by Robyn Carr
“Lilly?” Amanda called.
“Yes,” she said softly.
Amanda felt instant relief when Lilly spoke; she had begun to imagine terrible things--accident, illness, worse. The way Lilly was fond of tromping through the big empty innards of a hotel still under construction, Amanda was never completely at ease. She had worried Lilly would trip, fall, have a bucket dumped on her head, that some catastrophe would come of her gallivanting around men’s work in women’s dress. She went to her instantly, but in the dark she could only make out the silhouette of her granddaughter. “Lilly, may I light the room?”
“Not too much light, darling,” Lilly said, her voice quiet and solemn. “Please.”
Amanda did as she was told, placing a candle on the hearth, not too close to Lilly. Then she went to Lilly, brushing her feet off the footstool and carefully lowering herself onto it, despite her bad knee, and looked up at her granddaughter. “Lilly, you’re crying!”
“Shhhh. Please, don’t upset the household. It’s quite an event, I’m sure. Lilly crying.”
“But what is it, love?”
“Oh, you won’t be very pleased with me, Grandmother. I’m afraid it’s only self-pity.”
“Bah,” Amanda scoffed. “You, of all of us, has the least of that!”
“I suppose that’s what people think. Busy Lilly! Active Lilly! Lilly, who insists on a business, insists on challenge!” Tears began to free themselves in rivers from her eyes. “I don’t know when I last cried.” But Lilly did know; over three years before. Twice in the space of a few months. When Andrew said good-bye, when he said good-bye again. Since that time she had successfully staved off loneliness by hard work. “Did you know Patricia was here today?”
“I was in the city with your mother. What did she do to make you feel so terrible?”
“Oh, nothing, Grandmother. Truly, Patricia was as decent as I’ve ever seen her. Terribly unhappy, but she wasn’t unkind.”
“That girl! She wears her unhappiness like a banner! She accuses us all of being part of it!”
“No, you mustn’t blame her. Really, Patricia has never had a spot of sense. I’m sure she can’t help that. And she has rather startling news. She’s pregnant.”
“Oh?” Amanda said, watching Lilly. “Well, it was bound to happen. This will surely please Wilson.”
“Even Dale. Patricia said he doesn’t take a fatherly pride, but he does assume a manly arrogance that he finally got her caught. Did you know she’d taken steps to prevent it? Ah,” she said to Amanda’s shocked expression, “of course she wouldn’t tell you that. I’m sorry.”
“Lilly, what is it? Are you worried about her?”
“I’ve long since given that up, Grandmother. Patricia is beyond hope and therefore beyond worry. Poor thing--how can one be beyond hope? But she doesn’t want to have a baby. She’s afraid it will be impossible for her to love it. And I can’t understand how that can be.” Again her tears spilled over.
“Lilly, Lilly, she will surely change her mind! When she feels the baby move. When she holds the baby.”
“Perhaps. I hope you’re right. Oh, Grandmother, she said she envies me. She said she hasn’t had a useful idea in her life. She will never know how I envy her, even in her dreadful marriage, in that awful old house. I would love to have a child.”
“But you will, Lilly! One day--”
Lilly was shaking her head. “There’s something terribly wrong with me,” she said, brushing the tears from her cheeks. Amanda braced herself. She had lived in Europe, spent many months that would add up to years in Paris. She was fully prepared to struggle with the acceptance of her granddaughter’s sexual peculiarity. “I was entertained by this bachelor or that during my tour. I remained completely immune to love. It is far too easy for me to be consumed in work.”
“Now, Lilly, surely you didn’t--”
“I assure you, I took a very good look at the available men. I felt no affection for any of them!”
“But Lilly, have you never been intrigued? Interested? In the very least way--”
“Oh, years and years ago, before you were home to us, I fancied myself madly, wildly in love. What a reckless girl! He was very forbidden, and I knew it--perhaps I thrilled in it. He even treated me to a ride in a closed coupe and a most exciting kiss…just before he vanished. But Grandmother, I have not felt anything nearly as pleasant since!”
