Because Polly Lodge liked to look on the bright side, the
word she chose to describe her mother-in-law was
challenging, as in "the ferret makes a challenging pet."
So when Polly's only child, David, married, Polly vowed to
be the best mother-in-law she could possibly be, and the
least interfering.
Sometimes this was a struggle. But even though her son's
wife, Amy, was a week overdue for the birth of Polly's
first grandchild, Polly did not phone David and Amy every
day. Of course they would call her when the baby was born!
In the meantime, she didn't so much sleep at night as
levitate a few inches off her bed in a trance of
anticipation, every instinct straining to hear the ringing
of the phone.
And then the phone rang.
It was the middle of the night. Polly lurched up and
grabbed for the handset, knocking all her books off the
bedside table in the process.
"Hello?"
David's voice was gorgeously smug. "Hello, Grandma."
Polly shrieked. "Amy had the baby!" She switched on her
bedside lamp and sat up, leaning against the headboard.
From the foot of her bed, her ancient basset hound, Roy
Orbison, shot her a longsuffering look, then lay his head
down between his paws and resumed snoring.
"She did indeed." David's laugh was proud.
David and Amy's insistence on having the baby born at home
with a midwife had worried Polly, but she'd kept quiet and
now the joy in her son's voice signaled that all was well.
Polly fell back among her pillows, weak with relief. "Stop
it, David! Don't torture me!" They'd also decided, when
they had the first ultrasound, not to be told the sex of
the baby, nor to discuss the names they were considering.
"Jehoshaphat Feast Piper has just arrived on planet earth,
weighing nine pounds, three ounces, and bellowing like a
bull."
The string of unfamiliar syllables made Polly blink. "Jeho-
huh?"
"Jehoshaphat was a Biblical king, famed for his
righteousness."
"Oh, David!" Tears streamed down Polly's face. "A little
boy! Oh, darling, congratulations! How's Amy?"
"She's beautiful." Now David's voice was choked. "She was
awesome, Mom."
"Oh, I'm sure she was! Please tell her how proud I am of
her. Give her a hug for me. And lots of kisses for
everyone! Is there anything I can do?"
"No, thanks. I think we're going to try to snatch a few
hours of sleep. We're exhausted. Well, Amy is."
"I'm so happy for you all, David. I love you all so much!"
"Thanks, Mom. We'll phone in the morning."
Polly clicked off the phone and looked at the clock. Three
seventeen. Her grandson had been born sometime around
three seventeen on September 20. Her grandson. Little
Jehoshaphat.
Little Jehoshaphat?
"Stop it!" Polly snapped at herself. She threw back her
covers and flung herself from her bed with such energy she
disturbed Roy Orbison, who, for an old dog with sagging
skin, could conjure up an impressive array of expressions.
Right now he resembled an exasperated hausfrau, hair in
curlers, arms folded over her Wagnerian chest.
"Well, I'm sorry!" Polly told the dog. "But you're a dog,
and I'm overwhelmed, and you're all I've got at the
moment, so you can just bear up and sacrifice some sleep
to keep me company!"
Roy Orbison sagged a bit, morphing into his Jean-D'Arc-at-
thecross pose but stayed at attention.
"In the first place," Polly muttered, reaching for her
silk robe and pulling it on over her nightgown, "isn't
Jehoshaphat an awfully big name for a little boy? 'Stop,
Jehoshaphat, don't put that raisin up your nose!!' " She
slid her feet into her slippers. "And what if he goes
through that prepubescent plump phase David went through?
You know his nickname will be Phat! Although," Polly
stopped tapping the top of her head as she did more and
more these days when she was trying to remember
something, "isn't Phat cool now? I mean, the word itself?
Something I saw on television . . . But never mind what's
cool now, it's bound to be out of style when Jehoshaphat
is a preteen."
Roy Orbison fell over on his side, groaning.
"But we're not going to be critical, are we, Roy?"
