They Call Her Dana

by Jennifer Wilde

  I waited, calm myself now. The oak boughs creaked gently. The crickets continued their raspy music. Moonlight shimmered, bathing us both in pale silver light. Robert smoothed his hair down, adjusted the hang of his frock coat, straightened his silk neckcloth. In complete control at last, he looked at me, and those moments of madness might never have occurred.

  “I want to marry you,” he said.

  I nodded. I still didn’t speak.

  “I know I’m older, Dana. I know I’m not the dashing, exciting young hero women your age are said to desire, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I think I could make you happy. We would live here at Belle Mead, and we would travel. I long to show you England, France, Italy, share with you the beauty and marvels to behold there. You would—if you married me, you would have all the luxuries life can offer.”

  He paused and moved closer to me. He wanted to take my hands. He didn’t. He maintained tight, careful control.

  “I know that you are fond of me,” he continued, “and I feel there is a special empathy between us, a bond, if you will, a very strong bond. I realize you are not in love with me—you are still infatuated with Donovan, trying to forget him—but I think you might come to love me, Dana. I know that I would do everything in my power to make you the happiest woman on earth.”

  “I—Robert, I appreciate—”

  “No,” he said, “I don’t want an answer now. I’m leaving in the morning, as you know, and I’ll be gone for ten days. While I am away, I would like you to think about all I’ve said, and when I return—”

  He hesitated. He did take my hands then. He held them lightly, for only a moment, and then he squeezed them and let them go and stepped back.

  “I would like you to give me your answer when I return,” he said.

  “I will,” I promised.

  We went inside and Robert told me there were some papers he wanted to look over in his study, and we said good night in the foyer. He left very early the next morning, before I got up, and perhaps it was best, I thought. I needed to think about what had happened, and it might have been awkward seeing him before I reached my decision. It was a brilliant, sun-splashed day, and I wandered in the gardens and strolled along the river walk, reflecting, pondering, wondering what I should do. Robert loved me. There could be no question about that. He knew about my affair with Jason, knew I had what society would call a past, but he respected me nevertheless. He could have taken me to bed last night, and he had wanted to, but he wanted to do right by me. He wanted to make me his wife. I suspected that there were few men in this world as honorable as Robert Court-land.

  Wednesday and Thursday were sunny, too, and Friday was glorious, the sun a silvery ball, the sky a shimmering blue. Len drove me to the docks to meet the boat, and I felt a great rush of joy as I saw Michael and Laura coming down the gangplank. I rushed to greet them. Michael grinned and nodded. Laura and I fell into each other’s arms like schoolgirls, both of us talking at once. She looked elegant and sophisticated in white taffeta with mauve, purple and fuchsia stripes. Michael wore his familiar cowboy attire, the tan corduroy jacket a little the worse for wear. Laura showed me her rings, a thin, elegant gold band, a very large diamond of dazzling beauty. I took them over to Len and performed introductions and we got into the carriage and drove to Belle Mead, Laura chattering nonstop all the way.

  It was wonderful to see them again, wonderful to have them with me. Laura was enchanted with Belle Mead and agreed with me that it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. Maudie was enchanted with Michael, spoiling him outrageously during the three days of their visit. Laura told me all about her adventures in Texas and about the wedding and confided that Michael was often exasperating and still a bit bossy but added that she was keeping him in line and considered herself the luckiest woman alive. She was positively aglow with happiness, and Michael was happy, too. Although he teased her constantly and pretended a weary resignation to his fate, his eyes were full of adoration, and he couldn’t keep them off her.

  On Friday there was a tour of the house and gardens and a magnificent dinner and talk until after midnight. On Saturday morning Len drove us around the environs and into town, and although the shops in Natchez couldn’t begin to compare with those in New Orleans, Laura went merrily berserk, buying with abandon. Michael and Len escaped to a tavern for drinks while she and I looked at dresses and tried on hats and bought a great many things we didn’t need. In the afternoon Maudie supervised the packing of an enormous picnic hamper and we drove to a lovely wooded glade overlooking the river, Len apologizing that Arlene was unable to join us. After the superb lunch of fried chicken, potato salad, and chocolate cake, Michael and Len sat on stumps and talked about Indians and guns and such while Laura and I strolled idly down to the wildflower-strewn slope to watch the river winding its way along in the sunshine.

