And then he was gone. He had torn himself away at the sound of an approaching carriage. He seemed to have vanished into thin air. She looked about. She stepped back into the woods just before the carriage came into view. When it was safely out of sight, she stepped back to where the painter had embraced her.
It seemed rather like a dream now. Had it really happened? It was as if she had been transported to another place, another world. The sun broke out from behind a cloud. Something glinted fiercely. She looked down. On her apron top there were two or three glistening ovals. Hannah inhaled sharply as she picked one off. And then she froze. His tears! And they were like hers, like the very ones she had shed in the music room that day.
All around her feet the moss flashed with the scintillating ovals. She stooped down and began to collect them.
It was the second day of posing. Hannah took up the position leaning against the vase while Clarice a few feet away stood facing the painter. It seemed odd now to Hannah that she had actually, for a moment back in Boston, experienced a feeling of envy when she had watched the girls posing and saw the top of Lila’s head grazing the breaking wave with the fish tail. She had felt then that Lila was claiming the sea. Lila was not of the sea nor could she ever claim it. Hannah now knew that such a thought was ridiculous.
Instead it was the vases, now so close to the sea, that she felt were in some peculiar way a portal to that world. Hannah felt great comfort wrapped in the shadow the vase cast on this morning. Yet at the same time it suddenly struck her that the painter was a portal as well. She slid her eyes toward him. He was mixing some more paints. She touched the pouch. She had his tears, inexplicably transformed, mingled with her own in the pouch.
Something had happened when they had kissed. All her feelings of resentment had vanished. She knew she was not a substitute. No one would ever be able to tell that the figure, the form, was not Lila. But it was Hannah he was painting. His eyes moved over her slowly, lingering. She could hear the whispered strokes of the brush; they were palpable, almost as she had felt his kisses. And that was the real secret. He would make excuses to come over and adjust the collar or the hem of her dress. Always of course careful to attend to something with Clarice’s or Ettie’s dress as well. He would suddenly be standing in front of Hannah, touching the ruffled edge of the collar. “I just need to adjust it,” he spoke softly in an almost apologetic voice. They could even joke about the gown now. “Not that different from the dress you wear for your chores, is it?”
“Very different, sir. It is all very different,” Hannah whispered. He let his finger graze the side of her neck. She flinched, shut her eyes, but treasured the fleeting moment.
The posing was extended for more than a week. He attributed this to the fog that rolled in and out, saying that it took longer for certain areas to dry and therefore he had to work slower. Ettie suggested that she could fan the painting every morning and evening to accelerate drying. She had a lovely fan from her grandmother. But the painter was adamant. It must dry naturally.
Eight days later the painting was finished. The Hawleys planned to have a party to show it to their friends. There was already talk that this was one of the best Stannish Whitman Wheeler paintings ever and that it would most likely be transported next winter across the Atlantic to be displayed at the famous Salon de Paris, the greatest event of the art world. The party to unveil the painting would be a very grand one. A ball with an orchestra was coming from Boston. A concert pianist and harpist would also perform. A pastry chef would be imported from New York. No expense would be spared. And Ettie would be allowed to attend her first grown-up party in a special dress that was being sewn by the best seamstress in the village. Upon hearing this, Ettie had replied, “I’d rather wear my bathing costume. I hate fancy dresses in the summertime.”
19 “SOME NEWS”
IT WAS ONLY A WEEK later that Mr. Marston walked into the kitchen just as the servants were settling down for their noonday meal. He had a curious, almost bewildered look on his face. They all immediately sensed that he was about to make an announcement, but not with his usual assertive bearing and commanding attitude. His eyes darted nervously about the kitchen. He cleared his throat, coughed, and then began.
“Well, we’ve had some…some…” He hesitated. “We’ve had some news,” he said with a slight break in his voice. He looked down and seemed to study his shoes for a few seconds and then, regaining his composure, he looked up and smiled brightly. His eyes remained grim. “Jade has been found safe and sound. This was a few days ago actually, although I was just informed.” They could all tell Mr. Marston was decidedly miffed that he had not been informed earlier.
