“Myrtle, of course,” Helene said immediately. “Horace has a prior claim on her, I’ve heard. I’m afraid poor Mr. Rivers must feel like second fiddle.”
Faye put the cup down. Apparently, Horace had vented some of his qualms by telling his sister more about his relationship with Myrtle the spring. But neither one of them was aware of how much Faye really did know. Even when Horace had spoken to Faye, it had not seemed to cross his mind that she might have more information about the relationship than the public flirting prior to Myrtle’s marriage—which he was rightly aware might be an obstacle to gaining Faye’s good opinion. She still wasn’t quite sure how far they’d actually gone, but what BeBe had let slip and what Faye had seen in the gazebo made her very suspicious. And of course the Carters didn’t know that. She should be cautious and allow her knowledge to remain a secret.
“I hear Myrtle entertains a lot, and where there’s a party, there’s Horace,” Helene continued. Her voice had a lowered a hair. “But I’m not sure my brother will deteriorate their marriage. He admires the shocking, I’m afraid, and a failing marriage is not a shock these days. A marriage that stays together . . . now that’s a real scandal, right?”
Certainly. “Is it true you’ll be leaving this weekend? Please say it’s not. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
Helene waved a hand. Her wrist was shown off by a slightly oversized dangling bracelet of metal links and little charms in a variety of colors. “Yes, visiting one of my friends in New York. We were rather close during high school. Amy and I exchanged a lot of letters over the years.” She seemed rather contemplative. “You know, time really races past us. Ten years is an epoch, almost.”
Faye nodded. “It sounds like you’ll have a wonderful time. I’m so glad for you.” And it’s true. You deserve nothing but the best. You need someone who can guide you towards God’s leading hand. I worry that Ed’s too flippant.
Helene squeezed her hand. “I’ll be sorry to leave you. You must telephone or write to me. I’ll get the address for you.” As she opened her small black-leather clutch to pull out a pen and a bit of monogrammed paper, her face fell.
“What is it?” Faye asked softly, bending down so their curled locks touched.
Helene’s mouth wobbled bravely, and Faye was shocked to see a long single tear rolling down her face. This couldn’t have to do with the old friend, Amy. This was—something else. Gently she touched her friend’s arm, her own heart breaking without even knowing why.
“You see,” Helene began, her voice long and wavering. “You may have noticed Horace and I never mention our parents? And I’m now planning to visit a friend, not go to see them. Well—there’s a reason for that. Bat’s mother remarried to my father soon after she moved away from you, as you have probably figured out, and my father already had me and my brother. Bat, Horace, and I were all little kids, and Bat’s mother was there from such an early time in my life that I essentially thought of her as my mother. Her first husband had died in an accident at a construction site.” She licked her dry lips. “Everybody knows that. But what they don’t know is that my father had a mistress for years and years. Several mistresses, actually. My stepmother never left him. Outwardly, we were the perfect family.”
Faye’s eyes widened. Dear Lord, how dreadful! What a dark household. “And do tell me more. Did she stay because she didn’t know? Learning this must have been crushing for you both.”
Helene shook her head, toying with her purse. Her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears. “No, no, nothing like that. Much worse. These affairs had always been private to others, but we knew of them. But one day, about six years ago, he decided to make it less private.”
Faye put a hand to her mouth, concealing the involuntary sucking intake of her breath. Merciful God.
“He introduced the current mistress, had her walk in the door and eat dinner with us, and moved her in to live with my stepmother and me. All in the same house! I don’t know how she bore it. Anyone would have divorced him—especially in these modern times—but she said the Bible forbids divorce and it wasn’t the Christian thing to do. I was very upset about it all and spent a lot of time in my room. I remember running up there and locking myself in that very day, right after the dinner with his mistress. I can’t . . . “ –her fingers twisted the handkerchief so hard it started to rip—“ . . . I can’t even bring myself to say her name. I won’t.”
