Read Online Blessings by Belva Plain - Free Book Online

rich, we live in a mansion.
    Idiot! she thought. My cheeks are so hot, they’ll think I have a fever.
    She went out, closing the door without a sound. Across the hall, through an open door, she saw another bedroom, this one decorated in a vivid ink-blue. There were at least eight bedrooms on the floor. All the doors were open, so you were supposed to keep them open. She went back to open hers, then went downstairs to find the library. First there was a large room with a bow window at one end, and great cabinets filled with books to the ceiling. She wondered whether the presence of these books meant that this was the library, but there was nobody there.
    “This way, miss,” someone said.
    It was the same black man who had driven the car. Now he wore a white jacket and carried a silver tray. Through several rooms she followed him, treading on almond-green velvet carpet and Oriental rugs and once on a carpet flowered in pale peach and cream. At the other end of the house people were gathered in a long, wood-paneled room lined with bookshelves. There were leather chairs, some models of sailing ships, and over the mantel a portrait in oil of a man wearing a gray uniform. All this she saw through peripheral vision as she walked in.
    The men stood up and introductions were made. There were Peter, his father, a grandfather, and an uncle. Mrs. Mendes and an aunt made room for Jennie on the sofa before which, on a low table, the man had set a silver tray holding bottles and glasses. Peter offered Jennie the glass.
    “You haven’t asked your guest what she wants,” his mother said.
    “I always know what Jennie wants. She drinks ginger ale.”
    Jennie sipped while the men went on with whatever they had been talking about. She remembered to keep her ankles neatly crossed. “With a straight skirt,” Mom said, “you have to be careful. It rides up when you cross your knees.” Mom knew about things like that. Jennie smiled inwardly. Sometimes, but not always, it paid to listen to Mom.
    “I suppose,” said Mrs. Mendes, “your garden can’t be as advanced as ours? They tell me you’re at least a month behind us up north.”
    Your garden. Jennie was careful not to look at Peter.
    “Oh, no, it’s still pretty cold at home.”
    “How nice to have a house full of young people,” the aunt remarked. She could have been a clone of Peter’s mother, even to her silk shirtwaist dress and ivory button earrings. “I understand Sally June has a guest for the weekend too.”
    “Yes, Annie Ruth Marsh from Savannah.”
    “Oh, the Marshes! How nice! So the girls are friends?”
    “Yes, we got them together last summer at the beach, didn’t you know?”
    “I didn’t know. How lovely. So many generations of friendships.”
    Meanwhile Jennie was examining her surroundings, and recalling a fascinating book for Sociology 101, with a chapter about house styles and ethnic backgrounds. Some Anglo-Saxons were supposed to like old things even if they weren’t inherited, because they like to make believe they were inherited; they want to proclaim that they’re not new immigrant stock. Some Jews go in for modern to proclaim that they are new immigrant stock, and see how far they’ve come! These people were Jews who were as “old-family” as any Anglo-Saxon. And all of it so foolish … But it was none of her business. The room was handsome, with so many wonderful books.
    “You’re looking at the portrait, I see,” said Mrs. Mendes, suddenly addressing Jennie.
    She had not been looking at it, but now saw that the gray uniform was indeed a Confederate one. The man had side-whiskers and held a sword.
    “That’s Peter’s great-great-grandfather on his father’s side. He was a major, wounded at Antietam. But”—this spoken with a little laugh—”he recovered to marry and father a family or we all wouldn’t be here.”
    The grandfather echoed a little laugh. “Well, let’s drink to him.” He stood, flourishing his glass, and bowed to