The Virtuous Woman

by Gilbert, Morris

  She tried to look mad, but there was fear in her eyes too. “Well, if you won’t go, I won’t go neither.” She laughed. “I’ll just go out to a bar. Whadd’ya think of that?”

  “I don’t much care for that idea. I’ll tell you what. Maybe I will go with you.”

  “You’d better. I might get drunk if you don’t.”

  “Is it formal or what?”

  “Ah, come on. You look all right.” Grace giggled, then came over and put her hands behind his neck. “For a little guy, you got a way with women. I wonder—”

  She was suddenly struck on the side of the head, and a raucous scream filled the room. “My Francis! My Francis!” Grace cried out and put her hands over her head.

  Reeling away, she caught her balance and stared at Francis, who had captured a brilliantly colored bird. “What is that?” she yelled.

  “This is Miriam,” Francis said, holding the bird tightly. “She gets a bit jealous. If anyone touches me, she kind of loses it.”

  Grace regained her poise and came closer to see the bird. “So you do have a female!” She laughed. “And you’re her Francis, huh?” Grace and the bird locked eyes. “Don’t worry, Miriam, I won’t steal your man.”

  Miriam uttered a vile oath, and Key thumped her on the head. “I’ve told you not to say that!” he exclaimed, his cheeks flaming. “She has some bad language left over from a sailor she used to belong to.”

  Grace was delighted with this. “Cusses like a sailor, eh? What else can she say?”

  “Well ... mostly verses from the Bible.”

  “Make her say one.”

  Francis tried to make Miriam speak, but the parrot sulked and kept silent. “She’s stubborn sometimes, but—”

  “Behold, thou art fair, my love—”

  “Miriam, be quiet!” Key said quickly, but the bird shouted, “Thou hast doves’ eyes!”

  “What’s she sayin’?” Grace demanded.

  “Oh, it’s part of the Bible—”

  “Thy two breasts are like two young roes—”

  Desperately Key clamped his fingers over the parrot’s beak, but Grace’s eyes were open wide. “That’s in the Bible?” she said, amazed.

  “Yes, it is, from the Song of Solomon.”

  “I never knew stuff like that was in the Bible!”

  “It’s what’s called an epithalamium, a bridal song. It’s kind of symbolic.” Key’s cheeks were flaming as he said, “Maybe we’d better go.” He put Miriam back into a large cage, and as soon as her beak was released, she screeched, “My Francis! My Francis!”

  Grace was tickled. “She’s sure jealous, ain’t she, Francis?”

  “I guess I’m all she’s got.”

  “You got a car?”

  “No. How’d you get here?”

  “Came in a cab. He’s still waitin’ outside.” Grace suddenly locked her hands behind his neck and pulled his face forward until her eyelashes were practically brushing his glasses. She laughed as Miriam went wild in the cage. “Come on, runt,” she said. “Let’s go to a party.”

  Key disentangled himself from her embrace and grabbed his hat and trench coat, glancing at her uncertainly.

  “Don’t worry, holy man,” she said with a grin. “I won’t attack you like I did on the train. Your virtue is safe enough.”

  ****

  The large dining room at the Winslow mansion was almost big enough for a ball. The walls were covered with paintings, and the oak floor glowed with polish. The long table had been placed along the wall and covered with a snowy white tablecloth, and two young women in maid’s uniforms were serving food and drinks to the guests. There were no more than fifteen people there, and Paige circulated throughout the room, speaking to the guests. She was wearing a simple dark blue silk dress with a buttonhole neckline and short sleeves. The bodice was embroidered with white roses and green leaves, and she wore a pair of matching blue silk shoes and a string of pearls around her neck. She found her fiancé standing alone and said, “John, she’s not here. She probably won’t come. I told Mother we were doing this too soon.”

  John Asquith was a thin young man with blond hair and guileless blue eyes. He was not dressed formally but wore a herringbone gray suit. At the age of twenty-nine he had never even come close to marriage before. For a time Paige had wondered at the reason, for as the only son of Roger and Helen Asquith, he was considered quite a catch. He was not as handsome as some men, but he dressed well and was charming and mannerly.

