She fell into a mellow drowsiness quickly, smiling to herself over all that had been accomplished. She turned to tell him she judged the day a success and then remembered: He no longer sleeps here.
By the next day, Louis dropped out, pleading work duties, while Belle complained of sore arms. Only Lloyd stuck to the work. Fanny oversaw the planting while urging, cajoling, and threatening the men to keep them engaged. Some walked away from the project; others grumbled bitterly. “O le Fa ataulāitu Fafine o le Mauga,” she heard one of the day workers say to another. Lafaele, who stood nearby, shoved the man when he heard the remark.
Fanny stepped between the men, whose fists were raised, and sent the day worker away. “What did he say?” she asked Lafaele.
“I cannot—”
“Tell me.”
“Bad man,” he said.
“Tell me! I am not afraid of words. What did he say?”
His sad eyes reluctantly met hers. “‘Witch Woman of the Mountain.’”
CHAPTER 76
Fanny smelled the wax on the floors, felt it on the pads of her feet. The men had polished the floorboards in the “great hall” to a high, slippery shine, perfect for dancing. The varnished redwood walls—all forty by sixty feet of them—glowed as well. She could already see colorful gowns reeling around the room. Oh, it would be just the thing to christen the new wing. She would hire a fiddler, Scottish if she could find one, and a cello player. Moors would know whom.
She admired how the room had come together with the silver and crystal, with the dining table and long sideboard from Skerryvore; it occurred to her that their furniture had traveled more than most of the people she knew. The only thing missing in the new wing was the set of eighteen chairs she’d contracted to be made from Vailima wood. They were nowhere near ready, but who needed chairs for a dancing party?
She would have to break it gently to Louis that a Christmas party was in the making. He’d moan about the expense and say, “The MacRichies are at it again.” He had quashed her idea of a celebration for his birthday on November 13 by reminding her that he’d given away his birthday last year—bequeathed it to a young Apia girl who was born on Christmas Day, poor dear. Louis had written up a proclamation and handed over his birthday to the child. “Quite all right. I’m done with it,” he’d told her.
Fanny knew very well that he would be ecstatic to have a Christmas party. That was one of the contradictions of Louis. He would swear off a thing and then embrace it. He loved his own birthday and adored seeing R.L.S. in icing on the cake, just as he adored having troops of visitors at all hours, though he complained afterward that they interrupted his work. And he did love this house. In spite of his contempt for ostentation, he couldn’t help enjoying the lovely things from Skerryvore. As long as the Christmas affair included everyone—and it would, as she’d not plan it any other way—he would go along with it.
The addition, with an apartment of rooms above for Maggie, plus two extra bedrooms, made the main house look modest by comparison. Yet that part was perfectly solid and handsome. What the whole house was not was a mansion, as island gossip had it. Recently, in Apia, Fanny had met a British woman who became excited when Fanny mentioned Vailima in their conversation. “Why, it is supposed to be the showplace of the islands!” the woman had exclaimed.
At Moors’s store, the town wags were hanging about, talking nonsense, as usual. “They will kill the whites first,” one English fellow was saying. “That’s what my boy told me.” When Fanny walked toward the back of the store, she noticed that the men stopped speaking. She knew she and her husband were controversial among some of the whites of Apia. If Fanny and Louis agreed on nothing else these days, their political views still lined up. She spoke her mind at dinner parties; he gave speeches at local meetings. His fevered letters to the Times had won them few friends among the German population. And since the publication of A Footnote to History, there was talk—surely among these very gossips—that Louis would be deported for his seditious writings.
“Offhand,” Moors said when Fanny asked, “the name of a Scottish fiddler doesn’t come to me. You know, the Curacoa may be in harbor then.”
The H.M.S. Curacoa! Fanny nearly leaped at the prospect. “But do they play only marches?” she asked.
“Who?”
“The band of the Curacoa.”
Moors laughed. “I’m sure the band can play anything.”
“Will you invite the captain and the band for me when they get in?” She went toward the front of the store and spoke to Mrs. Moors. “You must come at Christmas, Nimo. You gave us such a memorable feast last year.”
