by Adrianne Lee
Spotting her, Vanessa froze, then laughed. “Thank goodness it’s you. I didn’t know if I was supposed to be in here, but I couldn’t stand not exploring.” The look on her face was that of a naughty child caught on some forbidden adventure. But her artless smile spoke volumes. If she had been included in the family’s suspicions about April’s “suicide attempt” she wouldn’t be this affable.
Relieved, April joined her at the windows. Below was Haro Strait, churning, white capped. Above, as if in some endless relay race, clouds plunged across the sky in rapid succession. A brewing storm. Weather and nature held their attention, and for a long moment neither woman spoke.
Vanessa broke the silence. “This view takes my breath. I wish we could have our party here.” She sighed. “But I don’t suppose there’d be any place else to put all this furniture.”
“Furniture?”
She pointed to the far end of the room. “Over there…under Lily’s portrait.”
April whirled in that direction. The first thing that snagged her gaze was a life-sized portrait of her mother, depicting her role as Mary Queen of Scots. The actress’ favorite part. It dominated the wall much as Lily had dominated everything in her restricted kingdom.
“Imagine the parties they had here…”
April had no problem there. Just gazing at her mother’s picture dredged up the memories. But these were not the things she wanted to remember. Stifling the sudden shaft of pain, she forced her gaze to the sheet-draped objects beneath the picture. They took up a fair portion of hardwood floor. Before she could move, Vanessa had crossed the room and started tossing the covers aside with an eager expression on her face.
“Isn’t this stuff great?”
Unaware she’d moved, April found herself standing next to all the antique oak tables and overstuffed sofas and chairs of her childhood days.
“It would look so good in this house,” Vanessa gushed. “Why do you suppose Cynthia has it stored up here?” Almost as soon as the question left her mouth, a look of dawning entered her green eyes. “Oh, I’ll bet it was Lily’s, wasn’t it?”
Absently fingering a white chintz sofa arm, April nodded. “I assumed this had all been sold when they redecorated.” Why hadn’t it?
“Ha!” Vanessa grimaced. “Whoever Cynthia hired to redecorate should be stripped of their license.” She plonked onto a sofa and curled her legs beneath her, appearing thoroughly at home. “Even if I had been wife number two, I would’ve kept this. It suits the house better and it’s still like new.”
April agreed that the furniture was too good to be stored away. And even Vanessa seemed to take for granted her future mother-in-law’s reason for redecorating had been jealousy of Lily. But it couldn’t have been easy to step into Lily Cordell’s shoes. After twelve years, her presence lingered in Calendar House like a guest who refused to accept all hints to leave.
“I’m surprised you didn’t want to be an actress, too.” Vanessa’s statement seemed to come from nowhere. “Not that the work you do isn’t wonderful.”
The sudden switch of topic bewildered April. She couldn’t imagine anything wonderful about serving food in a college cafeteria. “The work…?”
“Yes, missionary stuff. Although I have to confess, you look nothing like my idea of a woman missionary. I mean, where’s the long straight hair, the makeup free face, the chaste clothing?”
April felt her cheeks flame. Lying to Spence had been necessary. This lie was both senseless and easily exposed. Not to mention, it made her blood boil. Couldn’t the family see what an injustice they were doing to both Vanessa and her? It would be so simple to set the record straight. April was sorely tempted. But if Vanessa called off the wedding because Thane had lied to her, she knew she would feel responsible.
Resigned to furthering the lie, she plopped to the sofa on the opposite end as Vanessa. Dust spiraled upward. “Missionaries, like everyone else, come in all kinds of packages. I’ve seen the type you’re referring to, but I’m not one of them.” That was as close to the truth as she dare get.
Vanessa caught a strand of her pale hair between her fingers and twisted it absently. “May I ask you something about Spence?”
This was a subject April did not want to think about, much less discuss. But refusing might draw unwelcome speculation. “Okay.”
“I’ve tried to fix him up with a couple of my girlfriends, and every time has been disastrous.”
Secretly the knowledge pleased April, but she struggled not to show it.