  “You’re worried about her, aren’t you, Paige?”

  “She doesn’t know anything, John. She can’t dress, her speech is awful, she chews gum—even pops it.”

  “Well, that’s not a mortal sin,” Asquith said with a shrug.

  “And she drinks like a fish.”

  Asquith gave her a surprised look. “She drinks? You mean she actually gets drunk?”

  “She came home last night so drunk she couldn’t even stand up. Mom and Dad had to put her into bed. She certainly isn’t ready to meet our friends yet.”

  “I certainly hope she doesn’t do that today. Might give my folks a shock. You know how they are about drinking.”

  Paige knew indeed, for John’s parents had been sorely disappointed when Prohibition was repealed. They were passionate nondrinkers, rigid in their views.

  “Why don’t you go over and talk to Freddie and Lena. They look—” She broke off suddenly and took a deep breath. “There she is—and she’s brought that private detective with her.”

  “Private detective! What do you mean?”

  “His name is Francis Key. He’s the one who found her out in California. Look at that dress. Isn’t it just awful?”

  “I take it you didn’t pick it out.”

  “No. She did. She has no taste at all.”

  “We might just have to help her, Paige.”

  “First I’d like to talk to her alone, John. Go mingle for a few minutes.”

  Paige approached the pair alone. “We were worried about you, Grace.”

  “I had to go find my escort, Francis.”

  “Yes, I know Mr. Key.”

  “Oh, just call him Francis. He ain’t very tall, but he’s a good guy.”

  Paige caught the scent of alcohol and wondered desperately if she could get Grace upstairs before anyone realized she was here. She could make some excuse to the guests that Grace wasn’t feeling well. She had no time, however, for John’s parents had spotted her. “So this is the newest addition to the Winslow family,” Roger Asquith said.

  Paige’s heart sank, but she put on a pleasant smile. “Yes, this is my sister, Grace. Grace, this is Mr. Asquith and this is his wife.”

  “Hi, ya.” Grace grinned broadly. She put out her hand, and for a moment Roger Asquith stared at it blankly; then he reached out and Grace pumped his hand energetically.

  “How ya doin’, Missus?” Mrs. Asquith had her hand pumped as well, and then Grace said, “I’d like for you to meet the guy that found me. This is Francis. Francis, this is the Asquiths.”

  Key had noted the distaste in the faces of the couple and did not offer to shake hands. “Glad to know you,” he said quietly.

  “C’mon, Paige. Lemme meet the rest of your friends.”

  “Certainly,” Paige said quickly, glad to get her sister away from John’s parents.

  Key watched Paige lead her away, and as soon as the pair were gone, John came over and put out his hand to Francis. “I’m John Asquith, Paige’s fiancé. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I’m Francis Key.”

  “Paige tells me you’re the one who found her sister.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Are you some sort of policeman?” John asked.

  “I once worked for a private investigation agency.”

  Key’s quick eyes caught the distaste in John Asquith’s eyes, and he thought, I suppose private detectives aren’t very welcome in his circle. The two managed to make some more small talk, and soon John ex
cused himself to talk to some other friends he had spotted.

  Francis had not wanted to come to the party, and he tried to stay out of the way as Paige introduced Grace to the guests. It was a painful thing to watch, for most of them made no effort to hide their astonishment at her appearance. He knew Grace missed none of this and in defense had begun to talk more loudly. He heard her say, “Where’s the booze? I need a drink.”

  He did not hear Paige’s reply, but he did not think liquor would be served at one of the Winslows’ parties. Sure enough he was right, for he heard Grace’s voice rise loudly. “Whadd’ya mean there ain’t nothin’ to drink? What kind of a party is this? Not a tea party, I hope.”

  Key glanced at the Asquiths, who were standing frozen in place. Roger leaned over and whispered something to his wife, and she nodded firmly. Key felt embarrassed at the whole situation as he observed the shocked faces of these prim and proper guests.

