Casteel 05 Web of Dreams (7 page)

"It won't hurt her to know a little about the workings of the ship and the things that can go wrong. The day will come. . ."
"The day will come when all this will end," Momma snapped and pulled me toward my suite, leaving Daddy standing behind us with his mouth open. I felt so sorry for him, but Momma was in a rage and babbled on and on about how he was ruining me, ruining my chances to become a debutante, a young and desirable young lady. She said he was "suffocating my femininity."
I tried to defend him, but she wouldn't listen. I got out of my outfit quickly and changed into something else while she went off to give the greasestreaked shorts and blouse to a maid. By the time I emerged from my suite, Daddy was already gone. I spent the remainder of the day feeling terrible because I thought it had all been my fault. Oh, why hadn't I been more careful? Why wasn't I as concerned about my clothing and my looks as Momma was? There were cracks appearing all over my fragile world, but I was trying desperately to hold it together.
I couldn't remember seeing Momma shout at Daddy that way or Daddy so embarrassed and angry. This cruise, which was supposed to make Momma happy and cheer Daddy up by helping his business, was turning out to be a disaster for all of us.
That evening things became even worse when Momma developed a bad case of seasickness. Not only didn't she come out to dinner, but she didn't come out to enjoy any of the entertainment, which included ballroom dancing, one of the few things she enjoyed doing on the ship. Every time I went down to her suite to see how she was, I found her moaning and groaning.
"Why did I agree to this? Why did I come on this ship? I wish I could just fade away," she wailed. I couldn't do anything to help her. The ship's doctor was called twice. He gave her double doses of everything, but she wasn't much better the next day, and once again, she wouldn't get out of her bed. I went down to read to her and keep her company. She was very depressed because she looked so pale and sickly that no amount of makeup could help.
"I don't even want the servants to see me," she cried. "It will take me weeks to get over this," she claimed. "Weeks!" She pulled on strands of her hair. "Just look at what's happening to me. Look!"
"But Momma, this never happened before. Why is it happening on this trip?" I asked. Her eyes cut toward me sharply and for a moment grew small. Then she fell back against her large, fluffy pillow and crossed her arms under her bosom, pouting.
"How would I know? I was just lucky before." She turned on me quickly. "You don't remember your first trip across the Atlantic, I suppose," she added in a biting tone. It was as if I had accused her of faking it and she wanted to punish me. "You were so sick the first two days, I thought we would have to turn the liner around and go back to Boston. Then, as your father would say, you got your sea legs. He was so happy about it, as if walking around looking like a bowlegged sailor is an accomplishment."
She turned to the wall to catch her breath. Her face was brightened with emotion as she encouraged her own anger. When she looked at me again, she had a very ugly but determined look on her face.
"Well, I never wanted sea legs," she said smirking. "Oh, I don't know why I didn't insist Cleave get out of this stupid business years ago. We could have had a respectable business in the city . . maybe a chain of department stores, something like Tony Tatterton has. Then you're not at the mercy of the weather and the finicky ocean," she concluded.
"But Daddy's always been a shipman. It's all he really knows," I protested in a low, scared voice.
"Nonsense. A man learns what he has to learn if he's a man. It's just been easier for your father to remain what he is. He's lazy, that's what."
"Lazy? Daddy?"
"Yes," she insisted. "Just because he works hard at what he likes doesn't mean he's not lazy. And he's not brilliant when it comes to investments. We should be twice, no, three times as wealthy as we are."
I was shocked at the way she spoke about Daddy. She often complained about this or that, but her complaints were never so vehement, so vicious. She was so angry and looked so hateful, it made my heart pound for Daddy. I was happy he wasn't nearby to hear all this, but I wondered if she hadn't said things like it to him before. Maybe that was another reason why he was walking around with a sad face so much of the time.
"But don't you just love having all this, Momma? The big ships, the glamorous cruises, all these wealthy passengers and . . ."
"LOVE IT! NO! I DON'T LOVE IT!" she screamed. "Thank God, I'm not on the ships that often. When you're on one of these extended cruises, you miss all the social activity back in Boston.
I
think the people who have discovered airplane travel are
right.
