The Sisters Montclair (36 page)

“I can’t stay much longer,” she said. “I have to be home before my parents get back from the barbecue. I told them I had a cold and they’ll expect to find me in bed.”

He set the bottle down carefully on the rock. “You could stay if you wanted to.”

She turned her head and put one hand up, shading her eyes. “I can’t. You know I want to, but I can’t.”

He stared at her until she closed her eyes, dropped her hand. “All this sneaking around is beginning to wear on me,” he said.

“You know it can’t be any other way.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Because your father thinks I’m a social-climbing rogue?”

“Because of my sister,” she said gently. But it was true, although she didn’t like to admit it, even to herself, that she couldn’t bear the thought of telling her father about him. She couldn’t bear the thought of her father’s disbelief, his stern and implacable disappointment.

A troubled look crossed Brendan’s face, followed quickly by an expression of sly exuberance. He sat up suddenly and, taking her hands, pulled her upright. “Marry me,” he said.

She stared into his face, into his eyes which were lit now by a look of expectation and something else – fear, perhaps, or wounded vanity. She smiled foolishly at him but said nothing.

He let go of her hands and rose and walked to the edge of the rock, taking the beer with him. He stood with his back to her, gazing down at the shaded pool, tipping his head to drink. She knew she had hurt him. There had been times, in her early daydreams, when she had imagined a life with him, scenes of ironic domesticity, wedded bliss, but as their passion grew, she had let go of those daydreams. It was the price she paid for her guilt, the knowledge that the affair would end and she would go on without him. It was the only thing that made these meetings possible; her acceptance that they must eventually stop. She could not hurt her sister. She could not disappoint her parents. To marry him was unthinkable.

And yet there was a part of her that, even now, stirred with subtle anticipation and selfish possibility. Staring at his wide back, the graceful narrowing of his hips, she thought,
Why not?

He leaned and began to collect his scattered clothes.

“We better get back,” he said. His manner had changed; he was suddenly brisk and business-like.

She stood and walked over to him, letting her hand rest for a moment on his shoulder. “Don’t be angry,” she said.

“I’m not angry.” He smiled down at her, pulled his shirt over his head. He had the air of a man who fears he has made a fool of himself and must compensate now by a show of measured indifference. They dressed in silence, their backs to each other. The sun had begun to sink above the distant ridge tops and the heat of the afternoon was dying down. Long shadows lay across the pool. The day, which had begun so bright and promising, had turned dim, oppressive. Alice shivered as she buttoned her dress. She hoped her parents had not returned from the barbecue. The last thing she wanted on this day, of all days, was a scene with her mother.

He said, “There’s a place I want you to see.” He tucked his shirttail into his trousers. His face and neck above his white collar were burned red by the sun. “Have you ever heard of the McGuire Farm?”

She ran her fingers through her wet hair. “Of course I have.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“Once. When I was small.”

“I’ll take you.” He stepped into his shoes and leaned to tie the laces. “When we first moved here from Kansas, my father was the caretaker. The family had moved into town but they still used the Big House on special occasions, and my father and I lived in the caretaker’s cabin in the back. I still have a key.”

“Won’t they mind?”

He rose slowly and looked past her at the pool. “No. I’ll ring Frank McGuire to make sure it’s okay.”

“All right.” She was glad there was no more talk of marriage. Glad and a little disappointed, too, that he’d given up so easily. “When will we go?”

“Sometime next week.” He continued to stare at the water, his eyes narrowed, considering. His dark hair curled wetly above his ears. “You’ll like it there,” he said. “It’s the best spot in the valley for looking at the night sky.”

And without touching her again, he leaned and picked up the pail, and started slowly up the path.

Alice managed to arrive home before her family got back from the barbecue. She hurried to her room, undressed, and climbed into bed, quickly drinking the chamomile tea that Nell had left on her bed stand. She was sitting up in bed reading when there was a faint knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Laura entered, dressed in a faded housecoat and a pair of old slippers, her dark blonde hair hanging limply around her face. She was carrying a book in her hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Rested. Although a bit feverish.”

“Oh? Shall I call mother?”

“Please don’t.”

