“But you are not sorry that you have displeased me?”
Lora rose from her chair. “I have already said that I’m sorry if I have upset you. But I am beginning to think that it is not possible to please you.”
She waited for no answer but went to the door and into the chill of the hallway. She should not have said that. It had been childish slapping out at her adversary. But now Jemmy was waiting for her eagerly and she put aside the uncomfortable interchange with his grandmother.
“Was she very cross?” Jemmy demanded. “Did she say anything about the tree?”
“Everything’s all right,” Lora assured him. “She didn’t even mention the tree.”
“Then where shall we set it up? Peter says he can’t bring it into the house till someone tells him.”
“We’ll get your father to help,” she said, and held out a hand to him.
They went to the library and knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence before Wade called, “Come in.”
“Wait here a moment,” Lora whispered to Jemmy, and went into the room.
Wade was not at his desk writing, but stretched out on the red sofa before the fire, and he did not look around as she entered. Lora smiled at Jemmy and closed the door softly. For a fleeting moment she wondered how Wade’s mother had prevented him from marrying Morgan. There had been something enigmatic in the old woman’s words. Then he looked up at her and she went quickly to kneel on the hearthrug beside him.
“Your mother says that it was unseemly for me to go in the wagon with Adam Hume and the boys to help Jemmy pick his Christmas tree. I truly did not mean to do anything wrong. I went because—because I wanted to be myself. As I’ve told your mother, I have so often ridden in wagons at home that I saw no harm.”
He sat up to search her face with eyes that were darkly blue like his son’s.
“If it was wrong, why should Mr. Hume invite me?” she persisted.
Wade untied the strings of her bonnet and shook his head when he saw the pinned strip of ribbon. “All put together with pins and paste! Lora dear, Adam’s pattern is hardly one for a young woman like you to follow.”
He laid the bonnet on the sofa beside him and then fell to studying the palm of his left hand where the welts of the old scar showed in white ridges. Lora took his hand quickly and laid it against her cheek.
“You’ve never told me how you got that scar. The wound must have gone right through your hand. What a dreadful hurt!”
He pulled his hand away from her cheek and folded the fingers over the scar almost angrily. “That was a result of following Adam’s lead,” he said.
She knew better than to ask further questions. “Then I won’t ever follow him again,” she promised. “I don’t really like him. He’s an uncouth sort of person. But, Wade, Jemmy and I are waiting to ask you where we may set up the Christmas tree. Jemmy has picked out such a fine one and we’re anxious to put it up.”
He kissed her cheek lightly and she knew she had been forgiven. Wade, at least, would never hold bitterness in his heart as did his mother. Relief roused something of affection for him in her and she leaned against him for a moment before she stood up and pulled him to his feet.
“Do you suppose we could use the parlor? Would it upset your mother too much?”
He went into the hall with her where Jemmy waited anxiously.
“The parlor is of course the right place,” Wade said. “Run tell Peter to bring your tree in, Jemmy. And Ellie might as well lay a fire in there so we can be comfortable.”
Jemmy rushed off, while Wade led the way into the front parlor, threw back the heavy draperies and opened shutters to let in gray daylight.
They were all kept busy for the rest of the day. Lora set out the candles she had purchased that morning. Corn must be popped for the popcorn chains and cranberries threaded to wreathe the pine boughs with garlands of red. Mrs. Lord, who had heard from her boys about Jemmy’s tree, sent over a box of “silver rain,” slender, fragile strips which she had made up every year by a tinsmith.
That evening Lora brought the garnet dress goods down to the parlor and sewed careful seams while Jemmy and his father decorated the tree. For the first time in this house she felt warm and happy, watching them work together. For the moment something of the antagonism seemed to have died away and they were more like father and son than ever before. The only blight on the evening came when Mrs. Tyler sent Ellie to inquire how long Wade meant to leave her alone and helpless in the rear parlor.
