The Summer of Mrs. MacGregor

by Betty R. Wright

  Caroline wanted to, very much. “Would you like some lemonade?”

  “Delightful, dear,” Lillina said. “I really think that in warm weather lemonade is more satisfying than champagne, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Caroline agreed, “I do,” though she’d never tasted champagne in her life. Dazedly, she led the way to the kitchen, where Lillina perched on a stool. Caroline opened a can of lemonade concentrate and mixed it with water in her mother’s best pitcher. After a moment’s hesitation, she brought out a plate of brownies she’d baked for Joe.

  Lillina looked at the brownies admiringly, but she didn’t take one. “I have to watch my figure,” she explained. “I’m going to do some modeling when I go home this fall.” She took a dainty sip of lemonade.

  Caroline swallowed a brownie in four bites. “Tell me about your problem,” she coaxed. “Your husband, I mean.”

  She ate the rest of the brownies while Lillina talked. It turned out to be the most romantic story Caroline had ever heard—better, really, than a soap opera, because it had happened to this girl who was just a few years older than herself.

  “You mean your mother and father forced you to leave Frederick?” she asked, her mouth sticky with chocolate. “On your wedding day?”

  Lillina nodded. “When you put it that way it sounds cruel, but my parents are marvelous people, Caroline. They admire Frederick very much—he’s an absolutely marvelous person, too—that’s why they gave us permission to get married in the first place. But at the wedding my mother began to cry and tell everyone I was too young to be married and Frederick was too old for me.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Thirty-five. I’ve always loved distinguished-looking older men. At first, Frederick tried to argue with my mother. He reminded her of all he intends to do for me—he’s very wealthy—and he told her how much we meant to each other. But it was no use. My poor dear mother became absolutely hysterical.”

  Caroline scooped up the crumbs from the brownie plate. She tried to picture herself in love with a distinguished-looking older man and her mother becoming absolutely hysterical. “So what happened then?”

  “We talked it over and decided on a compromise.” Lillina stretched her long body gracefully and smiled. “My mother said I ought to go away for a while, and Frederick finally agreed. He said he didn’t want to spoil my excellent relationship with my parents if a few weeks would make that much difference to them. He said he would have the builders start our house in Connecticut while I was away, and everything would be ready by this fall.” She shrugged and took another sip of lemonade. “And so here I am in Wisconsin,” she said. “It’s difficult being separated, of course, but the Restons are lovely people. And as long as I have my camera, I can work on my portfolio. I’m going to start accepting picture assignments as soon as I get my portfolio together.” She put her glass back on the table. “That’s why I wanted those pictures of you after the ambulance drove away. You have a very expressive face, Caroline—just what a professional photographer looks for.”

  Caroline’s cheeks felt hot. Was “expressive” the same as “pretty”? Probably not, but it was a pleasant thing to hear about yourself. This girl was nice as well as different.

  Caroline began hoping that her problem would keep Lillina MacGregor in Grand River for a long, long time.

  Chapter 3

  “I didn’t know Louise Reston had a niece,” Caroline’s mother said. They were eating in the kitchen—hamburgers and French fries bought on the way home from the hospital, and a bowl of alfalfa sprouts because Mrs. Cabot had decided they had to have a salad even if she was too tired to make one.

  “Lillina isn’t her real niece,” Caroline explained. “She’s the daughter of Mrs. Reston’s best friend. They live in New York. Lillina just calls Mrs. Reston Aunt Louise because it’s more respectfully intimate than plain Louise.”

  “Good for Lillina.” Mrs. Cabot’s eyes crinkled briefly as if she’d heard something funny. “Anyway, I’m glad she kept you company till we were able to call. You’ll have to ask her to come over to play again—now what’s the matter?”

  “Lillina’s too old to play. So am I.”

  “Well, pardon me, I’m sure.” Mrs. Cabot stretched and rubbed her eyes. “Anyway, I’m glad you have a new friend. And now I’m going to call the hospital, and if everything’s all right I’m going to bed. I’ve never been more tired in my life.”