  Sunday was a lovely, lazy day. We all slept late after another late night of talk. After lunch Michael went fishing with young Leroy, and Laura and I sat on the verandah, sipping iced lemonade and talking and looking out over the gardens. The multicolored patchwork of blossoms seemed to shimmer in the bright haze of afternoon sunlight. Michael and Leroy returned around five with a huge string of catfish and Maudie said she wudn’t about to have Mamie clean an’ cook all dem dere fish and Michael looked disappointed and said there was nothing he liked better than fresh catfish and, of course, we had them for dinner fried in a crisp golden batter and tasting divine. Michael retired early with a book of Restoration comedy he had found in the library, but Laura and I sat up late for the third night in a row.

  At ten Monday morning, Len came by to drive Michael into town and show him his offices. The two men had taken to each other immediately. Laura and I had coffee on the verandah and then strolled down to the river walk, both of us subdued. They were leaving today, Len was driving us down to the dock right after lunch, and we didn’t know how long it might be before we saw each other again. It was another beautiful morning, the sun not nearly so bright today, the sky a misty blue. The river was pewter-colored in the morning light, the gazebo with its pink-cushioned seats shady and inviting. Honeysuckle trembled in the warm breeze. Laura sighed, examined a book I had left on one of the seats and then moved over to look out at the vista of sky, slope and river.

  “It really is beautiful here, love,” she said. “It’s like a little paradise, and it’s worked wonders for you. I’ve never seen you so serene.”

  “This summer has—has been good for me. I was on the verge of a nervous collapse when I left New Orleans. The tension, the strain, the constant pressure—I needed a break.”

  “I know, love. I needed a break myself, not that Texas was all that restful.”

  “I’m so happy for you and Michael, darling.”

  “I can’t believe I’m really married, and to an heir, no less. One day my vagabond actor husband will come into a great deal of wealth. In the meantime, we’ll keep right on treading the boards. Acting’s in his blood. Herding cattle leaves him cold. His parents are very sweet about it, very understanding. They just want him to be happy—and come visit a lot.”

  She smiled, and then there was a long silence. During all our cozy talks, there was one subject neither of us had mentioned. Laura had too much tact. I had too much pride. I swallowed my pride now, no longer able to endure not knowing.

  “I—I suppose Lady Caroline is coming right along,” I said.

  Laura hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Dulcie has kept us abreast of all developments through letters. The play won’t be opening in September, but it should open shortly thereafter. Dulcie’s already done most of the costumes. Michael will be very Byronic in a long sweeping black cape and white silk shirt with open collar, and she says the blue velvet riding habit I wear in the first act is stunning.”

  She was being evasive. I waited.

  “Most of the sets have been constructed, too. Dulcie says they’re spectacular. The National is sparing no expens
e. The ballroom will have real chandeliers and white damask walls with patterned gold panels, and there will be marble columns as well.”

  I was growing impatient. Laura saw that. She took a deep breath.

  “He’s found a leading lady, love,” she told me.

  “Oh?”

  “Carmelita,” she said.

  “Carmelita!”

  “Apparently she’s done nothing but diet since she left the company. She’s lost all that weight and looks terrific, Dulcie says, thinner than ever. Jason has been working on the part with her all summer and—seems to be quite satisfied with her.”

  My blood seemed to run cold. “I—can’t believe it,” I said.

  “Neither could I,” Laura confessed.

  “She’s all wrong for the part,” I protested. “She’s far too old, for one thing, and, fat or thin, she hasn’t the sensitivity to convey the subtleties of the character. Her Caroline will be a cool, haughty aristocrat. The passion and the pathos will—”

  I cut myself short. It didn’t concern me, I reminded myself. It didn’t concern me at all. The outrage and anger persisted nevertheless. He had written the part for me, tailored it for me, and I wasn’t going to play it, I could accept that, but for him to have given the part to Carmelita Herring was like a personal affront.

