Place of Peace

by Debra Diaz

  “I happen to know this hotel is just a few miles outside Knoxville. I want you to pay a visit to your family. I think you owe it to them, don’t you?”

  “Well,” she said. “Yes, you’re right.”

  He moved closer to her and placed his hands on her arms just above the elbows. Genny felt the blood rush to her face.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  Dumbly, she did as he said. She felt him lift her hair off her neck, then he lifted the edges of her chemise, very gently, and she watched him in the mirror as he examined her shoulders and upper back. There was a slight frown on his face, a look of anger.

  “You’re pretty badly bruised. Does it hurt much?”

  “No, not very,” she managed to reply. “I don’t need anything for it.”

  He ignored that and reached into his pocket, saying, “Undo those buttons. I have some liniment that will help.”

  “Don’t let him touch you,” her mind warned her, but she found herself powerless to deny him when he was acting as a doctor. She winced when he began to smooth on the ointment.

  “Sorry,” he said at once.

  “It’s cold,” she complained. “And it smells.”

  “The smell goes away after a while.”

  His touch was gentle and soothing. He put the jar back in his pocket and rubbed one last bit into the damaged skin. Then, without any cessation of movement, his hands went to her arms again and he turned her around to face him. Genny stood rigid, barely breathing, and made herself look up into his eyes.

  “I think,” he said quietly, “there must be some resolution of this thing between us when you return. And take care that you don’t stay away too long, or I shall have to come and get you…and that might prove embarrassing.”

  Speechless, Genny watched him turn abruptly and leave the room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A deep and yet somehow detached feeling of nostalgia struck Genny when she and Josephine arrived in Knoxville. She missed her home, in a way, but she no longer belonged here…had never, in fact, felt as if she belonged here. Nothing had changed, except that everyone was a year older. The boys were still rowdy, Abigail spoiled, Clarissa silly and vain, her father was as stern as ever, and her mother…

  Her mother had changed, Genny reflected, as they all sat around the dining table served by the decorous Pollard. And it didn’t seem to be a change for the better.

  Gwendolyn’s coloring, which had always been on the sallow side, was now high and flushed. Her bloodshot eyes had deep hollows beneath them. The lace fichu at her throat was crooked and a dark, undefined stain marred its whiteness. Her dress was crumpled. She had made no effort to arrange her hair; it hung lankly down her back, tied at her nape with a frayed piece of ribbon.

  Abigail, who had reached the self-important age of nine, looked across at her sister and asked, “Why didn’t Dr. Carey come with you, Genny? Have you had a lovers’ quarrel?”

  Lionel and Roger snickered.

  “My husband,” Genny said, somewhat pompously to Abigail, “cannot simply leave his practice whenever he wishes to.”

  Abigail asked gravely, “Are you in the family way yet?”

  Genny glared, Clarissa giggled, the boys guffawed, and Josephine, who was unaccustomed to such frankness, turned scarlet.

  “Abigail,” said her father reprovingly, “where are your manners? Remember our guest.”

  The brief silence was broken by Gwendolyn’s voice, high-pitched with alarm. “You’re not, are you, Genny?”

  Genny glanced at her and shook her head. “No, Mother.”

  Gwendolyn seemed to draw a deep breath. “Well, thank goodness for that.”

  “But, Mama,” said Abigail, “don’t you want Genny to ever have babies?”

  Gwendolyn peered closely at her youngest daughter, then at Genny, and said finally, “Why, I didn’t say that. Did I? I didn’t mean anything.” She stared at her plate in confusion.

  After dinner, Philbert retired at once into his study. Genny followed him.

  “Father, may I talk with you for a moment?”

  “Certainly, Virginia. Come in.”

  She closed the door behind her, hesitated, and began, “Father, what’s wrong with Mother?”

  Her father paused, motioned for her to sit down, and took his seat behind the desk. He passed his hand over his whiskers, avoiding her gaze.

