How’s that?
Our sister, of course.
Maureen never asked how Colleen had failed Evangeline, because she knew. The whole family knew, save Mama, and this, like so many other things in their family, was an unspoken rule. Never talk about the worst of it, and never, ever let Mama in on the news.
Her black address book sat unopened on the desk. Maureen, proud of all the organization skills she’d learned as a secretary, had everyone’s information in the little book, including date of birth, place of birth, and all other important dates. For Charles, she had his wedding date, and once he had a son, that would be in there, too.
But Charles wouldn’t have a child before Maureen. She, the second to youngest, would be the first.
She flipped to the tab with the D and scrolled her finger until she found Colleen. Colleen had written them all letters with how to dial Scotland, which she’d said was a bit tricky, and Maureen copied those instruction directly into the listing titled, Deschanel, Colleen Amelia.
The instructions worked perfectly, not that Maureen was surprised. They had come from Colleen, after all.
Her sister answered on the second ring. “Hello, Colleen Deschanel speaking.”
“Colleen. It’s Maureen.”
Pause. “Maureen? Everything okay?”
Maureen grimaced. She didn’t know if Colleen’s concerned voice was what grated at her most, or the fact she’d called out, without saying it, that Maureen would never call unless something was wrong.
“You don’t have school today?”
“Not for another couple weeks,” Colleen said. “The anticipation is killing me. I’ve already met all my professors, though, and my books are ready to go.”
You would. “I’m sure it’s beautiful there.”
“Absolutely breathtaking. You should come out when Evangeline comes to visit.”
“Evangeline is coming to visit?”
“Well, nothing’s planned yet, but she’s talked about coming out, sure. Was supposed to be summer, but you know how time gets away.”
“Yeah, okay. Maybe I will.”
“It’s not like you to call.”
Maureen settled into the chaise lounge. She didn’t know how much time she had before Mama and Elizabeth got home, and she needed to get the words out, or more time would pass without help. And the last thing she wanted was to take all her advice from the ghosts in her life. “I’m calling because…” The phone cord was tangled on something and she yanked it, causing a vase to fall to the ground and shatter. One of Mama’s favorites. Great.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. So, you know I was working for Edouard Blanchard at his architecting firm?”
“Was? I didn’t know you stopped. Everyone said you were really enjoying it there.”
“I was,” Maureen said, and then felt a sick pang. She really had enjoyed her job. What started as an escape from home had turned into a feeling of usefulness, and then she’d gone and let her hormones lead her down the exact path those old biddies knew she’d go down.
“And you quit?”
“Not exactly.”
“You were fired?”
“I was let go, because my services were no longer needed.”
“I see,” Colleen said, and Maureen could almost hear her searching for how to be supportive, instead of a nagging bitch. “I’m really sorry, Maureen. There will be other jobs, though, if you want them.”
“Yeah, but, that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh?”
Maureen didn’t feel the tears coming, so when they erupted in a storm of sobs, she clutched her chest in fear of the onslaught.
“Maureen? Sweetheart, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s… Mr. Blanchard… Edouard…” And then Maureen let the whole sordid story spill out. She didn’t edit it, as she might have at another time, when she was feeling less vulnerable, but it all rolled forward, and she couldn’t stop it if she’d tried.
Maureen almost heard the air sucked out of the room across the ocean.
“That bastard,” Colleen hissed. “That no good bastard! He has no business hiring young women if he can’t keep his hands off them, and what happened that night…”
“What?” Maureen sniffled.
“Was not your fault, Maureen. I know this must be all very confusing for you. What, after… well, after another man your senior decided to use you as his play toy.”
Maureen didn’t bother defending her own part in the affair with Mr. Evers. It was easier for her if they believed she was a victim.
“You can’t tell Mama,” Maureen cried. “Please, she can’t know.”
“I won’t. I promise,” Colleen said. “But, sweetie, she’s going to know. You won’t have more than a couple months at best before she’ll figure it out.”
“I could run away.”
“To where?”
Maureen whimpered through her tears. “What am I going to do, Colleen? I have another year before I get my estate entitlement, but even if I have a house, I’ll be… I’ll be shunned. My name won’t even matter!”
“Don’t you even think about worrying about money right now,” Colleen said. “I have my estate entitlement, and you’ll get whatever you need. And you’re due for your house now, not in a year, so you’ll have that. Money won’t be a problem for you, Maureen, I’ll make sure of that.”
Maureen sniffled. The sobs rocking through her upper body had subsided. “I don’t know if I can raise a baby by myself, Colleen.”
“You’ll never be alone, not when you have three sisters who can help. And Mama.”
“Mama!” Maureen laughed.
“I know, I know, but… I think you underestimate her a bit, Maureen. She’ll hem and haw for a while, but she’ll love this baby as her own, once she comes around to the idea.”
“I don’t understand. You’re acting so normal. You’re not upset?”
