by Janet Fox
Kitty’s quick turns of mood tempered my frustration. I could never stay mad at her for long, and I didn’t try to admonish her for her thoughtlessness. I watched her eyes fixed in concentration on my errant curl. When she finished playing with my hair, she flounced back to the divan and I slipped to her dressing table. I fingered the silver-backed hairbrush that lay there and let out my breath in a sigh. “I think boys will never be fighting over me.”
Kitty giggled. “Margaret Bennet, you’ll have boys eating out of your hands. Those long legs of yours will keep them on their toes. Literally! Of course, they’ll fall in love with me first. Boys like to dominate. But I can only love one at a time, so surely there will be someone left for you.” She batted her eyes.
Was she joking? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry with her. “What do you think of Edward Tyson?” I examined the hairbrush as if I’d never seen it before, looking at every tiny badger bristle.
Kitty sat straight up. “Why, Margaret Katherine Bennet. I do believe you have a secret crush.”
My face went hot. “Maybe.”
Kitty came and took my cheeks between her palms and turned my face to hers. I looked down into her perfect blue eyes. “Liar,” she said smoothly, then smiled. “I guess I’ll let you have him.”
I pulled back. She had to be joking. Yes, she was teasing me, she just had to be. I smiled back at her, uncertain of her motives, but needing to trust her.
I still hadn’t told Kitty that at Mary’s ball, the last of the summer before, Edward had kissed me, his full, soft lips pressed to mine. The memory of that moment was so sweet. But the memory of what happened only moments after that dear kiss . . . I moved away from Kitty toward the window.
I tapped my fingers on the wood window frame and inhaled the calming lilac scent that drifted in from the garden. “I don’t know what I’ll do, Kitty. I won’t be here when Edward comes back from New York. Isabel, you know, she thinks he’s for her.” A little buzzing fear crept into my brain. A breeze lifted the sheer curtains so that they billowed around me like sails.
“Pooh on what Isabel thinks!” Kitty said. “But that’s beside the point, Maggie. You need to stay right here. You need to tell your father you won’t go. Besides, who wants to go west when you can go to Paris? Really, Mags.”
“Do you think Edward would wait?” I turned back toward Kitty. “Do you think he might be the right one? You know, for me?”
“What do you mean, does he have money?” Kitty sank onto the divan and reached down and tussled with Bear. “We know that already.” She touched Bear’s nose with her fingertip, and spoke to him, baby-voiced. “Don’t we, Bear-Bear?”
“No, Kitty, that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, I’m looking for someone special.”
“As in . . .”
“As in, I don’t know. Someone who can take care of me. But not take over me. Someone who’ll let me be who I am.”
“And who are you, Miss Margaret, O Emancipated One?” Kitty laughed out loud, her sarcasm ringing through the room.
“I don’t know. That’s just it.” I bit my lip. Was I my mother, bohemian and lost? Was I my father, crippled by loneliness and propriety? I’d been brought up to marry someone of the right social status, bear his children, run his household. This should be my future. I still wanted this future. I wanted all the lovely things a doting husband could provide; and, with any luck, I could sit at the top of the social tier and command respect and admiration, like Kitty’s mother did now. Like Kitty surely would. Like Mama never had. Mama had rejected all of that, and had been rejected right back.
I wanted to be more like Kitty than like Mama, but there was still one deep-dwelling dream inside me. Now I dared speak it out loud for the first time, and I felt a passion rise up in me as I spoke. “I do want to fall in love. I want a true love. I want to fall in love with a boy who would stand next to me on a mountaintop. And with him next to me I wouldn’t be afraid. Not because he was rescuing me. I wouldn’t be afraid simply because he was there. That’s what I want. That’s what I think true love is.”
“Well!” Kitty stood, her hands on her hips, eyeing me. “A mountaintop? You? Miss Margaret Bennet, paralyzed by heights, at the top of a mountain with a handsome man?” She laughed. “Aren’t you ever the romantic!”
I blushed, my passion fading. “I guess.”
“And dear Edward?”
