“Grand-mère says I must go to France in the fall and get married,” she said, all in a rush. She’d planned a calm, adult-sounding speech to begin this discussion and couldn’t remember a word of it now that the time had come.
Mum sighed. “Yes. I’m rather annoyed with her for bringing it up without consulting Papa or me first.”
“You don’t want me to go, then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what? Do you have plans for me as well, like Grand-mère?” So much for keeping her voice low and even as she’d planned, but she couldn’t help it. “It would be nice if someone would let me know about them too, since it happens to be my life we’re talking about.”
Mum didn’t scold her for speaking crossly, but took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “We were going to. Grand-mère spoke prematurely because this Newport visit worries her. But there are other choices too. What do you want?”
Grace couldn’t help feeling taken aback. All through dinner she’d rehearsed this conversation in her mind, planning on standing up for her right to have a say in her life…and here was Mum, calmly asking her what she wanted. The annoying thing was that she had no idea what to reply.
“Er…I don’t know,” she mumbled.
“Do you want to marry and settle down to your forest?”
“Well, yes, of course…but not yet. I’d thought about college next year, maybe. If Sandy can, why can’t I?” Her older brother, Alexander, who was visiting friends in Canada that summer, had just finished his first year at Harvard.
“Would you like to travel, too? We could go to the Continent for a few months—have our own little grand tour. Or maybe—”
“I want to go to Newport with Alice,” Grace interrupted. “Can’t I do that first, before we decide on anything else?”
Mum leaned back against the oak tree they sat under, and Grace realized it was one of her especial pets. She ran her hand across its bark in greeting and felt its slow, sleepy—the sun had nearly set, after all—greeting in return.
“I’m not sure,” Mum finally said. “All of the not-very-complimentary things your father said about Newport are true. On the other hand, I can see why you’d want to go. I would have too, at your age.”
“So?” Grace asked, expectantly.
“So…” Mum sighed again. “I’m not your age anymore. I’m much older and much more experienced, and I’m your mother. And I want to protect you from being hurt if I possibly can.”
“Why should going to Newport hurt me?”
She could feel Mum’s eyes on her in the twilight. “I know what happens in places like Newport in the summer. What if what Grand-mère is so worried about comes to pass, and you fall in love with a human boy?”
“Oh, really, Mum!” Grace cringed. Why was everyone thinking she was about to fall in love with the first male creature to cross her path?
Under her hand, which still rested on the tree, she felt a slow ripple of amusement. You are a young animal, and that is what young animals do in the warm of the year, the oak said to her.
“Not this young animal, thank you,” she said firmly. “And the way Grand-mère goes on about no drop of human blood ever coursing through the veins of a Boisvert—it’s positively Gothic.”
“You know we couldn’t approve of your marrying a human, at least while you are young,” Mum continued. “What you choose to do after that is up to you, though we would never recommend your doing so. We live so long—what would it be like to know that your husband will age and die long before you ever reach that stage of your life? What about revealing what you are? It would be unfair to wait until after you’re married to tell him that you aren’t human, and unsafe to tell him before. What of children? You know that most children of dryad-human marriages don’t survive past their first weeks. We are too different to breed well together. And finding your forest—will a human understand your need for that too?”
“I’m not planning on marrying one—”
“I’m sure you aren’t, but do you truly understand what it means? Could you watch five out of six of your babies die? Or watch your husband grow old and feeble while you are still in your prime—or grow feeble too early yourself if you do not find your grove to settle in? No, don’t answer,” she said as Grace opened her mouth. “You can’t understand yet. But you need to keep it in mind as you go out into the world.”
“I will.” Honestly, did they all think she had pine needles for brains? “But I wish Grand-mère would remember that it’s the twentieth century. Just because Grand-père died young—”
“I would ask you to remember that Grand-mère lost both her husband and her forest,” Mum said, her voice stern. “She was lucky to get out of Alsace alive with your father. An experience like that leaves scars; she wants to protect you from being hurt as well. And if I’m going to be honest, I agree with her, at least partly. What’s keeping me from agreeing wholeheartedly is that there are other kinds of hurt.”
