by Karen Kelly
“I remember that day like it was yesterday,” Helen remarked. “It was hot, and hardly a breeze!”
“Was that when Kit dumped the water bucket over Wyatt’s head?” India’s smile was smug.
“I was doing him a favor.”
“Except it also soaked Mrs. Collier. That was nice work.” Even years after the fact, she wouldn’t let the opportunity pass.
“But Frances just laughed, if you’ll remember,” Helen said, gazing fondly at the copy that Kit was holding. “Even when she wasn’t well, she was swell.” She looked across the room. “Thank you, Charles—such a perfect gift. I think I speak for everyone when I say these will be cherished.”
There were thanks all around, and then Helen stood and applauded lightly. “Well done by all. Another year of friendship and giving. Now, if we’re finished here, I believe Elvie would like us to be seated before the goose starts to shiver.”
“Wait—I have something.”
All eyes turned to Wyatt, who was sitting on the edge of his chair, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“I have something else to give. I thought … I thought I might just as well do it now.…” He looked nervously at Susannah, who had intentionally chosen a seat next to India on a small settee. “I mean … I wanted to do it before … earlier, but there wasn’t the chance. So, well, I have something for you.” He stood and pulled a small package from his pocket.
Susannah was poleaxed. “Oh. Oh. I’m … I’m afraid I don’t have something else for you. I mean, it has always been a family thing … I didn’t think we were doing more.…”
“No, of course not. I didn’t expect anything.…” Flustered, he thrust the package at her. “I just … It’s just something I saw and I thought you might like it.” Wyatt’s aversion to the limelight had produced a telltale sheen on his forehead. “Go ahead—open it.”
Susannah took the gift and held it on her lap, staring down. Finally she picked at the wrapping paper, removing it so reluctantly, there might have been a snake inside. Everyone in the room was silent as she opened the box, but when she simply sat there looking at it, Kit spoke up.
“Well, come on! Let’s see what you’ve got. What is it, Wyatt—should we throw a pillow down?”
There was a collusive chuckle from Hollins, who grabbed a small, fringed pillow from the nearest chair and tossed it at Wyatt’s feet. “Something to kneel on, son?”
“No! I mean … it’s not like that.” Wyatt was now as red as a rash. “It’s just a present. Just something to have. You know, for when I’m gone. So you … don’t forget me … or anything.” His voice drained thinly into the air.
Because Susannah continued to stare frozenly at the small box, she didn’t see the look that passed between Helen and Charles, or the way Chap bowed over, dropping his forehead to his palms, elbows on his knees.
“Put it on, Sass! Show everyone what a pretty bauble he bought you!” India had a clear view of the delicate opal ring nestled in a velvet liner. When Susannah didn’t move, she reached over and picked it up, holding it out for all to see. “Isn’t it beautiful? I adore an opal—they say it holds the moon inside. Here, try it on.” She picked up Susannah’s left hand and slid the ring onto her finger, then glanced teasingly at Wyatt. “Sorry if I’m doing your job, Wy. But somebody has to.” She gave him a wink, and then lifted her sister’s arm by the wrist, displaying the gift for all. “A perfect fit, and see how nice it looks on your hand.”
Suddenly Helen moved across the room, taking Susannah’s extended hand in her own. “It is lovely, indeed, and I think we should all give Susannah a chance to say thank you in her own way, in her own time.” Her voice rose a pitch—the epitome of merry and bright: “For now, let us to the table go—the Christmas feast awaits.” With that, she pulled her daughter to her feet and led her firmly across the room and through the archway, leaving the others to follow behind.
* * *
Three hours later they filed into church, some of them considerably steadier than others. Kit—embracing the celebratory opportunity with his usual gusto—had shown no qualms about signaling Alvin (on service duty in the dining room for the special occasion) with a regular sweep of his index finger toward his wine goblet; but his enthusiastic willingness to help relieve the cellar of a case of Burgundy’s finest was put to shame by his best friend’s bottomless thirst. When Hollins finally called for the tawny bottle of Dow’s that Charles had given him, Chap—swaying a bit as he rose from his chair—had to excuse himself to get some air.
