“She was breathing just like she was asleep, you know.” Ettie imitated the slow rhythmic breathing of sleep with the muffled sounds of a soft snore at its edges. “Her eyes were half open, but when I called her name, she never even stirred.”
“What about the cat?” Hannah had asked.
“Never blinked an eye. She seemed asleep, too. But her eyes were just half closed.” It occurred to Hannah that perhaps the Hawleys were giving the cat the laudanum as well. On two separate occasions Lila had been found sleepwalking upstairs with her eyes fully open but not in a conscious state. Instructions had been issued that if anyone encountered Lila this way, they were not to try to wake her for the effect could be too startling. Instead they were to take her gently by the hand and lead her back to bed, and then come and inform the Hawleys.
A few seconds after Ettie had begun to tell her about the birthday party, Lila roused herself and asked, “When do we get to see the portrait, Mummy?”
“Oh, not now, darling. We want it to be a surprise.”
“Have Ettie and Clarice seen it?”
“Nope,” Ettie answered.
“Don’t say nope, dear.” Mrs. Hawley turned to Ettie. “It’s so common.”
Ettie got a wicked twinkle in her eye. “A-yuh!” she said and ran out of the room.
“Ah! Ettie.” Mrs. Weed came bustling in. Mrs. Weed was the head housekeeper at Gladrock, for Miss Horton always went back to Canada to visit her relatives in the summer. “Miss Beale just arrived to fit your dress for the party.”
“I don’t want to be fitted for a stupid party dress. I don’t want to wear a dress. I want to wear my bathing costume.”
“But I’ve never seen such a pretty color dress, de-ah,” Mrs. Weed said. “Just the color of blueberries.”
“That was on purpose. See, it won’t be any problem if I get it stained, because I looove blueberries.”
Mrs. Weed laughed. “Well, are you planning on going blueberry picking during the party?”
“I wish! It’s the best time for blueberries. Best time for shooting stars, too, and Uncle Barkley gave me a telescope. Best time for everything except a fancy-dancy party.” One minute her voice had bubbled up in irrepressible enthusiasm, but suddenly Ettie’s shoulders sank, her head drooped to one side, and she half closed her eyes in deep reflection, and then, with a wistfulness that seemed beyond her years, she said, “I can’t think of anything lovelier than lying down in a field of blueberries on a hot August night or floating in the cove and looking up at the sky and waiting for stars to fall. A party, or at least that kind of a party, is the last place I want to be.” She shook her head almost mournfully. She wasn’t angry or stubborn anymore, she just seemed resigned.
21 GET OUT, HANNAH! GET OUT!
IT WAS THE EVENING of the party, and outside, thick fog swirled across the lawn. A dozen maids in dark green uniforms with crisply starched, lace-trimmed aprons passed hors d’oeuvres. “Well, at least it’s cloudy,” Hannah whispered to Ettie. “So you’re not missing any falling stars.”
“What are these?” Ettie said, looking down at the canapés.
“Crabmeat on a biscuit. Very good.”
Ettie took one and Hannah moved on, winding through the crowd of people. There were at least one hundred guests. Many had come for this special evening from as far away as Boston and Newport, Rhode Island. The Hawleys were known for their lavish parties, lavish at least by Boston standards, and Mrs. Hawley in particular was known for her sense of style. The combination of the Hawleys and the world-famous painter Stannish Whitman Wheeler was unbeatable. Hannah could even detect the glint of envy in some of the women’s eyes. As she moved through the guests with her platter, she picked up scraps of conversation.
“They say it is an extraordinary painting…a departure for him.”
“Who can say anything? Who’s seen it?”
Hannah saw a very elegant lady flip open her fan and use it to shield her mouth while she spoke, but her eyes followed Lila. Despite the Hawleys’ extraordinary attempts to conceal their daughter’s condition and her whereabouts for most of the summer, there was still talk. Daze and Susie had heard it in the village. And several people in the room now were stealing glances at Lila.
