Mirror Bride

by Jane Peart

  Then he was beside her. "I need to talk to you, Cara. Let's take a walk on the beach."

  Her heart gave a little leap, aching with gladness but knowing it was all so hopeless. Still, she couldn't refuse. Silently they went down the steps and onto the sand. Though they were only inches apart, he had never seemed so far away.

  They walked slowly along the water's edge, stopping every once in a while to watch the surf rolling in its relentless invasion of the shore, taking an occasional backward step to avoid being soaked.

  Then suddenly Cara cried out. "Wait!"

  Sitting down on a drifted log and unlacing her shoes, she pulled off her stockings. She looked at Owen almost defiantly, then rose, and swung her shoes by their laces over her shoulder. Holding up her linen skirt with one hand, she walked on ahead, curling her bare toes into the scallops of foam.

  "Let's go out to the jetty," Owen suggested quietly, coming up beside her. But Cara hesitated, remembering the picnic on the day they had first kissed. "Come on." He held out his hand.

  She didn't take it but continued walking in that direction.

  "Cara, we have to talk."

  "What is there to talk about?"

  "About this morning . . . about me. About us."

  She shook her head, dislodging some of the hairpins and loosening her hair to tumble about her face. She pushed it back impatiently.

  Suddenly she stopped, faced him, and looked full into his eyes. She felt again the sting of threatened tears and willed them back. "Kitty says you have a call of God on your life," she said shakily. "I guess I really don't understand what that means. . . ."

  "I don't know if I can explain i t . . . at least, the way it really is."

  He looked far out toward the ocean, then, as if choosing his words carefully, said, "I can only compare it to what some men feel is the call of the sea, or the call to explore, or to climb the Himalayas. It is something deep within . . . something irresistible, insistent that, in the end, must be answered. That's what seminaries are for, Cara. To give those few—those lucky few who feel called—a chance to test the call to see if they really have been chosen."

  "But—" Cara felt the pain in her heart pressing against her chest.

  "I can't make any plans, Cara. I have to simply wait on the Lord to make straight my path."

  She realized he was quoting Scripture, and she felt abandoned again. She had lost the power she had once had over Owen. He belonged to Someone else now, though he may have loved her for a brief time. There was no promise for the future.

  Her eyes moved over his face, the strong line of his jaw, those clear, truth-seeking eyes. "I love you, Owen," she heard herself say, then looked away from the expression that came over him at her words.

  She had not meant to say that. She felt humiliated by the confession, for she would not demean herself to plead for his love. "I know this isn't the right time . . . I mean, I understand you have a commitment to finish your training and—" Her voice faltered. "I'm sorry. Maybe I was mistaken . . . maybe this whole thing was only a figment of my imagination—"

  "No, Cara. Believe me, it was I who was wrong . . . to lead you on. I shouldn't have—" Owen halted awkwardly. "But it just wouldn't be fair for me to let you think—"

  "Oh, please, Owen, don't say anything more. You're right. Neither of us can promise anything—" Yet in her heart, Cara knew she would promise Owen anything! If only he would ask, she would wait for him however long it took . . . forever!

  "I'm leaving next week," he said, breaking into her thoughts. "So, let's go on just as before. Let's enjoy the time we have left, just the way it's been this summer."

  "Of course," Cara replied, managing a bright smile, even though she knew they couldn't go back, that nothing could be the same.

  Lying sleepless in her bed far into the night, Cara wrestled with her emotions. After knowing Owen, how could she possibly love anyone else? She would have to wait, hope . . . and yes, pray. . . and if her love was strong enough, strong enough for both of them, maybe someday there would be a place for her in his life.

  chapter 8

  CARA'S OBVIOUS reluctance to leave Fair Winds was contagious and at last spilled over onto Kitty. In a reflective mood one day, Kitty began to consider what the next weeks would bring—new experiences, new friends, a whole different life at college.

  This had been such a special odyssey. For the span of a few weeks, she and Cara had been living in another world altogether, a world thirty miles out from the mainland, a world apart from their ordinary lives, as if nothing and no one else existed except these special few.

