Children of Liberty. Paullina Simons
my senior thesis on the Civil War. I thought you’d be impressed, Father. I’m writing it about Ben’s relatives.”
“Why would that impress me?” Herman wanted to know. “You’re always writing about one war or another. You’re consumed with other people’s conflicts.”
“Be that as it may,” Harry said, “my main topic is a juxtaposition between Robert Gould Shaw and Philip Nolan.”
“Not again!” Herman exclaimed. “Didn’t you do an essay on Nolan in secondary school? Philip Nolan, the man without a country?”
“I wrote a five-page paper on him in Andover,” said Harry. “Hardly the same as a university dissertation.”
“But, son, Nolan’s story is only about five pages.”
Everyone laughed.
“Thirty-nine, sir.”
“I beg your pardon. You can read it in its entirety while waiting for Jones to serve the second course.” Herman steadied his gaze on Harry. “You know this story by heart. Why are you taking the easy way out?”
“It’s never easy, sir,” Harry said.
“Be that as it may,” Herman said, “what I’m interested in is whether you’ve heard from the Porcellians.”
“Not yet.” Harry looked into his bowl. “But fall semester doesn’t begin for almost two months. There is time.”
Porcellian was the final club at Harvard, the club of all clubs, members of which included the governor of New York, Teddy Roosevelt, chief justice of the Massachusetts Supreme Court, Oliver Wendell Holmes, oh, and Herman Barrington. But not yet Harold Barrington. This was Harry’s last chance, and everybody knew it.
“The potato soup is delicious, Herman,” Ellen said, intruding to change the subject. “Bernard has outdone himself.”
“I’d like my butler to bring the second course. We’re having cod today. And then pork chops with roast potatoes.”
“The scallops wrapped in bacon were also wonderful,” Ellen continued, giving Harry a sharp look as if to say, stop talking.
“I’m working to graduate first in my class, Father,” Harry continued unheeding. “That counts for something, no?”
“Can’t make a living from books, son,” Herman said, ringing for Louis.
“Can’t make a living from the Porcellian either,” Harry countered quietly.
“Oh, but I heard,” said jolly Orville, “that the legend goes that if a member of the Porcellian doesn’t make his first million by the time he is forty, the club gives it to him. Is that true, Herman?”
“I wouldn’t know, Orville. Perhaps Harry will be given a chance to find out.”
In front of Alice’s parents! Harry looked across the table at Orville who, as if on cue, without even bothering to clear his throat, opened his mouth and, buttering another piece of crusty bread, said what he said nearly every week at Sunday dinner: “You know, I’m grooming Alice to take over the family business upon my retirement.”
And then there would be an awkward silence while the guests scraped the last of their salads and soup bowls. Just like today.
Harry ate all of his cod before he filled the silence with his stock reply to Orville, steady and ready as the hour chime.
“Fortunately,” Harry said, “my father is not even close to retiring. Are you, Father?” In his precise syntax, Harry inserted the same two sentences into the same pause after the same Porter preamble Sunday after Sunday.
Herman, who often said nothing, today was clearly feeling objectionable himself.
“No, I’m not close to retiring,” he agreed, but didn’t stop there. “How can I retire? I’ve got no one to take over the family business.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Alice. “Could you pass the biscuits, please?”
Esther refused to keep her mouth shut. “Alice, darling,” she said, passing the bread basket across the table. “Perhaps you can also take over our father’s business? Father has such high regard for you.”
Harry laughed. Alice chuckled uncomfortably into her napkin. Before anyone else could take a breath, Esther calmly continued. “He loves you, Alice, like a daughter he never had.”
Everyone got feverishly busy cutting up their meat—everyone except Ben.
“Mr. Barrington, sir,” Ben said, putting down his knife and fork, “I don’t know if Harry mentioned it, but our Lime Alley buildings are full.”
“Harry didn’t mention it,” said Herman. “Harry was busy telling me we were charging too much rent to the immigrants.”
“We are,” Harry said.
“Why don’t we just let them stay there for free then?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t we?”
Herman put down his own fork. “Because of the Sherman Act of 1890, son. Also, do you really feel that able-bodied human beings should not have to pay rent on their dwellings or are you just being contrary? Residences that someone’s money renovated, upgraded, painted, put water and plumbing in, ran electricity into?”
“Not just someone’s money, Herman,” said a rotund and robust Orville Porter. “Yours.”
“Harold, answer me, do you feel all that should be received gratis?”
Ben kicked Harry under the table and hastily continued. “Harry is just joking with you, sir—”
“Actually, I—”
Ben kicked him again, harder. “The next liner is due in on Tuesday, and we’re out of room. Three full ships are coming in week after next. What do we do? We have nowhere to put anyone.”
Herman went back to buttering his bread and pouring himself a drink. “Benjamin, I’m taking care of it. We have four more buildings nearly ready on Charter and Unity; almost two hundred apartments.”
“Will they be ready by Monday?”
Looking Ben over with admiration, Herman smiled. “Probably not by Monday, but very soon. You boys have done a fine job managing the buildings for me. Too good a job. I don’t know what I’m going to do when you go back to school.”
“Well, next year your son will graduate,” Ben said. “He can manage Lime Alley for you full time.”
Now it was Harry’s turn to kick Ben under the table.
“I’m not holding my breath,” said Herman. “In the meantime, Unity and Charter just need painting and some furniture.”
“By Monday?”
“Ben, have them move in, give them a discount on the rent, and tell them we’ll paint and furnish in the next week or so and as a bonus keep their rent the same.”
“Good idea. Perhaps we can also convert the back of Old Wells House, sir? I know there are at least eleven apartments we could put back there.”
Herman nodded his approval. “Good thinking. I’ll talk to my man first thing Monday morning.”
“We have one apartment available on Lime Alley,” Harry interjected. “The family decided not to stay. Left after one night.”
“Ah, yes.” Ben said that so dramatically that everyone’s ears perked up. “I’m being facetious,” he assured them, seeing their curious expressions. “Really, Mother.”
“Not entirely, um, facetious,” said Harry.
“Harry’s right,” Ben said, hand on his heart. “Truth is, I have been hit by a raven-haired