Lila looked exquisite in a flowing, pale pink chiffon gown with a cluster of silk flowers at her waist. She also appeared more alert than she had been since her arrival at Gladrock. But Hannah was nervous. Was there any chance that Lila would see something in the painter’s depiction that would give the merest hint that Hannah had stood in her place? Hannah prayed that somehow she would not be in the room for the unveiling.
She heard the tinkle of a little bell. Good heavens! This was happening much faster than Hannah had anticipated. She was in the middle of the room with a platter almost full of canapés. The rules were that servants could not return to the kitchen to replenish a tray until more than three-quarters of it had been consumed. She had half a mind to stuff the rest into her mouth. A hush was settling on the crowd. With Willy’s help, Mr. Marston was rolling out a large stand against which the painting rested, draped in cloth. Horace Hawley now stepped forward with Stannish Whitman Wheeler at his side.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Gladrock on this very special evening.” He then turned to his daughters. “It is a special evening for Edwina and myself because we have been blessed with three especially lovely daughters. And although the essence of life is change, growing older and hopefully wiser, there is no one amongst us who has not wished to arrest time. Well, it cannot be done. We cannot slip the mortal chains for a tryst with immortality. But a consummate artist, a genius, can help us imagine such things. There is nothing Edwina and I want more than a long and healthy life for each of our daughters, and yet we also yearn to capture them in the moments that have been precious to us. Tonight they stand before you as elegant young ladies—or almost young ladies.” He was looking at Ettie, who was turning bright red with embarrassment. It was at that moment that Hannah noticed that Ettie was wearing her black rubberized bathing shoes under her long gown. My Lord in heaven, what is she planning? Should she tell Florrie, Daze, Perl? But her thought broke off as she saw Mr. Marston and Willy begin to loosen the drape. Mrs. Hawley now stepped forward and pulled a braided cord. The cloth fell.
There was absolute silence as people took in the painting. Ettie, like a luminous spirit, was in the foreground, behind her Clarice stood solemnly, her honest face trusting and open. But the background of the painting was dense with shadows, and against the vase was the dark figure of Lila, her shoulders flung back, pressing against its blue and white design.
“Very modern,” Hannah heard someone whisper.
“Wheeler is master of chiaroscuro.”
“But it’s so dark…I mean how would one even know that is Lila lurking back there?”
“But it’s riveting, you have to admit.” It was the voice of a young man. “This is what art should be about. Not the obvious, not simple biography. It is as if these children have been caught in the midst of play, a game interrupted, but a game we’ll never understand.” He paused. “At least we outsiders.”
“Yes, I quite agree,” another gentleman said. “Despite Wheeler’s youth it seems as if he has a rather old soul. An understanding beyond his years. There is no one like Wheeler for suggesting the unknowable.”
Hannah inhaled sharply upon hearing this remark. Could these gentlemen ever know how true their words were? There was certainly some sort of secret at the very center of the painter’s being. Perhaps it was this secret that made him a great painter, but he guarded it as if it were gold. Soon the room was buzzing with conversation. Hannah glanced across the room toward the painter. He stood near the portrait, surrounded by guests. Women in particular pressed to get close to him. She was suddenly filled with a deep and urgent yearning. She drifted closer with her tray of hors d’oeuvres.
“He says he never makes appointments at receptions or parties,” said one young lady.
At just that moment, Hannah felt something swish under her skirt. “Ooow!” Her platter fell to the floor. There was a white streak across the room.
“A cat!” someone shrieked.
Hannah was mortified. Surely she would be fired. She dropped to her knees and began gathering up the canapés. Tears were streaming down her face. Mr. Marston was beside her in a minute.
“Don’t worry, dear, not your fault,” he said kindly, but his hands were trembling. “I don’t know how that cat got in here.” He stood up and someone else was bending over her.
