No Greater Love-Danielle Steel

[Dalyia]

Edwina continued to hear from her aunt Liz, although letters were few and far between, and they were coming out of Europe by circuitous routes, but she seemed to be alright in spite of dreadful weather and terrible shortages of fuel and food. But she urged Edwina to take care, and said that she longed to see all the children. She hoped that when the war was over they would all come over and visit her, but even the thought of it made Edwina tremble. She was no longer able to take even the ferryboat to Oakland.
She went to the newspaper frequently, though, and it was always interesting to listen to the men there discussing the war news. She had made her own peace with Ben by then, and they were still close. He realized that she didn't want to marry anyone, and she was content with her life with the children. She enjoyed his friendship and his male views, and they would talk endlessly about the war, and about the problems they were having with the paper. Phillip was in his last year at Harvard by then, and Edwina was glad of it, she knew the paper desperately needed a family member to run it. The competition was stiff, and the other papers were all run by people and families who understood the business, particularly the de Youngs, who were the most powerful newspaper family in San Francisco.
And the healthy empire her father had been building for years had been powerfully affected by his absence. Five years was a long time, and it was time for Phillip to take over. And she also knew that it would be a year or two before Phillip had a good grasp on everything, but she hoped that he would be able to bring the paper back to what it once had been. Even their income had been diminished somewhat over the past two years, but they still had enough coming in for their way of life not to be affected. She was just grateful that Phillip would be coming home soon. And in the fall, George would be beginning his four-year stint at Harvard.
But on April 6, the United States finally entered the war, and Edwina came home from her monthly meeting at the newspaper, looking sober.
She was worried about the boys, she had talked to Ben for a long time about what it would mean for them, and their conclusion had been that for all intents and purposes Phillip and George wouldn't be affected.
Phillip was in college. George was too young, and she was glad for that. All she could remember were the terrible stories she had read at her father's paper, about the staggering casualties in the course of the battles.
When she got home, Alexis told her that Phillip had called and he would call her later that night, but he never did, and Edwina forgot about it after that. Sometimes he liked to call her just to discuss world events, and although she discouraged that kind of extravagance, she was always flattered that he wanted to talk to her. She was so used to spending her days picking up dolls, and tying ribbons on braids, and scolding Teddy for leaving his soldiers everywhere that it was refreshing discussing more important topics with her older brothers.
George was interested in the war too, but he was far more interested in the movies that were being made on the subject.
He went to see them whenever he could, and took any one of his innumerable girlfriends with him. It always made Edwina smile, just watching him, it reminded her a little bit of her own youth, when the most important thing in her life had been going to parties and balls and cotillions. She still went from time to time, but it was all different without Charles, and no one else had ever mattered to her.
Nearly twenty-six, she was content with the life she led, and she had no interest in finding a husband.
George scolded her sometimes about going out. He thought she should go out more. He still remembered how it had been "before," with their parents dressed up and going out, and Edwina wearing beautiful gowns when she went out with Charles in the evening. But when he talked about it, it only made Edwina sad, and her younger sisters would clamor and beg to see the gowns she'd worn, but the prettiest ones were long since put away, if not entirely forgotten. Lately she wore more serious things, and sometimes she even wore some of her mother's gowns.
They made her look more like a young matron.
George asked her, "Why don't you go Out more?" but she insisted that she went out quite enough. She'd been to a concert only the week before, with Ben and his new lady.
"You know what I mean." George looked annoyed, he meant with men, but that was a subject she didn't choose to discuss with her brother. They had mixed feelings about it anyway. In some ways they thought she should have more fun, and in others, they were possessive about her.
But Edwina didn't want a man in her life anyway. She still dreamed of Charles, although, after five years, the memories were a little dim now.
But in her heart, she still felt as though she belonged to him, and she hated the whispers, and the things people said when she overheard them . . . tragic . . . terrible . . . poor thing very pretty girl . .
. fiance went down on the Titanic, you know . . . parents too . . . left to bring up the children.
She was too proud to let them know she cared, and too sensible to care if anyone called her a spinster. But she was, she knew.
At twenty-five, she didn't let herself care, and she insisted that it didn't matter. That door was closed for her now, that part of her life definitely over. She hadn't even looked at her bridal veil in years.
She couldn't bear the pain of it anymore. She doubted if she would ever look at it again, but it was there . . . and it had almost been .
. . that was enough . . . and perhaps one day it would be worn by Alexis or Fannie on her wedding day In memory of a love that had never died, and a life that had never been. But there was no point thinking about it now.
She had too many other things to do. She wondered then if Phillip would call again, to discuss the fact that the United States had entered the war, but in spite of his promise to Alexis when he'd called earlier that day, he didn't.
George came home full of talk about it, though, and several times expressed regret that he wasn't old enough to go, much to Edwina's chagrin, and she told him as much, which he felt was extremely unpatriotic.
"They're looking for volunteers, Win!" He frowned at her, noticing in spite of himself as he always did, that she was even more beautiful than their mother had been. She was tall and graceful and thin, with long shining black hair that she wore straight down her back sometimes when she wasn't going anywhere. It made her look like a very young girl, unlike the more serious hairdos she wore when she was going downtown, or to meetings at their father's paper, or to a dinner party in the evening.
"I don't care if they are looking for volunteers." She glared pointedly at him. "Don't get any ideas into your head. You're too young. And Phillip has a paper to run. Let someone else go to the war, it will be over soon anyway." But there was no sign of it, as millions continued to fall in the trenches in Europe.
Five days after Congress had declared war, Edwina was walking in from the garden with an armful of her mother's roses, when she suddenly looked up and her face went deathly pale. Standing in the kitchen doorway looking handsome and tall, and with a painfully serious face, was her brother Phillip.
She stopped where she was and walked slowly toward him, afraid to ask why he was there, why he had come all the way from Boston. She only dropped the roses on the grass next to her, and hurried into his open arms and he held her for a long time. It was odd to realize how grown up he was now. He was twenty-one years old, and unlike Edwina, he looked much older. The responsibilities he'd shouldered in the past five years had left their mark on him, as they had on Edwina, too, but although she felt them, she didn't show them.
"What is it?" she asked slowly, as she pulled away from him, but a terrible pain in her heart told her what she didn't want to know, but already suspected.
"I came home to talk to you." He wouldn't have done anything that important without consulting her. He respected and loved her too much not to ask her opinion, if not her permission.
"How did you manage to leave school? It's not your holiday yet, is it?" But she already knew, she just didn't want it to be what she feared. She wanted him to tell her it was something else, anything, even that he had been thrown out of Harvard.
"They gave me a leave of absence."
"Oh." She sat down slowly at the kitchen table and for an instant, neither of them moved. "For how long?"
He didn't dare tell her. Not so soon. There was so much he wanted to say to her first. "Edwina, I have to talk to you . can we go in the other room?" They were still in the kitchen, and Mrs.
Barnes was rustling somewhere in the larder behind them. She hadn't seen Phillip since he'd come in, and he knew that once she did, there would be a big fuss and he wouldn't be able to talk to Edwina.
Edwina said not a word and walked solemnly into the front parlor. It was a room where they seldom sat, except when they had guests, which wasn't often. "You should have called before you came home," she reproached him. Then she could have told him not to come home at all.
She didn't want him to be here, didn't want him to look so grown up and as though he had something terrible to tell her.
"I did call, but you were out. Didn't Alexis tell you?"
"Yes, but you never called again." She felt tears sting her eyes as she looked at him. He was still so sweet and so young, despite his serious airs and his almost grown-up ways, and the polish he'd acquired at Harvard.
"I took the train that night. Edwina." He took a quick breath. He couldn't avoid it any longer. "I've enlisted. I leave for Europe in ten days. I wanted to see you first, to explain. . .." But as he said the words, she stood up, and walked nervously around the room, wringing her hands, and turning to glare at him.
"Phillip, how could you? What right did you have to do that, after all we've all been through? The children need you so much . . . and so do I . . . and George will be gone in September . . ' There were a thousand good reasons she could think of why he shouldn't go, but the simplest one was that she didn't want to lose him. What if he got hurt, or died? The very thought of it made her feel faint. "You can't do that! We all depend on you . . . We . . . I . . ' Her voice trailed off and tears filled her eyes as she looked at him and then turned away.
"Phillip, please don't . .." she said in muffled tones, and he walked toward her and gently touched her shoulder, wanting to explain it to her, but not entirely sure that he could.
"Edwina, I have to. I can't sit over here, reading about battles in the newspapers, and still feel like a man. I have an obligation to do my duty now that this country is at war."
"Nonsense!" She spun around to face him, and her eyes flashed just as their mother's would have years before. "You have an obligation to two brothers and three sisters. We've all been waiting for you to grow up, and you can't run out on us now."
"I'm not running out on you, Win. I'll be back. And I promise, I'll make it up to you then. I swear!" She had made him feel guilty for deserting them, and yet he felt that he owed his country something more. And in his heart, he knew that their father would have approved of his going. It was something he had to do, no matter how angry it made Edwina. Even his professors had understood it at Harvard. To them, it was merely part of being a man. But to Edwina, it was a kind of betrayal, and she was still crying and looking angrily at him, as George rushed through the front door a little while later.
He was about to dash past the front parlor, as he always did, and then he caught a glimpse of his sister, head bowed, her long dark hair cascading down her back, as it had been in the garden when she dropped the roses, and he couldn't see his brother from where he stood near the door.
"Hey, Win . . . what's up? . . . something wrong?" He looked startled and she turned slowly to face him. He had a stack of books in his arms, and his dark hair was ruffled, he looked healthy and young, and his cheeks were warm from the spring air. But as he looked at her with concern, his brother took several steps toward him. George saw him then, and looked even more worried by what he saw in his eyes.
"Hey what's wrong) "Your brother has enlisted in the army." She said it as though he had just murdered someone, and George stared at him, not sure what to say. And then his eyes lit up, and for a moment he forgot Edwina, as he took a step toward his older brother and clapped him on the shoulder.