  “Your mother,” he said, at last, “drinks alcohol. Excessively. I’ve never seen her completely drunk, but then I haven’t seen her completely sober for some time now. Actually, I don’t know when it began. I noticed it after you had — after your disappearance.”

  She was genuinely horrified. “Then it’s all my fault!”

  “No, no. I believe she was already drinking to some extent then. Don’t feel badly, Virginia. It’s a weakness she will have to overcome.”

  “Can’t anyone help her?”

  Philbert glanced down at his tightly clasped hands. “Gwendolyn will not admit there is anything wrong with her. And until she admits that — ” He shrugged heavily. “There’s nothing anyone can do for her.”

  “Why don’t you hide the liquor? Or stop buying it?”

  Her father smiled sadly. “For someone who always seemed so indecisive, you mother can be most ingenious in obtaining what she wants.”

  When Genny left the room it was almost in a daze of unbelief. Unexpectedly, she encountered her mother on the stairs. Genny paused and impulsively touched her arm. “Mother, I’ve meant to apologize to you. I’m sorry that I sent no word when I left here. It was thoughtless of me. I didn’t realize — ”

  “Why, Genny, that’s all in the past now. It doesn’t matter. But do think twice before having children. And Genny, I hope you haven’t married for love. It will be so much easier if you didn’t.”

  Her mother gave her an absent smile, actually it was more of a grimace, and continued down the stairs.

  * * * *

  Josephine’s description of her uncle’s hotel had been so reticent that Genny felt agreeably surprised when she saw it. A long, whitewashed building of four stories, it was far removed from the city, situated on the face of a gently sloping mountain. It had become a vacation retreat for the wealthy. Josephine’s uncle, Leonard Fairchild, was a stately, white-haired gentleman reminiscent of an earlier era, the old South, where hospitality had been a sacred tradition. He greeted her as though she were a long-lost daughter.

  The luxurious, high-ceilinged foyer had twin stairways running along each side and winding out of sight. A pale gold carpet partially covered the dark wood floor. Settees and chairs, polished brass spittoons and pier tables had been conveniently placed throughout. Wall brackets bearing china vases and figurines, and a massive crystal chandelier, completed the elegant décor.

  “Jo, it’s so beautiful!” Genny exclaimed, looking about with pleasure.

  Josephine laughed and squeezed her arm. “Oh, Genny, we’re going to have such fun. Tomorrow, if you like, we can ride horses out to — ”

  “Miss Josephine, how nice to see you!” said a masculine voice behind them, and they turned to see a group of young men smiling at them. The one who had spoken looked at Genny and said, “Miss Genny, what a very pleasant surprise!”

  “Guy Davis,” Genny laughed. “I might have known you would turn up in a place famous for being frequented by unmarried young ladies.”

  “And you, I’m sorry to say, are no longer one of them. I heard you had married. May I offer you my congratulations? Is your husband with you?”

  “No,” she said, adding, “He’s a doctor”…as if that explained his absence.

  Guy proceeded to introduce his companions. She already knew one or two of them.

  “We’ll be looking forward to seeing something of you ladies. Do you play croquet?”

  “Naturally,” Genny answered, with a smile. The men excused themselves gallantly and went out onto the wide veranda.

  Josephine looked faintly puzzled. “Guy’s from F
ranklin — how do you know him, Genny?”

  “Oh,” she said airily, “he used to visit his grandmother in Knoxville every year. He proposed to me when I was sixteen.”

  Genny’s room on the second floor proved to be as charming as the rest of the hotel. The fireplace had been sealed over for the warmer months with a panel of tin, on which was engraved a scene from some Shakespearean play. The furniture was made of cedar and there were bookshelves packed with books. One of the maids came and put her things neatly away.

  That night she set upon her campaign for revenge. She wasn’t sure exactly how she was going to exact it…nor to what lengths she would go in her pursuit of it. But she was determined that she was going to do something to alleviate the misery Ethan had caused her. The low-cut gown she wore to the dining room created a great deal of masculine interest, as she had intended. Guy Davis was especially attentive. Fortunately she became tired due to the journey before she had time to consume too much champagne, which would have scandalized the sensitive and now bewildered Josephine. The ladies retired early.

