Vandy's Tomb

Leach led the way. It was his ground, and he knew the path. There was not a hint of a trail to the others following along behind. Dead leaves underfoot covered everything, and sticker bushes closed over the narrow openings, pricking the skins and shirts of Leach and his friends as they pushed their way through the woods. There was a gravel road a little way off to the right, but riders on horses, other walkers, and sometimes park people used it, and it would not be a good idea to be seen by any of them. Where they were going, they were not supposed to be.

Leach had no neighbors. The road his family’s house was on began in the middle of town, made a junction with the main road on the island, and then rose through higher ground, past the city housing project, until it finally entered a stretch with woods on both sides. The city owned all the woods and, in 1963, no one was asking the city to give them up for progress. It wasn’t until the Verrazano Bridge was built years later that land on Staten Island became valuable and people from the rest of the city flocked to live there. But in 1963 Leach’s place was the last house on the road and the nearest human beings were scouts at the Boy Scout camp, and they were only there in the summer. The rest of the time, Leach had his place, the Scout camp, the woods, and the city’s land to himself.

A mosquito landed on Mary’s shirt and Randy smacked it off.

“What did you do that for?’

“There was a bug on your shirt,” said Randy, “and I thought it was going to bite you.” “Well, it wouldn’t have hurt more than that slap. Look what you did!” It had bitten

her, and the blood meal stained her shirt. “Geez!”

“Quiet,” said Leach, “there’s people nearby.”

The group crouched down on the path and hugged the ground. They could hear footfalls and, every once in a while, a sound like a scythe cutting weeds. Golfers looking for lost balls. Then some voices, the crack of a club hitting the ball, and quiet again.

“It’s ok, let’s go; but stay close and keep quiet,” said Leach. “If they see us, I’ll get away, but the rest of you will be stumbling around these woods until the cops or your mothers hear you crying and come to get you.”

It was true. The kids had never been in these woods or, for that matter, in real woods at all. They lived closer to town and usually played in parks, their own backyards, or ball fields, where grass was everywhere but the only trees were scattered tall oaks or maples left behind when their houses were built 20 and 30 years ago. These woods were different. The trees were many and tall, their canopies all connected, and bushes, brambles, weeds, ferns and stunted saplings all fought for light on the ground below. The sun came through, but whether it was going up or down, east or west, was hard to tell.

It was mysterious and different, and that was the lure that brought them—Randy, Mary, Doris, Lou and Beth--to play at Leach’s place for the day.

At 13, they were old enough to be on their own, as long as “on their own” meant during daylight, and with other kids from school. Their parents always called first to make sure a mother was home to look out the window and see that the kids were close enough to call to, close enough to come back for tuna fish sandwiches at lunch, close enough to not get into any trouble. For those mothers, it was a free afternoon; for the host mother, it was extra work, but work that had to be done so that, every once in a while, she would get some free time while her kids played elsewhere.

For Leach’s mother, it really wasn’t much different from any other day. Leach always went out after breakfast, disappeared into the woods, and came back for lunch most times; otherwise, always for dinner. Where he went when he didn’t come home for lunch was not of any concern to her. He was an inquisitive boy, did things, and entertained himself. He would do the same with this new crop of classmates, and so she did not think about him, or them, for a minute.

The path the kids were following sloped downward until it came to a pond. The water was still and dark, the surface broken only by the movement of water spiders or an occasional darning needle.

“Whitefish Lake,” announced Leach.

It would be years before the kids understood the joke that was in the pond’s name.

The pond was shaped like an hourglass, with globes perhaps 50 feet wide on either side of a narrow neck. A path skirted around the globes, but Leach followed the path just a short distance before turning into the bushes and emerging at the narrow neck.

Leach turned toward his friends and flashed a sly smile. “Just follow me,” he said.

Leach stepped out on to the water, took two or three steps, then turned toward his playmates and laughed. St. Peter the Fisherman could not have been more surprised than Leach’s gang, for there was Leach, seemingly standing on the surface of the water like Christ, laughing his ass off.

“I built it,” he said. “It’s safe. It will hold you. Just don’t bunch up.”

Randy came to the edge of the pond and peered into the water. The sun’s reflection made him squint, but soon his eyes adjusted and he began to make it out. Just under the surface of the water, painted dark green, three 2 x 6 boards, laid side to side, stretched into the pond, a solid highway just under the water.

“It took me a month,” said Leach, “but it really wasn’t that hard. The hardest part was getting the boards and carrying them back. The Scouts won’t miss the boards.”