“Of course we will come,” the woman said. She and walked Fanny to her horse. “I have been wanting to talk to you,” she said.
“You look so sad. Is someone sick?”
“We have known something for a while that you should know, Fanny. I’ve struggled over how to tell you …” The woman inhaled deeply. “It’s about Belle’s Joe. He has a Samoan wife. She lives in Apia. All the local people know about it.”
Fanny wavered on her feet. “How long?”
“Off and on for two years. When he came here from Hawaii on business, that’s when it started. And now that he lives here … well, he is in Apia often.”
Fanny grabbed hold of her saddle. “Is there a child?”
“No.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
Riding back home, she pictured the pearl-handled revolver the Shelleys had given them in Bournemouth. Louis had been assembling weapons up at the house, in case there was a war. The revolver had come out of the big safe. She could almost feel the cool, smooth handle in her palm.
By the time she reached Vailima, telling Belle was her foremost thought. Fanny had been on the receiving end of such news more than once. There was but one humane way to do it: immediately and directly.
When Fanny got into the paddock, her heart leaped to see Joe tying up his horse. “Joe!”
He looked up, startled by her sharp tone.
“I heard something about you today.”
Joe’s mouth pressed in upon itself. He patted his horse to calm it.
Fanny walked near to him. “I heard you have a Samoan wife. If it is not true, tell me now.”
He fiddled with a stirrup. Didn’t meet her eyes.
“You pathetic little cankerworm. You look at me when I speak! After all I’ve done for you—be glad I don’t have a revolver in my hand, because if I did, I would not be responsible for my actions. How can you do that to my girl? To your own son? You go in there with what little manhood you have, and you tell your wife—your legal wife—the truth.”
Fanny took a step toward him, and he moved back. “Do you hear me?” she shouted.
Joe turned and went inside.
Once it was out in the open, the stories came to her from the natives who worked at Vailima. Joe had made a copy of the key to the storeroom and had been stealing liquor for some while. He’d been feeding the chickens lime to take a cut of the money allocated for their feed. The chickens had been dying, and yet she had not seen what was happening. The natives said she had eyes in the back of her head, and she was rather pleased that they thought it. But the whole family had been duped by Joe Strong, and she was ashamed of herself. She, of all of them, should have known better.
On December 24, Fanny hurried through the household, overseeing preparations for the party. Belle was sequestered with her sewing machine, as she had been since the day Joe walked in and confessed. She had wept for days, until she learned he was going about Apia in retaliation, spreading lies that she had her own lover, among other untruths. Now Belle appeared mostly relieved to be free of Joe Strong. She soberly stitched plaid lavalavas for Vailima’s natives to wear at Christmas.
Fanny had taken Belle down to Apia and gotten divorce papers drawn up. Some things were easier in Samoa than the States. Now Louis was a legal guardian of Austin, who had been sent back to California to live with his aunt in
Monterey and attend boarding school. In a heartbeat, the world could and did change. Joe was gone, Austin was gone, and so was Henry, who had returned to his island to be among family.
She missed Henry as much as she missed her beloved grandson. Henry Simele was a real chief on his own land to his own people, yet a servant at Vailima. If that discrepancy ever disturbed him, he had never shown it. He was a man of such self-possession, he could empty the slops buckets of the sick household during an influenza outbreak, or light lanterns to please Louis, and never once lose his royal dignity.
Christmas Day arrived and the work continued. While hanging Henry James’s mirror in the hall, Fanny caught a glimpse of herself. Not long ago, in San Francisco, before the Casco cruise, she’d crowed to her friend Dora, “Thank God I’ve kept my appearance.” She couldn’t say that anymore. She looked terrible, and there was no time to spend on primping. There was a pig on the coals to watch, and gifts to wrap.
