The Sisters Montclair (20 page)

Alice said abruptly, “Don’t settle for a life you don’t want.”

The girl stopped talking. She gazed at her in confusion. “What?” she said.

Alice looked down, embarrassed that she’d spoken aloud. But then she thought better of it and she raised her chin and said fiercely, “Women don’t have to settle these days.”

The girl turned her face to the fire, thinking about this. “Did you settle?” she said.

Alice stared at the flames and said nothing. It was easier sometimes just to pretend she hadn’t heard.

Outside the French doors the sky was darkening ominously. Huge trees swayed in the wind.

“There’s another storm coming in,” the girl said.

“I’m not worried.”

“Storms don’t frighten you?”

“No. You get to be ninety-four and death loses its sting.”

That wasn’t true, exactly. You never got over your fear of death; you just became more accepting of its inevitability. Religion helped some. As a child, Alice had felt herself protected from death and all its tragedy. She had thought of God as a grandfatherly figure, cheerful and benign, but as she grew older she had imagined him stern and judgmental, prone to pick favorites. After Sam’s death she saw him as cold and distant, more enthralled with creating the world than with actually governing it. Lately she was coming around again to the idea of a kindly, St. Nicklaus-type figure, a benevolent God who looked down on the world and all its follies with humor and patient sadness.

“We have so many tornadoes in Alabama.” Stella put her head back against the chair, drawing her feet up under her. “I used to dread them as a child. I used to have this recurring nightmare where I was crouching in a ditch in a field and far off in the distance, I could see a tornado coming. It was a big black shape coming steadily toward me. I was filled with this intense fear, and yet paralyzed too, knowing there was no place I could run, no place I could hide to be safe.”

“You never know when tragedy will turn to good fortune,” Alice said unexpectedly. Sometimes what came out of her mouth surprised her.

The girl stared at Alice, a slight smile on her lips. “No, I suppose not.”

“After all, infirmity brought you into my life.”

The girl’s face crumpled suddenly like a box left out in the rain, and she dropped her eyes and turned toward the fire. Despite her reaction, Alice could see that she was pleased.

Elaine arrived a short time later and the feeling of warm companionship in the room instantly evaporated.

“There are trees down everywhere,” Elaine said, sliding out of her rain coat. “And even reports of a few fatalities.” Her eyes were bright, her face flushed. Elaine was thirty-seven years old and she lived with her Evangelical Christian parents in a trailer on the back side of Signal Mountain. A tornado with fatalities was the most excitement she could hope for.

“There have been storms in the past and there’ll be storms in the future,” Alice said flatly. Her whole attitude had changed the minute Elaine walked into the room.

“Not like this one,” Elaine said.

“Just like this one,” Alice said stoutly.

Elaine shook her head. She paused, as if checking a mental list of recent catastrophes. “I don’t remember one with fatalities.”

“Oh? How about the storm of 1974? How about the flood of 1973?”

“We’re talking about tornadoes, not floods.”

“We were talking about storms.”

“Well, I better get going,” Stella said, rising. If this went on much longer, she’d wind up refereeing a catfight. And she had a pretty good idea who would win. She turned to face Elaine. “You say there are trees down. Can I get down the front of the mountain?”

“Yes, they’ve got the main roads open. But the side streets are covered in debris. You’ll need to take a left out of the driveway, take a right, and then follow it down past the water tower to Bragg. Then take a right on Bragg to Scenic Highway.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“The expressways are clear. I don’t know about the rest of town.”

“All right.” Stella turned to Alice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alice gave her a wry look. “Are you leaving me?”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, all right then.” Alice’s blanket slid down, revealing her dress and sweater.

“We should go ahead and get you ready for bed,” Elaine said. “And then I’ll see what I can fix for dinner.”

Alice jutted her lower lip and dipped her head like a child readying herself for a tantrum. Stella said quickly, “Alice was just saying that she thought she’d sleep in her clothes tonight so she can stay warm.”

Elaine said doubtfully, “Well, we’ll have to see about that.”

“There’s nothing to see about,” Alice said stubbornly. “I’ll decide what I’m going to wear.”

“Those clothes are dirty.”

“They’re not dirty! I’ve only worn them twice.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll wear what I want.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Alice said. “I’ve been dressing myself for ninety years. I’ve been dressing myself since before you were even born. If I want to wear my clothes to bed, then I’ll wear my clothes to bed!”

They were still arguing when Stella left.

Coming down into the valley, Stella could see that half of Chattanooga was dark. She took the expressway as far as she could and then got off at Manufacturers Road, following Cherokee into the neighborhood in North Chattanooga where she lived. Trees were down everywhere; lying in yards, across automobiles or houses, their roots upended. Twisted sheet metal and debris clogged the glistening streets. It had begun to rain again, drumming against the roof of the car. Stella drove slowly, curiously elated by the devastation she saw around her. She turned left on Unadilla and saw that the lights in the houses on the left side of the street were off, but those on the right side were on.

Josh was watching a movie when she got home.

“The cable’s off,” he said morosely.

She walked past him and then stopped and turned around, dropping her backpack at her feet. “Do you realize that half the city’s without power? My God, Josh, there was a tornado. People were killed.” She didn’t ask him why he hadn’t bothered to call and check on her. To see if she was all right. They were beyond that.

He let his eyes rest on her a beat and then went back to the movie. “What’s for dinner?” he said.

She gave him a long, studied look. She slung her backpack up on one shoulder and then turned and walked toward the stairs.

“What’s for dinner?” he called after her.

