Emma Harte - Hold The Dream Part 21

Now she stared fully at Blackie, seeing him as he was tonight but remembering how he had looked in his rough, drab workman's clothes and his cheap cloth cap worn at such a cheeky angle, carrying his sack of tools slung over his broad shoulder. Disreputable, Cook had called the dirty old burlap bag that contained his most treasured possessions-his hammers and trowels and mortar board.

Emma said slowly, "Who would have thought that we would both live to such great ages . . . that we would acquire so much in our lifetimes . . . immense power, immeasurable wealth . . . that we would become what we are today."

Blackie gave her an odd look, then chuckled at the amazement ringing in her voice. "1 for one never doubted our rosy futures," he announced, his voice underscored by a bubbling merriment. "I told you I was going to be a toff, a real millionaire, and that you would be a grand lady. Mind you, me darlin', 111 be confessing to you now that I never suspected you'd be quite as grand as you are."

They both smiled, their wise old eyes holding, secure in their love and friendship, revelling in the knowledge that they truly understood each other as no other person alive did. So many years ... so many experiences shared welded them. The bonds between them were like steel and so strong they were unbreakable.

The silence drifted along for a while.

Eventually Blackie roused himself. "Now, mavoumeen mine, tell me about your busy day."

"One thing surprised me, Blackie. They called. The plotters. I was startled to hear from my sons and Elizabeth, I don't mind telling you. She's back in London of course. No doubt with the French boyfriend. Edwina gave me a ring this morning, and she was pleasant, believe it or not. Perhaps she's mended her ways finally. And I had two other most wonderful calls . . . they really touched me." Her eyes lit up. "Philip rang from Sydney, and your Shane from New York.

Wasn't that nice?" He nodded, smiling, and she continued, "It seems that your grandson and mine are planning birthday parties for me when we arrive in their cities, so be prepared. As for my day, well, you can see for yourself what it's brought." Emma waved her hand around, her eyes sweeping the room. "Flowers, cards, and so many gifts. And I had lunch with Daisy, David, and my grandchildren at the Mirabelle."

She proceeded to recount every detail of the luncheon party, then told him how they had whisked her away from the restaurant at three-thirty and taken her to her store in Knightsbridge. Marched by her grandchildren into her boardroom, she had been greeted by her top executives, who were awaiting her arrival at the special reception they had arranged for her.

When she had finished this somewhat breathless recital, Emma rose and picked up the Imperial Easter egg, said confidingly. "This is what my grandchildren gave me, and like your painting it is a most meaningful gift. I shall treasure them both always."

"So you had a lovely day-I'm glad. That's the way it should always be." Blackie stood up. "Come along, I think we'd better be on our way. We're meeting in Bryan's suite at the Ritz for a drop of bubbly before we go down to dinner."

Ten minutes later, when they arrived at the Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly, Blackie ushered Emma up the steps. He paused briefly at the reception desk, asked the young man behind it to announce his arrival to his son, Mr. Bryan O'Neill, and gave the number of the suite.

"Of course, Mr. O'Neill." The young a.s.sistant manager smiled at Emma. "Good evening, Mrs. Harte." Emma acknowledged his greeting pleasantly, and after Blackie had expressed his thanks they proceeded through the lobby, unaware of how striking they looked and of the heads turned to watch them.

Emma remained silent as they rode up in the lift, and Blackie stole several surrept.i.tious looks at her, wondering if she had any inkling about the party which had been planned with such secrecy. He could not hazard a guess. Her face, as always, was inscrutable. He believed Emma would not be angry, despite Daisy's prediction that her mother might easily react adversely. He knew his Emma, understood that she was like a child at times. She enjoyed surprises and gifts and special occasions, particularly when those occasions revolved around her.

That's because of the deprivations of her youth, he said to himself. In those days she had had nothing, nothing of any real value. No, that wasn't strictly true. She had had her startling looks, her brains, her stamina, her extraordinary health,- and her enormous courage. Not to mention that terrible pride of hers. Oh that pride and oh the shame she had experienced because of that pride and because she was poor. "But poverty's not a crime, even though people who're better off always try to make you feel like a criminal," she had once cried to him, her anger bringing a fierce dark gleam to her young eyes. Ah yes, he remembered everything . . . Emma had had more than her fair share of pain and sorrow and grief in her life. But she would not suffer again, nor ever be deprived again, and there would be no more pain. They were both far too old for tragedies . . . tragedies were for the young.

