Diary of a Wildflower (22 page)

The
possibility of such an occurrence seems highly unlikely to me, but I don’t
express that thought.  Instead I say, “Let’s go check it out.”

“I
don’t know what I would do without my
personal
maid!” she says to the
people around us.  “Lorie is the best maid in the world.”

Brody
is no longer smiling as he watches this exhibition.  In fact, there is an
expression on his face that I have never seen before.  I don’t know how to
read it.

Then
Luke is pushing his way to my side.  “Ducky dance, Lorelei,” says
he.  “May I have the next one?”

With
that, Angel tugs my arm and walks briskly out of the ballroom, into the foyer
of the main house, and up the stairs to her bedroom, with me trotting along
behind her.

Once
we are alone she does not conceal her anger.  Her blue eyes are shooting
sparks.  “Where did you meet Luke Wayne?”

“What!”

“How
do you know him?”

Because
I am annoyed, I know I must pick my words carefully.  After all, I can’t
call
her
a nosy old lady.

“I
have a personal life, Miss Angel, that has nothing to do with work.”

“And
you meet airedales like Luke Wayne in this so-called
personal
life?” she
sputters, and spits the
p
sound.  “How is that
p
ossible?”

“Uh…let
me see your brassiere, Miss Angel,” I say.  “Maybe I can repair it.”

“Don’t
be a bunny!” she comes back.  “There’s nothing wrong with my...”

Suddenly
she sinks onto the side of her bed, seeming exhausted.

I
don’t fully comprehend her distress, but I feel I must swallow my sense of
indignation for the moment, and try to calm her.

“Luke
Wayne is related to an old friend of mine,” I say.

This
could very well be true, so I don’t feel that I am actively lying to her. 
She just looks at me with those burning eyes, and seems to be waiting for more.

“This
friend is Dr. Wayne, who went to the Appalachian Mountains to help the poor,” I
go on, “and he has tended my family since I was a child.”

“Oh,”
Angel says, her anger appearing to fizzle a bit.  “So you are from a very
poor mountain family?”

“Yes.”

Of
course she
wants
me to be poor, backward.  For then how could I
possibly be competition?  But is this because of Brody?  At the
moment she seems more interested in Luke.

“Men
like Brody and Luke….”  She abruptly stops herself from finishing that
sentence, and stands.  She walks to the window, and picks up a new
subject.  “One day I will be the lady of this house.  Don’t you think
it’s a grand house?”

“Yes
indeed,” I say.

“I
can see a lot from this window,” she goes on.  “Sometimes I see people
walking together late at night down the long driveway.”

Oh..hh,
she saw us.  That’s why Brody didn’t come out to walk with me again.

“Men
like Brody and Luke,” she gets back to her previous thought, “and Roman too,
you know what I mean?  Very wealthy men?”

I
say nothing as I wait for her to continue.  She still does not look at me,
but remains at the window.

“They
can have anything in the world they want, and that gets boring.”  She
hesitates before going on.  “So men like that have flings with girls like
you all the time, even after they’re married.  It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Girls
like me?” I say, my voice quivering with anger.  “What do you mean by
‘girls like me’?”

She
swivels on her heel and faces me, but she doesn’t attempt to explain herself.

“Yes,
I am poor,” I manage to say, “but I don’t like what you are insinuating.”

She
glares at me.  I glare back.

“Are
we through here?” I finally ask.

She
nods, and I leave the room quickly.  I go down the stairs and stand in the
foyer trying to collect my wits before returning to the party.  I take
long, deep breaths to clear my head.  Roman walks by holding the hand of a
pretty blond girl, who looks to be no more than fifteen, but she has to be
older than that to be invited to the party.

“Oh,
it’s her!” the girl says when she sees me.  “The IT maid!”  She
giggles and loses her balance.  “Ooo..oops!”

Roman
steadies her.  “Lorie, my love, you’re quite the hoofer,” he says and
winks at me.  “And you said you couldn’t dance.”

He
leads the girl outside where I imagine she needs the fresh air.  I go back
to the ballroom.  Ellie and Marie fall all over me, hugging and
congratulating me.

“We
were invisible,” Ellie whispers.  “And you brought us to light.”

