Fallen Beauty (29 page)

•   •   •

VINCENT

I
should telegram Laura to come and comfort me after Mother’s death. I should spend these coming weeks and months with a fallen beauty who can show me the righteous way to reclaim my power in the light.

Instead, I place two large canning jars on the table by the fireplace, filling one with pure water and the other with bloodred wine. The firelight gives me glimpses of two scenes from my future. In the water shimmers a reflection of what my chaste night with Laura would offer: a renewal, clean air to fill my lungs, a recognition of my grief. The wine reveals a cosmos of flesh and chemical stimulation waiting for me in the pulsing veins of New York City.

I know what will happen if I choose the wine. Our bender will last the year. It will make the reading tour for
Fatal Interview
a blur. It will lead me to George in distant cities, with or without my husband. New poetry will emerge.

I lift my gaze to meet Sappho’s black eyes and feel her urging me toward the wine. I reach for it and drain it in a long drink that leaves tracks of red running down the sides of my mouth and neck. When Eugen enters the room, I don’t bother to wipe my face.

“Pack our bags,” I say.

1939

FROM
RENASCENCE

And as I looked a quickening gust Of wind blew up to me and thrust
                 Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—
I know not how such things can be!—
                 I breathed my soul back into me.

—Edna St. Vincent Millay

LAURA

I arrived at the theater early to meet Millay before her reading, as she had asked. We were at Clark University in Worcester, Massachusetts, where she had sold out the house. As we moved through the lobby, an announcement was made that the program would be starting fifteen minutes later than projected. I wondered if she was well.

I left Gabriel at our seats. My outdoorsman was uncomfortable in his fine suit, but so handsome. I kissed him and ran my thumb over his mouth, where I’d left a trace of red lipstick. Then I walked away, sashaying a bit, and glanced over my shoulder to wink at him. He smiled broadly and used his hat to fan his face.

I’d gone a little daring with the evening dress I’d sewn, allowing the neckline to plunge, selecting a sumptuous shade of burgundy, roping a long strand of pearls twice around my neck. The pearls were real—an anniversary present from Gabriel that he said he’d been saving for since our wedding day, years ago. It was our first night out without the children in longer than I could remember.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the tall gilded mirror in the hallway, and noticed the flush in my cheeks and the swell of my chest. I wasn’t certain, but I thought I might have a little secret growing inside me, a new member to add to our tribe. Grace would be delighted, and would surely hope for a sister to balance her two little brothers. Gabriel would too. He just said at the dinner table that it felt like someone was missing.

We lived in a house we’d built an acre from Sam and Callie’s place, by the river. My old house was now entirely my shop, with the upstairs used for sewing and storage, and the downstairs a showroom. I loved to sit at the windows in the room that used to be my bedroom, and work in the light of day while watching over the town and taking in my view of the statue of Our Lady of Grace and the far-off mountains. I’d started a theater company with our friends, and I costumed the actors in the amphitheater in the creations that had lived in the pages of my sketch pad. Caroline Hagerty had written and directed several plays for us. Gabriel built sets and sculpted on commission from local businesses and wealthy families on the side. His full-time job was as the grounds and building supervisor at the hospital. We still heard from Father Ash—now a bishop in Pennsylvania—several times a year, and he came back for the annual river potluck festival.

Everette was the Speaker of the New York State Assembly, and he and Marie had two boys and a girl, who folded in nicely with our brood. They were a loving bunch of cousins, whose adventures took place on the same paths Marie and I had hiked, in the same school we had attended, at the same soda fountain where we’d flirted. They didn’t know how much they missed by not knowing our father, and how much richer their time together would have been with a grandfather like him, but there was no use dwelling on the past. Not for any of us.

I walked through the halls behind the stage, glancing around doors and corners in the gloomy shadows. The dark wood walls and musty spaces smelled ancient. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman who looked like Darcy Dempsey, and my heart pounded. On second glance, it was clearly not her. Darcy had left Chatham after Agnes had died from a second stroke, mere weeks after I’d visited her. Daniel had had his marriage to Darcy annulled, and it was said that she had married again. Daniel had resigned from the hospital and they had both moved away. No one knew what had become of him.

