Part 32

Tim reminded me that I could say to Dr. George Tryon Harding that there was a man in Washington who thought enough of Mr. Harding to volunteer to interest four or five other men, each to contribute toward a fund for Elizabeth Ann if the Hardings themselves did not meet their just obligations toward her. I thought this suggestion confirmed in a degree a certain nervous apprehension I had experienced which had led me to anticipate possible unfriendly treatment from the Hardings. I inquired of Tim whether he thought Dr. Harding and his sister would be kind to me, as the latter _had_ been up to this time. He answered with characteristic drollery, “Say, they’ll just _love_ you!” Then he added more seriously, “Why, they are _afraid_ of you! You just stand up for your rights!”

Just then George Christian passed through the alley of the Willard with another gentleman. They were busily engaged in conversation and did not see us. “There goes poor old George!” exclaimed Tim, nodding in his direction. This brought us to the discussion of Mr. Christian, Mr. Daugherty, and others, and around to Mr. Brush. Tim said he had no satisfaction from “Brush” or anybody else, but he had sent Brush word that he wanted to see him the very next time he came to Washington. And Tim’s tone indicated that Mr. Brush would come a-trotting when that word reached him.

“Tim,” I said suddenly, as we sat there reminiscing about Mr. Harding and bygone days and about my marriage-of-convenience to Captain Neilsen, “do you think if this were known publicly I’d stand any chance of ever getting married again if I cared to do so for the baby’s sake?” Tim made a grimace intended to portray amused amazement at such expectation on my part. “Well,” he answered comically, “some moving picture man might have you!”

Tim offered to have a check cashed for me in the New Willard for $15, because I had found that I had less when I reached Washington than I might need before I reached Marion. He said he would have to have his own check cashed, because they might not like to accept a stranger’s, and he took my check to deposit in his bank. Then Tim bade me goodbye and I went to meet a friend, with whom I spent the remainder of my time until my train left.

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I reached Marion, Ohio, my home town, about eleven o’clock the following morning, and went immediately to the Lewis home on Vernon Heights Boulevard. Daisy Harding (Mrs. Ralph Lewis) was alone in the house when I arrived and she was surprised to see me come in at that hour, having expected me earlier in the morning. I explained that I had come by way of Washington, and she did not ask me why. She said her brother intended to motor up from Columbus that afternoon to see me. It was like a raw March day, although it was actually the first day of April, and I observed that Dr. Harding would have quite a drive, for Columbus was forty-five miles away. I was exceedingly tired and lay down upon the couch in the living-room, the selfsame couch where I had sat and revealed to Miss Harding my story nearly one year before. Miss Harding left me to prepare luncheon, saying her maid had proven unsatisfactory and she had therefore dismissed her and was doing her own housework.

It was very quiet there in the living-room, and the peaceful atmosphere and Daisy Harding’s loving welcome to me made it seem highly unlikely that the interview could be other than friendly. Mr. Harding’s picture, the one with Laddie Boy, stood in the same spot on the table behind the couch where I lay ... all was restful with my sweetheart ... no more worries ... harmony....

My mental relaxation continued as I chatted with Miss Harding during luncheon, and after luncheon we did the dishes together. Dr. George Tryon Harding III arrived by motor in a blizzard. Miss Harding and I were in her own sitting-room upstairs, and she went down to open the door for her brother. We were to have our interview there in Miss Harding’s room, and so I remained on the _chaise longue_ where I had been resting.

“Now, remember, Nan, brother ‘Deac’ intends to grill you unmercifully. Don’t get angry. Just try to remain calm,” cautioned Miss Harding before going downstairs to greet her brother. She brought him upstairs immediately. Dr. Harding shook hands with me in a business-like manner and with scarcely a smile, and Miss Harding went out of the room. Evidently her brother had decided that she might betray her sympathy, and it had been thought better for him to see me alone. But that did not matter to me, for my story was the same, no matter to whom it was repeated, and I can repeat it indefinitely without change.

