Landry Park

by Bethany Hagen

  A hand brushed past my hand under the furs, giving my fingers a faint squeeze. When I looked over, David was still gazing at the smooth white hillocks and humps that led down to the river.

  “Anyway, the snow has been a recent discovery for me, as well,” I said, trying to cover up my discomposure. “It was only two years ago that I was finally allowed out in it again.”

  “A shame.” David switched the reins to one hand and took a drink of mead. “It’s beautiful.”

  We didn’t talk for a while then, just sat, lulled by the hiss of the sleigh runners on the snow.

  • • •

  The next day, I sat down by the fire with Morgana and my tablet and wrote a letter to Jamie, who’d gone home to his mother and sisters for the holiday. It took me almost an hour to compose because every other sentence found me staring into the fire, thoughts chasing themselves around like skaters on a frozen pond.

  Jane and I still haven’t forgiven you for going home to England. The Solstice may be a time for family, but it is also a time for parties and onerous dinners, and we wish we had you here to ease us through the tedium. Cara and David seem more attached than ever, although I am beginning to feel that Cara is putting on an act. Why and for whom, I can’t say. I know her mother was interested in snagging David for her, but Cara has always done what she has wanted, regardless of the consequences. As for David, as much as I do not want it to be true, he seems genuine in his affection toward her.

  I should mention that David’s friend Captain MacAvery is wonderful in every way. Since you abandoned me during the claustrophobic winter, he has been keeping me company. For a hero, he is very grounded and attentive. Most of the girls here are chasing after him, and it is easy to see why, although I am not sure I share their enthusiasm for captain-capturing. He is such a kind friend and very handsome.

  I must go. Mother is insisting that I come down for charades. I think she does not want to face the drawing room with Father and Christine by herself.

  Come back soon—

  Madeline

  That night, after an endless evening of drinks and charades, I paused while closing the curtains in my bedroom, surprised to see David and Jude outside in the snow. David smoked his usual cigarette, while Jude pointed up at the stars, talking in a low voice that I couldn’t hear through the glass. David said something, and Jude let out a hearty laugh, causing David to laugh, too. A feeling of peace settled over me watching them. The bond between them, so strong, so natural and brother-like, had kept us safe in the mountains. As long as they were together, the Easterners couldn’t touch us.

  Then David went inside, leaving Jude by himself in the cold air. I watched him for a while. There was something so purposeful and calm about everything he did, the very sight of him was reassuring. He looked up at my window and a tiny part of me wanted to duck.

  Why? It was my house, and I had a right to look at my guests. Instead, I raised my hand in a little wave. He smiled and gestured for me to come outside and join him.

  Still corseted and clad in red velvet from dinner, I slid my feet back into my ballet flats and went outside.

  Without asking, he pulled off his cape and draped it over my shoulders. I smiled in thanks, but couldn’t help but compare it to the intimate warmth of David’s jacket.

  “Good evening,” Jude said, after he’d clasped the cape around my neck.

  “Good evening,” I replied.

  “Shall we go for a walk?”

  In answer, I slid my arm through his. As we walked, I could see his dress shoes slipping on the snow, but he still held out his arm to support me. It was much easier to relax when Jude was touching me than when David did. None of the nervousness or suppressed desire crackling under my skin, just the faint tingle of connection I got whenever I looked at him.

  “I hate these big gatherings,” he said, the crunch of the snow punctuating his words. “All the people wanting to talk to me about the war. People think the military is all flashy uniforms and bravery. I would give anything to have everyone stop congratulating me on our victory. Do they even know how many men died?”

  I looked at him, expecting to see bitterness on his face like I had on David’s, but there was only exhaustion.

  “And it’s not over yet,” he said, more to himself than me. “The Empire will not stop, not now when everything they want is so close.”

  “I think my father is more worried about the Rootless.”

  Jude nodded. “Another concern. But I believe they will see the wisdom in restraining their anger. Even if they were to start a revolt, they aren’t organized or educated in martial tactics. How could they hope to win?”

