Chloe

by Lyn Cote

  I am here. I’m doing this not for Mother or Daddy or Theran. This is for Minnie. She couldn’t wait to describe the scene to Theran in her next letter. She’d never felt so alive in all her life. Not even in his arms.

  It was early fall. Chloe studied her reflection in one of the mirrors in the back room at Madame Blanche’s, eyeing her waistline and stomach critically. For just this moment, everyone was busy looking elsewhere and Chloe was left alone there. Any moment now two favored customers scheduled to attend a private preview of Madame’s fall line would pass through the front door.

  I can’t do this right now. Chloe closed her eyes and steadied her nerves. Even if what she suspected were true, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

  She glanced toward the front of the store as the customers swept in, wearing fox fur collars and rubies. Madame Blanche’s dramatic welcome drifted into the back room. Chloe turned to her dresser and let the girl straighten the shoulders of the first dress she was to model and arrange a few artful curls around Chloe’s face under the snug hat brim.

  “Lorraine,” Madame summoned in an imperious tone, “s’il vous plaît.”

  Putting everything else out of her mind, Chloe straightened her shoulders and strolled out to the showing area. Two fashionable society matrons sat on molded chairs, languid and spoiled, while Chloe performed the routine she could do without even thinking anymore. Madame’s voice blended into the background as Chloe took up her interrupted train of thought. Her suspicions leaped back to mind, tormenting her. I can’t do this right now.

  Then something unexpected penetrated Chloe’s consciousness. What was it? Chloe listened with more attention. It was Kitty’s voice in the back room. Why had she come? Something sounded wrong. Chloe refused to let herself frown and obeyed Madame’s instructions for her to turn once more to let one of the ladies finger the fabric. Then Chloe was dismissed and Minnie stepped out past the mirrors. She sported a morning frock of deep royal blue. Chloe reentered the back room and let the dressers converge on her. She was right; Kitty was waiting for her. “Kitty,” she began, “what brings—”

  Kitty threw her arms around Chloe, sobbing.

  The dressers looked disgruntled. “Please, miss,” one pleaded, pulling Kitty away from her, “we have to help her into the next outfit.” The dressers succeeded in detaching Kitty from Chloe and piloted her friend into a nearby chair. While they began stripping Chloe and changing her, Chloe demanded, “What’s wrong, Kitty?”

  “I’m so sorry, Chloe. So sorry.”

  Kitty’s words lit a fire in Chloe’s heart. She froze in place. “What’s happened? Tell me.”

  Kitty pulled a yellow telegram from her purse. “Mrs. Rascombe didn’t want to bother you here, but she went to pick up the mail at the post office and this was waiting for you. She called me to come over and get it. She wanted me to break it to you. I . . . opened it, Chloe, just to be sure.” Kitty’s tears flowed. “Theran was my friend, too.”

  Was . . . Theran was . . . Chloe ceased to breathe. The room receded; a mist of flashing pinpoints of light hit her in the face. She staggered. Leaping up, Kitty grasped her arm. “You look faint. Sit down.”

  The urge to succumb rolled through Chloe. She clutched at what was real—the dressers, the back room, the sound of Madame Blanche’s smooth selling voice . . .

  Minnie appeared and the dressers, now finished with Chloe, turned her to go out front again. They looked uncertain. One held up a hand to halt her. But without hesitation, Chloe walked through the door, her body fulfilling its rehearsed, required task.

  Theran was . . .

  Flames. Then ice. Then flames, again and again, shuddering through Chloe. Outwardly, she posed like a lifeless mannequin before the two faceless women, who both fingered the cloth. They asked her to turn. She obeyed. They asked to view the dress from the rear. She whirled again.

  Theran was . . .

  In the doorway, opened just enough to peek out, Minnie stood with tears streaming down her dusky cheeks. Posed artfully, Chloe felt fingers tugging at her skirt and heard voices. She paid no attention. Finally, Madame dismissed her. Chloe reached Minnie.

  Minnie whispered near her ear, “I’m so sorry, Chloe. So sorry.”

  Chloe couldn’t trust herself to speak. She thought she nodded. Then Minnie was gone and Chloe faced Kitty. “When did he die?” The words scored her throat.

