Table of Contents
Evergreen
Evergreen
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Author’s Note
Copyright and Credits
Connect with me
About the Author
About Book View Café
Evergreen
It’s 1901—a brave new century—and seventeen-year-old Grace Boisvert thinks it’s high time to forget that she’s a dryad; being able to talk to trees just doesn’t seem very useful in the automobile age. A little hair dye to touch up her green roots, and she’s off to join her best friend Alice Roosevelt for a visit to glamorous Newport, RI, with her family’s warnings not to fall for any human boys ringing in her ears.
As it happens, the only interesting boy in Newport, Kit Rookwood, clearly prefers Alice to her. But that changes when he and his family unexpectedly follow them to a secluded Adirondack camp to join Alice’s family. Grace finds herself falling in love—and not just with the breathtaking forests.
She soon has other worries besides Alice’s growing jealousy. The trees whisper to her of dark, angry shadows emerging from their usual haunts high in the mountains because someone is calling them forth ...but who, and why? Grace will need all of her dryad powers to avert a disaster for her friends once she finds out...but the danger for her is just beginning.
Evergreen
Marissa Doyle
www.bookviewcafe.com
Book View Café Edition
November 5, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-61138-824-4
Copyright © 2019 Marissa Doyle
For Lily and Lou
Chapter One
Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts
July 1901
“Dorothy? Come help me, won’t you?” Grace Boisvert beckoned to her younger sister from the bathroom doorway. She wore an old brown flannel wrapper, and her long, freshly washed hair dripped down her back. “And stop making all that noise or you’ll wake Grand-mère.”
“Nothing wakes Grand-mère when she’s napping after lunch. Not even me.” Dorothy paused in her headlong gallop down the upstairs hall, brown braids flying—she’d been re-reading Black Beauty for the seventeenth time—and looked bright-eyed at Grace. “What do you want help with? And why don’t you want Grand-mère to know what you’re doing?”
Why couldn’t she have had a less perceptive little sister? Fortunately she’d learned from experience the best way to handle Dorothy: she put a finger over her pursed lips and raised an eyebrow.
It worked every time; Dorothy tiptoed to her. “What is it?” she whispered.
Grace gently closed the door behind them. “I need to do my hair.”
Dorothy perched on the mahogany lid of the toilet. “So why are you doing it while Grand-mère’s asleep?”
“Because I want to try something different.” Grace paused, but it was too late to reconsider. All she could do was hope Dorothy would be interested enough that she wouldn’t tattle. It would be a shame if she did, because this purchase had cost three weeks’ pocket money. She pulled a small, paper-wrapped parcel from one of the deep pockets of her robe.
“Ooh, what is it?” Dorothy craned to see it.
“I got it in town at Jordan Marsh.” Grace unwrapped the parcel to reveal a bottle with an elaborate gilded label.
“‘Mademoiselle’s Secret. For the hair. Used by Famous Parisian Beauties since 1854,’” Dorothy read aloud. “‘The Most Natural Tints Beyond Those Provided by Mother Nature.’” She looked up at Grace. “Why wouldn’t Grand-mère like it? It’s French, isn’t it?”
Grace set the bottle on the marble counter by the sink and picked up her brush. “Yes, but it’s not how she does it. I’m tired of her black-walnut-hull-and-coffee-bean stuff. It smells funny and stains horribly if you get it on your skin. I want to try something modern.”
“Eighteen fifty-four isn’t exactly modern, you know.” Dorothy hopped up, took the bottle, pried the stopper from it, and sniffed. “But it does smell better.”
“Anything smells better.” Grace leaned toward the mirror, peering at her hairline. An eighth of an inch of rich green showed there. She should have done her hair days ago, but guests at lunch three days running had meant disruption to Grand-mère’s nap schedule. “All right,” she said briskly. “Hand me that pail, won’t you?”
Dorothy complied. “When do you think my hair will start to turn green?”
“When it’s ready. Don’t be in a hurry to grow up. It’s a rotten chore, having to dye it all the time. Not to mention wearing corsets and putting up with visits from the red-haired lady every month.” Grace set the pail under the hot water tap in the sink and turned it on, then consulted the bottle of Mademoiselle’s Secret—in “honeyed chestnut,” which she’d chosen in honor of the enormous chestnut tree outside her bedroom window that sang her to sleep every night. “It says one cup per gallon of water—goodness, that’ll be most of the bottle!—and to soak the hair until the desired shade is obtained—”
“What are you supposed to do? Stand on your head in the bucket?” Dorothy collapsed on the floor, snorting giggles.
“Hush!” Grace prodded her with one slippered foot. “Now, let’s see…if we put the pail on the toilet lid, I can sort of bend over it, and you can make sure all my hair is in it and pour the stuff over the back of my head so it gets down to the roots.” Then, because Dorothy was starting to look mutinous, she added, “And I’ll help you do the same when it’s your turn.”
“No you won’t. By the time it’s my turn, you’ll probably be off getting married or something.” Dorothy glowered up at her.
