Love Lies Bleeding (18 page)

“Mom, talk to me. I want to find out what happened to your sister. Tell me something, anything that might help me figure out all this.”

She nodded through her tears. A Kleenex box sat on a nearby counter, so he handed her a few and pulled up the chair next to her bed.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you before, Frank. I was ashamed.”

“Ashamed? But why? What could you have done that was so awful?”

“Not did. Said.” She sighed and lay back against the pillow. A plastic tumbler of water sat on the metal tray on the rolling table. She took a small sip before continuing. “It was several weeks before she disappeared...”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ithaca, New York
August 1916

“
C
lara, do come on. You’re dawdling, and at this rate, we’ll never make the show on time,” Maude urged her friend.

Clara Armbruster giggled as Maude pulled her away from the huge display window at Rothschild’s Department Store. Clara was Maude’s best girlfriend, and they had made plans to see
Hulda from Holland
with Mary Pickford tonight. Maude knew Clara had a special fondness for Pickford movies, since Clara had taken to wearing her blond hair in long, corkscrew curls like her idol.

It was a perfect summer night, and the breeze was pleasant for a walk to the theater. A quartet in the gazebo at DeWitt Park had struck up an old-fashioned waltz for the townspeople out for a stroll. Maude didn’t think she’d heard “The Band Played On” for some time. But it was more enjoyable than always sitting at home with her head in a book. She was determined to forget Libbie always having all the fun. Now she was going to have some good times of her own.

As she and Clara hurried toward the theater, Clara pointed ahead a block or so, to where the milliners stood at the corner of State and Cayuga.

“Maude, isn’t that your sister?”

Maude squinted a little, knowing she was in need of some spectacles from all the reading she’d been doing.

“You know, I believe it is.”

“Perhaps we should have her join us at the flickers. What do you say?”

Maude hesitated. She’d been looking forward to an evening out with just her friend and Mary Pickford. No Libbie, and none of her accompanying drama.

“Maybe next time. I thought we’d have some fun, Clara. You know, the two of us.”

“Maude Morgan, you’re the sweetest girl I know,” Clara said. “Should we stop in at the general store for some taffy or tootsie rolls? Please say yes.”

“I’m not sure if we have time. What do you think?”

“Sure we do. Besides, you know what a terrible sweet tooth I have.”

“Okay, okay,” Maude said, laughing. “Clara without her taffy is a sad sight indeed.”

The cheerful tinkle of the tiny bell on the door greeted them on their entrance to Mr. Killian’s store. They each bought a few handfuls of penny candy, including Clara’s favorite salt-water taffy. As the girls stood at the huge brass cash register, watching him ring up their purchases, Maude glanced out the window at the passing traffic. Libbie was now standing on the sidewalk, not far from the store’s front awning.

As Maude watched, a jaunty older Model-T pulled up, and Libbie got in. From the light cast by the streetlamp, Maude could see a dark-haired boy in a newsboy cap at the wheel of the car. It was not Stephen LaBarr’s auto, and she could tell it wasn’t Stephen driving. She wondered where Libbie was off to at this time of night with someone who was not her intended betrothed. Everything running through her head was an awful scenario. She had come to resent her sister of late but could not believe Libbie would be so intentionally cruel—to her, to Stephen, and to her parents. Who was this boy, and where was he taking her sister? As the car shifted into gear and chugged into the darkness with a backfire or two, she did not have much chance to further observe the mystery auto.

As the rest of the theater became engrossed in the story of the spunky Dutch girl who came to America with her brothers and fell in love with a poor artist, Maude’s mind raced. She had decided to live her life without the dominating specter of Libbie always looming over her, and now she was being reminded once again of her sister’s ability to have any man she wanted and live life by her own rules.

