Mirror Bride

by Jane Peart

  Crushed by her twin's outburst, Kitty was silent. She knew from experience that there was n o reasoning with Cara when she was like this. She glanced at the clock. It was getting late. Mama would be expecting them downstairs to help receive the guests, especially with so many of the younger crowd invited. So Kitty began to dress while Cara flung herself on the window seat, pouting.

  At length, Cara got up, yanked down the dress that had caused all the controversy, and slipped the filmy chiffon over her head. Then she sat down at the dressing table.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kitty watched her lean toward the mirror and bite her lips to redden them. Sweeping her hair up off her neck, Cara twisted it into a coil, anchoring it with an ornate comb. Then she fastened glittering gold hoops into her ears.

  Pushing back the dressing table bench, she stood, and stepped back to survey her appearance. Something in her sister's reflected expression sent an involuntary shiver through Kitty. She knew that look, and it always meant trouble!

  Seeing Kitty's gaze upon her, Cara struck a dramatic pose and whirled around, flinging one bare arm over her head, the other fanning out the pleated skirt. "Ta-dum!" she exclaimed. "How's this?" Then she picked up the Spanish shawl and spun it around her shoulders. "See you downstairs."

  When Cara left the room, Kitty ran after her, whether to halt her in her collision course or to warn her, she was never sure. But she was too late. As she reached the top of the steps, Cara was already running lightly downstairs, humming to herself.

  When Kitty reached the ballroom, she found the party going splendidly. Throngs of people mingled, congenially flowing through the beautifully decorated rooms and enjoying the conversation and the bounteous buffet. Another annual Cameron Hall celebration to welcome in the new year was in full swing.

  As the evening progressed, the guests broke into two groups—Blythe and Rod's friends congregating in the drawing room, the younger set gravitating to the second parlor that had been cleared for dancing. Here, the gramophone was on, spinning out all the most popular tunes, and soon couples were dancing.

  Kitty could see that Vance Langley was trying to monopolize Cara but not succeeding very well. As usual, her twin was circulating, seeming more vivacious than ever. In fact, Cara was "showing off," as their nurse, Lily, used to say, and Kitty tried not to feel annoyed. A quick glance at the glowering Kip told her that he too was obviously incensed by Cara's ignoring him.

  Kitty suspected that her sister's behavior was more than a mere reaction to the argument she had had earlier with their mother, or even her impatience with Evalee who was flirting openly with everyone. It was something more, something deeper. Whatever it was, she wished Cara would share it with her.

  Suddenly Kitty's attention was diverted from Tuck Henderson's attempt at conversation. Whatever he had been trying to tell her was drowned out by the sound of vibrant music being played very loudly. It was a Spanish dance record, a favorite of Cara's, the ballad sung by a romantic Latin musical comedy star.

  Even before she turned around, Kitty felt a tremor of apprehension. She could sense a murmur rippling through the crowd. Then she understood. A circle had formed, and everyone had stopped dancing—that is, everyone except Cara, who was in the center of the floor, dancing to the music, snapping her fingers like castanets, and swirling the Spanish shawl.

  Kitty suppressed a horrified gasp. Her parents would be absolutely appalled! At least her mother would.

  But Cara danced on, adding a staccato click of her heels to the music that intensified as it reached a crescendo. Kitty watched her, seemingly caught up in the pulsating rhythm. Did her impulsive action spring from some long-buried connection with that other Carmella, the dark-eyed Spanish ancestor with her exotic beauty and adventurous soul—their gypsy grandmother?

  Cara's heart was pounding, every drop of Spanish blood in her throbbing. She was experiencing something beyond herself as she spun around and around on the polished floor. With a final flourish of the shawl and a rap of her high heels, Cara finished with an "Olé!" to a burst of enthusiastic applause from the group of young people surrounding her.

  It was only when the music stopped and the clapping had faded away, leaving an abrupt silence, that Cara snapped back to the present moment. Standing in the archway with shocked expressions on their faces were her parents. Cara flinched before her mother's wide-eyed gaze, her father's cold fury.

