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The Quicksilver Pool

Page 13

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;


  Jemmy blocked the door. “You can’t wear my mother’s dress! You’re not my mother. I won’t let you wear it!”

  His grandmother pointed a silencing finger at him. “That will be enough from you, young man. Go to your room at once.”

  Lora could not even rouse herself to come to Jemmy’s defense. She went to her husband and took the green dress from his arm. The moment she touched it Jemmy stormed out of the room and ran clattering up the stairs. They heard the distant slam of his door and Mrs. Tyler shook her head.

  “The boy is becoming incorrigible. You have been spoiling him, Lora.”

  Lora made no answer. She carried the dress into the hall and up the stairs. In her own room her fingers ripped at the hooks she had sewed so lovingly to the garnet-red bodice. She pulled the dress off feverishly, let it fall in a bright heap on the floor. It was only something for the rag bag now. She would never put it on again.

  The green gown pulled at her ringlets as it went over her head, but she hardly noticed. Nothing seemed important or even very real. She moved like a puppet, indifferently. The dress had tiny cap sleeves and a bodice far more immodest than she had ever worn. Her shoulders and bosom were white above the green, unlike the fading tan of her face and hands. Before she went downstairs her fingers sought the garnets at her throat. They felt hard beneath her fingers, and at their touch her will to act returned.

  She would not remove the garnets. They were something of herself and she would wear them tonight.

  In the hallway she considered looking into Jemmy’s room, but in this gown she did not dare. There would be time enough tomorrow to talk to him, try to make him understand that there was no usurping of his mother’s place because she had donned this dress tonight. Besides, tomorrow was Christmas, and there would be the puppy for Jemmy. In the face of that, all else would fade in significance.

  She looked at Wade as she entered the room and saw the quick veiling of his eyes. What had he expected? Had he thought that because she wore this dress she would become Virginia? All desire to weep was gone and two spots of color burned high in her cheeks. Not the bright hue of excitement now. Her blood coursed dark and angry in her veins.

  “It’s not perfect,” Mrs. Tyler said. “You don’t fill it out enough, but the length is right. And at least you will look as Mrs. Wade Tyler should look. But take off those garnets. I have my jewel case here and we can find something more suitable.”

  The old lady opened a case of black leather and selected a strand of pearls from a tray lined with green velvet.

  Lora shook her head, strong in her silent anger. “I will wear my garnets,” she said quietly. “They are mine.”

  She met Mrs. Tyler’s gaze without faltering and it was the old woman’s eyes which dropped first.

  “No matter,” Mrs. Tyler said. “Though pearls would go better with the green. At any rate see if you can find rings that will flit your fingers.”

  Lora’s hands were sturdy and not slim of knuckle like Mrs. Tyler’s, and she found only one ring of sapphires and diamonds that would go over the fourth finger of her right hand. As she slipped it on she glanced again at Wade.

  “Won’t someone recognize this dress?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I think not. It was worn only once or twice. No one but Serena is likely to recall it. Well, now that you are a lady of fashion and are to have your party after all, we must hurry and get ready.” He seemed to rouse himself, make a visible effort at cheeriness.

  She went with him out of the room and he brought her another garment of Virginia’s—an embroidered cape of purple velvet with a heavy, quilted lining and a bit of fur at the collar. She tied a finely crocheted white scarf over her hair and met Wade at the doorway downstairs.

  They went back together to bid his mother good night and then hurried down the path Peter had shoveled to the road. The cutter waited for them, and Wade tucked her warmly beneath the buffalo robe and got in to take the reins himself. He no longer accepted help from Peter because of his crutch as he had done that first night.

  The snow had stopped falling and the night was sparkling clear beneath the stars. Every branch glittered with snow crystals and only the road had been marred by the passing of sleigh runners. The drive was a very short one and during it Lora’s spirits began to rise a little.