“Yeah,”
Marie says.  “The guests are suddenly speaking to us, like they didn’t
realize until now that we are actually people.”

Even
Jill, with whom I have exchanged only a few words, comes by and pats me on the
back.  “On behalf of Marge and Delia, and all maids everywhere,” she
says.  “Nice goin’.”

At
that moment Mrs. Myles slips over silently and says in a low voice, “Now,
girls, you’ve had a bit of excitement, but it’s time to get back to work. 
Bring out the sweets.”

When
Angel comes back to the party, she has taken off her head piece, and is wearing
a different dress.  It’s very short and very red.  At midnight she
and Brody get together for a waltz, and I watch her lay her little blond head
against his broad shoulder.  I try to turn my attention to something else,
but I am riveted.

I
think if I were lucky enough to become Brody’s bride, I would make him so happy
in bed it would never enter his mind to have a fling with anybody else. 
At that moment I find him looking back at me over the top of Angel’s
head.  For a split second I imagine that I see my own pain reflected
there.  I turn away.

When
the dance is over, Brody disappears, and Angel dances with Luke several
times.  Luke seems to have given up on me, and I am relieved.  We
don’t see Brody again.  Angel comments that perhaps he had too much to
drink, but I don’t think that’s true.  He didn’t even seem to be
tipsy.  It’s after two-thirty when the last guest leaves.  I
accompany Angel upstairs, and ask her if I should lay out a nightgown for her.

“No,
thanks.  “But…Lorie?”

“Yes,
Miss Angel?”

“Perhaps
it would be best if…you know, if we forget about our earlier
conversation.  Kapish?” she says, and gives me an uncertain smile.

It’s
the first time I’ve heard that word,  but I get it.  “Kapish,” I
respond.

I
go back to the ballroom to see if I can help clean up, but I find nobody there
except Mrs. Myles, and she is headed for the stairs on her way to bed.

“Just
leave the rest of the mess until morning, Lorie,” she says.  “I’ve sent
the other girls to bed, and you may go as well.  No need to get up before
ten.”

“Thank
you, ma’am,” I say.

I
have almost reached the door when she calls to me, “Oh, will you check to see
if all the candles have been outed on the terrace?”

“Yes,
ma’am.”

It’s
a beautiful night.  A full moon throws its broad beams into the
terrace.  A few candles have been left burning, and as I go around blowing
them out, I think I hear music.  I investigate and find the victrola by
the sideboard has been left on.  Paul Whiteman’s famous waltz,
Three
O’Clock in the Morning
, is playing.  Instead of shutting it off, I
place the needle back at the beginning of the record, turn it up just a notch,
and listen.  I close my eyes, and imagine myself waltzing with Brody.

“One,
two, three.  One, two, three,” I whisper as I sway back and forth where I
am standing.

“May
I have this dance?” a voice comes out of the darkness.

I
am startled and let out a cry.  To encounter Brody in the moonlight while
a waltz is playing – it’s
surely
a dream.  But no, it’s actually
him sitting there in the shadows, watching me.

“Sorry,”
he says as he stands up.  “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Why
are you sitting here in the dark?” I ask.

“Just
thinking,” he says, “and listening to the music.”

He
takes my right hand.  “We didn’t get to waltz together, did we, Lorelei?”

I
am suddenly so weak, I feel as if there are no bones in my body.

“Place
your left hand on my shoulder like this,” he says.

I
do as he says.

“And
I place my right hand here on your waist,” he says, as he does so.

Then
he tells me how to move my feet.

“Glide,
two, three,” he says, “glide, two, three.  “That’s it.  You catch on
so easily.”

He
hums along with the music as we dance.  The smell and nearness of him are
intoxicating.  His right hand moves up my back to pull me close to him.

“Actually,”
he says, “I was sitting here watching for you to come out.”

I
close my eyes and rest my cheek on his chest.  His heart is
thundering.  His breath is rapid against my forehead.  Then we are no
longer dancing at all, simply standing very close,

very still.

“Lorelei,”
he barely whispers, and his lips are slipping down my cheek.

I
raise my face to him, and our lips, upon touching, are slightly parted. 
His taste is sweet.  He pulls me tight against him, and I slip my hands at
last around that princely brown neck.  Our lips meet again with
passion.  I have no thoughts, only feelings, as Brody and I cling to each
other and kiss in the moonlight.

