Marrying Up - Part XIV
“Marrying Up” is a fictional story set in 1950s Manhattan revolving around Frances Riley, a difficult and ruthlessly ambitious young woman who moved from one social class to another—Irish immigrant off the boat to high WASP— when she married into the aristocratic Woolsey family.
THIS IS PART 14 of a FOURTEEN-PART STORY
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14
Image: Oscar Keys
The children could be heard screaming: "Last one in's a rotten egg!" as they raced through the front door of the apartment. "Don't worry," Jack said to Frances who had wiped away her tears and was sitting, glassy-eyed, on the couch. "I'll take care of Peg just like your father did."
"That's good," Frances said tonelessly.
Jack got up and went to the window. "He was eighty years old, Frances. We thought he was sharp, but obviously not enough to keep up with things." He turned back to her and began to pace, limping slightly from his old injury. "We'll invest the money. It'll grow fast."
Peg had gone to the kitchen for a sandwich. Frances rubbed her fingers over the spot where her sister had been sitting and looked around the living room with its velvet drapes and old English furniture as if she didn't quite know where she was.
"Frances?" Jack said.
She didn't answer him.
"It's going to be all right."
She thought of the beauty of her dining room table when it was set with linen and crystal and heavy silver, of her kitchen with its servants and big pantry, of the doorman downstairs and the cabs cruising up and down Park Avenue. She thought of her father taking her to school when she was a little girl, always making sure her hair was neatly combed and that she had on a clean dress. When they had moved into the house in Prospect Park, she and Peg had been assigned separate rooms for the first time in their lives. Kip had led them excitedly through the house, pointing out the thick carpets, the curving stairway, the fireplace with its marble mantel, the luxurious baths and room-sized closets, the tall windows looking out over the park.
"Only the best for my girls," he had said joyfully. And she had believed him. She had believed it would be that way the rest of her life.
From across the room Jack said, "Frances?"
She moved her dull eyes in his direction.
"I'll always look after you." His voice sounded sad and full of obligation.
"I know," she said. And she forced herself to switch the light back on in her eyes and sit up straight, just as her father had taught her.
Cover Image: Victor (Pexels)