  Cara's little moment of triumph fled. In its wake she felt only shame and regret. Suddenly everyone began to talk, chattering together, turning away from the embarrassing scene being enacted between parents and daughter before their eyes.

  Then Rod and Blythe turned away, too, and returned to their friends in the drawing room, to attempt to smooth over the undercurrent of tension.

  Impulsively, Kitty moved toward Cara, ready to lend sympathetic support, though Kip reached her side first. But Cara brushed him away, saying, "Let me alone!" and rushed blindly past Kitty.

  Kitty hesitated, momentarily stunned motionless, watching her sister leave the room and run up the stairs. Ordinarily she might have followed, tried to help in any way she could. But this time something held Kitty back. She had seen something more than rebellion in Cara's eyes, much more than parental displeasure in their father's.

  Instinctively, Kitty had the feeling that this night marked some kind of turning point for their family, and she felt chilled by the premonition.

  Upstairs in her room, Cara breathed rapidly, feeling the rage slowly drain away, leaving frustration and despair. She had successfully wrecked the evening for everyone. But then nobody understood. Nobody cared. When finally she could draw a breath without experiencing a sharp pain in her breast, she covered her face with her hands and felt the tears slide through her fingers as they ran down her cheeks.

  It was after midnight by the time all the guests had left. Cara, lying on her bed in the dark, heard the good-nights and New Year's greetings ringing out in the cold night air from below her bedroom window.

  A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened and Kitty came in. Cara felt her sister approach the bed, stand there for a full minute before touching her shoulder gently.

  "Cara, are you asleep? If you're not, do you want to talk?"

  "No, I'm not asleep. How could I possibly sleep after that dreadful scene tonight?" Cara replied drearily. She reached out, pulled the cord on the bedside lamp, and the room sprang into light. Punching up her pillows behind her, she sat up and leaned back. "Well, I suppose you want to write me off, too."

  Kitty shook her head sadly and sat down on the edge of the bed. "No, Cara. I just want to know . . . why?"

  "Why what? Why I danced? Or why I yelled at Kip and defied Daddy?" She gave a helpless shrug. "How do I know? Maybe I just felt like it." She sighed, then asked with a wry smile, "It did shake everyone up a little, though, didn't it?"

  "But you really hurt Daddy, Cara. And poor Kip . . . he looked so—so . . . crushed—"

  "Oh, Kip. He'll get over it. Don't worry about him. He's pulled enough stunts of his own not to dare point a finger at anyone else." She tossed the covers back and got out of bed, then went over to the dressing table and picked up the nail buffer. "What about Vance?" "He excused himself and left right after you did."

  "I'm sure his mother will get an earful from all her friends who were here. They won't be able to wait to tell her what a disgrace I was! He'll probably ask for his fraternity pin back." She gave a short laugh.

  There was a long silence, filled only with the sound of Cara filing her nails. She examined her fingertips and flung down the buffer. It clattered noisily onto the glass top of the dressing table. Then she stood and walked to the window, staring out into the darkness.

  When she turned to face Kitty at last, her eyes were flashing. "I think maybe the reason everyone was so shocked is they don't really want to see me as I am. Maybe in this family it isn't all right to be different. And I am different, Kitty, whether anyone wants to admit it or not."
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br />   "I know, Cara, but . . . it just seems like tonight you set out deliberately to cause . . . trouble."

  "Because I danced? That's crazy. I don't know why Mama should be all that upset. After all, her own mother, the one I'm named for, was a dancer." She sighed. "I guess dancing is just not considered a proper profession for all the blue-blooded Virginia Cameron clan! Or even to acknowledge that I have gypsy blood in my veins!"

  "Oh, Cara, you're just being dramatic. I have the very same blood in my veins, and I don't feel the need to exploit it—" Kitty began but never got to finish.

  "Even you don't understand, do you?" Cara looked almost sad, then shook her head.

  "I do, I mean, I'm trying to. You're my twin sister. I want to understand!" Kitty cried.

  "Yes, I know we're twins, but who am I?" demanded Cara hotly. "We're not paper dolls cut out of the same cardboard!"

