“Not intend,” I insisted. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Of course Gretchen would have an idealized memory of her sister, and that would hardly help you to present the truth. The old man is completely unbalanced and would be useless for your purposes. Interviewing him would be like trying to interview a squirrel.”
I knew what she was doing. Her real purpose, no matter how friendly she seemed, was probably to put barriers in my path and discourage me from finding out more—which made me all the more interested.
Although Finella had overheard Camilla’s remarks, she didn’t appear to sense any undercurrents. As though a thought had just occurred to her, Finella clapped her hands and said, “I know just the person who could tell you about Victoria, Lauren. Her name is Betsey Harlan. She was Victoria’s dresser and a good friend. Talking to her might help you make up your mind.”
“Where can I find her?”
The look Finella turned on Camilla was speculative. “Perhaps you could drive Lauren out to see her?”
The request surprised me. Finella must have realized very well what she was asking, and of whom. I fully expected Camilla to back away from such a suggestion, and she was already shaking her head.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Betsey’s very old now, and an invalid. She wouldn’t want to be disturbed.”
Finella further surprised me, and I wondered whether she was baiting Camilla just a little. “She’s not much older than you are, Camilla. But if you don’t want to do this, I’ll ask Gordon.”
The other woman remained serene in her manner. Perhaps it occurred to her that it would be better to be present during any conversation I had with Betsey Harlan.
“I’ll take you,” she decided. “If you’re free, we might as well do it now. I’ll be busy this afternoon.”
I accepted readily and we went out to Camilla’s Lincoln. The Brandt family’s taste apparently ran to expensive cars. We drove away from the mountains and into wide, rolling valley land.
“This is apple country,” Camilla told me. “Wonderful fruits and vegetables grow in the area because of the thermal belt.”
“Thermal belt?”
“It’s a narrow strip that runs through this part of North Carolina; it exists because of the topography. Our temperature never gets as cold or as hot as the surrounding mountains and countryside. So the growing season is long. Of course this makes Lake Lure ideal for a resort and this valley ideal for farming. We’re going to an apple farm now.”
Though she spoke easily of the countryside and her manner remained cool and assured, I still had the feeling that taking me to see Betsey Harlan was the last thing Camilla wanted to do.
“Can you tell me something about the woman you’re taking me to see?” I asked.
“She lives with her grandson’s family. Of course, she may refuse to talk with us, you realize.”
“Did you dislike her in the old days, Mrs. Brandt?”
“I’ve had little reason to like anyone connected with Victoria Frazer.”
I felt chided and put in my place. “Of course,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. While Betsey and I had our problems, a lot of time has passed, and neither of us is the same woman she was when Victoria was alive. I must warn you, however, that Betsey can be sharp and spiteful. She doesn’t mince words, and you may not hear flattering things about any of us. Though she’s confined to a wheelchair, she’s still lively and independent. Unpredictable.”
“You’ve seen her recently?”
“Natalie’s seen her—she painted a picture of her not long ago—and she’s reported to me.”
“How did Betsey happen to become Victoria Frazer’s dresser?”
“Victoria was from this area originally, so she and Betsey were childhood friends. When Blue Ridge Cowboy was being made, Victoria brought her to help with her makeup, her hair, her costumes, and I understand she was very good with a needle. I think she made some of the things Victoria wore in that picture. Everything about making a movie was simpler in those days. Now a battery of professionals works on the stars. I imagine that Victoria picked Betsey not only for her natural skills but because she was young and impressionable and devoted. She would do exactly as Victoria wished. She was certainly a friend and confidante.”
All this sounded promising. There might be a great deal that Betsey Harlan could tell me—if Camilla’s presence didn’t silence her.
“Were you ever on the set while the film was being made?”
The tilt of Camilla’s hat brim was away from me and I could see her lovely profile, which lost none of its clean line until it reached her throat. In the bright light that came through the windshield, the scar on her cheek looked white. The pause before she answered me might have been because she was remembering something.
