Marjorie Hart and the Tree of Life

by Amanda Vink

  Suddenly, a shiver ran down her back. She glanced around, looking especially for that familiar dark suit and fedora, but she couldn’t see anything. She was surrounded by people, out in the open. They receive at least a hundred trains a day, she told herself. You’re fine.

  Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

  Hudson Valley

  Chapter Five

  Marjorie smiled as the car passed the iron gate and stone wall leading to Gracewood. A gothic revival mansion, the large house was shaded by towering maple trees and settled on the banks of the mighty Hudson River. Ivy climbed the façade of the house, and shaped evergreens filled in spaces around the foundation. For Marjorie, the sight of it brought peace.

  When she had been a child, she spent long summers at Gracewood. She had fond memories of spending time in the grand house and the woods that surrounded it. The children played in the river, waved to boats and barges, and took turns jumping off ropes into the cool waters. They always returned to the house exhausted, but they were greeted with snacks and chocolate to drink.

  The drive was lined with shrub roses, bright and cheery in the summer heat. Marjorie rolled down the car’s window and tilted her head back to breathe in the air. She enjoyed how the flowers’ fresh fragrance mixed with pine from the old growth forest from which the house had received its name. But all too soon, the car pulled up to the entrance and came to a halt.

  Aunt Ethel waited for them at the bottom of three small stone steps among a cloud of climbing yellow roses that lined the side of the house. A sturdy woman with a tight face, Aunt Ethel was dressed for tea even though it was only ten o’clock. She shuffled toward the car, her arms outstretched in welcome. As soon as Marjorie got out, Aunt Ethel started kissing her cheeks.

  Aunt Ethel always had a soft spot for Marjorie, even though she complained constantly about how wild she was as a child. In Aunt Ethel’s mind, a woman should be married by twenty and running a house with children in tow by twenty-five. She considered Marjorie an enigma—especially when her niece mentioned that she had no plans of settling down—ever.

  “Marjorie, dear,” Aunt Ethel said. “You’re finally here again.” She took Marjorie’s hand in hers and patted the top of it.

  “Hello, darling,” said Uncle Charlie as he came around the side of the car. He kissed Aunt Ethel on the cheek.

  “Gracewood missed you,” Aunt Ethel told him.

  A small smile touched his features. “I’ll just arrange the bags to be taken up. Marjorie, I’ll put you in your old room, shall I?” He turned and walked back to the car, ready to give directions.

  “Sounds wonderful,” Marjorie responded. “It’s nice to see you, Auntie.” She genuinely liked her aunt, and she especially enjoyed shocking the older woman’s sensibilities. Marjorie believed that secretly Aunt Ethel enjoyed the shake-up as well. “Gracewood looks just as pleasant as ever. It’s been too long.”

  Aunt Ethel pulled at Marjorie’s hands, signaling to Marjorie that she was preparing to say something. Finally, she did. “Mary is very fragile. I need you to be gentle with her.”

  Her grim expression was sobering, and Marjorie couldn’t help but think of better days. She used to cajole her cousin out of the house when she should’ve been focusing on her lessons. Mary always had lessons: tennis lessons, piano lessons, and French lessons. When she was sixteen, her parents hosted a grand coming out party. Everyone was invited. Mary had been so nervous. She danced like a scarecrow. But at least she laughed at herself. Marjorie, alternatively, danced the night away on the terrace under the stars.

  Aunt Ethel now looped her arm through Marjorie’s, and the two women walked through the house in the direction of the patio. Glancing around, Marjorie noticed that the house was just as it had been the last time she was there before her father’s death. They passed the grand stone staircase, walking on thick carpeting that covered polished wooden floors. Warmth had been added to the gray stone building by means of tall mirrors and golden candle holders on the wall. In addition, bouquets of flowers in embellished vases rested on every available space.

  Aunt Ethel and Marjorie walked straight through to the back of the house. A gentle gust pushed open two large patio doors and called them outside into the rose garden. Yellow flowers inched ever upward on white wooden lattice that blocked the harsh light of day. Marjorie could tell based on their appearance these were just past their prime. Petals, half crushed and turning brown, scattered over the floor. They still smelled sweet, but the scent was mixed with something slightly off, slightly rotten, something left out in the sun too long.

