“Daddy’s not as strong as you think, Helen,” continued Claire. “I think we all tend to overestimate what he can do, frankly. In fact, I’ll tell you what I think, I think he needs a hospital bed, with a crank, preferably downstairs, and some kind of full-time attendance, as well as a respiratory machine just in case. I think the attendant should be fully trained, including in cardiopulmonary resuscitation. I think that to do less is to take a risk, really.” She lifted her chin and finished rather ringingly.

  Helen set her own chin and fixed Claire with her steadiest gaze. “Even if he were on his last legs, Claire, Daddy would never need that kind of breathless, alarming treatment. I am at least as worried as you are, and I don’t think that I overestimate his strength. In fact, I think it takes more strength to deal with that kind of readjustment than to put up with minor inconveniences that are familiar.”

  “I think—” began Susanna, but Claire interrupted. “Helen, you’d have to agree that I’ve had more experience in this area than you have, and I know what I’m talking about. When Geo was ill, we didn’t care for the changes any more than Mother and Daddy would, but what you gain in terms of efficiency and safety far outweighs the initial difficulties. I wish you would listen to me, Mother.”

  Anna opened her mouth, to say she knew not what, but Helen sat forward, cutting off her view. “Claire,” she said, “your experience is precisely what is standing in your way. You think that because something was right for Geo, then it is right, period. You know, you’ve always been this way. Once you make up your mind about something, then that’s the right thing, forever and ever. Well, Daddy isn’t Geo, and there isn’t much similar about the two situations. I wish you’d listen to me, actually. I went along with you about the nurse, but this other stuff has gotten to be an obsession with you. A respirator! My God!”

  “Open your eyes, Helen . . .”

  Anna stood up. “Don’t bicker,” she said. A creak on the landing silenced them and drew their gaze. Ike had pulled on trousers and smoothed down his hair, and was now beginning to descend the stairs on Christine’s arm. “Grandpa wanted to come down and watch the fight,” said Christine.

  “You bet!” said Ike. “Claire’s pretty tough, but Helen’s got a good twenty-pound, four-inch advantage, anyway.” He cocked his head and laughed weakly but merrily at his own joke. “Don’t let me stop you! Don’t let me stop you!” Their descent was painfully slow. On the landing sat Nelson, ears pricked forward, manners somehow attained.

  Claire stood up. “Sit here, Daddy.” Ike made his way to the chair and sat heavily, with evident relief.

  Christine said, “Grandpa, did you really used to pit Mom and Aunt Claire against one another?”

  “You bet!” said Ike. “Best fight on the block. Your Aunt Claire’s got quite a temper, you know. I’d sneak up to her and whisper in her ear that Helen was going to jump her if she went into the kitchen.”

  “Meanwhile, he would have told me that Claire was looking for me, and I’d better get the jump on her when she got to the kitchen.”

  “Then he’d turn out the light at the last minute,” added Claire. “Just terrific, let me tell you.”

  “Who usually won, Grandpa?”

  “Depended on who had the strategic advantage.”

  “And you know who that depended on, Christine,” said Claire. “Your grandfather!” Ike laughed again.

  “What about Aunt Susanna? No, lie down, Nelson.”

  “Now, Susanna was different. Best not to get on the wrong side of Susanna. We handled her career with kid gloves.”

  “Kid gloves! That’s the first I’ve heard of any kid gloves, Daddy. It felt more like an iron fist!”

  “What else?” cried Christine.

  “Well,” said Claire, “after we were in school, there was the Breakfast Bonanza.” Ike chuckled. “You’ve never seen a live wire first thing in the morning till you’ve seen your grandfather. You’d get up and stagger down the stairs trying to see through your eyelashes without letting the sun in, and there he’d be, crouched at the table, supposedly eating his French toast, but really just waiting for you. ‘What’s the capital of Maine? What’s the Spanish word for bacon?’ Then, while you were trying to wind up your brain, he’d kind of bounce a little in his seat—yes, you did, Daddy, as if you had so much energy that you just couldn’t contain it—and pretty soon he’d say, ‘Your sister got it in fifteen seconds!’ ”

  “Can’t blame a fellow for wanting to stir things up a little!” laughed Ike, pleased with the memory of himself at forty, crouched.