“Like what?”
“Like the hurt of wondering what you’ve missed. It can make for a bitter old age.” Mum shook her head and looked down at her hands.
Grace sat up straighter. “Mum?” she asked tentatively.
“What? Oh.” Mum gave a small chuckle. “No, not me. I’m very happy that I married your father and settled here. But I’ve seen others.”
Grace’s head had begun to ache. She twisted on the bench to rest the side of her head against the tree and felt it reach out to her to soothe away the pain. “Thank you,” she murmured, then said more loudly, “Mum, I know what you’re saying is important. But right now, I don’t want to fall in love or get married or find my grove. I just want to go to Newport with Alice and have fun.”
“I know, dear.” Mum spoke hesitantly. “And I think I’m prepared to risk your getting hurt one way in order to prevent your getting hurt in the other.”
Her headache vanished. “Then I can go?”
“So long as you promise us that you’ll be careful—and not only about young men.”
Grace was too happy to bother pointing out that she’d gone through years of school with humans and had never had a problem. “I will—oh, Mum, thanks! And can I go with Alice to the Adirondacks too? That will be, uh…safer than Newport, won’t it?”
“I expect it will.” Mum rose. “I should go and write Mrs. Rennell so we can catch the morning post. And we’ll have a lot of work to do with your wardrobe. You’ll need some more day dresses and suits and a couple of evening dresses, I expect, and some hats. We’ll have to go into town first thing tomorrow—” She stopped, and looking down at Grace, held out her hands. “Oh, sweetheart, you will be careful, won’t you? You’re such a lovely girl, and humans tend to be strongly drawn to us—very strongly,” she added. “I’m afraid some boy will fall at your feet and—”
Grace took her hands and squeezed them gently. “I promise,” she said quickly, both to reassure her and stop her from saying more. It was… Well, what did one say to things like that?
Mum smiled and squeezed back, then turned to make her way through the deepening dusk to the house. A few late fireflies lit up in greeting as she passed.
Grace hugged herself. “I’m going!” she murmured.
Why do you wish to leave here? the tree behind her asked. Is this not where your roots are sunk? It sounded forlorn.
Grace leaned back against its trunk. Talking was always easier when she could touch the tree. “Yes, my roots are here, but…” She reached up and patted the place where one of the tree’s limbs began to branch off from its trunk. “But I have to grow too, just like you grow. Only my growing means I have to move around first. One day I’ll plant my roots somewhere, like Mum has. But not yet.”
A feeling of doubt was plain under her hand. I know it is the way of humans. But you are kin to us as well. What if you forget that out there?
She stood up abruptly. Sweet Yggdrasil, was she going to be lectured by everyone today? “I’m getting chilly. Good n
ight.” She patted the tree again and walked back through the deepening dusk toward the lights of the house, then broke into a skip. She was going to Newport!
Chapter Three
The next two weeks passed in a blur of shopping: trips to the dressmaker, more trips to the dressmaker, visits to the milliner and to the glove and stocking counters at Jordan Marsh. Mum had been determined that she should have a wardrobe that would pass muster in Newport, rather to Grand-mère’s disapproval.
Not that any of it—not even the dark blue wool bathing dress or the modest evening party frocks (blue chiffon, a pink taffeta that looked like rose petals, and two in obligatory white, one lace, one shantung silk)—were at all risqué or extravagant. Nevertheless, Grand-mère’s disapproval had been constant, right up to the moment Papa and Mum and Alice’s grandparents established them in a first-class compartment on the train to Newport, then stood waving goodbye on the platform as the train slowly chugged out of Boston’s elegant new South Station.
