The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (28 page)

“You’d think with all the lush grass in the yard they would be too busy to notice the flowers,” Mercedes said.

“But why eat grass when you can have flowers?” Germaine asked sweetly. At that, the doe bit off a hibiscus and raised her head, a red flower protruding from her mouth.

“She agrees with you. Why eat grass indeed?” Mercedes thought of the lawyers at the office with their elaborate luncheons at the club and their fine suits, and all the poor people in her former neighborhood. It was obvious who ate the flowers.

“Do you think we’ll forget what it was like living in the pink palace?” Germaine asked, as if reading her mother’s thoughts.

“Perhaps some things, but not the overall experience. We’re not going to forget who we are or what we went through. What do you think?”

“I hope we remember the good things about it. Reading
Little House on the Prairie
and Mr. Friedman, and the day you got your job and when I got the scholarship to my school.”

“And I hope we remember the suffering of our neighbors and never take our good fortune for granted.”

The sky turned tangerine with the sunset; the deer crept down the yard to the bush of sweetheart roses near the swing.

Germaine cleared away the plates to make room for her books. Even though she had a desk in her room, she still preferred to do her
homework at the kitchen table, while her mother packed their lunches for the next day and washed dishes.

Mercedes brought in her briefcase and sat across from her. Night had fallen. The lamp sitting between them cast a circle of light on the blue and white checkered tablecloth. A screech owl made his presence known in the trees and was soon answered by another. The tranquility of evening up in the Oakland hills was a balm to both of them. Germaine caught her mother’s eye, smiled, and resumed reading her textbook. Soon she was back to writing, fully absorbed in the Civil War.

Mercedes pulled out the papers Jack had given her and began to read. The insurance policy application was straightforward. It was an application for a $300,000 whole life policy. There was a draft will he had drawn up for her, a power of attorney, and the prenuptial agreement. The last, she could see, was complicated and something she would need legal advice about.

She read the list of Jack’s assets disclosed there. He owned far more property than he had let on. He had investments worth more than $2 million, many thousands of dollars in personal bank accounts, a lucrative law practice, cars, and furnishings he had had appraised. He had done well with his small inheritance. What was it he’d said? His father had left him $10,000, which he’d learned to increase while he was in Europe, buying and selling currencies on the foreign exchange. But she sensed there was more than met the eye, and she needed to understand all of it.

After Germaine was asleep, Mercedes was in the master bathroom getting ready for bed when she heard familiar steps in the courtyard and then a key turning in the lock. Jack entered the foyer and removed his shoes. She dried her face and slipped into the midnight blue satin nightgown he’d bought her for Christmas. In moments his arms were around her, his tie loosened and his shirt pulled out from his slacks.

“God, you feel so good in that gown,” he murmured.

She ran her hands over the rough stubble of his cheeks and pulled his face down for a long kiss. Dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes.

“I thought you weren’t coming up tonight.”

“I wasn’t, but I changed my mind.”

“Did you finish all the paperwork?”

“Oh, it’s never done—you know that.”

She viewed him skeptically.

“You look awfully tired to me, sir.” He was too busy kissing her neck to listen. His hands explored her contours.

There was something disquieting about him. She wondered if it had anything to do with the prenuptial agreement he’d given her to sign, or the momentary tension in his office.

She tried to see his eyes, but he was ardent and insistent and scooped her up into his arms. Her own words came back to her.
Whatever you have done, whoever you have been, I don’t care. I’m not afraid.
They were past the point of no return. He gently laid her head and neck on the pillows and settled the rest of her on the duvet. His precious Mercedes. Trusting, supple Mercedes. He laid his head upon her womb and kissed her there, almost worshipfully.

In great haste, without even removing his trousers all the way, he parted her legs and climbed into her. She wrapped her arms around his back and clung to his broad shoulders, lost to desire—that great slayer of reason, annihilator of patience, and obliterator of prudence. Jack had awakened desires in her that she’d never known existed, and now her most cloistered cravings haunted her daily, sometimes hourly. Thoughts of him roused her constantly and gave her no peace.

In wave upon wave they rose, riding the crest. She wrapped her legs around his muscular thighs and breathed in his scent, completely abandoned herself, and hung on for dear life. The roof could
have caved in on them without their having the first inkling. And when at last the tidal wave broke, they were thrown out with blinding force onto shore. The waters pooled around them and gradually receded. Mercedes came yet again, one last surge remaining, until her spirit itself seemed to have emptied.

“You’re so incredible,” he whispered into her ear, feeling her tremble slightly with an aftershock. “You’re just too much.”

Her mind was completely still and blank. No thought formed. A great pellucid joy overcame her, and she felt both of them inside a great ball of energy, as if all their molecules were melded together, all distinction between them gone. She could neither move nor speak, so profound was her rapture.

Slowly Jack disengaged himself and made order of his clothing. He helped Mercedes slide beneath the covers and curled himself around her. He stroked her hair and kissed her again, the sultry kiss of spent love, before he stole away into the night.

T
he dozed in her seat on the airplane, her body turned toward Jack. The shades were pulled down throughout the first-class cabin. The only light was that which seeped out of the steward’s galley. A gentleman in the row behind snored softly. Jack stirred, reached out for her hand, and pulled it to his mouth. She leaned in close. He peered at her out of slits between his eyelids, like a guard dog keeping his eyes on the prize. She kissed him, and he tugged on her hair, which had fallen onto his chest. He pulled it around their faces, like curtains, and kissed her again, then closed his eyes, unable to resist the call of slumber.

