Daughters of Eve

by Lois Duncan

  “You would’ve had the time if you hadn’t gotten married.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’d have had to be doing something to earn a living.”

  “That’s the whole point, Mom. You could’ve earned a living with your music.” Holly leaned forward eagerly. “Isn’t that the greatest thing that can happen to somebody, to be able to support herself doing something she loves? Think about what it would be like to get up in the morning and go straight to the piano and not have to do anything except the thing you wanted to do?”

  “Life isn’t like that,” her mother said. “Nobody lives like that, dear. If I’d done that with my life, you and Gary wouldn’t be here now. The two greatest moments in my life were when my babies were born, and I certainly wouldn’t have placed you in a day-care center while I practiced piano eight hours a day.”

  “I don’t want children,” Holly said.

  “You’ll feel differently after you’re married.”

  “I might not get married.”

  “Of course you will. The right boy will come along, and you’ll fall in love just like everybody else. I guarantee it.” Her mother regarded her with amusement. “You’ll play Debussy for your own daughter, and if you’re lucky, she’ll understand and love it, and you’ll have something special to share. That’s what music is—something lovely to share with somebody you care about.”

  Holly looked down at her hands, the great, ugly, beautiful hands that had been her bane and her joy since she’d first realized what they were and what they could do.

  “Mom, if I were a boy—and I had the talent, the musical gift that has come down through our women—if I were a boy, Mom, what then? Would you still be telling me the best thing I can do with my life is to stay here in Modesta and have babies?”

  “That’s a ridiculous question,” Mrs. Underwood said impatiently. “It’s the fact that men can’t have babies that makes it necessary for them to fill their lives with other things.”

  “Where are you going, chicken?”

  “Out.”

  “That’s no answer,” Bart Rheardon said. “You don’t just put on your coat and walk out the door without a ‘hey’ or a ‘hi’ to anybody. When I say, ‘Where are you going?’ I want to know.”

  “To meet some friends at the coffee shop,” Jane said.

  “What friends?”

  “It wouldn’t mean anything if I told you. You don’t know them.”

  “Somebody from that club, I’ll bet. From Daughters of Eve, right? I’ll tell you, chicken, I don’t like the way these girls are taking you over. It starts out to be a once-a-week, after-school thing, and all of a sudden you’re a regular groupie.”

  “You’ve got the wrong word, Dad. A groupie is somebody who trails around after a rock band.” Jane adjusted the collar of her jacket. “I’m going to meet my girlfriends for some food. Is that a crime? If there’s something wrong with it, just tell me, and I’ll reconsider. I sure wouldn’t want to do anything you didn’t think was right.”

  “Cut the sarcasm,” Mr. Rheardon said sharply. “This is part of what I’m objecting to. You never used to talk to us this way. It’s just lately, since you’ve started running around with this particular group of girls, that you’ve been shooting your mouth off and acting like you’ve always got a chip on your shoulder. Who the hell are these kids, anyway? Do they all have parents who let them run the streets at night?”

  “You know most of the parents from church,” Jane said. “I can give you a list of their names if you want them.”

  “I never liked the sound of this group in the first place,” her father said. “All this secret stuff and the crazy songs and things. I don’t trust an organization where the members aren’t allowed to talk about what goes on at meetings.”

  Jane finished buttoning her jacket. Then she crossed to the door to the living room.

  “Mom, I’m going to hang out with some of the girls. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

  Ellen Rheardon’s eyes didn’t leave the TV screen.

  “Put something over your head,” she said. “It’s gotten windy. You don’t want your ear to start acting up.”

  “I’ll wear a hat.”

  For a moment Jane stood there, staring in at the woman on the sofa. The room was dark except for the flickering glow of the screen, which threw light on one side only of her mother’s face and left the other dark. The effect was eerie, as though the face had somehow been sliced in two and one half discarded to leave one glistening eye, a sliver of nose, and a strange, short strip of mouth.

