Mother came flying into my room while I was putting Christie to sleep. It was Sissy's night off.
"1 don't know what I'm going to do," she cried, with real tears escaping those dainty lids. She wrung her handkerchief in her hand and paced. "Mrs. Turnbell has phoned twice already. Clara Sue's failing all her subjects and being very disruptive in class. She's a major problem at the dormitory, violating curfews, and . . . and she was caught smoking and drinking whiskey in her room with two other girls.
"Now," Mother continued, gasping and falling back into a chair as if she were in the first stages of a heart attack, "she's been found in the boys' dormitory, alone with a boy in his room!"
She started to bawl. Christie sat up and stared at her, wide-eyed. Mother was a mystery to her as it was, barely acknowledging her existence.
"I can't turn to Randolph for help. He's a pathetic creature who won't listen to me when I tell him how ludicrous he appears and how he is becoming the laughingstock of the Cove. Half the time he doesn't hear anything I say," she moaned. "He's draining me, killing me, and now Clara Sue . . . I can't stand all this tension and controversy, Dawn," she complained. "You know I can't."
"I told you to have the doctor examine Randolph," I said dryly.
"I called him. He saw him," she confessed.
"You never told me that. I didn't know. When was this?" I asked in surprise.
"Last week," she said, waving away the topic. But I didn't want to wave it away.
"And? What did he say? What did he do?" I demanded.
"He wanted me to have him placed in a mental hospital for observation and treatment. Can you imagine? An asylum! Just think of the gossip—a Cutler in the loony bin. How people would look at me, married to a raving lunatic! It's degrading," she cried.
"But how about what's good for him, Mother?" I asked pointedly, my eyes glued hotly on her.
"Oh, he'll be all right." She waved a hand dismissively. "I told the doctor to prescribe some pills, some sedatives, and he's considering it, but until then all of it is falling on my shoulders, Dawn. Can't you help me, do something?"
"Me? What do you want me to do?" I asked with surprise.
"I don't know. Call Mrs. Turnbell and speak to her about Clara Sue. They want to expel her from Emerson Peabody."
"Me? Call Mrs. Turnbell?" I started to laugh. "She hated the sight of me and did everything she could to get Jimmy and me out of there," I said, recalling how unfairly we had been treated.
"But that was in the past. Now you're the owner of a major resort. You can promise her a bigger donation. Anything. What will I do if Clara Sue is expelled? Another disgrace on top of . . ."
"Your own," I said coldly.
"That's just like you, Dawn, to turn on me when I need you the most," she said, her eyes narrowing hatefully. "And here I'm working day and night to make your wedding successful. I would think you would show a little gratitude and treat me with more respect. After all, I am your mother. You seem to enjoy forgetting that fact."
I shook my head. There was no limit to her nerve. She had no shame when it came to certain things, especially if it had to do with her own comfort and happiness.
"Mother," I said, "even if you and I were closer and I wanted to help you with Clara Sue, I couldn't. You're not listening to me. Mrs. Turnbell probably won't even accept a phone call from me. And what makes you think Clara Sue would listen to anything I said? She hates and resents me and hasn't hesitated to let me know it.
"No," I said, "you're going to have to assume your parental responsibility and go see Clara Sue and Mrs. Turnbell. Have a meeting and discuss the problems."
"What? What an outrageous idea! Me? Dragged into that school, into this mess?" She ground the tears out of her eyes with her small fists and laughed. "How ridiculous."
"You're her mother. Not me. You must bear the responsibility," I insisted.
"I'm her mother, but that doesn't mean I'm to be made to suffer because of it." She sat there a moment thinking. "All right," she said. "If you refuse to help, then send Mr. Updike. Yes," she said, liking the idea more and more, "what's the point of having an attorney if we don't use him for these things?"
"Our attorney is not supposed to serve as a surrogate parent, Mother. He's supposed to give us legal advice and take care of our contractual needs," I replied.
"Nonsense. Mr. Updike has always been a part of the family, in a way. Grandmother Cutler treated him as if he were, and he likes it. He'll help me. I just know he will. He'll call that principal and stop them from expelling Clara Sue," she concluded. She rose and saw herself in my vanity-table mirror.