Gingerly, first Randy, then Lou, stepped on to the pond, took a few steps, and, like Leach, started to laugh.

“Come on, it’s ok,” said Randy.

But the girls hesitated. All but Beth. Rolling up her jeans and taking off her low-cut sneakers—they were her only new summer shoes and her mother would beat her, literally, if she came home with mud on them—she stepped off on to the pond, giggling.

“It’s cold!” she yelped, as she skipped to the other side where the boys were waiting. “Come on,” said Randy. But the other girls didn’t move.

“This is silly,” said Mary. “I didn’t come here to get lost in the woods. I’m going back.”

“What are you, chicken?” taunted Randy.

Mary turned at the taunt but barely stopped her retreat along the path.

“I’m not chicken; I just don’t want to play stupid games.”

Doris was a step behind and looked at Lou. Lou and Doris had held hands, and Doris had let Lou lay his arm along her side when they walked together, so that his forearm just slightly brushed against the side of her budding breast. She knew where his arm was, and she wished with all her heart that he felt what she felt. But if he did, it didn’t show now.

“Are you coming?” asked Lou. Doris shook her head.

“Then forget it,” said Lou, and he turned to follow Leach, Randy and Beth further into the woods.

The path ran up from the pond, flanked by ferns and blueberry bushes with small, tart fruit. Every once in a while, Beth or Randy would stop to pick a few, eat them, purse their lips and wince. “Sowww—er!” But then they ate a few more.

Beth caught up to Leach, who was still breaking the trail ahead.

“So where are you taking us?” asked Beth. The path was narrow and Beth had to stay a step behind Leach as he walked. It meant she took a step and stuttering half-step just to stay close, and it was uncomfortable.

“Can you slow down, please,” she gasped. But Leach just kept walking at a steady, uphill pace, each step a little longer than the last as the hill got steeper and Beth fell a little further behind.

“Stop!” she finally yelled.

Leach turned. Lou and Randy were 50 feet below, sword playing with sticks in a mock battle. Beth came up and turned to look at them.

“Jerks!” she said.

“Why do you say that?” asked Leach.

“It’s pretty up here. There’s a lot to see and they’re acting like it’s the playground at school,” said Beth.

Leach reached out and pulled her up to his perch. Her hand was slight and boney; he thought Gretel’s hand might have felt that way. The Wicked Witch certainly would have tried to fatten her up. But he liked the feel of it.

“Come on,” he said, “We’re almost there.”

The ground continued to rise, then leveled out, the path widened, and Beth and Leach evened their pace as they walked further into the woods. Leach began talking a bit more and pointing out things-- insects, spiders, squirrels, plants that were beautiful to look at but not to be touched--and Beth, who always thought the woods were scary, felt that fear going away.

And then it appeared in front of her, rooted like it grew from the ground. Tall, black, vines growing along it, dark and shining at the same time.

“My God,” Beth exclaimed. “What is that?”

Leach walked up to the monolith and brushed some of the moss dust from the glass panels.

“It’s a skylight. I guess if you’re dead, you still want to see the sky.”

Beth came closer. The object was black metal, three feet around, with Victorian framing and dark tinted glass, and six or eight feet tall. Looking into the glass panels, there was nothing to see; but it was clear that whatever was down below would get the benefit of cool, dark gray light coming down from above.

“I can’t see anything,” said Beth. “Am I supposed to see something?”

“Not there,” said Leach. “Over here.”

Leach reached for Beth’s hand and guided her slowly forward until the bushes and vines cleared and she saw she was standing at the top of a hill, with a narrow, curved road like a driveway, 30 or more feet below, and manicured grass on both sides. But it was not a hill. She was standing on stone.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“It’s Vanderbilt’s Tomb,” said Leach. “Cool, isn’t it?”

Beth inched closer to the edge. She was standing at the peak of a massive mausoleum built into a hillside, the tangled vines and muddied concrete on its roof standing in stark contrast to the elegant, if weathered, façade below. She imagined the mourners, in the past, driving up to the façade in horse-drawn carriages, or in fine automobiles now, to pay their respects to the people entombed below.

“It’s a tomb?” she asked?

“I guess rich people like the earth too much to be buried underneath it, “said Leach.

Leach crouched on his haunches and began drawing circles on the dirty concrete with his finger.