Could this be the poor boy Libbie had mentioned at dinner several weeks ago? Perhaps this meant Stephen might consider her instead. She couldn’t dare to hope, but by making herself available, she might be able to fix things. The not-so-nice part of her considered informing Stephen of her sister’s perfidy. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to do it. Maude knew that if put in the same situation, Libbie would have no qualms about moving in for the kill on whatever fellow Maude had ignored. But that was what made them so different.

As she snuggled into Tom’s shoulder, Libbie felt like she could climb a mountain. Now that they were intimate all the time, she had exhorted him to more and more. Eager for a second helping of what they had just shared, she ruffled his hair and moved beneath him again.

“I’m exhausted, Libbie. Give me a few minutes.” His eyes were closed, but he wore a huge smile.

He was so handsome, she thought. It was a shame she would have to end the courtship soon. With the official betrothal, things would become much more complicated. They could meet until Stephen returned from New York, but no longer. And they had to be very careful. Her mind wandered to the engagement dinner, the teas, showers, dances, and balls that would follow. There were so many choices.

Mint green was a pretty color for accessories, or butter yellow. She adored daisies; they were so cheery. Or perhaps pink roses. They would be stunning in bouquets. She should choose violets to bring out her blue eyes. And orange blossom, of course, for fertility. Shoes with bows on them were popular right now. She could imagine helping to sew her gown, tiny little seed pearls interspersed with the lace. How beautiful it would be…

“Libbie, if you could run away anywhere in the world, where would it be?” he asked.

“What?” Irritated at having her reverie ruined, she wondered what he was talking about.

“If you could travel. Escape from here and see anywhere you wanted. Where would you go?”

“Why? Where would you go?”

“I think it would be fascinating to travel to Africa. You know…the Hottentots and the jungles and all the wild animals. Lions and monkeys and elephants. Down the Zambezi on a riverboat. Maybe to Palestine to see the Wailing Wall. Or even head south to Patagonia or the Amazon, or to the Andes to go mountain climbing.”

“Why in God’s name would you want to do that?” she said.

Confused, Tom paused, wondering at the nastiness in her tone.

“Why, for an adventure, sweetheart. To see the world.”

“It’s too hot in Africa. There are mosquitoes, and yellow fever, and all sorts of other nasty things. Palestine has heathens. And doesn’t South America have cannibals and tribes that do human sacrifices? Why would you want to risk that? Besides, you don’t have any money. You’d never get farther than Buffalo.” She laughed.

“I know I’m a poor man. You don’t have to be rude about it. We’ve had this discussion before. I have ambitions, Libbie. You shouldn’t worry.”

“I’m sorry. That was terrible of me.” Embracing him on impulse, she regretted being so disparaging. But what did it matter where he wanted to travel? It seemed pointless to discuss it since he’d never go anywhere with no money. He had no funds to go anywhere important or do anything essential with his life. While ambition was admirable, it was his social status now that counted. And it didn’t come to close to meeting her aspirations. She was going to be a politician’s wife, after all. Stephen could even become a diplomat someday. He spoke French and German fluently. That would not only make them rich, but powerful as well.

When she was a married society woman, they would travel everywhere. She had already determined that she would see all the major world landmarks. This war in Europe couldn’t last forever. When it was over, there would be summer trips to the Riviera, Christmas visits to London, cruises down the Nile, Paris in the springtime, viewing the Acropolis in Greece, and seeing the Bridge of Sighs in Venice. She was already planning a new wardrobe from Poiret when his couture house re-opened after the war. In the meantime, she would comb Paris for the most incredible designs she could. She had even heard tell of a new couturier making revolutionary clothing at her boutique in Deauville. Designs that let women dress for themselves, in comfort and style, with boyish influences like sweaters and knit fabrics. And no corsets. It was hard to imagine, but Libbie was determined to visit the boutique and purchase some of the apparel. She had forgotten the designer’s name. Something Chanel, she thought.

As she worked herself into a cat-like stretch, arms above her head, and launched into an unladylike yawn, a glance at her hand told her something wasn’t right.

