Finally, one spring afternoon when he came up to our room and found me staring blankly up at the ceiling, he exploded. I hadn't seen him in this sort of a rage since our early days when Daddy Longchamp would rip us abruptly out of one place to speed us through the night to another, making us leave treasured possessions and new friends behind.
Jimmy threw up his hands and almost made me jump out of my skin with his outburst.
"This can't go on, Dawn!" he exclaimed. He paced in front of me, pounding his feet down so hard, the whole room shook. "You're letting everything get the best of you. Everyone's noticed it and is upset. It's even affecting Christie."
"I'm sorry, Jimmy," I said. My tears began to rise against the floodgates, threatening to overflow and send torrents down my cheeks.
"It's not enough to apologize, to lie there day after day, night after night, for months and months, feeling sorry for yourself. A terrible thing has happened, I know. I hate that it has happened, but we can't change that now. We've got to go on and build anew," he lectured.
"I've spoken repeatedly to the doctor, and he assures me there's no physical reason for you to be this way," he added. "What you've been doing," he fumed, "is letting Clara Sue win, giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's succeeded in destroying you, and in destroying you, she's destroyed us." He flopped into a chair, lowered his head to his chest and folded his hands in his lap, exhausted.
I couldn't stand to see Jimmy so unhappy, looking so beaten down. I hated myself for doing this to him. He had been so patient and loving and understanding, but even he had limited tolerance. For the first time I realized that I could very well drive him away from me. What was I doing? I had to get hold of myself.
"Oh, Jimmy, I'm sorry," I repeated, sitting up. "I don't mean to be this way. Really, I don't. But every time I try to snap out of it a dark gray cloud sweeps in and makes me feel as if I will live under stormy skies forever."
"Dawn, you're beginning to sound and act more and more like your mother," he replied. "Is that what you want to happen to you? Do you want to become that sort of invalid, just lying around all day and night moaning and groaning about how hard life has been to you?
"Well, it has been hard, and it might even be harder before we're through, but we're still very young, and we've got to be strong and do the best we can to overcome every defeat. What about Christie? What about our new baby when he or she finally comes? What about each other?" he pleaded, his eyes filled with tears.
I swallowed mine back and bit down on my lower lip. Then I nodded.
"You're right, Jimmy. I am being like Mother, self-centered, self-pitying. It's not fair to you," I confessed.
"Not just me," he corrected quickly. "It's not fair to yourself, either. Now I insist," he said, rising, "that you get yourself up from that bed and follow me outside."
"Outside?"
"I'm about to break ground for our new home," he announced, “and that requires some celebration."
"You're about to break ground?" I asked incredulously. All this was going on around me, and I hadn't even noticed. Before the miscarriage I had gotten so a doorknob wasn't changed on a room without my knowing about it.
"Yes. I rushed things along as soon as the warm weather permitted," he admitted. "I want us to be living in our own home by this summer season. I've come to the conclusion that you might have been right about our lives in the hotel. Not that I believe in ghosts and all that sort of thing," he added quickly, waving the idea away. "But I do believe that being in these same surroundings day and night might be taking its toll. Grandmother Cutler left her mark on too much here. We don't have an opportunity to get away from it for a while, no relief. And I know how it plays on your mind all the time.
"Living in our own home, away from the hotel, even though it's still technically on hotel grounds, we'll feel free, more like we're in our own world—a world we're designing, and not one we're inheriting already designed by someone else," he explained.
"Besides, Philip is getting married at the end of his last college term and wants to live here with his wife. I think," he said, perceptively and perhaps prophetically, "it will be better for us to be further apart, better for all of us to have some privacy."
Suddenly what Jimmy was saying and doing did excite me. I would never forget how Mother looked when she left the hotel to marry Bronson Alcott, how she seemed to have had a burden lifted from her shoulders, escaping from under Grandmother Cutler's shadow. She was happier, more energetic and alive. Why couldn't the same be true for me? "You're right, Jimmy. Let me just wash my face and freshen up. I do want to be part of it and see the ground-breaking."