"Just look," she moaned. "Just look at the effect all this has already had on me. There's a wrinkle trying to get deeper and longer," she said, pointing to the corner of her right eye. Of course, I could see nothing. Her skin was as smooth and as perfect as ever. She appeared immune to age.
"And my hair," she said, pulling on some strands and spinning around to me. "Do you know what I found this morning while I was brushing my hair . . . do you?" I shook my head. "Gray hairs. Yes, they were gray."
"Mother, everyone gets older," I sighed. "You can't expect to look like a young woman for your entire life, can you?"
"If you don't let other people's problems affect you and you take good care of yourself, you can look young and beautiful for a long, long time, Dawn," she insisted.
"Clara Sue's problems and Randolph's problems are not other people's problems, Mother. Clara Sue is your daughter; Randolph is your husband," I pointed out sharply.
"Don't remind me," she said, and she started out. Then she turned in my doorway. "Someday you will understand me and see that I'm the one for whom you should feel the most sympathy," she predicted. Then she sniffed back her tears and walked out.
I wanted to shout after her and tell her that I did pity her. I pitied her for being so selfish that she couldn't love other people, not even her own children. I wanted to tell her I pitied her for trying to stop what was natural and wished she could grow older gracefully, instead of battling every gray hair. She would wake up one day and feel like a prisoner in her own aging body. Mirrors would become torments, and pictures of herself when she was younger would be like pins sticking into her heart. But I stopped myself from uttering a single syllable. Why waste my breath and my strength? I thought.
She did call Mr. Updike, and he did manage to get Clara Sue a reprieve. Mrs. Turnbell agreed to put her on probation, but I had no doubt that it was only a matter of time before she would get into serious trouble again. And I was against making any additional donations to Emerson Peabody to insure they kept her when Mr. Updike suggested it to me. Jimmy was pleased to hear about that.
"I'd love to walk back into her office one day," he said, "and see the look on her face."
"She's not worth the trip, Jimmy," I said.
"Yeah, but next time we're in the area," he said, laughing.
Life was filled with so many ironies, so many turns that led you to places you never imagined. A few years ago, when I had been whisked away from Jimmy and Fern and Daddy Longchamp, driven through the night to be returned to my real family here at Cutler's Cove, I felt terrible fear and dread. I remember being led into the hotel through a back entrance and brought directly to Grandmother Cutler, who made me feel lower than a worm and who tried to strip me of any dignity by forcing another name on me and making me clean toilets and make beds. And now I sat in her chair and signed the checks and made the decisions. I had my beautiful baby, and Jimmy and I were about to be married. No, I thought, this wasn't the time to cloud my heart with hate and dream of sweet revenge. This was a time to be forgiving and loving and hopeful.
I didn't even lose my temper when Clara Sue phoned me a few days before my wedding to inform me she wouldn't be able to attend.
"I have a date I can't break," she said. Perhaps she had expected I would beg her to do so.
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, Clara Sue," I said.
"No one
will even notice I'm not there," she added petulantly, still trying to get me to sound upset.
"Maybe," I said. "But I'll do my best to remind them," I added. She missed my sarcasm.
"I think it's stupid to marry the boy you once thought was your brother!" she exclaimed. "No one here who remembers you can believe it."
"Well, I'm sure you will do your best to convince them it's true," I said.
"That's not what I mean!" she shouted.
"I'm sorry, Clara Sue, but there are so many things for me to do right now. I'll have to hang up. Thanks for calling and wishing us good luck," I added, even though she hadn't. Then I cradled the receiver before she could reply, and I sat back, smiling. She was probably fuming so badly there was smoke coming out of her ears, I thought. The image made me laugh and turned a potentially unhappy moment into a jovial one.
There wasn't much time to sulk over anything anyway. The next day Trisha arrived. We were so glad to see each other, we both nearly burst with happiness. I knew exactly when she would arrive and waited at the front entrance. When the hotel car brought her up she flew out almost before it had come to a complete stop, and we hugged each other and cried and laughed, both of us talking at the same time.
