Fallen Beauty (19 page)

“Farther.”

“A city, teeming with magic and energy. A fresh continent. A big world. A tiny planet. Just another universe.”

“And there you have it,” I said. “Our bodies are insignificant to the whole, but what we do with them, the energy we exchange, feeds some large thing. Don’t personalize it too much. Accept it. Revel in it. Find a new way to create these fresh connections. The worst thing you can ever do is to grow stale.”

“I can’t accept that,” he said. “Not with your flesh so near. When you go away, I will try.”

“Good boy.”

He buried his head in the pillow. His lean back and strong shoulders were all I saw. I ran my hand down his spine, and he pulled his head out. His hair was tousled and his eyes were sleepy.

“Once more,” I said.

He groaned with a grin, and dove into me.

I am back in the parlor of the guest cottage when Laura steals into my thoughts. I look around the room and think a wild thought: Could she and her daughter live here? I could offer her this place of respite from the town that shames her. She could create in freedom, her daughter could learn about the birds and the seasons, and, in the nights, gradually, Laura would grow comfortable with me, eat out of my hand, take me on her lap, and then to bed. This vision is so clear, I think I’ve nearly conjured it. I can almost smell her in the room with me, and my heart pounds in response.

A sharp wind rushes down the fireplace, sending ash over the room and blowing away my sweet fantasy. I cough and wave the air until I notice my reflection in the mirror. My hands are spotted and there is a fine dust on my hair. It is as if the past has disintegrated all over me. There is no youthful glow left, only my older self, ashamed that I cannot be what I was.

LAURA

Eugen came into the shop early the next morning, carrying a sled. He must have noticed my panic, as I watched to see if anyone had seen him enter.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I parked at the end of the street and walked on the opposite side. No one saw me.”

“Is my fear so easy to read?”

“Yes.”

Grace came down the stairs, holding Dolly.

“There she is,” he said. “The Duchess wanted me to send this to you.”

I had an impulse to refuse the gift, but Grace had already run over to where Eugen placed it on the floor and bounced up and down on it, begging me to take her sledding.

“It’s a brand-new Flexible Flyer. You can sit up and steer, or go headfirst.”

“Sitting up will be just fine,” I said.

“And there is a rope if your lovely mother would like to guide you.”

Grace jumped off the sled, left Dolly on it, and began pulling the sled over the floor.

“What is this for?” I asked.

“Pure bribery. I won’t pretend otherwise.”

“Another down payment?”

“Yes. But this time, she’s trying to get to your heart through your daughter.”

I appreciated his honesty and the gift, but I wanted him to leave.

“Well? Is it working?” he asked.

The clock tower chimed nine o’clock, calling my attention out the window. Few cars drove by, but some townspeople strolled on the streets, and shopkeepers began opening their doors. Gabriel passed the store and looked in the window, pausing when he noticed the man inside, but continued without stopping.

I thought of the Gypsies by the pond and people living so free. I couldn’t imagine any of those people caring about the silly judgment of a town. And I glanced at my work ticket book and saw that it lay open to the same clean sheet it had been on for weeks. This thing that Agnes had wanted, what I had feared—it was done. Clearly. I couldn’t turn Eugen down.

“It is working,” I said.

Smelling of spicy aftershave and tobacco, he smiled and wrapped me in an embrace. I kept my arms at my sides, and he pulled away. He held my shoulders with his big hands. Grace had stopped pulling Dolly and stared up at us, blinking behind her glasses like a baby owl.

“You are an angel,” he said.

“But you must leave,” I said.

“All right, all right. Just one more thing. When can I pick you up to discuss Vincie’s needs and make some designs?”

I glanced at Grace, trying to think what excuse I could make to convince Marie to watch her.

“Bring her,” said Eugen, as if he read my thoughts. “I promise, it’s safe. Vincie will behave.”

“Who Vincie?” asked Grace.

“The Duchess.”

“She have crown?”

“I’ll see if we have any polished.”

“How about this evening?” I said. “We’ll meet you behind the cemetery.”

“Yes! We’ll serve you dinner.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Please,” said Eugen. “Please, let us.”

“But I thought you dressed for dinner. We don’t have the clothes for that.”

“Tonight we will be casual. For you. Please. I have venison I’d love to have the cook prepare. You will dine with us, and design dresses, and it will be perfect. Five o’clock, behind the cemetery.”

“Auntie!” said Grace.

My heart began to race as I pivoted to see if she’d come in the back.

“No. There.”

“Go!” I yelled to Eugen, hustling him to the kitchen and out the back door. When I returned to the front room, Marie was about to enter.

“Grace, go upstairs and get ready for sledding.”

“But . . .”

