Sighing with relief, Francis murmured, “They’ll keep the secret.”
“Where are the burned barrels?” Celeste asked.
“Yashew and a few friends chopped them up, stacked them by the tool shed. Did you know his mother will be getting a cataract operation? He’s doing everything he can to make extra money and so is his sister. Personally, I think this type of procedure they’re talking about is too new, but then again, I’m not going blind.” She walked toward the Rectory. “I owe you all a great deal, as well as Cora, Louise, Paul, and Fairy. Celeste, help me think of suitable rewards.”
Francis boomed out, “I don’t want any money. The girls don’t either.”
Carlotta patted him on the forearm. “Francis, I do know that, but often in life there is something special someone needs, like Ms. Gregorivitch’s operation. Perhaps you-all will know of something.”
Celeste, slyly, remarked, “The Good Lord or the Blessed Virgin Mother will tell you when it’s time.”
Carlotta added to the comment, “Our Lady.”
“I think you need Our Lady of the Cash Register.” Celeste couldn’t help it.
“You are insufferable.” Carlotta’s frown turned into a half-smile. “My penance is having to deal with you.”
“Mine as well.” Celeste’s comment was just ambiguous enough to make them all wonder.
—
As Celeste had promised Ben she’d show him St. Paul’s and the mice behind the Ascension tapestry some weeks ago she had Francis park at St. Paul’s, after they’d returned from Immaculata.
“We won’t be long,” Celeste told Francis, then turned to Ben. “We need to climb up the long front steps for the full effect.”
Once inside the vestibule they paused to admire the anteroom’s proportions.
The rows of pews, two wide aisles, and balcony asserted that this was a house of worship with a large congregation. The soaring ceiling, the story-and-a-half stained-glass windows, the impressive altar cross and candles testified that this was also a rich congregation.
Ben took it all in. “Beautiful.”
“Late-eighteenth-century. Not Chartres, but we were new as a country. In some ways this church, those early churches, reveal our dreams for the future.”
He studied the stained glass. “You know, over the centuries, subject matter changed but not technique. There are only so many ways to create a stained-glass window.”
“Saint Jerome.” She mentioned the figure in the window as they walked by.
“I remember one church, roof gone, but the windows remained and the light shone, coloring the rubble. Bombardments could be peculiar. I felt something when I stepped inside, something I’ve never felt in an intact church. It was holy.”
“Something elaborate yet stark at the same time perhaps.”
“Yes.”
She touched his elbow leading him to the enormous Ascension tapestry.
She whispered, “Listen.”
Ben leaned toward the heavy woven cloth and heard a tiny squeak, then another.
“Episcopalian mice.” Celeste folded her hands together.
“And very Christian mice. They picked the Ascension, so they must believe in the resurrection of the body.”
She scooped a handful of cracked corn from her pocket and placed it on the long gleaming Hepplewhite table under the tapestry. “For the body.”
“I’m sure they are holy mice.” Ben smiled.
“Better than a holy cow.”
—
Once back home, Celeste reported the state of the chapel to Cora and to Juts, who was actually sitting at the kitchen table doing lessons.
Juts glanced up at Ben. “Do you like history?”
“Yes.”
“Will you look at this test?”
“Juts, he is not taking your test for you and you are not to bother Celeste’s guest,” Cora reprimanded her.
“I took the test. I just want him to look at it.” She slid the paper toward him.
Standing at the edge of the table, he picked it up, reading it. “ ‘The War of the Roses.’ ” Scanning the numbered questions, he pointed to one. “Richard the Third was Edward the Fourth’s younger brother.”
She took the page back, erased her incorrect answer. “Gee, thanks.”
—
Later, once they were alone, Ben started the gramophone, bowed to Celeste, took her in his arms, and they danced to Edith Day singing “Alice Blue Gown.”
Celeste smiled. “We’re going to have to practice. I’m accustomed to leading, not that Ramelle and I ever danced in public.”
Looking through her records, he pulled out a waltz. “I can follow.”
She cocked her head, then with vigor took him in her arms as the music started and they danced, laughing when the song ended.
He kissed her hand.
She kissed his. “Your British partner taught you well.”
“He did. I do hope he’s alive. I know I’ll never see him again, but I think of him, and after dancing with you, I owe him a debt of gratitude.”
“As do I.”
He knelt down to scoop up Glue, who had just wandered in. “What do you think a pussycat would like to hear?”
Celeste put on Jolson’s “Sewanee.” He wrapped his arms around her waist as she held Glue between them. The kitty climbed onto Ben’s broad shoulders. He slowed the steps and the three of them finished in good order, Glue thrilled with the attention from two humans. Celeste carried her back into the kitchen, put down food as Ben searched for something for the two of them.
Later, covers up, for the night was cool, fire keeping the chill off, they talked.
“You really are a good dancer.” Her head rested against his chest. He was propped up by pillows.
“Did you like me better leading or following?” He kissed the top of her head.
“Leading. I was always the tallest in school, in college, so I would have to lead. It’s relaxing not to, but then you’re easy to follow.” She listened to a log crackle. “Cherrywood.”