Finally they drew to a stop in front of the door to the suite. Blackie smiled inwardly. The phone call from reception had been the alert signal for Bryan and Daisy to keep the guests absolutely quiet. Obviously they had succeeded admirably. A pin dropping would have sounded like a gun going off in the silence permeating the corridor.

Giving Emma a final rapid glance, Blackie raised his hand and rapped. The door was opened almost at once by Daisy. "There you are, Mother, Uncle Blackie. We've been waiting for you. Do come in."

Blackie propelled Emma forward and stepped inside after her.

"Happy birthday!" fifty-eight people shrieked in unison.

"That Emma was thunderstruck was immediately evident to everyone present. She stared at the crowd made up of relatives and friends who had gathered together to celebrate her birthday, her expression startled, and she colored slightly, the blush rising from her neck to suffuse her face. Her eyes immediately swiveled to Blackie's, and she whispered, "You devill Why didn't you give me a hint, some warning at least?"

He grinned, gratified that the secret had obviously been well and truly kept. "I didn't dare. Daisy said she'd kill me. And don't start telling me you're annoyed, because I can see from your face that you're notl"

"That's true," she admitted and finally permitted herself to smile.

She swung her head, faced the packed room, and was momentarily rooted to the spot. The lingering smile slowly grew wider and wider as she noted the familiar faces smiling back at her in welcome.

Her two son's, Kit Lowther and Robin Ainsley, were there with their wives, June and Valerie; her daughters Edwina and Elizabeth flanked a distinguished-looking man who was outrageously handsome. She supposed this was the notorious Marc Deboyne-International White Trash, Emily had so succinctly labeled him. Still, he did have a rather fascinating smile and a glamorous aura. Elizabeth always went for the pretty ones, of course. Well, she was hardly the one to criticize. The men who had tenanted her life had had their fair share of good looks.

Daisy had slipped across the room, stood with her arm linked through David's,.and he in turn was positioned next to her sisters-in-law, the two old ladies Charlotte and Natalie, who were dressed to the nines and dripping with jewels. Paula and Jim hovered next to them; Winston was shepherding Emily, Amanda, and Francesca, and was apparently enjoying his role of protector."Emma's eyes automatically dropped to Emily's left hand, and she.winked at her granddaughter when she spotted the glittering emerald engagement ring.

She stared beyond them into the adjoining suite, saw^Jarah, Jonathan, Alexander, and his girlfriend Maggie Reynolds crowded together in the entrance. On their left was the entire Kallinski family, and edging up to them were Bryan, Geraldine, and Merry O'Neill. Positioned next to the latter were the rest of the Hartes. Randolph's beaming face peered out at her, just visible above the shoulders of his two daughters, Vivienne and Sally. Anthony, her grandson, smiled back at her from Sally's side.

Henry Rossiter was leaning against the fireplace" at the far end of the second suite. He looks better than ever, Emma thought, and eyed his current girlfriend, the noted model Jennifer Glenn. She was at least forty years younger. That's one way to ensure a heart attack, dear Henry, Emma thought to herself, her eyes amused. Gaye Sloane, her private secretary, graced Henry's right, and the remainder of the guests were made up of old friends as well as close business a.s.soci ates such as Len Harvey, who ran Genret, and his wife Monica.

Emma's initial stunned surprise had completely dissipated in the few minutes she had stood motionless surveying the gathering. Now she was again totally in command of herself, all those present, and this occasion. Looking autocratic, proud, dignified, and supremely elegant, she took a step forward and inclined her head.

"Well," she exclaimed, her strong clear voice ringing out as she broke the silence at last, "I never realized I knew so many people who were capable of keeping a secret. At least from me." Their laughter rippled around her as she glided forward into their midst, accepting their affectionate greetings and good wishes' with a graciousness that few could match.

Blackie edged over to Daisy, stood watching Emma circulating, dispensing her inimitable charm. And by the ladleful, he muttered under his breath. A huge grin suddenly illuminated his face, and his eyes crinkled with humor. He exclaimed to Daisy, "And you worried yourself to death, thinking she was going to be upset! Just look at her . . . she's in her element, handling them all with aplomb and behaving as if she's royalty."

Chapter Twenty-one.

An hour later, at eight o'clock, Blackie escorted Emma into the private dining room farther along the corridor where the birthday celebration dinner was to be held.

Bending toward her, he whispered, "Daisy didn't want anybody's feelings to be hurt, nor did she wish to be accused of favoritism, so none of your children or grandchildren will be sitting at our table."