  Christine lay back against the arm of the couch. “Was it fun? It sounds like Cheaper by the Dozen. It must have been wonderful with so much going on.”

  “A dozen would have been just about enough for Daddy,” remarked Anna. Everybody sighed.

  In a few moments, Anna laid aside her knitting. “Would you like some dinner, Ike?” she offered, but he waved the suggestion away. Lately he’d been very coquettish about food, pretending that he wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t want to put her to any trouble. She rather thought he liked the martyrdom and so didn’t press him.

  Ike looked around, and Claire rose to the bait. Anna pursed her lips, picked up her knitting, and began to count stitches with elaborate care. “You must be hungry, Daddy. Please let me fix you something.” Anna cleared her throat. “It’s no trouble,” persisted Claire. “We had pork chops for dinner.”

  Ike deflated a little. “Pork doesn’t agree with me lately.”

  Claire was on her feet. “How about a little fruit salad and some slices of chicken from last night? I could warm them up. Or some yogurt.”

  “No yogurt.”

  Claire headed for the kitchen. Anna knew Ike was looking at her, but she stared steadfastly at her knitting, moving her lips as if counting, although she’d counted them twice already. What? Would he believe in her concern if she forced him to eat? Finally, he said, “Well! Christine!” He leaned toward her and began to whisper. Christine laughed and demurred. Ike whispered some more. Out of the corner of her eye, Anna could see him jerking his head in her direction and winking at Christine, who laughed again and then nodded. She came up behind Anna’s shoulder. “Grandma? Grandfather would like me to give you something.”

  In the time-honored tradition, Anna said, “And what might that be?”

  Christine laughed and put her fingers gently over Anna’s shoulder. “The old eagle’s claw!” She squeezed lightly, Anna squealed in the expected manner, and Ike slapped his knee. He had been sending Christine to her in this fashion since the girl was three years old—twenty years now, almost exactly. And he always did it for the same reason, because she wasn’t paying attention to him and he couldn’t stand it. Anna dropped her knitting in her lap. “Some dessert? Helen? Susanna? There’s ice cream in there, and I made a new kind of coffee cake yesterday; it’s got Cheerios in the topping.”

  “Cheerios!” howled Christine. “Grandma, I’m ashamed of you!”

  “I cooked on a wood stove too long to be ashamed of convenience foods, believe me, young lady. Anything in a box with a long shelf-life is fine with your grandmother.”

  “No ice cream for me,” said Susanna. “What kind is it?”

  “Cherry something. Cherry delight?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Come on, Aunt Susie, live it up.”

  “When it comes to food, Chrissy, I live it up every day.” But she heaved herself out of the deep sofa.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “Let’s both get it. Mom? You?” Helen shook her head. Christine threw her arm over Susanna’s shoulders and guided her out of the room. Nelson clicked at their heels.

  Ike turned immediately to Helen, who was leafing through a magazine. “What’s the boy’s name again, Helen?”

  “Do you mean Todd, Daddy?”

  “That’s it! I couldn’t remember that damned name if my life depended on it. I always think Frank. Why’s that, Mother?”

  “Wasn’t there a boy named Frank, Helen?”

  “I don’t think so, Mother. Susanna had a boyfriend named Frank, though. Remember him? He bought that airplane after the war, some old piece of junk. You never would let Susanna go up in it. She did, though. They flew to Chicago once and visited me at my studio. I don’t think it was the only time, either; Susanna was very blasé about the whole thing.”

  “What did she say, Mother? Susanna went up in a plane?”

  “After the war, Ike! Susanna took some plane rides with a boy!” Ike wasn’t always hard of hearing, or perhaps they were accustomed to speaking up. At any rate, the things he seemed to have difficulty with were always the things he shouldn’t have heard in the first place, so that the embarrassment of shouting them out was doubled.

