“It was a mistake,” she said when she’d regained her breath. “He was all wrong for Millie. A dreadful man. We tried to get her to break it off.”
Brooke was intrigued. “What was so awful about him? And if all of you hated him, why would she agree to marry the guy?”
“She had no choice,” Josephine said. “Millie’s father…” She nodded at Marie. “Your maternal grandfather lost everything in the stock market crash in ’29. He took his own life not long after that.”
Marie looked shocked. “I didn’t know.”
“It was hushed up. I doubt Millie ever knew the truth. My papa told me, strictly in confidence. But Millie’s mother was destitute. They had no money and were dependent on her grandmother.”
Josephine continued with her story, meeting Marie’s gaze as she spoke. “Your maternal grandmother’s people, the Prestons, still had money and a certain position in Boston society.” She smiled ruefully. “We all did. Our families—mine, Ruth’s, Millie’s—were what people called robber barons. We weren’t Rockefeller or Vanderbilt wealthy, nothing as showy as that…”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lizzie drawled. “I’d say owning your own private island is pretty damn showy.”
“Touché,” Josephine said. “Anyway, after her father died, Millie’s mother and grandmother were determined that she would make a brilliant marriage. Russell Strickland’s people—his grandfather, that is—owned banks, railroads, a seat on the New York Stock Exchange.”
“In other words, he was mega-rich,” Felicia said.
“I suppose.” Josephine tugged the afghan on her lap, drawing it up to her shoulders. The room was suffocating, with only the box fan droning away in an open window, and everybody except the hostess dabbed at the perspiration on their faces.
“She met Russell at Ruth’s coming-out party in Newport.” Josephine’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “He cut quite the figure in white tie and tails. He was tall and rangy. Broad shoulders, dark hair, and the most arresting deep blue eyes. What we used to call matinee idol looks. He had buckets of money, and he threw it around like it was water. Anyway, he swept Millie off her feet—or rather, he swept Millie’s mother and grandmother off their feet.”
Marie’s brow puckered. “He doesn’t sound like Mama’s type at all.”
“No. Forgive me, dear Marie, but he was rich, which meant that he was your grandmother’s type. By then, Millie had dropped out of college. Her mother didn’t see the point of spending money on educating a girl, and anyway, Russell was in hot pursuit.”
Felicia fanned herself with her hands and yawned. “Can we cut to the chase, please? Like, how did this Russell Strickland just up and disappear?”
Josephine fixed Varina’s great-niece with an icy glare. “I was getting to that.”
“Russell proposed, and Millie accepted,” Josephine said. “At first, Ruth and I were happy for her. But then, the more we saw of him, the less we liked. He was loud and could be very intimidating. He was so possessive of Millie. Jealous, especially of her friendship with us, and he drank too much. And when he drank, he was mean. Abusive, we’d call it now.
“The wedding was set for November. Of 1941. Ruth and I were to be bridesmaids. Papa was so fond of Millie. He thought we should give an engagement party for her. Here on the island.”
“Not back in Boston?” Lizzie asked.
“No. My mother had passed away the previous year, and Papa was devastated. He loved Talisa and spent as much time here as possible, especially after Mama was gone. So we planned the party. We brought in an orchestra from Jacksonville and the best caterer in Atlanta. It was the social event of the season. White orchids and gardenias flown in from Miami. The ballroom looked like a fairy tale.”
“There’s a ballroom?” Felicia asked incredulously. “Here?”
Josephine seemed not to have heard her. “Millie looked so beautiful that night. She had a couture gown, flowers in her hair. We all had new dresses.” She looked over at Varina and smiled. “Even Varina.”
“Oh yes,” Varina said dreamily. “Josephine gave me a dress, pink, the nicest thing I’d ever owned. And Millie gave me those pretty shoes to match.”
“You were invited to the party?” Felicia looked dubious. “In the Jim Crow South? In 1941?”
“Not exactly,” Varina said.
“We wanted her to come, but my father thought it wasn’t the right thing,” Josephine said. “Remember, she was only fourteen at the time.”
