Circled Heart (21 page)

Allen left immediately after Jennie’s sudden arrival, wishing me good evening with bland inflection. I watched him for a minute before closing the front door and thought that despite his words to the contrary, something did indeed trouble him. Perhaps he would have shared more information if Jennie hadn’t come bursting in.

In a short time Jennie reappeared in the front room where I was reading.

“What a change in a week, Johanna!” she exclaimed. “She sits up without any assistance, and I could understand every word she said. I’m so pleased!”

“Yes, Grandmother’s made wonderful progress the last few weeks, all due to Crea’s good work.” I motioned to the chair across from me. “Can you stay a while, Jennie, and tell me about your week? You sound like you were spoiled from the beginning, which sounds wonderfully decadent.”

Jennie didn’t sit down but moved from chair to table to sofa to bureau, touching the displayed photographs lightly and running a hand over the upholstery. The way she drifted around the room reminded me of a lovely butterfly flitting from flower to flower.

“You’d have felt guilty the moment you crossed the threshold, Johanna, and been in the kitchen organizing the servants into a labor union after the first meal. Eight courses and a fresh set of china for each sitting. I must say, though, that I adjusted to the extravagance quickly and easily. I suppose that makes me a weak, bad person but there you have it.”

Without responding to her words, I asked, “How did you get along with the Milfords of Boston?”

“They were charmed, of course. I made it my business to be sure they thought I had dropped down from heaven, intelligent but not too, innocent, thoughtful, and suitably appreciative of the honor implied by the invitation.”

“You scare me sometimes, Jennie. Is everyone like clay in your hands?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Milford want the perfect wife for Carl, and I was only granting them their wish. I was doing them a favor, Johanna.”

“So there’s to be a wedding?”

“Mother would like to think so.” Her answer seemed purposefully ambiguous.

“Your mother isn’t marrying Carl Milford,” I retorted sharply, “you are. Is a wedding what you want?” Jennie gave a harsh laugh that didn’t sound like her at all.

“Oh yes, Johanna. It’s what I want more than anything.”

I doubted her sincerity and was troubled by the tone of her words.

“Jennie, why don’t we meet for lunch and go shopping one day next week? I can get away, and I’d like to talk to you further. Now isn’t the time because if I know your mother, she’s hovering by your front door as we speak, eagerly waiting to hear all about your trip and it’s unkind to keep her in suspense.”

Jennie hesitated, then nodded. “All right, but I warn you, don’t try to give me advice, Johanna. I won’t listen to it, not even from you. I’m not sixteen and a schoolgirl any more.”

“I can see that, and I wouldn’t dare attempt to give you advice. I don’t have any answers to life’s questions. I’m simply in the mood for cream cakes and a new dress, and who better than you to share the indulgence?”

Jennie smiled at that, but I don’t think she believed me, and without a word adjusted her hat and pulled on her gloves. I waved goodbye from the porch as the automobile pulled away and saw her give a quick, almost grudging, wave in return. Really, I thought with a sigh, life was getting very complicated—with Crea and Jennie and Allen all acting in ways that were out of character and bordering on the mysterious. Not even Peter was his usual frank and open self. In earlier times I would have talked it all over with Grandmother and come away with a clearer understanding of the situation. Now I couldn’t burden her with any of it and must try to muddle through the mystery of human behavior on my own.

Oh, thou child of many prayers!

Life hath quicksands, - Life hath snares!

Care and age come unawares!

Chapter Ten

Jennie and I met the following week in the dining room of the downtown Marshall Field’s store. She looked in high color, dressed in a suit the color of buttercream that showed her slender neck to advantage and emphasized the strands of pale sun gold in her hair. Little gold hoops at her ears caught the light.

“How pretty you look!” I told her spontaneously. “As warm as sunlight. I’ve always envied your sense of style.”