Amanda sat quiet for a moment. “Lilly, when did this happen to you?”
“I was only seventeen. Long before Patricia’s troubles, before all the trouble in the boardinghouse, before--”
“But Lilly, did some man--”
“Molest me? Oh, hardly. I had been talking to him at the library for months! I admired him. Adored him. I never thought he could feel the same way. I was just a poor working-class girl, and he was so handsomely dressed, so brilliantly well-spoken. He was a worldly, older, intelligent man, Grandmother, who kissed me and then told me frankly he had better never kiss me again. I ran for my life, like a good girl. Sometimes I regret it. Am I never to find another such kiss?”
Amanda nearly breathed an audible sigh of relief. Then a chuckle escaped her. “You fancied yourself in love, did you?”
“Oh, desperately. I’ve never told a soul!”
Amanda squeezed her hand and then gave it a pat. “Lilly, you’re not immune to love--you simply won’t make room! You work too hard, you keep yourself to much removed. Why, these workmen and bookkeepers can’t be very tempting. My dear, you mustn’t declare yourself an old maid at twenty-one!”
“But that’s what I am. Most women who will marry do so before they’re my age.”
“Ordinary women, Lilly. Ordinary women marry early. You mustn’t grieve the loss of something that has yet to arrive.”
“I’m afraid I will never have that feeling again, Grandmother. He admired me so. All those things about domestic life that troubled me, troubled him. He said my questions caused him to raise questions of his own.”
“Lilly, darling, he seduced you! Don’t you understand that he--”
“What I understand is that I want too much! I want work and a family too! I want a husband who is proud of all I can do! Grandmother, I dined with a viscount in Germany. I told him I was building a grand hotel with my mother and grandmother, and do you know what he said? He said I would need a strong man to manage such an enormous enterprise!” She made a derisive sound and waved her hand. She added, “I didn’t stay long enough for the fruit and wine.”
Amanda made a sound she hoped Lilly would not be able to identify as smothered laughter. And pride! What a stubborn, marvelous girl!
“I’m afraid if I talked myself into marrying a man who thinks I’m not capable just so I could have a family of my own, I would hate myself.”
“You don’t have to do that, Lilly. The right man will--”
“Grandmother, you married three times. How were you able to do that?”
“Lilly, I loved my husbands. None of them was a perfect man, and marriage to the finest man is never as easy as women think, but they all had such sterling qualities. Richard had such visions of the world. He was a brilliant man. I could listen to him for days on end and never be bored. John, God rest his soul, was the most handsome and entertaining man I’ve ever known. He was so filled with adventure--adventure killed him eventually. How he loved his horses--how he loved travel. He was a trifle younger than I, but I think he died not knowing how much. I wish I had told him, but…And William, poor William. A gentle, giving soul. He was so all alone, and so-- Oh well, they were all good enough men. None of them ever complained that I was a bad wife. You will meet a good man one day, darling.”
“Patricia could have had any man of her choosing. She’s beautiful, and she can be charming. If she hadn’t been in such a panic to get rich…Well, she made a mess of things. And now she’s to have a child, and she’s angry about it. I would think it would fill her with joy, especially since the rest of her life has so disappoi
nted her.”
“Sometime, Lilly, you must talk with your mother about that. Bringing a child into a terrible world can make one despair. Patricia sees her world as terrible right now. Perhaps when the baby is born, she will see her child as a kind of reward for all she believes she has endured.”
“If only Patricia had been in love with Dale,” Lilly said wistfully.
“Being in love feels rather like food poisoning,” Amanda pointed out. Lilly let a little laugh come through her tears, knowing the truth to that only too well. “And being married to a solid, dependable man can be a wonderful thing. But being in love, darling, is no guarantee of marital happiness.” The temptation to mention Ned Armstrong was difficult for Amanda to resist. “Will you come and have something to eat?”
“Not tonight, Gran. Let me sit here and feel sorry for myself a while longer. Please, don’t bother Mama about this. There’s nothing anyone can do. This will pass soon enough--tomorrow will be a very busy day.”
