Wolf Moon Rising (36 page)

gathering crowd. A woman screamed. Th

e overweight man who

had been sobbing was lying on the fl oor, the gun still in his

hand and a large section of his face blown away.

Th

e champagne whirled in David’s brain, and he stumbled

back outside to look for Jackie. Somehow he had to fi nd a way

for them to escape this place. It was more dangerous here than

he had suspected. Why had he started the car and then driven it

so recklessly? Was Jackie right when she said they had to follow

the clues? He thought of the gypsy. Was she trustworthy? Did

the paint er actually live in the tower?

Once again, he thought of climbing the stairs but decided to

fi rst fi nd Jackie. His heart tumbled when he saw her in front of

the orchestra, swaying to the music, a glass in her hand. She was

obviously intoxicated, but she seemed happier than he had ever

seen her. When the beat picked up, she began another fl ailing

attempt at the Charleston, tripping over herself and laughing.

Just then the young Elizabeth dashed across the dance fl oor

and pulled Jackie aside, speaking to her with surprising inti-

macy. She wore the same pale gown fashioned from layers of

fringe that fl oated on the night air, and a long sting of pearls that hung almost to her hemline. Her hair was a golden cap of wave-lets and her eyes were fl ecked with fi re. She tugged at Jackie’s simple dress with a gesture of dismissal. Th

en, swift as jungle

birds, they ran up the steps and into the house.

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David took off after her, hoping to catch her before she got

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too far, but he was blocked just inside the front portal once

again by the sight of Quentin.

Before he could accost the man and try one more time to

get some help from the one person he knew, another man with

silver hair and a matinee idol profi le came from down the hall,

collared Quentin, pushed him against the wall, and began be-

rating him in a furious tone.

“Run away! With Elizabeth? Did you have any intention of

coming to me fi rst? Asking my permission?”

“God, no, Jamison. How— How did you fi nd out?”

“Th

is is my house! Th

e walls have ears.”

“I— I knew you wouldn’t approve, But you must under-

stand. I love her. More than my life! And, I— I intend to mend

my ways—”

“What are you thinking? You must be out of your mind!”

David realized that this must be Elizabeth’s father, Jamison

Collins, the famous actor. He was red- faced and sputtering.

“You will never change. You and I both know that!”

Quentin stammered out an explanation. “I— I will sacrifi ce—

give up anything to make her happy. Please, listen—” But the

other man would not let him speak. Reaching up, he grabbed

the front of Quentin’s blue cravat and leaned into him, looking

up at the taller man with his eyes fl ashing and his top lip curled in contempt.

“Th

is is my daughter, the most remarkable and . . . and pre-

cious thing in my life.”

“And mine . . .”

David’s mind whirled, then became clear. Th

ey were speak-

ing of his aunt Elizabeth and Quentin was planning to run

away with her.

“Have you forgotten that I have known you all my life?”

Jamison continued. “Th

at ever since I was a child, you have

been . . . like this!” Th

e older man stepped back, swept his hand

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into the air with a dismissive gesture, and glared at Quentin.

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“Have you forgotten that I know what you are?”

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“Jamison, I beg you. Please give me your blessing. I love her.”

“I will not stand by and see you jeopardize Elizabeth’s hap-

piness. You are both Collinses. Don’t you realize that she is

your great niece? Do you intend to add incest to all your other

crimes? What if— God forbid— there was a child?”

Now David remembered the moment in the drawing room

when Quentin had spoken to Elizabeth with such aff ection. He

held his breath. Once again he was caught up in a pageant from

the past. Was he meant to witness these scenes? He shook his

head to clear it.

Quentin stood with his head bowed, his hands clenching

and unclenching. “I’ve made her a promise. I’ve promised to

marry her, to take her away. How can I explain?”

“I will explain. I will tell her that you changed your mind.”

“What will she think of me? Th

at I am a conniving rake—

who could not keep his word.”

“Wouldn’t you rather she be heartbroken for one day, then

for her to be unhappy all her life? She’ll simply think that you

were after her money, pure and simple, and when you heard that

I intended to disinherit her if she ran off with you, you took the next train to New York. She’s nineteen. She’ll get over it.”

“Perhaps she will. But I will not,” Quentin whispered.

Quentin’s anguish was painfully obvious to David, and he

thought of Jackie and how much he loved her. He would never

be able to give her up. Perhaps she was right. Because they had

gone searching for the family secrets, they had been swept into

the past. Th

ings that had been kept hidden were being revealed.

He walked back outside, hoping Jackie would come out of

the house. Th

e party was now reckless with tipped- over tables,

plates and glasses on the lawn, and drunken guests laughing

hysterically to the music. He heard the words to the song,
I

wanna be loved by you.

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F i f t e e n

I want you to be the prettiest girl at my party, prettier than

me!”

Th

ere were three girls in the room, the fi rst who said her

name was Liz, and Lucy Anne and Constance. “No, don’t peek

in the mirror yet,” Liz said in a fl uttery voice. “I want you to be completely amazed. Because, when I am fi nished with you, kid,

you will be the cat’s meow!”

Her mind reeling, Jackie stood in their midst wearing the

third dress they had pulled over her head in that bright hour,

and they all sighed and exclaimed that this was the one for her.

She reached down and fi ngered the beaded skirt and smoothed

the silken sheath over her bare chest.

Th

ey tugged at her, pulled her this way and that as if she

were a china doll, but their attentions felt like caresses. She had friends, laughing friends, who seemed to delight in making her

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beautiful. Th

eir gay chatter fi lled the room as they brought her

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underwear, slippers, and even jewelry, and every remark be-

tween them initiated peals of hysterical laughter.

