Bellevere House (Vintage Jane Austen)

by Sarah Scheele

  As Faye rose from kneeling at the plaque, Mr. Halwell’s wife approached her. She was quite young and very eager. Very interested in Faye. Faye had only seen her once, at church two weeks before the funeral.

  I guess you remember me from somewhere? “Hello, do I know you?”

  Mrs. Halwell wore a round green hat, a knee-length brown floral dress, and small black pumps. A narrow silver purse hung from her wrist. She wore no lipstick, but instead copious amounts of face powder. “Yes, I believe so. Didn’t you once live in Sapsucker Valley?”

  Faye blinked. “Yes! And you did too?”

  Mrs. Halwell nodded her head up and down vigorously. “Yes! Well, just imagine what a coincidence. You’re not—not Fed, are you? When Mr. Haverton told me his niece was named Faye Powell, I thought to myself it couldn’t be possible. But here you are, Fed!”

  Faye’s eyes widened. When she had been running around barefoot twenty years ago, she had often played with a neighbor girl named Elizabeth who usually went by the affectionate nickname of Bat. Bat had moved away soon after, just distant enough to make visits hard. Faye had never seen her again. She didn’t feel exactly the same connection this time. But of course, decades had passed and each had gone down her own path of life. It might take time to feel close again.

  Mrs. Halwell searched her purse and, with a mixture of smiles and tears, held out a little blue candy wrapper. Faye took it. You kept one? That’s . . . nice I guess. Rather awkwardly they both embraced, and Faye asked Bat about her experiences since that distant time. They strolled out of the chapel towards the lawn.

  “I met Dan when I was working in New Jersey,” Bat whispered. Her eyes were reverent, self-conscious. “He took my breath away with his compassion and conviction, and that confident stride . . . you know.” She blushed, even though there was nothing really indecent about being married. “And then he took my feet and my heart away too! I’ve never been happier.”

  Faye nodded. “’No rules—no regrets—just Grace.’ I like that.”

  Mrs. Halwell squeezed her elbow. “I’ll tell him you said that. He’ll be glad to know.” Sighing, she looked back at the chapel. “It’s a nice monument. So many people buried here.”

  “Yes. It goes back to 1847, I think. They say President Lincoln once stopped by our house, though it was more of a hut back then, to rest when he was campaigning for U.S. senator. Considering his roots, he probably didn’t mind the awful condition of primitive Bellevere.”

  Mrs. Halwell almost dropped her purse. “President Lincoln, really? I can’t believe my luck. You don’t know how passionate I am about the details of historical architecture. Will you help me please? I passed your house last week and I so wondered just when the brick was laid in. You said it was a small shanty in the 1840s . . .?”

  People clustered around long white tables spread with leftover bridal gossamer fabric from a distant wedding, now put to thrifty reuse as tablecloths. No one would know the difference, and Uncle Warren was proud to pitch in his little part in the economizing that had become national over the last few years. At the nearest table, Myrtle and BeBe were digging into the little Moorlands cupcakes, mumbling loud exclamations of rapture as they absorbed the cream filling.

  “Cream—my gosh the yum yum,” Faye heard BeBe say before Myrtle shoved the rest of the cupcake into her face and smothered her rapture. BeBe’s brows shot down, and her feet shot onto the ground. She tried to shove a cupcake at Myrtle, but Myrtle grabbed the whole tray and ran away making loud, taunting sounds as she bit into another cake. BeBe, erupting like a volcano, charged after her as Ed came up. Swinging out his long arms, he held her back as BeBe helplessly grasped at the air.

  “Ed, you maniac, let me go! She’s getting away with them all! She’s getting away with the Moorlands, Ed! The Moorlands!” she bellowed.

  “Now, now, I’ve already seen you eat twenty-five of those,” Ed said, tolerantly. “You’ll get sick and then you won’t like it.”

  Furious, BeBe spun away and returned to the buffet in a huff. Faye and her newfound old friend approached Ed.

  “Why, hello, handsome,” Faye said brightly, insincerely. (Well, somewhat insincerely.)

  He cracked his crooked smile that made all women swoon except the ones who wanted to slap him. Faye was a fence-sitter on the subject. “Ah, so you admit it.”

