The Fire Night Ball (18 page)

The phone was ringing off the hook.

“Mill's Creek,” said Marlena. “Merry Christmas.”

There was silence on the line.

“Hello? Harry, is that you? Harry, please don’t hang up.”

Click.

She remained in bed most of the morning, paralyzed in her mind as to what to do.

Should she have an abortion to save Harry's neck? Keep the child and hope for Harry's cooperation, betting on her deepest longings? What about the pink house? Stay put and fight for her heritage, saving her ancestral home from destruction? Or fuck them all and flee to the Keys with the lesbians?

When she emerged at noon, she went straight to Chloe, who was in her study.

“What’s up?”

“Everything. I need your help,” she said. "May I intrude?"

"You're never an intruder. Would you like to sit or lie down?”

Marlena took a deep breath and sat down in a chair.

Then she told Chloe what had led to this juncture, beginning with the start of her relationship with Harry at the Algonquin to finding out she was pregnant on December 20.

“It seems I've become a public disgrace. I need to fix it. Tell me what to do.”

“The choice needs to be yours,” said Chloe. “It’s an important one. Don’t look at just one angle. Primarily, you need to decide what you can manage and what you can’t.”

“Have you ever known anyone who had an abortion, Chloe?”

Her cousin swallowed hard. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that. I myself had one, when I was a young woman. It ended badly, but that’s because it was the back street version.”

“Omigod. Was it Harry’s?” blurted out Marlena, before she could think.

“Heaven’s no! Whatever put that idea into your head?”

“Well, Faith said you and Harry, when you were younger, almost ran off together. I put two and two together….”

“And came up with the wrong answer," Chloe said flatly.

Marlena felt a surge of gratitude, and this gave her a sudden ray of hope, that Chloe was the one who could pull her out of the quagmire of indecision.

“What would you do? Oh, please, just tell me what to do!”

“I can’t,” said Chloe.

"Sorry," Marlena said miserably. "So much for self reliance and forging ahead. It's embarrassing how frantic I am for a rescue."

“Ask yourself some thoughtful questions. What do you want your life to look like a year from now? Can you make room in your life for a child? What would parenting add or take away? There's no guarantee Harry won't fall into the category of low male parental involvement."

Then Chloe repeated what she’d told Faith, that whatever choice Marlena made, she would help her carry it out.

“That helps," said Marlena. "Dr. Ron has been very kind to me as well. He’s offered to help no matter—well, you know.”

“There’s someone else who’d like to be on your team, who’s waiting in the wings.”

“Really? Who?”

“Your mother, dear.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean…Faith knows?”

“Yes, she does.”

“How? Who told her?” Marlena glared suspiciously at Chloe.

“She figured it out for herself, after finding pregnancy vitamin pills in your bathroom. I told her she should get a job with the C.I.A. It runs in the family, you know.”

Marlena was confused. “What does?”

“Decoding messages, outwitting the bad guys. Cassandra volunteered for the civilian corps during World War II. Because of her facility with the English language, she was trained to be a decoder. She looked for hidden enemy messages in the American press.”

“Huh. Daddy and I used to play games where he’d leave coded messages for me. He’d write upside down and backwards on a mirror, and I figured out that if I held up another mirror, I could read the message."

"I wish I had your facility with words. Or Faith's. Or Cassandra's. I struggle writing my books."

"That's surprising, Chloe. I’ve never heard a better oral storyteller than you are. I would really like to have the full story on why you never married. May I hear it one day? You never know when we’ll be together like this again.“

“Why? Are you planning to leave us soon?”

That evening, the four women enjoyed Annie’s supper of corned beef and cabbage with boiled potatoes and carrots. They talked about the upcoming party as they dined casually in Annie’s nook, which is what Chloe called the kitchen ell.

Then they took their coffee into the parlor. It was as if a seemingly impregnable wall erected by decades of misunderstanding and resentment had finally been knocked down and the three kinswomen saw each other clearly for the first time.

Faith was the first to plead weariness. After she’d toddled off upstairs to bed, Marlena turned to Chloe.

"Cousin, you’ve accomplished a minor miracle with your ancestral voices. I’ve bought into the connection between my own dilemma and Cassandra’s, hook, line and stinker--the stinker being moi."

"You're no stinker."

"I have been. But I know now a happy ending is more likely if one isn’t intent on being selfish. I do have a question. Were Cassandra and her lovers truly accursed? Or is that an old wives' tale? It does seem as though every man she made love to ended up in an early grave."