Suddenly
our magic moment is shattered by a harsh voice.  “Who is out here!”

Electric
lights flood the terrace.  We slacken our grip on one another, but stand
rooted to the spot.  It doesn’t occur to me to move away from Brody
because I have been so cruelly jolted

from this dream, I can’t think of anything except what I
have lost.

It’s
Mr. Myles.  “What is this?” he cries, as he stands there studying us.

Brody
finally steps away from me, and says to his father, “What are you doing here?”

“I
could ask the same of you,” Mr. Myles says.

“We
were dancing,” Brody says.

Mr.
Myles walks closer, narrows his eyes first at me, then at Brody, and back to me
again.  I am uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

“I
should go,” I mumble, then turn quickly toward the exit.  I glance back only
once and see Brody and his father still standing there, face to face.

Saturday, June 29
^th
, 1929

I
float through the early morning hours on a cloud with Whiteman’s waltz playing
in my head.  I sleep and dream of making love with Brody.  I wake up
and daydream.  I doze again.  Yes, he did say he was sitting there in
the dark waiting for me to appear.  Yes, he waltzed with me.  Yes, he
kissed me.  And it was more than chills in the tum, it was a lovely fire
in the belly.  Would Brody tell his father it meant nothing, that I was
just a fling?  No, he would not deny his feelings for me.

I
rise up at ten and dress.  As I walk to the main house, I have to glance
down at my feet to make sure they are both on the ground.  At eleven I
attend Mrs. Myles and Mrs. Temple at brunch in the rose garden.  Angel is
still sleeping.  Somehow I know Mr. Myles has said nothing to his wife
about me and Brody on the terrace.  He, like Brody, probably avoids
unpleasant topics with her whenever possible.

I
hear the ladies saying the men are playing golf today, and were to breakfast at
the club at ten.  They talk about the next party which is scheduled for
Saturday, July 13
^th
.  Mrs. Temple will help host this one,
which is to be a charity ball to benefit an orphanage in Falls Church.  I
also hear them saying that Mr. Temple and Mr. Myles are going to Washington,
D.C. together soon to attend a political event at which President Hoover will
speak.

So
the lives of the Temples and the Myles families have become intertwined
already.  They have everything in common, and they can hardly contain
their excitement over the union of Brody and Angel.  By marrying into this
old Virginia family, the Temples will become part of an exclusive
birthright.  As for the Myles family, Angel’s new money will prop up their
fortune.  They have all kinds of dreams and schemes for their
children  and grandchildren – yes, Brody’s and Angel’s children.  I
study the faces of these high society women as they chat so amiably together. 
They will turn into wildcats if their plans are threatened.  A ring of
fear circles my heart.  I drift down from my cloud.

“Lorie,”
Mrs. Myles calls to me.  “You may serve the parfait now.”

Parfait? 
What is parfait?  Oh, god, I don’t know anything. I go into the kitchen
and find Bridget.  “Mrs. Myles said I should serve the parfait,” I say to
her.

From
the Frigidaire Bridget brings out two tall frosty glasses filled with a mixture
that looks like fruit and cream.

Tootsie
is standing at a counter preparing cold cuts for the men to eat when they come
home from their game.  Her nose is red and her eyes appear to be swollen.

“Something
wrong, Tootsie?” I ask.

She
doesn’t look at me when she answers.  “Just a summer cold.  I’ll be
okay.”

I
don’t believe her.  I think she has been crying.  I try to remember
when I saw her last at the party.  I think it was before the IT girl
contest.

“Did
you leave the party last night?” I ask.

“Yeah,”
she says.  “I had to go to bed.  I didn’t feel good.”

After
I have served the parfait to the ladies, Louise comes and whispers in my ear
that Angel is awake and wants me to bring coffee and toast to her room. 
When I take the tray up, Angel barks that she should have a bell in her room so
she doesn’t have to yell down the stairs for someone to fetch me.  I
apologize, and tell her that I will speak to Mrs. Myles about that.  She
asks me to run her bath, which I do, lacing the water liberally with her
special bath oils and salts.  As she steps into the huge porcelain tub, I
set her coffee and toast on the side.  She sinks into the bubbles and
closes her eyes.

