The Irresistible Henry House Read Online Free PDF Page A

bathroom, hoping the steam from the shower would unclog his chest and nose, when Beatrice pounded on the door.
    “There’s a visitor,” she called.
    “A visitor,” Martha said to Henry, mimicking Beatrice’s awed tone of voice.
    Beatrice pounded again, and Martha turned off the shower, just as Henry began to cry.
    “Just a moment,” Martha called.
    Beatrice opened the door. The steam instantly engulfed her, and she looked terrified.
    Martha took a tissue and wiped the streams of mucus from Henry’s nose and mouth. She stepped past Beatrice and then saw President Gardner standing at the end of the hallway, framed like a guard in a tower.
    He was a stout man with bushy eyebrows and a beaked nose and, in Martha’s experience, an always slightly irritated air, as if he had spent his whole life waiting to hear something just a little more brilliant than whatever anyone said. As far as Martha could remember, he had never set foot in the practice house.
    “Mrs. Gaines,” he intoned above Henry’s whimpers. His voice was a low and elegant hum.
    “Dr. Gardner,” she said. “This is—How nice to see you.”
    Beatrice, her hair even more electric than usual because of the steam, started off toward the kitchen.
    “Beatrice,” Martha said sternly. She handed Henry to her, despite his wailing, his filthy face, his fever, her love.
    “What was wrong with the little fellow?” Dr. Gardner asked, after Beatrice had wafted away down the hall.
    “A terrible cold,” Martha said. “I’m afraid he needed a little extra attention from me.”
    “A cold?” Dr. Gardner said. “Isn’t he rather young for a cold?”
    It was a stupid question, but that didn’t startle Martha. The few men she’d known had always asked stupid questions about babies.
    “Babies are always susceptible to colds if they’re not being breastfed,” she said matter-of-factly, and watched, with some vague satisfaction, as a flush of embarrassment crossed Dr. Gardner’s face.
    SHE OFFERED HIM TEA, which he declined. Instead, he lit a cigar and settled by the fireplace in one of the living room chairs. He chatted about the Nuremberg trials, and about the board of trustees, which had just announced its plans to endow a chair in the Department of Psychology. The whole time, Martha’s mind raced with possible scenarios. He had come to tell her she was being fired. She was being tenured. He had come to ask her to give a presentation to the trustees. To alter her curriculum. Her methods. Her décor.
    When, after fifteen minutes, he stood up and walked down the hall toward the nursery, Martha was reminded of Betty on her first day in the practice house: those exact same strides, that same odor of entitlement.
    “Dr. Gardner, can I help you with something else?” Martha asked, following him.
    “No, I just want to see where the baby sleeps.”
    “Where he sleeps?”
    “Sleeps. Plays. Crawls. What have you.”
    “You want a tour?” Martha asked, still surprised.
    “Perhaps the student I just met will do the honors,” he said, and it was not a request but a command.
    IT WOULD REMAIN UNCLEAR TO MARTHA for weeks what Dr. Gardner had been looking for, but something told her that it would be unwise to question Beatrice too closely about what, if anything, he had asked her. If the president’s real purpose had been to confirm either new or old accusations about Martha, then she didn’t want her questioning to be construed as insecurity.
    Even two hours after the president left, the smell of his cigar hung thickly in the air.
    ————
    HENRY DIDN’T RECOVER FULLY from his cold until nearly a week later, and it was only then, with an attentive Betty on hand for her second stint in the practice house, that Martha decided it was safe to go into town to do her Christmas errands.
    It was a Tuesday morning, still just the second week in December, but Martha hated to fall behind on tasks that could be done in advance.
    Wearing rubber boots in case of snow,