Unfinished Desires

by Gail Godwin

  “It’s what playwrights call a play’s ‘hidden message,’” Tildy had told Maud in deepest confidence. “It’s something that gives the play its special frisson, even though nobody but the playwright knows it’s there. You know, Maud; I need you to know so you can incorporate it into your performance of Domenica. Nobody else knows, not even Chloe. I didn’t want her to go consulting the spirit of Agnes and gumming up the works with some scruple or other.”

  “But what is the frisson, Tildy?”

  “A frisson is a little shiver,” Tildy complacently translated.

  “I know what ‘a’ frisson is,” Maud said crossly, Tildy’s possessiveness about the French language having lately become an irritation. “What I meant was, where is the hidden message in this one? Don’t you think I need to know what it is, too?”

  “The hidden message,” said Tildy, with a pregnant pause—Maud knew she was either choosing whether or not to confide it or thinking it up on the spot—“is … the unraveling of Ravenel.”

  “The unraveling—?” Maud saw Tildy allowing time for fear of consequences to play themselves out on Maud’s face.

  “Look, Maud, when she was our age, Mother Ravenel wove her version of things into a play, and now we’re going to unweave some of it and correct it with things we have learned since. But this has to be between us. The audience will feel a burst of fresh air, and we will have done a service to those who can no longer speak for themselves, and nobody will be the wiser—except for Mother Ravenel. It will be a secret message to her.”

  “COME IN, MAUD.”

  Mother Ravenel was seated at a huge dark desk with carved legs, its flat top importantly stacked with papers and baskets of letters. Behind the headmistress, almost like a stage backdrop, were the ranges of the western mountains, with Pisgah and the Rat in prominence just above the nun’s right shoulder. Maud felt spotlighted by the bright sunshine pouring through those double windows. Mother Ravenel, her back to the windows, was in shadow.

  Maud took in the office, with its trophies and photographs and, on one wall, a rough-carved little Madonna wearing a sombrero, sitting inside a sort of little house. This was her first summons to Mother Ravenel’s office. “It’s very nice in here, Mother,” she said.

  “Take a seat, dear.” The headmistress pointed to a silvery wing chair.

  “I want you to know, Maud,” said the headmistress, “that you are sitting in the foundress’s own Queen Anne wing chair. It was one of her great finds. Recognizing it for the treasure it was, she bought it from a junk dealer in Mountain City. Then she and Mother Finney stripped it down and refinished it and upholstered it in that lovely brocade left over from an altar frontal.”

  “It’s very nice,” said Maud, running her fingers along the arms.

  “And you suit it well. Tildy Stratton tells me she has cast you in the role of our foundress. And she says you have agreed to take on another small part as well. A new character, someone called Domenica, I believe.” Mother Ravenel certainly seemed to be informed up to the minute about the development of the play, yet Maud also felt a probing edge to her tone. Had Tildy told the headmistress that this was the one scene that no one else in the class knew about and that was only rehearsed in private between the two players? Maud didn’t think so.

  “Yes, Mother. She’s a girl from later on in the school’s history. It’s just a sort of cameo scene. Domenica has a vocation, or believes she does.”

  “I see.” The headmistress settled back in her swivel chair. “That’s very well put, Maud. Has a vocation. Or believes she does. Sometimes the belief grows into the reality. And sometimes it doesn’t. The interim period is what we in the religious life call ‘discernment.’”

  “Discernment,” repeated Maud, not at all sure where this was going.

  “But I didn’t call you in to talk about the play, though Tildy is very fired up about it. She’s made me promise to attend a rehearsal as soon as everyone knows their lines. She says she’s put in new bits of material, here and there, which makes it more of a living thing. Even though I wrote it, I’ve come to regard the play as a work in progress in service to the ongoing history of the school. I called you in, Maud, because I wanted to hear how you are doing. How are you finding life as a boarder?”

  “I love it more as a boarder, Mother Ravenel.”

  “Would you care to elaborate on that?”

  “It’s so peaceful here. You always know what’s coming next. I get to do more of what I want here.”

  “Not many of our boarders would say that, I can assure you. I guess it depends on what a girl wants. What do you want, Maud?”

  “To get on with my studies. To get on with being myself, without—without—”

  “Without—?”

  “Without worrying that it will all be taken away. That I will have to—have to—” She lowered her eyes.

  “Downgrade your dreams?” the headmistress triumphantly supplied. “Yes, you see I have been talking with Mother Malloy. She did right to come to me. And I have read your paper on the ordeal of young David Copperfield—and, by extension, the early ordeal of his creator. I found it very spiritually acute for someone of your age. But let’s explore this a bit further, Maud. What is it you are afraid will be taken away from you? How would it be taken away?”

  “If I have to leave here and start over somewhere else. And with—my mother’s—”

  “With her new husband, Mr. Foley, you mean?”

  “With Mr. Foley, yes.”

  “Do you not get along with Mr. Foley?”

  “He’s all right. I just don’t want to make a family with him and my mother. I’ll be fifteen soon, and I wish I had some other choice.”

  “Do you have any idea what you would choose?”

