Nineteen Seventy-Four

by Sarah M. Cradit

  Evie

  * * *

  Dearest Evie,

  Would you like to know what I’ve learned here, above all else? Never be the first to turn in assignments or raise your hand. Already, I’ve developed a reputation I’ll be spending the next four years working to repeal.

  I got your letter and am jumping for joy. You’ll be here in the spring for a visit. I have so much to show you, although I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to explore. Now, don’t remind me this is nearly six months away. I’ll summon the patience, somehow.

  You have your heart set on MIT, I know, but once you visit, I have a feeling you’ll reconsider. Sister’s intuition.

  As for your notes about our siblings. I know Charles is miserable, but what can we do? He was determined to marry her, for reasons we’ll never understand. Aggie, too. I understand why you don’t trust Ekatherina, but Augustus must make his choices, and his mistakes, or he’ll never learn. Lizzy and Connor… can’t say I’m surprised. But if there was ever a boy for our Lizzy, it’s him.

  As for Maureen… please be kind to her. She’s going through something I can’t share, but when you know, you’ll understand the reason for my plea.

  You failed to mention how you’re doing. Meet anyone worth talking about? Sister’s intuition, but I feel like you’re intentionally leaving out your own news.

  Did I mention in any of my other letters that there’s a local boy here? I believe he’s the only other one from New Orleans in the neuroscience program. Fourth year. He’s an aide, and at least halfway responsible for the terrible reputation I’ve earned for being an overachiever. He reserves his eyebrow raises just for me, but I don’t believe he intends them with any degree of playfulness. The guy hasn’t said a single word to me even though he’s plenty amiable with the other first years. Leads me to wonder if he had some past dealings with our family that didn’t go well. Noah Jameson is his name. I’m guessing Charles knew him from his public school days. Remember those? When he was kicked out of Brother Martin? Lord help me if he was the target of Charles’ merciless bullying. It will be a long year.

  On the other end of the male spectrum, no, I haven’t met anyone, you goose. We both know I’m not here for that, and even if I was, “he” would have to work around my insane schedule, which will only get worse in a few years if I get into the doctorate program, and then beyond that, clinicals, internship, residency. I’ll be lucky if I ever have a family. Thank goodness we have two brothers, so I’m not counted on to carry on our “beloved” name. Ha.

  As for your last question about quitting the pointless endeavor of college and traveling the world: I think we both know the answer. You and I may both be natural healers (as natural as any supernatural gift can be), but our pursuit of medicine isn’t about healing. We both agreed we’d go into this field to learn more about the mind, about genetics, and anything else that might explain how and why we are this way. When we were girls, we promised Aunt Ophelia we would take the cross, so to speak. That way, if we were destined to serve the Deschanel Magi Collective one day, we’d have to have something to offer. And as it turned out, she seems to think I’m the one for the job.

  Not that traveling the world for a living wouldn’t be tempting.

  Alas. No rest for the wicked. Early class. Tomorrow.

  Hugs to all.

  Love,

  Colleen

  * * *

  “Look, Lizzy, I’ve never asked you to do this before, but I’m worried about Augustus, and I’m afraid of overstepping. But I’m afraid if I don’t…”

  Elizabeth tapped her pencil against the desk. “I’ve already seen his future where his wife is concerned.”

  Evangeline leaned over her, hands open. “And?”

  “What I’ve seen isn’t about the stuff happening now.” Elizabeth frowned and looked off, across the room. “I don’t know what’s going on with her there in Maine. I don’t know if you should be worried, or if he should. But I would, if it was me. Visions aside. Does that help?”

  “No, but thanks anyway.”

  Elizabeth stopped her before she left the room. “Look, Evie… whatever does happen, and however stuff turns out, you know, it’s not about what’s happening now. I know that’s really vague—”

  “Yeah, super vague.”

  “I guess all I’m saying is, if Augustus is worried, worry with him, but if he’s not, then just take it easy.”

  “Thanks, Confucius,” Evangeline said, but as an afterthought, she leaned in and kissed her sister on the head. “Sorry for asking. I know it’s not easy for you.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “It’s okay. I know you’re just trying to help Aggie. And, Evie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If I thought my visions could’ve helped you help him… I would’ve broken my rule and told you.”

  Evangeline smiled back. “Remember that, if something does pop into that head of yours, okay?”

  Evangeline left her youngest sister’s room feeling no less concerned for her brother, and no more equipped to deal with it.

  But she felt somewhat better. Whatever his future held, it didn’t seem to involve Evangeline’s current concerns.

  That is, unless Elizabeth just hadn’t seen it, yet.

  She grabbed her keys from the bowl by the front door and yelled, “Bye, Mama!”

  Irish Colleen rushed out of the kitchen, rag in hand. She always had a rag in hand. “What? Leaving so soon?”

  Evangeline could be there a week and her mother would have said the same thing. “Only stopped by for a minute, Mama.”

  “Do you have somewhere to be?” Irish Colleen’s face grew serious, as she stepped closer to her daughter. She wiped one hand off and ran the back of it across Evangeline’s forehead. “You don’t look well. You’re flushed. Do you have a cold?”

