“Attractive,” Beryl smirked.
“Watch it,” Aggie threatened. “I’ve got another one upstairs that would fit you.”
Beryl laughed. “What do you do for Halloween around here? Are we giving out candy?”
Aggie turned to Cory, eyebrows raised.
“I haven’t had trick-or-treaters in ages,” Cory said. “Would you like to?”
Aggie turned next to Beryl, who nodded. “It’s tomorrow night. We could string some lights along our front walk to light the way to the house.”
“This will be fun,” Cory said excitedly.
By Saturday afternoon, the entrance to the house had been prepared, with cobwebs hung from the veranda pillars, pumpkin lights strung along each side of the walk and a large cauldron filled with candy sitting on the porch.
They ate an early dinner and then donned witches’ hats and robes, and waited as darkness fell. Soon, costumed children and adults were wandering timidly up to the porch.
“We never got to come to this house before,” said a diminutive Batman.
Cinderella, who seemed to be his little sister by the way she was clinging to his cape, said uncertainly, “We always heard it was haunted.”
“Well, isn’t that what you want at Halloween?” Aggie asked as she dropped candy into each of their bags. “A proper haunted house?”
“Thank you,” they both squeaked before scurrying away down the walk.
Cory laughed heartily. “This will cement our reputation,” she said happily.
For the next few hours, the three women greeted the trick-or-treaters brave enough to venture to the house, most of them accompanied by their parents. More than one comment of “I didn’t think anyone still lived here” or “I’ve always wanted to see this place up close” could be heard.
At one point, Beryl and Aggie reached into the candy cauldron at the same time, their hands becoming tangled. Aggie smiled and gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. Though the night was becoming chilly enough for their breath to hang in frosty vapor, Beryl was warmed through and through by the look in Aggie’s eyes.
By nine o’clock, the candy was nearly gone and the traffic had dwindled to an occasional teenager taking advantage of getting away with one more year of dressing up.
“Let’s go in and warm up,” Cory suggested, getting up stiffly.
Aggie made three cups of hot cocoa while Beryl laid out some oatmeal cookies.
“Oh, this feels good,” Aggie murmured, cradling her cup in her hands to warm them. “Do you want me to make you a hot water bag for your bed?” she asked Cory.
“No,” Cory smiled, “I’ll be fine under my quilt.”
Beryl yawned. “Well, I’m going up, then,” she said, taking her cup to the sink. “Good night.”
“Me, too,” echoed Aggie. “Goodnight, Aunt Cory.”
“Good night, girls.”
Upstairs, Beryl and Aggie went to their separate bathrooms to wash up and brush their teeth. “Thank goodness my great-grandfather thought indoor plumbing was such a good thing and put so many bathrooms in this house when he had it built,” Aggie had said when Beryl was first settling in upstairs.
They emerged from their bathrooms at the same time – “well, I was listening for you, waiting to come out at the same time,” Aggie would admit coyly later.
“Tonight was fun,” Beryl smiled, squinting a bit. Without her glasses, Aggie was a little blurry around the edges.
Aggie came to her. “Yes.”
Beryl swallowed. “The trick-or-treaters, I mean.”
“Mmm hmm,” Aggie murmured, coming closer, clearly in focus now.
Beryl could smell her minty breath as she stepped closer still, while Beryl’s breath seemed to be coming in shallow gasps. “I…” but whatever else she was going to mumble was lost as Aggie pressed her lips to Beryl’s, not the soft, gentle kiss they had previously shared, but this time insistent, passionate. Don’t think, Beryl thought, her hands coming up to caress Aggie’s face as she returned the kiss, her mouth open, seeking, exploring.
They lost track of time as they stood there, kissing deeply, their bodies pressed together while their hands explored. At one point, Aggie pulled away long enough to ask, “Are you okay? Because I don’t want to stop now.”
Beryl ran her fingers through Aggie’s silky blond hair and murmured, “Neither do I.”
“Let’s go to your room,” Aggie whispered, her heart beating fast. “Percival’s probably already on my bed.”
“Winston can keep him company,” Beryl smiled.
A long while later, or perhaps no time at all, Aggie and Beryl lay in a tangle of arms and legs, snuggled together under the covers.
“Are you all right?” Aggie whispered, her fingers playing with Beryl’s soft hair.
“Yes. You?” Beryl murmured, her head resting on Aggie’s shoulder.
“Better than all right,” Aggie smiled in the dark. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
“I have, too,” Beryl admitted. “I just didn’t trust… us.”
Aggie kissed her forehead tenderly. “I know. That part takes a long time.” She lay quietly, feeling the beat of Beryl’s heart against her ribs. “You told me the night we met that you needed to believe a relationship could last a lifetime and beyond. I didn’t think I would ever again meet someone I would trust to be that for me, until I met you.” She swallowed hard, waiting.
Beryl raised her head, placing a hand on Aggie’s cheek. “A lifetime and beyond.”
She pressed her mouth to Aggie’s, sealing her promise with her kiss. Sighing, she laid her head back on Aggie’s shoulder. A moment later, they heard the soft scuff of slippers out in the hall, followed by the click of dog nails and a little meow.
