“Come in, come in,” Vera urged, and Stutz did, ricocheting through the door-frame, stamping his feet noisily to shed the snow from his heavy, felt-lined boots. Once across the threshold he stalled, searching for a mat on which to remove his overshoes. There was none. As he looked around him, the bareness of the place impressed itself upon him. There were no curtains on the windows of the cramped kitchen, and Mr. Stutz could gaze out onto the outskirts of Connaught, a glacial sweep of frozen prairie broken only by a line of telephone poles rambling west. The austerity, the vacancy of the house, was extreme. However, compared to what he could see of the rest of the rooms, the kitchen verged on clutter. It held a table and two chairs, and the cast-iron range filled one wall with its squat solidity and stove-pipe angles. Stutz wondered when the pipes had last been cleaned. There were brown scorch marks on the beaverboard indicating they were given to overheating. To his left he could look through a narrow door that gave onto an equally narrow living room, empty except for one of the cots that made up the dead lady’s estate and a forlorn display of Christmas presents set out in the middle of the scuffed linoleum floor – a bottle of perfume, a boy’s sweater, a box of Black Magic chocolates, a number of books. Gifts that Vera and Daniel had exchanged. Beyond this, another door stood open on Vera’s bedroom and Stutz could make out a cardboard box filled with clothes and the corner of another cot, twin to the first. There was nothing more to be seen.
“Just kick them off where you stand,” said Vera, noting Mr. Stutz’s indecision as to what to do with his boots, “and come and take a seat by the stove.”
Mr. Stutz carefully placed the presents on the table. “We’re late with these,” he apologized, “but the old gentleman thought that yesterday being Christmas you might have dropped by with the boy. When you didn’t, he asked me to deliver them.”
Vera was clearly annoyed at the presumption. “He had no reason to expect any visits from us. You can tell him I said as much. And you can take these back where they came from,” she said, indicating the parcels.
“They’re not all from him,” said Mr. Stutz quietly. “I put one or two in myself.”
This news embarrassed Vera. “I never,” she said. “What am I going to do? I – Daniel and I – never thought to get you a thing.”
“What’s to get the man who’s got everything?” He laughed artificially to signal he was making a joke. There was an awkwardness in his manner that Vera hadn’t seen before. As a way of offering him some relief she began to sort through the presents.
“This is from you then?” she said, smiling and holding up a package.
“What does it say?” Mr. Stutz wanted to hear her read the tag aloud.
“ ‘To Mrs. Vera Miller from H. Stutz.’ ”
“That’s me all right.”
“H. Stutz,” said Vera, trying to peel away the Scotch tape with her fingernail so as not to rip the paper. “Isn’t that strange? I don’t know your first name. What’s the H stand for?”
“Herman. Herman is my Christian name.”
Wouldn’t you suspect? thought Vera. What she said was, “A sensible name. It suits you, Mr. Stutz, Herman does. Take a chair, Herman, and as soon as I’ve got this present unwrapped we’ll have us a cup of coffee.”
When the paper decorated with jolly Santa Clauses was finally removed, a carton of cigarettes was disclosed. “Isn’t this nice,” said Vera. “My brand, too. Millbank. Thank you, Mr. Stutz.”
“I made a point of watching what you smoked,” said Mr. Stutz.
“I appreciate it,” Vera assured him, pouring coffee. “I just feel awful we didn’t shop for you.”
The topic of presents and purchases exhausted, conversation lapsed. In the silence, Daniel’s axe could be heard ringing in the frozen air. Looking ill at ease, Mr. Stutz blew energetically into his coffee mug. Vera noticed that in the warmth of the kitchen his nose had begun to run, a drop hung trembling on its tip, prompting her to turn her eyes away. When she did, Mr. Stutz cleared his throat and launched into what he had come to say. “You know, Mrs. Miller, your father can’t understand what all this is about – this packing up and leaving him.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Vera, struggling to appear calm, reasonable. “I must say that doesn’t surprise me in the least. The only thing my father’s ever been able to understand is what matters to him. Did you ever notice that about him, Mr. Stutz? Nothing exists unless it’s of some use to him. Do you know when I figured that out? I must have been sixteen, just after my mother died. He seemed to think that my brother and I were there just to make him feel better about the situation. One servant and one pet, you might say. He couldn’t think of anyone but himself. My father’s a very selfish man, Mr. Stutz.”
“He’s always treated me fair,” observed Mr. Stutz.
“And why should he have any trouble treating you fair?” challenged Vera. “When were the two of you ever at cross purposes? Never.”
Mr. Stutz frowned. “I wouldn’t know about that. I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would,” said Vera, breaking open her carton of Millbanks and lighting herself a cigarette. “I know all about my father and cross purposes. We wrote the book on that. It was because he always assumed the choices were his to make. Back then, when I was sixteen, I wanted to be somebody. Maybe it’s true I wasn’t exactly sure what – what kid of sixteen does? But something, a teacher, a nurse, something.” Vera held up the burning match, blew it out with an angry puff of breath. “That’s how he put me out,” she said to Stutz, “like that. He blew out my fine ideas because he knew what was best for me. Best for me was to stick at home and relieve him of the trouble of looking after my brother Earl. I believe he would be surprised if anyone was to point out the difference between good for him and good for me. He thought they were always the same thing.” Vera leaned forward tensely in her chair. “And he hasn’t lost the habit. Do you know what the latest is? He won’t tell me where my brother is. And do you know why he won’t?”
At the mention of Earl Mr. Stutz cast his eyes down to the floor. He shook his head in reply to her question.
“I’ll tell you why,” said Vera with quiet, measured vehemence. “Because he doesn’t think I deserve to know. I lost the right to know because I didn’t stay behind to raise Earl the way he thought I should. I wasn’t noble, I didn’t sacrifice, I disappointed. Instead, I went off and joined the Army.” Vera fell back against her chair, smiled ironically. “Desertion, Mr. Stutz. Vera Monkman stands accused of deserting her post, charged by the commanding officer. That’s why I have no claim on my brother. No difference between me and the bad girl who gives up a bastard baby for adoption. Bad girls lose their rights, didn’t you know? My father has made up his mind I have no right to Earl because I ran out on him. But I never ran out on Earl. It’s not my brother I was running out on, it was him, the miserable old bugger. Sixteen years old and already I was a housewife. A housewife!” Vera burst out indignantly.
For several moments she sat rigid and motionless; then her shoulders relaxed and she resumed speaking in a controlled way. “This is how I thought then, Mr. Stutz. I figured the one he loved had the best chance of surviving him. That was Earl. I think he loved Earl almost as much as he loved himself. All I knew for sure was that Vera wasn’t going to survive him. I had to get out – and I got. But he’s not one to forgive. That’s why he’s keeping me and my brother apart – to punish me.”
Mr. Stutz raised his eyes from the floor. There was a heaviness in his face that suggested a man with a desire for confession. But all he said was, “Your father doesn’t want to punish you.”