Blue Lake

by Elizabeth Buhmann

  And where was Alice now? Regina found her in the French armchair in the sitting room.

  “I’m going to have a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

  “Oh, thank you. That sounds lovely.”

  Regina put on the kettle and set up a tray with cups and saucers, cream and sugar, teaspoons. She was beginning to understand Mary’s preoccupation with dishes. Dishes to set a tray or table, dishes to serve, dishes to pick up, wash, and put away.

  What did Alice do all day? William had loved to read, and before his health failed, he’d loved his garden. He’d managed his household and his wealth. Surely he hadn’t spent every moment sitting with Alice. Surely she could be left alone some of the time. Would she just sit there? Alice had once liked to walk and ride and swim. But she had stopped walking because she was afraid of open spaces, afraid of being watched. By whom? As though danger lurked in the woods. Regina longed to part the curtains, let in the sunlight.

  The kettle whistled.

  Regina set the tray in front of Alice, who said, “Oh how nice. Thank you, darling.”

  Darling! Buoyed, Regina sat on the sofa. “Will you be all right if I go to Richmond tomorrow? I need to get some things from my apartment. I’ll go right after lunch and be back in time for dinner.”

  “Oh, do you live in Richmond? I love Richmond.”

  “I have an apartment there, but I’m letting it go at the end of the month. My boss has agreed to let me work for him on a freelance basis. I’ll drive in a couple of times a week, depending on what assignments he has for me.”

  “What sort of work do you do?” As though they had just met.

  “Commercial art. Advertising.” She hesitated, thinking how the others acted around their mother, talking freely about their work and families and lives. What might she say if this were Sophie? “I’m hoping I’ll have time to do some painting on my own too.”

  “How wonderful. You must be very talented. What sorts of things do you like to paint?”

  Regina had always been so self-conscious in Alice’s presence that she had hardly ever tried to talk about herself. “Landscapes mostly…”

  Alice, while saying next to nothing, drew her out, reacting with little ohs and ahs and lovelys. This was the beguiling Alice Hannon, beautiful and charming, saying little, doing nothing. Regina could not remember ever being the focus of this magic.

  She was almost giddy when the conversation reached an amicable pause and Alice said, “Your tea isn’t cold, is it?”

  Regina looked at the cup perched on her knee and laughed. “It is! I forgot to drink it.”

  “We’re having such a good time. Would you like some more hot water? Where is Mary?”

  Looking for Mary to serve Regina? She almost laughed, but for a pang of disappointment. Alice thought she was a guest, someone to be taken care of, and of course Alice never would lift a finger.

  “No, I’ll get it.” Regina was let down, but she would give it time. “I don’t need to be taken care of, Mama.”

  Alice cocked her head and blinked, and Regina realized she had done it—called Alice Mama, like Mary. Alice was going to have to understand who she was, if this was going to work.

  “I’m Regina,” she said firmly. Then she softened. “I remember calling you Mama. A long, long time ago.”

  Alice said complacently, “You heard that from your Mimi. She always called me that.”

  It was on Regina’s lips to say, I am your daughter. But Mary wouldn’t do that. Mary played along, never confronted Alice. Regina so far had alternated between playing the game that Mary played and insisting on the realities she needed Alice to accept, and that Alice willfully refused.

  “Where is Mary?” Alice asked again.

  “At the cottage.”

  “Why doesn’t she come?”

  She would have to explain the situation with Mary and Robert at some point, but instead she changed the subject. “Mama”—it was easier the second time—“the house needs some attention, don’t you think? It’s been a long time since it was painted inside. The floors could use sanding too.”

  “I suppose so.” A glimmer of interest. Considering, eyes traveling about the room, looking at the floor.

  She’s not hard to distract. Is that how Mary managed? “Don’t you think it would be nice to have the hospital bed removed? Make that room back into a study or a library? I’d like to make the house more the way it used to be. Not grand. Just comfortable and fresh.” Spacious and light. Again, she longed to part the curtains.

