Now, Voyager

by Higgins Prouty, Olive

  Charlotte stared down from above, aghast at the crumpled little pile of lavender and white, lying there like broken doll with no wig, for the transformation had fallen off. Oh, what if I have killed her! She started down the stairs.

  “Coming!” a bright voice called out. Charlotte glanced up, and saw a vision in white—like a shining angel above her. “Here I am! I heard it all. Don’t go near her. Let me!” Charlotte stepped back and Miss Pickford, in starched cap and uniform, came tripping down the stairs. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “So long as she can moan like that she’s good and alive.”

  Charlotte called up Doctor Warburton, who lived next door. He wasn’t in, but his assistant Doctor Regan would come right over. A half an hour later Charlotte’s mother was ensconced in her bed, her transformation redressed and replaced, her lavender bed-jacket exchanged for her orchid pan-velvet-and-écrulace, her left ankle, strapped and bandaged, enthroned on a pile of pillows.

  Dan Regan told Charlotte that her mother had only torn a ligament, he thought. But it would probably swell and discolor. She mustn’t walk on it. Her heart? No, she had referred to no pain in the vicinity of her heart. Probably the fall had acted like an antidote, he smiled. Certainly, go right ahead with the dinner plan.

  “In fact, the old lady—excuse me—Mrs. Vale is looking forward to the excitement she is going to cause. I’ve told her she can have her guests come up and see her, one or two at a time. By the way, Miss Vale, it looks as if your cruise was a great success.” He paused. “I supposed you stopped over in New York.” Charlotte nodded. “And saw Fabia.”

  “Yes, Dan.” All she could do in way of comfort was to make her tone kind. “Fabia is in the operating room now, and is fascinated by your profession.”

  “Well, I must go along. I’ve left some sleeping-powders with the nurse for your mother.”

  Her mother’s enforced absence from the dinner party released Charlotte from many restrictions which Doctor Jaquith had advised her to observe at first. He was a strong supporter of the Commandment which prescribed honoring one’s parents. Honor was usually just a matter of consideration. He believed it was possible to be both considerate and courageous. It would be considerate to avoid surprising her mother with changes for which she had not been mentally prepared. “For instance, I wouldn’t wield a lighted cigarette in her presence till you’ve told her you’ve taken up smoking,” he suggested. “I myself prefer a doctor who says, ‘This will hurt a little,’ to one who makes me jump. Don’t make her jump any more than you have to.”

  But he hadn’t advised her not to make the others jump. Charlotte was aware of a streak of deviltry breaking out in her as she dabbed her skin with foundation cream, vigorously rubbing it in, later, generously coating her cream-colored neck and arms with Henri’s finest ivory-tinted powder, dexterously applying the crimson tube to her lips, and, as a last touch, thrusting the crystal stiletto dripping with Quelques Fleurs behind each ear. Just before she left her room to go downstairs, she pinned at the bottom of the low V of her gown Jerry’s three camellias. My amulet, she thought.

  The family were all assembled in the living room, when Charlotte appeared five minutes after the appointed hour. No one was ever late to any event at the Marlborough Street house if he wanted to keep in good favor with Grandmother Vale.

  “Hello, everybody,” said Charlotte from the threshold, in a voice which she forced to sound casual.

  They all stared at her in silence for a moment. She was dressed in a long clinging gown the color of hothouse violets, with not so much as a rhinestone clip in way of decoration. Her only ornament was the red camellias. She made me think of one of those bunches of violets florists make up with a red rose in the center, June wrote Mona that night.

  June was the first one in the room to move or speak. She rushed up to Charlotte as if proud of her prerogative, and slipped an arm through hers. “You’re gorgeous!” she exclaimed. “I simply love your dress,” and led her into the room.

  The family swarmed about her, shaking hands, pecking her on the cheek, then withdrawing to survey her from a distance. She had a hysterical impulse to laugh when she caught the dazed expression on Rosa’s face. Rosa, high pompadoured and high busted, looking down her long prominent nose at Charlotte, was utterly unable to speak at first. Again she wanted to laugh when Justine, flat chested and flat haired, flushed to the top of her high bulging forehead, when Charlotte accepted the cigarette June offered her. Lloyd and Hilary were both extremely ill at ease, at a loss to know what to say at first. She gloried in their discomfort.

