Magnolia

by Diana Palmer

“Just imagine! She’d checked into a hotel. A hotel!” Maude muttered. “I shanghaied her and brought her here.”

  “As you should have,” Emily said firmly. “Claire, it’s so good to see you again!”

  “It’s good to see the two of you, too.”

  “Does John know that you’re here?” Maude asked after their first cup of tea was poured.

  “No,” Claire had to admit.

  This was news, indeed. Maude leaned forward. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

  Claire’s lips compressed. “I really can’t speak of it.” She decided that it would be best not to mention the run on the bank. That would only serve to upset everyone. “Suffice it to say that he has put our marriage in great jeopardy, and I had to get away, to think things out.”

  “You can’t mean to divorce him?” Emily asked plaintively.

  “Certainly not,” Claire replied. “I won’t stain his reputation with a second scandal in as many months. It may be that we must live apart, but I won’t ever besmirch his name or that of his family.”

  “You’re very kind, Claire,” Maude told her.

  “Besides, he may come to his senses one day,” Claire added, with a wan smile. “He might even miss me.”

  “Absence affects the heart, they say,” Emily agreed, smiling encouragement.

  “Then I still have hope. Emily, I packed the fabric for your gown and brought it with me. I thought, as I was coming, we might as well have a fitting.”

  Emily was enthusiastic. “What a wonderful surprise!”

  “You’re sure I won’t be in the way here?” Claire asked hesitantly.

  Maude took her hands warmly. “My dear, you’re most welcome. Believe me, I wouldn’t hesitate to shoo you right out the door if you weren’t. In fact, you’d never have left the hotel if I hadn’t wanted you here.”

  Claire felt relief wash over her. “Thank you. I hope that one day I can return your hospitality.”

  “So do I,” Maude said, and the look in her blue eyes was far away as she thought of her eldest son.

  Working on Emily’s dress would keep Claire busy. She was only thankful that she’d already finished—and had delivered—the gowns for the governor’s ball she’d been making for Evelyn Paine and the others. That was one worry she no longer had.

  IT WASN’T UNTIL after the evening meal that Claire met her host. Col. Clayton Hawthorn was a tall, thin, grayheaded, and very dignified man. Claire was taken to see him in his bedroom facing the sea. The old man looked pale and lack-luster there on the spotless white sheets. The bay window was open a few inches so that the cool sea breeze could blow in on this pleasant December day.

  He wore a mustache and goatee, and his dark eyes studied Claire carefully.

  “Maude, you didn’t mention that we had a guest.” He scolded his wife gently.

  “No, I didn’t want to wake you, Clayton,” she replied, with a smile. “This is Claire Hawthorn,” she announced.

  The old man scowled. He didn’t speak. He only stared.

  Claire went right up to the old man’s bedside, staring down into his drawn, pale face. “I am married to your son John.”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

  Claire’s chin jutted. “Because he doesn’t appreciate his good fortune in having had the sense to marry me!” she replied pertly.

  The old man’s eyes began to twinkle. He chuckled weakly. “Is that so?”

  “I hope that my absence will show him the error of his ways,” she continued. “Although I have another purpose in coming here. I’m making your daughter’s gown for the spring ball.”

  “You sew?” he asked.

  “She’s a designer, my dear,” Maude said. “The ‘Magnolia’ of whom the recent society page spoke so eloquently.”

  “What?” Claire asked, pleasantly surprised at the news.

  “Our society page described the gown you made for Mrs. Evelyn Paine to wear to the governor’s ball, Claire,” she explained. “And raved about its unique design. There was quite a good drawing of Evelyn wearing it, and an added comment that the designer would soon be doing work for Macy’s in New York. Is that true?”

  “Well, yes,” Claire admitted, smiling at the enthusiastic comments that followed. “A buyer has commissioned me to design evening gowns for a special collection at his store in New York City. I was very excited that he thought so much of my work.” She grinned. “It really is quite an honor.”

  “Indeed it is!” Maude said. “Does John know?”

