Love Lies Bleeding (8 page)

“Frank, you know Mom did the best she could with all of us. I think she was trying to make up for the inferiority complex she got when she was young, but there’s always been this inherent sadness about her. It’s hard to describe. I’m not sure why she can talk about all that happened with Grandpa and his drinking but she can’t talk about Aunt Libbie. I figure she said or did something that she feels so guilty for, she still can’t talk about it. Don’t you think? I mean, I know she loved Aunt Libbie, but Mom felt a good deal of resentment for her while she was around. If you ask me, they must have had a hell of a fight before Libbie disappeared, and Mom blames herself for what happened. For so long, she didn’t know. You’ve discovered that her sister has been dead all this time. She must feel responsible. Now more than ever.”

Chapter Ten

Ithaca, New York
June 1916

L
ibbie and Olive separated at Aurora Street, as they had so many times in the past, and then Libbie continued on to her house on Seneca Street.

The home of DeWitt Clinton Morgan was a Second Empire-style affair, elegant as befit an upstanding attorney of the Finger Lakes. One of the most impressive on a street full of impressive homes, it was painted a deep, dark grayish blue with shingles several shades darker and black shutters with pale cream trim. Its location afforded it a sweeping view of the surrounding area, including Cornell’s campus. A widow’s walk adorned the top floor and provided Libbie’s sister Maude with a favorite spot to sit with a book and a cup of tea. Three large oaks stood at attention on the verdant front lawn, joined by several sunny forsythia bushes.

Pleasant days like today found Harriett Morgan outside, clipping flowers for a bouquet to be placed on the oak sideboard in the dining room. She made her way through the beds, selecting peonies, roses, and irises and inhaling their fragrance. George the Newfoundland observed her as he relaxed on the soft grass.

When Mr. Morgan had succeeded in his career, he had chosen the most regal-looking dog possible, not realizing the trail of drool that George would leave in his wake. By the time he saw his mistake, his young daughters had fallen so much in love with the dog, there could be no talk of sending him to a farm in the country to live. The dog, and the drool, remained.

As George saw Libbie approach, he let out a deep, joyful bark and ran to meet her along the sidewalk. She leaned down to embrace him so he wouldn’t knock her over with his immense size.

“Hello, my darling,” she gushed, burying her face in the soft fur of his broad, fluffy neck. She earned a delighted tongue bath over her nose in reply.

“Libbie, you’re home,” her mother said.

Mother and daughter shared a perfunctory hug, and then Libbie took a delicate embroidered handkerchief out of her small bag and dabbed at her nose.

Harriett Bardwell Morgan wasn’t intentionally cold, only formal. She had been raised to be an attorney’s wife. She was still a classic beauty at fifty-two, with high cheekbones and a perfect complexion. The gray had come to her hair, but it was a shade of steel that set off her blue eyes. Libbie and Maude were the only two of her four children who had survived childhood. The two little boys had never even made it past four years old.

“Stand back and let me see the new hat, dear.” Her mother watched as Libbie cocked her head to model it. “It’s lovely,” she said. “I shall have to ask the milliners for one like it.”

“Mother, I’m a bit tired. I’m going to my room,” Libbie said, giving George’s head another affectionate rub.

“All right, Libbie. Juliana is working on dinner. It’ll be an hour or so. Your sister is in the parlor. And remember that the younger Mr. LaBarr will be here for dinner this evening. Please take a little extra care with your appearance. You know your father and I have worked hard for this match.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Libbie let herself in the front door. The polished floorboards were awash with a mosaic of colors from the stained glass panel over the front door.

“Maude?”

“In here, Libbie,” Maude called. She was nestled into the cushions on the divan reading. Seeing Libbie, she set aside her copy of
The Secret Garden
.

“I like the new hat. What did you do today? Anything exciting?”

Libbie tilted her head to show off her purchase. “In addition to the hat, Olive and I went and saw
The Perils of Pauline
and had lunch. I’m exhausted. I’m going to freshen up before dinner.”

“Libbie…you know Stephen LaBarr is coming for dinner tonight, don’t you?” Maude asked, even her wheedling tone an irritation.

