by Jane Peart
Kitty, who had been rather dreading going back to college after the long holiday, now found herself looking forward to it. Since the disastrous party on New Year's night, an event she now privately referred to as the "fiasco," life at Cameron Hall had not been comfortable. An uneasy truce between Cara and the rest of the family prevailed, but it was certainly not the old easy camaraderie they had always enjoyed.
Today both the Montrose and Cameron families were at the Mayfield train station to see their young people off to their respective colleges. The atmosphere, however, was much changed from what it had been only a few weeks before.
After the first exchange of greetings, the two groups kept to themselves, engaging in the inconsequential conversation indulged by people waiting for trains, making trivial kinds of last-minute remarks.
Davida Montrose, dressed with her usual understated elegance in a pale mushroom-beige coat, a stone-marten fur thrown around her shoulders, clung to Kip's arm as if loath to let him go. Why is there always that air of melancholy about Davida? Kitty wondered, observing the mother and son.
Kip was concentrating on whatever his mother was saying, stoically avoiding making eye contact with Cara, who stood a little apart on the other side of the platform.
She, on the other hand, stared down the railroad track, willing the train to be on time or even early, although she hated the thought of going back to the monotonous routine of college so ill-suited to her nature and personality. Had it only been three weeks since her arrival here, a homecoming filled with anticipation?
As time passed, the small talk gradually drifted off and an awkward silence grew as they all stood stiffly, straining for the sound of the train's approach. Rod moved from one foot to the other restlessly. Blythe's hands clenched nervously inside her mink muff, her mind oppressed by the unhappiness that surrounded her. The mood of gloom was so pervasive that even those not directly involved in the individual quarrels could not fail to be affected.
Gamely, Meredith and Kitty struggled to keep up a light patter of conversation, hoping to bridge the noticeable gap between the two families. But as valiantly as they tried, they could not seem to lift the heavy pall enveloping the little group, nor recapture the gaiety and happiness of their recent reunion.
The train for Richmond, the one that would carry the twins back to Fern Grove, arrived first, its whistle shrill in the cold, crisp air, its plume of steam white against the dark gray winter sky. In rapid order, carts piled high with luggage were wheeled onto the tracks to be loaded, the final warning whistle blew, and the conductor shouted, "All aboard."
Meredith rushed over to say good-bye, hugging Kitty hard and whispering, "There's still this summer. Everything will be all right when we're all back at Fair Winds!"
When Cara and Kitty were settled in their compartment, the train began to chug slowly forward, moving away from the station. Kitty looked out the window for a final glimpse of the little group waving on the platform. As they grew smaller and smaller, she wished again that things could have been different and wondered what she might have done to make it so.
Next summer, she thought, trying to cheer herself. Like Merry said, there's always next summer.
But there was to be no "next summer" at Fair Winds, because in late spring, Colonel Carpenter died suddenly of a stroke.
As a result, Fair Winds remained boarded up through another lovely Cape Cod summer. No young people sang or laughed or played music on the wide veranda overlooking the sandy beach. Only the great gray house kept its vigil by the sea.
Part IV
Spring 1912
chapter 15
FROM THE Arbordale Advocate:
Internationally known local artist Geoffrey Montrose will be leaving for England to attend the opening of his one-man show at Waverly Studios, the prestigious London gallery where his recent painting Mary of Bethany at the Feet of the Master will be featured this spring.
Mr. Montrose will be accompanied by his wife, who was the model for this principal figure. Art critics who have seen the painting at a private viewing in New York have acclaimed it as a modern masterpiece. Jesus is never shown. The luminosity of Mary's upturned face gives the viewer the illusion of reflected light emanating from Christ's presence.
Although Mr. Montrose will return to accept an award from the American Artist Guild, Mrs. Montrose will remain in England for a visit with her parents, the Jeremy Devlins, at their country home, Birchfields. Mrs. Devlin is the former Garnet Cameron of Mayfield, Virginia.
Birchfields,
The Devlins' English Country Estate
As usual, everything was perfection. Garnet had carried through the "Bon Voyage" theme without overdoing it. That was always the greatest challenge in giving a party, not to wreck it by being too obvious. But, of course, this was a very special occasion—a once-in-a-lifetime event. Davida and Faith going on the maiden voyage of Britain's great new ocean liner. For a moment, Garnet felt a flicker of envy. She wished that she were going. And she could have been. Jeremy had tickets for both of them, purchased by his publishing firm, but he had gallantly surrendered them to his daughter and Jonathan's wife.
Ah, well, there would be another time, Garnet comforted herself. Jeremy had practically promised her that on her next trip to Virginia he would book passage for her on this luxurious new passenger ship.
She moved around the long table, surveying it with satisfaction—the Battenburg-lace tablecloth, the centerpiece of spring flowers, delicate golden daffodils and blue delphinium arranged in a Waterford glass bowl. She circled again, checking the place cards, the napkins folded into fans at each place, the beribboned gifts awaiting Davida and Faith.