Aggie covered her mouth to muffle her giggle. Beryl, pressing her face into Aggie’s shoulder in her embarrassment, could feel Aggie shaking with her suppressed laughter.
“You forgot to close your bedroom door, didn’t you?” Beryl whispered.
Chapter 33
Monday morning, Aggie’s first period was a planning period with no students. Shannon popped her head into Aggie’s empty classroom.
“Hey, how was your weekend?” she asked.
“It was fine,” Aggie said, though she could feel a slow blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks.
“Oh, my God.”
Shannon quickly shut the classroom door and pulled a chair up to Aggie’s desk.
“Tell me.”
“What?”
“You did it. Didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Aggie tried bluffing, but she knew it was no good. Shannon knew her too well.
Shannon ignored her protest. “How was it?”
Aggie’s shoulders slumped. “All right. It happened, but please don’t go shouting it all over,” she begged. “You know I’m not out at work.”
“The worst-kept secret in the entire school,” Shannon said sarcastically.
“Shannon –”
“Who’m I going to tell?” Shannon asked indignantly. “But how was it?”
Aggie beamed. She couldn’t help it. “It’s… I don’t know if I can describe it –”
“I don’t need that much detail.”
“No,” Aggie grinned sheepishly. “It’s not all fireworks and giddiness. It’s… with Beryl, it feels steady and strong and… forever.”
“Forever?” Shannon asked, her eyebrows raising in surprise.
Aggie sighed. “I know. I’ve only known her a few months, but… that’s how it feels.”
“But there were fireworks, right?” Shannon grinned wickedly.
Aggie laughed. “Yes,” she admitted, blushing again. “There absolutely were fireworks.”
Shannon laughed delightedly. “It’s about damn time,” she said happily. “Does Cory know?”
“Oh, Cory definitely knows,” Aggie groaned, dropping her forehead into her hands.
Cory had already been up when Aggie came down Sunday mo
rning. Beryl had insisted on their going down separately. Aggie considered telling her that the subterfuge was pointless, but decided that Beryl would discover the truth soon enough.
“Good morning,” Cory said from the table where she was reading the newspaper as Aggie entered the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Aggie returned cautiously.
“Coffee’s already made,” Cory offered innocently.
“Thank you,” Aggie said, wondering how long this game would last.
When Beryl entered the kitchen a few minutes later, accompanied by the animals, Cory waited until she was seated at the table with her coffee before she smiled up from the paper and asked, “Did you girls sleep well last night?”
Beryl choked on her coffee. Abandoning all pretense, Aggie reached across the table for Beryl’s hand and said, “You know perfectly well what happened last night, you wicked old woman. Don’t give us a hard time.”
Cory reached out, taking both their clasped hands in her old, arthritic ones and said, “I’m delighted for you. I love you both, and I was hoping for this.”
“You were?” Beryl gasped, still gagging a bit on her inhaled coffee.
* * *
Terrence finds Corinne in the den at their father’s desk, going over the household accounts, the ledger illuminated by a brilliantly-colored Tiffany lamp. Her brow is furrowed in worry. Every spare cent has gone to pay back what their father took, leaving Corinne to juggle the household bills, paying only those that are most overdue. In spite of her secrecy, the shopkeepers have started to whisper among themselves about the late accounts, and word has gotten out that the Bishops are in financial trouble.
“We are on solid ground,” Corinne insists repeatedly to the bank’s staff. “Please reassure our account holders that they have nothing to worry about.”
“Here,” Terrence says, holding out his hand and giving Corinne twenty-seven dollars and eighty-three cents.
Terrence, having somehow guessed at Corinne’s worries, has taken employment at the local hardware store. Despite his war injuries, he has a knack for remembering every bolt, every washer, every tiny item stocked by the store. It has become a good-natured ritual for the men who frequent the store to place small wagers on how quickly Terrence can find obscure items on the miles of wooden shelves and bins. Every week, he turns his pay over to Corinne. Knowing how much he wants to help, she accepts without argument.
“It’s embarrassing,” Candace says scathingly. “He can barely remember where the kitchen is. He was to have been the bank president, and look at him, working with those low-lifes who have nothing better to do than hang about at that store.”
“It’s sweet of him to want to help,” says Mary, who rarely chastises Candace. “You could do something more useful than complaining,” she says pointedly.
Candace looks as if she has been slapped. “What do you want me to do?” she asks indignantly. “Take in washing? Clean houses?”
Mary looks up from her book and says quietly, “It would be sufficient if you would take on some of the cleaning here, since we have had to let some of the help go.”
Candace’s eyes narrow shrewdly. “And why did we have to let them go?” she asks. “No one ever did explain that satisfactorily.”
“It is enough for you to know that it was necessary,” Mary says. “Your sister has had to make economies of necessity.”
“Oh, of course,” Candace says bitterly. “Dear, perfect Corinne, who –”
Mary closes her book with a snap and stands abruptly. In the closest thing Candace has ever seen to her mother losing her temper, Mary says, “Your sister took on an enormous burden and has done the best she could with it. It is time you held your tongue.”