  Her face fell. “I didn’t have the opportunity to—to tell him.” Remembering what she’d learned about John’s father, she regretted saying even this about her husband. The old man hadn’t spoken to his son in two years. He was frail and obviously ill, and here Claire was making things worse. She decided then and there not to mention the bank riot at all, or anything about Diane.

  She went to sit on the edge of the chair by Clayton Hawthorn’s bed. “John helped me when no one else would, after my uncle’s death. Our marriage hasn’t made him happy, but he’s a good man. He’s always involved in charities that benefit the underprivileged, and he lends money sometimes when he probably shouldn’t. He has a kind heart.”

  Clayton stared intently at his son’s young wife and saw the hopelessness in her gray eyes. He reached out and patted her hand gently. “He must have some sense. He married you, after all.” He smiled sadly. “I’m an old man, Claire. I’ve lived to regret some of the things I said to my son when my twin boys were buried. Grief does strange things to the mind. It certainly wasn’t John’s fault, any of it. I was still upset over his infatuation with that gold-digging woman, and his determination to make a career of the service. At least he changed his mind about that.”

  “He’s a very good banker,” she assured him.

  “He was a very good army officer, too,” Maude interjected, with a long sigh. “I think he’d have been happy to stay in the service and go where he was sent. We still get mail for him from men he served with in Cuba.”

  Clayton Hawthorn had the grace to admit that this was so. He grimaced. “I wanted him to follow in my footsteps, to have one son who was willing to keep the family tradition of banking. I shouldn’t have been so unyielding. John has to live his own life, the way he sees fit.”

  “It would please him if you were to tell him so,” Claire remarked gently.

  Clayton’s eyes had a wistful look. “It’s not so easy to admit fault,” he confessed. “Perhaps, one day, I can meet him halfway. But he doesn’t even correspond with us.”

  “Because you forbade him to,” Maude said haughtily. “And refused to let me write to him, as well.”

  “I was wrong,” the old man had the grace to admit. He glanced plaintively at his wife. “You never used to heed what I told you to do.”

  Maude smiled. “You were ill. I didn’t have the heart to go against you, even though I disagreed.”

  “I’m feeling a little better now,” he said, drawing in a long breath. “This sea air is good for me. Write to John if you wish.” He averted his eyes. “You might even invite him down for Christmas dinner.”

  “Oh, Daddy! You’re wonderful!” Emily said enthusiastically, and bent to hug her father warmly.

  “Jason will think so, too,” Maude assured him. “He misses John. They’re so much alike.”

  “Don’t forget, Jason is a shipbuilder,” Emily told Claire. “He’s very enterprising.”

  “You’ll meet him one day soon,” Maude volunteered. “He doesn’t live at home, but he visits us frequently. We’re all very close. I’m sure he’ll want to meet his new sister-in-law.”

  “Does he look like John?” she asked.

  Clayton chuckled. “No. He looks like me.”

  “He’s as tall as John, but he’s huskier,” Emily said. “And his hair is blond, although he has dark eyes like Daddy and John.”

  “He has the same temper, of course,” Maude said demurely.

&nbs
p; Clayton glared at her.

  “And the same scowl,” she added deliberately.

  Her husband made an irritated sound. But when Maude reached out and slid her hand into his, his fingers curled around it warmly. They looked at each other in a way that Claire had hoped she and John would, one day. Sadly, that day seemed as if it would never come.

  JASON WAS VERY DIFFERENT from his brother. John was quiet and stoic, but Jason was outgoing and entertaining. He seemed to know every fish story from Maine to Florida, and he told them all to a delighted and enthusiastic audience in the parlor. If his smile was any indication, he liked Claire on sight. She liked him, too. In looks, he did resemble his older brother, even with their differences in coloring.

  “Why didn’t John come with you, Claire?” Jason asked. “It’s about time we healed some wounds here,” he added.

  “John doesn’t know where she is,” Maude said softly. “There’s been…a misunderstanding.”