“I wasn’t often on the set. Roger didn’t like to have me there when he was filming. Of course, since many of his scenes involved outdoor action, I couldn’t possibly watch.”
“But you did meet Betsey on the set?”
She didn’t answer immediately. We had turned into a side road and I saw signs for apples along the way. The mountains had receded and the land rolled with small hills. When she finally spoke, her voice seemed casual enough, almost as though she were telling me of everyday matters.
“I knew her, of course. And she also came to see me after Victoria drowned herself.”
That was a surprise, but I had no time to question her because we’d turned through a gate set in a rail fence. Camilla pushed into an open space where several cars were parked.
“We’re here,” Camilla said. “Perhaps you can ask Betsey to tell you the rest. She came to see me for a curious reason.”
Across the open yard, a large farmhouse painted sunflower yellow stretched its hospitable width in a long porch with low steps. Several families were purchasing apples and carrying loaded baskets to their cars. A boy in his early teens came toward us when Camilla beckoned.
“We’ve come to see Betsey Harlan,” she told him. “I am Camilla Brandt.”
He regarded us doubtfully. “She don’t hardly see people these days, but I’ll go ask.”
In a few moments, he was back, looking surprised. “My great-grammaw says you kin come in. I’ll take you to her room, if you want.”
We followed our guide up the steps to the low porch that ran the width of the house, then through a big sitting room filled with furniture not yet old enough to be antiques. He motioned us toward an open door at the rear.
We stepped into a room that was immediately cheerful with color. A bright homemade quilt covered the bed and several served as wall hangings, as well. A crocheted throw that picked up the colors of the quilts covered the knees of the woman who sat watching us from her wheelchair. Though Camilla Brandt must have been only a few years younger, Betsey Harlan seemed decades more ancient—a small, wizened figure wrapped in a fringed gray shawl that was the only drab spot in the room. Brown eyes that looked out of a face mapped in wrinkles were bright with intelligence and curiosity.
Camilla quickly went to the wheelchair and took Betsey’s small, bony fingers into her own well-cared-for hands. Hands more than faces give age away, and in spite of care, Camilla’s were touched with veins and brown spots. She bent to kiss Betsey’s cheek, surprising me. I hadn’t thought of her as especially gentle or kind, and I wondered whether the gesture was genuine.
When Camilla introduced me, Betsey turned her sharp, bright look on me, searching for something. “I remember your husband, Mrs. Castle. He came to see me two years ago. But I wouldn’t talk to him.” Her look snapped back to Camilla. “I never told him anything about Roger.”
“That was probably wise,” Camilla said calmly. “But Mrs. Castle is especially interested in Victoria Frazer. She may pick up her husband’s work and I thought you might like to tell her something about the past. No one else knew Victoria as you did.”
The shrunken shoulders beneath the shaw
l seemed to straighten and her small, pointed chin came up. “Your husband only wanted to know what I thought about Roger, Mrs. Castle. I never liked Roger.” She threw a quick glance at Camilla. “Miss Victoria was too good for him!”
She motioned for us to sit and we drew two chairs closer to the wheelchair.
“Tell Mrs. Castle whatever you care to,” Camilla said. “I don’t mind. You know that, don’t you?”
Though she spoke to Camilla, Betsey’s eyes remained fixed on me with a sharp intensity. “Yes, Miss Camilla. I understood that when I went to see you after Miss Victoria died.”
Her light, whispery voice filled with loving praise as she told me of Victoria’s beauty, of her kindness, her goodness. Later Betsey had worked on other films made in the South, starring other actresses, but she’d liked none of them as well.
“Miss Victoria trusted me. She knew I wanted what was best for her when I did her face and hair and helped with her wardrobe. I was handy with a needle, and that was useful to her. I made her dress and that beautiful turban she wore in her last picture. But when it came to that wicked man, she wouldn’t listen to me at all.” As she spoke, she seemed to forget Camilla’s presence. “She thought he would leave his wife and marry her. I tried to tell her he couldn’t be trusted, but she went her own way—and look what happened to her.”
