“His first marriage?” I didn’t try to hide my surprise.
“You do know you’re not the first Mrs. Lewis Montrose, don’t you?”
“Well …”
“I kept hoping he’d get together with Agnes. She’s so beautiful, so right for him. But somehow, they just kept missing each other. Just before Lewis divorced Beatrix, Agnes married her first husband.” She began to pace a little.
“After he graduated from law school, he came back home. June fourteenth, nineteen fifty-seven. For as long as I live, I’ll never forget that day. It was so sunny and so clear that morning, as if God was welcoming him back too. I hadn’t seen him since he had been to Kingston two Christmases before, and then I only saw him maybe once. You know how young men are. Why spend time with their mother when they have the whole world before them? So for his grand return, I just wanted him to have the best homecoming. I had those fragrant white orchids brought in from St. Ann, from the garden of a good friend who grew the most beautiful orchids in all of Jamaica. There were red roses adorning the drawing room and upstairs bathrooms. Those came all the way from Montego Bay. The wooden floors were scrubbed, rescrubbed and waxed, not by mop but by hand. It had such a shine to it, it almost looked as if someone had laid oil across it. The furniture was properly dusted and polished. The chandeliers had been washed with lime juice and water. It all smelled so clean. The grass was freshly cut and weeded, the drapes newly laundered. Everything was just perfect.” She was speaking more to herself than to me. Some old time ska music started playing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a very old, very white man attempting a few dance moves. It was something I would have been doubled over in laughter at if Michele was still out there with me. With Mrs. Montrose there, it didn’t seem quite as funny.
“I even sent a car to pick him up from the airport. I had planned on going myself, but Lewis had his mind set against it. And when he has his mind set on something, that’s it. He said he had a surprise he wanted to unveil before the family. But I was not to be outdone. Oh no, not me. I was so excited when he arrived, my boy, so tall and strapping and handsome. But what he brought with him …”
“He introduced the woman to me as the former Beatrix Loughlin, and she had become his wife. She was from New York; of Irish and Scottish decent. From a successful family. Someone I can’t say, had I been informed, I would not have approved of. They’d just been married a month. Why they couldn’t wait, I didn’t understand, at least not at that moment. And I had invited so many people to welcome him home. There they were, sitting around the dining room table ready to yell surprise. I’ll never forget Agnes’ face when he introduced this other woman. Agnes is so delicate and fine boned. All the blood rushed right out of her.”
Mrs. Montrose’s heels clanked as she paced against the wooden verandah. The hem of her long dress trailed behind her. I couldn’t help looking down at it—afraid it would get caught up under her tall, chunky heels and catapult her across the verandah.
“There were a couple of other women, not many though. That Theresa, she was sweet. And Arlene … he might have married her. I think he could have grown to love her, but a piece of his heart had frozen over long before. He’s such a nice boy, but sometimes there’s this mean-spiritedness.” She closed her eyes and sucked in some air.
“Truth is, I’d lost some of that sweet little boy years before, from the day he met that girl. I lost him completely the day she died. Somewhere deep down inside of him, he believes I was as much to blame for her death as anything. Funny how life goes. William was Edward’s favorite, and now look at their relationship. Lewis was mine, and look at ours. Fine family, ours.”
I was having quite a time trying to keep up with Mrs. Montrose’s story. It was enough of a shock finding out that Lewis had been married, only to find out that his wife had died. I wondered if Lewis didn’t talk about her because it still hurt him. I wondered what kind of life they had together.
“How did his wife die?” I asked. Mrs. Montrose seemed startled to hear another person’s voice.
“His wife … Beatrix…. How did she die?”
“Beatrix? She’s remarried and living in the states with her two children.”
“Lewis has children?”
“What? No, dear. Beatrix has children from her current marriage.”
I was now completely confused. If Beatrix hadn’t died, who could Mrs. Montrose have been talking about? But as I listened to words that were just the slightest bit slurred and I looked down at the empty wineglass she held onto, I decided that perhaps her story wasn’t completely based in reality. Her face suddenly contorted.