  Mary sat in the shade of a large oak tree in the garden’s center, a half cup of tea balanced in front of her. Upon hearing footsteps, she turned and instantly noticed her cousin. Immediately the cloud that covered her seemed to abate. Still, she looked tired—with her cheeks sunken in and her eyes cloudy. “Cousin Marjorie!” she said, standing to greet her.

  And that’s when Marjorie noticed it.

  “Mary!” she replied, trying not to sound as shocked as she was.

  Mary rested her hand upon the small bump that had caught Marjorie’s attention. Her wedding ring, set with a rather large diamond, sparkled in the sun. She smiled devilishly. “Was it wicked of me to not tell you sooner?”

  “It was,” Marjorie said. But she smiled. “Terribly, terribly wicked! I would’ve visited much sooner had I known.”

  Mary’s smile was so brilliant it was almost enough to forget her illness. She was such a pretty woman. She had a dimple in her left cheek, and her short hair curled naturally at the nape of her neck. “Nonsense,” she said. “You had enough to deal with this year. Besides, I’m starting to feel a bit better.”

  “I’m so glad to hear it,” Marjorie said.

  Mary made to stand. “Let’s take a stroll.”

  Aunt Ethel bristled. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Mary?”

  “Mother, I’ll be fine.” Mary’s voice strained against the idea of sitting still.

  “You know Mary,” Marjorie said. “Soon she’ll be racing circles around me.”

  Mary threaded her arm through Marjorie’s arm, and they began a slow walk.

  “Where shall you take me?” asked Marjorie. “I’d like to see all of Gracewood.”

  “Let’s walk to the river,” Mary said.

  Mary was a small bird, light and unsteady on her feet. She leaned into Marjorie, who made sure to support her cousin with her arm. Mary pretended not to notice.

  Yellow flowers flourished in the gardens behind the house. As a child, Mary was especially fond of the color yellow. She begged her mother to plant rows and rows of cheery roses. Aunt Ethel eventually gave in, and now the rose gardens attracted the attention of national travel magazines.

  Where it met the bank, the Hudson was calm, a cutoff of dirt and tree root. Pine trees dipped their needles into the water, sending ripples outward if the breeze happened to stir the branches. These ripples painted the reflection of the sky in the water, appearing in shades of blue and green, a mixed palette of the environment. Clouds of creamy white cut through in an impressionistic dance.

  Here in the valley the river was a decent size, although it was not as expansive as further south. The towns along the Hudson served as ports, and boats comfortably bobbed at the sides. During the summer, tourists flocked to the nearby places. Often they paddled by and lingered to get a better view of the estate from the back. On this day, a handful of boats lazily drifted with the current. A man in a striped shirt waved, unhurried.

  Mary returned a wave then nodded to Marjorie. “It’s so nice to have you here again at Gracewood. But, oh, it’s dreadful about your father. Do you have any ideas what happened? Father left in such a hurry after he got the letter. I barely had time to ask him anything about it. And Samuel has gone and barricaded himself in his room with a giant stack of books.”

  “I wish I could tell you, dear cousin,” Marjorie said. “The sad truth is that I don’t have a l
ot of information. That’s one of the reasons I’m traveling with Samuel.” She thought for a moment about revealing her father’s note about the library, but she decided against it. Her father hadn’t told anyone else. Maybe there was a reason for that, even though she trusted Mary completely.

  “Aren’t you worried it will be dangerous?” Mary asked. Then she stopped suddenly and looked to her cousin. Marjorie’s brows raised as their gazes met. Mary didn’t look right—she’d become as pale as a lamp shade and seemed to tremble. Was she about to faint? She watched as Mary closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead.

  “Are you alright?”

  However, whatever had bothered her seemed to pass just as quickly. Mary opened her eyes. “I just need to sit down for a moment. The grass will do.”

