by Carole King
Before Vanessa could reply, the door at the bottom of the lighthouse opened, drenching the space before it in light. Both women looked toward the light and saw at its center the silhouetted form of Robert Moffat. He advanced slowly, peering into the darkness.
“Who is it?” he inquired. “Autumn?”
“Yes, Robert,” she answered. He moved to her and looked up. His mouth gaped. There, above him, luminescent in the starlight, was Vanessa. He said her name and glanced at Autumn quickly, the sea-glass blue of his eyes wide with disbelief, his weathered face a mask of wonder.
“Vanessa,” he repeated. Autumn felt a swelling tightness in her throat as that woman reached down, offering her hand. In a fluid dream dance, Vanessa descended from the wagon. She and Robert stood before each other, facing a destiny of decision. Slowly, together in the cradle of each other’s arms, they made their way up the lighted path through the door. It closed behind them, sealing up and saving forever a perfect dream.
Autumn waited only seconds before climbing back into the wagon and snapping the reins. She would return at dawn, having only imagined the happiness and fulfillment that had blossomed inside the Cape May light that long—and much too brief— night.
There was a well of tenderness between the two women as they traveled the ribbon of dawn-gray road back to Byron Hall. They wordlessly returned wagon and horses to their original locations and, once inside the house, scurried upstairs like girls. Laughing quietly, they entered Vanessa’s room.
“This has been the most joyous night of my life,” said Vanessa as they embraced. “I shall live on it the rest of my life.”
“Oh, you don’t mean that,” Autumn said.
“I am afraid I do,” returned Vanessa seriously.
“You can’t mean it,” Autumn entreated. She smiled as she went about the room lighting the lamps. “I intend to see that this beautiful night is repeated again and again. You don’t think,” she pointed out, “that I made all these plans for you only to abandon you to the sorry imitation of dreams. I am going to make it my purpose in life to see that you and Robert share many more nights together for the rest of your lives.”
Vanessa smiled at Autumn’s enthusiasm, but her face became solemn as she removed her bonnet and cloak. “I am only too aware of what the consequences might be if my son were to discover your intentions.”
“It is time,” returned Autumn, “that your son faced a few realities.”
Vanessa looked up sharply. “Cain must never know about this meeting between Robert and me. You do understand that, don’t you, Autumn?”
“Cain will know about it, and he will accept it.”
Vanessa caught her breath and grasped Autumn’s shoulders. “Autumn, please,” she said urgently, “don’t even imagine that you might tell Cain.”
“Of course, he will be angry—”
“He will not be merely angry,” Vanessa said, shaking her, “he will not be merely resentful. Do you imagine I would have lived all these years wrapped in a cocoon, steeling myself against my feelings, denying my heart, and causing myself and Robert such pain, if I believed my son would be simply angry? Understand this, Autumn, if Cain ever discovers what has happened tonight he will kill Robert Moffat. That’s the reality.”
“Cain will not kill anybody,” Autumn said evenly.
“Think, Autumn, think about what you are saying. Robert will never defend himself against Cain’s wrath. You were not there, Autumn. You don’t know how it was that night.” Vanessa turned away abruptly and paced the room clasping her hands and twisting them feverishly. “Cain was a madman that night. I did not even recognize him as my son. I cannot risk such a thing happening again. The only way I can protect Robert is to abandon him.”
“There is another way.”
“What way?”
“You can marry him,” Autumn said quietly.
“That is impossible.”
“Is it, Vanessa? Tell me why.”
“Cain . . . he would never . . .”
“Cain has no authority in this matter, Vanessa, unless you allow him authority.”
“But he is my son.”
“And as such he owes you a son’s respect. Don’t you understand, Vanessa? Can’t you see it? Cain is a grown man, and yet you have allowed him to dominate this household and to bully you as if he were an unruly child.
“If my mother has taught us nothing else, she has taught us the value of living honestly according to our own authority. It will be difficult for you, Vanessa, but once you and Robert are married, Cain will have no choice but to accept it.”
