by Diane Hoh
“That’s a stupid reason for marrying,” Elizabeth remarked.
Her mother and her former fiancé looked at her as if to say, Is there a better reason?
And that was when the idea sprang, full-blown, into Elizabeth’s head.
There was a way to escape. There was a way to fulfill her promise to her father and still have her independence. All she had to do … why hadn’t she thought of it before … all she had to do was find Nola a husband!
She wouldn’t be betraying her father. He wouldn’t mind. He wanted his wife taken care of. He wouldn’t be angry if it was by a husband instead of a daughter.
It shouldn’t be all that difficult, finding someone. Nola was young, not yet forty, and very beautiful, with gentility, breeding, and character. Any intelligent man with taste would be thrilled to have such a woman.
Of course, it couldn’t be just any man. The first requisite was, he would have to be wealthy. Nola would expect … no, demand, to be pampered in a new marriage just as she had been in her first. She had her own money, plenty of it, but at the rate she was spending it, it wouldn’t hurt to have another income handy. Wealth was definitely an important consideration when seeking a new husband for Nola Farr.
So … wealth and generosity were requirements. Also character, as she had no wish to see her mother with a scoundrel, and there were plenty of those about, according to newspaper accounts. Wealth, generosity, and character … that might do it.
Where might Elizabeth find such a man?
Didn’t Alan have an uncle who was a bachelor? He’d be wealthy, of course. Alan would never tolerate a poor relation. And he spoke kindly of this uncle, so the man couldn’t be poor. Cedric, wasn’t that his name? Uncle Cedric, he of the large estate in Tarrytown-on-the-Hudson, not far from Alan’s country house.
Of course, the man would most likely also be dull, like his nephew, and probably not nearly as good-looking as Martin Farr. But hadn’t Nola herself just put her stamp of approval on the “sensible” marriage of Alan’s widowed cousin? She hadn’t said a word about the prospective groom’s appearance or personality. If those things shouldn’t matter to the cousin, they should be of no importance to Nola, as well.
For the first time in months, she felt something stirring within her. She couldn’t be sure what it was, didn’t recognize the feeling. Excitement? Hope, maybe? Whatever it was, it was good to feel something.
She could hardly wait to share her new plan with Max. Perhaps his father knew someone suitable.
Meanwhile, she would go with her mother to Tarrytown and arrange a meeting between Nola and Alan’s bachelor-uncle Cedric or Chester or whatever it was. Perhaps it was Cecil.
Elizabeth lifted her head. “I think,” she said slowly, as if she were waking from a long sleep, “that a new riding outfit would be a good idea. My jacket from last year has a hole in the elbow from a fall.”
Nola beamed at her daughter with approval.
“By the way, Alan,” Elizabeth asked later as her former fiancé was taking his leave, “what was the name of that uncle you’re so fond of, the one who lives near your Tarrytown house? If I remember correctly, he grows award-winning tomatoes.” Nola had retired for the night and was safely out of hearing.
Though the night was warm, Alan carefully wrapped a white silk muffler about his neck. “You must be speaking of Casper. My uncle Casper.”
“Yes, of course.” Her eyes innocent, Elizabeth asked, “Is he still single?”
Alan sighed. “He is. We Reed men seem to be devilishly unlucky in matters of the heart.”
Refusing to rise to the bait, Elizabeth asked, “And does he still live in Tarrytown?”
“Of course. His estate is one of the most impressive in the area.”
Elizabeth mentally checked off “wealthy” on her list. Looks and personality were something else again. But she was willing to take things one step at a time, now that she had an idea. Now that she had a plan. Now that she had hope.
Perhaps, with luck and timing and perseverance, the dreams she’d had before the Titanic disaster could be resurrected after all.
Chapter 10
“YOU’RE NOT GOING!” MAX said flatly when Elizabeth explained over the telephone, in hushed tones, her plan. He couldn’t believe she was planning on spending two weeks at Alan’s country house in Tarrytown-on-the-Hudson. “First off, your mother isn’t going to let someone pick out a fellow for her. Second, if you think I’m going to shout hooray at the idea of you spending two weeks in the company of your former fiancé, think again!”