  “Good idea,” Joe agreed before Caroline could point out that it was only a little past eight. “You get a good night’s sleep, hon. Carrie and I’ll clean up.”

  Joe, lumbering around the kitchen, looked even more tired than Caroline’s mother. He was six foot three, with a hard chin and an Indian-chief nose and bushy eyebrows. His hair was gray, though he was only thirty-eight, and his shoulders were massive even when they sagged. It was hard for Caroline to talk to Joe, because she loved him so much and because she was a little afraid of what he might say to her. He believed in speaking the truth at all times, even to kids. The truth could be hard to listen to.

  She gave her mother time to get to her bedroom. “Is that all the doctor said?” she asked then, trying to sound casual. “That there’s a new medicine he wants to try?” She’d felt secrets in the air, all during supper.

  Joe pinched the skin above his beaky nose. “He said Linda’s weaker than last time. He said there’s a heart stimulant that might help, but it’s experimental. Your mom’s counting on it too much, I’m afraid. And he said Linda should be careful not to overdo.”

  They glanced at each other, and away. Overdo! Caroline thought. How can Linda do less than she’s been doing? She might as well be dead.

  She dropped that thought fast.

  “One more thing,” Joe said, finally getting to the secret part. “If we go ahead with the new medicine, it can’t be done here. Linda would be part of an experimental program at a clinic in Boston. She’d have to go there.” He rubbed his nose again. “Your mother would go with her.”

  “For how long?”

  “A couple of months, I guess.”

  Caroline knew it was all settled. Her mother would say they were going to talk it over and make a Family Decision, but if the trip might help Linda, the decision was already made. Caroline could look ahead to a whole summer alone, with Joe at work every day and the house as empty as it had been this afternoon.

  “What a lousy business!” Joe growled. “Here’s a kid who has the sweetest personality on this earth, and she has to go through so much trouble. What’s right about that? I’m asking!”

  Caroline knew he didn’t really expect an answer from her. Even the minister had a tough time with that one, and Joe asked him about it every time he came to call. What’s right about that? It seemed their lives moved in circles around the question. Even when no one asked it, it was there, because Linda was there and feeling miserable. How could bad things happen to a perfect person? How could God make such a mistake?

  Later, while Joe called Grandma and Aunt Grace to tell them what the doctor had said, Caroline went outside. There was a fresh summer smell in the darkness, and the moon looked like a neon-lit Frisbee. She wondered if Linda could see the moon from her hospital bed. And then she wondered why she wondered. Sometimes it seemed she couldn’t have a single thought that didn’t involve her sister.

  Footsteps approached—the sharp click and long scrape of high-heeled pumps that kept slipping. The sidewalk curved fifty feet north of the Cabots’ house, so Caroline couldn’t see Lillina at first, but she knew who was coming. Who else on Barker Road would go for a walk in high heels?

  When Lillina appeared, her head was thrown back and she was staring at the moon. Her arms were extended behind her, and she seemed to trail moonlight from her fingertips.

  “Speak to me, 0 night goddess,” she chanted. “Fill me with your beauty.” She froze, a graceful, moon-washed statue, and Caroline held her breath. The strange, silly words had charged the night with an eerie tension. B
ut nothing happened. Lillina waited for a moment, then turned up the Cabots’ walk. She didn’t seem the least embarrassed when she saw Caroline sitting on the step.

  “Have you found my camera, dear?” she asked. “I think I left it here this afternoon.”

  Caroline jumped up and opened the screen door. The camera waited on the table next to the telephone. She’d already planned to take it over to the Restons’ house first thing in the morning if Lillina didn’t return for it.

  “Thank heaven,” Lillina said huskily when Caroline returned. “I couldn’t bear to lose it. Just a few more shots, and I’ll have my portfolio ready to send to Vogue.”

  She wasn’t really skilled enough to take pictures for a big magazine. She couldn’t be. But Caroline felt a thrill of excitement in spite of herself.

  “It’s not your camera, it’s Mr. Reston’s,” she said, trying not to sound accusing. “His name’s on the tape at the bottom.”

