Rite of Passage (2 page)

We stood, playing out a scene from
Gatsby
. My companions were oblivious, untouched by the countrymen who’d paid dearly to maintain their opulent lifestyle. I thought of my brother, Michael, and what three years as a officer had done to him.

The Evanses’ home was spectacular, a grand estate covering acres of birch and oak groves, surrounded by undulating, manicured lawns. The complex dated to the turn of the century, insulated and private, a monument to those who’d benefitted from the recent World Wars. It rested on a secluded cove on the southern shore of Maine’s Lake Sebago, a freshwater sea spanning thirty miles.

The main house commanded a low rise, offering splendid views from all its long, east-facing windows. The somber, imposing architecture belied the welcoming interior. The main house had twenty-four rooms. The adjoining guest house offered another half-dozen, all fronted on the swimming pool and courtyard, which separated the main building from its companion. The massive complex embodied the confidence, hope, and arrogance of post-war America.

I stood nearby as Jon and his wife, Gretchen, called us to dinner. He surveyed the smoke-filled room, pudgy face dark and flushed, mumbling between clenched teeth, “Where is that girl, and why is she
always late?”

“She’ll be here soon, I’m sure. She’s been at the stables.” Gretchen paused. “Please. Be patient, Jon.” Her pleasant face showed concern. “You know what she’s been through.”

“She should move to the stables. Spends all her time there. I am so sick of hearing about poor—” Jonathan stopped. Three dozen pairs of eyes turned toward the entrance. I stood, interest piqued, hoping this tardy guest might be someone interesting. A vision materialized in the doorway, her striking face and figure framed by the massive arch.

“Good evening,” the young woman offered as she entered. I loved her accent. Formal and British, its subtle, delicate quality had elegance. The way she carried herself suggested breeding. She was incredible—part woman, part goddess. Electricity shot through me as her eyes caught mine and held them. My fatigue evaporated.

“My wife’s niece, Courtney Wellington.” Jonathan waved his arm. My
wife’s
niece. Odd choice of words. Like something out of another time, the young woman curtsied, reminiscent of a scene from Jane Austen. Some of the women returned the gesture. I held my breath, watching. The men let their eyes linger. It was difficult not to. Courtney was something to behold.

She wore a fitted white silk blouse, a dazzling multicolored scarf tied around her neck, and a snug, floor-length navy skirt. A silver pendant peeked from beneath her scarf. As she approached I noticed unusual engraving and a small, dark stone at its center.

“Robert, would you escort Courtney to her seat?” Gretchen gestured toward the far end of the table.

“My pleasure,” I agreed, moving to join her.

“Hello, Robert,” she whispered, eyebrows raised and nodding as she touched my arm. “I am late.” She shook her head, resuming her study of the Tabriz oriental covering the dark walnut floor. “It’s become a tedious habit of late.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Courtney.”

Her lips curled up for a moment. I hoped she might smile but was left in disappointment. The thick, warm air drifted through the open windows, holding the scent of lilacs and roses, competing with the exotic fragrance surrounding Courtney.

We’d spend the evening with men and women of stature. Too much wine spawning tales of the tragedy the last few decades had witnessed. We would hear how they had saved humanity while the world was held captive. I attended the reunion reluctantly, knowing it would give me a chance to see my brother. My father and Jonathan had been best friends. Despite the lack of a blood relationship, we had always been like family. I’d been absent for years. Why this striking young woman was here was a mystery. I promised to find out and make our evening as bearable as possible.

“I’m a friend of the family.”

“Yes, Robert, I know.” She nodded. “I saw you at the pool this afternoon.”

“Really?” I said, wondering how I could have missed her.

She shrugged.

Courtney was spectacular. Tall and slender, her dark brown hair shone, cascading over her shoulders. Her pale skin looked lustrous in the soft light from the chandelier. Large, dark eyes recalled images of a doe. They flanked a perfect, lightly freckled nose.

It began as she took my arm—the excitement, the wonderful, hollow feeling in my stomach. Energy flowed between us with that first touch. Courtney tightened her grip. I followed each graceful stride as she headed to her seat.

“I have no idea how I missed you,” I repeated.

