by Terri Lee
“I understand.” Marguerite soothed, “Why don’t you tell me about your young man anyway.”
“Oh Gran, he’s not my young man.”
“That is not true. He is in your heart. Now tell me all about him.”
They were the words Frances longed to hear, and with them, her thoughts came tumbling out in no particular order. Thankfully she didn’t have to worry about making sense, her heart was doing the talking and Marguerite knew the language well. Marguerite nodded along and at one point, she leaned her head back upon her pillows with a faraway smile on her lips, and Frances knew she was remembering her own love.
There was one thing that Frances knew for sure; Marguerite would always be on the side of love. It was her main objection to Lena. Frances had gathered fragments of conversations and snippets of arguments over the years between her headstrong grandmother and Lena and the pieces didn’t paint a pretty picture. It must have been difficult for her grandmother to watch the son she adored settle for someone who could not return his love in the way in which it was offered. Complete and without reservation.
It had made for many testy interactions and more than one or two full-blown eruptions over the years. Frances heard that Marguerite had been a bit of a firecracker in her younger days and every once in awhile Frances caught a glimpse of the fiery personality that everyone thought had been retired.
Those moments usually occurred whenever Lena was attempting to clip Frances’s wings. Marguerite would step into the fray. “It’s my duty to protect my grandchildren,” she would say. It was not in Marguerite’s nature to sit by and say nothing when witnessing the destruction of relationships from sheer neglect as Lena was off on one extended trip after another, leaving her young children in the care of nannies. But Frances also heard her father scold his mother for interfering with Lena’s decisions. He would entertain no criticism of his wife, not even from the mother he loved. Like many men, William was expected walk the tightrope between the two women in his life.
But Marguerite was an old woman now and her battling days were far behind her. She and Lena had learned to co-exist. Mainly by steering clear of one another.
“I think perhaps you might have your first broken heart.” Marguerite declared as she smiled sadly at her dark-haired granddaughter. “It is quite a different thing, being the one who is broken, instead of the one doing the breaking, yes?”
“Yes. I have to say I don’t like it very much,” Frances said. “Anyway, I guess it was a big waste of time.”
“Oh no. No, Cherie. Love is never a waste of time,” Marguerite counseled. “And of course, the love you cannot have is always the perfect love, yes? Because it is the love that has not yet had the opportunity to disappoint.”
“I guess so.” Frances smoothed over the loose threads she’d been playing with.
“You will find the love you are meant to have, I have no doubt.” Marguerite reassured her granddaughter. “I loved your grandfather and he adored me. Which, I might say, is always the perfect foundation for a happy marriage.” She chuckled to herself. “I want nothing less for you.” She cocked her head towards Frances, “If it is meant to be, love will find a way.”
“How do you always know the right thing to say?”
“Another reward for being old.” Marguerite shrugged her thin shoulders.
Her grandmother was usually right and Frances hoped more than ever that her predictions would prove true this time. The love she was meant to have was out there waiting for her. Somewhere.
TEN
“Trying to drown your sorrows?”
Frances shaded her eyes with her hands and looked up from the water to see Charles making his way to the shore.
“Just enjoying the last few days of summer.” Frances squinted up at him.
“Mother sent me down here to make sure you weren’t making a feeble attempt at suicide.” Charles laughed.
“Now I know you’re lying.” Frances huffed as she pulled herself up on the wooden ladder. “She would never send the rescue squad until she was sure it was too late.” She flopped down next to Charles, dripping water all over him in the process.
“Ouch.” Charles shook his head at his sister’s dark humor. “And stop splashing me.” He waved her away.
“Oh lighten up Chuck. You’re such a fuddy duddy.”
Charles winced at the nickname, and Frances grinned, knowing that she had gotten under his skin. She never knew how to take him anymore. One minute, he could be playful and teasing, and the next minute, he was acting like an old man, all gruff seriousness.
“You don’t always have to be so hard on Mother. She did send me down here to check on you.” Charles spoke up as Lena’s faithful champion.
“She’s just concerned that my death might put a damper on her party plans. Nothing puts a crimp in a celebration like a corpse draped in a white sheet in the middle of the buffet table.”
“You’re an odd duck, Frances.” Charles studied her.
“Only Lena would assume that I’m contemplating suicide over a few dates with a guy I barely knew.” She ran her fingers through her wet hair.
Charles was staring out at the water, barely listening to his sister. “Well you could give Mother the benefit of the doubt once in a while. It would make life easier.”
“Easier, for whom?”
“You have no idea how you break her heart.”
“Heart?” Frances choked on her reply. “Good grief, Charles, now you’ve gone too far. I’ve spent nineteen years looking for “Lena’s heart” and I’ve uncovered nothing. There’s not a shred of evidence to point to its existence.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “Let’s take this business of you calling our mother Lena. Giving her the kiss-off only makes you look childish.”