  On one of the last nights together they all sat cross-legged on the floor, eating buttery popcorn out of a big bowl placed in the middle of the circle as they played Twenty Questions. Cara made a sarcastic remark when Kip failed to guess the subject, one that Kitty had felt was too obscure all along, even though the rest of the team had consented to use it.

  Now Kip was angry, and anger always made him caustic. Though he tried to cover it with retaliatory teasing, it usually came out as vindictive and mean-spirited, with Cara as his target.

  As Kitty observed their verbal duel, it was easy to see that Cara was baiting Kip. This had been happening increasingly over the last few weeks, she realized, mostly in a crowd when Owen wasn't present. But Cara was too clever an adversary for Kip, able to turn his jibes around so that he appeared foolish.

  Kitty gave her twin a reproachful glance, but Cara pretended not to see it and went on openly criticizing Kip. It was only when Owen arrived later, after his evening shift at the Dover Inn, that Cara's attitude changed. Kip was aware of it, too, Kitty noticed, and grew more morose as the evening progressed.

  After the others had scattered to the cottages where they were guests, Kip lingered. While she and Merry began cleaning up, collecting the empty glasses and bowls and carrying them out to the Kitchen, Kitty saw him corner Cara, take her arm, and lead her firmly out onto the porch.

  After they went upstairs to get ready for bed, Kitty and Merry heard voices—Kip's first, loud and angry, then Cara's heated rebuttal. The voices, if not the words, carried all the way up the stairs and into the bedroom. There was no mistaking the fact that Kip and Cara were quarreling bitterly, shouting insults at each other that were gaining in volume and intensity.

  Merry made an agonized face. "How sad that this had to happen at the end of our summer."

  Kitty nodded. " T h a t storm's been brewing all week. I'm just surprised that it didn't break sooner."

  "If it had, maybe it wouldn't be so awful. They'd have a chance to make up before you have to leave." Merry sounded mournful.

  Kitty shrugged. "Oh, well, you know Kip and Cara. It's always high drama with them. Maybe by tomorrow, they'll have forgotten whatever it was they were fighting about."

  "You mean, kissed and made up?"

  Just as she said that, there was silence on the porch below. Looking at each other, they scrambled over to the window to squint into the darkness. But while they were still leaning out on the windowsill, they heard the screen door bang and saw Kip's tall figure striding down the path toward the beach, kicking up sand as he walked. Next came the sound of running footsteps. Then the bedroom door opened and Cara came in.

  The next day, remembering the argument the night before, Kitty risked Cara's resentment and asked, "Why have you been so odious to Kip these last few weeks? It seems so unfair when he obviously adores you."

  "You're wrong, Kitty. I am being fair. I don't want him to be in love with me!"

  "But why not? You've grown up together . . . everyone expects it—"

  Cara responded with that mysterious smile that had always infuriated Kitty when they were younger. "Because there's someone else . . . but I can't . . . I mean, I don't want to say who it is."

  Stunned, Kitty could hardly believe her ears. But feeling toward Kip as she herself did, it seemed safer not to pursue the subject.

  At last the signs of the summer's end co
uld not be denied. One by one, all the other beach cottages emptied, though Davida Montrose delayed their departure as long as possible, leaving open cardboard boxes sitting around and the packing unfinished to wander down to the beach for just one more stroll.

  Meredith herself hated to see the summer end. But at least she and Manny had arrived at a plan to keep in touch. Still, the idea of keeping a secret this big and this important frightened her. She had never done anything like this before in her life.

  Finally, there was no avoiding the inevitable. The twins were packed and ready to be driven to the harbor where they would board the ferry for New Bedford, there to take the train to Richmond and back to Mayfield.

  Cara glanced around, ostensibly to check for items they may have left behind, but more accurately checking the road back into the village for signs of Owen. He had kept his word, she thought sadly. He had not come to say good-bye. The timing wasn't right for them, he had told her, when what she wanted to hear was that he loved her. But love could wait, couldn't it? Love could endure. Owen, of all people, should know that.