[Dalyia]

"Good for you, old man. Give 'em hell!" And then he rapidly remembered Edwina. She took an angry step toward them both and tossed back her long hair with a vengeance.
"And what if they give him hell, George? What if they do it to him?
What if they kill him? What then? Will it be so exciting then? Will you be as pleased? And what will you do then, go over there and 'give 'em hell' too? Think of it, both of you. Think of what you're doing.
Think of this family before you do anything, and what you'll be doing to all of us when you do it." She swept past them then, and turned with a last anguished look at Phillip, and she spoke in an iron voice.
"I won't let you go, Phillip. You'll have to tell them it was a mistake. But I will not let you." And with that she slammed the door and hurried upstairs to her own room.
"WHY DID PHILLIP COME HOME?" Alexis asked with curiosity as she combed her doll's hair. "Did he flunk out of school?" She was interested, as were Fannie and Teddy, but Edwina refused to discuss it with them as she served breakfast the next morning.
The two boys had gone out to dinner the night before, to their father's club, and she knew they had met Ben, but she had not spoken to Phillip since the previous afternoon.
"Phillip decided he missed us, that's all." She spoke very seriously, and offered nothing further. And as they watched the look on her face, even Teddy knew that something was wrong that she wasn't saying.
She kissed them all before they left for school after breakfast, and she walked out to the garden then, and picked up the roses she had dropped the day before on the lawn when she first saw Phillip. She had forgotten all about them, and they were more than a little wilted, but they seemed so unimportant now. Everything did, in light of what Phillip had told her. She didn't know what she could do, but she knew she was going to do everything she could to stop him. He had no right to go away and leave them like that, and more importantly, risk his life. She took the roses into the house, and she was thinking about calling Ben to discuss it with him, when George walked into the room.
He was late for school, as he always was, and she looked up and was about to scold him, but the look in his eyes told her it was too late for that. Like Phillip, he was almost a man now.
"Are you really going to try and stop him, Win?" The words were spoken quietly, with a sad look. It was as though he knew she had already lost, but he understood it all better, because he was a man and she wasn't.
"Yes, I'm going to try and stop him." She put the roses in a vase with a certain vehemence and then looked up at him with grief and anger.
"He had no right to do that without asking me first." And she wanted to be sure that George also got that message. She wasn't going to tolerate either of them doing that, and George was just impulsive enough to try and follow his older brother into the war in Europe.
"You shouldn't do it, Win. Papa wouldn't approve of your stopping him.
He believed in standing up for what you believe in.
Her eyes pierced into his like darts and she didn't mince words. "Papa isn't here anymore," she said harshly, and George realized that she had never been that blunt about it before. "Papa wouldn't want him leaving us alone either.
Things are different now."
"You have me," he said gently, but she only shook her head.
"You're going to Harvard next year." He had already been accepted and he was following the family tradition, and it wasn't that she was trying to hang on to them, but she didn't want them to get killed.
"Don't get involved in this, George," she warned, "this is between me and Phillip."
"No, it's not," he said, "it's between him, and him. It's up to Phillip to stand up for what he believes in. You wouldn't want him to be less than that, Win. He's got to do what he thinks is right, even if it hurts us. I understand that, and you have to too' "I don't have to understand anything." She spun around so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes, and spoke to him over her shoulder. "Go on, now, you'll be late for school."
He left reluctantly, just as his brother came downstairs and whispered to George across the main hallway. "How is she?" They had talked about it long into the night, and there was no doubt in Phillip's mind.
He had to go.
"I think she's crying." George whispered back, and smiled as he saluted his brother and flew out the front door. He would be late for school, as usual, but it didn't matter anymore.
School was almost over. He was going to graduate from Drew School in six weeks, and he was off to Harvard in September.
And to him, school was a place where you made friends, and chased girls, and had a good time before you went home to your family and ate dinner. He had always liked school, but he had never been the serious student that Phillip was. He was sad, too, that his brother was going to war, but he was certain that Phillip was doing the right thing, and equally so that Edwina was wrong. Their father would have told her so' had he been alive, but unfortunately he wasn't. And Phillip was no longer a little boy.
He tried to tell her that himself a little while later in the garden, but she was furiously pulling weeds, and pretending not to hear him, and then finally she turned to him with tears running down her cheeks, and with the back of her hands, pushed the hair back from her face.
"If you're not a child anymore, then act like a man and stand by us.
I've held on to that damn paper for you for five 217
DANIELLE STEEL years, and what do you expect me to do now? Close the doors?"
The paper had nothing to do with it and they both knew it. All she really wanted to tell him was that she was scared. So scared that she couldn't bear the thought of him leaving, and she would have done anything in her power to stop him from going to the war in Europe.
"The paper will wait while I'm gone. That's not the point and you know it."
"The point is . .." She started to justify herself again, but this time the words failed her. She couldn't go on, as she turned and saw the look on his face. He looked so strong and so young, and so damn hopeful. He believed in what he'd done and he wanted her to believe in it too, for him, but she just couldn't do it. "The point is . .." she whispered as she reached out to him and he went to her,". . . the point is I love you so much," she sobbed, ". . . oh, please, Phillip .
. . don't go . .
"Edwina, I have to."
"You can't . .." She was thinking of herself, and Fannie and Teddy, and Alexis. They all needed him so much. And if he left, they would have only George. Silly George of the endless mischief, the tin cans tied behind horses, the cranks "borrowed" from motorcars, the mice let loose in classrooms . the sweet face that kissed her at night, the arms that always hugged Fannie . . . the boys they had been, and no longer were . . . and in the fall, George would be gone too. Suddenly, everything was changing as it had once before, except that the children were all she had left now and she didn't want to lose them. "Phillip, please . .
Her eyes begged and he looked at her unhappily. He had come all the way to California to tell her, and he had half expected this, but it was so painful for all of them. "I won't go without your blessing. I don't know how I'd get out of it, but if you really mean what you say, if you can't manage without me, then I'll have to tell them I can't go." He looked heartbroken as he said it, and the look in his eyes told her there was no choice.
She had to let him do it.
"And if you don't go?"
"I don't know He looked sadly around his mother's garden, remembering her, and the father they had loved, as he looked back into his sister's eyes. "I think I'd always feel that somehow I had failed them. I have no right to let someone else fight this war for us. Edwina, I want to be there." He looked so sure, and so calm, it broke her heart just to see him. And she didn't understand the lure of war for men, but she knew that he had to go with it.
"Why? Why do you have to be the one?"
"Because even though to you I'm still a child, I'm a man now. Edwina .
. . that's where I belong."
She nodded silently and stood up, shaking out her skirt and dusting her hands off, and it was a long moment before she looked up at him again.
"You have it then." She sounded solemn and her voice was shaking, but she had made up her mind, and she was glad he had come home to tell her. If he hadn't, she would never have understood it. And she wasn't sure she did now, but she had to respect him. And he was right. He was no longer a boy anymore. He was a man. And he had a right to his own principles and opinions "What do I have?" He looked confused, and suddenly surprisingly boyish as she smiled at him.
"You have my blessing, silly boy. I wish you wouldn't go, but you have a right to make up your own mind." And then her eyes grew sad again.
"Just be sure you come home."
"I promise you . . . I will . .." He threw his arms around her and hugged her close, and they stood that way for a long time, as little Teddy watched them from an upstairs window. as Phillip packed some of his things, and told George he could take anything of his he wanted to Harvard, and it had been long after midnight when they went downstairs and decided to have something to eat in the kitchen.
George talked animatedly, waving a chicken leg, and wished him Godspeed, and then teased him about the girls he would meet in France, but that was the last thing on Phillips mind.
"Be easy on Edwina," he urged, and then reminded George not to go wild when he got to Harvard.
"Don't be silly." George grinned as he poured a beer for himself and his older brother. All of Phillip's bags were packed, and they had nothing left to do until morning. They could talk all night if they wanted to, and George knew that Edwina wouldn't have minded if they stayed up all night, or even got drunk. As George saw it, they had a right to.
"I mean it," Phillip said again. "It's been hard on her having to take care of all of us for all these years." It had been exactly five years since their parents had died.
"We haven't been so bad." George smiled as he sipped the beer, and wondered how his brother would look in a uniform.
When he thought about it, he envied him and wished he were going with him.
"If it weren't for all of us, she might be married to someone," Phillip said pensively. "Or maybe not. I don't think she's ever gotten over Charles, maybe she never will."
"I don't think she wants to get over him," George said. He knew his older sister well, and Phillip nodded.
"Just be good to her." He looked lovingly at his younger brother as he set his own glass down, and then as he tousled George's hair, he smiled. "I'll miss you, kid. Have a good time next year."
"You too." George smiled, thinking of his brother's adventures in France. "Maybe I'll see you over there sometime."
But at that Phillip only shook his head. "Don't you dare.
They need you here." And his eyes said he meant it, as George nodded at him with a sigh of envy.

[Dalyia]

