“If you’re trying to say that I’ve coddled you long enough,” I say with a shaky smile, “then spit it out. Tell me how you really feel.”
“Very funny,” she says as she grabs my hand, hard. “Now, quit arguing and let’s go. And all that stuff you told everybody about not doing it until you’re ready? Don’t listen to yourself. Because if you’re not ready now, you won’t ever be.”
Dory opens her mouth to question me when Haley drags me to the table, but when I pick up the taper, she doesn’t say a word, just looks over at Haley in surprise. I fit the cardboard protector in place, and as with the first participant, my hand trembles when I light the taper from the wedding candle set on the spray of peacock feathers. Dory says, “I’m coming, too, Clare.” I start to protest, but after Haley’s outburst, I think better of it and keep my mouth shut.
Cupping my hand around the taper, I start the walk, and with each turn of the circle, Dory and Haley stay a step or two behind me. When we reach the center, both of them move close enough to me so Haley can give me a push forward. I’m not really surprised that Haley and I are dry-eyed while Dory sobs loudly, having given up her brave front and leaned against Haley for support. Before Haley can give me another push, I step up to the flat stone in the center of the labyrinth and look down at all of the slender tapers with blackened wicks that are piled up there.
I’ve gotten this far, though not very willingly, so I force myself to shut out the noises of the woods and the participants and the lovely sound of the guitar music, and I tell myself that I’ve fought this long enough. Lex was right yesterday morning, and Dory’s been right on target, too, though I wouldn’t allow myself to listen to either of them. Lex … God, he was so right! I should stop the ceremony right now, wave my arms in the air, and tell the participants what a coward I’ve been. When I leave here, I ought to get out my Rolodex and call every one of my clients whom I’ve so piously given my little speech to, telling them they’re not ready and they need to work harder before they can attend the retreats. I’ve been guiltier than any of them, and I’ve been the worst kind of hypocrite. It takes more courage to stand up here than I ever imagined, and so many of the women here, distraught and traumatized by things no one should ever have to endure, have bravely walked up and taken a new set of vows without flinching. Unlike me, the ones who’ve come up here have been willing to do whatever they have to in order to put the past behind them and start a new life. It hits me how much easier it is to cling to the past. No matter how miserable and wretched and heartbreaking it might be, at least it’s familiar. It’s the coward’s way out, and even though I knew better, it’s the one I took.
Funny, I had to get here before I was able to see why it took me so long. In saying goodbye to Mack, I’ll not only be giving up the man whose memory I’ve clung to all these years; I’ll be forced to give up some things about myself as well. Haley doesn’t know that I’ve secretly cherished the notion of myself as strong and brave and together, but in truth, I’m none of those things. Since the day Mack died, I’ve tormented and tortured myself for letting him down, and for all the mistakes I made with him. How could I possibly save Mack when I couldn’t even save myself? I saw so clearly that Mack’s demons came from his regrets, his bitterness with his father, the way he shut his mother out of his life, and his guilt about Haley and her mother. But I wasn’t able to see how I, too, have been paralyzed by my own regrets. I’ve come to the center of the labyrinth and face-to-face with the Minotaur; now the question is, am I strong enough to slay the monster and find the path that will take me in the right direction? There’s only one way to find out.
I blow out the candle and place it on top of the others. Turning around, I nod at Dory and Haley. Both of them reach for me at the same time, and the three of us cling together. Hugging me, Haley whispers in my ear, “Way to go, Mom. I knew you could do it.”
In my other ear, Dory says, “Well, I sure as hell didn’t! I’m still in a state of shock.”
“I’m glad you two came with me,” I say when we pull apart, smiling our watery smiles at each other. “You wouldn’t believe how much harder that walk is than it looks! It’s amazing to me that all these women have done it. It takes a lot of guts.”
Dory wipes her eyes and says, “Not only that, they’re ready to dance now.”
With a nod, I say, “Then let’s get out of here so they can, okay?”
“You and Haley go on,” Dory says. “I’ve got the basket on my arm, so I’m going to gather up the tapers while I’m here. Then no one will have to come back later and do it.”
Haley and I step back and wait for her until we realize she’s purposefully stalling, taking forever to bundle up the stack of burned-out tapers and wadded-up papers on the rock and put them in the small basket hanging over her arm. She keeps glancing around, pretending to be casual, and Haley nudges me.
“What’s Dory up to, Mom?”
“Damned if I know,” I mutter. The labyrinth paths have almost cleared, and some of the women are leaving the site, heading down the candlelit path in the woods. “Dory!” I say impatiently. “Leave those things alone and come on. We’ve got to get back and get everything set up for the dance.”
Her arms cradling the basket, Dory gives another look into the woods, then sighs and shrugs. When Haley and I start on the path, Dory shuffles behind us, muttering to herself. We’ve taken only a few steps when Dory lets out such a whoop that I stop and whirl around. The women still on the path ahead of us stop dead in their tracks, as though someone yelled “Freeze.”