It had been gratifying to see Davida so much better, apparently recovering from the depression into which she had fallen after her father's death. This European trip, at Jonathan's insistence, with a stay at one of the famous Austrian spas, had done her a world of good. It was also marvelous to see that they had seemed to recapture some of the affectionate companionship missing in their relationship the last time Garnet had seen them together.
At the sound of a child's laughter Garnet glanced out the window and saw Faith in the garden with chubby little Bryanne, her four-year-old. Holding the child by her hands, she was swinging her around and laughing with delight. Unconsciously, Garnet moved a silver setting more precisely, wishing she could have had more time with her daughter during her stay in England. But, of course, Faith had spent most of her time with Jeff in London. For a grown man, he seemed totally lost without his wife by his side. She was so competent in dealing with art dealers, collectors, and gallery people. Jeff would probably give his paintings away if it weren't for Faith, Garnet thought with some irritation.
One compensation was that Garnet would get to keep Bryanne for a few weeks longer after Faith and Jeff left. Lalage Bondurant, now Lady Blanding, would be taking her along when she and her own children sailed to America later in the month to visit her parents, Druscilla and Randall.
Hearing the sound of voices, Garnet realized that Jeremy had returned from the village train station with the rest of her guests. With a final look at the festive table, she went out in the hall to greet them.
April 15, 1912
EXTRA! EXTRA!
DISASTER AT SEA
R.M.S. TITANIC,
WHITE STAR LINE'S "UNSINKABLE" OCEAN VESSEL,
SINKS AFTER COLLIDING WITH ICEBERG,
HUNDREDS PERISH!
Only four days after being launched on its maiden voyage and fewer than twenty-four hours before the luxury liner was expected to arrive in New York, the unexpected tragedy occurred.
A release of the list of passengers and crew members who have lost their lives in this historic maritime accident will be withheld pending notification of next of kin.
chapter 16
Cameron Hall
May 1912
IT WAS ALMOST time to leave for the memorial service for Faith and Davida at the church in Mayfield. Blythe
, still in a kind of apathetic inertia, sat in front of her dressing table, unable to move, barely able to think. Her mind seemed numbed by the double tragedy that had struck the two families in the span of a single afternoon. How strange that Fate should bind the Montroses and the Camerons so closely in both happy and sorrowful circumstances.
She looked pale. Black was not becoming to her, and Rod had never liked to see her wearing it. But a funeral, after all, demanded it. Propriety also dictated that only certain jewelry other than one's wedding ring be worn on such occasions.
With a deep sigh, Blythe opened one of the drawers to take out the mourning jewelry where she had put it away once the requisite year's mourning for her beloved mother-in-law, Katherine Maitland Cameron, was over. She had hoped never to wear it again. Certainly not for someone as young as Faith or Davida.
As she drew out the black moire silk jewelry box containing the set of onyx earrings and brooch, she spotted another box at the bottom of the drawer—the blue velvet jewel box. Remembering what was in it, her hands shook, suddenly clammy. It was the Montrose bridal set.
Stricken with guilt, she dropped the box. She had almost forgotten about i t . . . again! Undecided as to who should wear the jewels—Jonathan's wife or Jeff's—she had procrastinated . . . and now it was too late for either of them!
The other ring, the betrothal ring—an amethyst in the heavy gold setting of clasped hands and crown—Blythe had not had the slightest hesitation in giving that to Faith, because Davida was wearing Jonathan's mother's engagement ring.
Heartsick, Blythe realized that the ring would never be worn by another Montrose bride. It was probably at the bottom of the sea. From the accounts of the frantic rush to the too few lifeboats on the Titanic, panic had prevailed. Passengers, wearing only their nightclothes, were routed from their cabins and instructed to don life jackets. There had been n o time to collect possessions. Surely Faith, in her haste, would not have grabbed her jewel box when her very life was in danger!
But she had lost her life anyhow, and now a decision about jewelry seemed so trivial in the light of everything that had happened—
Blythe had been in shock for weeks after learning of the disaster, while they waited for details of how Faith and Davida had lost their lives. In fact, she had been so emotionally paralyzed by the enormity of her loss and how it would affect all of them that she had not yet been able to cry.
Now she felt herself begin to shudder, and racking sobs welled up from deep within, begging release. She got up and stumbled over to her bed, throwing herself on her knees as paroxysms of grief trembled in waves through her body. Burying her head in her hands, she allowed the tears to flow, unchecked.
All the useless regrets, the self-recriminations common to the bereaved beset her now. H ow she could have been a better mother-in- law to Faith, a better friend to Davida. All the hopelessness of being too late, ungenerous, insensitive, of having left unsaid so much that could have brought healing or encouragement–
Then Blythe heard Rod's voice in the hall below, speaking to one of the servants. She knew that he was probably asking about her, if she was ready to leave for the drive in to Mayfield. Soon he would come up to check for himself.
Wiping her eyes, she started to drag herself up from her knees when she saw her Bible lying open on the table beside her bed. Earlier, she had tried to find some word of comfort, something from which to gain strength for all the day held. She had turned the pages distractedly but now couldn't quite remember what she had read.
