Denim And Lace

“Really, Bess, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately,” Gussie said haughtily.

“I’m worried about how we’re going to pay those people back what they’ve lost,” Bess said.

Gussie’s eyebrows lifted. “Why should we have to pay them back?” she exclaimed. “We didn’t make them invest. It was all your father’s fault, and he’s dead.”

“That won’t make any difference, don’t you see?” Bess said gently. “His estate will be liable for it.”

“I don’t believe that,” her mother replied coolly. “But even if we are liable, your father had life insurance—”

“Life insurance doesn’t cover suicide.” Bess’s voice broke on the word. It still hurt, remembering how it had happened, remembering with sickening clarity the bloodstained carpet under her father’s head. She closed her eyes against the image. “No insurance does. We’ve forfeited that hope.”

“Well, the lawyer will handle it,” Gussie said. “That’s what he gets paid for.” She brushed lint off her jacket. “I really must have a new suit. I think I’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

Bess wished, for an instant, that she was a hundred miles away. The grief was hard enough to cope with, but she had Gussie, as well. Her father had managed his flighty wife well enough, or at least it had seemed so to Bess. She had been protected and cosseted, just like Gussie. But she was growing up fast.

Since they had to talk to their attorney, Bess asked the driver to drop them by the lawyer’s office on the way home. They could get a cab when they were through, she said, wondering even then how she’d pay for it. But the driver wouldn’t hear of it. He promised to wait for them, an unexpected kindness that almost made Bess cry.

The limousine stopped at the office of their lawyer, Donald Hughes, a pleasant man with blue eyes and a kind heart, who was as much a friend as he was legal counsel. He sat down with Bess and Gussie and outlined what they’d have to do.

“As I’ve already told you, the house will have to go,” he said, glancing from one woman to the other.

Bess nodded. “We’ve already faced that. Mother has a few jewels left—”

“I won’t sell the rest of my jewels,” Gussie broke in, leaning forward.

“But you’ll have to,” Bess began.

“I will not,” Gussie said shortly. “And that’s the end of it.”

Bess sighed. “Well, I have a few pieces left. I can sell those...”

“Not Great-aunt Dorie’s pearls,” Gussie burst out. “I absolutely forbid it!”

“They’re probably fake anyway,” Bess said, avoiding her mother’s eyes. “You know Great-aunt Dorie loved costume jewelry, and they’ve never been appraised.” In fact they had, just the other day. Bess had taken them to a jeweler and had been shocked at their value. But she wasn’t telling their attorney that, or her mother. She had plans for those pearls.

“That’s too bad. It would have helped swell the kitty,” Donald said quietly. “Well, now, about the stocks, bonds and securities...”

What it all boiled down to, Bess realized some minutes later, was that they were declaring bankruptcy. Creditors would have to settle for fifty cents on the dollar, but at least they would get some kind of restitution. But there would be nothing left for Bess and Gussie. It was a bleak picture he painted, of sacrifice and deprivation—at least it was to Gussie.

“I’ll kill myself,” she said theatrically.

Bess stared at her. “Wonderful,” she said, her grief and misery making her lash out. “That’s just what I need. Two suicides in my immediate family in less than a week.”

Gussie had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“It won’t be as bad as it sounds, Gussie,” Donald told her kindly. “You’d be amazed how many people will sympathize with you. Why, I heard old Jaimie Griggs say yesterday how much he admired you for carrying on so valiantly.”

“He did?” Gussie smiled. “How nice of him.”

“And Bess’s idea about the two of you renting the house is a sound one, provided you can find a buyer,” Donald said. “Put it on the market and we’ll see what develops. Meanwhile I’ll need your signature on a few documents.”

“All right,” Gussie said, and she seemed to brighten at the thought that she might get to stay in her home.

“What about the Hollisters?” Bess said quietly. “You do know that Cade’s going to need every penny back. We can’t ask him to settle for fifty cents on the dollar, and he’s the biggest investor.”