"That was smart of her," Emma murmured, her mouth twitching with hidden laughter. Well, Daisy was the one true diplomat in the family; on the other hand she knew her sons would not exactly be clamoring to sit with her. Emma was still astonished that they had deigned to come at all. Elizabeth's presence did not surprise her. It was just conceivable that her daughter wanted to make friends again, since she always had her eye on the main chance. No doubt she thought she could ingratiate herself, probably with the hopes of extracting more money. Her other motivations would be, a desire to see her children and show off her new boyfriend. As for Edwina, she was currying favor with Anthony, who would have disapproved if his mother had declined the invitation.

Slowly she and Blackie crossed to the main table, which was flanked on either side by two other tables. All were arranged in a semicircle around the small dance floor, and at the opposite side of this square of polished parquet a band was already playing a selection of popular music.

Emma's all-encompa.s.sing glance took in everything. In the flickering candlelight emanating from the five round tables, the room resembled a charming summer garden, with ma.s.ses of flowers banked on every side and small colorful bouquets decorating the tables. The latter were covered in sh.e.l.l-pink tablecloths and gleamed brightly with the sparkle of crystal, silver, and fine china.

Nodding with pleasure and smiling with approval, Emma turned to Blackie as they came to a standstill and said, "What a lovely setting Daisy has created . . . it's so very festive.

Blackie beamed. "Yes, she worked hard with the banqueting manager and supervised everything herself." He pulled out a chair for her but remained standing himself.

Once she was seated, Emma squinted at the place cards on either side of her and said, "I see you're on my right, Henry on my left, but who else will be joining us?"

"Charlotte and Natalie of course, Len and Monica Harvey, and Henry's girlfriend Jennifer. We've also got Mark and Ronnie Kallinski and their wives with us, which makes twelve altogether."

"Oh, I am glad some of the Kallinskis will be sitting with us. I couldn't help thinking of David tonight, wishing he were here. Although Ronnie doesn't look as much like David as Mark, he does remind me of his father. He has many of his mannerisms. Don't you agree?"

"I do indeed, me darlin'. Ah, here comes Randolph with his mother and his aunt."

Emma half turned, welcomed Charlotte and Natalie, and with his usual flourish and show of old-world gallantry, Blackie ushered Emma's sisters-in-law to their seats.

Randolph, bluff and hearty as always, squeezed Emma's shoulder and boomed, "I'm sitting at Bryan's table, over there. But I'll be back,' Aunt Emma." He winked at her. "I intend to claim at least one dance."

Laughing, Emma said, "A foxtrot, Randolph, nothing more energetic than that."

"You're on."

His mother leaned over to Emma and confided, "Emily's the best thing that has happened to that grandson of mine. I couldn't be more delighted about the engagement."

"Oh so am I, Charlotte, and that was a sweet gesture of yours, giving Emily the strand of pearls as an engagement present. I remember when Winston gave them to you."

Charlotte beamed. "Yes, when we became engaged in 1919. Now about the wedding, I do hope they'll get married in Yorkshire, Emma. Elizabeth was talking to me earlier, and she seems to think the wedding should be in London."

"Does she now," Emma said with dryness. "I wouldn't worry about it for one moment. Elizabeth's always had grand ideas, and usually they're self-serving. Under the circ.u.mstances, I think it's for Emily and Winston to decide, and they've indicated to me that they want to get married in Ripon Cathedral. I think that's a lovely idea, and then we can have the reception at the house."

The three women talked about Emily's wedding, planned for the following summer for a few minutes longer, and then Emma started to tell them about her impending trip with Blackie and the places they would visit on their journey to Australia.

Blackie continued to direct traffic, and within a few minutes the room had filled up, everyone was seated, and the waiters were gliding between the five tables, filling gla.s.ses with white wine. There was a feeling of conviviality, gaiety in the air. Laughter reverberated, the cacophony of voices rose to a crescendo, the hubbub of noise balanced by the strains of the light music playing in the background.

Emma, her mind as razor-sharp as always, her eyes everywhere, soon discerned that her family and friends were enjoying themselves wholeheartedly, appeared to be having the best of times. After the first course of smoked salmon had been served, some of the younger guests immediately took to the dance floor, and Emma watched them, filled with pride, thinking how attractive they looked ... the' girls in their pretty dresses, the young men in their smart dinner jackets. They whirled around the dance floor, their clear young faces shining with happiness, their eyes bright with hope and limitless expectations for the future, their lives ahead of them, offering so much.

