At the Water's Edge

  He laughed wryly. "I'm a second cousin once removed. And no, even if they would have had us, which is highly unlikely, the point is moot. Apparently the house and grounds are crawling with soldiers."

  "It was requisitioned? Where's the family?"

  "No idea," he said. "It's not as though we've exchanged Christmas cards over the years."

  He laid an arm across me, and I realized we were making up.

  "So what did you do today?" he asked.

  "Mostly I rested, but I've got exciting news--three of Anna's relatives have seen the monster, and at least two are willing to talk to us."

  "Who?"

  "Anna. The girl who served us breakfast."

  "Hmm," he said. "How interesting."

  "I thought you'd be pleased," I said. "Maybe even excited."

  "Oh, I am. I'll definitely follow up," he said. "How's the dizziness? Do you think you'll be able to come with us tomorrow?"

  "It's much better, and I'd love to," I said.

  "Good. We could use your sharp eyes." He wriggled his way under the covers. "Aren't you going to put out the candle?"

  I realized he was inviting me to stay.

  I blew out the flame and rolled toward him.

  A few minutes later, a soft rumbling began in the back of his throat, and before long he fell onto his back. The snoring grew louder. I lay awake for what seemed like forever, blinking into the dark.

  I tried to remember the last time we made love, and could not.

  I thought about the man leaving Meg's room, and hoped she was being careful. If Hank got her into trouble, her reputation might be ruined, but she'd end up well off, at least by the time I was finished with Hank. If a regular workingman got her into a predicament--well, I just hoped he'd marry her, and that they really were in love.

  --

  In the morning, Ellis was gone. He had removed the Blackout frame, so I woke to daylight. It was almost ten o'clock, early by my standards.

  Downstairs, Anna was scrubbing the windows with a wad of newspaper. An earthenware jug labeled DISTILLED VINEGAR sat on a nearby table. She had a plain cotton kerchief tied around her hair, knotted on top, in stark contrast to the bright Hermes scarf that was tied similarly around mine.

  She glanced at me and turned away immediately.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Hyde," she said pointedly.

  "Good morning," I said, slithering into the nearest chair. It was only then that I registered the absence of Hank and Ellis.

  Anna was watching from the corner of her eye.

  "They've gone out," she said, attacking the window with renewed vigor. "They said to tell you they'll be back tomorrow."

  I sat up, panicked. "What? Where did they go?"

  "Inverness, apparently," she said.

  "Where's that? And why?"

  "It's fourteen miles up the road. And for what reason, I would not know," she said, setting the wad of newspaper on the sill and wiping her hands on her apron.

  "They didn't leave a note or anything?"

  "Not to my knowledge."

  "Do you know if they cleared up the...confusion?" I asked, wincing at the final word.

  She turned and glared at me, planting her hands on her hips. "Do you mean about using a fake name? You'll have to ask Angus about that."

  I was struck through with terror. If the landlord made me leave, what was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to go?

  "Any chance you've brought your ration book down?" Anna continued. "Only I can't help but notice that not one of you has handed one in, even though I mentioned it yesterday, and you were supposed to do it the moment you checked in. Although I suppose if you'll be going elsewhere, it doesn't much matter."

  "I'm not sure where Ellis put them," I said weakly. "I'll have a look in a bit."

  Anna kept her hands on her hips, staring at me with grave suspicion. I dropped my gaze into my lap.

  "I'll get your breakfast then, shall I?" she said, before stomping past.

  I put my elbows on the table and dropped my head into my hands. I couldn't believe Ellis would do this to me. There had to be some mistake.

  Breakfast was a slab of drawer porridge and decidedly weak tea, with no milk or sugar. Anna dropped them in front of me with a clatter and went back to the window.

  "Bacon, butter, sugar, milk--it doesn't grow on trees, you know," she said, as though continuing a conversation.

  My hands were back in my lap. I started picking at the chips in my nail polish.