  I turned my head to look back at the house, to the window I knew was David’s. “I don’t know. Maybe if they had help.”

  “I have sympathy for them. They live a hard life.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He had longer eyelashes than David’s. Longer and darker. “If it came to it, I suppose I’d be bound to military oaths to defend the gentry. I wouldn’t enjoy suppressing them, but it would take something tremendous to make me abandon my command and betray my country.”

  Betray. That was a strong word, wasn’t it? But it was true. The Rootless weren’t legally considered citizens, and so helping them overthrow the gentry would be treason. I pulled Jude’s cloak closer around myself, thinking of the thousands of people who’d died with the pronouncement of that word.

  “Do you enjoy fighting?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “You know, David asked me that same question in the mountains and I couldn’t answer him, never having fought in a battle before. Now that I have, I suppose the answer is yes. I don’t enjoy killing or hurting people, but when I stop someone from killing or hurting one of my men, or when I turn a rout into a rally . . . yes, I enjoy that.”

  “You’re brave.”

  He shrugged. “Bullets are just lumps of metal. A flash of pain or a quick death. But being a coward—that’s something that eats away at you slowly, from the inside. That’s what really scares me.”

  “What is it like? Fighting?”

  “Loud. Muddy. I thought it would be like what we learned in Officer School, two civilized armies marching at each other, firing in volleys. But the Empire doesn’t march. They swarm. There were tens of thousands of them and when you shot one, five more sprang up in his place. With all the mud and smoke, it was impossible to tell who is who. There were times when I almost shot one of my own men, because he looked as sooty and filthy as the others.

  “There was one man, good as dead, holding his innards and trying to crawl to safety. I thought he was an Easterner, so I left him behind. But when we collected the bodies, I recognized him. He was one of ours and I left him there to die like a beast in the mud.”

  “He might have died anyway,” I commented.

  “That is not the point.”

  And then he went silent, reflective.

  “Your father, is he in the military?” I asked, hoping to distract him.

  “No,” Jude said flatly. “He’s dead. Three years ago, he went on a diplomatic mission to the Empire. He left on a Monday and the following Friday I received a box of ashes.” After a moment, he added, “My mother is dead, too.”

  I wanted to ask if his father had died in an accident or if he’d been murdered by the Empire, but I didn’t. Something about the long strides Jude took told me all I needed to know.

  “I imagine you have heard endless empty sentiments,” I said. “So I will just tell you that I can’t conceive of how hard it must have been to lose your family and I’m sorry.”

  We stopped at the wooden fence and turned to see the Lodge lit up—a beacon of warmth and light in the endless fields and forests of the Midwestern winter. “You are so lucky. You have a strong, powerful father. A beautiful mother. I’ll confess I am jealous of you, Madeline, and of all the Landrys.”

  I put my other hand on his arm. “You are welcome to stay with us anytime you like.”

>   A cold wind began to blow, whistling fiercely through the trees and over the pond. Jude began to walk again and I let him pull me along, bowing my head into the wind. There was a moment when I thought I saw the glow of a cigarette near the stables, but the swinging Cherenkov lanterns made it impossible to tell what was real and what was shadow.

  When we reached the door, the weary look on Jude’s face had passed, but something else had replaced it, a determined gaze that I wasn’t sure I felt entirely comfortable with. He reached out and trailed a finger along my neck.

  “I should get you back to your bed,” he said.

  Despite the warmth of my bed after the chilly walk across the grounds, despite the soothing sounds of a house at rest—crackling fires, Elinor breathing heavily in the next room, Morgana purring—I couldn’t sleep. It might have been the lingering afterglow from my sleigh ride with David last night, or perhaps it was the way Jude’s hand had held onto my own as he bid me good night outside my door. Like he wanted to hold on to me forever. The thought wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t unpleasant either, as if the satisfaction of being wanted canceled out the disappointment that the wanting was coming from the wrong man.