“She’ll want to know what’s troubling you.”
“Tell her that she’ll be a grandmother--that will surely distract her.”
Amanda nodded and used Lilly’s assistance to stand from the low footstool. She kissed Lilly’s forehead and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t give this too much time, Lilly. It’s not like you to suffer envy.”
When Amanda had gone, Lilly remained in the dim room, looking out at a dark, clear sky. She had seen Andrew twice during the winter: at Christmas dinner at the Nesbitt House and once just prior to moving into the new hotel. Both times she had invited him to view the construction of the Arms. Both times he had said Mrs. Devon would certainly like to see it.
There was a tune she often hummed; it popped into her mind when she felt lonely. It was the music that accompanied her last dance with Andrew…years ago. There had been no parties or balls since at which they had both been present. She wanted another chance at private conversation. Has your marriage improved? she would ask. Is there any hope for a child for you? Is there any hope for…us?
Oh, what dangerous pleasure I crave! she thought.
“Lilly is in her sitting room, all alone, feeling sad,” Amanda told Emily. “Patricia visited today to tour the building and apartments. She has a piece of news: she is pregnant.”
“Oh! When will she deliver?”
“I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t think to ask. I was worried about Lilly. Poor thing, she has herself upset because Patricia is unhappy about having a baby.”
“But does Lilly find that surprising? Surely Patricia will change her mind.”
“Emily, maybe you should tell them about their father. Although I hadn’t thought about it much, Lilly has as many illusions about love and marriage as Patricia. Not so dangerous, perhaps, but--”
“Mother, what could it help, their knowing?”
“But he’s not dead, Emily. That we know of.”
“One can only hope!”
“You’ve managed to avoid the subject well enough, dear, but it’s already come up. He’s been seen since the war. People suspect you simply left him. Someone whispered divorce.”
“If only!”
“Emily, will you go to see Patricia? Wish her well and talk to her? If I’m to be a great-grandmother, I’d like to know the child is desired by someone.”
“Now Mother, don’t be feeling sorry for yourself. If that baby is not welcomed by its mother, I’m sure its grandmothers will compensate nicely!”
“Well, I hope it’s not a boy. The women in this family have the worst damn luck with men.”
Andrew Devon looked at the same stars, the same moon as Lilly. Some of his thoughts were the same; some of his desires could not be driven away by the worst distraction. He had his driver take him past the site of the growing Armstrong Arms several times, and he had even seen her at a great distance. But she had been busy talking with carpenters and brick layers. He wished to stop and praise her achievements, but did not. The risk was too great, the longing too strong. More so now than before.
The tense quiet that surrounded him was the sound of death. Brenda’s mother lay dying in their house. His wife, whom he had so completely misunderstood, had become even more confusing to him. One moment a terrified child in desperate need of consolation and affection, another, a raging banshee in the mood for murder. Andrew was well aware of the close family ties between Brenda and Josephine Waite; they were closer than sisters, thicker than thieves. But until this fatal illness entered their home, he had not known the depth or power of this relationship. Brenda was losing the only person she had ever loved. The only person who could control Brenda was unconscious.
“My God, Andrew,” she had pleaded, her voice desperate, terrified, “she’s dying! I know how you’ve hated me! How you’ve refused to forgive me! I know what a fool I’ve been. Won’t you forget that now? You have no idea what my mother’s been through in her life--her husband and son lost in war, her home burned, her person assaulted! Surviving all that, she fades away from me while I watch. Won’t you pity me? Won’t you hold me…even…now?”
Josephine Waite had been the widowed mother of a fifteen-year-old daughter, paupered and ravaged by war, when she married a carpetbagger from Philadelphia and came North. She sold herself into marriage for survival, having buried both husband and son, and having lost her grand and gentle life on a plantation. And this bitter yet determined woman had buried a second husband, claiming his factory and then manipulating her daughter into the best marriage that could be found. Josephine helped Brenda know which lies to tell, which seductions to employ, and which man to pursue. They had lost their aristocratic lineage to war; they could not merge with northern society. Yet they could conspire to trick the clever young protégé to the richest man in the city.