“You know, don’t you,” Vanessa said cautiously, “that if Cain ever discovers your hand in this, it will be over for you.” Autumn averted her regard.
“I cannot believe that. Cain is my heart mate. He will understand eventually . . . and eventually, he will forgive.”
“Your optimism, Autumn, is born of youth and inexperience. You have no idea yet of the complexities of emotion that exist between men and women. You believe you have found perfection with Cain. You believe, in your innocence, that perfection is even possible. But even the deepest love can be flawed, because we are flawed. We must never trust too deeply in the indulgence of another—even the one we love most in the world.
“What your mother has taught us, Autumn, is that we must be willing to accept the consequences of our behavior, and we must accept them with grace. If I marry Robert, I may lose my son. But you might lose the deepest love you will ever know. Before we do anything, we must be very sure that we are both willing to accept the consequences. Promise me you will consider it carefully.”
“I do promise, Vanessa.” The two women embraced, bidding each other goodnight. They would go to their separate beds, to their separate dreams, to their separate challenges.
The next morning, after only a few hours’ sleep, the two women solemnly agreed that, having considered the matter carefully, they were willing to take whatever risks were necessary to see Robert and Vanessa wed.
“It is time,” Autumn said, studying the contents of her breakfast cup. “Cain and I are living out a masquerade in any event.” She looked up to find Vanessa watching her. “The other day in the stable yard I denied I even knew Robert Moffat. I knew then that I could not go on and possibly marry Cain with a lie between us.”
“And the consequences, Autumn?”
“There are consequences in any event.”
“But none so grave as those that would occur if Cain discovers that you have helped Robert and me.”
“If he discovers that, Vanessa, then he will have discovered my true nature. He must either live with that or leave me. It will be his decision.”
“And you are willing to accept it?”
“Yes.” She looked down at the silver ring she always wore, the one Vanessa had given to her. She looked up, smiling. “This must be your wedding ring,” she told the woman. And they began making plans for the actual wedding. Autumn, because of her greater mobility, would make the arrangements. Everything, they agreed, must be done in secret. Until the day that Vanessa and Robert were legally bound, they could reveal nothing of the plans. Robert’s very life depended on it. Cain might well dispose of his mother’s indigent lover with impunity, but he could not so easily dispose of her husband.
They determined as well that for the next several weeks, the maintaining of harmony in the Byron household must take primacy over every other consideration. They decided, first, that Autumn must make amends to the ladies who had seen her so indisposed on the beach. They decided to invite those ladies to tea. The invitation would serve two purposes. It would cloak Autumn in Vanessa’s protection and offset any untoward gossip about her, and it would satisfy Cain deeply to see the women of his household acting so appropriately “womanly.” Autumn set out immediately to put their plan into action.
Dressed modestly but fashionably, she arranged herself behind her driver in the ornate Byron coach. She adjusted the packages on the seat next to
her with excessive care. These were gifts, wrapped and prettily beribboned. They were Autumn’s way of apologizing to the three ladies. Mrs. Merriam Pierce would receive the chocolate cake as was her due as foremost lady of the town (her husband being the city’s mayor). Mrs. Butler, the wife of the city’s chief planner, was to be presented with the marmalade, and Ivadell Harmon would receive the berry relish as befitted her husband’s more humble status as spiritual leader of the Suffering Pilgrim’s church. In all cases, the gifts were to be offered at the door along with Vanessa’s card inviting each lady to tea. Autumn perspired tiredly between stops, but miraculously, appeared cool and composed once she stepped from her carriage. It was not without some hesitancy that Vanessa Byron’s calling cards were received, and, in fact, not till later in the day—presumably after the three ladies had exchanged views on the matter—that three notes of acceptance were delivered to Byron Hall. Autumn communicated this happy news to Vanessa, and the two were more than ready when the three ladies arrived promptly at four o’clock.
Cain arrived home to find the city’s finest ladies in his parlor sipping tea, eating cakes, and generally agreeing that a hotter summer had never been experienced in Cape May, New Jersey. Autumn smiled comfortably as he entered the parlor.
