Fallen Beauty (27 page)

Grace pulled away to chase a group of cardinals flitting between the bushes and the snow. He watched her, but could not bring his gaze to meet mine.

“I’m so sorry, Laura,” he said.

“Please—” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“No, I must apologize. I was wrong, so very wrong, for allowing myself to feel those things. I’ve been thinking and praying, and for your comfort, I will request a transfer. The bishop thinks it is a good idea.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want that. You are a good priest. We are blessed to have you.”

“It will be for the best. I need to start again.”

“Perhaps
I
should go,” I said, with a sick feeling. I’d so often entertained thoughts of leaving town, but now the real possibility filled me with dread. Still, it might be for the best. “I don’t want to burden you, and this seems like such a good place for you. You shouldn’t have to go.”

“No,” he said, looking into my eyes. “You and Grace belong here. You have family, friends, a shop. This is your home.”

My home. That it was, and I felt both guilty and relieved to embrace it. It was finally clear that the judgment I felt from the town wasn’t only theirs, but a reflection of how I allowed others to treat me, just as Millay had said.

This was a lot to take in at once, but I didn’t have long to think on it, for Grace was back, pulling my hand to take her sledding. Father Ash gazed at me, and I stopped Grace’s motion for a moment. Looking at him alone on the path, with nothing but the birds to keep him company, I was filled with compassion for him.

Unable to speak, I tried to smile. Then I left with Grace.

•   •   •

L
ater that evening, Everette showed up at my back door. When I allowed him in, he walked to the kitchen table and sat without being invited. He put his face in his hands, and rubbed his eyes.

“I have to go to the city for a couple days,” he said. “I hate to leave Marie so close to her due date, but I want to take care of something before the baby comes.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” he said. “I have some business, and then I’m meeting with the priest at St. Patrick’s. I want to see if he’ll bless our marriage. I’ll also reserve a room for Marie and me at the Plaza like we did on our honeymoon. You know, to start over before the baby’s born.”

“I think she’ll love that,” I said, touched by his efforts. “I’d offer to keep an eye on her, but she won’t let me.”

“I know,” he said. “But if you can watch her from afar, please do so. You might even try to talk to her when I’m not here. Maybe she’ll feel freer to yell and scream. I don’t know.”

“I’ll try,” I said. “I’ll never stop.”

“Good.”

“What has she said to you about me?” I asked.

“What you can imagine. That you’ve betrayed her worse than I did because of your connection. That the witch has gotten her claws into you. That you could have come to us for help with money before crawling to Millay. She’s also hurt that you never confided in her about Daniel.”

Stung, I looked at the floor. Marie’s anger had not waned; it seemed to be building.

“And what do you say to her?” I muttered.

“I don’t say anything. I don’t know how to answer her.”

We were quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be gone. Thank you for watching out for her.”

He stood and pushed the chair under the table. I locked the door after him, and watched him walk home, his shoulders slumped.

I was unable to work that night, and when I slept, I had terrible dreams about my father. I hadn’t dreamed of him in so long, it felt like the reopening of an old wound. I knew he would be saddened by my division with Marie. What I couldn’t decide, however, was whose side he’d take.

•   •   •

VINCENT

I
’ve been in bed for days. Laura’s strain has affected my nerves as never before.

Just when I think I cannot take another blow, word arrives that Eugen’s mother has died.

My poor husband. He weeps freely, lamenting her passing and that he hadn’t seen her in so long. She lives—lived—in the Netherlands. We haven’t been back since we were newly married, when I was swallowed into the vast Boissevain tribe. I could feel their judgment of me, the way they compared me to Eugen’s first wife, Inez.

Inez was a suffragist and fellow Vassar alumni whom I’d admired since my Village days, a tall, charming, well-spoken light of a woman. Eugen was devoted to her as he is to me, supporting her on trips across the country so she could speak for women’s rights. The duo made a strapping pair, but pernicious anemia sent her to an early grave.

How is it that Eugen had a whole life before he married me? How is it that we almost never speak of Inez anymore?

Once a bright star has faded, it is nothing. It scarcely leaves a memory.