“When my grandmother died, we didn’t put her in a tomb like this. We had the wake in her house, in the dining room, and the family and the neighbors all came in, and we sat on the same couch she used to sit on. My mother made some food in the same kitchen where my grandmother cooked for me when I came home from school. Uncle Henry drank a toast to my grandmother with some Rye whiskey she kept ‘for her health’, then he had a few more and eventually laid down on grandma’s bed and went to sleep. We woke him up when everyone else was going home and my mother wanted to get some rest herself. He was at Mass the next day and cried through the whole ceremony. She’s also buried here at Moravian Cemetery, Uncle Henry too, but down the hill, not near here.”

Leached continued drawing circles.

“The Vanderbilt’s lived differently than we do,” said Leach. “They died differently, too.”

Beth looked down at Leach. She thought him handsome. She had never really thought about him in any way at school. But here, in the woods, his face seemed strong, knowing, and serene. It was as if the trees, grasses, bushes, birds, sky, dirt, the very touch of the breeze was speaking to him in a language Beth could not know or understand, but wished she could.

“Is it ok to be here?” asked Beth.

“No, not by a long shot,” said Leach. “This is the private part of Moravian. Only the Vanderbilt’s can come here.” He giggled. “Them, and kids like us. But if the park rangers see us, they’ll be hell to pay.”

“That’s scary,” said Beth. “Can we get in trouble?”

“What’s trouble?” asked Leach. “Can the rangers arrest you? Maybe so, but I’ve seen them. They’re fat and their shoes are clodhoppers. They’ll only catch you if you give up and come to them. If you keep going, you’ll get away.”

Leach got up and walked to the end of the stone parapet. It was 30 feet down, but it seemed to mean nothing to him. He crouched, put his hands on the stone floor, and swung himself over the edge. Beth couldn’t see, but it was only a few feet to the next lower level. Beth gasped as he fell over, out of her sight. She ran to the edge. Leach was standing on the next level down, his hands on his hips.

“What do you think, I’m crazy?” said Leach. “Come on.”

What was easy for Leach was not so easy for Beth. She went to her knees, put her hands on the stone, and slid one leg over the edge. But it touched nothing. Slowly, she wiggled her other leg so that both were over the edge, but she was afraid to wiggle further, afraid she would lose her balance and pitch backward over the edge.

Then Randy had her by the wrist.

“I got you,” he said.

She looked up, and saw Lou was holding Randy’s other arm, and both were braced against each other as Randy lifted Beth’s arm and gently lowered her until Leach grabbed her ankles, then her calf, and finally cradled her bottom and eased her to the ground.

Beth blushed. No boy had ever touched her bottom, and she didn’t know what she should say.

“Watch your hands!” she warned.

Leach grinned.

“Next time, I’ll let you fall on it.”

Randy and Lou scrambled down the side of the mausoleum, like squirrels running down a tree.

“So, what is this place?” huffed Randy as he caught his breath.

“This is where the rich go when they die,” said Leach.

“Man, it’s bigger than my church!” said Lou.

In many ways, it was like a church. Circular stone steps leading up to massive iron doors, the main door centered under a soaring peak…but all pale and gray, like its occupants.

“Maybe it is a church,” mused Leach. “I mean, you go to church to worship God, to pray. It makes you feel humble. I’ll bet everyone who came here to see Vanderbilt felt humble. It’s the only tomb here, isn’t it? No one else has one, right? The people who came to see the old guy years ago, where are they now? They don’t have a joint like this, I’ll bet. They’re down the hill, like the rest of us.”

Beth looked around. The grounds were beautifully planted, the edges neatly cut, the flowers of late summer in full bloom. Squirrels scampered around the ground cover, stopping and standing every once in a while for no apparent reason. It was, she thought, as pretty and peaceful a place as she had ever seen.

“How did you find this place,” she asked Leach.

“It’s always been here,” said Leach. “80 or 90 years at least, I think. I like history, but I never found out anything about this place. I knew about Vanderbilt, though. Cornelius, the old man, made the ferry to New York. People remember the railroads, but it was the ferry that started everything. I guess they never forgot about it either. They were the richest family in the world and could have been buried anywhere. But they’re here, on Staten Island, for Christ’s sake!”

“Why here, do you think?” asked Beth.

“It’s a nice place,” said Leach. “Come, take a look.”

Leach led Beth back up along the side of the mausoleum, pulling themselves up with branches and vines, and along the step-like concrete façade. Randy and Lou stayed below, fiddling with the impregnable doors of the mausoleum.