  “Three days ago.” Kitty wiped at her tears with a damp hankie, to no avail. Fresh tears gushed from her eyes. “Of food poisoning. Several men died after the same meal.”

  The dressers paused in their progress of changing Chloe’s dress and looked up, horrified. “Dead? Your husband died? We’ll tell Madame,” one murmured and started off.

  “No,” Chloe snapped. If she didn’t go on with what was real, what was within her power, she’d fly apart. “Make the change. Madame has everything planned out. Minnie can’t wear my dresses. The colors aren’t right.”

  The dressers stared at her. Kitty stared at her.

  “Go on,” Chloe ordered, her throat thickening. “Change me. Or we’ll throw Madame off.” Theran, it isn’t true.

  “But, Chloe,” Kitty started.

  “I can’t think about that right now.” Chloe turned away. “I have work to do.” Theran, you promised you’d come back to me.

  Watching her with wide eyes and blinking back sympathetic tears, the dressers nimbly finished the switch and Chloe turned to face the door.

  “Chloe, you look faint,” Kitty repeated. “Please sit down.” Minnie entered and Chloe sauntered automatically out to the showroom, Kitty’s words echoing in her mind. It was over, all over. Theran would never hold her again, not in this life. She closed her eyes, drowning in remembrance.

  Two weeks later, after dark, the train arrived in Buffalo, New York. Chloe alighted and scanned the platform for Theran’s parents and sister. A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair who walked like Theran came forward. “Are you Chloe?”

  His resemblance to Theran caught her lungs in a vise. She managed to nod. “Mr. Black?”

  He reached for her valise. “I hope your trip went smoothly.” He spoke gruffly and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Yes.” What did one say to the father of her late husband, a man she’d never met? “Fine.”

  “I’ve got the car over here,” he said, averting his eyes. Why wouldn’t he look at her? “It’s only a short ride home.”

  The house Theran had grown up in was a tidy two-story brick home with an enclosed front porch. In the front yard, a red maple flamed under the nearby street lamp. Her father-in-law at her heel, Chloe stepped inside the neat, oak-paneled foyer and waited. A young woman with dark hair and Theran’s gray eyes walked toward her from the rear. “Hello. I’m Theran’s sister, Lorna.” She offered Chloe both her hands.

  Chloe took them. The hands felt cold even through Chloe’s kid gloves. “It’s nice to meet you.” Polite words were her only shield. Chloe let Lorna keep her hands as she read the sorrow in Lorna’s red-ringed eyes.

  “Where’s your mother?” Mr. Black asked.

  “She’s in bed.” Lorna’s voice thinned. “She says she has one of her headaches and can’t bear light.”

  Chloe felt Lorna’s grip tighten. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Chloe murmured.

  Mr. Black chewed the corner of his mustache. “I’ll go up to her. Lorna, would you get Chloe some refreshment and show her the room we’ve prepared for her.” He hurried up the staircase without a backward glance.

  “Come to the kitchen.” Lorna tugged Chloe’s hands. “I’ve got the kettle on for tea.”

  “Thank you.” Chloe followed her sister-in-law to the rear of the house.

  As she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, Lorna turned and embraced Chloe. “I know Theran loved you. He wrote me about you. I’m so glad he . . . had a love.”

  “I loved him, too.”

  Lorna nodded against Chloe’s cheek. Chloe bit her lip to hold back tears. He was my sa
lvation, my strength. But he’s gone.

  Releasing her, Lorna motioned for Chloe to sit down and then went to the stove and lifted a steaming kettle. “We’re sorry, Father and I, that we didn’t come and see you in New York.” She choked on tears and turned away.

  Chloe said something polite. Tears dripped from her eyes.

  “It’s terrible to meet you under these . . . sad circumstances.” She set the kettle on a black iron trivet.

  Chloe agreed, but wasn’t able to speak.

  Lorna screwed up her face as though fighting painful thoughts. “Father doesn’t want me to tell you anything. But I think I ought to.”

  What could be worse than Theran dying so far from home, so far away that Chloe couldn’t grieve over him or kiss his lips one last time? “What?” Chloe choked out.

  Lorna poured boiling water into a white china teapot. “Mother is very angry . . .” Lorna’s voice faltered.

