Blackberry Winter: A Novel (26 page)

“There,” he said, reaching for my hand.

“I don’t know,” I said, suddenly feeling unsure.

“Come on, don’t be scared. You’ll love being out on the lake. There’s nothing more peaceful.”

“All right,” I said, taking his hand. He steadied me as I stepped inside and sat down with a thud on the wooden bench, narrowly missing a bird dropping. Charles sat down in front of me, tucking each oar into the appropriate slot.

“Now, don’t you worry,” he said, securing the oars into position. “I was a lifeguard at the club every summer during college.”

He rowed out a few hundred feet. I watched in awe as the boat carved its way through the lake, slicing through the water like a knife through soft butter. A heron, startled by our presence, squawked in disapproval. It dragged its feet along the water, disrupting a colony of pale green lily pads before becoming airborne.

“It’s beautiful out here,” I said. “How lucky you were to grow up with
this
in your backyard.”

“I’m not any happier for it,” he said.

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“People think that wealth buys happiness,” he replied, pointing back up toward the lawn. “Spend a night in that house, and you’ll see otherwise.”

I gave him a confused look.

“Mother is always in a mood,” he explained. “Father locks himself in his study, and when he’s not there he’s at the hotel. And Josie is, well, Josie. She’s always been troubled. When she was five, she nearly burned the house down.”

My heart began to beat faster.
Could she have been the child my own mother took care of?
I sat up straighter. “What do you mean, she almost burned the house down?”

“I was in school then,” he said, shaking his head as though the memory came with disturbing baggage. “Josie was cared for by a governess. One day when Mother was in town Josie managed to light the curtains on fire with a candlestick. She almost burned the house to ashes. Mother dismissed the woman on the spot, of course. But it wasn’t her fault. Josie’s always been devious like that.”

“Oh,” I said, reeling.
So my own mother took care of Josephine!
I shook my head, remembering the way Mother had complained about the little girl in Windermere. I’d grown to resent the girl who occupied my mother’s time and attention, and when she’d lost her job with the family, I was glad, even though it meant we might not eat.

“What is it, Vera?” Charles asked, sensing my distant stare.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said, trying to purge the memories.
Does Josephine know who I am?

“Anyway,” he continued, “you can see why I wanted to spend as much time out here as possible. As a boy, I was always out on the lake, or following Joseph around. Father was much too busy with his business endeavors.”

Charles pulled up the oars and we glided for a few moments. I held out my hand, letting it skim the water. A white lily tickled my palm and, on a whim, I lifted it a few inches from its watery home.

“Look,” I said, indicating the stunning blossom.

“Careful,” he said, gently tugging my hand back. “They’re fragile, these lilies.”

I smiled at him curiously. “You’re the only man I’ve ever met who cares for flowers.”

Charles shrugged. “I suppose it was Joseph’s influence.” He turned his eyes back to the lake. “Lilies are special. They haven’t always been around these parts, you know. I found the first one right over there when I was a boy. Just one. Joseph showed me. Each year there were more. And now…” He waved his hand toward a point in the distance, where scores of white flowers the size of my hand bobbed on the water. “Well, just look at them.”

“They’re breathtaking,” I said, grinning at the sight before us.

“They’re picky about where they’ll grow,” he said. “Too much or too little sun and
pft
, they perish. They’re shy, lilies. Shy and prideful.”

I smiled.

“Delicate, too,” he said. “They won’t hold up if you pick them. Josie used to come out here with her friends and gather them by the armful, just for the heck of it. An hour later they’d shrivel on the dock.” He paused, clearly disturbed by the memory. “I hated to see them die that way. For nothing.”

I glanced back at the lake. The ripples on the water jostled the lilies up and down, like schoolchildren playing in the surf.

“They’re happy out there,” he said. “When you take them out of their home, they suffocate.”

The wind had picked up, and it was whipping my hair into a matted mess. I replaced a fallen clip just as a raindrop hit my cheek. “Oh, no,” I said, feeling another on my arm.

Charles reached for the oars. “We’d better get back.”