  “About his ex-fiancée?” Jason asked tersely.

  Claire’s eyes widened. “How did you…?”

  “I met her when they were engaged,” he replied, and said no more. “You didn’t tell him where you were going?”

  She shrugged. “It seemed rather pointless at the time.”

  “What happened?”

  She told him, but left a great deal out.

  Jason shook his head. “My brother hasn’t so much as sent a card home in two years.”

  “Nor have we corresponded with him,” Maude said sharply. “Clayton was so very sick at first that I didn’t dare go against him. He’s better now, in some ways, but he won’t get out of bed. He just lies there, as if he’s waiting to die. Why, he won’t even read a book, and he used to enjoy the classics so much.”

  “Perhaps Claire’s presence will rejuvenate him,” Jason remarked.

  “He did perk up when they were introduced,” Maude had to admit.

  “It was the first real interest he’s shown in anything for months,” Emily added. “It was nice to see Papa smile again.”

  “There’s a sewing machine in my sitting room,” Maude told Claire. “You’re welcome to use it any time. I hope you’ll stay for a while. Christmas is only a little over two weeks away.”

  “I know. I was looking forward to spending it with John. It would have been our first one together,” she said sadly. It broke her heart to think of all the plans she’d made, of her dreams. Now she’d be here, and John would be…where? At the Calversons’, probably, she thought bitterly. Where else?

  “You can spend it with us,” Maude said. “We’ll have guests in, and perhaps it will even persuade Clayton to show some interest in life again. Just take one day at a time, Claire—and trust in God to help things work out as they’re meant to.”

  “I’ll do that,” she promised.

  AS THE DAYS PASSED, CLAIRE found herself fitting very nicely into the Hawthorn circle. She missed John, of course, and she still felt guilty about worrying him, now of all times—when he had such problems at the bank. But that couldn’t be helped.

  To keep herself occupied, she began to take little snacks in to Clayton, then coaxed him to eat them. His appetite improved and so did his color. And she discovered why he didn’t read his beloved books anymore.

  “I can’t see,” he confessed, embarrassed. “There’s a sort of film over my eyes. I can see people well enough, but I can’t read.”

  “Suppose I read to you?” she suggested.

  His whole face brightened. “You could find the time?”

  “Of course I could.” She smiled. “Just tell me what you’d like to hear.”

  He did. There were novels like Herman Melville’s Billy Budd and nonfiction classics like the histories of Flavius Josephus, Tacitus, and Herodotus. Claire sat and read to him every afternoon while the sea breeze brought its salty flavor into the room. She’d questioned the wisdom of all that fresh air at one time, but it did seem to be helping him. He improved daily.

  “Have you always been a banker?” Claire asked him one afternoon after she’d finished reading him a chapter of Herodotus about the Egyptians.

  “Not always,” he replied. “In my younger days, I was a sailor. I loved the sea. Still do. Jason inherited the sea fever from me—and even though he owns the fishing fleet, he still goes out with the boats sometimes.” He sighed wistfully. “I wish I could go out with him. I miss a deck under my feet. I had a yacht until I became too ill to sail her,” he added. “I miss her as much as I’d miss Maude if, God forbid, I ever lost her.”

  “Can’t you go out with Jason?”

  He pondered that. “I don’t know. I’ve improved since you’ve been here,” he said, glancing at her amusedly. “Perhaps in a few more months, when spring comes, I might try it.”

  “Does John like the sea?” she asked, with her eyes demurely downcast.

  He sighed. “You don’t know him at all, do you, girl?”

  Her slender body moved restively in the chair. “Not really,” she confessed. “We don’t speak of personal things.”

  “What a loss. Maude and I have always been good friends, since we were children. We’ve known each other all our lives.” He drew the covers tighter around him. “John liked the sea, yes—but not enough to join the navy,” he continued. “He sailed with me when he was younger. He can handle a boat as well as Jason. But I made it impossible for him to come home. You know about the boys?”

