Choices (A Woman's Life)

by Marie Ferrarella

  “No, just waiting for the two most beautiful women in Washington to open the door.” Smiling, he presented one elbow to Rheena, the other to Shanna.

  Because he was devastatingly good-looking and she liked to draw envious looks, Rheena threaded her arm through his and turned toward the stairs.

  For the moment, Shanna thought, taking his other arm, there was peace. She couldn’t ask for more.

  But she could always want more.

  Chapter 4

  The wedding was as flamboyantly, as elaborately orchestrated as Shanna knew Cydney was capable of. The attending news media loved the display and saved it for posterity.

  There were myriad camcorders and society reporters snaking their way through the celebration. Early on, she had gotten separated from Jordan. He had remained at her side for the ceremony, but as soon as the reception was under way, he had gotten involved in a five-way discussion about the recently proposed trade bill. She was getting used to this sort of thing happening, his inattentiveness to her at parties. He had pointed out to her that he was in the process of trying to further his career and, he had added, he was doing it for both of them. But she was beginning to have doubts about just how much she was included in his reasons. After all, they were more than financially comfortable enough to let things evolve slowly career-wise. If the situation had been reversed, her pace would have been a lot slower.

  Except that to her, their relationship was of paramount importance. Everything else was secondary. She was beginning to suspect that in Jordan’s mind, their relationship came second. And for all intents and purposes, it was a very distant second.

  Nodding at several people she knew as she passed, Shanna sought a quiet spot where the society photographers weren’t likely to bother her as they snapped photographs of the rich and famous who were attending the wedding of the week. She saw her grandmother sitting on a lawn chair off to the side of the gazebo where the couple had exchanged their vows. She cut through the throng to join her.

  Eloise Fitzhugh, her skin bearing testimony to an excessive love of the sun when she was a young girl, laced spidery fingers over the head of her gold cane as she watched the goings-on through sky-blue eyes that were still sharp. Eloise had been Shanna’s haven during her childhood, the one person, Shanna felt, who saw her as a complete entity, an individual, not an extension of anyone or anything. Though she was formal and undemonstrative, there was no mistaking the fact that Eloise loved her only granddaughter. Shanna had always been secure in that, if in nothing else.

  “Hello, Grandmother.”

  Eloise raised her eyes as Shanna dropped into the white chair next to hers. “Surprised they didn’t have trained seals and jugglers,” she muttered with a shake of her head.

  Shanna leaned over and kissed the parchment-like skin. Eloise was as careless of the rituals of skin care as Rheena was a slave to them. “You didn’t like the doves,” Shanna guessed. Cydney had ordered a flock of white doves to be released just as Douglas had said, “I do.”

  “Doves,” Eloise repeated disdainfully. “Pigeons in whitewash, that’s all they are. I hate pigeons. Messy, dirty creatures that relieve themselves on everything they pass over.” A shadow of a smile creased her lips as she looked toward Cydney’s new husband. One hand was around his bride’s waist, the other was wrapped around a champagne goblet. “Perhaps it’s fitting after all. That boy was born with a half-empty glass in his hand.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Shanna again and verbalized the prophesy that was on almost everyone’s mind. “It’s not going to work, you know.”

  No, probably not, but it didn’t hurt to hope. Shanna still liked to believe in hope, though for some reason, it was getting harder to do. “Grandmother, that’s not very optimistic.”

  “I’m not a very optimistic person. Never have been. No cause to be.”

  No cause. Her grandmother’s words struck closer to home than Shanna cared to admit. They echoed her present mood. Shanna fought vainly to shut it out and deny its existence. “How can you say that? You’ve had everything you’ve ever wanted.”

  The thin brows rose. “What do you know of it, child? What do you know about what I wanted?” Realizing her mood was getting too dark, even for her, Eloise retreated, striving for a slightly lighter tone. “Besides, have you ever heard the old saying about being careful about what you wish for because you just might get it?” Shanna nodded. “I wished for your grandfather and I got him. Worst thing that ever happened to me.”