Now, as Susannah stared numbly at her left hand, Wyatt’s abashment—hanging in the pew behind her like a low cloud—wasn’t the only thing penetrating her daze. She also had a noxious awareness of the alcoholic fug surrounding her. When the congregation was prompted to join in on the closing hymn—“O Little Town of Bethlehem”—she had to needle Kit in the ribs as he bellowed in a terrible off-key baritone.
It was all too much, and as the service ended she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and close her eyes. Walking straight to the waiting car, she climbed in without a word to anyone. India slid in beside her as their father informed Kit in no uncertain terms that a nice brisk walk in the starry night would be the only way he was getting home. As Jimmy put the gears into drive, Susannah looked out the window and saw Kit and Chap—arms thrown around each other’s shoulders just as they had been in the photo—swaying down the sidewalk.
* * *
She wasn’t dreaming. Her sleep was deep and plenary—mercifully absent any angst. But there was a sound … a sibilant hushing that was pulling her from the warm, dark void. She had to force her eyes open, and when she did, she heard it again.
“Shh. Shh.”
There was a figure sitting on the side of the bed with a finger to his lips. She could see his features—Apollo in the moonlight, divinely handsome even in slurry debilitation.
“Hi. Wake up. I have to talk to you.” His whisper was somewhat less than discreet, and he laid his hand heavily on her shoulder. “How are you?”
Her mind was still trying to shuck the dark cloak of oblivion, but her smile was reflexive. “Better now.”
He gazed at her for a long moment, then ran his finger softly across the lace strap of her nightgown. “This is. Wow. This is nice. I din’t know you wore this. When you’re sleeping.”
His head was bobbing a little as he spoke, and Susannah giggled.
“No—don’ laugh at me. I don’ know what … I wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You shoun’t have had to go through that. I have to tell him tomorrow. Firs’ thing.” He picked up her hand and looked at it, but the ring was gone—she had taken it off as soon as she got to her room. “And I will get you a ring. A nice ring. And I’m gonna tell him we’re getting married. Right? Getting married. And he can be the bes’ man. ’Cause he is the bes’ man, right? I mean, he’s the best.” He swayed forward a little, and Susannah sat up on her knees, putting a hand on either side of his face.
“Honey, how did you get up here? Where’s Kit? Does he know where you are?” Her whisper was quieter than his.
“No, he’s asleep. In a chair. The one tha’ looks like a throne. You never called me that before. I like it.”
“He’s in the billiards room?” It was a throne—from a castle in Scotland (Brynmor Castle, to be precise)—placed as out of sight as Helen could manage, in the billiards room in the basement.
“Yesss. He’s drunker than I am. I won four outta six at eight-ball. Even though we foun’ the key to the gin locker.”
“Did anyone see you come up?”
“Everyone’s asleep. Don’ worry. I was quiet.”
“You’re not that quiet.” Her smile was tender as she stroked his face. “I think you need to go to sleep. Let me take you to a guest room. Hep wouldn’t want you to try to make it home like this.”
He leaned forward and kissed her, and she couldn’t help being impressed. The kiss wasn’t drunken or sloppy or by any count shy of rapturous. He
was just that good at it.
“I love you.” He looked intently into her eyes, as though imparting this information were absolutely vital.
Her smile broadened. Just being near him, even in his less-than-mint condition, made her feel whole and happy. “I love you too. Now go to bed.” She glanced over her shoulder at the doorway. “This whole fiasco will seem like a bed of roses if Hep finds you here.”
“Okay. I’m going. You stay here. I’ll be fine. I’m jus’ going back to the basement. I can sleep on that leather Chester … Chester-thing.”
Susannah giggled again. “Good idea. Kit will find you where he left you. But I’m walking you down.” She wasn’t about to let him stumble into her parents’ bedroom by mistake.
She took his arm and tiptoed across the floor, carefully pulling up on the handle as she opened the door, to relieve a squeaky hinge from the weight of the wood. They made it down the hallway without a hitch, and even navigated the stairway with a fair approximation of steadiness. On the landing, he stopped. “I can take it from here. Jus’ wanna say g’night. I’ll see you in the morning, and then … Well … I’ll think aboudit later. I love you. Did I say that already?” He gave her that crooked, contained grin that made her heart skip, and then pulled her close and kissed her again.