  Even she knew what the Scriptures said about love. It was somewhere in a book called Corinthians, she thought, trying to recall the passage: "Love suffereth long and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up . . . love thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never faileth."

  Why couldn't he have come to say good-bye?

  Then it was time for their departure. As they bade a tearful farewell to Meredith, who saw them off with hugs all around, they reminded each other that it wouldn't be long until Christmas when they would all be in Mayfield for the holidays.

  "And, of course, there's always next summer!"

  Next summer, Cara thought sadly. What did next summer matter? Maybe she would never see Owen again. All she had to cling to was a small book of Robert Burns's poetry—the one Owen had marked for her, indicating his favorites:

  Had we never loved sae kindly,

  Had we never loved sae blindly,

  Never met—never parted

  We'd had n'er been broken-hearted.

  As the ferry pulled out of the harbor, Cara wondered, hoped even, that his heart felt as broken as hers.

  Part III

  Christmas Holidays 1909

  to January 1910

  Mayfield, Virginia

  chapter 9

  THE LOCOMOTIVE rumbled over the bridge and rounded the bend through the last length of Mayfield's picturesque countryside, then finally pulled to a hissing stop. Kitty, who had been waiting impatiently for the arrival of the train from Washington, D.C., ran along the platform, looking at each car for a glimpse of her sister.

  At last she spotted a face identical to her own, pressed against one of the windows. Waving, she received an answering wave from a gloved hand. Two minutes later, the conductor swung down out of the train and placed a yellow stool underneath the high steps for the disembarking passengers.

  Kitty had asked to come alone to the station to meet Cara. As she waited, her feelings had been mixed. Without knowing why, she felt that this homecoming was significant. She hoped that being home for the holidays, back in the warm family circle at Christmas as it was always celebrated at Cameron Hall, Cara would regain some of her natural gaiety and zest.

  All fall, Kitty had been concerned about her twin. Something had happened last summer at Cape Cod, something she had never confided to her. But she had not really been the same since. Oh, there had been moments when she seemed her old self, like the time she had had the starring role in Fern Grove's dramatic presentation of She Stoops to Conquer, or when Vance Langley invited her to VMI for a special weekend. At those times her sister had seemed happy and excited. But her euphoria was always short-lived, and Cara had sunk again into the depression that had marked most of the semester.

  After Thanksgiving, Cara had caught a bad cold that hung on so long she was sent to the infirmary to recuperate, missing midterm examinations as a consequence. So Kitty had preceded her home for the holidays, while Cara remained at school a few days longer to make up the tests.

  She looks fully recovered now, Kitty thought, seeing the slender, russet-haired girl in a sheared beaver jacket step off the train. In fact, Kitty noticed, her sister looked positively glowing.

  "Oh, Cara, is so good to see you!" Kitty called, running up and giving her a hug. "How are you and how were the exams?"

  "I'm fine—" Cara began, then grimaced. "But they were dreadful! The professors probably thought you'd crib me, so they changed all the questions and made them harder." She tucked her arm through her siste's. "Where is everybody? I thought you might at least have a brass band out to meet me!"

  Kitty laughed. "Well, you would take the midday train. Mama's at a meeting of the Ladies' Guild, planning for the Christmas bazaar and appointing committees to decorate the church, Daddy's training a new horse, and Scott's gone riding with Kip—"

  Cara's expression altered slightly. "Oh, is Kip home? I thought maybe Mrs. Montrose might have persuaded Uncle Jonathan to spend Christmas in Massachusetts with her Yankee relatives." There was a touch of scorn in her tone.

  Kitty shook her head. "No, not this year. But from what Merry told me, Colonel Carpenter may be coming down to Montclair for the holidays." Then, almost as an afterthought, "Kip just got home yesterday. He spent a few days in New York with some of his Harvard friends, then came down by way of Washington. If you'd come a day earlier, you two would have been on the same train."

  By this time, they had reached the end of the platform where the Camerons' chauffeur waited by the elegant dark green carriage drawn up in front of the station house.

  He tipped his hat and smiled. "Welcome home, Miss Cara. It sho' is nice to see ya."