  Alice had assumed a dreamy look. “When we were first married, we had very little furniture, and we could dance through the house. William used to say one day he’d hire a string quartet to play so we could waltz from one end of the house to another.”

  “Papa designed the house, didn’t he?” Knowing the answer, of course.

  “Oh yes. He based it on a beautiful house he’d seen in Europe. The carpenters who built the house said he could have been an architect.”

  This was how the others puffed her up. Regina felt a small surge of excitement—she was getting the hang of it. She reached into the past and found another scrap of lore. “Papa always said you rode a horse better than anyone. He said you sat like a princess in a sidesaddle, but you could jump over a hedgerow.”

  “He was exaggerating. I certainly never jumped a hedgerow on a horse.” But she was clearly pleased, smoothing the skirt of her lace-edged gown. Where did she find these exquisite, otherworldly clothes?

  “Papa said he would come to the Rectory to visit and you wouldn’t be there, but then you would come galloping up with pink cheeks and your hair flying.” That was the girl William had fallen for. The prettiest girl anyone had ever seen.

  “William was a gallant man. My parents thought the world of him.”

  “Wasn’t there a story about a bet?”

  Alice’s laugh was delicate and musical. As she told the story Regina knew by heart, Regina thought about her father’s disenchantment with this vacant beauty. Mrs. Marsden had said that Sophie’s aunt had “often wondered if William regretted his choice.”

  Her reverie was interrupted when Alice, who had drifted from one story to another, said, “Remember?”

  “No. I’m too young.”

  “Oh, for a minute I thought you were Mary.”

  “But I’ve heard about it all my life, so I almost feel like I could have been there. I love looking at all the old letters and clothes and things in the attic from those days.”

  “The attic of this house? What were you doing up there?”

  “I stay up there when I come home. There’s no room for me downstairs. I like it up there. I love the view. I think I’ll get rid of some of the clutter and spread out my studio.” She added, speaking more to herself than to Alice, “I actually can live here.”

  “Live here?”

  Regina sighed and willed herself to patience. “Yes. Papa left me the house. It’s mine now.” Reality, she decided, was the way to go. No pretending. At a minimum, Alice needed to understand the basics. “I’m your daughter. It’s my house now.”

  Regina had not yet broached the question whether Alice would go to Westover Hall or stay on at Blue Lake. The moment seemed right. “It means you don’t have to leave. Mama, you can stay here as long as you want. You don’t have to go to Westover Hall, unless you want to. Do you want to try living here with me?”

  The delicate ringed fingers moved with rare agitation. “What does Mary think? Where is Mary?”

  She had dodged it once. Reality, she thought. I need for her to face reality.

  Alice asked again, “Where is Mary?”

  “At the cottage.”

  “Why doesn’t she come?”

  “Her husband is there. She wants to be with him.”

  “Robert is here?” She brightened. “Well, why don’t they both come?”

  Regina stilled her hands in her lap and held up her head. “I won’t allow it. I don’t want him here.”

&n
bsp; “Why not?”

  “He was…” She couldn’t fathom telling Alice what he’d done. Alice’s world did not comprehend a man like Robert. “He was horrible to me when I was growing up.”

  “What an awful thing to say! Robert is wonderful. You’ll hurt Mary’s feelings if you talk that way. How can you say he can’t come here?”

  “It’s my house.”

  “Your house?”

  “Papa left it to me. I’m going to live here and you are welcome to stay here with me. I—would like that. I want to take care of the house, restore the gardens, the roses.” She ran out of breath.

  “Roses.” Alice sat motionless, and the focus of her gaze softened. “William loves his roses.”

  How her mind slipped! Relieved, Regina gladly followed this latest swerve. “I used to love to help him in the garden. He taught me the names of all the roses, and I think there must have been a hundred.”

  “He would drive as far as Williamsburg for a cutting of a rare variety of rose.”

