I Still Dream About You: A Novel (39 page)

“What?”

“Goodbye, Hector,” she said and then hung up and felt quite good about it. She had actually said what she had been thinking for years, and she didn’t seem to regret it one whit or even care what he thought. What a wonderful feeling that was. As she ate her waffles, she had another thought. While she was at it, she might just call that late-night television host and tell him she didn’t appreciate his ugly little remarks about beauty queens either.

But on second thought, she decided against it. She had the rest of her life to say exactly what she thought. There would be plenty of time for everything. How thrilling was that?

S
EVERAL DAYS LATER
, the most amazing thing happened. Maggie had run out to the cleaners to drop off a few things and was headed back to her car when she heard someone call her name. When she turned around to look, she saw that it was Jennifer Rudolph, who she had not seen since the fifth grade. After they hugged and chatted a moment, Jennifer said, “Oh, Maggie, I was always so proud of you. You are the most famous person I ever knew. I always brag and tell my kids I went to school with Miss America, and are they impressed.”

Maggie felt her old shame rising up and said, “Well, you know, honey, I wasn’t Miss America.”

Jennifer looked surprised. “You weren’t?”

“No, I wish I had been, but I was only the second runner-up.”

“Really? Oh well, who cares—you’ll always be Miss America as far as I’m concerned.” Then she laughed. “Honey, it’s like the Oscars; after so many years, nobody ever remembers who won, just who was nominated.”

After they said goodbye, Maggie was still amazed by what Jennifer had said. Jennifer clearly hadn’t cared, one way or the other, if she had won or not. Good Lord, had her not winning really been that unimportant? Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Wouldn’t it be a relief not to dread running into old friends again? She suddenly began toying with the idea of calling a few people just to say hello. A few years ago, the Miss Alabama people had asked her to be one of the
judges in the state pageant, and she had declined; but maybe if they asked her again, she would reconsider. She might even go to the next ex–Miss Alabama reunion. Life was so odd; only two days ago, she had felt just like the last fox-trot on the
Titanic
 … but today, it was full speed ahead!

T
HE DAYS FLEW BY, AND SPRING BECAME PRETTIER AND PRETTIER
. Ever since that Easter morning, something had shifted a little for Maggie; a small shift, but still a big one for her. It had happened so gradually that at first she hadn’t noticed, but then one day, it suddenly dawned on her. That old gray dread that she used to feel when she woke up was not there anymore, and as strange as it seemed (for her, at least), she hardly ever worried about things anymore. And what a relief that was. Of course, nothing was perfect; she still had all the same old shortcomings that she had been struggling with for years. But in the past few weeks, Maggie had realized something that had never occurred to her before. She didn’t have to be perfect. Yes, she had made a lot of mistakes in the past and she would probably make many more in the future, but it wasn’t the end of the world. And okay, so she was still just a little bit stuck in the fifties. She enjoyed seeing reruns of
I Love Lucy
and hearing a pretty song every now and then. She still cried when they played the national anthem. Maybe she was too old-fashioned, but she still loved celebrating the Fourth of July and seeing the Thanksgiving parade and watching the same old Christmas movies on television each year … but so what? As she had found out the hard way, life was too short to be unhappy about anything. Hazel had been right all along. She’d said, “I don’t
have time to be unhappy; I’m having too much fun being alive.” And Maggie agreed. She wasn’t thrilled about having to go back to the gym two days a week, but she had signed up for a cooking class that she was enjoying very much. She had taken up her harp lessons again and was learning the song “Blue Skies” in honor of Hazel. With so many new things going on, Maggie had mostly forgotten about her quest to solve the mystery of the Scottish twins. Even the unstoppable Miss Pitcock had finally been stopped. She had just faxed Maggie and informed her that she had reached the end of all available information in the British archives, or anywhere else in the world for that matter. Maggie immediately faxed her back and thanked her profusely for all the good work she had done.

M
AGGIE WAS SURE
that if Miss Pitcock couldn’t find any more information, there wasn’t any, but when Maggie got into bed that night, she found herself thinking about Edward and Edwina Crocker once again. Of course, now she would never know for sure who Edwina really was, but having seen her photograph taken at Buckingham Palace, and considering the uncanny family resemblance, she was convinced, birth certificate or not, that Edwina really was Edward’s sister and
not
his mistress as she had once suspected. Besides, now that she thought about it, Edwina never would have been given the title of Lady Edwina Crocker if she hadn’t
really
been a Crocker. The British wouldn’t have made a mistake like that in a million years. But still … it was odd that there was no record of birth for a person as important as Edwina. Oh well, it would just have to remain unsolved. Maggie rolled over and turned off the light.

At around two
A.M.
, Maggie suddenly sat straight up in bed and said, “Oh, my God.” Why hadn’t she seen it before? It was as obvious as the nose on her face. No wonder Edward and Edwina had never been photographed together and Miss Pitcock had never been able to find a birth certificate for Edwina. There was no Edwina Crocker. There never had been. Edward and Edwina were the same person! Of course. The two sets of clothes in the trunks had both belonged to Edward.

