Charlotte’s Story

by Benedict, Laura

  “You can leave anytime. I won’t stop you.”

  “I don’t want anything from you. Just let me take Michael. Then you can have any woman you want. In your mother’s bed. Anywhere. I’m sure J.C. would be happy to come back and take my place.”

  Press sighed. “I don’t think so. Michael stays.”

  “You can’t keep us here. My father will take me in.”

  “And break his Roman Catholic heart? He wouldn’t put up with a divorce, my dear. He’s such a traditionalist. Divorce isn’t the way we do things. You don’t have any grounds.”

  While I suspected he badly overestimated my father’s desire for me to remain married to him, I knew he was right about there not being any grounds on which I could divorce him. There was nothing that I could prove. I had no bruises and no real evidence that he’d cheated. In movies and books, people hired private detectives all the time, but right now he was watching me too closely. I was cut off. There was no one to hire. All our friends were Press’s friends. And Rachel? Even then, I think I understood that I couldn’t count on Rachel. I’d heard of two women from our Burton Hall class who had divorced, and neither of them had come out of it well. They’d had to leave behind their friends, and, in one sad case, their children.

  While I stared off, thinking, wishing he weren’t so close to me, I could feel him watching me. But his gaze felt unfamiliar. Where had my husband gone?

  Finally he lay back heavily on the bed a foot or so away from me. He stroked my arm, and I felt goosebumps rise.

  “Even if you did try to divorce me, I’m afraid you wouldn’t get very far. I have two men who will swear you’ve been throwing yourself at them for months, begging for sex. Even after my mother’s funeral. You’ve shown the most appalling taste. So unbecoming for a young mother.”

  I was speechless.

  “It’s not going to come to that, though. You wouldn’t put Michael or yourself through that kind of humiliation. Everyone knows you’re unstable. Hiding Michael away in my mother’s bedroom. Disappearing into the morning room. Wandering the house at night and running like a criminal from the hospital. You don’t want to push it. You know how people can be.”

  No, I hadn’t really known how people could be. But I was learning. God help me, I was learning.

  The same voice that had tried to persuade me to kill myself the night of the séance reminded me about the knife hiding in Olivia’s jewelry box. (How odd that it sounded so much like Press’s voice!) If I let him fall asleep beside me, I could reach it easily. But I refused to be a murderer. I couldn’t leave Michael and let him grow up knowing his mother had killed his father and died in the electric chair. Randolph Bliss was believed to be long dead and buried when Olivia killed him. He’d obviously faked his own funeral and hidden himself from the world. His wife was dead. (She’d been found in the woods, and there had been no investigation. Had he arranged her death, as well?) There had been no arrest for the murder of Randolph Bliss. No scandal. Only Terrance knew. And he would again be a kind of witness if I killed Press. Like Olivia, I would be blackmailed and have to live with Terrance, whatever his demands. There was no choice. I was no murderer.

  “Why did you marry me? What did I do to make you hate me so much?”

  He rolled over onto one elbow. I could smell Scotch on his breath, but I knew he wasn’t drunk. “Hate you? My God, Charlotte. You’re one of only two women in my life I’ve ever come close to loving. Haven’t I given you everything you wanted? Security. Position. Have I ever said no to any little thing—or big thing—you’ve wanted? Now you have my mother’s jewelry, half of this house, plenty of money. No one will ever take your place here unless you make it happen.”

  I waited for more.

  “I protected you. Do you think that anyone else’s wife would have escaped punishment for getting drunk and letting her daughter drown in the bathtub while she slept it off? You’re a very, very lucky woman. I treasure you, just like my father treasured my mother. Just like his father treasured my grandmother.”

  My gut went cold remembering what I’d seen happen in this very bed. There had been worse suffering than mine in this house.

  “I know about your father.”

  “Everyone knows about my father. It’s hardly news that he died.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “What?”

  I had his attention now, more than ever, and I felt something new grow inside me. It felt horrible. Disgusting. But it felt right. I had almost pitied him because of what I’d learned about Olivia, and the rape. What Michael Searle had been forced to watch. I knew Michael Searle wasn’t his father, but did Press know it?

