Fallen Beauty (7 page)

In truth, I hadn’t thought of them until Marie brought them up, but I could hear the fear in her voice.

“You must give up the child—somehow,” she said.

“You needn’t worry,” I said. “Everette will take care of you. I’ll manage on my own.”

“But what if you don’t?” she said. “This town is small. If you don’t have their approval, you have nothing. Everette always says that.”

“Are you sure it’s me you’re worried about?” I said, an edge of cruelty I could not hide creeping into my voice. If she hadn’t brought up Everette, I might have thought her motives were pure, but now I suspected she was more concerned that her fiancé might be tainted by the scandal of his future wife’s sister. “Don’t worry, Marie. You don’t have to associate with me anymore, if I embarrass you.”

I turned my back to her, and within moments, she crawled into my bed and burrowed into me. I kept my arms crossed rigidly in front of myself.

“I’m just so scared,” she said. “For both of us. We are orphaned. I’m about to leave you. And now this? How will you support yourself?”

“I’m quite capable,” I said. “Just worry about your trousseau and your new duties as a political wife. That will keep you busy.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’m beginning to see that nothing is,” I said, hating myself for my nastiness directed at the only person I had left in the world, but unable to control my tongue. “But all is well for you and has been since you met Everette. You haven’t had a care for another since, and you’ll be more distracted once you’re living under his roof. You won’t even have to pretend we’re related if you don’t want to.”

“Stop it,” she cried. “How can you say such things? I would never abandon you.”

My ugly resolve crumbled and I began to cry. She turned me toward her, and we embraced.

“Did this happen the night you snuck out?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

I had to tell her something, so I began my story. Speaking about the pain made it hurt less and knit us closer together. While keeping my lover masked, I told her the details of the night at the Follies, even the most intimate. She confessed that she and Everette had almost consummated their relationship, but were able to hold out, knowing the wedding was coming.

After we had exhausted ourselves, we fell asleep together, forehead to forehead, until the front bell rang the next morning. Marie climbed out of bed and pulled on a dress to answer the door. I rolled over and pretended to sleep. Everette’s voice rose up the staircase. He’d been up all night waiting to ask us about the play. Marie’s voice dropped, and I imagined her telling him about me. My heart pounded as I realized that the scandal that had been circling like a wolf was about to be unleashed.

•   •   •

VINCENT

I
ride to town, reluctantly, but Eugen says I must get out. He has made an appointment with the oculist to see if he can help with my headaches and the spots in my vision. I know there is no specific medical cause, but rather, my acute artistic sensitivity, but I humor the man who so wishes to make me better.

Eugen slows the car as we pass the church. A bride and groom stand on the steps, while a collection of people throw rice at the handsome couple. A large, well-built man, blond hair slick with pomade, and his small, matching blond bride beam like the midday sun. It seems as if the August heat doesn’t touch these pure people, these sunny good citizens about to embark upon a life of domestic bliss. I can’t help but dislike them.

“I do love a wedding, Vincie,” says Eugen. “A party of pretty people in church clothes all thinking about the consummation to come. Do you think he’s yet taken her, or will he force open the gates for the first time tonight?”

“No, I can tell by her stiff walk that she’s never ridden any way but sidesaddle.”

“It gives me a thrill to think of it,” says Eugen. “I wish I’d been the first to pluck your cherry.”

“But then I wouldn’t have been ripe enough for your taste.”

Eugen laughs and grabs my hand, kissing up my arm to the elbow before turning his attention back to the street.

“Wait,” I say. He stops the car and we continue to watch.

Another woman, who looks like the bride, stands at the top step, though by the glazed look in her eyes, she is far away. She wears a becoming though shapeless dress in pink crepe de chine and a matching cloche hat. She lifts one hand from the pink rose bouquet she holds low in front of her to wipe a tear from her eye.

“Look at that lovely, melancholy woman,” I say. “Is she sad that the bride, who must be her sister, is marrying first, or that things will never be the same between them? Does she pine for someone?”

“That’s the girl I told you about,” says Eugen. “The girl who stood at this very church in agony while the priest looked on.”

I touch my neck and feel a heat rising in it. She is exactly as I have imagined her. It is as if I’m watching my creation come to life, conjured by my pencil. I’m breathless.

