The Blue Bottle Club (10 page)

Suddenly it all came clear to Tish, and Philip Dorn didn't look so handsome to her anymore. He looked, instead, like a pampered, arrogant rich boy more concerned about his reputation among the elite than about his intendeds feelings, or any empty promises he might have made.

"You don't have any intention of marrying me, do you, Philip?"

He blanched. "Letitia, as I said, this isn't the time to discuss this."

"It is the time. It's the only time. Now, answer my question."

"I've been wondering if it might not be the best for both of us if we waited a while—you know, postponed the wedding until—"

"Until what? Until some miracle happened and we were rich again, suitable to your station in life?"

"You're raising your voice, Letitia. Please don't shout."

"I'll shout if I want to!" she countered. "And don't talk to me about what's best for
both
of us. You're thinking about what's best for you, admit it!"

"Letitia, I beg of you, don't make a scene." He turned his face from her and muttered under his breath, "Mother was right. You are just like Maris."

"Just like Maris?" she repeated. "The woman, you mean, who is only good enough to serve canapes at your fancy parties? Just like Maris, who was just a little less sophisticated than you and your type wanted her to be?"

"You have to admit, Tish, that our circumstances have changed since your father died."

"Yes, circumstances have changed.
You've
changed, Philip. Or maybe you haven't changed at all. Maybe I'm just seeing, for the first time, what an insufferable snob you really are!"

"There's no need to be nasty."

"Of course not," Tish sneered. "God forbid that we should say what we really think. Why don't you, Philip? Take a chance. Say what you mean; for once in your life be honest. I was an acceptable match for you as long as my father had the money and the big house and the reputation. I was stupid enough, and awestruck enough, that you were sure you could mold me into your little image of what a society lady should be. But then something happened. Daddy died." She paused. "No. Daddy
killed himself.
And you couldn't be expected to sully your good name by marrying the daughter of a man who committed suicide. The daughter of a woman who now has to work for a living."

Philip opened his mouth to protest, but she kept on.

"Well, let me tell you something, Philip. My mother has more class than all your uppity society people put together. And she has something else too. She has courage. Moral courage. She tried to fit into your world because she loved my father. Now that he's gone, now that the money is gone, she
will
make it on her own, mark my words. And I can only hope, Philip, that you're right—I hope to high heaven that I do turn out to be just
like Maris.
Because she is the finest, bravest, most loving, most compassionate woman God ever created."

Philip got to his feet and looked down his nose at Letitia. "Fine. Go on, become like your mother. Cook for a living, or do whatever it is you working people do. But don't come crawling back to me after this little exhibition of temper."

She stood up, gathered her bag, and stalked to the door. "Good-bye, Philip."

"Haven't you forgotten something?"

She turned. "What?"

He extended one hand, palm up, and sneered at her. "The ring?"

Tish looked down at her finger, still adorned by the diamond solitaire Philip had given her that magical Christmas Eve night on the patio. For a brief moment, a wave of regret washed over her. This had been her dream, her one shining hope for the future. Now, as the diamond winked in the light of the chandelier, she felt the regret subside, replaced by an overwhelming sense of purpose and power. She stiffened her spine, jerked the ring off, and held it out toward him.

"This ring, Philip? The ring that represents all the promises you made to me, all our hopes and dreams for the future?"

He took a step forward. "Let's have it."

"A real lady would return it, I suppose," she said softly

"Certainly." He smiled at last, showing his white, even teeth and deep dimples. "No hard feelings?"

"Of course not, Philip." She returned his smile and dropped the ring into her handbag. "No hard feelings. I do hope you enjoy Atlanta." She turned on her heel and jerked the door open.

"Wait a minute!" he called after her as she ran down the steps and out into the street. "What about the ring?"

Tish paused and gazed at her surroundings. Spring was coming. Birds were singing, the sun was shining, and the sky was a bright Carolina blue. She wheeled around to see him standing on the porch, his handsome face a bright shade of red.

"I earned it, Philip!" she shouted, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. "I'm just a working woman, remember? Just like Maris."