“You should go to her,” Terrence says now as he watches Corinne enter the amount in the household ledger.
Startled, Corinne looks up at him. “I can’t go, just like that,” she protests, wondering how much he knows of how and why Helen left. It has been two months, and there has been no word. She has cried herself to sleep nearly every night. Nothing, not even the war, felt as horrible as this angry, hurtful separation.
“Father has been dead for almost two years,” Terrence reminds her. “Nothing they say or do can hurt him now. And we’ll survive. You should go to her.”
He leaves her staring out the window at the garden, a garden she can barely tolerate being in, the memories of Helen there are so strong. Terrence’s words, so child-like in their simple insistence, seem wiser than he could possibly know, and yet….
She hears the bell for the afternoon post, and shortly after, there is a soft knock on the door. “Come,” she says without turning from the window.
“I have your tea and the mail, Miss Corinne,” says Frances, bearing a tray. “It looks like there’s a letter from Miss Helen. Is she coming back soon?”
Corinne comes to the desk and inspects the envelope eagerly. “Why would you ask that?” Corinne asks.
“I just thought… what with her telephone calls,” Frances said apologetically.
Corinne’s head snaps up. “What telephone calls?” she asks.
Frances blinks at her and repeats, “Her telephone calls. At least five. Miss Candace took the messages from me each time and said she would give them to you…” Frances’ hand flies to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Miss Corinne. If I’d known –”
“It’s all right, Frances,” Corinne says, a cold fury filling her. “Do you know where Mrs. Bishop is?”
“She’s in her study, miss.”
Corinne nods vaguely as she pries open the envelope and pulls out a card which reads simply, “Sonnet XXIX. Please call me.” Below is written a telephone number with a U.S. telephone exchange. Helen is still in the country.
Going to the bookshelves in the den, she finds a volume of Shakespeare and opens it to the sonnets. Whispering, she reads,
“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”
Corinne’s eyes fill with tears as the words blur. She leaves the office and encounters Candace descending the stairs as she enters the foyer. Corinne’s anger is reflected in her eyes and Candace knows she knows.
Jutting her chin out mulishly, Candace sweeps past without uttering a word.
Corinne finds her mother doing needlepoint in the study and takes a seat next to her. “Mother, I’m taking a holiday.”
Mary looks up and sees the tears still glistening on Corinne’s cheeks. “For how long?”
Corinne shakes her head. “I don’t know. Maybe forever. I don’t know what they will decide to do at the bank, but I can’t be tied here any longer.” She reaches out for her mother’s hand. “Do you think you can manage now?”
Mary’s chin quivers the tiniest bit, but she says, “We’ll manage.”
* * *
“Why were you hoping for this?” Aggie asked, almost as surprised as Beryl.
“Not just me,” Cory said, a twinkle in her eyes. “Ridley and I have both wondered if you would ever wise up.”
“Ridley!” Beryl exclaimed, thinking he was going to have some explaining to do.
Aggie looked at Beryl, one eyebrow raised. “Gosh, maybe we should send out announcements.”
Chapter 34
Beryl was w
orking at her computer, humming to herself as she prepared a lecture course on rare book provenance as a proposed course to be taught at OSU, and possibly to be added to the University of Virginia’s Rare Book School curriculum.
“This is right up your alley,” Bart Hudspath had said to her when he heard an edited version of how she had tracked down Corinne Bishop.
She heard her cell phone buzz. Distractedly, she looked at the screen and saw that it was Ridley. “Hey there,” she said warmly, intending to give him some grief about staying in contact with Cory behind her back.
“Beryl,” he said, “listen to me –”
“Just a second,” she interrupted, hearing another incoming call beeping on her phone. It was Claire. “Let me call you right back,” she said.
“Beryl! No –”
She pushed the button to accept Claire’s call and instantly regretted it.
“Hi,” she said.
“Just when the hell were you going to tell me you aren’t even living in fucking D.C. anymore?” came Claire’s furious voice.
Beryl was so shocked, she didn’t know what to say. Somehow, in all of her other farewells, it hadn’t even occurred to her to tell Claire. Her silence allowed Claire to gather steam as she continued, “I had to find out from that flaming asshole at the library when I came in there looking for you like some kind of idiot!”
Recovering enough to respond, Beryl said, “And just why is it any of your business where I’m living now?”
“Is Ohio where the bitch lives?” Claire continued as if Beryl hadn’t spoken. “The one I saw you with?”
Taking a calming breath, Beryl said, “Ohio is where my job is.”
“Job? What job?” Claire asked scathingly.
Wondering how much to say, Beryl answered, “Working in Ohio State’s Rare Books Library.”
Claire was silenced for a few seconds at this. “Ohio State?”
“Yes.”
This time it was Claire’s turn to be silent as this information sank in.
“What do you want?” Beryl asked before Claire could resume her attack.
“I… I wanted to talk to you,” Claire said in a meeker voice.
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