“Anthony,” Fiona managed as they crossed the field. “I think I saw—”
But he tugged her, nearly unbalancing her, and suddenly she was so close her shoulder touched his. “Shh,” he said, his voice lowered. “Please don’t say it. I think she listens.”
The words were so unexpected it took a moment for her to process them. By the time she did, he had let her go and was walking normally again without glancing in her direction, as if he’d never said a thing.
Numbly she followed his gaze to the dead, empty windows of Idlewild. It was watching them, watching her, laughing with its broken teeth. For a second her fear turned to defiance at the sight. I see you, she said to it. I hate you.
But Idlewild still grinned. I hate you, too.
When they reached the muddy drive, Anthony said, “I’ll have security open the gates so you can leave. If you want to see the grounds again, Fiona, please call me so you don’t end up in the back of a police car.”
He motioned to a uniformed man who was getting out of a car marked with the logo of a private security company. The man nodded and pressed a button inside his car, and the gates began to swing open. Waiting for her to leave.
She wanted to run down the rutted drive and through the gates. She wanted out. She wanted to be gone from here forever.
Instead she turned to Anthony and said, in a voice both quiet and clear, “Who is she?”
He shook his head. “That’s my mother’s specialty, I’m afraid. You’ll have to ask her.”
“Except I don’t have an interview with her,” Fiona returned, frustrated.
“You should have returned my calls,” he said. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Mother has changed her mind. She’s agreed to talk to you.” He glanced at his watch. “She’ll be getting up now, having her morning tea. I’ll call ahead and tell her you’re coming, shall I?”
It didn’t matter that she was scared, cold, shabbily dressed, and worried about her own mental state. She was finally getting the chance to talk to Margaret Eden. “Yes, thank you,” she said as politely as she could. “I’m on my way.”
He gave her the address. “Let’s not tell her about this incident,” he finished, waving vaguely behind them, “or we’ll both be in trouble.”
“Will she be angry?”
To her surprise, that made Anthony laugh, a sound that was brief and polite, but still genuinely amused. “If you ever find that you can predict Mother, then you know her better than I do. And I’ve known her all my life.”
That should have made her uneasy. Yet it didn’t.
Fiona turned and walked down the muddy drive, preparing to take on Margaret Eden.
chapter 14
CeCe
Barrons, Vermont
October 1950
The last Sunday of every month was Family Visit Day at Idlewild, when families could come see the girls. The visits took place in the dining hall, with each girl getting a table to sit with her visitor. There were over a hundred girls in the school, but barely six or seven families showed up each Family Visit Day. The rest either didn’t know about it or didn’t care.
CeCe had put on a clean uniform and carefully brushed her hair. It was too much to expect that Mother would come; she lived in Boston, where she worked as a housekeeper, and to come back here on her Sunday off was impossible. Her father would not come, of course—she hadn’t seen him since he’d dropped her off here. But she’d had a letter from someone else instead.
She watched, scanning each face as visitors came into the room. A set of parents. A mother with two children. It was nearly Halloween, and the two children had brought candy for their sister at school, which they were obviously reluctant to part with. Finally, a young man appeared, neatly groomed and wearing a navy blue seersucker suit. He was directed to her table. CeCe stood up and smiled.
He smiled back as he approached her. He had dark brown hair slicked back with pomade, and the white shirt beneath his suit jacket was starched and clean, his tie straight. He had gray eyes beneath bold, level brows and a thin face with high cheekbones. He was handsome, CeCe thought, except that his front teeth were just a little crooked. But otherwise he was decent-looking, classy. He looked to be about twenty.
“Hi,” he said when he got close enough to speak. “Cecilia?”
“That’s me,” she said, jittery with nervousness. “Call me CeCe.”
He shook her hand. If he noticed how clammy hers was, he didn’t let on. “I’m Joseph.”
“It’s so nice,” she said, then realized that she hadn’t finished her sentence. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” He gestured for her to sit, and he sat across from her and smiled again. “So, do you think we have a resemblance?”
They had none, not the slightest, but CeCe smiled at him and said, “I don’t know. I guess.”
“Well, since we have the same father, there must be some resemblance somewhere,” he said. He looked her up and down, and she was painfully aware of the soft curves bulging beneath her uniform, the dark thick hair that was nothing like his. She’d been so excited to meet him, this boy. He was another illegitimate child of her father’s by a different mother, though his mother wasn’t a servant, like hers. His mother was the daughter of a banker, and Brad Ellesmere had helped her set up house when she’d gotten pregnant, given her support until she found a husband. He’d stayed close to Joseph, too—Joseph was the favorite child, the son. Though, as with CeCe, he hadn’t given Joseph his family name.
Joseph had written her last week, asking to come and see her. They were family, he said, even if their family was on the wrong side of the blanket. He had no other legitimate brothers or sisters, and he was tracking down all of his father’s other children with his father’s blessing, hoping to find family where he had none. CeCe had no other brothers and sisters, either, and she’d replied to him enthusiastically, asking him to come.
“So,” she said to him now, trying not to fidget. “Have you found any other siblings?”