“And black,” Felicia said.
“I was getting paid to work in the kitchen that night,” Varina said. “But the girls, they knew what a special night it was for all of us, and they wanted me to be all dressed up, to be a part of it.”
“Before Cinderella’s coach turned into a pumpkin,” Felicia said caustically.
Brooke glanced down at her watch. It was getting late, and Josephine’s narrative about the party was close to being derailed. She needed to nudge things along.
“What happened at the party?” she asked.
“Russell had been drinking all night with his fraternity brothers who’d come down for the party. And not just champagne. They were out on the veranda, passing a flask around. Poor Millie, he never even danced with her. She was a wallflower at her own engagement party. So Papa asked Gardiner, my brother, to dance with her. It was totally harmless. Gardiner had known Millie for years. She was like a kid sister to him. Unfortunately, Russell came into the ballroom, saw them dancing together, and there was an incident.”
“You mean, like a fight?” Lizzie was clearly intrigued.
“Not there in the ballroom. Even Russell Strickland wasn’t that gauche. He said something to Gardiner—I couldn’t hear what—then he grabbed Millie by the arm and dragged her out of the ballroom.”
“Poor Mama,” Marie said. “She must have been terrified.”
30
There was a soft knock at the library door, then Louette poked her head inside. “Miss Josephine, sorry to interrupt, but I need to let these ladies know that I finally tracked down C. D. He says the water pump on the boat motor is broke.”
“What does that mean?” Brooke asked. From the expression on Louette’s face, Brooke had a feeling that this was not good news.
“Too late to do anything about it today. He’ll have to go on up to Brunswick tomorrow to try to get a new one,” Louette said.
Brooke glanced again at her watch. It was nearly five o’clock. “If he can’t take us back to the mainland, can we take the ferry?”
“Afraid not. I called the office, and they said the whole boat is booked with some folks who’ve been up at the conference center for a two-day corporate retreat. Not even a single seat is available.”
“Is there another boat on the island—one we could charter to take us back?” Gabe asked, half standing.
“Not one you’d want to get on,” Louette said. “A few folks at Oyster Bluff have boats, but they’re just little bitty wooden bateaux for fishing in the creek. I’m sorry, but it looks like you’ll have to stay over tonight.”
Gabe sank back down onto the chair and pulled out his phone. “I’m supposed to take a deposition in the morning. I need to call the office.”
Brooke took her phone from her pocketbook and glanced down at the screen. As she’d feared, it read, NO SERVICE.
“Don’t bother,” she told Gabe. “Cell phone reception is almost nonexistent over here.”
“So what do we do?” he asked, annoyed. “I really have a busy day tomorrow. Not to mention a dog at home who needs to be let out and fed.”
“And I’ve got to call my babysitter and let her know I’m stuck over here,” Brooke added. “I just pray she’ll agree to spend the night with Henry.”
“Come on out to the kitchen. You can use the landline there,” the housekeeper offered.
As they followed Louette down the hall, Gabe checked his phone one more time. “You’d better believe I’m billing Josephine if I have to spend the night.�
��
Which made Brooke laugh despite her worry over childcare arrangements. “Good idea. I’ll bill her for the cost of my babysitter, assuming Farrah will stay.”
* * *
“Is everything okay?” Marie asked when Brooke and Gabe returned to the library.
“As good as can be expected,” Brooke said, sitting down again. “Thank God, Farrah broke up with her loser boyfriend, Jaxson, today. She’s usually not available to sit on Friday nights. She volunteered to take Henry out for pizza, and then they have a date with some LEGOs.”
“I got a neighbor to feed and walk my dog,” Gabe reported. “And I arranged for my paralegal to handle the deposition.”
“Did Louette tell you she has rooms ready for you?” Josephine asked. “I thought I’d made it clear that I expected everybody to stay over.”
Brooke bit back her retort. Josephine Warrick at ninety-nine was still very much used to getting her way.