  “He had to do something,” Laura said cautiously.

  “I realize that.”

  “She’s a competent actress, and she does have a following.”

  “That’s quite true.”

  “I’m sorry, love. I—I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “It’s just as well,” I said. “Actually, it’s quite a break for Michael. He’ll have to carry the play, and he’ll undoubtedly score a tremendous personal triumph. I—I imagine we’d better be getting back to the house now, darling. Lunch will be served soon.”

  We left the gazebo and strolled along the river walk. I was calm, now, resigned. Sad, too. The sadness hung over me like a pall. Laura looked concerned.

  “What are you going to do, love?” she asked as we moved through the gardens.

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “You’ve had dozens of offers.”

  “Dozens,” I agreed.

  “Are you going to take one of them?”

  “I may.”

  “What about Robert Courtland, love?”

  I hadn’t told her about the proposal. I saw no reason to do so now. Until I reached a decision, I felt it best to keep it to myself. As we moved up the flat marble steps to the next terrace, I saw that Len and Michael were back, waiting for us on the verandah.

  “Robert’s been wonderful,” I said. “He’s been very supportive and—as I told you, he’s been a perfect gentleman. If—if anything develops, I’ll let you know. Right now I just want you and Michael to have a safe and happy trip to Atlanta, and I want you to know how much I’ve enjoyed having you.”

  I hated to see them leave that afternoon. Len drove us down to the docks, and Laura and I were both rather teary. She hugged me tightly, and we promised to keep in close touch. Michael gave me a hug, too, said he was sure going to miss me and then escorted his wife up the gangplank. They stood at the railing and waved as the steamboat chugged and lurched and finally pulled away, and Len handed me into the carriage. I was silent as we rode back to Belle Mead, feeling lost, feeling orphaned and alone. For two years I had been part of a large, merry, unruly family, and now I no longer belonged. They were going on without me, and Carmelita had taken my place. That was the hardest blow of all.

  The brilliant procession of sun-filled days ended. Blue skies turned gray, and mornings were misty and damp, although it never really rained. I had a decision to make, and I knew I must make it before Robert returned. I knew I hadn’t really considered accepting his proposal before. Although I had never openly acknowledged it, in my heart of hearts I had believed that things would work out somehow, that I would join the others in Atlanta and open in Lady Caroline, but that foolish illusion was gone now. Jason didn’t want me. He didn’t need me. I bloody well didn’t need him either, I told myself. Drummond would sign me up in a minute, as would at least a dozen other managers much more important and successful than Jason would ever be, but … I really didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be an international star, the toast of two continents. I didn’t want fame and glory and adulation. I wanted to be part of that merry and rowdy and loving family in Atlanta.

  It isn’t going to happen, I told myself. You’ve got to face reality. You can leave Belle Mead and go to New York and sign up with Conrad Drummond or you can stay and marry Robert. I didn’t love him. I acknowledged that frankly. I found him physically appealing and I was fond of him and felt very close to him and … and many successful marriages had been built on less, but would it be fair? I respected Robert too much to use him. He was a wonderful man. He was in love with me. He knew I didn’t love him, but he wanted me nevertheless. He felt I would come to love him. Perhaps I would. With Robert there would be security and comfort and warmth, great luxury as well, and that snug, safe harbor was tempting indeed, yet … the reservations persisted. Day followed day, and I still couldn’t reach a final decision. He would understand, I assured myself. Robert was nothing if not patient and understanding.

  The day of his return dawned, damp and misty and gray, but by ten the mist had evaporated and the sky had turned from slate to a pearly gray luminous with pale white sunlight. Robert was due to arrive at two-thirty in the afternoon, Len had advised me, and he should reach Belle Mead a little after three. I was unusually restless and nervous all during the morning, plagued by another irrational premonition I could neither explain nor shake. I had the feeling something was going to happen, something of monumental importance, and the very air seemed to reverberate with silent whispers, whispers felt, not heard, warning me to beware, beware, beware. It was totally absurd, I told myself, completely irrational, yet the feeling grew stronger, and, again, I felt Ma’s presence nearby. She was here with me, I could feel her, and she was warning me, too, desperately trying to penetrate that invisible field separating us and warn me not to … not to do what?