Alice was already rummaging through the picnic basket Mum had handed them as they boarded. “Oh, good. Fried chicken. And sandwiches and lemonade. And cake! I’d forgotten what good picnics your Mrs. Toole packed. I think there’s enough here for a trip to Chicago, never mind two or three hours to Newport.”
“They don’t want us leaving the compartment to go to the refreshment car. I’m surprised my grandmother didn’t demand we bring a chaperone.” Grace studied her reflection in the plate glass of the window as they passed under the shadow of a warehouse. Her new hat was just the thing—a dark tan straw adorned with puffs of gathered ivory ribbon, not too large, and tipped down toward her forehead at precisely the right elegant angle. It complemented her tan poplin walking suit and ivory silk shirtwaist perfectly.
“Well, honestly, there’s two of us. We can chaperone each other.” Alice grinned around the drumstick she’d started munching. “Of course, I’m not sure I’d trust myself to chaperone anyone.”
Grace laughed. “Do you trust me to chaperone you?”
“Not a bit. We’re going to have fun, I tell you! There won’t be anyone to tell us not to.”
To be fair, no one had ever really told them they couldn’t have fun, but… “What about Mrs. Rennell?”
Alice wrinkled her nose. “Well, she can tell us, but we don’t have to listen.”
Grace blinked. That didn’t sound like the Alice she knew; the pair of them had been…”enterprising” was the word Papa used to describe some of their escapades, but never defiant. “What will your parents have to say about that?”
“Frankly, I don’t care. We’re practically grown-ups by now, aren’t we? And anyway, I’m the cuckoo in their nest, so why should they care what I do? Sometimes I wonder why they didn’t leave me with my aunt after they got married, but Mother decided she had to be the perfect stepmother and take me in. I’m always on the outside looking in. Well, I’m tired of that. From now on, I’m looking out instead. They’d better look out too. I’m ready to find my own way…which means having fun!” She took a large bite of chicken.
Grace knew all this already—how Alice’s mother had died when she was born and Mr. Roosevelt had left her to his sister to bring up. But there was an edge of bitterness in Alice’s voice that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t the first time she’d notice it; it had appeared several times while they were getting ready to leave for Newport, and even Mum had commented that Alice seemed “off” somehow. It made her glad she was going to be with Alice for this adventure.
“So,” she asked casually, “what kind of fun did you mean to have?”
“Oh, you know. What we used to do when we were kids—running around having larks. But we’re not supposed to do that now that we’re proper young ladies.” Alice pretended to fan herself with her drumstick. “It’s a frightful bore.”
“I want to be somewhere I haven’t before,” Grace said. “There’s not much I haven’t done or seen already in Chestnut Hill. I want to see new places. New people.” Mum didn’t like to leave her trees for long, and Papa always did what Mum wanted.
“Poor thing.” Alice patted her knee. “Chestnut Hill has always been like a safe little cave for me, but I can see that if you’re in a cave all the time, it would get dull. We’ll make up for that. We’ll try everything we can.”
“Yachting? I’ve never been on anything larger than a rowboat.” There was a jaunty yachting costume with a bloused waist and sailor collar and simply adorable hat in one of her trunks that she couldn’t wait to wear.
“I suppose.” Alice managed to open the window a few inches and toss out the remains of her drumstick. “I was thinking of something even more exciting.”
“Like what?”
Her eyes glinted. “We’ll have to wait and see what presents itself, won’t we? Here, would you like a sandwich? Mmm, egg salad.” She waved it at Grace.
Grace took it. “When you say exciting, do you mean…boys?”
“Why, Grace! What an idea!” Alice pretended to look shocked. Then she laughed. “Well, of course. I told you I’d been making a study of them this year.”
“What did you learn?” Thank heavens Grand-mère wasn’t here or she’d have a fit to hear them talking about boys. Really, it wasn’t like she was going to chase them or anything. She was merely interested.
“Ha! I wondered when you’d ask! For one thing, they’re not very subtle. If they like you, you’ll know it—they act like big, slobbery spaniels, looking at you with their hearts in their eyes and their tongues hanging out of their mouths.”
