Chapter 3

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Death, everyone said, is a part of living. It was all right to cry and let your grief flow. Grief. Mourning. What was it, Annie wondered, and how do you do it? She found no comfort in the words of the priest at the funeral Mass. He said they should feel joy that their mother’s suffering was over and she was united with her God in a better place. And there was that cold, awful jolt when the coffin lid was slammed shut that final time. How can you just walk away? People said the conspicuous heaps of flowers were beautiful but she thought they looked hideously discordant against the cold, steel gray, January sky.

Why would anyone urge you to cry and cast away that protective shield of numbness? The terrible fear and anguish rushed in and that was too unbearable. Perhaps knowing how to grieve came with age, but their father seemed to be having more difficulty than anyone. Maybe it should help having such a large family. Everyone said so. But Annie could not remember ever feeling so alone in her life.

The only comfort she found was to concentrate her attention on her younger brothers. Extra hugs and familiar stories seemed to be all they needed. Saying that they should get back to their usual routine as quickly as possible was easier than explaining her own urgency for normalcy. The funeral was on Thursday and the boys started back to school next Monday.

Annie woke early that morning, anxious to make her brothers’ first day as easy as possible. She knew they were confused and afraid, so she fussed over them and tried to convince them that everything was going to be all right. After they left, she wandered the house, looking for something else to focus upon. She came across Grace attempting to give Joey a bath.

“Grace,” Annie cried. “What are you doing? You can’t handle him by yourself.”

The nanny was crawling on the floor next to the tub, trying to keep the thrashing boy from drowning, “But Miss Annie,” she exclaimed, “he messed himself awful this morning --”

“Then why didn’t you come and ask me for help? I don’t want you hurting yourself.” Annie rolled up her sleeves and grabbed the struggling child. Soon he was bathed, diapered, and dressed. They laid him in his playpen and sat down in the nursery’s two rocking chairs for a much needed rest.

“I wonder if he misses Mother,” Annie murmured. “Do you think he even knows she’s gone?”

“Of course, he does. Sometimes I find him laying in his bed, crying this most pathetic little moan. He misses her something awful, just like the rest of us.” She looked away then, close to tears.

Unable to comfort another living soul, Annie changed the subject. “The boys seemed relieved to be going back to school today – except Thomas, of course, but I expected that. Why does he always have to be so contrary?”

“Yes, I heard him arguing this morning. To tell you the truth, I never understood that boy. He’s been broodish and temperamental since the day he was born. He’s the only one of you children I was never able to get close to, even when he was a baby. He was never a happy child, and I don’t see things improving.”

“I suppose not – I mean, Mother was the only one who understood him. She always managed to overlook his rude behavior.” They both knew that Kathleen insisted that the warmth and sensitivity Thomas was unable to express socially was abundant in his music. She arranged private lessons for him at an early age, and now he attended an exclusive school for the musically gifted. Already an accomplished pianist and guitarist, his first love was the drums. Annie was sure he practiced them incessantly just to irritate the rest of the family.

“I usually just ignore him,” Annie sighed, “but I should probably try to talk to him – for Mother’s sake.” She made a mental note to make a special effort to ask her brother about his day when he returned home that afternoon. “Speaking of problems, I haven’t seen Mack around, have you? I heard him and Andrew argue a couple of days ago and he stormed out.”

She wasn’t surprised her oldest brother was behaving like this. Matthew Macalister Winston, III, had thus far lived a charmed life with a cavalier attitude that served him well in his trendy social circles but left him ill-equipped to handle anything serious.

“Yes, I heard the ruckus,” Grace said, shaking her head in disbelief. “What is that boy thinking, staying away at a time like this.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to him. He’s twenty-two years old, and he has to start handling things like an adult – not just Mother’s death, but everything. Pop said he will not take care of the Daft Board, and he meant it. Mack has to get back to college, or…”


The word Vietnam hadn’t been mentioned much since last summer when Mother first became ill, but it was a very hot topic before then. This was 1970, and the war, or conflict as it was sometimes called, was dragging on much longer than anyone expected. How Mack managed to stay out of it this long was a mystery to them all and a source of irritation to his father. Although Matthew, Sr. revered serving in the military as a noble and patriotic duty, Mack dismissed it as a lesson in futility. He refused to acknowledge the grim truth that the longer this thing wore on, the more likely that he would get drafted, especially since his own father refused to intercede on his behalf.

“I wish Andrew would just leave him alone,” Annie added. “I thought they would try to be civil to each other, at least for a while.” She had been refereeing her brothers’ bouts of antagonism for as long as she could remember and was tired of it. “The only time Andrew came out of his room all weekend was to argue with Mack. I stopped by to see him last night and he acted like I was bothering him.”