“Get out, Hannah, my dear. Get out. You’re ready! Your time has almost come!” a voice whispered in her ear. Hannah looked into the painter’s green eyes. In them she saw worlds she had suspected but never known and the dim shadow of regret for a wildness lost.
“Ready?” she whispered.
“Yes, you are ready.”
“But…but I must leave you,” Hannah said. There was a choking desperation in her voice.
“Forget about me.”
“But you are my—” But the painter was already walking away. His words reverberated through her. She clutched at the pouch. Ready? Her time had come?
“You’re bleeding!” Susie said a few minutes later, in the kitchen.
Bleeding? What do I care about a little blood? Hannah thought.
“I’m going to kill that cat!” Mrs. Bletchley hissed. “You stay right here in the kitchen with me, dearie. They don’t need you out there. Susie, get the iodine. I’ll bring over some soapy water.”
Hannah was sitting on a stool and rolling down her bloody stocking. There was a long scratch that ran up her calf. “It’s not that bad, Mrs. Bletchley. Look, it’s stopped bleeding already.”
“Yes, but you don’t want to get an infection. Now you just sit right there. I’m going to get you a cup of tea.”
Mr. Marston came in. “Is everything all right, Hannah? Mr. and Mrs. Hawley are appalled.” Appalled? Hannah looked at him expectantly. Would he call her into his office at Gladrock and quietly say she must go, but give her perhaps a week before she had to leave and a dollar or so? Or would he fire her outright in front of everyone?
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Marston. I should have seen the cat.”
“Nonsense, child! You’ve nothing to apologize for. They are appalled at the cat.”
“What about Lila—shouldn’t she be appalled?” Mrs. Bletchley asked.
“Actually, she was very sorry and sends her apologies,” Mr. Marston said.
“Well, that’s a change.” Mrs. Bletchley pulled down her mouth and raised her eyebrows with a look of astonishment.
“In any case, the cat has been locked in Lila’s room. She even agreed. In that sense I really do see some improvement in her. She was quite docile and took her directly upstairs.”
Docile, my foot! Hannah thought to herself. She didn’t trust Lila, nor did she trust all the talk she had heard upon Lila’s return of her “improvement.” It was nothing but a play, a feint. An opening move in combat. Lila was set to destroy her. And if it is a fight she wants—well, she’ll have it! But of course Hannah would betray none of this. She would appear as “docile” as her opponent.
“I just don’t want a fuss made,” Hannah said meekly. “Really, please, no fuss. I’m going to get a clean stocking and I’d like to help again. I don’t want to make too much of it.”
Mr. Marston smiled at her warmly. “You’re quite a trouper, Hannah, quite a trouper!”
After she had changed her stockings, Hannah went back into the dining room. “You sure you want to serve that side of the table?” Florrie said. “You’ll have to serve Lila.”
“Exactly!”
But Lila never looked up when Hannah came to her first with the sauce for the swordfish, then with the salad plate, and finally with the dessert, profiteroles on a pond of chocolate sauce. “Care for some more, Miss Lila?” Hannah came around with the sauce boat of chocolate even though she could see that Lila needed none. Lila did not look up but merely shook her head. Hannah felt the painter’s eyes following her as she continued around the table.
“Hi, Hannah. You all right?” Ettie said, looking up as she came by with the chocolate sauce.
“Hello, Ettie. I don’t think you’re supposed to talk with me, dear. Not at a fancy party like this.”
“I don’t care. I’ll talk with whomever I please.”
Hannah knew she should not encourage any conversation. So she moved on.
After the dinner was finished, the guests went to the second floor of the house where there was a grand ballroom. The orchestra had been tuning up. Hannah had been excused early by Mr. Marston and for this she was glad. She had made her point with Lila and did not need to see her dancing with all the young men of Bar Harbor.