Faye’s eyes filled with tears. Helene, as if moved by her shared grief, put her head on Faye’s shoulder and let out a few tears of her own. Faye put her arms around her and patted her hair, uttering a silent prayer for the beleaguered Carter family. I know you have its redemption in your sights, Lord. Help Mrs. Carter and her troubled husband—and please help also this nameless other woman, Lord. Guide her in her confusion until she returns to you. Amen.
Helene shrugged, her chest shuddering as she tried to restore equanimity. “So right then I knew I didn’t want to live with them until everything was worked out. Bat had married Dan the year before and just sort of disappeared—for a while I couldn’t seem to find her even though I tried repeatedly. Horace let me roost in his apartment for months whenever I needed to. He didn’t have much to say about it, but he understood, I think. Then I stayed with friends, always as casual and friendly as could be, but really looking for girls with nice families who could take me home for a few months. I traveled around like that for a little over two years, always falling back on a brief stay with Horace when I had to. He was so good about it. Once he was even sharing an apartment with a girl and instantly kicked her out the minute he got my call. Then I got a job and for the last several years I’ve been more independent. But I never really made any friends, and Horace was . . . always there for me. Still is.”
Her lips curved up at the memory of her brother. Faye looked over her shoulder at the wine and cheese table where Horace was talking to the two journalists. They clearly enjoyed his company, as who could not? His charismatic ways won over everyone he saw and hid a deeper kindness in his nature. Now Faye understood what he had been hinting at before. He truly longed to do right, but didn’t yet see the way to do it. But helping his sister was a natural first step. Faye honored him for that.
“So when we got Bat’s invitation to visit her here in Parkdale, I accepted. Just like going fishin’ with Horace, I said,” Helene chuckled. But the laugh was forced. Really, she had been so glad to come. Faye knew it. “And I’ve had the time of my life, especially with you and Ed. But now Horace has to go back, so I called up Amy and asked if I could stay with her.” She smiled. “So that’s where I’ll be. Do visit me if you have the chance. Amy works as a secretary to a business mogul and her house will be empty for hours at a time.”
Faye, pulling Helene to her, promised to do so.
Chapter 16
They broke off as the band out in the garden struck up a jazzy, swanky tune. It was clear from the movements around the room that all talk must be put aside and it was time to dance. BWAH, BWAH, BWAHH! Stanley put down his glass in a businesslike manner as Horace made straight for the two ladies in the window seat.
“Let’s start some dancing, what do you say?” He held out his hand to Faye, winking.
Faye, glancing at Helene, took it without a second thought.
Horace led her out into the garden, where lanterns filled the sky like floating balloons, and put his arms around her waist, while Ed danced with someone Faye didn’t know and Stanley took Helene. Faye put her arms around Horace’s neck, and they swayed along gently to the music. The rhythm was more sleep-inducing than intoxicating as the lull of the trumpets wound down Faye’s tense inner core. Her bile softened and she half-closed her eyes. After hearing about Helene’s tragic family life, it was good to simply drift along to the big band lullaby.
“Big Band Lullaby,” she laughed softly, her cheek against Horace’s. “Wouldn’t that be a good name for the next popular hit?”
Horace held her close. His embrace was
not provocative in any way, but tender and friendly. His muscles were relaxed and Faye’s feet followed his as they turned in slow semi-circles. She was sure the grass crunching under her feet was wreaking havoc with the white shoes she’d bought to contrast the black dress. Her heart was heavy for Helene, and she couldn’t help but remember Horace’s recent conversation about Myrtle as well. She knew he had meant no disrespect to her, in spite of his concern that the idea might be offensive. She’d read that systematic reactions in the brain, not detectable as thoughts, existed in an area below rational consciousness and often fought their way to the surface through erratic or moody behavior. Now, as she looked at Horace, she realized his mind was unconsciously at work, trying to lead him to an understanding about his situation with Myrtle. She should view it as that and not take anything he said too personally.
His dark eyes looked into hers. “Helene told you, didn’t she? About our father?”
She sobered. “Yes. Did she tell you she was going to?”
“No, but I thought she might.” He fell silent, but did not seem discontented with Helene’s decision.