"I know." And then, looking unusually sober for him, "Just be sure you come back." It was what Edwina had said too, and silently Phillip nodded.
The two brothers walked upstairs arm in arm, shortly after 2:00 A. M and the next morning, everyone was ready and waiting when they came down to breakfast. Edwina had made their breakfast herself, and she looked up and smiled at the two boys, looking tired from the night before, and their long hours of talking in the kitchen.
"Did you get to bed late last night?" she asked, pouring coffee for both as Fannie stared at Phillip. She couldn't believe he was leaving them again, and this time she knew that Edwina wasn't happy about it.
They were all going to the station to see him off, and there was an aura of false gaiety as Edwina drove them through town in the Packard.
There were other boys like him waiting at the station for the train.
Many had enlisted in the past few days. It was only nine days since the United States had entered the war. And for Alexis it was a sad and special day, it was her eleventh birthday. But it was a doubly sad day for her, because Phillip was leaving.
"Take care of yourself," Edwina said softly as they waited for the train, and George cracked an endless series of old jokes.
They kept the younger children distracted anyway, and Edwina suddenly felt an arrow pierce her heart, as in the distance, they heard the train begin to wail as it approached them.
It swept into the station then, and George helped him carry his things, as the younger children waited with sad eyes and unhappy faces.
"When will you come back again?" Teddy asked unhappily as a tear trembled in the corner of his eye, and then slid down his cheek.
"Soon . . . be good . . . don't forget to write . .." His words were interrupted by the whistle of the train as it prepared to pull out. Everything was happening too rapidly as he kissed each of them, and then squeezed Edwina close to him.
"Take care . . . I'll be alright . . . I'll be back soon, Win . oh, God . . . I'll miss you so. . .." His voice broke on the words.
"Stay safe," she whispered, "come home soon. . . . I love you . . .
And then, they hurried to the platform as the conductor shouted, "All aboard." She held Teddy close to her, and George stood holding Alexis's and Fannie's hands, as slowly, relentlessly, the train moved out of the station.
Edwina felt a terrible pull at her heart, and prayed that he would come home safely. And then they all waved and he was gone, and as the train sped away, they couldn't see the tears rolling down Phillip's cheeks.
He was doing what he knew he had to do . . . but God . . . he was going to miss them. . .
Edwina and the children occasionally, and by winter, Phillip was in France, at the battle of Cambrai. His unit was fighting with the British there and for a while, they were doing well, better than the nearly half million who had died at the battle of Passchendaele. But ten days after the battle of Cambrai began, the Germans counterattacked, and the British and Americans lost ground and had to fall back, almost to where they had started.
The loss of men was staggering and as Edwina read accounts of the battles there, her heart would sink, thinking of her brother. He wrote of mud and snow and discomfort everywhere, but he never told them how afraid he was, or how disheartened, watching men die by the thousands day after day, as he prayed that he'd survive it.
In the States, there were the recruitment posters everywhere, showing a stern invitation from Uncle Sam. And in Russia the Czar had fallen that year, and the imperial family was in exile.
"Is George going to be a hero too?" Fannie asked one day 225 just before Thanksgiving, as Edwina trembled at the thought of George following in Phillip's footsteps.
"No, he's not," she answered somberly. It was hard enough worrying about Phillip night and day, and fortunately George had been at Harvard since the fall. He called infrequently, and his rare letters showed that he was happy there, although he talked of none of the things Phillip had when he'd been there. He talked of the people he met, the men he liked, the parties he went to in New York, and the girls he dated constantly. But he also surprised Edwina by saying that he missed California. And he wrote a funny letter raving about the latest movies he'd seen, a new Charlie Chaplin called The Cure, and something with Gloria Swanson called Teddy at the Throttle. His fascination with films lived on, and he had written a long, technical letter about both films, telling how they could have been better. It made her wonder if he really was serious about going to Hollywood one day and making movies. But the world of Hollywood seemed a long, long way from Harvard.
Phillip was still in France with frostbitten fingers and men dying all around him.
Fortunately, Edwina was unaware of it, as they said grace and prayed for him at their Thanksgiving table. and God bless George, too." Teddy added solemnly, "Who isn't going to be a hero, because my sister Edwina won't let him," he offered by way of explanation, as she smiled at him. At seven, he was still a pudgy, cuddly little elf with a special attachment to her. Edwina was the only mother he remembered.
They spent a quiet day, and sat in the garden after their Thanksgiving meal. It was a warm, pretty day, and Alexis and Fannie sat on the swing, as Teddy kicked a ball from one to the other. It was odd now, with both of the big boys gone, and having only the younger children at home. Edwina suggested that they write to Phillip that night. And she hoped that George would call. He was spending Thanksgiving with friends in Boston.
Everyone was still full when they went to bed, and Edwina was still awake late that night, when she heard the doorbell. She sat up, startled by the noise, and then hurried downstairs before the persistent bell could wake the children.
She was still struggling into her dressing gown as she reached the front door, in bare feet with her hair in braids, and she opened the door cautiously, expecting to see one of George's friends, drunk and looking for him, having forgotten that he'd gone to Harvard.
"Yes?" she said, looking very young in the darkened hall, her face shining in the moonlight.
There was a man she didn't recognize outside, with a telegram in his hand, and she stared at him in surprise. "Is your mother home?" he asked, adding to her confusion.
"I . . . no . . . I think you mean me. She frowned.
"Who is that for?" But a finger of fear was tracing its way around her heart and she found herself short of breath as he read her name loudly and clearly. He handed the telegram to her, and scurried down the stairs like a rat in a bad dream, as she closed the front door and leaned against it for an instant.
There could be nothing good in it. Good things did not come in telegrams shortly after midnight.
She walked into the front parlor then, turned on a lamp, and sat down slowly to read it. The envelope tore open easily In her hands, and her eyes raced over it as her breath caught and she felt her heart writhe within her. It couldn't be . . . It wasn't possible . . . five years before, he had survived the sinking of the Titanic . . . and now he was gone . . . regret to inform you that your brother, Private Phillip Bertram Winfield, died with honor on the battlefield today in Cambrai on November 28, 1917. We at the Department of the Army extend our condolences to your entire family . . . "and it was signed with a name she had never heard of. A sob tore at her throat as she read it a dozen times, and then stood up silently and turned the light off.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she walked upstairs, and stood in the hall where he had lived, and they had grown, and knew that he would never come home again . like the others . . . five borrowed years he had lived after them, long enough to grow to be a man, and be killed by German soldiers.
And then, as she stood there, crying silently, holding the hated telegram, she saw a little face peering at her in the dark.
It was Alexis. She stood there, staring at her for a long time, knowing something terrible was wrong, but not daring to approach Edwina. And then at last, Edwina saw her there and held out her arms, and instinctively Alexis knew that he was gone, and they stood there in the hall for a long, long time, until at last Edwina dried her eyes, and took Alexis to bed with her, where they lay clinging to each other like two lost children until morning.
"HELLo? . . . HELLo!" Edwina shouted across three thousand miles.
The connection was terrible, but she had to reach George. She had already waited two days for him to get back to Harvard after the Thanksgiving weekend. And finally, at his end, someone answered. "Mr.
Winfield, please," she shouted into the phone, and then there was endless staccato again, while someone went to find him. And at last, George was on the line, and for an instant he heard only silence.
"Hello!" he shouted back at her, ". . . hello! . . . who is this?"
He was sure that they had lost the connection, but at last she took a breath and spoke, not sure how to begin. It was hard enough telling him, without having to shout it over the longdistance wires, and yet she hadn't wanted to give him the shock of a telegram, or spend days waiting for a letter to reach him.
He had a right to know, just as the others did. The children had cried for days. They were familiar tears to them, tears they had already shed once before, even if they didn't remember.
"George, can you hear me?" Her voice barely reached him.
"Yes! . . . are you alright?"
The answer was a hard one, and tears filled her eyes before she spoke, as suddenly it seemed a mistake to have called him.
"Phillip . . ' she began, and before she said another word, he knew, as he felt his blood run cold, and listened to her from Boston. "We got a telegram two days ago," she began to sob, which George knew was unlike her. "He was killed in France he . .." suddenly it seemed important to tell him all the details, ". . . he died honorably . .
."
And then she couldn't go on. She couldn't say another word, as the children stood on the stairs and watched her.
"I'm coming home," was all he said, as tears rolled down his cheeks.
"I'm coming home, Win . .." They were both crying then, and Alexis walked slowly upstairs, all the way to the top floor where she hadn't been in so long. But she needed to go there now, to be alone with her thoughts of her oldest brother.
"George," Edwina tried to go on, "you don't have to do that . . . we're . . . alright . . ' But this time, she was far from convincing.

[Dalyia]

"I love you . .." He was still crying openly, thinking of Phillip and her, of all of them, and how unfair it was. Edwina had been right.
She should never have let him go. He knew that now. Too late. For Phillip. "I'll be home in four days."
"George, don't . .." She feared that they would take a dim view of it at Harvard.
"Good-bye . . . wait . . . are the little ones alright?"
They were, more or less, except Alexis, who seemed very badly shaken.
The others were clinging to Edwina for fear that it could mean she might die and leave them.
"They'll do." She took a breath, and tried not to let herself think of Phillip and how he must have died, alone, in the freezing mud. Poor baby . . . if only she could have held him. . .
"See you in four days, then."
She was about to tell him not to come, but he was gone by then, and she slowly set the phone down, and turned to see Fannie and Teddy sitting on the stairs crying softly, just above her. They came to cuddle with her then, and she took them back upstairs to their own rooms, but that night they slept with her, and eventually Alexis came back downstairs and joined them. Edwina had left her alone, knowing where she'd gone, and that she needed to be alone with her memories of Phillip.
In some ways, they all did.
They talked about him until late that night, and all the things they loved about him. How tall and distinguished he had been, how kind, how serious about things, how responsible, how loving, and how gentle.
There was a long list of attributes that came to mind, and as she thought about him, Edwina realized with a gash of pain again, how terribly she would miss him.
And as they huddled together late into the night, she realized that it was once again like being in the lifeboat, afraid, alone, clinging to each other in stormy waters, wondering if they would all find each other again. Only this time, she knew they wouldn't.
It was a long four days of quiet thoughts, and tears, and silent anger, waiting for George to come home, but when he did, the house came alive again, as he hurried up or down stairs, slammed doors, or rushed into the kitchen. It made Edwina smile just seeing him again, and when he walked through the front door when he arrived, he hurried out to find her in the garden. He strode toward her, pulling her close to him, and they stood together for a long time and cried for their lost brother.
"I'm glad you came," she admitted later on, when the little ones were all tucked into bed upstairs. And then she looked sadly at George.
"It's so lonely here without him. It's different suddenly, knowing that he's . . . gone . . . that he's not coming back. I hate going into his room now." George understood.
He had gone in and just sat down and cried that afternoon when he'd gotten home. A part of him had expected Phillip to be there.
"It's so strange, isn't it?" he said. "It's as though he's still alive somewhere out there, and I know that he'll be back someday . .
. except he won't, Edwina . . . will he?"
She shook her head, thinking of him again, and how serious he had been, about everything, how responsible, and how he had always helped her with the children. Unlike George, who was always busy putting frogs into people's beds, except that now, she was grateful to see him.
"I used to feel that way about Mama . . . and Papa . and Charles . .." Edwina admitted. "That they would come back one day, but they didn't."
"I guess I was too young to understand that then," he said quietly, getting to know her better now. "It must have been terrible for you, Win . . . with Charles and everything." And then, "You've never cared about anyone else, have you? I mean after him . .." He knew about Ben liking her, but he also knew that Edwina had never been in love with him. And he didn't think there had been any serious suitors since then.
She smiled and shook her head. "I don't suppose I will love any other man again. Maybe that was enough in one lifetime.
Just Charles . .." Her voice drifted off as she thought of him.
"That doesn't seem fair . . . you deserve more than that."
And then, "Don't you want children of your own someday?"
But at that, she laughed, and wiped the tears off her face that she had shed for her brother, "I think I've had quite enough, thank you very much. Wouldn't you say five is sufficient?"
"That's not the same, though." He was still looking serious and she laughed again.
"I'd say it's close enough. I promised Mama I'd take care of all of you, and I have. But I'm not sure I need more than that.
And besides, I'm too old now anyway." But she didn't look as though she regretted it. All she regretted was losing so many people she had loved so much. It made those who were left now even more precious.
"When do you have to go back?"
He looked at her for a serious moment before he answered.
"I want to talk to you about that . . . but not tonight . maybe tomorrow . .." He knew she'd be upset, but he had made his mind up even before he'd left to come home to California.
"Is something wrong? Are you in trouble, George?" It wouldn't have been a total shock, in George's case, but now she smiled lovingly. He was still such a boy, and so full of life, no matter how serious he appeared. But he was shaking his head, looking faintly insulted.
"No, I'm not in trouble, Win. But I'm not going back either."
"What?" She looked shocked. All the men in her family had graduated from Harvard. For three generations. And after George did, one day Teddy would go, and one day, their children.
"I'm not going back." He had made his mind up, just as Phillip had when he went to war, and Edwina sensed it.
"Why?"
"Because I belong here now. And to be honest with you, I never did belong there. I had a good time, but it's not what I want, Win. I want something very different. I want the real world . . . something new and exciting and alive . . . I don't want Greek essays and mythological translations. That was fine for Phillip . . . but it just isn't for me. It never was. I want something else. I'd rather go to work out here." The suggestion shocked his sister, but she already knew it would be pointless to try and dissuade him. Perhaps if she let him be, one day he'd go back of his own choice and finish. She hated to think of him not getting his diploma. Even Phillip had planned to go back and finish.
They talked about it for several days, and eventually she discussed it with Ben, and two weeks later, George began an apprenticeship at their father's paper. She had to admit that maybe for him, it made more sense, and with Phillip gone, now there would be no one else to run the paper. George was a long way from being there, but perhaps after a year or two, he would have learned enough to try his hand at it. God knew, there was no one else to.
And she smiled to herself as she watched him leave for the paper every morning. He looked like a child, pretending to be his father. First, he would fall out of bed, invariably late, and with his coat and tie askew, he would eventually appear at the breakfast table, just in time to tease and distract the children.
Then, after spilling three glasses of milk, and feeding his oatmeal to the cat, he would grab two pieces of fruit, and fly out the door, telling her that he'd call her at lunchtime. He called her religiously every day, but usually to tell her a joke, and ask if she minded if he went out to dinner, which, of course, she didn't.
George's romances were legendary all over town, and as soon as people knew he was back, invitations poured in for him almost daily. The Crockers, the de Youngs, the Spreckleses, everyone wanted him, just as they had always wanted Edwina, but a lot of the time, she preferred to stay home now. She went out occasionally with him, and he made a very handsome escort, but Edwina no longer thrived on going to parties. But George enjoyed it all thoroughly, much more than he enjoyed his apprenticeship at the paper.
She forced him to go to monthly meetings with her for several months, but then she discovered that he was out every afternoon, and careful investigation told her that he was sneaking out to go to the movies.
"For God's sake, George, be serious. This business is going to be yours one day," she scolded in June, and he apologized, but the following month it was the same thing, and she had to threaten to cancel his salary if he didn't stick around and earn It.
"Edwina, I can't help it. It's not me. And everybody bows and scrapes, and calls me Mr. Winfield, and I don't know anything about all this. I keep looking over my shoulder, thinking they must mean Papa."
"So, learn it, dammit. I would, in your shoes!" She was furious with him, but he was tired of being pushed, and he said so.
"Why the hell don't you run the paper yourself, then? You run everything else, the house, the children, you'd run me if you could, just the way you used to run Phillip!" She had slapped him then, and he was aghast at what he'd said. He had apologized profusely but he had cut her to the quick and he knew it. "Edwina, I'm sorry . . . I didn't know what I was saying. . .
"Is that what you think of me, George? You think I run everything? Is that what it looks like to you?" There had been tears running down her face by then. "Well, just exactly what did you think I should do when Mama and Papa died? Give up?
Let all of you run wild? Who did you think was going to keep it all together for us? Aunt Liz? Uncle Rupert? You, maybe while you were busy putting frogs in everyone's bed? Who else was there, for heaven's sake? Papa was gone, he had no choice." She was sobbing by then and something she had held back for years was about to escape her. "And Mama chose to go with him they wouldn't let him or Phillip in the boats because they were men . . . you were the last little boy to get in a lifeboat that night because the officer in charge wouldn't let boys or men on . . . so Papa had to stay . . . but Mama wanted to stay with him. Phillip said she wouldn't get in the last lifeboat that left.
She wanted to die with Papa." It was something that had torn at her for five years. Why had Kate wanted to die with their father? "So who was left, George? Who was there? There was me . . . and you, and you were only twelve years old . and Phillip, and he was only sixteen . . . that left me. And if you don't like the way I've done it, then I'm sorry." She turned away from him then, with tears running down her cheeks in the room that had once been her father's office.
"I'm sorry, Win . .." He was horrified at what he'd done.

