by V. J. Banis
She went up the stairs, moving slowly because she could feel fatigue weighting her limbs down. She’d had almost no sleep this night and she knew she should try to rest. The family would not need her now and this death was their private affair.
Still, the mystery of the doll bothered her. It was not on the table where she thought she had put it. She tried to think back, to envision the scene, but she found that she could not recall it clearly.
Maybe after all she had put the doll someplace else. Certainly no one would have taken it, unless one of the children had seen it and picked it up, in which case it would reappear in due time. And what if it did? She had no idea what significance it had, if any.
Despite her fatigue, she did not yet to go her room. She went downstairs again and out the side door, and stood in the shade of the magnolia tree there, breathing in the still cool morning air. Suddenly, quite without expecting to, she began to cry.
She was still crying softly into her hands when Walter found her and came up to her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“So, someone is crying for Alicia,” he said. “I should have known it would be you.”
She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief he gave her. “I’m not even crying for her, so much as for the fact that no one else is crying for her. No one loved her, no one is truly sorry she is gone.”
“I tried to love her.”
“I know that you did. I know that you tried to be a good husband to her, and I can cry too because she would not let you be. I see the sun above, and this tree here, and out there the swamp, and I tell myself that same sun shone on the earth when she was born. She walked beside those waters when she was a little girl, and happy, and loved. This tree was here the day she came to Darkwater as your bride. They are still here, and she has gone. Oh, Walter, I don’t know, I suppose I am not making much sense....”
“Jennifer,” he said, and stopped, surprised with himself because he had never called her that before.
She heard it too, and was thrilled in her heart, and hated herself for being thrilled, now, on this day of all days, in the wake of this event.
“We had better go in now,” she said and, without waiting for his reply, she left him and returned to the house.
* * * * * * *
The funeral services were held at the house, and people came from miles around. Jennifer reflected ruefully that no doubt the “witch” stories brought some people out of curiosity.
The Baptist choir sang “Rock of Ages” and the minister spoke briefly of the deceased. Staring at the woman in the casket, Jennifer had an eerie sensation once, as if she had seen Alicia’s eyes open and staring at her. She blinked and saw that they were closed, but the feeling persisted, making her skin crawl.
She looked to the right and saw the old clock that stood there. It had not run, Helen had told her when she first came here, in forty years. Now, she would not have been surprised to hear the clock strike. Things felt as if they had slipped out of their natural order. But the clock held its peace.
At last the funeral was over, the casket lowered into the ground in the family cemetery. Jennifer had not spoken to Walter since that morning under the magnolia tree, except in a very businesslike way. She had devoted her attention to the children, although in fact they were not in need of much consolation. They were young and for most of their lives their mother had not been a mother to them but rather a disquieting presence in the house. No doubt the fact of death awed them, and they were appropriately solemn around the family adults, but alone, out of doors, they were as high spirited and fun loving as ever. In that, Liza, who mourned not at all, encouraged them.
After the funeral itself, the house was filled with mourners and the church ladies who had brought food for the crowds. Jennifer had to admit that the air of somber cordiality was a relief after the deep silence that had settled upon the house in the wake of Alicia’s death.
At last it was over. Only a nagging sense of something amiss lingered in Jennifer’s mind. She had forgotten completely the doll that had so frightened Alicia the night of her death. She had not seen it to bring it back to her mind.
Now she did see it again. She had come to Liza’s room to see that she, as well as the other children, was ready for dinner. There was a houseful of company and she did not want them to look ill-kempt simply because Helen was too busy downstairs to look after them.
“I think you could wear a fresh dress,” Jennifer said when she saw that Liza was in one of the dresses she normally wore for play.
“I haven’t anything to wear,” Liza said.
“What nonsense,” Jennifer said, going to the wardrobe. “There are dozens of dresses in here.” She opened a door and saw on the floor the doll that had dropped from Alicia’s hand the night of her death.
“What’s this?” She stooped to pick it up.
“It’s my doll,” Liza snatched it out of her hand. “Give it here. I made it. It’s mine.”
Her voice was rising and, fearful of a scene that would disturb those downstairs, Jennifer let it go. “I think you should put on a fresh dress,” she said again, and left the room, her face burning. She knew that if she went to Walter he would discipline Liza for her rudeness, but she did not want to disturb him now with petty household quarrels.
Still, she wondered, through the dinner and even as the guests were departing—why should Liza be so excited about that doll? Why had Alicia been so excited about it?
Alone for a moment in the kitchen with Bess, she asked her, “What does a rag doll suggest to you?”
“A rag doll? What kind of doll?” Bess asked, screwing up her face suspiciously.
“Just that. Made from a sock, with some hair attached to it and a ribbon at its throat. Alicia had it the night she died, when we found her upstairs, and I found it a bit ago in Liza’s room, and it seemed to be important to both of them, but I can’t imagine why.”
