Chapter Twenty, part one

Smith College
Spring, 1915

Violet stared at a photo of a caryatid, one of the solemn female sculptures whose heads once supported the Temple of Athena on the Acropolis. This particular caryatid was now in London, having been secreted away by the Earl of Elgin more than a hundred years before. Violet pictured her, staring out the windows of the British Museum at rain and fog. At hordes of black umbrellas. Did she wonder what had happened to the sun?

A discreet knock echoed through the door. Violet was in her nightgown, so she pulled on a cotton robe before opening it. The house mother, Mrs. Haines, was there, stifling a yawn.

“There’s a call for you. It’s from New York. You can take it down in my room.”
Violet followed the older woman down the hall, half of her mind on the Elgin marbles, half wondering why Mother or Papa would be calling her at school. And wait, weren’t they supposed to have sailed for Europe already? Yes, a full week ago. Perhaps they’d missed their boat. She reached up to check her pin curls, then copied the house mother’s yawn.

In Mrs. Haines’ first-floor room, Violet found the telephone on the roll-top desk. She picked up the candlestick base and the earpiece.

“Hello? This is Violet Van Waters.”

“Miss Van Waters? This is Jerrod Miller. From the Cunard Line. I’m afraid I’m calling with horrible news.”

A film dropped in front of her eyes at those words, and it didn’t lift as she took the news, set down the telephone, and somehow made her way back to her room. As she turned the knob on her door, one thought reverberated through her brain. Sadie. She must get to Sadie. She must know—and see and feel—that Sadie was all right.

She started to dress, automatically putting back on the clothes she’d worn during the day. The film seemed to grow thicker, and she had an overwhelming feeling of weight. On her head. On her shoulders. What did this mean? It must mean something, and yet her body was safe. If Sadie’s body was also safe, then what did this mean? Would the weight on her head always be there? She reached up to touch it, to make sure there was no ingot balanced on her skull, and realized her hair was still up in pins.

When she was dressed, Violet opened the door to find Mrs. Haines.

“I’ve called you a car,” Mrs. Haines said. Amazing, Violet thought. When had she asked for a car? “You’ll want your coat, dear. And your handbag. You may need money. Do you have an address book? You should take that along. You may want to telephone family.”

Violet nodded at each suggestion and gathered the things.

“I must get to my sister,” she told Mrs. Haines as they walked, once again, down the hall.

“Of course. And if you need someone to pack your belongings and send them to you, I can do that. Don’t worry about things here. I’ll keep your door locked. You can probably send your senior thesis in by mail if need be. The College is very understanding in cases like this.”

Outside, when the car pulled up, Violet turned to hug Mrs. Haines. She didn’t know the woman well, but suddenly Mrs. Haines seemed to represent Smith and all that was predictable and orderly about it. Violet was about to push off from the College’s safe shores, out into the chaos of wind and weather, and she needed bolstering before she went.

“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Haines said as she embraced Violet. “God speed to you and your sister.”

Emma Willard, a place as familiar to Violet as her own bedroom, smelled strange in the dark. The driver escorted her to Sadie’s house, both of them traipsing across the damp grass. Inside Sadie’s house, the house mother was in a dressing gown and slippers. The halls smelled of old paint. Sadie shared her room with another girl, but the house mother pulled her away so Violet and Sadie could have the room alone. Sadie, who’d looked wide-eyed when she first saw Violet, now seemed pale and small. Violet couldn’t hold her tightly enough. Sadie’s tears were hot as they ran into Violet’s hair, and they made Violet’s eyes well up for the first time.

She spent the night there in Sadie’s room, squeezed in alongside her in her narrow bed, sleeping in her chemise. Only she hardly slept. She pressed her forehead against Sadie’s hair and counted her sister’s breaths. What should they do? What should they do? It seemed that she should figure this out, but her brain was clogged and slow. Sometime around dawn, she remembered Mrs. Haines saying she would want to call family. Grandmother and Grandfather in Cold Lake. That was who they would call. That was where they would go.

Grandfather met them with the horse and buggy when they got off the train. He tipped his hat to them both.

“Girls,” he said, taking up Sadie’s luggage. He didn’t embrace them. There were no hugs in Cold Lake, except the ones they gave each other.