  "Thank you, Willis. Is good to be home and to see you, too." Cara dug into her handbag and handed him her baggage tickets.

  "Will you please get my trunk and suitcase?"

  While Willis hurried to get Cara's belongings from the luggage cart, the two sisters got into the carriage.

  "Oh, Cara, it's wonderful to be together again, isn't it? Do you realize that this is the longest we've ever been apart in our whole lives?" Kitty squeezed her arm excitedly. "We've had scads of invitations, but I didn't know which ones to accept 'til you got home."

  Cara tucked the lap robe over their knees. "Have you seen much of Merry and Kip so far?" she asked with elaborate casualness.

  "Not really. Meredith just got home two days ago, and you know how possessive their mother is. She seems to be jealous of anything or anyone who takes them away from Montclair for more than a few hours. But Merry has asked us over for an afternoon soon. I'm anxious to hear about her first semester at Peabody, aren't you? I remember that the brochure she showed us at the Cape last summer sounded awfully grim."

  Cara recalled having read the orientation booklet that Merry had received from the New England college. She had tossed it aside and rolled her eyes, grateful that she and Kitty were returning to Fern Grove. Of course, some people, Merry's mother Davida, for example, considered Fern Grove more of a fashionable finishing school than an institution of higher learning. Poor Merry, Cara thought with sympathy.

  As they traveled down the familiar road from Mayfield to their country home, Kitty looked about her with delight. She loved coming home to Cameron Hall, not realizing how much she would miss it until she had spent time away in college. Sometimes she longed to be home and was sure that if it were not for Cara as her roommate at Fern Grove, she would have been downright homesick.

  As they turned into the gates, Kitty felt a pang of nostalgia, seeing, as with fresh eyes, the pastures stretching away on either side, the meadows and woodland beyond. Coming up the curved drive toward the imposing house, they passed the horses grazing behind the white board fences, looking exactly like a picture of this special part of Virginia—her home, her he
art.

  She glanced over at her twin to see if she shared some of her feelings. But Cara was not even looking out the carriage window. She seemed lost in her own thoughts. What were they? Kitty wondered. Suddenly she felt shut out as she had so often last summer. Perhaps it was overly optimistic for her to think they could somehow capture their old intimacy while they were home for the holidays.

  "Here we are, home at last!" Kitty announced cheerfully as they pulled to a stop in front of the house. "And just think . . . we have three glorious weeks of vacation!"

  At this, Cara seemed to perk up and stepped down from the carriage. Moving out in front of Kitty, she ran up the steps and into the house.

  Inside, signs of the holiday were already in evidence. The ornaments for the tree—brought to the house from the shed—were in boxes stacked in the hallway. Red candles waited to be unwrapped and placed in brass holders and set in every window.

  Catching the spirit of anticipation that permeated the house, Cara whirled about. "What's the weather forecast, Kitty? I hope it snows soon!"

  "I hope so, too!" echoed Kitty, glad to see Cara's enthusiasm.

  At that moment, Willis stepped inside, bringing Cara's luggage as well as several packages bearing the names of Richmond stores.

  Kitty looked at them askance. "You must have done some Christmas shopping!"

  Cara looked secretive. "Well, if you must know, I did stay over with with Susie Mills, and we did go shopping."

  Susie, one of their Fern Grove classmates, was a flighty kind of girl whom Kitty didn't respect much. This news bothered her, and her voice betrayed her concern. "You mean . . . you weren't at school all this time?"

  "Oh, Kitty, don't be such a nit-picker! I finished my exams and then went over to the Mills' house. Susie's asked me dozens of times. It only meant an extra day or so—"

  "But Mama didn't know," Kitty said slowly. "She was feeling so sorry for you, being at Fern Grove all alone, taking tests—"

  "Well, I was there most of the time. When would I have gotten my Christmas presents for the family if I hadn't spent some time in Richmond?" she asked in a tone that instantly made Kitty feel foolish. Turning to Willis, who had been waiting patiently during the twins' exchange, she said, "Please take all that stuff upstairs," then deftly changed the subject.