The Ghost of Christmas Past

by Rhys Bowen

  “You can’t be happy with that arrangement,” I burst out before I realized I should probably keep my opinion to myself.

  “What choice do I have?” she said. “Cedric gives me a good life. I am well supplied with everything I need. I have a position in society. I have seen all too clearly what can happen if those things are taken away. I have come to the realization that it is the lot of a woman to be a beautiful adornment, rather like a bird in a cage.”

  I took her hand. “Then you and I will indeed become friends and you shall come to stay with me in the city, even though I live in a tiny house and have but two good dresses to my name. But we shall laugh and go to a theater and you shall meet my friends.”

  She looked at me, her eyes now wary but hopeful. “I’m not sure that Cedric would let me go,” she said. “But it does sound wonderful.”

  I leaned closer, conspiratorially. “Then my task while I am here will be to convince your husband what a thoroughly good and reliable woman I am.” Then impulsively I took her hand. “Come with us tomorrow,” I said. “I’m sure you’d enjoy meeting a group of intelligent and witty women.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she said, shaking her head so violently that a hairpin fell out and bounced across the marble floor. “If Cedric found out…” She paused. “Besides, not tomorrow. I couldn’t go anywhere tomorrow.”

  Eight

  The next day we awoke to find it snowing hard. White flakes whirled past our bedroom windows, blotting out the view of the lake and the hills. When we went down to breakfast we were informed that Winnie Van Aiken was not feeling well and was going to be resting quietly. She was of a delicate constitution, her husband told us. The excitement of guests was clearly overwhelming for her. As we were leaving the breakfast room I took Cedric Van Aiken aside.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “If we’d known our visit would have put a strain on your poor wife, we would never have come. We had no idea. Do you think we should leave?”

  “Of course not,” Cedric said. “I am still at your service and delighted to play host, and my wife’s aunt could organize a battalion if necessary.” He paused and a concerned frown crossed his face. “I’m afraid that my wife is rather frail. Sometimes she sinks into fits of the worst darkness for no apparent reason. She has been known to take to her bed for days. Almost as if she wants to shut herself off from life.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “How worrying it must be for you.”

  “Yes. I do worry about her all the time. I do everything I can to make her happy, but…” He let the rest of the sentence trail off.

  “Has she seen a doctor, or maybe an alienist, a doctor of the mind?” I asked.

  “She is well physically. As for her mind … she claims there is nothing wrong with her and refuses any kind of help. That’s why I was in favor of your visit. I thought it might bring her out of her black mood.”

  Of course those words struck a key with me. I too had been battling my black mood for several months now. Had Daniel had to endure similar worry about me? “I would be happy to talk to her, if you like,” I said. “It may just help to have someone to talk to.”

  “You are most kind,” he said. “But let us leave her to herself for today.” He moved closer to me although we were alone in the hallway. “Sometimes I wonder whether she does it to exert power. It is her way of turning the focus to herself, of obtaining pity and solicitation. She can be quite devious, you know.”

  “Oh, I don’t think those suffering from depression deliberately choose to be the center of attention,” I said hastily. “All they wish is that the black mood would go away. We must work together, Mr. Van Aiken, to make sure she has a really jolly Christmas.”

  “Yes,” he said, giving me a big smile. “We will do our very best for her.”

  * * *

  There was no question of an outside excursion that day but Aunt Florence sent the girls off to the kitchen to help the cook make gingerbread men. Liam was also set on a high stool at the kitchen table with some pie dough to cut with cookie cutters. Daniel’s mother was content to sit by the fire with her tapestry and to chat with the elderly Great-Aunt Clara. The latter was in a reminiscing mood.

  “When Cedric was a child we had such grand parties here—the ballroom filled with light and music. This house was known for its entertaining. And now, look at us. So quiet. So still. But now that Winnie’s sister has returned, and we have a child in the house again, maybe we can start being gay once more.”