  “You want the light on?” Jane asked. “I read an article somewhere that said it’s not good to watch TV in the dark.”

  “That’s okay,” her mother said. “I like it this way.”

  The couple on the screen were embracing in a rose garden, arms wrapped tightly around each other, lips pressed to lips. Mrs. Rheardon drew a deep breath as though she could smell the perfume of the flowers.

  Jane went back out to the entrance hall, pulling a knit hat from her jacket pocket. She pulled it down on her head and opened the front door. The crisp, clean cold of the November night came sweeping in on them.

  Her father said, “About these friends—”

  “Don’t worry, Dad, none of us are terrorists,” Jane said.

  She went outside and closed the door behind her.

  Chapter 10

  It was a year in which there was no Indian summer. November remained November, bleak and overcast, with a cutting wind and a few surprising bursts of rain.

  The maples in the school yard turned red and lost their leaves in such rapid succession that Tammy’s mother, who’d planned on taking pictures to go with an article she was writing, waited one day too long and missed her chance. The Modesta football team won their grudge game against the Morenci Bulldogs, and the boys’ basketball team went into regular afternoon practice. The girls’ team was allotted the use of the gym to practice on weekends, and Paula Brummell and three other girls quit.

  Some other items of interest to those concerned:

  Erika Schneider’s brother, Boyd, dropped out of college to “get his head together” and moved back into the family home to live until he could find a job. Said Mrs. Schneider: “At least he doesn’t keep rats in his bedroom.”

  David Brewer and Ann Whitten announced their engagement in the Modesta Tribune. They set the wedding date for June 3.

  Tammy Carncross started seeing a red-haired senior named Kevin Baker.

  Kristy Grange went out on her first date; Paula’s brother, Tom, took her to a movie.

  Laura Snow’s father and stepmother wrote asking her to spend the Christmas holidays with them at their home in Rhode Island. Laura refused the invitation.

  Kelly Johnson’s father moved out, and her parents announced that they were getting a divorce.

  The Daughters of Eve unanimously voted to sponsor Madison Ellis as their candidate for homecoming queen and spent two evenings at Irene Stark’s apartment making posters.

  On the afternoon of November 7, Madison was surprised to find Peter Grange waiting for her at her locker. She was surprised, too, to feel the sudden jump her heart gave at the sight of him, lounging there in his old position, his hands in his pockets, his shoulder braced against the locker.

  I thought it was over, she told herself silently, half angry at him for being there, half angry at herself for the involuntary start of pleasure it gave her to see him. For the past several weeks, they’d passed each other in the halls without acknowledgment, she with her friends, he with his. She’d been aware, though, without ever permitting herself to focus on him, that he was never with another girl, while she, on various occasions, walked with other boys.

  Boys had never been as important to Madison as they seemed to be to other girls, mainly because she’d never had to concern herself about attracting them. From kindergarten on, they had been there at her bidding, waiting to sharpen her pencils, to share the best dessert from their
lunches, or to walk her back and forth to the water fountain. The only child of parents who’d been in their late thirties when she was born, she’d never lacked for affection and attention. She accepted these in the same way she did her exceptionally good looks—as natural and inevitable.

  She’d started dating early, but until the spring of her sophomore year had refused to commit to one person. The truth was, in fact, that she actually enjoyed herself more with girlfriends with whom she could relax without having to be on the defensive against being fondled and fawned over. Her attraction to Peter had taken her by surprise. She’d tried unsuccessfully to analyze it, and had chalked it up finally to the fact that there were certain elements in him that duplicated those in herself. For whatever reason, on the first date she’d let him kiss her, and by the third, she’d stopped seeing other people. By the end of the school year, they’d been an acknowledged couple. Their time together during the summer had been limited because of their jobs—Peter had been up at the lake most of the time and Madison had modeled for a mall store in Adrian and other local gigs. When school resumed, however, they’d fallen back together automatically, as if they had never been separated, and Madison had thought, Maybe this is meant to be. Maybe this is what being in love is all about.