Flicking on lights as she went, Polly headed down the
stairs. She wouldn't get back to sleep now. She didn't
have to call Roy Orbison to join her; the animal was
catatonic unless he suspected someone was headed for the
kitchen, in which case he became Wonder Dog. Sure enough,
she heard a thud as he hit the floor, then the clicking of
his nails. In the kitchen, she poured herself a mug of
milk and popped it into the microwave. "Oh, Tucker," she
said aloud, "if only you were still alive."
Her husband, Tucker, was David's stepfather, so this baby
would be his stepgrandson. Still, Tucker would have shared
every ounce of Polly's joy. Oh, she could imagine just how
he would smile! Tucker had died two years ago, and while
the heart-searing grief had diminished, Polly still missed
him every moment of every day.
The microwave beeped. She took out the mug and held it in
her hands. So nice and warm.
Roy Orbison came waddling into the kitchen. The vets
warned Polly the dog was overweight. But he was fifteen
years old, for heaven's sake! He deserved a treat now and
then. Instead of collapsing in his usual heap of wrinkles,
he sat at her feet and cocked his head at Polly, doing his
best loyal-Fido-at-his-mistress's-feet impersonation.
"You are such a fake," Polly said fondly. "But all right.
I'll add a celebratory spot of brandy to my milk, and you
can have a great big dog biscuit. Okay?"
Roy Orbison wagged his tail and passed gas.
In the morning, Polly showered, dressed, and breakfasted,
and it was only eight o'clock. She wouldn't call David and
Amy yet, they might still be sleeping, and she couldn't
possibly sit at her desk and accomplish anything, so she
phoned her best friend, Franny, to share the good news,
and then she went up to the attic to dig out the boxes of
baby things she'd been saving for thirty years.
By noon, Polly had not only found the various little
rompers and blankets and quilts, she'd put them in the
washing machine and had them tumbling away in the dryer,
and still David hadn't phoned. She couldn't wait any
longer. She dialed the Pipers' house.
David answered in a whisper. "Oh, hi, Mom. How are you?"
"Impatient!" Polly said with a laugh. "David, when can I
come see little Jehoshaphat?"
David paused. "Amy wants you to wait a couple of days.
She's concerned about strange germs."
Strange germs? Polly's jaw dropped. "Amy thinks I've got
strange germs?"
"Not just you, Mom. Everyone."
"Oh, David, that's-"
"Humor us, Mom. Amy's exhausted. We all are."
Polly took a deep breath. "All right. What about tomorrow?"
"I'm not sure. I'll let you know."
Polly felt her lip quiver. She felt cold-shouldered, left
out. "But David, I can't wait to see him."
"I know, Mom. I can't wait for you to see him, either.
He's beautiful."
Thank God for her garden! Polly hung up the phone, slid
into her gardening clogs, and stomped outside. She'd
already planted her new bulbs and put most of the outdoor
furniture away, so she headed to the back of her yard to
prepare her little vegetable plot for winter. She worked
away furiously, thrusting her spade into the ground,
turning over the lumpy soil, carrying heavy piles from the
compost heap and mixing it in. Her garden would be better
for this next spring. Plus, it kept her from pulling out
her hair.
Relatives! No wonder Einstein had named his
incomprehensible hypothesis the Theory of Relativity.
E=MC2 was easy, compared to her own familial galaxy.
Polly had grown up in South Boston where her father was a
schoolteacher, her mother a homemaker. Both parents were
kind, loving, and as boring as turtles. Their lives
clicked reliably through the familiar, repetitive routines
of their days and anything else made them nervous. They
never yearned for adventure, wealth, or fame. Hell, they
nearly broke out in a rash when they had to travel to the
middle of the state to see Polly's brother, and two years
later, Polly graduate from U. Mass, Amherst. Polly's
father died young of emphysema brought on by too many
cigarettes, Polly's mother just two months later, of a
heart attack brought on, Polly was certain, by the stress
of being without his familiar presence.