“Now where the devil did they find the cursed cat?” Mrs. Bletchley asked.
“Oh, she wandered back, reeking of fish. No doubt she went for a holiday on T Wharf. Chauncey said she stunk to high heaven. She even had some scales in the fur of her paws.”
“Too bad she didn’t get a bone stuck in her gullet,” Mrs. Bletchley snorted.
“Now, now, Mrs. Bletchley. At least here Jade won’t have to go so far afield for her holiday repasts. Plenty of fish nearby.” Hannah felt a shiver go through her entire body.
“She should have drowned!” Daze muttered.
Mr. Marston took a deep breath. “And seeing as Lila has been making a steady recovery, both she and Jade will be returning.” They all tried their best not to groan, but a massive silent sigh seemed to suspend itself in the air of the kitchen.
“When, might I ask?” Mrs. Bletchley said, looking up from one of her interminable lists.
“The eleven o’clock steamer this Thursday,” Mr. Marston replied tersely. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have much to attend to and shall have to take something to eat later, Mrs. Bletchley. I hope this does not inconvenience you.”
“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Bletchley softly. They were all thinking the same thing at that moment. The inconvenience was not Mr. Marston’s skipping lunch, but Lila Hawley and the damn cat’s coming to the beautiful island.
The portrait party was how they were all referring to the grand ball at which the painting of the Hawley daughters would be unveiled. If one went into the village, to the post office or Bee’s or down on the pier, all one heard talk of was the Hawleys’ party, or “party for a painting,” as the locals were inclined to call it. It seemed to affect the entire village and its citizenry—natives, rusticators, mealers, hauled mealers, and cottagers. It was the most coveted invitation of the summer.
Extra help had been hired for the affair. And sleeping accommodations had been found for the orchestra and the pastry chef from New York, in addition to Mrs. Wickmore Bellamy, Boston’s foremost floral designer. It was a difficult time of year, for August was the busiest month on the island and most of the hotels were full up, as well as the rent houses. But when one had money, as Perl said, one could have anything one wanted—a-yuh. Mr. Hawley had rented an entire house for the musicians and other people who were to be brought in for the party.
There were, of course, whispers about Lila Hawley—a fragile beauty—but then again there was that immense wealth. An undeniable catch. The party was perceived as the lead-up to her debut. Debuts were where the real auction for American heiresses began. Of late these coming-out parties, as they were called, had been frequented by titled young gentlemen from England who came to peruse the goods. How else could those depleted aristocratic fortunes be shored up without the new money of this new American aristocracy that had built railroads—or sold the plows to dig the tracks for railroads or the steel to lay the tracks, or tapped into the vast underground riches of coal and oil to fuel the growing energy needs of a country on the move in every sense of the word?
“How does she look?” Susie said as Florrie and Daze came into the kitchen during dinner two nights later. No one had seen Lila since she had arrived that morning.
“About the same, I think,” Florrie said. “What do you think, Daze?”
“About the s
ame, I’d say,” Daze replied.
“Well, I hope at least rested. They call it a rest cure, for pity’s sake,” Mrs. Bletchley said as she furiously beat some egg whites and then scowled into the bowl. “You know, trying to get egg whites to set up on an island surrounded by water, and not to mention fog for the last two days, is really impossible. Maybe that fancy New York pastry chef can do it. Imagine sending all the way to New York for a pastry chef! It’s a wonder they didn’t ship that fellow in from Paris,” she muttered. Mrs. Bletchley’s nose had been out of joint since it was first announced that the pastry chef was coming.
“Well, did she look rested?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Daze said reflectively. “But her eyes looked sort of funny.”
“Funny?” Willy asked. He had just come in from getting the yacht, Desperate Lark, ready for the next day’s sailing picnic. “You mean like ha-ha funny?”
“No, I mean like queer funny. Droopy.”
“It’s all that stuff they give them nervous ladies,” Mrs. Bletchley said.