“Smells good.”
“Ben, I will never be able to thank you, nor will Carlotta, for your help in that cold, miserable, inflamed mess.”
“No one was hurt. That’s all that matters.” He left it at that.
“What do you think of my sister?”
“Forceful.”
“Always has been. We’re like chalk and cheese but I can appreciate her good qualities. Carlotta wants an arcana—a universal remedy.” She explained the term in case he wasn’t familiar with it.
“I think most people do, don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose they do. You don’t seem to need one,” she commented.
“I don’t. You don’t seem to need one either.”
“No. I like to understand history, ideas, but the dream of universal illumination, of worldwide understanding, even of agreement in our own country, I don’t believe it can ever happen.”
“You’re way ahead of me. I’m happy to smell your hair, to listen to the birds now that they’ve returned. I’m simple.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way. If anything, you’re happier than most. What do we have, really, other than the day we are in?”
“Some days you’d rather not be in.” He inhaled. “But they pass. You can always find something to see, laugh about. Even in the trenches, we could laugh. I remember one fellow from Georgia. The bombardment started at dawn. We were both waiting for our orders, both messengers, and he said, ‘This is torching the barn to kill the rats.’ Made me laugh.”
She smiled. “Good description. I suspect the rats lived.”
“Well, Glue has a big job when she grows up.”
This made Celeste smile again as she asked, “Do you think about tomorrow? The future?”
“Not so much. You?”
“I used to, but not so much anymore. When I was young I wanted to run one of the family businesses when I grew up. My father, a wonderful man, really, I’m sorry you couldn
’t have known him and vice versa, but he thought that just a horrid idea. He’d tell me how cutthroat business was, how a man is never free of it. His phrase was, ‘You take the store home with you.’ And of course, he made it clear that Stirling would take the store home. When we were all young, naturally we didn’t know what we’d be doing, but as the eldest, Stirling did. I resented him for that.”
“And now?”
“In many ways, Ben, my father was right. Stirling is bound and burdened in a way I am not but I would have liked to try, you know, to see if I could make things hum.”
“You make me hum.” He hummed Al Jolson’s “Tell Me.”
This made her sit up straight and laugh at him. “Broadway lost a star when you decided to play baseball.”
“Ha!”
She confessed, “I have to give it to Carlotta, she wasn’t allowed to run any of the businesses either but she started a school. Oh, I can’t stand the religious part of it. You’re Catholic, but people can find their own way on religion. Here are these young women being taught papal infallibility, you name it, along with even worse. Carlotta and I have fought since we were children, but she has done something useful. I have not. I’m not interested in education. I have no artistic ability. Worse, I never wanted to fulfill my place in society. I’ve lived an exciting life but not such a useful one. You, on the other hand, have been dutiful, useful.”
“Depends on how you define useful. Yes, I did my duty but I don’t see that you’ve been useless. You help the people you know. You give.”
“I don’t know why I’m even talking about this. I blame it on you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You make me think of things in a new way.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Now I must ask a favor.”
“Anything.”
“I want to see where you live in Baltimore.”
He chuckled lightly. “It’s nothing like this. You’ll walk in and walk out.”
“No, I won’t. I really want to see where and how you live.”
“All right, but my landlady doesn’t allow lady visitors. If you visit, we have to leave the door to my rooms open.”
“Very proper. What surprises me is that you would rent rooms with such a restriction. One, you are terribly handsome. Two, you have a good sense of humor and are kind. Three, all those women ogling you out on the baseball diamond. You could have your pick of the litter.”
“Flatterer.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “I rented the rooms because I can walk to the stadium. Saves money. There’s a little kitchen, so I can cook, which also saves money. I’m not like Cora but I can manage the basics.”
“What about women?”
He shrugged. “Before the war I chased the girls, but when I came home, I didn’t want to be close to anyone. Just didn’t.”
“Then why did you hop on that train to come out here?”
“When we talked, a door opened. That’s the only way I can put it. You didn’t act like other women. Women can be false. A man doesn’t find out until it’s too late. You’re different.”
“For what it’s worth, men can be false, too, but I know what you mean. I felt the same way just then about you. And here we are.”
A long silence followed, then he said in a low deep voice, “Life. I didn’t want to die but I wasn’t living. I can’t explain it. I can’t explain much.”
“No need. We are both triumphantly alive.”
—
At three in the morning, Celeste was awakened by a deep moan from Ben. He was shaking and sweating, his teeth chattering. She touched him but he didn’t awaken, he shook more. She pushed at him harder, his eyes opened but he didn’t see.
“It’s gas! It’s gas. Neddie, get your mask.”
“Ben. Ben.” She wrapped her arms around him and he grabbed her, his power almost knocking the wind out of her.
“Gas, Neddie, gas.” Then he howled.
“Ben, oh Ben, for God’s sake, wake up.”
Slowly he did, but still sweating, teeth still chattering. He stared at her, eyes wide. Then he buried his head in her neck, stifling sobs.
“You’re home. You’re safe and you’re home.” She smoothed his hair, kissing him.
