Without a nanny, Julianna’s time with Mari was almost constant, but that was hardly a complaint, even under the mounting pressures of the ball. There were so many people to touch base with on a weekly basis, but Julianna solved her homebound dilemma by doing as much business as possible over the phone. When it was necessary to meet someone face-to-face, she honestly explained her situation and suggested meeting at her home over lunch, during Mari’s nap, and found that the invitation was never declined. As for selecting table linens, floral arrangements, namecards, and the all-important doilies, Julianna delegated those tasks to her experienced mother.
November marched on, quickly becoming a memory with the arrival of December and its blizzard of social festivities. She and Leyton only hosted one party, and it was a miserably dull dinner for the bank officers and their wives. Other than that, Julianna was too busy with the ball to plan anything else, and most nights saw Leyton staying late at the bank.
“Working,” he claimed. “I am the bank’s president now.”
But Julianna suspected his duties were more self-serving than for the betterment of the bank. What’s more, her father and Fletcher Valentine seemed to hold the same idea, and that gave her reason to hope that Leyton’s true colors would soon be revealed, shown to the world as the vile shades they really were.
Perhaps without knowing it, Leyton was spending those long hours twining together a rope. A nice strong one that he could use to hang himself.
They attended several parties given by friends, the biggest affair hosted by Virginia’s parents. Flemingfaire was their home, and it had a room for every interest the couple held—music, reading, billiards, and biggest of all, a wide and open area for ballroom dancing.
The ballroom housed the party, and it was a gorgeous sea of holiday green and shimmering silver, showcasing a food table that equaled the offerings of a cruise ship. Scotty Reidman was there with his orchestra, dressing traditional Christmas carols with the sounds of swing and jazz, making it impossible for people to stay seated.
“Dance, everyone! Dance!”
Virginia had jumped onto the orchestra stage and helped herself to Scotty’s microphone.
Her announcement made, she bounded back to the floor and into the arms of Frank Dean, or Frankie, who had taken the place of Nap Schuler just before Thanksgiving.
“This year, I give thanks for Frank!” Virginia had laughed when she told Julianna of her latest interest. “Poor Nappy—he’s so involved with the stupid radio that I don’t think he’s noticed that I’ve left him.” She shrugged, as if to imply easy come, easy go. “Frankie is an artist, a painter.”
“What does he paint?” Julianna asked.
Virginia lit a Lucky and fanned away the smoke. “His last project was called Downstairs Bathroom.”
Julianna laughed so hard she nearly choked on her drink, but Virginia was stoic in defending her new man. “He’s going to paint portraits again someday. Right now, he’s part of FDR’s program for out-of-work artists and writers, so he paints schools, libraries, whatever the committee says needs painting. Outhouses and chicken coops for all I know.”
Tonight, though, he hardly looked like a man who overhauled farm buildings, unless such types wore black tuxedoes and whirled the likes of Virginia Flemming about the dance floor. She was stunning amid the holiday flair, her hair flaming against a jade gown that trumped every dress in the room. Once, their dance steps carried them to the edge of the floor, to where Julianna stood.
Virginia paused to say, “Sweets, you must read that book with the delicious dedication. It could be the story of you and Jace.”
“Then let me warn you,” Julianna called as Virginia twirled away, “the ending will break your heart.”
After the couple twirled away again, she looked toward the stage. She caught Scotty’s eye and threw him a casual wave.
They had become friends over the last few months, seeing each other at WYRC. He never missed an opportunity to flirt with her and had taken to calling her Jules.
He grinned from behind his trumpet then whispered something to the man playing sax. A minute later, the orchestra slowed its pace with “White Christmas” and Scotty broke from the stage.
“The honor of a dance?” He said to Julianna when he reached her.
“I’d love to.”
He gave her a broad smile and pretended to clutch his heart. “You, of course, are a rose—But were always a rose.”
“The Rose Family,” she said, impressed. “Robert Frost.”
He removed the red rosebud from his black tuxedo and placed it in her hand. He gently took her other hand and led her in a slow and drifting dance. “What? You don’t think a bum musician can appreciate great poetry?”
“I would imagine you more the type who appreciates great lyrics.”
“Poetry, lyrics—they’re a lot alike.”
They danced in silence for a few seconds, then Scotty came out boldly. “So why are you with Leyton? That cad has ignored you all night, Jules.”
How was she to answer? With the whole truth? No, it was too long and unbelievable, so she could only sum it up without an explanation. “I’m with him because . . . I have to be right now.”
“Do you love him?”
“No, I told you at Baily’s that I wasn’t happily married.”
“You can be unhappily married and still love the person,” Scotty said. He twirled her and then pulled her to his chest. “You have loved before, though.”
Her face glowed at the memories he brought forth, the ones that were never far below the surface. “Yes, in the most amazing way. How did you know?”
“Because you know you don’t have the real thing now. You know because you’ve had the real thing.” He sent her twirling again. “You’ve been there, angel, and you want to be there again.”
“Yes, but only with the man I was with before.”
“Is that possible?”
“No, but there still isn’t a place for anyone else.” She tried to imagine herself in five years. Ten, fifteen. “Maybe someday I’ll want a companion . . . a friend, but nothing more.”