Instead, Brooke shrugged off her irritation. “Louette gave me a tour of the upstairs and showed me our rooms and asked us to let you know dinner will be ready at seven, if that’s all right.”
“That’ll be fine,” Josephine said regally.
Brooke held out a white paper bag. “And in the meantime, Shug got back from the mainland with your new medicine. You’re supposed to take it at dinnertime.”
“Pills. Always more pills,” Josephine fretted.
“She also suggested you probably need to rest before then, since you didn’t sleep at all last night,” Brooke said. “And I have to agree.” She looked at the others. “Since we’re apparently all staying for dinner, I guess the rest of this story can wait until then.”
“And people say I’m bossy,” Josephine said, making a face. She waved her hand. “All right. For once, she’s right. I suppose I could close my eyes for a few minutes.”
* * *
Brooke led the group up the broad staircase to the second floor. The silk damask wallpaper in the stair hall was peeling off in sheets, the Persian stair runner was faded and threadbare, and the curved mahogany handrail wobbled beneath their hands.
“I can’t even imagine what it cost to build this place over a hundred years ago,” Marie said, pointing up at the once glittering, multitiered chandelier above them. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s Waterford crystal.”
“I can’t imagine what it would cost to make it livable again,” Lizzie said. She glanced back at Gabe, who was bringing up the rear of the caravan, behind Felicia, who was slowly guiding her great-aunt up the stairs. “Is she leaving money for the upkeep of this white elephant?”
He smiled and said nothing.
At the top of the landing, Brooke pointed to the right. “Lizzie, your bedroom is the second doorway from the end. There’s a bathroom right next door, although it’s not attached. Mom, you and I are doubling up in what used to be the master bedroom, which is at the very end.” She pointed to the left. “That’s Gabe’s bedroom down there. Louette said it was Gardiner’s before the war, and it does have a bathroom, although there’s a tub and no shower.” She pointed to a double doorway halfway down the left wing. “Felicia, this room is yours and Varina’s. There are two double beds, but the best thing is there’s an attached bathroom.”
“I need that bathroom right now,” Varina said, a note of urgency in her voice. She took her walker from Gabe, who’d carried it upstairs, and scuttled in the direction of the bedroom.
“God,” Lizzie said, wiping her glistening face with the back of her hand. “Tell me there’s air-conditioning in my room.”
“It’s only a window unit, but Louette turned it on and she swears the room will cool down nicely,” Brooke said.
Dweezil yowled and batted against the side of the cat carrier, echoing Lizzie’s annoyance.
* * *
Brooke sat gingerly on one side of the narrow bed and patted the lumpy mattress, which was covered with a quilted satin throw. “Isn’t it funny to think of married couples sleeping on something this small?”
The master bed had a towering carved mahogany headboard that reached halfway to the ceiling and a footboard so high that being in the bed felt like being in a boat.
Marie sat down on the other side of the bed, the one nearest the window, and bounced up and down. “Your father and I slept on double beds for years when we first got married. We didn’t think anything of it at the time. Now I get claustrophobic sleeping alone in a queen.”
“Sorry about having to share a bed with me,” Brooke said.
“It’ll be fine,” Marie said lightly. “Taking family closeness to a whole new level. Although I do wish I had a toothbrush and nightie with me.”
“Louette put new toothbrushes in the bathroom for both of us,” Brooke said, “and she said we should just help ourselves to whatever we find in the closet for clothes.”
Marie flopped backward onto the bed. “Later,” she said wearily. “Right now, I feel like I’m the nonagenarian. There has been a lot of drama already today.” She turned onto her side and yawned. “Wake me up ten minutes before dinner so I can at least wash my face. Okay?”
* * *
Brooke curled up beside her mother and stared at the wall. The wallpaper was a scenic toile featuring flowers and trees and birds and animals that she guessed were native to Talisa, all done in shades of pea green. She managed to pick out a sea turtle, a running deer, some kind of long-necked seabird, pine trees, oaks, palms … and the next thing she knew, her mother was gently poking her in the side.