  "I suppose Daddy is furious with me, isn't he?" asked Cara tentatively as the twins got dressed the next morning.

  Kitty tried to soothe her. "It's just that he loves us so much, wants to protect us—"

  "Protect us? From what? From life? From anything outside this small world of Mayfield and raising horses and hunting foxes? There's a whole other world out there, Kitty, and if he thinks I'd be content to stay in this provincial little town while I'm young and talented—" She broke off, pacing a little. "No, Kitty, you're wrong, and so is Daddy. Protect us? You mean trap us, keep us penned up here at Cameron Hall, keep us his little girls forever. What does he expect us to do . . . settle down in Virginia for the rest of our lives, content to ride horses and serve tea to company?"

  Since that was exactly what Kitty wanted to do with the rest of her life, she remained silent. Personally she could think of nothing more fulfilling than marrying someone like Kip Montrose, living at Montclair, and having his children. But knowing Kip was in love with her twin, she didn't dare say anything for fear she might set Cara off more.

  Cara twisted her hair up in a knot and adjusted the bow of her blouse. "Well, I guess I might as well beard the lion in his den or the autocrat at the breakfast table, whatever the case may be," she said with a shaky smile. "At least I got an A in English Lit." She laughed, then looked mournful. "I suppose Daddy expects me to apologize—"

  "Well, it isn't just Daddy. Scott was upset, too."

  "Oh, Scott. Well, I don't care if he is angry! He doesn't think anything I do is worthwhile."

  "Oh, Cara—," Kitty began. But her words of caution died on her lips as Cara started out the bedroom door. She had a dreadful feeling that to assert her independence, her twin would alienate everyone.

  Almost in fulfillment of Kitty's unspoken prediction, Scott came down the hall as Cara left her bedroom on her way downstairs.

  Pausing on the stairs, Scott turned to glare at her. "Why is it you can't let us have a peaceful holiday without throwing one of your public tantrums? What are you really trying to prove, Cara?"

  Cara felt a choking fury. "Maybe I'm not trying to prove anything. Maybe I'm just being myself, hoping this family will see me as I really am for a change," she flung back.

  "Oh, we've seen you all right. We see a selfish little brat who doesn't care if she spoils an entire evening for everyone!"

  With that, he preceded her down the steps, leaving her trembling with rage but unable to think of anything to say in her own defense.

  Only Blythe was at the table when Cara finally worked up enough courage to enter the dining room. Scott had evidently had his coffee and left. Her mother raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

  "Is Daddy . . . at the stables . . . or has he gone riding?" Cara asked warily.

  "He went out early, but he should be back shortly," Blythe replied evenly. "He wants to talk with you."

  Impulsively, Cara went over to her mother. "Oh, Mama, I'm sorry if I did anything . . . well, if I embarrassed you last night. But you, of all people, should understand my loving to dance and—"

  "That's not the point, Cara." Blythe rose, pushing back her chair. "But I agreed not to discuss this with you until your father has had a chance to see you." With that, she left the dining room.

  For a minute, Cara closed her eyes wearily. With only two days remaining of the Christmas vacation, she had managed to make a mess of things. Somehow she'd counted on her mother's usual support. She dreaded facing her father. And all because—

  She gulped down two cups of coffee, but still her father did not appear. Maybe she could put this off a while. She'd go riding, she decided. A good canter always cleared her head, made her feel refreshed and invigorated.

  Passing Kitty on the stairs, she told her what she was planning to do, and hurried by. In her room, Cara dragged on her boots, pulled on her heavy sweater and tweed jacket, and rummaged in the bottom of the closet to find her twill riding skirt.

  She was nearly ready when the knock came on the bedroom door. She stiffened and waited a full second before calling out, "Come in."

  Another short pause, and the doorknob twisted and Rod entered.

  One look at his expression, and all Cara's intentions to be calm and accept her father's rebuke with proper respect left her. All the emotion that had built up in anticipation of this confrontation, hardened into a long self-justification. What had she done, after all, that was so wrong?

