it was not on account of the red-haired teenager or the wives uncountable. It was a daydream I had begun to have . . . a daymare . . . where the Roman centurion asks, “Are you associated with this thief?”
He can feel her excitement and breathiness, even in her handwriting.
She tells him that eight of the governors’ wives have contacted the committee about HIM. And of course his talented children. Their various women’s clubs and civic groups desire “the honor” of his presence. “You know, tea and crumpets and tall ceilings.”
As kind of an afterthought, Janet explains that one of the “governors’ wives’ husbands” (her little joke) “has invited you to join him and a few others for a semiformal dinner at the governor’s mansion. We are talking South Dakota. Some people from the Commission on Indian Affairs will be there and one of their state senators, Wally Dodge, who is a closet environment man from way back. Wally was told you’re a “tree hugger” but you can straighten that all out when you get there in a way that nobody but you can do. As you once remarked to my friend Marcia that you are not a tree hugger . . . you are a tree. And she hugged you!”
Her PS reads: Gordon, they need to hear your lively message. Fac- to-face. It has power, believe me. Call me if you can. When I call you I only reach three-year-olds.
Dear Janet,
Again I want to thank you for being so welcoming to my family. And all that delicious food.
And it meant a lot to me to hang out with Morse awhile. It’s upsetting to see how fucked up he got by the stroke. I can’t believe the way time evaporates. It’s been six years since the McNelty hearings. I’ve got gray in my beard and yet I know there will always be that Morse-worship in me. He is THE ROCK. There is a forever bond between Egypt and Cape Elizabeth. Whatever happens tomorrow, that will not change. To both of you I pledge my love.
I still keep that 5 × 7 and the clipping of Morse and J.J. and Bob at that first shareholder activism symposium. Here in the kitchen by my desks it is framed. That he can still convince people to press those vital changes in culture on resistant people of the investment class through his past writings, which never lose their voice, including that foot and a half of shelf space here in my hallway, means his voice will always be, as ever, cannon thunder.
About the gracious invitation from his governorship and the eight gals, I must respectfully decline. Will explain later.
Keep in touch. As ever, I invite you and Morse to visit. There are quiet places here where we can be alone but I so wish for you to smell the late summer fields and woods and to lay eyes on these foothills. Our tallest, our “mountain,” has the windmills and when the sun is right they reflect like pure gold so you can see them from the comfort of the East Parlor windows.
Are you tired of me nagging you guys to come visit?
Love, Gordon
My dear old friend. Are you irked at me? I know you really want to get your ideas out THERE. But I’m not surprised by your letter. I knew all the while you were here that something was wrong. You weren’t yourself! Please, let’s talk about that.
Love, Janet
And love from Morse. He can still speak your name.
He says deeply, “More than anything, I wish you’d come see us here. I want to show you the shops and that view of the mountain. We’ll fill you with country food and good stories. And you can see for yourself where Noof the caterpillar has led the kids.”
“Yes! Yes!” she cries out. Where did her usual soft feathery reserve fall away to?
“I’ve visited your place dozens of times over the years,” says he. “But you’ve never been to Egypt even when you and my mother were so tight. She didn’t do much entertaining here other than croquet with my kid cousins. But today this is a regular convention center!! Why—”
“I know it. I know it. Per—”
“Why don’t you come Sunday? I’ll have a crew down by the road just to open our little gate for you. Just for you. And Morse. I owe you. It would mean a lot to me, and to the others here.”
She sniffles happily. Sighs. Says she would like that very much.
But on Sunday, though the crew of young teens waits by the gate for nearly two hours, letting neighbors pass, the Weymouth car never shows up.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