Naturally, since Polly's parents never went anywhere and
were totally predictable, Polly's brother became a
geologist, working in Alaska, Dubai, and any other
location as far as possible from South Boston, while Polly
married Scott Piper, a man so fabulously interesting,
Polly's mother took to biting her nails and weeping during
dinner. Polly's father simply hid in his basement workshop
as if it were a bunker.
Scott was older, unpredictable and, because he wrote
travel books for a living, seldom on one continent. For a
few years, Polly traveled with Scott to Mexico, where she
got some great silver jewelry, to Peru, where she got
dysentery, and to Newfoundland, where she got pregnant.
Scott didn't want to be grounded by a child, and Polly
didn't want to lug a baby around in a basket she'd woven
from banana leaves and twigs. Plus, Scott had the
disconcerting habit of sleeping with indigenous women.
Polly returned to Boston to be near college friends during
her pregnancy, and it was her college friend Franny who
stood by her side during labor and childbirth. Polly
didn't even know where Scott was then, and when he got the
news of the birth of his son, he sent her an African
fertility statue but didn't bother to come home or even
phone. A year later, Polly divorced him.
In the early years, Polly and David lived, first, in a
small apartment, and later in a little rented house.
During the day, while her mother babysat David, Polly
worked as a secretary for a Ford dealership on
Norwood's "Auto Mile" on the outskirts of Boston. The
owner had three daughters and a wife who couldn't thread a
needle. So one day when business was slow, Polly
volunteered to help when some of the girls' clothing was
torn. If her mother had taught her anything, it was how to
mend. She did it at first for no charge, because it was
easy enough to do at night while David slept, but very
quickly the owner's wife asked for Polly to repair or
alter other clothing, and her friends began to ask if
Polly could sew just a few little things for them. The
other women, busy as teachers or lawyers or accountants,
didn't have the time, experience, or patience to reattach
a button, take up a hem, let out a cuff, or stitch darts
into a skirt. Polly agreed, but she would have to charge
them, and was astonished at how grateful they were to pay
any fee for what came as easily as breathing for Polly.
Before she knew it, she was able to leave her secretarial
job, work full time in her own home as a seamstress, and
live, if not in luxury, at least in comfortable financial
security.
Every year or so, Scott dropped in to say hello,
presenting David with a musk ox tooth or a box carved from
Siberian birch, but that was the extent of his interaction
with his son. A few years ago, Scott had died in a scuba
diving accident. Scott's own parents had both died young,
without seeing their grandson, so that pretty much took
care of that side of David's family tree. Because Polly
felt vaguely guilty about providing her son with so few
relatives, she gave David a cat and a dog who turned out
to be excellent substitutes.
For years, she sewed all day, spent her nights feeling
lonely, going on blind dates that made her feel even
lonelier, or visiting her increasingly withdrawn parents,
who seemed perversely pleased by Polly's difficult life
because it proved what they'd told her that marrying that
wandering Scott would bring only doom. When they died, she
grieved, but she also felt an unexpected sense of relief.
Now, no matter what, she could no longer disappoint them.
Then a miracle took place.
Polly met Tucker Lodge. They fell in love, and married,
and lived almost happily ever after. Tucker loved David as
if he were his own, and David worshipped Tucker. Their
marriage had a truly fairy-tale quality, except that in
place of a wicked stepmother, Polly had a malevolent
mother-in-law.
During the eighteen years of her marriage to Tucker, the
only times Polly ever considered herself unhappy or
unlucky were when she was around Claudia, who considered
Polly deeply inferior to her son and never attempted to
hide the fact. Sometimes Claudia's sheer intentional
meanness made Polly's heart cringe and jump like a beaten
animal. Some nights Polly crept away from her sleeping
Tucker, hid herself in the downstairs bathroom, and cried
her heart out. And she swore to herself that when she
became a mother-in-law, she would be loving, accepting,
and kind.