At last, it all made perfect sense. Edward Crocker had been a cross-dresser. He had lived as a woman in London and as a man in Birmingham. No wonder he had never introduced Edwina to any of his friends. He couldn’t. Oh, that poor man. How Edward must have suffered all those years, trying to keep it a secret. Well, bless his heart, he needn’t worry about anyone finding out. His secret was safe with her. She didn’t need to tell anyone. But she did feel relieved to know that she was obviously not as dumb as she’d thought. She had solved the mystery of the Scottish twins. She had finally figured out the real story.

M
AGGIE HAD NO
way of knowing it, but she was dead wrong. That was not the real story at all. There had been only four people in the entire world who knew the real story: Angus, the father; a doctor; Nurse Lettie Ross; and, of course, Edwina. The only other living creature who knew the
real
story was the fly on the wall that day in 1884, when it all began.

T
HE DAY EDWARD CROCKER WAS BORN, THE DOCTOR IN ATTENDANCE
was jubilant. His patient had just given birth to twins, a boy and a girl. Nurse Lettie Ross ran to the top landing upstairs and announced to Angus, waiting below, the good news: his wife had given him the son he wanted and a daughter.

But an agonizing hour later, the weary doctor came down the stairs and slowly walked down the long hall to the study, dreading the task at hand. Angus Crocker was a man he had wanted to please. He needed a benefactor, and if all went well, Angus had promised that he would build him a hospital. But all had not gone well. Due to unforeseen complications, he had lost the mother, and the weaker twin had died soon after.

Sometime later in the evening, after all the servants had been sent home, the young nurse was called down to the study, and the door was closed behind her. No one knows how much money was exchanged or what was said, but in the middle of the night, a baby was wrapped in blankets and taken away, and by morning, the baby that lay in the cradle upstairs was named Edward, and the word “male” written on his birth certificate. The doctor got his hospital, and the young nurse had a position for life. With the death of Angus’s wife, there would never be another child with both Crocker
and Sperry blood. Half-mad with grief and half-mad with power, Angus had made a deal with the devil that night.

There would be a Crocker son. Not the one he had hoped for, but this child would carry on as best it could. What if there were sacrifices? Hadn’t he sacrificed to create an empire? Hadn’t its mother died bringing it into the world? This child would be made to understand that this was the only choice. A female child was not a blessing to a wealthy man; a female was a liability. Who knows, down the line, what fortune hunter could come along, marriage laws being what they were; and after Angus’s death, this stranger could gain total control of the Crocker-Sperry holdings. Hadn’t he done the same thing? Angus was not about to give away his life’s work to some unknown thief or scoundrel looking to steal another man’s fortune. It could happen. And by God, this child would understand that it was for her own good that it was done. The child would thank him one day.

After the funeral of his wife, Angus wanted to get as far away as possible from the place that held such painful memories. He sold all the company’s holdings in Scotland, and as soon as the child could travel, father, nurse, and baby sailed for America and, upon arriving in New York, boarded a private train headed to Birmingham. Acting on a tip from his friend and fellow Scot Andrew Carnegie, in Pittsburgh, Angus had purchased thousands of acres of land he intended to develop into the largest coal, iron, and steel company in the South.

Lettie Ross, the young nurse, knew that the bargain she had made was ungodly, but she had eight younger brothers and sisters and a sick mother who would be saved from the grinding poverty of the poor working class. With her salary, there would be money for doctors, food, warmth, and education for her brothers and sisters. Maybe she would go to hell for what she had agreed to, but it was a small price to pay for an entire family’s salvation. And the child in her care would want for nothing, other than being deprived of its natural gender; but as far as Lettie was concerned, that was also a small price to pay. Given a choice, what female wouldn’t want to live as a male? Males were free to move about the world as they chose;
males could vote; they could not be beaten by their drunken husbands like her poor mother. But most of all, this child would never be forced to submit to a man for anything, the way she had been. When the child came of a certain age, she would make her understand that what had been done was for her own good. The child would thank her someday.

As the years passed, she began to see what a lonely, unhappy life the little girl was leading. When she was sixteen, it was Lettie Ross who first came up with the idea of Edwina. And what fun it turned out to be: all the trips to London, shopping for clothes. A few years later, a townhome in Mayfair was purchased, and the grand deception began. In June of 1912, Miss Edwina Crocker, twin sister of Edward, was launched into London society, and Lettie Ross was happy. For once, the girl could be who she really was, and although it would only be for a few months once a year, it would provide some relief from the tremendous burden of having to be Edward the rest of the year. When her father, Angus, had died, she had taken over the family interests and was now in charge of all the Crocker companies. It was quite a responsibility, with little time for fun. Edwina cherished the months she spent in London: her friends, the parties. There was even a time when Edwina fell in love and entertained the idea of giving up the charade forever. But by then, it was too late. The revelation would have caused too much of an uproar, and the scandal might have destroyed the company. She had hundreds of employees’ welfare to think about, so although she loved him, she said goodbye to the young man. But there was another reason she did not give up her life as Edward and marry. Unlike most women, Edwina had felt what it was like to have power, to be a male in society. And once having tasted that power, she was not willing to give it up, even for love.