By the time we reached the dock, the sky opened up and unleashed its fury, rendering any attempt I made to preserve my hair futile. Still, I tried, in vain, to reshape my limp curls. My waterlogged dress clung to my body. I tugged at the fabric self-consciously, hoping it didn’t accentuate the increasing roundness of my stomach, even if I was the only one who could tell.

“Look at us,” Charles said after tying the boat down. “A couple of drowned lake rats.”

He took my hand and we ran together across the lawn toward the house. I hated to think of how I looked. A glance into the gold-rimmed mirror ahead confirmed my horror. Rouge streamed down my cheeks like pale pink watercolor. My hair hung, flattened, in soggy tufts.

“Oh, dear,” Opal said. “Greta!” she barked. “Find Miss Ray some dry clothing in the guest quarters.”

“Come with me, Miss Ray,” the housekeeper said. I followed her down the hallway, conscious of every drip falling from my dress onto the hardwood floors, buffed to shining. We turned a corner and Greta opened a door on the west wing of the house. “There should be an extra dress in here,” she said. “The family has frequent weekend visitors. They keep the wardrobe well stocked.”

It seemed odd to think of people coming to stay without packing bags, but perhaps this wasn’t a concern for the well-to-do. Wherever they landed, things were simply provided.

Greta held out a cream-colored dress with a low neckline. “This looks to be your size,” she said, holding it up to me. “I hope it fits.”

I would have wished for a more elegant garment. The dress looked lumpy and large at the waist. I worried how I’d appear when I met Charles’s father. Greta peeled my wet clothes from my body. I avoided her eyes when she unfastened my corset, torn under the left arm and dingy from being washed so many times in salvaged wash water. Laundry soap was a luxury my roommates and I could not do without, but we pooled our resources and stretched every ounce.
She dresses the ladies of the house in their French silk lingerie, so what will she think of me, wearing such rags?

Whatever her thoughts, however, she kept them private, dutifully handing me a fluffy white towel. I wrapped it around my body. Its thick, soft fibers blunted the chill in the air, halting my shivers. Greta produced a set of spare undergarments from the nearby dresser. “I’ll hang these”—she ducked to pick up the pile of soggy rags—“out to dry. That is, if you do want to keep them?”

I nodded meekly, embarrassed by the exchange. She stepped out to the balcony, and I sat down on the bed.
What a strange world Charles comes from.
I felt like the lilies on the lake—out of my element, frightened, gasping for breath in these new surroundings.

Greta returned and helped me slip into the corset, a size too small; it squeezed my breasts together uncomfortably. I worried I looked like one of the call girls who frequented the saloons on Fifth.

“Are you sure there isn’t another corset in the drawer?”

Greta shook her head. “It’s the only one.”

I stepped into the dress, and after she fastened the buttons, I took a long look at myself in the full-length mirror near the bed. My breasts bulged out of the low-cut bodice. The fabric didn’t taper down like the yellow dress I’d arrived in. Instead it hung from me like a paper sack.
How can I go out there looking like this?

Greta didn’t seem to sense my concern, and if she did, she didn’t let on. “Here,” she said, handing me a hairbrush and a washcloth in her practiced way.

“Thank you,” I said, running the brush through my tangled locks, setting the clip in place as best as I could. I took another look at myself and sighed.

Greta’s eyes met mine, and for the first time, I detected a glimmer of compassion. “Don’t be ashamed of where you come from, Miss Ray,” she said softly.

I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant, and her words warmed me.

“Now,” she said, “shall I take you back?”

I wanted to scream,
No, don’t make me go back in there! I can’t face them looking like this!
But I nodded, held my head up high, and followed her out the door. In the hallway, when I thought no one was looking, I tried in vain to pull the dress higher on my chest.

“There you are!” Charles called from behind the piano. “Come sing along with us.” Josie sat beside him, mouth gaping as I approached. Whatever she knew or didn’t know about me, I decided not to care. Instead, I remembered what Greta had said and held my composure.

“Hello, Josie,” I said as sweetly as I could muster. She wore a mauve dress with a fashionable drop waist. Diamond earrings dangled from her lobes.

“Hello,” she said icily. “Charles and I were just singing the song of our alma mater. Would you like to join us? On second thought, perhaps we should sing yours. Where did you go to high school?”

I looked at my feet as they stared at me expectantly. “I, I…”

I felt Charles’s comforting hand on the small of my back.