“That was coincidence. Unfortunately, it played into the hands of rank superstition. I think of Cassandra’s life as a story of growth and redemption through increasing connectedness. That word may resonate with you now you’ve heard the truth about her. As for the curse and the witch-hunt, well, those practices are unfortunately common among those who are compelled to heave the first stone. Truly, they are poor in spirit and not God’s emissaries, as they believe.”

“I get it. Ultimately Cassandra triumphed over adversity and a community of unforgiving souls. She sure made herself a tough act to follow, even for an upwardly mobile sinner like me.”

December 24, 1977

Marlena had set her alarm clock on its radio setting. She awoke to the voices of Alan Alda and Marlo Thomas on a NPR Christmas Eve show, telling the tale of Atalanta for young listeners--Atalanta being a fleet-footed princess from Greek mythology who roamed the entire world. The message was that girls needn't stay put because of their gender.

About fucking time.

Still, she didn’t approve of re-crafting traditional myths to promote a modern belief system, feminist or otherwise. She’d take her Grimm tales unfiltered and bloodcurdling, thank you. Meddling with the classics was against her religion.

Then a thought, willy-nilly, popped into her head.
If my baby’s a girl, Atalanta would be a cool name.

Marlena, she told herself, don’t be perverse and, for God’s (or Goddess’s) sake, don’t get bloody sentimental over the little intruder, especially when her father doesn’t yet know of her existence
. Get a grip!

She took out her list and wrote two sentences: “Call Cheyenne abortion clinic today and ask questions. Find Harry!!”

Would Harry come with her and hold her hand while she got the uninvited lump of cells vacuumed out of her? No way, never in a million years. She would have to rely on Chloe for that unpleasant task.

Was an abortion her get-out-of-jail-free card? Afterward, she could roam the world like Atalanta.
Why did Lila Drake come to mind at that moment?

While Marlena was dressing to go out, Annie knocked, then poked her head through the door and told her Dr. Ron Huddleston was downstairs, waiting on her.

“Ron is here for me? Seriously?”

“He don’t seem to be in any hurry. I invited him in for coffee.”

“Perfetto. Where’s Chloe?”

“Making her rounds at the hospital."

"Seeing patients who are having the holiday jitters, I suppose. Poor suicidal slobs. Tell Ron I’ll be down in a jiffy.”

“I’ll put another pot on. And then I’ll make myself scarce.”

“You’re a dear.”

Ron smiled as Marlena swept in, provocative in a laced blouse and Capri slacks.

“I didn’t know doctors still made house calls.”

“As I told you, your case is special.”

She poured them both a cup of coffee, enjoying the strong aroma, one of the few that didn’t cause an acute wave of nausea. She added cream to hers.

“Good,” he said. “I like to see that calcium alongside the caffeine.”

“It must be hard being a doctor and seeing all the awful things people do to their bodies.”

“Sometimes it's hard."
It's hard right now
. Ron coughed into his hand. "You raise an interesting point, though.”

“Which is?”

“We should be spending more time on prevention. Fixing problems is a job best done by specialists, but too many GP’s let their egos rule their practices.”

“How do you prevent people from getting diseases in the first place?”

“Many are preventable, like colon and lung cancer. Early detection and quitting smoking are key. But how many GP’s insist on their patients getting colonoscopies? How many don’t blink an eye when their patients continue to smoke?”

“My father died of a preventable disease.”

“What was that?”

“Alcoholism.”

“Yes, that’s a big one. By the way, that leads me to one thing I came to talk to you about.”

“Alcoholism?”

“Every drop you drink goes into the fetus. There's a lot of new evidence that suggests a connection between fetal abnormalities and alcohol consumption by the mother.”

“So you’re saying I need to go on the wagon or else have a baby with two heads.”

“Hate to be a wet blanket before the big party, but I’m hoping you’ll limit yourself to a glass of wine and chase it with soda water. I felt guilty afterwards about leading you down the wrong path by meeting you for a drink. Very selfish of me.”

“What if I don’t intend having this two-headed baby?”

“Then of course you only have yourself and your own liver to worry about. So has that been the final decision between you and the father?”

“The father hasn’t weighed in yet. In fact, he doesn’t yet know he's the father.”

“Lena, please don’t take offense at this question. Is there an issue about paternity?”