Beth and Leach reached the top of the tomb and looked out through the leaves of the trees to Lower New York Bay and the narrow span of water between Brooklyn and Staten Island—the Narrows--that was spread out before them. The cemetery and mausoleum were built on William Vanderbilt’s old farm, and when he sat on his porch, this was his view. But he couldn’t see it now. Beth and Leach could.

“It’s beautiful!” said Beth, excitedly.

A tramp steamer, with a big “W,” for the Waterman Line on its funnel, was passing through the Narrows,

“I mean, to sit here and look out at that.”

“It still is,” said Leach. “Vandy can’t see it. His turn is over. But we can look all we want.”

Beth looked out. At first, she didn’t notice the little specks that, after she focused, were sailboats tacking and power boats skimming around the Waterman steamer. She wished she had a glass that would bring those specks closer to her eye. Who are those people sitting on the tops of the cabins of those boats, so tiny from here, but big enough to spread out their bodies and soak up the late summer sun? Were all of them rich, like Vanderbilt? Were any of them poor and simple, like she was? But to her eye, they were just dots on the horizon; blemishes on a sea of blue, dark specks with white water wakes trailing behind them, making their way to grand homes of the kind she could hardly conceive.

It was a long while before either Beth or Leach made a move. The lowering sun bathed their cheeks. They were side by side, not touching, but close to each other. Leach loved his woodland home. It was his place.

Beth rose to leave.

“Don’t go,” said Leach.

Beth was standing, looking down at him, his legs crossed, his gaze off to the south and east, the sun on the back of his neck, Brooklyn bathed in its light. When she was a child, she had a small stuffed rabbit—actually, it wasn’t a real rabbit. It was cardboard, hollow inside, with fur around it, little plastic eyes, the fur glued to the cardboard skin. When she was three years old and went to bed, she held bunny between her legs, and slept with her soft friend comfy there. She looked at Leach. Leach was her bunny. She wanted to fold herself around him, to hold him, to have him there.

“What are you thinking, Eddy?” she asked. Leach turned away from the sunset, and looked at Beth.

“I’ll show you” he said.

Leach sprang up. Grabbing her hand, he pulled Beth along and descended the side of the mausoleum until all of the kids were on ground level.

“What now?” said Lou.

“Well,” said Leach, “It’s time to wake the dead.”

Leach walked up to the tall iron doors, crouched down, and reached into the pocket of his jeans. While the kids sauntered up he took out two ashcan firecrackers—little cylinders two inches or so long, with a fuse on top. The kids paused. Leach also had a book of matches and slipped one out.

“Wait,” said Randy. “I want to take a picture.” Randy reached into his back pocket and pulled out his brand new Instamatic.

“Let’s see if this thing works,” he said. “Stand in front of the door. I want the kids to see this. I don’t want the cops to come and spoil everything.”

The four of them—Lou, Randy, Leach and Beth—clambered up the marble steps and stood in front of the massive iron doors.

“No good,” said Randy. “All I see is black iron. Do something. Make it interesting!”

Lou came down the steps, turned his backside to the camera, and peeled down his pants.

“God!” said Beth, “I can’t look!”

Lou laughed as he pulled up his jeans.

“Wasn’t that interesting?” he asked.

“I’ve seen it before,” said Leach. Beth just blushed.

Lou handed the camera to Leach.

“Take a picture of us,” he said.

Lou, Randy and Beth came down a few steps, locked arms, and faced Leach. He looked into the viewfinder, but his friends looked small and indistinguishable. He stepped a little closer, and the trio filled the lens. Lou, with a big grin; Randy, his arm around Beth’s waist, looking down at her; Beth, looking at Leach, but without a smile. Leach snapped the picture.

“Did you get it?” asked Lou?

“Maybe. I don’t know,” said Leach. “You’ll see when it’s developed. Get one of me and Beth.”

“Why? You two going together?”

“Fat chance,” said Beth. She said it, but didn’t mean it. She had come to like Leach, and wanted to see him some more. Was that what ‘going together’ meant?

Leach grabbed her bony hand and pulled her along.

“Come on, let’s take a picture.”

Leach led her to the side of the mausoleum and helped her climb to the peak. Randy and Lou were down below, fighting over who would take the picture. Lou had the camera in his hand when Beth and Leach reached the peak.

“Come on,” said Leach. “It’s getting late. It’s get dark early when the sun gets below the trees.”