Haley cries, “Mom—look!”
She points upward but doesn’t need to, because by then I’ve heard them. Over our heads are the rustle of wings and the soft coo of two dozen doves, flitting and swooping, shining gloriously white against the falling darkness like the shadows of angels. Haley, Dory, and I stumble backward, out of their way, as they make their spectacular landing in the center of the labyrinth, some on the stone and others scattered about the ground surrounding it. Zoe’s white wedding doves have arrived, and it hits me with a jolt of understanding that Zoe has had to retrain them for this occasion. I cannot imagine how she managed it. I know how long it took her to train them to fly away and return here after she released them at weddings. She must have been working for weeks on end to get them to do this. It’s no wonder none of us has seen her lately; in spite of her grief for Genghis, she’s been preparing them so they would arrive at this moment, just as the ceremony is over. This is her gift to me, this reverse landing of the wedding doves, and I put a hand over my mouth as I blink back my tears.
After a stunned silence, the crowd bursts into applause, and I scan the sea of faces for Zoe’s. Dory has dropped her basket of candles and is hopping from one foot to the other as she applauds and whoops and laughs, hugging first Haley and then Etta, who has appeared out of the crowd and hopped over the rock-edged paths to join them. Etta raises her big, jiggling arms above her head to clap her hands as a grin splits her face from ear to ear. With loud cries and cheers, the rest of the White Rings come forward to stand behind Etta, all of them decked out in their ridiculous equinox tunics. Evidently they were all in on this, Zoe’s contribution to the ceremony. Now I know why none of us has seen her all evening. I recall the time she first trained the doves, and I know she has to be close enough to them in order to give them her commands. Where on earth could she have released the doves from? I wonder.
From the distance comes a sharp whistle, and at the sound, the doves cock their heads in attention and cease their cooing sounds. As suddenly as they appeared, they lift their pearl-white wings, and one by one they begin to float upward, heading back the way they came, over the dark points of the leafy treetops etched against the blue-gray dusk.
Then I know where she is, where she has to be. I turn my head toward the oak tree that Zoe and Dory and I climbed the day we spied on Lex walking the labyrinth, and I see her. Sitting halfway up the tree like some giant, long-limbed bird is Zoe Cat
herine, her fingers in the sides of her mouth, whistling her white doves home.
Reader’s Guide
1. In the opening scene, Clare goes to great lengths to avoid an encounter with Son Rodgers, the husband of her best friend. What is the deeper basis of their mutual dislike? Does Dory stay with her husband in spite of his flaws, or because of them? Does her devotion suggest the complicated nature of love, or simply an unhealthy relationship? Is Son’s ultimate transformation plausible?
2. How does the setting—both the unique town of Fairhope and the Landing on Folly Creek—contribute to, impact, or enhance the story?
3. Two of the most important women in Clare’s life are Zoe Catherine, her former mother-in-law, and Haley, her daughter, yet neither is related to her by blood. Is the author making a comment on the ties that bind us to others, and if so, do you find it true to real life?
4. On a lighter note, Clare finds herself in a love triangle with two very different men. What is it about each one that appeals to her? Which man do you find most appealing, and why? Would you have made the same choice she did?
5. Explore the role of birds in the story, particularly the author’s use of them in the following elements of fiction: symbolism, comedy and tragedy, plot development (consider the colony of terns), and revelation of theme, as in the final scene.
6. Some scholars contend that myth contains the essential stories of humankind; or as Clare says to Dory, “Initiation, trial, and triumph.” How does the author explain her choice of the labyrinth and Minotaur? Can you suggest other myths and how they might have been used in a different manner?
7. About the dissolution of Haley’s marriage, Dory makes the following comment: “If Son dies before I do, or if we split the sheets, I won’t ever marry again. Why do any of us do it?” At another point, Clare states: “I have no intention of getting involved in another relationship, not after the way my last one ended,” and Lex agrees, “Going through all that crap again is the last thing I want …” Zoe Catherine refuses to marry her longtime lover, saying, “I get lonesome, too, but that’s no reason to get married. Lonesomest folks I know are the married ones.” Do you find the cynicism of these comments valid? Why, or why not?
8. Clare spends her life helping others heal and move on, yet can’t do the same for herself. What is it about Mack and their relationship that she is unable to let go of?
9. The Asunder Ceremony is crucial to Clare’s theory of healing, based on her assertion that “Ritual is not merely important, it’s essential.” Can you supply the Biblical quote that the word “asunder” was taken from? Is it valid to denounce the ceremony as a mockery of a holy ritual of the church?
10. The author raises disturbing questions about love and marriage, guilt and failure, fidelity and betrayal, loneliness and heartbreak. Does the final scene, with its suggestion of healing and renewal, offer any answers, or does it raise even more?
Copyright
Excerpt from “What Lips My Lips Have Kissed” by Edna St. Vincent Millay. From Collected Poems, HarperCollins. Copyright © 1923, 1951 by Edna St. Vincent Millay and Norma Millay Ellis. All rights reserved. Used by permission of Elizabeth Barnett, literary executor.