“I can explain.” Her voice was soft and hypnotic. I could have listened to her all night. “Thank you, Robert,” she offered, inclining her head as she sat down. “I saw you from my window,” she confessed. “I’m on the second floor.” A smile emerged. It was subtle but radiant, the glow of dawn after a dark night. I glimpsed flawless white teeth. This was no young woman. Courtney was an angel masquerading as Gretchen’s niece.

“I see.” I nodded, taking the seat beside her.

Before I had the chance to continue, the woman on my left took my arm. She was forty, on her way to being drunk, and quite loud. Reluctantly, I turned, making polite conversation. Her breath smelled of wine and spicy canapés. I recalled Jon introducing us earlier. I did my best to answer her questions: Where did I come from?
Boston
. What did I do?
Harvard Law School in the fall
. How old was I?
Twenty-three.
I allowed the middle-aged woman a few minutes before turning to Courtney
again.

Just as I did, Jonathan stood unsteadily. “Ladies and gentlemen.” He tapped his glass, then raised it, directing it toward me. “I want to offer a toast to Everett McGregor. His son is seated at the far end of the table. As you know, Everett was my closest friend. I think of Robbie and his brother like sons. It’s been a while since they’ve favored us with a visit.” He took a swallow of cabernet. “Robert. I want to toast my dear departed friend, your father, and wish you and your family all the best. And rumor has it there may be wedding bells in the future.” He winked at me.

“Hear, hear,” the cry rang out in unison as everyone stood and drank, followed by a robust round of applause.

Conscience tugged. I thought of Rachel, my girl back in Boston, as I stared at the captivating young woman on my right. While not perfect, I thought myself loyal. I turned to see Courtney take a long swallow of wine, holding up her glass to have it refilled. She looked so young.

“Twenty-one next Friday, and I’ve been enjoying wine since I was twelve,” she said, reading my thoughts. I stared in amazement. I was about to ask her how she knew what I was thinking when she offered, “Congratulations, Robert. You must be very happy. Auntie never mentioned your wonderful news.” Her chestnut eyes grew dark and moist as she spoke. They had an opaque quality, changing from brown to green depending on the light. Turning, Courtney grew silent. She stared at the table, fidgeting with the flatware, scarcely touching her salad or the soup that followed.

Ambivalence consumed me. Rachel and I had discussed many things, but graduate school awaited—she to medical school and me to Harvard Law. We had no agreement. She was determined to become Mass General’s first female surgeon. Now, as I sat next to Courtney, my fidelity was being tested. “Jonathan shouldn’t have suggested I was engaged.”

She sat, wide-eyed, watching me, playing with her hair. For an instant her lips curled up slightly. I thought she might smile. Instead, she pushed her chair back.

“Excuse me,” she whispered as she stood, squeezing my shoulder as she passed. Turning, she offered a contrite, I’m-sorry look.

“Humph. I’ve never seen the like.” The woman next to me shook her head, scowling. “Spoiled, petulant girl.”

I didn’t hear any more. Courtney was gone. I sat, overcome by a sad, empty feeling. I’d known her less than an hour, but suddenly, it mattered. Mattered a great deal.

****

Many guests had gone to bed, dulled by wine, rich food, and the humidity. Bedrooms in the main house had the new room air conditioners that gave them respite from the heat. I tried not to think about Courtney, but she’d bewitched me. I had to know more.

“Ellen and I hadn’t been close since she married Duncan
,
” Gretchen explained, speaking the name as though it were profane. “I met him briefly when I went to fetch Courtney. He was cold and uncaring. Ellen and I hardly saw each other and seldom wrote. Courtney’s turning twenty-one next Friday.” She stopped, a faraway look crossing her face. “Ellen died in a riding accident this spring. She and Courtney were incredibly close.

“They lived on an estate,” Gretchen continued, patting her neck with a hanky. “In Gloucestershire. It was lovely but isolated.” Her eyes grew distant. “I only saw it once.” She shook her head. “Ellen was a wonderful horsewoman, a champion. According to the owner of the local stables, Courtney’s following in her footsteps.”

“And her family?” I asked.

“She’s an only child. Her father”—Gretchen stopped, jaw tightening—“travels a lot.” She forced a smile. “He and Courtney were never close. She had a nanny, a kind Scottish woman, a grandmother figure. But Ellen was Courtney’s world. That child worshipped my sister.”

“See you tomorrow.” Gretchen waved good night to a guest. “That man sent her here,” she continued.