“Whatever you want to make,” she said.

She let the water run and then lit a few scented candles and set them around the edge of the tub. Far off in the distance she could hear the whirring of chain saws and above that, the whistling of the rising wind. It was insanity, of course, to lie in a bathtub while a storm raged around her, but Stella was feeling reckless. Besides, she had read somewhere that a bathtub was one of the safest places to hide during a tornado.

She pulled Boswell out of her backpack and slid into the tub, letting the hot water rise around her shoulders. After a minute she laid the book down on the edge of the tub and dried her hands on a towel. Then she opened the book and carefully pulled out the letter. She felt guilty, holding it. She stared again at the spidery handwriting, the faded brown paper, delicate and crackled with age.
Mrs. William Whittington.
Stella felt ashamed. She felt as if, by reading the letter, she would be betraying a great trust. And yet she was curious, too. She stared at the postmark.
March 19, 1951
. Almost fifty-eight years ago. She opened the flap and with trembling fingers, pulled out the letter.

The handwriting was small and cramped, written at a slant and difficult to follow. Stella quickly scanned to the bottom of the second page to see who had written it.
Mother.

March 19, 1951

My Dearest Al –

Well, I drove up Lookout today to check on the Whittington family. Found everyone fine. Leta had mopped the kitchen floor and was ironing. Sawyer and Sam had just walked home from school. Rod joined us a short time later, getting off the bus. Sawyer had drawn a picture of you and Bill in New York and it was so sweet. I offered to take them to the drugstore for a soda and they said “fine.” Rod stayed home listening to some melodrama on the radio. We had sodas and then I bought some fudge to bring home for later. Sam bought a book that he put his name in to send to the Baptist Boy’s Home.

I don’t know if you heard but Agnes Kemp had a heart attack. It was at the dinner table on Sunday. Dr. Kemp gave her a hypodermic and then took her on to the hospital and they say she’ll survive but she’ll have a long recovery. She won’t be sailing to Europe. They’ve had to postpone their trip.

The papers are full of the terrible train accident up in New York. Sawyer says he’s glad you and Bill flew to New York and didn’t take the train. Life can be tragic sometimes. I guess we all know that.

I’m glad you went with Bill on his business trip to New York. Sometimes I think you push yourself too hard, Al. I hope you won’t mind me saying this but I worry about you. You mustn’t blame yourself. I feel sometimes that she’s close. I had a dream last night that I could hear her walking in the hallway outside my door, her little feet pattering, and it made me so happy. It was a happy dream in spite of everything that’s happened.

My love to you both.

Mother

Spring, 1935

A
fter that night on the river, Alice didn’t see Brendan Burke again for two months.

She had already put off two dates with Bill Whittington but she couldn’t put off a third. She’d allowed him to bring her home that night from the dive on the river so she owed him at least one date. He took her to dinner and a movie,
The Gay Divorcee
. As far as Alice was concerned, that was it. She spent two weeks visiting a friend in Birmingham and when she returned to Ash Hill, she was angry to discover that her mother had accepted a date for her with Bill Whittington to go dancing at the Country Club.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Alice said.

“He called when you were away. I thought you’d be fine with it,” her mother said, avoiding her eyes. “You’d already accepted one date with him.”

There was nothing she could do but go. The thought of coming up with an excuse and calling him back was worse than just going. She was quiet on the way to the dance, politely answering his questions about Birmingham, but not giving him much more encouragement than that. It was best that she let him know tonight that she had no intention of accepting anymore dates with him. Most girls would have jumped at the chance to date a wealthy bachelor from a good family, but Alice saw no reason to string him along. The life he offered was a life she could never possibly accept, and it was best that she make that clear to him so that he could go back to dating girls like Isabelle Aubrey.

It was a warm spring evening; the dogwoods were in bloom as they wound their way down the road from Ash Hill to the Country Club on the river. A long line of cars waited in the circular drive and as they reached the front entrance, Bill got out and handed his keys to the valet, going around to open Alice’s door. She took his arm and they walked up the carpeted steps.

The room was crowded with dancers. A dais had been set up at one end of the large ballroom and a band played
Delta Serenade
. The long windows overlooking the river had been thrown open to catch the evening breeze. Squeezed along the edge of the dance floor were a jumble of round tables covered in white tablecloths where spectators sat sipping their cocktails and watching the dancers. Bill and Alice made their way slowly through the crowd, stopping to speak to those they knew, to a large table of Bill’s friends and their dates. They were all drinking Old Fashions and Bill, without asking her, ordered two from the waiter.

The band was playing
Moon Glow
and they got up and danced. They danced to
April in Paris
and
I Only Have Eyes for You
and then the waiter brought their drinks and they sat down again. The conversation at the table was much like the last dance they’d attended; golf, stock market forecasts, who had better legs, Betty Grable or Ginger Rogers. They were like a group of fraternity boys trying to outdo each other and Alice had a feeling their conversations would always be like this, boring, one-dimensional, self-indulgent, even into advancing age and infirmity. They would always call each other nicknames like
Wedgehead
,
Wimpy
, and
Cheese
. They would laugh at the same jokes, keep the same safe friendships, marry the same type of women and breed the same kind of children. The monotony of their comfortable lives filled Alice with a dull creeping dread.

She thought of New York, the bright lights of Broadway, the noise, the dirt, the crowded anonymity of the streets. She imagined a Brownstone walk-up with a geranium pot on the windowsill, a clean, tidy space filled with her things. An orderly existence, a quiet, contemplative life.