I gathered my senses, and was about to turn around and ask for directions when I heard Eugen’s voice. I followed the sound, and as I ran my hand along the wall and around the corner, I noticed that he was speaking in the high and patronizing way one would use to address a small child.

“Little Nancy, we mustn’t fuss,” he said. “You are always a beautiful girl.”

A simpering, babyish voice responded, “No, no. You’re just saying that.”

“Tsk, tsk. Drink these down, Scuttlebutt. It will be over before you know it.”

“Promise?” the voice said. “Little Nancy needs her beddy.”

“And she will have her beddy and her big teddy, too.” He giggled, and as I approached the door, I stopped short. It was only Eugen and Millay in the room. He placed pills on her waiting tongue, and held a glass of water to her mouth. When she finished drinking, he patted her lips with a handkerchief. I tried to slip back into the shadows but they saw me. Their heads turned at the same moment, and their eyes widened.

“Laura,” said Millay, in the voice I knew.

I hesitated a moment, and then stepped into the doorway.

I was shocked at how the two of them had aged since I’d last seen them, which must have been at least a year ago. We’d kept in touch over the years; she allowed only me to create her reading wardrobe, but with her travels and my family and business obligations, we’d let time get away from us.

Eugen’s hair was nearly white, and deep lines had formed under his eyes. He was slightly hunched and he lit her cigarette with a trembling hand before having a coughing fit. She patted his back from her chair, and motioned for me to approach. Her skin was puffy and white, her lips pale and cracked. Gray streaked her copper hair.

“Hello,” I said, trying to hide my shock. “Has it been a whole year?”

“Too long,” she said.

A woman emerged from the corner of the room. She helped Millay stand, handed her burning cigarette to Eugen, and supported Millay as if she were an invalid while they stepped to the rack of cloaks and gowns. I felt a flutter of excitement, seeing my creations hanging so beautifully together. Millay slid her robe to the floor, exposing her mostly naked, aging body. She wore only a brassiere and panties, and I could see how her breasts sagged and that she had accumulated weight around her stomach. I was astounded at her appearance. Had it been only nine years since the first fitting? How did I not notice this deterioration the last time I measured her? I recalled that she had invited me to Steepletop at night. We’d drunk wine. She had me measure her with a nightgown on. That was why I hadn’t noticed.

The woman instructed Millay to lift her arms, and slid a silk slip over her body. I tried to avert my eyes, but Millay had seen my shock. She stared daggers at me.

“Aging is hell,” she said.

I rearranged my face to appear more relaxed. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, lamely. “We all do it.”

I was suddenly aware of myself in her dressing room mirror. My blond hair shone in the soft light. My curves were accentuated. My lipstick was a perfect match for my dress. I wanted to shrink away from here.

Millay walked up to me.

“Would you kiss me now, Laura?” she said with her smoky, alcoholic breath. “Would you press your supple lips to mine to give me some color? I’d do anything to drink from your youth.”

Not a day might have passed since the first time I’d felt that she wanted to consume me. I was a mother of three, a respected businesswoman, an aunt, a wife, yet before Millay, I felt like the shivering, stained girl from a decade ago. I looked at myself again, and reminded myself who I was.

I reached into the small clutch in my hand and pulled out my lipstick. “Here,” I said, willing strength into my voice. “Take it. The fountain of youth in a scarlet tube.”

She smiled, but it was more of a sneer, and she took the lipstick from my hand and held it up for her maid. The small woman took it and placed it on the dressing table.

“You are a cruel beauty,” she said to me. “You always have been, but I suppose I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

She took a step back and faltered a little, seeming on the verge of fainting. The maid and Eugen came to her sides and held her propped between them.

“Almost there,” said Eugen. “We need you to be strong tonight. It’s the last night of the tour. Put on Laura’s gown. All will be well.”