"Well, that's why I came up here to get you, and when I saw you laid out again and moping about, I just couldn't stand it. I'm sorry I was so angry," he said.
"No, Jimmy. You had every right to be. In fact, I'm glad you were," I said, and I kissed him. I washed my face and threw on a cable-knit blue sweater, and then we went down and out a rear entrance of the hotel.
Jimmy had chosen a house lot a good half mile or so south of the main building. It was on a rise and provided an unobstructed view of the ocean, yet there were enough trees and bushes to give us a sense of privacy.
"I thought we'd get a couple of those golf carts to ride back and forth to the hotel," Jimmy said as we walked toward the lot. "Not that it's so far."
"It isn't, and I know enjoy the walk," I said. I was enjoying this one. The early-spring day was clear and crisp with just a few scattered clouds drifting across a sharply blue sky. Leaves had begun to turn rich green, and bushes were filling out. The brightness and fresh air brought a crimson tint to our cheeks. I could feel my skin tingle at the welcome daylight. I felt like a flower that had been kept on the windowsill and teased by the sunlight. Finally I was outside, blooming again.
The bulldozer operator was waiting and talking with Buster Morris when we arrived. They both looked up expectantly. Then Buster produced a bottle of champagne and four glasses he and Jimmy had kept hidden, awaiting my arrival. I laughed. It felt so good to do it. It was as if I hadn't laughed for ages and ages.
Jimmy poured the champagne and lifted his glass to make a toast.
"To our house. May it be the home of love and happiness forever and ever."
"To our house," I said.
"Hear, hear," Buster said, and we all drank.
"Okay," Jimmy announced. "Let 'er rip."
Buster stepped back to watch with us as the bulldozer began to clear the land and tear out the ground for our foundation. Jimmy took my hand.
"Congratulations and good luck, Mrs. Longchamp," Buster said.
"Yes, Mrs. Longchamp. Congratulations and good luck," Jimmy said, and he kissed me.
At least once a day after that I would either go out with Christie or join Jimmy to watch the construction of our new home. Working closely with an architect, Jimmy had designed a two-story classical revival with a two-tiered entry porch supported by four simple columns.
The house would have five bedrooms, a den, a living room, an office, a large dining room and a large kitchen with maid's quarters right behind it. He had been impressed with Bronson Alcott's marble entryway floors and stairway and included both in our design. Once the structure was planned, the details for the interior were to be left up to me. Bronson, and especially Mother, came around often to offer their suggestions. Anyway, Jimmy's ulterior motives worked. I became very involved with the house once it was underway and buried myself in design and decor magazines. It was very exciting as more and more of the house was completed and I began to envision it.
Once Christie understood this was going to be our new home, she had to know immediately where her room would be. After Jimmy pointed it out and walked her through the framing, she was after both of us all day to take her out so she could visit her future residence. And when the house was more than half completed it became one of the regular sights for hotel guests. Neither Jimmy nor I was ecstatic over the idea that guests would be coming by to loo
k things over, but for the time being it was hard to keep them away. Jimmy decided that afterward, when the house was completed, we would build a pretty fence around it so that the guests would understand it was not really part of the hotel property.
"One of the bedrooms is for your younger brother or younger sister, when she comes," Jimmy told Christie one afternoon when the three of us were inspecting the day's work.
"Where is she?" Christie asked. "I can't find her," she said, holding her hands up and shrugging. She was almost three by now and quite precocious. Developing by leaps and bounds, she astounded everyone with the things she would say and do. She had begun to explore the piano keys herself and tap out combinations of notes that were far more than musical gibberish. Sissy complained that she knew all the children's stories by heart and would announce the endings before she was halfway through reading them to her. We had to get her books and toys designed for a child twice her age.
"I don't know where your little brother or sister is, Christie," Jimmy told her, shifting his eyes to me as he spoke. "She or he is hiding in your mommy."
I knew what he meant. We had been trying for months to get me pregnant again, but for some reason it hadn't happened. Dr. Lester had told us both on more than one occasion that there was no reason 1 shouldn't get pregnant. I knew Jimmy suspected I was somehow mentally against it and that that was preventing it from happening.