Grace stopped reading the label and looked down at her sister. “Yes, I will. Even if I’m married I’ll come and help you. You know I always keep my promises. Now, let’s see how this works.”
Without another word, Dorothy watched while she mixed the dye and helped her get all her hair into the pail, then carefully poured the liquid over the back of her head where it wasn’t fully immersed.
“What are you using to pour it?” The lapels of Grace’s wrapper had flopped down over her chin and ears, making it difficult to both see and hear. At least if Dorothy got any dye on her brown robe, no one would notice.
“Your tooth glass,” Dorothy said cheerfully. “I hope it won’t stain it. If it does, you can bury it in the trash dump and tell Mum you broke it.”
Grace closed her eyes. You’re the one who asked her to help, Miss Clever Boots.
“At least you don’t have to do what Grand-mère did and rub your forearms with lemons to bleach out the green hair there,” Dorothy continued. “I asked her why she didn’t shave ’em instead, but she said that wouldn’t be ladylike. I don’t see how rubbing ’em with a lemon is, though.”
“Neither do I.” Maybe she should be a blonde instead, and sit in the sun with lemon in her hair. But she’d always dyed her hair brown, and becoming blonde would be far too noticeable. “I wish I knew how long I need to stand like thi—”
“Did I hear the doorbell?” Dorothy paused in mid-pour.
“No, it’s just the ringing in my ears,” Grace muttered. Standing bent over the toilet with her hair in a bucket was starting to make her dizzy.
“I’ll go check.”
But it was too late. Dorothy was down the hall, shrieking, “Who is it, Rose?” over the banister down to the front hall. So much for Grand-mère’s nap…and her French dye. Grace gathered up her hair and tried to squeeze as much liquid as possible from it, then wiped her hands on her brown robe before the dye could stain them.
Dorothy came thundering back down the hall and flung the bathroom door wide open. “Grace! It’s Alice!”
“Alice?” Grace found a towel and wrapped it around her head, flipping it back as she stood up. “You’re telling tales again, aren’t you? Just like you did that time when you said Dick Aspinwall was at the door asking to take me skating.”
“I’m not!” Dorothy had the grace to look sheepish. “She’s really here!”
“She wasn’t supposed to get here till the day after tomorrow!”
“She said she wanted to surprise you. Come on! She’s dying to see you!”
Grace looked hard at her sister. She appeared sincere… Well, the only way she’d find out was to at least peek over the banister. “Mrs. Lee isn’t here too, is she?” She hastily tipped the pail of dye down the toilet. Dared she flush it? No; Alice—if she was actually here—would hear it and tease her.
“No, just Alice. Come on!” Dorothy was practically dancing a jig. “She don’t care if you’re wearing your old wrapper. She told me so.”
“Never mind—I’m coming up,” an amused voice called from the stairs. “Where are you?”
“In here!” Dorothy danced back out into the hall, gesticulating. Grace grabbed the bottle of hair dye and plunged it into her pocket. The last thing she needed was Alice demanding to know why she was dyeing her hair—as close as they were, there were some things that had to be kept secret—like the fact that Alice’s best friend was a dryad.
“Grace Boisvert! You are still in your robe. Are you just getting up? It must have been quite a party last night. Wish I’d been there.” Alice appeared, dressed for travel in a canvas coat and hat with veil, in the bathroom doorway.
“No parties, goose. I was, er, washing my hair. When did you get here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today?” Grace stepped forward to give her a quick hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
Alice Lee Roosevelt was her dearest friend. She and Grace had known each other since they were babies and had been inseparable during Alice’s twice-yearly long visits to her maternal grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Lee, who lived next door. They wrote each other copious letters when Alice was away, and always picked right up where they’d left off when she arrived at the Lees’.
“Must have slipped my mind,” Alice said apologetically, but her eyes glinted with mischief. “I say, it’s not as old and tatty as mine,” she added, holding Grace at arm’s length and scrutinizing her robe.
“I’ll bet you’ve got one made out of ermine and velvet, now that your papa’s the vice-president!” Dorothy said from behind them, sounding awestruck.
“We don’t go in for ermine and velvet robes in America, though I must say I wouldn’t mind it if we did.” Alice sighed. “By George, it’s good to be back, if only for a few minutes, anyway. Life has been a whirlwind—you’ve no idea!”
“Lucky dog. I wish mine were. Let’s go to my room.” Grace tucked her arm in Alice’s and propelled her down the hall. Dorothy seemed ready to follow after them, but a high, imperious voice from the other end of the hall called, “Dorothée!” She pouted, but didn’t dare disobey. When Grand-mère called, you went.
Once in her room, Grace shut the door behind them. “Very well—what’s been so whirlwind-ish?” she demanded. “Have you already been to Washington? Your last letter was from New York.”
Alice threw herself onto Grace’s four-poster bed, careless of her modish hat and duster coat and the ruffled dotted swiss counterpane. “No Washington yet—Mother doesn’t want to bring the children there until the fall. I’ll miss New York terribly—I had such fun there this winter with Aunt Bye!—but Washington will be fun too if I have any say in the matter.” She threw her hand across her brow in mock distress. “I came here directly from the station—well, I stopped to kiss Grandmother first—but I’ve so much to tell you, I don’t know where to start.”