I opened the conversation. “Well, Dr. Harding,” I remarked pleasantly, as he sat down upon the edge of Miss Harding’s rocker, “I suppose this story is a strange one to you.” He replied very briefly that it was a story he felt obliged to investigate carefully, inasmuch as his brother was not here to stand up for himself. I agreed that that was right and proper.

“Now, where did the first intimacy which you allege take place?” inquired Dr. Harding, looking up from the little notebook which was poised upon his knee. A wave of hurt swept over me, that he should plunge so indelicately into facts which were for me so shrouded in sentiment.

I said, “Suppose I begin from the very beginning, Dr. Harding, giving you a bit of my childhood background and adoration for your brother?” He acquiesced and relaxed slightly.

I recalled my childhood, my father’s friendship with his editor-brother, my love of Warren Harding, which began when I was scarcely thirteen, my father’s death when I was about sixteen, my subsequent schooling at the expense of my father’s college classmates, my first meeting with Mr. Harding in New York following my request to him for a position, and, gradually, our further meetings which led to ultimate intimacies prompted by mutual love.

After I had got into the meetings with Mr. Harding which were all-night trysts, Dr. Harding interrupted me many times to ask, “When was that?” or “Where did that meeting take place?” and I supplied from memory the approximate time and place. All of this information he jotted down in his little notebook. It was as difficult for me to recall aloud for the doctor the many occasions of our sweet visits together as it had been to recite the whole story to his sister, Daisy Harding, but the knowledge that I was doing it for Elizabeth Ann gave me the needed courage to go on.

I had not dreamed that Dr. Harding intended to catechize me as a judge might a witness, and I wondered if by so doing he had thought to frighten me into confusion. But this was an unworthy thought. The seriousness of the situation probably justified in his eyes the use of pencil and pad and direct questions. Dr. Harding is rather a small man, and somehow, seeing him sitting there on the edge of the chair, plying me with questions as to “when?” and “where?” aroused my pity. If his brother Warren were only there! _He_ would say, as he did once before, “Let this poor little girl go--_I’ll_ answer your questions.”

I could not help associating Mr. Harding’s remark about his brother with his brother’s very attitude toward me now. “Brother Deac is the only man I know who never slept with a woman prior to his marriage,” Mr. Harding had said to me. And as I looked at him now while I poured out my story again through tears and exclamations of love for him I worshipped, it occurred to me that indeed it might be difficult for such a frail looking individual to understandingly sympathize with a situation of this kind, which had needed the strength of a love this man could probably never know to yield the glory of consummation Warren Harding and I had experienced.

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In the two hours we were together I gave Dr. Harding as detailed information as I could. I showed him my copies of the guardianship papers and the adoption papers, and he looked them over very carefully and took notes upon them. I showed him the letters I had from his brother, the early letters which contained no love allusions and which Mr. Harding had permitted me to keep. These letters did not interest him much, apparently. He seemed particularly interested in _dates_ and _exact places_. I wondered vaguely at his wanting these so definitely, for up to that time they had remained with me only because of their dear associations, and it had not occurred to me that anyone would care to _trace_ them. It seemed inconceivable that anyone should doubt my story, hearing it from my own lips. However, this was Dr. Harding’s manner of ascertaining facts, and I was eager to help him in any way I could. I volunteered to go with him, or alone, to the hotels where his brother and I had been, in an endeavor to trace for him the exact dates in the instances where I could not recall the day, week, or month.

I inquired of him if he knew of a particular physical trouble his brother had. He looked at me questioningly and I explained. The doctor disclaimed knowledge of this condition, and I concluded that he had not professionally looked after his brother’s ailments.

I described the layout of Mr. Harding’s senate offices, and told the doctor I had been in both of them, and gave him the numbers on the doors.

