Finagled (14 page)

Her days went thus. She dressed at a leisurely pace, she stood by the window for a while and watched the wind blow the somewhat desolate, winter landscape before her. Her room faced the sunrise, but the sky was full of blank clouds, flat and white, it always looked like a snow was about to come, but it never did. She sighed many times at that window.

When she went downstairs she managed a smile and light voice with the servants. Mrs. Lopple set aside some time 3 days a week to go over accounts with her. There was not much to do, but the industry of approving and altering the household and menus made her feel like she was accomplishing something on these days.

She usually took some sort of busywork, embroidery or her sketchbook, the former she would do in the drawing room, sometimes George was there, and they would speak, but without any real feeling behind their words. Pleasantries but no reminiscences. They tried to smile, but it felt fake, and forced.

This, Ramona thought, was what she had been afraid of all along. It was not, she decided, the lack of marital congress, though sometimes she thought of that one blissful night with a terrible aching sensation between her thighs. No. It was the lack of camaraderie. It was the conversations of substance, the laughter, sudden and almost unexpected when one of them said something witty, the warmth of a silence shared, rather than forced.

For her part, Ramona knew that the change had come with Regina Flanders. This beautiful sister in-law who it seemed had shared something with George that Ramona, his wife, had not. The idea of George and Regina, engaged in an embrace, of similar nature to the one she herself had shared with George on that one wonderful, distant, and impossible night made Ramona feel so singularly uncomfortable she now found it difficult to look at her husband. That was the difference. She could no longer see him as a truly good man. He had slept with his brother’s wife at some point. And perhaps he had done it again, in the home he had brought his bride to, with Ramona there in the house, with Malcolm and Regina's son under the very same roof. It was not that she thought George without sin before. It was inevitable that, at some point, he had been with a woman who was not his wife. Few men came to their marriage a virgin and it was a forgivable sin. Ramona was hurt that the woman was here. She could not be ignored or forgotten, Ramona could not pretend that she did not exist, she was solid, real, beautiful, and in the house with them at this moment.

Was George's silence, his staring into space, a result of Ramona's hesitance to look at him, was it because her interaction with him had altered, or was it because of Regina's presence as well. Ramona, somewhere inside, gave George the benefit of the doubt. She had not seen or heard him go to Regina's room, and while it was possible that he did do so, she knew it was also possible that he did not. She wondered what he was thinking as he stared off into space. Was he thinking of her, Ramona, or the other her, Regina. Was it possible that his troubles were entirely separate from Ramona's. Was it selfish or ridiculous for her to seek some responsibility for his distant brown eyes?

Regina only spent a week in her room. The week felt like months, dragging on and aggravated by the sudden change in weather. A cool and crisp autumn morning, with a warm golden light through the glass, suddenly became a cold and damp winter one, with blank white skies. The house was so cold, drafty, and dark, it was no wonder that everyone, even the servants, seemed quiet and red nosed.

Regina seemed more cheerful than anyone else in the house, than everyone else in the house combined, in fact.

She fell into a routine, Regina, and it alarmed Ramona. It seemed so settled. So accustomed to the household and the natural order of things. Many of the servants, however, had clearly little respect for her, especially those who had been with the household since the days when she had lived there with her husband, and then her baby. Mrs. Lopple had been around, and it was with some difficulty that she deferred to the Regina. Ramona felt a warmth for the older housekeeper already, but the fact that the woman was clearly her ally strengthened it almost to a partnership. Regina had brought no servants with her, and it soon became evident that while the clothing she owned was attractive, fashionable, and very well cared for, it had been worked over and over from previous seasons to appear so, and was very limited. She had two or three very flattering dresses appropriate to the season, in shades of plum, green, and blue, dark and incredibly compelling against her pale skin and raven haired beauty.

With Ramona, Regina was... amusing, her wit perhaps jarringly sharp. She made jabs veiled in concern about Ramona's red nose, her increased laziness, her hermitude.

One evening, after Regina and Andrew had been joining Ramona and George for dinner for a few nights consecutively, Regina made a passing comment about Ramona's lack of appetite, that filled Ramona's face with heat and made George drop his fine crystal glass on the floor, where it shattered into an impossible amount of incredibly small pieces.

"Oh dear, eat up," she said, "I do recall it was hard for me when I was carrying Andrew, but you will need the strength."

Ramona, flushed, nearly choked on the drink of water she had been partaking of.

"Excuse me," she said, just as the glass in George's hand shattered on the slate floor.

"It is so terribly old fashioned to be shocked. I have always wondered why we can't just admit our condition, as women, and accept a bit of gratitude and pampering for our plight. I imagine if we were not always pressing ourselves in with corsets to hide the physical aspects of our pregnancies, and forced to pretend as if nothing were happening, many of us would find the whole ordeal less uncomfortable."

"No. I..." Ramona's mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"She is not with child, Regina," George said.

"Oh. Well. She certainly does act it. Perhaps I, as a mother," she smiled, paused, looked warmly at Andrew, "perhaps I am simply catching the symptoms early. It is so hard to know before you begin to show."