Laura smiled, advancing slowly into the room. In the lamplight she looked pretty, but pale.

Alice said, “How was the barbecue?”

“Horrible. Mother seems determined to throw me at the Timmons boy.”

“Oh God.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Alice grinned. “Well, it’s nice to know she’s taking a rest from throwing me at Bill Whittington.”

“Oh, she hasn’t given up on Bill. She still fancies him for a son-in-law.”

They could hear their father’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. The wide central staircase carried sound easily from the floor below. He walked down the long hallway and into his room, closing the door behind him. Faintly, in the distant reaches of the house, they could hear their mother’s shrill voice.

Alice looked at Laura. “She isn’t coming up, is she?”

“Not for awhile. She’s planning the menu with Nell.” Laura made a wry face. “The Timmons are coming for dinner next Friday.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yes. Lucky me.” Laura sat down on the edge of the bed. She held the book out with both hands.

Alice took it. “
Anna Karenina
,” she said, turning it over carefully to look at the spine.

“Have you read it?”

“Yes. Well, no. I got through War and Peace and that was enough Tolstoy for me. What’s it about?”

Laura hesitated, regarding her mildly. “Love,” she said.

“Love?” Despite her sister’s mild expression, Alice could feel her face warming.

“Unrequited love.”

“Oh.” She set the heavy book down on her lap.

The tinny roar of the radio reached their ears. Adeline was in the library below, no doubt listening to
The Adventures of Gracie
, her favorite show. Laura turned her head, listening. Alice put a hand out and tucked her sister’s hair gently behind one ear. “Laura, are you all right?”

She gave Alice a brief, piercing smile. Dark crescents bloomed beneath her eyes. “Well enough,” she said.

“The new medication seems to make you tired.”

“Oh, yes. Very sleepy. I sleep all the time but I don’t have dreams. Isn’t that odd?”

“Have you mentioned it to the doctor?”

“Yes. But he says I shouldn’t worry. He says I shouldn’t worry about anything.”

“Well, he probably knows best.”

“I suppose so.” She stared down at her lap. After a moment she glanced up at Alice, her eyes grave, questioning. “But what good is sleeping if you can’t dream?”

There was nothing Alice could say to this. Below her, she could hear Adeline’s unruly laughter in the library, followed by the voice of their mother as she joined in.

Laura seemed to be struggling with something, some interior motive that flickered for a moment across her face, and was gone. After a brief interval she said, “Are you still planning your escape to New York?”

Alice shifted the book in her lap. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I’m beginning to think I might need to stay home for awhile. You know, to look after mother and father. They’re not as young as they once were. Father’s cough is no better than it was at Christmas.”

“But Clarice is already there? She’s written to you?”

Alice frowned, trying to remember how Laura would know this. She knew because she’d told her. Weeks ago, on a night with Brendan when she’d come home giddy with happiness, and had felt a need to share that happiness with Laura. A small confession, a consolation prize.

“It seems childish now.” Alice ran her fingers carefully over the cover of the book, tracing the gilt lettering. “Those daydreams of running away. Something a girl might do but not a young woman.”

Laura’s face fell. “Oh?” she said.

“I may still go,” Alice said quickly. “When the time is right.”

“Yes,” Laura said. “When the time is right.”

“And of course, if I go, you’re welcome to come with me,” Alice said, placing the book carefully on the bed.

Laura smiled. “Of course.”

She looked so pale and forlorn that Alice leaned and put both arms around her. Beneath her sister’s unnaturally plump skin she could feel her bones, as light and hollow as a bird’s.

“You can keep the book,” Laura said. “I don’t want it back.”

Alice pulled away, holding Laura’s hands and staring into her averted face. The faint, sweet scent of Laura’s perfume settled over her. “Laura,” she said.

“I want you to have it. It’s a gift.”

“Laura.” Alice tugged at her hands, trying to get her sister to look at her. “Is something wrong?”

Laura slowly turned her head. She gave Alice a long, searching look. “Your face is ruddy.”

Alice let go of her. “No doubt from the fever.”

“No doubt,” Laura said.