  Shanna didn’t understand. She had always assumed that her grandmother had loved the big, blustering Thomas Fitzhugh. “But—"

  She was too young, Eloise thought, looking into the smooth, fresh face. Too young to know, but never too young to learn a valuable lesson. “Your grandfather was a very wealthy man who valued things, not people. I was his prize possession, and he took good care of all his possessions, kept them on a shelf to take out and admire at will. In return, I had every wish fulfilled. There was no reason to dream anymore, to make an effort,” Eloise said wistfully, murmuring the words to herself. She smiled sadly as she patted the girl’s cheek. “And dreams are what keep us alive. Remember that.”

  Before she could comment, Shanna heard voices growing louder around them. She looked up and saw several people near them step aside as they hailed a greeting to someone. She smiled as she saw her father parting the sea of people, working his way over. He had missed the ceremony, but was making up for it now, playing the genial host. No one but her mother would be annoyed with him for being late.

  “How did the caucusing go?” Shanna asked with genuine interest as soon as he was within hearing range.

  Roger Brady reached for his mother-in-law’s hand, enveloping it in his own two large ones. “The override is in our pocket,” he said with a wink. It never failed to surprise him, after all his years with Rheena and his own sisters, whenever Shanna expressed an interest in the actual machinery of politics rather than the high gloss and sheen that went with it.

  Turning cobalt-blue eyes on the only woman, in his estimation, worth a damn at the reception, he pressed a kiss to the soft, gnarled skin on her hand. Shanna smiled to herself as she saw her grandmother act as if she didn’t care. She did, Shanna knew. Very much.

  There was genuine affection in the senator’s eyes as he looked at his mother-in-law. “How are you, Eloise?”

  She withdrew her hand from his and folded both primly in her lap. The voice that answered his query was strong and clear. “Still breathing, still here.”

  Roger laughed as he took a glass of white wine from a passing steward. He allowed himself one sip before he told Eloise, “And we’re all very grateful for that.”

  Eloise had always thought that Roger was too good for her daughter. Roger was a decent human being. Rheena hadn’t really fallen into that category for a long time. Raising her chin, the older woman pinned him with a look. “Don’t start practicing your campaign charm on me, Roger. You’ve always had my vote.”

  They understood one another, he and this old woman whose father had found ways that were not completely legal to make his fortune. But sins were forgiven if money was eventually used for good, and Calvin O’Hara, a robber baron in his youth, had died a beloved philanthropist. Roger bent and kissed the heavily lined cheek. “And you’ve always had mine.”

  Shanna glanced up to see the cool annoyance in her mother’s face as Rheena directed her steps toward the trio. She was clearly annoyed that the senator had arrived so late and that he hadn’t bothered to seek her out first. She looked from her mother to her husband, utterly ignoring her daughter.

  “What a very touching scene.” She presented her cheek for Roger to kiss as she grazed the air next to his cheek with her mouth. The frown was in her voice, if not on her lips. “You’re unfashionably late, Roger, for your own niece’s wedding.”

  Roger took another sip of wine, wishing for something stronger. “I’m sure Cydney will have another one for me in a couple of years and I’ll make
it up then.”

  Though she remained seated, Eloise Fitzhugh had the ability to dwarf everyone else around her. It was a family trait that had yet to trickle down to her, Shanna thought, suppressing a smile as she watched her grandmother come to her father’s defense.

  “This isn’t a ‘scene,’ dear, this is real.” Reaching up, she touched Roger’s hand in a show of alliance. “Scenes are things that are played out before audiences, Rheena. But I suspect that you probably know all about that.”

  “The sound of pistols being cocked at close range has always been my cue to leave,” Roger announced lightly. He downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on a nearby glass-top table. “You look beautiful, as always, Eloise.” He bowed to the older woman. “Rheena, I’ll go mingle with our guests as I’m sure you’d want me to.”

  Roger turned before either woman could say anything more to him. Shanna was aware that once again, her father had absently ignored her presence. It was something that happened with frequency, but she never became used to it.