“Oh, Eugen,” I whisper, “we must find out who she is.”

“Yes, my darling.”

The sad young bridesmaid suddenly notices us. Her glistening eyes catch mine, and I feel the force of the connection. It is broken only when Eugen drives away.

Minutes later, we park in front of the oculist’s shop. Eugen crosses the front of the car to open the door, and takes my hand to help me out. I look back down the street and see the wedding party far off, walking around the back of the church to the hall where they will celebrate. The bridesmaid is out of sight.

LAURA

The summer turned to fall, and I was mostly alone now that Marie was married, though she lived just down the street.

Everette didn’t want her working, and she agreed. She visited me, but while she was at the shop, she didn’t take up mending. Instead she made tea and drank it with gloved fingers. She told me news of Everette’s meetings and town gossip. I made her clothes—an endless array of new fashions for luncheons, dinners, awards ceremonies. Creating such a gorgeous new wardrobe for my sister while sinking into a shapeless wardrobe of my own felt like scratching a mosquito bite—momentarily satisfying but ultimately painful. As if to inflict further hurt on myself, I’d taken to using drab colors, cheap fabric, bland patterns. I told myself it was because the wardrobe was temporary, but I knew it reflected my guilt and what I thought I deserved.

Marie didn’t speak of my growing stomach. I wondered if she prayed my pregnancy would go away on its own, like Darcy’s. I knew it wouldn’t. I could feel the insistence of this child rooted deep inside me, this little being who twisted and poked about incessantly. I wondered if in-womb acrobatics had any relevance to disposition after birth. The thought made me cross myself.

I rarely ventured out now, and restricted errands to early morning or late evening and inclement weather. I asked for deliveries instead of picking up groceries. While at home, I listened to the music of the Jazz Age on my father’s radio, imagining what it was like to live in New York City and attend Follies shows in flapper dresses, wondering if I’d ever again experience life like that.

I was grateful for the arrival of the cool fall weather, which allowed me to wear a billowing coat to church. But I knew my time for hiding would soon end. I’d never seen a doctor about my pregnancy because I was terrified of word getting out. I’d never spoken to my lover about the child. After his recognition at the theater and the letter I’d left months ago, he’d never come to me. My bitterness grew like a tumor, engulfing my heart and silencing my tongue, and I wondered if my unease was what induced my child’s.

One September afternoon, Marie entered the shop flushed and smiling, clutching an envelope in her hand. “Agnes’ hospital ball!” she said, thrusting the mail at me.

I pulled the invitation from the heavy envelope and read the script cordially inviting Everette and Marie to a ball to benefit the new maternity ward of the hospital. Envy nearly blinded me, and I forced the invitation back in and shoved it at her.

“Are you trying to torture me?” I asked.

Marie’s face fell. “N-no. You’ll be invited too. Everyone from this town to Hudson will have an invitation, even the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay.”

I widened my eyes. “The bohemian poet? Agnes invited her?”

“Everette says Agnes may be a churchwoman, but she has no illusions about what makes the world go around. Millay’s husband is some kind of coffee-export heir, and the poet herself pulls in thousands a year. They are enormously wealthy.”

I thought of the poet on the mountain. In truth, I’d been thinking of her more and more often. I saw her the day of Marie’s wedding, and was arrested by her penetrating gaze. Since that afternoon, I’d had the strangest feeling that she and I shared a secret. I had also begun to envy her—a woman with her own income, living as she wanted, away from society. The idea held greater and greater appeal to me.

“And more good news,” said Marie, continuing in a breathless rush of excitement. “At Agnes and Darcy’s last ladies’ tea, many of the women spoke of how they want you to make their clothes for the ball. You’ll see a lot of orders coming in.”

I stiffened at Marie’s mention of the ladies’ tea. Agnes’ bimonthly gatherings were for married women only. There they discussed the town’s betterment, the latest books and fashions, and the state of the community. I was convinced that the meetings were excuses to gossip.

I gazed around the shop at the displays and racks I’d arranged, a maze of fabric samples, clothing, and patterns behind which I could hide while women came to me for various commissions. Most of them kept their measurements on file, so a simple discussion of material with a rack between us was all we needed. But a ball would require more specific measurements. I would not be able to hide.