“He’s such a catch; I couldn’t figure out the problem.” Vanessa grinned slyly. “But I think I have now.”
April’s heart grabbed and flexed. Her cheeks heated uncomfortably. “And what is that?”
“It’s you.”
Dust danced about the room as wildly as her pulse. “Me?” She shook her head adamantly.
Vanessa nodded hers. “Do you know he watches you when you aren’t looking, and that his eyes light up whenever you’re near? Has he always had a thing for you, or is this something new?”
Or was it my mother Spencer had the “thing” for? The old sorrow came over April. “Until two weeks ago, I hadn’t even seen Spencer for twelve years.”
“That’s no answer.” Vanessa’s angels hair came dangerously close to catching in her open mouth. “Deny it all you want, but I can see he makes you light up, too.”
The joyous thought of Spencer loving her all these years was more than her heart could hold. But it wasn’t true. And hoping so was surefire agony. “I think the stars in your eyes are feeding you imagination.”
“Noooo.”
Uncomfortable, and out of answers, April lurched from the sofa and crossed to the windowed wall. Clouds were now jammed together as tight as her confused emotions. Vanessa was too observant for her liking. But maybe that was good.
She turned from the window and peered at the woman still nestled on the couch. Had she noticed someone watching her in some odd or evil way? She needed to ask without explaining her motives. Step carefully, she warned herself, opting for a general approach. “Well, what do you think about this family you’re taking on?”
Vanessa pushed her head against the sofa and shifted her feet to the floor. “Your father is great.” Her tone held a note of caution. She studied her entwined fingers a moment, then glanced up. “I’m not sure what to make of Cynthia. I haven’t said anything to Thane, but I’ve noticed she’s not particularly kind to you. I mean she’s been extremely nice to me, almost too nice. Know what I mean?”
April nodded. Good, Vanessa hadn’t missed the sugarcoated innuendos. As quickly as it had budded, her satisfaction wilted. Would a tormentor be so obvious?
“Normally, I never trust someone who gushes over me like she does. But gripes, she is Thane’s mother. What can I do?”
As April started to reply, a voice overrode hers.
“Goodness, what are y’all doin’ in here?”
Chapter Seven
Cynthia’s gaze flicked from the portrait to the furniture and across both women. “Did y’all hear me?” What are you two doin’ in here?”
April opened her mouth to answer. Lightning flashed near the windows at her back, extinguishing her reply, and illuminating the ballroom with psychedelic clarity.
As if in slow motion, Vanessa heaved to her feet and faced the woman whose integrity she had been questioning.
The light faded. Cold embraced April. How long had Cynthia been there? How much had she overheard? Vanessa’s scarlet cheeks said she thought Thane’s mother had gotten an earful.
“I’m afraid it’s my fault.” Vanessa flinched as thunder claps resounded, but diplomacy was second nature to her. Her voice was level, smooth. “I wanted to see this section of the house. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Of course not, sugah.” Cynthia twiddled with her gold cross. “I saw the doors ajar and heard voices. Naturally, I was curious.”
Raindrops plinked against the windows.
“Va
nessa and I were getting to know each other better,” April offered.
Cynthia paled. “T-That’s nice.”
She’s worried I’ll tell Vanessa about my illness, April realized. Or that I already have. Obviously Cynthia hadn’t eavesdropped on Vanessa and her for long. The knowledge was small comfort.
Cynthia appeared to recover her composure fast enough, but her smile looked forced. Indeed, it eluded her eyes. “I wonder if y’all would fetch a few items from the attic. Things for the party.”
“We’d be glad to.” At this point April would have gladly done anything to escape this tension-filled chamber.
Cynthia withdrew a slip of paper from her pocket and extended it to Vanessa. “Here’s the list Helga made out. Just bring everything to the kitchen. I’m sure most of it will need washin’.”
As April and Vanessa strode toward the attic, Vanessa whispered, “I nearly died. My heart is still thumping too hard. Do you suppose Thane’s mother heard those awful things I was saying about her?”