Leach knew how quickly it got dark in the woods. On the streets, you could stay out until nine; in the woods, darkness fell earlier, and by nine you could not see your hand in front of your face. Leach had been in the woods at night. The dark didn’t bother him. It was as if he always knew the direction home, and even if he couldn’t see, his dead reckoning eventually led him to a small passage through the bushes, and that path became an opening, and that opening became a field, and that field led him to the lights of his little house, where his Mother sat facing the television when he walked up the stoop to the front door.

“Where have you been?” she would ask.

“Outside,” he always said.

“There’s food on the table,” his Mother would say. And he would eat.

“Take it now, before it’s too late,” said Leach. The sun was blocked by the trees behind, but there was enough light.

Lou said, “Smile.” The auto flash went off and put a blind spot in Leach’s and Beth’s eyes, but it passed.

“Got it!” said Lou, triumphantly.

The kids returned to the door of the mausoleum, where the ash cans still sat on the ground.

“Get ready,” said Leach. “No promises after these go off.”

The kids backed away as Leach lit the match. For a second or two, nothing happened; then the fuses hissed, and sparks flew. The kids began scrambling up the side of the mausoleum. They were only up a few feet before one of the firecrackers exploded, with a deafening concussion far beyond the meager powder inside the vessel. Then the other blew. The blasts echoed for a second, and then were replaced by a siren, then another, as security patrols began to converge on the scene.

“Time to go,” shouted Leach.

He pulled up Beth by the hand. Lou and Randy were already in full flight, scrambling up the embankments and tearing off into the woods. Beth strained to follow, but Leach held her tight.

“Not that way,” he said. “Over here.”

Leach walked quickly away from the line of his friends’ flight, pushing away the branches and sticker bushes in his path. To the rear, they could hear car doors slam and rangers shouting instructions to each other as they left their vehicles and puffed their way to the side of the mausoleum and up its side, chasing the trespassers. The rangers had done this before. They would go into the woods for a while, with flashlights and making noise, until they were sure the interlopers had moved on. They had no intention of apprehending anyone. For what? It was already late in the day. An arrest would mean a trip to the station and a call to parents. The kids always went home. The rangers did too, but late at night. Not worth the trouble.

The noise of the chase faded away and Leach and Beth were left alone. She had no idea where she was, or the time of day. Her Mom was to pick her up at seven and it must be almost that by now.

“What time is it,” she asked.

“Don’t know,” said Leach, “Sometime after six.”

They had crossed over the road by the Scout camp and had descended along the woods on the other side. Now they were in a hollow, surrounded by higher ground on all four sides. In the center, a stream flowed down towards a culvert that passed under the road they had just crossed. The culvert was spanned by a cement bridge with “WPA 1936” carved into it. They were in the city woods that made up part of the hospital grounds.

“Where are we?” asked Beth.

“Not far from home,” said Leach. “My house is just back up the road, maybe half a mile. Once everything settles down we can get there in 15 minutes. I bet you thought we were lost.”

“No,” said Beth, “I knew you weren’t lost.”

Leach took Beth’s hand and led her a little deeper into the woods, along the creek bed. He pushed a low hanging branch aside,

“See that?” said Leach. He pointed up to the branch.

“That’s the door, and this is my place.”

Beth looked around. There was a small pool in front of her, and behind it the stream curved uphill and away. She could hear the gurgle of the water as it fell into the pool.

Leach was looking at the pool, his eyes bright.

“I was playing here a few years ago—my brother was tired of playing here and didn’t want to come—and it was late, and I was late for supper. But I just couldn’t leave here. I wanted to dam up the stream, and see if I could make it overflow. So, I gathered some twigs, and leaves, some grass—whatever I could find—and put them here, where the stream has this little waterfall.”

‘Waterfall’ was too big a word, thought Beth. It was just a small drop in the stream bank above the pool.

“At first, even this little stream of water pushed away the dam,” said Leach. “But eventually I stopped it up. Didn’t last long, though. The water built up, and overflowed; then the twigs gave way, and everything went back to the way it was before I put the twigs and leaves in place.”

Beth looked at the water. The pool was clear, and little fish—not fish, tadpoles probably—darted and wiggled. She put her hand in the water, as cold as the air was hot, and tried to scoop up a darter or two, but they always slipped off with the water around her fingers.

“Can’t be done,” said Leach. “Trust me, I’ve been trying for years to catch just one, but never once. But something must get them. We’d be up to our ears in frogs if they all lived.”