  Anna remembered that Frank quite well. Ike hadn’t liked him because he was short—almost shorter than Susanna, who was the shortest of the girls. And Ike’s distrust of the man’s shortness hadn’t masked any deeper feelings. In her life with Ike she had found that his prejudice in favor of tall, burly men like himself was as simple as it was pronounced. Anna, on the other hand, had liked Frank, who was self-educated, without pretension, and plainspoken, a more spirited and substantial man than Hanson Gilbert, Susanna’s ex-husband, a doctor. It was too bad about Frank. Ike had taken every opportunity to poke fun at him, until Susanna finally gave up. Anna smiled to think of Susanna, blasé about flying. Iowa must have been so beautifully green and simple just after the war, a tablecloth of old-fashioned crops like oats and rye in addition to the eternal corn; barns and houses white and blocky; clusters, like jewels, of black-and-white cows, glossy draft horses, and even mules. People must have waved to Frank and Susanna as they flew over; and Frank and Susanna, perhaps watching their shadow skate over meadow and wooded hillside, must have waved back. Anna caught her breath sharply and quickened her knitting. Such thoughts filled her with yearning to have been asked along.

  “What boy? Mother? What boy?”

  Helen interceded. “Frank Somebody, Daddy! He was from Council Bluffs or Omaha. You didn’t like him!”

  “Little shrimp of a guy?”

  Helen nodded.

  “No,” said Ike. “Couldn’t see much in that punk. Not much at all.”

  Anna knew that Ike was teasing a little, but she couldn’t help flaring up. “No, Ike, you didn’t see much in him, and you were wrong. He was a good boy, and he had lots of get-up-and-go. I knew that boy was going to be a big success, and he was crazy about Susanna.” Not many had been. Every time you took a step in those days you stumbled over some kid who was dangling after Helen or Claire, or both, but Susanna hated to wear dresses, and she hated to fix herself up, and she was relentlessly competitive. She could apply any racket or stick or mallet or club to any ball, and the ball would fly like an angel. It never even occurred to her not to win, and a lot of first dates ended on the front porch, with Susanna shaking the boy’s hand, saying, “Thanks, and sorry I beat you.”

  “So what’d he do, Mother?” Ike leaned toward her. She should have foreseen this.

  “I don’t know, Ike. Flew off into the sunset, I guess.” Ike sat back triumphantly and Anna leaned forward. “But what does that matter? Hanson Gilbert was a big success, and you could hardly open your mouth, you were so impressed with the notion of a doctor, and look what happened!” Hanson was now married to the woman he had taken up with while still married to Susanna. Anna understood that they had something like four or five children, perhaps more. Susanna had none. Her marriage had ended so early—during Susanna’s twenty-seventh year—that Anna had felt certain she would marry again and have five of her own. She loved children, especially little girls. But nothing happened.

  “Frank’s one we lost track of completely, isn’t he?” remarked Helen, and picked up her magazine again. It was a Family Circle. At home Helen received Gourmet, and The New Yorker, and Archeology. Here she always picked up the Family Circles and the Woman’s Days and read while others talked.

  Anna said, “There’s a cute sweater pattern in there, Helen. Man’s pullover with a real smart cable. I thought I’d make a couple for the twins.”

  “You’d better ask Claire, Mother. I don’t know if the twins wear the same clothes anymore.”

  “Ask me what?” Claire bore a small flowered tray on which she had arranged a dish of fruit salad and a plate of chicken slices bedded on a lettuce leaf, two neatly bisected pieces of toast, a linen napkin in a napkin ring, a glass of bluish skim milk, and a knife and fork—the good silver—Anna noticed. She exchanged a glance with Helen, who also noticed, then said, “There’s a lovely sweater pattern in that magazine Helen’s reading. I thought Jimmy and Jeremy each might like one.”

  “Don’t ask me, Mother!” She set the tray on Ike’s lap. “Buying clothes for them is like sticking your money in a slot machine, as far as I’m concerned. Picky, picky, picky! Jimmy’s the worst. He could lead me by the hand to the very item he wants and then decide that the stitching around the buttonholes looks funny before we get to the checkout counter.”

  Ike began to eat. The plate was too far from his mouth, and Anna could not help falling silent and staring as the fork wobbled and shook in its ascent. The others, too, were mesmerized, and before Claire could leap to amend the problem, Ike put down his fork and declared that he wasn’t hungry. Claire offered to put a pillow on his lap, but it was too late. The peculiar sound the fruit made as it dropped onto the tray had done its damage. By the time they were finished discussing it, the peaches and pears would be warm, the chicken dry and unappetizing.