Mr. Marston came in at that moment to fetch two more bottles of wine. “I don’t think we are in a position to be discussing medical treatment, Mrs. Bletchley.”
“Laudanum!” Mrs. Bletchley said and held up the whisk she was using to beat the egg whites. “That’s the word I was looking for. My sister-in-law took it. Drugged her, it did.”
“She probably did not take it in consultation with a doctor, Mrs. Bletchley,” Mr. Marston said. There was a decided edge to his voice. Daze, Florrie, Susie, and Hannah exchanged looks. They knew that Mr. Marston and Mrs. Bletchley secretly enjoyed their little arguments and this looked like the start of one.
“What does a consultation have to do with it, I ask?” Mrs. Bletchley countered and looked fiercely at the butler.
“Laudanum is an analgesic. Administered properly, it alleviates anxiety and induces sleep.” Mr. Marston tried to cow Mrs. Bletchley by using as many big words as he could. But the cook remained undaunted. Looking as if she were about to beat the living daylights out of the egg whites, she lowered her voice and appeared to address the bowl’s recalcitrant contents.
“Drugs, pure and simple. They might as well have sent her to an opium den.”
“Really, Mrs. Bletchley!” Mr. Marston took the wine bottles and walked out of the kitchen in a huff.
Willy looked up from the thumbnail he was picking at. “Game, set, match, Mrs. Bletchley. You won that one.”
Mrs. Bletchley shook her head. “Tennis, fresh air, exercise. The girl don’t need no laudanum. She needs good food and why not blueberry pie? Why in the name of heaven can’t we be having blueberry pie, for pity’s sake, instead of this ridiculous meringue dessert? It’s blueberry season in Maine. Finest blueberries in the entire world. Little Ettie has been aching for blueberry pie. Bless her heart, sometimes I think she’s the only sane one in the family. You know she goes right out to that field beyond the orchard and eats them off the bush whenever she can escape Miss Ardmore.”
“Don’t I know it,” Hannah said. “Her clothes are all stained blue. I can’t tell you how much time I spend rubbing Javelle water into those stains.”
“And you’re using the Fels-Naptha soap with it, aren’t you?” Florrie asked.
“A-yuh,” Hannah replied, then they all laughed.
“Getting to sound like a real downeaster, you are,” Daze said.
“Indeed,” Hannah said almost wistfully. She wished they could stay here forever. Why did Lila have to come? She’d only been there a short time, but already tension was felt in the house.
20 A LARGE DARK EYE
HANNAH WAS SITTING on the bow of the sleek sailing yacht with her legs dangling over the side, next to Willy. She had been overjoyed when Ettie had specially requested that she come.
The reason was classic Ettie. “You must let Hannah come, Daddy, because you know how bored I can get with all those grown-ups chattering away. And when I get bored, I get whiny. And sometimes even cranky! But I never do when Hannah is around. So I can talk to her at the first second of boring-ness.”
“Hannah, you’re a fearless girl. Hang on!” Willy shouted as the yacht tipped.
“I love it when it does this. What do you call it, Willy?”
“Heeling. But Captain Eaton is not flying much sail in this wind because the ladies always squeal when it heels too much.” The movement of the yacht slicing through the water was one of the most incredible sensations Hannah had ever known. She looked down at the bow splitting the water, flinging up wings of spray. She felt the thrum of the rigging as the wind punched into the sails. There were water rustlings, the crush of the sea foam against the hull of the boat, the rhythm of the waves and the pull of the wind, all weaving together into a beautiful song of the sea that she could listen to forever. Forever, she thought.
Just then a little piercing voice carried over the wind, “I’m borrrred! Hannah, come get me!”
“Better go get Ettie,” Hannah said.
“I’ll go. And I’ll get a line to tether her, even though she’s wearing a life preserver. Mr. Hawley doesn’t like her out of the cockpit without a line on her.”
Ettie was smiling as she walked unevenly with Willy behind her on the rocking deck. “Things got boring back there, did they?” Hannah laughed.