  She would rather have been herself, wearing her own gown, but her tears of confusion and disappointment seemed to have washed her free of emotion. As they drove between crowding woods with the world white and glistening in the starlight, a sudden thought came to her of that quiet pool sleeping beneath a covering of ice up there on the hillside, and she shivered. But she shook the vision off swiftly and looked toward the lighted windows of the house ahead.

  She had not seen Serena Lord’s house closely until now. Though she had walked this way often, some shyness had always made her turn back before she could come upon it beyond its hedge and clump of trees. She had not wanted the occupants of the house to think she was spying.

  But now it rose generously expansive beneath the stars. It was not beautiful, perhaps, as Morgan’s house was beautiful, but it was warm, inviting, friendly, with no meanness about it. Tonight brilliance glowed at every window and in the great bay of the drawing room downstairs a Christmas tree stood alight with candles, gay in holiday splendor. An unexpected tingle ran through Lora and her fingers tightened involuntarily on Wade’s arm.

  He patted her hand kindly. “What a child you are. All those stormy tears over a mere party.”

  She managed a smile, but she did not explain what she could not entirely understand herself. There had been more behind her tears than disappointment over a gown and a party. There had been a reaching for some intangible thing which had only escaped her.

  One of Serena’s servants came to take the horse and cutter, and Lora and Wade went up the cleanly swept steps and into the bright hallway. One could sense that fires burned in every grate. Warmth swept to meet them, mingling richly with the scent of pine needles and ladies’ perfume. Here was none of the repelling chill of Tyler hallways.

  Serena herself came to greet them as they hurried in out of the cold. She wore a great hooped gown of golden yellow and her red hair fell in fashion-approved ringlets about her face.

  “Lora Tyler!” she cried in a welcome that was warmly real. “I’d hoped to see you again long before this, but what with having Edgar home … And Wade—how fine you look tonight. You’ll have to keep an eye on him, Lora. There are hearts ready to flutter at sight of him, as they always have.”

  Wade made some easy, laughing answer, then other guests came in behind them and Serena motioned Lora up the stairs to the room at the top where the ladies were laying aside their wraps. Wade stepped back beneath the bannister as Lora went up the stairs, and she glanced down at him. For the first time since she had known him there was a hint of excitement rising in his eyes. Now that he was here, Wade too was responding to the contagion of a party.

  “Hurry,” he said to her. “No other girl will do.”

  She knew it was play-acting. He was only trying to be kind because of her disappointment. So she play-acted too, smiling down at him before she ran up the steps.

  The bedroom at the head of the stairs was alive with feminine chatter and Lora entered hesitantly. A half-dozen girls and women were taking off their wraps, or waiting their turns before the room’s several mirrors. They all seemed to know one another and for a moment no one paid any attention to her.

  Lora tightened with uneasiness as she slipped the velvet cape from her shoulders to reveal her green brocade frock. What if Wade had been wrong? What if these women had known Virginia and remembered the dress? If she saw recognition or pity in their eyes, she would want to run away.

  But she stiffened herself firmly and called her own notions nonsense. There was no reason for anyone to pity her. Boldly she flung aside the cape and laid it with the heap on the bed. A momentary hush fell upon the room, and she was sure without
looking that eyes were upon her. She steeled herself to raise her own and meet their curious gaze.

  One girl smiled and came toward her with outstretched hand. “You’re Wade’s wife, aren’t you? I’m Hester Wylie. It’s wonderful to have you come to our island.”

  There was no resisting Hester’s friendly ways, and in a moment the other women had gathered about to meet her. Lora found herself taking their hands shyly, returning their smiles, no longer fearing their eyes.

  She went downstairs with Hester and heard the sound of a gay polka from the drawing room. Wade stood at the door, watching the dancers, and Lora saw with a pang that he still looked white from his illness. Nevertheless, there was a keyed up, handsome maleness about him which as a nurse she had always been too close to see. He leaned on his crutch, watching the dancers flash by the door, and he seemed for an instant a stranger to her, so that she approached him shyly.

  Hester saw him and ran ahead of her to kiss him frankly on the cheek. “Wade, it’s wonderful to see you! There now—I hope Herbert is watching. The only time he stops taking me for granted is when Wade Tyler is around.”

