Family Storms (16 page)

“I used to wheel Alena out here when she was bedridden. Even though the poor thing had a hard time sitting up, she looked forward to it. Those were my last beautiful days with her, and I know she lived longer because of it. Look at what a beautiful afternoon we have for you, Sasha. There's even a breeze coming in off the ocean today. Feel it? I'll take you for a ride to the ocean soon, too. We'll go to lunch. I used to take Alena to lunch before she became too ill to travel.”

“Did you take Kiera, too?”

“Kiera never liked to go with us. Kiera may act tough, but she wasn't able to deal with her sister's illness and death. None of us really was, but we did what we had to do and for Alena's sake tried not to show our sorrow. It was better not to include Kiera.”

“Didn't Alena want her to come along with you?”

“Oh, yes, but I found an excuse for Kiera not to be coming with us most of the time. Neither Alena nor I would have enjoyed ourselves. Now,” she said, firmly changing the subject, “if we follow this path here, we can go around to the lake. I want you to see it close up. As I told you, Donald's very proud of our lake. He's always bringing someone in the construction industry here to see it, and it was featured in a prominent architecture magazine. When you are up and around, you can take one of the rowboats out. Did you ever row a boat?”

“No.”

“Well, maybe I'll go with you the first time to be sure you're safe,” she said. “After you start school, you'll probably make lots of friends and ask to bring them here. We'll ask that everyone wear a life vest, of course. The lake is seven feet deep and maybe deeper in some places.”

Friends?
I thought back to when I did have friends at school and when I would go to their homes or they would come to mine. It seemed so long ago that it was more like something I had dreamed. Would I have school friends again? All of them would surely be impressed if I brought them to the March house. The very idea of doing that set off all sorts of fantasies, but then I thought about Kiera
and her threats and predictions. Maybe my days there were numbered. Maybe as soon as I was up on my feet again, I'd be sent away. Why even think about it?

We stopped at the dock, and I looked out at the lake. It was so still. Down on the left, the trees were reflected in the water, giving it a greenish tint. Toward the other side, I saw terns. They were visitors from the ocean. The two rowboats tied to the dock looked brand-new. Mrs. March stepped up beside me, folded her arms, and looked out as if she had never seen it until now.

“Isn't it beautiful?”

“Yes,” I said. I hesitated but then asked, “Does Mr. March really want me here?”

She spun around and seemed about to say,
Of course.
Something she saw in my face made her pause. “Did Kiera say something terrible last night about her father?”

When you first meet someone, you can't help but wonder how much of the truth you should tell and how much you should hold back. It was something I had learned from the way Mama spoke to people, especially after Daddy had left us. Lying seemed to be an important way to protect yourself, and most people didn't seem to know or care that she was lying.

What should I do now?
I wondered.
Get Kiera in more trouble?

“I just wondered,” I said.

“It's not for you to worry about,” she replied quickly. “The reason I brought you here is to have your recuperation managed well so that you'll be up on your feet and get the opportunity to have a new, wonderful life. You let me worry
about the rest of it, Sasha.” She looked out at the water again for a moment before turning back to me. “I made a promise to your mother,” she said.

“My mother? When?” Had my mother been alive for a while and no one had told me?

“At her burial, at the cemetery,” she replied.

“Oh.”

“I promised her that I would look after you, and I won't let anyone stop me from fulfilling the promise.”

My daddy had made a lot of promises, I thought, and after we were thrown out on the street, Mama had made lots of promises, too. What was the real difference between a promise and a dream? Just like dreams, the day after, no one remembers them.

“Put your promises in writing,” Mama would tell Daddy. “Not that it would mean much more,” she would mumble to me.

A promise was a wish made of smoke, I thought. You could see it, but you couldn't grasp it, and you couldn't take it anywhere. You had to wait for the wind to see where it would go or if it would just disappear.

I had no doubt that Mrs. March wanted to fulfill her promise to Mama, but even she, sitting on top of that beautiful, rich world, was helpless when it came to putting her fingers around the promise of happiness when it was for herself and her family.

What could she really do for me?

12
Mr. March

T
wo nights later, I finally met Donald March. Mrs. Duval came up to my room to tell me that dinner would be served earlier than usual, and that Mrs. March had requested that I be brought down to the dining room.

“She said you should choose anything you would like to wear except a tank top. Do you need help with anything?”

“No,” I told her.

“Then I'll be back for you in twenty minutes,” Mrs. Duval said.

I couldn't help being very nervous, so nervous I could feel myself trembling. Kiera told me that her father would send me away, and although Mrs. March told me not to be concerned about it, that it was her problem, I still felt I'd be more uncomfortable in Donald March's presence than I would be sleeping in a cardboard carton. Maybe because we had had so little that anyone would want, neither Mama nor I had been terribly afraid out there. Everyone living in the street appeared just as unconcerned. Perhaps we all thought
nothing more could happen to us. Now I was in what had to be one of the most expensive homes in the whole country, if not the whole world, and I knew deep in my heart of hearts that much more could happen to me there.

I had a difficult time deciding what to wear. When I started to choose something, I stopped to wonder if it was too fancy or not fancy enough. I had no doubt that Kiera would laugh at me, even ridicule me, in front of her father if I made the wrong choice. He might look at Mrs. March and smirk as if to say,
How could you bring someone so common and stupid to our home? I don't care what your reasons were.