“Oh, brother!” Ettie sighed and plopped down next to Hannah.
“Let me tie you in, Ettie,” Willy said.
“Dumb!” Ettie replied. But she looked very happy to be on the foredeck with Hannah and Willy.
Suddenly Hannah felt an almost magical energy surrounding the yacht. Her feet and legs began to tingle and then she felt a quiver in the pouch beneath her dress. A spirit seemed to be rising up within her to meet the energy coming from the water. She touched the pouch lightly.
Am I finally ready? she wondered. Is this it? A deep strain, not unlike the vibrations from the harp that came to her that stormy night, began to emanate from the water. Something is there…calling to me…She listened carefully. Through the hum of the wind in the sails and the soft crushing sound of the waves against the hull, Hannah began to hear a sequence of clicks and squeaks. There were even whistles. But she was not sure if she was hearing these sounds with her ears or if she was feeling them. She stole a glance at Willy and Ettie. Are they hearing this, too? she wondered. But she could tell they weren’t.
I know you are here! Was it a thought? Was it actual words she had spoken? No. Not out loud, but somehow she had expressed a message and was being answered.
At just that moment the cry “Dolphins!” cut across the wind.
“Oh, great!” Willy said, jumping up. Just beneath the surface Hannah spotted the sleek gray shapes.
“Look at them, Hannah, Ettie!” Willy said. “They love the waves off the bow when we’re going this fast. Watch them coast.”
“There are millions of them,” Ettie said. Then she called down to the dolphins. “Stay here, dolphins, at the bow. It is so boring back there!”
The water seemed almost braided with the sleek forms of the dolphins. When they rolled onto their sides the lighter skin of their flanks flashed through the dark green water like pale licks of flame. They seemed to be showing off. Sometimes they swam in couples and they would dip and arc over each other and never so much as touch.
“It’s like they’re trying to show off just for us, isn’t it?” Hannah sighed happily as she watched them.
“You know,” said Ettie thoughtfully. “You have to be kind of smart to show off. It’s almost like they are not just animals.” She paused. “Look, Hannah!” she shrieked. “That one’s come up and is looking right at you.”
Hannah looked down. Her eyes widened. The dolphin was looking directly at her. The large dark eye framed by folds of skin seemed to peer right into her own eyes. Something clicked in her brain. This creature knows me…knows me in ways others do not. It knows me. But how?
“Look, Hannah! That dolphin is saying hello
just to you,” Ettie cried with delight.
“Don’t lean over too far, Hannah,” Willy said. But Hannah ignored him.
Wait! Your time will come. The words were not spoken aloud, but they flowed up to her, right through her legs and feet, which dangled over the edge.
“Don’t fall in, Hannah!” Ettie shrieked. “I would die if you drowned.” There was real terror in Ettie’s voice. But Hannah didn’t hear it. She felt she was almost through that portal, the one she had sensed, smelled in the shadowy interior of the vase. She knew she was halfway there, halfway to a new world.
Wait! commanded the mysterious voice that was not a voice at all.
“Wasn’t that a lovely sail, darling?” Mrs. Hawley was saying to Lila later that afternoon as Hannah brought the tea tray to the porch and set it down.
“Yes,” Lila replied numbly. The cat sat on her lap snoozing.
“And the portrait ball is going to be so marvelous. Why, Ettie will be attending her first grown-up party.”
Lila turned her head very slowly. “Aren’t you excited, Ettie?” she asked almost mechanically.
“No, because what I really wanted was to have my birthday party on that very day. August fifteenth.”
“But it’s not…” Lila seemed to have intended to comment more on Ettie’s birthday, but she sank back against the pillows of the wicker couch as if she was too exhausted to say another word.
During the few days they had been at Gladrock, both Jade and her mistress had seemed to be in a vague state, halfway between waking and sleeping. No one was sure if Lila did actually sleep. Ettie told Hannah that Lila’s eyes never closed completely. Ettie had sneaked into her room when supposedly she was taking an afternoon nap.
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