It seemed to me that Dr. Harding evidenced some irritancy at my frankness, and indeed I gave him only the opportunity of squeezing in his “wheres?” and “whens?” edgewise. But there was so _much_ to tell, and my only fear was that I would not tell _every_thing. However, I had been very tired even when I started, and finally I became actually _voice_-tired. The doctor’s expression throughout had remained stonily impassive, even when I drew pictures so sacred to me that my body shook with feeling at their remembrance. Now he looked up.

“Well, what is your idea of a settlement provided we can ascertain these things to be true which you state to be facts?” I thought, “Oh, sweetheart Warren, you know how difficult this has been for me! You know how it hurts me, cruelly, cruelly, not to be believed!”

Then I said to Dr. Harding in a voice which seemed to me suddenly strengthened, “I think Elizabeth Ann should have that to which she is rightly entitled as his daughter.”

Dr. Harding looked up quickly, his face full of consternation--the first visible signs during our conference that he was moved at all by my revelations.

“Why, you mean--” he stammered, “you mean _all_ of the Harding Estate--for that would be what she would get as his daughter!”

Oh, God! I thought. Was Tim Slade right, after all? Could it be possible that these people, _these Hardings_, were loath to part with _money_, even a little of the money left to them by the man whose daughter’s rightful claims I had been prosecuting with my spoken words? Impossible! I spoke with outward calm to the doctor.

“No, I do not mean that at all. I mean that she should get a fair amount, say $50,000, to be put into a trust fund so that she would have a monthly income to live upon.”

I may have imagined the seeming relief in his voice as he answered, “And is that _all_?” He was writing in his little notebook.

“No,” I answered, “I think also that I should have enough to settle my indebtednesses which were incurred directly as a result of my attempt to keep my daughter with me during my marriage, and $2,500 would allow me to settle these debts and have a balance upon which to ‘turn around,’ as it were.”

All this was jotted down in the notebook, apparently verbatim.

Dr. Harding started to rise. “And, Dr. Harding,” I said, “you will understand that I would appreciate having this arrangement start as soon as possible, because it means so much to me in making my plans to have Elizabeth Ann.” The doctor’s face registered anger. “I most certainly refuse to be hurried in my investigations,” he said. I hastened to assure him that I did not wish to hurry him, but on the contrary wished him to take all the time required to establish the truth of my statements, and I myself would do all in my power to aid him, thus perhaps expediting the investigations.

“But I must know whether or not you people wish to do this for Elizabeth Ann,” I said, “because there is a man in Washington who has volunteered to attempt to raise such a fund among Mr. Harding’s most intimate friends.” I am sure the doctor did not mean to betray the alert interest and alarm I so clearly read in his query, “Who is it?” I explained that I was not at liberty at present to divulge the gentleman’s identity. Dr. Harding moved toward the door. I rose to follow him downstairs. I do not remember that Dr. Harding thanked me for the interview, but I remember that I thanked him.

We joined his sister and her husband for dinner. Dr. Harding ate hurriedly, saying he had to return to Columbus to attend school exercises in which his daughter was taking part, and bade us goodbye. I thanked him again for coming out in the storm forty-five miles to talk with me and could not help wondering why he seemed to accept this little speech with seeming impatience.

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When Daisy Harding and I were doing up the dishes that evening, I said to her, “Why, you said he would probably be very severe in his remarks to me. He wasn’t so terrible--just wanted to know dates. I was not afraid of him.” I did not add that rather had I felt sorry for him. Miss Harding replied that he had threatened to “pin me down” to every little thing. However, he hadn’t needed to contemplate any such strenuous course of action, for I was all too ready to talk freely and truthfully. Miss Harding sighed. “Brother Deac is not well. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he were to go any day; his heart is very weak.” I said I was sorry to hear that. I was pretty weak myself.

I told Miss Harding that her brother had asked me for the dates of the two checks which I had sent personally to my sister Elizabeth, for the baby’s care, in amounts of $500 and $525, and I had promised to send these to him. Also he had asked me for the date upon which Mr. Harding had sent me my watch, and this date, also, I would send him from New York immediately upon my return.

