Mirror Bride

by Jane Peart

  chapter 5

  THE SUNNY DAYS of June passed in a flurry of activity among the young college crowd. And before anyone realized it, July was upon them with plans for a gala Fourth. Each year, there was a real "Yankee Doodle Dandy" celebration, including a parade, picnic, fireworks, and, to top off the evening—a dance at the town hall.

  A few days before the occasion, the dance was the main topic under discussion on the porch of Fair Winds.

  "Where's Meredith?" someone asked. "She's spent all her summers here for years. She'd know all about it."

  Cara and Kitty exchanged a surreptitious glance. They knew where Merry was, but, sworn to secrecy, could not offer an explanation. So they simply shrugged evasively.

  "What I mean is, do we pair off or do we all go together?" asked Army Baldwin, one of Emily's friends just arrived from Boston for the holiday, used to the rigid proprieties of Back Bay society.

  "I suppose we could do either one—" Kip eyed Cara hopefully.

  "We should fix Owen up with Meredith," Scott suggested with a mischievous grin. "I think they'd make a capital pair. She'd be perfect for him. She could play the organ, lead the choir, teach Sunday school, and be President of the Ladies' Missionary Society—"

  "Idiot!" snapped Cara. "Meredith may have her own plans."

  Scott gave her a quizzical look, and Cara realized she had overreacted to his remark.

  Kitty nudged Cara with her elbow, afraid her twin might slip and give away the purpose of Merry's daily visits to the harbor. They both felt sorry for Merry, who had tried desperately to forget about Manny Sousa. She had even confided that she knew all the reasons that such a dream was pointless. The wide chasm that existed between them of family background and a different faith made any hope of a serious romance with him out of the question. It would only lead to heartbreak. Still, the attraction was there, pulsing in every encounter, and, in spite of everything, Cara and Kitty knew that Merry was looking forward to the Fourth of July dance. There she and Manny could be together without speculation.

  On the evening of the Fourth, the young people gathered at Fair Winds and walked into the village together. From what Merry had told them, this dance was more informal than the ones given in Mayfield, and the twins had anticipated the event with as much curiosity as excitement.

  "Don't be put off if a perfect stranger comes up and asks you to dance," Merry warned them. "In summer on the Island, people don't stand on ceremony."

  "What fun!" exclaimed Cara. "I've always thought dance cards and having to be properly introduced were boring anyway. You could miss a grand time with someone you haven't met just to avoid shocking a chaperone. Besides, I like meeting new people."

  The big hall or pavilion, as it was called, was surrounded by an octagonal deck with the doors thrown open to admit the sea breeze. Inside, the lamps, mounted in brackets and attached to the walls between the windows, were already lighted. Underneath, a wooden bench circled the room to accommodate weary dancers who were looking for a place to sit out a dance. Corn meal had been sprinkled on the floor to make it stick for dancing.

  A small band was setting up in one corner, one of the musicians strumming on his guitar, another blowing some tentative notes on his horn. Groups of women and girls clustered together, ostensibly engaged in conversation, while casting hopeful glances toward the men and boys who were hanging around the open doors, as if unsure whether or not to come in and take part in the evening's festivities.

  On one side of the hall, sawhorses covered with wrapping paper held refreshments. An assortment of cakes, layer ones, marble, coconut, were set out in a tempting display. Deep pails of lemonade afloat with wedges of lemon and chunks of ice were ready to be ladeled out to dancers thirsty from the first set of dances.

  Merry knew most of the women present, all friends from previous summers, and immediately introduced Cara and Kitty. There were compliments on dresses and hair-dos until the tuning of instruments gave way to a lilting melody, signaling that the dance was about to begin.

  "All righty!" shouted the conductor. "Choose your partners and March and Circle."

  The twins were chosen right away and led out onto the dance floor. Cara cast a look over her shoulder at Kitty, who winked and smiled back.