“Doesn’t really matter now. I was just trying to do what I believed was best for my son. Lewis is a good person, and I believe that one day before it’s all too late, he will allow me to be his mother again.” Without any real segue, she was on to another topic.
“What’s happening to this city?” she asked. “What’s happening to my beautiful Jamaica? Son doesn’t talk to his mother, and neighbor is killing neighbor. What happened to the days when we could walk through Victoria market downtown without being afraid? Even though I had help, I always used to buy my own naseberries and plums and guineppes and guavas. Always. Now, you can’t even safely buy your fruit.” Margarette Montrose placed the long bony fingers of her free hand on my shoulder. “I was a politician’s wife, but I never got used to the politics. Keep him safe, will you? Keep him safe.” With that, Margarette Montrose walked into the house and out of my life.
I spent the rest of the reception treasuring the remaining time Michele and I had together. By ten o’clock, the house had returned to its usual quiet. Most of the extra help had gone until the following morning, but Mr. and Mrs. Moore were fluttering through the ballroom trying to put it in some kind of order. The smell of curry, vinegar and shrimp, the faint lilt of watered down island music and the echo of laughter still ran through my mind.
I walked out into the backyard. I had lost my shoes long before, and stood with my bare feet pressing down into the grass. The white folding chairs, which were still in place, seemed to glow in the moonlight. There were so many thoughts floating through my mind, I couldn’t settle on anyone in particular. I had become Mrs. Lewis Montrose, and there was a good chance that could turn into Mrs. Prime Minister. I pressed my eyelids shut and squeezed so tightly they began to hurt. When I opened them, I half expected to be in my bed in Stepney, finally stirring from this strange yearlong dream. But when I did open them, it wasn’t my old creaky bed or my dull bedroom walls that I saw. It was the dark silhouette of the Blue Mountains. I turned my face toward the stars. The wind played with my hair and lifted the hem of my dress. I felt as light as a hummingbird and thought that if I tried, I would have been able to soar up into the highest mountain peak.
I walked around to the front yard and stood still on the lawn. The jukebox in Tommy Blackshire’s bar played on in my mind as Bob Marley and the Wailers crooned, “long time, me no have no nice time.” I held my arms out, away from my sides, and began spinning around. I spun fast enough and long enough so that the moon appeared like a great flurry of light circling my head. I spun until a slightly nauseous feeling began welling up inside of me. I almost stumbled over my own feet, but once I regained my balance, I took off running across the large field of grass. I ran as far as I could go in one direction before being cornered off by trees, then turned around and ran in the other direction. My breath began to come in heavy spurts, so I stopped running. I wiped at the tiny beads of sweat trickling down along my temples, gathered my shoes and began walking toward the house.
“Every bride should be happy on her wedding day,” a deep voice called out. I stopped walking and squinted into the shadows of the verandah.
“Didn’t mean to alarm you,” came the voice once again. But this time, the speaker stepped out into a stream of light coming from the foyer.
“I didn’t know any other guests were here,” I said.
“It’s ok
ay. I suppose I was a little late for the wedding. Name’s Bumper Smalls,” he added as he extended his left hand for a handshake. His right hand seemed to have been swallowed up in the sleeve of his jacket, and he held it up as if some invisible sling was supporting it. Bumper Smalls was very tall, with big, bright eyes and deep creases in his forehead. He had on a wide brimmed hat that looked as if he had owned it for as long as he’d been alive. His suit was starched and gray, and seemed a size too small for him. I couldn’t really figure out how old he was. At first I thought he was old—maybe because of his slightly hunched shoulders. But the more I looked at him, the more he seemed closer to Lewis’ age. I took his hand and began introducing myself when Lewis walked out onto the verandah.
“Mr. Smalls,” he said sternly. He handed Bumper Smalls an envelope. “Thank you for your company this evening.”