“He says he’s trying to catch up on his studies. He’s going back to school in March.”

“That’s fine, but I think he could come out to see how the rest of us were doing.”

“Well, dear, you know everyone copes with things in different ways. Andrew idolized your mother, and he can’t face anyone right now.”

Annie started to say it was absurd to think that Andrew loved Mother any more than anyone else, but she said nothing. It was true. Andrew worshipped her. Wanting to please her, he declared his intention to enter the priesthood as a young boy and never wavered. He was at the top of his class at St. John’s University, where he studied theology. Annie understood why the priesthood appealed to him. He would adapt to the rigorous discipline and he certainly was a kind and thoughtful person with deep convictions about God and the Church. But she also knew he had difficulty relating to people on a personal level. Annie never questioned it before, but she wondered about it now as he struggled with Mother’s death. Surely being able to comfort and counsel should be natural inclination for a future priest.

“My dear,” Grace murmured, “you’re taking too much of this on yourself. Your father needs to be handling these things. Perhaps in a few days, he will be able to look at things more clearly. He has to take care of the living.”

The nanny’s words were kind and well intentioned but Annie did not hold out much hope in that regard either. Matthew wanted as little intrusion as possible. No one had seen him or spoken to him since Mother’s funeral. He stayed in his and Mother’s bedroom with the door locked. Even two of his sisters, Esther and Vivian, became frustrated that he would not admit them and stopped coming. Annie tried to keep as much decorum around the house as possible, but she resented her father barricading himself from his own family. She pitied him, but she needed his help.

“I think I’ll go to the hospital and see the baby,” Annie said, trying to sound more cheerful. “The nurses said I could come everyday if I want.”

“That’s a splendid idea. I’ll keep Joey company, and I promise to get help if I need it.”
Annie gave her a hug and turned to go, grateful to escape the dark pall that lingered throughout the house. As she walked down the stairs, she felt her mother’s presence and knew how disappointed she must be in all of them.


It became routine for Annie to visit her sister everyday. This sibling, at least, expected nothing from her except to be fed and held. Matthew named her Rebecca Elizabeth after their grandmothers, but Annie called her Becky. It was amazing to see her growing so fast.

Try as she might, Annie could not get her father interested in the baby. Perhaps Mother’s worst fears were realized that he blamed the baby for her death. Annie knew him to be a loving father and hoped this crises would pass. Four weeks after her birth, Becky was ready to come home.

That morning Annie awakened early and went to her father’s room with a tray of hot coffee and food. She knocked at his door and was not surprised when he did not respond. The door was not locked so she went on in. The room was void of light and color except the narrow shaft of light that invaded the darkness through the open door. She crept toward the large bed and began sifting through the rumpled linens. He wasn’t there. Peering through the dim light, she spotted him, sitting by the cold, charred fireplace, asleep. There was broken glass and empty liquor bottles everywhere. The foul smell of whiskey and stale cigarette smoke hung in the air.

“Daddy,” she called, shaking his shoulder.

He was slow to respond, mumbling incoherently until he leapt from his chair. “Annie, what is it?” he cried. “Is it your mother? What does she want?” He lunged across the room and then froze as he stared at the empty bed. He sank onto the bedside, running his hands through his hair. He looked broken and lost.

“Ann Marie, why did you come in here like this? What do you want?” he demanded without looking at her.

“I want you to come with me to the hospital to bring the baby home today.”

His hands fell limp onto his lap and he turned to look at her with pathetic, pleading eyes. “Honey, I can’t --”

“No, don’t say that. Please, come with me.”

“Not today, Annie. Isn’t that why I hired Millie? She can go with you.”

“She’s meeting us there. Besides, there’s papers for you to sign. Come, please.”

“I can’t. Take one of the boys, or Grace. I just can’t go back to that hospital.”

“I know it’s hard, but I can’t do it by myself.” She was close to tears but she didn’t look away. She wanted him to see her desperation.

A glimmer of resignation softened his face. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Hope you brought a lot of coffee.”

Beaming, she poured a cup and sat very close to him as he took it with trembling hands. He said nothing as he drank the first cup, as though waiting for his eyes and head to clear a little. ”I’m sorry, honey,” he said as she poured another cup. “I really let you and your brothers down, didn’t I?”