  Whatever it was, I couldn’t sleep, and that is why I heard the footsteps in the corridor and saw the moving blue light of a Cherenkov lantern under my door.

  It was close to three in the morning, too early for the servants to be rising and too late for straggling drunks coming from downstairs. But someone was up and about, walking into the main part of the house. It could have been anyone, any tired servant fetching a late snack or extra blanket for a gentry guest. But I wanted it to be David. We hadn’t been alone since the night before, when he took me from my room dressed only in my nightgown, and I needed to talk to him, needed to hear his voice, needed reassurance that whatever moment had flickered between us at the whist table was real and hadn’t withered away with one of his changing moods.

  I slid out of bed and wrapped a soft woolen robe around me, finding my slippers with my feet. I opened the door as silently as possible and stole out into the hallway—without a lantern of my own. I didn’t want to be seen, and besides, I hardly needed it. I wasn’t intimate with every corner and stone of Victory Lodge like I was with Landry Park, but it was still a Landry house and I still knew it well enough to make it around in the dark.

  They had already descended the stairs and made for the gallery by the time I reached the central staircase. The gallery! It had to be David; no servant would need anything from the gallery. It was merely a long corridor fronted by windows on one side and by paintings on the other, the monotony of the room broken up by mounted animal heads and three separate fireplaces, none of which were lit at the moment. The largest painting hung in the very middle; it was a portrait of Jacob Landry at a desk, a gray cat curled at his feet. Even from here, I could see the sightless glare of his painted eyes.

  The snow reflecting the moonlight made the entire gallery unnaturally light, throwing long shadows across the floor. But as I crossed into the gallery, the moonlight streaming in through the windows revealed long, golden hair and a striking green ball gown.

  Cara.

  Still unaware of my presence, she leaned against a wall and slid down, until she was crumpled in a pile of emerald taffeta on the stone floor. And then she laid her head against her knees and began to cry.

  She would die of shame if she knew I was here, witnessing her moment of stolen privacy, but I couldn’t leave her like this, alone and crying under the stern faces of my ancestors. I tentatively stepped over to her, unsure whether I should announce myself or wait for her to notice me. Instead, I sat down beside her and draped my arm over her bare shoulders. She stiffened, but didn’t look up.

  “I should have known you would be here,” she said into her knees. “You always find me when I least want to be found.”

  I simply squeezed her shoulders and, after a moment, she relaxed. I could tell by her ragged breathing that she was still crying, but she seemed content to have me here, and so I stayed, watching the ephemeral winter clouds whisper over the moon.

  Finally she raised her head and wiped her eyes. “Okay. I am finished now.”

  “Okay,” I said, and removed my arm, suddenly uncomfortable at the intimacy we just shared.

  It seemed like something of our childhood had crept over us slowly since her attack, that sense of being forced together, despite being different—almost like we were related by blood. I hesitated to name it friendship, but deep down, I cared about her. And as she gave me a watery smile before she used my robe to wipe her nose, I got the sense that she cared about me too.

  “I am sorry, Madeline,” she said, tears brimming at her eyes again. “I am so sorry.”

  “I was awake anyhow,” I told her.

  “No, not this. About everything else,” she said, and gestured toward the windows. “About my attack. About your house getting ruined. About . . . other things. You were right about always being dragged into my troubles, except this time, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want you to find me in the woods that night any more than I wanted you to fall in love with David after he and I had already met. I just wanted you to stay away so you wouldn’t get hurt. But instead, you’re in as thick as me.” She looked over at me. “Please be careful, Madeline. You must be careful.”

  As she went up to wipe her eyes again, I saw it: the dark blue-purple of new bruises ringing her upper arm.

  “Cara . . .” I whispered.

  She followed my eyes down and gave a trembling shrug. “A couple hours old. They don’t hurt anymore.” She stood and brushed off her dress. “I should probably get some rest before Solstice Day tomorrow. Good night, Madeline.”

