The Memory of Us: A Novel

by Camille Di Maio

  “Right.”

  “So, there you go. Now, what about jewelry?”

  We raced each other across the house to Mother’s wing, where we had been given permission to raid her vast collection and choose something to borrow.

  The dressing room sat adjacent to her bedroom. If my parents had ever shared a bedroom, I wasn’t aware of it. The décor of Father’s rooms had a tastefully neutral palette, accentuated with massive mahogany furniture pieces and punches of navy blue. In contrast, Mother’s rooms were delicate and feminine. Her dressing area looked like something out of a Hollywood movie, and was probably large enough to serve as a soundstage. Shades of pastels and various textures were used to create more interest. Ivory feather pillows lined a rosy velveteen settee. A creamy plush rug covered most of the floor. Ribbons of crystal dangled from the lamps. Any starlet would have been envious.

  As a child, I was mesmerized by the myriad of prism-like bottles with oils imported from Egypt. They were lined up on her vanity, and in the afternoon the sun would hit them, casting half-moon rainbows on the carpet. When the mood struck her, Mother would draw out the lids one by one and let me inhale their foreign scents. Lotus. Jasmine. Hibiscus.

  We opened her cherry wardrobe and found the jewelry cabinet just where we expected to, but discovered something else we didn’t. Two bags, lined with the most exquisite lace, and trimmed with turquoise satin ribbons. Lying beside them was an envelope that read, “Julianne and Lucille.” We looked at each other in awe, grabbed the bags, and plopped ourselves onto the floor.

  Lucille reminded me to use my manners and read the card first. I released my grip on my bag and listened as she read.

  “‘Girls—I’d like to express my gratitude for all of your help.’”

  “The card is read—let’s open them!” Impatient as I was, I paused at the sight of Lucille sitting with her hands in her lap, one finger tracing the edge of the gift bag. Of course this would be more meaningful for her than it was for me. Lucille had lost her mother when she was just three years old, and any memories of receiving gifts had long since vanished. My own mother might not be a warm batch of scones and honey, but she was here, and nothing if not generous.

  Lucille smiled at the bag, savoring every bit of this surprise, then looked up at me. “Gosh, Jul, your mother didn’t have to do this. I didn’t really do that much. And Saturday night is your night.”

  “Luce,” I said, taking her hand, “you know that we could not have done this without your help. And Saturday night is our night. Mother wants it to be special for both of us.”

  She beamed at me and flashed an eager grin. “Let’s open them!”

  I let her go first. Gently, she pulled the black velvet box from the wrapping and opened it. She gasped, and put her hand to her chest. Inside was a gray pearl necklace with a garnet pendant framed by tiny diamonds. Garnet earrings and a gray pearl bracelet finished off the set. They were going to look stunning on her. Mother must have chosen the set for Lucille because garnet was her birthstone.

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in all my life! I can’t believe that they’re mine! Oh, Jul!” She threw her arms around me—as if I’d had anything to do with it—then wiped away a joyful tear and said, “Open yours!”

  In design, mine was nearly the twin of hers. My pearls were white, and my stone was emerald. Not only the May birthstone, but my signature color. We tried on our dresses with full accessories—hats, gloves, jewelry, and all—and spent an hour twirling in front of the three-paneled mirror. We would have fallen asleep in an exuberant pile, save for the fear of wrinkling our gowns and the need to pin my hair.

  I washed up while Lucille changed out of her clothes, and then we switched.

  With my hair dry, we began to position the wave curlers and hairgrips. I grimaced at the ones that she did—always very tight on my scalp—but I knew from experience that they came out the best. Lucille didn’t have to go through this torture. She was blessed with natural curls, long and dark, but as we are always unsatisfied with what we are given, she planned to iron hers out tomorrow.

  No one spoke at first as our skillful fingers wrapped and twisted. We were exhausted after such a full day.

