Bittersweet (40 page)

This was the scene I recalled as I climbed those same steps one last time, the Dining Hall looming above me, the Winslows gathered inside to eulogize poor Indo in their way. Had my wild-goose chase of a summer been orchestrated by Indo? Had her introduction of the Winslow papers into my life, and the promise of a manila folder she knew wasn’t there, and the whetting of my appetite for the Van Gogh, and her handing over of Kitty’s journal, all been part of an elaborate test of my fortitude and stubbornness, leading to my inevitable search for proof of what the Winslows had stolen? Did she really believe that I, alone, could bring them down? That I’d want to?

She’d been right on the money; a juicy tale was my weakness. Perhaps she’d been correct to call that hunger greed. Despite my best-laid plans, I was now drowning in the cursed Knowledge of which she’d warned me. For better or worse, I was about to walk through those double doors and share it with as many Winslows as cared to hear it.

But then what?

I opened the doors to the sound of chitchat. The service had broken up, and the family was milling about, murmuring in low, respectful tones, snacking from the spread Masha had laid out at the far end of the room.

Even the children were subdued that morning, sulkily sucking their thumbs. One small girl noticed me, and then the next Winslow saw me, and the next, until it seemed as though the eyes of every one of them, young and old, had clapped upon me and wouldn’t let me go.

Birch conversed with a cousin on the makeshift stage. When news of my arrival reached him, he, too, lifted his head and took me in, his face revealing nothing. Beyond, Ev and Athol and Banning were gathered, and when they, too, noticed me, they showed me nothing beyond recognition. Ev and I were no longer what we’d been. At least I had Galway.

“Are you all right?” he whispered. His words upon my neck set
off warning bells, just as my stomach lurched with the questions the stamp on the Van Gogh insisted upon: How had the Winslows acquired that painting? How many people had died because of its acquisition? And, most pressing to my selfish mind: did Galway know about the swastika?

The Winslows bid one another solemn good-byes. No one spoke to me. But their reproachful glances as they headed out into the day were enough, as though they were the dead and I had invaded the underworld. In a few years’ time, when chronology and memory proved slippery, it might be easy to blame it all on me, on the outsider who’d infiltrated Winloch: Jackson’s suicide, the murders, Lu’s disappearance. But for now, I was just inconvenient.

The doors clapped shut. We were the only people left: Birch, Tilde, Athol, Galway, Banning, Ev. And me.

Galway cleared his throat.

Tilde lifted her head at the drinks table. She looked straight at me, sharp eyes piercing. The words she had uttered in the rowboat came back: “Do not mistake silence for blindness.”

“Wait,” I warned Galway. I didn’t want to stop him, not exactly, but I had a feeling this wasn’t going to go as planned. My time with Gammy Pippa had unsettled me.

But they were already upon us, five sets of eyes spanning the large room—father, mother, brothers, sister. And Galway was unstoppable—I could see it from the set of his shoulders. No amount of cautiousness from me would seal his mouth, not after years of biting his tongue, not anymore. The best I could do was stand by his side.

“We know what you did, Father,” he said, voice trembling.

Birch laughed dismissively, spurring Galway to advance in hate across the wide room. “We know that you murdered John and his mother because John found out he was your son, that you raped Pauline, Father, and you bought her silence by—”

“Stop it,” Athol snapped, stepping between Galway and their father, clenching his iron jaw. Shock had settled over Ev. I wished I’d had a chance to tell her, in private, how John had met his end.

“We have a witness,” Galway continued, slow and steady. “Someone who saw you put your hands around Pauline LaChance’s neck, Father, and wring it until she died, who saw you chase John LaChance onto the point and push him to his death—”

“Stop it!” It was Ev’s voice now, high-pitched and frantic. Tilde held her back. It was the first time I’d seen those women touch more than glancingly.

“It’s true, Ev,” I said, my mouth going dry. “Birch murdered John.”