  Chloe tried to guess what her mother-in-law could be angry about. “About losing Theran?” she ventured.

  “Well, yes. I think that’s what’s really upsetting her of course. But she’s . . . she didn’t want you to come to the memorial service.”

  The words made no sense. Chloe stared at Lorna’s pained face. “Why not? I’m his widow.”

  Lorna pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I don’t really understand what’s happening in her mind.” She put the kettle back on the stove. “Theran was always her favorite. Theran knew that and he didn’t like it, didn’t think it was fair. But ever since he enlisted, she’s been . . . crazy with worry. And so angry with him for enlisting when he could have waited to be drafted.”

  “Theran wasn’t like that.”

  Lorna smiled then, showing a glimmer of how pretty and bright she must have looked before Theran’s loss had plunged her into sorrow. “He wasn’t. But my mother won’t accept that. She thinks he didn’t have the right to endanger his life, that he owed her and Father. They sacrificed so much for his education, you see. All their hopes were on him.”

  Chloe pondered this, trying to understand how Theran’s mother was feeling. “What does that have to do with me coming here?”

  Lorna wiped away a tear. “She didn’t think it was right that Theran married . . . eloped with you. She . . .”

  Lorna’s face, more than her words, shook Chloe’s composure. She understood now—she wasn’t wanted here, wouldn’t be embraced by this family as she had dreamed. Once again she was alone. The hope of finding welcome, of finding the support Chloe had cherished, flickered and dimmed.

  Theran had been buried in France. So a memorial service had to suffice. The next afternoon, this formal farewell dragged on and on. Sitting in the front row beside Lorna, Chloe held on to her composure with numb fingertips. Continuous tears slipped down her cheeks. She didn’t try to stop them. People didn’t speak to her, but they stared at her, looked away, and then stared more. At the end of the service, a Spanish-American War veteran presented her with a triangular-folded US flag.

  Finally, the ceremony ended and everyone drove in crowded cars back to the Black home. Chloe sat in a wing chair by the cold fireplace in the formal room, where lacy antimacassars lay on the arms of the stiff horsehair chairs. The flag sat on a table with a photo of Theran in uniform. Mourners, somber and formal, milled around, still glancing toward her. A few stopped by her and murmured sympathy. Chloe nodded and thanked them. But she was the stranger—the stranger who had married Theran Black the weekend before he shipped off to France. She didn’t belong here among them, not without Theran at her side. Theran’s mother never looked at her. Never spoke to her. She acted as if Chloe wasn’t present. Waves of animosity flowed from the other woman, icy waves buffeting Chloe. Was it this that kept everyone staring at Chloe? Did everyone sense the woman’s feral resentment of her?

  Eventually the guests ate their fill, said their last condolences, and left. The maid hired for the occasion cleared away the dishes and went to the kitchen to begin washing them. Chloe looked up at Mr. Black, who stood by the mantel, at Lorna and Mrs. Black, who sat side by side on the sofa across from her. She’d come here with hope. She couldn’t give up without even trying to bridge the gap between Theran’s mother and herself. But she wouldn’t say less than the truth. “Why do you hate me, Mother Black?”

  Mrs. Black didn’t reply at first, but she glared at Chloe, pure venom in her eyes.

  Chloe repeated her question.

  “My wife doesn’t hate you,” Mr. Black began.

  “Yes, I do,” his wife snapped. “I hate you, you hussy.”

  Chloe tried to make sense of this insult. “I’m the widow of your son. How does that make me a hussy?”

  “Look at you.” The older woman’s words were like a slap across Chloe’s face. “Your bobbed hair, your lip rouge. You’ve been working as a model. A respectable wife doesn’t work, and certainly not at something that’s as close to an actress as being the same thing.”

  “I had to earn my keep—”

  “And what decent girl entices a young man to elope with her? A decent girl would have obeyed her parents and waited till her beau returned from the war. You’re a wild female and you took in my son—completely. What would he know about scheming women like you?”

  Chloe’s lips parted, but she couldn’t think of a word to say. It was all too bizarre to be happening.