"You're not afraid of getting pregnant again, are you, Dawn?" he asked me one night a few days later.
"No," I said, but I said it too quickly. Deep inside I guess I was afraid. I had snapped out of my depression and become actively involved with the hotel and our house, but I couldn't throw off this dreary, heavy feeling that a curse hovered over me. It made me worry about bringing another child into the world.
"You shouldn't be," Jimmy insisted. "There are only good things ahead for us."
"I'm trying, Jimmy. I am," I said, but instead of thinking about it and hoping for it, I buried myself in the impending summer hotel season. Along with finishing the house, that kept all of us quite busy.
Then, about a week after the formal invitations for Philip's wedding went out, Mother and Bronson decided to throw a small dinner party for just the family as a way to introduce Betty Ann Monroe, Philip's fiancée. I wasn't going to attend if Clara Sue would be there, but Mother guaranteed she wouldn't.
Clara Sue had been sent away to a finishing school, and Bronson had made a sizable donation to it as a way of insuring that they accept and keep her. It was far enough away, too, in Florida. From what Philip told me, he had had no contact with her since she had attacked me.
"I'm still quite ashamed of her," he explained to me on the telephone, "and I don't intend to invite her to my wedding. Not that she cares."
"I don't know how you can do that, Philip," I said. "No matter what, she's still your sister, and it would just fan the flames of gossip around here. You know what that would do to Mother," I reminded him.
"But you won't come to the wedding if I do invite her, will you?" he asked.
"I don't know. It's been nearly a year. I suppose I can ignore her in a ceremony and a party this big," I said.
"I don't want to take that chance," Philip replied. "Your coming means far more to me, Dawn."
Finally I promised him I would come even if Clara Sue attended as well. He was so grateful, I became embarrassed and looked for an excuse to end the conversation.
I still had a hard time accepting compliments from Philip. I could sense his underlying passion for me, the words between words, the feelings just below the surface that behaved like little animals threatening to break out any moment. I only hoped that his marriage to Betty Ann would put an end to it. But when I finally got to meet her, I wasn't optimistic.
Mother staged one of her most elegant dinner parties. Although she had proposed the dinner party as a way to introduce Betty Ann to the family, she decided to invite some of the more prominent citizens of Cutler's Cove as well. I knew we were in for a more elaborate evening when she sent out formal invitations describing the affair as "black tie." She began with a catered cocktail party and had a three-piece band providing the music. It seemed Mother never missed an opportunity to reestablish her social standing in the community.
So when Jimmy and I arrived we were not surprised to see a line of limousines parked along the driveway. It was a warm evening with barely a cloud in the sky, so that the stars were twinkling everywhere, especially over the ocean. The chauffeurs were gathered in a small circle conversing, and Julius went to join them. Bronson greeted us immediately after Livingston had opened the door.
"Your mother is in top form tonight," he informed us. To me it sounded more like a warning. Moments later she pulled herself away from some of her guests in the marble corridor to receive us. She wore a black velvet gown with her usual low-cut neckline. I recognized a dazzling new diamond necklace and matching earrings. She was as radiantly beautiful as ever, her hair styled in an elegant upsweep. Her eyes were full of glitter, borrowing the sparkle from her gems.
"Dawn, darling," she cried, "and James. How nice to see both of you looking so well."
She hugged me to her quickly and then gave Jimmy her hand to kiss.
"I just saw you day before yesterday, Mother," I said dryly. She flashed a smile at some of her guests before responding.
"Was it only two days ago? It seems like ages and ages. Oh, Dawn, Jimmy, you know Mr. Parkins, the president of Seaside Savings," she said as an elderly gentleman passed nearby. He stopped to be introduced. As soon as he left us I seized Mother's hand and pulled her to me.
"Mother, I thought this was supposed to be a simple family gathering to introduce Philip's fiancée and give us a chance to get to know her, and her a chance to get to know us. How do you expect that to happen with all these people here?"