Colleen sighed. “What’s done is done. You’re having a child, and that child will be a Deschanel. One of us. We’re past the point of prevention, so now, we make plans.”
“I didn’t expect you to be like this.”
“You must have called me for a reason. You have four other siblings right there in New Orleans.”
Maureen didn’t mention she’d tried Charles first. But Colleen was right. Maureen might loathe her older sister much of the time, but somewhere, she’d known Colleen would jump in with both arms and help her with whatever came next.
“What do I do now?”
Colleen’s heels clicked across the floor on the other end. “Well… you’re not the only parent in this situation. Edouard Blanchard needs to own up to his part.”
“Leena, I do not want to see him ever again!”
“I don’t blame you at all, and we can find a way to keep him away from you. But he owes you support. Of the financial kind.”
“I thought you said not to worry about money?”
“You’ll never have to worry about money,” Colleen insisted. “But he shouldn’t just walk away from this without any consequence. He’s going to support this child financially, whether he likes it or not.”
“But what if he wants to see her?”
“Her? Isn’t it a bit early to find out?”
“I just know,” Maureen said.
“Okay, well, if he wants to see her… we’ll cross that bridge when it comes. I don’t think he will, though. He’s unmarried, has no other children, and a child born out of wedlock hurts his situation, not helps. I think he’ll be content to send checks and be done with it.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Maureen’s free hand rubbed across her belly. Her daughter was nothing much of anything yet, but the slight swell, reminiscent of having eaten a very large dinner, helped remind her she was real.
“If it comes down to it, we pull in Augustus.”
“He hates doing that, Colleen.”
“Life isn’t always comprised of the things we love.”
<
br /> “What are you going to do? Call him?”
“Edouard?”
Even hearing his name aloud was painful. “Yeah.”
“I need to think about it a bit…” Colleen said, thoughtful. “But you did the right thing in calling me, Maureen. I’ll make sure this is handled in a way that doesn’t add any more stress to your life. Right now, you need to focus on your daughter and your own health, because she will be here before you know it. Let me handle Edouard.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Maureen was choked up again.
“You don’t have to say anything. You’re going to be mother to the very first little baby of the new generation of Deschanels. That’s something to celebrate!” Colleen lowered her voice. “And protect.”
* * *
Augustus never actually expected Ekatherina to stay in Summer Island through to winter. He suspected she’d follow him within the week, and they’d return to their life in New Orleans with a similar ease, or disease, depending on how you saw it, as they’d had before. They might or might not return to that beautiful investment Victorian off the coast of Maine.
But she didn’t come home. And as summer turned to fall, there was nothing in her voice, or her words, that suggested her stay was anything but permanent.
“Ekatherina,” he pleaded one night, over the phone. She giggled on the other end, and he didn’t hear another voice, but he imagined one. Not that he believed George Cairne was foolish enough to visit a woman in her house alone. But would she see him later that evening?
“Husband,” she replied, using that husky, placating tone he’d come to see as at least mildly manipulative. “It still too hot for me in Louisiana. I stay. You come in winter.”
“I might not be able to come in winter,” he said.
“Oh.” He heard a click of some makeup container and then, “Then you come in spring.”
“Ekatherina, we live here, in New Orleans.”
“I like Maine.”
“I like it, too, but I never intended for us to stay long-term there. Our life is here. Our company is here.”
“My work,” she said with a sudden gasp. “I take too much time off?”
“You know you only have to work if you want to,” he said, sounding more short and frustrated than he intended. He discovered he wasn’t only hurt, but angry. She didn’t belong across the country, she belonged with him, and she showed no inclination that she felt the same. All her pretty seductions were long forgotten now that he was out of the picture.
He also had more news for her. Bad news. He’d been shut down permanently in his attempts to secure a visa for Ekatherina’s family. All requests were on hold, as tensions increased along with the testing of nuclear warfare on both sides.
If he told her that now, she’d never come home.
“What is it about Maine that you’d rather be there?”
“I do not know.”
I think you do. Two days ago, the call had come in from Edgewater. He called to give him an assessment of some damage done by a fall storm. He’d taken care of the repairs, he said, but would send the bill for Augustus to pay at his leisure.
“Have you seen my wife around much?”
“Oh, ah, yes, yes, I see her quite a bit in town.”
“How is she occupying her time?”
“She’s made some friends. The ladies have taken to her, for the most part.”
“For the most part?”
“A couple… well, pay it no mind. You know how women get, telling takes out of school. It’s nothing to get yourself concerned about, not when you’ve got a business to run.”
But Augustus was concerned, and he was starting to think his instincts were not so far awry.
“Please, husband. Do not be mad with me.”
“I’m not mad.”
“When you come in winter, we have special time together. Remember?”
It was all he could do to forget. When he thought of those summer nights wrapped in his wife’s arms, he’d wondered if it was all some dream.
“I don’t know if I can come,” he said again. The front door opened and closed. Evangeline. “I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I know you’ll come for me.”