Would Edward be the boy standing beside me? I so wanted to believe it would be him. “I think so. Yes. Perhaps.”
“Well, there’s no time for romance now, Mags. There’s hardly even time to pack for this silly trip of your father’s.”
I sagged. Kitty’s words brought me crashing back to earth, landing with a hard thump. “Yes. I should go. Mina will pack only the most boring, sensible clothing if I’m not there.”
Kitty pressed forward, taking my hands in hers again. “Maggie. I wish you wouldn’t go on this silly vacation with your father. Stay—your grandparents will take you in.”
She was right, they would. I knew they would. But I couldn’t stand suffering Grandpapa’s reproving looks and unspoken criticisms while I waited for Papa’s news as he went alone to find Mama. Despite my conflicted feelings, I was resolved. I had to go with him, find Mama, and bring her home. I searched for the words to explain this to Kitty. I clutched Kitty’s hands tight and drew her to the divan. “I have a secret. Can you keep it? Promise me.”
Kitty nodded solemnly.
“Papa says that Mama may be out west somewhere. He heard from my uncle John that there may be some . . . news. That’s why we’re going.”
Kitty’s eyes were saucers.
“You must not tell a soul, Kitty. Especially not my grandparents. Do you promise?”
Kitty nodded again, silent. Then she drew her hands out of mine. “But think, Maggie. Maybe what your father says is true. What if it isn’t?”
I shook my head, denying the thought. Denying my own doubts.
Kitty pressed forward. “And if it isn’t, how long will you search?” She leaned back and looked up at the coffered ceiling. “We’ve planned our debut ball for late August, Mags. That’s a deadline.”
My throat swelled, and I swallowed hard and nodded, then stood. “I need to go pack.”
Kitty’s blue eyes met mine. “I’ll do what I can to get things ready while you’re gone. But I won’t give up my own debut, Maggie. You have to be back by the end of July. After that . . .”
Kitty’s warning rang in my ears all the way home.
The house was alive with preparations. Trunks were strewn about, half full, mostly with Papa’s books and papers, blueprints, and drafting tools. Papa called orders out to Jonas. Men hired for the purpose covered the furniture with sheets. The house already looked empty and haunted.
Mina was busy in my room, tossing gowns on the bed, draping skirts over chairs. One gown hung from the door of my wardrobe. Black and white, with lace at the throat, and tight through the waist, where a crushed satin belt was a slash of scarlet. It was a dress that made my cheeks go dark with memories.
“Not that one, Mina,” I said.
“Good. Good.” She waved her hand in the air as if making a sign, then gathered the gown into her arms and laid it on the bed. “That red sash, like blood. Bad luck. I will put it away.” She left it on the bed and bustled out of the room to fetch more packing materials and tissue paper.
I went to the bed and fingered the red sash. The silk shimmered in my hand, flowed through my fingers. I knew why Mina thought it looked like blood. Why she had called it “bad luck.” I’d worn it to that ball last August that had promised so much and delivered such misery.
Promise and misery.
Mary’s ball had been the last debut of the season, held on an August night that began so hot and still, even the flies seemed drunk with stupor. Through the open windows of Mary’s grand mansion I heard the sea, the huge foaming breakers that crashed in the still air, overwhelming the de
licate efforts of the small orchestra. Lightning flickered on the far horizon, echoing the tiny lights strung from branch to branch in the gardens outside. In the small parlor where the women gathered to primp, I found Kitty, and we admired one another’s dress. She was done up in blue silk that spilled in ten yards of rustling train. Her hair glittered with diamonds that matched her necklace. My black-and-white gown was daring in the company of the other girls’ sweeping pastels.
Black and white with a bloodred sash. I’d wanted something bold and romantic. I hadn’t thought about the other implications.
“Well, it’s not truly bohemian,” Kitty said, twisting me around, and that word hit me like a shock of cold water. “Not really. Although . . .” She paused as she ran her fingers along the red sash. Her voice dropped to a hush. “That’s a bit dangerous.”
“Radical,” said Isabel with a sniff. “I think it’s over-the-top.”
