Mirror Bride

by Jane Peart

  Later that morning Kitty and Cara were starting to trim the Christmas tree that had just been set up when Kip showed up unannounced.

  "What brings you over here so early?" Cara asked him coolly, continuing to loop strings of cranberries through the boughs.

  "Just wanted to start my day off right by getting one of your incomparable greetings. You always make a fellow feel so wel-come!" Kip quipped back, then sent one of his heart-rocking smiles Kitty's way. "Good morning, twin—the sweet-tempered one, that is."

  He walked over to the ladder on which Cara was standing and gave it a little shake, causing it to wobble slightly. "As for you, I guess I could wait until you were in a better mood, but I just wanted to remind you that tomorrow night's the Tollivers' party and—"

  "So?" came Cara's indifferent comment.

  Kitty stiffened, realizing that she was going to deliver her blow and that Kip was not prepared for it.

  "So—" he imitated her tone of voice—"I just wanted to know what time we should go. The invitation said seven."

  "I don't know what time you should go, but Vance Langley's coming for me at quarter to seven."

  "Vance Langley?" Kip repeated. "You're joking."

  "No, I'm not. What makes you think I'm joking?"

  Then, realizing she was serious. Kip spoke with steely precision. "I was under the impression you promised to go with me"

  "Well, you were under a mistaken impression," Cara retorted. "You know, Kip, you take a lot for granted. But I wouldn't worry if I were you. I'm sure you'll have no trouble at all finding a date, what with every girl in Mayfield dying for the chance."

  Kitty tensed, knowing instinctively that Cara had hit a nerve with the remark. She glanced at Kip, saw his face turn white, his expression stony.

  "Fine, just dandy! Now you tell me." Kip was furious. "Well, thanks a lot, Cara!" he shot out, turning on his heel, his boots loud on the tile floor of the foyer. He marched across to the front door. Its resounding slam made Kitty wince.

  She turned to see her twin's reaction and saw her give an involuntary shudder. Maybe even Cara realized she'd gone too far this time.

  In spite of Cara's impatient insistence, Kitty could not bring herself to invite Kip to the dance—not after she had heard their argument and knew how hurt and angry he was. Instead, she pleaded a bad headache and did not go to the Tollivers' party at all. The lovely emerald-green velvet hung outside the armoire in their bedroom, a lonely reminder of all the fun she might have had. But it would have all been pretense, she sighed, stroking the soft nap. If she couldn't go with Kip, and know he wanted to be with her, it would have all been a waste anyhow.

  The hours ticked by endlessly. She heard the grandfather clock downstairs strike midnight, then one. It was sometime after that she heard wheels on the icy crust of snow on the driveway, voices murmuring, the sound of the front door closing.

  Kitty pretended to be asleep when the bedroom door opened with a soft squeak, and Cara slipped in. She could tell that her twin was moving about, undressing quietly. Under partially closed lids, she saw her shadow move across the room to the window, then stand there looking out. Cara parted the curtains so a narrow shaft of moonlight slanted in, outlining her figure.

  Kitty could not hold still any longer so she shifted and said, "I'm awake, Cara. You needn't tiptoe. You can turn on the light if you like."

  She saw Cara turn toward her, shake her head, but she drew the curtains back and let the moon shine into the room, making bold squares on the floor.

  "How was the party?" Kitty ventured. "Fun?"

  "Yes, I guess so. Well, you know, it was just a party . . . lots of dancing, music. You should have come." A pause, then, "Are you feeling better?"

  "Headache's all gone."

  Cara traced her finger down the length of the window pane, outlining something with her finger on the frosty glass. Then suddenly she spoke up. "Vance Langley asked me to wear his fraternity pin tonight. I thought you'd like to know."

  Kitty could not speak for a moment. Her first thought was Kip . . . how had Kip taken this news? "That's sort of like being engaged, isn't it?"

  "Yes, I suppose . . . but not for ages and ages . . . it's, well—engaged to be engaged."