[Dalyia]

"I love you . . . and you've been wonderful . . . I was just upset because this isn't me . . . I can't help it. I'm sorry .
I'm not Papa . . . or Phillip . . . or you . . . I'm me . and this isn't." There were tears in his eyes now too, because he felt he'd failed her. "I just can't be like them. Harvard doesn't mean anything to me, Win. And I don't understand anything about this paper.
I'm not sure I ever will . .." He started to cry, and turned back to look at her. "I'm so sorry.
"What do you want then?" she asked gently. She loved him as he was, and she had to respect him for what he was, and what he wasn't.
"I want what I've always wanted, Win. I want to go to Hollywood and make movies." He was not yet nineteen and the thought of his going to Hollywood to make films seemed ridiculous to Edwina.
"How would you do that?"
His eyes lit up and danced at the question. "I have a friend from school whose uncle runs a studio, and he said that if I ever wanted to, I should call him."
"George," she said with a sigh, "those are pipe dreams."
"How do you know? How do you know I wouldn't turn out to be a brilliant producer?" They both laughed through their tears and a part of her wanted to indulge him, but a more serious side of her told her she was crazy. "Edwina." He looked at her pleadingly. "Will you let me try?"
"And if I say no?" She looked at him soberly, but the disappointment on his face touched her deeply.
"Then I'll stay here and behave. But I promise, if you let me go, I'll come home and check on you every weekend."
She laughed at the thought. "What would I do with the women you'd drag along behind you?"
"We'll leave them in the garden." He grinned. "Well, will you let me try it?"
"I might," she said slowly, and then looked at him sadly.
"And then what do I do with Papa's paper?"
"I don't know." He looked at her honestly. "I don't think I could ever run it." It had been a headache to her for a long time, and one day soon, with no one strong enough to run it, it was either going to die quietly, or start costing them a great deal of money.
"I suppose I should sell it. Phillip was the one who really wanted to try his hand at this." And God only knew what Teddy would do one day, he was only eight years old, and she couldn't hold on to it forever.
George looked at her with regret. "I'm not Phillip, Win."
"I know." She smiled. "But I love you just as you are."
"Does that mean . .." He didn't dare ask, but she laughed as she nodded and put her arms around his neck and hugged him.
"Yes, you wretch, go . . . desert me." She was teasing him. He had come home to her when she needed him, seven months before when Phillip died, but she knew he would never be happy languishing at their father's paper. And who knew?
Maybe one day he'd be good at making movies. "Who is this man, by the way, your friend's uncle? Is he any good? Is he respectable?"
"The best." He told her a name she'd never heard of, and they walked out of her father's office hand in hand. She still had a lot to think about, a lot to decide, but George's fate was sealed. He was off to Hollywood. And it sounded more than a little mad to Edwina.
GEoRGE LEFT for Hollywood in July, right after their annual trip to Lake Tahoe. They still went to the same camp they had gone to for years, borrowed from old friends of their parents', and Edwina and the children still loved it. It was a place to relax, and go for long walks, and swim, and George was still the master at catching crayfish.
And this year, it was especially nice for them to be together, before he left on his Hollywood adventure.
They talked about I"Phillip a lot when they were there, and Edwina spent a lot of time trying to decide what she was going to do with the paper.
She had already made her mind up to sell it, but the question was when.
And when they went back to San Francisco, she asked Ben to offer it to the de Youngs, two days after George had left for Los Angeles. The house still seemed to be in an uproar after he left, and his friends were still calling night and day. It was difficult to think of him having a serious career anywhere, but maybe Hollywood was the place for him if the stories one read were true, which Edwina doubted. There were always tales of mad movie stars draped in white fox, driving fabulous cars, and going to wild parties. He still seemed a little young for all that, but she trusted him, and she had decided that it was better for him to get it out of his system, and either make a success of it or forget it forever.
"Do you suppose I should wait before I sell the paper, Ben? What if he changes his mind and the paper's gone by then?" She was worried about it, but the truth was that the paper had been sliding downhill badly recently, along with its profits. It just couldn't survive anymore without her father, and George was far too young and too uninterested to take over.
"It won't last long enough for him to grow into it." Ben was always honest with her, although he was sad to see her sell it. But there was just no point in keeping it anymore. Her father was gone, as was her brother Phillip, who might actually have done good things with it, and George had already demonstrated his lack of interest.
The de Youngs turned them down summarily, but in a matter of a month, they got an offer from a publishing group in Sacramento. They had been looking for a San Francisco paper to buy for quite some time, and the Telegraph Sun fit the bill perfectly. They made Edwina a decent offer, and Ben suggested that she take it.
"Let me think about it." She hesitated, and he told her not to drag her feet, or the people in Sacramento might change their minds. The money they offered her was not fabulous, but It would allow her to live on it for the next fifteen or twenty years, and educate her remaining brother and sisters. "And then?" she asked Ben quietly. "What happens after that?" In twenty years, she was going to be forty-seven years old, with no husband, no skills, and no family to take care of her, unless George or one of the others decided to support her. It was hardly an idea that appealed to her, and she had to think about that now. But on the other hand, keeping the paper wasn't a solution either.
It made Ben feel sorry for her, but he would never have said as much to her. "You have time over the next several years to make some investments, to save money. There are a lot of things you could do, with time to think about it." And things that she could have done too, like marry him or anyone else.
But at twenty-seven, marriage no longer seemed likely. She was far past the marrying age by then. Women just didn't suddenly get married at twenty-seven. And she no longer thought about it at all. She had done what she had to do, and that was that. She had no regrets. And it was only for the merest moment when George left that she looked into his face and saw the sheer excitement there, and felt as though life had somehow passed her by. But it was crazy to feel that, she knew.
And she had gone home from the station with Fannie and Alexis and Teddy, and gotten busy with them on a project they were making in the garden.
She wouldn't have known what to do in Hollywood anyway, with all the movie stars and people he wrote to them about now. He made them roar with laughter with tales of women trailing rhinestones and furs, with wolfhounds running behind them, one of whom had lifted his leg on a starlet's pet snake, causing a near riot on the first set he'd been invited on. He was already having a good time, and he was knee-deep in the movie world within days of his arrival. His friend's uncle had actually come through, as promised, and had given him a job as an assistant cameraman, learning the trade from the ground up. And in two weeks he was going to be working on his first movie.
"Will he be a movie star one day?" Fannie had wanted to know shortly after he left. She was ten years old, and it all seemed fascinating to her. But it was even more so to Alexis, who, at twelve, was already a beauty. She had grown up to be even more beautiful than she'd been as a child, and her wistful reticence made her look almost sultry. It frightened Edwina sometimes to see how remarkable the child was, and how people stared when she took her out, and it still seemed to frighten Alexis. She had never really fully recovered from her parents' death. And the blow of Phillip's being killed as well had made her seem even more remote. And yet, with Edwina, she was always outspoken and intelligent and assured, but the moment there were strangers around her, she still panicked. And she had had an almost eerie attachment to George before he left.
She followed him everywhere, and she sat on the stairs sometimes for hours at night, waiting for him to come back from parties. Ever since Phillip had died, she had clung to George, as in the distant past, she had clung to her parents.
She was anxious to know if they would go to Hollywood to visit him, and Edwina promised her they would, although he had promised to come up and visit them for Thanksgiving.
It was shortly before that when the paper finally sold, to the Sacramento people who'd wanted it. And dragging her feet had succeeded in bringing Edwina more money. It was a decent sum, but it was not a fabulous amount, and she knew that now she'd have to be even more careful. There would be no new clothes, new cars, no expensive trips anywhere, none of it things she would miss in any case. All she needed was enough to bring up the children. But it was emotional for her anyway, when the newspaper sold. And she went down on the last day before the sale, to sign the papers in her father's old office. It was occupied now by the managing editor he had left in his place. But in everyone's mind it was still Bert Winfield's office.
And there was a picture of her on the wall as a child, standing next to her mother. She took it down, and looked at it. The rest of his things had been packed long since, and now she put this last photograph away, wrapped up carefully, and she sat down and signed the final papers.
"I guess that's it." She looked up at Ben. He had come in specially to watch her sign them, and complete the transaction, as her attorney.
"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Edwina." He looked at her and smiled sadly. He would have liked to see Phillip running it, but then again, so would Edwina.
And then as he walked out, "How's George?"
She laughed before she answered, remembering the absurdities of his last letter. "I don't think he's ever been happier. It all sounds a little mad to me. But he loves it."
"I'm glad. This wasn't for him." He didn't say it, but in his opinion George would have destroyed the paper.