Isabel moved away. I narrowed my eyes and flashed open my red oriental fan, feeling both nervous and annoyed. Had I pushed it too far with this daring dress? But Kitty leaned in close. “Isabel’s miserable,” she whispered. “She’s had a thing for Edward and he no longer gives her the time of day.”
My heart took a little jump and my nervousness vanished.
“In fact, I think I saw him arrive,” Kitty said. “Shall we go in?”
Mina returned to my room with tissue paper and I dropped the sash, sighing as the memory of that evening heaved and swelled like the sea. Mina folded the offending gown in the paper and removed it from my room. Maybe Mina was right. That dress with its dripping sash may have been cursed, one of my only rebellions paid for in blood.
I looked at the other gowns and day dresses that lay piled on my bed waiting for my selection. From deep within I saw a glimpse of seafoam green. I tugged it out from under the rest and laid it on top of the pile. That one I would take west. That gown conjured a sweet memory of the time when Mama was still keeping the promise she’d made to me. I picked up the gown and pressed it to my cheek, feeling the cool silk. I would take this gown west and carry a charm that would bring back Mama as she was that day last July, when we’d chosen it for me together.
Madame Bouchard could tailor the latest French fashions. It was a late July day, not too warm, soft and breezy. Mama and I had huddled side by side over the great table in Madame Bouchard’s shop, choosing fabrics and examining patterns. Sometimes Mama seemed to forget the task at hand, but I gently tugged her back to the moment with a careful word or a touch of my hand. We’d chosen three light-wool street costumes and two tea gowns when the small bell rang merrily and the door opened behind us.
Kitty swept in. I gazed at her, jealous of her beige silk gown and jacket; her waist was rapier thin. Her sleeves belled fashionably and her hat dipped to the right, dripping silk tuberoses. Her eyes, as they took in Mama’s staid outfit, dripped curiosity.
“You look wonderfully healthy, Mrs. Bennet.” Kitty smiled, soft ringlets framing her angelic face. “Have you put on some weight?”
Mama blushed and spoke carefully. “Maggie and I have returned to evening exercise together. Along the Cliff Walk.”
“Maggie on the Cliff Walk?” Kitty’s eyebrows arched in surprise.
“Mama takes the outside when it’s steep. I try not to look.” The path was terrifyingly steep in places, and merely a glance at the sheer drop could paralyze me.
“How sweet!” Kitty giggled, and leaned toward Mama. “Why, a few weeks ago Mags couldn’t even climb the ladder to help our teacher pin up the confetti streamers for our last-day party!”
I blushed, but it was true. I only walked with Mama because I could cling to her hand. When the sea thundered close and the rocks became steep, I shrank, weak-kneed against her. Ghost’s back was the highest I could climb from the ground.
Kitty skirted the table, lifting bolt after bolt of cloth. “My mama hopes you’ll call soon.”
Mama glanced at me. “I shall.” She looked pleased at the unexpected offer. I was thrilled.
“Oh, look at that lovely green!” Kitty fingered the silk fabric the seamstress had thrown on the table. “That would suit Maggie so, don’t you think?”
I took the silk and held it up to my throat. Mama nodded, and I saw an almost imperceptible flash of sadness in her eyes that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “We can have that made up into a dinner gown,” she said to the seamstress.
“This wool tartan is suitable for a morning dress,” I chimed in. “Oh! But I’d also like sleeves like Miss Gardner’s.” Kitty smiled and dipped her head. I fingered the green silk and smiled back.
Now the precious green gown lay quiet on my bed. When Mina came back into the room, I held it up to her. “This one. It has to come with me.” For its magic powers. Because I wanted Mama back as she was that day, when she was normal, happy even. Still keeping her promise to me.
I tried not to think about what would happen if we found her and she couldn’t keep her promises again. Maybe we would only find Mama as miserable as she had been late in the evening of Mary’s ball. Maybe, as Kitty had insinuated, we wouldn’t find her at all.
Mina interrupted my thoughts. “Ach! Three trunks already!” Her voice dropped. “Your grandparents are here.”
I stiffened. My mother’s parents. I would have to go down.
