Bradford reached over to pat her hand. “It’s just Harrison,” he said. “We’ll indulge him, shall we?”
ii
George Washington, California, was a new community northeast of Los Angeles, beyond Angeles National Forest. A new road had been built across the scrublands from route 395, and housing had been erected in a large north-south oval, with shopping centers toward both ends and municipal buildings in the middle. The town was built on five large tracts of land previously owned by separate interests, who had formed George Washington Planned Community Enterprises, Inc., in order to construct the city and attract residents.
From the beginning, it had been decided to affect a colonial atmosphere in the town, and all private homes and homesites had to be approved for colonial appearance before construction. The shopping centers existed without neon signs or other glaring anachronisms from the twentieth century, except for those which were absolutely necessary, such as parking lots. The five large tracts had been re-divided into thirteen sections, each named after one of the original Thirteen Colonies, and streets within those sections were named after cities and towns in the original colony. The high school — still under construction in the municipal area — was to be named Continental Congress High School, and the shopping centers were known respectively as Betsy Ross and Molly Pitcher.
Construction had begun five years ago, and the first residents had moved in nearly two years ago, but today, February 22nd, George Washington’s birthday, the town was to be officially christened, in ceremonies organized by Harrison Lockridge, one of the community’s founders, and featuring the presence in an honorary capacity of Harrison Lockridge’s eldest brother, former President Bradford Lockridge.
The ceremonies would begin in front of the temporary City Hall at 2:00 P.M. The public and press were invited.
iii
Riding along beside Bradford in the hansom cab, seeing his gracious wave and smile to the trickle of spectators along their route, Evelyn remembered what her cousin Howard had said, in refusing to come along on this trip: “Supermarket openings are demeaning to an ex-President.” He had been quite angry that Harrison had even made the request, and even angrier that Bradford had gone along with it.
But Bradford had been untroubled by any implications of lost dignity. “It’s always nice to go somewhere sunny for a day or two this time of year,” he’d said. “You sure you wouldn’t like to come with us?”
Howard had remained sure, leaving Evelyn to wonder if she too should have refused to make the trip. Would Bradford have come anyway, even alone?
Looking at his profile, watching him nod to a walking family group that had paused to wave, she was pretty sure he would have. Not only because Harrison had asked him to — and Harrison, at sixty-three, managed somehow to still be the baby of the family — but also because he expected to enjoy himself. Southern California was a pleasant change from snow-covered Pennsylvania, and a supermarket opening might after all be fun. How would he know until he’d tried it?
The town itself was surprisingly pretty, in a skimpy Disneyland way, with few trees and little grass, the pseudo-colonial houses rising out of khaki dirt, the blacktop roads winding among them. The airport — an added inducement built by the developers — was to the north of town, and they were traveling southward now through the most completely settled section. Houses were up on nearly two-thirds of the lots, and roughly one house in three gave evidence of occupancy. The occasional blue Plymouth or green Ford station wagon on the blacktop driveways was, in fact, a kind of anachronism in reverse, a visitor from another time.
Not that George Washington, California, really looked at all like anything in the original American Colonies. The land was too large, too flat and too brown for that. But it was a careful imitation in the process of being put together, and the automobiles and television aerials were a repeated discord.
They passed one of the shopping centers, about one-third of the storefronts occupied, a lot of hanging colonial-type signs and colonial-type lettering and the word shop invariably spelled with an extra pe. Evelyn noticed one small store that, in a fine lather of image confusion, called itself The Boutique Shoppe.
“Well,” Bradford said, “there’s our supermarket. Looks open already.”
“Maybe we can open The Boutique Shoppe,” Evelyn suggested.
“The what? Where?”
She pointed it out to him, and he laughed, and then Dinah insisted on seeing it, too. Evelyn carefully pointed at the proper sign, though Dinah had shown no real interest yet in learning to read, and Dinah duly laughed, looking to Bradford for approval. But Bradford was looking up at the sky, contemplating its blueness.
iv
Evelyn saw Harrison at once, and immediately her tension returned. She’d put on her sunglasses at the beginning of the ride, and she was grateful for them now; they would help to hide her expression.
The cab came to a halt before the bunting-covered platform in front of City Hall, and Uncle Harrison came out from the group of men and women waiting there, his face smiling, his hand outstretched, his eyes for Bradford alone. “Brad! Good to see you! Have a good flight?”
“Yes, it was fine, everything fine.”
Harrison was an extremely distinguished looking man. Older members of the family said that Harrison had always been handsome, and he had aged beautifully. The slight stockiness of his figure, the thickness in his face and neck, the iron-gray hair, none of it had detracted from his good looks but only added an aura of dignity and self-confidence and reliability.
It was only beside his older brother that one began to see the flaws in Harrison. Bradford Lockridge was a strong personality and a strong character and it showed in his face and in his every gesture. Seeing the two brothers together — or seeing Harrison with their third brother, Sterling — one was surprised to notice the weakness in Harrison’s pale blue eyes, the slight betrayal of uncertainty in the line of his jaw, the hint of falseness around his mouth. But even then, the indications were very slight, and could be easily overlooked or forgotten.
Harrison wanted to lead Bradford right away from the cab, but Bradford turned back for Dinah. “You coming, honey?”
“That’s all right, Bradford,” Evelyn said. “I’ve got her.”
“Come along, Brad,” Harrison was saying, not quite grabbing his brother’s arm. “We’re all waiting here.”
Bradford gave Evelyn a quick smile and a private wink, and turned away, allowing Harrison to lead him to the platform. Evelyn stepped down from the cab and helped Dinah down, and Dinah said, “Who’s that man?”
“That’s your Uncle Harrison,” Evelyn told her, trying to keep her voice absolutely neutral. “He’s your Grampa’s brother.”
“He isn’t very nice,” Dinah said.
“How can you say a thing like that? You don’t even know him.”
“I know he isn’t very nice.”
Evelyn felt she should argue the point, but knew she’d lack conviction if she did, so merely let the subject lapse. She took Dinah’s hand and walked over to the platform, where she knew Harrison would not bother to introduce her to any of the smiling businessmen standing there.
And he didn’t. He was too involved in showing off Bradford, like a trophy he’d captured, and Bradford was good-naturedly smiling and shaking hands and nodding to the compliments. The men on the platform were the developers, the founders of George Washington, California.