  "Or eggs. Or margarine. Or tea," Anna continued. She surveyed the wad of newspaper in her hand and dropped it on the table. She crumpled up a fresh sheet, tipped the mouth of the jug against it, and slammed the jug back down.

  "I suppose tea does grow on trees, but not around here." She nodded toward my cup. "I've reused leaves for that," she said.

  For about fifteen seconds I thought maybe she was finished.

  "I suppose I could make you a beetroot sandwich in the meantime, although I don't suppose National Loaf is up to your usual standards. Neeps, tatties, onions. Porridge, certainly--but no milk, mind you. I might be able to find a tablet or two of saccharine. And I don't suppose you've got a gas mask, have you?" She glanced quickly at me, intuited the answer, and sighed grievously. "I thought not. You're supposed to carry one at all times. You can get a fine for that. And I don't suppose the mustard gas will know the difference between you and a normal person." She curled her lips on the last two words.

  I finally looked up from my lap. "Anna, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say."

  "Oh, aye. I'm not sure I'd believe it anyway."

  She might as well have slapped me.

  Mr. Ross came through from the back, wearing the same sweater as the day before, pants of the same dark olive, and heavy black boots. It looked like a military outfit, although there were no badges or any other identifying information on it. He stopped momentarily at the sight of me, then continued as though I didn't exist, going to the till and removing cash. He flipped through a large ledger book, making occasional notes with a pencil. With a start, I noticed that the first two joints of his right index finger were missing.

  Anna turned her attention back to the window.

  "Shall I correct the spelling in the register?" he said without looking up.

  My relief was so great I clapped a hand to my mouth.

  "I'll take that as a yes?"

  "Yes," I said, barely managing to speak. "Thank you."

  It was more than enough that he wasn't turning me out. He had no reason whatever to preserve my dignity, and this simple act of kindness caused my throat to constrict.

  "Right then." He slapped his thigh. "Conall, trobhad!" The tall dog trotted around the corner of the bar, and the two of them left.

  "You're very lucky is all I have to say," said Anna.

  My innards twisted into a knot, and my hands and heart fluttered so badly I couldn't even consider lifting a fork, never mind a teacup. I pushed my chair back so hard it screeched against the floor and bolted upstairs, abandoning my breakfast.

  "I've half a mind to call the warden for that!" Anna shouted after me.

  --

  I turned the lock on the inside of my room and leaned against the door, hyperventilating. My heart was racing so hard I thought I might actually keel over. If I did, it would not be the first time.

  The first time had been when I was having lunch at the Acorn Club with my mother-in-law and five of her friends, including Mrs. Pew.

  My marriage was not quite four months old, at a time when I still deluded myself that my mother-in-law's gift of the hair comb indicated that she might eventually come to accept me, perhaps even grow fond of me. The ladies were discussing the despicable attack on Pearl Harbor, and saying that despite previous reservations, they now agreed wholeheartedly with the President's decision to become involved. I mentioned the sinking of the Athenia and suggested that we might have gotten involved then, given the number of Americans on board. My remark was met with s
ilence.

  After a long, pregnant pause, my mother-in-law said, "You are, of course, entitled to your opinion, dear. Although I, personally, wouldn't dream of second-guessing the President." She clapped her bejeweled hand to her bosom, letting her eyes flutter as she warbled the word "dream."

  As the telltale heat rose in my cheeks, she continued, praising the club for reducing its seven-course luncheon to five in the name of the war effort. She encouraged the other ladies to chip in, telling them that she, herself, had instructed the kitchen staff to donate cans, as well as whatever pots and pans they weren't using regularly. There was a flurry of regret from all of them that they couldn't do more, especially from such a distance, followed by a discussion of the surprising results of Ellis's attempts to enlist.

  "A complete shock, I can tell you," said my mother-in-law. "Imagine, all these years, and we had no clue. I suppose it explains why he's crashed so many cars--he can't tell if the light is red or green. He's terribly upset, but there's nothing to be done. Whitney, of course, is beside himself."

  There were murmurs of sympathy for both Ellis and the Colonel before Mrs. Pew leaned in conspiratorially to say, "Of course, there are those who arranged to be turned down."