"It was my intention," she said, batting her eyelashes. "But after giving it some more thought, I realized it would be foolish to waste an opportunity to introduce some of our finer citizens to Betty Ann and she to them before the wedding. We'll all have plenty of time to get to know one another . . . lifetimes. Besides," Mother added, "I think we all need some extravagance in our lives these days. It drives away the gloom and doom."
"Where are Philip and Betty Ann?" Jimmy asked, looking around. A waiter came by with a tray of champagne, and Jimmy took a glass for himself and one for me.
"They haven't arrived yet," Mother revealed, leaning in to whisper. "I told them not to come until I was sure all my guests had arrived. It's more dramatic, don't you think?"
"Where do you have them waiting—in the shadows outside?" I asked.
Mother laughed and scooped us both under the arms.
"Come into the living room. I have some more people to introduce you to," she said. I looked at Bronson, who gave me his "I told you so" smile.
A good half hour later Philip and Betty Ann finally arrived. I hadn't seen Philip for quite a while. I thought he had grown to resemble Randolph even more. He looked taller, his face more mature. He had kept himself slim and had his usual tanned, rich look, his debonair smile and his laughing blue eyes. He looked handsome, successful and very rich in his black tux.
I think Philip's handsomeness and buoyant appearance sharpened and emphasized his fiancée's ordinary face. If anything, her mouth was too small and her brown eyes too close. Her pale complexion looked positively sickly beside Philip's tanned skin. She had lackluster brown hair brushed too far back, thus revealing the wideness of her forehead. Her black satin gown did little to enhance her figure, even though it was obviously an expensive designer dress.
With nothing about her looks to recommend her, I wondered what it was that had first attracted Philip to her. I imagined she had a winning personality and must be quite bright. But when we were finally introduced, even those areas seemed deficient.
She followed everything she said with a silly little laugh and pronounced my name "Don" instead of Dawn. I felt like a den
tist when we spoke because it was just like pulling teeth to get her to say more than one or two words. She answered every question with a simple "uh-huh" or "no." I thought it was probably because she was distracted and overwhelmed by all the attention.
Mother seized her by the wrist as soon as she could and dragged her around the large room to introduce her formally to each and every guest. When she introduced her, she spoke about her as if she were a prize or something Philip had bought at Tiffany's, and during the descriptions of her father's estates and vacation homes, their yacht and plane, Betty Ann stood with that idiotic smile frozen on her face.
At first I felt sorry for her, but after a while I became amused. Nothing Mother did or said seemed to change or warm Betty Ann. She resembled a life-size doll that could curtsy properly, bat an eyelash on cue, smile as expected and recite the same polite lines. She had perfect posture, took measured steps, sipped her champagne with clockwork regularity and punctuated her sentences and things said to her with nods and laughs. It was as if Philip had laid claim to some human trophy awarded to the outstanding member of a college fraternity in an Ivy League school.
"What do you think of her?" he asked me as soon as we had a private moment together.
"It's too soon to make any judgments, Philip," I responded diplomatically. "But if you love her and she loves you, what other people think shouldn't really matter."
He fixed his eyes on me, his lips trembling into a small smile.
"You're not other people, Dawn. You never will be other people to me," he said. There was pain in his deep blue eyes. I had to look down.
"You know what I mean, Philip."
"Of course," he said, restoring a note of happiness to his voice. "Betty Ann's devoted to me," he said. "She never stops telling me how lucky she is to have me. She's very sweet. And very, very rich," he added.
"I'm happy for you, Philip, if you're happy," I said. His eyes moved to clash with mine.
"Despite what I say, you know anyone I choose will always be second best. And," he added, a wry smile cocking his lips, "whenever I look at her I will see you. But don't worry," he added quickly, "Betty Ann doesn't know. She doesn't know that once upon a time, a hundred years ago, you and I were boyfriend and girlfriend. Oh, she knows your story," he said, "but not that part. That part is locked here," he whispered, patting his heart. "I can't help it. Don't hate me for confessing. Please," he pleaded.
Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child Page 19