I allow Eugen to sleep in my bed this night. I take him into me and comfort him however I can, allowing him to fall asleep with his head on my breasts, crushing me with his weight, suffocating the dread in my heart all the night long. A bobcat’s moan comes to me on the winds that batter the house. I am achingly alone.

A letter arrives in the post the next day from my mother. It contains a poem she’s written about the mountain laurel bushes we gave her. I crumple on the settee, and begin to sob. Eugen races into the room.

“She will die,” I say. “All our mothers will leave us.”

“No, no, Vincie. Your mother is alive. She is all right.”

“She is dying. Read it. She writes of laurels and of sleep. She means the eternal sleep.”

He holds me the way I held him, whispering to me assurances that I do not believe.

We don black after that. We leave the lights low and read poetry and write letters. I sit in the shadow of Sappho’s bust, gazing up at her for guidance. She rests strong and erect, a dark virgin, a muse I can cling to, a well from which to draw strength.

Days later, as we eat a quiet dinner, I hear the crunch of gravel. I look to my left, turning my ear to the door with dread. I put my utensils on the table and clutch the arms of the chair. Eugen waves the cook away and answers the door himself. I turn in my chair a little more and see a taxi, a driver, the handing over of a telegram.

When Eugen turns to me, his eyes are wide with horror. He cannot speak.

“Bring it to me,” I say.

It is a telegram from my uncle. Mother is sick. She may be dying.

We send a message with the driver that we are coming.

We leave the hot meal on the table, full glasses of wine. We pack in haste, and rush to the garage in the darkening night. I tremble so badly, Eugen must open my door for me and help me into the car. We still cannot speak.

Eugen reaches for the throttle and tries to pull it out a bit to keep the engine from stalling in this cold, but the throttle is stuck. We won’t move an inch.

“Damn!” he says.

He tries and tries, but we are going nowhere.

I refuse to return to the house. Eugen promises he will get the Cadillac started. He promises we will get to Mother, but the damned hunk of metal junk won’t move.

He disappears, and returns minutes later dragging the horses. He attaches their reins to the bumper and smacks them forward. They pull the Cadillac out of the dark garage. He returns them to the stables and again tries the throttle. I am still in the car. I will not move until we are at Mother’s side.

I watch the night outside my window, mumbling prayers I haven’t thought of in years, begging the deity in charge to get us to Mother’s side before she dies. My husband labors and swears next to me, and suddenly, miraculously, the car starts and we shoot forward. We race down the long driveway and out to the road. Eugen is half-mad with determination.

“I will get you there. I promise. You will see your mother.”

He has stopped saying she will be all right.

The night is treacherously dark and frozen. The snow causes us to slip and spin out as much as we move forward, and the farther we get from Steepletop, the more I begin to panic.

“What if it stalls?” I say. “No one will find us. We will freeze to death.”

“I promise we will not stall. I will not stop the car. We will drive straight through.”

It is at least ten hours to the coast of Maine, probably longer because of the snow and ice. Eugen is exhausted. He will need to sleep along the way. I must say this out loud because he answers, “I will not sleep. You will get there.”

The night passes like a terrible dream. The car makes horrid noises, and patches of black ice send us slipping more times than I can count. It seems that as soon as I doze off, I am shaken awake by the lurching of the car. Over and over again, it is as if I am falling from a dreadful height and snapped back into consciousness. I am convinced we will die on this trip, and I’m half glad.

But we don’t.

Twelve hours later, we motor into Camden as the sun peers over the edge of the horizon. I feel ice-cold and stiff in spite of its warming rays.

“She is gone,” I say.

“No,” he says. “She is not. Do not say it, Vincie. She’s not. We drove all night.”

Eugen turns at the lily pond, and takes us down Chestnut Street to the address from which Mother’s letters have been coming. I check the numbers on the envelope and stare at each passing house, searching for her place. Suddenly I grab Eugen, and he slams on the brake.

At a cottage—a place as tidy and humble as Mother—the door is covered in black crepe.