Bumper Smalls did not address Lewis. Instead, he tipped his hat in my direction, walked off the verandah and disappeared into the night without saying another word.
“Did he do something wrong?” I asked.
“No,” Lewis said without emotion. “What was he saying to you?”
“Nothing. He just told me his name. Bumper Smalls. I didn’t even get a chance to introduce myself properly.”
“An introduction isn’t necessary. You have no business with a ghost. Allow him to just ease away.” Lewis continued looking toward the front of the yard as if he expected Bumper Smalls to reappear. But all remained still, and Lewis finally seemed satisfied.
“Was that really a ghost?” I asked. But he didn’t answer.
“Lewis?” I waited a long time before calling his name again. “Lewis.”
He suddenly seemed to come back from whatever far away place his mind had taken him to. His eyes looked moist.
“Bumper is a funny name,” I said. “Who is he?”
“As I said before, a ghost.”
The whole affair was a little unsettling. Lewis had become so quiet, so withdrawn. I heard a loud door slam and looked off toward the house. I figured the noise had come from the Moores, though I couldn’t help wondering if Lewis’ ghost hadn’t somehow returned.
“Are you all right?” I asked him.
“It was a good evening,” he said in place of an answer.
“I know it wasn’t a real wedding, but it didn’t matter to me. I think it was wonderful.”
“Well, it’s been a long day, and there’s a great deal of work to be done tomorrow. If you’d like, if you’re ready, I’d be happy to accompany you upstairs,” he offered.
As we walked back into the house and along the staircase, I realized that this, my wedding night, would be my first night spent at Reach. We arrived near the end of the second floor hallway. Lewis stopped in front of the bedroom I would be occupying. He turned to face me, and we both smiled a little awkwardly. I was wondering if I should hug him. Maybe tell him how much I appreciated everything he had done for me. Maybe shake his hand.
“Well, thank you for a job well done,” Lewis said. He walked over to his bedroom door before I had a chance to say anything.
“Lewis, if I could ask you one t’ing,” I said quickly. He turned back toward me. “It’s just, I thought you said were never married before.”
“No.”
“We talked about marriage that first night you had me to Reach for dinner. You said you were never married.”
“You never asked me whether or not I’d ever been married. You asked me why I wasn’t married to Agnes. I told you all the right factors had never come into play.”
“Then what about Beatrix?”
“What about her? My mother had a bit to drink tonight, didn’t she? What else did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“Souci, don’t you ever listen to a word that woman has to say. Don’t talk to her. She only spits out lies.”
“She doesn’t seem as bad as you make her out to be.”
“My father’s sickness and the virtual isolation of living away from everybody else has mellowed her a bit, but if you look closely enough, you might catch a glimpse of the fangs every now and then.”
“She’s old. One day she’ll die, and you’ll feel terrible.”
“However you perceive my behavior toward her, I assure you it’s warranted.”
“Whatever she did, you can never forget she gave birth to you.”
“Apes give birth, Souci, as do hyenas, vultures and people not fit to be parents. The birthing part is the easiest. It’s the treatment of the offspring that separates bad from good.”
“Well, it was nice of you to invite her.”
“I didn’t invite her. I invited my father. And I didn’t do it to be philanthropic. Image wise, I had no other option. And my father was unwilling to come at first.”
“He doesn’t seem like a man who is quick to change his mind,”
“He’s not, but there are always ways …” he stopped himself and there was a momentary silence.
“Did you ever love her?” I asked.
“As a child. I guess a child never really sees the fault in a parent.”
“I’m not talking about your mother. I know you had to love her once. Why else would she be able to get you so mad now. I was talking about your wife.”
“I did not love my wife.”
“So why you marry her? Were you running for another election?” My question actually got a laugh out of him.