[Dalyia]

They stood outside the paper for a long time, and she knew she would see him about other matters she consulted him on, but he walked her slowly to her car and helped her in with a feeling of nostalgia.
"Thank you for everything." She said it softly. He nodded, and she started the car, and drove slowly home, feeling sad. She had just given up the paper her father had so deeply loved. But with him gone .
. . and Phillip gone It was finally the end of an era.
GEoRGE CAME HoME for Thanksgiving as promised, full of wild tales and crazy stories of even crazier people. He had met the Warner brothers by then, and seen Norma and Constance Talmadge at a party, and he regaled the children with tales of Tom Mix and Charlie Chaplin. It was not that he knew any of them well, but Hollywood was so open, so alive, so exciting, and the film industry so new, it was open to everyone, he claimed, and he loved it. It was exactly what he had wanted.
His friend's uncle, Sam Horowitz, sounded like a character as well, and according to George, he was a shrewd businessman and knew everyone in town. He had started the most important studio in Hollywood four years before, and he was going to own the whole town one day, because he was so smart about what he did, and everybody seemed to like him. George described him as a big man, in stature as well as importance, and the fact that he had a very pretty daughter wasn't entirely lost on Edwina.
According to George, she was an only child, who'd lost her mother as a little girl in a train disaster in the East, and she had grown up alone with her adoring father. He seemed to know a lot about the girl, but Edwina refrained from making comment as he told them one amusing story after another.
"Can we come and see you sometime?" Teddy asked with adoring eyes.
His brother was a big man to him, more important even than a movie star! And George reveled in their excitement over what he was doing.
It wasn't that he was that fascinated with the technical end of it, and being an assistant cameraman was only temporary, he assured them all, but one day he wanted to produce the films and run the studio, the way Sam Horowitz did, and he was sure he could do it. Sam had even promised him an office job within a year if he behaved himself and was serious about the business.
"I hope you work harder than you did at the newspaper," Edwina reminded him, and he grinned.
"I promise, Sis. Harder than at Harvard too!" He was penitent about his sins, and he had found something he really loved. She was only sorry Phillip hadn't lived to see what his brother had undertaken. But then again, if Phillip were alive, George would probably still have been cutting classes at Harvard.
The war had ended a few weeks earlier, and Edwina and he talked about it during his few days in San Francisco. It seemed cruel that their brother had died only a year before. All of it seemed so senseless.
Ten million dead among all the Allied countries, and twenty million maimed. It was a staggering toll that was difficult to even conceive of. And talking about the war in Europe reminded her that she hadn't heard from Aunt Liz in a long time, and she wanted to write to her, to tell her about George's new life in Hollywood, and give her news of the other children. She had been desolate when Edwina wrote to tell her of Phillip's death the year before, but she had hardly written to them since. Edwina imagined that it was because it had been so difficult to get letters out of England.
She wrote to her after George went back to Los Angeles, and it was after Christmas before she got an answer. By then, George had come home again, to celebrate the holidays with them, and tell them more stories about the stars he'd seen.
Edwina noticed several more mentions of Helen Horowitz during his brief stay with them, and she suspected that George was very taken with her.
She wondered if she should go down and visit him there or let him enjoy his independence without intruding. In a way, he was half boy, half man. At nineteen, he considered himself the consummate sophisticate, and yet she knew that in his heart of hearts, he was still a child, and perhaps he always would be. It was what she loved about him the most.
When he was home he played endlessly with the children. He brought the girls beautiful new dolls, and a new dress for each, and a handsome bicycle and a pair of stilts for Teddy.
And for Edwina, he had brought a fabulous silver fox jacket.
She couldn't imagine wearing it, and yet she remembered her mother having one years before, and she felt glamorous and beautiful when she tried it on. And he had insisted that she wear it to the breakfast table on Christmas morning. He was always generous and kind, and endlessly silly, as he walked around the house on Teddy's stilts, and went out to greet their neighbors on them from the garden.
And he had already left again when Edwina finally heard from her aunt's solicitor in London. He had written her a very formal letter, and regretted to inform her that Lady Hickham had passed away in late October, but due to the "inconveniences" of the last days of the Great War, he had been unable to advise her sooner. But he had been meaning to write to her anyway, as soon as things were sorted out, he said. As she undoubtedly knew, Lord Rupert had left his lands, and his estate, to the nephew who was the heir to his title. However, he had, quite understandably, left his personal fortune to his wife, and according to Lady Hickham's last will and testament, she had left all of it to Edwina and her brothers and sisters. He quoted a sum that, as closely as he could figure it, was an approxImation of what she had left them.
And Edwina sat staring at the letter in amazement. It wasn't an amount which would leave them rolling in tiaras and Rolls-Royces, but it was a very handsome sum, which would leave each of them secure, if they were careful with it, for most of their lifetime. For her, it was the answer to a prayer, because all of them were young enough to have jobs and careers one day, or for the girls to find husbands who would care for them at least, but Edwina knew she wouldn't. For her it would mean being independent until the day she died, and never having to be dependent on her siblings.
And she read the letter again with silent gratitude to the aunt she had scarcely known and barely liked in the course of her last visit. As a final gift to them, she had saved them. It was a far greater amount than what Edwina had derived from the sale of the newspaper and carefully split into five accounts, one for each of them, but once divided it wasn't an enormous fortune. This was a great deal more.
"Good Lord," she whispered to herself as she sat back in her chair in the dining room and folded the letter. It was a Saturday afternoon and Alexis had just wandered in and watched her read the letter from England.
"Is something wrong?" She was too used to tragedy and bad news, which too often came in telegrams or letters, but Edwina smiled as she looked up at her and shook her head.
"No . . . and yes . . . Aunt Liz has died," she said solemnly, "but she's left us all a very generous gift, which you'll be very happy to ave one day, Lexie." She was going to speak to her banker about the safest ways to invest it, for herself, and the children. . .
Alexis seemed unimpressed by the bequest as she looked seriously at Edwina. "What did she die of?"
"I don't know." Edwina opened the letter again, feeling guilty that she wasn't more upset by the loss of her mother's only sister. But she had always been so nervous and unhappy, and her last visit to them hadn't been all that pleasant. "It doesn't say here."
But it might have been the Spanish influenza. It had already killed so many that year, in Europe, and the States. It was a dreadful epidemic.
She tried to figure out how old Liz had been then, calculating rapidly that she would have been fifty-one, as their mother would have been forty-eight that year. It was odd, too, that she had survived Rupert by so little.
"It was nice of her to think of us, Alexis, wasn't it?" Edwina smiled as Alexis nodded.
"Are we rich now?" Alexis looked intrigued as she sat down next to her, and Edwina smiled as she shook her head, but she herself certainly felt greatly relieved by the money Liz had left them. "Can we move to Hollywood with George now?"
Edwina smiled nervously at the idea. "I'm not sure he'd be too thrilled by that. But we can certainly paint the house.". and hire a cook and a gardener . . . Mrs. Barnes had retired the summer before, and except for cleaning help, Edwina had been doing it all herself to spare their funds now that they'd sold the paper.
But the idea of moving to Hollywood was not one that appealed to Edwina. She was happy where she was, and at almost thirteen Alexis was hard enough to keep track of in sleepy San Francisco. Men followed her everywhere, and she was beginning to respond flirtatiously to their advances. It was already a source of great concern to Edwina.
"I'd rather go to Hollywood," Alexis announced matter-of-factly, with her wild blond mane framing her face and cascading over her shoulders.
She still had the kind of looks that stopped people on the street, and wherever they went people stared at her, whereas Fannie had Edwina's quieter but perfectly etched features. It was odd to think about sometimes.
Both of her parents had been handsome, but neither of them had had the shocking beauty of Alexis. And Phillip had been a good-looking boy.
Teddy had some of that star-blessed quality to him, and George had rugged good looks like their father.
But the thought of taking Alexis to Hollywood filled Edwina with dread.
It was exactly where she would most not have wanted to take her. All she needed were matinee idols trailing after her, thinking that she was twenty.
But when George called a few days later and she gave him the news about Liz, he suggested they come down to celebrate, and then he sounded suddenly apologetic.
"I'm sorry, Win . . . is that tactless of me? Should I be feeling sad or something?" He was so ingenuous that she laughed at him, she always loved the openness he had about his feelings. When he was happy, he laughed, and made others laugh with him, and when he was sad, he cried.
It was as sImple as that. And the truth was that none of them had ever been close to Aunt Liz and Uncle Rupert.
"I feel the same way," Edwina confessed. "I know I should be sad, and I guess in a little part of me, I am because she used to be close to Mama. But I'm excited about the money. It sure makes a difference knowing I won't have to be sitting on a corner with a tin cup in my old age." She grinned and looked like a kid again as the children pretended not to listen.
"I'd never let you do that anyway." He laughed. "Not unless you cut me in on a share of it. Hell, who taught you everything you know?"
"Not you, you brat! Cut you in on a share, my eye!" But they were both laughing and happy. He invited them to come down again, and as a lark, she agreed to come down during the children's Easter vacation.

[Dalyia]