  “That’s not Winnie’s sister. It is Mrs. Sullivan, my daughter-in-law,” Daniel’s mother said.

  Great-Aunt Clara touched the side of her nose. “It’s all right. You don’t have to pretend with me. I know the truth. I remember everything, you know. They say my memory has gone, but it hasn’t.” And she gave a wicked little grin. “And of course I recognize the gentleman too. I’m so glad he’s come back after all this time. I did begin to worry.…”

  I realized then that she was a bit touched, a bit senile. But I did wonder about Winnie’s sister. Her father had said she had no sister. He had been quite angry when he said it. Had some kind of tragedy happened, long ago? Something that Great-Aunt Clara, with her addled mind, had now forgotten?

  Aunt Clara turned to me. “Where is your child now? Not left alone, I hope.”

  “No, he’s with Cook in the kitchen, making gingerbread.”

  “Cook? Yes, I think she can be trusted with him. Just as long as he doesn’t go outside.”

  “My ward, Bridie, is with him too,” I said, smiling at her.

  She shook her head. “So many dangers in the world and so many people who cannot be trusted.”

  She broke off as Cedric came in and asked Daniel and me if we now would like our tour of the house. “I’d like to show you all the improvements I have made,” he said. “You have to understand that this started off as a working farmhouse for my ancestors in the 1700s. Willem Van Aiken was given a land grant here and farmed several hundred acres. There was no lavish entertaining, so the rooms were small. My grandfather made some additions and improvements: it was he who added the wing at the back with the ballroom. I’ll take you there in a minute, but let us start right here. This gallery was originally two smallish reception rooms with a passage behind them, leading to the foyer. I had the middle wall knocked out a few years ago, incorporated the passage into the rooms, and the fireplace moved to the center. It proved to be quite satisfactory, don’t you think?”

  “I do,” Daniel said. “You have created a fine room.”

  Cedric looked quite pleased with himself. “Yes, I think I could have been an architect if I had had to choose a profession,” he said. “But my father always insisted that a gentleman doesn’t work.”

  “A gentleman has to earn enough money to support his family,” I said. “But presumably you still have income from your farmlands?”

  “No, those were sold off over the years, when other folk chose to leave the city and move out here. But we are blessed with family money, thank God.”

  He led us on then, to the other side of the foyer, where there was another reception room, this one more formal, a music room, a fine library, and at the rear of the house a ballroom. When I was a girl I had once seen a ballroom as grand as this, in the landowner’s house in Ireland. But I didn’t recall one since. Red velvet curtains hung over the windows and the room stretched away into darkness, but when Cedric flipped a switch the electric chandeliers blazed into light and the polished floor gleamed.

  “It’s quite magnificent,” Daniel commented.

  “But never used these days. Such a waste,” Cedric said.

  “Have you updated the bedrooms too?” I asked. “Ours is quite delightful. With a bathroom attached as well.”

  “You can thank my father for that,” Cedric said. “He was the one who installed indoor plumbing. But that suite used to be ours. Until my wife decided she no longer wanted that view from her window and moved us to a room at the rear of the house.”
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  We came back to the gallery to find that coffee had been served. The rest of the day passed quietly. It seemed strange to think it was only a few days before Christmas. If we’d still been at home, I would have been baking furiously, decorating the house, rushing out for last-minute gifts, and here I seemed to be trapped in a beautiful goldfish bowl.

  * * *

  I could tell that Daniel was still out of sorts as I dressed for the evening’s soiree with Miss Lind.

  “What if the snow worsens and you are stuck in a drift?” he demanded.

  “I’m going to a house almost next door, not to the North Pole,” I replied.

  “What if Liam won’t sleep without his mother near him?”

  “You know very well that he likes Bridie to sing him to sleep or tell him a story,” I replied. “And you need not come up with more reasons to make me feel guilty, because I’m going anyway.” And I went on brushing my hair.

  I joined Aunt Florence in the front hall at seven. A maid was standing by to help us into our outer garments.