  “Yes,” Claire said sadly. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too—sorry especially that I blamed John for something that was not his fault. The boys were keen to go to war, and all my ranting and raving wouldn’t change their minds. I had to let them go. It was my own guilt that I took out on John.”

  “God has plans for us that don’t always coincide with our own,” she said firmly. “He had need of your boys, and He took them. You have to realize that we have no power over life and death. And death is a thing that all of us will experience, a certainty. One cannot blame other human beings for a divine call.”

  “I know that now,” he said sheepishly. “But at the time, I was rather out of sorts with God. I’ve come to realize that His will is stronger than mine. I hope I’ve made my peace with Him. Now I want to make it with my son before it’s too late.” He looked at her intently. “Is it too late, Claire? Does he speak of me?”

  She swallowed. “He doesn’t speak of any of you, except that once, when he told me why you didn’t speak to each other. I’m sorry. But then,” she added helpfully, “we don’t speak of personal things as a rule, as I mentioned.”

  “Yes, yes. I remember.” He closed his eyes and then opened them again. “Life is so hard, Claire. Harder than ever for us older ones, once we stop walking in step with the younger folk. I remember when convention was everything, when men treated women like fairies and idolized them. Now women have so many causes, so many complaints. A man hardly knows how to treat them.” He grimaced. “And all these modern things, telephones and electricity and motorcars. Where will it all end?”

  “Progress cannot be stopped,” she commented. “And motorcars are very exciting. I have one, you know. It was my uncle’s. I drive it—and I can even repair it!”

  He sat up in bed. His eyes almost popped. “You can repair it? Heavens, aren’t you afraid of it?”

  “Not at all,” she assured him.

  “I never heard such a thing. And you a woman.” He winced. “There I go again. You see? I will never reconcile myself to the changes, to the modern life. I fought in the Civil War, Claire. I’ve seen men blown to bits. I’ve seen children starve to death. But I’ve also seen the closeness of families and the joy of community life without any newfangled improvements. I live in a horse-and-buggy world that is ever so quickly giving way to motors and machines.” He shook his head. “I have no desire to live in a world that has left me so far behind. Even my attitudes are outdated.”

  She reached over and patted his hand. “Your outdated attitudes suit me ve
ry well. You just go right on having them, and let these modern people rush about as they like. There will always be a portion of society that clings to the old ways and considers them sacred.”

  “You’re a tonic,” he said after a minute. “You give silver linings to all my dark clouds.”

  She chuckled. “I’m very glad. Now, as a reward, will you tell me some more about my husband?”

  He smiled. “Indeed I will. What do you want to know?”

  “What was he like as a small boy?”

  “That may take days and days,” he said.

  She settled back into her chair. “Then you’d better start right now,” she said merrily.

  SHE LEARNED A LOT about John from his father, about his quick temper and his kindness. She learned that he’d given all his pocket money once to a small boy whose lunch had been taken away by bullies. John apparently did a lot for the poor without telling anyone, and he never refused a cry for help, even when it put him in danger. She learned that he could swim, but hated it, and that he’d been champion tennis player of his local group. He’d been a keen horseman until Cuba, and he could sail even if he didn’t love the sea. She learned things that she might never need to know again. Because John didn’t know where to find her—and she didn’t want to go home to find him with Diane.

  All the while, though, she missed John and wondered how he was. She also wondered about her sketches for Macy’s that Kenny had sent to New York. She telegraphed Kenny and had a reply back in no time. He said that everything was all right, the designs were in New York, and he would have payment for her soon. He would send the money by Western Union. That relieved her mind a lot. She’d have money to support herself—and whatever happened, she wouldn’t have to depend on John for her living.

  Meanwhile, she’d put aside a simple crepe gown, which she’d brought in case there were any social evenings, because it no longer seemed to fit her in the waist. Maude had seized it and carried it into Savannah, where it was displayed in a local clothing store. She’d come home beaming one day, with the news that the design had attracted such incredible attention that there had been women actually fighting over it. The owner wanted more.