You get to your vacation resort quickly, enjoy it, and return, so you don't miss the important things at home.
"Anyway," she said, calming down a little, "I can't tell you enough times--never marry anyone who is a slave to his business, no matter how rich he might be or handsome.
You
have to come first, even if it means he might sacrifice a little money here and there."
"But . . ." She had just complained about not being rich enough, I thought, and now she was willing to sacrifice money. But she didn't care about her contradictions.
"The smart executive has people he can trust doing all the real work," she rambled on. "But not your father.
"Your father," she said pulling the blanket up to her chin, "is a peasant in rich man's clothing, I'm afraid." She turned her back to me and pulled the blanket nearly over her head. "I have to close my eyes and imagine I'm not here now, Leigh. Go on upstairs, but don't go fiddling around with mechanical things or go down into the engine room again."
"Yes, Momma. If you feel better, will you try to come to dinner tonight? It's a special dinner because we'll be in Jamaica tomorrow," I said.
"Thank God for that. I'll see. If I feel better," she muttered with little enthusiasm.
She really didn't come out of the suite until we sailed into Montego Bay and Daddy went down to announce we had arrived. It was a magnificent day, the kind the Caribbean islands were famous for--rich blue sky with only a passing cloud, a luscious warm breeze, and music everywhere. I was on the upper deck playing Ping-Pang with two girls I had met during the voyage, the Spenser sisters, Clara and Melanie, who were both about my age, so I didn't know what went on between Momma and Daddy below, but the next thing I knew, the porters were carrying Momma's luggage off the ship to a waiting taxi.
I watched in disbelief. Oh, Momma, what are you doing? I wondered. We weren't supposed to be checking into a hotel here. The ship was going to dock at the harbor for three days and nights. Passengers would disembark to shop and go to the restaurants, and then we would sail back to Boston.
Daddy signaled to me to come to him.
"Your mother wants to see you below," he said. He looked so tired and depressed with his sad, unhappy eyes cast downward at the deck. My butterflies started waking up, but this time they felt less like flutterings, more like birds flying and crashing around in my stomach. I was scared that I might be sick.
When I entered their suite, I found Momma dressed in one of her olive green, silk cardigan suits with a lily of the valley beaded pin on the bodice, a silk scarf and matching silk gloves. She-had her hair brushed back and up away from her face and put on her e: :shell white bell bonnet just as she turned to face me. The suite reeked with her jasmine perfume.
All the paleness and gloom was gone from her face. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips bright. She had put on all her makeup and even darkened her eyelashes. I thought she looked as healthy as ever. It was a miraculous recovery, and one that filled me with anxiety and dread.
"Oh Leigh," she said when she set eyes on me. "I've made a decision. I'm going back to Boston," she announced. Her words fell like thunder and my heart became a heavy lead drum in my chest.
"Back? But how, Momma?"
"I had the ship's captain inquire as to airplane schedules and found a flight going into Miami, Florida. From there, I will take another flight into Boston."
"But Momma, what about our vacation
in
Jamaica?" I couldn't believe what 1 was hearing, and what made it even more difficult to swallow was that she had already made all these travel plans, plotting here in the suite while I thought she was groggy and sick. "Why are you doing this?" I cried, unable to hide my disappointment.
"This has turned out to be anything but a vacation for me, Leigh. I'm not enjoying a moment of it, as you know." She straightened the fingers of her gloves. She was obviously determined to walk off the ship in style, knowing many people would be looking at her and wondering what was happening, since she was the owner's wife.
"But Momma, we're in the harbor now. We're not sailing. You won't be seasick."
"What about the trip back, Leigh? Do you want to put me through all that?"
"No, but I wanted us all to be together, to go shopping together and go to the fine restaurants and see the shows and swim in the ocean and . . ."
"Your father wouldn't have the time for much of that anyway. He wouldn't leave the ship. Don't you remember how we had to twist his arm to get him off the ship in London, and if we hadn't taken that tour, we wouldn't have seen half the city?"
"He arranged for the tour, Momma, and we had such a good time. I have all those pictures of us at London Bridge and Big Ben and the Tower of London. We did have a lot of fun there. We'll have a good time now, too. Please, stay with us, Momma. Please," I begged, silently praying that she'd reconsider.