And when she hung up the phone, Teddy looked at her, much impressed, and asked if she was really going to sit on a corner with a tin cup, and she laughed out loud.
"No, I'm not, you little eavesdropper! I was just teasing George."
But Alexis had picked up something much more interesting in the conversation, and she was beaming at her older sister. "Are we going to Hollywood to visit George?" She stood there looking like a vision in a dream, and Edwina wondered again if she was making a mistake taking her there, but they were all so excited, and after all, they were only children. It didn't matter that Alexis looked twice her age, and men chased after her constantly. Edwina would be there to protect her.
"Maybe. If you behave yourselves. I told George we might go for Easter." In unison, they let out a scream and jumped up and down, while Edwina laughed with them. They were good children, and she had no regrets about her life. Everything really seemed very simple.
She heard from her aunt's solicitor two more times, and he inquired if there was any possibility she'd like to come to Havermoor herself to settle things and see it for a last time before it passed into Lord Rupert's nephew's hands, but Edwina wrote back to tell him there was absolutely no possibility of her coming to England. She did not explain why. But Edwina had absolutely no intention of ever getting on a ship again. Nothing on this earth could have induced her to go over.
She sent a polite letter to him explaining that due to her obligations to her family, she was unable to go to England at this time, which he in turn assured her presented no problem whatsoever. The very thought of going over there made her shudder.
They marked the anniversary of their parents' death, as they always did, with a quiet church service, and their own private memories of them. But George didn't come home for it that year. It had been seven years since they'd died, and he couldn't get the time off from the movie he was currently making. He sent Alexis a birthday gift, a new dress with a matching coat. They always celebrated her birthday on the first of April now, because celebrating it on the day the Titanic had gone down was just too painful.
She turned thirteen that year, and Edwina bought her a new grown-up dress for their trip to Hollywood, and Alexis was justifiably proud of it. They had bought it at I. Magnin, and it was sky-blue taffeta with a delicate collar and a matching jacket, and when Edwina saw her in it she almost cried at the sheer beauty of her. Alexis stood there, smiling at her, with her silky blond hair piled up on her head, and she looked just like an angel.
They were all beside themselves as they boarded the train to Los Angeles a few days after that. "Hollywood, here we come!" Teddy shouted excitedly as they pulled slowly out of the San Francisco station.
THEIR VISIT To GEoRGE in Hollywood was beyond even Alexis's wildest expectations. He picked them up at the station in a borrowed Cadillac, and drove them to the seven-year-old Beverly Hills Hotel, a palace of luxury perched on a hilltop. He assured them that all the movie people stayed there, and that at any moment they might run into Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, or even Gloria Swanson. They even saw Charlie Chaplin arrive, being driven by his Japanese chauffeur. Fannie and Alexis were staring everywhere, and Teddy was so excited about the cars people drove that he almost got run over several times, and Edwina was constantly grabbing him and telling him to pay attention.
"But look, Edwina! It's a Stutz Bearcat!" On the first day, they saw two of those, four Rolls-Royces, a Mercer Raceabout, a Kissel, and a Pierce-Arrow. It was almost more than Teddy could stand, but the clothes were what fascinated the girls, and even Edwina. She had bought herself a few new clothes when she'd gone shopping with Alexis, and she had brought the silver fox jacket that had been a Christmas gift from George, but she felt like her own grandmother now in the clothes she had brought from San Francisco. Everyone was wearing long, tight slinky dresses, and showing quite a bit more leg than Edwina was used to exposing. But there was something wonderfully exciting about being here. She let George talk her into buying several hats, and when they went to dinner one night at the Sunset Inn in Santa Monica, she insisted that her brother teach her the fox-trot.
"Come on . . . that's it . . . good God, my foot . .." he teased, and he guided and they laughed, and she hadn't had so much fun in such a long time that she couldn't even remember when, and for just a fraction of a moment, she felt a chord of memory rip through her.
In some ways, George was so much like their father, and she remembered his teaching her to dance when she was a little girl, and George was only a baby. But she wouldn't let herself think about it now. They were having too much fun, and now she understood why George was so happy here. This was a world of excited, young happy people, bringing pleasure to the entire world with their wonderful movies. And the people who were involved in making them were young and alive and fun, and it seemed as though everybody down here was involved in making movies. She heard people talking about Louis B.
Mayer, D. W. Griffith, Samuel Goldwyn, and Jesse Lasky.
They were all making the kind of pictures that George was learning about with Samuel Horowitz. And Edwina was fascinated by all of it.
But the children were even more excited when George took them to the latest Mack Sennett comedy and Charlie Chaplin movie. They thought they had never had so much fun. He took them to Nat Goodwin's Cale' for lunch in Ocean Park, and with Edwina's permission he even took them to the forbidden Three O"Clock Ballroom in Venice, and Danceland in Culver City. And when they drove back to town, he took them all to the Alexandria Hotel at Spring and Eighth to see the stars dining there.
And they were lucky that night, Gloria Swanson and Lillian Gish were there, and Douglas Fairbanks with Mary Pickford. It was rumored that their romance was serious, and Edwina just beamed as she watched them.
It was even better than going to the movies.
He took them to the Horowitz studios as well, and the children watched for a whole afternoon as he worked on a film with Wallace Beery.
Everything seemed to move unbelievably quickly, and George explained to her that they could complete a movie in less than three weeks. He had already worked on three since he'd been there. He wanted to introduce her to Sam Horowitz, too, but he was out that day, and George promised to introduce Edwina to him later.
That night, he took them all to the Hollywood Hotel, where they had dinner, and the children looked around them in awe at the elegance of the decor, but they were even more impressed by what Teddy referred to as "George's lady."
Helen Horowitz met them at the hotel in a shimmering white gown, her blond hair swept off her face, and her skin like cream that had just been poured as the white dress molded her amazing body. She was almost as tall as George, but she was reed-thin, and very shy. She was eighteen years old, and the dress had been made for her by Poiret in Paris, she explained innocently, as though everyone had their dresses made there.
She was polite and shy, and in a funny innocent yet sophisticated way, she reminded Edwina of Alexis. She had the same ethereal beauty and the same gentle ways, and she seemed to be totally unaware of her own effect on those around her. She had grown up in Los Angeles, but her father apparently didn't like her spending a lot of time with people "in the business," and she much preferred riding horses anyway. She invited them all to ride at their ranch in the San Fernando Valley.
But Edwina had gently explained that Alexis was afraid of horses.
Teddy would have been happy to have gone, but he was content enough staring at the cars they saw everywhere. Edwina was beginning to wonder how she would ever get him to settle down again in San Francisco.
"Have you known George long?" Edwina asked, watching her. She was so beautiful, and in a funny way, also very simple.
She had no conceited airs, she was just a very lovely girl, in a very expensive dress, and she looked as though she was very taken with Edwina's brother. It was heady stuff, and he was very gentle with her.
And Edwina watched them as they danced. There was something very sweet about the pair, something wonderfully striking and healthy and young and innocent. They were two people totally unaware of their own beauty. And as Edwina watched, she realized how much George had grown up since he left home. He was truly a man now.
"It's a shame my father's out of town," Helen said. "He's in Palm Springs this week, we're building a house there," she announced, as though everyone did. "But I know he would have liked to meet you."
"Next time," Edwina said, watching George again. He had just met some friends, and he brought them all over to meet Edwina. They were all a racy crowd, and yet they didn't look like bad people. They just looked like they were having fun.
They were in a business which almost required it, and which brought fun to thousands of other people. And whatever it was that they did, or didn't do, it was easy to see how much George loved it.
The children hated to leave, and after agreeing to extend their stay by a few days, they went back to the studio to watch him work again, and on that particular day one of the directors asked Edwina if she would allow Alexis to appear in a movie.
She hesitated, but much to her surprise, George shook his head, and when he declined, Alexis was in dark despair almost until they left.
But when Edwina and George talked about it later, he told her that he thought it would have been the wrong thing for her.
"Why let them exploit her? She doesn't even know what she looks like.
It's fun down here. But it's for grown-ups, not children. If you let her do this now, she's going to want to come down here and go wild.
I've seen it happen, and I don't want that for her. Neither would you, if you could see it." She didn't disagree with him, but she was surprised at his conservative position -a- his sister. For a boy of nineteen years, nearly twenty, he reminded her more than once, he was surprisingly mature, and he seemed to fit in extremely well in the sophisticated life of Hollywood. She was proud of him, and she was suddenly doubly glad that she had sold the paper. If this was what he wanted, then he would never have been happy there. She had done the right thing. And so had he, when he had come to live here.

[Dalyia]

The children were despondent when they checked out of the Beverly Hills Hotel, and they made her promise that they would come back often.
"How do you know George will want us to?" she teased, but he looked over their heads at her and made her promise that she would come down and bring them.
"I should have my own place by then, and you can even stay with me."
He was planning to buy a small house with the money he had inherited from Aunt Liz. But for the moment he was still sharing an apartment with a friend in Beverly Hills, just outside the city. There were a lot of things he still wanted to do, and he knew he had a lot to learn, but he was excited about all of it, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to be a diligent student. Sam Horowitz had given him the chance, and he was going to do everything he could to live up to his expectations.
He took them all to the train station then, and the children all waved as they left. It was like a whirlwind that had come and gone for them, an exciting dream, a flash of tinsel that was suddenly gone, as they sat staring at each other on the train, wondering if it had ever happened.
"I want to go back there again one day," Alexis said quietly as they rolled toward San Francisco.
"We will." Edwina smiled. She had had the best time she'd had in years, and she felt eighteen herself again, instead of nearly twenty-eight. Her birthday was in another week, but she had just had enough celebration to last her for the year. She smiled to herself as Alexis looked at her intently.
"I mean I'm going back there to live one day." She said it as though making a plan that nothing in this world could interfere with.
"Like George?" Edwina tried to make light of it, but there was something in Alexis's eyes that told her she meant it. And then, halfway home, Alexis looked at her again with a puzzled frown.
"Why didn't you let me be in the movie that man asked me to be in?"
Edwina tried to make light of it, but Alexis had that same intent look in her eyes that she had had for days. It was a look of intensity and purpose that Edwina had never seen there.
"George didn't think it was a good idea."
"Why not?" she persisted, as Edwina busied herself rolling up Fannie's sleeves and then glanced out the window before she looked back at Alexis.
"Probably because that's a world for grown-ups, Alexis, people who belong there, not amateurs who get hurt doing things they don't understand." It was an honest answer after giving it some thought, and Alexis seemed to accept it for the moment.
"I'm going to be an actress one day, and nothing you do will ever stop me." It was an odd thing to say, and Edwina frowned at the vehemence of the child's words.
"What makes you think I'd try to stop you?"
"You just did . . . but next time . . . next time will be different."
She sat looking out the window then, as Edwina stared at her in amazement. And who knew? Maybe she was right. Maybe she'd go back one day and work with George. She had a feeling that he was going to make it. She found herself wondering about Helen, too, about what she was really like, and how much she cared about George and if it might be serious one day. There was a lot for all of them to think about on the way home. And eventually, Edwina fell asleep listening to the wheels as they carried them home, and on either side of her, the younger children slept, leaning their heads against her shoulders. But across from them, Alexis sat staring out the window most of the way home, with a purposeful look that only she understood, and the others could only guess at.
THE NEXT FoUR YEARS in Hollywood were exciting years for George and the people who had become his friends. The films made included The Cipperhead, The Sheik, De Mille's Fool's Paradise, his comedy Why Change Your Wife?, and the budding movie industry rapidly turned to gold for everyone involved. With Sam Horowitz teaching and protecting him, George had an opportunity to work on dozens of important movies, and from cameraman he went to third assistant director, and eventually, he began producing, which had always been his dream. The promise he had made Edwina four years before when he first left for Hollywood in 1919, was a reality for him by 1923.
Early on, Horowitz had even loaned him out to Paramount and Universal, and George knew everyone now, but most of all he knew his business.
And like the Warner brothers that year, Sam Horowitz had just taken out incorporation papers, and hired several writers and directors. And Sam was the first to go to Wall Street and interest serious investors by convincing them that in Hollywood there was real money to be made.
Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks had joined D. W. Griffith and Charlie Chaplin to form United Artists, and there were similar groups forming too. It was an exciting era to be involved down there, and Edwina loved hearing about it. It still amazed her that her little brother's wild dreams had come true. And he'd been right, it was certainly a far cry from running their father's paper, and this was much more his style than staying in sleepy San Francisco would have been.
Edwina and the children went down to visit him two or three times a year, and stayed in his house on North Crescent Drive. He had a butler, a cook, and an upstairs and a downstairs maid. He was quite the man about town, and Fannie insisted that he was more handsome than Rudolph Valentino, which only made him laugh. But Edwina had long since noticed that the girls around Hollywood seemed to think so too.
He took out dozens of actresses and starlets, but the only girl he seemed to really care about was Helen Horowitz, his mentor's daughter.
She was twenty-two years old by then, and even more beautiful than Edwina had thought her when they first met. She had a startling sophistication about her now, and the last time Edwina had seen her with George, she had worn a skin-tight silver lame dress that took people's breath away as she sauntered casually into the Cocoanut Grove on George's arm. She seemed oblivious to the stares and the cameras, and Edwina asked him later why Helen was never in her father's movies.
"He doesn't want her having any part of all that. It's all right as long as she's on the sidelines. I suggested the same thing to him years ago, but he wouldn't have it. I guess he's right. Helen's untouched by all this. She likes hearing about it, but she just thinks it's funny." And something about the way he talked about her always suggested to Edwina that something might come of their friendship one day, but thus far nothing more than a longtime romance ever had, and Edwina didn't want to press it.
Edwina had just taken the children to see Hollywood at home in San Francisco, and was arguing with Alexis about why she could not go to see Loves of Pharaoh, when the telephone rang, and it was George calling from Los Angeles. He wanted Edwina to come down and go to the premiere of his biggest movie with him. They had borrowed Douglas Fairbanks for it, and he said that the opening parties would be terrific.
"It'll do you good to get away from the little monsters for a while."
Once in a while, he liked to bring Edwina down alone.
But the outcry was too great this time to allow it, and finally two weeks later, Edwina left for Hollywood with all of them in tow. Alexis was seventeen by then and just as lovely as Sam Horowitz's daughter, except that her hair wasn't bobbed, and she had never worn silver lame.
But she was still a strikingly beautiful girl, now even more so. And people still stared wherever she went. Alexis was a beauty. And it was all Edwina could do to keep her suitors from knocking down their door.
She had no fewer than five or six admirers at any given time, but she was still a relatively shy child, with a fondness for Edwina's much older friends because she felt safer with them.
Fannie was fifteen, and surprisingly domestic. She was happy in the garden and baking cakes, and she was happiest when Edwina was too busy doing other things to run the house.
Edwina had made several wise real estate investments, and now and then she had to go somewhere to check on them with Ben. He had long since forgotten his romantic dreams about Edwina, and now they were only good friends. He had married two years before, and Edwina was pleased that he seemed very happy.
And at thirteen, Teddy was already talking about going to Harvard. He liked Hollywood, but what really appealed to him at this point was running a bank. It seemed an odd choice for a thirteen-year-old child, but he had the solidity of their oldest brother, and he reminded her of Phillip much of the time.
George was the only one thus far with a wild flair for the unexpected, but for him the quixotic world of Hollywood was exactly what he needed.
They stayed at the Beverly Hills Hotel this time, because George had other houseguests, but the children, as Edwina still called them, much to Alexis disgust, thought it more exciting waiting at the hotel.
Pola Negri was staying there, Leatrice Joy, Noah Beery, and Charlie Chaplin. And Teddy went crazy when he saw Will Rogers and Tom Mix in the lobby.
And Edwina was very flattered when her brother invited her to the opening gala at Pickfair. She bought an incredible gold lame Chanel dress, and in spite of her age, she felt like a young girl. She was thirty-one years old, soon to be thirty-two, but she hadn't really changed in years. Her face was smooth and unlined, her figure even better than it had been years before. She had had her shining black hair cut in a shingled bob that year, at her brother's insistence, and she felt very chic in the gold dress, as they walked into the house Douglas Fairbanks had built for Mary Pickford as a wedding gift three years before. They seemed very happy there, and it was one of those rare marriages that worked in spite of the glamorous world they lived in. Few relationships seemed to last from one of Edwina's visits to the next, except this one.
"Where's Helen?" she asked George as they stood in the garden at Pickfair, drinking and watching the others dance. He hadn't mentioned her this time, which for George was very rare. He seemed to go everywhere with her, everywhere that mattered to him, although they still saw other people, but it was Helen who made him smile, Helen he cared about when she had the smallest problem or the merest cold, Helen who had his heart. But he seemed in no particular rush to get married, and Edwina had always hesitated to ask him about it.
"Helen's in Palm Springs with her father," he said quietly, and then he glanced at Edwina. "Sam thinks we shouldn't see each other anymore."
It explained the sudden invitation to the premiere, and her absence now. Edwina had been thinking for several hours that this was a party he should have gone to with Helen.
"Why not?" Edwina was touched by the look in his eyes.