I did not think Miss Harding seemed anxious for me to remain over until the following day, and so I decided to return on the late train that night. Her husband, Mr. Lewis, bade me goodbye and retired early, leaving Miss Harding and me to talk together until my taxi came. Ralph Lewis seemed to be such a dear, and I have often wondered exactly what is in his mind as to my _liaison_ with his wife’s brother. Yes, I thought, as I shook hands with him that night, I would give a lot to know just what Ralph Lewis thinks--the good-natured man who used to sell me sour pickles in his grocery-store--when I was a little girl!

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Again Daisy Harding and I went over the ground we had already covered in our talk the previous June, and on into uncommented territory as well.

The Marion High School, where Miss Harding had taught for perhaps twenty years, had voted some time back to change its name to the “Harding High School,” and I knew Miss Harding had taken great pride in this. But Miss Harding’s statement to me, in a voice that betrayed apprehension, “If this should get out, Nan, they would take the Harding name away from the high school!” only made me realize more keenly how pitifully narrow was the thinking which would place the fear of revealment above the desire to do the right thing by their brother’s child.

And the possibility itself was ridiculous. Had not hundreds of public men been unconventional, and with far less justification than Warren Harding, and were not their names and deeds written on the calendar of achievement? Would a handful of people--even the home-town friends of Warren Harding--decree that because he had become a father he was unfit for namable perpetuation through any medium whatsoever? If this be the test of true worth, of real manhood, pray what would become of many of the statues and memorials and foundations which stand for the names of world-heroes and benefactors? The strongest of men are weak, and the weakest are strong, but the fact remains that “a man’s a man for a’ that”!

And what inescapable torment of the mind must my friends be suffering to pin their fears to another remote possibility--that disclosure would bring in its wake the condemnation of certain outsiders where their _religion_ was concerned! Else what prompted Miss Harding to inquire anxiously, perhaps at the instigation of her missionary sister, “You don’t think your Aunt Dell knows this, do you Nan?” Poor child! What if my Baptist missionary aunt _did_ know that the brother of her one-time friend, Mrs. Votaw, a Seventh Day Adventist, had followed his heart and as a consequence had become a father out of wedlock? Granted that petty criticism would ensue, Mr. Harding himself was a Baptist, and it seemed to me that that would cross the fingers of both churches! But was one religion and its accomplishments advanced at the expense of another? Do churches capitalize upon each other? Is this the spirit that Jesus exemplified? “Do unto others as ye would that they should do to you.” Would not true Christians tend their own flock, nor heed the strayings of their neighbors?

And well did I ponder the source of inspiration which led Miss Harding to insist that in her opinion the safest way out for me was to marry again. Though I heartily agreed that this would be a way, and possibly the easiest way, of solving my problem; though I discussed with her the several eligible possibilities in my life at that time, and my frank appraisement of each; still, as I told her, the fact remained that such a course was cowardly unless I were prompted by genuine love of the man himself, and not by a superficial, blind acceptance of him for the sake of using his name. And Miss Harding agreed that love would be the only right basis.

Miss Harding and I discussed the talk I had had that afternoon with her brother, and I repeated in as much detail as time permitted my interview with Dr. Harding. I told her that if the matter could not be settled in a reasonable length of time by the Hardings, I thought I should be so advised, because, as I had told her brother, I intended in that event to approach in all seriousness the man in Washington who had volunteered to raise a fund from the anticipated generosity of Mr. Harding’s closest friends.

“Why, Nan!” exclaimed Miss Harding in amazement, “you would not approach _strangers_, would you?”

What rightful thing would I _not_ do for the daughter of Warren Harding? What would I not give of pride to have her with me, in her rightful place? Ah, even then did the last vestige of pride die within me, and the mother spirit to assert itself, it seemed for all time, when I declared with almost arrogant fervor, “I would do _any_thing to obtain fair treatment for Elizabeth Ann!”