Andrew had known for a long time that he had been used. But until grief and fear overtook Brenda, he had not known the tragic history that led both Brenda and her mother to such dishonest, destructive attempts at survival.
Weeping, clinging to him, she told him, “I cowered behind a bush with my mother watching my house burn down when I was ten years old. I helped her bury my father, then my brother two years later. We walked to Richmond--walked. And there were whole days we had no food. Our clothing was nothing but rags. We were both assaulted. I was raped by a soldier! When it was over and everything gone, the entire South gone, it was a Yankee, a man who had worn a blue coat who offered to marry her. ‘Blue!’ I shouted at her. ‘Clarence Waite could have been the very man to kill my brother!’ But she said that hunger made her blind to color!”
Pity for her caused him to reach out, and he had given whatever comfort he could. Tenderly holding her, he told her he understood.
Andrew was not a stranger to hunger, despair, fear. He was also acquainted with shame, for he had concealed a secret all his life. He had a vague recollection of a large, burly man, the man he believed was his father. He came with his mother to America, a little boy. Where had that man gone? he asked her frequently. It was when she lay dying that she told the truth, the reason her family would have none of her, none of Andrew. The man he recalled was his father. He visited Maureen and his son in the stone cottage outside Dublin. He didn’t live with them because he was a priest. It was when the church sent him to Rome that Maureen left Ireland with her child.
Andrew had balanced allegiance for the church with contempt. “You are a part of the church, whether or not you like it,” his mother had told him. “The church bred you. You are the seed of the church.” Since that time Andrew had felt simultaneously drawn to the church and repelled by it.
Perhaps just as Brenda felt drawn to the South, horrified by it. He did understand. While he comforted the woman who had wronged him, used him, he had a flicker of hope that she would, in her grief, depend on him and be changed.
Mrs. Waite only worsened, as did Brenda’s grief and fear, and, having been invited to console her once, he reached out to her again. She turned on him like a tigress.
&
nbsp; “Bastard! Bastard! Don’t touch me! Do you think you’ll find me in a weak moment and satisfy yourself? You’ve kept me living in this dungeon for years with nothing but threats! You think you’ll seduce me now? You don’t know the indignities I suffered at the hands of Yankees! A girl, a child, abused, starved, raped! I will never, never have the stomach for a Yankee touch!”
And later, mewling and whimpering, Brenda came to him begging forgiveness, comfort. More tales of her traumatic childhood…followed by another rage.
“If you so hate Yankees, why did you marry one?” he had asked her.
“Why, Andrew, there were no gentlemen present!”
Brenda had periods of sleeplessness that stretched out for days, leaving her face dark and her eyes looking hollow. She talked to her dying mother unceasingly, though Mrs. Waite could not reply. Her sleeplessness was followed by long slumbers; she had a bed moved into her mother’s room where she slept through almost whole days. She alternately paced and wept, raged and muttered to herself, or fell into unconscious slumber. She asked him to pluck a flower for her out of the hearth and then railed at him when he tried to explain there were no flowers there. She was sometimes so delirious he checked her for fever, but she was cold. The mania had stretched on for weeks. Brenda was being driven mad while her mother lingered at death’s door.
The doctor said Josephine would not survive the night, something he had already said several times. Brenda sat with her mother, and Andrew looked at a sky he shared with Lilly. He wanted the same things as she: work, love, children. For Lilly those things were still possible. For himself, he thought, it all seemed more impossible than ever. He made a decision that when Mrs. Waite was gone, Brenda recovered, he would set her handsomely free. Whatever the cost, he would shed this burden. Brenda would punish him…but only financially. She couldn’t want to stay with him.
There was a knock at his bedroom door. The housekeeper faced him. “Mrs. Waite has passed on, Mr. Devon. Mrs. Devon can’t be convinced to leave her. I’m afraid you’re needed.”