  They spent the next few days playing croquet with several young men and women, riding horses in the valley, canoeing down the river and walking about the hotel grounds, where they viewed the stables, springhouse, gardens and various other points of interest. Guy somehow contrived to be her escort through all these activities, and she did not discourage him.

  The time flew gaily by, with always something to do and someone with whom to do it. Genny wasn’t bored. But neither was she happy. When the fits of melancholy threatened to seize her, however, she simply redoubled her efforts to be blithe and cheerful, and to pack as much activity as was possible into a single day. Her twentieth birthday arrived, and was celebrated in the dining room with Josephine, Guy, and several others. A telegram came from Ethan, wishing her a happy birthday and inquiring, at the end, when he might expect her home. She ignored it.

  “Genny,” Josephine said one morning, as she came to Genny’s room and found her donning her stylish blue riding habit, “do you really think you should go out alone with Guy? I’m sure he’s a gentleman, but — ”

  “Well, he asked me to go for a ride, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t go. I can take care of myself, Josie, and I’ll be back before noon.”

  She left the room before Josephine could answer. Guy already had a beautiful sorrel mare saddled and was waiting astride his own mount. The stableman helped her up. Guy’s brown eyes looked very bright, lingering with appreciation on her trim figure.

  “You’re lovely,” he said soberly. “Even lovelier than you were four years ago when — ”

  “Oh, let’s not talk of that, Guy. I was such a silly child, wasn’t I?”

  “Not silly, but you broke a lot of hearts in those days, Genny dear.”

  “And yours?” Genny asked, as they started carefully down the trail. “Who has your heart now, Mr. Davis?

  “Why, whomever I happen to be with at the moment,” he replied glibly, and she laughed as though she thought that was very funny…which she didn’t. They descended into the valley and drew up, still laughing, at a picturesque pond formed by the waterfall cascading down from the rocks above them.

  It reminded Genny of another waterfall, and another day, and another man.

  All at once something frightened her horse, she never knew what, causing it to rear up and dislodge her firmly onto the edge of the pond. Guy instantly began to dismount.

  “Ow!” she cried, sitting up to rub her lower back.

  “Genny!” he cried, scrambling down to kneel beside her. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She was struck with an urge to giggle, but instead looked up full into his eyes.

  “Darling,” he said, and covered her mouth with his.

  This is it, she thought detachedly. This was her chance to get even. Wasn’t this the end to which she’d been working since she arrived?

  But she hadn’t reckoned on feeling so guilty. Or on feeling such a total lack of response. What was the matter with her? Guy’s kisses aroused nothing more than a mild sensation of warmth, due more to the heat of the day than to passion, and his hands —

  They were not her husband’s hands, and they did not belong on her body. Suddenly she was repulsed, by herself as much as by the unfortunate Mr. Davis.

  “No,” she said. “This is wrong. Let me go, Guy. Please!”

  He let her go, sat back, and stared at her. His face was very red.

  She got to her feet, stumbling a little, and tried to repair her appearance. She managed to mount the horse without his assistance and rode away.

  Suppose he hadn’t stopped when she asked, suppose…She forced her mind to remain a blank as she left the horse at the stable, entered the hotel, ascended the back stairs, and opened the door to her room. Josephine was there reading a book, waiting for her.

  “Genny?” Josephine put down the book, staring at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Genny caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her bodice askew, and bits of grass clung to her straggling hair.

  “Did Guy — ”

  “My horse threw me.”

  “Oh, Genny, were you hurt?”

  She shook her head and began to change her clothes. “Just my pride! What shall we do this afternoon?”

  “Genny,” Josephine said hesitantly, “I’ve been thinking. Don’t you think we’ve been here long enough?”

  “Why, it’s only been, well, almost four weeks. If you want to go home, Josephine, please don’t stay on my account.”

  Josephine looked hurt. Genny went over and gave her a hug. “I’m sorry. But I’m not ready to go home. And there’s the ball tomorrow night! I’ve been so looking forward to it.”