“Why don’t you start with telling me why you’re here two days early and what you meant by ‘if only for a few minutes?’” Grace settled in the low slipper chair by the fireplace grate. This was how they always sat—Alice on her bed, she on the chair. “Aren’t you staying for a regular visit this time?”
Alice rolled onto her side, reaching up with one hand to pull out her hatpin and remove her large hat, now rather crushed. “Almost. I’ve got plans, and you’re going to be part of them.”
“What kind of plans?” Grace knew better than to say an unreserved yes to any of Alice’s plans. Some of her previous ones had earned them scoldings and being sent to bed without supper—not that she regretted any of them, except maybe for the time they’d hidden the chicken in Mrs. Lee’s parlor organ. But Alice had never shirked her share of their punishments.
“Wait till you hear!” Alice sat up. “Grace, how old are we?”
“Seventeen, of course. What does that—”
“Yes, seventeen—and you’ve already graduated from high school. Which means we’re old enough to—to do things!”
“Like what things?”
“Like—oh…” Alice pretended to examine her fingernails. “Like go to Newport this summer? I’ve been invited to spend a few weeks there by a friend of my aunt’s and I said yes, so long as I could bring you with me.”
“Newport!” Grace sat up straighter in her chair. Newport, Rhode Island, was the summer playground of people like the Astors and the Vanderbilts—the richest people in America. Not to mention the most fashionable ones. And she and Alice had been invited to go there— “Oh my goodness, when? I thought you’d be going to Oyster Bay?”
“Mother and the children are there—that doesn’t mean I must be too. Believe me, Mother and Father don’t miss me in the least.” She grimaced; Grace knew that her relationship with her stepmother was not an easy one. “Sometimes I think they’re glad when I come up here. Oh, Grace, we’ll have such fun! Think of the parties…and the boys!”
Grace had been thinking of them, but she wasn’t sure what to think. Once, boys had simply been playmates—annoying ones at times who taunted because they could run races and climb trees without being encumbered by skirts, but also nice ones who pulled sleds back up snowy hills and reached for apples on higher branches. But that had changed, especially since she’d finished school and started wearing her hair up. Some of them had begun calling her Miss Boisvert instead of Grace and looking at her in a way that made Grand-mère scowl. Would the Newport boys do that too?
“What about boys?” she asked. “Do you like them?”
“They’re more interesting than girls, a lot of the time,” Alice retorted, then grinned. “Present company excluded, of course. They’re fascinating creatures. My cousin Helen and I made a study of them last winter. You can get them to do the most ridiculous things if you want, and they don’t even realize they’re being ridiculous. Haven’t you tried that yet?”
Grace was saved from answering by a knock, followed by Mum poking her head around the door. “May I?” she asked. “When I heard who was here—”
Alice rose immediately and went to her. “It’s lovely to see you, Mrs. Boisvert.”
Mum came into the room and solemnly shook her outstretched hand, then laughed and folded her into a hug. “Just because you’re a young lady doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be formal with me, miss! You’re looking very smart, unlike my daughter wearing the wrapper I thought she’d gotten rid of months ago. Your grandmother said you’d be here today.”
“Why a
m I always the last to know anything?” Grace couldn’t help muttering crossly. And anyway, Mum knew this was her favorite robe.
“You didn’t ask,” Alice said over her shoulder, then turned back to Mum, wearing her most winsome smile. “Mrs. Boisvert, the most exciting thing’s happened! A dear friend of my aunt Corinne has invited Grace and me to visit her in Newport this summer. Do say you’ll let Grace come with me!”
Mum raised an eyebrow the tiniest bit. “It was hospitable of her to include Grace, but if I haven’t met her, I’m afraid—”
“Oh, but you have! It’s Mrs. George Rennell, and she says you met two years ago at some luncheon or something. She’s writing to you directly—you should get her letter any moment now.” She turned her you-know-you-can’t-say-no-to-me look on Mum again.
Mum’s smile didn’t waver, but Grace could feel her doubt. “Yes, I do remember her, of course, but I’m not sure that Grace is ready for Newport.”
“Of course she’s ready. I am,” Alice said, with the air of having stated an incontrovertible truth.
Mum had the presence of mind not to laugh. “Perhaps, but I worry that she’d find it intimidating. We don’t move in such exalted social circles.”
“Neither do I,” Alice promptly replied. “But your family and mine are far older and more distinguished than the Astors and the Vanderbilts, and they know it. Please, Mrs. Boisvert? Grace, don’t you want to go?”
Grace just managed not to shout yes! at the top of her voice. “May I please go, Mum? I’m sure Mrs. Rennell will take good care of us.” There was no way that she was going to miss Newport.
Mum looked at her doubtfully, but merely said, “Hmm. Well, I should like to discuss it with Grace’s father before I say anything more…and I shall have to receive Mrs. Rennell’s letter too.”
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