In a flash of anger, I stood and leaned back, emphasizing my stomach.

“And just where should I put this while I pin material on the church ladies?” Marie stepped away, her face contorting with a disgust that made me ache. “Have you forgotten what’s going on here? I’m growing a bastard.”

She covered her mouth with her gloved hand. “I didn’t forget. I just thought—”

“What, that I could keep my secret forever?”

“No, it’s just that no one knows yet, and you do such a good job of hiding—”

“I can’t hide anymore.”

She stood there, dumb. My hands shook with frustration.

“Go,” I said. “I want to be alone.”

“I’m sorry,” said Marie. “I’m so sorry.” She lifted a handkerchief from her purse and daintily wiped her eyes before turning to leave.

Once she had gone, I locked the door and flipped the sign to
CLOSED
. I looked out at the busy town. Billy Winslow pushed a cart of groceries across the street for a delivery. Father Ash walked down the church steps, clutching his journal. Mrs. Perth moved along Main Street under a pile of books, her hair slipping from its confinement. Caroline Hagerty’s form darkened her front window.

I turned away and exited the back door to walk in the forest, alone.

•   •   •

I
pulled my cloak around me and hurried to the woods. I hadn’t seen a firefly in weeks, and the evening air had begun to hold the chill of autumn. Even the bugs had quieted, dulled by the change in temperature.

I turned over my anger at Marie, working myself into a state. She had changed since her marriage, and not for the better. Everette had effectively groomed her for a position as a political wife, just as I’d anticipated. Everette was always cordially polite to me, but he never let his eyes fall below my face. Marie invited me to dinner several times a month, and I marveled at the disturbing way both of them ignored my condition. What would they do once my secret was revealed?

My anger inevitably turned to my lover. How could he leave me alone like this? If he would just talk to me, somehow, I could have some peace, but his avoidance was the worst torture.

The shadows deepened around me, and I imagined the blackening of my heart. What kind of mother would this bitterness make me? What poison was I inflicting on my child, even before the baby was born?

I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand, and glanced over my shoulder. I suddenly had the feeling that I was not alone. My gaze darted over the path, and I saw shadows moving. I turned away, and hurried forward, thinking of the shortcut home, just around the bend. The unmistakable sound of a breaking stick came from behind me, and as I turned, I was shocked to see my lover. My heart lifted, and without thinking, I rushed to him, flinging myself into his arms. He felt stiff, and though he lifted his hands to my back, it felt less like passion and more like obligation. I stepped back and burned with embarrassment when I saw the pity on his face. He dropped his gaze to my stomach.

“Laura.”

Silence settled between us. It seemed an eternity passed before he finally spoke.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Not well, I’m afraid.” I struggled to keep my voice steady.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Why have you waited until now to seek me out?”

“Because I am a coward.”

“And do you think it pardons you to speak that out loud?”

“No. I deserve your hatred.”

“I wish I could hate you,” I said. “But I still love you, despite the fact that you are not worthy of my love.”

He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. His shoulders slumped and he looked broken.

“What do you want?” I said. “My forgiveness? I’m not capable of that right now. Do you want me to say I will be all right? I won’t. When the town finds out, I will be ruined. Do you want me to demand that you’ll support me in secret? I won’t. If you can’t give me yourself, I want no part of you or your money. Do you want me to hit you? Gouge out your eyes? I wish I could, but I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

My voice cracked. I was mortified to show my weakness to him, but I had no choice. As I stood there, I could see that he wanted to come to me. I could feel it burning in the space between us. But he would not, nor would he leave me.

“If you have nothing to say, go. Now. Forever.”

He stood immobile, like a man whose feet were submerged in cement blocks. I don’t know how long we faced each other like that, but it occurred to me that I didn’t want anything else to be on his terms. I also wanted to punish him.

I felt my active baby pushing in my stomach. With two steps I crossed to him, grabbed his hands, and forced them onto my belly. He felt the child, and cried freely. He tried to pull away, but I held his hands in place.

“When you try to sleep at night, don’t think of me. Think of this child. This is who you deny.”

After another moment, I released his hands and stormed past him, leaving him alone in his misery, shedding him like an old skin.