I’d do anything for you. “I’ll try, but, Ekatherina… I really need you to think about when you’ll be coming home. We can try to return in the winter, but if we do, we’ll go back together.”
A horn sounded in the background of her call. “Oh! I must go. I love you, husband.”
The line went dead, and Augustus held the crowing phone in his hand.
“That the wife?” Evangeline asked. She reached into the fridge and rifled around with all the ease of a stray dog.
“Yes,” he said. He could hardly get the word out through his tense jaw.
“Not like you to be home before eleven.”
“I did some work from home tonight.”
“Ahh.” She crunched into an apple and tossed it into the air, catching it again.
“Ahh? Something on your mind?”
“On mine? Nothing.” Crunch.
“You’re never one to miss an opportunity to have your opinion known.”
“Last I checked, you didn’t want my opinion where Miss Soviet Union was involved.” She pointed at the phone. “But, uh, that sound is annoying.”
Augustus cradled the phone. “I don’t want your opinion.”
“But since you brought it up, when is she coming home?” Crunch.
“The coming and going of my wife isn’t your business.”
“It’s yours, though, I would think,” Evangeline said. “Look, brother, she’s growing on me. She makes you happy. That’s enough for me. But what’s she planning to do, just live separately?”
Augustus knocked his fist against the wooden desk. “It’s best we don’t talk about this.”
“Are you talking about it with her?”
“Evangeline!”
She threw her hands up, one holding the half-eaten apple. “You can ask me not to be a bitch about your wife, but you can’t ask me to stop caring about my brother!”
Augustus shot to his feet. “Since when does caring about me involve making me feel worse about something that’s completely out of my control?”
Evangeline’s face softened. “Does she know how this is hurting you?”
“You don’t know when to stop!”
“Because I love you, Augustus. Jesus.”
He crossed his arms. “You’ve never liked her, Evangeline. You’ve been nicer about it, but I know your opinion hasn’t changed at all.”
“Hey now.” Evangeline tossed the apple core in a perfect arc, and it landed in the trash in the corner. “That’s not fair at all. I’ve been nothing but nice to her, and I’ve made a conscious effort to stop being so suspicious of her. And it worked, for a while! But you wouldn’t be looking like this, or acting like this, if you weren’t suspicious right now, too.”
Augustus stepped closer to her. “What did I say to you? That day in the office?”
“What day?”
“Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.”
Evangeline sighed. “You said you needed me in your court. And I am.”
“You’re out of bounds,” he corrected. “I don’t know what’s going on with my wife, or how to fix it, but talking about it with you, or anyone, makes it real, and I can’t handle that right now! Do you understand? Do you, finally, understand, that even I have limits? Even I have feelings and fears and, yes, suspicions?”
Evangeline dropped her eyes. “Aggie, it’s because I know you have those things that I worry so, so much.”
His voice shook. His eyes blurred. “Please, Evangeline. If you love me, just pretend this is all normal. For me. For now.”
Twelve
Uptown Girl
Dearest Evangeline,
Pray for me, dear sister, for my future begins tomorrow!
Ahh, Edinburgh. If there was ever a city where Des
chanels truly belonged (aside from New Orleans, of course), this lovely Scottish haven of gothic and romance is it. I thought I’d be homesick. Instead, I feel as if I’ve arrived home after a long absence.
I walked the Royal Mile this evening. I think I told you that my flat sits at the end, only two blocks from Edinburgh Castle, a monstrous thing resting atop a prehistoric volcanic rise. Beautiful, although the strategic high ground and improbability of enemy breach was more than likely the top concern of the original architects.
Sorry. You know I can’t turn off the scholar, even when I want to. It’s a sickness, I tell you. And one I know you understand all too well, little sister.
Only to you, could I ever confess how nervous I am to start at the university tomorrow. While Mama brags to complete strangers at the grocer about how her eldest daughter was one of only a handful selected from the United States for the University of Edinburgh’s Neuroscience program, the thoughts running through my head are more along the lines of how disappointed she’ll be should I fail.
My mind is running so many different directions that I can’t focus on anything except my hopes and fears. They whirl to the brim as I fear collapse. Will I become the next successful Deschanel or a complete embarrassment to my bloodline? Stay tuned.
Hugs to Mama, Charles, Aggie, Maureen, and dear Elizabeth.
Love,
Colleen
* * *
Dear Leena,
I’ll keep this short.
Mama goes to church now not one, but three days per week. For her sins.
Charles is a miserable sack of shit these days.
Augustus has been abandoned by his wife. Yes, you read that right. Poor man is in D-E-N-I-A-L.
Maureen is a miserable cow. In other news, Pope remains Catholic.
Lizzy and Connor are probably shagging, and I don’t have a care to stop it.
I’m fine. Moving my visit to the spring, but I’m sure you’re too busy for my meddling anyway.
Write soon.
Yours,
Nineteen Seventy-Four Page 11