I didn’t dare to look at Camilla and I spoke softly. “What did happen to her, Betsey?”
“He killed her, of course. He done the deed so’s she’d never be found.”
I had to look at Camilla now, but her expression remained calm, as though she’d heard all this before and discounted it.
Betsey ran on, wandering a bit. “I remember Miss Victoria’s darling baby. Miss Gretchen would have kept that li’l ol’ baby and raised her, but maybe it was better to send her away and do it quickly. Out of that man’s reach.”
I asked a direct question. “Betsey, did you have any evidence at the time that Victoria’s death wasn’t suicide?”
“I knew Miss Victoria better than all of ’em.” Her voice strengthened with new vehemence. “When she was strong again, she meant to follow her baby out to California, where she had friends because of her movie work.”
Camilla spoke quietly, calling her back. “I think Mrs. Castle would like to know why you came to see me after Victoria was gone.”
Betsey’s eyes brightened, as though this was something she might relish. She didn’t answer at once, however, because she was staring fixedly at Camilla. Camilla casually covered the scar on her cheek with one hand, as though all too aware of what Betsey saw. For the first time, she seemed ruffled. “Betsey, tell Mrs. Castle why you came to see me.”
The old woman lowered her eyes to the crocheted throw over her knees. “I thought you ought to know about your husband. That’s why I came.”
“It’s all right to tell Mrs. Castle what you believe.”
Betsey looked up at me with tears in her faded brown eyes. “I think he wanted to be rid of Miss Victoria before she could tell too much and ruin his career. That’s what I wanted Miss Camilla to know.”
“Of course I didn’t agree with you. My husband would never have hurt anyone.”
Betsey turned away, wheeling her chair over to her dresser to take out a tissue before answering. “She should have stayed here where she was born and bred. But if she had gone out to California, maybe I’d have gone with her for good, even if it meant leaving Ty.”
“Ty?” I asked, startled, as she wheeled back toward us.
“Tyronne—Miss Victoria’s brother. In those days, he fancied me. I reckon I fancied him, too, for a while.”
Camilla looked amused at my expression. “You should have seen us all when we were young, Mrs. Castle. Betsey was the prettiest girl to come out of North Carolina. And Ty was a handsome boy. He loved the mountains even then—but he might have loved Betsey more. Who knows what might have been if his sister Victoria hadn’t disappeared—died. That was what destroyed him and turned him into the caricature you see now.”
“Ty came to see me once after we were old.” Betsey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He brought me honeysuckle. Imagine! When that stuff grows like a weed everywhere. We didn’t talk much. He took a look at me, and I took a look at him, and we knew those two young kids were long gone and that we wouldn’t even like each other anymore. I felt a little sad about that, but I’ve had another romance or two since Ty, and I’ve been married.” She stopped and looked at Camilla. “You didn’t do so well with your marriage, did you? My man may have died, but at least he never wandered in the years we were together.”
A faint irritation touched Camilla’s voice. “Suppose we talk about Victoria. What else can you tell Mrs. Castle that might be useful if she decides to go on with her husband’s work?”
Betsey paid no attention to this. “Roger Brandt came to see me once after Miss Victoria died. Bet he never told you that, Miss Camilla.”
Camilla looked surprised. “What did he want, Betsey?”
“He wanted me to stop talking about him. He told me he would send a lawyer to see me if I went on telling the things I knew.”
“What are the things you know?” I urged.
Betsey hesitated, her bright, faded eyes sweeping my face. In the pause, I had a sense of Camilla’s stillness—as though she had braced herself against whatever might come.
Betsey, however, was following her own side road. “I don’t want no truck with lawyers. I don’t want him sending some city fellas to see me, making threats.”
“That was a long time ago,” I assured her. “I don’t think anything you might tell me now would get you into trouble.”