  “Make sure you bundle up warm,” Aunt Florence said. Outside the sleigh was waiting for us.

  “Well, this will be an adventure, won’t it?” she said, giving me a satisfied smile. “A nighttime jaunt in a sleigh. Not something one does every day.”

  “Never before for me,” I replied, pulling up the rugs around us as we were helped into our seat. “It hardly snows in my part of Ireland.”

  “Daniel’s mother told me you are newly arrived in this country,” Miss Lind said as the sleigh set off with bells jingling and two lights swinging above our heads. “You still have your charming accent.”

  “I’ve been here five years now, although it seems an age. It’s hard even to imagine life before New York and before Daniel.”

  “His mother speaks highly of you,” she said. “What a caring daughter-in-law you have been to her.”

  “I always felt she was disappointed in me,” I confessed. “She wanted Daniel to make a better match with someone higher in society.”

  “That road doesn’t always lead to happiness, as we have seen,” she said. I thought of Winnie Van Aiken, keeping to her bed, and of Cedric’s clipped comments.

  Then I remembered something else. “Tell me,” I said. “The old aunt seemed to think that Winnie had a sister, but Mr. Carmichael denied it. Was there some kind of tragedy?”

  “A tragedy to me,” she said. “I was very fond of both the girls. I raised them after their mother died until their father disliked my influence on them and sent me packing. After that I devoted myself to my work for women’s rights, and a most satisfying life it has been too.”

  “So what did happen to her sister?”

  She gave a long sigh. “Her name was Lizzie. A lovely girl, full of sparkle. Her father was determined to make a good match for her and tried to marry her off to a man twice her age. I should point out that Mr. Carmichael was determined to rise to the highest levels of society, through his daughters and the right matches for them.”

  “Was he an army man? He seems to have a military bearing.”

  She laughed. “Oh, no, my dear. He was in commerce. He owned ships that carried freight up and down the Hudson. Mostly iron from Troy. He made a good deal of money, sold his business, and became a gentleman, but he started with nothing.”

  “So did Lizzie marry the older man as her father wanted?”

  “Oh, no. She refused. Her father was furious. Then presumably to defy him she met up with a most unsuitable man. I wasn’t there so I don’t know exactly what happened but from what I’ve been told, she ran off with him. Anyway Mr. Carmichael disowned her. Said she was no longer his daughter. She has never been spoken of since.”

  “How sad,” I said. “And does Winnie not know what happened to her sister? Were they not close?”

  “Winnie was four years younger and was away at a ladies’ seminary when all this drama happened. I’m sure she still misses her sister, but you have seen what their father is like. A real authoritarian. And I was far off in Boston and could do nothing.” She paused and sighed. “Still I suppose we all make our own bed and have to lie in it.”

  “She may be very happy at this moment with her most unsuitable man,” I said. “Not being of the right class does not imply that he was not a good person.”

  “That’s true.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  She said no more and we continued the journey in silence while the sleigh bells jingled on the horses’ harness. While we had been in conversation, we had turned out of the driveway and onto the road. The horses strained to take us up a steep little hill but soon we saw lights ahead and turned into another gateway. This house was less grand but looked instantly more friendly, with lights shining out from all the windows over the snow. A line of sleighs and carriages was pulling up outside the front portico. Servants stood ready to help us out and aid us up the steps and into a warm front hall. There was music coming from a back room, but we had our outer garments removed and were ushered into a room at the front of the house. A large Christmas tree stood in the window, with presents piled at its base. A fire was blazing in the hearth and the room felt quite toasty. I looked around at the guests, who were already standing around in groups chatting away, and noticed they were all women.

  Daniel would not approve, I thought with a smile.

  From one of these groups the hostess spotted us, gave a cry of joy, and came to greet us. “Florence, my dear. It’s been an age. You can’t imagine how happy I felt when I learned you were living close by. Welcome, welcome.” Her gaze turned to me.