–

Charlie rubbed the base of his skull. It wasn’t the events of the morning that had him feeling tense, or even the hangover from the night before—it was thinking of the long solitary ride back to Baltimore, to his parents’ house. Every time he remembered it, his chest convulsed. How could he leave here—leave her—in the middle of this? Even if Sadie magically reappeared, the idea of parting from Violet after what she’s just been through was unthinkable.

Or maybe it was leaving after she’d kissed him that was unthinkable.

Since he’d lost his sight, far too many things came as a surprise. People touched him unexpectedly. Furniture sprang up in front of him. Peas rolled off his plate; he drank from cups that were already empty. But that kiss had been a surprise full of syrup. Full of promise. It was an open window, a flower bud. And he was the one closing the window. Was he right to do it? To protect himself—both of them—from the devastation that would come years down the line when she realized what she’d saddled herself with?

And what if—what if?—he was wrong? What if he, like Mark Twain, was worrying about something that would never happen? Maybe Violet was right, and he was wrong. Could he let himself sink into that level of joy? Did he deserve to?

He and Violet were still sitting side-by-side on that stiff Davenport. Mrs. MacAlister had served them coffee, and Charlie was wondering how long he needed to wait before he could take more aspirin. After a long interlude, both MacAlisters had left the room, and Violet read a few snippets from the newspaper out loud. When she fell silent, he slid his hand across the fabric until he found hers. Her fingers were cold, and they burrowed under his palm like butterflies hiding from the rain.

“I’ve been reading my mother’s letters,” she said, her voice smoothing away his rough edges. “I think—this is odd to say, I know. But I think I was a bit jealous of my parents. My mother in particular. For as long as I can remember, I loved Sadie best. Better than anyone else in the whole world. I wanted to protect her and shield her. I never felt like I was cut from the same cloth as my parents, but I was one with Sadie. I loved her best. And I wanted her to love me best in return.”

She slid her thumb to the back of his hand where its presence lit up his entire arm. “But of course, she loved Mother and Papa. And me, too, all of us at once.” She paused, then went on, her voice thicker than before. “I took every opportunity to knock them down. So she would see that I was more loveable than they were. That I deserved her love. Not them.”

He turned his face toward hers, trying to gauge how upset she was by her voice alone. His other hand stretched out until it found her face, grazing his thumb across her cheek to wipe away her tears.

“It was a terrible thing to do,” she whispered.

“You were a child. You weren’t doing it on purpose.”

“No. But I think I did it all the same.”

He let his fingers slide down her cheek and off her chin. It was the closest he’d ever come to painting a picture of her face in his mind, and the impression was soft, smooth, and gentle. “You’ve always wanted the best for her. That’s what really matters.” He placed his hand back at his side where it felt cold and useless after that time on her cheek. “Don’t worry. She’ll be back.”

A sound on the gravel made them both start.

“Is that a car?” she asked.

“It could be Henry in the Rolls.”

They were both up, arms entwined, moving out of this room that smelled like magnolias, into the echo-y entry hall, then to the doorway and the gravel, exhaust, and sun-warmed grass.

“Sakes alive! It’s them!”

Shoes echoed behind them, and Mr. MacAlister growled something about “tanning his idiot hide.” The car’s motor died; the doors opened.

“Well, the gang’s all here!” That was Floyd’s voice. “Hidey-ho, everyone. You’re just in time to hear the news.”

“What news is that?” Mr. MacAlister’s tone was as dull as old iron.

Sadie’s voice cut through the morning, bright and clear as a chime.
“We’re married!”

–

Violet couldn’t stop staring at Sadie. After the strain of the morning, she couldn’t get enough of seeing her sister, hale and whole. Sadie’s face flitted from jubilant to anxious as she took in the concerned group at the front door. Violet trotted down the steps to embrace her sister, not because of the news she’d just shared, but because she was alive.

“Good night, you had me frightened!” She squeezed Sadie to her, then pulled back to see her face. “What were you thinking?”

Sadie shrugged. Behind them, Floyd was engaged in a loud conversation with his parents. Sadie’s eyes flicked that way, but Violet caught her arms and drew her back to her own question.

“Floyd asked me to marry him,” Sadie said simply. “And I said yes. So, we went to Boston and waited for a minister to wake up and marry us. We sat in Floyd’s car and watched the sunrise. It was beautiful.”