As the maid stepped over to the rack, I held up my hand to stop her, and selected the gold dress myself. I walked it over to Millay, holding it like an offering. The maid and Eugen moved aside while I slid it over her head, and fastened the hooks and buttons. I smoothed the brocade and lace with my hands down her arms and back, and knelt behind her to arrange the train. I walked around the front of her and picked up the lipstick, touching it gently to her mouth and holding the blotting paper for her when I finished. She leaned her head on my shoulder as if it was too heavy to hold erect. I applied her mascara, and brushed her hair so that it fell in soft waves on her shoulders.

I saw a hint of her former self, but I wondered how she would summon the strength and sobriety to make this last night of her tour a success. The lights flickered, and I knew I must leave her.

I lifted her hand to kiss it, but at the last moment, I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers. I didn’t know what came over me.

Blood rushed to her cheeks.

•   •   •

I
excused myself as I moved past the already seated theatergoers. When I reached Gabriel, I was trembling. He took my hand in his and looked at me with concern.

“Are you all right, love?” he whispered. “You’re pale.”

“Fine,” I said, breathless.

The lights went black. The crowd hushed, and it seemed that an eternity passed. Then a single spotlight appeared over the center of the stage, where she stood. She was so small on the grand space she occupied, but then her voice began. It was deep and wide. It filled the auditorium so that it was as if she spoke in each of our ears. The gown gleamed gold in the light, and she was animated as I’d never seen. She seemed to grow like a tempest before our eyes. The gray in her hair had disappeared. The color in her cheeks complemented the dress. Her eyes gleamed, green as jade. They seemed to look right at me.

She was mythic, a goddess. The audience was transfixed.

We did not breathe until the stage went black and she was gone.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay is a great inspiration to me. Here is a list of poems that informed this text:

“The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver”

“Winter Night”

“Dawn”

“To a Friend Estranged from Me”

“Buck in the Snow”

“Justice Denied in Massachusetts”

“West Country Song”

“The Anguish”

“To the Wife of a Sick Friend”

“To a Musician”

“Dirge Without Music”

“Lethe”

Fatal Interview: Sonnets

I set my novel in the village of Chatham, near Austerlitz, New York, but it is a reimagining of Chatham to suit my fiction. This particular church does not exist. The Stony Kill Bridge does. The hospital situated as such does not exist, but the train station and clock do. There are other truths and fictions surrounding Chatham in my novel, but what I hope to embody is the spirit of a small town undergoing great changes. This is, after all, a work of fiction.

There is no record of Cora Millay visiting her daughter in October of 1930. I made it so to suit the story. Also, I combined several of Millay’s 1928 parties into one. To the best of my knowledge, all other dates and times in Millay’s life are accurate. Any mistakes are entirely my own.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I continue to follow the bread crumbs of dead writers from one to the next, so I must thank Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald for leading me to the fascinating poet Edna St. Vincent Millay.

I thank God for granting me life experiences and people to enliven the page and support me on this journey.

I am grateful for the encouragement and guidance of my editor, Ellen Edwards; my agent, Kevan Lyon; and the entire team at New American Library/Penguin Random House for their enthusiasm, vision, and support. It is a true pleasure to work with all of you.

To the Edna St. Vincent Millay Society and Peter Bergman for his detailed tour of Steepletop and fascinating wealth of information, and to the Library of Congress Special Collections Division for their help with research materials, much gratitude to you.

To my family, particularly Robert and Charlene Shephard, and Richard and Patricia Robuck, thank you for your guidance and unending help.

To Jennifer Lyn King, my friend and critique partner, who manages to remind me again and again of the light and power in this process. For crossing oceans and states, and reading at double speed, I am so grateful.

To Kelly McMullen, who has inspired my interest in female archetypes, what it means to be a woman, the relationship of the sacred and the profane, and how my faith fits into my process, much peace, love, and gratitude to you, friend.

Finally, to my husband, Scott, and to my three sons: sitting at the table with you all each night in our home, watching you pursue your talents, sharing adventures with you, spreading out, and coming back together—my family, you are my greatest blessing. I love you.