“I never agreed to be engaged to him,” Elizabeth reminded him, keeping her voice calm. “That was all my parents’ doing, Max, and you know it. So what are you worried about? You know I never loved Alan.” She smiled into the telephone. “You’re worried that a sudden, mad passion for Alan Reed will overtake me and I’ll throw myself into his arms with abandon?”
“Something like that,” Max admitted grudgingly. “It isn’t really you I don’t trust. It’s your mother. She always gets what she wants. And what she wants is for you to give me the old heave-ho and marry Alan Reed, which is why he suddenly showed up tonight at your house. You know she invited him, probably because you defied her today and spent the afternoon with me. That must have really worried her.”
“She doesn’t always get what she wants,” Elizabeth reminded him.
He knew immediately what she meant. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. But when it comes to you, she does. At least, ever since…” He paused, then went ahead and said it, “Ever since we got back.”
Elizabeth didn’t want to argue with Max. She’d be leaving the city soon, leaving him, and it was important that they part on good terms. “I have to do this, Max. If I can find someone to take care of her, I’ll be free of my promise to my father. I can apply to Vassar the very second I know she’s going to be in good hands.”
Max made a rude sound. “As if the woman isn’t perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Look at the way she runs that house. At the way she runs you….”
Elizabeth sighed. “I know. But she doesn’t want to take care of herself.” She sighed again. “I just hope Alan’s wealthy Uncle Casper is at least reasonably good-looking.”
He wasn’t. Alan’s wealthy Uncle Casper was an older replica of Alan. Meeting the man, seeing uncle and nephew side by side, Elizabeth felt as if she were viewing two photographs of the same man, except that one of them had been taken twenty years after the first. The resemblance was uncanny … and dispiriting. Martin Farr had been so handsome. It was hard to imagine her beautiful mother on the arm of someone like Casper Reed, who had lost a bit more hair than his nephew and bore a few more pounds around the middle. How could Nola ever be attracted to Casper Reed?
But, Elizabeth reminded herself sternly to lift her sagging spirits, if Alan, a younger version of Casper in every way, was good enough for me in Nola’s eyes, why shouldn’t the older version of him be acceptable to her!
She realized the flaw in that logic instantly. Alan had only been acceptable in her parents’ eyes … never in hers. She herself had never been attracted to him. How likely then was it that Nola would be attracted to his uncle? Nevertheless, it was worth a try. Elizabeth hadn’t made the trip from Manhattan to Tarrytown to give up so easily.
Nola did seem happy to be in the country again. And Casper’s estate was impressive. Acre upon acre of lush green land, in the middle of which sat an enormous stone and frame dwelling twice the size of Alan’s house. If Elizabeth was less impressed by the lack of imagination in the decorating of the bachelor’s home, she assured herself that Nola could remedy that easily enough. If she chose to.
She did not choose to. After five days and evenings spent in the company of nephew and uncle, Nola was ready to go home.
“The days are entertaining enough,” she confided to Elizabeth as she prepared for bed on a warm summer evening in July. “But the evenings!” Nola sighed. “One more nigh
t of conversation about dogs and horses, hunting and banking, and I think I shall go mad.”
Thoroughly disheartened by her mother’s clear lack of interest in Casper Reed as a suitor, Elizabeth argued, “Mother, dinner conversation among your friends is hardly more stimulating.” She had thrown Nola and Casper together at every opportunity, suffering through long, tedious hours alone with Alan, hoping some spark would flare up between the two adults. It hadn’t. Though Casper seemed intrigued by his beautiful companion, it was clear that Nola was no more attracted to him than to the stone fence guarding the man’s property.
“You could have been friendlier to Casper. He’s very wealthy, you know,” Elizabeth said. “And he’s not a bad sort. He seems very taken with you.”