Trisha's personality hadn't changed a bit. She was still her exuberant, effervescent self, her bright green eyes filled with excitement. Of course, she looked older and more elegant. Her dark brown hair was swept softly to one side and curled under her ear. She wore a pink and white cardigan sweater and a light pink shirt.
"You look so beautiful," I said.
"Thank you, and so do you. And this place!" She spun around, gazing excitedly at everything. She had arrived on one of our warmest early spring days. Flowers were blooming everywhere; the lawns had just been cut, and there was the wonderful scent of freshly trimmed grass. Just across the way the ocean was calm and glimmered like glass in the bright sunshine. "It's so beautiful here, and it's yours," she added, widening her eyes and squeezing my arm. "I want to see everything right away," she exclaimed. "Especially the chapel where you'll be married, and the ballroom and your wedding dress. Oh, I can't wait to see your wedding dress."
"The maid of honor is supposed to help plan my trousseau for the honeymoon," I told her. "My mother has given me specific instructions."
"I know." Trisha giggled, and grabbed my hand. "Come on, show me all of it."
It was like holding hands with a whirlwind. I no sooner brought her to one part of the hotel than she was crying for me to take her to another. She wanted to meet everyone we accosted and just had to know what each person's duties were. When I brought her to the kitchen, Nussbaum insisted she taste a new strudel he had concocted. Her eyes rolled, and she licked her lips with such emphasis, even he had to laugh.
Afterward I brought her up to my suite. On the way we stopped so she could meet Mother, who greeted her with such a haughty air that we looked at each other and swallowed our laughter. How she could put on that high-toned manner like a hat and then just as easily discard it. When we were-safely in the confines of my room Trisha and I burst into laughter.
"Oh, she's everything you described," Trisha said. "She reminded me of Agnes demonstrating how she played Queen Elizabeth in Mary, Queen of Scots."
I told her about Randolph and what to expect when she was introduced. She shook her head sadly.
Then I showed her my wedding dress, which she insisted I put on. Afterward we went through my wardrobe, planning my honeymoon trousseau as if each day were another act in a play. We giggled over the lingerie, especially the sheer nightgowns. While we chatted and plotted Trisha made me turn on the radio. I had been buried in my work and responsibilities so intently that I had lost track of what was popular.
For a while, laughing and renewing my friendship with Trisha made me feel young again. My baptism by fire in the hotel had aged me in ways I didn't appreciate or desire. I felt like the princess who was given a chance to be a real young girl before she had to be returned to the palace and behave as everyone expected royalty to behave. Trisha and I could moan and swoon over movie stars, thumb through fashion magazines and giggle and squeal over stories she related concerning boys we had both known at Sarah Bernhardt. Cautiously, we both skirted any reference to Michael Sutton, gingerly circling those days I spent with him and in his vocal class. We talked a blue streak until Sissy arrived with Christie.
"Oh, she's beautiful," Trisha said after I introduced them. Christie's eyes brightened instantly. I was afraid she had inherited some of Mother's vanity, as well as her father's. She behaved coyly for a few moments, pretending to be shy, but watching Trisha out of the corner of her eye, waiting to be coaxed along. Then, as usual, she turned her charm on, smiling and eagerly accepting Trisha's hugs and kisses.
"She's darling," Trisha whispered. "And she has Michael's beautiful eyes," she said.
"I know."
It was the only mention either of us made of him the entire wedding weekend.
Afterward, we all went down to look for Jimmy, who was supervising the grounds people and working on the pool equipment. He and Trisha had a nice reunion. When we left him, she whispered in my ear how handsome and mature Jimmy had become.
"You're so lucky," she said as we started back into the hotel, Christie holding both our hands. "You have all this—a beautiful hotel, a handsome man who loves you and a beautiful child. And don't forget, you're still very talented. You can still do something with singing. Don't you feel lucky now?" she prodded when I remained silent. "Don't you feel that all the hardship and unhappiness is behind you?"
"Sometimes," I said. I looked back at Jimmy, who waved. "And sometimes I feel like I've just moved into the eye of a storm. It's calm, beguiling, deceptive. For no reason I can think of, my heart begins to pound, and I feel dizzy, frightened. I wish I could freeze the moment like a camera snapping a photograph and lock us forever and ever in today."