“You know our guests, Cain dear,” Vanessa murmured.
“I do,” he acknowledged, offering a courtly bow.
“Autumn thought it time I began receiving again.”
“Miss Thackeray’s advice is always most judicious,” agreed Cain. He glanced appreciatively at Autumn’s froth of a summer frock.
“And we were only too happy to accept your mother’s hospitality,” Mrs. Pierce piped.
“It seems like old times, thanks to her dear Autumn,” offered Mrs. Butler.
And from Mrs. Harmon, “You must be so proud of your son, Vanessa, now he has taken up practice.” Vanessa nodded obligingly and expressed the expected gratitude to heaven for such a son. Cain cleared his throat and bowed himself from the room. There was general agreement all around that his engagement to the refined Miss Fraser of New York City was heaven-sent. Heaven-sent!
At supper that evening, Cain assured Autumn that she seemed on the path of a very strong comeback into the city’s good graces. He approved, he told her. Vanessa, enjoying dinner with the couple, agreed. Both ladies were mightily relieved that the crisis that might have surrounded Autumn’s accidental swim had been averted. The talk now in the city might well revolve around that swim, but most assuredly everyone would regard it with a softer, more gentle eye. In fact, after today’s success and the approval of Mrs. Pierce, Mrs. Butler, and Mrs. Harmon, all of Autumn’s misbehavior would be bound to inspire amused forbearance rather than intolerance. Harsh speculation about the Byron household was at an end.
But Autumn knew she could not rely on today’s victory alone. Autumn would make herself the ornament of Cape May. She would do whatever she could to promote a harmony of the spheres both in the household and without. Her breeches had been securely tucked into a chest, her bicycle firmly abandoned in a shed, and her circulating library books returned and none checked out to replace them on her night table. From now on, she would see that the servants did the marketing and the household errands, and when she did venture out—always with the stately Vanessa at her side—she would avail herself of one of the Byron coaches. Autumn would become a monument to respectability and classic feminine obedience, and Cain and she would have no more battles over her freewheeling lifestyle. Autumn unconsciously knitted her pale brows. It all sounded so ridiculous. She looked up hastily to assure herself that Cain was not reading on her face the deceit she intended. He was, instead, smiling contentedly at the happy picture of domesticity the three of them presented sitting around the dining table.
“You will both be interested to know that Win Beame will be visiting in a few days,” he said, as he sipped at his coffee. “I wrote him of our trip to Philadelphia, and he is most confident in your state of health, Mother, but he feels that he ought to be checking on you from time to time.”
“How . . . kind of him,” Vanessa replied, attempting to conceal her vexation.
“Yes,” agreed Autumn hastily, “how . . . kind.” Both women fanned themselves languidly before excusing themselves to take their evening leisure in Vanessa’s parlor. While Cain took his cigar and brandy in the garden, the women passed time arranging dried flower petals and sweet-smelling herbs into little sachets for placement about the house. After a time, Autumn observed, “Cain seemed pleased with our tea party today.”
Vanessa offered a wry smile and mentioned that he might not have been so pleased if Autumn had invited her literary ladies to tea. “I wish nothing more than to dig this family out of the eye of controversy right now,” Autumn said seriously. “It has occurred to me to give up that society.”
“But you enjoy it so, Autumn. You have given up quite enough, smoothing the way for Robert and me.”
“Perhaps I shall retain my membership then, as long it does not annoy Cain or cause any gossip.”
“I don’t know,” commented Vanessa, “how I shall ever repay you for your efforts.”
“You can repay me by living happily ever after.”
“This isn’t a pretty fairy tale, my dear. This is real life, and in real life, scandal does not insure a happy-ever-after sort of ending. Those ladies we tried so hard to impress today will malign a union between Robert and me. It was because of the likes of them that Cain ended the affair in the first place. I’ve never had a use for such self-righteousness as theirs, but my son believes that the esteem of those women and people like them to be my due.”