  Lora was relieved to see Wade rise to this banter and manage a gallant reply. She glanced past him into the long room where candles were multiplied to a myriad number by the reflection from many windows. Breathless couples swept by in the polka and there was laughter and the sliding sound of feet on the waxed floor. The Christmas tree loomed brilliant in the bay window, crowning the bright scene.

  Across the room near one fireplace she saw an arresting couple who were not ruffling themselves in the quick dance. The woman was Morgan Channing and she wore a gown of creamy-white satin trimmed in velvet bands of turquoise blue. Her smoothly combed hair had been caught in a white, besequined snood which tied on top of her head with a narrow white velvet ribbon. Her lips were bright with rouge and there was a burning intensity in her dark eyes. It would seem that all her attention was for the handsome young man with blonde sideburns who stood before her—the man Lora had seen in the carriage that day on the hill. But just for a flickering instant Morgan’s eyes shifted from his face and swept toward the door, then back again. She had seen Wade, of course. But she had not tried to catch his eyes, and she did not move to greet him.

  Edgar Lord found Wade and Lora cushioned seats near a window at the far end of the room, and from that moment on they were not left alone. Wade was as charming and gay as though no dark shadows had ever fallen on his life. Everyone seemed to like him, and Lora began to realize how popular he and Virginia must have been in the happy days before the war. Moreover, he began to expand and grow more confident under this feminine attention and admiration. He had a need for this sort of thing, Lora thought guiltily, that she could not fill.

  She knew his friends were curious about her, though they hid their interest in a well-mannered way. There were some who gushed a little and told Wade that she was “sweet” and “shy.” Listening and watching, smiling, saying little, she felt increasingly ill at ease. She did not think that she was either sweet or shy and she wished Wade would not be so pleased with these labels.

  Pineville, she thought restlessly, was far removed from this glittering party world, but Pineville had more reality. True, the blue of uniforms was in evidence tonight on every hand, but that was the only reminder of the war. What did these pretty, richly gowned women know of dirt and blood and death? Or even of the deprivation of war? War had not yet truly touched them—not in the sense that it had put its harsh stamp upon women of the border towns and women of the South. The gay party Lora had looked forward to with such eagerness seemed suddenly tinsel, and those who danced were paper puppets.

  She had been reaching for a rainbow, she thought, pretending to herself that rainbows were tangible. Now she knew that what she had reached for was only forgetfulness, just as Wade top reached for some anesthetic that would deaden the sense of pain, permit an escape into a carefree, happy world. But there was no such escape for her.

  Across the room Morgan Channing moved into the arms of her tall blond escort and joined the dancers for the first time. Lora followed them with her eyes. Of all the women in this room Morgan alone seemed flesh and blood reality. One could sense the force that drove her, the intentness of purpose that made other women seem limp as paper dolls. What was that purpose? Lora wondered.

  Hester Wylie, seated nearby with her pleasant Herbert, whispered behind a gauzy fan.

  “Morgan’s gown is from Paris, of course. An Empress Eugenie style. Who is the handsome one she is dancing with?”

  A man near Wade answered her. “That’s Murray Norwood. A so called Peace Democrat, like our fine Seymour whose inauguration New Year’s Day as governor of New York will set us well on the road to treason. Somehow I do not like the smell of Copperheads any more than I like the stink of secession.”

  Tinsel fell away for a moment, uncovering the gray look of war beneath the glitter. But after a tiny, shocked silence, the tinsel covering was tugged back into place with quick words and laughter, and the moment might have been forgotten had Wade not, to Lora’s surprise, challenged the speaker.

  “As I understand it,” said Wade courteously, “there is no taint of treason on Seymour. He is against the war—and so has been elected. But he is not against the Union.”

  The man who had spoken said, “Pah!” rudely and would have argued further had not his feminine companion pulled him a little frantically out upon the floor among the dancers.