Mercedes shifted in her seat restlessly. Images of the wedding drifted into her mind. The gorgeous church decked out in flowers. Rows of eager faces turning to watch her proceed on Philip’s arm. Germaine and Anne, the jubilant flower girls, behind her. The groomsmen, splendid in their morning coats. Gabe, the best man, smiling as she approached. Jack at the altar, waiting for her in serene confidence. She felt the wedding ring on her finger, a band of sapphires and diamonds to complement the engagement ring. She
relived the moments at the altar, Jack’s eyes full of love for her as he proclaimed his wedding vows. She felt like running down the aisle, yelling at the top of her lungs in ecstasy, instead of walking with stately grace holding her husband’s arm past aisle after aisle of guests.

At the hotel, in the receiving line, she met them one by one, many for the first time. There were the family members: Janine Reneau in a new frock, her wheelchair pushed by Enrique; Eleanor and Philip and their retinue of wealthy friends, who had known Mercedes most of her life; and darling Germaine. How sweet she looked with her crown of flowers, transformed from the waif of four years past. Never again would she question whether miracles happen.

The noise of the reception rang in her ears. A mountain of gifts had been deposited on a table near the entrance. She saw herself sitting at the center of the long table on the dais, with Germaine and Anne sitting nearby, thrilled by the pomp and ceremony, whispering to each other excitedly. The groomsmen treated them like princesses and escorted them to the dance floor again and again.

She heard the toasts and tasted the wedding cake. She saw Jack tenderly feeding her the first bite, and the affection in his eyes as she savored the buttercream frosting.

Jack raised his glass to Eleanor and Philip. All eyes turned toward the elated parents. It was a moment Mercedes never had imagined possible: the salve on old wounds, uniting her family. Eleanor even looked at her approvingly, as though she meant it.

After Germaine had eaten her cake and danced one more time with Jack’s good friend Damon, Mercedes took her aside.

“It’s time to say good-bye, Sweetness. Three weeks is the longest we’ve ever been apart. But I’ll write you every day and send you lots of postcards. Your grandparents will take good care of you and keep you busy, and Caroline has promised many overnights for you and Anne. We’ll be back before you know it.”

The reality of being without her mother for so long struck Germaine forcefully, and she burst into tears. Mercedes calmed her as best she could. Then Jack appeared and seized the moment, lifting Germaine up into his arms and holding her higher than she had ever been held in her life. She looked into her stepfather’s handsome face and blue, blue eyes.

“You’re my girl now, and I’m counting on you,” he said quietly. Her sobs subsided. She rubbed her eyes and looked at him with her lips pursed.

“Hold the fort while your mom and I are in Italy, and keep track of where we are on that map I gave you, okay?”

She nodded.

“We’ll bring you lots of interesting treasures and think about you every day. Next time we go to Europe, you’re coming with us, okay?”

She nodded and hugged him.

“And one more thing—don’t let your grandmother take you to any beauty salons.” Germaine laughed. “I don’t want to come home to a stepdaughter I can’t recognize. You’re fine just the way you are, and we’re a family now.” He set her down gently and wiped her tears away with his handkerchief.

After many farewells to friends, they ascended the hotel’s grand curving staircase, pulling the long train of Mercedes’s gown around them in the elevator, kissing all the way up to the bridal suite.

At the door, Jack gathered her up into his arms, carried her over the threshold, and lowered her onto the white silk divan.

“Mercedes, my lovely wife, we did it.”

He sank into the cushions next to her and let out a loud sigh. Her dress was a sea of heavy ecru satin all around them. Jack pulled some of her skirts across the front of his morning coat. He closed his eyes, stroked the silky fabric, and smiled.

The following afternoon, a limousine took them to the airport for their overnight flight. They would see the Swiss Alps in summer, roam the storied streets of Florence, and explore the hill towns of Italy with not a care in the world.

Now on the plane, Mercedes closed her eyes. Her heart beat more quickly recalling the hours of passion of their wedding night, the consummation of their vows. Jack played her body like a song, methodically drawing out the raging desire he had taught her to feel. They peeled each other away, layer by layer, hour by hour, until husband and wife sounded one chord. They fell asleep entwined, her head upon his all-protecting chest, his arms wrapped around her. Never had she felt so safe or so loved by anyone.

T
HE BELLS IN THE OLD
church tower were pealing again. A friar tugged on the thick rope with dissipating energy. A wooden cart creaked as it was being pulled and pushed along a curving lane in the ancient town. The rough cloth of her hood scratched her head and the edges of her face. She drew a filthy sleeve over her nose and mouth. The overwhelming stench of death made breathing difficult.

Along the lane she trudged. The dead were dragged out of their dwellings by any family members who still had the strength to do so. Those who were strong enough took care of distributing what food and water there was to the sick. Others removed corpses from the street, loading them onto wooden carts.

A haggard woman carried the body of a young girl out of a multistory building, one of several along the lane. From the limpness of the girl’s body it was evident that she was either unconscious or dead. A black pustule protruding from her neck testified to her malady. Mercedes again covered her nose with her sleeve and cast her eyes down. There seemed to be nowhere in sight where death was not impatiently waiting.

A black rat darted across the lane in front of her in the dusky light. She flinched and looked up at the heavy gray sky, searching for any sign of change or relief from the suffering that this plague had spread across the land. There had not been enough people to harvest the crops that season, nor would there be enough to plant next year’s.

She rounded a corner. Another multifamily dwelling house, with an arched lintel and walls aged to a dark gold color, came into view. The air was humid due to the proximity to the river. A chill ran up her legs beneath the hooded robe. Two young men stood beneath the arch in the open doorway. The taller one, sandy-haired, draped his arm around the shoulders of a shorter, swarthy fellow and said something into his ear. Who were they? She knew several families in the area, but these faces she could not quite place.