  “And I have brought my friend Mrs. Sullivan,” Miss Lind said.

  Carrie Chapman Catt eyed me critically and for a second I thought she was about to say that there was no room for interlopers. But instead she said, “But we have met before, surely. Your face is quite familiar to me.”

  “That’s right, Mrs. Catt,” I said. “We met at my friends Sid and Gus’s house in New York. In Greenwich Village.”

  “Ah, yes. Those dear girls. Of course. They’ll be so pleased.”

  “I was sorry to hear about your husband, Mrs. Catt,” I said because convention required it, although in truth she did not look as if she was in mourning, apart from the black silk dress.

  “Thank you, my dear. It was hard to watch him suffer and I am glad he is finally at peace,” she said. She paused, as if collecting herself, then went on. “Make yourself at home. We do not stand on ceremony here. Drinks on the table and the buffet will be in the dining room.”

  She turned back to the company and said in a booming voice. “More newcomers. My dear friend and tireless worker for the cause Miss Florence Lind, and Mrs. Sullivan.”

  Heads turned toward us and I felt myself blushing with all those eyes upon me. Suddenly a shriek rang out. “Molly! What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

  And rushing toward me were Sid and Gus.

  Nine

  I stood staring at them in disbelief as they came toward me.

  “What a lovely surprise,” Gus said, her eyes shining as she enveloped me in a hug. “But what are you doing here? We thought you were spending Christmas in the city.”

  “We were,” I said, my own smile reflecting the delight in their faces. “But then we received an invitation to join Daniel’s mother at a house just down the hill called Greenbriars. So we packed hurriedly and came.”

  “Ah, we know Greenbriars, don’t we?” Sid said. “Rather an austere, Gothic sort of castle, wouldn’t you say? We can see it from our window, can’t we, Gus?”

  “It does look rather grim as one approaches it, but is a fine house inside,” I said. “No expense spared. But where are you staying? I thought you were joining a group of your Vassar classmates.”

  “We are.” Sid laughed. “We are staying at the Briarcliff Lodge—the rather fancy hotel that backs onto the Greenbriars estate. Our friends are all professional women and none of us wanted to have to be involved in domestic duties
over the holiday, so we’ve treated ourselves to a week of pure indulgence at the lodge. Perhaps you can see us if your room faces in the right direction. It’s the half-timbered monstrosity through the trees.”

  “I have seen it,” I said, laughing with her. “To think we are so close to each other.”

  “We must set up a semaphore signaling system,” Gus chimed in. “And communicate across the snow.”

  “And what brought you here tonight?” Sid asked.

  “Miss Florence Lind is the aunt of the owner of Greenbriars,” I said.

  “Miss Lind?” Sid looked over to where Miss Lind was now deep in conversation with our hostess. “Why of course. You know she has been an absolute pillar of the suffrage movement,” Sid said. “A tireless fighter for women’s causes.”

  “I told her I had met Mrs. Catt and she insisted I come to the party with her.” I moved a little closer. “And between you and me, the atmosphere at Greenbriars is rather strained so I welcomed the chance to escape for a while.”

  “Oh, dear,” Gus said. “A strained atmosphere … and how many more days do you have there?”

  “Obviously we can’t leave until after the holiday,” I said. “But I certainly don’t want to stay through to the New Year. Our hostess seems to be of a delicate nature and has taken to her bed all day, which makes things rather awkward.”

  “Awkward indeed,” Sid said. “Come on over and meet our friends.”

  I was led across the room to a group of women sitting in one corner. They were a motley group: some dressed in fashionable silks and velvets, others more unconventionally like Sid in trousers or gentlemen’s smoking jackets, but all with bright, intelligent faces, now smiling at me. I was introduced by first names: Fran and Felicia, Edith, Annie and Josephine. I tried to match names with faces.

  “Oh, so you are the famous neighbor,” one of them (I think it was Edith) said when I was introduced. “We’ve been told about you and your detecting prowess.”