  “I feel fine, Mama.”

  “You should eat! I have a casserole I can pop in the oven and have it out right quick. You know what they say, ‘feed a cold, starve a fever.’”

  Evangeline smiled. “That doesn’t even make sense. Your body needs nutrients when you’re sick, even the flu.”

  Irish Colleen patted her cheek. “Well, when you’re a mama, Evangeline, you’ll know best.”

  Evangeline felt the anxiousness all the way down to her toes. She had another matter to deal with, another one that required answers she hoped would satisfy her but wasn’t at all sure they would. “I’ll come back later.”

  Irish Colleen kissed both cheeks. “You do that. And I’ll feed whatever ails you.”

  * * *

  When Evangeline was back at Magnolia Grace, she double-checked both the spot she knew she’d been keeping the money, as well as anywhere else she might have hidden it. It was no use pretending it could be anywhere else. Evangeline was methodical in such matters, and she knew she’d never moved the money.

  She wouldn’t have full access to her Deschanel Trust money until the following year, but she had partial access, being in college, and she’d carefully kept her costs down so she’d have money to spare. Not for herself, but to help Amnesty. She’d been able to squirrel away over a thousand dollars, only extricating funds when Amnesty needed groceries, or other living expenses. Only Evangeline knew where the money was hidden, because only Evangeline was ever in her bedroom.

  But now it was gone.

  Augustus was out of the question. A thousand dollars was nothing to him, but even if he’d needed it, he would never go through her things. Never take from her. She wouldn’t put it above that Russian bride, but the money went missing when Ekatherina was in Maine, so she wasn’t responsible for this.

  What made it all worse was that Amnesty herself seemed to be missing. Evangeline had been over there almost every day for the past week, hoping to sneak some time in with her, but each time the house had been empty. And as the week went on, it seemed the house was truly empty, because the milk left on the counter had begun to spoil, and nothing that had been pulled out had ever been pu
t away.

  Evangeline was terrified that Amnesty’s father had found her, after all those blissful months of security and warmth. She didn’t like to admit this, because she did truly wish Amnesty could live a life out in the open, but she liked the secret boundaries of their relationship… of hiding away from the world, wrapped in each other’s arms, a love without a label. Amnesty had shown her that intimacy could come wrapped in many bows.

  Evangeline liked not being able to define what was between them, because she wasn’t sure anymore if she was made for things that could be so easily defined.

  But now Amnesty was gone, and the money was gone, and she refused to believe the two things could be related.

  She left her keys at Magnolia Grace and walked to the house. Walking to clear her head was how she’d met Amnesty, and it still helped give her a strength over whatever she was preparing to face.

  Evangeline intended only to clean up the mess that was growing more pungent by the day, but as she mounted the porch, a harried Amnesty flew from the front door. Her eyes pooled with panic when she saw Evangeline.

  “Amnesty…” Evangeline approached, and her friend cowered back. She stopped. “Are you okay? Where have you been?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Evangeline. I can’t see you anymore.”

  “You can’t what?” She wanted to ask if Amnesty was breaking up with her, but that would imply there was more to this than either were willing to admit.

  Amnesty clutched her purse tight to her chest, as if for dear life. “I left the keys inside. Thanks for everything, but this is over.”

  “You’re acting so weird.”

  “Says the weird girl.”

  Evangeline took a risk and stepped toward her. She didn’t want her to feel cornered, but she couldn’t stay away. Not when she was here to help, and had already proved that. “You’re not yourself. Did something happen? Is it your father?”

  “You know nothing about my father! And you don’t know me!” Amnesty took advantage of the surprise in Evangeline’s face and bolted past her, shuffling down the path and out the gate. She turned back and what was in her eyes then was most certainly fear. “Stay away from me, Evangeline. It’s best for both of us.”

  Her heels clicked down the street as she ran away, and out of Evangeline’s life, as strangely and swiftly as she’d entered it.

  Thirteen

  A Red Mark

  Charles showered off the lasting effects of the horrible sex he’d had with Cordelia that morning. The act had gotten no more bearable than their wedding night, though, to her credit, whenever he asked, she was ready. As ready as a dead fish.

  The news that had come that day had sent a knife right to his heart. Colin and Catherine were expecting their first child next year. A child. A child made things permanent. It removed the sense that perhaps all of these decisions could be reversed, and the parties could go on to live their real lives, the ones intended for them.

  He’d found the announcement on the top of the mail pile, already opened. So, Cordelia had seen it first. That explained her knowing grin when he came in and told her it was time for them to increase things a bit. You get pregnant, we both get a break. Capisce?

  We’ll move from three times a week to five, she agreed. I still need weekends off.

  Why? You don’t do anything.

  Off from you.

  Charles wished he could have all days off from Cordelia. They’d settled into their strange routine at Ophélie, one where she did her thing and he searched for what his should be. But she was no less cold toward him, and though sometimes, for the fun of it, he tried to make her laugh, or even angry, she was unruffled by anything. He toyed with the idea that he’d married a psychopath. He remembered Evangeline said that psychopaths didn’t feel the same human emotions as most, like empathy, or anxiety. They only pretended to, when it suited them. He considered asking Evangeline to evaluate Cordelia, but decided it was sometimes better not to know.