Ramona's faced flamed. She hesitated to state that she was certainly not pregnant, that she could not be. George clearly felt the same conundrum, it was visible in his face. But he finally spoke.

"I am sure she is not pregnant. While we are on the taboo subject, she is, I believe, currently experiencing her monthlies."

Andrew blushed now, his fork clattered on his plate, and he gave Ramona a strange, almost sickened look.

"Oh my God," she said, flushing even deeper, though moments before, that would have seemed impossible.

"I am sorry, goodness, there is no need to be upset," Regina said.

"I apologize, Ramona," George said. His eye sought hers and she felt for the first time in weeks, a connection between them, a subtlety in his words that had been lacking. He was not apologizing for what he had just said, he was apologizing for many things.

"I am just not used to such... freeness of speech," Ramona said.

"Well, we are all family," Regina said, "I for one do not intend to judge you for your inability to conceive."

"I..." Ramona's eyes widened. "I am afraid that..." she did not know what to say to such an outlandish statement.

"Oh goodness, I have done it again. Poor pet, I have offended you. I know many wives who have taken this long, or longer to get with child. I just... do not give up hope." She smiled, a strange, sharp, arch smile.

"I do think a change of subject is in order," George said.

"Oh yes, please," Andrew spat out.

"I have offended everyone it would seem. Andrew! I should like to raise you to be slightly more accepting of a woman's plight. Alas. There is still time to fix what living in this wholly masculine household has done to you."

The boy paled. He said nothing.

After they separated, Ramona went to her room feeling sick with embarrassment. If only she could have admitted that it was true, if only it had been true. But it could not be. And then, a deeper flush, she was indeed dealing with her menses, and George had known, had guessed, or had it simply been a lucky bluff. The idea that he might have some knowledge of that fact embarrassed her anew. He must have been bluffing. Melanie was the only one who knew and there was simply no reason for her maid to reveal that information to George.

To her surprise, as she sat up in bed in her nightdress, against her pillow, unable to sleep, staring at the fire on the grate, a soft knock, the first ever, sounded on the panel between the two rooms. Ramona almost did not believe she had heard it. It was, she decided, a chair being moved, a shoe being dropped, a log being put upon the fireplace, it was so many things in her imagination before it sounded again, louder this time, undeniably exactly what it had sounded like, exactly what it was.

She stepped lightly out of bed. She pulled on a robe, padded and thick, it hid her body as well as any dress she owned, she tied it high on her neck. She found the idea of exciting George's desire repugnant of late, ever since she had thought of him in Regina's arms, imagined an embrace in the garden.

She opened the door. George stood in silhouette in the door frame. She opened it wider so that she could see his face. The darkness was unsettling.

"Ramona," he said softly.

"Yes," her voice cracked.

"I feel so terrible, I did not think Regina would... but there are so many things that she has done that..." he trailed off, his voice was quiet, but somewhat grating, harsh, angered.

"I... I want to understand." Ramona said.

"I know... I want to tell you, I do..." George said.

"Just do it. I can't see how..." she paused, "how anything could be more embarrassing... if I knew, I might I understand."

"But... you would think less of me."

"I hate to say this, oh George. The silence, the things I imagine... I should hope the truth is less damaging to you than they are."

"I am afraid that I would not be redeeming myself." George replied.

Ramona felt the well of emotion building up. "If you could just trust me."

"It is not about trust, Ramona... I..." he paused.

"What is it?"

"Andrew is my son." he said, quietly.

Ramona felt hot suddenly, bleary and embarrassed.

"But... I..." she said.

"It is not... it is not what it seems. That is putting it too simply." George said.

"He... is your son, and Regina's?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, but I did not... I did not intentionally..."

"You did not intentionally impregnate your brother's wife, oh no, I imagine you did not." Ramona wished that the door did not open away from her, that she was holding it in her hand and could slam it in his face. As it was, it felt awkward reaching for the small handle and tugging the door towards herself, but she did it, and George did not fight to hold it open. She stood there, on the spot, shaking with a strange anger and jealousy.

She felt so exhausted, so physically drained by this confrontation. So glad now that she had not consummated this laughable union, ashamed of the feelings she had felt for George as he had touched her intimately. She felt torn, pulled, yanked in many directions. Shaking and sick she climbed into bed and fell swiftly into a dark and feverish dreaming.

The stars blinked out of the sky while she stood watching them, by a lake, pleasure boats lit up with hundreds of gas lamps crowded the water’s surface. She was alone.

She could see herself standing on the water’s edge. A long, off white linen dress, thick and shapeless, her fingers holding onto a pocket watch chain loosely, the wind moving her skirts and her long yellow hair in a slow and lazy way. The moon dipped into the lake. The grass sank below her feet, she just barely had time to reach up and feel the strong hand reaching for her. Her fingertips felt useless, weak little limbs on her pale hands, no strength to grasp the solid, masculine hand that tried to help her. Her voice was swallowed by blades of thick, green grass. She felt like she was choking noiselessly. The gap above her closed and she was alone in a dark place. She heard the persistent dripping of water. An oil lamp somewhere, wick dipped in a repulsive smelling fat, as she turned the corner in front of her. It was alone, it sat on a wooden crate.