Bess was silent for so long that Jennifer thought she meant not to answer, and when she did, her answer was entirely noncommittal. “It’s probably just some old keepsake,” she said, turning back to her cooking, but Jennifer had the sense that there was something more she hadn’t said.
* * * * * * *
When Jennifer did speak to Walter that night, it was briefly, and she had again forgotten about the rag doll.
She had gone to her room and finding herself too keyed up to sleep, she went back downstairs to the library, in search of a book to read. She was surprised to find Walter there, seated in a big old wing chair.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t expect anyone. I was just looking for a book to read.”
“Please, help yourself.”
She went to the shelves and hurriedly selected a volume, but when she started to leave with it, he stopped her.
“You needn’t run away from me,” he said.
“I thought you would want to be alone.”
“Yes, I should be, I suppose. But I want to talk to you briefly, if I may.”
She turned toward him and waited in silence.
“I suppose you’ve wondered about your future, now that Alicia is gone,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes, I have.”
“I still have the children, and they are more than my mother can manage. It would please us...it would please me...if you stayed on to care for them.”
“I shall be glad to stay, then,” she said. Thinking he had finished, she started once more to leave, but again he stopped her.
“Miss Hale...Jennifer....” He paused, looking suddenly embarrassed. “I know this is neither the time nor the place to speak of...of certain things. Alicia’s death. Her illness before that. These have been very sad for me, sadder perhaps than I show. But the dead must bury the dead, and the living must go on living. In due time, when Alicia has been mourned long enough to satisfy propriety, I would like to talk to you further. About the future. About our future. If you will listen.”
She knew that he had all but propose
d to her, and despite the solemnity of death in the house, her heart skipped a beat.
“I shall be ready to listen whenever you want to talk.” Then, because she could not trust herself longer to honor discretion, she did leave him, practically running all the way back to her room, and flinging herself across her bed, to think of the future.
“Our future,” he had called it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On Christmas Eve, Walter proposed to Jennifer, and she joyfully accepted. It had been more than six months since Alicia’s death. Everyone knew that it had been a relief to Walter, as well as to the rest of the family, when Alicia died, and although the period of mourning had been brief, no one was shocked by the announcement of the engagement.
Indeed, there were many who were surprised that it had taken so long or that the couple, ever more obviously in love with one another, had been able to remain in such close proximity and yet remain so chaste.
It was not so difficult for Jennifer as many of the local women thought. It was true that with each day, as she became more aware of his strength and his goodness, she grew more and more in love with him. But to wait for that happiness was no sacrifice. She knew that she would be with him, and that was worth waiting for. Whatever impatience she might have felt was quickly negated by her dreams of what their happiness would be.
It was like a child’s Christmas, all the more thrilling for having to wait, and in those months when he was respecting his dead wife’s memory, no kiss was shared between them, no clandestine meetings held in darkened rooms, no secret messages shared. All that they did was done openly, before the eyes of his family.
If, when their eyes met, sparks of emotion leapt between them; if, when his hand accidentally touched hers, it lingered ever so slightly; if, when she heard his voice, her heart sang—why, those things were beyond her power to control, and were no harm.
Summer’s brilliance faded gradually into autumn’s softer splendor and with it faded the stark memory of Alicia. Winter came and the weather was cooler, although still much warmer than the winters Jennifer had known further north. It rained, and the wind from the bayous had an underlying crispness that it had lacked in the summer.
Thanksgiving was the first truly festive occasion in the house since Jennifer had arrived there, and although it was muted because Walter remained in mourning, it was still a happy occasion.
“After all,” Helen pointed out, “we have much to thank the Lord for, and it would not do to forget that.”
After Thanksgiving, it was time to think about Christmas. Jennifer made a trip to New Orleans with Helen, Susan and Martin Donally.
“We have a house here, the old Oglethorpe house,” Helen said when they checked into their hotel, “but it’s hardly worth opening it up for a night or two.”
Jennifer was able to shop for things she could not find in Durieville. She bought a French parasol for Helen and a handsomely bound volume of Shakespeare’s comedies for Walter, and of course, toys for Walter’s children.
Liza was more of a problem. At first, in the weeks following Alicia’s death, Liza had seemed genuinely happy, although she tried to subdue her feelings before the family. More than once Jennifer heard her singing gaily to herself, and she threw herself into her lessons with an enthusiasm that was infectious.
Gradually, though, she had begun to withdraw again. She stopped singing and gave up on her schoolwork until Jennifer threatened her with a scolding from Walter. It almost seemed as if Liza’s happiness decreased as Jennifer’s increased, until now they were back to where they had started, or perhaps further than that. There was almost an enmity between them that Jennifer, try as she would, could not dispel.
In the end she decided upon a dress for Liza, a rather grown up dress, Helen thought.
“Liza is probably almost fifteen,” Jennifer reminded her. “And in due time there will be boys coming to see her, if Walter intends to keep her on at Darkwater.”
“It’s been so long since we did much real entertaining at Darkwater,” Helen said a bit wistfully. “Perhaps in the spring, we could have a party—a real party.”