  "Do you mean...?" said another in hushed tones. Instead of filling in the blank, she let her eyes flit across the room to where Hank's mother was having lunch with her own friends.

  Mrs. Pew blinked heavily to confirm. The other ladies went wide-eyed, the thrill of their double-cross palpable.

  "Absolutely shameful. Flat-footed, indeed."

  "Nothing a pair of good boots wouldn't fix."

  "That one's been trouble from the word go," said my mother-in-law. "It's somewhere in the blood, even if his mother is a Wanamaker." She lowered her voice even further. "I wish Ellis would keep his distance, but of course he's never paid attention to a word I say."

  I was staring at the shrimp and avocado on the fine china in front of me when it hit me that she had almost certainly said those very same things of me, to these very women, perhaps at this very table.

  The hair comb hadn't been a peace offering. I had no idea what it signified, or why they had invited me to lunch, but by then I was entirely sure there was a motive.

  I remember staring at the glass bowl of salad dressing, the flute of champagne with lines of bubbles rising from tiny, random geysers on the sides. I remember realizing that I had gone still for so long they were looking at me, and that I should pick up my fork, but could not, because I knew I would drop it. Someone addressed me, but it was impossible to hear over the buzzing in my ears. Then I couldn't catch my breath. I wasn't aware of sliding from my chair, but was certainly aware of being the center of attention while lying on the carpet looking up at a circle of concerned faces. And who could forget the embarrassing ride in the ambulance, its siren blaring?

  A number of consultations followed, culminating in a visit by a doctor brought in from New York, who took my pulse, listened to my heart, and asked me extensive questions about my family.

  "I see, I see," he kept saying, studying me over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses.

  Eventually, he folded the glasses and slid them into his breast pocket. Then he informed me--right in front of Ellis and his mother--that I suffered from a nervous ailment. He prescribed nerve pills, and said I was to avoid excitement at all costs.

  My mother-in-law gasped.

  "Does this mean she can't...? Does this mean there will never be...?"

  The doctor watched as she turned various shades of red.

  "Ahh," he said, figuring it out. "No. She can tolerate a reasonable amount of marital relations. It's more a matter of avoiding mental excitement. Such a condition is not unexpected, given the maternal history."

  He packed his bag and put on his hat.

  "Wait!" said my mother-in-law, leaping to her feet. She glanced at me, prone in the bed. "When you say this is not unexpected, do you mean such conditions run in families?"

  After a slight pause, the doctor said, "Not always. Remember that each generation is diluted, and any children of this marriage will have only one grandparent who was, well, how shall I put this? Not quite our kind."

  Edith Stone Hyde let out a cry and sank back into her chair.

  My nervous ailment immediately became a heart ailment, and although I rarely felt grateful to my mother-in-law, I did admire how quickly she'd taken it upon herself to rediagnose me--particularly as it maintained at least the illusion of distance between me and my own mother.

  --

  My mother was a famous beauty, with sea-green eyes, a button nose, and Cupid's bow lips that parted over teeth like pearls. In some women, perfect features do not add up to an exquisite whole, but in my mother the sum effect was so stunning that when she married my father, a Proper Philadelphian, society seemed willing to overlook that her father was an entrepreneur who dabbled in burlesque (revised for historical purposes as vaudeville) and married one of its stars, and that her grandfather was a rumored robber baron with connections to Tammany Hall. Her family had a fortune; his family had a name. The arrangement was not all that unusual.

  I was aware from my earliest memory that my mother was miserable, although the sheer magnitude and artistry of it took years to sink in. It ran through her like rot.

  To the outside world, she presented meekness and long-suffering, subtly conveying that my father was a tyrant and I--well, I was defiant at best, and quite possibly criminally malicious, a situation she found even more heartbreaking than my father's cruelty. She was incredibly nuanced--all it took was a sigh, a slight misting of the eye, or an almost imperceptible pause for everyone to understand the depth of her anguish and how nobly she bore it.