By five, the house was ready for the feast. Guests were due in an hour, but Samoans were always early. She paused to scan the room. She might not look good, but the tree was a triumph. Anyone familiar with Christmas trees would wonder at her cleverness, for there wasn’t an appropriate tree to be had on Upolu. She’d instructed Talolo, the sweet young man they’d hired as cook, to bore holes through a post. Lafayette had collected long-needled branches of ironwood that came close to the look of a white pine. After the post was sunk in a container of hard dirt and rocks, Fanny and Lafaele stuck the branches into the holes. They rigged candles on the “tree” and decorated it with red hibiscus flowers. Voilà! Louis seemed pleased indeed.
Up in her bedroom, Fanny went through her wardrobe. Her eyes fell upon a deep blue dress she had worn … when? Five years ago? Not since Boston, just before they’d gone up to Saranac. It had a flattering empire waist from which tiny pleats flowed to the floor. Across the bodice were tiers of white lace, and at the elbows, too. At the neck was a satin artificial flower, crushed only a little. How she’d loved this dress! She threw it over her head now and was pleased it still fit, then remembered the hat she’d worn with it. She found it at the top of the wardrobe, battered a bit, the brim of it misshapen but still stylish. It had enormous black ostrich feathers rising above the crown and a shimmering veil off the back. She put it on, admired how it caused her to look taller, tied the velvet ribbon under her chin. The hat made the ensemble. How whimsical a touch for a Christmas party! Sweet girl, Louis would say. You look beautiful tonight.
Out of her trunk she took a toiletry case she hadn’t used in some time. In the dim light, she spread rouge on her cheeks.
“Fanny!” Louis’s look was quizzical when she appeared downstairs. “You’re wearing a hat.”
“Yes.” She laughed, feeling giddy as a girl. “Isn’t it festive?”
Lafaele and Talolo appeared in their holiday uniforms: plaid lavalavas and white shirts. Behind them trailed Mr. Moors and his wife.
“Light the candles, Louis!” she ordered. “The guests are here.”
When Maggie came downstairs, she appeared taken aback. “Oh,” she said. “You’re wearing a hat, dear.”
“So are you!” Fanny shot back.
Belle swooped up and took her hand. “Mama,” she whispered. “Come upstairs with me for a minute. I want to fix your rouge.”
“What’s wrong with my rouge?”
“It’s not where it is supposed to be.”
They hurried upstairs. Belle looked around the room. “You need a dressing table. Come, sit on the bed.” She took a washcloth and wiped Fanny’s cheeks. “I can’t see your face under that hat brim.” Belle removed the hat and tossed it aside. “There you are.” She took up the jar of rouge and lightly applied the rose-colored cream to her mother’s cheeks and lips. “You know, you may need spectacles, Mama.”
“Nonsense. It’s just too dim in here.”
Belle ran a comb through Fanny’s hair. “That looks better. One more thing.” She retrieved a pair of scissors. “I want to snip off that crumpled silk flower. It does nothing for your dress.”
Fanny’s hand went up and grabbed the scissors. “Quit pecking at me! There are people arriving right now!”
Coming downstairs, Fanny took in a confusing blur of faces. Talolo was lighting the candles on the tree. She waded through the crowd, losing names as she greeted people. Lloyd was standing by the Christmas tree, announcing something. Earlier he had strung into the branches little pouches containing treats, and now he began passing them out.
The scene in front of her was not what she had imagined. The H.M.S. Curacoa’s crew was not there; the ship never arrived in port. Most of their white missionary friends were absent, occupied by their congregations. But a smattering of white women in holiday gowns had appeared, along with a host of native women in colorful dress. A local English farmer had brought a nephew who could play piano. Even without the Curacoa’s band, Fanny comforted herself, there would be dancing.
How she loved to dance. Louis was not much of a dancer; because of his bedbound years, he’d never learned properly. Recently, though, Belle had taught him and Lloyd how to do the steps of a quadrille. Belle and Louis stood now at the center of the glowing room, preparing to lead as the head couple. The farmer’s nephew commenced plunking out a Haydn piece as Fanny’s daughter and husband joined hands at the far end of the room. Two long lines formed quickly, men on one side, women on the other.