The approval from Frank McGuire seemed to take longer than expected, and it wasn’t until a starry evening in early August that Brendan and Alice set out for the McGuire Farm. Alice had told her mother she was attending a house party. Unlike previous occasions, her mother had asked a lot of questions, wanting to know where the party was, and who was going to attend, and what time Alice would be home. She and Mr. Montclair were attending a dinner party that evening.

“Be home by one o’clock,” her mother said in a mildly threatening tone. “Your father will be waiting for you.”

Her mother’s suspicions were to be expected given Alice’s recent cavalier behavior, the fact that she spent nearly every evening out, but had not had a male escort in nearly three weeks. Or at least one that they knew about. It was only natural that Mrs. Montclair would begin to question Alice’s movements. Or maybe someone had seen her and Brendan together, and had called and reported it to her mother. This seemed the more unlikely scenario. Alice felt certain that if her parents knew she was seeing Brendan Burke, they would have immediately tried to put a stop to it.

She didn’t care. As each week went by her desire to see him, to be seen with him, became more and more compelling. Her parents finding out about them, the violent confrontation that would most certainly follow did not frighten her now. It would be almost a relief to confess. She was as tired of sneaking around as he was.

He had not asked her again to marry him. Not since that day at the Blue Hole. And perhaps because he hadn’t asked, she had begun to contemplate it. What was so unsuitable about him? True, he hadn’t gone to the right schools, he hadn’t been to college, and although he dressed well, there was a crude, rough edge to him, a hint of rash insecurity. But he was a capable, intelligent, hard-working young man determined to rise in the world, and many family fortunes had been built on such men. If the country club would accept him, surely her friends and family would, too. Eventually.

And as for Laura, well, she was young. She would see that they could not help what had happened, she would forgive them both and go staunchly on with her life, no doubt falling in love with someone else before the summer was even over.

It was around nine o’clock, a warm, sultry evening when they set out. The McGuire Farm was north of the city, set back from the road across wide rolling fields. When they reached it, Brendan pulled off the asphalt and stopped the car. In the distance, the white columns of the old house glistened in the moonlight. Brendan lit a couple of cigarettes and they sat for awhile with the windows down, smoking quietly and listening to the rhythmic chanting of insects. From this angle the house seemed smaller than Alice remembered.

“I was out here once for a party,” Alice said. “I went to school with Ava McGuire. I don’t remember the house much but I do remember swimming in the pool.”

Brendan said nothing, but tossed his cigarette out the window and started the car. They pulled slowly into the road and then took a left at a narrow sandy lane leading up to the house. An iron gate blocked the way and Brendan got out, leaving the car running. He unlocked the padlock, swinging the gate wide. They drove slowly through the gate and down the lane, flanked by rows of arching oaks. Insects, attracted by their headlights, swarmed the front of the car. A small, brown rabbit darted across the road. The trees ended suddenly and the house was visible again across a wide field, more impressive now that they were so close. They pulled into the graveled circular drive in front and stopped. The four white columns of the house were massive. Above the fan-lit front door, a small cantilevered balcony hung suspended from the second floor like an opera box. With the lights of the city behind them, the night sky was clearly visible. Pale clouds drifted like ghosts above the darkened house.

“When I was a boy, I used to stand here in the moonlight and vow that one day this house would be mine.”

She smiled, trying to imagine him as a boy.

He tilted his head, giving her a cynical look. “The McGuires, unfortunately, are a large family and somehow I doubt they’ll ever sell the place.” She could see his features clearly in the slanting moonlight. He gazed at her, his expression fierce, proud. “I won’t have this house but I’ll have one like it.” He said this as if they’d been arguing and he was trying to make a point. Alice, sensing that she should say nothing, stayed quiet. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, ran his hand once around its circumference. “The McGuires were thieves you know. There’s not a single prominent family that doesn’t have at least one thief or murderer in their family tree.” She said nothing and he looked at her again and went on. “This house was built originally by a Cherokee chief. The Glass. They say he had a hundred slaves and over five thousand acres of rich bottomland and a house full of china and crystal that came from England. But that didn’t stop old Andrew Jackson from forcing him West during the Indian Removal. It didn’t keep greedy adventurers like the McGuires from moving onto Cherokee lands and stealing everything they could get their hands on, including this place.”