*
That summer, Margaret’s dog, Smoke, swam from Sunshine Cottage to Bill’s house and mated with Bill’s standard poodle. By the end of the summer, Bill, Margaret, and Leonard sat on Bill’s lawn, watching their four black puppies tumble and play. Leonard was scheduled to illustrate a book based on Margaret’s observations of the puppies copying the “big dog” actions of their father. She saw the way the little dogs mimicked their parents and how their little world was a mirror of the bigger dog’s world—big and little beds and bowls and bones. What was different was how the little dogs reacted to the world around them. They yapped at everything that startled them while their father stood observing silently. Smoke was unafraid of what frightened his puppies because those experiences weren’t new to him. Once the puppies saw how their brave father reacted, they followed suit.
Margaret noticed the same pattern with Bill and his sons. They, like the puppies, often copied their father’s actions. It was human nature as much as it was a dog’s nature to want to be like its parents. Margaret loved Bill’s boys. They were kind and always willing to help her around the house, head out on an adventure to pick blueberries, and gather kelp, fish, or lobsters for their dinner.
She continued to hold out hope that Bill would marry her after his divorce was final. She loved Michael, but wanted a family and longed for the security marriage would give her. Margaret had to settle for Bill’s companionship to plays, restaurants, and soirées in New York. Here in Maine, though, they were a couple, and when Bill’s boys were around, they were a family. Marriage to Bill was a waiting game she was sure she would win. He would never be monogamous, but she loved him madly and knew he felt the same.
As she sat beside Bill and Leonard, looking over the glistening sea, she was content. That night, she stayed at Bill’s and sent two of the puppies back with Leonard to be used as models. It was always best when Leonard had the studio to himself. His level of messiness while he painted was more than Margaret could tolerate. He worked furiously, tossing sketches and rejected paintings to the floor.
Like Margaret, Leonard studied the dogs to understand their behaviors. He always turned over a story in his mind for a long time before picking up a brush. Once he started painting, his visions were swiftly converted into watercolors. It wasn’t unusual for him to paint an entire book in a single day because the images were so well formed in his mind by the time he began.
The book about the big and little dogs was to be published by Doubleday under one of Margaret’s noms de plume, Golden MacDonald, a name she co-opted from Bill’s handyman. She liked that the name paid homage to her Irish heritage and her golden hair. Both Doubleday and Golden Books published her work under that name. It didn’t really matter to her because children rarely noticed the name of the person who wrote a book they liked.
*
When Margaret returned to New York, Michael called her late one night. She begged Margaret to find a taxi and to come get her. She had locked herself in her room and was packing a bag. Somehow Tweed had found proof of her affair with Margaret. Homosexuality was considered a mental illness to be treated in asylums or with drugs. Tweed’s doctor was on his way over. It was certain he would place Michael on medication and, most likely, into an institution. She had to leave their Gracie Square apartment right away.
Margaret dashed downstairs to find a cab while Michael’s maid helped her flee through the back staircase. It was a narrow escape, and they had the driver cruise around the city as they considered Michael’s options. For the first time Margaret could remember, Michael didn’t tell the cab driver that she had a bad back so he needed to drive slow.
Michael knew she would be safe at the Colony Club, so Margaret delivered her to that sanctuary. From there, Michael telephoned her lawyer to demand an apology from Tweed and to work out a formal separation. Within days, she had both and was allowed to move back into Gracie Square. With Tweed gone, Margaret stayed with Michael on some nights. They dined by candlelight as they looked out on the river, making plans for their future together. Margaret was going to give up her apartment and move in with Michael. They would document their lives together, a sort of biography that would write itself as their lives went along. They would be like Gauguin and Van Gogh—artists who understood each other and lived together, supporting each other in their craft.
Close friends teased Margaret about how much time she and Michael spent together. Bill Gaston told Margaret that he thought Michael had had her fill of men and had turned to a girl and that from there she would likely go on to goats. Margaret let them believe what they wished—that Michael was a substitute mother, a friend, or a lover. Many of her closest friends knew she loved Michael, but she confessed to only a few that she and Michael were more than friends.
*
In August, they went to Michael’s new country home in Milford, Connecticut. The house was near Michael’s son Robin’s home. By all accounts, Michael was a distant mother, far more concerned with herself and her own happiness than her children’s, but she was obsessed with Robin. She told her other children that he was her favorite while also openly and constantly criticizing him for his lack of ambition and failed career as an actor.
She had always been jealous of Robin’s lovers, often seeing them as a threat to her relationship with him. Michael was always looking for ways to get them out of Robin’s life. When he inherited a portion of his father’s vast estate, he bought a quaint farm in Connecticut, just far enough away from his mother for comfort. His parties seemed to never end. He lived the life of an English squire and entertained friends on long drink-filled weekends, serving champagne and caviar for breakfast and gourmet meals for dinner. He was quite creative and took up a variety of hobbies. He grew an abundance of flowers and an assortment of vegetables in his quaint gardens. He liked his life the way it was and was not pleased his mother had bought a house nearby.