Later that night, I knocked on Marie’s back door, clutching a package. She let me in and embraced me.

“I’m so sorry for earlier,” she said. “Truly. I am a monster for not being more sensitive.”

Everette was in the parlor smoking and listening to the radio. I met his gaze briefly and turned back to Marie.

“Here.” I thrust the bag into her hands. “For the ball.”

She carried it over to the dining table, and slid out the golden flapper dress. She gasped. “Oh, Laura, it is exquisite.”

I lifted out the feathered headband and matching shoes.

“How did you? When?”

“I’ve had it for a while,” I said, keeping my voice flat. “It’s perfect for you. There’s just never been a good time to give it to you until now.”

She held it up to her body and hurried over to Everette. “Isn’t it grand?”

I heard a quiet sound of approval from him in the other room, and she ran back, placed the dress on the table, and hugged me.

•   •   •

VINCENT

I
am at the ball to benefit the hospital.

I consented to attend because Eugen begged. He couldn’t resist a chance to mingle at a party. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I might actually meet the woman—the sad bridesmaid—of whom I’ve thought often since the day I first saw her on the church steps. It made me happy to please Eugen, and I thought I’d throw him a bone before the deep winter isolation set in at Steepletop.

When we arrive, I begin looking for the woman I am destined to meet. In my search, my eyes find the most glorious fabric ever made into a dress, a golden feast for the eyes that must have been spun in heaven. When I see who wears it, my breath catches. It is the bride from the steps, now a full woman, on the arm of her husband, who looks at her the way a wolf eyes a rabbit.

I run my hands over the black velvet gown I picked up the last time we went to New York City, and feel greedy for what that woman wears. Eugen spots the oculist talking with a priest at the punch bowl, and I shoo him away to make conversation with the sad, sterile men. He can’t resist wounded animals. I want to be near that couple, who will ultimately lead me to my heart’s desire. Before Uge leaves me, I reach into his jacket and take a healthy gulp from his flask. Then I shove it into my handbag, and walk across the room.

Both of them spot me at the same time, and their eyes light. They know who I am. The man speaks first, while the woman looks me up and down. I resist the urge to reach out and stroke her.

“Miss Millay,” he says in a voice as slick as maple syrup. “Everette Clark. An honor.”

He lifts my hand and places a kiss on it, distracting me from his wife. He holds on a moment longer than etiquette would allow, and I give him the full power of my stare. I finger my hair, and he looks as if he wishes to pet its coppery softness, but instead, he pulls his wife closer to him and introduces her.

“My beautiful wife, Marie.”

I smile, enjoying the little adjective he uses to remind himself whom he is with. Honestly, men like him are too easy. I turn my attention to Marie, a golden goddess in this hall of fussy people, ripe as an apple who wants plucking.

I bow my head and give her a demure smile while she takes my hand. Her skin is warm and soft, and a faint blush colors her cheeks.

“A pleasure,” I say, leaning into her and inhaling her floral perfume. “I know you both.”

Marie’s blue eyes widen like a doll’s at my cheeky flirtation. I can see she is fascinated by me, though she is no doubt confused by the feelings I surely arouse within her.

“I drove through town on your wedding day, and I said to myself, I must know these pure, lovely people on the church stairs. I wonder if they’ll ever come to one of my parties.”

Marie giggles and looks down, bashful. The man comes alive.

“I’ve heard of your readings and parties,” he says. “You are quite the talk of the town, you know.”

“And aren’t you curious as to exactly why?” I ask.

He grins.

“One day, you will find out.” I reach into my handbag and take a long drink from my flask, feeling a drop of gin slide from the corner of my mouth. I use my tongue to lick it off, and nearly laugh aloud at the way the two of them stare. I hold the flask up to Marie. “Drink?”

She looks at Everette, a good wife seeking permission. He still stares at my lips, but I see an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

She looks back at me. “Not here,” she says. “Maybe sometime, at your house.”

He looks at her with surprise, and we share a laugh.

After a moment, Everette is called away by a group of suited men. Before he goes, he says to Marie: “Are you all right if I step away?” Is he afraid what will happen to her if he leaves her with me, or does he not want to miss a thing?

“Of course,” she says. He kisses her cheek and nods to me.