  “Well, yes, Mother, but it doesn’t count, does it, because I’m still a minor and I don’t have any money of my own.”

  “Well, let’s hear it anyway. You know what our foundress said. She had it from her great friend Father Maturin in England, who led her to her vocation. Don’t be afraid to be specific with God. God likes for us to spell out what we want in detail. The more detail we give Him, the more He has to work with, and the better we understand what we are asking Him for.”

  “For a start, Mother, I would like to go on boarding at Mount St. Gabriel’s. You know, I won the eighth-grade scholarship to the academy—”

  “Yes. And you’re in good standing to continue with it next year. Your grades are very good.”

  “But it’s just a day scholarship. Oh, it would have been perfect if Granny had lived, even if Mother had gone away with Mr. Foley. I could have taken over the housekeeping and helped Granny run things. But my mother says she can’t afford to pay for me to board after this term. Tildy says I could live with them, but I’m not sure Mrs. Stratton likes me all that much. And besides, I don’t want to be—”

  “You don’t want to be beholden.”

  “Yes.” Having caught the flicker of approval when she voiced her reservations about Tildy’s mother, Maud continued on in this vein. “Mrs. Stratton can be very—she has this way of making you feel unsure.”

  “You and Tildy were on the outs until recently.”

  “Yes, Mother. We had grown away from each other when I came back from spending last summer in Palm Beach. And then Tildy and Chloe Starnes became best friends.”

  “Were you hurt by this?”

  “Oh, no. I felt freed from being—what you said—beholden. I could just be myself—or find out what ‘myself was like. I was tired of being part of this thing called ‘TildyandMaud.’

  Mother Ravenel laughed. “But now you two are obviously close again if she’s suggesting you might board with them.”

  “I wouldn’t say we’re exactly close—Chloe is still her best friend. But I’m really enjoying working with her on the play.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that. I got this little bee in my bonnet that she was capable of it, and I decided to take the chance. So, Maud, are you
saying it would be your choice to board if means could be found?”

  “Oh, yes, Mother! I’d be willing to work. I could—I don’t know—coach the younger girls or work in the kitchen—”

  “I think we’d better leave the kitchen to Betty. Your mother told me things weren’t going well between your father and the second Mrs. Norton, or I would have suggested that you sound them out. She’s an affluent woman, isn’t she?”

  “My father has—a drinking illness. I think they’re separating. She’s going to make him an allowance so he can stay at a private place, but I don’t think she’s in the mood to make me an allowance.”

  “You’ve heard from her, then?”

  “No, Mother. After my Christmas visit, Anabel wrote to my mother about the trouble with my father. And she said she wouldn’t be asking me down there anymore.”

  “But she was so fond of you, I thought. Did you do anything to displease her?”

  “Well, there was a misunderstanding about—What happened was, this boy, Duddy Weatherby, he’s the son of Anabel’s friend—the Weatherbys invited me to be his date at his dance.”

  “The dance you had to leave early for. You didn’t go with him after all?”

  “Oh, I went. I went. But … there was this misunderstanding about who I was supposed to dance with—there was a dance card with all these names filled in and I got mixed up and I guess some boys’ feelings were hurt. Mrs. Weatherby was really put out and disinvited Anabel and me to her Christmas party. It was a blow to Anabel, because Mrs. Weatherby was supposed to get her into Palm Beach society.”

  “Was your date one of the boys whose feelings got hurt?”

  “Oh no, Duddy was okay. I hadn’t missed any dances with him, and we had the last dance together. But I knew I hadn’t come up to Mrs. Weatherby’s standards. Mr. Weatherby had brought us in his vintage Rolls, but Mrs. Weatherby made two brothers drive me home in their old car.”

  “Just you? Without your date?”

  “Oh no, he was still with me. We sat in the backseat of the—brothers’ old car and Duddy walked me to the door and shook my hand. But I knew it was over for poor Anabel. Because the last thing Mrs. Weatherby said to me as we left the dance was to be sure and tell Anabel she would see her ‘after the first of the year,’ which was her way of saying ‘Don’t show up at my party tomorrow.’”

  “Hmm, it sounds like a drastic overreaction on Mrs. Weatherby’s part.” The headmistress’s indignant tone indicated to Maud that her self-protecting revision of the event had been swallowed. But now it was high time to get off the subject of the dance, before Mother Ravenel could come up with more questions.

  “Yes, well, it’s all over and I’m glad. I just want to be here where I am and concentrate on what I’m doing.”

  “Life is not all studying, though, Maud. Or perhaps you meant more than just studying.”

  “Yes, I meant more—I meant the whole thing. To get on with being myself—no, that’s not totally it, either. I want to be all I can be. But I don’t know completely what that is yet.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’re only fourteen. Have you prayed about it?”

  “Oh well, I—not in so many words, not like the way I’ve been talking to you. I guess my prayers are on a pretty childish level.”

  “How so?”

  “Oh, I ask for things like ‘Please let Granny be at peace,’ or ‘Please let me do my best on the exam,’ or ‘Please don’t let me be forced to leave Mount St. Gabriel’s.’”

  Mother Ravenel was regarding her closely. “Mother Malloy told me you had been asking her about vows.”