  For a moment she thought there might be further fireworks between her mother and grandmother, but then she saw Rheena withdraw like a soldier retreating rather than risking defeat. Someone in the distance was trying to get her attention and Rheena was on again. She spared her mother one last fleeting glare. “Let me know when you want someone to take you home, Mother.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.” Eloise said the words to her daughter’s retreating back. The clear blue eyes glanced in Shanna’s direction and she shook her head. “I wish I could say she was adopted, but the sad truth of the matter is, she’s mine.” Eloise made a conscious effort to shed the topic. For her, Rheena was a lost cause. She took Shanna’s face in her own hand. “So, when am I getting great-grandchildren?”

  Shanna shrugged vaguely, remembering Jordan’s annoyed look when she had tried to broach the subject. “Jordan doesn’t want children just yet.”

  It was obvious that Eloise found the excuse both flimsy and absurd. “So? A girl can forget to take one of those damn silly little pills once in a while.” A man’s wishes had never gotten in her way, and she had moved about in much stricter times. “Things happen.”

  Shanna cocked her head, enjoying the exchange. Her grandmother would have made a wonderful suffragette. “That would be deceitful.”

  Defeat was not a word Eloise recognized. “Or cunning. Adjectives are provided, child, by the person telling the story. And the victor gets to write the story that’s read.” There was so much she wanted to tell Shanna, so much the girl needed to know. And there was so little time left. That bright young doctor who had attended to her last month had tried to sound optimistic when he had told her the news, but she knew better. The end could come at any time. If it weren’t for Shanna, Eloise would have been more than ready to go. But she worried about her, about how she could get along, a vulnerable innocent dolphin in a world of sharks.

  Eloise took Shanna’s hand in hers and motioned her closer. “I want to tell you something, child. Something you need to know.”

  Shanna was used to her grandmother’s stern expressions and solemn speech, but there was always a liveliness in her eyes before. The liveliness was gone now and it worried her. “What’s the matter? Are you feeling ill?”

  “At my age, why should I feel well? Everything’s breaking down and there are no spare parts.”

  Shanna looked around for her father. “Maybe I should—“

  Eloise tugged at her hand tor attention. “Maybe you should just sit here and listen when I talk.”

  Shanna sat down obediently, knowing that the best way around her grandmother was to appease her. “Yes, Grandmother.”

  “Do you know what life’s about, Shanna?”

  It was an odd question. Was she teasing? “In twenty-five words or less?”

  There wasn’t a hint of a smile on the old woman’s face. “I’m serious. It’s not about this.” She waved a hand at the reception. “It’s about choices, Shanna. It’s always been about choices. Some we can make, some we should make, but don’t, and some are made for us.” She narrowed her gaze and everyone else disappeared except for the two of them. This was the most important part, the part Shanna needed to understand. “But you are never the prisoner of your destiny. Don’t just lie down and hope life will get better. Make it better. You can either float or set a course.” Eloise leaned closer and placed her hand over Shanna’s, as if trying to will her own experience, her own strength to her granddaughter. “Set a course, Shanna. Be sure to always set a course.”

  Dragging in a deep breath, Eloise rose, leaning heavily on her cane. Shanna jumped to her feet and took hold of her grandmother’s elbow, trying to support her as best she could. The old woman was unsteady and so very frail. Eloise smiled up at her.

  “And now a tired old lady is going to go home.” She looked around the vast yard and sternly ordered, “But don’t tell your mother. It would make her entirely too happy to be rid of me.”

  Someone jostled Shanna as they moved by and slurred an apology. Shanna hovered protectively over her grandmother. “You don’t like Mother much, do you?”

  “I love her. But no—"she let out a breath—“I don’t like her. She was born jaded. All the Fitzhugh women were.”

  Shanna carefully guided her grandmother toward the double French doors at the rear of the house. “You weren’t.”