Slowly he stopped shaking, murmured, “I’m sorry,” and fell to sleep.
She lay there, holding him, the embers glowing in the fireplace. What did her poor brother Spotts see before he died? Did he know? What did any of them see or feel or know? And she prayed to God to give them peace. She prayed to the Blessed Virgin Mother, even though she would tease Carlotta about Mother Mary, now she prayed to the Blessed Virgin Mother that those who came home, wherever home might be, would find peace.
The next morning, she was already at the breakfast table, reading both newspapers, when she heard Ben pounding down the stairs.
He bounced into the breakfast room, leaned over, kissed her, then sat down.
“Forgive me, Angel. I should have told you sometimes I have a nightmare.”
“Nothing to forgive,” she replied.
“I never want to frighten you.” He looked steadily into her eyes. “I want to protect you.”
She put down the paper. “You do. Simply having you in the room makes me feel safe, happy, young.”
She did not ask him who Neddie was. She wondered if the smell of the chapel fire, the working through the dreadful weather, did that bring back some horror? Then again, no veteran needed a reminder. It occurred to her that her father had seen hell. She was too young, too self-centered, as only the young can be, to even imagine that her elegant, powerful father had ever shaken in terror, was ever splattered with the blood of other men. Did he see the men he killed or did he just shoot in the direction of the enemy? Surely he heard the screams, saw the carnage. She never asked and he never said.
Spotts, in his voluminous letters or his short notes scribbled on the backs of envelopes, rarely described his experiences. He would be funny or ask about the horses and how was hunting this year?
She knew nothing. She had been and continued to be protected, as was every other woman she knew who had a husband, brother, son, friend who had served. Her women. What of the French? What of the German women? Were those women allies or enemies simply because of the country in which they lived, the men they, too, loved? What did it all mean and why had she never even thought about it?
“Ben.”
He looked up from his paper expectantly.
“I am going to be quite forward.” She took a deep breath, smiled. “I would like you to know that I love you.”
Friday and Saturday brought the most shoppers to the Bon Ton. In preparation, Louise worked on a mannequin wearing a lilac chiffon chemise, a bit of lace border around a scoop neck. A white hat, white shoes, and a white parasol with a thin dark green ribbon stripe completed the outfit. Simple jewelry—a slender silver bracelet, large silver squared earrings, and a deep aquamarine set in silver—looked wonderful on the mannequin’s finger; Louise had even painted her nails.
Finishing her last mannequin of the day, she stepped back to admire her creation.
Mrs. Rhodes left her counter for a moment to come stand behind her. Louise turned to ask if Delilah needed help.
Delilah looked Louise from head to toe, lifted her head, flounced off in indignation.
Louise watched her, raised her eyebrows, then moved the mannequin to the edge of her area. Back at her counter, she wrote out in fine script the prices of each item.
Sidney Yost came over. Realizing Louise’s retail gifts and how she pleased Mr. Grumbacher, Sidney aimed to be on the winning team.
He touched Louise’s elbow and cut his eyes to Delilah hovering over at the cosmetics counter, whispering something to Regina Eutaw, another employee, who looked at Louise then quickly averted her eyes.
Sidney, back at the cosmetics counter, missed the moment but he hadn’t missed much else. “Wheezie, Delilah is spreading malicious gossip about you. She’s blabbing to anyone she thinks will listen.�
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“She’s making it up.”
Sidney smirked. “I’m sure. But she’s telling people that you spent the night with Paul at Immaculata Academy over the weekend, right under your benefactor’s nose. She told Dorcas, who told me.”
Dorcas ran the lingerie department.
“What!” Louise’s voice rose.
Sidney frowned. “She says that Yashew told Lottie.”
Mind working fast, Louise knew that Yashew would not do anything to harm her. She also knew that he probably told Lottie about the fire, the general exhaustion, and Lottie took it from there, embellishing the story of everyone sleeping at the academy to suit herself.
Both newspapers carried reports of the fire identifying the source of the fire as a probable lightning strike. Sunday morning, as the chapel still smoldered up front, Herbert had conducted both reporters through the damage, then handed each reporter an envelope for the advertising director, containing a six months’ advertising contract—a half page for Van Dusen Hauling. Naturally, he told the two men that, while the lightning strike could not be verified, nothing else indicated a source of conflagration. He also told them that if they drove back to Runnymede on the direct road they would probably find damaged trees, maybe even old buildings where the wind had flattened them or lightning had struck. The storm was dreadful.
If either reporter thought alcohol had been stored there or shipped from there, it did not appear in the final version of the report.
Louise watched as Delilah, head held high, briefly visited other clerks whom she felt might enjoy the implications of a night at Immaculata. Most all the clerks got along, but since Louise’s smash sales day, a current of envy ran through some of the ladies, especially those like Dorcas. She had worked behind the counter for decades, doing a decent job but devoid of all imagination, without a clue as to how to subtly push a product. Quite possibly, some might give Delilah an interested hearing.
“Sidney, people believe what they want to believe. We did all sleep there. The men in one room and we ladies scattered in others.”
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