  Both band and dancers seemed tireless. From quadrilles to country dancing and the Paul Jones, there was never a lull in the music. Nor was anyone allowed to be a wallflower for long, as every person present found a partner—from the oldest man to the children who had tagged along with their parents.

  When the dance ended, Ned Collins brought Kitty back to her seat, thanked her, and went in search of his next partner.

  It was very warm in the hall now, and Kitty was thirsty. But the refreshment table with lemonade and punch was at the opposite end of the room. She looked around for Cara or Merry. The last she had seen, Merry was dancing with Manny, but she hadn't been able to keep track of her twin. Seeing neither of them, Kitty decided to look for them out on the wide veranda where they might be cooling off after this last set.

  Even though it was stifling inside, Kitty knew the breeze off the ocean would be cool. Walking to the cloakroom, she looked for her light shawl among the assorted capes, stoles, and sweaters hanging there. To her surprise, it was gone!

  Puzzled, she spent a few minutes looking for it, then spotted the lacy knitted one that Cara had worn—a match to her own except for its deeper shade of blue. In a hurry as usual, Cara must have grabbed hers by mistake. Flinging it around her shoulders, Kitty went outside.

  The moon, nearly full tonight, cast a silver sheen on the rippling waves. In the faint light, Kitty could see that the veranda seemed to be occupied solely by couples seemingly engaged in romantic conversations.

  Feeling rather self-conscious to be alone Kitty moved down to the far end of the porch and leaned on the railing, gazing out at the moon-swept sea. The moonlit beauty of the night was an ache in her heart. It was a night to be shared—with someone you love. She sighed, giving her fantasies full rein. Kip, if you only knew—

  Inside, she could hear the music starting up again. This time it was a popular waltz, and she hummed a little under her breath and closed her eyes. In her imagination, she was spinning, circling the room in Kip's arms.

  It was then that she sensed, rather than actually heard, footsteps coming up behind her. There was time only to stiffen in anticipation before strong arms went around her shoulders, turned her about, and drew her into an embrace. Then she was being kissed. Kissed as never before. Kissed as only she had dreamed of being kissed. Kip!

  Without hesitation, her arms went up and around his neck, clinging to him, returning his ardor. His arms tightened, and the kiss lengthened and deepened.

  Then suddenly it was over. The hands holding her loosed their grip. Dazed, she drew back and looked up into Kip's face, illuminated by the moonlight. It took her just another minute to see his eyes widen slightly. Then he smiled and gave an embarrassed laugh.

  "I must have been moonstruck. Sorry if I startled you-—"

  Still in Kip's arms, Kitty knew the terrible truth. It was an embrace he had never intended. Kip had thought she was Cara!

  In this light, with her back turned and Cara's shawl over her shoulders . . . well, of course, it would have been hard to tell them apart.

  An agonizing lump rose in her throat, and she felt almost sick with disappointment.

  "Come on, Let's go inside," Kip was saying. "I want the next dance."

  Ever gallant, the debonair Kip was passing this mistake off with the savoir faire for which he was known, Kitty diought miserably, and she would have to rise to the occasion as well. He took her by the arm and led her back toward the lighted entrance into the hall.

  Cara might have the dramatic ability in the family, but this is my moment to play a role, Kitty thought desperately, to act as if nothing is wrong, to smile as if it didn't matter, not let on that my heart is breaking—

  The next afternoon after the dance,
the three friends were at the cove, the sun hot on their backs, toes dug deliciously into the warm sand. They'd brought a thermos of iced tea and a basket of green grapes and fig newtons for nibbling as they lounged on the shore. Merry was reading, Cara was writing postcards to her friends at home, and Kitty was flipping through the pages of a new McLean's magazine and staring out at the water.

  Then, from under the brim of her large straw hat, Kitty saw Kip leave the house and head toward them over the dunes. At the sight of his tall, lean figure, she felt the familiar excitement stir through her again. The night of the dance, the dark porch, the kiss all came back to her in breathless detail.

