Evergreen by Belva Plain

family’s put a fortune into your lap you can afford to take it for granted.”
    “Joseph, you’re envious, that’s all.”
    “Of course I am!” He leaned forward in the chair, all tense and tightly wound. “I’ll tell you something. I hope the day will come when my children will be able to take these things for granted. Only I hope they won’t do it. I hope they’ll have a little feeling for the father and the country that gave it all to them. Other than that, I don’t care what they do, raise chickens, for all I care.” He sighed. “Ah, when you have money you can do anything. Money is class and class is money, even in America. Because human nature is the same everywhere, and that’s the truth.”
    “I suppose it is,” she answered, not caring to hear his philosophy.
    “Anna, are you really all right?”
    “Yes,” she said impatiently, “I told you I was.”
    “Would you tell me if anything were wrong? If you were sick or anything?”
    “I would tell you, I promise.” She stood up, went to the stove and took the kettle down for tea.
    Last night in her room, while reading, she had come upon a word she did not know. She had looked it up in the dictionary. Obsession: persistent feeling which a person cannot escape. She thought now, pouring Joseph’s tea, handing the plate of buns, clearing the table, moving dreamlike across the room,
Obsessed. I am obsessed
.
    *  *  *
    Anna was still working in his room when Paul Werner came home unexpectedly one Saturday before noon.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll hurry, I didn’t know.”
    “That’s all right! You didn’t know I was coming back early,” he said considerately. “Oh! You’re interested in paintings?”
    She had left one of the enormous books opened on the desk. “Excuse me! I only—”
    “No, don’t close it! What were you looking at? Monet?”
    “This,” she faltered. A walled and fruited garden. A woman in a summer dress. Sunlight without heat: cool, fragrant and cool.
    “Ah yes, that’s a marvel, isn’t it? One of my favorites, too. Tell me, do you look at these often?”
    Might as well tell the truth, come what may. And he was young, not stern like his mother; he would not be very angry.
    “I look at that one especially. Every day.”
    “You do!” he said. “And why that one?”
    “It makes me happy to look at it. To think that there is such a place.”
    “That’s as good a reason as any. Would you like to borrow the book, Anna? Take it to your room for a while? You’re welcome to take it, or any book you like.”
    “Oh, thank you,” she said, “oh, thank you very much.” Her hands had begun to tremble. She was sure he could see the trembling and she clasped them behind her back.
    “Don’t thank me. Libraries are meant to be used. Here, take it now.”
    “I haven’t finished sweeping the floor. Do you want me to finish?”
    “Go ahead, I don’t mind. I’ve a letter to write.”
    He sat down at the desk. She ran the carpet sweeper over the floor. Downstairs in the yard next door men were beating carpets hung over clotheslines.
Thwack! Thwack!
they went, frightening the sparrows, raising spurts of dust in the chill sunny air.
    “How is your young man?”
    She looked up, startled.
    “I said, how is your young man?”
    “My what?”
    “Your young man. My mother told me you have one. Is he a secret? Have I said something I shouldn’t have said?”
    “Oh, no! It’s just that—he’s only a friend. It would be too lonesome without any friends at all.”
    “I should think it would.” He put the pen down. “Do you see him often?”
    “Only on Sundays. On my day off he has to work.”
    “And which is your day off?”
    He hadn’t even noticed when she wasn’t there. “I go out on Wednesdays.”
    “And where do you go when you go out?”
    “Sometimes I visit my cousin downtown. Sometimes I walk in the park or go to the museum.”
    “You do! What museum do you go to?”
    “The Natural History. Or