  I didn’t go on. He deserved to keep wondering. I had no pity for this man, and I was done loving him. Still, a part of me was convinced that the man lying beside me wasn’t really Press. The man I had known as my husband had disappeared in the days after Olivia died. Even if this man, this Preston Bliss had shown some glimmer of compassion that night, I didn’t know that I wanted him back. The place in my heart that had been full of him for so long was full of something else now.

  It was a dark, fearsome something else, and I didn’t want to look too closely at it, because I was afraid it might kill us both.

  Chapter 34

  Running

  What do you do when you realize that life as you once knew it is over forever?

  My life had ended once already—in that same, very strange month of October—the day that Eva died.

  Press had woken me. No, that’s not precisely right. I had awoken to find him standing over me, holding a tearful Michael, looking horrified. He had looked at me as though I were some stranger who had wandered into his house and done something unspeakable.

  I had done the unspeakable. I had let our daughter die.

  “What is it?”

  When I’d held out my arms for Michael, Press had taken a step back, reluctant. Who would give their precious son to a stranger?

  Why hadn’t I felt something the moment that Eva had fallen into the tub, hitting her head? A mother should feel something when her child’s life slips away into the water, or into the air—a sudden absence in the universe. But no. I had felt nothing. Sensed nothing. I hadn’t even been awake.

  The next day, I did the only thing I could do. Press was wrong about my father. I was certain that he and Nonie would stand behind me. They had to. Michael was too precious to risk, and I knew that if I stayed with Press, he would do something to hurt Michael or twist him in some way. Bliss House was where we belonged, but not if Press was in it. I’d rejected the idea of killing him, but I now knew where I really stood. Michael and I were prisoners, and Press valued life far less than I did. I could only trust that Olivia would be there for Eva if I couldn’t be. But Michael was alive, and I had to protect him. So I ran away.

  I thought it would be difficult not to give myself away. But I was better at lying than I knew.

  When I went down to the kitchen, I found Press, Marlene, and Terrance seated at the table. Press stopped talking, and he and Marlene looked at me, but Terrance started to rise. I put out my hand to stop him.

  “That’s all right, Terrance. I just came to speak with Marlene about dinner, but I’ll come back.” Perhaps I should have made an effort to speak to Press. I confess I knew it would embarrass him in front of Marlene—if not Terrance—when I ignored him. But the loathing I felt, along with my pride, wouldn’t let me. How much had my pride cost me already? I turned to leave, but Marlene spoke.

  “The side of beef from our order was stocked in the freezer yesterday, Miss Charlotte. I thought maybe steaks with autumn vegetables, and bread?”

  “That’s fine. Is there mail?” Glancing at the table, I saw that a stack of mail rested at Preston’s right. An envelope with Nonie’s handwriting sat on top.

  “I’ll bring it to you when I’ve been through it, darling.” Press smiled. Darling. Had I ever really been his darling? Somehow I knew he would never g
ive me the letter.

  “We’re doing the memorial tomorrow night. I’m just finalizing plans with Marlene and Terrance. It’s a light menu, though God knows that crowd can eat! Just think. We’ll christen the new theater in style. Helen would’ve loved it, don’t you think?” He turned to Marlene. “Twelve people, plus Miss Charlotte. Terrance will serve and take care of cleaning up. It will go rather late, so there’s no need for you not to retire at your usual time.”

  “It’s no trouble, Mr. Preston.”

  Terrance shook his head. Press just smiled. It was decided.

  Thursday. Halloween. It seemed appropriate, given the secretive, dramatic natures of both Helen and Zion. The secretive, dramatic nature of my husband.

  I turned to leave again, and Press said, “Don’t worry about a costume. I have it all arranged.”

  Holding my breath so I wouldn’t be tempted to shriek at him, I hurried toward the stairs between the kitchen and dining room. By the time I reached the second floor, I was panting.