  Meanwhile, across the room, Cara and Phil were talking with an old friend of theirs, Dr. Laura Maddox, their family physician. “So that’s Grace,” Laura murmured. “She looks a little like you, Cara.”

  “She looks very much like my mother, and I can see something of Phil in her too.”

  “How is she doing? This is quite a switch for her.”

  “Terrible, Laura,” Phil said, shaking his head. “She’s had no home life at all. She drinks and smokes and chews gum and seems to delight in shocking people—like she’s doing now.”

  “I think that’s probably pretty natural. She’s been thrust into the limelight and doesn’t know any other way to behave. It’s a pretty normal reaction, don’t you think?”

  Cara glanced over at Roger and Helen whispering together and said, “I’m afraid the Asquiths are shocked.”

  “They’re shocked at anything they don’t understand,” Phil said shortly.

  “I don’t know them very well,” Laura said, “but they do seem pretty stuffy. I was a little surprised when Paige got engaged to John. He’s a nice enough young man, but he doesn’t even sneeze without asking his parents’ permission.”

  The party went on uncomfortably for some time, and finally the inevitable explosion came. “What kind of a dead party is this?” came Grace’s voice above the others. “Come on, Francis. Let’s get outta here.”

  Key looked over at Phil, who gave him a nod, as if to say, Take care of her.

  “All right, Grace,” Francis said.

  “Come on. You’re a sorry specimen of a runt, but you’ll have to do.”

  As the two left the room, Roger Asquith said, “Helen, John ... it’s time we went home.”

  Five minutes later the trio were in their car, their chauffeur making his way down the long driveway.

  “There’s a weak strain in that family, John,” Roger said to his son. “It shows up in that girl.”

  John tried vainly to argue, even though he had never succeeded in winning any sort of argument with either of his parents. “She was basically brought up on the streets, Dad. What can you expect?”

  “We expect you to marry a girl with a family of some decency and respectability, son,” Helen said.

  “That’s right,” Roger snapped, shaking his head with distaste. “It has always bothered me that Phil Winslow is nothing but an artist.”

  “But he’s very successful with his art.”

  “That’s quite different from having a good family,” Helen insisted. “We’ve tried to warn you about this before, John. There’s something to a family’s bloodlines.”

  “But they’re a very good family. The Winslows are—”

  “They don’t belong to our set. Can’t you see that, John?”

  He settled back wearily. He was not a strong man when it came to expressing his views, especially where his parents were concerned. Now he simply gave up the argument, as he always did. He stared blindly out the window as he listened to his parents pick apart every member of the Winslow family.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Jesus Loves Misfits”

  Grace opened her eyes slowly, aware of the pain in her head. The texture of her tongue was like a blanket that had been in a garbage can for weeks. She tried to will herself back into unconsciousness, but sleep had fled, and she knew she must get up. She stared at the ceiling, aware that the sun was pouring its rich yellow beams through the window to her right. She could see thousands of dust motes dancing in the light, and from far away came the sound of a barking dog.

  She sat up slowly, moving her head carefully and trying to push the memories of the previous night out of her mind. “They must really love me,” she muttered. “Being drunk at their party in front of Paige’s future in-laws! I’m surprised they didn’t kick me out.”

  Grace had long had the ability to relive memories vividly. From her earliest childhood, she could still smell the odor of the boiling cabbage on the stove, see the bright colors of a caterpillar as it inched down a tree limb, hear Bertha’s shrill voice screaming at her that she was late for school. Most of her early memories were unpleasant, and she had learned to block them out of her mind by willfully thinking of other things.