“Perhaps,” Jennifer agreed, and smiled to herself because she already had in mind an occasion for celebration.
At last it was Christmas Eve. The children were sent to bed and Walter carried in the tree he had cut for the holiday. They trimmed it with the ornaments Helen brought from the attic, elegant crystals and brightly painted wooden figures, to which Jennifer added strings of popcorn and cranberries. When they were finished and Walter had affixed a gaily painted angel to the top, it was very festive looking.
“Bess has some punch for us,” Helen said. “I’ll tell her to bring it in and have a glass with us.”
When she had gone, Walter came to where Jennifer stood just before the tree and put an arm about her. The move surprised her, for it was the first overt display of affection between them, but she did not move away or protest.
“Some time ago,” he said, leaning close to speak softly into her ear, “I said that when the time came, I would like to speak to you about our future.”
She nodded mutely, unable to trust her voice. She wondered if he could hear the pounding of her heart or feel the trembling she could not control.
“The time has come,” he said. “I want you to marry me, if you will. And this is the present I have for you.”
He handed her a small box. It was unwrapped and it took no great insight to guess what it held. Slowly, she lifted the lid and there, nestled on a bed of midnight blue velvet, was the loveliest ring she had ever seen, a modest diamond surrounded by dainty chips of what looked like emeralds.
“It...it’s lovely,” she murmured, staring at the ring in awe.
“Will you wear it? Will you be my wife?”
She turned in his arms, to smile up and him, and said, with tears glimmering in her eyes, “Oh, yes, my darling, yes.”
He kissed her then for the first time and she knew that never in her life had she known what true happiness or joy was. Those had only been words, words she had foolishly attached to this mood or that feeling, but she had been wrong, because now happiness and joy were hers and she knew them for what they really were. She was drowning, drowning in his kiss, sinking into his arms, and a fire from within, that she had never known existed there, blazed to life, seeming to consume and purify her.
From somewhere far distant she heard a surprised Helen say, “Oh,” but she no longer cared who saw them or what they might think.
At last, too soon, the kiss ended and she floated breathlessly back to earth and became aware of Helen and Bess, and behind them Susan and Martin.
“It’s all right,” Walter said, beaming. “We are going to be married.”
With that pandemonium broke loose and so great was the excitement that Christmas was almost forgotten. At last Susan said, “Well, it looks as if this will be the first really merry Christmas in several years.” She did not say what they were all thinking—since Alicia had come to Darkwater as Walter’s bride.
“Christmas, good heavens, I had all but forgotten,” Jennifer exclaimed.
They all laughed and Bess passed around the punch. They drank toasts and wished one another merry Christmas.
“Merry Christmas, darling,” Walter said, kissing her once again, but more discreetly this time.
“Merry Christmas, my beloved,” she whispered in reply.
“When will the happy event be?” Martin wanted to know.
“As soon as possible,” Walter replied. There was more laughter and some teasing at his impatience.
“I have been patient long enough,” he said.
But Jennifer took a more sober view of things. “It will take time to make preparations. Normally the father of the bride assumes the responsibility.”
“This wedding shall be my responsibility,” Helen said. “My present to both of you. And it shall be the grandest this county has ever seen.”
“That alone will take time,” J
ennifer said again. “And there is the question of Walter’s mourning. So it will be next summer, at least.”
“Too long,” Walter said. “If my family and I think I have mourned long enough....”
Jennifer shook her head firmly. “I’ll have no wagging tongues at my wedding, and no bad luck. In June you will have mourned for a year. We can be wed in July.”
Walter gave in to her on this point, but said, “Then I insist upon the earliest date in July. The first, or the second.”
“The second then,” Jennifer agreed. “July the second, 1881. What a lucky day that will be for me.”
Midnight came and went, too soon it seemed to Jennifer, on this most wonderful of all nights. The evening drew to a close. Susan and Martin left to return to their cottage and Bess began clearing up. Helen lingered for a moment, checking to be sure that all the presents for the children were under the tree. Then she too bade Jennifer and Walter good night and wished them a final Merry Christmas.
“Merry Christmas,” they replied in unison.
At last they were alone. Walter again took her into his arms. “I wish it were now,” he whispered, kissing her once more.
“The time will pass.”
“Not quickly enough.” But he kissed her good night at her bedroom door as chastely as a boy bringing his sweetheart home from their first date.
Jennifer lay awake for a long time. She knew that the children would be up early and that she ought to get some sleep. Tomorrow was Christmas day, after all.
She, however, had already received the dearest present she could ever dream of.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Although Jennifer awoke at her usual early time, it was to find that the children had long since awakened and gone down to discover their presents under the tree. She dressed quickly and went to join them, taking special delight in observing their pleasure and happiness.
Each of the children thanked her for their presents and it seemed to her that even Liza had begun to melt a little.
“Thank you, Miss Jennifer, for the dress,” she said, holding it up before her. “It’s beautiful. And it’s so grown up.”