He gazed around the room as though he was seeing it for the first time. “My God, look at this place. Doesn’t even seem like the same room, does it.” He staggered toward the large bay windows. He drew open the drapes and squinted as he tried to adjust to seeing sunlight for the first time in weeks. “Do you know your mother looked at dozens of houses before she found this one with the master bedroom facing south. I guess she wanted every ray of sunlight there was in a day.” He smiled then, but Annie could see the depth of sadness in his eyes.

“I’d better shave and shower,” he said, stroking his unkempt face. “Send Gilles in, would you, honey? Leave the tray.” He took his daughter’s hand and helped her to her feet. Taking her into his arms, he hugged her tightly. “You have such pretty hair,” he murmured as he patted her long, red mane. “Really, thanks for coming and waking me. Tell those ruffian brothers of yours to behave ’cause the old man will be down at the breakfast table.”


As Matthew descended the stairs, it occurred to him that time had gone on without him. He surveyed his brood assembled at the table, really seeing them for the first time in months. Peter walked across the room and looked as though he had grown two inches. Thomas had different glasses and Luke’s hair was much longer.

Then he noticed they were staring at him, too. He cleared his throat briskly, took his seat at the head of the table, and retreated behind his Times. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, but they began to relax and resumed their conversation.

“So what if he does win,” Johnny said, “it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure it will,” Andrew retorted. “He’ll be the heavyweight champion of the world.”

“Who will be?” Matthew asked casually from behind his paper.

“Joe Frazier. Tonight’s the big fight, Pop,” Johnny explained.

Of course, Matthew thought, his boys were discussing sports. With this many sons, most of the family discussions held at this table centered around athletics, especially when John was there. The fifteen year old was the family jock and resident sports authority. Matthew loved all of his children, but John’s natural athletic ability was a particular delight. He was quick and agile and showed promise in several sports, but football was his favorite. Unfortunately, his mother had declared the sport barbaric and had a European’s preference for soccer. She never approved of boxing either, but it had long been a passion shared by John and his father.

“Frazier is going against Thomas Ellis over at the Gardens,” John continued. “Frazier’s a sure bet to win, then he’ll be recognized as the heavyweight champion.”

“And then that Cassius Clay character will be out, once and for all, right?”

“Mohammad Ali, Pop, he changed his name to Mohammad Ali. Anyway, some of the guys at school say it’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair? The guy refused to join up after he was drafted so the World Boxing Federation refused to recognize him as any kind of champion.”

“That’s just it. Sports are supposed to be separate from politics. What does him claiming to an conscientious objector have anything to do with boxing?”

“Well, for one thing,” interjected Andrew, visibly bristling, “it makes a mockery of the whole process.”

“Sure,” Matthew said. “Listen to your brother. When he decided to declare that to the Draft Board, it was something he took very seriously. Do you remember that Clay --er, Ali, fight I took you to last year, John? Remember how we talked about that look in his eye – like he wanted to kill the other guy? Conscientious objector, my ass. Any fool can see the only thing he cares about is saving his own butt. The Boxing Federation said no, and most of us red-blooded Americans and paying patrons of boxing, agree.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Mack cried, throwing down his napkin. “I sat here and listened to your bullshit, but that’s enough. For Christ’s sake, we’re having a nice conversation about boxing, and you turn it into a lesson about the Red, White, and Blue. Why would any man who can fight like that risk everything – maybe get shot or worse, when he’s the best boxer in the world. Maybe the best there ever was! He’s no fool!”

“A fool? No, he certainly is not!” Matthew retorted, slamming his paper down on the table. “I bet before long he’ll figure out a way to get it all back – the money, the championship, everything. But what makes him – or anyone else, for that matter – think they shouldn’t do their share.”

“Ah, Jeez, here it comes!” Mack howled as he leaped to his feet.

“No, now stop” implored Annie, rushing to stand by her father. “Stop it right now. This arguing is ridiculous. Boys, get your things. It’s time for school.”

Matthew was struck by the horror in her eyes and was embarrassed by his actions. She was right. There has been too much tension in this house for far too long. He wanted to apologize but Mack stormed out with Annie close on his heels. Matthew followed them, hoping for an opportunity to soothe an awkward situation.

Annie caught up with Mack on the stairs and turned him around roughly. “For God’s sake, why did you do that?” she demanded. “The first day he comes down to be with the family and you pick a fight?”

“I picked a fight? Like hell! He started it. Why is everything always my fault?”

“Oh, shut up. I don’t care who started it. We just need some peace around here.”

“Go tell that to him,” Mack sneered, gesturing toward Matthew who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. “There isn’t going to be any peace in this house until the stupid war is over!” Mack turned and leapt up the stairs.