“Yes, Mother told me,” Libbie said, already turning in the direction of the stairs.

Libbie knew Maude was sweet on him, and she crinkled her nose. LaBarr was a nice enough sort, but he was just like her father. Dull dull dull. All they could talk about was contracts and civil discourse and judges and attorneys. It bored Libbie to tears. But she knew that LaBarr was the best match in town for her. A marriage to him would keep the law firm a family endeavor and her future comfortable. She could overlook boring dinner conversation if it kept her living in this neighborhood, with servants and the fine cuisine she was so used to. Maude had plenty of other suitors. Not as rich, of course, but she’d be fine. She was an idiot to want to marry for love.

“I just wondered if I might be able to sit next to him this once. He’s so attractive. I find him fascinating. Mother and Father like him so much, and so do I—”

Libbie cut her off. “You little fool,” she laughed. “Mother and Father like him because he’s going to become partner one day, and they are grooming him to marry me.”

“But you don’t even like him, Libbie. It’s not fair,” Maude protested. Stephen LaBarr was one of the most attractive men in town, and his prospects were excellent. It was obvious that he planned on courting Libbie if she would have him. On the other hand, Libbie’s discouraging him would allow him to see all the wonderful qualities that Maude herself possessed.

“Don’t be a ninny,” Libbie said. “I’ll marry him if that’s what Mother and Father want. Besides, do you see me saying goodbye to all that wonderful money he’s going to earn? I may have to have lots of babies and play the part of the rich socialite, but I’ll have a cook and a maid and servants to help me. There’s no way I’ll settle for some middle-class accountant. You can do that if you like.”

“But Libbie….” Maude’s eyes welled up.

Libbie climbed the stairs to her room. Sometimes she felt bad about taunting Maude. She just wished that her sister would grow a backbone. She grasped the knob and retreated inside, turning the key in the lock as she did. Her chamber was a calming space, with flounced white spread and canopy and Turkey carpets on the floor in various shades of teal, gold, white, and crimson.

At her dressing table, she grasped the hatpins that held the new hat onto the artful upsweep of her hair. She placed them in a dainty porcelain dish on the vanity and lifted the hat off with a gentle motion. Then she set it on a nearby hat stand. After gazing at the postcard for a moment, she placed it back in the sack and slipped it into the top drawer.

She thought about the boy from this afternoon, knowing it would be impossible not to see him again. When she’d gazed at him, she knew the feelings were unlike any she’d had about boys in the past. Flirting was what she did best. She had mastered it and cared little for the subjects of the fawning words and coy glances. This boy was different. What was his name again? Tom. That was it. She had felt the same thing when she gazed at the postcard of the naked woman. It was something a little thrilling and forbidden. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew she wanted more.

She undid the buttons on her shirtwaist, then pulled it off and laid it aside on the bed. She pushed the straps of her chemise aside and caressed her skin the way she imagined the soiled dove might do. She had no idea what had gotten into her the last few months, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own. She was consumed by the pleasure of her own touch. She wondered if any other girls her age ever bucked the tenets of the church and committed sins of the flesh. If lust was so sinful, why did it have to feel so good? She loved imagining what it might be like if she was with someone as attractive as that Tom person. LaBarr was handsome, but dead boring. She imagined his lovemaking would be staid and methodical. On the other hand, she figured Tom had some experience with easy farm girls, in haystacks or wherever they did those types of things. She imagined how he might touch her and how she might have some fun before marriage to LaBarr ended all that. She knew she’d have to host numerous dinner parties for other boring lawyers and their horsey-faced spouses, keep a spotless home, and raise beautiful children. But until then, she was free to find out what youth was good for. Closing her eyes, she determined to find out more about Tom Estabrook.

Downstairs, their maid Juliana announced dinner with the tinkling of a small bell. Libbie opened her vanity drawer and took one last look at the woman in the photograph before collecting herself. Then she changed into a dinner frock and wove some ribbon through her hair in a dramatic upsweep. After dabbing some lilac toilet water on her wrists and neck, she flounced down the stairs.