Jennie observed me objectively. “You don’t have to envy that quality any more, Johanna. I don’t know how or when the metamorphosis occurred, but you’ve come into your own this summer. You don’t realize how many men turn around and give you surreptitious second glances. It’s not just your choice of color, though I’m relieved you’ve abandoned those pallid pastels. It’s something else. You aren’t in love, are you?”

Startled, I answered, “I don’t think so. If I were, I’m fairly certain I’d know it.”

“Don’t be so sure. Sometimes love can creep up on a person without warning or invitation.”

“Is that how it happened with you?”

“Oh very good, Johanna. Better than Mother, and she’s mastered the leading question.”

I had to laugh at her teasing tone. “I’m sorry. That was too obvious and not up to my usual standard of tactful prying.” I picked up the menu. “Let’s have lunch and you can choose what you want to tell me about your stay in Lake Geneva. I promise no sneaky questions.”

As we ate, Jennie described the house, the lake, and the family with an amused and uncharitable clarity that caused me to choke on giggles more than once.

“Please tell me you’re making these details up for effect, Jennie. I can’t imagine anyone is really that pompous or affected.”

Jennie drew herself up in her chair and pursed her mouth before she mimicked, “The Milford name has been known in Boston for two hundred years, and no breath of scandal has ever tarnished its shining respectability.”

“Jennie, I refuse to believe that anyone said those words with a straight face.”

“True, though. Carl would have you think otherwise, but he’s as much a Milford as anyone else in the family. He glared at me when I tried to point out that it was 1912 and if his family wanted to live in the past, perhaps they could at least move into the nineteenth century. Being only one century behind would show some progress, anyway.”

“Carl certainly gives the impression of a more progressive man. I’d have thought you and he were well matched.”

“Mm-mm, he’s funny that way. He likes to give the impression of being a man-about-town and he definitely likes a challenge, but he’s still a Milford. His wife must be above reproach, chaste, well-mannered, and preferably beautiful. I once asked him if it would matter if his wife was as stupid as a stick and he told me—very seriously—that intelligence in women was not held in high regard in his family.”

“I hope Mrs. Milford wasn’t present for that conversation, poor woman.” I gave Jennie an assessing glance. “Are you making all this up?” I wouldn’t put it past her to quote fictional comments she knew would raise my temper. With her sense of mischief, she would enjoy my reaction.

“Unfortunately, no.” No mischief in her tone, only something serious and sad so that I reached across the table to place my hand over hers.

“That doesn’t sound like the man, the family, or the place for you then.”

She carefully pulled her hand away from mine and without looking at me responded, “Mother has her heart set on it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Jennie, regardless of your mother’s aspirations, I know she doesn’t want you to marry unhappily. It’s not like you to act the martyr. You’re young. You have plenty of time to hold out for someone you truly love.”

“Love does not come into the picture, Johanna, not for Mother, anyway. You don’t know what it’s been like growing up in my house.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mother married Father for his name and for his finances. I believe she loved someone else, but that didn’t matter once she met Father. Ever since I was a little girl, she’s drilled it into me that I have the same obligation to marry well.”

“Jennie, Uncle Hal loves your mother.”

“Yes, he does. Isn’t that sad? I think he knew from the beginning that she didn’t love him in return, but he was willing to take the chance that someday she might. When you talk about your life in China, your mother singing for happiness, and the way your father loved her, I’m consumed by envy. It’s never been happy in our house ever, not like that, just year after year of obligation and guilt. Peter can escape to school but I’m not allowed. I’m trapped and there’s only one way out.” For a moment I was silent in the face of this bleak revelation.

Finally I said gently, “Your mother loves you, Jennie, and she loves Peter. She wants what’s best for you both. That’s worth something.”

“You don’t understand her kind of love, how it binds and suffocates and—and compels obedience. How it tires you out.” She was so impassioned that she stumbled over her words. “Love shouldn’t be like that, Johanna, so selfish and enslaving. I’ve lived with it for nineteen years and I’m tired of it. I’m going to give her what she wants so I can get away.”