  He had said nothing especially significant since—not later that night when they had all gathered in the kitchen after the dance to make cocoa, nor when they had all assembled for church that morning. But it had happened—the kiss—and surely he hadn't forgotten! Her heart lurched dismally. Maybe Kip kissed any girl he found alone in the moonlight.

  Kitty felt heartsore. She knew her dreams were absurd, the midnight kiss on which she had built them like a castle made of sand. The daylight truth was that Kip loved Cara, while she would never have more than his friendship.

  chapter 6

  THERE WAS NO question about it. Everyone agreed that the Cameron twins were strikingly different. Or so Scott and Meredith decided one day when they were sitting alone together on the veranda as Cara and Kitty walked along the water's edge, obviously in deep conversation.

  "It must be fun to be twins," Meredith said wistfully, feeling the loneliness of growing up without a sister to confide in.

  "I don't know, of course," Scott replied thoughtfully. "Guess you'd have to ask Cara and Kitty. Although they look almost identical, I've never known any two people who are more direct opposites in almost everything else—taste, temperament, personality—"

  "But it must be wonderful to have someone you can share everything with—"

  Scott shook his head. "I'm not so sure they do. Oh, they probably have their moments. But you know as well as I do that they don't always get along. I've heard them go round and round." He smiled.

  "Who's this?" Kip asked as he came out of the house and sat down with them on the top step.

  "We're discussing the twins," his sister told him.

  "What about them?"

  "We were just saying that is funny how much alike—"

  "Maybe in looks, but there's only one Cara," Kip interrupted.

  "Let me finish—" Scott continued. "That's just what I was about to say. How much alike they look to be so utterly different in temperament."

  Meredith frowned. "To tell you the truth, I think their personalities are interchangeable."

  Scott was a little taken aback. "What do you mean?"

  "Simply that. I'm not at all sure either one of them enjoys being a twin all the time. I think sometimes they each want to be the other one, or better still, not be a twin at all but just be known as an individual like the rest of us."

  All three commenters would have been surprised if they could have heard what the two under discussion were talking about at that moment.

  Kitty, who lately was feeling that she saw less and less of Cara, was troubled and wanted to get her feelings out in the open. Sometimes she awoke to find Cara's bed already empty. Or her twin would come rushing, breathless, into the midday meal, usually served al fresco on the screened-in porch. Then she would fall into conversation with someone else. Kitty felt they never had any time alone anymore. The evenings, of course, were always filled with activity and other people.

  What hurt most, however, was that there seemed to be a growing coolness between them whenever they chanced to be together in their rooms, dressing for the beach or dinner. To be honest, she thought, maybe she felt a little resentment that Cara seemed to find others more enjoyable to be with than Kitty herself, and most especially the time she seemed to divide equally between Kip and Vance Langley. Kitty felt instinctively that Cara was playing the two young men against each other, dispensing her favors alternately. It is Cara's way, Kitty thought, a game she plays well and me in which nobody else knows all the rules. What was so distressing about it, though, was that it set the young men against each other, creating an undercurrent of competition within the group that until recently had known only the spirit of camaraderie.

  It troubled Kitty because she knew Cara did not mean to be unkind. Her sister must simply be unaware of the subtle repercussions of her actions. So, telling her twin that she wanted to discuss something with her, she had persuaded her to go for a walk after lunch. However, the talk took a very different turn.

  "Just what are you getting at?" Cara asked indignantly.

  Kitty sighed. "Actually, I guess I'm just trying to understand why you seem to be avoiding me."

  "Do I always have to explain myself?"

  "No, of course not. It's just that you used to tell me everything . . . and I miss our old times."

  "Maybe I've outgrown the need to do that." Cara shrugged, turning away. "Anyway, sometimes is easier to confide in a perfect stranger, someone who's not going to judge you or criticize you, or jump right in with advice—"

  Kitty bit her lip. "I didn't know I did that."

  "Well, I'm sorry if that offends you, but don't you ever want some privacy? We've been living in each other's pockets for years, but we're grown up now. I think we both should . . . well, branch out more."