  "He's awfully nice, good-looking, too . . . and a splendid rider," Kitty said, trying to sound enthusiastic, while all she could think of was the hurt in Kip's eyes, the anger in his voice—

  Cara, still standing at the window, did not respond. But before Kitty could think of anything more to say, she remarked indifferendy, "It's freezing cold . . . The lake will be frozen hard tomorrow, I think."

  "Oh, good. Maybe we can go skating."

  Cara did not answer but walked over and got into her bed. There was a long silence, both of them remaining perfectly still.

  In a few minutes, Kitty thought she heard the sound of stifled sobs from Cara's side of the room. She leaned up on her elbows and asked anxiously, "Cara . . . Are you crying?"

  "No! Of course not! Why should I be crying?" There was another silence, and Kitty distinctly heard a sniffle, but for some reason, she could say nothing more. Unless Cara wanted to confide in her, or indicated that she needed comfort, Kitty felt that she was not free to offer any. The barricade that existed between them now was impenetrable.

  "Cara—" she began hesitantly. "I hope . . . I hope you'll be very happy."

  "Of course I will," Cara said sharply. "Why ever wouldn't I be?" Another pause, then, "Well, good-night, I'm exhausted."

  Kitty lay awake long after Cara fell silent, not sure whether her twin was really asleep or not, her thoughts in turmoil. What was really going on with Cara, Kip, and Vance Langley?

  Cara pretended to be asleep when Kitty got up the next morning, tiptoeing around so as not to disturb her twin, then went out and shut the door softly behind her. Cara lay there for a few minutes, plotting just how she would manage the day.

  She did not know how she could avoid going skating today, but she knew she had to make another trip to Arbordale before the New Year's party. Still, it would have been such fun to be out on the frozen pond again. She loved the sensation of gliding on the ice. She was a good skater, and she knew it. Her skating outfit with its swirling, fur-trimmed skirt and the tight little jacket with Russian braid was sure to attract attention, for she had seen the admiring glances cast her way as she skimmed and weaved in and out. It is like dancing, she thought, only better, with the fresh air and the cold wind in your face and the feeling of total freedom! But . . . first things first.

  Cara threw back the covers and got out of bed. Flinging on her quilted robe, she slid her feet into fuzzy slippers and brushed her hair back, securing it with the first thing she saw, which was the narrow sash of the dress she had worn the night before.

  Taking a look in the mirror, she wondered if she looked pale enough to complain of a scratchy throat. If so, she could mention that she felt achy, not up to the long walk through the woods to the pond. Or would Mama get all solicitous and put her to bed with a mustard plaster and a hot brick at her feet, declaring she'd better stay in bed until all danger of the "flu" that was going around, was past?

  She had to get to Arbordale today. Maybe if she just said she was tired . . . after all, it was long after midnight before she had come up to bed. Just maybe she could get away with it . . . if she was very, very clever.

  Kitty wanted to be sympathetic when Cara told her she wouldn't be going skating. But down in the tiny self-centered spot she tried hard not to indulge, she was glad. If Kip realized that Cara was not in love with him—

  And Cara had certainly given her the go-ahead in every way, hadn't she? If she really was engaged to be engaged to Vance, didn't that give Kitty clear sailing?

  The morning was bitingly cold, and frost had traced an icy lace on the grass as Kitty and Meredith, skates slung over their shoulders, made their way to the pond. The path underneath their boots was hard with a slight overlay of frost and crunched with every step they
took. The sun, pale at first, emerged gradually into mellow brightness, sharpening the winter landscape of brown fields and dark evergreens.

  The boys had gone out earlier to test the ice and had declared it solid. There was a mood of anticipation in the air, and voices rang with good humor as they called back and forth from group to group along the trail, everyone eager to begin the first skating party of the year.

  The sight that greeted them when they arrived was spectacular—the gleaming surface of the frozen pond, ringed with snow banks and stately pines, their branches heavy with snow. Then the skaters themselves, garbed in colorful mufflers and mittens—bright spots of warmth and life against the wintry backdrop.

  Gaiety and good-humored greetings resounded as skates were put on and laced up tight and the first skaters glided out onto the ice.