  The two women arranged themselves on the banks. Mary’s dress flowed out from around her, as though she had grown up out of the bank along with the rest of the flowers and greenery. By accident, Marjorie sat down right on top of her map carrier. She laughed. “Look at me!” Then she rearranged it so she could actually sit comfortably. They sat right underneath the shade of a weeping willow, and if Marjorie reached her hands out, she could touch the small leaves.

  Marjorie glanced at her cousin again. She seemed better, although she remained a tad pale.

  Mary breathed deeply. “Oh, I am tired of this.”

  “Have the doctors been able to find anything?” Marjorie asked.

  “Nothing conclusive. I do feel somewhat better, mind you. Two weeks ago I wasn’t even able to leave the house. Richard thinks it’s the country air that’s made a difference. He wants me to stay here, although I’ll miss him dreadfully while he’s in the city. I suppose business goes on, though, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, I suppose it does.” After a pause, Marjorie asked, “And how is your brother?”

  “Oh, Samuel,” Mary said. She sighed deeply and started fidgeting with her hands. “There’s been quite a bit of tension in the house since we returned from New York City. Then your father’s letter appeared, and now Samuel has it in his head that he needs to go to the Near East to find a cure. He and Father are obsessed with this trip. Richard calls it ‘a bad idea.’ He thinks Samuel will get into the same trouble your father experienced. I don’t know what to think.”

  Marjorie considered this, and not for the first time. It was one thing for her to go—her father asked her directly. Besides, she needed to find out what happened to him. But Samuel seemed to desperately believe in this Tree of Life. All he would find would be disappointment.

  “Where is Sam?”

  Mary smiled indulgently. “Your father rubbed off on him something dreadful. He’s at the library. You watch, the moment he returns he’ll be in his room with his nose in a book. Oh, there’s Richard. He was in town this morning on business, and he picked up a few things for me. He’s always working, that one. He cares so much. He’s starting his own company, you know. The Young Corporation. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  Marjorie looked across the lawn and settled on a figure jogging through the grass toward them. His pace was steady and solid, a young man in perfect health and fitness.

  Richard had entered Mary’s life suddenly a few years ago. He fell for her instantly—and it was a whirlwind romance. Mary had always been somewhat shy, but Richard had the ability to bring her out of her shell. Within three months, they were engaged. After they married, they’d moved to New York City. Marjorie didn’t know much about him, only that he had worked his way up from the bottom. She knew Uncle Charlie lent him a helping hand sometimes, and business had been very good to Richard Young since he had joined the Hart family.

  “Richard!” Marjorie called.

  “Hello, cousin!” he said. His voice was slightly heavier from excursion. He sat down next to Mary. “Are you alright, darling?”

  “I’m fine,” Mary said. She smiled at him, and the whole rest of the world may not have existed at all.

  Marjorie, obviously a third wheel, couldn’t help but smile.

  “Oh, I brought you some tea,” said Richard, producing a metal thermos from his coat pocket. He unscrewed the top and turned it so that it became the cup. “It comes from India,” he explained. “It’s a special blend that’s supposed to keep her strength up.”

  “For what it costs, it better!” said Mary.

  “You know that doesn’t matter,” Richard replied.

  “The doctor Richard hired comes all the way from Europe,” Mary confided, taking a drink. They sat for a while, all lost to their own thoughts, then Mary turned to her husband. “All right, dear, help me up.”

  Richard stood and bent from his knees as Mary reached up her hands and took his. He lifted her like she weighed nothing at all. Marjorie got up as well, and together, they all headed back to the house.

  “I’m going to lie down before dinner,” Mary said as they neared the building’s large doors. “Remember not to be late. You know how particular Mother is about dinner.”

  “How could I forget?” Marjorie laughed. “Remember the time I was a child and she pulled me from the Hudson? Just to spite her, I sat dripping at the table. She was so mad.”

  Giggling, the two women linked arms and entered the grand house with Richard trailing behind them.