  Now, as she approached her locker, she was aware of straightening to walk a little taller, pushing her shoulders back as she did when she was modeling and was conscious of a roomful of eyes upon her. Except that this time there was really only one pair of eyes, familiar brown ones.

  “Hi, Maddie.”

  “Hi, Pete.” She made her voice light and frosty. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “How’s life treating you?”

  “Okay. And you?”

  “Same.” He moved aside so she could work the combination lock. “So I was wondering—do you have a date to the dance Saturday?”

  “To homecoming? No, I’m going stag with Erika and Paula. That’s the night we have the drawings for the athletic fund. Then the queen presents the money to Mr. Shelby.”

  “You want to go with me?” he asked casually.

  “I don’t get it.” Madison paused with the lock in her hand. “Why would you want to waste an evening dancing with an ‘ice cube’?”

  “Oh, come on, Maddie,” Peter said, flushing. “I was in a bad mood the day I said that. You know I didn’t mean it.”

  “I don’t have any reason to think you didn’t,” Madison said. “You haven’t called me since.”

  “I’m telling you now, aren’t I? I needed time to cool down. You really got on my nerves that day.”

  “I’ll stick by every word,” Madison told him. “I’m not going to let anyone run my life for me, no matter how much I care about him.”

  “So you do care!” Peter exclaimed triumphantly. “There, you just admitted it! So you’re not the ice maiden you pretend to be, now are you?”

  “I never pretended to be an ‘ice maiden.’ I just want to control my own life, that’s all. The old double standard doesn’t cut it anymore, Peter.” Madison opened the locker and dumped in her history book. “Why should I tie myself down when I can have the whole football team to dance with?”

  “The queen is supposed to have an escort.”

  “I might not be the queen. The votes aren’t counted yet.”

  “You’ll get it. Who’s the competition? You know you’re a lock. Besides, we’re a team. Like meat and potatoes.”

  She smiled despite herself. “Which one’s the potatoes?”

  “We take turns—you’re a potato one day, I’m one the next. Come on, we’re us, Pete and Maddie. We’re the living proof that beautiful people flock together, that love can survive a fight or two.”

  “You said—‘love,’ ” Madison said softly.

  “I did?”

  “You know you did. That’s the word you use when you’re trying to get something out of me. We’ve been down this road before.”

  “Maybe we have,” Peter said.

  “So what’s different this time?” she challenged him.

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve changed.”

  Madison turned from the open locker to stare at him. He met her gaze directly, and their eyes locked, making it impossible for her to look away. She felt a little light-headed from the nearness of him and struggled to keep her voice light.

  “That’s something new for you to say.”

  “Wasn’t it what you wanted to hear?”

  “It might be. I really don’t know.” She closed the locker and shoved the lock together so that it snapped into place with a sharp, determined click. Slowly she turned back to the boy beside her. “So, how exactly have you changed?”

  “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?”

  “For what?”

  “Stop with the questions. Just answer me, Madison. What do you want me to say?”

  “I won’t ask you. Just say it.”

  “I—care about you.” His voice dropped self-consciously.

  “I care—a lot.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I haven’t been spending time with you. I’ve been—lonely. I’ve missed you. I—I really want us to get back together again.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” Madison said softly. “I’ve tried not to, but I have.”

  “So what are we going to do about it?”

  “Go to the dance, I guess.”

  “That will work for starters. And—then?”

  “We’ll see. I don’t know. I meant all those things I said, Pete. I’ve got a modeling career ahead of me, and I’m not taking any chances with it. It’s not like we were going to get married or something. I’ve got another year of school after this one, and you’ll be going off to college. We might never even see each other again.”

  “If my mom doesn’t come through with her share of the tuition, I’ll probably be staying right here and going to state college,” Peter said with a touch of bitterness. “She’s got that cleaning woman coming in twice a week now, and Kristy sits around on her butt never lifting a hand.”