“Naw.” April didn’t believe a word of her assurance to Vanessa, but she knew the woman needed to hear it. Cynthia had overheard. How much, was the question. “I don’t think she would’ve called you 'sugah’ if she had.”
* * * *
Wind soughed across the attic rooftop, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Then a shattering trumpet of raindrops landed like pellets against the weathered shakes, as though Mother Nature were orchestrating a bizarre symphony with Calendar House as the drum section.
April flinched at the unnerving instrumentation.
Vanessa seemed to suffer none of her qualms. “Ooh, how spooky—like a ghostly warning to stay out of here.”
To kill the unsavory notion, April hit the light switch. Dust motes came alive in the dull yellow haze offered by the shade-less bulb suspended from the ceiling. The air smelled as old as some of the pieces of furniture hung from the rafters.
“No ghosts,” April said. “Only the usual cobwebs, clutter and dead bugs.”
Vanessa skirted by her into the crowded attic. Her green eyes were as round as grapes. “Calendar House has so many secrets. If only these walls could talk….”
The wind and rain replayed their jarring caterwaul. April looked around uneasily. “That would certainly make things simpler….”
“Simpler? What an odd thing to say?” Vanessa snatched a nineteenth century woman’s hat from a nail and plopped the ponderous contraption onto her head. She turned to April with a mystified expression. “What things?”
Just ghosts of my own to lay to rest, April thought, tempted for the second time this day to tell Vanessa about her illness. But her reasons for not doing so hadn’t changed. She pointed to the hat. “Oh, you know, things like—which of my notorious ancestors owned that wonderful hat?”
Vanessa grinned. “It is grand, isn’t it? Perhaps she was a slave, smuggled in through one of the tunnels.”
And I thought I had a big imagination.” April laughed.
But Vanessa was deadly serious. “Have you ever been in the caverns?”
“No. They were strictly off limits to us kids.”
Putting the hat back on the nail, Vanessa sighed. “Well, you’re not a kid any more. I’m going to make Thane show them to me while I’m here.”
“I’m not sure they’re even accessible. You heard my father say no one’s been in them for years.”
“Where there’s a will….” She spun away from April, obviously expecting and not wanting any argument, and continued to prowl the attic. Almost immediately, she squatted beside a brass bed-frame, examining a cardboard case. “Voila! The punch bowl. Now there’s supposed to be a box of extra cups somewhere.”
By the time the two women had unearthed and carted to the kitchen various candlesticks, baskets, and boxes, the rain had slowed to a steady thrum.
Looking around the attic, April said, “That’s everything but the extra punch bowl cups. You search this end; I’ll check the corner by the windows.”
She headed toward a chest-high wall of cardboard cartons, shuffled through the first stack and moved to the next. Lifting the top box, she stopped cold. Behind it was an old steamer trunk. Goose bumps sprang across her flesh.
“Aha!” Vanessa shouted from the other end of the attic. A second later, she stood next to April with an oblong box cradled in her arms. Cobwebs stuck to her pale hair and her forest green sweater, and dust to her slacks. “The extra punch bowl cups.”
April paid her no mind. Her attention was riveted to the trunk. Would something inside it trigger her memory? The prospect had her shoving aside crates. Excitement clogged her throat and her voice came out strangled. “Help me get these boxes out of the way.”
“Sure.” Vanessa set the cups near the door, then hurried back. “What did you find?”
“Something I’d forgotten all about.” Anticipation drew a cold film across her skin.
With dispatch, they had the trunk in the center of the room. Using her sweatshirt sleeve, April wiped a layer of dust from the lid.
“Ooh, it’s beautiful.” Vanessa ran her fingers lightly across the brass hinges and the wooden staves, stopping on the raised initials. “L.W.C.. It was your mother’s?”
“Yes.” Her voice quavered.
“Do you know what’s in it?”
Possibly, her past and her future. “No….”
“Is it locked?”
April shook her head. Even now as she reached for the leather straps, unbuckled them, she could hear Lily complaining about the lost key. With trembling fingers, she unclasped the latch and lifted the lid.