  To Kitty's dismay, Kip was all moody and miserable. Cara, of course, was the cause. Kitty could not deny the fact that his face had brightened at the sight of her. It was a common mistake, and not the first time he had mistaken Kitty for Cara.

  She put on her skates and moved out onto the ice, telling herself that she must be sensible. How could she ever be sure of Kip's love when she and Cara looked so much alike? Even if he managed to get to know and love her for herself, would he always fantasize that she was her twin?

  Suddenly Kitty heard the scratch of steel on ice behind her and executed a figure eight just as Kip skated alongside. A split second afterward, he held out his hand, inviting her to skate with him. Determined to seize the moment, Kitty thrust away all her disturbing thoughts and smilingly took his hand.

  Kip made an amusing comment and she laughed in delight, feeling the wind on her face, the glow of happiness. For now . . . it was enough—

  Wind-driven snow blew in chilling gusts around the corner of the building. Cara huddled against the stone wall in the arched passageway. In spite of her fur jacket, she felt cold. She clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering and chafed her hands inside the fur-lined gloves.

  From inside the church, through the cracks of the stained-glass windows under which she stood, she could hear the muted sound of the organ and voices lifted in some hymn or carol. The choir must be practicing. She dared not go in, afraid someone might ask why she was here.

  Shivering, Cara found herself saying frantic prayers. The light was fading quickly. If he didn't come soon, she'd have to leave without seeing him, or she would be missed at home and there would be questions—

  Then she heard booted footsteps along the stone walk, and turned. Her heart leaped with joy. He was here. He had come.

  "I'm sorry I kept you waiting. You must be freezing."

  She shook her head impatiently. "Well, can you come?"

  "I can't. I can't leave now. There's a Vigil service, Watch Night—"

  "But—" She wanted to plead with him but checked herself. "There's no way?"

  "You knew it might turn out like this when I—"

  "I know . . . I just thought—" Then, "Can we go somewhere for a little while?"

  He hesitated.

  "You're afraid someone might see us, aren't you?"

  "Well, I suppose—"

  "Never mind." Her voice quavered.

  His arms went around her, holding her. "You shouldn't be standing here in this wind," he said, his lips warm on her cold brow.

  She shifted slightiy and lifted her head, searching the clear eyes of the young man in whose embrace the world seemed to begin and end. Slowly, everything else—the shrill whistle of the wind, the voices of the choir inside raised in anthems—receded, as if coming from a long distance.

  For a moment all Cara was aware of was the pounding of her heart before she felt the seeking sweetness of his kiss.

  Too soon it ended, and she heard him say huskily, "I have to go. It's getting late. You'd better leave, too—"

  "No," she protested, her voice muffled against his tweed jacket.

  "Oh, Cara, sometimes I wonder if—"

  "Don't say that! Don't even think that!"

  "I don't like meeting this way. At least, shouldn't we tell Scott?"

  "No!" She cut him off. "It would just cause . . . difficulties. Not yet—" She sighed. "You're sure about New Year's?"

  "It's impossible." He kissed her again, a long, lingering, tender kiss. "I have to go now. You must, too. It will be dark soon—"

  "I know—" Still she was reluctant to move out of the comforting circle of his arms.

  He held her tight in one long hug, then released her. "You'll write?"

  "Of course."

  She watched his tall figure, head bent against the snowy wind, hurrying across the churchyard. She felt miserable and abandoned, her heart as cold and frozen as her fingers and toes.

  chapter 13

  ON THE LAST DAY of the year, Cameron Hall hummed with activity. Everything was in preparation for the smaller party to be held that night for family and close friends, with the Open House to follow on New Year's Day.

  Cara had never felt less like celebrating. It all seemed so pointless when the one person in the world she wanted to be with was not here. The future was a blank. The new year promised nothing.

  The game she was playing was utterly false, but she couldn't stop now. It would have been easier had she been able to keep up the charade. Everyone was used to their sparring, their teasing, but for Kitty's sake, she must once and for all end things with Kip.

  To make that more evident, she had introduced a new player into the game—a "pawn," Vance Langley, who had been constantly dancing in attendance since the summer at Cape Cod. One unexpected complication, however, was that her family was delighted with her new beau. An excellent horseback rider and hunter with the manners of a born Virginia gentleman, Vance had won both Rod's and Blythe's approval.