Then she swung the bag high over her head and began the long walk home, laughing all the way.

9

THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

Y
ou did
what!"
Mother stopped in the middle of chopping onions and stared at Letitia as if she had grown two heads.

"I went to see Philip Dorn," Tish repeated. "To ask him if we could get married right away."

"Tish, no!" her mother wailed. "I know things are difficult for you right now, and all this is a big adjustment, but how could you go crawling to him? His mother has hired me to do the food for her parties, for heavens sake!"

"I thought that maybe, if we could go ahead and get married, you wouldn't have to—"

"Wouldn't have to humiliate myself in front of our former friends?" Mother pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and sank wearily into a chair at the table. "Whether you marry Philip, and when, is your business—once you're of age," she sighed. "But you might as well know one thing, Letitia Randolph Cameron. I'll not be taking one dime of the Dorn money unless I work honestly for it. Not if you married Philip and became the wealthiest woman in Buncombe County."

Tish waited until the tirade had subsided. "I'm not going to marry Philip, Mother."

"And furthermore, if you think for one minute—" She stopped. "What did you say?"

Tish smiled. "I said, I'm not going to marry Philip."

"You're not?"

"I'm not."

Tish's mother cocked her head and gave her daughter a quizzical look. "When did all this happen?"

"This afternoon. If you'll just keep quiet for a minute or two, I'll tell you about it."

Mother wiped her hands on a dishtowel and nodded. "I'm listening."

"As I said, I went to see Philip, intending to suggest that we push the wedding up. But he was so . . . so snobbish, so superior! He didn't say it right out, of course, but it was clear enough he had no intention of marrying me now that—" She paused, groping for words.

"Now that your father is dead and we aren't rich anymore?"

"That's pretty much it, I guess." Tish smiled and shook her head. "You always have been direct and to the point, Mother."

"One of my many failings as the wife of a wealthy aristocrat."

Tish gazed at her mother as if seeing her for the first time. Flushed from the warmth of the oven, her cheeks bore a rosy glow and her hair, slightly disheveled, curled in disarray around her forehead. She looked at once ordinary and beautiful. And happy. Tish didn't think she had ever seen her mother happier.

"Was I like that—you know, self-important and snobby—when Daddy was alive and we were part of that circle?"

Mother bit her lower lip as if considering her answer. Then she said, "Yes."

The truth stung, and tears sprang to Tish's eyes.

"I'm sorry if that hurts, honey, but it's the only answer I can give. I love you—I've always loved you—but you did tend to get caught up in the aristocratic way of life. I prayed, almost every night, that you would come to your senses before it was too late, before you became like—well, like Alice Dorn. But of course a mother can't say such a thing; you wouldn't have listened anyway. You had to find out for yourself."

"Well, I certainly found out some things today." Tish went on with the story, telling her mother how Philip had treated her. She considered leaving out the part where Philip insulted Mother and accused Tish of being just
like Maris,
but in the end she related that part as well.

Much to her surprise, Mother laughed. "He said that? Said you were
just
like Maris!"

"He didn't mean it as a compliment, Mother," Tish protested. "But I'll have to admit, it's exactly what I needed to hear."

"And what did you tell him?"

Tish felt a flush of warmth creep up her neck. "Well," she said hesitantly, "I wasn't very, ah, ladylike. I told him that you had more class than all the uppity society people in his circle put together. And that you had something else—courage. Moral courage, I think I said. And that I hoped to high heaven I was just like you, because it was the best thing that could ever happen to me." Letitia averted her eyes as embarrassment washed over her. She had never admitted such feelings to herself, let alone to someone else. But she knew, just as she had known when she shouted the words in Philip Dorn's handsome face, that they were true.

When she looked up again, Mother was sitting there, dabbing at her eyes with the dishcloth.

"Are you crying, Mother?" Tish reached out a hand.

Her mothers strong, lithe hand closed over her fingers, and she shook her head. "It's just the onions." She smiled. "Did you really say all that to him?"