Trisha stared at me a moment, her eyes fixed curiously on mine. Then her smile returned.
"That's just because you had such a hard life before. You can't believe your good luck. It's just natural," she insisted. "Is it? I hope so, Trish," I said. "I hope so."
She hugged me for reassurance, and we went in to complete the preparations for my big day.
The day before my wedding we rehearsed the ceremony. Philip returned from college that morning. He was in charge of looking after Randolph and being sure he was where he was supposed to be. Mother took command almost the moment the minister arrived. She choreographed everyone's movements: when this one would come in from there, who should hold whose hand and where and how we should all stand. Randolph fidgeted terribly the entire time and was relieved when he was finally excused and could go back to his "critical work. Mother sighed deeply to let everyone know how difficult things were for her with Randolph behaving this way. Naturally, his behavior upset her so much that she had to retreat to her bedroom to rest and prepare for the actual wedding.
I awoke very early the next morning, even before the sun had risen, but I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Because of the significance of the day, a mixture of some of the saddest and happiest moments of my life flashed before me. I couldn't help but recall Momma Longchamp brushing my hair when I was just a little girl and describing her dreams and hopes for me. She imagined I would grow up to be a beautiful woman and would eventually win the heart of a prince.
"You'll live in a beautiful place and have an army of servants just waitin' on your every beck and call," she said, and in the mirror I could see her tilt her head and gaze at me, her eyes twinkling with sugar.
And then I remembered her pale and sickly face, her eyes a dull silver like old dimes, and filled with trepidation the last time I had seen her alive in the hospital. I could still feel her hand clutching mine. I could still hear and see Jimmy sobbing. Daddy Longchamp's gray face rose out of the darkness behind my closed lids, all the pain of sorrow in his dark eyes.
I swallowed back my own sobs and felt m
y eyes fill with tears. Today I was getting married, and even though my real mother had done so much to prepare an elegant and fancy affair, I longed for Momma and Daddy Longchamp and wished that somehow they could be at my side. To me it was as if I were being married without my parents present. Randolph was a pathetic soul, hardly a father figure, and Mother . . . well, for Mother, this was as much her party as it was my wedding.
Despite my reluctance to do so, I couldn't help but think about Michael and about the wonderful, romantic times we had in his apartment in New York. That was when he had made all sorts of promises to me, when we had planned our own storybook wedding, when he had filled my eyes with visions of glamour and excitement—a wedding ceremony attended by all sorts of celebrities and covered by the newspapers and magazines, a honeymoon on the French Riviera, a chalet in Switzerland, cruises, parties on yachts and a triumphant return to the stage, singing our hearts and souls out to each other in a way that would make us both superstars.
All of that popped out of my mind like a soap bubble. If it wasn't for Christie, I would try to convince myself none of it had actually happened.
But it had happened, as well as all the horror I endured during my pregnancy at The Meadows. I couldn't erase it from my mind like some words scribbled in pencil. The events, the pain and suffering, the tears and the laughter, the heartbreak and the relief, all mingled together to form a potpourri of memories I would drag with me forever and ever.
These depressing thoughts drifted from my mind as the early rays of sunlight found the openings in my window drapes and began to brighten the room with new warmth and hope. I heard Christie stir in her crib. A few moments later she was whispering her baby gibberish to herself as she lifted the curtain of sleep from her eyes and began a new day of discovery. Just thinking about the wonder and astonishment that would be revealed in her face when she was dressed and brought to my wedding made me smile in anticipation.
I rose from my bed and went to her. She looked up, surprised because she sensed how early it was. I took her in my arms and kissed her and brought her to the window, where I opened the curtains wide so we could look out on what was beginning to be a glorious late-spring day. She was as fascinated as I was by the way the darkness and the shadows retreated from the rising sun. Small clouds, like puffs of smoke, seemed to emerge from the blue sky behind and around them. Everywhere birds were coming to life, rising from their nests and branches to greet the warm morning and begin their efforts to find food.