“Jennie, if you don’t love Carl Milford—” My cousin stood abruptly.

“I don’t want to talk about this any more, Johanna. Are you serious about buying a new dress?” Just like that Jennie shut off the conversation. She looked at me steadily, daring me to pursue a topic she had obviously ended.

I stood, as well. If she was done with the conversation, I must be, too, at least for the time being.

“Absolutely. Something glamorous and completely inappropriate, and if I never have a place to wear it, that’s all right, too.”

“How unlike your frugal good sense, Johanna. Are you sure you’re not in love?”

I remembered the delicious feeling of having Drew Gallagher’s whispered voice against my lips, the anticipation of the warmth of his arms and his mouth. Not love exactly, I thought, but something related perhaps.

Jennie, watching my face, gave an unladylike chortle. “Oh my, oh my, Johanna. I believe you’re blushing.”

“I am not,” I snapped, but knew from the warmth in my cheeks that I probably showed some color.

“Is it your Mr. Goldwyn? He’s a very nice man and seems to spend a lot of time in your company.”

“No, Jennie,” I replied firmly. “If I were in love, which I’m not, it would not be with Allen. He’s a good friend but that’s all.”

“Then—?”

This time it was my turn to squelch the conversation. “I don’t want to talk about this any more, Jennie.” She caught the mimicked words and grinned as I continued, “Now, are you willing to help me spend an exorbitant amount of money on a completely unnecessary dress or aren’t you?”

We found the perfect dress I didn’t need at a small, elegant store well off the main shopping thoroughfares of Chicago. Jennie knew of the shop and led me there after several futile searches in the large, expensive retail establishments for which Chicago was known. The woman who met us at the door recognized Jennie and welcomed her with the warmth of an old friend.

“No, Claudette, nothing for me this time, can you believe it? We’re shopping for my cousin.”

Claudette stepped back and looked me over carefully from head to toe, her eyes moving so methodically she might have been following an elevator up and down my body. “I have one or two gowns that might do. What is the occasion?” Claudette spoke with an unnatural French accent that sounded artificial and slightly pretentious and which I found difficult to take seriously.

She probably came from no farther away than the lower east side, I thought unkindly, but I answered politely, “There isn’t one.”

“Yet,” supplied Jennie. “Johanna just wants to be prepared when her Prince Charming appears to sweep her off to the ball.”

Claudette gave a nicely human smile at that teasing remark and I immediately liked her more. After she brought out the amber gown, my esteem grew to enormous proportions. Claudette may never have been closer to France than the local can-can review at the corner theater, but she had an eye for fashion and a talent for design.

“This one, I think,” Claudette said. She carried a gown in a beautiful shade of amber over her arm, its rich brown silk georgette crepe threaded through with gold. While Claudette helped me dress in the fitting room, Jennie fidgeted outside the door impatiently and told me peremptorily to stop fussing.

“I want to see,” she complained loudly and then when I stepped out so she could see, was properly silenced. “Amazing, really,” Jennie said finally. “It’s made just for you, Johanna. The color couldn’t be more exactly the color of your eyes.”

I turned to face the full-length mirror. “You don’t think it’s just a little too—you know—revealing? I feel like I’m out in public in my chemise.”

“The style is very progressive,” Claudette agreed. “I’ve seen it in the most recent fashion plates from Paris, very simple, clinging, and elegant. A man named Paul Poiret is all the rage, and you are exactly the kind of woman to do his designs justice. Layers of lace and modest high-necked frocks do not show your figure to advantage.”

“Claudette is always right. Really, Johanna, you have a wonderful figure. For a small woman, I would even call it voluptuous. Why do you hide your gifts under a bushel?”