  “Mother, that’s enough,” Mr. Black said in a quelling voice. “You’re upset, but—”

  “This is all your fault, you vile woman,” Theran’s mother plunged on, heedless.

  “Mother,” Lorna snapped, “stop it. You’re just angry that Theran eloped with Chloe instead of coming home to spend his last weekend with us.”

  The woman slapped Lorna’s cheek.

  Mr. Black swooped down on his wife, grasped both her hands and pulled her to her feet. “This will stop now. You’ve said too much and I’m ashamed of you. Theran would be ashamed of you. He loved this woman or he wouldn’t have married her. She is the widow of our son and I won’t have you abusing her in this house.”

  Mrs. Black wrenched away from him. “You are just as taken in as my son was. A pretty face always counts more with a man than anything else. And that soft accent. She knows just how to get what she wants. She wanted my son; he was a catch.”

  Chloe opened her mouth, but no words came. The quivering that she’d felt since Kitty brought the telegram increased. Theran was gone and he’d taken away her foundation, her strength, with him.

  Mrs. Black struggled against her husband, swinging around to face Chloe. “Why did you ensnare my boy? Why did you have to marry so quickly? Had you let him take liberties or did you think you were pregnant by someone else so you trapped my son to cover—”

  “Mother—” Theran’s father seized his wife by the shoulders and turned her toward the doorway. “—you are hysterical. Lorna, call the doctor and ask him to come over as soon as he can with a sedative.” He marched his wife out of the room and up the stairs. Weeping, Lorna went to the phone in the kitchen and Chloe heard her talking to the operator.

  Chloe sat without moving, barely breathing. Theran was not coming back. She’d come here hoping for a welcome, for a haven. How could Theran’s mother hate her when they’d only met yesterday? Why had she voiced such terrible lies? Theran, you’re never coming back to me and your mother hates me. What am I going to do?

  Suddenly, as she sat there alone, she heard once more the voice of her Granny Raney whispering in her memory, In this world there will be troubles. The thought did not comfort her.

  “I can’t do this alone,” Chloe whispered to the empty room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  After disembarking, Chloe walked to the triple-arched entrance of the Baltimore Union Station. Each step rang through her like the clanging of discordant bells. This wasn’t from her overwhelming fatigue but because of her destination. I can’t do this. She’d thought the worst that could happen had happened to her. Then she’d gone to Bu
ffalo and her circumstances had dropped to nearly unbearable. Had she hit bottom yet or did she have more to lose? She stepped out into the chilly early November night wind. She dismissed the redcap with a generous tip and then looked around, hanging back near the dimly lit entrance.

  From the shadows cast by the Greek pillars, a tall soldier approached her, but stopped a few feet from her. “Chloe?”

  The familiar voice splashed through her like hot wax. “Roarke?” Neither of them moved. Eyeing his unexpected khaki uniform, Chloe couldn’t take a step, could hardly breathe. Roarke, a soldier? When would it all end? When everyone had been killed? “I didn’t know you’d been . . .”

  “Been drafted?”

  Her throat clamped shut. She could barely nod. People—civilians and more soldiers—paraded around them, between them. Many glanced inquisitively at the two of them. Chloe tried to calm herself. But seeing that Roarke now stood directly in harm’s way left her more shaken than ever. God, hold me together.

  “We haven’t told Kitty yet.” Roarke spoke in a composed voice as though discussing a banking policy. “She had exams and we didn’t want her to know until after she’d finished them.” His mouth became a line. “Theran’s death upset her. We thought . . .”

  Chloe would never forget Kitty’s face, her voice on that awful day at Madame Blanche’s when Kitty had brought the telegram about Theran.

  Now, Roarke looked as if he’d like to say more, but he only said, “Let me take those for you.” He picked up the two valises at her feet. “My car is over here.” He nudged her arm and led her to the familiar Model-T.

  She was grateful for his effort to keep everything commonplace. But being near Roarke awoke memories—

  especially of the last time they’d been together on her wedding day, when he’d let her know he wanted her for himself. Careful not to brush against Roarke’s crisp wool uniform, Chloe slipped onto the seat. She closed her eyes as the memory of Theran in his uniform waving and smiling aboard ship taunted her. The subtle tremor deep inside that never left her intensified. First Theran, now Roarke.