“I
won’t need you again until it’s time to dress for dinner,” she says, then
flicks her hand at me as if to say, “Go away.” 

Downstairs
I find Tootsie, and relieve her from her duties as best I can.

Around
four o’clock the men return from golf, tired and hot.  After cleaning
themselves up they have drinks on the terrace, where the women join them. 
I help Jenny serve the cold cuts.  Brody is very quiet, and does not
participate in the conversation.  He is also careful not to look at
me.  Are we all the way back to that?

In
the evening I assist Angel in dressing for dinner, then help Tootsie and
Bridget in the kitchen while Jenny and Marie serve.  I don’t see Brody
again.  It’s Ellie’s day off and she has brought Nabs from town. 
It’s after nine o’clock before we come together in her room, dressed in our
green and white checked robes.  We are all tired, but Tootsie seems
especially so.

“You
look washed out,” I say to her.  “How do you feel?”

Tootsie
stares at her hands for a moment before saying, “I can’t stand it
anymore.  I have to tell somebody.  Can y’all keep a secret for me?”

“Of
course.”

“You
have to promise,” Tootsie says.  “It’s important.”

“Yes,
we promise.”

“What
is it, sweetie?” Marie says, and rubs Tootsie’s back in a motherly way.

“Everybody’s
gonna know eventually,” Tootsie says, her lower lip quivering.  “But I’d
like to keep it among us as long as possible.”

We
say nothing more as we wait to hear Tootsie’s secret, but somehow we know – at
least
I
know, and I think the others do too – what she is going to say
before she says it.

“I’m
expecting a baby.”

Instead
of a sharp intake of breath, there’s a kind of sigh, just short of a groan, all
around.  Oh, lord, it’s the same everywhere.  You can leave Starr
Mountain, but you can never leave the stories of human nature. 
Trula.  Opal. 
Tess of the d’Urbervilles.  Adam Bede
. 
I reach out and touch Tootsie’s hand.

“I’m
desperate,” she goes on.  “I’ll be able to work for maybe two months if
I’m lucky, before I start showing, but then I know Mrs. Myles will make me
leave.  I’ve been saving every nickel, but it’s not enough.”

“He
won’t marry you?” Ellie asks.

“No,”
Tootsie says.  “He offered to pay for..uh..you know, for getting rid of
it.”

Now
there
is
a sharp intake of breath.

“Absolutely
not!” Marie says.  “Girls have died from forced miscarriages.”

“Well,
anyway, I told him no,” Tootsie says.  “I want to have this baby. 
Then maybe I won’t feel so alone.”  She wipes a tear from her cheek and
the rest of us look at each other with sad eyes.

“You’ve
got us, honey,” Jenny says.  “For what it’s worth.”

“Tell
us what to do,” Ellie says.  “We’ll do anything.”

Tootsie
smiles.  “That’s very sweet.  Just be my friends.”

“Where
are your parents?” I ask.

“Dead. 
Daddy in the war, and Mama of consumption the next year.”

“Who
raised you?”

“Grandma.”

“Is
she still alive?”

“Yes,
in North Carolina.”

“Will
she take you in?”

“Probably. 
But she has no income.  I was sending money to her when I could.”

“There
are laws,” Marie says.  “He has to take care of you and the baby.”

“But
the law can’t make him
want
us.  The law can’t make him
love
us.” 
And she bursts into real tears.

As
we reach out comforting hands, Marie says, “I’m the oldest one here, so if you
want my advice...do you?”

Tootsie
nods her head.

“Well,
the deed is done, kid,” Marie goes on, “and now it’s time to be
practical.  As hard as it might be for you, you have to put the pressure
on Mr. Anonymous.”

“How?”

“Tell
him he’s got to take care of you and the baby, or you are going to see him in a
court of law.”

“If
I have to go public,” Tootsie wails, “it will ruin his reputation.”

“Good,”
Marie says.  “That makes him more likely to do what you ask.  He’ll
have to help you, or face public ruin.”

“Does
he have money?” Jenny asks.

“Lordy,
yes,” Tootsie says.  “Lots.”

It’s
Roman!  It has to be Roman.  Where else but here would she meet a
rich man?