He laughed, but it wasn’t directed at her. Rather, it was the laugh of someone who seemed to know better. “The soul always longs for more than a friend.”
He danced her across the room, weaving in and out of other couples until they were at the door that led onto the terrace. Quickly, he slipped her from the crowded floor and into the outside stillness, where they were alone with the December moon.
“I wish you weren’t married, Jules,” he said. “I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman the way I want to kiss you. I have since the minute I saw you.” He lowered his face to hers. “Sometimes I don’t care that you’re married. I just want to be with you.” His lips came within inches of hers. “If you’ll let me . . .”
She smiled and placed a hand against his cheek, its skin growing cooler in the night air.
“Scotty, do you think my husband is faithful?”
“A guy’d be crazy not to be faithful to you,” Scotty said. “And, Jules, I think your husband’s crazy.”
“Me too,” she said quietly. “But if I’m more than friends with you—if I let that happen with any man—what does that make me?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, “It makes me no better than Leyton.”
He grinned sadly. “I guess I got my answer, huh?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? Because you need a friend instead of a lover?”
She hugged herself in the cold and looked toward the moon. Actually, she needed both. She needed Jace.
Scotty was watching her, his eyes probing as though he wanted to read her deepest thoughts.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
“Just wondering about those sad eyes of yours,” he said. “Maybe someday you’ll tell me the story behind them.” He shrugged. “They might make for a good song.”
He left her then, alone with the moon. She went to the edge of
the terrace and leaned against its cold concrete, looking over the pool and the blue cabana lounge chairs.
She closed her eyes and thought how strangely similar, and yet so different, this night was to the one atop the Downtown Panache some eighteen months ago. Or was it a lifetime ago, or maybe a day? She faltered between feeling one way or the other. She had danced then, too, and stood beneath an open sky. She could still remember the shock and the knowing that had coursed through her the first moment she’d looked into the eyes of Jace McAlister. They had reminded her of fine chocolates—once sampled, impossible to resist. Gazing into that gateway to his soul, she had felt a connection and seen a man who would affect her as no other would have the power to do.
But she and Jace had kissed, how they had kissed, sealing the beginning of a love that would survive the dimension that separated life and death. She would never know that again, nor did she want to. It was better to savor the memory of what she once had, to keep it safe and unspoiled within her heart.
He would want me to go on, though.
Reason told her that. Having known Jace told her that. But reason and knowledge argued with the heart, the broken, stubborn heart that wanted to remain where it was happiest.
Julianna and her mother rarely bickered, but Julianna was annoyed to the day’s limit. If there was anything guaranteed to remove the Merry from Christmas, it was trying to shop with her mother.
“Mother, please stop ranting. You’re going to make me wreck.” Julianna strained to see through the sleet smacking the windshield of the car. Such weather was unusual in their part of the country, and Julianna was inexperienced at driving through it. “You don’t want to wreck, do you? Especially with Mari in the car?”
“I’m just so angry at that salesgirl!” Her mother burned, fists rolled into petite balls.
“How audacious to march back to the changing room and ask if I needed a larger size!” She stared out the window, glaring at the bare tree limbs. “Oooooh, the little snippet!”
“She was trying to be helpful.”
“Helpful?” Her mother turned from the window and gaped at Julianna. “If she wants to sell clothing, the best way to be helpful is to suggest a smaller size.”
“She overheard you say the dress was too tight.” Julianna shook her head, exasperated. “Besides, Mother, it’s Christmas—you aren’t supposed to shop for yourself.”
“Indeed!” her mother snapped. “I always shop for myself at Christmas.”
“I know,” Julianna said, recalling Christmases past. Every year there were five or six beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree, their tags reading To Audrey from Santa.
“Father wanted you to buy a gift for Polli. Did you find anything?”
“No,” her mother said. “Few stores have a Poor Taste Department.”
“Mother!”
“It’s the truth, Julianna!” Her mother rolled her eyes. “Honest to goodness, did you see what that girl was wearing this morning?”
Yes, Julianna had caught sight of Polli. She’d tried not to let it show how startled she’d been by the woman’s outfit. It was a grass-green sweater paired up with a flouncy red skirt, its hem trimmed in white faux fur. “She’s just trying to be festive,” Julianna said kindly.
“Oh, Julianna, for once in your life, let go and have a good laugh,” her mother said.“Admit it, that girl’s skirt belongs at the base of a Christmas tree.”
Julianna stifled her laughter. “You’re being a little wicked, Mother.”
Her mother sighed and leaned her head back against the seat. “Yes, I am,” she said. “I’ve been testy for weeks. Cassie thinks the change is coming on me early.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “How lovely. I’m fat and old.”
Now Julianna let her laughter go. “You’re neither one, but something has you on edge and I don’t think it’s the usual holiday aggravations.”
“It’s your father,” her mother said bluntly. “I’ve got bats in the belfry thanks to his constant pacing about.”
“It’s gotten worse?”
“Yes, and that Mr. Valentine might as well move in.”
“Something is going on.”
“Obviously, but don’t ask your father what it is.” Her mother was pulling on a pair of gloves. “All he does is grunt.”