  “Vows?”

  “That you wished your church offered the same commitments as ours. Or am I not quoting her accurately?”

  “I said I wished the Methodists had something like that. Where you could set yourself on a path and not have to worry about your education. But they don’t. I’m not sure I even am a Methodist. I mean, I was baptized in that church when Mother brought us back to Mountain City—but I’ve been more times to chapel here than I have been to the Methodist church in my whole life.”

  “You know our own foundress started her life as a Protestant, Maud. She discovered the Catholic faith all on her own; she sought it out and researched it thoroughly before deciding it was for her. She knew she wanted to put all her gifts to God’s use, and she wanted to figure out the best way she could do this, step by step. Talk about someone wanting to be all she could be! She kept on setting herself greater and greater challenges. I was very fortunate to know her in her last days, when she was on her deathbed. I was in a desperate situation myself. I was a boarder, in the seventh grade, but my father had died suddenly and they didn’t want me at home, only there was no money for me to stay on here. Until Mother Wallingford found a way.”

  “What was—the way?”

  “There was a trust that had been set up for emergencies. And I was a beneficiary of it. Mother Wallingford arranged a full boarding scholarship for me, renewable from year to year, as long as I proved worthy of it.”

  “Is there—still—that trust?”

  “Oh no, it has long since been liquidated.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why do you ask, dear?”

  “Only that—well, I wish I could be like her. I mean, I do want to put my gifts to God’s use, but I need to go step by step, like she did, until I figure things out. And I feel I could do it better if I stayed here.”

  “You feel Mount St. Gabriel’s provides the best atmosphere for you to do that.”

  “Yes, Mother, I do.”

  Nothing direct had been said, but Maud felt she had crossed a line.

  Mother Ravenel was intently studying her. “I’ll tell you what, Maud. I’m going to offer a suggestion. I want you to go to the chapel now and pray about this talk we have had. Don’t try to figure anything out; now is not the time for figuring. Just make an offering of it to God and leave it there with Him. Then go on with your usual activities and trust Him to start working on it. Then go back to the chapel before you go to bed and stay there until the nuns’ Compline at nine. You may be excused from evening study hall.”

  “And—what do I do in chapel the second time?”

  “Just kneel in an attitude of prayer, and listen. See what comes. Prayer is not always talk, talk, talk. I want you to get used to being alone with God. This is an ideal time, the middle of Holy Week. The whole communion of Christ is in mourning, but we’re preparing for his Resurrection. I will be praying over this, too. Let’s call it your intention. And we’ll keep it between ourselves, shall we, Maud?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “I will just say one further thing. If we both conclude that God wants you to stay at Mount St. Gabriel’s, a way will be found.”

  CHAPTER 31

  The Play

  Friday, April 25, 1952

  Mount St. Gabriel’s auditorium

  TILDY’S MOTHER AND father accepted the nicely printed programs from girls stationed on both sides of the auditorium entrance.

  “Let’s go to the front row,” Cornelia said. “I don’t want waggly heads distracting my attention.”

  “There’s some on the left,” her husband said. “Unless they have Reserved signs on the seats.”

  “We’ll just dispose of them. Nobody is going to unseat the director’s immediate family.”

  “And that we are,” said Smoky Stratton, with a fond chuckle. He was feeling mellow after an early light supper of shrimp Creole on rice, washed down with several iced-tea glasses of bourbon and water.

  The left front row was free, except for a single Reserved sign on the seat nearest the center aisle. “It might be for the prompter,” Cornelia said. “We used to have two girls in the wings with scripts, and someone posted out front to mouth things as a last resort. We’ll save seats for Madeline and Henry. Put Henry next to the Reserved seat, in case it’s someone odious.”

  BACKSTAGE, HENRY VICK, flanked by Chloe and a keyed-up Mother Rave
nel, had been making some final adjustments to the flexible joining flats constructed by himself and Chloe, painted by Chloe, and delivered by truck this afternoon. Uncle and niece had come out early, to set up things.

  “Henry, these exceed my expectations,” said the headmistress. “Reversible flats! The economy of it! I didn’t even know there were such things. Why, it’s like a giant reversible triptych. How tall is it?”

  “Just under twelve feet. More than twelve would need heavier reinforcement.”

  “You have been very generous, Henry. It would take an architect to come up with this.”

  “Oh, no, it’s simply a matter of measurements and hinges. And deciding to cover both sides of the frames. Chloe did every inch of the artwork. I had no hand in that. I tried not to be one of those parents who do their child’s homework.”

  “The time these will save! Instead of Mark and Jovan having to drag off the grotto and drag in the classroom, they simply walk onstage, turn this one around, and walk off again. And you haven’t overstepped in the parental role. Parents have always contributed to the plays. Mothers who could sew made costumes; fathers provided masculine touches like swords and antlers and old uniforms. Remember, your father lent that handsome Sheraton sideboard from his office when our class did Charley’s Aunt our senior year.”

  “So he did. For Jack Chesney’s college room; Agnes was Jack. Father even provided the whiskey bottles for the sideboard. And you were the hilarious fellow they dressed up as the aunt. You had people rolling in the aisles.”