  Especially not now, when the woman he loved was growing a child inside of her that wasn’t Charles’. He had to have his own son, and then he could stop touching Cordelia altogether. One son. That was it. He’d always wanted more children, but could give that up for his own sanity.

  It was so tempting to go back to Colin and re-open the wound Charles had let close so soundly. The one protecting him from the knowledge he already had a child out there somewhere. A little girl.

  A knock sounded on the bathroom door. Richard called out, “Your brother is here. He said you had an appointment together?”

  “Shit,” Charles whispered. He pushed his hands over the remaining soap on his body and hurriedly rinsed. “Tell him…” This wasn’t a conversation he wanted Cordelia to overhear. He didn’t need her to have anything she could use against his family. “Tell him to meet me in the heir’s office. Have another chair put in there for him.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  * * *

  Augustus gaped at him. “Again? You’re not serious.”

  Charles tossed his towel over the back of the chair. “There are things I find funny, and things I do not.”

  Augustus looked away. “How could this happen? Again? What did we miss?”

  “We didn’t miss anything,” Charles said. “Maureen is legally a woman now, but she’s been acting like she’s one since she was a kid. Short of locking her in a chastity belt, I don’t know that anyone could have stopped her.”

  “And she’s determined to have it.”

  Charles didn’t share what Maureen had told him, how she believed the last child she’d aborted still haunted her. He had the feeling he’d be the only one advocating for her, and he had the unique access to her darkest secrets to do it.

  That came with a certain responsibility, one that Charles took seriously.

  “Not all our problems can just be erased with abortion, or that mind trickery you do, or murder,” Charles said.

  Augustus shot him a look. “I’m not suggesting anything, Huck, just trying to piece this all together. Get the whole picture.”

  Charles put his palms up. “I don’t know much more than this. I’m not an information factory.”

  “The father…” Augustus winced. “Edouard Blanchard. I know him.”

  “And?”

  Augustus blew out a long breath. “Well, nothing bad, really. He’s a peculiar fellow. Something of an eccentric, and there’s been talk about why he’s never married, but other than that…”

  “He likes the cock?”

  “How should I know?” Augustus shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s just a touch odd, is all. A recluse, perhaps. Are we sure? That he’s the father?”

  “Yes, Augustus, we’re sure. This Blanchard fellow is fathering the very first child of this generation of Deschanels. He fucked our little sister when she was working for him, and she insists she wasn’t having sex with anyone else at the time. Not like when she was leading that Virgins Only bullshit. Thus, he is the father.”

  “Virgins Only? What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Can we focus?”

  “Rich, coming from you,” Augustus quipped. “And you learned this not from Maureen, but Colleen?”

  “Maureen called Colleen, who called me.”

  “That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, Huck, all of it? Colleen is the most judgmental of all of us, and that’s who she calls? And Colleen calls… you?”

  “If there’s an insult in there, Aggie, I’m failing to identify it.”

  Augustus stood. He started to pace the small office. “But what do you think Maureen wants? She’s an adult now, and doesn’t need anyone’s permission, at least not in a legal sense. She’ll have other battles, but no one can exactly tell her what to do. So what does she want?”

  Charles almost laughed. Augustus had more heart than he’d ever realize, but he was severely lacking, at times, in the department of emotional insight. “
I thought it was obvious. She wants her family. She wants our support. And we’re her older brothers, and we’re going to do just that.”

  Augustus stopped his frantic steps. He scrunched his face. “That doesn’t sound like Maureen, but if you really believe that—”

  “I do—”

  “Then we do that. We support her.”

  Charles stood and clapped his brother on the back. “Great! So… how?”

  Augustus laughed. “I thought you had the answer!”

  “Me?” Charles cackled. “When do I ever have the answer? I called you here because I know, between the two of us, we can help her.”

  “I suppose we need to talk to Mama.”

  “Hell no! That was an absolute requirement to our being sworn into this insanity.”

  “You might have mentioned that first,” Augustus replied, frowning. “Anyway, as I was saying it, I realized it wasn’t such a swell idea. Mama, I’m afraid to say, is the last one who should know about this.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “All right. Let me think.”

  “I did have one idea.”

  “Never mind,” Augustus muttered.

  “One that would put the fear of God into this flim-flam peculiar motherfucker.” Charles turned his left hand into a fist and pounded it into his right palm.

  “Don’t think that hasn’t been rolling around in my head as well,” Augustus said, in an offhand manner. He paced again, and when he turned back, his cheeks had reddened. “But that won’t help our sister. She’s never been the same after what happened to Evers. And no, Huck, I do not want to talk about it, not now or ever, but we can’t do that to Maureen. I don’t care what happens to Blanchard, but we have to protect our own. The only solution to this problem is one where Maureen comes out of this in one piece, and she and her baby are protected.”

  Charles smiled. “I like this side of you. All fired up. It’s sexy.”

  “Stop.” But Augustus smiled a little, too.

  “He needs to pay, though. In some way.”