Beth wiped her hands on her jeans.

“Why did you ask me to come here?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” said Leach. He was looking away again, upstream.

“But Mary said you did,” said Beth.

“Doris is Mary’s best friend, and Doris and Lou kind of like each other,” explained Leach. “Doris and Lou fool around in the playground at school, but everybody’s there. They can’t go anywhere without other kids around. Mary figured coming here would give them a chance to be away from everybody else. And Mary likes Randy. Randy likes everybody, but Mary doesn’t know that. So, coming here works out for both of them.”

“But me? You don’t like me. You never, ever, even talked to me.” said Beth. “Why me?”

“Mary picked you,” said Leach. “It filled up the group, like a play date. Lou, Doris, Mary, Randy—their Moms didn’t think anything of it,”

Beth blushed. She was the fool in the group.

“I think I should go home,” said Beth.

“Don’t go,” said Leach. “I do like you,” he said, “I mean, now.”

Years later, she wondered what it was in that pathetic confession that struck the chord that resonated ever after in her being. “I didn’t like you before, but I like you now.” But that took a while to hit home.

“I still want to go.”

Leach got up and helped Beth to her feet. Their hands fit together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, the fingers overlapping each other, clinging together, with no burrs or rough edges. Beth loosened her grasp, but Leach tightened his. For a moment, they looked at each other—didn’t just see each other, but looked at each other. Years later, when Beth had just been promoted to Second Vice President at Bank of America in Seattle and was waiting on the plaza for the elevator to take her back to her office on the 29th floor, the doors opened and, in the packed elevator, she saw a fellow bank officer—she had seen him before, but didn’t know his name—squeezed to the front of the crowded car. He smiled as the door opened; but then it seemed that he recognized her—had he seen and thought about her before? He turned serious, focused, and looked into her eyes—not at them, but into them. She could feel his gaze going to the back of her skull. His look sent a chill through her. She had to turn away, but she looked back just in time to see that he, too, had turned away. Then the doors closed.

It was the same with Leach.

* * * *

The phone rang three times before Mary picked it up.

“Mare?” said Beth, “Its Beth.”

“Hi, honey!” said Mary. “I’ve been waiting for your call. You’ll come, won’t you? I’m sooooo excited!!!!”

Mary was bursting with excitement. Getting married was a big thing.

“Of course I’ll come,” said Beth. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The invitation had come in the mail. “Mr. & Mrs. Edgar Harrington request the pleasure of your company….”

“They’ll be a bridal shower May 25 and you just haveto come,” gushed Mary. “You can, can’t you?”

Beth had lived on the West Coast since the fall of 1963 when her Dad got his job at Boeing and the family moved away. She and Mary had stayed in touch from time to time in the thirteen years that had passed, and though Beth knew that Mary and Randy were sweet on each other, marriage was a surprise.

“Yes. I’ll get there,” she said. “Who’s in the wedding party?”

“Well,” said Mary, “I have Randy’s sister and my cousin Ellen—I can’t stand her, but my mother says I can’t leave her out—and my niece Greta will be the flower girl. My sister is my Maid of Honor. I wish I could have you and Doris too, but everything is so expensive, and we’re paying for it—me and Randy—we’re paying for it ourselves. My folks don’t have the money. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” said Beth.

She really didn’t. Beth had a good job at Bank of America. She was doing loans, and had just put in for a position on the financing team for REITs, where the market was booming. Her mentor was a Senior VP who liked her youth, her enthusiasm, her intuition, and her figure. She gave him three out of four, and he helped her up the corporate ladder. She went to New York once in a while, and could fit a bridal shower into her travel schedule with a little effort.

“Do you want me to add ‘and guest’ to the invitation?” asked Mary. “Is there anyone special?”

“No, no,” said Beth. “I’m still flying solo. The co-pilots I’ve had aren’t flight trained for cross country trips, and I would probably kill them before we landed. So, no thanks.”

It would be good to see Mary, Doris and Beth’s gang of old friends. Birthday and Christmas cards, vacation photos, and a few phone calls a year helped keep the friendships alive, but just barely. The laughs, confidences, and little secrets girls and women share with each other face-to-face didn’t travel well over a phone line and, since Beth left Staten Island after the summer of Vandy’s tomb, her friendship with her friends had become cordial, formal, but less of what friendship is really all about. Getting together would be a tonic.