Chapter FOUR
June 1, 1904
The most prominent object was a long table with a tablecloth spread on it, as if a feast had been in preparation when the house and the clocks all stopped together.
—Great Expectations, Charles Dickens, 1861
THE VOICES RANG UP TO GREET ME AS I STARTED DOWN THE stairs. I stood on the hallway landing and listened.
My grandfather’s voice thundered through the house. “What? What did that cad of a father tell her?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” My grandmother’s voice drifted up to me. “I can’t stand this. History is repeating itself. He’s doing it all over again. She’ll never find a suitable husband. They’ll never accept her.”
My heart slowed. Never. That’s what Grandmama said. They’d never accept me. I’d never find a suitable husband. I pressed my back against the wall and slipped down a step or two to hear more clearly.
“Where is the man?” Grandpapa stormed. “Why, I’ll break his neck!” A metallic taste rose in my mouth. Grandpapa stomped out of the room, on his way to Papa’s studio.
I slid down the stairs into the hallway and tiptoed through the gloom until I stood just outside Papa’s studio door, at the far end of the house, hiding behind the open door, where I could hear everything.
Grandpapa was angry. More than angry; livid. I’d heard his rage directed at Papa ever since Mama had disappeared. Papa’s silence in the face of these tirades was even more frightening than Grandpapa’s shouts.
Now I heard Grandpapa’s fist hammering the table in Papa’s studio.
“. . . will not support this! If you can’t make it back, man, you’re finished! And now you leave in the high season when you should be here lining up new work? I did not take you into our firm for you to destroy it! Intolerable!”
Papa said something I could not hear; I pressed closer to the doorway, straining to catch the snippets of his conversation.
“I don’t care about your foolish dreams! Nincompoop dreams! I’m hearing other things, from every quarter of Newport. Jobs not complete, work that’s shabby. If you leave now, you will lose everything!” He was quiet for a moment. “I’ll cut Margaret out of her inheritance. You are condemning yourselves to a life of shame.”
Lose everything. My inheritance. Shame. My stomach became an open pit. I heard another mumbling, indistinguishable response. Then there was a slam, as of a book hitting wood, and I jumped.
“Damn it!” came Grandpapa’s voice. “I’ll not have you ruining my good name yet again!”
I heard movement and, just in time, I slipped behind the hall-closet door, peering through the crack to see my
grandfather storm from Papa’s studio, flinging the door open against the wall in his wake.
I trembled as I stepped out of the closet into the hallway and looked into the studio.
Papa sat behind his desk, his head in his hands. His work, half packed, lay strewn about the room: blueprints, books, letters, and contracts. I rested my hand on the doorframe. “Why is Grandpapa so angry with you?” I said it so soft that my voice floated.
Papa lifted his head and looked at me.
I took a step into the room. “I can help you straighten things out. Get things ready to go.” I bent and picked up a stack of blueprints and placed them in the trunk waiting to be packed.
Papa cleared his throat. “Thank you, Margaret.”
“What did Grandpapa mean, we’d lose everything?” My voice trembled.
“He doesn’t understand. We’re going to have a whole new life.” His voice was light, as though he was trying hard to be cheerful.
“When we bring her home, you mean. Then we’ll have a whole new life.” It was meant as a question, but he didn’t answer as he crossed the room to select a stack of books from the case. I bent for another pile of papers and smoothed them on the table with both hands. The room was a mess. “I should have helped you before.”
“No, no.”
“When it first happened. I’m sorry I didn’t help you then.”
He stopped and stared at me again. All I could do was remember the months when he’d sat alone in his studio after Mama had disappeared. The months when he hadn’t worked at all. That was what Grandpapa must have meant; Papa had brought us, brought Grandpapa’s firm, to the edge of ruin. Without Mama, Papa had retreated into a dark place, and it hadn’t been until the letters came from Uncle John that he finally woke up.
Yet clearly Grandpapa did not believe Papa had changed, and I wanted to know why. “Why does he think Mama’s disappearance is your fault?”
“What?” Papa’s voice was a whisper.