“Cain’s own prejudice ended your affair with Robert. And it is his prejudice we must overcome. Whatever the opinions of Mrs. Pierce, Mrs. Butler, and Mrs. Harmon, it is Cain’s opinion, his resistance, we must work on. But he loves you dearly and wants the best for you. By the time he discovers your marriage to Robert he will already have come to the conclusion that that marriage is acceptable and that it is right. That is the only way to introduce new ideas—cautiously.”
“Oh, hell’s bells,” laughed Annie Fitzpatrick, “what if she is a jailbird. I still say we ask her to speak.” The meeting of the Tuesday Evening Women’s Literary Club of Cape May was heartily underway.
“It’s just not right,” insisted Lavinia Carlson. “She isn’t even, strictly speaking, a writer.”
“What do you call History of Woman Suffrage, girl?” returned Annie hotly. “Don’t you call that a book? And didn’t Miss Susan Brownell Anthony write it?”
“All I can say,” murmured Lavinia, “is my old man’ll kill me if we invite her—”
“Aha!” put in Annie. “Now we get to the real objection.”
“Don’t be so hard on her, Annie,” Autumn hastily interjected. “I’m a bit concerned myself at how the men will react to her.” Annie leaned forward into the circle of women, her elbows fixed on her knees.
Eyeing her friends keenly, she said, “And don’t you think that’s just what they’re counting on?”
“You mean the men,” Lavinia clarified.
“I mean the men, Vinnie,” Annie said gently. “Let’s face the facts, girls, we’ve got us a problem here, and the only way we’re going to solve our problem is to confront it.” Autumn sat back listening to Annie’s strong argument as her friend, Emma Cavanaugh, passed around a tray of lemonade and cakes. “I know you’re all scared,” Annie was saying. “Hell, I’m as scared as I can be. Those boys out there—the men—are scared, too. Everybody’s afraid of Miss Anthony. But I’ll tell you something else, Miss Anthony’s only human, and I’ll bet she’s scared, too.” She leaned forward, and her tone was both confiding and compelling. “But she goes out there into a hostile world every day and she says what she’s got to say. Men aren’t any tougher than us, they’re not any more sensible or reasonable or rational than us, and they’re not any brighter than us.” She paused. “Men are just as crazy and feeble and ri
diculous as we are sometimes, but they hide it better!” Everyone laughed, though Emma Cavanaugh cast her friend a benign, if scolding, regard. “The truth is,” continued Annie seriously, “we’re all human. Some of us are smarter and some of us less so, but it’s not being a woman or a man that makes the difference, it’s just the nature of the human animal. And that’s all Miss Susan B. Anthony is trying to say. Now I say, if she’s got the courage to go out there everyday and tell women what’s what, we ought to have the courage to listen to her.” She regarded Lavinia Carlson. “What do you think, Vinnie?”
That lady rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right, Annie,” she acquiesced. “But I say we don’t make this entirely public—if you know what I mean.” She glanced about the room knowingly. “I say we don’t tell our husbands.”
“And I say,” Annie interjected, “we not only tell them, we invite them.” There was a round of applause, and Annie, smiling, splayed her hands. “The whole point,” she said patiently, “is that there’ll be no more sneaking around for us. It’s fine that we keep telling each other what the problems are, but we need to start telling everybody else—including the men, Vinnie. What good is a revolution if nobody knows about it?” She offered a large laugh and patted Lavinia’s hand condolingly. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. They can’t fight all of us. One of us at a time they can whip, but all together we’re invincible!”
Chapter 22
Winslow Beame had arrived and found the changes at Byron Hall much to his satisfaction. He had some reservations however, when Autumn and Vanessa made their excuses after dinner saying that they would be visiting at the home of friends. What she and Autumn did not relate, of course, was that in fact Vanessa’s “friend” was Robert Moffat. When they arrived home well after ten o’clock, they found Cain and Winslow awaiting them in the parlor.
Winslow shook an avuncular finger at both of them and said, “You two ladies had us very concerned.” He eyed Vanessa curiously. “I presume that you are not tiring yourself with these forays into the night, my girl.” In fact he had never seen her more aglow with health. That glow, however, might as easily be a flush.