Incredible as it seemed, she and David had somehow been

whisked back in the magical car to the 1920s, and the lovely girl

who had befriended her was the young Elizabeth. Jackie had

wandered the grounds of Collinwood in a daze, recognizing

some things bur bewildered by others, and she had drunk sev-

eral glasses of champagne, which made her feel light- headed

and a little sick, but she intended to treat it all like a dream and she was determined not to be frightened.

Jackie looked at the gorgeous room hung with heavy curtains

on the windows as if to hide the high jinks within, walls painted

a deep wine color, a Victorian armoire, lamps with stained- glass

lampshades and a four- poster where Liz had just tossed an arm-

load of silken undergarments, all creamy ivory, and embroidered

with fl owers and tiny tucks inserted between the panels.

“Oh, look,” Jackie cried. “I’ve never seen such beautiful

things. Th

ey make me want to cry.” And she gathered them up

in a snowy cloud of silk and satin.

“Th

ey’re left from my trousseau,” said Liz. “Here, try this

one.” And she pulled another lace teddy over Jackie’s head.

“You’re so young. Look at you, a fi gure like a boy’s. You can wear anything! No womanly curves to get in the way.” And she lifted

Jackie’s hair. “Just the neck— no good. We’ll have to get rid of

this hair.”

“Oh . . . okay.”

“Th

e modern look is all about the neck now, and the shoul-

ders, and the bare back.” She laughed an infectious laugh that

made Jackie laugh in response, her cheeks warm from the cham-

pagne.

She looked down at a dressing table that was cluttered with

silver brushes, pots of rouge and lipstick, various creams, and a

crystal ashtray holding several cigarette butts tinged with red.

Sitting on a tiny stool and smoking a cigarette in a long holder

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was Lucy Anne, a long- limbed girl who wore a little hat that

looked like an upside- down bucket, covering all her hair except

for the curls that peeked out from under the brim and shadowed

her eyes. Both she and Constance were dressed in what ap-

peared to be nightgowns like the lingerie on the bed, delicate

lace- trimmed chemises that covered very little of their anatomy,

and their legs were bare.

Lucy Anne, whose eyes were smoky, handed her a cigarette.

“Here, Ducky,” she said with a wink, “time to do what the boys

do,” and the girls watched grinning as Jackie took a tiny suck

from the end, then exploded into coughs.

“You’ll get used to it,” said Liz. “I can’t believe you live in the Old House,” she said. “I thought Daddy had closed it all up.”

“Or turned it into a speakeasy . . . ,” said Lucy Anne.

“Are you crazy? Th

e basement is where they bottle the

whiskey. Th

e casks stretch the whole length of the house.” She

turned to Jackie. “Have you seen the tunnels?”

Bewildered, Jackie shook her head.

“Th

ey go all the way to Widow’s Hill.”

Jackie tried to keep up. “Is that so they can pitch the beer

into the sea?”

“No, my darling, only the best Canadian whiskey. Daddy’s

just got a new shipment.”

Jackie had been studying the three girls with fascination,

even though it all seemed like a dream. Two were pretty—

Constance an athletic brunette and Lucy Anne with her quaint

little cap— but Liz was the real beauty; not only her slim body

and delicate face, but her whole demeanor was enchanting.

“Well, I’m a founding member of the Anti- Saloon League.”

Lucy Anne giggled as she lifted up her skirt and pulled a tiny sil-

ver fl ask from her garter. “Lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine!” she sang out in a mocking voice before taking a swig and

off ering it to Jackie. “Come on,” she said, “it’s now or never!”

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Th

e fl ask was smooth and cold in Jackie’s hand and so ador-

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able she couldn’t resist taking a taste. It was like fi re down her throat and she shook her head and giggled. Tears came to her eyes.

“What shall we do with her hair?” said Constance, who had

been assessing Jackie’s new look.

“We can bob it,” said Lucy Anne.

“You don’t want to bob it, do you?” Liz asked her, her voice

breathless and her face bright with excitement.

Jackie laughed. “Sure. I don’t mind.” At that moment she

would have consented to anything.

“It’s much too luxurious.”

“Th

en she can’t be a fl apper. We can’t vamp her up!”

“We can pile it up on top of her head, make her into a Gib-

son Girl. She does have an old- fashioned look,” said Constance,

lifting the silver fl ask to her mouth. “Don’t you have a gown?”

“I have a Schiaparelli! It was made for me in Paris!” Liz

pulled another dress from the closet, this one with a skirt made

entirely of chiff on petals all the way to the fl oor. “She’ll need a corset.”

“Too bad. We’ve hung all our corsets on the fence for the

blackbirds!”

Constance held the dress up to Jackie. “Look. Look at her.

She’s perfect!”

“Do you want to be a Gibson Girl, Jackie?”

Jackie stroked the chiff on. She felt dizzy and a little sick to

her stomach. “I want to be what you are,” she said with a smile.

“A fl apper?”

“Yes . . .”

Liz said, “So, wait, I know, we can put it in a cloche. I have

just the thing!” She dug a hat of golden satin out of her top

drawer and began to stuff Jackie’s hair into it.

“We’ll make you a fl apper yet,” she said, her smile lighting

up, “and a blonde, too. Just think, you can dance all night,

smoke cigarettes, and drink champagne.”

“And neck,” giggled Lucy Anne.

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