Faye longed to tell him how impressed she was by the sympathy and understanding he had shown when his sister wished to leave their problematic household. But somehow she couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried. She gulped many times, but only salivated awkwardly. No words would come. Gee, enough of that. I don’t want to look like a drooling dog. Wouldn’t that be just swell?
They had come to a standstill under the Japanese lanterns, which filled the garden with beads of light that reflected dimly like shifting shapes of angels. Polite clapping ensued as the dance ended. Faye was heading slowly back towards the house when she heard a commotion outside. The doors flung open. A minute later she was gasping with delight, running through the crowd and propelling herself into the arms of her brother Warnie. He was standing in a sailor’s uniform and exuded a fresh scent of water, natural gas, laundry detergent, and cafeteria food. She squeezed him almost to death with ecstasy.
“Warnie!” she exclaimed. “Warnie, you’re here! You’re here!”
People turned to smile at their happiness. Uncle Warren slapped his nephew on the back as Warnie grinned serenely at Faye and pulled her curly bob. He was about as tall as she, taking after her mother in height, but was so burly she could hardly wrap her arms around him. His tanned skin blended with his sandy hair to create a uniform impression, and his brown eyes were close set and shrewd.
“I’m doin’ good,” he shrugged. His harsh tones were as grating as ever. If there was an award for most annoying voice, Warnie would certainly win it. And grammar had never been his forte. “Some idiot misfired a test rocket and it blew up half of the cafeteria last weekend. How’s the family? How’s Myrtle and BeBe?”
Faye smiled wickedly. “They remember you.”
Horace shook Warnie’s strong, work-roughened hand with all indications of true respect. “We meet again, Warnie! So glad you were able to drop by.”
Warnie tipped a glass in his direction. “Complete. Thanks a million, man.”
“What is going on?” Faye whispered to her brother as Horace disappeared back into the garden.
Warnie downed a drink. “That fella there says he’s a friend of yours. Called me up and told me it’d be a nice surprise if I could drop by for your party. Didn’t mind.” He gave her another squeeze.
“Horace Carter did that?” she stammered, incredulous.
Warnie leaned against the fireplace. “Yep.”
Faye stared across the room at Horace, a smile on her face. How had he guessed? Perhaps the connection they’d shared wasn’t entirely based on his mental ramblings over her cousin. Maybe there was a seed of actual friendship there. If he were to show real improvement, I’m not one to hold a grudge.
Warnie blew out his breath and twirled his hat on his finger. “Ma and Pop have got settled in the Bronx. I made sure the bakery boy would escort Sue in and out so she doesn’t have to go places alone after dark.” He shrugged, a disgusted twist to his mouth. “I told Ma she’d better do the errands herself, but she acted like I hadn’t said a word. . . sometimes I don’t know what’s wrong with Ma. And things always disappear in that house! One of these days you must make that tropical cake for me again, Sis.”
Faye allowed herself a blush of pride. Warnie had always liked her pineapple upside-down cake. As she took a small bite of a sandwich, she realized Ed had come to stand beside her. His face was sober.
“Faye, have you seen Dad?”
Faye turned, a shadow falling over her expressive features. “Not since the dancing started. Should I be worried?”
Warnie put down his glass, and Helene, who had been standing nearby nibbling at a slice of cake, noticed the change in their tones and came closer. Ed ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure. He went into his office a while ago. Then, while you were busy with Warnie, I saw him come out and indicate to my mother that she should follow him. They’ve been in there for half an hour now.”
Helene’s face was concerned. “That doesn’t sound good. Do you think he is in any need of help?”
Warnie stuffed the hat back on his head—Faye smiled proudly at the businesslike way he did it—and headed directly towards the stairs. “Only one way to know.”
He sprang up two at a time while the others raced to keep up. Faye was glad she’d done so much running around when she was younger, because following the physically conditioned, fit Warnie was a strain. Helene was far behind, but valiantly plowed on as they reached the office door. Ed knocked and the voices on the other side ceased instantly.
“Who is it?” Uncle Warren asked gruffly after a pause.