  She fell into line with him, Bat politely following on the other side. “Don’t sound that trumpet just yet. You know I always talk in opposites.”

  His eyes sparkled and his nose tilted. “I also know when you aren’t doing it. That’s what we call good communication, sugar.”

  Aren’t we chipper today? Please don’t do it anymore, or I really will like you. Which would be a disaster because you’re crazy. “You, Edgar Haverton, are the devil incarnate,” she informed him sternly.

  Ed shrugged. “Well, according to your friend’s husband over there, that doesn’t mean I’ve lost hope. Anybody can get into heaven these days. A good modern gospel.”

  Bat clasped her hands fervently. “Oh yes! Dan speaks often about keeping our heritage of faith steady and adaptable in an age of science. Science tells us so much of the wonders of this world, but little about hope for the next. He wrote his seminary dissertation on the compatibility of the two ideas. After all, both views agree that the world did come to exist and that the human species is heading upward.”

  “Human beings are noisy enough to populate pretty much any philosophy,” Ed drawled.

  Faye shook her head. Would he never take anything seriously?

  “I’ll be happy to introduce you to him. He always likes to speak to an open and compassionate mind,” Bat continued eagerly. “And then, Faye, I was wondering if you had an extra radio up at the house? Mine broke last week . . .”

  Faye assured her she would look for the radio. Bat scuttled away as her husband called to her. Left alone, Ed pulled Faye aside by the wrist. She pulled away, slapping his arm.

  “Ow!” he said, drawing down his lips in a mock pout.

  Faye had to admit his zest for living was intoxicating. Just when she thought she liked him only as a friend, that feeling was back. Like the zest on a lemon in that it was fruity, but with something more, something pulling and seductive underneath that was entirely human. Something—well, as Myrtle and BeBe would say, all yum yum cream. It tickled her heart. But she completely forgot about it, and about him, often as well. So even though Ed had always made her feel this way from time to time, somehow they’d never become serious. Faye was flatly too practical to be overcome by charm, and she wasn’t sure Ed had anything else to offer. Sometimes she wished she was more romantic. She particularly wished this around Ed.

  Dinner that evening was just a family party, with the addition of Aunt Cora, who had moved in with them during this period of grief. She spent most of the dinner coughing and grumbling. With true American stubbornness, she refused to see a doctor to tend to whatever was wrong with her. Aunt Cora firmly believed that nothing was ever well done unless one did it oneself. So she was determined to get well on her own, mostly through application of home remedies. She picked up some herbs and bottled remedies at the local farmer’s market, to mix with the clove oil she got from the drugstore.

  “Do take notice of what I’m saying. You young people who don’t have bank accounts of your own are so careless!” she groaned, interrupting a lively conversation about the whether the dinosaur in the natural history museum could come to life and make advances to BeBe. BeBe was indignant, the others wildly amused. Everyone paused politely while Aunt Cora opened a little brown bottle and took in some camphorated paregoric.

  “Yes, Cora. What is it, dear?” Aunt Betty said, gently.

  Aunt Cora swelled a little. Finally, the attention she deserved. “Now I managed to get a roast for half price, by reminding Barnie that he had an invasion of cockroaches last spring and I wouldn’t pay more for meat that might have been touched by those insects. He said it was sealed in the freezer . . .
ha! Freezers weren’t around when I was young. Oh, and that reminds me about the second-floor curtains. I’ll go shopping with you, Faye, and try to get a good deal. You kids pick up anything that looks pretty, but you have to think of cost!”

  “I’d be so happy to have you with me, Aunt Cora!” Faye exclaimed. “Your experience and taste will be absolutely invaluable.”

  Aunt Betty considered. “They mustn’t be too cheap, Cora. Warren wouldn’t like that.”

  Smiling, Uncle Warren folded up his newspaper. The folding concealed a full-page ad for hose, showing one lingerie leg suspended into space, which had been in full view of the rest of the family for about ten minutes. Faye giggled at her uncle’s unawareness. Dear man, so wrapped up in business he never can see other things.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I certainly think it will be nice to get away from the office. Far from the sound of a train,” he remarked.