“Sure,” he said. “Two others, one in North Carolina and one in Baltimore. Dad sure did get around.” He stopped and blushed bright red. “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” CeCe shook her head. “I’ve heard it before. I’ve heard everything by now, as I’m sure you have.”
“It isn’t always easy,” Joseph agreed. “When I was a little kid, I used to lie in bed and dream about having normal parents.”
“Me, too.” CeCe felt her own face heating. There were other illegitimate girls at Idlewild, but she’d never talked to another girl about what it was like. “I used to daydream that Dad would come and sweep my mother off her feet and marry her.”
“So did I.” Joseph laughed. The sound was awkward, but CeCe liked it. It was exactly like her own awkward laugh. “I guess he can’t marry everyone.”
This was good, CeCe thought. This was really good. Having family that wasn’t Mother. She couldn’t believe he was being so nice to her when he didn’t have to, that he wasn’t embarrassed. “Who were the other two you found?” she asked. “Boys or girls?”
“Girls, both,” he said. He put his hands on the table and tried to keep them still. “Dad says I’m the only boy. The other two didn’t want to see me, though.” He shrugged. “Their mothers got married, too, like mine, and they don’t want anything to do with Dad or his other kids.”
Sisters. I have sisters. She tried to keep her expression calm. “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. Say, I got you something.” He lifted a small cardboard box. “It’s just a little thing. I didn’t have time to get it wrapped or anything.”
CeCe blinked at the box. “A gift? Joseph, really . . .”
“Hey, you’re my sister, right?” he said softly. “It’s the least I can do. Open it up.”
She blinked hard and removed the lid from the box.
Inside was a strange-looking cube of plastic, adorned with a knob and a lot of holes. “What, um,” she said, feeling stupid, “what is it?”
“It’s a radio,” he explained. He lifted the square from the box and turned it. “You switch it on here, see, and you tune in to a station using this knob. This is brand-new, CeCe. A prototype. Dad got me one last month. It’s the greatest thing.”
“Okay,” CeCe said cautiously. She’d seen radios before—the Ellesmeres had had one—but they were the size of cabinets. She’d never seen a radio so small. She was almost positive that such a thing was against Idlewild rules, but Joseph wouldn’t know that. “So I can just turn it on and listen to music?”
“Or radio shows, or whatever is on,” he said. “Sometimes there are symphonies, or operas, or big band shows. All kinds of things.”
She looked up at him, blinking in amazement. This really was a nice gift. “Wasn’t it expensive?”
He waved that away. “I wanted to get you something. You’re trapped in this dusty old boarding school. Who wouldn’t want a radio in a place like this?”
“That’s true.” CeCe laughed. She had no resentment that as the daughter of a housekeeper she’d been sent to boarding school, while he’d probably been given private tutors. That was just the way of the world. Besides, their father sent her money and presents sometimes, too. He hadn’t forgotten her entirely. “Nothing much happens here. I’ll have to hide it, though, or the dorm monitors will confiscate it.”
He seemed surprised at that, but he promptly dropped the radio back in the box and closed the lid. “Am I making you break the rules?”
“I’ve done it before.”
He grinned. “I like the sound of that.” They smiled at each other for a second, and CeCe thought again, This is good. “Listen,” Joseph said. “Dad tells me your mother is a housekeeper in Boston.”
“It’s surprising he’s been so open with you about all of this,” she said. “Doesn’t he worry people will disapprove?” She blushed again. “What about, um, his wife?” Her mother had never told her anything about her father’s wife—not a single word.
“His wife is sick,” Joseph said bluntly. “They never had any kids, you know, in the marriage. So Dad is behind me in this. He doesn’t have any sons. Except me. I don’t think he cares very much what people think. He wants his kids taken care of, even if they aren’t his wife’s. I mean, who is going to take over his business someday, if it isn’t me?”
CeCe nodded and looked down at the box on the table in front of her, drawing her thumbnail along the lid. She didn’t know her father well—barely at all, actually—but he’d never been unkind to her. It was other people who were unkind. And, of course, Mother was ashamed, while Father wasn’t. That, too, was the way of the world.
She had the sudden feeling this visit had more to it than just friendliness from a long-lost half brother, though she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. “I guess he’s always been honest.”
“He has.” Joseph paused. “He told me about your mother and the time you almost died at the beach.”
Her head jerked up. No one talked about that. Never. “That was an accident.”
Joseph shook his head. “That’s not what Dad says.”
“He doesn’t know,” she said, the words coming out forceful with her sudden anger. “He wasn’t there. It was an accident.”
But still he shook his head, so calm, so certain. A young man who had been told the truth by his father, undoubting. “Look, no one blames you. Not at all. But your mother—”
“She slipped.” CeCe heard the rushing of water in her ears, and pushed the thought away.
“CeCe, you nearly drowned,” he said. “Dad said they had to put your mother in a hospital for a while.”
“That was unfair.”
“The doctors said—”
“Stop,” CeCe nearly shouted. The families at the other tables were looking over at them now, and the teacher on duty, Mrs. Wentworth, was looking concerned. “The doctors don’t know her.”