LAURA

I lifted my hand to knock on Marie’s door as she spilled out of it. I grasped her arms and saw that her face was red, her hair disheveled. She was breathing heavily.

“Marie!”

She pulled from my grip and I saw the suitcase she held.

“Is it time?” I asked. “You’re early. Like when I had Grace . . .”

She looked at me with a horrid glare. I’d only ever received such a look from Agnes. To get it from my sister inflicted new pain.

“Let me help you,” I said.

She tried to pass me, but was gripped by a contraction. She squeezed her eyes closed and leaned on the porch railing. I moved her hand from the spot on her back she held and pressed deeply into her. She began to protest, but the pressure must have brought her some relief, because she allowed me to massage her until the contraction passed. Once it was over, she continued on. I followed her as she headed down the sidewalk toward the hospital.

“Please, Marie, let me find you a ride.”

“By the time you find a ride for me, I’ll be there,” she snapped. “It figures Everette goes away now, of all times.”

“It’s an errand for you,” I said. “For both of you.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me. He wanted me to look out for you while he was gone.”

“He barely watches for me when he’s home,” she said. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

Marie resumed walking. As we approached the statue of Our Lady of Grace, Marie rested her arm on the folds of the dress and squeezed her eyes shut. I again applied pressure, and this time, she leaned into it, allowing me to help her. Once the contraction ended, Marie pushed away. I stopped and looked back at my shop. Grace had not yet awoken for the day. I had anticipated leaving her alone only long enough to get turned away from Marie’s house.

“Marie, I have to see about Grace. I’m sorry.”

Marie did not turn. I watched her until she was out of sight, and then I hurried home.

Grace was asleep and would likely be for another hour, but I felt pulled toward my sister. Marie had delivered Grace, and I wanted to be at my sister’s side for the birth, at least until Everette returned. I could have the hospital phone him at the Plaza and leave a message that he needed to come at once.

Could I get anyone to watch Grace? I thought of each person I knew in town, and it occurred to me that perhaps Lily would help me. I could offer her pay or sewing services in exchange. I made up my mind to wake Grace and call on Lily. If she refused, I would have to go home.

Grace fussed when I awoke her, and sucked her thumb until I fetched her a glass of warm milk. I looked out the window at the clock tower, and time seemed to move at double speed. I was frantic to get to Marie.

I pulled on Grace’s socks, boots, and hat while she finished her milk. Then I dressed her in her coat and mittens. I grabbed Dolly and a few books, tucked all of them into the sled, and hurried out the door and down the block to Lily’s house. Once we arrived, Grace climbed out of the sled and walked up the shoveled path with me to mount the steps. No one answered our knock, but a cat jumped into the window and stared at us. I knocked again.

“I hope Miss Lily can watch you while I help Auntie have her baby.”

“I see baby?”

“The baby isn’t here yet,” I said, trying to hide my impatience. I knocked again, but clearly no one was home.

“Damn,” I said. Grace’s eyes widened behind her glasses.

“I’m sorry,” I said. She suppressed a smile.

I placed her in the sled and started along the street, trying to think of an alternative, but there was none. I decided to take Grace with me to the hospital. At least I could show Marie that I wanted to be with her, even if I couldn’t stay through the birth.

By the time we reached the hospital, it was snowing again, and the wind took my breath away. Great piles of snow fell from branches, and drifts blew across the walkways. I looked up to where my father’s room had been and said a prayer for him and for Marie. Before I entered the hospital, I was surprised to see Gabriel coming out. His hair was longer and beginning to curl at the ends. It suited him. I wondered why he was there.

“Hello,” I said.

He was surprised to see us too, and ushered us in from the cold into the lobby. We left the sled propped against the building.

“Are you well?” I asked.

“Me? Yes. I was just hired. Chief maintenance engineer.”

This sat between us while the implications settled in my thoughts. He was staying.

“How wonderful,” I said, a bit more breathless than I would have liked.

He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher but continued. “Now I need to look for a place to live. As kind as Michael has been to let me stay in the rectory, I’ll need to pay my own way. No more charity.”