  Lucille broke the silence. “Jul?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad to have my friend back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’ve been moping about like something out of a Boris Karloff flick. I wasn’t kidding when I called you Grumpy. But I think you’re earning your way back up to happy now.”

  I was sorry that my melancholy had alienated her. Did anyone notice it besides Lucille? She knew me better than most and deserved to know the truth. Reluctantly I let her in on the whole story. She listened with rapt attention, her jaw dropping at all the appropriate times.

  “A priest, Julianne? A priest? Oh, leave it to you—the one man that you finally fancy, you can’t have!” Finding the irony amusing, she stifled a giggle at the whole impossible thing.

  “Oh, let it out, Lucille! You know you want to laugh. But he’s not a priest. Not yet, anyway. He still has six more years at the seminary.” I said it as much to convince myself as her.

  But there was no fooling her. “Jul, you know how King Edward abdicated to run off with that Wallis Simpson?”

  “Of course. Who will ever forget?”

  “What did we think of her?”

  “That she was a lowlife bugger.”

  “Exactly. And why was that?”

  “Well . . .” I hesitated. I didn’t want to admit to what she was suggesting.

  Lucille completed my sentence. “Because she brought scandal to the monarchy.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you don’t see the similarity?”

  “You’re not comparing me to an American divorcée, are you?”

  “Of course not. Not entirely. You’re a far better person than she was.” She patted my hand. “But it’s kind of the same thing. Isn’t Kyle promised to God or something like that, even if he hasn’t taken his vows yet? Isn’t he supposed to belong to the people of the church, just like the king was supposed to belong to us?”

  I was at a loss to disagree with her, but held out one desperate hope. “Well, with all the problems in the world, surely God wouldn’t notice one stray seminarian leaving the fold.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “And this is the theological brilliance of whom? The girl who goes to church, say, twice a year? When there’s a good excuse to buy a new Christmas or Easter dress?”

  “Why do you have to do that?” I sighed.

  “Do what?”

  “Be right!” I tried to act indignant, but could manage only an anemic huff as I threw a pillow at her. “I think we won in the end, though. King George is a doll, even if he does stutter, and it’s quite fun to see the pictures of the princesses all dressed up.”

  “See, Jul? You’ll win, too, if you just do what you should.” She walked over to my four-poster bed, and I helped her pull back the enormous down blankets.

  I admitted defeat. She was spot-on. It was pointless to wrap myself in knots over something so futile. I’d be heading to London soon, anyway. Full speed ahead.

  I switched off the lamp and fluffed my pillow. I laid my slippers next to my bed, straightening them until they were lined up just so. I peeked at Lucille lying next to me, and her eyelids were already drooping. When she spoke it was with the low drawl of someone lingering between consciousness and the dream state, not that it dulled her witty tongue.

  “Why Jul, what is that in your hair? Holy rollers!”

  “Hardy har har. Good night, Lucille.”

  “Jul, do you think we’ll have a mass amount of people at the festival tomorrow?”

  I ignored her.

  “Jul, do you think your father will pope his head in here if we’re too loud?”

  “Oh, that one was terrible.”

  “You’re right. I just couldn’t help myself. Sweet dreams
.”

  “You, too.”

  We were quiet for ten minutes, and I thought she was asleep.

  “Jul?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re not incensed with me, are you?”

  “Good night, Lucille!”

  Smiling as I closed my eyes, I sank into a refreshing calm, the kind that occurs when your mind is finally liberated from something troubling. I had no way of knowing that my afflictions would return stronger than ever by this time tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  The weather was cooperating so far. Some rain clouds idled in the distance, but they didn’t seem as if they would do anything more than threaten us. It was always a gamble to hold a festival outdoors, but if the sunshine prevailed, it was well worth it. The fresh air augmented charitable sentiments, and the grounds of the botanic gardens provided a stunning backdrop.

  We remained home as long as possible before I had to take the curlers out, and Lucille spent the time reviewing last-minute details. She should have been the one inheriting my father’s business.