  On the way out to the dining room June glanced down at the camellias. “Ham Hunneker, I suppose,” she twinkled, and squeezed her arm.

  “No, Roly-Poly,” Charlotte twinkled back. “Guess again.”

  It was a cool night. The living room was chilly. They were having after-dinner coffee, when Charlotte, glancing down at the white paper fans, yellowed with age, spread out beneath the logs in the fireplace struck a match and exclaimed, “Let’s have a fire, girls!”

  “A fire!” ejaculated Rosa.

  “You don’t mean an open fire!” exclaimed Justine, aghast.

  “No, no, Charlotte! Mother won’t like it,” warned Hilary.

  “It’s never been lit!” Lloyd called out.

  “High time it was, then!” said Charlotte as the flames leaped up.

  At ten o’clock the party began to break up. Nichols and June had to leave early to attend a dance on the North Shore, and Uncle Herbert and Aunt Hester, who had motored in from Groton, wanted to get onto the road as soon as possible. There remained seven guests, one short for two tables of bridge. “Unfortunately,” Rosa had sighed. “Unless,” she added, gazing down her nose at Charlotte’s half-burned cigarette, “you’ve taken up bridge as well as smoking.”

  “Well, I learned not to trump my partner’s trick.”

  Rosa looked skeptical. She turned to her husband. “We don’t mind taking her on at our table, do we, Lloyd? Just for one rubber?”

  “No. Not at all. I’ll even take her on as my partner,” he acceded generously.

  Lloyd had the reputation of being one of the best bridge players at his club. Since leaving Alexandria, Charlotte had been playing almost every night with Reginald Devereaux as her partner. Reggie also had the reputation of being one of the best players in his club.

  It was after midnight before the bridge players at Charlotte’s table finished their last rubber. Charlotte was standing with her back to the little pile of dead ashes in the fireplace when Rosa capped the climax of the evening. Rosa had donned her black velvet evening coat and a white Liberty scarf.

  “Are you doing anything Wednesday for lunch and the afternoon, Charlotte?” she asked.

  “Of course not, Rosa. Why?”

  “Well, I thought, perhaps seeing Mother Vale can’t go out anyway, she might not feel hurt if—On Wednesday I’m having—But probably Grandmother Vale wouldn’t like it, seeing you’ve just come home.” It was well understood that Grandmother Vale resented being omitted from any invitation which included Charlotte.

  “What are you having on Wednesday?” asked Charlotte.

  “My bridge club, and I’m short a player. We lunch first, and then play serious bridge. You’re really awfully good, Charlotte. Far better than Lisa. She’s a member, too. Do you think you could manage to leave Mother Vale on Wednesday?”

  “I know I could! I’d love to come, Rosa—that is, if I play well enough, and if you think I’d fit in with the others.” She stopped abruptly, aware of threatening tears. For goodness’ sake, pull yourself together! Don’t be a fool! It’s only Rosa for which you’ve always felt contempt.

  “I think you’ll fit in with the others very well, indeed, Charlotte,” Rosa replied, almost warmly. Nice old Rosa whom she’d never liked—nice, generous, old Rosa! She gripped her underlip with her teeth. If I cry it will spoil everything! “Well, am I to count on you Wednesday, or am I not?” Rosa pursued.

  Ch
arlotte looked down. Three crimson camellias looked up! Her amulet! She released her lower lip. She raised her chin. “You are to count on me, Rosa, and thank you ever so much!” she said, without a quaver or a tear.

  18

  A LUCKY BREAK FOR CHARLOTTE

  Five minutes later, Charlotte turned out all the lights, first in the living room, then in the lower hall and vestibule, and mounted the stairs. Halfway up the second flight a moth-like creature emerged from the region above—Miss Pickford, in a dark flannel wrapper and low noiseless slippers.