“Ew.” Grace wrinkled her nose. Spaniels… This was not what she’d expected.
“Well, maybe not exactly. But sort of. The thing is, it’s ridiculously easy to get them into that state. Captivating them, we call it.”
“How?”
“Oh, there’s lots you can do,” Alice said airily. “The most important bit to remember is that you want to keep them off-balance at all times so that they don’t start taking you for granted. Keep ’em guessing.”
“Guessing. Right.” That didn’t sound too hard.
“Now, first thing, you have to choose your mark—”
“Who’s Mark?”
Alice sighed. “It’s slang. Mark means your chosen victim.”
“Oh. Right.” Grace hesitated, then asked, “So…how do you choose one?”
To her surprise, Alice didn’t laugh. “It depends. Sometimes you might be bored and want to pass time—you know, have some fun with whoever happens to be around. Or you might really like one. Or you might want to flirt with one to make another one jealous. There’s a lot to consider.”
Hmm. Flirting out of sheer boredom didn’t sound appealing. “And then?”
“Then you choose your method of attack, depending on your mark and what you want to do with him. If you’re just having fun, you can do whatever enters your head: be admiring, so he gets the idea you think he’s the most wonderful thing ever. You can take care of that with mostly words, but you’ve got to play the part as well. Give him a look.”
“Like this?” Grace tried to make herself look bright and interested.
Alice looked disgusted. “No, not like that. You look like a first grader waiting to hand teacher an apple. Think captivating.” She let her eyelids droop slightly, glancing up through her eyelashes and pouting her lips.
Grace couldn’t help giggling. “That’s awful! You look as though you’re about to throw up.”
“I beg your pardon, but it works every time. You should also pretend that the things he likes are just as fascinating to you. Be admiring all over the place.”
“What if his hobby is train robbery?”
“Well, really, Grace, I’m not even going to bother answering that. And it’s not only hobbies. If he wants to see himself as a man of the world, tell him how sophisticated he is. Reflect how he wants to see himself.”
Grace thought about that. It would probably be a highly effective tactic…if one could bring oneself
to do it. “Anything else?”
“That’s the basics. Now, if you get tired of him, put on the snow-maiden face.” She looked down her nose and pursed her lips into a disapproving knot. “It helps if you can imply boredom as well. That’s usually done with raising one eyebrow a little.”
“I hope no one’s ever caught you practicing in the mirror.”
“My brother Ted did once, but he ended up practicing with me. You think only girls can do this?”
“I thought you said all boys were spaniels?”
“Almost all. There’s a few who aren’t. Now, if you’re trying to make one jealous, then you need to be sweet as pie to his rival. Really overdo the admiration and pretend you don’t even see the other. It drives ’em nuts.”
Grace hesitated, then asked, “What…what if you actually do like one?”
Alice shrugged. “I don’t know. It hasn’t happened yet. But I’m sure there’ll be plenty of boys for us to practice on, in case we do like any. Newport is one big party, and we’ll be in the thick of it.”
“I suppose that will depend on whether Mrs. Rennell—”
“I told you, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about her. I’ll have her eating out of my hand in no time. She won’t have the least idea of what we get up to.”
Grace took a bite of her sandwich. She and Alice had gotten into any manner of scrapes as girls (and even now, as young ladies), running around Chestnut Hill like a pair of wild things. The Trouble Twins, Alice’s grandfather had christened them years ago. But this felt different, somehow. Any trouble they’d gotten into then had been the result of sheer high spirits; it was one thing to launch pranks and another to set out to intentionally deceive well-meaning people. Or to trifle with their affections.
But if she was right, then everyone did it. Did that mean dryads would as well, when—if—Grand-mère had her way and they all went to France in the autumn? However, Alice had failed to address one question: if everyone played such games, then how did you know when someone really did like you?
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