  I stayed there for a moment after she left, staring at the Cherenkov lantern she’d forgotten on the floor. Who continued to torment Cara? And why?

  I picked up the lantern and walked out of the gallery.

  • • •

  The morning of the Solstice was cloudy and dark. I woke to find an embroidered stocking hanging from my mantel. The cat didn’t stir as I slid out of bed and ran over the cold floorboards to grab the bulging sock. After dinner last night, I had given Elinor gifts to cache in others’ rooms—a watch inlaid with a jade atomic symbol for Father, a bottle of strong perfume for Mother, and, despite my worries that I’d look overeager, a book for David. Le Morte D’Arthur—a leatherbound copy with hand-painted watercolors inside.

  I’d also ordered a gold sash from the village for Jude to go with his red dress uniform. It felt wrong to give David a gift but not Jude.

  My stocking contained the usual baubles and bright things. Earrings and necklaces and bracelets and other jewelry bought with borrowed money. A small package wrapped in heavy paper came with a tag inscribed with Jude’s square hand. I unwrapped it and my heart rose to see a small miniature of Landry Park, done in painstaking detail.

  Once I heard you describe Landry Park with such effusion, I knew it was near to your heart. I sent David’s valet to commission the miniature in Kansas City, and it just arrived. From the images I see on my tablet, it seems to be a fair likeness. If it’s not too forward of me to say, I hope that I get to see your fine home in person soon.

  —Jude

  It was a fair likeness indeed. I could even make out the brass telescope in the observatory. I crawled back into the still warm bed, cradling the miniature in my hands. Something about the texture of the brushstrokes made the house seem much more alive than it was in shiny, backlit tablet pictures. I knew it was near to your heart.

  Indeed. Who would Madeline Landry be without the observatory and mausoleum and wide green lawns?

  Behind the house, set into the cloudless sky, a faintly golden atomic symbol caught the light. I sighed and set the miniature aside.

  There was nothing else in my stocking. Nothing from David.

  I flopped back on my pillow, startling Morgana enough for her to open one eye to see what the fuss was about.


  It was stupid to think he would have given me a present.

  I felt so embarrassed and exposed, having given him a gift that he would probably toss aside. I rolled facedown on my pillow, trying to bite down the humiliation, and my hand brushed against something. I sat up and lifted the pillow.

  It was another miniature, this time one of the poster in the Rootless ghetto, with the Rootless smiling vacantly at their nuclear charges and sacks of food. Except, instead of the gentry man behind them, it was me. The atomic symbol crowned my scarlet hair, which ran down my shoulders like blood, the ends of it brushing the tiny heads of the Rootless.

  I dropped it as if it had burned me.

  Was it from David?

  Had he put it in my room while I’d been asleep? His hand reaching under my pillow, his breath on my face while I’d slept obliviously on?

  I curled my knees to my chest and laid my head on my arms. He knows. How little I’ve done for the Rootless. A flare of anger followed my guilt. But it’s not as if he’s dropping his life to join them either. It could just as easily be him in that picture.

  “Miss?” someone said out of the darkness.

  I gasped and pulled the blanket up to my chest.

  Charlie, Jack’s son, stepped out of the murky corner by the bookcase. He wore the same clothes I’d seen him wearing in June; his feet were wrapped in filthy rags and the glistening skin between his nose and his lips revealed a recent bout of flu. He looked cold even now by the fire, covered in goose bumps, his lips a faint blue.

  “Charlie!” I lowered my voice, paranoid, not wanting Elinor to hear. “What are you doing here?”

  “I delivered that, miss,” he said, pointing at the miniature of me. “Mr. David had me make it for you.”

  “You made it yourself?”

  He nodded proudly. “Mr. David gave me the paints and the canvas and a picture of you. It took me every day for five days—I’m not used to paints, since we normally just have charcoal in our part of town. But after a couple days, I got the hang of it. Mr. David told me how to use the post and even gave me money to send it here, but I wanted to come myself to see you open it. Do you like it?”