  Playing Mary’s game again, Regina gently prompted Alice to describe the gardens of the heyday, and the orchard and the kitchen garden too. With Alice nattering placidly again, Regina tried to picture what she could realistically expect to accomplish.

  Al had amazed her. He had taken over the difficult job of approaching the Rawleys, to her immense relief. He’d made some calls and consulted his father, who, despite his foibles, was a shrewd businessman. Then Al had negotiated a fair deal with Tiberius Rawley for renovating not just the rose garden, but all the grounds of Blue Lake.

  “I don’t know about that old man though,” he told her afterward. “Tiberius is fine. I like him. But Sam Rawley hates your family, and I don’t think that’s going to change.”

  “He’s too old to work,” she said, “and I don’t know why he’d want to, but maybe he could show Tiberius what to do and tell him how it used to be.”

  So Al had offered the older man what he called a consulting fee. He’d also, again at Regina’s urging, staked them money for equipment, with the understanding that it would belong to Tiberius, not to Blue Lake, so he would be free to use it for other jobs. That had satisfied both the younger Rawley and Regina.

  “What would I ever do without you?” she had asked.

  “You will never have to find out,” he had answered.

  Tiberius had started work right away, and his light blue pick-up sat in the shade of the trees beyond the walled garden every day from early in the morning until about four o’clock in the afternoon.

  A comfortable lull brought Regina back to the moment. She gathered the teacups and saucers onto the tray. “It won’t ever be as wonderful as it was back then, but we can have the weeds cleared and the grass cut and rescue the roses that are still alive.”

  “How can you possibly do all that? It’s an awful lot of work.”

  “I’ve—” A little warning bell in the back of her mind made her cautious. “I could hire a gardener.”

  “William had a gardener. A horrible old man who scared the children. I insisted we get rid of him, and it was a great relief when he was gone.” Alice rose and went to the window, pulled the already-closed curtains closer, then peered through them. The truck would not be visible from the house, at least not from that window. “Where is Mary?”

  “At the cottage.”

  It was a mistake to think Sam Rawley could work on these premises. Regina wasn’t sure Alice knew Tiberius by sight, but old Sam certainly. What if Alice saw him?

  “Where is Robert?” She was growing agitated again.

  Regina didn’t answer.

  “Robert understands. He was there.”

  “Robert was where?” That quickly, they were back to the day. Regina felt her heartbeat speeding. “When did you see Robert?”

  “I told him what I saw and he believed me.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Not Sam Rawley. That awful son of his.”

  All her doubts came flooding back. “Are you sure it was Tiberius, Mama?” It struck her like physical blow that when Tiberius had left town back then, the Richmond murders stopped.

  Alice broke into her thoughts, agitating left and right. “The police are investigating him.”

  “I know.” But what could they possibly do, other than question him?

  Alice wrung her hands, voice wavering up the scale. “Robert told them he drowned my little girl.”

  “Mama, tell me just what you saw.”

  “Who are you? Where is Mary?” She was clearly verging on hysteria.

  “I’m Regina. I’m your daughter.”

  “Mary? Mary?” She began to shriek, and Regina felt the edge of panic herself. This was not the time or the way to probe her mother’s damaged mind. What would Mary do? Regina looked around wildly, then snatched up a shawl from the arm of Alice’s chair. “Here, you’ll catch a chill.”

  Alice would have none of it, flung the shawl away. “Keep that man away!”

  “All right. All right. I’ll keep him away. I’ll be sure he never comes here.”

  What had she been thinking, hiring the Rawleys? She tried again to wrap her mother in the shawl, and this time she succeeded, copying the way she’d seen Mary soothe and reassure and lead her mother back to safe ground. To her amazement and relief, Alice sighed and stilled. These storms were brief then. Distraction.

  “Look how beautiful it is outside.” But maybe it was wrong to direct her attention outside. Praying neither Rawley would be anywhere in sight, she watched as Alice trailed into the hallway to the back door. The walled garden was on the far side of the house, off to the side. She calmed herself and followed Alice to the back door.