* * * *

Li Greci’s started out as a little downstairs restaurant, but the good food and owner Nick’s charm transformed the place, and by 1976 he had moved across the street, expanded, and weddings had become a staple of his balance sheet.

Mary was upstairs in the bridal party room when Beth arrived, alone, and picked up her table card. She was at no. 5. She was early, and no one else was at the table, although two of the twelve chairs were tipped over against the table and there was a pocketbook at one of the place settings.

The table was a good one-- close to the bride, but far from the DJ’s speakers. No one did bands anymore. It was all recorded music. The grandparents didn’t like it. They wanted the tarantella or hava nagila, but the young guests wanted to rock. The parents and grandparents sat on the side, and the young people danced.

Slowly, her table filled up with old friends, and sometimes the strangers they married. The seat next to Beth stayed empty.

Mary was a beautiful bride. Her dress was elegant, and Randy actually looked surprised when he saw her in it. Their kiss was warm and wonderful, and Beth wondered if they would ever feel a kiss the same way again. But how would she ever know?

Mary’s father—old Mr. Harrington—seeing she was alone, came over and asked Beth to dance. They danced to “The Way We Were” and Mr. Harrington asked her about the weather in Seattle. When they were finished, he bowed slightly, as if he had been dancing with royalty.

Mary and Randy came around table to table, Mary carrying her lace wedding gift satchel. Beth deposited her envelope into it and Mary grabbed her wrist.

“I’m so sorry we haven’t had a chance to talk more,” said Mary. “I thought we would, but everything moves so fast. Are you having a good time?”

“Yes,” said Beth, “A lot of the old faces. But no one has really changed much. I thought I would see Eddy here. He and Randy were close—well, at least as close as Eddy could be with anyone. What happened? Did they have a fight?”

Mary’s face stiffened. She looked down, then up, then to her left and right, and bit her lip a little.

“Eddy isn’t here,” she said.

“I can see that,” said Beth.

“Why do you ask?” said Mary, “I thought you hardly knew him.”

“Well, we weren’t close friends, but he was nice once you got to know him, and we had fun when we went to Vandy’s tomb. Do you remember going there?”

Mary smiled a little.

“Yeah. That was the first time Randy really treated me nice. I think I started to love him then. When he came back to Leach’s house he was all nicked and cut up from running through the woods. Laughing, though. He gave me a big hug, like I was a lost lover. It took a while after that before we really got together. Randy liked the girls, you know; but now it’s only me.”

“But Eddy? What about Eddy? Leach and Randy were like brothers,” said Beth. “Eddy didn’t make it,” said Mary. There was a long pause, and Mary kept her eyes away. “He’s gone, Beth,” said Mary. “He’s dead.” Beth gasped, and Mary took her hand. “Come outside with me.”

Beth and Mary left the hall and walked into the little garden outside where wedding parties usually posed for photos. They sat together in the gazebo there, and Mary went on to explain.

Leach had joined the Army after high school, trained as a Ranger and, later, in special forces, and went to Vietnam. The tour was 12 months. The better you were, the lower your rank. He was an E-6 sergeant. His unit’s base camp was in the jungle. His comrades said he could find his way back to camp with a blindfold on, and he could. When the Viet Cong orchestrated a major assault and swept up the mountainside and breached the outer defenses, it was Leach who led his buddies to the top of the defensive berm and layered the field with their M-16s, one clip after another, until 40 of the enemy were dead on the field, and he and his buddies were still alive.

He was on his way to the air base, on his way home, when the bus he was in hit a mine. He lost both legs above the knee.

“After that,” said Mary, “he wasn’t the same. His mother had moved into the projects after the city took her house for the Greenbelt and, after he finished rehab, he went there to live with her. But it was the 4th floor, and just windows, and Leach couldn’t get outside much. They gave him wooden legs, but he was in a lot of pain, and there was lots of medication. Randy went to see him a week or so before. When he was leaving, he asked Leach if there was anything he needed. Leach said, ‘Yeah, legs…and some woods to walk in with them.’ A week later he was dead. He called a cab and had the driver take him to his old house—they had torn down the house and used the lot to pile excavation dirt from the expressway. The cabbie said he left him walking on crutches down his old driveway. He didn’t come home that night, and two days later his Mom reported him missing. Two days after that they found him just off the road, in the woods.”

Tears welled up in Beth’s eyes, and she could hardly get the words out. “Near Vandy’s tomb?” she asked.

“No, on the other side of the road,” Mary replied. “In the woods near the Scout camp.”