  Faye wondered what he was talking about. The reference to the trains was familiar enough. Uncle Warren had worked for thirty years in the huge, imposing bank building in downtown, beside the railroad tracks and opposite the post office and train station. He’d often spoken dryly, of an evening, about the uncouth ruckus the freight trains made roaring past the bank’s upstairs offices at all hours. The bank had been there first and the tracks built alongside it long before Uncle Warren was in existence. Otherwise, he would definitely have spoken against putting a railroad next to his office.

  “Away from the office, Dad? Are you going somewhere?” Ed inquired.

  Uncle Warren nodded. His eyes held a spark of mirth. Faye could tell he was enjoying their suspense. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning for a business trip out to the Aloha place. There was a typhoon recently, and the manager thought it worthwhile for me to come out and see the damage. I’ll be gone about two months, so I look to you to keep things running smoothly, Ed.”

  Ed blinked. “Erm . . . of course. Sure, Dad, whatever.”

  The Aloha place had come into the family at some distant point in the past. It was a beautiful 19th century house, with some attached acreage, and had formerly been a minor residence for Hawaiian royalty. Faye had first learned about it on a visit to her cousins when she was eleven. She had thought they were pulling her leg. They couldn’t own a house in Hawaii! But Ed and Grover had assured her it was true and talked about visiting it the year before—according to them, Hawaii equaled or excelled its friendly, tropical reputation. After the Hawaiian monarchy ended, the house had come up for sale and Uncle Warren’s ancestor had acquired it through a fortunate accident. Grover boasted about how he and Uncle Warren had ridden horses across huge green fields beyond which the turquoise ocean slapped against volcanic rocks. It had all sounded so wonderful to Faye. Usually her cousins didn’t make her feel different, but when she heard these stories she’d realized just how opposite their lives really were. Her family could never even dream of going to a place like that. Myrtle and BeBe had only been to Hawaii once, and BeBe could barely remember anything about it.

  For years Uncle Warren had rented the house out to vacationers and earned a fair amount of money doing so, only occasionally visiting. Faye had thought the Aloha place had dropped out of sight and out of mind. But apparently it was still out there in Hawaii. And now Uncle Warren was going to be . . . gone?

  Myrtle dropped her fork and her eyes widened. “Did you say two--two . . .”

  “Months?” BeBe squealed.

  Myrtle settled back with a flush that Faye could only interpret as happiness. BeBe, less subtle, smirked while cutting a slice of pie. Faye saw Ed shoot his sister a glance. Myrtle had clearly not yet mentioned her engagement to her father, or to Ed either, probably. Now that she had a moment to contemplate it, Faye wondered very much about that engagement. It seemed . . . very sudden. Uncle Warren had never been gone this long from home before, and the daughters would have unprecedented liberty around the house while he was away. With no supervision except their mother—who was in a world of her own, mostly cross-stitching and naps—things were likely to get interesting around Bellevere.

  Food passed around the table. Uncle Warren and Aunt Betty still adopted the turn-of-the-century style of eating from their youth, with rigidly differentiated courses. BeBe reached for the preserves.

  “Speaking of news,” she caught Myrtle’s eye and quickly amended. “Um, I was just sayin’, ya know I’ve been trying out for radio? Well, I think I got a gig.”

  Uncle Warren frowned and Aunt Betty gave a small, barely detectable shake of the head. Faye knew they were not big admirers of the girls’ recent craze with the entertainment business.

  Aunt Betty spoke mildly. “But, dear, what’s a gig? Where?”

  Uncle Warren took some pie, dismissing the topic. “Yes, we can talk about it when I come back. Ed, make sure she doesn’t sign anything until I’ve looked it over.”

  Ed nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  After dinner, Uncle Warren went into his office to attend to some financial correspondence while the others gathered around the sofa. Ed turned on the radio. It was a family tradition to listen to the President’s fireside chats, usually followed by a broadcast of some play or melodrama. Static buzzed out of the radio, followed by a garish band tune and a drawling, liquid man’s voice advertising patented can openers.