Ed slowly, gently opened the door and poked his head in. “It’s only me, sir. Only me and Faye. We were worried about you when you didn’t come out for a while. Did anything happen?”
As the old-fashioned, heavy wooden door opened farther to disclose the small office, crowded with piles of file cabinets, locked metal drawers, and yellow folders, Faye saw something was indeed wrong. Her beloved aunt had clearly been crying, though she was now wiping tears away. Warnie held the door open as Helene followed them into the room. Ed had gone to his father, whose face held a look of dark affrontedness Faye had never witnessed before. Warnie closed the door so the conversation would remain private.
“Dad, what is it, sir?” Ed inquired earnestly, reverently touching his father’s coat sleeve.
Aunt Betty began to sob again. Faye put an arm around her, their cheeks pressed together like two china dolls on a girl’s dresser. How glad Faye was that her brother was here. His years in the navy made him expert in respecting a man’s pride while not shying away from the tough situation that might have awakened it. Helene remained hesitantly beside the door, her wide eyes betraying her shock.
Uncle Warren strode to the window and stood with his back to them. “My child—my daughter BeBe—whom I have always cherished and trusted and to whom I have allowed many liberties—I learned tonight that that child is pregnant!”
Ed and Helene both looked startled. Aunt Betty began sobbing anew. Faye felt heartbroken for all of them, including BeBe. How terrible to get this kind of reaction to her folly. Deserved, but terrible. It must have been BeBe’s nightmare.
“Pregnant without marriage, without any plan of marriage as far as I can tell. Without any shame or remorse! Pregnant without any sense of decency, any sense of the rules laid down in this family,” Uncle Warren boomed bitterly. The disgust in his tone hung like a heavy cloud over the room. In it Faye read disgrace for BeBe, disgrace almost without any hope of reconciliation to her strict parents. If he knew about Myrtle too . . . but no, Myrtle had gotten lucky. No proof like a baby to make her receive condemnation. She was safely married to Mr. Rivers.
“Did she tell you herself?” Faye asked.
Uncle Warren turned to her. His brows were lowered as she’d never seen them. She knew very well what an upright man he was and what a blow this m
ust be to the belief he’d had in his family. “No. I was contacted by an old friend of mine in New York. Mattie Baker saw her there and soon realized BeBe was my daughter and that she was pregnant. I then called BeBe and demanded to know how this had happened. She would not give the slightest hint of who the father was nor any promise of marrying him!” He raised his chin, pursing his lips as he tried to temper his feelings with wisdom.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Haverton,” Helene murmured. “I’ve always admired how honorable you and Mrs. Haverton are. Not everyone is as fortunate as your children to have such good people as their guides.”
She slid a glance at Faye, who understood it. Somehow, the truth of this speech made the reality even more sad. Why did good people like Uncle Warren have ungrateful children when there were so many who would prefer them as parents over the ones Nature had given them? It doesn’t make any sense.
Warnie touched his uncle’s shoulder. “Whatever you do, sir, we support you. We know you only want the best. Talk with BeBe again before you make a final decision. Perhaps she’ll cave and tell us what you want to know.”
Aunt Betty, feebly clutching her silken robe, detached herself from Faye and reached for her husband’s strong fingers tenderly. “Warren L.—please—for me. For the sake of my feelings. She is my child, Warren!” Her voice rose to a shriek as she clung while he tried to throw her off. “She is my child. Our child. We can’t forget that . . . .”
She collapsed back, sobbing hysterically, into Faye’s arms as her husband rebuffed her. “Would you condone this kind of behavior? If we are not strict, more and more liberties will be taken and people will come to despise our beliefs and what we stand for. No, unless BeBe can show repentance, she is dead to us.”
“Oh Warren . . . Warren . . . oh dear Lord, no, no,” Aunt Betty moaned brokenly. Faye kissed her sweet aunt’s head. Helene approached and put a sympathetic hand on Faye’s shoulder. Faye clutched it.
Bellevere House (Vintage Jane Austen) Page 14