Because of my cast, I could only wear skirts or dresses, and I wasn't sure which dresses of Alena's were formal. Mrs. March had made such a thing of what I would wear when it was only the two of us. Why wasn't she helping me choose tonight? Wasn't this a more important dinner? Perhaps she wanted me to prove that I could make the right choice without her.

A full ten minutes had gone by, and I still hadn't decided. Mama would surely laugh at my panic attack, especially over something to wear, I thought, and finally reached out and took a plain-looking dark blue skirt and its matching short-sleeved V-neck blouse. I was surprised at how well the blouse fit me. Earlier, I had brushed and pinned back my hair with one of Alena's clips. I hesitated to take any more of her things. There was a beautiful gold watch, bracelets and earrings and rings, but I touched none of it.

Mrs. Duval looked pleased with my choices when she returned. “Ready?”

“Yes,” I said, and she wheeled me out to the elevator.

“Mrs. Caro has made an Irish dish that Mr. March favors. It's called Dublin Lawyer. It's made with lobster. Have you eaten lobster?”

“Once,” I said.

“Once? Well, you're in for a delightful surprise.”

The elevator doors opened. My heart felt as if it was shrinking in my chest as Mrs. Duval wheeled me toward the formal dining room. When we entered, I saw that they were all there and seated. Kiera wore a yellow keyhole-bust cap-sleeved top and a black skirt. I had seen other teenage girls wearing something like it lately and had wanted one for myself. She looked as if she had been born in hers; it fit her that well. As we drew closer to the long, dark wood table, I saw that her skirt was barely below her knees. She wore the most beautiful turquoise necklace I had ever seen and looked as glamorous as any young movie or television star.

How plain I look in comparison,
I thought, but then again, I never imagined ever competing with her, especially for her father's attention. I couldn't help but wonder if Alena had felt the same way. Two daughters not all that many years apart must have been vying for their father's favor constantly. Once Alena became seriously ill, that competition had surely ended with Mr. March doting on Alena. I remembered reading a story about two sisters in which one did become ill and the other, jealous of the attention she received, pretended to be ill herself.

Being an only child, I often wondered what it would be like to have a sister or a brother and to share my mother's love.
How could any mother have enough? It was clear to me that Mrs. March favored Alena, and Kiera perhaps still couldn't forgive her, even now, even with her sister dead and buried. Was that why she was afraid of my being there so much? I knew I wasn't any weight on her conscience, as Mrs. March had hoped I'd be. I wasn't sure she even had a conscience.

My gaze shifted to Mr. March, who sat at the head of the table with his elbows on the table, his hands clasped together, and I noticed his striking gold pinkie ring with a lapis, which I would find out later was his birthstone. He wore a dark blue velvet sports jacket and a black shirt opened at the collar. There was a gold chain around his neck with whatever was on it hidden under his shirt.

His light brown hair looked closer to blond. It was beautifully styled, with a slight wave in front. Against the color of his hair and his tanned face, his dark blue eyes were more prominent. They nearly matched his lapis ring. I could see that Kiera inherited most of her good looks from him, because the features of his face, his perfectly shaped nose and strong mouth, seemed as sculptured as hers were. He looked athletic, and later, when he stood, I'd see that he was a good four inches taller than Mrs. March.

He sat back when Mrs. March rose to take me from Mrs. Duval.

“Here she is,” Mrs. March said. She put me to the right of Mr. March. Kiera sat across from him, and Mrs. March sat on his left. “Sasha, this is my husband, Donald.”

“Hello,” I said, or at least I thought I did. My voice seemed trapped inside my trembling body. I saw that Kiera had a look of disgust on her face.

Donald March sat back, still studying me. “How's your leg doing?” he asked as a greeting.

“It doesn't hurt anymore.”

“Ugh,” Kiera said. “Couldn't she put a shoe on that foot?”

Mrs. March pushed me closer to the table. My broken leg just slipped under it so she wouldn't have to look at my foot. She glared at Kiera and took her seat across from me.

“You're putting her in Alena's place, you know,” Kiera said.

Mr. March raised his eyebrows as if he'd just realized that himself. The table could easily seat a dozen people. Why was Kiera sitting at the end? Shouldn't Mrs. March be sitting across from her husband?

“You could sit closer, Kiera.”

“I'm fine where I am,” she said. Then she smiled. “I can look at Daddy better.”

I glanced at him. He obviously liked that and smiled back at her.

Mrs. Duval began to bring in our salads. Mr. March sat forward again and lifted his salad fork. Was that all he was going to say to me? I wondered as he began to eat.

“Sasha is off to a wonderful start with Mrs. Kepler, who says she has no doubt she'll have her up to speed before the end of the summer,” Mrs. March said.

“Who's Mrs. Kepler again?” Mr. March asked.

“Her tutor, Donald, remember?”

“Oh, yes.” He looked at me and nodded.

“I hate talking about the end of summer. I can't stand the idea of it ending,” Kiera muttered. She pushed some of
her salad off to the side. “Look at this! I keep telling her I don't like beets and artichokes. Why can't they remember?”