  “She’s waiting to see you!” she said, in a whisper. “She’s had two hours’ sound sleep and is as bright as a button. I know it’s going on toward one o’clock, but it won’t hurt her. She can sleep all day tomorrow. She’s got something on her chest she wants to get off, poor dear.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “No. But I know she’s good and mad. When she woke up around ten, she smelled that open fire first thing, and sent for Hilda to find out who lit it. You’d better let her blow off some of her steam tonight. It can’t blow for long, because the minute the last guest left I gave her her hot toddy—a special tomato soup I make. Tonight, besides two tablespoons of sherry and a pinch of cayenne, I slipped in a sleeping-powder. It will begin to work in about twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll go up and put on a kimono and be right down,” said Charlotte. “You’re a treasure, Miss Pickford.”

  “Call me Dora. Everybody does, Queen Elizabeth included. I call your mother ‘Queen Elizabeth,’ when I don’t call her ‘Gramma’ or ‘Dearie,’ or ‘Naughty girl.’ Don’t wait for the kimono. Queen Elizabeth hates to be kept waiting.”

  “But she’ll hate worse to see this dress.”

  “Guess you’re right. Just slip the kimono over it, then. Now hustle.”

  Her mother was in bed lying flat on her back, the bedclothes pulled up to her chin, her elevated foot making a towering mound under the cover. Her mother’s head lay in the dark shadow cast by the high floorboard, but Charlotte could see outlined on the pillow the transformation, and beneath it the two phosphorescent sparks of her eyes.

  “How is the ankle, Mother?”

  “Extremely painful.”

  “I’m so sorry. But it’s splendid you have had some good sleep.”

  “I haven’t. I’ve had my eyes closed, but I haven’t lost consciousness once. I’ve been doing some thinking—as I’ve been lying here in pain, listening to you all having a good time downstairs. Some pretty clear thinking. I see you’ve taken off the dress you and Lisa bought in New York.”

  “I’ll show it to you in the morning.”

  “I don’t care to see it. Sit down.” Charlotte did so, drawing up a straight-backed chair close to the bedside. “How much did the dress cost?”

  “It was frightfully expensive. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

  “To whom did you charge it?”

  “To whom I’ve always charged my clothes, Mother.”

  “And do you expect me to pay for articles charged to me of which I do not approve?”

  “For years I’ve hated the system. But I’ve worn the dress, so I can’t return it. I’ll pay for it out of my own account.”

  “Your own account! All the money you have in the world is that legacy of $3000 from Aunt Maria.”

  “It’s over 5000 now, Mother, with the interest, and with what I’ve been adding to it from my monthly allowance for the last 20 years and more.”

  Ever since Charlotte had come home from boarding school, she had received on the first of each month $65, for expenditures that couldn’t be charged to her mother—fares, library fees, gifts, amusements, and other small personal items. It had seemed a generous amount then. She had never needed any more money. Not until her illness. Then she had been too deeply immersed in despair to be aware of her need. Yesterday she had learned from Lisa that her mother had refused to pay for either Cascade or the cruise. It had been Lloyd and Hilary who had risen to the occasion.

  “$5000 won’t last long,” her mother retorted. “Especially, if your monthly allowance should be discontinued.”

  Oh, so that was what she wanted “to get off her chest”!

  “I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long while, Mother,” Charlotte began in an ingenuous tone, “about my financial situation. The boys all have independent incomes from Father’s estate. Why didn’t Father leave me anything in his will?”

  “Your father left nothing to the boys in his will, so you’ve nothing to complain of. You don’t know anything about financial matters, but I’ll try to explain. Your father divided his property before he died. He made four trusts, if you know what those are, naming me as sole beneficiary of one, and each of the boys of the others.”

  “But why didn’t he make a trust for me, too?”

  “Because you were a mere child. Your father left it to the discretion of your own mother to provide for you. My trust is many times larger than the boys’. I am sure you’ve always had everything in the world you want.”

  “I haven’t had independence.”

  “That’s it! That’s just what I want to talk about! Independence—to buy what you choose, wear what you choose, sleep where you choose, put paint on your face if you choose, and light fires in my fireplace if you choose! Independence! That’s what you mean by it, isn’t it?”