  “Faye, your friend Mrs. Halwell told me her stepbrother and sister are coming to visit her this week,” Ed said abruptly. “She’s very excited about them. Her mother remarried soon after they moved away from you.”

  Faye blinked. How had he known all that? He must have had more curiosity about it than his demeanor at the funeral indicated. “That’s nice. I’d be happy to meet any friend of Bat’s.”

  Myrtle’s head was on one side as she languidly rolled her pearl necklace between her fingers. Her pale eyes were raptly, smugly smiling at something far distant from kids like Faye. Faye was somewhat irritated. Ever since coming back from that trip to Chicago, something had been off about Myrtle. BeBe too, for that matter. They were disrespectful, cavalier, and always seemed to be grinning at each other in a secret world of their own.

  “You knew them before?” Myrtle asked. She yawned. “Hum. Guess that makes sense. A preacher-an-all.”

  “It was his wife. When we were kids. I don’t know him at all,” Faye said, coldly. For a wild instant she felt like slapping Myrtle right across the face. But she didn’t know why.

  “What’re their names? The brother and sister?” BeBe asked, sounding bored.

  “Carter. Horace and Helene Carter,” Ed replied.

  At the mention of the name Horace Carter, BeBe sent an uncertain look at Myrtle. Myrtle had frozen. Really, truly frozen, like something in a meat locker. Her grin was pasted across her face and her eyes dilated out of focus as if seeing only bright lights. It was gone in a second, but it had been real. Faye raised an eyebrow. Curiouser and curiouser.

  The brothers did not appear to notice. Grover let out a luxurious puff of smoke. “Have you told Father? About the engagement?”

  Myrtle smoothed her skirt. “I didn’t get a chance. No worries. It can wait until he gets back.”

  Ed thunked his glass down on the radio. “Wait, you’re engaged? To whom?”

  Myrtle pretended nonchalance. “Bill Rivers. Have you heard of him?”

  Ed drew his brows together. BeBe nervously piddled with a few mints left near the ashtray, while Faye looked from Ed to Myrtle in perplexity. Something was not right. Ed seemed really displeased, but what business was it of his? Marriage these days did not require the consent of one’s brother.

  Ed nodded. “Of course I’ve heard of him. The question is, why are you engaged to him? He’s fifty if he’s a day.”

  Fifty? Faye’s eyes widened and she gave Myrtle a concerned look. BeBe bit her lips anxiously. Grover pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and lolled his head curiously on one side. Fifty? It can’t be! Myrtle is not the platonic kind. She definitely looks for the physique in men.r />
  Myrtle positively floundered. She seemed put off balance by the abrupt change in Ed’s tone. A strange, slightly painful silence fell. Faye felt she should break it.

  “Well, I’ve never seen him. Maybe he’s remarkably well-preserved.”

  “I have,” Ed interrupted. “He isn’t.”

  Myrtle finally pulled herself together with a flounce of her shoulders. “Well, who’s to say that? Certainly not you. Women are . . . well . . . we don’t care about the same things. I suppose a young man in my position would look insane marrying an old woman. But we girls have a practical side, you know?”

  Ed relapsed into apathy, and Myrtle felt deflated that her grand statement on gender had come to nothing. A silence followed, during which everyone pretended to listen to FDR’s milky tones assuring Americans that no matter how poor they were, he wished they were richer. Faye found it hard to concentrate. What had just happened?

  Chapter 3

  Three days later, Faye stood overlooking the driveway. Uncle Warren had left for the West Coast about an hour ago. Through the window Faye could see Bat close the car door and take her husband’s arm. Ahead of them, Ed and BeBe were leading in an unfamiliar young man and woman who must be the famous Carters, Bat’s stepbrother and stepsister. Faye peered down as they passed under the window. She could see little of them except that the young woman wore a chic black hat with black netting over the face and a long red coat. Myrtle and BeBe had heard rumors the Carters had been to Europe and worried that the visitors would require them to talk about unfamiliar topics. I don’t care about all that swank. I just want a good time, BeBe had moaned. Faye watched with curiosity as the Carters vanished under the roof of the porch. They didn’t look very stuck-up, but of course it was hard to tell when one saw just the tops of their heads.