Then, two years ago, David told Polly he was going to
marry Amy Anderson, and while Polly smiled and
congratulated her son, she mentally gagged like an old cat
choking on a fur ball. Not that Polly looked down on Amy.
She just found Amy so strange.
Amy was a Birkenstocks, batik, and braids kind of girl,
who drifted through the world in unusual garments she and
her mother made on their family farm, which had been in
the same family for generations. A strict vegetarian, Amy
was so soft-spoken and gently, dreamily healthy, she made
Polly want to swear like a sailor, smoke cigarettes, and
inject ice cream directly into her veins. When Polly,
David, and Amy were together, Amy said very little but
stared at David with her large brown eyes, oozing a rather
creepy intelligence, like some small, alert brown bat.
The Anderson family grew organic produce-strawberries,
tomatoes, and squash-on their hundred acres of land forty-
five minutes west of Boston. They made jam and chutneys
and bread to sell in their country store, along with
handcrafted dolls and handknit wool caps and mittens. It
was an idyllic rural life, with many charms, and Polly
believed it gave David a sense of stability that had been
missing from his early life, when his adventuring father
disappeared into unknown lands and his anxious mother was
bent over the dining room table day and night, sewing the
curtains and clothing that supported herself and her son.
It was Amy's family, Polly thought ruefully, that made
David feel, finally, at home.
After college, David had worked in the same bank where his
stepfather had been vice president, but when he became
engaged to Amy, he quit the bank to work at the Anderson
Farm and General Store. Polly was surprised, but not
upset. She had suspected that David had gone to work with
Tucker partly to please him and partly because he had no
clear idea what he really wanted to do. She knew from her
own experience how children choose different lives from
their parents'. She tried to be tolerant as she saw her
son change. She was just so unprepared for the changes.
At Christmas, she gave David and Amy beautiful cashmere
sweaters, only to have them handed back to her, still in
the box. "We make our own garments," Amy had informed her
with the gently reproving righteousness of an Amish
elder. "Or, if necessary, we buy them at the secondhand
shops." Polly thought of all the pleasure David had taken,
after being promoted at the bank, in buying several
handsome suits from Louis of Boston. She stared at her
son, whoonly smiled placidly. She reminded herself of
Claudia, and kept her mouth shut.
For David's birthday, Polly wanted to take him and Amy out
to dinner at Locke-Ober's, a posh Boston restaurant. Amy
had sweetly objected. "We don't eat at restaurants. We
don't believe in supporting the gluttonous American
consumer economy."
Polly had cleared her throat and asked, meekly, if, in
that case, could she invite Amy and her family to her
house for a birthday celebration for David?
Yes, Amy had said, that would be nice. As long as Polly
understood they would eat only organic foods and no sugar.
Polly had looked at her son, who had been born with a
sweet tooth as fierce as her own. David had smiled back
serenely.
"I know!" Polly had offered, without a hint of
desperation. "Could I treat you two to a weekend on the
Maine coast?"
Amy had wrinkled her forehead in gentle alarm, as if Polly
had proposed sending them to a nudist colony. "Why would
we want to go to Maine when we have so much beauty around
us?"
David had always loved the ocean, finding physical and
spiritual energy in its blue tumbling and surge. But now
David sat so quietly, Polly privately wondered whether Amy
had cut out his tongue.
"Okay, David," she asked, in light hearted tones, "what
would you like for a birthday present?"
"We need a new tractor for the farm," David told her,
quickly adding, "I don't mean you should pay for the
entire thing, but perhaps you could give us whatever money
you were thinking of spending on my birthday, and we could
add it to our savings toward the tractor."
A tractor? Her son had a degree in economics and he wanted
a tractor? He hadn't even played with tractors as a child.
Was he brainwashed, Polly wondered? Had he joined a cult?
Whatever had happened, he seemed happy, so she thought of
Claudia and kept her mouth shut.