  Chapter Six

  The clock struck half past five. After the bell rang for half a minute, the big house fell silent. Uncle Charlie and Aunt Ethel had disappeared. The smell of dinner cooking wafted through the hall from the kitchen, which was in the manor’s basement. Marjorie’s stomach turned at the thought of food. Traveling always made her hungry. She pushed the light blanket off, dropping her feet onto the wooden floor.

  “I’ll just grab a small bite,” Marjorie said to herself as she stood. She dressed and brushed her hair, and then made her way into the hallway and down to the first floor. She didn’t need to think about where she was going—Gracewood was like a second home to her.

  She went down the stairs to the basement into the hallway that led to the kitchen proper, but before she ventured further, she stopped. Voices caught her attention.

  “Can you believe that? Gettin’ involved wit the uppers,” a thickly accented female voice proclaimed. “He’s a funny egg.”

  “It makes you wonder what will happen to the estate.”

  “As long as the master of the house don’t know his son’s a fairy, nothing.”

  “Start looking for a new job now, I says. The way they been carryin’ on—”

  The door to the kitchen opened, and a woman gasped. She had thick, curly hair pulled so tight into a bun that it tugged her eyebrows up into an eternal countenance of shock. A small bowl of mashed potatoes fell to the floor and landed in a lump at Marjorie’s feet. From her expression, the maid knew she’d been heard.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon. We weren’t talkin’ but nothing,” the young woman said. She hurried to scoop up the pile of mashed potatoes. Never has a mess disappeared so quickly, Marjorie mused. The maid looked around, panicked, then swiftly curtsied and dashed away, her ears an angry shade of red.

  Serves you right. She hated that sort of gossip in general. It was even worse when it was turned on her dear cousin.

  Losing her appetite as a result of such negativity, Marjorie went back upstairs. She stood a few moments in the foyer of the big house, listening to the staff go about their duties. Large open windows let in sunlight and fresh air, and along with it the scene of the roses outside. It captivated her.

  Shaking her head, she continued heading toward her guest bedroom—she always stayed in the same one when she visited, so it felt like her own. Her shoes clacked and echoed on each step. On the second story, long carpets made the area immediately feel less cavernous—and quieter.

  Upon turning the corner, Marjorie ran directly into Samuel. They both jumped, sizing each other up, then broke into laughter.

  Samuel had curly golden hair that tumbled everywhere, and he wore a pair of dark-rimmed glasses tha
t always seemed to be falling off his nose.

  “Cousin,” he said. His features spread into a full, if slightly bashful, smile. He held out his arms, and they embraced.

  Marjorie, tucked into the crook of his shoulder, noticed the door he had just come out of closed all by itself. She heard the light patter of footfalls on the other side of the door.

  Hm, she considered. A lovers’ secret meeting?

  Marjorie pulled at the edges of Samuel’s hair, and he batted her off. She stood back and regarded him then. He was five years younger than her, so it was always a surprise when she saw him. In her memory, he was so much younger. She supposed someday she would get used to him standing before her, a grown adult. “When did you get so tall?” she asked.

  “Years ago, cousin,” he said. He rolled his eyes at her.

  “I remember!” she said.

  They laughed, chuffed to see one another. Marjorie put her hands on her hips. It felt good to see her family again. A warm feeling spread across her heart. It had been too long.

  “Father told me you’re coming on this adventure,” Samuel said. His eyes sparkled with excitement. “The Tree of Life! Can you believe it?”

  Marjorie hated to burst his bubble, but she also didn’t want to give him or anyone else the wrong impression. “I’m coming to find out what happened to my father, Sam. Not to find a fictitious tree.”

  “You don’t believe in it?” he asked, his eyebrows raising incredulously.

  “Honestly? Not really.”

  “That’s alright, cousin. Prepare to be proven wrong by the truth,” he said, smiling.

  “The truth is a very real thing, Samuel Vale, and I will not have you sullying it with magic and mysticism.” Marjorie said this sternly, but then her expression softened. “Maybe I shouldn’t show you what I brought then.”

  “Is it what I think it is?” Samuel asked, his eyes wide. “Your father’s map?”

  “You got it,” Marjorie confirmed. “But you’re not seeing it.”