She returned to New York with a throbbing conscience not even Atticus could ease.
This was two years ago, and Jean Louise had long since quit worrying about how thoughtless she was, and Alexandra had disarmed her by performing the one generous act of Alexandra’s life: when Atticus developed arthritis, Alexandra went to live with him. Jean Louise was humble with gratitude. Had Atticus known of the secret decision between his sister and his daughter he would have never forgiven them. He did not need anyone, but it was an excellent idea to have someone around to keep an eye on him, button his shirts when his hands were useless, and run his house. Calpurnia had done it until six months ago, but she was so old Atticus did more housekeeping than she, and she returned to the Quarters in honorable retirement.
“I’ll do those, Aunty,” Jean Louise said, when Alexandra collected the coffee cups. She rose and stretched. “You get sleepy when it’s like this.”
“Just these few cups,” said Alexandra. “I can do ’em in a minute. You stay where you are.”
Jean Louise stayed where she was and looked around the livingroom. The old furniture set well in the new house. She glanced toward the diningroom and saw on the sideboard her mother’s heavy silver water pitcher, goblets, and tray shining against the soft green wall.
He is an incredible man, she thought. A chapter of his life comes to a close, Atticus tears down the old house and builds a new one in a new section of town. I couldn’t do it. They built an ice cream parlor where the old one was. Wonder who runs it?
She went to the kitchen.
“Well, how’s New York?” said Alexandra. “Want another cup before I throw this out?”
“Yessum, please.”
“Oh, by the way, I’m giving a Coffee for you Monday morning.”
“Aunty!” Jean Louise groaned. Coffees were peculiarly Maycombian in nature. They were given for girls who came home. Such girls were placed on view at 10:30 A.M. for the express purpose of allowing the women of their age who had remained enisled in Maycomb to examine them. Childhood friendships were rarely renewed under such conditions.
Jean Louise had lost touch with nearly everyone she grew up with and did not wish particularly to rediscover the companions of her adolescence. Her schooldays were her most miserable days, she was unsentimental to the point of callousness about the women’s college she had attended, nothing displeased her more than to be set in the middle of a group of people who played Remember Old So-and-So.
“I find the prospect of a Coffee infinitely horrifyin’,” she said, “but I’d love one.”
“I thought you would, dear.”
A pang of tenderness swept over her. She would never be able to thank Alexandra enough for coming to stay with Atticus. She considered herself a heel for ever having been sarcastic to her aunt, who in spite of her corsets had a certain defenselessness plus a certain fineness Jean Louise would never have. She is the last of her kind, she thought. No wars had ever touched her, and she had lived through three; nothing had disturbed that world of hers, where gentlemen smoked on the porch or in hammocks, where ladies fanned themselves gently and drank cool water.
“How’s Hank doing?”
“He’s doing beautifully, hon. You know he was made Man of the Year by the Kiwanis Club. They gave him a lovely scroll.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Man of the Year by the Kiwanis Club, a postwar Maycomb innovation, usually meant Young Man Going Places.
“Atticus was so proud of him. Atticus says he doesn’t know the meaning of the word contract yet, but he’s doing fine with taxation.”
Jean Louise grinned. Her father said it took at least five years to learn law after one left law school: one practiced economy for two years, learned Alabama Pleading for two more, reread the Bible and Shakespeare for the fifth. Then one was fully equipped to hold on under any conditions.
“What would you say if Hank became your nephew?”
Alexandra stopped drying her hands on the dishtowel. She turned and looked sharply at Jean Louise. “Are you serious?”
“I might be.”
“Don’t be in a hurry, honey.”
“Hurry? I’m twenty-six, Aunty, and I’ve known Hank forever.”
“Yes, but—”
“What’s the matter, don’t you approve of him?”
“It’s not that, it’s—Jean Louise, dating a boy is one thing, but marrying him’s another. You must take all things into account. Henry’s background—”
“—is literally the same as mine. We grew up in each other’s pockets.”
“There’s a drinking streak in that family—”
“Aunty, there’s a drinking streak in every family.”
Alexandra’s back stiffened. “Not in the Finch family.”
“You’re right. We’re just all crazy.”
“That’s untrue and you know it,” said Alexandra.
“Cousin Joshua was ’round the bend, don’t forget that.”