  You’re nervous and upset, I told myself. You’re imagining things. Belle Mead was peaceful and serene, and even the weather was clearing, sunlight growing stronger now, bathing the gardens in thin sliver-white light faintly touched with gold. There was no menace here, no threat. What could there possibly be to warn me about? What could I possibly need to beware of? I retired to my sitting room and busied myself writing letters, but those whispers still reverberated and Ma never left me, not for an instant. When Maudie came in to bring me a tray, I almost jumped out of my skin. She looked rather skittish herself, as though she, too, could sense something in the atmosphere.

  “Lands-a-goshen, Missy! You done give me a turn, jumpin’ like dat. You’se as white as a sheet!”

  “You—you startled me,” I said. My voice was strained.

  “I—I know you done said you wudn’t havin’ any lunch, but you didn’t have no breakfast, either, just dat coffee, an’ I brung you dis omelet an’ a glass of milk an’ one of Mamie’s applesauce pancakes, an’ I wants you to eat it, missy.”

  “I really—”

  “I ain’t takin’ no lip, missy. You jest eat dat food or you’ll catch what for. Cain’t have you lookin’ all pale an’ lis’less when Mister Robert gets in. Eat—you hear?”

  I sighed and unfolded the white linen napkin and picked up the fork. Maudie waited until I cut off a piece of pancake with the edge of the fork, and then she shivered and scurried out of the room as though she couldn’t get out quickly enough. The pancake was light and delicious, the omelet superb with mushrooms and cheese and spices, but I ate only a few bites of each. The milk was icy cold. I drank it all, and I felt a little better then. It’s your imagination, Dana, I assured myself. You’re a grown woman now. You didn’t even believe in ghosts when you were a little girl, living in the swamps, and it’s preposterous to believe in
them now.

  I stepped over to the window and gazed down at the mighty oaks that spread soft mauve-gray shadows over the lawn. It was peaceful and lovely, without the faintest hint of anything ominous, yet as I returned to the writing table those whispers were louder than ever. Stubbornly I picked up pen and continued writing to Corey, sketching bright anecdotes about Laura and Michael’s visit, but I had to strain to maintain that light touch, and often my pen stopped altogether as I raised my head and strained to decipher that felt-not-heard warning in the air. Frowning, I continued to write and discovered that I had run out of paper and would have to fetch some more if I was going to finish the letter. Ma was beside me as I stood up. Felt, not seen, she seemed to urge me on, to lead me out of the room and down the hall.

  Robert had provided me with two boxes of the pale creamy tan paper. Where would I find more? In his study, I told myself. In his desk. Yes, yes, a silent voice agreed, and Ma led me down the graceful curving staircase and across the foyer and down the hall. I passed the drawing room and the library and finally reached the large, comfortable study with its brown and tan carpet, brown leather sofa and walls of polished golden oak hung with fine old English hunting prints. Pale yellow-white sunlight streamed in through the windows, making tiny sunbursts on the bronze and orange globe standing in one corner and on the various brass pieces on the large golden oak desk.

  Moving behind the desk, I opened the top right-hand drawer. No writing paper there, just folders and ledgers. The top middle drawer contained an account book and business papers, pens, ruler, a magnifying glass, and the top left-hand drawer contained bundles of what looked like business contracts. Everything was neat and tidy, as was to be expected from a man as orderly as Robert. I sighed, sat down in the leather-cushioned chair and pulled open the middle drawer on the right, and my own face looked up at me from a delicate oval miniature in a frame of gold filigree set with tiny diamonds and pearls. Startled, I lifted the miniature out of the drawer, wondering when he had had it done. I certainly hadn’t sat for it. The artist had done a superb job, capturing my features perfectly. I might have been staring into a tiny mirror, only … I had never worn my hair in sausage ringlets, and … and I had never worn a white tulle dress sprigged with small daisies. The dress was old-fashioned, as least … at least twenty-five years out-of-date.