“But, Nan,” Daisy Harding exclaimed in astonishment, “the money _was not left_ to you nor to Elizabeth Ann!”

Is justice the result of a few pen scratches? Was not my story in itself ample proof that provision must have been made somehow, even though the written word of my daughter’s father had not been found? Wherefore would a real man lovingly care for his sweetheart and child during his lifetime and pass on, intentionally leaving a broken-hearted and destitute love-family behind? And, even granted that his sudden passing had made impossible the provision he had so often spoken of to me, did the responsibility cease with his demise? Did not this responsibility rest upon the shoulders of those whom he had been able to publicly include in a will whose liberal bequests certainly indicated his probable generosity to his own daughter?

“My dear,” I replied to Miss Harding, “you do not know _what_ was left, nor do I, and he would not be the sweetheart I have known had he passed on without making some kind of provision for our baby.”

Daisy Harding kissed me goodbye as the taxi honked outside, and wished me a safe journey. As I whirled down Church Street, past scene after scene so familiar yet so strangely remote, this thought occurred to me: No one, to my knowledge, except the Lewises and Dr. Harding, knew I was in Marion, Ohio, on April 1st, 1926.

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I will quote the letter I wrote to Dr. Harding under date of April 4th, 1926, although I received not even an acknowledgment from him. I sent it to him through Daisy Harding, because I did not have his address at his sanitarium in Columbus.

“MY DEAR DR. HARDING:

The dates of the checks sent to my sister by me are October 24, 1921, and November 7, 1921.

The date of the letter I have from Mr. Harding, which was sent the same time that the watch from Galt’s was chosen and sent by him, is August 11th, 1917. As I told you, this watch was a birthday gift, and my birthday is November 9th, but it was given early because I was greatly in need of a timepiece. His identity in connection with the purchase of this watch might be ascertained.

I was conscious last Wednesday afternoon when talking with you (rather _to_ you, for you did little talking!) of reminiscing, and perhaps the approximate dates which I gave you were not put down chronologically by you in your notebook. I only wish to say that I shall be very glad to repeat the whole story to you at any time or to help you in any way if you run up against anything you are not sure about.

I should also be very glad to give you the names and addresses of various people who would be able and very glad for Elizabeth Ann’s sake to tell you certain things in connection with this matter and to verify other things that I have stated.

If I seem impatient in wishing to have this matter settled as quickly as possible, it is not at all because I wish to hurry you in your investigations; because, contrarily, I wish to do everything in my power to assist you; but I am anxious to make plans for the very immediate future and I therefore would be very glad if the investigations were expedited. As I stated to you in Marion, I would very gladly accompany you to the various hotels, here in this city as well as to others in Washington, etc., if I could be of service. Of course, aside from hotel registrations, this thing can be proven and I mean to keep at it until it is. It would be grossly unfair for me to expect the Hardings to go into such investigations without giving them such proof, and from a sufficient number of sources as would scatter any remaining doubts in their minds as to the authenticity of the statements made and the absolute right I have had to approach them. Mr. Harding used to be a great man for doing things on a 50-50 basis and I have from the first wished to be fair with you people--and to receive such treatment in return. I am sure I shall.

I hope you reached home safely--it was very kind of you to come out in such a storm and I was appreciative. Your coming on Wednesday afternoon enabled me to get off that night and back to New York. I have just started to work with the above concern, and, as Mr. Harding once wrote to me about the Steel Corporation, “making good counts with them.”

Most sincerely,

NAN BRITTON”

“P. S.--I can be reached at the above address, care of Suite 516, and the telephone number is above. I have my annulment now, you know, so am known as Miss Nan Britton. You can also address me at my home, 609 West 114th Street, Apartment 46, and address me the same--Miss Britton.”

I sent Daisy Harding and Tim Slade letters also, telling the latter in brief form what had been accomplished by me in Marion.

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