“Don’t,” Ev spat, her face turning ugly. She was angry, I could see that. But I was just the messenger. In time, she would understand. I stepped toward her, to try to explain, but she cursed at me, spewing rage. She’d never looked at me with hate before.

“And the women, Father,” Galway continued, undeterred by our interaction. “Your sister, our maids, rape, incest—”

Athol struck Galway across the face.

“Children, children.” Birch chuckled evenly, as though breaking up an argument over a toy. He stepped between Athol and Galway, clapping his eldest son on the shoulder.

Galway dodged his father’s touch, taking my hand triumphantly, even though I could sense he’d lost momentum. “We’re going to the police. We’re telling them everything. That you’re a murdering, raping pig.”

“Birch,” Tilde said sharply, eyes darting between her husband and sons.

Ev pulled away from her mother. “She’s written terrible things about us, Daddy,” she blurted, winning her father’s attention. She was pointing at me like a village girl in the Salem witch trials. “She wrote letters to her mother, Daddy, I read all of them, about her plans to
steal our money.” I opened my mouth to protest, to explain, but her eyes narrowed. “I can’t believe I let you sleep in my house. She’s some kind of lesbian, she always wants to borrow my clothes, she’s probably been spying on me when I shower, who knows, maybe she wanted to skin me and eat me and make me into some kind of coat.”

Tilde murmured a doubtful response, and Ev pulled free, wagging her finger at me as the words cascaded forth. “And she made these collages—these sick, weird cutouts that she spent hours on. She made me do them too. Of everyone here, everyone in this room, making fun of all of you. There’s something wrong with her. She’s obsessed with us.”

Strong as I believed I was, prepared as I had been for Birch’s wretched words, Ev’s betrayal took me by surprise. I didn’t think I could bear her hatred. “Ev,” I began, stepping toward her with my arms up in a gesture of surrender.

“Don’t let her near me!” Ev shrieked like a banshee.

Galway tugged my hand. “Let’s go.”

But I couldn’t leave, not yet. I turned to Tilde. “I’m concerned about Ev,” I pronounced.

“Oh?” Tilde asked.

“I should tell you in private.”

“Anything you have to say to Tilde you can say to all of us,” Birch said shrewdly.

Ev’s growl was hardly human.

Let her loathe me. I was protecting her from herself. Not to mention defending that baby. “She’s pregnant,” I announced. Even as I said it, I doubted if it was true.

A yelp sharpened out of her. She doubled over. I felt wretched, if justified. But as we all looked to her, it dawned on each of us that she was laughing. Laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Ev gestured to her belly, trying to get words out as she giggled riotously. Finally she managed, “Do I look pregnant?”

“Ev,” I said firmly, remembering her flat belly on Bead Beach, “if you had a miscarriage, you should go to the doctor.”

“I’m not fucking pregnant, you psycho!” She was full of rage.

The world was beginning to buzz. “John was so excited.” I was starting to wonder if she’d even been pregnant. If she’d made the pregnancy up to keep him loyal, to get him to agree to run away with her. If she’d just been lying to him, using him, all that time. “She and John eloped,” I tattled.

She lunged for me. Galway shielded me. Her brothers caught her.

“Darling,” Birch said calmly to Tilde, until mother pulled daughter away, “why don’t you take Ev outside?”

But Ev and Tilde both shook their heads. Ev flung herself down along one of the couches and hated me from there.

Galway tried to regain the room. “We’re going to the police.”

“Son,” Birch replied, “think long and hard. Is that what you really want?”

Galway nodded decisively. “I want justice.”

“J
ustice.” Birch savored the word like a fine scotch. “Justice.” He smiled with grave benevolence, like a long-suffering priest, heartbroken by the sins of man. This stance exerted a strange power over us all. Athol and Banning stepped back and settled into chairs to watch from the sidelines. Ev pulled a pillow into her arms. Tilde leaned against the snack table, but not before she poured herself some wine. Was it my imagination, or was her hand shaking as she lifted the glass to her lips?

