Chapter 31

1

Adam brooded around the house all morning, and at noon he went to find Lee, who was spading the

dark composted earth of his vegetable garden and planting his spring vegetables, carrots and beets,

turnips, peas, and string beans, rutabaga and kale. The rows were straight planted under a tightstretched

string, and the pegs at the row ends carried the seed package to identify the row. On the edge

of the garden in a cold frame the tomato and bell pepper and cabbage sets were nearly ready for

transplanting, waiting only for the passing of the frost danger.

Adam said, “I guess I was stupid.”

Lee leaned on his spading fork and regarded him quietly.

“When are you going?” he asked.

“I thought I would catch the two-forty. Then I can get the eight o’clock back.”

“You could put it in a letter, you know,” said Lee.

“I’ve thought of that. Would you write a letter?”

“No. You’re right. I’m the stupid one there. No letters.”

“I have to go,” said Adam. “I thought in all directions and always a leash snapped me back.”

Lee said, “You can be unhonest in many ways, but not in that way. Well, good luck. I’ll be

interested to hear what she says and does.”

“I’ll take the rig,” said Adam. “I’ll leave it at the stable in King City. I’m nervous about driving

the Ford alone.”

It was four-fifteen when Adam climbed the rickety steps and knocked on the weather-beaten door

of Kate’s place. A new man opened the door, a square-faced Finn, dressed in shirt and trousers; red

silk armbands held up his full sleeves. He left Adam standing on the porch and in a moment came

back and led him to the dining room.

It was a large undecorated room, the walls and woodwork painted white. A long square table filled

the center of the room, and on the white oilcloth cover the places were set—plates, cups and saucers,

and the cups upside down in the saucers.

Kate sat at the head of the table with an account book open before her. Her dress was severe. She

wore a green eyeshade, and she rolled a yellow pencil restlessly in her fingers. She looked coldly at

Adam as he stood in the doorway.

“What do you want now?” she asked.

The Finn stood behind Adam.

Adam did not reply. He walked to the table and laid the letter in front of her on top of the account

book.

“What’s this?” she asked, and without waiting for a reply she read the letter quickly. “Go out and

close the door,” she told the Finn.

Adam sat at the table beside her. He pushed the dishes aside to make a place for his hat.

When the door was closed Kate said, “Is this a joke? No, you haven’t got a joke in you.” She

considered. “Your brother might be joking. You sure he’s dead?”

“All I have is the letter,” said Adam.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

Adam shrugged his shoulders.

Kate said, “If you want me to sign anything, you’re wasting your time. What do you want?”

Adam drew his finger slowly around his black ribbon hatband. “Why don’t you write down the

name of the firm and get in touch with them yourself?”

“What have you told them about me?”

“Nothing,” said Adam. “I wrote to Charles and said you were living in another town, nothing more.

He was dead when the letter got there. The letter went to the lawyers. It tells about it.”

“The one who wrote the postscript seems to be a friend of yours. What have you written him?”

“I haven’t answered the letter yet.”

“What do you intend to say when you answer it?”

“The same thing—that you live in another town.”

“You can’t say we’ve been divorced. We haven’t been.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“Do you want to know how much it will take to buy me off? I’ll take forty-five thousand in cash.”

“No.”

“What do you mean—no? You can’t bargain.”

“I’m not bargaining. You have the letter, you know as much as I do. Do what you want.”

“What makes you so cocky?”

“I feel safe.”

She peered at him from under the green transparent eyeshade. Little curls of her hair lay on the bill

like vines on a green roof. “Adam, you’re a fool. If you had kept your mouth shut nobody would ever

have known I was alive.”

“I know that.”

“You know it? Did you think I might be afraid to claim the money? You’re a damn fool if you

thought that.”

Adam said patiently, “I don’t care what you do.”

She smiled cynically at him. “You don’t, huh? Suppose I should tell you that there’s a permanent

order in the sheriffs office, left there by the old sheriff, that if I ever use your name or admit I’m your

wife I’ll get a floater out of the county and out of the state. Does that tempt you?”

“Tempt me to do what?”

“To get me floated and take all the money.”

“I brought you the letter,” Adam said patiently.

“I want to know why.”

Adam said, “I’m not interested in what you think or in what you think of me. Charles left you the

money in his will. He didn’t put any strings on it. I haven’t seen the will, but he wanted you to have

the money.”

“You’re playing a close game with fifty thousand dollars,” she said, “and you’re not going to get

away with it. I don’t know what the trick is, but I’m going to find out.” And then she said, “What am I

thinking about? You’re not smart. Who’s advising you?”

“No one.”

“How about that Chinaman? He’s smart.”

“He gave me no advice.” Adam was interested in his own complete lack of emotion. He didn’t

really feel that he was here at all. When he glanced at her he surprised an emotion on her face he had

never seen before. Kate was afraid—she was afraid of him. But why?

She controlled her face and whipped the fear from it. “You’re just doing it because you’re honest,

is that it? You’re just too sugar sweet to live.”