  Lillina blinked. “So good of him to let me use it,” she said vaguely. “I left home in such a mad hurry.…”

  Caroline swung the camera away from Lillina’s outstretched hand. “Promise you won’t show my picture to anyone,” she demanded. “Promise!” She’d been thinking it over, and she’d decided she didn’t care how expressive her face was. Red eyes, puffy face, tangled hair, scruffy jeans—that was what people would see in the picture Lillina had taken that afternoon.

  She’d expected an argument, but Lillina just smiled. “You can trust me, Caroline. I always get a subject’s permission before I release a picture.”

  Caroline held out the camera. As she did, moonlight glinted on the little window at the top. It was empty.

  “Hey, there’s no film! You forgot to put film in the camera.” She could hardly believe it. How could a person who expected to be a professional photographer forget a thing like that?

  Lillina’s smile hardly quivered. “Actually, you’re right,” she said. “But I didn’t forget, dear. I don’t always choose to use film. I may spend a whole day just filling my head with images. It helps me to grow as an artist. You’ve heard of pianists practicing their fingering on a paper keyboard, haven’t you?”

  Caroline hadn’t. She felt as if she’d been the butt of a joke. “That’s crazy,” she said. “No film!”

  Lillina took the camera and sat on the step. “Artists do unusual things, but that doesn’t mean they’re crazy,” she said. “How is your sister, Caroline?”

  The surge of outrage faded. Lillina sounded genuinely concerned. Caroline realized that several minutes had passed since she’d thought about how bad everything was.

  “Linda’s going away,” she said, and she repeated what Joe had said about the experimental medicine and the clinic in Boston.

  When she finished, Lillina’s tilted brown eyes were thoughtful. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess you’ll be awfully lonesome for a while.”

  “Don’t be sorry for me!” Caroline exclaimed. “You should be sorry for Linda. She’s the one who’s sick.”

  “I’m sorry for both of you.”

  “Listen,” Caroline was exasperated, “it’s a lot worse than you know, Linda having this sickness. She’s a really special person.” She knew this to be true; she’d heard it at least a hundred times from Joe, the truth-speaker. And her mother agreed, even though she hugged Caroline and said every person was special in her own way. If Caroline were the sick one, she knew her parents would be sorry, but for Linda to be sick was worse. “When Linda could go to school, she always got straight A’s. And she was Sleeping Beauty in the all-school play. Her picture was on the front page of the Grand River Herald.”

  “She sounds marvelous,” Lillina murmured. She looked at Caroline thoughtfully. “Are you interested in the theater, too?”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not,” she snapped. “The best part I ever had in a play was in second grade. I was the bush the wolf hid behind until Red Riding Hood came down the path.” She grinned in spite of herself, and Lillina laughed, a warm, husky sound.

  “Well, my sister Eleanor and I are nothing alike either,” she said. “She doesn’t have my unusual coloring, or my height. She won’t make a model, but she’s charming in her own way.”

  Caroline sniffed. As if everyone in the world wanted to be tall and thin and redheaded! She was torn between wanting to hear more about Eleanor and wanting to make Lillina see how tragic Linda’s illness was.

  “I didn’t know you even had a sister,” she muttered. “How old is she?”

  “Thirteen in July. A wonderful child. Of course,” said Lillina, unaware of the waves of irritation shimmering in the night air, “dear Eleanor has some abilities I don’t have. She’s terrifically talented in math, for example. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the next Einstein.” She doubled up, chin on knees, and pulled at tufts of grass. “What’s your thing, Caroline?”

  “I don’t have a thing.”

  “Of course you do. What do you like to do the most? What do you want to do in the future?”

  Caroline tucked a wisp of hair behind her ears. Building dollhouses and miniature furniture sounded pretty childish compared to Eleanor’s terrific ability in mathematics. She would tell Lillina about that some other time, not now. “I want to go to England,” she said. “By myself.”

  “You mean when you grow up?” Lillina stopped her grass-pulling.