Fanny felt a bolt of anger rip through her so abruptly that her head wobbled. She leaped up from a step on the staircase where she’d been watching the young piano player. Dashing through the crowd to where they stood, Fanny pulled their hands apart and said, “I shall dance!”
Belle moved to the end of the line and found a stray male for a partner, while Louis, surprised, took hold of Fanny’s hand.
For days after the party, Fanny stayed in her room, where she took her meals. “Tired,” she said when Belle came in to check on her.
“Rest is good for you, Mama. You’ve worked too hard.”
“Leave me be.”
Fanny sat at her desk with a pen in her right hand and a cigarette in her left. She felt a story stirring in her. She could hear a woman’s voice telling it: She is a dark woman, and a seer. She has not asked for her gifts; she does not practice them out of pride. Yet she understands the conversations of birds without effort. She touches horses where they suffer and cures them with her fingertips. She sees inside men and women, sees the very spot where a person is rotting. Sometimes she can do nothing, only watch. One morning she awakens, tastes the air, and knows. “Someone wants to harm me,” she tells people, but no one listens. “Someone has betrayed me.”
Fanny’s hand moved rapidly as she scribbled down thoughts for the beginning of the story. She wrote furiously until Lloyd came with lunch on a tray. She saw immediately that he did not want to be in the room. He was her sweet boy once, before Louis stole his soul. Now he sat every day where she once sat, laughing, listening, helping Louis with his stories.
Fanny left the food untouched.
At night she lay awake as the sound of the waves grew deafening inside her head. Come to Me Thousands, haggard and wise, appeared before her with a shawl around her bony shoulders. She sat on the edge of the mattress.
“I am alone,” Fanny told her.
“Tamo’e, si o’ u afafine,” the old crone said. Run, daughter.
CHAPTER 77
“Are you ready?” Belle’s curly head was poking around Louis’s office door.
“The amenuensis arrives,” Louis greeted her, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, come in. And look at you—stockings and shoes!”
Since his scrivener’s cramp worsened a few months ago, Louis had asked Belle to take his dictation. Today she was outfitted in a neat linen dress, as if reporting to work in a shop.
“Where shall we begin?” she said, her pencil poised for action.
“Another letter to The Times.”
Belle retrieved a piece
of Vailima letterhead and returned to her seat.
“Sir, colon,” Louis began. “Will you allow me to bring to the notice of your readers the Sedition, parenthesis, Samoa, end parenthesis, Regulation, comma, 1892, comma, for the Western Pacific, comma, and comma, in particular comma, the definition in section 3 question mark …”
Belle’s pen flew as he dictated for another five minutes. “I am, sir, your obedient servant, Lord Prickle Trumble.” The Amenuensis smiled indulgently at his pale joke. “You will be happy to know that is all the lawyering and protesting I shall be doing today.”
“Good.”
“Tomorrow, when you hear the enclosure that goes with this letter, you will despise me, I am quite certain. It is very long.”
“Where are we off to next?”
“Scotland. The Pentland Hills. Brutal father, hanging judge. Romantic son banished to countryside to languish over—”
“—the Kirsties.”
“Indeed.”
Louis had risen early, his mind full of ideas for Weir of Hermiston. He’d taken notes for a steady hour. Now the words came easily as he dictated, and Belle never paused in her writing except to ask him to slow down.
He could not have guessed two years ago that they would be able to cooperate on such a project. Belle had bitterly resented him for such a long time. After her marriage to Joe Strong, her estrangement from Fanny had only deepened her contempt for Louis. When Louis saw her in San Francisco as he and Fanny prepared to depart on the Casco, Belle had been damned cold toward him. And when the Casco delivered them to Honolulu, Belle had put on a proud show as an independent woman with an artistic social circle of her own, a royal social circle. Louis could see how shaky her circumstances really were. Her little family was barely surviving. Joe’s addictions were devouring what money he made as a painter. It was for Belle’s sake that Louis and Fanny had agreed to take Joe with them on the Equator.