Roosevelt was, apparently, taken to a train waiting for him in Portland, and from there he rode to Boston, then on to the White House, while Claire and Ben Levy accompanied Charles back to the Wilkinson home in Philadelphia for a few days rest. They arrived on Christmas Eve, just in time for dinner, and the house was decorated just as Claire remembered. A little over the top, as always, but festive and gay.
For there were children roaming the halls once again, and the stairs and hallways echoed with laughter.
Charles had two now, both boisterous boys, while Liz had three – two boys and a very little girl – while poor, barren Amanda had finally given in to her various depressions and learned to eat. When Claire first saw Amanda that evening she could hardly believe her eyes, for the glorious blond-headed dream-boat of Mainline Society had blossomed into something quite unrecognizable. Sullen didn't begin to describe the look on poor Amanda's face; no, her's was a lassitude of broken dreams...too many nighttime visits by Rupert had simply cut the girl loose from mundane things – like reality. She muttered to her demons no matter where she was, no matter who was around to listen.
And as these things so often do, her latest series of outbreaks was attended by Benjamin Levy.
+++++
She was sitting at the piano in the library, staring at sheet music when he walked into the vast, high-ceilinged room. He did not see her sitting there as he walked to one of the shelves and pulled a book down, for she had neither moved nor spoken a single word.
Then he heard a child's forlorn cry and turned to see Amanda in animated discussion with – no one. She was fully engaged in an argument, the contours of which remained a mystery to him, as he listened, though he heard references to unwanted advances and pleas to a doctor...
He watched her for some time, fascinated. He'd heard of schizophrenia, of course, but had never seen evidence of it's existence before, and watching this woman rattle on as if fully engaged in a life or death struggle was at once as interesting as it was troubling.
He moved closer to the piano yet the woman didn't respond to his presence, and he realized he simply didn't exist right now, not in the world this woman inhabited. Wherever this woman was, she simply was not in the same place he was.
Then Claire walked into the room, looking first at Ben, then at her sister.
She walked over to the piano and looked at Amanda, then to Benjamin. And at the book in Benjamin's hand.
Tolstoy's Resurrection. Now...why had he taken that book from the shelves?
And she could almost remember when books like that one had consumed all her interest – until they didn't – couldn't – anymore. Until the overt primacy of the physical world became self-apparent, most fulfilling, and how, after that epiphany she had turned away from literature and music.
Then, hearing Amanda's words, she fell inside the distant conversation and the pleas to their demons...
And so Claire moved to her sister's side, sat beside her on the piano bench and put her arms around Amanda's shoulders.
"Oh, my poor dear," Claire said, startled at the change she found now, "what's bothering you this fine Christmas Eve?"
And those words seemed to pull Amanda back into the present – for a moment. "Claire? You're home?"
"Yes, precious, I am."
"Play for me, would you?"
Claire shook her head as if she hadn't quite understood the words. "Play?"
"Yes. Debussy. Remember how you used to sit and play for father?"
"Yes."
"When you played, he left me alone. Did you know that?"
"No, I didn't."
"I loved it when you played Debussy most of all. He left me alone for days."
"I'm sorry, my love. I didn't know."
"Did you love me, Claire?"
"Yes, of course. I always have."
"That's so sweet of you to say. I wished I was younger when you came to us. That we could have played together. As it was, I was most afraid of you..."
"Afraid? Why?"