  When we could stay no longer, we took down my hair, ironed out Lucille’s, and packed our gowns for the evening. The mislaid priorities of the earlier summer months needed to remain squarely behind me, according to Lucille’s decisive counsel. I had to free myself from the preoccupation with Kyle McCarthy. The auction would be the perfect distraction.

  Although Mother retained a chauffeur, Father and I shared an affinity for driving, and he let me have his new Bentley for the day. In its polished black exterior, we took a final look at our reflections. We drove the four miles to the grounds, whizzing by lesser automobiles and horse-drawn carriages whose owners defied progress. I hoped to park away from anything that could scratch the car, but people were already crowding into the limited spaces. I maneuvered it, finally, between a tangle of bicycles and a tree overrun with birds. I gave the birds a menacing stare, warning them against leaving any deposits, then took Lucille’s arm.

  We stopped first at the bake sale, where she priced the items and I sampled them before leaving things in her capable hands and going to check on the other tables.

  The dunking booth was overflowing with water, and I called for a stack of towels to be placed behind it. Reverend Parker was the first to volunteer, and I wanted to make sure that he was well cared for when he got drenched. No doubt the booth would be the busiest when he provoked the crowd from the hinged seat.

  The bread contest table had twelve of the entries in place already, including Alice’s lemon poppy seed. It was iced with a sugary coating, and I knew from one look at the competitors that I would be pinning the ribbon on her yet again.

  Tin cans were stacked in pyramids waiting to be pummeled, and lights were strung between lampposts. The band was rehearsing in a pavilion. All seemed to be in wonderful order. I reclaimed Lucille, and we set out to report to Mother. We found her talking with Mrs. Denton, and nearly knocked her over with our embrace as we thanked her for the jewelry.

  “Now now, there’s no need for that,” she said, her arms stiffening at the contact. “Your help was invaluable.” She slipped out of our hold and shooed us off. “Everything is under control. Go enjoy the festivities. I’ll see you at the auction.”

  We set off to visit a caricature artist but didn’t get far before hearing our names.

  “Julianne! Lucille!”

  Turning, we saw Lotte and Blythe waving us down. I hadn’t seen much of them since leaving upper school, which, in Lotte’s case, was a welcome interlude. Blythe was a jewel, though, and it was one of the world’s great mysteries that they were friends.

  “Everything looks aces, Julianne,” said Lotte between breaths. “Really, you did a first-class job. Of course, I visited a carnival in Manchester once, where they had fire-eaters and unicyclists. And there was that fund-raiser for the university where they actually built an ice rink. In the summer, no less! But don’t you worry. I’m sure you did the best you could.”

  Lucille grabbed my hand and squeezed it, lest I say anything I might regret.

  “Where are you going first? May we join you?” Blythe chimed in, but Lotte charged on with the real reason that she had come over.

  “Now, I have some news that’ll really blow your wig!” She grabbed my arms, and I felt her nails press against my skin.

  “What news?”

  “John Parker proposed to Maude and she accepted!” Her hands flew in the air as she anticipated a response that would confirm her as queen of the tittle-tattle.

  Although this was indeed news, I knew Lotte far too well to take the bait. I simply turned to Lucille, and she shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” I asked Lotte.

  “Of course, I’m sure,” she said. “I just heard it from Maude’s sister herself. We all saw it coming, but it’s so exciting now that it’s finally happened!” Lotte could have powered the strung lights with her enthusiasm. “Of course, how Maude could be content being a minister’s wife, I don’t know, but there are some things that defy all common sense. And it’s not as if he even has a position yet—he’s still a student, for mercy’s sake. Still, one can’t help but be bolstered by love in the air.” She twirled her finger toward the sky.

  Appearing to grudgingly accept the validity of Lotte’s bulletin, Lucille added, “Well, if that’s so, that means that Maude can’t be in the auction now. You can’t be in the auction if you are engaged or married. Couldn’t they have waited until after the festival?”

  “Oh, I asked her sister that very thing. I know how much she had been looking forward to the auction. But, she is ever so much more looking forward to showing off her ring, especially with so many people in one place!”