  “No. Doctor Jaquith says independence is freedom from subjection, and reliance upon one’s own will and judgment.”

  “Jaquith! So he’s the snake-in-the-grass! I thought so! I never approved of your going to him. I have no use whatsoever for any of those new-fangled alienists and psychoanalysts. They do more harm than good.”

  “Doctor Jaquith is neither an alienist nor psychoanalyst. He’s a psychiatrist.”

  “Don’t split hairs. Whatever you call him he’s been filling you up with poison. He has turned a daughter’s devotion to her mother into defiance and disregard of her simplest wishes. I’m glad to give a devoted daughter a home and pay all her expenses, but not if she scorns my authority. I am willing that you occupy your old room until I dismiss the nurse. She will occupy your father’s room for the time being and perform a daughter’s duties as well as a nurse’s. That will give you a good chance to think over what I’ve said, and consider how you would like earning your own living.”

  “I think I could do it, if I had to.”

  “How? A woman of your age and inexperience?”

  “I’ve often thought about it. I think I’d make a very good head waitress in a restaurant. I’m good height, and older. Or I might get onto the newsstand in one of the railroad stations. Or sit in a cage and take cash in the subway. Or run an elevator in an office building, or be a saleslady in a department store. Oh, there are so many opportunities, if you’re willing to do anything!”

  “And where would you propose to sleep and board?”

  “Oh, at the YWCA, or the Franklin Square House, or—”

  “That would be nice for the family’s reputation here in Boston, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well, if it would make less gossip I could go to New York!” (New York, and be in the same city with Jerry! She drew the kimono closer around her, pressing the camellias hard against her chest.)

  “You may think it’s all very funny now, but I guess you’d be laughing out the other side of your face if you found I actually did carry out my suggestion.”

  “No, I don’t think I would. I’m not afraid.” She stopped abruptly. What had she said? She repeated it. “I’m not afraid,” and then again wonderingly, “I’m not afraid, Mother!” and paused, gazing at the dim outline of her mother’s face, and the mound of her body. I see what Doctor Jaquith means now! She cannot hurt me. She’s just a little shrunken old lady who loves authority with only her money to wield it. She has no power over my integrity and my decisions. I see now! I see!

  When she spoke next there was a sort of radiance in her tone. “It might be good for me to have to earn my own living, then I
wouldn’t be afraid of it. It would be one less fear on my list. Some fears slough off. Some have to be grappled with,” she quoted from Doctor Jaquith and paused again. Her mother made no reply. “Fear is the deadliest enemy there is to success and happiness,” Charlotte went on reflectively. “Doctor Jaquith says it tends to put an end to both mental and physical activity. That phrase, ‘frozen with fear,’ has a sound scientific foundation, he says.” There was another long pause. “Are you hearing me, Mother?” An audible indrawn breath was her answer. She stood up.

  “Where are you going?” her mother demanded sharply.

  “You were asleep, Mother. We’ll wait until morning.”

  “We’ll do no such thing! And I wasn’t asleep. I heard every word you said. I haven’t finished yet. Sit down. I want you to know something I’ve never told you before. It’s about my will. You’ll be the most powerful and wealthiest member of the Vale family some day, if I don’t change my mind.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Call it what you like. It’s something else for you to think over up there in your room.”

  “Oh, but you wouldn’t want a daughter of yours to be bought over with a pot of gold, would you, Mother?” asked Charlotte, with playful reproach.

  “Well, I advise you to think it over. Where’s Dora? I want Dora.” She knocked rapidly on the headboard. Almost instantly Dora Pickford appeared. “I want the back of my head rubbed, and my ankle rebandaged, and my pillows fixed, and another cup of that hot soup.”

  “Which first, Queen Elizabeth?”

  “Head rubbed.” Dora Pickford leaned, slipped her hands under the nape of her neck, and began rotating the muscles at the base of the brain. “That’s good. Don’t stop. You’re a good girl, Dora. Guess you wouldn’t stick up your nose at a pot of gold, would you, Dora?” Her voice was thick with sleep now.