He looked down at Grace and his face wrinkled with worry. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” I said. “My sister is having her baby. I’m coming to see if I can help.”

“Do you plan to take Grace in with you?”

“I don’t have much choice.”

“I could take her,” he said.

I was so surprised by his offer that I didn’t know what to say. I trusted him, but how would it look to allow him to watch my daughter? Then I stopped myself from this kind of thinking and reconsidered his offer.

“Actually, I would appreciate that very much, if it’s all right with Grace.”

“What?” she said.

Gabriel crouched down to her level. “Would you like to come with me to see the puppies and maybe sled while your mother sees to Aunt Marie?”

She nodded her head with enthusiasm. I was so touched by his offer and her excitement that I had to look away to regain my composure.

“I’ll take her to Sam’s,” he continued. “We’ll check in with you in an hour or so, after we see the dogs. Then we’ll sled on the hill behind the hospital.”

Grace was already pulling Gabriel by the hand. He looked over his shoulder at me.

I mouthed, “Thank you.”

He nodded and smiled before hurrying after her.

•   •   •

W
hen I reached the maternity ward, I was grateful I hadn’t run into Daniel, and I prayed that I didn’t see him at all. Instead, I asked for Marie.

“Last door on the right,” said the receptionist.

I hurried down the corridor and soon heard Marie’s cries. When I rounded the corner, I found her alone in the room. The high ceiling made her look small. At the sight of me, relief crossed her features before she rearranged herself to look proud and distant. I walked in and placed my coat and hat on the chair before going to her bedside. I grabbed her hand and wouldn’t let her pull away.

“Marie, you must let me help you.”

“You’ve done enough.”

“What? What have I done?”

“You’ve betrayed me.”

“How? Really, how? Would you have had me lose my shop? Lose everything? Would you have Grace and me living under your roof or in a poorhouse?”

“No,” she snapped. “All you needed to do was come to us. We would have helped you. Instead you . . .” She suddenly squeezed her eyes shut and began breathing heavily. I rubbed her hand and allowed her to tighten her grip on my fingers until she nearly cut off my circulation. After a minute or so, she relaxed.

“God, how much longer will this go on?” she asked.

“Has a nurse seen you?”

“Just to admit me. Then they left me here alone.”

Marie began to cry and I placed my hands on her cheeks. “Listen to me. You are my sister. You are mine and you always will be. Millay is a customer.”

“She is a friend,” said Marie. “I saw it. I saw it as you rode into town with her.”

“I cannot deny that,” I said. “But I can promise you, Everette is nothing to her and she will never go near your family again.”

“That is supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. Yes. I hope so.”

“But Everette still pines for her. I can see it in his face.”

I thought that what she sensed was true, but I also knew that it was just a spell. Millay would never dally with him again. If anything else, she wouldn’t do it for me.

“I don’t know anything about Everette’s heart,” I said. “All I know is that he is in New York for you, to recommit himself to your marriage. He is with you because he loves you. I believe he deserves a second chance, if for no other reason than the child you are about to bring into this world.”

“For all I know he’s meeting a mistress.” Marie squeezed my hand again. Sweat glued her hair to her forehead, and she whimpered.

“That is not true,” I said once the contraction passed. “I know why he’s there, and it’s not true. I love you, Marie. I can’t live like this. Grace and I need you in our lives.”

Marie looked over my shoulder and around the room. “Where is Gracie?”

“She’s with Gabriel,” I said. “He offered to take her so I could be with you.”

“That was very kind,” she said. Marie closed her eyes for a moment. I reached up and smoothed her hair, and she opened her eyes. “Can the hospital ring Everette wherever he is?”

“I’ll see to it immediately.”

“Will you stay with me until Everette gets here?”

Tears spilled over, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand as I nodded.

A group of nurses and a doctor entered the room. I stepped out of the way and watched the nurses surround Marie, taking her blood pressure and temperature and asking her questions about her pain. I heard Marie gasp. The doctor pulled a curtain around her bed, and I heard something about her progressing quickly and Twilight Sleep. I stepped away to have the front desk phone the Plaza for Everette, and then hurried back to the room.