Wade tossed a last wreath of cranberries over a branch and wiped his hands on his handkerchief.
“But, Wade,” Lora protested, “we wanted her to come in here with us. She needn’t have stayed alone.”
“It doesn’t matter. The tree is nearly done. Jemmy can finish the rest. I’ll go read to her for a while.”
So Lora and Jemmy were left alone to admire the tree. It was truly beautiful, with silver light dripping from every branch and the white garlands of popcorn, the red ones of cranberries, adding their own festive touch.
“It is the most beautiful Christmas tree in the whole world,” Jemmy said solemnly.
“Wait till we light the candles,” Lora said. And she thought, Wait until we set a small fat puppy under these branches!
He was reluctant to go to bed when the time came, so she walked upstairs with him. She would work on her dress in her own room just across the hall, she told him. But first she would tuck him in.
The ritual was an accepted one now, though she still did no more than tuck in the covers and pat his head where it lay on the quilt. Always at bedtime he seemed to hold himself stiff and still in a small knot of resistance. As if he feared she might bend over and kiss him, and as if there might be some disloyalty to his mother in the acceptance of her kiss. She was sure that was it because he accepted her completely now in every other way. When he came into the house after school he looked for her at once to see what she was doing, and now that vacation had begun he sought her out several times a day to consult her about one thing or another. But still he held her away at bedtime, and she did not urge or hurry him. There was time enough ahead.
She turned out his lamp and went to start a fire against the chill of her room. Then she settled near the yellow-sprigged lamp and her needle moved rhythmically in and out through bright cloth. As she sewed, she thought of Serena’s party and how she would be as beautifully gowned as any lady there, and of how it was fun to have this gay occasion to look forward to.
XI
It was Christmas Eve. Great white flakes had begun falling from a gray sky early that morning, and Lora and Jemmy had already made several excursions into the yard. Lora had not felt so young and free from weight and trouble for a long time. She pelted Jemmy enthusiastically with powdery balls and laughed when his return shots got into her mouth and eyes.
There had been nothing like this back home in Pineville. On the rare occasions when it had snowed, the stuff had melted as it touched the ground and was no more than a phenomenon to marvel at. But this was something you could press between your hands. You could feel the chill as it melted on your cheek, taste its cleanness on your tongue.
Dogwood Lane wore a new dress that transformed familiar contours and turned the stretch of road into a magic aisle, no longer rimmed by brown boughs, but all ashimmer in clean white.
As she dressed for Serena’s party that evening, Lora was glad that the snow carried no reminder of Christmases at home. Tonight—just for tonight—she did not want to remember. Only once during the day had she taken out Martin’s small shell and held it briefly in her hand. Then she had put it resolutely away and shut her heart and mind against memory of mistletoe and holly and the singing of carols. There might be these things too in Staten Island, but with white flakes whispering against the windows, and ridges of white rising along every sill, this was a different world and any resemblance to Christmases of the past could be forgotten.
“Are you ready yet?” whispered Je
mmy urgently at her door.
“Not yet,” Lora cried, laughing because he was as excited as she. “It takes a lady a very long while to dress for a party, you know. But I’ve promised—you shall be the very first to see me when I’m ready.”
At Mrs. Tyler’s instruction she had purchased a larger hoop on her trip to town, and now she dropped her new crinolines over it and reached for the garnet dress where it burned in bright warmth across her bed. A little breathlessly, holding the neck with care to avoid disturbing brown ringlets just released from curlwrappers, she slipped the dress over her head.
It billowed down about her in rich color and she buried her hands for an instant in its folds, reveling in the scent and feel of the stuff. It was hard to hook up the bodice because her fingers were shaky, and she considered running across to Wade’s room to ask for help. But she still felt a little shy with him on such matters and, besides, she did not want him to see her until she was dressed to the last touch. Somehow tonight she wanted to see his eyes light with admiration that would be for her alone, unbeclouded by memories of Virginia. Pure female conceit, as she well knew, and laughed softly at herself because of it.