Outside the Morgan home, Stephen LaBarr stepped out of his Town Car. He had always known DeWitt Morgan to be a respectable gentleman. DeWitt Morgan could teach him even more than his father about law. Working with both of them would be a splendid opportunity. However, the idea of courting and marrying Morgan’s stunning oldest daughter appealed to Stephen even more.

He was let in by Juliana, then accosted by George the Newfoundland. He gave the dog several ebullient head scratches and a playful ear ruffle, which evoked a series of contented grunts and groans. Juliana took Stephen’s light spring coat and ushered him into the parlor.

“Wait here, sir,” she said. “George, would you like some meat?” At the word “meat,” George’s ears perked up, and he happily followed her back to the kitchen.

The first word that came to mind when one saw Stephen LaBarr was distinguished. He had all the good looks his father had once embodied in his prime, combined with the intelligence of his mother and her forebears. Marguerite LaBarr was descended from senators and statesmen who had left their mark in New York since the Revolution. She expected great things from her son.

His chestnut-colored hair swept across his forehead, and small round spectacles balanced on an elegant Roman nose. His clothing was well-tailored and expensive, as befitted a son of the upper classes. Everything about him screamed respectability and charm. The old leather of his satchel, the lather of his herbal shaving cream, and the light clove of his toilet water melded to lend him the scent of a true gentleman.

Several photos sat on the mantelpiece, but the one that captured his attention the most was of Libbie. Her father loved bragging of her beauty, her academic record, her dreams of attending William Smith’s, her quick wit… It was obvious how beloved she was. Her sister, in a photo nearby, was also attractive, but her eyes lacked the spark that made Libbie stand out. He had seen many beautiful women in his academic career so far, but few could compare. Many of those he’d met tended to be a bit too serious about their studies; doubtless, they had suffrage ideas and would soon become old maids because of their “loftier goals.” He subscribed to the fact that women were happier in a domestic setting, caring for babies and keeping a home such as this one. Elizabeth doubtless would become a perfect helpmate. Teaching or nursing was acceptable for the year or two before marriage, and then a bride was expected to give up her job to keep a home and raise children. Libbie would of course do the same. He could see her on his arm at the nearby society soirees and, if all proceeded according to plan, perhaps in Albany, where he planned to run for governor eventually. She would make a perfect governor’s wife. Perhaps he would campaign for the senate. Maybe even the presidency lurked in his future. His horizons were wide open.

“Good evening, Stephen. It’s so wonderful to see you again,” said Harriett Morgan as she entered the parlor.

“Mrs. Morgan, what a distinct pleasure. And how lovely you look this evening.” He took her hands and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Please come this way. The girls should be down in a moment,” she said, leading him into the dining room.

They were still talking as Libbie descended the stairs.

“Guess I’ll have to get used to those lawyers’ hours too,” he was saying.

“I’m sure you’re up to the task,” Harriett said. She was brimming with excitement, willing this to work. Harriett always talked about what a perfect match it was. Never mind if Libbie even liked the fellow.

“Harriett?!” boomed from the front hallway as DeWitt Morgan returned home.

“I’m in here, Father,” she called, “and we have a guest.”

“Ah yes,” he said, taking off his overcoat and bowler and entering the parlor. “Young LaBarr. Juliana!”

In her usual quiet manner, their servant appeared. He handed the coat and hat to her as he crossed the room to greet Stephen.

“How are you, Stephen, my boy?” he said, offering him a hand.

“I’m more than adequate, sir,” Stephen joked, giving his hand a hearty shake. “And yourself?”

“Dreadful,” Morgan replied, launching into a diatribe against the legal profession that vexed him daily.

Straightening her skirt, Libbie swept down the staircase with a flourish, and Maude followed a step or two behind. Her pretty but plain embroidered lace dress with ribbon sash made her look positively drab next to her sister. Libbie’s dress was a peacock blue tunic over a longer skirt, simple and elegant, with very little adornment. Her hair was drawn into a dramatic upsweep, with a ribbon of the same color twisted through the curls. The teal color complemented her eyes, causing them to dance with an inviting glow.

Behind Libbie, Maude entered the parlor. Once again Libbie took center stage.