For a sublime moment, Susannah felt the familiar transcendence—like she was floating on another plane. And then, high above them, a light snapped on. She wheeled around, instinctively pushing Chap away as she looked up to see Helen, standing at the top of the stairs, her hand on the switch.
And that was all it took. It wasn’t much of a push, but he was stunned and off-balance, and he stumbled backward. It shouldn’t have happened—Chap was an athlete, nimble and quick. He could steal a base with a slide so graceful, it looked like ballet, springing to his feet like a figurine in a music box. But he wasn’t at his best. And there was a ledge—low and narrow—that ran the width of the landing, beneath the enormous stained-glass window. As he reeled, the ledge caught him behind and below the knee, and—like a fulcrum—flung him backward.
The window was rendered in a beautiful peacock motif, opaque and rich with teal and emerald. Had it been transparent, it would have provided a scene not as vibrantly colorful, but lovely just the same—of the quarried stone courtyard below.
Susannah heard it—a skin-crawling shatter—and saw the horror on her mother’s face. And then there was a crack in time—an infinite split second within which she hovered, clinging to a chimerical wisp of denial. But it slipped through her fingers, and when she turned—from a distant, dreamlike remove—there was nothing but broken glass. Shards of blue and green everywhere, and nothing else. Nothing and no one.
It wasn’t much of a push.
Thirteen
DECEMBER 1962
“Daddy’s other grandmother is already in heaven.” Daisy proffered the information across the small table where the edges of a jigsaw puzzle were taking form. “Her name was Frank.”
“No, it wasn’t!” Charlie scoffed, irritated by the absurdity.
“Yes, it was. He told me. I’m named after a boy, and he’s named after a girl, and it was his grandmother.”
As Joanna entered the playroom, the children looked up from their puzzle. But Harriet, slumped in the window seat with her forehead pressed heavily against the glass, didn’t move.
Daniel had offered to drive Joanna back in the old Ford pickup, but she had refused. It would have been too awful—she couldn’t stomach the thought of being dropped off like a teenager who had stayed out past curfew with her boyfriend. She just shook her head, dazed by the fact that it had come to this. In the space of an afternoon, everything had changed.
Their parting was silent. Joanna knew the obligation fell on her, but any words that might have found form stuck in her throat. It didn’t matter. When she tried to speak, Daniel held up his hand and looked away. As always, he could hear what she wasn’t saying. And so, she simply turned and left.
Reaching Brynmor’s long driveway, she discovered that it now stretched for miles. The terrain behind the front door was uncharted and riddled with risk—jagged gorges yawning in the darkness. The closest one gaped into the infinite expanse of losing Helen.
Inside, the absence was palpable. She didn’t have to check the drawing room or the library or the conservatory—the house told her: no one was there. But she wandered through the rooms anyway, finally moving upstairs to her bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, staring vacantly at the hands folded on her lap, when one of the cleaning girls—hired in from town these days—appeared in the doorway.
“Oh! Excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t think anyone was here.”
Joanna started and stood. “It’s all right—you can come in. I didn’t think anyone was here either.”
“They’ve gone to St. Luke’s.” The girl cast her eyes down, uncertain about the propriety of having and sharing the information. “All but the children, that is. And Mrs. Bonner. They’re upstairs.” She looked up, hesitant. “I’m a little worried about Mrs. Bonner.”
Joanna was confused. “You’re worried about Harriet?”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s not taking the … situation … too well. She looks near ready to crumble.”
Joanna moved to the door, stepping around the girl and into the hallway. “Thank you … uh…”
“Jeanette.”
“Thank you, Jeanette. I’ll go and see. You can go ahead with your work, and”—she glanced around the room—“thank you for … that, too.…” It was still awkward for her, even after the full-butled immersion of living at Brynmor.
On the third floor, she had heard the children’s voices. As she appeared in the doorway, Daisy jumped up.