“Come on, Brooke,” Marie said, laughing. “It’s dinnertime. And did you know you snore?”
“Do not,” Brooke yawned, sitting up.
“Do too,” Marie said. “Let’s go. I’m starved.”
* * *
The others were already seated in the dining room, which had also undergone a transformation. A snowy white damask tablecloth covered the table, which was set with gold-rimmed porcelain dishes, heavy sterling flatware, and crystal stemware. A pair of tall silver candelabras adorned the center of the table with lit tapers.
Josephine sat at the head of the table, sipping from a glass of wine. She was dressed in the silk caftan again, and diamonds twinkled from her earrings, necklace, and a solitaire cocktail ring on her right hand. When Louette bustled into the room, delicious scents wafted from the direction of the kitchen.
“What are we having tonight?” Josephine asked.
“Paper-bag baked redfish,” Louette said. “C. D. was fishing off the dock when he oughta have been fixing that boat motor, but at least we got dinner out of it. There’s red rice to go with the fish, salad from the garden, and some lady peas out of the freezer. I didn’t have time to bake yeast rolls, but I managed to throw some biscuits together.”
Gabe moaned out loud. “Redfish. My favorite. And lady peas. My mother used to fix them with fatback.”
“Mmm-hmm, that’s how I do ’em too,” Louette said, setting the dishes on the sideboard. She held up a bottle of white wine that had been sitting in a silver cooler. “Can I pour anybody some more wine? The man at the wine store says this is real nice with fish.”
Josephine held up her nearly empty glass. “You can top me off.”
Louette shook her head vigorously. “Noooo. You know your pain pills have it written right on the bottle—Do not consume with alcohol.” She moved around the table, filling the other extended glasses.
“Louette, I said you can top me off.” Josephine’s voice held a warning note. “What does it matter if I drink with my medicine? I’m not operating heavy machinery. And I already have stage-four lung cancer, so what’s the worst that can happen?”
The housekeeper muttered something under her breath but did as she’d been ordered.
Dinner proceeded, with the guests around the table complimenting the fish, which was the best Brooke had ever tasted, and the wine, which was also a surprisingly good quality. Their hostess, Brooke noticed, barely picked at her plate, merely moving food from one side of
her plate to the other and occasionally tossing morsels to Teeny and Tiny, who sat on the floor by her chair.
At last, Marie folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “Josephine, that was absolutely a divine dinner.” She toyed with her dinner fork. “Do you want to know something funny? I think I have this same silver pattern. Francis First, right?”
Josephine sipped her wine. “Yes, I believe that’s the name of this pattern.” She waved her hand at the table with its elegant trappings. “I don’t really care for this kind of thing, but Louette insisted. This was my mother’s wedding silver.”
“Mine was my grandmother’s,” Marie said. “The war was going on when Mama got married, so she said she didn’t really get a lot of wedding gifts.”
Lizzie picked up her fork and looked at it. “Granny had boxes and boxes of this kind of family stuff. I think it’s all still in storage. At some point, I guess I’ll get it all out and deal with it, but what do I need with pickle tongs and monogrammed pillowcases? I live alone and mostly eat carryout Chinese.”
Brooke tried not to think about all the wedding gifts she’d had to return after she’d canceled her own wedding to Harris Strayhorn.
She turned to their hostess. “Josephine, you didn’t go to Millie’s wedding, did you? Or Ruth’s either, for that matter. Isn’t that what you told me?”
Color flooded the old woman’s parchment-like skin. “As Marie pointed out, it was during the war. Gas was rationed, and travel was difficult. And, well, as I’ve admitted, we were estranged.”
“Did you have a fight?” Felicia asked eagerly. “What did you fight about?”
“No fight,” Josephine said. “We just … drifted apart.”
“Because of the thing with Russell Strickland?” Lizzie asked. “Don’t forget, you promised to tell us the rest of the story.”
Josephine’s fingers toyed with something on the collar of her dress. Brooke leaned closer and saw that it was the brooch she’d shown her previously. The High Tide Club pin.
The High Tide Club Page 20