  This morning, however, as she went about the tedious business of getting ready to face another day with a hangover, she could not forget the previous day’s disasters. She could see the faces of her siblings trying hard to hide their distaste and her mother’s face, sad and grieved. She could also see the faces of Roger and Helen Asquith, who had made no attempt to hide their feelings for her. “Stuck-up idiots,” she muttered on the way to the bathroom, where she washed her face and brushed her teeth. She shuffled back to the bedroom to pick out clothes for the day and was painfully conscious again that the clothes she had bought did not fit the new life she’d been thrown into. She thought of Francis and, as usual, did not know what to make of him. He was not like any man she had ever met, and he fascinated her. Yet she had no romantic notions of him. In the first place she had always liked big, dark men, and he certainly did not fit that category. She was impressed with how smart he was, and as she slipped into her dress, she thought, He could probably do a better job picking clothes out than I can. He’d know about things like that.

  She sat down and brushed her hair out, then put on her makeup. As she looked in the mirror, she was dissatisfied with what she saw. She did like the color of her hair, however, because it was unusual. There were always plenty of fake blondes, along with a few real ones, and there were some women with bright red hair, but she had seen very few strawberry blondes. It was her best feature, she thought, but she wished she could fix it in a better style. She rose and tossed the brush down. If they’d had to live with Bertha, she thought angrily, they’d be as dumb as I am too!

  Leaving the bedroom, she went down to find Cara in the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Grace,” her mother said.

  “Morning, Cara. Where’s Betty?”

  “It’s her day off. I’ve been waiting for you. Phil’s already up in his studio, and Kev is out working on the car.”

  “He’s good with engines, ain’t he?”

  “Yes, he is,” Cara said with a smile. “That and flowers.” A shadow fell across her face. “I wish he was better with people.”

  “He’s a real sweet guy. Too bad about the scars on his face.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Grace sat down at the kitchen table and gave Cara an odd look. “Doesn’t it make you mad at God?”

  “You mean because Kevin had an accident?”

  “Yeah. Why did God let that happen?”

  Cara took some eggs out of the refrigerator and laid them on the countertop. “It doesn’t make me mad at God. I don’t think anything could do that.”

  “But what about all the other terrible things in the world? Little babies burning up in fires, old people getting hit by cars. Rich people havin’ it easy while nice poor people suffer. It makes me mad.”

  “You must understand, Grace, that this is not the world that God made. He made a perfect
world and put two people in it who were both perfect themselves. The Scripture says that they walked with God.” She smiled and said, “I’ve often thought I’d like to have seen that—Adam and Eve out walking with God.”

  Grace tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. “I can’t even imagine it. Did they wear clothes?”

  “I wouldn’t imagine so. There was no need for it at first. And it’s hard to imagine how they walked with God because God is a spirit, and you can’t see a spirit. So somehow, I suppose, they just were conscious of the spirit of God.”

  “Well, the world sure ain’t like that anymore,” Grace said defiantly.

  “No, it’s not. It’s a ruined world we live in. There’s a dark power, the devil, that seeks to destroy mankind. But one day Jesus will come back, and the world will be remade. Then everything will be as it once was.”

  “Most of us’ll be dead by then.”

  “But there’s going to be a resurrection. Do you know that, Grace?”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about religion. I never went to church. Bertha didn’t like it.”

  Cara studied her daughter, and Grace’s neediness tugged at her heart and spirit. She saw a young woman who was outwardly beautiful, though her appearance was tarnished by poor taste. But she also sensed that inside, Grace was a frustrated, angry young woman who had been battered by life. But beyond that, Cara believed, was a goodness and a sweetness just waiting to be released. She had been praying steadily since she had heard of Grace’s existence and knew that she would never stop until she saw the woman before her become beautiful on the inside as well as out.

  “How about eggs Benedict this morning for breakfast?”

  “Eggs Benedict? What’s that?”

  “It’s a special way of fixing eggs. Come over here, and I’ll teach you to make it. I believe you’ll like it.” Cara showed Grace how to make the hollandaise sauce by melting butter in the top of a double boiler, then blending in egg yolks, lemon juice, and mustard with a whisk. She let this simmer while she poached four eggs, then began putting the dish together. She placed crisp English muffins on each plate, added thin slices of smoky Canadian bacon and the poached eggs on top, then poured a liberal amount of the hollandaise sauce over the eggs and bacon. She filled out each plate with one of the cinnamon rolls Betty had made the day before.