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Adam said. “It’s your money and I’m not a thief. It doesn’t matter to me

what you think about it.”

Kate pushed the eyeshade back on her head. “You want me to think you’re just dropping this

money in my lap. Well, I’ll find out what you’re up to. Don’t think I won’t take care of myself. Did

you think I’d take such a stupid bait?”

“Where do you get your mail?” he asked patiently. “What’s that to you?”

“I’ll write the lawyers where to get in touch with you.”

“Don’t you do it!” she said. She put the letter in the account book and closed the cover. “I’ll keep

this. I’ll get legal advice. Don’t think I won’t. You can drop the innocence now.”

“You do that,” Adam said. “I want you to have what is yours. Charles willed you the money. It

isn’t mine.”

“I’ll find the trick. I’ll find it.”

Adam said, “I guess you can’t understand it. I don’t much care. There are so many things I don’t

understand. I don’t understand how you could shoot me and desert your sons. I don’t understand how

you or anyone could live like this.” He waved his hand to indicate the house.

“Who asked you to understand?”

Adam stood up and took his hat from the table. “I guess that’s all,” he said. “Good-by.” He walked

toward the door.

She called after him, “You’re changed, Mr. Mouse. Have you got a woman at last?” Adam stopped

and slowly turned and his eyes were thoughtful. “I hadn’t considered before,” he said, and he moved

toward her until he towered over her and she had to tilt back her head to look into his face. “I said I

didn’t understand about you,” he said slowly. “Just now it came to me what you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand, Mr. Mouse?”

“You know about the ugliness in people. You showed me the pictures. You use all the sad, weak

parts of a man, and God knows he has them.”

“Everybody—”

Adam went on, astonished at his own thoughts, “But you—yes, that’s right—you don’t know about

the rest. You don’t believe I brought you the letter because I don’t want your money. You don’t

believe I loved you. And the men who come to you here with their ugliness, the men in the pictures—

you don’t believe those men could have goodness and beauty in them. You see only one side, and you

think—more than that, you’re sure—that’s all there is.”

She cackled at him derisively. “In sticks and stones. What a sweet dreamer is Mr. Mouse! Give me

a sermon, Mr. Mouse.”

“No. I won’t because I seem to know that there’s a part of you missing. Some men can’t see the

color green, but they may never know they can’t. I think you are only a part of a human. I can’t do

anything about that. But I wonder whether you ever feel that something invisible is all around you. It

would be horrible if you knew it was there and couldn’t see it or feel it. That would be horrible.”

Kate pushed back her chair and stood up. Her fists were clenched at her sides and hiding in the

folds of her skirt. She tried to prevent the shrillness that crept into her voice.

“Our Mouse is a philosopher,” she said. “But our Mouse is no better at that than he is at other

things. Did you ever hear of hallucinations? If there are things I can’t see, don’t you think it’s possible

that they are dreams manufactured in your own sick mind?”

“No, I don’t,” said Adam. “No, I don’t. And I don’t think you do either.” He turned and went out

and closed the door behind him.

Kate sat down and stared at the closed door. She was not aware that her fists beat softly on the

White oilcloth. But she did know that the square white door was distorted by tears and that her body

shook with something that felt like rage and also felt like sorrow.

2

When Adam left Kate’s place he had over two hours to wait for the train back to King City. On an

impulse he turned off Main Street and walked up Central Avenue to number 130, the high white house

of Ernest Steinbeck. It was an immaculate and friendly house, grand enough but not pretentious, and it

sat inside its white fence, surrounded by its clipped lawn, and roses and catoneasters lapped against its

white walls.

Adam walked up the wide veranda steps and rang the bell. Olive came to the door and opened it a

little, while Mary and John peeked around the edges of her.

Adam took off his hat. “You don’t know me. I’m Adam Trask. Your father was a friend of mine. I

thought I’d like to pay my respects to Mrs. Hamilton. She helped me with the twins.”

“Why, of course,” Olive said and swung the wide doors open. “We’ve heard about you. Just a

moment. You see, we’ve made a kind of retreat for Mother.”

She knocked on a door off the wide front hall and called, “Mother! There’s a friend to see you.”

She opened the door and showed Adam into the pleasant room where Liza lived. “You’ll have to

excuse me,” she said to Adam. “Catrina’s frying chicken and I have to watch her. John! Mary! Come

along. Come along.”

Liza seemed smaller than ever. She sat in a wicker rocking chair and she was old and old. Her

dress was a full wide-skirted black alpaca, and at her throat she wore a pin which spelled “Mother” in

golden script.

The pleasant little bed-sitting room was crowded with photographs, bottles of toilet water, lace

pincushions, brushes and combs, and the china and silver bureau-knacks of many birthdays and

Christmases.

On the wall hung a huge tinted photograph of Samuel, which had captured a cold and aloof dignity,

a scrubbed and dressed remoteness, which did not belong to him living. There was no twinkle in the

picture of him, nor any of his inspective joyousness. The picture hung in a heavy gold frame, and to

the consternation of all children its eyes followed a child about the room.