  “No, I mean this year. At Christmas.” Now that she’d said that much, she might as well tell the rest. “My friend Jeannie Richmond lives right outside London. Her dad was transferred to England last year, and they’ll be there for another year. We were best friends before she went away. My grandma Parks says she’ll buy me a round-trip ticket, if I can save up a hundred dollars for spending money. That’s all I’d need because I’d stay with the Richmonds.”

  She jumped as Lillina abruptly unfolded her long self and pirouetted across the lawn. “But that’s marvelous, Caroline!” she cried. “I love it! I simply adore it! You’re going, of course.”

  “No way.” Caroline wished she hadn’t started this. “Do you know how much money I have in the bank? Seventeen dollars and seventy-three cents. Even if I saved my whole allowance this summer, I wouldn’t have anything like a hundred dollars. And I can’t save every darned penny!” Miniature furniture kits were expensive.

  Lillina dropped down on the step once more. “Get a job,” she commanded. “Earn tons of money!”

  “I’m twelve years old!”

  “You can baby-sit. Or run errands for people. Or clean houses.” Lillina paused. “I don’t suppose you write,” she said. “That can be very profitable. When I finish my novel, I’m sure I’ll make more money than I’ll know what to do with. But a novel takes time, of course.”

  Caroline didn’t challenge her. What was the use? A person who could tell you to earn money by either running errands or writing a novel wasn’t going to be bothered if you said she wasn’t making sense.

  The trouble was that Lillina’s enthusiasm was stirring up all the excitement Caroline had originally felt when Jeannie’s invitation arrived two months ago. The dream trip even began to seem possible. People on Barker Road took care of their own children or enrolled them in day-care centers. And no one that Caroline knew was likely to hire her to clean house. But there was something she could do to earn money. It would be dreadful, but she supposed she could do it if she had to.

  “Why exactly do you want to go to England?” Lillina broke into her thoughts. “I mean, you said your friend will be back here in a year.”

  “I just want to go.” Caroline pressed her lips together and stared into the night. Lillina could ask all she wanted, but Caroline wouldn’t let herself be pushed into answering that question. She hoped that God Himself didn’t know the real reason, it was so ugly. How could He love a person who wanted to get away from her sick sister? How could He care about a sinner who longed to do something—anything!—that her sister would never, never be able to do?

&
nbsp; Caroline was annoyed again, with herself and with Lillina. “I have to go in,” she said. “It’s getting late. Besides, you’d better go home. You could be attacked or something, standing around in the dark talking to the moon.”

  She knew how mean she sounded, but Lillina’s smile was forgiving. “You’re like my darling Frederick,” she said. “He worries about me constantly.” She shook her head over some secret thought. “Of course, the person you’re really like is my sister Eleanor. The similarity is amazing.”

  “Like her how?” Caroline demanded. “I’m not good in math.”

  “Well, you look a lot like her,” Lillina replied. “And I’m sure you have special talents of your own. Actually, you’re the way Eleanor used to be—before she got herself together.” She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to decide whether to go on. “You both have this special problem to overcome, of course. But if Eleanor could do it, I’m sure you can, too.”

  Caroline glared at Lillina’s calm profile. What in the world could this girl know, or think she knew, about Caroline’s problems? “What do you mean?” she snapped. “You hardly know me.”

  Lillina smiled warmly and sweetly. “But I know you and Eleanor both have older sisters, dear. Older sisters who”—she dropped her eyes modestly—“well, nobody’s perfect, I suppose, but it’s easy to think your older sister is perfect when you admire her so much. And it’s ever so hard to be your own best self when you’re always wishing you were like someone else.”

  Caroline jumped up. Trembling with rage, she had to fight back an impulse to push this infuriating girl right off the step.

  “That’s DUMB!” she shouted. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard!”

  “No, it isn’t,” Lillina said softly. “It’s the truth.” She stood up and touched Caroline lightly on the wrist. “You really must go to England, dear,” she said and strode down the walk, pausing at the curb to raise a hand and wiggle her fingers in farewell.

  Like a sophisticated model.

  Or a best-selling novelist.