She drew the Bible to her now and read the passage marked at Proverbs 8:11: "For wisdom is better than rubies; and all the things that may be desired are not to be compared to it." How ironic. When had she marked that passage? Yet it was true. What good had been all her worry and concern as to which daughter-in-law should wear the ruby jewelry? What possible difference did any of it make now?
At the memorial service in the small church where the Montrose and Cameron families had worshiped for generations, Kitty and Cara, seated in the third pew back, saw Jonathan enter with Meredith and Kip beside him. Across the aisle was Jeff, face set like flint. Only his little son Gareth accompanied him. Lynette had been considered too young, and little Bryanne was still in England with her grandmother, Garnet. The plan that she would travel home by ship with Lalage, now Lady Blanding, and her children was now postponed indefinitely.
To the right of the altar and directly in front of the pew where Jeff was sitting was the baptismal font, where the children had all been baptized. Behind that stood the triptych he had painted—the figures of John the Baptist baptizing Jesus in the Jordan River, surrounded by clouds of cherubs whose faces were those of Gareth, Lynette, and Bryanne!
Meredith, beside Jonathan, reached for his hand and pressed it gently. She knew her father was struggling with the poignant memories of times they had attended services here as a family, sitting in this very pew. If she closed her eyes, she could almost sense her mother's presence—the way she inclined her head, her delicate, graceful movements, the exquisite yet subtle scent that always enveloped her.
Meredith was also remembering other things about her mother and hoped, with all the faith she could muster, that Davida had found the happiness, the peace and joy that had eluded her here in Virginia.
Reverend Ludlow, his feathery white hair like a halo about his head, entered from the sacristy to the center of the altar, signaled the beginning of the service, and the congregation stood.
He looked at them, his benevolent face composed, yet sympathetic. "Today we gather to offer a memorial to the two young women, Davida Carpenter Montrose and Faith Devlin Montrose, beloved members of these families who have come to pay their last tribute of devotion. Let us pray.
"Most merciful Father, Who has been pleased to take unto Thyself the souls of these Your children, grant unto us who are still in our pilgrimage and who walk as yet by faith, that having served Thee with constancy on earth, we may be joined hereafter with Thy blessed saints in glory everlasting, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."
Lifting his head, he looked into the faces of the sorrowing family. "Because we believe, in our finite minds, that these two were taken at the peak of their womanhood and, as far as we know, without the comfort of a minister, I have chosen the following blessing for those who die at sea as appropriate for this commemorative service.
Unto Almighty God, we commend the souls of our sisters departed and we commit their bodies to the deep, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the sea shall give up her dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in Him shall be changed and made like unto His glorious body, according to the mighty working whereby He is able to subdue all things to Himself.
The organ began a slow roll as if from a mighty tide. In Meredith's imagination, she could see her mother standing on the shore watching the waves, as she had so often at Fair Winds, her face revealing a rare contentment. Meredith felt a peace steal over her, an assurance that at last her mother was happy. It was almost as if she saw her mother turn to her, smiling, and say, "Don't grieve, love. It is all so beautiful, so splendid—"
Then she heard the minister announce the hymn, and she leafed through the hymnal she held and read the words, even before finding her voice to join in the singing:
Eternal Father! strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep:
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.
O Christ! whose voice the waters heard
And hushed their raging at Thy word,
Who walkedst on the foaming deep,
And calm amidst its rage didst sleep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.
Most Holy Spirit! who didst brood
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Upon the chaos dark and rude,
And bid its angry tumult cease
And give for wild confusion, peace;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.
O Trinity of love and power!
Our brethren shield in danger's hour;
From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
Protect them wheresoever they go;
Thus evermore shall rise to Thee
Glad hymns of praise írom land and sea.
Meredith's voice grew stronger with each succeeding verse, and although Jonathan's seemed to falter now and then, at the end his rich tenor rang out with conviction.
She was sure they felt that Davida was now with her beloved father and with the mother who had died when she was a very little girl, safe and happy, free from all the trials and burdens she had carried in life.
Meredith was grateful for this assurance as she glanced first at her brother, who was shouldering his sorrow manfully but with a stoicism that rejected any offer of compassion or sympathy, then over at Jeff, with his haunted eyes, his irreconcilable grief.
Her tender heart ached for both of them, and she whispered a prayer that someday, somewhere, they would be comforted.
chapter 17
Birchfields, England
1912
BIRCHFIELDS that summer was particularly lovely, the lilacs' pale lavender and purple clustered plumes scenting the air with their marvelous fragrance.
Garnet, still dressed in mourning, looked out through the French doors that opened onto the terrace facing the garden, and saw Bryanne running across the velvety green lawn, her young Irish nursemaid in pursuit. The little girl's red-gold curls glistened in the sunshine, and the sound of her merriment as she evaded her wouldbe captor made her grandmother smile. Just then the little girl turned to glance over her shoulder at her pursuer and she stumbled and fell, her plump, white-stockinged legs kicking wildly, displaying ruffled, upturned petticoats. Nanny snatched her up, then whirled her around, their mutual laughter filling the morning air.