As the ship pulled out of the harbor, all three women stood on deck and watched France disappear slowly behind them. Consuelo was begging to go play shuffleboard, and Annabelle had promised her they would that afternoon. And that night, she and her mother dined in the stately dining room. This was a very different trip from the one Annabelle had made coming to Europe ten years before, when she had rarely left her stateroom, and she had no idea what lay in store for her when she reached her destination. All Annabelle had wanted then was to flee the people who had blackballed her in New York. And now, at last, ten years later, she was going back.
Everything went pleasantly, until on the third day out, Annabelle saw an older couple standing near the shuffleboard game, with a younger couple who were obviously their married children. They were staring at her, but she pretended not to recognize them, as she and Consuelo drifted past. Annabelle instantly began an animated conversation with her daughter, so she didn’t have to acknowledge the people she had recognized at once. They had been acquaintances of her parents. As she and Consuelo walked past them, she heard the older woman speak to her husband in an undervoice that carried clearly across the deck.
“… married to Josiah Millbank…don’t you remember…Arthur Worthington’s daughter… some dreadful scandal… she had an affair and he divorced her… she ran off with the other man to France…” So that was what they thought, Annabelle realized with a shudder. And they still remembered. She wondered if they all did. It had truly been a life sentence, and she was never to be paroled or pardoned. She was an adulteress forever.
It shocked her to realize that some people thought she had gone to France with a man. Just hearing it made her want to run to her room and hide. And then she thought of Lady Winshire’s words to her. “Hold your head high, Annabelle. You’re a good woman. You don’t care about them.” And as she listened to her words echo in her head, she realized that Lady Winshire was right, to some extent. She did care, she didn’t want to be a pariah, she hated the labels they used on her… adulteress being the worst of all… but she wasn’t an adulteress and never had been. She had been faithful to her husband, she had been a good woman then, and still was now. Nothing had changed, divorced or not. And after all these years, what did they care about why she had gone to Europe, or with whom? None of them had been there for her, to support her, console her, or embrace her in the losses she had sustained. Her life might have been different if they had. But if so, she would never have gone to Europe, become a doctor, or had Consuelo at her side. So she was the winner in the end.
On their way back from another visit to the dog kennels, to visit with a sweet black pug, Annabelle strolled past them again, holding Consuelo’s hand. And this time she looked the woman in the eye, and acknowledged her with a nod. Annabelle was wearing a chic cloche hat that matched the gray silk suit she had purchased for the trip, and she looked very stylish, and no longer American, but French. The moment Annabelle nodded at her, the woman rushed forward with a broad, false smile, gushing words of greeting.
“My goodness, Annabelle, is that you? After all these years! How are you, and what a beautiful little girl. She must be yours, she looks just like you…is your husband on board?”
“No,” Annabelle said, shaking hands politely with both of them, “I’m a widow. And this is my daughter, Consuelo WorthingtonWinshire.” Consuelo curtsied politely in the pretty dress she’d chosen to wear that day, with white gloves and a hat.
“Ahh…how dear…you’ve named her for your mother. Such a wonderful woman. Are you still living in France?”
“Yes, in Paris,” Annabelle said coolly.
“Do you never come to New York? We haven’t seen you there in dogs’ years.”
“This is my first time back, since I left,” because of two-faced people like you, she wanted to say, who kept the rumors going forever and ever, had slapped the labels on her, and would never let anyone forget.
“That’s hard to believe. And the cottage in Newport?”
“We’re going up in a few weeks. I want Consuelo to see it.” The child spoke English with just a hint of a French accent, which was very sweet. “And we have lots to see in New York,” she said, smiling at her daughter, as they were about to walk away. At least the woman had talked to her. That was something of an improvement. Ten years before, she wouldn’t have. She would simply have turned her back, and not spoken to her at all. At least now she pretended to be pleasant, no matter what she thought of her or said behind her back.