"Yes." Tish looked into her mother's eyes, no longer ashamed. "I did. And I meant it. Every word of it." She shrugged. "I don't know, Mother, I just saw something today, something that made me so mad. Philip didn't care about me; he just cared about having a girl who fit into his mother's plan of what a society lady—his wife—should be like. I was the same person—exactly the same person—he had claimed to love. The only difference was that now I didn't have Daddy's money to back me up. And in his eyes, that put me on a level with some scullery maid. I saw disgust in his eyes, Mother, and heard a condescending, smug tone in his voice that raked over me like fingernails on a blackboard. Suddenly he didn't seem so handsome, so desirable. And when he insulted you, well, that was the final straw. I knew I could never be the girl he thought I was, what he wanted me to be. And to tell the truth, I didn't want to be. I just wanted to be—to be loved for myself, to be—"

Without warning, tears welled up in her throat and choked her. For the first time since Daddy's death, the full force of her losses overwhelmed Tish, and she began to sob. When she felt her mother's arms go around her, her initial reaction was to resist, to steel herself against the embrace, to be strong. But she couldn't do it. At that moment she was not a young woman nearly grown, old enough to be on her own. She was a child, a little girl who needed her mommy's love. She let go, buried her face against her mother's shoulder, and wept.

Tish didn't know how long she sat there, crying. But when the tears at last subsided, she felt her mother's hand stroking her hair, heard a quiet voice whispering in her ear, "It's all right, honey. I'm here. Let it out."

Exhausted, Tish struggled to sit upright. Mother pressed a handkerchief into her clenched fist and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I don't know what that was all about."

"It's about loss," her mother said softly. "You've lost so much, darling—your father, the only way of life you've ever known, and now Philip—"

"Philip!" Tish snarled. "I can't believe I ever thought I loved him!" She blew her nose and exhaled heavily. "I won't miss him, that's for sure."

"Yes, you will," Mother said firmly. "You will miss his attention and feel keenly the loss of all the plans the two of you had made. But you'll get over it. Eventually."

She pulled Tish's head to her shoulder and began stroking her hair again. "Grief is a difficult process, honey. It doesn't happen all at once, but in stages, a little at a time. You think you're over it, that you've moved on, and suddenly it comes on you again—the sadness, the anger—"

Tish sat up a little and looked at her. "You were angry? With Daddy?"

Mother nodded. "I still am, sometimes. Oh, not because of the money. But because he took away the one thing that I really wanted—his presence." She gazed out the kitchen window to the edge of the garden plot where the purple crocuses grew. "I loved your father a great deal, Letitia. I still do. But sometimes I also hate him. Hate him for leaving like that, without a word of good-bye." She hugged Tish tighter. "We'll be all right, honey. But we both know things will never be the same."

Tish straightened up and swiped at her eyes. "But you seem so—so happy. So content here, in this little house."

"In some ways, I am. This kind of life is much more to my liking than the opulent society your father introduced me to. Your young man was right, honey—I don't belong in that world."

"He's not 'my young man,' Mother," Tish corrected. "He's an overbearing, spoiled rich boy who doesn't know the meaning of love. I never want to see him again."

"Perhaps. But you'd better prepare yourself for the fact that you
will
see him again. And you
were
engaged to him, so you'll have to get used to the idea of people talking about it. Especially since your mother is now"— she grinned broadly—"a low-class working woman."

In spite of herself, Tish smiled in return. "With a low-class working daughter." She squeezed her mother's hand. "I just want you to know that I will help you," she said. "With the catering, I mean—the food and parties and all that."

"I know you will, honey. And I suppose we should start making some firm plans. After all, you'll be graduating in a few weeks."

"The first thing we need to do," Tish said, "is learn to drive Daddy's car."

"Both of us?"

"Both of us." She raised one eyebrow at her mother. "I'm not going to be a society wife carted around by a chauffeur. I'm going to be doing the chauffeuring. Do you think we can afford one of those little billed caps and a dark suit?"