  She was excellent at reading a room, and when the atmosphere was not right for garnering sympathy, she was witty and engaging, the center of attention, but never in an obvious way. She'd run a finger up and down the stem of her wineglass slowly, repeatedly, or cross her legs and move her foot in deliberate circles, drawing attention to her exquisitely turned ankle. It was impossible to look away. She entranced men and women alike.

  At home, she sulked with extravagance, and I learned early that silence was anything but peaceful. She was always upset about some slight, real or imagined, and more than capable of creating a full-blown crisis out of thin air.

  I tried to go unnoticed, but inevitably we came together over the dinner table. I never knew if her displeasure was going to be directed at my father or me. When I was the offender, dinner passed with icy silences and withering looks. I rarely knew what I'd done wrong, but even if I did, I wouldn't have dared mount a defense. Instead, I shrank into myself. On those nights, I got to eat, although she scrutinized every morsel that went into my mouth, as well as how it got there.

  On the nights my father was in her crosshairs, the choreography was very different. Her contemptuous looks and snide remarks progressed to masterfully crafted barbs, which he would ignore until they ripened into cutting sarcasm, which he would also ignore. She would then, her eyes brimming with tears, wonder aloud why we both delighted in torturing her so, at which point my father would say something precise and lethal, usually to the effect that no one was forcing her to stay--she needn't feel obliged on his account--and she would flee the table weeping.

  My father would continue to eat as though nothing had happened, so it fell to me to fix things. I'd abandon my food and trudge upstairs to her locked bedroom, my dread increasing with every step. It always took some negotiating, but eventually she'd let me in and I'd sit on the bed as she regaled me with the ways her life was a wasteland. My father was capriciously cruel and incapable of empathy, she'd tell me. She would have left him years ago, except that he'd sworn she'd never see me again, had even threatened to have her committed to an insane asylum, and did I know what happened in such places? She'd given up every chance of happiness for my sake, out of pure maternal love, although I was clearly ungrateful. But she supposed she had herself to blame fo
r that. I took after my father. I could hardly be blamed for my miserable genes, and since I was there anyway, would I be a dear and fetch her a pill?

  --

  Twenty minutes after running away from Anna and the drawer porridge, my heart showed no signs of slowing down.

  I was slumped against the back of my door, still gasping for air. My hands and feet tingled, the edges of my vision sparkled.

  I hated that I'd been prescribed nerve pills--hated that anyone had seen any kind of parallel between my mother and me--and although it filled me with self-loathing, I found myself crawling to my luggage and digging through it, throwing dresses, slips, scarves, and even shoes over my shoulder in my search for the brown glass bottle that I knew held relief.

  I found the pills and swallowed one, swigging water straight from the pitcher to get it down. I lay on the bed and waited. After a few minutes, a comforting fog began to settle over me, and I understood, in a way that frightened me, why Ellis and my mother were so fond of them.

  I sat up and looked around me. My room was a mess. I'd been living out of my luggage since our arrival, taking for granted that at some point my hanging things would magically be hung, the rest folded neatly in drawers, and my empty trunks and suitcases stored. I realized quite suddenly that this was not going to happen.

  After I put everything away, I made my bed, although it was painfully clear that it was an amateur effort. I tugged the corners and patted the surface, but my adjustments only succeeded in pulling it further askew. I decided to quit before completely unmaking it again.

  I had run out of things to do. I had some crossword puzzles, a murder mystery, and a handful of books about the monster that Ellis had instructed me to read, but reading was out of the question--not because of dizziness this time, but because my brain was dulled.

  I walked to the window and looked out.

  The sky was bright, although a solid cloud the color of graphite loomed in the distance. The row houses across the street were a combination of white stucco and pink limestone, with wide brick chimneys. Beyond the houses were hills dotted with sheep, and fields defined by rows of trees. In the far distance were even higher hills, uniformly brown where they weren't forested, their peaks obscured by cloud.

  The cold was insidious, and eventually I pulled a quilt from my badly made bed and draped it around my shoulders. I settled into the chair.