“Perhaps we’ll see you in Newport,” the older woman said, still curious about her, as she looked at Annabelle’s expensive suit and hat and Consuelo’s pretty dress. “What do you do to keep busy in Paris?” she asked nosily, clearly wanting more details about Annabelle’s life, so she could gossip about her when she went back. It was written all over her. She had also noticed Lady Winshire’s handsome emerald along with the wedding band Annabelle still wore. It was the one she had bought herself, before Consuelo was born, and never taken off, just a narrow gold band.
“I’m a physician,” Annabelle said, smiling at her, remembering Lady Winshire’s words again, and this time she almost laughed. These people were so small and unimportant, so petty, like scavengers, looking for things that sparkled in the rubbish so they could carry them to others, or trade them for the reputations of good people, who were worth ten of them.
“You are? How amazing!” The woman’s eyes almost fell out of her head. “How ever did you do that?”
Annabelle smiled benevolently at her. “I went to medical school in France, after my husband died.”
“Was he a doctor as well?”
“No,” she said simply. The husband who had died did not exist. “Consuelo’s father was the Viscount Winshire. He was killed in the war, at Ypres.” All of that was true. She had not told a lie about Consuelo’s father. And it was none of her business, and never would be, that they hadn’t been married. It didn’t diminish her accomplishments, or the good she had done in the world.
“Of course,” the woman said with a sniff, far more impressed than she wanted to admit, but she could hardly wait for Annabelle to leave so she could tell her daughter, whom Annabelle scarcely recognized she had gotten so fat, and had hardly known before she left. She was playing shuffleboard with friends.
And a moment later, Annabelle and Consuelo walked on.
“Who was that?” Consuelo asked with interest.
“Just someone my parents knew in New York,” she said, feeling better than she had in a long time. Antoine had struck hard. And those who had come before him had taken their toll as well. But suddenly all of them seemed to be losing their effect on her.
“She has mean eyes,” Consuelo said wisely, and her mother laughed.
“Yes, she does. And a mean mouth. I used to know a lot of people like that.”
“Is everyone in New York like that?” Consuelo looked worried.
“I hope not,” Annabelle said brightly. “But we’re not going there for them. We’re going there for us.” And she was no longer willing to stay away and hide from them either. They didn’t own Newport and New York. She had her own world now, with her life in Paris, her patients, her practice, and her child. The only thing missing in her life was a man, but if she had to be belittled, humiliated, and “forgiven” by men like Antoine, who didn’t believe or respect her, then she preferred to be alone. She was fine.
The crossing passed uneventfully. They had a lovely time. Annabelle and Consuelo ate in the dining room together every night, and when the captain invited her to join his table one night, Annabelle politely declined. She preferred to dine with her daughter, than amid the nonsense and hypocrisies of people like the friends of her parents she had met on board.
As they steamed into New York harbor, assisted by tugs, Annabelle felt a lump in her throat as she saw the Statue of Liberty, standing proudly with her torch aloft. It was a moving moment, as though she had been waiting just for them. She pointed out Ellis
Island to her daughter, and explained what she had done there, before she was a doctor, and that it had been an impossible dream for her then.
“Why, Mama? Why couldn’t you be a doctor here?” She didn’t understand. Her mother being a doctor seemed the most natural thing in the world to her, and she wanted to be one too, and might well be one day.
“Because women didn’t do that very often. They still don’t. People think they should be married and have babies and stay home.”
“Can’t you do both?” Consuelo looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“I think you can,” she said, looking at the Statue of Liberty again. It was a reminder to all that the light of freedom never dimmed. Even if you closed your eyes, she was still there, lighting the way for all, men, women, rich, and poor. Freedom belonged to everyone, and to Annabelle now too.
Consuelo was looking pensive then. “If we were married, like to Antoine or someone like him, would you stop being a doctor?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” She offered no comment about Antoine, who had called her child a bastard. She would never forgive him for that. And hadn’t been able to forgive him for the rest.