There was a small mirror over her dresser which she carefully avoided, not wanting to look until she was entirely ready. From a small bag of dark-red velvet she drew a string of garnets set in old gold. These were her only jewels and had belonged to her mother. Doc had given them to her on her sixteenth birthday, and now she clasped them about her throat with a feeling of love and pride. Their hue matched the color of the gown exactly and they glowed warmly against her sun-tinted skin.
She whirled about the room, pretending that a partner’s hand was at her waist—then remembered with a faint twinge of regret that she would not be dancing tonight. But it didn’t matter. Just to appear at Serena’s on Wade’s arm and sense that he was proud of her would be satisfying. With his wife in so beautiful a gown, he could not help but be proud, even though she had no real beauty, as she knew very well. She would smile at his friends and say little—that would be safest. And oh, she would be the very pattern of a lady!
Still holding off the climax of the moment when she would look in the mirror, she pulled up her skirts an inch or so to reveal the thin white lisle stockings that Mrs. Tyler had instructed her to buy. Never had she owned such stockings before. How thin they were beside the cotton or thick wool to which she was accustomed. True, there had been stockings of silk on sale at the same counter, but she had not even looked at them, knowing they must be extravagantly fragile.
Her new slippers were of soft black kid and they laced fashionably about the ankles. Now she turned one sole up for the dozenth time to admire the tiny heel which graced it. She would certainly be a very lady of fashion tonight.
At last had come the moment for the mirror and she knew she’d better hurry before Jemmy clamored at her door again. It was not a very large mirror and though she brought the lamp and set it near, she could not see much of herself at one time. But the round neckline of the dress, the puffed sleeves, her mother’s garnets gleaming about her throat, looked very nice indeed. Her face did not please her, but then, it never had. At least the brown ringlets helped, trembling softly about her cheeks and giving her a less severe look than her usual drawn-back coiffure. Her longer back hair she had pinned into a high knot, held in place with a circlet of dark-red satin roses. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed warm as the garnets about her throat.
She would do, she thought. Oh, she hoped she would do!
She went to open the door and Jemmy, who had been leaning against it, almost tumbled into the room. She whirled about for him, laughing at his surprise, waiting for his approval.
But he was not one to approve with easy carelessness. First he must walk all about her judiciously, looking her up and down. He even leaned over to fluff out the hem of her gown where the material had caught against itself. He took so long that she suddenly began to worry. If Jemmy didn’t like her—
Then he stood back and his smile was one of approbation. “You’re as beautiful as the Christmas tree,” he said.
She swept him into her arms for a hug regardless of possible harm to her dress. He wriggled uncomfortably out of the squeeze and pulled her to the door.
“Let’s go show Papa. Now that I’ve seen you first.”
In full confidence she rustled down the hall and waited while Jemmy tapped upon Wade’s door. He came to open it in his ruffled evening shirt, already looking the elegant gentleman, even in shirt sleeves and with his crutch beneath one armpit.
“I can’t see you out there in the dark,” he said. “Come in here where there’s light.”
There were two lamps burning in his room and the firelight added its own rosy glow. She stepped into the illumined area and waited again. Oh dear, she thought—these men! Now she would be subjected to another slow scrutiny that would keep her in a state of anxiety before approval could be given. How foolish to have hoped that his eyes would light immediately, that he would show astonished admiration. He was, of course, fully accustomed to ladies in ball gowns, while she had never owned so fine a dress before.
He wasted no time on the slow study Jemmy had given her. He took one close look and then swung himself toward the door.
“Suppose we go downstairs and show Mother, Lora. She will know whether it’s right or not.”
Right? A sudden uneasiness touched her. Why shouldn’t it be right?
She picked up the skirts carefully lest they brush against the stairs and went down ahead of Wade. Jemmy came behind, a scowl between his dark, young brows.