Jonathan's bland and smiling face came into her line of vision as he guided young Amanda around the perimeters of the floor, and for a split second she wondered if she had been wrong about him. She clamped down on this thought, not wanting to dwell on problems tonight, and swung her eyes to his father. Robin was dancing with his half sister, Daisy, and oozing charm. Dark, exotic-looking Robin, once her favorite son, the dashing Member of Parliament, currently politically secure after a few rocky rides. Well, he was shrewd and smart when it came to his own career. He had always been the dyed-in-the-wool politician, the consummate deal maker, and, she had to admit, popular in the Labor Party, not to mention with his const.i.tuents in Leeds.

Blackie cut into her thoughts when he touched her arm lightly, pushed back his chair, and said, "Come on, Emma, you owe me the first dance."

He led her proudly onto the floor, took her in his arms, and they glided away, smoothly in step to the strains of the Cole Porter medley the band had begun to play.

Blackie was well aware that they cut quite a swath together, and towering above Emma as he did, he was conscious that they were the center of attraction, knew that all eyes were on them. He caught sight of Kit scrutinizing them, and he inclined his head, smiled, and peered around, seeking Robin. There he was, swinging Daisy across the floor, so smooth, so sleek . . . and so slippery. Blackie despised her sons for their treachery toward Emma, and now he wondered if either of them had enough sense to realize how foolish they had been, pitting themselves against this brilliant woman, trying to outsmart her. They had had as much chance as a s...o...b..ll in h.e.l.l. Of course she had won hands down. She always won.

Emma whispered against his chest, "Everybody's looking at us, talking about us, Blackie."

"Nothing's changed much then."

Emma simply smiled, and they finished their dance in silence.

The evening continued to progress without a hitch. Everyone ate the delicious food, partook of the excellent wines, talked, joked, laughed, and danced, with a carefreeness that surprised Emma. It seemed to her that for once there were no undercurrents. It was as if an unspoken truce had been automatically declared between the various factions, as if animosities, rivalries, hatreds, and jealousies had been temporarily buried. Tomorrow they might well be at each other's throats, but tonight they were friendly and apparently at ease with each other. Perhaps this was only on the surface, but nonetheless it pleased her to see them behaving with a decorum that befitted the occasion.

Emma, too, was enjoying herself, but as the hours sped by, she realized the evening was inducing mixed emotions in her. Memories came unbidden . . . memories that were both joyous and heartrending. Bits of her life kept rushing back to her, and even the location had a profound effect on her at one moment. The Ritz Hotel was so bound up with Paul and their early years together, for here they had s.n.a.t.c.hed shreds of happiness during the First World War before he had gone back to the trenches in France. For a second or two Paul McGill dominated her mind, and she sank back into herself, looking inward, her eyes momentarily glazed as she drifted into the past. But then she heard Daisy's vivid laughter at the next table and looked up sharply as the present intruded forcefully. She shook off the wistfulness that had briefly enveloped her, sternly reminded herself that she had recently resolved to look only to the future.

Blackie, who had become conscious of her periodic lapses into silence, drew her into conversation, and had her laughing in a matter of minutes. Suddenly, he interrupted himself in the middle of a story he was recounting and exclaimed, "Brace yourself, me love, here comes Randolph to claim his dance."

"Then dance I shall," Emma said and allowed herself to be swept off by her beaming nephew. They had circled the floor once when Jonathan cut in, who in turn had to give way to Winston after only a few minutes. Anthony was the next to steal his grandmother away, and soon Alexander was tapping his cousin on the shoulder so that he could complete the waltz with her.

When the music stopped, Alexander did not release her but stood looking down at her as they lingered in the middle of the floor, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

Emma searched his face inquiringly, "What is it, Sandy? You look as if you're about to say something important."

"I am, Grandy." He bent closer and whispered.

"Of course," Emma said, smiling. She whispered something back to him as he escorted her to her table.

Sitting down, Emma turned to Blackie, fanned herself with her hand. "Phew! That was a marathon. To tell you the truth, I think I'm getting too old to be galavanting around dance floors."

"What, a spring chicken like you. Never. Anyway, you seem to be thoroughly enjoying yourself," Blackie laughed.

"I am, darling. It's a lovely party, and everyone's so Very friendly with each other." When he did not answer, she stared hard at him. "They really are, you know."