[Dalyia]

Beneath the jovial exterior, he looked crushed, which was unlike him.
"He thinks that after four years of seeing each other, we should either be married or forget it." He sighed and accepted a refill of champagne from a passing butler. He had drunk a little too much champagne, but ever since the onset of Prohibition three years before, everyone had.
It was a favorite sport going to speakeasies and hidden bars, and at private parties, the bootleg liquor flowed like water. The Volstead Act had seemed to have turned a lot of innocent people into alcoholics.
But fortunately, George didn't have that problem, it was just that tonight he was so damn lonely for Helen, and Edwina could see that he looked unhappy.
"Why don't you marry her, then?" She dared to say something she never had to him before, she had never wanted to press him, but maybe now was the time, and she had had a bit of champagne as well. "You love her, don't you?"
He nodded, and smiled down at her sadly. "Yes. But I can't marry her."
Edwina looked startled. "Why not?"
"Think of what everyone would say. That I married her to get in tighter with Sam . . . to tie things up with her father.
That I married her for the money . . . for a job." He looked unhappily at his sister then. "The truth is that Sam offered me 265
ANJELLE STEEL a partnership six months ago, but as I see it, it's the girl or the job. If I marry her, I almost have to leave Hollywood, so people don't think I married her for the wrong reasons. We could go back to San Francisco, I guess." He looked at Edwina miserably. "But what would I do there? I left four years ago, and I don't know anything about any other kind of business. Except for what I do here, I don't think I could get a job. And I spent the money from Aunt Liz, So how would I support her?" He had a good income there, probably even a great one, but away from Hollywood he had nothing. And he had spent the money he'd inherited from their aunt on a beautiful estate, fast cars, and a stable full of expensive horses. "So if I marry her, we starve. And if I take the partnership with Sam, no Helen .
I can't marry her, and become partners with Sam, it just looks too awful. It looks like nepotism of the worst kind." He set down his glass again, and this time when the butler came by again, he covered the glass with his hand. He didn't even want to get drunk tonight. He just wanted to cry on his sister's shoulder, and he was sorry for not showing her a better time after inviting her down for the premiere.
"That's ridiculous," she insisted, looking at the anguish in his eyes.
"You know the score with Sam. You know why he wants you to be his partner. Look at the compliment that is, at your age, that's unbelievable You'd be one of the biggest success stories in Hollywood."
"And the loneliest." He laughed. "Edwina, I just can't do it. And what if she thought I married her to get ahead? That would be even worse. I just can't do it."
"Haven't you talked to her about any of this?"
"No. I only talked to Sam. And he said he'd understand whatever I decided, but he thinks the romance has gone on long enough. She's twenty-two years old, and if she doesn't marry me, he thinks she ought to marry someone else." And he was not yet twenty-four and he had almost everything he wanted, except a partnership with the most powerful man in Hollywood, and the woman whom he loved as his wife. He could have had both, but somehow he kept insisting that he couldn't, and Edwina understood his fears about it, but she thought it could be worked out, and she spent most of the evening trying to change his mind. But George was adamant as they drove her back to the hotel finally in his Lincoln Phaeton.
"I can't do it, Win. Helen is not a bonus I get along with the business."
"Well, dammit." Edwina was getting exasperated with him. "Do you love her?"
"Yes."
"Then marry her. Don't waste your life going out with other girls you don't care about. Marry her while you can. You never know what's going to happen in life. When you have the chance for what you want, grab it." There were tears in her eyes when she spoke to him, and they both knew she was still thinking of Charles. He was the only man she had ever loved, the only man she had ever thought of, and he was long gone, and with him, he had taken an important part of her life. "Do you want the job?" she went on, determined to solve the problem that night, in spite of his reservations. "Do you want the partnership with Sam?" she asked again, and he hesitated this time, but only for an instant.
"Yes."
"Then take it, George." Her voice softened and she put her hand on his arm. "Life only gives you so many chances.
And it's given you everything you ever dreamed of and more.
Take it, love it, hold it, keep it, be grateful for everything you have. Do what you want to do . . . don't waste your life giving things up for ridiculous reasons. Sam is offering you a fabulous opportunity, and Helen is the woman you love. If you ask me, I think you'd be crazy to give either of them up. You know that you're not marrying her to get closer to Sam. You don't have to.
He's already asked you to be his partner. What more do you want? Go after it, and to hell with what people think. You know what, even if someone does think something about it, or even dares to say it, by next week they'll have forgotten. But you never will, if you give it up.
You don't belong in San Francisco, you belong here, in this crazy business you're so good at, and one day Sam's studio will be yours, or you'll have your own. You're twenty-three years old, kid, and you'll be at the top of all this one day. You already are. And now you've got a girl that you love too. . . . Hell," she said, smiling at him as the tears spilled from her eyes, "grab the gold ring, George you've got it, it's yours . . . you deserve it." He did, and she loved him. She wanted him to have everything that she had never had. She had no regrets about her life, but she had given up her own life, in a sense, for these children, and now she wanted each of them to have everything, all their dreams, and everything life had to offer.
"Do you really mean it, Sis?"
"What do you think? I think you deserve it all. I love you, you silly boy." She rumpled the carefully slicked-down hair, and he returned the favor. He liked her hair in a bob, and she looked so pretty. It was a shame that she had never married, that there had been no one since Charles. And then, because of the champagne and the closeness of the moment, he dared to ask her something he'd wondered about for a long time.
"Are you sorry you never had more than this, Win? Do you hate your life now?" But he thought he knew the answer anyway, it was in her eyes.
"Hate it?" She laughed, and she looked surprisingly content for a girl who had spent eleven years bringing up her mother's children. "How could I hate it when I love you all so much? I never thought about it years ago, it was just what I had to do, but the funny thing is you've all made me so happy. I would have loved to be married to Charles, of course, but this hasn't been a bad life." She talked about it now as though it were almost over. And in some ways, for her, it was. In five more years, Teddy would go to Harvard. Fannie and Alexis would probably be married by then, or on their way. And George's life was certainly on the right track, except for torturing himself just then, but five years from then it would be long solved. And she would be alone then, the children she had raised would be grown. It was a time she didn't like to think about now. "I have no regrets," she said to George as she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "But I'd hate to see you miss out on spending the rest of your life with someone you love.
Go to Palm Springs and get Helen, and tell Sam you'll be his partner, and forget about what people will think. I think it's great, and you can tell Helen I said so."
"You're amazing, Win." And later when he walked her into the hotel, he thought of what a great girl she was, and how lucky any man would have been to have married her. And there were times when he still felt guilty about her not getting married. He still felt that he and the children had taken so much from her. He was about to say something about it, when they both saw the same thing at the same time, and stopped.
Alexis was walking across the lobby in a gray satin evening gown that was Edwina's, her hair piled high on her head, held back by a spangled headband with a white feather that she had concocted from somewhere, and she was on the arm of a tall handsome man whom George recognized, and Edwina didn't.
They were obviously coming home from somewhere, and Alexis had not yet spotted George and Edwina.
"My God," Edwina whispered, thunderstruck, she had thought that Alexis was at home in bed, while they were at the party. "Who is that?" He looked to be about fifty years old, and he was undeniably good-looking, but he was three times her sister's age, and he looked more than a little drunk, and very taken with Alexis.
George's face was set as he advanced across the lobby, speaking in an undertone to Edwina. "His name is Malcolm Stone, and he's the biggest son of a bitch I know. He goes after young girls all the time, and I'll tell you one thing, I'll kill the bastard before he gets Alexis."
It was unlike him to use language like that or lose his temper around his sister, and Edwina was momentarily stunned. George looked as though he was going to murder him. "He's a big new star down here, or at least that's what he thinks. He's only been in a couple of pictures so far, but he has big ideas. And when he's not working, he keeps busy with the ladies, mostly other people's wives or daughters. Very young ones seem to be his specialty." And the way he was looking at Alexis said that George wasn't wrong.
He had also had an eye on Helen, which had seriously irritated George several weeks before, and he wanted her for all the reasons George didn't. Because she was beautiful and rich, and because he wanted a conduit to Sam, her father.
"Stone!" George's voice boomed out across the lobby, and the pair stopped and Alexis turned, with a look of terror as she saw George.
She had wanted to get home before they did, but she had had such a good time dancing at the Hollywood Hotel that they'd forgotten the time.
She had met Malcolm several times in the lobby, and when they'd introduced themselves eventually, the third time they met, he had recognized her name. He had asked her if she was related to George Winfield of Horowitz Pictures, and when she said she was, he had taken her to lunch at the hotel. Edwina had been at the La Brea tar pits with the children that day, but Alexis had stayed at the pool to enjoy the sunshine.
"Just exactly what are you doing with my sister?" George spat the words at him as he strode across the room and stood in front of Malcolm Stone.
"Absolutely nothing, dear boy, except having a lovely time. It has all been very aboveboard, hasn't it, my dear?" He had a phony English accent and Edwina could see from where she stood that Alexis was smitten by him. For a shy child, she had a strange affinity for older men. "Your sister and I have been dancing at the Hollywood Hotel, haven't we, my dear?"
Malcolm smiled down at her, but only Alexis didn't see that the look in his eyes was anything but benign.
"Are you aware that she is not quite seventeen years old?"
George was absolutely steaming, and Edwina was equally upset. It was very wicked of Alexis to have snuck out while they were gone.
"Aha." Stone smiled down at the girl. "I believe there's been a little misunderstanding." He gently took her hand from his arm, and offered it to George. "I believe we said that we were about to have our twenty-first birthday." Alexis flushed beet red with embarrassment, but in truth Malcolm Stone didn't look as though he cared. It was only embarrassing to have her age pointed out to him by her older brother. He had been aware all night long that she was far younger than she had claimed to him, but she was a beautiful child, a pretty girl, and being seen with her couldn't do any harm. "Sorry, George."
He looked far more amused than penitent. "Don't be too hard on her, she's a very charming young girl."
George didn't mince words with him as they stood there.
"Stay away from her."
"Of course, as you say." He bowed low to the three of them, and walked quickly away.
George stood staring at her then, and grabbed her arm as they hurried toward Edwina's cottage, and Alexis had begun to cry as her older sister frowned. "What ever possessed you to go out with him, for heaven's sake?" George was furious with her, which was rare for him.
He was always his younger siblings' benefactor, intervening for them when he thought Edwina was being too severe. But not this time. This time he would have liked to give Alexis a good spanking, except that she was far too old for that, and, of course, Edwina wouldn't have let him. But he wanted to strangle her for falling prey to a man like Malcolm Stone. "Do you know what he is? He's a phony and a four-flusher! He's crawling his way around Hollywood to get ahead, and he'll use anyone he can!" George was well acquainted with the world he lived in, and men like Malcolm Stone were all over town, a dime a dozen.
But Alexis was sobbing openly by then as she wrenched away her arm.
"He is not what you say he is! He's sweet and kind, and he thinks I should be in movies with him. You've never said that to me, George!" she said accusingly as the tears poured down her face, and in his estimation Malcolm Stone was anything but "sweet and kind." He was a snake of the very worst species.
"You're damn right I've never said that to you! Do you think I want you hanging around people like him? Don't be ridiculous! And look at you, you're a baby! You don't belong down here, or in pictures, at your age!"
"That's the meanest thing you've ever said to me!" she wailed, as George almost dragged her into the living room of their suite and she collapsed sobbing into a chair as Edwina watched them.