As she went into Mrs. Tyler’s sitting room, Lora tried to curve her lips in a smile. A look of gloom would never make her seem a lady dressed for a party.
“Stand there,” said Mrs. Tyler, pointing. “Put your shoulders back—don’t slump. Turn around … no, not so fast. Turn slowly.”
With her heart beating in her throat Lora turned in an agonizingly slow circle beneath Mrs. Tyler’s critical gaze. When she had come full circle the old lady spoke one sharp word.
“Dowdy!” she said.
Lora turned to Wade, her eyes wide with shock, but he shook his head at her unhappily.
“I’m afraid she’s right, Lora. I’m terribly afraid—”
“Of course I’m right,” Mrs. Tyler said. “You can’t take her to Mrs. Lord’s looking like a frump. I knew she should never touch the material herself.”
Lora could feel the flood of crimson sweep upward into her face. She felt utterly humiliated, ashamed. In her ignorance she had thought this dress finer than any she had ever seen. She had added her own little dressmaking touches of velvet and lace, believing that she created beauty.
It was Jemmy who broke the unhappy silence. “I think she looks fine,” he said stoutly. “I think she’ll be the prettiest one at the whole party.”
No one paid him any attention and not even Lora could glance at him in gratitude, for fear her control would vanish and she would burst into childish tears of mortification.
Wade made a slight movement on his crutch and then reached toward the buttons of his shirt. “Well, I’ll get out of these togs. It’s too bad, Lora, but I’m afraid we can’t go to Serena’s party.”
Mrs. Tyler reached for her bell. “I’ll call Peter. He can deliver a note of regret. Mrs. Wade Tyler is ill tonight.”
It would be true, Lora thought. She was ill. Ill with foolish disappointment, ill because she had been shamed in Wade’s eyes. She blinked and turned away, the tears already starting. Before she could escape, Wade saw them.
“Good heavens, Lora,” he said, “did this party mean so much to you?”
Lora rushed blindly toward the door, her full skirts rustling silkenly about her, but Wade was there to stop her with his free arm.
“Wait, Lora. Hold the bell, Mother. I’ve an idea. If this party means so much, there is still something which can be done. Sit down, my dear, and wipe those tears.”
He
handed her a big linen handkerchief and there was no course but to obey. Though all she wanted was to escape to the shelter of her room where no eye could see her misery.
“You’d think the skies had fallen,” Mrs. Tyler said testily when Wade had gone out. “The young have no sense of proportion.”
Lora dried her eyes while Jemmy watched unhappily, wanting to comfort, yet not knowing how.
“I still think you look fine,” he said.
“And I suppose you are an authority on ladies’ fashions?” said his grandmother.
“I only know how nice she looks,” said Jemmy simply.
They could hear Wade’s halting progress down the stairs as he returned, and Jemmy ran to open the door. Lora did not look up as he came into the room. She pressed his handkerchief against her eyes and fought to control her tears.
“Look at this,” Wade said gently. “If you can wear it—”
She looked up then and saw that he was holding over his free arm a magnificent gown of pale-green brocaded taffeta. Even flung in a heap on his arm it breathed perfection in every careful seam, in the draping and heavy scallops of pale lace. Obviously this gown was a masterpiece of its kind.
“That’s my mother’s dress!” cried Jemmy.
Wade ignored him. “It came from Paris, Lora. Why not try it on?”
She looked away from the gown quickly. “I—I never could wear green. It makes me look sallow.”
“At least it will not make you look a frump,” said Mrs. Tyler. “You’re too thin for it, of course, but go put it on and let’s have no more nonsense. You wanted to go to this party, didn’t you?”
Lora knew she could not say that she didn’t want to go now, not if she had to wear Virginia’s dress. She could not say that everything had been spoiled, that she had wanted to go as herself, in a gown that she felt became her and that was her own. Such contradictory notions could not be explained away with words. She rose limply to her feet.
The Quicksilver Pool Page 12