  Straightening her shoulders, Cara did not wait for him to speak first but lashed out recklessly. "I suppose you expect me to apologize. But what am I supposed to apologize for? For being myself? For using a talent I happen to have? Some people would even call it a 'gift.'" She gave a nervous laugh. "Aren't "all good and perfect gifts' from above? What if my talent for dancing is a God-given gift, like Meredith's music, or Kitty's singing?"

  "You may apologize or not, as you wish," Rod said in a low voice. "That's up to you. I have to deal with my own feelings. So what I came to say to you this morning is this, Cara. I can forgive you for making a spectacle of yourself, but I find it hard to extend forgiveness for embarrassing your mother and me and for your rudeness to our guests."

  He halted, his expression softening as he looked at his daughter, but he continued in the same even tone. "I realize that it may have been the impulse of the moment—we all make mistakes of judgment one time or another—and so I'm willing to forgive you."

  Cara willed herself not to betray her pain at her father's words. Furthermore, she had always prided herself on not crying if she could possibly help it. Even as a child, when Kitty would burst into tears at the slightest reprimand from Rod or a gender reproach from their mother, Cara would stubbornly resist the urge. She was determined not to give way now.

  "I don't want your forgiveness. I've done nothing to be forgiven for."

  Rod regarded her steadily. Whatever emotion he was feeling when he spoke, his voice revealed nothing. "All of us need forgiveness sometime in our lives, Cara—either to extend it or to receive it. I hope you learn that before it's too late."

  chapter 14

  IN SPITE OF everyone's best efforts, the rest of the holiday at Cameron Hall was strained. Everyone went through the motions like actors who had rehearsed their lines well and now performed them woodenly. But there was no spontaneity, no joy, for the embers of the hot flames of emotions still smoldered.

  Although Cara had made an abject apology to Blythe and been forgiven, her father remained aloof. There seemed nothing Cara could do to bring back their old affectionate relationship.

  The usual flow of visits between the families at Montclair and Cameron Hall ceased abruptly after New Year's Day. No one said so, but Cara felt certain that she was the cause. Even Kip stayed away. Although Vance continued to court her, seemingly unaffected by the New Year's party scene, gossip soon reached Blythe that his mother, Cornelia Langley, had been deeply shocked by Cara's "performance" at the party.

  No one questioned Cara's decision not to accompany the rest of the family to Williamsburg to visit relatives the following Sunday. In fact, there seemed to be a corporate s
igh of relief when she mentioned going to the late morning service at the Mayfield church. This, she knew, would satisfy her mother, who had been upset when Cara had spent Christmas Eve with the Langleys instead of attending the midnight candlelight service with them.

  This church dated back to Colonial days, and the Montrose and Cameron families had worshiped there ever since. But the service itself, although individualized somewhat by the various pastors who had graced its pulpit, retained many of the same traditions observed by the older Virginia congregation.

  There was a garden that in spring was abloom with lovely old lilacs and other perennial flowering plants set out in a rectangular form enclosed with a scrolled iron fence. Behind the church on a sloping knoll was the church cemetery, where many of the familiar names of the county were engraved on the headstones and crosses.

  While the Cameron name appeared again and again on the markers, the name Montrose was absent, for the Montrose family had their own graveyard on a hill above Montclair. How appropriate, Cara could not help thinking. The Montroses have always kept themselves a little apart. There was an element of pride that held them aloof, made them sometimes maddeningly arrogant. Kip certainly manifested that trait, and Cara knew with some guilt that she had used his weakness for her own advantage.

  As she knelt, she was feeling a rare mixture of emotions. She had been humbled by what had happened during the past few days, the havoc she had wrought. Even though she knew that it was her own secret unhappiness that had fueled her behavior, it was wrong. It was nobody else's fault that she was so frustrated, so depressed.

  The one little glimmer of hope she had was that Owen had agreed to meet her here. Here they could be alone, no watchful eyes observing. She intended to say what was in her heart to say, ask him to tell her what was in his.

  She couldn't give up. Not now, not when she believed as she did, loved as she did. Nothing made sense if Owen wouldn't admit what she felt in her soul was true. Please, God, let him see me as I really am.