On a wicker table beside Liza was the cage of Polly parrot. Tom had bought the parrot from a

sailor. He was an old bird, reputed to be fifty years old, and he had lived a ribald life and acquired the

vigorous speech of a ship’s fo’c’sle. Try as she would, Liza could not make him substitute psalms for

the picturesque vocabulary of his youth.

Polly cocked his head sideways, inspecting Adam, and scratched the feathers at the base of his

beak with a careful foreclaw. “Come off it, you bastard,” said Polly unemotionally.

Liza frowned at him. “Polly,” she said sternly, “that’s not polite.”

“Bloody bastard!” Polly observed.

Liza ignored the vulgarity. She held out her tiny hand. “Mr. Trask,” she said, “I’m glad to see you.

Sit down, won’t you?”

“I was passing by, and I wanted to offer my condolences.”

“We got your flowers.” And she remembered, too, every bouquet after all this time. Adam had sent

a fine pillow of everlastings.

“It must be hard to rearrange your life.”

Liza’s eyes brimmed over and she snapped her little mouth shut on her weakness.

Adam said, “Maybe I shouldn’t bring up your hurt, but I miss him.”

Liza turned her head away. “How is everything down your way?” she asked.

“Good this year. Lots of rainfall. The feed’s deep already.”

“Tom wrote me,” she said.

“Button up,” said the parrot, and Liza scowled at him as she had at her growing children when they

were mutinous.

“What brings you up to Salinas, Mr. Trask?” she asked.

“Why, some business.” He sat down in a wicker chair and it cricked under his weight. “I’m

thinking of moving up here. Thought it might be better for my boys. They get lonely on the ranch.”

“We never got lonely on the ranch,” she said harshly.

“I thought maybe the schools would be better here. My twins could have the advantages.”

“My daughter Olive taught at Peachtree and Pleyto and the Big Sur.” Her tone made it clear that

there were no better schools than those. Adam began to feel a warm admiration for her iron gallantry.

“Well, I was just thinking about it,” he said.

“Children raised in the country do better.” It was the law, and she could prove it by her own boys.

Then she centered closely on him. “Are you looking for a house in Salinas?”

“Well, yes, I guess I am.”

“Go see my daughter Dessie,” she said. “Dessie wants to move back to the ranch with Tom. She’s

got a nice little house up the street next to Reynaud’s Bakery.”

“I’ll certainly do that,” said Adam. “I’ll go now. I’m glad to see you doing so well.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m comfortable.” Adam was moving toward the door when she said, “Mr.

Trask, do you ever see my son Tom?”

“Well, no, I don’t. You see, I haven’t been off the ranch.”

“I wish you would go and see him,” she said quickly. “I think he’s lonely.” She stopped as though

horrified at this breaking over.

“I will. I surely will. Good-by, ma’am.”

As he closed the door he heard the parrot say, “Button up, you bloody bastard!” And Liza, “Polly,

if you don’t watch your language, I’ll thrash you.”

Adam let himself out of the house and walked up the evening street toward Main. Next to

Reynaud’s French Bakery he saw Dessie’s house set back in its little garden. The yard was so massed

with tall privets that he couldn’t see much of the house. A neatly painted sign was screwed to the front

gate. It read: Dessie Hamilton, Dressmaker.

The San Francisco Chop House was on the corner of Main and Central and its windows were on

both streets. Adam went in to get some dinner. Will Hamilton sat at the corner table, devouring a rib

steak. “Come and sit with me,” he called to Adam. “Up on business?”

“Yes,” said Adam. “I went to pay a call on your mother.”

Will laid down his fork. “I’m just up here for an hour. I didn’t go to see her because it gets her

excited. And my sister Olive would tear the house down getting a special dinner for me. I just didn’t

want to disturb them. Besides, I have to go right back. Order a rib steak. They’ve got good ones. How

is Mother?”

“She’s got great courage,” said Adam. “I find I admire her more all the time.”

“That she has. How she kept her good sense with all of us and with my father, I don’t know.”

“Rib steak, medium,” said Adam to the waiter.

“Potatoes?”

“No—yes, french fried. Your mother is worried about Tom. Is he all right?”

Will cut off the edging of fat from his steak and pushed it to the side of his plate. “She’s got

reason to worry,” he said. “Something’s the matter with Tom. He’s moping around like a monument.”

“I guess he depended on Samuel.”

“Too much,” said Will. “Far too much. He can’t seem to come out of it. In some ways Tom is a

great big baby.”

“I’ll go and see him. Your mother says Dessie is going to move back to the ranch.”

Will laid his knife and fork down on the tablecloth and stared at Adam. “She can’t do it,” he said.

“I won’t let her do it.”

“Why not?”

Will covered up. “Well,” he said, “she’s got a nice business here. Makes a good living. It would be

a shame to throw it away.” He picked up his knife and fork, cut off a piece of the fat, and put it in his

mouth.

“I’m catching the eight o’clock home,” Adam said.

“So am I,” said Will. He didn’t want to talk any more.