[Dalyia]

"Actually," Edwina grinned mischievously, "old as I am, I rather like it."
"Stick around, Win." He laughed at the look in her eyes. If anything, she looked prettier in the excitement. Her eyes were shining and her bobbed hair framed her face, and he was reminded again, as he often was, of how lovely she was, and what a waste it was that she had never gotten married. "Hell, if you stick around, maybe we'll find you a husband."
"Terrific," she laughed at him, it was not a high priority on her list of concerns. She was only interested in finding husbands for Fannie and Alexis, and at the moment, marrying him off to Helen. "You mean like Malcolm Stone? What an incentive."
"I'm sure there must be someone else around."
"Great. Let me know if you find him. Meanwhile, my love . .." She stood up and stretched. It had been a long night and they were both tired. "I'm going home to San Francisco where the only excitement is a dinner party at the Templeton Crockers, and the only scandal is who bought a new car, and who winked at someone's wife at the opening night of the opera."
"Christ," he groaned, "no wonder I moved down here."
"But at least up there," she said, walking him to the door with a grin and a yawn, "no one has ever abducted your sister."
"There's a point in its favor. Good night, Win."
"Good night, love . . . thanks for saving the day."
"Anytime." He kissed her on the cheek then, and walked back to his car. His beloved Lincoln was covered with dust from their wild ride, and he drove slowly home, thinking about how much he missed Helen, and how fond he was of his older sister.
IT was Two MoNTHS LATER when George came to San Francisco to visit them, and Edwina wondered why he had come.
He hadn't called her in a while, and she had just assumed that he was busy. But he had come, it turned out, to tell her that he had proposed to Helen and she had accepted. He beamed when he told her, and she cried when she heard the news. She was happy for them, and he looked as though he had the world on a string.
"And the partnership with Sam?" She looked suddenly worried and he grinned boyishly. She knew how much his association with Sam Horowitz meant to him too, and she wanted him to have both. He deserved it.
"Helen said the same thing you did, and so did Sam. I talked it out with both of them, and Sam said I was crazy. He knew I was marrying Helen because I loved her, and he still wants me to be his partner."
He beamed and Edwina shouted with glee.
"Hurray! When are you two getting married?" It was June then, and Helen had insisted that she needed time to plan the wedding.
"September. Helen says she couldn't put it together any sooner than that. It's being directed by Cecil B. De Mille," he laughed, "we're hiring four thousand extras." It was going to be a grand wedding in true Hollywood style, but he had never looked as happy. "And the truth is, I came up here to talk to you about something else. I think I'm probably crazy to even consider it, but I want your advice." She was flattered, and excited about his news.
"What is it?"
"We have a movie we've been saving for two years. We wanted just the right person to do it, and no one has turned up.
And then Sam had a crazy idea. I don't know, Edwina." He looked deeply worried and she frowned, not understanding what he was getting to as she watched him.
"What do you think about Alexis trying out for our movie?" She was stunned for a moment as he looked at her, they had laughed at the idea of the Fox Productions scout wanting her, and now he wanted the same thing. But at least with her brother in control, Edwina knew that no harm could come to Alexis.
"I know I'm crazy to even consider it. But she's so perfect for the part, and she's been driving me crazy, sending me letters, telling me she wants to be in the movies. And what do I know? Maybe she's right.
Maybe she does have talent." He felt torn, but also extremely tempted.
And he knew she was perfect for his movie.
"I don't know." Edwina hesitated, thinking about it. "I've been wondering too. She's so desperate to be an actress. But when we were in Los Angeles two months ago, I asked what you thought about Alexis making movies one day and you didn't seem to like the idea then.
What's different?" She wanted to be cautious, but she also trusted George.
"I know," he said thoughtfully. "I didn't want her exploited, and I still don't. But maybe if she signs an exclusive with us, we can control it. If," he added, looking ominously at his oldest sister, "we can control her. Do you think she'll behave herself down there?" He was still smarting from the experience of rescuing her from the clutches of Malcolm Stone, and he had no desire to do it again. The drive to Mexico with Edwina was one he would always remember.
"She would if we kept an eye on her. She needs to feel that someone's taking care of her and then she's fine."
He laughed at his sister's words. "She sounds like every other star I've ever met. She'll be perfect."
"When would you want her to start?"
"In a few weeks, by the end of June. And she'd be through by the end of the summer." It was perfect for the children's schedules, Edwina knew, because Alexis had just graduated and the others had already started their summer vacation. And Alexis had no desire to go on to college, few girls did, and she knew Fannie wouldn't either. But if Alexis was finished by the end of August, she could come home in time to get the others back into school in September. Teddy would be starting eighth grade and Fannie still had two more years of high school to finish at Miss Sarah Dix Hamlin's. "It would screw up your plans for Tahoe this year, but you could all go to the Del Coronado for a few days and get some sea air, or Catalina. And you'll have to come down for the wedding anyway." She smiled at the thought. "What do you think? The real question, of course, is not where to spend the summer with the kids, it's whether or not we should expose Alexis to the demands and pressures of making a movie."
Edwina was nodding, thinking about it, as she slowly circled the room and then looked out the window, into the garden. Her mother's rosebushes were still blossoming there, along with all the newer things she herself had planted. And then, slowly, she turned to face her brother.
"I think we ought to let her do it."
"Why?" He wasn't sure himself, which was why he had come to San Francisco to discuss it with Edwina.
"Because she'll never forgive us if we don't."
"She doesn't have to know. We don't have to tell her."
"No," Edwina agreed as she sat down again. "But I think she'd be good at it, and I think she deserves more than San Francisco has to give her. Look how beautiful she is." She smiled proudly at George and he grinned. Edwina sounded like a proud mother hen, but he felt the same way about all of them.
"I don't know, George, maybe we'll be sorry one day, but I think we should give her a chance. If she misbehaves, we'll bring her back and lock her up forever." They both laughed at the thought, but then Edwina looked seriously at him. "I think everyone deserves their chance. You did." She smiled.
"And you?" He looked gently at her and she smiled again.
"I've been happy with my life . . . let's give her a chance." George watched her and nodded slowly.
And just before dinnertime, they called her in. Alexis had just come in from a trip downtown, shopping with a friend from Miss Hamlin's.
Neither she nor her younger sister was an avid student. Edwina, Phillip, and Teddy were the family "brains," according to their father years before, and George had certainly done well in Los Angeles, there as no denying that. With his quick mind and his easy ways, he had fallen into just the right thing, and not for a moment had he ever regretted leaving Harvard.
"Is something wrong?" Alexis looked at them nervously, when they called her in, and all George could think of was how beautiful she was and how perfect she was going to be for their picture.
"Noooo." Edwina smiled gently at her. "George has something to tell you, and I think you're going to like it."
That made it more interesting, and a little less ominous to be called into the front parlor by her older siblings. "You're getting married?"
She had guessed, and he nodded and grinned happily at her.
"But that's not what this is all about. Helen and I are getting married in September. But Edwina and I have some plans for you before then." For a moment her face fell, she was sure they were going to send her to some kind of finishing school, and she couldn't think of anything less amusing. "How would you like to come to Los Angeles," he began, and she looked a little more hopeful". . . and be in a movie?"
She stared at him for a long moment and then she sprang off the couch and ran to put her arms around him.
"Do you mean it? . . . do you mean it? . .." She turned quickly to Edwina then. ". . . Can I? . . . can I really? .
Oh, will you let me?" She was wild with joy, and George and Edwina were laughing, as she almost strangled him when she hugged and kissed him.
"Alright, alright . .." He pulled himself free of her embrace and then wagged a finger at her. "But I want to tell you something. If it weren't for Edwina, you wouldn't be doing this. I'm not entirely sure I would have let you after your little performance two months ago."
Her eyes dropped, as he reminded her of her near disgrace with Malcolm Stone, she was still embarrassed about it, although she defended it to Edwina.
"If you pull anything like that again," he went on, "I will lock you up and throw away the key, so you'd better behave yourself this time."
She threw her arms around his neck and attempted to strangle him with gratitude again as he laughed at her. "I promise, George . . . I promise I'll be good. And after the movie, will we live in Hollywood?"
It was something they hadn't even thought of.
"I think your sister will want to come back here to put Fannie and Teddy back in school."
"Why can't they go to school there?" Alexis asked matter of-factly, but none of them was prepared to think about all of that yet, and then Alexis had an even better idea, much to George's chagrin. "Why can't I live with you and Helen?"
He groaned at the thought, as Edwina laughed at him.
"Because I'd wind up divorced or in jail by Christmas. I don't know how Edwina puts up with all of you. No, you may not live with me and Helen." She looked crestfallen for an instant, and then came up with an even better suggestion.
"If I'm a big star, can I have my own house? Like Pola Negri? . .
.
I could have lots of maids, and a butler . . . and my own car, just like yours . . . and two Irish wolfhounds . . ' She had the entire scene set in her mind, and she drifted out of the parlor again as though in a dream, as George smiled and looked ruefully at Edwina.
"We may come to regret this, you know. I told Sam I'd sue him if this picture ruined my sister."
"And what did he say?" Edwina grinned. She didn't know him well, but she liked everything she had heard about George's partner.
"He said that he'd already given to God and country, and now my sister and his daughter were my problem." But George didn't look as though he minded.
"He sounds like a sensible man." She stood up and got ready to go into dinner.
"He is. He wants to take us all out to dinner when you come to L. A. to celebrate our engagement."
"Now that," she said, kissing him on the cheek as she took his arm, "I approve of."
The children were heartily pleased when she told them at dinner that George and Helen were getting married. And they were all excited at the prospect of another trip to Los Angeles, and they were fascinated at the thought of Alexis's making a movie. Edwina had wondered briefly if Fannie would be jealous in any way, but her sunny little face lit up with delight and she ran around to hug Alexis and ask if she could watch, and then she looked at Edwina worriedly.
"We are coming back here, aren't we? I mean home, to San Francisco."
It was all she wanted, all that she loved, the home she had lived in all her life, and her comfortable pursuits there.