“Yes.” Donald sighed through his teeth. “Cade is going to have one big headache. He’s careful with his money. He never puts up more than he can afford to lose, but he was generous with his investment in your father’s venture. He’ll have to cut back heavily to keep going if he doesn’t recover that capital. They’ll be in for some more lean times. A pity, when they’d just begun to see daylight financially.”

“He did it of his own free will,” Gussie said indignantly.

“Yes, so he did,” Donald agreed. “But all the law will see is that he invested in a guaranteed market. Your father gave him that guarantee, in writing, and I’m sure he can produce it.”

“Isn’t that a bit unusual in a risky venture like Dad’s?” Bess asked, leaning forward.

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Donald said. “But it’s quite legal. Cade has the right to expect every penny of his investment back, under the terms of the contract.”

“I can see myself now, eighty years old and still sending Cade a check for ten dollars every month.” Bess began to laugh, and the laughter turned to tears. It seemed so hopeless. Her father was dead, the family was disgraced, and to top it all, she was going to be saddled with a debt that would last all her life, with no one to help. Gussie would be no more support than a broken stick. She’d be saddled with Gussie, too, wailing and demanding pretty things like a petulant child and giving Bess hell when she pointed out their circumstances. It was almost too much to bear.

“Oh, Bess, you mustn’t,” Gussie burst out, shocked by the tears. Bess never cried! “Darling, it will be all right.”

“Of course it will,” Bess said with a choke in her voice. She dabbed at her tears. “Sorry. I guess I’m just tired.”

Donald nodded, but he knew very well what Bess was going to be up against with Gussie. She would have had a hard time without the older woman. With her the task would be well-nigh impossible.

Later that day, several neighbors came by the Samsons’ bringing food, a custom in rural areas that Bess was grateful for. Elise Hollister had sent a fried chicken and some vegetables, but she hadn’t come herself, and neither had Cade. Bess wondered why, but she accepted the food with good grace and thanks. Shortly after Maude had helped Bess set a table with the platters of food brought by their few friends, Gussie went up to bed with a headache. Bess got Great-aunt Dorie’s pearls and drove to the Hollister home.

She rambled quietly over several cattle grids, inside electrified wire fence stretched over rustic gray posts. The house wasn’t palatial at all, but it looked comfortable. Her eyes roamed lovingly over the white clapboard, two stories tall, newly painted with gray rocking chairs and a swing on the porch. Around it were towering live oaks and pecan trees, and in the spring it was glorious with the flowers Elise painstakingly planted and nurtured. Now, in winter, it had a bleak, sad look about it.

Bess parked the car in the driveway and got out, grateful for the porch light. It was almost dark, and there was no moon.

She walked slowly up onto the porch. It had been a terrible day, and it showed no sign of getting better. She hadn’t changed out of the black suit she’d worn to the funeral, nor had she added any makeup to her face or loosened her hair from the severe bun.

She knocked on the door, hearing a television set blaring in the background.

To her amazement Elise answered the door herself. She had Cade’s dark eyes and silver hair that had been jet-black in her younger days.

“Bess,” she said gently. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to see Cade,” Bess replied wearily. “Is he home?”

Elise was astute. She noticed the jewelry box clutched in Bess’s slender hand. “Darling, we’re not going to starve,” the older woman told her. “Please, Bess, go home. You’ve had enough on you these past few days.”

“Don’t,” Bess whispered, fighting tears. “I really can’t bear sympathy, Elise, I’ll just go to pieces, and I can’t. Not yet.”

The older woman nodded. “All right.” She managed a quiet smile. “Cade’s in his office. It’s the second door on the right.” She glanced toward the living room. “The boys are watching television, so you won’t be disturbed.”

“Thank you. For everything. The fried chicken was delicious, and mother said to thank you, too.”

Elise started to say something, but she stopped before the words got out. “It was the least I could do. I would have come, but the boys were busy with an emergency and there was nobody to drive me.”