“I call her Lena because that’s her name. I simply think it suits her better than, mother.” After a moment’s pause she offered, “Look, at least I’m willing to concede that there might be room for both the mother you see and the Lena I know. That’s more than you’re willing to admit. And I happen to think that’s very grown-up of me.”
She stretched her legs out in front of her and studied her toes. “I know you don’t understand me either, Charles. But maybe it’s because you have no idea what it’s like to be on the wrong side of Mother’s and Father’s good opinion. You’ve always been right in line with whatever they want for you. How lucky for you that you’ve always been the golden boy.”
“It’s not my fault I’m perfect. I know it must have been very hard for you growing up in my shadow,” He said in mock condescension, lifting his head as if he were posing for a portrait.
Frances ignored him and continued with her thought. “And how lucky for Margaret that she is going to be a nun and they have decided to leave her alone with that decision. But me? Because I have thoughts and ideas of my own, I’m labeled as rebellious…and even …wild. They have no idea what wild looks like.”
“Face it, Frances. You love being the martyr. You are the only one who can see things clearly. You alone are willing to take on your entire evil family.”
“Well, now you’re finally beginning to see things my way.” She tried to lighten the mood.
“Don’t you ever get tired of the arguments?”
“Don’t you ever just want to run away?” Now it was her turn to change the subject.
“Where to?”
“It doesn’t matter where to. That’s not the point.” Charles could be so exhausting. “How do you know there’s not something else out there for you? How can you be so sure that you want to take over Father’s business…just step right into his life? Don’t you have any dreams of your own?”
Charles shook his head. “That is what I want to do with my life. I’m not simply doing what’s expected of me.”
“Really?”
“Not everyone wants to run off and join the circus. You just want to do the exact opposite of whatever you’re told to do, that’s your problem.”
; “I see the transformation is now complete. Nice to meet you, William Durant.” Frances stuck out her hand for the formal introduction. She studied her brother’s profile as he refused to acknowledge her barb.
From the time that she could remember, Charles had one mission in life. All through her young years, she remembered hearing how Charles was being groomed to take the reins one day. Groomed. What an odd term. She had heard it when she was told he was going off to school at the age of thirteen. And she thought of the horses kept in the stable and how they were groomed to shining perfection.
“Only the best for our Charles, for he is being groomed for his future,” everyone had said. But all Frances could see was that he was leaving her alone. She would be lost without him. He seemed strangely unaffected, solid, and in control. Or perhaps he had already learned his first important lesson before stepping into his father’s shoes: keep a tight fist on one’s emotions.
Things were never quite the same after that. Charles was busy growing into manhood and no longer had time for the silliness of his younger sibling. They would connect briefly when reunited for holidays and summers, but from then on, they each held back a part of themselves. Such was the result of growing up and growing apart.
But Frances still missed those younger years, when they would hide from the newest governess and Foster would never give away their secret places. It was a time left to dusty shadows where memories grew soft around the edges and the harsh colors faded into one subtle hue. Life was much more complicated now.
Perhaps life was easier with the map already plainly marked in front of you, Frances pondered. No need to concern oneself with all the tiny side roads, and consider different destinations. Charles never seemed to struggle with the expectations placed on his shoulders. His future was handed to him along with his birth certificate.
And then there was Margaret, who knew from a very early age that she wanted to be a nun. No doubts, no confrontations with parents, only her easy determination as she followed her soul. Frances envied her quiet strength. But for Frances, it had been a struggle from day one. And now more so than ever, she felt like a tiny boat tossed about on the rough sea. She supposed she would just have to go back to school and see what life had in store for her this next year.
“Let’s not fight, Charles,” Frances said softly. “We have so little time together. I really wanted us to enjoy this summer. You’ll be married for sure next summer and everything will change forever.”
“Truce.” He agreed.
They sat quietly for a time, each with their own thoughts, before Frances spoke up. She nodded her head towards the rope swing on the large tree, “Robert loved jumping off that rope, didn’t he?”
Charles chafed. “Don’t bring him up Frances.”
“Why shouldn’t I bring him up? He died. It wasn’t his fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.” Charles looked away.
“Why must we act as if he didn’t exist? He was our brother, a beautiful little boy, and now we can’t even mention his name?”
“What purpose does it serve? Why dredge up painful memories?” Charles was clearly uncomfortable.
“Because they’re real,” she said. “Because he was our brother. Because I miss him. Because sometimes I need to talk about him and I’m afraid we’ll forget about him.” Frances leaned in to Charles. “I don’t want to forget about him. I loved him.”
“I loved him too,” Charles fumbled, “But…”
“I know, I know. It’s too painful to talk about.” She sighed. “No one in this family wants to talk about him. He was just a sweet little boy who got sick and died too soon. And I miss him all the time.” Frances looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
After several uncomfortable minutes Charles was eager to end the silence and change the subject. “So let’s get back to your suicide attempt.”
Frances laughed half-heartedly, “I would never give Lena the satisfaction. I live to torture her.”