  Maybe she could have handled that for the few days left of Christmas vacation if Kip hadn't made such a nuisance of himself. He had taken her new preoccupation with Vance as a direct challenge not to miss a single party, and there he would sulk and stare, generally disrupting her plans.

  Cara felt helpless, trapped, and resentful. And it showed. She was snappish with her family, picked petty quarrels with Kitty, and argued with her mother. Everyone was finding her behavior tedious and tiring.

  To make matters even worse, sandpapering her nerves was the unexpected arrival of Evalee Bondurant. She had wheedled an invitation from Blythe to spend the New Year's weekend at Cameron Hall instead of Montclair, which Evalee found deadly dull.

  "Aunt Davida's always sick, and my mother and Jonathan are always out somewhere together," she complained, so the twins found themselves unwilling hostesses to their cousin.

  Although she had been given a guest room to herself, Evalee popped in and out of the twins' room without so much as an "if you please," imposing her company on them constantly. Evalee put on so many airs, going on endlessly about her sister, Lady Bianding, and her country estate, her London townhouse, and all the social events she attended while visiting there, that Cara was ready to scream.

  "Lalage has promised that she'll arrange for me to be presented at Court!" Evalee told the twins, posing and practicing what she assumed to be proper court bows in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom.

  Kitty watched nervously as Cara's temper grew shorter and shorter. Besides Evalee's annoying presence, she knew that there was something else bothering her twin. As the tension tightened, Kitty began to dread the inevitable explosion.

  Arriving home on New Year's Eve afternoon, Scott Cameron was in an unusually introspective mood, his thoughts full of possible plans for the future. He had had several long talks with his father during this vacation, and he knew that Rod expected him to join the family business when he graduated next year.

  But there was one big problem. Scott had his heart set on a career in the practice of law. With a strong legal tradition in the Cameron family, he didn't know why his father wouldn't be pleased with his choice. Great-Uncle Log
an had been very successful, had even gone to Bermuda and become a well-known solicitor there.

  Still, Scott wasn't sure how to break the news to his father, who had already suffered the disappointment of one son's refusal to join him in the Cameron Hall Horse Farms. Scott's stepbrother Jeff had made another choice, too, one that had almost caused a permanent rift in the relationship between stepfather and son. History had a way of repeating itself. He didn't want to be the second to let his father down, but—

  As he walked in the front door, he was annoyed to hear voices raised in argument. That Cara's at it again, he thought with some irritation. It was unmistakably her voice arguing with their mother. Why was it that his younger sister always managed to cause a minor hurricane whenever she was home from school?

  "It's not too sophisticated!" he heard her protest. "After all, I'm twenty, almost twenty-one!"

  Then there was Blythe's quiet, reasonable tone, though he couldn't quite hear what she was saying. He felt like giving his sister a piece of his mind, but, gathering their discussion had something to do with a dress, decided it was not his area of expertise. Instead, he strode through the hall and out to his fathet's office above the stables.

  Maybe it wasn't the best time to approach Rod, to come to some decision about his future. Then, what better time than New Yeat's Eve?

  Upstairs, when Blythe left the twins' bedroom after issuing her ultimatum that either Cara change her dress or wear the fringed Spanish shawl over her bare shoulders and daring décolletage, the discussion continued in lowered tones.

  "It's so unfair!" Cara said furiously. "Mama didn't say a word about Evalee's dress! Black velvet and rhinestones is perfectly all right for her to wear, it seems, so why should she make such a fuss about my dress?"

  "Why don't you just do what Mama says, Cara?" pleaded Kitty.

  "Because I'm sick to death of people telling me how to be, how to act, how to dress, for pity's sake! Everyone . . . Mother, Father, Scott, and you . . . yes, you, Kitty!" Cara accused her, then pacing the room, she went on. "I know they all want me to be more like you. Even our friends expect us to behave exactly the same. Well, I'm not you! I'm me! And if this family can't accept me the way I am, who I am . . . well, that's just too bad!"