Annie looked as though she was going to say something to excuse her brother’s behavior, but Matthew motioned for her to stop. “Just go get ready, honey,” he said. She fled up the stairs, too.

Matthew turned to return to the dining room and was startled to see Luke staring at them, a pained expression on his face. “Luke,” Matthew called, sounding gruffer that he intended. “Why didn’t you go to school with the others?”

“Well,” Luke said, as if shaking off a trance, “there’s some kind of career assembly for seniors at school. I decided to skip it.”

“Career, huh? Well, that sounds interesting. You’ll need to make some decisions about your future soon.” Matthew was dismayed to see that his attempt at making conversation did nothing to alter his son’s solemn expression. “Did you ever send in that application to the Art Institute?”

Luke seemed surprised. That’s my fault, Matthew chided himself. Luke was a sensitive, caring boy who always seemed ill at ease with himself. His artistic talents were of particular delight to his mother, but Matthew knew nothing about art and had difficulty knowing how to respond. The boy had always misconstrued this as disapproval. “I’d be happy to sit down with you and go over your application, Son.”

“Sure, Pop, that would be great,” Luke said, not sounding very convinced. “Anyway, I need to get to school. Good luck today. It’ll be nice having a baby around here again.” He smiled then, waved goodbye, and was gone.

Would it really be good to have another motherless child under this roof, Matthew wondered. He began to feel panicked but he fought to push it back. This was a new day, a new beginning. Yes, it was true that he hadn’t been there for his older children but he would try to do better with Becky.


Matthew felt increasingly nervous the closer they got to the hospital. He knew Annie was watching him, probably praying that he wouldn’t lose his nerve. He was not prepared for the tremendous changes in his daughter, who looked nothing like the small, sickly baby he had watched those anxious first hours of her life. Matthew was relieved to see that Annie was at ease with the situation and seemed to be in charge. Cousin Millie was there, too, going over the discharge instructions. Matthew was content to stand back and watch the proceedings from afar until Annie picked up the infant and placed her in his arms.

He stood awkwardly for a moment. He did not want to look at her, but then she began to fuss. Matthew drew her close and made the cooing noises fathers are supposed to make. He felt an unfamiliar sensation of moistness of his cheeks as he stared at the beautiful child – Kathleen’s last gift to him. Maybe there was reason to hope after all.


The rest of February was drab and quiet as the days passed slowly. Matthew was no longer reclusive, but he didn’t leave the house either. If Becky had a sniffle or a fussy spell, he’d sit in the nursery for hours, sometimes sleeping all night in Kathleen’s rocker near the crib. He seemed to be over-compensating with the other boys, too. He interrogated them when they arrived home from school. They knew he was trying to be concerned and interested, but he came off as interfering and domineering. The only one who escaped his stranglehold was Mack, who seldom came home at all.

Everything had changed and Annie was discouraged by her inept efforts to re-establish a sense of normalcy. There was never any pleasant conversation around the dinner table, only incessant arguing and acrimony, The meals themselves lacked their usual flavorful variety and festive fare because there was no one to guide Cook with menu selections. The servants seemed irritated and somewhat unhinged by the lack of direction. Annie always assumed the household ran itself, but she came to understand that it had been managed very skillfully by her mother. The bouquets of fresh flowers no longer magically appeared and the mail was left unopened. Annie knew the servants were hesitant to come to her with their questions because they viewed her as too inexperienced to make even minor decisions.

Sometimes Annie would sit in her room and stare into the mirror. She saw nothing that assured her of any inner strength or wisdom that would enable her to cope with these troubled times. Why couldn’t she be more like her mother, she moaned silently. It seemed ridiculous to her that people used to comment how much alike they were. Her father always said, “My little princess – pretty as your mother.”

She studied her reflection closely and saw little resemblance. Maybe their eyes were similar – large green ones. Annie had long hair, too but it wasn’t like Mother’s. Hers was rich, dark brown with soft, lovely waves. Annie’s was red and irritatingly frizzy, a curse Mother said, she inherited from her grandmother, Elizabeth.

Sometimes she wondered what her friends were doing back at college. Her sorority sisters were busy with dates, classes, and all night gossip sessions. She hated going away to college at first, but now she missed it. There’s a great big world out there, Annie, her mother said. Go find yourself. Where? How? I have to be here, but I need help. What am I supposed to do? But no answers came back to her from the mirror.

Tension continued to linger in the air like a bad smell. Danny began waking up at night screaming with nightmares and the other boys’ sullen faces told the grim truth that their problems were far from over.

Chapter 4

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