“Where were you? We were looking everywhere! Grand Hedy had a…” She turned to Charlie. “What did she have?”
“A stroke.” Charlie was somber.
“A stroke,” Daisy repeated. “She went to the hospital. Grandmother told us to take care of Harriet. We’re watching her, but she doesn’t want to do the puzzle.”
As Joanna looked worriedly at Harriet, Daisy pulled on her sleeve. “Wasn’t Daddy’s other grandmother named Frank? He said so.”
Charlie rolled his eyes.
Distracted, Joanna patted Daisy’s back. “You’re forgetting that Daddy’s full name is Francis, honey. Frances can be for a girl, too. There’s just a different spelling.” She could feel her daughter’s disappointment as the little shoulders sagged. In any contest with her brother, Daisy never came out on top. Starting across the room, Joanna looked at Charlie. “But Daisy wasn’t really wrong, because she didn’t have all the information. So, in a way, you’re both right.” The little girl brightened as Joanna approached the window seat.
“Harriet?” She laid a gentle hand on the old woman’s shoulder. A pair of faded blue eyes, lost and afraid, turned slowly to look up at her. “Harriet, would you like to lie down?” Joanna’s voice was tender.
The woman just shook her head, wringing her hands and turning back to the window. Joanna sat down next to her. She was almost afraid to ask. “Has there been any word?”
“No, ma’am.” She looked down at the narrow, filigreed gold watch on her wrist. “They took her nearly three hours ago.” Absently, she cuffed the watch, running her thumb along the bracelet.
Joanna wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want to leave Harriet here—clearly, she was in no condition to watch over the children. Joanna wasn’t even sure the poor thing should be left alone. She put her arm around the hunched shoulders. “That’s a beautiful watch. Is it an heirloom?
“It was a gift from Mrs. Parrish. A birthday gift. When I turned twenty-five.” The words came slowly—weighted with bewildered despair.
It struck Joanna then—this woman’s entire life had been devoted to Helen. She could only imagine how adrift Harriet would feel without her captain. “I’m sorry. I know this must be terribly hard for you. You’ve been with her for a long time. She’s been s
o lucky to have you.”
Harriet shook her head slowly. “No, I was lucky to have her.” The aged voice was tremulous. “She took me on in ’17, when Bertie was sent over. I was a young bride—I needed a job, a place to live. Just until Bertie got back. We would get an apartment then. I thought maybe he could come on here, in the stables or the yard.” She paused for a moment, her gaze moving from the watch to the window. “It wasn’t the Germans that got him. It was the influenza.” Wavering already, the words grew thick: “What she did for me…” Hanging her head, she pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “She is the finest woman to ever walk God’s green earth.”
Is. The word resonated with Joanna. Hugging Harriet’s shoulders, she looked over at the children. They were quiet—Daisy was trying to work a piece into the puzzle, but Charlie was slumped down on the table, chin resting on his hands. She had no idea how much they understood, but Daisy’s overheard remark about heaven was a pretty good clue. With an extra squeeze for Harriet, Joanna stood and went to her son.
She brushed the hair lightly off of his forehead. “Hey, handsome.” Her words were soft. “Are you okay?”
He just nodded, moving his cheek across the back of his hands.
She sat down on a small wooden chair, leaning forward. “Would you like to talk about it?” Whatever the outcome, it couldn’t hurt to prepare the children.
But she had misread her son. He was troubled, but not for the reason she expected. At least, not entirely. “We don’t always both have to be right, you know.” His mouth was set in a tight line.
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s not fair. Daisy was wrong. The grandmother wasn’t named Frank. Just because she didn’t understand, it doesn’t mean she was right.”
Joanna knew it wasn’t about winning the point. Charlie’s sense of justice had been assaulted. It was integral—a requirement for logic, for fact. He hadn’t yet developed the quality of charity; he couldn’t sacrifice his conviction for kindness. She drew a deep breath. Normally, she would have taken the opportunity to instill a moral lesson—to talk about generosity of spirit and noblesse oblige. But the larger issues of the day preempted the moralizing moment. The timing was bad, and her heart wasn’t in it.