When they tied up at the dock and cleared customs, they found two cabs to take them and their luggage to the Plaza Hotel. It had a lovely view of the park, and was in walking distance of her old house. Annabelle was shocked at how New York had changed, how many new buildings had appeared, how much more crowded it seemed. Consuelo was fascinated by it, and as soon as they settled in and had lunch, she and her mother set out on foot to explore the city.
It was inevitable that they went to her old house first. Annabelle couldn’t help herself. She had to see it. It was in good repair, although the shutters were closed and it looked unoccupied. She supposed that the new owners were away for the summer. Annabelle stood staring at it for a long time as Consuelo held her hand.
“That’s where I lived as a little girl.” She was about to say “until I was married” but stopped herself. She had never told Consuelo about Josiah, although she knew she would one day.
“It must have been very sad when your papa and brother died,” Consuelo said solemnly, as though visiting their grave, which in a way it was. And her mother’s. She had died in that house. And Annabelle had been born there.
“Your Grandmother Consuelo lived there too.”
“Was she nice?” Consuelo asked with interest as her mother smiled.
“Very. And she was beautiful, just like you. She was a wonderful, kind person. And I loved her very much.”
“You must miss her very much too,” Consuelo said softly.
“Yes, I do.” Standing there, Annabelle remembered the morning she learned that the Titanic had gone down, and the day her mother died. But she remembered the happy memories too. The days of her childhood when everything had been so simple and easy for her. She had had a golden life among loving people who protected her from all harm. And in the years after, she had paid her dues for everything she had now.
They walked away slowly, and Annabelle took Consuelo to see other landmarks in her life. She told her about her debut ball. And they visited her grandfather’s bank, where Annabelle introduced Consuelo to the manager and several employees she still knew. Consuelo politely curtsied and shook hands. At the end of the afternoon, they came back to the Palm Court at the Plaza for tea. It was very impressive, and they saw beautifully dressed, stylish women wearing extravagant hats and jewels, chatting and enjoying teatime under the enormous skylight.
Consuelo loved New York, and Annabelle was happier than she had expected to be. It was nice to come back, and fun to show it all to her daughter. Lady Winshire had been so right, it was a piece of her own history and her daughter’s, and it was important for Consuelo to see where her mother had grown up. They stayed for a week, and Annabelle saw no one she knew. There wasn’t a soul she wanted to see. By the end of the week, she was anxious to get to Newport and the cottage. She knew Consuelo would love it there, just as she had as a child. Independent of the social life that was so essential to the residents, the ocean and the beach and all the natural beauty were even more appealing than the cottages that were so vital to their owners and all who knew them.
They checked out of the Plaza and took the train to Boston, and her parents’ old butler William was waiting at the station for them with one of her parents’ old cars that they still kept in Newport. He began to cry the moment he saw her, and bowed when he met Consuelo, who was very impressed by how old he was, and how respectful to her. And she felt so sorry for him when he cried that she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He and Annabelle both had damp eyes when they greeted each other. The staff knew about Consuelo from Annabelle’s letters to Blanche, but they were not entirely clear on who her father was or when the marriage had happened. From what they could gather, he had been killed shortly after he and Annabelle were married. William looked at Consuelo with misty eyes and a nostalgic expression.
“She looks just like you at her age. And there’s a little bit of your mother.” He helped them settle into the car, and they set off on the seven-hour drive to Newport, with Consuelo observing and commenting on everything along the way. William explained it all to her. And here again, Annabelle found that much had changed, though not in Newport itself. As they drove into town, it looked as venerable as ever. And Consuelo’s eyes grew wide when she saw the cottage and the vast expanse of land it sat on. It was an imposing estate, and they had kept it in perfect condition.
“It’s almost as big as Grandmother’s house in England,” Consuelo said, in awe of the enormous home, and her mother smiled. It looked just as she had remembered, and brought her back to her own childhood with a sudden pang.