  Claire’s face fell. Helen peered studiously at the magazine. Ike picked up his plate to put it on the table, and Anna sat up. “Eat it, Ike!” she commanded. “Claire put herself out for you, and it’s the least you can do!” Ike looked at her. Claire put a sofa pillow on his lap and balanced the tray on it. In a moment he began to eat. Anna realized she was breathing rather quickly. In years gone by such a tone would have earned a retaliation, and it was hard for her to get used to her new power.

  In a few moments he had finished the fruit and was safely to the chicken. She pushed her glasses up her nose and went back to her knitting. Ike said, “Thank you, Claire, that was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome, Daddy.” Claire took the tray.

  Helen threw down her magazine. “Christine and Susanna are taking their time,” she observed. Helen gave off a sense of laborious nonchalance when Christine was around that was almost an odor. With Anna, Claire, Susanna, even Ike, Helen was the most independent, the least likely to find family gatherings alluring, although she preferred to be present in case her name came up in discussion. Her feelings for Christine, however, were hot and possessive. It was at times amusing and at times discomforting to watch her arrange herself into the cool, detached being Christine both assumed she was and insisted she be.

  When she stood up, Claire turned deftly in the doorway and blocked her exit. “Helen,” she said, “why don’t you show me the pattern mother was talking about?”

  “It’s right there, you’ll see it.”

  “Is there anything else in there you like?” She put down the tray and half pushed Helen back toward the couch.

  Helen sidestepped, saying, “You know homemade isn’t my style.” The phone rang. Even as Claire was saying, “I’ll—” and Anna was hoisting herself out of her chair, Christine flashed past the kitchen doorway and caught it on the third ring. Helen plopped on the arm of the couch, took up the magazine, and turned to the requisite page. “There!” she said. “Now get out of the way!” But Claire didn’t move. Everyone strained to hear who it might be. Christine’s voice murmured steadily, deepened by the tunnel effect of the back hall.

  “It must be for her,” said Claire. “I thought Jeremy might call over here tonight if he couldn’t reach me at home.” Christine hung up the phone. There had been no pause in the murmuring, and Christine’s face was red as she passed the back hall doorway on her return to the kitchen. Helen followed her and Claire sat down on the couch with the dirty dishes in her lap. “Mother,” she said, “I think Christine has some news for us.”

  “Speak up!” said Ike. “What about Christine?”

  “She’s got something to tell us!” exclaimed Anna. Ike nodded. Already he was tired. His skin was pale and he let his head rest stiffly against the back of his chair, ashamed, perhaps, that a half-hour with his family could tell upon him so, or perhaps afraid that she would make him go back to bed if he let on. He lifted his leg to cross it, and Anna vowed to get him a half-dozen pairs of new, thick, very thick, socks. His ankles thrust out of his trousers like bamboo. Perhaps it was a baby.

  Anna remembered each of her babies perfectly, more perfectly at times than she remembered her daughters’ current selves. Having babies seemed to her the essential activity of youth, and she always felt sorry for mothers who were too old to be energetic and playful with their infants. She’d been only twenty when Helen was born, twenty-one with Claire. She’d attributed the difficulty of her third pregnancy to age. Now it made her laugh. She’d been twenty-five! Claire was the easiest baby. Any object would fascinate her, and she could occupy herself by the hour with a strip of fabric, changing it from hand to hand, flicking it with her index finger, folding it, pulling it, bunching it, laying it over her head or chest. Anna would come in from another room and see her seated on the floor. From the back, the great curve of her head with its brown-gold curls would taper into the hollow between the tendons of her neck, and somehow the tendons themselves would bespeak concentration. Although Anna loved Claire’s, and each child’s, smiles and waves and kisses, loved too the stroke of a little hand on her breast while the child nursed, chancing upon this quiet business with a piece of cloth had touched her the most. It was so mysteriously inward when you hardly yet believed that the child had an inner life.

  These moments were invariably brief. Helen, who would be with Anna, who was always with her at that age, would run over to see what the baby had and if it was worth demanding for her own. Even if it were not, the fight would begin. And Claire, with her sturdy grip and vigilant concentration, was no mean opponent. Fights, yes. All the time. But better still Anna could perfectly remember the intent angle of the head and the apparent fragility of the pale infant neck.