Nola gasped. Her jaw dropped in an unladylike gape. “Casper? As a suitor? For me? Oh, Elizabeth, you can’t be serious! You were actually entertaining such a ridiculous notion? Why, the man is nothing like your father. Even if I were thinking along such lines, now that my period of mourning is over, and I assure you I am not, Casper Reed would certainly not be a candidate.” She paused, thought for a minute or two, then her eyes narrowed. “Elizabeth? Is that why you were willing to come up here? You were … you were thinking that Casper and I…” Nola broke off in mid-sentence to laugh. At first it was just a small, ladylike laugh. But as she continued dwelling on Elizabeth’s intention, her laugh gained strength and momentum, until it rang out in the room like a chorus of bells. She bent double at the waist, laughing and gasping at the same time.
After several long minutes, Nola wiped her eyes, gasping, “Casper Reed! Oh, Elizabeth…”
“Why wouldn’t Casper be a candidate, Mother?” Elizabeth asked when Nola had regained control. “Because he’s too much like his nephew? Too dull, too boring, and not at all handsome?” She kept her voice very quiet, aware of Alan sleeping somewhere on the same floor. “Yet you found Alan perfectly acceptable for me.”
Nola frowned. She wiped her eyes with a linen handkerchief. “That is very different.”
“How is it different?” Elizabeth picked up a magazine and waved it for emphasis. “Your daughter doesn’t deserve a handsome, interesting husband but you do? Isn’t that terribly hypocritical, Mother?”
Nola faced her dressing table mirror and started brushing her hair. “Nonsense. You’re young. You need the stability of someone like Alan, who can establish a respectable, secure life for you. I, on the other hand, already have an adequate income, my own home, an established life. Your father saw to that.”
Elizabeth mulled that over. Then she said, “So, what you’re saying is, you have everything you need. You don’t need Casper. You don’t need a husband. You don’t need anyone to take care of you. Isn’t that what you’re saying?”
Realizing the trap she had fallen into, Nola hastened to repair the damage. “Not as long as I have you, dear. What would I need with a husband when I have my darling daughter at my side?”
But it was too late. Much too late. The first mistake Nola had made was laughing at her daughter. The second mistake was insisting that her life was well-ordered. That she didn’t need a husband to care for her. Elizabeth had always known this was true, though her father hadn’t seen it. But she had never before heard her mother admit it.
All right, then. She would apply to Vassar College. And she would be accepted, she was certain of that. She would take the train home every weekend to make sure her mother was doing well, and to see Max. But she would be leaving the house in Murray Hill.
Because her mother was fine, would be fine. Hadn’t she just said so herself?
Sensing that something was happening but unable to figure out exactly what it was, Nola turned once again on the vanity stool. She glanced at the magazine in Elizabeth’s hand, and anxious for a diversion, said as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place, “Oh, darling, look at the gorgeous green hat on the cover! Do look inside the magazine and see if it tells us where I might find that hat. It would go so beautifully with my green suit, the one with the ermine collar.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Oh, it would, Mother, you’re right.” Still smiling, she began leafing through the magazine again. Though she appeared to be searching the pages for information about where her mother might purchase the green hat on the cover, she was actually mentally composing her letter of inquiry to Vassar about admissions policies.
Dear Sir or Madam,
You will be happy to hear (though not nearly as happy as I was) that my mother is perfectly satisfied with her life, perfectly capable of caring for herself and therefore I am writing to inquire how I might become a matriculating student at your fine establishment…
or:
Dear Sir or Madam,
Might you have room at your fine establishment for a young woman who has had enough shopping on Fifth Avenue to last her a full lifetime?
“Have you found it yet?” Nola asked.
“No. But I’m still looking.”
They returned to New York the following day, a sticky, sultry, Thursday afternoon in mid-July.
A month before Elizabeth had secretly written to Vassar College, applying for admission. She had asked for a scholarship, saying she wanted to be independent of her family. She doubted, at the time, she would be able to leave her mother, but she wanted to have hope.
On a Tuesday morning, she received her acceptance letter. “We are pleased to inform you….” Not only had she been accepted, but because of her “excellent academic standing” in her “lower-form education,” she was being offered a scholarship that would meet most of her expenses.