She had been six. Her mother had taken her swimming at the beach. She remembered the dark, damp sand between her toes, the slap of cold water. Watching the waves come and go, making the sand look slick as glass as the water receded. She’d touched it over and over, after every wave left, trying to feel the hardness of the sand-glass, watching the water curve around her fingers. Nothing else. She didn’t remember her mother telling her to come into the water. She didn’t remember the sky, or the voices of the other people on the beach, or the sound of seagulls calling, or the water rushing into her mouth. She only remembered touching the smooth sand, then looking up at Mother through the water.
And then someone was shouting, and she’d opened her eyes to see a man with a huge mustache looking into her face. Little girl, are you all right?
Her mother had slipped, holding her in the water. She’d slipped and fallen and pinned CeCe beneath her by accident. But the police came, and though CeCe had no memory after that, just flashes of images here and there—a strange house she’d stayed at that had a puppy, a man who had made finger puppets sing a song and made her laugh—she knew what had happened. Her mother had assured her, years later. It had been an accident.
Her father hadn’t been there; she and her mother had gone to the beach alone. Had he been involved when her mother went into the hospital? Had he had her locked up? She hadn’t known that. It was unfair. Her mother had never had the chance to defend herself. She’d never gone back to work for the Ellesmeres after getting out. She’d gone to Boston and her father had dropped CeCe off at her first boarding school, the one that took younger kids, the one she’d been at before her father had come to get her again to move her to Idlewild.
“Dad was looking out for you,” Joseph said. “He got your mother that job after she got out of the hospital, and he sent you to school. He says that now I’m grown, I have to look out for you, too.”
“My mother looks out for me,” CeCe said numbly.
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Joseph said. “I didn’t come here to upset you.” He did look rather sorry, his eyes sad and his chin drooping. “I just know things have been hard for you—you know, harder than they are for me. So I wanted to meet you and bring you a present. I wanted to let you know I’m here. If you ever need help, just let me know.”
She blinked hard. She wanted to shout at him, wanted to stomp from the room. If she were Katie, she’d know some profanity she could say, something that would shock him and make him stop feeling sorry for her. No one ever felt sorry for Katie, while everyone always felt sorry for CeCe. She was sick of it.
But she stared at him, and she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be mean. He’d tried to be nice to her, and he’d spent quite a bit of money on her radio. So she heard herself say, “Thank you for the present.”
“Okay,” he said. “Can I visit you again?”
She said yes, and he shook her hand and left. She took the radio back to her room and slid it under her mattress in its box, thinking she would forget about it, that she would never listen to it. I don’t need his stupid radio, she thought. But late that night, when all the girls were in their nightgowns and lying in bed, she rolled over and looked down at Katie on the bunk below her. “I got a present today,” she said, unable to help herself. Unable to stop herself from trying to please Katie, with her pretty black hair and mischievous tilted eyes.
Katie yawned, as if presents were old news. “What is it?”
“A radio.”
“That’s a lie,” Katie said immediately.
“It isn’t,” CeCe said. She was smiling now. Maybe the radio would be useful after all. “My half brother came to Family Visit Day and brought it for me. He bought it. He has money.”
“If you had a radio,” Roberta said from her bunk across the room, “we’d be able to see it. Radios are big.”
“Not this one.”
Katie was watching her steadily from her witch dark eyes. “Fine, then,” she said. “Show us.”
So CeCe pulled the box out from beneath her mattress and climbed down. She took out the radio, flipped the switch, and rotated the dial, just as Joseph had shown her. “We can listen to music and everything,” she said. “The news. Joseph said there are concerts.”
The other girls got out of bed and huddled around, even Sonia, all four of them in white nightgowns like ghosts. “Keep the volume low,” Roberta whispered, her braid flung over her shoulder. “If Susan Brady hears, she’ll take it.”
They were silent. CeCe turned the dial, and a twist of noise came out of the little box, a spike of unintelligible static. Then there were voices.
“What do you say, Charlie?”
“I don’t say much!”
“That’s not what I said. I say, Charlie, what do you say?”
“What’s that?” Sonia whispered. “A radio show?” The voices drifted away, and CeCe turned the dial again. Violin music rose over the static and wafted tinnily through the room.
“Bach,” Sonia said.
It was the last word they spoke for a long time. As the cold descended and the wind howled outside, they sat cross-legged and rapt, staring at the small square of metal and plastic in the center of their circle, listening. CeCe thought about the world far away, waves through the air moving through the little box and turning into music. About her brother traveling back to Baltimore, her unknown sisters somewhere out there. She did not think about her mother’s arms pushing her under the water. It’s all out there, she thought. If only I could go.
chapter 15
Barrons, Vermont
November 2014
Fiona arrived at Margaret Eden’s home at Mitchell Place, a gated community of expensive townhomes built during the boom years before the 2008 crash. Even then, the neighborhood’s existence had hinged more on hope than on actual local wealth; there wasn’t much demand for “executive” homes for wealthy professionals in Barrons, and the houses had taken years longer to complete than planned.
The Broken Girls Page 14