  “Well, all right,” said Josephine, and tried to smile. “I’ll stay as long as you do.”

  * * * *

  The ballroom of the hotel had, until tonight, been kept closed against the curious eyes of the guests, but now it was revealed in all its shining splendor. Waterford chandeliers sparkled from the domed ceiling. Hundreds of flickering candles adorned the pale peach walls and flared on the French Victorian tables. A huge mural had been painted on one entire wall, depicting a scene of small houses on a cliff, overlooking what must be the Mediterranean Sea.

  At the far end, French doors opened onto the terrace, also brightly lit with candles and oil lamps. Flowers, gay ribbons, and huge potted plants bedecked every nook and corner. Women in their ball gowns and jewels, fans dangling from wrists and waists, and men in their natty trousers and formal coats already packed the room.

  On a raised platform, half-hidden behind a latticework screen intertwined with ivy, sat the orchestra, which Mr. Fairchild had imported from Europe. The evening was to have a European theme, with nothing but Viennese waltzes and polkas. Genny had excelled in these dances during her year of finishing school in New York, and couldn’t wait to show off her talents.

  Across the hall, in the dining room, a long line of maids and waiters stood behind the tables, all of which bore cakes and candies and sweetmeats, fruit punch and champagne. Mr. Fairchild moved serenely among his guests, smiling greetings, playing the role of perfect Southern host.

  Although Genny had no formal escort for the evening, as Guy Davis had unaccountably departed the previous afternoon, she was not lacking for partners in either conversation or dancing. She wore a deep rose silk gown that set off her creamy skin and blooming cheeks to perfection. Her gold-veined hair had been swept back to tumble in ringlets to her shoulders, and was interwoven with deep red velvet ribbons.

  Everyone seemed to have forgotten she was married, or at least the men had, and admirers were ever near at hand to claim a dance or be favored with her brilliant smile. She danced until she was breathless, walked in gardens with polite young men, drank champagne until she was lightheaded. She didn’t care that some of the older matrons were looking at her and putting their heads together, or that Josephi
ne’s uncle was regarding her with disapproval, or that she would probably wake in the morning with a blinding headache. She was going to have a good time, she was going to forget that she had a faithless husband who had used her, lied to her and betrayed her.

  Indeed, she had little competition, for though there were many attractive young ladies present none had her exquisite beauty or vivaciousness, forced though it might be. She was, as Guy had said (with a lack of originality, Genny thought) like a canary among a flock of sparrows.

  It was past midnight, and she had just made another tour of the gardens when she returned to the dance floor. Her partner was laughing at something she’d said — what had he said his name was? — and Genny smiled and glanced over his shoulder. Her smile promptly froze on her face.

  It couldn’t be him! But it was him. She felt as though she’d just been punched in the stomach. Her glance slid quickly away and she pretended not to have seen him, even as she watched out of the corner of her eye and twirled about with her garrulous companion to the sweeping melody of Tales of the Vienna Woods.

  He stood at the edge of the room, taller than the men around him, engaged in conversation with the dignified Mr. Fairchild. His eyes swept the dance floor, and before she could look away they had found her. Unwillingly she allowed her gaze to meet his, and tried to arrange her face in lines of surprised indifference. Still, something magnetic arced between them, assaulting her senses, attacking her willpower, reducing her stiffened spine to jelly.

  The endless dance finally ended. Almost at once the musicians struck up The Vienna Blood Waltz. Ethan bowed politely to Mr. Fairchild and now strode toward her across the crowded dance floor, careful and unhurried, nodding to those who spoke to him, acknowledging the greeting of someone he knew. He wore a dark broadcloth suit, the cuffs of his white shirt falling gracefully across his lean brown hands. A white cravat accentuated the bronze tone of his face and the sleek darkness of his hair.

  Genny became conscious of a silence in the matron’s corner behind her, and heard the sudden spate of whispering as they speculated as to his identity. He touched her partner lightly on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I would like to dance with my wife.”