They turned into a side drive of Dreamland that roamed freely through a forest of evergreens and then gave way to a clearing. It was there that the servants’ quarters were located.
“Let’s drop off Cassie’s presents,” Julianna said, “and visit for a while. I’ll bet she’s been baking.”
Her mother brightened at the likely possibility. “Oh, I’d shimmy up a flagpole for her carrot cake.”
Julianna parked beside Jimmy Mac’s battered work truck. Her mother stepped from the car, grabbing her hat and crying in protest as the wind whipped around her.
Julianna bundled Mari in a blanket and held her snuggled beneath her own coat. Head bent against the sleet, she hurried to Cassie’s door and opened it.
“We come bearing gifts!” she called.
Cassie was sitting on the couch, leaning forward and studying something on the coffee table. Startled by Julianna’s sudden arrival, she sprang from the couch like a jack-in-the-box, grabbing a needlepoint pillow and clutching it to her chest. “Lord help! My heart nearly quit!”
“I’m sorry, Cassie, I shouldn’t have just barged in.”
“No, child, it’s all right.” Cassie tossed the pillow back onto the couch. “You bring that baby in from the cold.”
Julianna’s mother bustled in with a stack of presents, the top one about to slide off.
Julianna made a quick rescue and set it beneath the tabletop tree Cassie had placed on a desk in the front window. She walked to the coffee table then, curious to see what had been the object of Cassie’s attention.
Her eyebrows raised, she said, “Is that what I think it is?”
“What’d you think it is?” Jimmy Mac teased from the floor. He was kneeling before the coffee table, toolbox by his side and a screwdriver in hand.
“Is that . . . is that a ham radio?” Julianna couldn’t believe her eyes.
Sounding suddenly defensive, Cassie stood to her full height. “Yes now, it is.”
“Cassie here is a-savin’ souls,” came Jimmy Mac.
“It’s not in my power to do that and you know it, Jimmy Mac,” Cassie said, “but if someone needs a push in the right direction, well, I’d like to be the Lord’s vessel.”
Julianna’s jaw dropped. “You’re preaching over the radio?” She was impressed, amazed, and shocked all at once. But why should she be shocked, knowing Cassie had once defined radio as “a fine instrument for spreading the gospel”?
“That’s right. Well, I will once Jimmy Mac gets it goin’ for me. I’ve been keen on radio ever since you and Miss Virginia got wrapped up with it.” Cassie lowered herself back onto the couch and held her arms out to Julianna. “Gimme that baby. Anyway, I really wanted this radio, so I ordered it a while ago. It came this mornin’, which I call perfect timing. What better season to start a ministry than here at the Lord’s birthday?” She bounced Mari on her knee. “Yes ma’am, little one, God’s timing is always perfect.”
Jimmy Mac rose slowly to his feet. “My back’s got a creak,” he said as he lifted his arms and stretched. “Y’all heard the real radio this mornin’?”
“No, we’ve been getting insulted by salesgirls,” Julianna’s mother said from her seat on the hearth.
Cassie looked quickly at Julianna. “You don’t know, then.”
Julianna’s heart jumped. “Know what?”
“About Lightfoot Lipton,” Cassie said. “Man’s dead.”
“Dead?” Caught off guard by the unexpected news, and not sure how to feel about it, Julianna sat in Cassie’s rocker.
“Yup,” Jimmy Mac said. “Kicked the bucket. Heart attack, they think.”
“Yesterday morning,” Cassie added, “while the priso
ners were having breakfast.”
“Radio man says he just fell over,” Jimmy Mac said. “Face-first into his scrambled eggs.”
Christmas morning at Dreamland. Julianna had spent twenty-three of them in the grand drawing room, its air fresh with the wintergreen scent of the traditional fir tree before the window. This year’s celebration began on the same predictable note, but ended on one that was remarkably different.
The gift giving nearly finished, her father left the drawing room and went into his study.
A minute passed and he returned, holding two small gifts wrapped in the gold foil paper that was a signature for Shadwell’s, the town’s most prestigious jewelry store.
He handed both gifts to Julianna. One was for her, the other for Mari.
Never had he given her a gift that was solely from father to daughter. Everything was always given jointly with her mother, and he had never taken time to choose something himself. Speechless by this year’s gesture, Julianna looked toward her mother but saw from her expression that she shared her daughter’s surprise.
Julianna fumbled with the ribbon as she unwrapped her gift first, one hand going to her heart when she saw the exquisite necklace resting on the beige cushion of the box. It was an emerald, her May birthstone, cut in the shape of a teardrop. Was there, by chance, some kind of symbolism in the shape?
“It’s beautiful, Father. I can’t thank—”
“Open Mari’s present,” he said, looking away uncomfortably.
Julianna complied. It was also a necklace, a gleaming gold heart with a tiny diamond embedded in its center.
“Save it for her,” he suggested. “She can wear it to her first formal event.”
Julianna held both necklaces in her hands, admiring their details. When she lifted her head to thank her father, she only saw his back as he retreated to his study.
What has happened to him? She stared after him. Turning over a new leaf for the New Year?
Seeking the Shore Page 13