"Aye," he said at last, laconic, very noncommittal, "perhaps you're right." But Blackie was not so certain she was rignt, found her children's unexpected chumminess suspect. On the other hand, they were behaving themselves, and that was all that mattered to him. In a few days the two of them would be winging their way to New York, and when Emma was gone from their midst, her family could start murdering each other for all he cared.

Suddenly the din ceased, and everyone glanced at each other as the wall candelabra and ceiling chandelier were dimmed. There was a deafening drum roll. A waiter came forward pushing a trolley on which there reposed an enormous birthday cake topped with eighty candles flickering brightly in the muted light. The moment the waiter came to a halt in the middle of the dance floor, the band struck up the "Happy Birthday" refrain, and the majority of the guests followed Blackie's lead as he began to sing, joining in exuberantly. When the music finished, Blackie a.s.sisted Emma to her feet and walked her over to the cake, and together they blew out the candles. Emma picked up the knife and cut the first slice, and smiling and nodding to the guests, she returned with Blackie to their table.

Champagne was poured, the cake pa.s.sed around by the waiters, and once each person had been served, Daisy rose and tapped her gla.s.s with a spoon. "Can I have your attention! Please!" Conversation ceased, and all eyes settled on her.

"Thank you," Daisy said, "and thank you very much for coming tonight to celebrate my mother's birthday.

Blackie and I are delighted you managed to keep our secret. We knew from Mother's face when she arrived that she was truly surprised."

Daisy gave them her warmest smile and continued, "In the past few weeks Blackie and I have been approached by various members of the family, and friends, who wanted to say a few words, to pay tribute to Emma Harte this evening. It was quite a dilemma for us-knowing who to choose, and inevitably we realized that the great lady we are honoring would soon become impatient if she had to sit through a lot of speeches. Especially since she herself would be the subject of those speeches. It was Blackie who came up with the best solution, but before I announce the first speaker, I would like my mother and all of you to know that we had requests from the following."

Daisy picked up a piece of paper, glanced at it, lifted her head and focused her eyes on Emma. "All of your grandchildren wanted to propose a toast to you, Mother, to be the representative of the third generation. Robin and Elizabeth both wished to say something on behalf of us, your children. Henry, Jim, Len, and Bryan all asked to be the one to offer you the very best wishes of your many friends and business a.s.sociates."

Emma inclined her head graciously, looking first to her right, then to her left, acknowledging those whom Daisy had mentioned.

Daisy proceeded, "As I told you, Blackie solved our little problem and most appropriately, in my opinion. Now I would like to introduce our first speaker-Mr. Ronald Kallinski."

Ronnie rose. He was a man of dominating presence, tall, slender, with a saturnine face and black wavy hair tinged with gray. He had inherited the eyes of his father and his grandmother Janessa Kallinski. These were of the brightest blue and seemed all the more startling because he had a weather-beaten complexion.

"Daisy, Emma, Blackie, ladies and gentlemen," he began, his generous smile revealing flashing white teeth. Ronnie had a considerable amount of charm and savoir faire, and as chairman of the board of Kallinski Industries, he was used to public speaking. "There are many of Emma's Friends and business a.s.sociates present; however, I feel certain that they will not be offended if I term this evening a gathering of the clans. Three clans to be precise . . . the Hartes, the O'Neills, and the Kallinskis. Well over half a century ago three young people became bosom friends-Emma, Blackie, and David, my father. From what I've been told, this friendship apparently seemed startling, even peculiar to many people, who could not understand what a Gentile, an Irish Catholic, and a Jew could possibly have in common. But those three young people knew. They recognized their own likeness in each other, saw qualities that were common denominators. They were warm, loving, outgoing, and filled with hope. They shared ambition, drive, a determination to succeed at all costs, yet without sacrificing honor, honesty, or integrity. And they believed in charity to others. The trio was soon bound together by bonds of love and respect, and they remained loyal and devoted throughout "their lives, until my father's death a few years ago."

Ronnie shifted his stance slightly as he paused for breath. "Some of you may not know this," he remarked after a moment, "but the trio dubbed themselves the Three Musketeers, and when Blackie asked me to speak to you tonight, to pay homage to Emma, he said I would be standing in for that third musketeer who is no longer with us. My father."

After a quick sip of water, Ronnie leveled his eyes at the main table. "Emma Harte is the most remarkable of women, and her attributes are manifold. So it is hard, if not downright impossible, to know which one to single out as being extra special. However, if David Kallinski were present tonight, I know that he would choose to speak to you about the immense and extraordinary courage of Emma Harte.