Elizabeth couldn’t believe her good fortune. Now, even if her mother disapproved, she would be able to go. She could get a part-time job in Poughkeepsie, perhaps as a salesclerk in a department store, to cover the remainder of her expenses.
The first person she shared this joyful news with was Max, by telephone. He was as elated as she was. When she had returned from Tarrytown and shared with him what had happened there, how her decision to apply to college had come about, he’d been almost as excited as she was. But he reminded her that because she had applied so late, she would have to tell her mother right away.
She did.
Upon hearing the news, Nola collapsed.
Chapter 11
“WELL, OF COURSE YOU can’t possibly go,” Nola said flatly when Elizabeth, her stomach churning, had read aloud the contents of her letter from Vassar. “I can’t imagine what you were thinking, applying to college behind my back and not even discussing it with me first.”
They were outside, in the garden, where Elizabeth had found her mother gathering a bouquet of pink roses. She would have done almost anything to avoid this confrontation. But she was to leave for Poughkeepsie soon. Perhaps Max would drive her. If not, she could take the train. At any rate, there was not enough time to break the news gently to her mother.
“I didn’t discuss it with you,” Elizabeth said, “because I wasn’t sure I’d be accepted. But now I have been, and I am going, Mother. They’ve given me a scholarship. I won’t turn that down.”
Nola tilted her head, protected from the sun by a wide-brimmed straw hat. “You’re not going, Elizabeth. I need you here. I can’t possibly manage here all by myself.”
Elizabeth clutched the sheet of paper in her hands so tightly the fine linen stationery crackled like kernels of corn popping. Nola glanced around as if trying to locate the source of the annoying sound. “You said you didn’t need a husband, Mother, remember? At Alan’s. You said your life was just fine without a man to take care of you. You laughed at my efforts at matchmaking. If you can manage without a husband, why can’t you manage without a daughter? You have friends. You have a social life, you said so yourself. You can do the same things with Betsy and Caroline and your other friends that you and I do together. And the household staff will take care of everything else.”
“Caroline and Betsy won’t be here in the evenings.”
“They’d
come if you invited them.”
Nola’s face was quite pale. “It’s during the evening that I miss your father most, Elizabeth. He wouldn’t want me to be alone then, Elizabeth. He was counting on you to save me from such loneliness.”
Elizabeth winced. But she recovered instantly. Nola didn’t usually play her trump card … Elizabeth’s father … so quickly. She knows how determined I am this time, Elizabeth guessed, and it’s making her desperate. “You could sell the house, Mother, if it’s too much for you,” she suggested. “You could buy a nice country house, perhaps near some of your Connecticut friends. Or you could take an apartment in the city.”
Nola looked horrified. “An apartment?”
“Mother, there are places on Central Park West that are enormous. Some of them are two whole floors, no different than a house.” Elizabeth had never seen such places for herself, but Anne and Bledsoe had mentioned them as evidence of the extravagances of the wealthy, when the poor were suffering so.
“If they’re no different than a house,” Nola responded sharply, “what would be the point of moving? I already have a house. And,” she added, turning away from Elizabeth to snip one last pale pink rose from its bush, “I’m not leaving it. There are memories of your father here. Nor are you leaving.” Carefully placing the flower in the basket she carried over one arm, Nola turned and began walking up the stone path toward the kitchen door.
“I am going, Mother!” Elizabeth called after her. “I’ve been accepted and I’m going. Max is driving me to Poughkeepsie on August twenty-seventh. You’ll be fine here. You don’t need me. I’ll come home every weekend to spend it with you, but I am going.”
Afterwards, Elizabeth was never sure of the exact sequence of events. When it played out in her mind later, it was all a confused jumble, as if someone had taken a movie reel, sliced it to pieces, and then spliced it back together all wrong.
But she thought it began when she cried out, “I am going!” that last time. Nola stopped on the path, her back to Elizabeth. The basket heaped with pink blossoms dropped to the ground. Nola turned, one hand against her chest, an expression of surprise on her face. She stood like that, motionless, for a second or two, then dropped abruptly to her knees, one hand extending beseechingly toward Elizabeth.