A stale scent of lilies-of-the-valley wafted from the trunk and dropped April to her knees. It was the fragrance Lily doused herself in, made meek by the years of encapsulation in the steamer trunk, yet still powerful enough to assail her daughter with myriad memories.
A sudden panic hit her. All at once, the attic seemed suffocating, the trunk lid too heavy to lift. For the second time since she’d left Phoenix, she wanted to run and hide, let the past stay buried, but her lethargic limbs ignored every command to action she gave.
Vanessa knelt and shoved the lid back until it rested on its hinges.
Startled, April blinked at the other woman, suddenly too aware of her surroundings, and the fact she wasn’t alone. In her zeal to see inside the trunk, she’d pretended it didn’t matter who shared the experience. But it did.
The eagerness on Vanessa’s pretty face struck her as distasteful. This was just another adventure to Thane’s fiancée, but it could mean April’s whole future. And it was private. Not for the scrutiny of some avid fan of the movie star her mother had been.
Then why didn’t she ask her to leave? The answer was simple. Fear. The intense panic she’d experienced only minutes before had stripped her confidence for taking a solo stroll down memory lane.
Besides, the thrill of discovery rife in Vanessa’s eyes said wild horses couldn’t drag her away. “Wow! Look at these.”
Shoving her hair from her eyes, April let her gaze loose on the contents of the trunk. A mélange of vibrantly colored papers stared up at them—posters of Lily’s movies. At one time, these had covered the walls of the master bedroom; constant reassurance to her mother that the life of glamour and fame and adoration she so coveted had actually been hers, not some fantasy imagined by her sick mind.
April stared at the face so similar to her own. “It’s like seeing myself in another era, in strange clothes and peculiar hair styles.”
She hadn’t meant to say this out loud, but Vanessa was nodding in agreement as she lifted a couple of the posters and held each toward April, comparing the two faces.
“You are very like her—same golden hair; same shaped face, same aqua eyes.”
“I’ve been told that all my life.”
“I can imagine, but—and I hope you won’t take offense—there’s a definite difference, something in her eyes that’s lacking in yours. You can almost hear her saying, ‘To
hell with the world and all its conventions. I’m Lily Cordell and I make my own rules.’ See? It’s in all the pictures. You can see it on the screen, too. That’s the quality that set her apart from other great actresses.”
What a pity that insouciance hadn’t been an act, April mused. She smiled at Vanessa. “I’m not offended. My aspirations don’t run to captivating audiences or gaining worldwide acclaim.”
“Really? I can’t say the same. Bad press isn’t any fun, but there are a lot of perks that go with fame, too. I love attending parties important people attend. Having an uncle for Governor has been great! That’s what I want for Thane and me. Don’t be surprised if you’re invited to visit us in the governor’s mansion some day.” She settled back on her heels and snatched up a couple more posters.
What would it be like, April wondered, feeling a twinge of envy, to actually be able to plan a future?
“Do you suppose the whole trunk is filled with movie mementos?” Vanessa asked.
This possibility cast a pall over April’s expectant mood. It was doubtful Lily’s treasured memorabilia would give her what she was after. Stifling the urge to shove the other woman aside and start plowing through the trunk, she schooled her control to move slowly. “We won’t know until we look.”
One by one, they transferred the playbills to the floor while Vanessa exclaimed over the movies she had seen and over some she hadn’t. Beneath the posters, they discovered bundles of paper trussed together with white ribbons. “Fan letters,” April exclaimed, upon closer inspection.
“There must be hundreds of them.”
“At one time there were thousands.” And Lily had known them all by heart. A vision of her mother seated at her dressing table, reading and rereading these accolades, flashed into April’s brain, dragging with it the resentment she’d felt for the faceless people who seemed to be the only recipients of her mother’s affection.
With a swish and a rustle, the bundles landed quickly atop the posters.
Bent at the waist, Vanessa dug into the trunk and came up with a fistful of tissue paper. Excitement hovered about her like a visible aura as she propped the package on her lap, and carefully uncovered a comb and hairbrush. “Look at these! My God, are they real silver?”