  “Plainly not a gentleman,” someone said lightly as they whirled away, but Lora saw Wade’s gaze move speculatively toward the man with Morgan Channing.

  Now and then some gentleman bowed before Lora and asked her to dance, but each time she shook her head, smiling, and Wade was pleased. Once or twice she wondered about Adam Hume. Strange that he should not be in evidence at his sister’s party. Perhaps he simply did not care for the folderol of a ball. Lora suspected that no one could make him do what he did not wish to do.

  During the next break in the music Edgar Lord came toward her across the room, broad of shoulder and handsome in a new blue uniform with brass buttons shining. He smiled down at her, bowing.

  “You’ve not been dancing, Mrs. Tyler. But tonight we permit no lovely ladies to sit and watch. May I have the honor?”

  Again she shook her head. “Thank you, but since Wade is unable to dance as yet—”

  “I’ve never known Wade to be so unkind a taskmaster,” Edgar said, and turned his friendly smile on Wade. “You’ll surrender the lady, sir?”

  “To a superior officer, yes,” said Wade, laughing. “Of course you must dance with Edgar, Lora.”

  She rose reluctantly. Now that she recognized tinsel for tinsel, she did not want to be betrayed again into grasping at make-believe. And yet—the music, starting up again, was heady and her rebel body longed to fling itself into the giddy steps of a polka. Edgar danced beautifully and was easy to follow. He took care of their sketchy conversation himself and did not expect too much from her. They whirled breathlessly in among the dancing couples and once they came very close to Mrs. Channing and the handsome Murray Norwood. Morgan saw her and flashed a smile of recognition, her gaze dropping briefly, meaningfully, to Lora’s green gown.

  For a little while Lora had forgotten her dress. Morgan’s frank look made her suddenly self-conscious. Here was one who would remember this gown—Virginia’s sister. No matter which way she turned, Lora could not escape Virginia. Even now there might be whispers going on behind her back because Wade Tyler’s new wife had no party gown of her own, but must wear Virginia’s.

  “I’m making you dizzy,” Edgar said, looking down at her in quick concern.

  She tried to smile. “It has been such a long time since I’ve danced.”

  He whirled her through the door and into the hall. “Wait, I’ll get you a glass of water. You look a little faint.”

  She did not feel faint, but she let him go for the water. It was just that the house seemed
suddenly hot and the lights seemed to swing in dizzy arcs before her eyes. She sipped the cool water slowly when he brought it and wondered how she could escape.

  He was perceptive, this kindly husband of Serena’s. “You needn’t go back right away,” he said. “I won’t tell if you want to run off from the partying for a little while. Wade is in good hands.”

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully, and when he had carried her glass away, she turned toward the stairs. But she did not go up them after all. There might be ladies in the upstairs room rearranging their ringlets and indulging in feminine chatter. She did not want to face their curious gaze, but only to escape for a few moments by herself.

  At the far end of the hall was a pair of French doors, probably opening upon a rear veranda. Nearby upon a hall tree hung a woman’s black wool shawl. Lora acted swiftly. She caught up the shawl and flung it about her shoulders. Then she went to the doors and opened them, let herself through into the quiet and chill of a glass-enclosed veranda. Softly she pulled the doors shut behind her and knew she was alone.

  XII

  The sudden shock of cold cleared her head and stopped the reeling. She breathed the cold cleanly into her lungs, freeing them of warm air, stuffy with the scent of perfume and heated bodies.

  How silly to be so shaken because of a look from Morgan Channing’s observant eyes.

  “I don’t want to be Virginia,” she told the darkness softly, and went across to the far windows, pulling the shawl more snugly over her bare arms and throat. The only light on the veranda streaked across from a window in the drawing room. Beyond that patch of light she could see the dancers.

  She turned away, seeking the view that dropped steeply down the white-blanketed hillside. From here the harbor lights were visible, with black stretches of water between. Out toward the Narrows a ship, all agleam, was coming in on Christmas Eve.

  Behind Lora the veranda doors opened, startling her. She glanced about and saw a man coming toward her in the darkness.

 

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