The soft, simple neckline draped low, showing more skin than was really proper and a swell of bosom that seemed to me quite risqué. The dress itself fell gracefully straight from a slight gathering of fabric under the breasts, no sash and no waist, every curve of my figure displayed clearly under the amber silk. Long full sleeves narrowed dramatically at the wrist, held in place by a cuff of fabric embroidered with the same gold that sparkled through the whole dress. Delicate gold embroidery outlined the neckline, as well, providing an illusion of jewelry, and as a final proof of the gown’s revolutionary fashion, vertical slits graced each side of the hem and revealed close-fitting, flounced trousers beneath. The dress’s exotic look was completely at odds with the sweet, high-necked, pastel innocence currently so popular in fashion and society.

“Do you honestly think I can wear this in public? People will think I escaped from a harem. I’ll be arrested.”

Jennie choked back a laugh. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be silly. What’s there to be afraid of? A dress?”

“Not the dress, Johanna, but how the dress makes you look. You’re afraid of looking like a woman, having the curves women have, being looked at by men who will know without any doubt that you have all of a woman’s parts and will enjoy speculating about what they’d like to do with them. How interesting! I never realized that about you before.”

“I am not afraid,” I repeated, but Jennie was more right than I wanted to admit. Despite progress, women were still patronized, repressed, mocked, undervalued, and abused and for many years I’d worked hard to avoid those offenses. Perhaps that’s why this flowing, elegant dress made me feel exposed and vulnerable. “Anyway, I’ll wear a corset underneath.”

“Dare you not to.” Jennie’s eyes gleamed, enjoying herself.

With as much haughtiness as I could muster, I told Claudette, “I’ll take it.”

“If you’d rather look at something else—”

“No. I have to take this one or my dear cousin Jennie will never let me forget it.” I smiled to soften the words. “I like the gown very, very much, Claudette.” To Jennie I added, “It’s safe enough to take your dare because I haven’t any place to wear it.”

Walking out of the little shop, Jennie stopped long enough to say, “I’m proud of you, Johanna. There’s nothing wrong with looking like a woman, and you might find that you enjoy the attention.”

“Being a woman is more than appearance and clothes, Jen. I’ve known women I consider truly remarkable, despite the fact they were wearing second-hand clothes and their hair had been cut with a kitchen knife. Their worth was determined by more than their outward appearance.”

Jennie held up a hand. “Don’t start one of your women’s sermons, Johanna. You’ll never convince me that your remarkable women wouldn’t love a new dress and a jar of face cream as much as anyone else. You’re so caught up in causes that you forget the simple basics. Women are all alike under the skin.”

“How can you say that?” I demanded, and we bandied the issue back and forth until Jennie found a cab home and I headed for the train station.

When the gown was delivered the next day, I looked it over one more time, appreciating even more its drape and color, and then put the garment in the back of my closet, where I was sure it would stay for a very long time.

Peter stopped by in September to say his good-byes before heading off for his final year at the university.

“I’ll still have two years of law school and the bar exam, but at least I’ll have finished my undergraduate work. I wish I could hurry the process along.”

“Don’t wish your life away,” I responded. “You’re still young. Will we see McIntyre and McIntyre on the door someday?”

“Probably not. Father’s corporate law holds no appeal. I’m more interested in criminal law.”

“Prosecution or defense?”

“Oh, defense. I like to be needed.” We walked up the stairs together toward Grandmother’s room where we stopped at her door.

“Crea’s been working on getting Grandmother out of that invalid chair, Peter. She’s so wonderfully patient with her and so encouraging! Don’t be surprised if Grandmother is walking with a cane the next time you’re home.” I knocked on the door and poked my head in the room to see Crea at the foot of the bed lifting one of Grandmother’s legs. “Peter’s here to say goodbye,” I said, then added to Peter, “Just go in. I’m going to talk to Mayville about menus, so pop into the kitchen before you leave and say a proper goodbye to both of us there.” I heard Peter call a cheerful hello before he closed the bedroom door behind him and I went in search of May.

After a cup of tea followed by a discussion with May about a quiet celebration for Grandmother’s birthday, I looked at the large kitchen clock in surprise.