* * * *

Beth remembered Leach’s mother as small and slight, but not nearly as small, slight and gray as the woman who opened the door to apartment 4E in the projects.

“Is it Beth?” she has asked through the closed door.

“Yes, it’s me,” Beth answered.

Beth had called Mrs. Leach the day before and introduced herself as a high school classmate of her son, even though that was not true. Beth had gone west before her first year, just after Vandy’s tomb. It was four years later that Leach graduated. But Mrs. Leach seemed happy to hear from Beth.

“Oh, yes. I remember,” she said. “Please come over.”

The apartment was the usual city project space. The door opened into the living room, and a kitchen with room for a small table to eat at. A bath, and two small bedrooms. Leach’s mother had tea whistling on the stove and a plate of cookies on the table.

“I don’t see very many people,” said Mrs. Leach. “Eddy didn’t seem to have a lot of friends. I’m glad you, at least, remembered him. Would you like a cookie?”

They sipped tea and ate. Mrs. Leach often looked off, as Leach used to do.

“You know, you haven’t changed,” said Mrs. Leach after a while.

“Excuse me?” said Beth. “Changed from what?”

“From when you were at my house with the other children,”

“But how can you remember? That was 13 years ago! I was only at your house once.” said Beth.

“Still,” said Mrs. Leach, “You look the same. Come.”

Mrs. Leach led Beth into the smaller bedroom.

“This is Eddy’s room,” she said, “and you’re right over there.”

Beth stepped toward a little maple dresser next to Eddy’s old bed. A small lamp with a faux Tiffany shade was on one side and a framed photograph on the other. Leach and Beth were in the photograph.

“See,” said Mrs. Leach. “You still look the same.” It was Beth and Leach in the photograph, with little smiles on their faces. Leach’s eyes were cast just a little way toward Beth. The photo was grainy. It had been blown up to fit the frame.

“He brought home that photograph just before school started in his freshman year,” said Mrs. Leach. “That was, let me think, 1963. His friend Lou gave it to him, but he had to send it out for something. Then he put it up. He said you were his friend, but you had moved away, and he wanted to have you nearby.”

“Were you sweethearts?” giggled Mrs. Leach.

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Beth, blushing a little. ‘No, nothing like that,’ she thought.

“I’m sorry he’s gone,” said Beth. “I really liked Eddy. We were just starting to know each other”

“Well, that’s the way it can be,” said Mrs. Leach. “Sometimes you know right away, sometimes later.”

“I guess that’s true,” said Beth, “but I never tried enough to stay in touch. I wish he was here to tell him.”

“Oh, but he is,” said Mrs. Leach. She opened the closet door, and a small carton rested there on the floor.

“I have his ashes,” she said, “but I don’t know what to do with them. The cemetery wants $2,000. I don’t have that kind of money.”

Beth looked at the carton, with its United Parcel Service label.

“Let me think about it,” said Beth.

Two days later, she was back.

“How beautiful!” exclaimed Mrs. Leach. It was a large bronze urn with black trim. “Is this for Eddy?”

“Yes,” said Beth. “You can keep him here with you. I know that will make you happy.”

Mrs. Leach put her arms around Beth. “Now I know why your picture is here.”

* * * *

Her plane left from Newark at 5, but she had time. She drove her rental car to the

bottom of the hill on Manor Road, just below and on the street of the Boy Scout camp. She

parked on the Scout side and gingerly crossed, on her three-inch heels, to the woods on the

other side. The ground was damp, but she made her way past the ‘WPA 1936’ culvert to the

curve in the stream, and pushed aside the overhanging branch. She saw the clear water cascading over a small dip in the ground. A waterfall. Beth crouched down and gathered the nearby twigs, leaves and grasses, and scooped up handfuls of wet earth to cement a barricade in the stream. The water began to build up and deepen, until a small pond formed behind the dam.

Beth looked down and smiled. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small, bronze urn. She had given the big one to Mrs. Leach. This one was hers. She twisted off the cap and looked at the little bit of Eddy that she was holding in the urn. The sun was in the trees, but she couldn’t tell if it was going up or down, or east or west.

“Welcome home, Eddy,” she said, and turned the urn over.

Some of the ashes drifted into the air; but most fell into the water dammed behind the flimsy barricade. The water and ashes swirled around the top of the dam; then the twigs and grasses broke apart, the dam was breached, and the water carried the mud and dust away. Everything was, again, the way it was before.

Beth looked down. Her shoes were muddy.