This quality first manifested itself to the Kallinski family in 1905 when Emma was sixteen. Let me tell you about this. One day, as she wandered in the North Street area of Leeds seeking work, she came across a group of ruffians attacking a middle-aged man. He was in need of help, since he had fallen to the ground and lay huddled near a wall trying to protect himself as they continued to stone him. Without giving a thought to her condition-Emma was pregnant at the time-this young girl on the deserted street instantly rushed to his aid. She was fearless as she drove the attackers away. After helping the man "to his feet and checking his injuries, she retrieved his scattered packages and insisted on escorting him to his home in the Leylands. The name of that man was Abraham Kallinski. He was my grandfather. As Emma guided him to the safety of his simple abode, she asked Abraham why the ruffians had been stoning him. Abraham told her: Because 1 am a Jew. The young Emma was baffled by this statement, and Abraham went on to explain to her that the Jews in Leeds were persecuted because their religion, dietary laws, and customs appeared foreign to the local people. He told her of the terrible brutalities the Jews suffered at the hands of marauding bands of hooligans who entered the Leylands, which was a ghetto, and attacked them and their homes. Emma was disgusted and outraged to hear such things. And she at once condemned these persecutors as cruel, stupid, and ignorant."

Ronnie Kallinski nodded to himself, then looked directly at Emma, his face reflecting his love and admiration for her. He said slowly, "From that day to the present, this most extraordinary woman has fought stupidity, ignorance, and every kind of iniquity, has always condemned the wicked traits she recognized in some at such a tender age. She has continued to loathe religious and ethnic prejudice-any kind of prejudice, in fact. Her courage has never diminished. It has only grown in strength. She has remained consistent in her belief in justice, truth, and fair play."

Henry Rossiter began to clap, and others followed suit, and Ronnie eventually had to call out for them to be quiet. "My father once told me that Emma, Blackie, and he had helped to create a city's greatness as they had lifted themselves out of the grinding poverty of their youth but that it was Emma most of all who had put her indelible * stamp on the city of Leeds. Indeed he spoke the truth, and her contributions to industry and her philanthropies are renowned. However, I would like to add a comment of my own, and it is this: Emma has also put her inimitable imprimatur on each one of us present . . . not only on every member of the three closely knit clans, but on her friends and business a.s.sociates. We must be proud of that, for we are better people for knowing her, for being part of her circle. Emma Harte honors us with her devoted friendship, her love, and depth of understanding. And she does us the greatest honor by her presence tonight. And so in my late father's name and in the name of all the Kallinskis absent and present, I ask you to raise your gla.s.ses "to Emma Harte. A woman of outstanding courage and indomitability who has never been defeated and who has always stood tall ... so tall she towers above all of us."

Ronnie raised his gla.s.s. "To Emma Harte."

After the toast had been repeated, Ronnie said, "And now Blackie will say a few words."

Blackie pushed himself to his feet. "Thank you, Ronnie. David could not have said it better, and your own tribute to Emma was fitting and most moving. As Daisy told you, we knew Emma would not sit still for a lot of laudatory talk. Also, since I'm aware she regards the shortest of speeches a humbug, I'm going to be brief." Blackie chuckled. "Well, as brief as I can be. Obviously on this special occasion of Emma's eightieth birthday, I do feel the need to say a few kind words about her."

As Blackie launched himself into a recital about her strength of character, her ability to conquer against all odds, and her great business achievements, Emma sat back. She was only partially listening. During Ronnie's speech, she had begun to ruminate on her early beginnings. She thought of the place she had started out from, the great distance she had traveled, and she marveled at herself, wondering how she had accomplished all that she had, and for the most part entirely by herself.

But after a short while she became aware that many pairs of eyes were on her as well as on Blackie, and she roused herself from her reflections. Her old friend was moving away from bygone eras, talking of the present. And Emma's thoughts instantly settled on her life as it was today.

Well, she thought, whatever my life has been about, my grandchildren are proof positive to me that it has been worthwhile. Quite unexpectedly, in a sudden flash, everything became clear to Emma. So clear that she was startled for a moment. And she knew what she must do tonight, what her course of action must be.

Blackie was drawing to a close. "It has been the greatest privilege of my life to be her friend. So please join in my toast to Emma, which comes from my heart." Blackie leaned forward, grasped hold of his gla.s.s.