  “Yes, it is, dear,” Alice said, her face smooth, untroubled, hysteria shed as easily as the shawl that now lay on the floor behind her. “It’s a perfectly lovely day.”

  Stowing the tea tray in the kitchen, Regina marveled. Was there nothing in that pretty head?

  Al was coming for dinner to celebrate. He was leaving his job and taking on his father’s business. She’d mentioned a guest, but Alice hadn’t seemed to hear, showed no interest. She would consult him again about the Rawleys. Al had thought Tiberius was all right.

  She heard the door open in the back of the hall and followed Alice out to the porch. It was like watching over a child. How had Mary done it for all those years? Mary had raised her mother’s child, then had to care for her mother. With a rush of sympathy, she remembered warm, sunny days on the lawn, Mimi playing with her, watching over her, catching her when she fell down. Mimi taking her home to the cottage. Mary, who wanted a child of her own.

  Regina followed Alice down toward the water and remarked her still-athletic walk. Alice is not strong—the excuse for so much. But she was erect and, though willowy, perfectly sound in body. At the water’s edge, the unkempt lawn sprawled like seaweed on the surface. Alice’s eyes scanned the tree line. Please, don’t let her see him. Distract her.

  Regina kicked off her shoes and waded ankle-deep. “The water’s warm enough for swimming.”

  “Where is Mary?”

  “At the cottage,” she said patiently.

  “William—”

  “Papa is gone, Mama.” Gently. “He died.”

  “I’m talking about my husband.”

  “That’s what I said. Papa. I’m your daughter, Regina, and I live here now.”

  A blindfold fell from Regina’s eyes. Alice was a child. A lovely child, but a child. Once a beautiful and wealthy young woman with an adoring husband and a perfect family, but a child nonetheless. Alice unlashed the little boat, climbed in, and took up an oar. Mary had said she liked to sometimes take the boat out on the lake. Regina apparently was not invited.

  Warm. Sunny. Quiet. The water just minutely lapped at the edge of the lake, lifting the grass and letting it down. Small sharp stones jabbed the soles of her feet. Alice sat in the boat, looking lost, momentarily haggard, a deflated old woman. Who would never love Regina.

>   It struck Regina with a further jolt that she didn’t love Alice, this woman she had pined for all her life, her mother in name and biological fact alone. Mary was her mother. Mimi. A name she had set aside for so many years. Like Gigi. My Mimi. Regina sighed, letting go, and a feeling not unlike happiness stole over her as she stood alone, ankle-deep. Lifting her skirt, she waded farther out.

  Thinking of Al, a warm feeling wrapping around her, she listened intently to the light, almost imperceptible breeze buffeting her ears, moving the fine strands of hair that tickled the sides of her face. The sun’s warmth reflected from the surface of the water, sparkled through her closed lids. The water at the bottom chilled her feet, and her toes sank in mud. She knew a bit farther out, the water dropped abruptly to waist-deep, then to four and five and six feet. It was the sudden drop-off that made the lake dangerous. She gathered her skirt close and waded as far as the edge, almost slipped and backed out. She smiled. It was not such great treachery after all, just too much for a small child. The lake was still and harmless.

  A clumsy glancing blow to the back of her head sent pain jabbing through her eyes, and the rough wood of the boat’s side barged into her hip, momentarily stunning her with pain and shock. She stumbled forward off the shelf and held her breath instinctively, but the air had been knocked out of her, and she was holding nothing when her head went under water. Stunned, she flailed, her feet slipping out from under her, heels sliding in the mud and going off the shelf.

  She knew it was barely five feet deep—or was it six now—as she blundered forward, and across her back, the unforgiving heel of the boat rasped. Desperate for air, she rolled and pushed toward sunlight, but the boat bashed against her forehead, laid it open. Eyes wide open underwater, she could see nothing but the murky blue-brown darkness of water, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure which way was up. She kicked toward the light and broke the surface.