David and Amy were married on a sunny July day on the
Anderson farm. David wore clean but grass-stained chinos
and a peasant shirt embroidered by Amy. Amy wore a see-
through natural hemp garment, through which her breasts
and belly showed in all their pregnant glory. Tucker's
mother, David's stepgrandmother Claudia, was invited, and
Polly, squeezing between the Scylla of Claudia's bitter
formality and the Charybdis of Amy's organic purity,
offered to drive Claudia out to the farm. Claudia
accepted, and wore a suit and high heels even though Polly
had cautioned her that the wedding would be outside. David
and Amy walked hand in hand to stand in front of the
minister-a sight which brought tears to Polly's eyes-they
looked so beautiful, so innocent, like Adam and Eve at the
beginning of the world! Beside her, Claudia stiffened. The
moment the ceremony was over, Claudia turned toward Polly.
"You didn't tell me the girl was pregnant. Nor that she's
an exhibitionist."
Several people standing near them cast startled looks at
Claudia.
"Oh, Claudia," Polly began, soothingly.
"I'll wait for you in the car," Claudia said, and stalked
away.
Let her wait, Polly thought rebelliously. She followed the
party to the reception table set out in the barnyard,
toasted the newlyweds with a glass of mouth-puckering
homemade Anderson raspberry wine, kissed the bride and
groom, and hugged Katrina and Buck Anderson. Standing
alone, she surveyed the crowd, realizing only now how few
of David's old chums were present. Had they not been
invited? Her opinion about the wedding had not been
requested, so she'd not offered. But now she felt even
more strongly that her son had been indoctrinated into a
strange sect.
She smiled at everyone, then, claiming that Claudia, who
was in her eighties after all, didn't feel well, took her
leave, feeling, as she walked away from the crowd, like an
outcast.
She drove Claudia back to her home in the charming, WASPy
suburb of Dover, listening in resignation as Claudia
criticized the wedding and each one of its participants.
She was too tired and depressed to argue.
Finally they reached Claudia's enormous old house on
Madison Street.
"Thank you for coming," Polly said to Claudia. "I know
David was glad you were there."
"I doubt that very much." Claudia undid her seatbelt and
opened the car door.
"I'll phone you when the baby's here," Polly called out
cheerfully.
"If you wish," Claudia replied. "It's of no particular
interest to me." Without a backward glance, Claudia strode
up the sidewalk and into her house.
Now Polly leaned on her spade, watching the sky turn
indigo. Her back ached pleasantly and the outdoor labor
had filled her with a mild euphoria and a sense of
accomplishment. A fat orange sun rolled low in the sky,
casting a benevolent glow on the earth, and the air was
sweet and chill, with a bracing fall tang. I'll phone
Claudia, Polly decided, to tell her about Jehoshaphat.
Why bother? she asked herself.
Because, Polly told herself, I believe in love, all kinds
of love.
She believed in romantic love, of course, and how could
she not, when she had been married to a man she loved
passionately for eighteen years? Even before she met
Tucker, she'd believed in all kinds of love. Her faith had
infused her life.
Maternal love, she believed in, beyond doubt, because her
only child, David, had, over the thirty years of his
life,brought her the most profound joys, even though he
also had sent her into some of her most extreme fits of
insanity.
And brotherly love, or general love, whatever it could be
called, Polly believed in that, too. At some point in her
life she had come to a kind of bedrock belief that all
life was a struggle between good and evil, darkness and
light, love and hate. She firmly believed that every
individual's actions tipped the balance toward good or
evil, and that if there was anything she, as one
individual, could do, it would be always to try to choose
the good, even when she found it
difficult.
So she would not let herself pout because she hadn't been
invited out to see her grandchild. She would put away her
gardening tools and pour herself a glass of wine and
rejoice that her son had gained a wife and a tractor and a
boxed set of relatives, and now a son of his own. She
would be pleasant to her mother-in-law and respectful of
her daughter-in-law. She would wait patiently to hold her
grandchild in her arms.