Jack and Susan in 1933 by Michael McDowell

before, on two grounds. On the one hand, the Bolsheviks were behind it, as they were behind all the unrest, all the troubles, and all the degeneracy of this country. On the other hand, he was disappointed that Roosevelt hadn’t been killed. Mr. Rhinelander almost gleefully anticipated the total disintegration of the noble experiment that was the United States of America, beneath the hand of that turncoat, that blue-blooded scalawag, Franklin Roosevelt. “A man born with every advantage,” Marcellus Rhinelander reminded Susan, “who has chosen to throw in his lot with Bolshevik scoundrels, the impoverished and the unwashed, and the—the—”
    He faltered for completion of the triumvirate.
    â€œâ€”the badly dressed?” Susan suggested.
    â€œMore pie?” Grace Grace inquired, and Susan declined.
    Susan hoped she’d be able to leave soon. She didn’t like this man. She declined coffee, but Marcellus Rhinelander pressed. “We’ll go into the study, if you don’t mind, Susan. You don’t mind that either, do you, if I call you Susan? Harmon’s almost a son to me, you know. Almost a son.”
    Susan acquiesced politely but with no glad heart. Somehow this house felt lonelier, even with servants, than did the Quarry when she was there with only Scotty and Zelda.
    Susan sat in a corner of a wine-red sofa and sipped coffee. Without being asked, Grace brought a rose-colored shawl for her shoulders. When Grace was gone, Marcellus Rhinelander poured himself a glass of port and stood at the fireplace, with one arm stretched along the mantel in lord-of-the-manor style.
    â€œYou’re very beautiful,” he said after a moment.
    â€œThank you,” said Susan. She didn’t startle. She’d sung in clubs long enough to have heard this remark from a hundred men, in a hundred different tones of voice, but with a single motive prompting the compliment. Not here though. She wasn’t sure what he was getting at. But she did remember the dalmatians that Marcellus Rhinelander had bought for the sole purpose of fretting Richard Grace.
    â€œI can see why Harmon fell in love with you.”
    Susan made no reply.
    â€œHe’d often proposed marriage,” Marcellus Rhinelander went on after taking a judicious sip of his port. “But somehow, it never worked out.” Marcellus Rhinelander smiled a smile that Susan had seen his daughter smile. “Sometimes Harmon woke up in the morning and couldn’t even remember the girl’s name. Sometimes the girl found someone who was richer. Sometimes Barbara and Jack were able to…to lend a helping hand against an improvident alliance.”
    â€œI should thank them then,” said Susan, “for keeping Harmon safe till I came along.”
    Marcellus Rhinelander looked at her sharply for a moment. “Perhaps you should,” he said softly. “I suppose you’ve heard—somehow or other—that I had always intended for Harmon to marry Barbara? Perhaps even Barbara herself mentioned it to you. Did she?”
    â€œRelentlessly.”
    â€œJack is a very good fellow. An able lawyer, I think. Barbara loves him. I love him. But I think that on the whole, I would have preferred Harmon as a son-in-law.”
    Susan didn’t understand why he was telling her this. Whether or not it was truth, Susan knew he meant it to sound like truth. Perhaps he wanted her to be truthful and candid in return. His next question confirmed her suspicion. “Why did you marry Harmon?” he asked with the sort of smile and tilt of his head that was supposed to indicate: Oh, it’s late in the evening, and we’ve both had a little too much to drink, and I’m a little world-weary tonight, so why don’t we unbosom the hearts of our hearts to each other, you and I? Or something very like that.
    â€œWhy did I marry Harmon?” Susan asked, just to give herself that second or two she