“Oh, no. There isn’t a mystery. I know who he is, all right. He just doesn’t know I’m that way."

“But why the delay in discussing it with him?”

“It’s a case of bad luck and crossed signals. I haven’t heard from him, and I haven’t been able to connect with him, though I’ve tried." She sighed. "How I’ve tried.”

Ron looked into her eyes.

“Let me do it.”

“What?”

“I told you I'd help. I'll track him down and deliver him to you, with a gun to his back if necessary. We have our ways, here in the Old West.”

She laughed ruefully. “Well, hopefully nothing that draconian is required. I forget you’re a cowboy at heart, Ronnie.”

“Just say the word and this cowboy will lasso him for you, Lena.”

"You would really traipse around town? In this weather? For me?”

“Of course. There’s no way I’m going to let you to walk around on that ice, not in your condition.”

She looked into his steady, grey eyes. “Why, I believe you really mean that, Ron.”

"I do, Lena. Try me.”

She took a deep breath.

“All right. I’ll tell you who he is. But I must swear you to secrecy. A lot rides on keeping this quiet. And I don’t want any morality lectures from you. The man is married and he’s local. Do you swear?”

“I so swear,” Ron said solemnly. “I’m not one to deliver lectures on morality. That’s not my area. So, who’s the lucky guy?”

“The father is Harry Drake, as you may have suspected.”

“I didn't. Never met him, in fact, though I've heard of him.”

She scanned his face for disapproval, but could detect none.

“I’ll go over to the hotel this afternoon, after rounds. Shouldn’t take long, man to man. I’ll make sure Drake shows up or calls you, whichever you want.”

“My sources say he’s taken the rest of the week off and is at his home with his wife at Drake’s Roost. I’ve already tried once to find him there. I flopped, miserably.”

Ron shook his head, his lips compressed. It was the first time she’d seen anger on his face since he caught a fellow classmate heckling her on the playground and promptly thrashed the big bully.

“My God, Lena," he muttered. "You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“I left him a message to call me, days ago. He knows where I am. But so far he hasn’t tried to phone me here, as asked. I’m stumped.”

“Perhaps when he calls here, someone else answers and then he hangs up. Chicken shit thing to do. Sorry, Lena. I can see from your face you don’t like it when I say anything against him, so I’ll cool it. ”

"You're right, though, Ron. What we need is a signal system, so he knows it's safe to call me. How about this? I’ll stay by the phone at one o’clock. He should ring me for three times, then hang up. When he rings the second time, I'll know it's him, and I'll immediately answer."

"I'll call him at home today and tell him the signal system."

Fleetingly, it flashed on Marlena's mind that a system of signaling had existed between Cassandra Vye and Curly Drake, involving pebbles thrown into a pond or against a window.

Their secret system had ended up costing Drake his life when they got their signals crossed one fateful night in 1901, and he misinterpreted a holiday bonfire as her signal light.

But before Marlena had a chance to tell Ron to forget the whole thing, that it was too dangerous for him to get involved in, he was buttoning his coat, hot to trot.

On the other hand, she thought, if fate was stepping in, there was no way of knowing what random series of events would trigger either disaster or victory. Fate, after all, was inexorable as well as random. Ron had volunteered for this mission, and she needed the help. Shrugging off an intuition of disaster, she decided she would let matters take their own course and not try to second-guess her destiny.

“Thanks a million, Ronnie.”

"Suddenly I feel like Dolly Levi."

The young doctor had put on his galoshes. Marlena assumed he was in a hurry to head for the hospital. In fact, his sense of urgency was directed at carrying out a mission for the woman he loved.

“Ron, come here for a second,” she commanded.

He walked over to her side and leaned his head down quizzically. A piece of auburn cowlick grazed her cheek, giving her a sensory thrill that tingled into her toes.

Marlena reached up her arms and grabbed him by the neck, kissing him full on the lips. The buzz between them surprised her. She drew back and murmured, “Thanks for being my knight in shining armor.”

“Any other tasks I could do around here? How about chopping wood? I can come back when I’m done with my rounds.”

She laughed.

“You’re doing quite enough already. Besides, we have Apollo here to cut wood, and I’m afraid he’d be quite put out by having any competition.”

“Yes, but I’d do anything you say for another of those kisses.” He beamed at her in such an eager way that her eyes dropped.

“Get along with you, Eagle Scout. Besides, I’m practically an old married woman twice over. You’re wasting your breath.”

“Is that a fact?”