  As I left the small hallway where the stairs were located, I nearly ran into Shelley, who was leading Michael by the hand. Shelley looked startled and, worse, there were gray shadows beneath her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bliss. I didn’t hear you.” She let go of Michael’s hand and he toddled toward me. I picked him up and held him close—so very close—to feel the softness of his fine blond curls on my cheek.

  “Where are you two off to?”

  “It’s so nice outside, I thought we’d walk out to the springhouse and maybe play in the playhouse for a little while. I was going to stop in the kitchen to get a snack to take with us.” She hesitated. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”

  Of course, she’d hesitated because the playhouse had been Eva’s. I smiled to reassure her. “Just keep him away from the pool.”

  “Oh, I definitely will. We won’t even go in the woods. I promise.”

  I kissed Michael and set him down. “You be good for Shelley.”

  He seemed to have bonded with her quickly, and I was—mostly—grateful. He would miss her. But he would have Nonie and my father, as well as me, if everything went the way I hoped it would.

  “I think I’m going to stay in his room tonight, Shelley. I’ve missed him, and he doesn’t sleep very well in bed with me. You can even go home for the night if you want to. Why don’t you do that? Come back in the morning.”

  She looked reluctant, but finally nodded. “I’ll stay here. I like to be here when he wakes up. He’s the most cheerful boy I’ve ever seen in the morning!” She picked him up as he started to break for the stairs, and he giggled.

  When they were gone, I waited in my room until I saw Terrance bring Press’s Eldorado from the garage.

  I packed a few of Michael’s things in the single suitcase I would take to my father’s house. Two changes of clothes, a few diapers, pins, and plastic pants, his winter jacket (he was wearing a sweater outside), shoes and socks. His favorite toy—a stuffed Winnie the Pooh bear—I left in his crib, and told myself I would remember it when we were ready to leave. There was already a change of clothes for me in the case, along with a framed picture of Eva, and the hundred dollars I kept in my jewelry box for an emergency. This certainly qualified as an emergency.

  I thought of going over to Rachel’s, if not to say good-bye then to at least see her and the baby again before I left. But I knew myself too well, even then. I was used to telling Rachel everything, and while I wanted to believe that she wouldn’t betray me to Press, I couldn’t take the chance.

  Dinner and the hour in the library with Press after dinner was a puppet show of politeness. He was uncharacteristically affectionate with Michael, which I found a little alarming. And although we were alone, he didn’t mention J.C. again. I wondered if she would dare to return for the memorial. She had known Helen and Zion, though I didn’t think terribly well. When Marlene had cleaned her room, she’d found her bottle of Caron Poivre sitting on the dresser and brought it to me. It was an odd thing for her to have left behind. I told Marlene that she could keep it if she wanted, that J.C. probably had more than one bottle. It was a mean and small thing for me to do, but I felt no regret.

  Press spoke to Michael, who was on his lap. “Do you think we should tell Mommy what her costume is, or should we let it be a surprise?”

  I tried hard to sound curious. “What is it?”

  He grinned. “Why, it’s Brunhild, of course! Don’t you remember? Helen thought you’d make a wonderful Brunhild.”

  “Ah.” I nodded. The idea of putting on a costume for all of Press’s friends repelled me. Though I took comfort in the fact that I would be gone that night and wouldn’t actually have to.

  “But can you sing, my dear?” His eyes gleamed with amusement.

  Yes, I remembered. For my own preservation, I smiled. “I don’t have to wear horns, do I?”

  He played at looking hurt. “Not if you don’t want to, I suppose. Maybe just golden wings on the sides of your helmet.”

  Picking up Michael (I really didn’t want to go near Press, but I had no choice), I said “Time for bed, sleepy boy.”

  Michael snuggled onto my shoulder, not at all reluctant to leave Press.

  “I’ll probably come in to see you tonight. I think you should sleep in your own bed.” It was obviously an order. Not a suggestion.

  “Oh, Press. Shelley had Michael out for so long today. Didn’t you notice how warm he is? I want to sleep in his room tonight in case he feels bad. It wouldn’t be right to disturb him if he’s sick.”