“Now!”

She looked hurt that I had spoken so harshly to her, but she lifted Dolly and obeyed. Marie entered a moment later, and her eyes went immediately to the sled.

“Are you taking Gracie sledding today?”

“Yes,” I said. “Just got this new sled for a song.”

“Where?”

“Oh, I ordered it.”

Marie narrowed her eyes and looked as if she wanted to ask more, but changed the subject.

“Those choir robes are gorgeous,” she said. “Everyone is saying so. Has it brought in any more business?”

“Some,” I said, thinking of Millay with guilt.

“That’s a relief. Well, I’m on my way to the market. Can I persuade you and Gracie to come to dinner? Since it’s Advent, I’m trying to be a more forgiving wife. Everette and I haven’t fought in two whole days.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “But, no, thank you. I have some leftovers I need to eat before they go bad. You and Everette should take this time to get to know each other again.”

“I suppose,” she said. “It seems better than the alternative. Sometimes. Well, enjoy your sledding and dinner.”

“Thank you.”

Marie left, and started for the market, and I finally felt as if my heart had stopped beating so fast. It seemed ironic that Marie was working on remaking herself during Advent while I was working at sewing gowns for an adulterous witch. I knew I shouldn’t go to Millay’s house and I scolded myself for agreeing with Eugen so easily. I thought that perhaps I wouldn’t show up at five behind the cemetery, but my eyes again found the empty appointment book, and I knew I would meet him.

•   •   •

O
n the climb to Steepletop, Eugen took the roads a bit more slowly with Grace in the car, but not much. I had her pressed to my left side, while I held my satchel with my drawing materials on the other. The flutter of excitement that I felt at showing Millay the designs gave me the courage not to ask Eugen to turn back, but I wanted to many times.

Grace expressed her excitement at riding in their car, and chattered about the snowy woods in the dark. I hadn’t figured out how I’d keep her from telling Aunt Marie about the visit. If I told her it was a secret, she’d be even more likely to slip. I would worry over that tomorrow. First, I had to make it through tonight.

When we arrived, the house was dark upstairs and looked almost vacant. Candles glowed through the downstairs windows, and the scent of wood burning in a fireplace hung in the air.

“It’s dark,” said Grace.

“We don’t have electricity up here. Just a few appliances powered by the generator. Maybe someday we will. Vincie likes it primitive for now.”

Grace nuzzled closer to me, as if she was scared. I didn’t blame her.

The dogs greeted the car as it slowed to a stop, and Grace dislodged herself from my side and stared at them through the window. When Eugen opened the door, they licked her face until she giggled, and reached for me to carry her.

Eugen showed us into the foyer and took our coats to hang by the door. I noticed that the gun was not there, but Millay’s riding boots were in their designated place, alongside a well-worn saddle. It had been so long since I’d ridden a horse, and I remembered how I had loved the sensation of sitting high, racing over the grass with the wind in my hair. My father’s friends at the dairy had let us ride anytime we wished. I wondered how often Millay rode and how many horses she owned. Did she need a smaller breed to accommodate her diminutive size?

We entered the dining room, and Grace’s eyes grew wide at the elaborate display before us. Polished crystal and silver glinted from the table and sideboards and a cheerful fire burned in the grate. The table settings of orange plates painted with witches leaning over steaming cauldrons amused me. How fitting. Grace and I were directed to sit on either side of the set table, but Grace would not let me put her down, so I kept her on my lap.

“I’ll go and inform Vincent that you are here,” said Eugen.

He disappeared up the stairs, and while we waited, I pointed out the shell collection, the witchy plates, and the tapestry in the corner. Grace ventured off my lap to get a closer look.

“Bad guys,” said Grace, pointing to the demonlike figures on the wall hanging.

“They are meant to scare away the bad spirits,” said Millay. She entered with the pageantry of royalty, again having donned the gorgeous purple robe, and spinning in a circle for Grace’s amusement. Grace walked over to her without fear and ran her hands over the velvet.

“Didn’t your mother make me the most beautiful robe?” she asked.

“Yes. I say purple.”

“I remember,” said Millay. She motioned for Grace to take the chair at her left, which she obeyed, to my surprise.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you agreed to come here,” she said, walking to her seat at the head of the table.

“Thank you,” I replied. “And thank you for the sled. We had fun today.”

Eugen pulled out Millay’s seat, and moved her to the table. Then he went and sat on the other side. Once the lord and lady of the house were settled, a man and a woman entered with small steaming tureens of tomato soup, garnished with fresh, warm fennel bread, followed by a course of greens, and then tender venison rubbed with garlic and rosemary. The meat nearly melted in my mouth, and it interested me to learn that Millay had killed the deer for our feast.