“Why? She seems so shy and innocent. What has she done to deserve exile?” I protested.

“There was mystery surrounding Ellen’s death. Duncan may blame her. I don’t know.” Gretchen frowned. “I watched her with you, Robert,” she said, squeezing my arm. “This evening’s the first time she’s shown more than polite disregard in weeks. It might be an imposition, but could you spend time with her? You’re so close in age. I think she’d like that.”

I hesitated. “Me? Are you sure?”

“You could try.” She shrugged.

“I could,” I answered. “If you think it would help.” I pictured Rachel, remembering the touch of her hand, her lavish blond curls and hypnotic gray eyes.

“Be careful,” she warned. “Courtney’s lovely, brilliant, and desperately needs someone to be kind to her. I’ve tried. But I saw the way she looked at you.” Gretchen, smiled and touched my cheek. “I think you could be friends. But remember. She’s fragile, vulnerable.”

Gretchen turned, not finishing her thought. There was no need.

Chapter Two

It was past one when I walked through the courtyard toward my room in the guest house. My wrinkled dinner jacket hung over my shoulder. Bending over, I dipped my fingertips in the swimming pool, rubbing it on my forehead and neck. A hint of mist rose into the thick air. I was tempted to jump in fully clothed.

After my conversation with Gretchen, I challenged Jonathan to another game of billiards, hoping to discover more about Courtney. Her vulnerable look haunted me. When I mentioned her name, Jonathan stared, clearing his throat. “She’s beautiful, Robert. Also headstrong and aloof. Your father was like a brother to me, so be careful. Remember who you are.” It was a warning. “There’s more to her than you want to know,” he added. That was the end of it. I pressed the point without success.

“Do you know how lucky you are, my boy? We live in the greatest country in the world. We’re strong, resilient—the most awesome industrial giant in history.” He rounded the billiard table and slapped my back. “Your father knew that. Think of your opportunities. After Harvard Law, with your brains and social connections”—he nodded—“there’ll be no stopping you.”

“What about the Russians, Communism, the bomb?” I thought of my brother and the millions who never came home. “Didn’t we just ‘fight the war to end all wars’? Now we may have to do it all over again.”

“Russians, Communists. Fools. They snagged a few German scientists and think they’re our equal. Patton was right. We should have marched to Moscow. Put an end to them.” He shook his head. “Business, world trade, and the law. Stick with those and you’ll end up like your father did.”

I tried to absorb his wisdom. Jon and my father had taken a run-down factory and created the mighty corporate giant that had paid for this estate. It also put my father in an early grave. I thought about Rachel, her ambition, and my own. I pictured eighteen-hour days capped with too much alcohol and too little warmth. Was that what I wanted? Thinking about that sterile, loveless image, another came to mind: Courtney. Her face; the soft, hypnotic voice; the electricity when we touched. A mixture of guilt and excitement swept over me.

“May I use your phone?” I asked, remembering my promise to call Rachel. Perhaps hearing her voice would help. He showed me to his office and left, closing the door. After tapping the receiver several times the operator’s voice came through. “Number please.”

I gave it to her. After an endless delay, I heard Rachel’s voice, scratchy and distant.

“Robbie?” she whispered.

I’d awakened her.

“Sorry, Rach. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“What time is it?”

I looked at my watch. “About twelve -thirty.”

“It’s okay, but I’ve got to be in early this week.” She volunteered at Massachusetts General Hospital.

I was silent for a minute. “I just wanted to hear your voice.” And I did. To yank me back to reality. A reminder of that pleasant, satisfying existence Jonathan talked about.

“That’s sweet, but can we do this tomorrow?”

“Sure. Talk to you then.” I hesitated, adding, “Love you, Rachel.”

“Me, too,” she whispered and hung up.

I stood staring at the desktop. I had the world within my grasp. Why were these strange desires consuming me? I shook my head as I left the office, looking back at the phone. So much for intimate conversation.

****

Courtney dropped her sheer white robe on the fallen log and stood barefoot on the blanket of pine needles. Only a fragrant headband of jasmine leaves and holly remained. The sacred site stood secluded, out of sight of the estate, behind a stand of white pines and hardwoods that overlooked the lake. She inhaled deeply. The perfume of the neighboring forest greeted her, hanging in the thick, moist air.