For the first time that afternoon, Birch honed in on me. “Mabel Dagmar.” His voice filled with false wonder. “Your parents assured us you were a sweet girl. Humble. That you’d perform well in the position we offered. They understood that your placement here was delicate. That, for all sorts of reasons, Ev wasn’t ever to know she was being chaperoned—”

“Daddy!” Ev declared sharply.

“My dear,” he chastised Ev, hardly lifting his eyes from me, “you’re the one who wanted to stay behind.”

I tried to understand what he was saying.

Chaperone.

Position.

Placement.

My ears were starting to fill with a cold, familiar, rushing sound. My soles felt cemented to the floor, as if stuck in the tarred, black mud that lined the river.

“You must admit, Mabel, you’ve done a terrible job on all counts! Seducing my married son!”

He interrupted himself, turning to Galway. “Poor Marcella,” he tsked. “Don’t you think even the illegal daughter of a whore deserves fidelity?” But before Galway could respond, Birch came back at me. “Nosing about in the business of my terminally ill sister! Allowing Ev to elope— Yes, Ev,” he chastised, diverting again, “I know about your little side trip, although, if you reflect upon it sensibly, do you really think a judge would be available for a marriage at ten thirty at night?” He turned to Tilde and chuckled. “They forget how many people I know.”

So he’d sabotaged John and Ev’s wedding and known about Galway’s wife? I felt myself shrinking in the face of Birch’s power, in how it made the world what it wanted. It was alarming to hear the scope of his reach. Especially when I thought of the swastika.

But he wasn’t done with me. “Not to mention spreading insidious rumors about my family. Dear Mabel! Your parents will be appalled.” He made a fist and frowned at it. Pulled a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and cleaned his nails methodically. The blade glimmered in the light filtering through the double doors.

Galway grabbed my hand. His fingers were a tourniquet. “It’s time to go.” But I was rooted to the spot.

Birch flipped the blade closed and pocketed the knife, secure in my attention. “This used to be a common arrangement.”

Galway pleaded, “Mabel—”

“An unmarriageable girl—an ugly girl—would serve as companion to the one with prospects. When it worked for the best, the situation could last a lifetime.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” I mumbled, but I didn’t believe myself. I remembered my mother’s phone call: “Be sweet.” I had taken those two words as an assurance. But what if they had been more exacting? What if she had only let me believe Ev was my friend so she could get her handler’s fee?

A look of calculated alarm crossed his face. “Oh dear, I see I’ve upset her.”

Was that what I was? Upset? The river was roaring now inside my head, chilling my body as the cold current seemed to rise around me. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I remembered that Galway and I had had a plan, and that I had knowledge I could use against the Winslows, knowledge Indo had instilled. But what it was, what it had been meant to accomplish, I could hardly put my finger on anymore. The only thing I could hold on to, despite my best efforts, was the concise, conniving sound of Birch’s rhetoric.

“Did your parents fail to mention our financial arrangements? Why, you’ve earned more for them this summer than they’ve made in the past year with that little dry-cleaning endeavor of theirs.

“It was Linden, old bat, who gave me the key. That pretentious tome you’re always carrying! I asked her what on earth a girl like you was doing with such a book, and she replied, ‘I suspect her fixation betokens a fascination with sin.’ ”

“Beware Lucifer’s rhetoric.” That’s what Indo had said that day, long ago, upon the Dining Hall stairs. I realized, too late, that she had been talking about her own brother. For he had rooted me to the spot—I was staying to find out how all this ended.

“Remarkable,” Birch continued, shaking his head as though in disbelief. “Remarkable that you would accuse me of unspeakable crimes!” He pulled his eyes from me and turned toward his family, passing his earnest gaze from face to face. “Your court documents are sealed. But you can’t walk away from what you are.”

“That’s it,” said Galway, forcefully taking my hand and pulling me toward the door. “Mabel,” he said sharply, grabbing my chin in his hands, “we’re not going to stay and listen to these lies.”