“I didn’t attend,” I said meekly. Greta’s words rang in my ears.
Don’t be ashamed of where you come from.
“I had to drop out to go to work. My father died, and Mother passed shortly after.”

Josie feigned concern. “Oh, you lost
both
your parents?”

“Enough music for now,” Charles said, salvaging the moment. “I’m starved.”

“Your father will be here in a few minutes, darlings,” Opal crooned, looking at me with an amused expression. She took a final swig from her goblet, stopping at the bar to fill it again. I watched as an amber-colored liquid flowed from a crystal decanter. “Let’s make our way to the dining room.”

The table, clad in white linen, gleamed with polished silver and crystal. I sat down in a chair next to Charles. He squeezed my leg under the table. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.

I patted my hair, still damp from the boat trip, as Charles’s father walked into the room. “Opal!” he barked. “I don’t know why you insist on taking dinner at seven thirty every night when the rest of the world dines at six.” I stared straight ahead, trying to remain inconspicuous, as someone hovered behind me, ladling soup in a shade of mint green into my bowl.

“William, this is Charles’s friend Miss Ray,” Opal said, gesturing to me.

Charles’s father sat in a chair at the head of the table and tucked a napkin into his collar. “You didn’t say you were bringing a dinner
guest, son,” he said. But when he turned to face me, he smiled. “And such a pretty one.”

“You’re too kind,” I said, feeling the urge to cover my chest with the napkin on my lap.

“I’ve been wanting you to meet her for a while now,” Charles said, reaching for my hand. “I—”

“Mother,” Josie said, interrupting, “do you think the cook put a bit too much salt in the soup?”

Opal nodded. “I ought to fire her. Everything that comes out of that kitchen tastes like brine.”

“Oh, Mother,” Charles said. “It’s not that bad. I rather like it. And besides, isn’t Mrs. Meriwether the breadwinner for her family? I believe Joseph said she’s a widow.”

William cleared his throat. “You’ve taken a liking to widows these days, my boy,” he said, turning to Opal. “Just last week he suggested that I offer free room and board to a woman from the city and her five children.”

I remembered Laura from my building and gave Charles a knowing look.

“Next, you’ll be asking me for tuition money for her children to attend Yale.”

Josie laughed.

“Your brother has a heart of gold,” he continued. “If he had his way, he’d give a handout to every commoner in this city.”

William turned his gaze to me again. “Miss Ray,” he said, “I don’t recognize your name. Who are your parents?”

Josie glared at me, but I refused to make eye contact with her.

“They’re both deceased, sir,” I said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” William replied.

Opal snapped her fingers and a young woman in a white dress
and black apron scurried from the kitchen. She held her head low as Charles’s mother instructed her to clear the plates. “Yes, ma’am,” she said quickly.

She piled the soup bowls onto her tray, and stopped suddenly when our eyes met across the table. “Vera?”

It took a moment before I recognized her in the maid’s uniform, but the familiar face of a childhood friend shone through.

“Sylvie,” I said self-consciously, immediately wondering what Charles’s family would think of the exchange.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“I’m…” I felt all eyes in the room burrowing into me. My cheeks burned.

“She’s here with me,” Charles said, filling the awkward silence.

“Well, would you look at that,” Josie sneered. “Two friends reunited. Vera, tell us, is she a friend from the dance hall?”

Charles’s parents stared at me disapprovingly as I set my napkin on my plate and stood up.
How could I ever think I’d fit into this world?

Tears blurred my vision. No, I would not let them see me cry. I lifted the hem of my skirt and ran, down the hallway and out to the foyer, where I let myself out the front door. I sat down on a stone bench on the porch, contemplating my next move. Moments later, I heard the creak of the hinge behind me. Expecting to see Charles, I turned, and was disheartened to find Josie standing beside me with a satisfied smile.

“He’s in there explaining to my parents that he’s proposed to you,” she said, shaking her head at what she obviously believed was a laughable idea. “You should see Mother. She’s devastated.” She looked back to the house and smirked. “I know who you are, Vera Ray,” she continued. “I knew your mother, too. I assume you’re a thief like her. Like mother, like daughter, right?”