“Well who was the guy anyway? Anyone I know?”
“Not a chance.” Frances grimaced. “He was just a guy.”
“Just a guy, huh?” Charles nudged her with his shoulder. “You seem awfully lovesick over just a guy.”
“I’m not lovesick.”
“You can’t fool me.”
“Au contraire. It’s very easy to fool you, Brother-Dear.”
It was the golden hour and the two of them sat side by side on the old wooden dock that had been the platform for many conversations between them through the years. They each sat with their arms wrapped around their legs, knees to their chests, as they watched the lightshow at sunset. The world was on fire, and trees gleamed in the gold and crimson light as the sun granted one last glimpse of beauty before she retired for the night. She offered something to remember her by, a gilded promise for tomorrow. For a few brief moments, there was no chasm between them. There was no need for words. In fact, it was better between them without words. Frances wanted to save this moment and put it in her pocket.
“Let’s go home, Little Sister.” Charles stood up and offered his hand to Frances. She placed her hand in his and looked up into the strong, handsome face of her brother. He was a man now. She kept forgetting that.
***
Lena was opening the morning mail at the breakfast table while William Durant was busy studying the latest news from the stock market. The genteel clatter of silverware against fine bone china was the only sound in the room. Charles had made a hasty exit after gulping down a quick bite and Margaret had spent a rare night with a friend and wouldn’t be home until later in the afternoon, so it was just Frances left to deal with the chatty pair.
“Oh no. It looks as if Evelyn and Nate will not be attending on Saturday.” Lena relayed the news from the small letter in her hand.
Frances groaned.
“I do hope you will have finished with your mourning period by then.” Lena cast a cool glance towards her daughter. “Your moping about is quite tedious.”
“Mourning?” Frances said. “Nobody is moping about. Can’t a girl just have some peace and quiet without her entire family accusing her of being suicidal?”
William lowered the paper just enough to peek at Frances over the edge. “Watch the tone, young lady.”
“Excuse me!” Frances stood to leave the table, tossing her napkin onto her chair in her retreat. By God, she’d show Lena. She’d show up in a black ensemble from head to toe on Saturday. And now, to hear that Lucy would not be here, well… that was just perfect. She had been looking forward to one last visit before leaving for school. She was looking forward to talking to her about Frankie, hoping that perhaps she had seen him or had some small scrap of news to share, although she knew she was grasping at straws. There would be no news about Frankie.
ELEVEN
Unless some mysterious illness overtook her completely in the next few hours, of which she still had not given up hope, she would be expected to paste a smile on her face and mingle. It was the last party of the summer. She would ask all the right questions at the right time and she would appear as if she were completely interested in whatever bit of silly conversations she found herself in, but she would not be happy about it.
Surely I can muddle through one more day, Frances appealed to her inner strength. Then, I will be off to school where I will be left alone to ignore everyone I choose. Sadly, that was the truth. Her family had no idea how little Frances interacted with her peers while away at college. She was so put off by the one-upmanship that passed for friendships with most of the girls. She would much rather spend time in her room or wandering the grounds when not immersed in her studies. She had no need to prove anything. She knew instinctively that only those with less were always trying to prove that they had more, and it bored her.
Frances made very good grades so there really was nothing her parents could complain about on that front. She did have one or two close friends at Bryn Mawr, or as close as Frances would allow. A
lthough her studies came easily, friendships did not. That would come as a surprise to most people who knew her. Anyone would tell you that they thought she was the funniest and smartest girl they knew. And everyone thought they were friends with Frances Durant. She had an uncanny ability to make you feel comfortable and at ease when all the while she was holding you at arms’ length.
The one and only thing she truly loved about college, was her participation in the drama club. There she was allowed to spread her wings, and be as silly or as over-the-top as she chose. Not only did it provide her with the freedom she craved but she was rewarded for it. It kept her going in the moments when she thought about walking away from school. Of course she would always ask herself, where would I go if I left Bryn Mawr? Transferring to another college, wouldn’t have changed the situation, only the location.
Frances looked around her room at the number of bags in various stages of readiness. A new wardrobe had been purchased at all the best stores in New York and even a few items sent from Paris. Although dresses and hats and shoes lay strewn about the room, she could find no pleasure in them.
She sat on the end of her bed and wondered what on earth was wrong with her. Why couldn’t she find joy in anything? Why couldn’t she be happy about going back to school and seeing a few old friends? Lena was right. She was moping about.
Time to pull myself up by my bootstraps, she challenged herself, I can’t have Lena thinking she’s justified in her criticism. That won’t do at all. So she sifted through a pile of dresses until she found just the thing that made her smile in spite of herself.
***
Frances and several other young people made their way over to the gazebo as the night began to wane. Music from the band could still be heard from this location, only much softer, and it allowed for smaller intimate conversations. Frances plopped down in one of the chairs next to Cassandra and Charles.
