sat there dumbfounded. "What have you really got against him, Francine? All right, so you haven't been enthusiastic about him, and that's your privilege, but why so vehement? Why?" "He'll break her heart, Jim, that's why. Gerald's a chaser. I see it. I feel it in my bones. Right now he's struggling to get ahead, but once there, he'll drop her. I don't trust him. He'll chase after women, and women will chase after him. He's too gorgeous. He ought to be in Hollywood. Hyacinth's no match for that kind of business." "For God's sake, your imagination is running away with you. He's certainly faithful enough. Three times every week, plus every weekend." "I don't say he can't be sincere at the moment. It's possible, after a fashion. She certainly has qualities that you don't find everywhere you look. Deep intelligence. Taste. Dignity. And she so obviously adores him. That flatters a man." "I still say you're making a mountain out of a molehill." "Jim! I'm talking about humiliation. I'm talking about heartbreak. He's not for her. He's not!" Hyacinth's heart hammered in her ears. Not for me? What do you know about him, or about me, either? You know nothing about my life. "She's so good, Jim. A genuinely good human being." "Yes, yes, that she is." As clearly as if she had been sitting down there on the porch with them, Hyacinth saw their faces: her father's pale eyes, so much like her own, reflective, looking off into the distance; her mother's darting eyes, bright and blue, with the two vertical lines between them that appeared whenever she was alert or emphatic. "I don't see it at all, Francine. He's agreeable, well mannered, smart, medical school, medical honorary society. Pretty desirable, if you ask me. And the fact is, I rather like him." "Yes, he's likable enough. But I tell you again, he's too shrewPlain, Belva is the author of 'After the Fire' with ISBN 9780375409769 and ISBN 0375409769.