“Have you ever hunted, Laura?” she asked.

“Never,” I said. “I don’t think I could.”

“You should try sometime. As humans, we do, after all, have dominion over the beasts. When necessary we must take their power to nourish us.”

I glanced at her, and back at the food, conscious that every word out of the poet’s mouth had many meanings.

“I’m glad there are those who can stomach the act,” I said, “for I am happy to enjoy the fruits of your labors, but I would not want to fire the mortal shot.”

“Someday I will take you hunting with us, and you will see that you not only can do it, but also enjoy it. Power is its own drug.”

Throughout the evening, the goblets seemed to refill themselves. I allowed myself to indulge in the wine. So deep in the woods, the Boissevains had no need to hide from law enforcement, and had the means and privacy to enjoy alcohol whenever they desired it, which seemed often by my observation. Grace ate more than I would have guessed, but grew restless and began inspecting the paintings and furnishings in the dining room before venturing into the living room. I called her back, but Eugen insisted that she was fine to explore, even when she began experimenting with the keys on one of Millay’s two parlor pianos.

Millay lit a cigarette and listened to Grace’s noise for a moment before speaking.

“I could have been a great pianist,” she said, “if only it weren’t for my hands.”

I glanced at the tiny freckled fingers tapping the ash from the cigarette, and noted their graceful lines.

“What’s wrong with them?” I asked.

“Only that they are too small to reach far along the keys. It became impossible, really. I tried to stretch them, but it didn’t seem to work.”

“But they have found their home resting in paper notebooks, scribbling marks that make magic meaning of these words we speak,” said Eugen. “So I must be glad that you were designed exactly as you are.”

Millay smiled and blew her cigarette in the opposite direction of where I sat.

“This is all distraction,” she said in a sudden harsh manner. “Damned small talk. Did you read the sonnets? What do you have to show me?”

I stared at her for a moment, sensing that I must not jump the moment she asked it of me. I was determined not to act her serf.

“I have read what you sent me,” I said, taking a large gulp from my goblet and finishing what was left of my red wine. Soon the cook had refilled my glass and vanished into the background.

“And?” said Eugen. “What did you think?”

I thought of the words she chose as symbols, used over and over. Words like
dust
,
feather
,
heart
, and
moon
. Words with weight that moved through one’s lips with clarity of meaning. I could not translate into words my feelings of love and loss that had arisen when I had read the sonnets, so I finally left the room, pulled the sketchbook out of the satchel, and presented my notebook to her. When she gasped, I knew I had pleased her. Her tiny hands flipped through the pages, and her eyes misted over as she took in each design.

“Fit for a goddess . . . Oh, that color, I would have never thought it, but it is perfect. . . . This will be heavy, but the slits will give me air. . . . Silver, over and over. Cool blues. Trimming in feathers and pearls.” She placed her small hand on the book. “Laura, this is exquisite.”

“I wanted to conjure the recurring images of the moon and the night in this one,” I said, running my fingertips over the silver cape trimmed in pearls and lined in pale blue.

She flipped to another sketch.

“And here,” I continued, “I know it’s dramatic with the white feathers on the trim, but there are so many bird and flight images—the swans, thrushes, the winged heel, nests and cages. . . .”

“It is perfect,” she said.

“Or here,” I said, flipping farther back, unable to contain my enthusiasm. “Black on forest green, black vines crawling up from the hem, so dark they nearly blend in.”

“How will I choose?” she asked. “Uge, do you see these?”

Eugen winked at me and drained his glass. Millay closed the book, rested her hands on the cover, and reached for me. Because I felt warm and loose from the wine and the pleasure of having designed costumes pleasing to a discerning and demanding client, I took her hand, unafraid.

“You have no idea how these will elevate my readings,” she said. “So many people think a reading is just words, volume, timbre. You and I know that it is more, that I can’t become the persona on the page, I can’t complete a transformation without these clothes to assist in my metamorphosis.”

I knew she spoke the truth. It was something I’d sensed for a long time, and knew it applied to more than just the stage. It had taken a sequestered, lascivious, half-drunk poet to help me fully understand this. What did that make me?

Later that night, after Millay had played the piano for me and Grace, after they’d fed us chocolate cake and digestifs, chosen their designs, and lined my satchel with money to cover fabric and half of the labor, Eugen delivered me and Grace home safe and unmolested. He left us at the end of the block and watched us until we entered the shop. Grace had fallen asleep on the ride home, so I carried her up to bed. I could not rest, however, and my fingers itched to begin creating the gowns. Without fabric, I was unable to do anything, so I forced myself to put on my nightgown and prepare for bed.