"I can't." She turned away. "I'm sorry. I just can't. You'll understand later."
"Why? What do you mean?" My heart was in a frantic pitter-patter. Why later? What horrible news awaited?
"For now, just let it be, Leigh. Enjoy the rest of this vacation. I'll meet you at the dock when you return." She took my face between her hands and kissed my cheek. "Now, be a good girl and promise you won't do any repair work while I'm not around."
"Oh, Momma." I was crying now, crying so hard thought I might not ever stop, and I couldn't keep myself from calling her by the name from my childhood. Oh, why couldn't I be back in that happy, safe, childhood!
"I've left you some of my costume jewelry to wear on your nights out. Be careful with it." She absentmindedly stroked my head a bit but I could tell she was intent on her plans.
"Thank you, Momma." I lowered my head in defeat. Nothing I could do or say would make her change her mind. I felt so helpless and alone; but more than feeling sorry for myself, I felt sorry for Daddy. It would be so embarrassing for him to face his passengers once they all learned that his wife had left the ship and taken an airplane back to Boston. And he couldn't very well say she was so sick she had to leave. Looking like a fashion plate, she was walking off the liner. There could easily have been photographers from one of the glamour magazines snapping her picture as she descended to the dock. I decided right then to try hard not to embarrass him myself, to try to pull myself together.
"You're only going to be here three days, Leigh, and you have made some friends aboard, haven't you? You told me about the Spenser sisters and I had the captain report to me about their family. They're quite well-to-do.
"I'm only in everyone's way here," she added. "It's not fair to you and it's not fair to me.
Understand?"
I nodded, reluctantly. I couldn't believe she was making these feeble excuses to me. I didn't
understand. Why was she doing this? Why was she doing something that would hurt Daddy and me so much? It seemed the older a person became, the more difficult it was to be happy. Would that be the way for me as well?
"Good. Now help me leave. Take that small bag that contains my makeup, please."
We walked out together. I felt so empty inside. Oh Momma, it hurts so that you're leaving. Doesn't she care about us? I thought. There was something in the way Momma turned at the door to look back at the suite that told me she was saying "Good riddance."
I was surprised that Daddy wasn't waiting on the deck. How could she leave without kissing him goodbye? She didn't even look for him. She just started down the gangway to the dock and the awaiting taxi cab.
"Momma, where's Daddy?" My eyes looked frantically all over the deck, but he wasn't in sight.
"We said our goodbyes earlier," she replied quickly. She took the makeup bag from me. "Be a good girl. See you soon. I promise, I will make this up to you in ways you could never begin to imagine, Leigh."
It sounded like a good thing, but it frightened me even more to hear her say it.
She kissed me again and then hurried to get into the taxi, looking ever so happy when she peeked out of the window to wave. I stood watching her go off. Then I turned back to the ship. High up in the bridge, Daddy peered down, his face like the face of a stone statue--cold, lifeless, dejected, aged and worn by sorrowful times. He looked so gray and so old to me. The tears that streaked down my cheeks felt like drops of ice. What was happening to our happy, wonderful life? I used to believe the words "Once upon a time" had been created just for me. Now, I was afraid to include them in my own diary, afraid of what they had come to mean.
Even though I was angry at Momma for walking off the ship and leaving Daddy and me this way, I couldn't help but miss her. Whenever we had gone on one of Daddy's cruises, we always did so much together. It was so much fun shopping with her, and she would always find some fashionable place for us to lunch, no matter where we were. While we sat there, Momma would look about and comment about this one person or that, describing who she thought they were, what they did for a living, how much money they made, how sophisticated they were. Whenever I was with Mamma, people became interesting.
Mamma had a way of carrying herself in restaurants and stores when we were on vacation that made waiters and maitre d's and sales clerks think they were waiting on someone either very famous or royal. She spoke a little French and a little Italian, learning from the "Teach Yourself a Language" records she played over and over back home. Even if she mispronounced something or said something totally incorrect, she did it in such a way that the French person or the Italian person didn't correct her. And whenever she made a purchase or gave an order at a restaurant, she always made a point of leaning toward me and whispering something about what she had done, so I would learn from it.