“So
there you have it,” I say.  “If he can’t give you and the baby the love you
need, at least he can support you financially.”

“It
will be awful hard to ask him for money,” Tootsie says.

“Good
grief, Tootsie!” Marie says.  “You’re going to be a mother!  Stand up
for your child if not for yourself.”

Tootsie
blows her nose, and looks around at the four of us.  “Does everybody
agree?”

We
nod our heads.  Yes, we all agree.

“Then
I guess I’ll have to do it,” she says with a heavy sigh, “no matter how much I
hate it.  You’re my friends, and I trust you.”

“Good!”
Ellie says.  “When are you going to tell him?”

“Monday,”
says Tootsie.  “It’s my day off, so I’ll arrange to see him in town.”

Sunday, June 30
^th
, 1929

I’m
off again, but I can’t go shopping because it’s Sunday.  Maybe I’ll go see
a show – or at least plan for that.  What I really want is to spend the
day with Brody, but that doesn’t seem likely.  The Temples are still here.

I
slip into the green dress and hat I bought in Skylark, and walk up to ask Chris
to drive me into town for the matinee this afternoon.

“Sure,”
Chris says.  “The Temples are leaving soon, and I got nothing to do after
that.  What time?”

“About
two,” I say.  “I think the first matinee is at two-thirty.”

“So
Mr. Brody can’t take you this time, huh?” Chris says with a grin.

I
feel my face flush.  “We happened to be leaving at the same time last
Monday,” I try lamely to explain.  “Just a coincidence.”

“Right,”
Chris says, still grinning.  “I reckon it was also a coincidence that you
came back at the same time – at two in the morning?”

I
should have known somebody saw us. 

“What’s
it to you, Chris?” I say.

“Oh,
sorry.  Didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers, Miss IT!”

“What’s
your problem, Chris?  You mad about something?”

“No
miss.  Why would I be mad?”

But
he
is
mad.  I don’t care.  I don’t have to deal with him.

“See
you at two then,” I say.  “And thanks.”

I
turn on my heel and head back to the slave quarters.

“He’s
gonna take the middle aisle with that little sheba, you know!” Chris hollers
after me.  “He’ll not let all that jack get away from him.”

I
stop and look back.  “What?”

“Yeah,
honey.  That’s how the rich ones are.  They like to play, but when
the game’s over, he’s gonna pick the orchid!”

His
words rattle me, but I force myself to laugh.  “You’re a goof, Chris, you
know that?”

Back
in my room, I kick off my shoes and curl up on the bed.

He’s
gonna pick the orchid.

I
pull out my stationery and busy my mind with letter writing.  In a while I
hear a car and look out to see Chris driving the blue Essex around to the front
of the main house.  He is going to load up the Temples.  Shortly
thereafter a light knock sounds at my door.  I answer barefooted. 
I’m thrilled that it’s Brody.

“Can
you come with me?  I want to show you something.”  His voice is low,
secretive.

“Of
course,” I say.  “Just let me get my shoes on.”

Brody
steps into the room and looks around.  “So this is where you sleep,” he
says.  “It looks cozy in here.”

“I
love it,” I say.  “It’s the only room I’ve ever been able to call my own.”

He
glances at an envelope on my night table which is addressed to Jewel.

“Jewel
Starr, Starr Mountain, Deep Bottom, Virginia,” he reads.  “Is that all the
address you need?”

“Sure,”
I say, as I slip into the white heels.  “As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t
have to include Starr Mountain.  Mrs. Call, the post mistress, knows
everybody.”

We
walk to the car port.  I dread facing Chris with Brody beside me, but
surprisingly we don’t see him.  He must have stayed to have lunch in the
servants’ hall after seeing the Temples off.  We take the LaSalle.  The
top is open already, and it’s a beautiful day.  Brody creeps slowly past
the main house as if tiptoeing, and he glances furtively toward the windows as
we pass.  No one in sight.  When we reach the main road, he speeds
up, and we turn to each other and smile.

“So
what is it you want to show me?” I ask.

“Have
you heard of a style of house called the California bungalow?” he asks.

“Yes,
but I’ve never actually seen one.”

“They’re
selling like hot cakes right now, and I’m thinking of buying one, or several of
them – you know – for an investment.”