  A raspy little laugh struggled out. “I’m an O’Hara, darling, not a Fitzhugh.” Eloise stopped for a moment and looked at Shanna. “But the curse skipped you, and for that I am eternally grateful.” If asked if there was anyone she truly loved in this world, Eloise would have quickly and singularly pointed to Shanna, the only drop of virtue she saw in a sullied, stagnant pond.

  “I love you, Grandmother,” Shanna whispered.

  She expected nothing less, but it did gladden her heart to hear the words. “And well you should. Besides your father, I’m all you have in this cesspool.”

  Shanna was well aware of the fact that her grandmother deliberately had refrained from including Jordan in the small, tight circle. But that, she told herself quickly, was probably because for Eloise it was too soon to tell. Her grandmother never passed judgment quickly. She waited, and watched.

  “Why don’t you wait here?” Shanna suggested. “I’ll have your car brought around.”

  Eloise dismissed the words with a wave of her unadorned hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. Huxley will take care of me,” she said, nodding toward the butler in the distance. She looked around the yard with its profusion of expensively dressed people eating, talking, drinking. It reminded her of a picture she had once seen depicting Rome before its fall. Yes, she would be well rid of this soon. “You go and try to have some fun, Shanna. You don’t have nearly enough fun.”

  She knew that, small or large, there was never any arguing with her grandmother on any stand she took. Shanna stepped back, allowing Eloise her dignity. “Yes, Grandmother.”

  Shanna watched Eloise slowly make her way into the house, Queen Victoria taking her leave of the masses. As she watched she wondered what had prompted the sudden lecture her grandmother had delivered. Did the old woman see things within her that she had as yet failed to clearly express to herself? Did her grandmother sense the vague dissatisfaction that was taking seed within her? Eloise always did have the ability to cut to the heart of the matter. Maybe she’d go and visit her grandmother in a few days and have a real long talk with her.

  The thought buoyed her spirits. Shanna turned to look for her husband, humming under her breath.

  Jordan was right where she thought he’d be, next to Senator Kyles, listening, absorbing. She saw the way Jordan’s hand tightened on his glass just before he spoke, seizing an opportunity to state his opinion. The right opinion obviously, because Kyles slapped his back and laughed.

  Jordan had incredible timing, she thought as she hung back on the perimeter of the circle, hesitant to intrude. She knew he was a novi
ce, knew he had only these last three years emerged from law school, but he had a polish, a verve, that made him seem as if he had been practicing his whole life for gatherings just like this, for moments just like this.

  “So here’s the little girl who wants an invite,” a loud voice boomed in her ear just as a large arm fell heavily on her shoulders.

  Shanna didn’t have to look up to know that Senator Hugh Whitney had joined her. “Hello, Senator,” she said warmly. Just out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Jordan, still animated, was now also watching her.

  With his shaggy leonine white hair and the salt-and-pepper eyebrows that sprouted like tufts of cotton in an untended field, Senator Whitney always reminded Shanna of a portrait she had seen of Mark Twain in his later years. All the senator needed, she judged, was a white suit and panama hat to complete the picture.

  Whitney, the slight smell of bourbon on his breath, inclined his head toward Shanna. His arm remained firmly around her shoulders. “Your mama tells me that you’re eager to gladden an old man’s heart by gracing his humble little party.”

  Shanna grinned. The senator from South Carolina had bounced her on his knee when she was still in diapers and had bought her a pony for her fifth birthday. He was generous, loud, and, she knew, oftentimes crude, though he had never used anything but pristine language around her. Conservative, old-fashioned to a fault, Whitney still believed that “ladies” belonged on pedestals and out of the way of men unless they were summoned. But he enjoyed playing the magnanimous grand old uncle when the whim moved him.

  With effort, Shanna threaded her arm around the man’s thick waist. “There’s never been anything humble about you, Senator, and we both know it.”

  He laughed heartily and pulled her closer to him, giving her a squeeze. “Still my favorite lady, even though you broke my heart and married that pretty fella.” He gestured vaguely in Jordan’s direction with his empty glass.