Seeing her so pleased made Violet’s anger rise even higher. “You know this isn’t the proper way to marry a man! If you wanted to be engaged, and marry with his parents’ blessing and mine, that would be one thing. But to run off in the night like a—”

“It solves all of our problems,” Sadie whispered, her eyes on Floyd and his parents. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Violet doubted that very much. But by now, the conversation behind her had risen to such a pitch that no one could ignore it.

“What in all that is holy made you think you could marry without your family’s say?” Mr. MacAlister boomed at Floyd.

Mrs. MacAlister, at a softer pitch, was no less sharp. “Who is this girl? Who is her family?”

“You know you won’t have access to your inheritance until you turn thirty. What do you plan to live on until then? How are you going to support a bride? A family?”

Floyd looked stricken. Clearly, he never dreamed of this reaction. “But—wait until you meet her. Sadie,” he called, one arm extended. Sadie broke away from Violet and went to him. “This is Sadie Van Waters.”

Sadie giggled as she ducked under his arm. “Sadie MacAlister, you mean.”

Violet groaned silently and squeezed her eyes shut. Sadie had no idea how she appeared to Floyd’s parents. Like a gold-digging little floozy! Hadn’t her years at Emma Willard taught her anything? She should know how to behave around people like the MacAlisters. Was it Floyd who’d made her lose her head? Was she that crazy for him?

Charlie had backed himself up against an exterior wall, as far from the MacAlister trio as he could get. As Violet moved next to him, she decided to let the outcome be its own punishment. She didn’t need to scold Sadie when the MacAlisters could do it for her. Let life present its own consequences.

“You married just this morning,” Mr. MacAlister was saying, his words as tightly clipped as his moustache. “Then it’s a simple solution. We can have it annulled.”

“Annulled!” Sadie gasped.

Floyd, who was looking paler by the minute, said nothing. Sadie wrapped her arm more tightly around his, but Violet noticed that Floyd was leaning slightly away. In spite of the decision she’d just made to let Sadie experience the consequences of her own actions, it was hard not to step in.

“What kind of Jezebel stays out all night with a young man—alone?” Mrs. MacAlister’s voice had reached a soprano pitch. “Only one kind. It was true in my day and it’s true now. Your mother will be mortified when she finds out. This may well kill her!”

Now it was Sadie’s turn to look gray.

“The papers will gobble up this kind of scandal,” Mr. MacAlister added, reaching for Floyd’s arm. “Come, my boy, we’ll call our attorney this minute. We can have it all cleaned up by this time tomorrow. And if this little tart makes any trouble, we’ll go straight to the papers. Don’t think we won’t.”

“You know you don’t want to do that,” Charlie said, taking a step forward. His voice was the only calm one in the bunch. “You won’t want your son’s name twisted up with such impulsive behavior. The kids have been kids, but there’s no harm done. Is that right, Sadie? He hasn’t harmed you?”

This put the shoe on the other foot. The MacAlisters swung anxious faces toward Sadie, now afraid of the ruckus the floozy might make in the press. Sadie looked sadly at Floyd, who stood rigid beside her. Slowly, she unwrapped her arm from his.

“No.” She looked around, and Violet came quickly to her side. “No, he didn’t harm me. I don’t want any fuss in the papers.” She took another long look at Floyd, but his eyes were on the ground. Blinking hard, she held her head high and grasped Violet’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Violet ushered Sadie and Charlie to the backseat of the Rolls-Royce. They couldn’t leave quickly enough for her taste. Before she climbed into the front seat, she looked back at the gleaming white colonnade, at the stern faces of Mr. and Mrs. MacAlister, and the regretful face of Floyd. If I’m lucky, she thought, I’ll never see any of them again.

As Henry revved the engine, Violet breathed a sigh of relief. In the backseat, however, Sadie drooped into her hands, sobs shaking her shoulders. Charlie, beside her, looked uncomfortable.

“Maybe you should sit back here, Violet,” he said.

“No,” Sadie gasped. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Henry guided the Rolls-Royce away down the quiet street, skipping it like a stone from one ornate mansion to another. Before they’d been gone long, Sadie parted her hands enough to speak.

“I need to have a word with Violet. Alone. Not at the Breakers. Is there somewhere we could stop?”