Copyright © 2007 Cassandra King.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011.
The Library of Congress has catalogued the original print edition of this book as follows:
King, Cassandra
Queen of broken hearts / Cassandra King.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4013-0177-4
ISBN-10: 1-4013-0177-0
1.Women—Southern States—Fiction. 2. Divorce therapy—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3568.A922Q44 2007
813′.6—dc22
2006049697
eBook Edition ISBN: 978-1-4013-4296-8
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Original print editions printed in the United States of America.
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Acknowledgments
To Marly, Leslie, and Ellen: I couldn’t have done it without your encouragement, help, patience, and perseverance.
To the family and friends: I love each of you more than I can say, even if I weren’t known as Helen Keller.
To the people of Fairhope, Alabama: It is a privilege to set my story in your unique and enchanting town. Please forgive any poetic license I might have taken.
And especially to Margot Swann and the women of Visions Anew, the wonderful real-life organization that inspired the fictional Wayfarer’s Landing. Please visit them at VisionsAnew.org.
About the Author
Cassandra King has published numerous short stories, articles, and essays, as well as three other novels, The Sunday Wife, Making Waves, and The Same Sweet Girls. She has taught college writing classes; conducted corporate writing seminars; worked as a human-interest reporter; and published an article on her second-favorite pastime, cooking, in Cooking Light magazine. A native of L.A. (Lower Alabama), she now lives in the low country of South Carolina with her husband, novelist Pat Conroy.
Contact the author at her website: cassandrakingconroy.com
Other Works
Also by Cassandra King
Making Waves
The Sunday Wife
The Same Sweet Girls
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Praise for
Queen of Broken Hearts
“Cassandra King has written a wonderful and uplifting tale about women helping other women in a small Alabama town. Full of romance and surprises along the way.”
—Fannie Flagg,
author of Can’t Wait to Get to Heaven
“This novel about friendship, heartache, self-discovery and love—in all its wounding, wacky, and wonderful forms—had me laughing out loud, and then moved me to tears.
—Sandra Brown,
author of Ricochet
“Queen of Broken Hearts is an absolutely fabulous story of healing and hope, filled with irresistible characters that are beautifully drawn and have great insights into life. I laughed and cried, and you will too … I absolutely adored this book! Congratulations, Cassandra King, on a monumental success!”
—Dorothea Benton Frank,
author of Full of Grace
“These are not ‘The Same Sweet Girls,’ but all those who loved that novel will love this one even more. Cassandra King’s characters are fully drawn, richly imagined human beings, whose lives will continue to resonate long after you’ve turned the last page.”
—Mark Childress,
author of One Mississippi
Praise For
Making Waves
“Making Waves is a wonderful novel filled with perfectly rendered Southern characters and the strange ways of love and friendship. It is lush and charming and just plain funny.”
—Sue Monk Kidd
“Some people just know how to tell a damn story. Cassandra King not only weaves a wonderful story of love and loss and laughter in Making Waves, she makes it seem more than fiction—I found myself seeing real people from my life in the puzzling human nature of ‘Zion.’ Poor people really do eat supper earlier than rich people. And a tire painted white does make a fine flower bed.”
—Rick Bragg, author of All Over but the Shoutin’ and Ava’s Man
“Making Waves is almost unfair to other writers of Southern settings. No one should be able to create a gathering of such perfect characters and place them in a story of such human and humorous circumstances. Yet, she has done it, an
d the result is as memorable as any book that I’ve read in years.”
—Terry Kay, author of To Dance with the White Dog and The Valley of Light
Praise For
The Sunday Wife
“A wonderful book. Cassandra King catches these quirky, complex people and their world flawlessly.”
—Anne Rivers Siddons
“Kept me up till 3 … The Sunday Wife is a tasty, irresistible treat.”
—BookPage
“As slice-of-life stories go, this is an extraordinarily generous one: rich, dense, and satisfying.”
—People
“The Sunday Wife is an intelligent, witty novel, skillfully written.”
—Boston Globe
“A charming read … [King] has a sure winner here.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The Sunday Wife … delivers some haunting messages about the nature of love and freedom and forgiveness.”
—Orlando Sentinel
“The Sunday Wife is a complex novel alert to the nuances of the Bible-Belt South.”
—The Daily Courier
“King explores the nature of love—the destructive power of addictive love, the healing power of mature, mutual love, and the blind worship of an adoring congregation.”
—Birmingham News
“King’s unique characters and artfully constructed story are prizes.”
—The Houston Chronicle
“The Sunday Wife is a dazzling tale of deception, heartbreak, and transcendence. Cassandra King has written a novel that sparkles with vitality and truth. Readers will not soon forget this moving story of one woman’s journey toward independence and the amazing people who help ferry her toward freedom.”
Queen of Broken Hearts Page 42