I stayed with Marie as long as possible, holding her hand, brushing hair off her forehead, and massaging her back until the doctor returned, and she was wheeled away for the birth. Just before they administered the ether, Marie smiled and I felt as if we were rejoined.

I pressed my hand to my heart and walked to the window, where I saw Gabriel and Grace outside in the snow. Grace smiled while he watched her coast down the hill. I looked past the sledding hill and saw the amphitheater, overgrown with ivy and encased in frost. I stared at it for a long time, imagining the ivy cut down, a new coat of paint on the stage, a strong red weatherproof curtain. I allowed the fantasy to grow and sit in my heart until the church bells called my attention to the center of town, and to the statue of Mary. She was far away and small, but I felt her presence.

•   •   •

I
walked over to Gabriel with my arms crossed, trying to keep out the cold. Grace ran to me with an open, happy face. Her cheeks were red and her glasses were foggy. She jumped toward me, and I opened my arms to her.

“I want a puppy,” she said.

“Gabriel, is this your influence?”

He smiled and walked to me, pulling the sled behind him.

“She’s drawn to the little one in the litter,” he said. “He has one blue eye and one brown. She calls him Brownie, and he comes to her every time. Sam says he’s free to a good home.”

Grace placed her mittened hands on either side of my face. “Can we?”

“You girls could use some protection,” said Gabriel. “Brownie will be a good watchdog one day.”

I liked that Gabriel thought of our protection.

“We’ll see,” I said. “But we’ll be busy helping Auntie Marie. Don’t you want to know if you have a boy cousin or a girl cousin?”

“What do I have?”

“A boy cousin! His name is James, after our father.”

“Wonderful!” said Gabriel. “And Marie is all right?”

“Yes. And speaking to me.”

“Very good to hear.”

“And Everette arrived on the train not long ago, so the little family is getting to know each other.”

Gabriel looked at his watch. “I have to run. I have an appointment about a rental not far from Sam and Callie. Can you come to the pond at four?”

“What’s going on there?”

“Haven’t you seen the flyers Callie’s hung? Singing, potluck, a bonfire, ice-skating. All out in the open.”

“Can we?” asked Grace.

“Now that Auntie has had her baby, yes, we can.”

“Good, then,” he said. As he turned to leave, I reached for his arm. “Thank you. You have no idea . . .”

I gave his arm a squeeze, and he left us, looking back over his shoulder to wave to Grace. She waved until he was out of sight.

•   •   •

A
crowd had gathered at the pond. Apparently the wood nymphs had hung flyers all over town inviting folks to join them. I had been too preoccupied to notice.

It was a pleasure to see the musicians in the open, and to note how many people came. Tables were crowded with steaming casseroles, warm breads, and fresh pies. The great cauldron bubbled with cider. Tim took a quick nip of his flask and replaced it inside his inner coat pocket. John Hagerty pushed his wife on the path to the clearing. Pale but smiling, Caroline caught sight of me and lifted her hand in a wave, and I returned her greeting. Sam’s dogs attracted the children’s attention, including Grace’s. She ran up to her friends. When the children from town saw her in a group, they approached and were folded in. Acceptance covered them like fresh snow.

I felt the absence of those not present like a weight. Darcy, Agnes, Daniel—I didn’t know what to do about these people. Something dark and savage inside me wanted to make them pay; it wished for no reconciliation, desired to show them I would be all right without their forgiveness or approval. But I knew that to allow that darkness to root itself in me would replace my old hell with a new one. It would scratch my skin like a hair shirt. It would show my daughter what I did not want her to see.

“You are still unreadable,” Gabriel said as he walked up beside me, ice skates flung over his shoulder, his hat at a jaunty angle.

“Perhaps you should consider photography,” I said. “Take a series of pictures to show the progression of my emotions.”

“Or writing. I could write the phases of your reflective face,” he said. “Phase one: relaxed forehead and smile. Soft eyes. Head at an angle. A warm response to seeing all of us together.”

“And phase two?”

“Alert but open. Watchful. Seeing her child join a group, a touch of sadness is introduced into the subject.”