“Not quite,” Annabelle assured Consuelo. “Your grandmother’s house is bigger. But I had some wonderful summers here.” Until the last one. Coming back here brought up so many memories of Josiah, and the terrible end to their marriage. But it made her think of their happier beginnings as well, when she was young and all was hopeful. She was thirty-two years old now, and so much had changed. But it still felt like home to her.
As soon as the car stopped, Blanche and the others came running out of the cottage. She wrapped her arms around Annabelle and couldn’t stop crying. She looked much older, and when she saw Consuelo, she hugged her too. And like William, she told Annabelle that her daughter looked just like her.
“And you’re a doctor now!” Blanche still couldn’t believe it. She could believe even less that she had finally come home. They had thought she never would. And they had been deathly afraid she would sell the house. It was their home too. And they had kept everything in pristine condition for her. It looked as though she had left the day before, not ten years ago. Those ten years seemed like an entire lifetime, and yet when she saw the house again, the time since she’d last seen it melted away to nothing.
It made Annabelle miss her mother again, as she walked past her bedroom. She was staying in one of the guest rooms and had given Consuelo and Brigitte her old nursery for Consuelo to play in. But most of the time, she would be outdoors, as Annabelle had been at her age. She couldn’t wait to take Consuelo swimming, which they did that afternoon.
Annabelle told her that she had learned to swim here, just as Consuelo had learned in Nice and Antibes.
“The water is colder here,” Consuelo commented, but she liked it. She loved playing in the waves, and walking down the beach.
Later that afternoon, when they went back to the house from the beach, Annabelle left her with Brigitte. She wanted to go for a walk by herself. There were some memories she didn’t want to share. She was just leaving the house, when Consuelo came running down the stairs to join her, and Annabelle didn’t have the heart to tell her she couldn’t come. She was so happy there, discovering her mother’s old world, which was so different from the one they lived in now, with their tiny, comfortable house in the sixteenth arrondissement. Everything in her old world seemed huge to her now, and to
her child.
The house she had wanted to see was not far, and when she got there she saw that the trees were overgrown, the shutters closed, and it was in disrepair. Blanche had told her it had been sold in the past two years, but it looked like no one lived there, and it hadn’t been used in a decade. It appeared deserted. It was Josiah’s old house, where she had spent her married summers, and where he and Henry had continued their affair, but she didn’t think about that now. She only thought of him. And Consuelo could see that this house had been important to her mother too, although it was small and dark, and looked sad.
“Did you know the people who lived here, Mama?”
“Yes, I did,” Annabelle said softly. She could almost feel him near her as she said the words, and she hoped he was peaceful now. She had long since forgiven him. There was nothing left to forgive. He had done the best he could, and loved her in his own way. And she had loved him too. There was none of the raw disappointment and betrayal she still felt at Antoine’s hands, more recently. The scars of what had happened with Josiah had faded years before.
“Did the people die?” Consuelo asked sadly. It looked that way, judging by the condition of the house.
“Yes, they did.”
“A nice friend?” Consuelo was curious why her mother looked so far away and shaken by being there. And Annabelle hesitated for a long moment. Maybe it was time. She didn’t want to lie about her history to her forever. The lie that she’d been married to Consuelo’s father was enough, and one day she would tell her the truth about that too, not that she’d been raped, but that they hadn’t been married. Now that Lady Winshire had acknowledged her, it wouldn’t be quite as onerous, though still hard to explain.
“This house belonged to a man named Josiah Millbank,” she said quietly, as they peeked into the garden. It was completely overgrown, and looked entirely deserted, which it was. “I was married to him. We got married here in Newport when I was nineteen.” Consuelo looked at her with wide eyes, as they sat down on an old log. “I was married to him for two years, and he was a wonderful man. I loved him very much.” She wanted her to know that part too, not just that it had gone wrong.
A Good Woman Page 26