  Press made a kind of grudging, grunting noise. My heart was pounding as I left the room, and I held Michael closer as though I could muffle the sound.

  Press’s bedroom windows overlooked the short driveway leading to the carriage house, so I paused outside his door before gathering Michael to make sure I heard him snoring. There was no question that he was inside his room and asleep. Michael barely woke when I picked him up out of his crib, and we managed to get down the kitchen stairs without making any noise at all. The doors onto the patio from the dining room opened easily, and the click of their latch was lost in the constant chirp of a lone, late-season cricket in the nearby bushes. It seemed that Bliss House was going to let us go.

  Walking across the patio in the moonlight with Michael draped in his favorite blanket and drowsing against my shoulder, I was both anxious and fairly confident that we would get away. At the last moment before leaving my room, I had put Olivia’s jeweled peacock knife in the pocket of my coat. I felt as though she were blessing our escape.

  The moon was high, so we weren’t in the house’s shadow for very long. Reaching the driveway, I tiptoed carefully, worried that my shoes would be too noisy, and when I reached the other side, I stayed in the grass all the way to the carriage house.

  I hadn’t driven in days, and when I’d looked in the box on the wall in the butler’s pantry for my car keys after Terrance and Marlene had gone to bed, I’d seen that both sets of keys to both cars were gone. My heart sank as I realized that Press was thinking ahead of me, and I knew we were in more danger than I’d first imagined. The Jeep keys were there, but it would’ve been foolish to try to sneak away in the growling, topless Jeep. It was as though he’d left its keys there to taunt me.

  Panic set in for a moment, and then I remembered that he had ordered a third key for the Eldorado Brougham that had been delivered a few weeks after Olivia died. A key that he kept hidden in his golf bag in the garage. I prayed that he had forgotten about it.

  I nearly wept when I found the single key in the bottom pocket of the golf bag.

  Michael began to fret as I worked to strap him in the passenger seat. He was still far too small for the seatbelt, but he was much too big for the infant basket. “Shhhh. We’re going to see Grandpapa and Nonie. You want to see Nonie, don’t you? Look. I’ve brought Bear for you.” I tucked the bear against him, and he wrapped an arm around it, somewhat comforted. I didn’t have a plan for drivi
ng away with a screaming toddler, and had no idea what I would do if he didn’t sleep most of the way. Every other time we’d traveled, Nonie or Eva had been there to entertain him.

  Headlights off, I drove the quietly rumbling Cadillac across the expanse of grass that met up with the driveway at the beginning of the lane’s line of trees. My heart seemed to skip a beat when I pressed on the gas pedal a bit too forcefully so that the tires skipped and spun as they finally met the gravel.

  Good-bye, my darling Eva.

  I dared not look in the rearview mirror as I continued, slowly, down the lane to the county road that led to town.

  As we entered town, I couldn’t help but smile. I would be at my father’s house—home—in a matter of hours. By dawn. And twenty-four hours from that moment, I would be in the bed I’d slept in for more than half of my life. I knew I would be welcome there, but I had no idea what would happen with Press. He would no doubt come after us, probably showing up on my father’s front porch, looking serious. What would he tell my father?

  What would I tell my father? I had no proof. Only suspicions. I’d never given him reason not to trust me, had I? I prayed that he’d take me in his arms and tell me, “I’m glad you’ve left that worrisome place, Lottie.”

  Chapter 35

  Helen

  So lost was I in my thoughts that when I noticed the red lights in my mirror, I suspected they had been there for an unconscionably long time. In the late 1950s, Old Gate was even smaller than it is now, and I never imagined that the county sheriff’s deputies would bother patrolling in the middle of the night. It wasn’t as though Old Gate was on the way to anywhere. The town’s two service stations even closed at 8:30 in the evening.

  But, yes, the red lights were following me, so a half-mile from the two-lane highway that would take us to Highway 60 and closer to my father’s house and safety, I pulled to the shoulder. It was the second time in a month I’d been pulled over, and only the second time in my life. Michael didn’t stir.