  Kitty remained silent.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, Kitty!" Cara burst out. "Don't look like that! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

  After the Fourth of July, a troupe of New York actors arrived on the Island, opening Summer Theater. The advance program of productions to be presented by the players was varied, alternating Shakespeare with some of the more modern playwrights.

  Colonel Carpenter bought a bank of season tickets, so theatergoing became the order of the evening after long days of sailing and swimming. And, for the young women, it was a chance to dress up for a change. Auditions were held for minor roles, and some local Islanders got walk-on parts and one-liners. Since Merry and Kip knew some of the young actors, they were frequently invited to cast parties after the play closed. Cara particularly enjoyed these, finding this backstage glimpse into the world of theater very exciting.

  This exposure stimulated some post-performance discussions at Fair Winds, A Doll's House by Ibsen provoking some of the liveliest debate. Cara, of course, sided with Nora all the way.

  Awaking one morning to pewter gray skies and a slate-colored ocean, Cara donned a mackintosh she found and ventured onto the beach. The wind had churned the water to a froth and was swirling angrily onto the sand. Ever adventurous, Cara found this new glimpse of the Cape wildly exciting.

  By evening the wind was blowing in powerful gusts, driving a downpour of rain against the windows at Fair Winds, but the fire in the living room fireplace crackled cheerily, sending up darting shafts of light and shadow onto the walls and giving the group gathered around a sense of cozy refuge from the storm outside.

  Out came card tables to be set up for jigsaw puzzles and marathon games of rummy and checkers. As the rain persisted over the next week, books taken from the bookshelves became topics of conversation around the dinner table, where everyone lingered, since the after-supper strolls on the beach were out of the question.

  The young people discussed endlessly such classics as Dickens's Tale of Two Cities, debating Sidney Carton's self-sacrifice for love of Lucie Manett, and romances such as The Man in the Iron Mask and The Lady of Shalott.

  At these literary round tables, they were often forced to defend their reading choices. Cara took some badgering for hers, a book of Charles and Mary Lamb's, Tales of Shakespeare for Children. However, she reacted by challenging the others, one at a time, to relate the plot of some of the most famous of the Bard's works. All proved woefully unable to do so, hence she won the day.

  During this week of forced indoor activity, the recent play-go
ing jaunts inspired some amateur theatrics. It began when Scott gave an impromptu oration of " T h e boy stood on the burning deck." Challenges to perform followed and some unexpected and amazing talent emerged. Owen did a stirring recitation of "Under the spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands," accompanied by elaborate gestures. And Vance's rendition of "Be it ever so humble, there's n o place like home" was met with teasing jeers and boos that he accepted with scraping bows and good humor.

  Eventually it was Cara's suggestion that they put on some plays of their own. Bored with the monotony of confinement, most of them agreed it was a good idea, and they divided up into groups and began to make their plans.

  With no formal scripts, each actor made up his or her own lines from a basic knowledge of the plot after a few read-throughs. The results were often hilarious, but the uproarious productions, full of mistakes and mishaps, only made for more memorable evenings.

  Cara was declared the undisputed star, taking on any role assigned her without inhibition or self-consciousness. She won enthusiastic applause for her role as Rochester's mad wife, scaring not only her audience with her crazed screams but also poor Meredith, who was playing the indomitable Jane Eyre.

  Owen, however, was the surprise of their theatrical season, showing amazing presence and flair in the role of John Alden in Longfellow's The Courtship of Miles Standish.

  After another week of gray days there finally came a morning when they awoke to find the sun shining brightly. The ocean was blue and calm, the beach swept clean, as if the world had just been newly created.

  Knowing that it was Owen's day off from the Inn, Cara slipped down to the kitchen early to put together a picnic lunch. She was pouring some of the iced tea made the night before into a thermos when Scott entered the kitchen.

  Startled, she looked up from the basket she was packing. "What are you doing up?"

  "Going fishing . . . and in search of a cup of coffee," he retorted, eyeing her activity curiously. "And where, may I ask, are you off to so early?"