Shortly before midnight the party finally ended. Daze, Susie, and Florrie all had beaux in the village and had planned to go out after the party and meet them. There was quite a bit of courting in the summertime—courtships between servants of one cottage and another and between servants and natives as well. They often went over to Eagle Lake and had bonfires on the beach or took canoes out for midnight paddles. Hannah had only gone once and did not particularly enjoy it. She found lake water sterile compared with the sea’s. And tonight, exhausted as she was, Hannah was only too happy to undress and crawl into bed. She looked out of the round window. A heavy fog had rolled in. Might as well be looking into a full milk bottle, she thought. She turned down the wick of her oil lamp. The second her head hit the pillow, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
22 THE TAIL IN THE WAVE
SHE WASN’T SURE WHAT it was that awakened her. She had no idea what time it was. Then she saw the figure standing at the foot of her bed, as still as a statue. Her eyes open, but glazed. The cat in her arms, perfectly still. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together, the bizarre reality began to assemble itself. Lila had sleepwalked up here. The cat was almost limp in her arms, and appeared to be in some sort of hypnotic state, its eyes half shut and glazed. Hannah remembered the instructions. She must take Lila by the hand and lead her back to her room. Then she must go and wake the Hawleys.
Ever so slowly, Hannah slipped out of bed. She quickly grabbed for her nightgown on the bedpost. Then she walked up to Lila. Without saying a word she took her hand and began to lead her from the room. They descended the first set of the back stairs, and then the next to the family bedrooms. She was about to lead Lila through the back stairway door to the corridor when Lila wrenched her hand away.
Lila’s eyes were wild. She was scratching at Hannah’s face and the cat suddenly came to life and pounced on her back. Hannah could feel the claws digging into her shoulders, close to the neck of the nightgown. She looked down and saw the two huge paws clasped onto her collarbones and scratching at the string from which the pouch hung.
Hannah fell to the floor but quickly staggered to her feet. She was gasping for breath and with horror realized that the cat had shifted and was no longer on her back, but hanging by the pouch strings from her neck. She looked down. There was something so freakish about the cat’s paws. Then she realized it was the six toes Roseanne had told her about. Jade was using them as deftly as fingers, pulling the string of the pouch and those that closed the neckline of the nightgown tighter and tighter. Lila stood aside, her eyes feverish. Her youth had vanished, replaced by a fury of purpose. Her face was a contorted mask of absolute determination and every trace of humanity was gone. At first it sounded like a purr coming from Lila’s throat but then she heard the words—“Freckles, does she have freckles?”
The s
trings of Hannah’s pouch were cutting into her throat, and she was gasping for air. A rent had been torn in the pouch and a radiant mist flowed from it, as if an artery to her heart had been sliced open. Only it was not blood, it was her soul. No! No! The word screeched in her head.
The world was turning black. She could not let this happen! She would not! Hannah felt anger growing in her, and then the power she sensed within herself surged, building like an immense wave. She hurled herself forward, slamming into a wall. There was a terrible screech from the cat, then a crash as they tumbled down the stairs together.
“Stop! Stop!” Ettie was at the top of the stairs, but Hannah was no longer listening. She had to get away. She tore out of the door that led into the kitchen and then onto the back porch. Lila ran after her. Hannah looked over her shoulder. She could outrun her, but it was hard to see Jade in the thick fog. “Go back, Ettie!” Hannah called. “Get help!”
Hannah had not thought where to run. The fog had enveloped everything in an impenetrable, gauzy whiteness. A thick quiet had descended. It seemed more day than night and no land features were discernible in the shifting miasma of vapors, stirring as soundlessly as ghosts. But suddenly Hannah could hear everything from the slight rustle of a blown leaf to the movement of a blade of grass or the quiver of sea lavender as water from the incoming tide licked its stems. She trembled and touched her chest. The pouch was gone, and yet she thought, I am here! My time has come!
Hannah reached the lavender rock, washed by a high tide. The bottom of her nightgown was drenched, and she could hear the click of the cat’s claws on the rocks just behind her. She stretched her arms forward and arced into the air as a distinct sound came to her—the shattering of porcelain.
Hannah Page 14