“Oh no! My ring!” 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“My signet ring! It’s slipped off my finger! Oh dear!” Frantic, she felt around in the dark for where it might have fallen off in the car.

“What does it look like?”

“What do you mean ‘What does it look like?’ I’ve worn it every time you’ve seen me,” she snapped. “It’s a gold signet ring!”

Stroking her hair, he tried mollifying her.

“Sweetheart, it’s too dark out here to see anything. I promise I’ll give it a good look tomorrow in the daylight. It may not even be in the car. Perhaps it’s in your room at home? What about when you bathed last?”

“Of course it’s not there. I would have noticed it at home. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps on the street, then. You’ve been shopping and to the nickelodeon. You told me just last week that you had seen that new Chaplin flicker. Perhaps they found it at the theater.”

“I suppose they might have.”

“Of course, my darling. Please don’t worry. I’ll help you find it.”

“Can you help me find something else?” She giggled, back to her good-natured self. Reaching down, she grasped him once again and guided him toward her.

Maude lay across her bed, contemplating what she had seen before the movie. Her room was a girlish sort of froth, with lots of lace, pink ribbons, and plenty of flowers. Maude loved nothing better than collecting flowers from her mother’s garden. She often had to take the leavings after Harriett found her favorites, but the sweet scents comforted her and the pretty blossoms made her smile. The fat fluffy peonies were her favorites.

She imagined what life might be like married to Stephen LaBarr. She was shy and withdrawn—not like Libbie—but she just knew that in such a marriage, with glamorous people visiting them and attending dinners at their home, she would grow into the social life. It wasn’t fair that everything went to Libbie. Just as she thought she might retire for the night, Maude heard a noise on the stair.

The front door groaned as Libbie closed it behind her in the cavernous front hall. Satisfied as it clicked into place, Libbie slipped off her strapped kid pumps to sneak upstairs unheard. She stuck to the carpet runner on the stair so as not to make any sound as she climbed up to her room. She’d just reached the second floor landing when she saw a movement from the corner of her eye. It was Maude.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Libbie snapped.

“Go,” Maude said, pointing into Libbie’s room.

“What is it?” Libbie said, annoyed now. The loss of her signet ring had ruined her evening, and she had no patience for Mousy Maude and her weepy tantrums at being second best and never getting anything she wanted. “I want to go to bed. Leave me be.”

“No,” Maude said, shutting the door behind them.

Libbie backed into the room and took a seat on the coverlet.

“Okay, Maude. Let me guess. You’ve begun a wonderful new book and you had to tell me about it. Or no, wait. You’ve seen a new Mary Pickford flicker and you must tell me about how sweet and virginal she was.” She blew out a breath and her hair took flight around her face.

“You can be so cruel, you know that?”

“Grow a spine, and maybe I’ll respect you a bit,” Libbie said, cocking her head and making a face at Maude. She tossed her shoes over into the corner of the room.

“I have a few more vertebrae than you’ve given me credit for, Libbie.”

“What are you talking about?” Libbie had pulled off her dress and stood in her chemise and stockings.

“Who is he?” Maude demanded.

“What do you mean, ‘who is he?’”

“The dark-haired boy who picked you up in front of the general store. That’s who.”

Libbie couldn’t help herself. Her mouth fell open in a gape. The little bitch had been spying on her.

“Got your attention, did I?” Maude said with a little smile. “I was in the candy store. And you were so intent on your paramour, you didn’t even see me.”

“It was…nothing. He’s just a classmate.”

“Malarkey. I saw you kiss him as you got in.”

“It was just affectionate. As I said, he’s a classmate. We went to the library.”

Maude glanced over at the small brass clock on the night stand. “He didn’t look like anyone I recognized from school. The library closes at seven o’clock. It’s now nine o’clock. What were you getting up to for the last two hours?”

“Maude, this is tiresome, and it’s not important. I don’t see what the problem is.”