But Betsey had mixed up her many decades and was wandering. I knew by Camilla’s expression that she wanted to get away. Since talking with Betsey now would be hopeless, I thanked her and asked if I might come again sometime. She looked past us, through us, without answering. Nevertheless, as we went toward the door, she called after us, her voice strong again.
“Of course there was that fight Miss Victoria had with Ty. But you know about that, don’t you?”
Camilla turned back quickly, surprised. “No, Betsey, we don’t know. Will you tell us?”
Now she stayed with her subject. “Ty loved his sister a lot. And he went kinda crazy when he knew she was going to have that man’s baby. He threatened to kill Roger Brandt—he was talking real wild. I was there, so I saw what happened when Miss Victoria slapped him. Ty went off crazy mad. Miss Gretchen was there, too. She was the youngest, but she always sort of looked after Ty, and she was the only one who could calm him down when he went outta control.”
“Did Ty ever try to carry out his threat?” I asked.
“Not so far.” Betsey drifted off again and Camilla touched my arm.
“We’d better go. Thank you for seeing us, Betsey. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Unexpectedly, Betsey nodded. “Yes, Miss Camilla—you can go on out and wait in the car for Mrs. Castle. I got to talk to her for a minute.”
Clearly, this didn’t suit Camilla and I knew that the last thing she wanted was to leave me alone with Betsey.
“I’ll only be a moment,” I told her, and she could do nothing but give in and return to her car.
“What’s your name?” Betsey asked me when Camilla had gone.
At first, I thought she was wandering again. “I’m Jim Castle’s wife,” I reminded her.
“I mean your real name. What’s your first name—what do they call you?”
“I’m Lauren Castle.”
She shook her head. “Get me that Bible over there.”
Her request sounded urgent, so I went to a nearby table and picked up the black leather-covered book she’d indicated. It wasn’t a big family Bible, but of ordinary book size, with shiny gold on the edges of the thin India paper. She took it from me with hands that shook a little.
“Sometimes I have the sight, though not always when I want it. I knew right away whe
n you walked in who you are. But I didn’t want to say anything while she was here. She doesn’t know, does she? Victoria was your grandmother. You’re that little baby’s baby. I always knew you would come and that you’d be the right one, even if your mama wasn’t.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Then I dropped to my knees beside her chair and looked into eyes that seemed suddenly clear. An unexpected sense of relief poured through me.
“No one else knows,” I told her, deciding not to mention Gordon. “No one else must know—not yet. I’m not ready.”
She patted my hand. “We won’t tell anyone. There are bad feelings out there, though I don’t know from where. Anyway, I’m real proud that you come to see me. I got something for you I been saving all these years.” She flipped the Bible open to the place she wanted and I saw a spray of dried flowers pressed between the pages. There was also a piece of something hard wrapped in tissue. It had formed a depression that made the place easy to find.
“Ty gave me those flowers when he was young and knew better than to bring honeysuckle. Violets and forget-me-nots. Hah! Never mind the flowers—this is what I been waiting to give my pretty lady’s granddaughter.”
She picked up the bit of yellowed tissue and opened it, holding it out to me. It contained a tiny stone—something that looked like a bit of gravel.
“Take it,” she ordered.
Mystified, I did as I was told. The grayish bit of stone felt rough in my fingers and I had no idea what it was.
“Hold it up to the light,” Betsey said.
Now I saw that a tiny cap of dull green emerged from the socket of gray rock. When I held it toward a window, the cap gleamed translucent with green light.
I wondered out loud. “It’s an emerald?”
“That’s what it is. Uncut. Not worth anything because it’s too small. Cutting would make it just about disappear. Miss Victoria gave it to me for fun. There’s an emerald mine hereabouts, and she and that man dug some of those little stones right out of the earth for a scene in the movie. You’re the one who should have it now.”
“I’ll treasure this,” I told her, and bent to kiss her crumpled cheek. “May I come and see you again before I leave?”
Star Flight Page 11