  Something told me that it was Lotte who was ever so much more excited. Maude was not one to relish attention, a quality as foreign to Lotte as kangaroos and courtesy. In fact, I was sure that Maude was quite relieved to be out of the auction spotlight. Still, I was going to chide John for taking away such a valuable commodity at the last instant and call upon his honor to make up for it with a hefty donation.

  Despite Blythe’s request to join us, Lotte grabbed her companion by the sleeve and rushed off to break the news to her next unsuspecting target.

  Romance flourished for more than John and Maude.

  Boys of all descriptions were traveling in packs, whistling at the girls and making ardent attempts to pair off with some of them. I wasn’t interested, since I was still smarting from the ridiculous infatuation that had swindled me out of my perfect summer. But for Lucille’s sake, and that of the event, I finally acquiesced and let one boy buy a glass pendant for me. His friend won a stuffed puppy for Lucille. Bolstered by these cracks in our resolve, we had offers from others to win bigger prizes, but we declined and stole around to the food booths, where we split an undercooked Welsh cake with blackberry jam.

  At five o’clock we made our way to the check-in at the lodge.

  We were a few minutes late, and about forty girls had already gathered. Only sixteen were in the auction, but everyone liked to participate in the revelry. Some were reminiscing about their past auction years, and the rest, like Lucille, were giddy about their upcoming ones. We were engulfed in a sea of corsets and cosmetics.

  After I’d washed my face, Lucille gently lowered my dress over my head and zipped the back. We powdered our noses, rouged our cheeks, smacked our lips, and darkened our eyelashes with mascara. She refreshed my curls and stepped back, looking at me with one finger over her mouth before smiling in approval.

  The last touch was our jewelry. Earrings and bracelets on first. Lucille clasped my necklace for me, and I did likewise for her.

  We waited our turn for a mirror.

  “Julianne, you look like a starlet, straight from the screen,” Lucille said.

  “You sound like Lotte.”

  “Well, at least I mean it. And it’s true. I pity the rest of the girls. They might as well concede now.”

  I was about to repay the
compliment when Mother entered. I did a little pirouette for her, and she told me that my earrings were crooked. Then she spotted a friend and left with a pat on the cheek.

  Lucille compensated me with a warm squeeze, and we walked out to the makeshift stage. We were again surrounded by fussing and flattery, girls complimenting one another lavishly while each covertly wondering how she measured up. The auction wasn’t really a contest, but there was an undeniable cachet in being the one to raise the most money.

  We drew numbers to settle the order of the auction, after which lists of all the contestants were distributed to the crowd outside so that they could make plans for their bids. Mine was number nine.

  The emcee for the event was Lord Mayor William Denton, whose term was soon to expire. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” His booming voice must have sounded impressive in the halls of city government. Cheers erupted from all sides. “I hope that you have all been enjoying the festival so far.”

  More applause. Behind the stage sixteen girls fidgeted and adjusted their gowns.

  Lord Mayor Denton gave a little speech on the importance of the auction’s two causes tonight, drumming up enthusiasm and priming the crowd to loosen their purse strings.

  “Remember,” he thundered. “This is all in good fun for not one but two worthy causes. Tonight, you are bidding the opportunity to escort one of these lovely girls to the Ladies’ Society Autumn Picnic. Let’s remember that they are volunteering for this to help the cathedral building fund and the children of the Seaman’s Orphanage. Remember as well that you may bid on a young lady for someone else. So, mothers out there, tonight is the night to win the girl that you’ve always had in mind for your sons!”

  That got a chortle from the spectators, though it wasn’t in the least facetious. Four years ago Mrs. Hawthorne won a bid on behalf of her visiting nephew, and he married Grace White a year later.

  “And so, without further ado, let’s bring out our ladies!”

  The crowd applauded—mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, friends, and potential suitors alike. As with all past auctions, this was sure to be talked about for the next few months.