  “Hey, geek, you’re talking about my sister!” Madison said. She gave in to the temptation to reach out and touch him. His hand opened and closed on hers, and suddenly it didn’t matter any longer what they were saying, as the words were simply there, just a background for the electrical touching of their hands.

  “Irene wants me to stop by her room a minute to talk about something,” Ann Whitten said. “Want to come with me, or are you meeting Kevin?”

  “He’s got practice,” Tammy Carncross told her, “but I’d like to try to meet up with Kelly. She’s been so down these days over the divorce thing, I hate for her to have to walk home alone.”

  “Good idea. I’ll call you later. Is she going to the dance on Saturday?”

  “I don’t think so,” Tammy said. “Ethan Finley asked her, but she said she doesn’t feel like it.”

  “See if you can get her to change her mind. It would be good for her to get out and do things. Maybe we could all go together?”

  “Fine with me,” Tammy said. “I’ll talk with her and then check with Kevin. I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Sure. Cool.” Ann stood quiet for a moment as Tammy walked away from her. It was scary, she thought, how quickly changes occurred in life. She and Kelly Johnson had been close friends for years, long before either of them knew Tammy. She’d slept over so many nights at the Johnson home that the extra twin bed in Kelly’s room was as familiar to her as her own. She’d gone with the Johnsons on family campouts and sat with them around campfires roasting marshmallows and singing to Mr. Johnson’s guitar. It was Mrs. Johnson who’d taught her how to pluck her eyebrows one hysterical evening when she and Kelly had been twelve and experimenting with cosmetics, and Mr. Johnson who’d sat with them at the kitchen table patiently explaining the mysteries of first-year algebra. To Ann, the Johnson home had radiated the same stability as her own—more, perhaps, since the shadow of ill health had come to ha
ng over her father and forced her to the realization that one day her mother would be alone. She’d never conceived of Kelly’s mom facing such a situation.

  With a sigh, Ann continued down the hall to the art room. The door was partially open, and Irene was seated behind her desk, correcting papers. She glanced up quickly when Ann came in, as though alert for her arrival, and, noting the pile of books in her arms, gestured toward the table.

  “You’d better set those down before your arms snap off. You’re pretty heavily laden for a weeknight, aren’t you?”

  “I thought I’d better do some studying while I can. The weekend’s a total loss by the time we get through decorating the gym and cleaning it up again on Sunday.” Ann dropped her books on the table at which they sat for meetings and gave Irene her full attention. “You wanted to see me about something?”

  “Yes, but don’t look so worried. It’s something pleasant. Do you remember giving me some sketches back in the early fall? There was one of crows on a fence and another of a man on a tractor?”

  “Yes, of course I remember,” Ann said. “You said you liked them.”

  “I did,” Irene told her. “They were extremely well-done, considering they were the work of someone with almost no formal training. I liked them so much that I wanted to share them. I sent them to a former teacher of mine, John Griffith. He’s the head of the Art Institute of Boston.”

  “You did?” Ann asked in bewilderment. “Why?”

  “Because I wanted him to see the kind of talent young women have in Modesta, Michigan.” Irene’s eyes were glowing. “I have his e-mail here. Would you like to hear it?”

  “He wrote back?” Ann said.

  “He certainly has. Let me read it.” Irene picked up a sheet of paper from the pile in front of her. “ ‘Dear Irene—Thank you for your note. I’d heard through the grapevine about the problems at Jefferson and am pleased to know you are now in better circumstances. I want to thank you also for submitting the sketches by your student, Ann Whitten. I see much talent here and would be very interested in having her at the Institute.

  “ ‘As you know, we have limited money available for scholarships. However, in view of what you tell me about the girl’s economic situation, I would be willing to offer her tuition and dorm accommodations for the fall semester, with a full scholarship for the second semester, contingent on her performance as a student.