“If only it were that simple. It was just one of those flippant things young men do. It’s not that uncommon really, marrying without love. You were willing to do the same with your Mr. Greene … and that’s also the case with our union. But as far as I’m concerned, that marriage never happened. I’d just as soon not speak of it again.” His eyes were very still. There was a small smile, a simple bow, then my newly wed husband was gone.
That night, as I lay in my large bed, I recalled Michele’s laughter and Margarette Montrose’s pain. I could still taste the wine. I could still feel my head buzzing. The wedding occupied most of my thoughts, but I also couldn’t help thinking about Lewis’ past wife and his present ghost.
-15-
With six weeks to go until the election, I still hadn’t been on a campaign trip with Lewis. That’s not to say I wasn’t doing my part. I spent quite a bit of time with Mrs. Eldermeyer in some of the New Kingston shopping areas handing out flyers and urging people to vote for Lewis Montrose. There seemed to be a different story in the paper everyday about some incident taking place between Labor and National Party members. Three boys had started shooting during a Labor Party rally near the national stadium, and a little girl had been killed. There were stories about not being able to walk through some of the west Kingston districts without risking your life. But up along Old Hope Road, there were no political slogans painted across walls. There were no shootouts happening in the streets. Most people didn’t seem all that concerned with what the papers were reporting. I didn’t need to see what was going on in downtown Kingston, but I did want to get more involved in the campaigning. About five weeks before the election, I got my wish.
I traveled with Lewis to Lucea, Negril, Little London and Savanna-La-Mar, all on the western end of the island. We left Kingston even before the rise of the sun. Aside from Lewis and myself, there was also a driver, James Alvarez, an aide named Carlene and someone named Mr. Samms. Mr. Samms wasn’t an advisor of any kind. He was a huge mountain of a man who began tagging alongside Lewis three weeks before. In that time, I hadn’t heard him say much of anything aside from, “Good morn’g, ma’am” and “Good even’g, ma’am.” He sat next to the driver in the passenger side seat of the van. Lewis and James sat directly behind them. I sat in the next row, while Carlene occupied the back row.
Aside from the crickets harmonizing away, the only other sound we heard as we made it down through the mountains, past Papine and onto Old Hope Road was the steady roll of car wheels against the asphalt. Everyone looked off quietly as we passed Jamaica House. I could just
imagine what they were thinking. The sky began to lighten as we turned onto Constant Spring Road. There were already several people out at one of the bus stops. We were soon on the main highway and headed out of the city and toward Spanish Town. The island slowly began to awaken. The market women on the sides of the roads seemed to multiply as the minutes went by. They all carried their goods the way I had always known market women to carry them—either balanced on their heads or secured between their upper arms and bodies: coconuts, bananas, pineapples and mangoes arranged so as not to the bruise the flesh of the underlying fruit.
I continued looking out the window. My thoughts danced between lazy days in Stepney and what Lewis’ first wife must have been like. My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud thud somewhere near Bog Walk. I looked toward the back of the van, wondering if we had been rear-ended. The van slowed to a stop at the side of the road. Lewis mumbled a few words to the driver, and the van was quickly moving again.
“I’m sorry,” Lewis said as he turned toward Carlene and me. “Everyone is okay?”
“I’m fine,” and “Yes, fine,” were mumbled.
“Good. Good. I apologize for that,” he said. With that, he turned to face front. Mr. Samms, who had been perched to leap over his seat and tackle whoever or whatever had caused the commotion, settled down. Carlene hesitantly moved toward Lewis and handed him a rolled up newspaper. That’s when I realized that the thud wasn’t caused by another car, but by the newspaper striking against the back window of the van. I had no idea why it had been thrown. Lewis and James began speaking in lowered voices, but I was determined to make out what was being said.
“Only about two months to go and do you see what they print?” I heard Lewis say. Although he was whispering, I could still sense the rage in his voice. “Where do they get this information from?”
“I don’t know, Lewis,” James said quietly.
“So they insinuate this about me, about my party, and don’t print a word about Carlysle.”
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