Mason's Daughter (15 page)

Now that Mother was moved to the hospital, my bedroom door wasn’t locked any more. I opened it and peeked out. The voice belonged to one of the new upstairs maids, and she raced to the banister and hollered down the stairwell.

I waited in my doorway as my father dashed up the main staircase. He must have spent the night in his office again. Mrs. Gussmann usually found him there in the morning after she made coffee. She always fussed over him about getting proper rest.

When Daddy reached the door to Aunt Mary’s room, he told the maid to summon the doctor and Mrs. Gussmann. The maid headed for the back staircase, but he paused outside the room. I could tell by the way his shoulders moved that he was taking deep breaths. Without waiting for Mrs. Gussmann, he stepped into Aunt Mary’s room and closed the door.

I tiptoed down the hall and put my ear to her door. Daddy and Aunt Mary didn’t make any sounds. She must have been asleep.

I was still leaning against the door when Mrs. Gussmann came up behind me and rapped softly on it. She didn’t often frown, but this morning her eyebrows were knitted together like dark clouds.

Daddy answered, “Come in.”

Mrs. Gussmann turned to me and, with a finger to her lips, shooed me away from the door. She stepped inside, but I didn’t feel like going back to my room to finish my drawing. I decided to give it to Aunt Mary after school.

Within minutes, the house came alive. Servants bustled about, carrying folded stacks of fresh bed linens, cardboard boxes from the storeroom, and even vases full of the daily fresh flowers Daddy insisted on, even though Mother wasn’t here to enjoy them. Most of the maids said good morning as they passed me in the hall, but no one offered to take me to school.

When Mrs. Gussmann came out of Aunt Mary’s room, she stopped one of the maids to give her instructions for breakfast and answer questions. She shook her head slowly. “Yes, poor thing passed in her sleep.”

Now I understood why Daddy didn’t go to bed. He must have been worried about her dying during the night. I wondered if Aunt Mary had felt any pain. She was always grabbing her side and hissing. I thought maybe I should light a candle or something.

Mrs. Gussmann blew her nose. “The doctor told Mr. Nate on Tuesday she wouldn’t last much longer. Her heart was too damaged from the scarlet fever she suffered as a baby.”

After the maid headed downstairs to the kitchen, Mrs. Gussmann noticed me across the hall. “Oh, Sally, I guess you overheard.”

I nodded, while Mrs. Gussmann gathered me up in her arms. I was tall enough not to get smothered by her huge bosom, but I didn’t mind it when she hugged me. She smelled like cinnamon. “What’s it like to die in your sleep?” I couldn’t quite picture someone just stopping breathing without a struggle.

Mrs. Gussmann explained that God took Aunt Mary to heaven to be with her mother and her little sister, who both died of the Spanish flu a long time ago. “Your father is the only one left now.”

“Why did God take her away?”

“He needed her more than we did.”

I never thought about God needing someone, as if He was human like us. If she asked me who I needed, I would know just what to say. Angelique for certain, and definitely Clyde, too.

Daddy opened the door. “Mrs. Gussmann?”

We both turned at the sound of his voice.

“Please call the funeral home and tell them to send the hearse. Is the doctor here yet?”

Releasing me, she answered my father and said how terribly sorry she was for his loss. “Miss Mary will need clothes for the burial.”

“Oh, yes. Select something appropriate from her closet.”

Aunt Mary was the first person I knew who died. How were they going to get her out the door and down the stairs? I kept waiting for my tears to start. Someone should cry because she was dead.

Before lunch, I stood in my closet and wondered what Mrs. Gussmann would select for me if I died. Maybe my blue sweater and matching plaid skirt, a new uniform for the school I’d attend soon. She should probably choose a different outfit so people wouldn’t get me mixed up with all those other girls.

Daddy stayed in his office until lunch. Reverend Atherton from Hillside Methodist joined us in the informal dining room and he told us how sorrowful he was for us. “I know you’ll miss her every day.”

I squirmed in my chair and wondered what to answer. It would have been impolite for me to say he’s mistaken. How could Daddy miss his sister when he didn’t spend much time with her? He didn’t miss my mother either. I could tell because he never mentioned her name, except on the days before we flew to Baltimore for a visit.

If something like this ever happened to Angelique, I’d scream and cry and beg God to bring her back. But I never felt very close to Aunt Mary. In the years before she got too sick, she often accused my father of spoiling me. She complained he wasted too much money on me, like she didn’t want me to have so many things. I guessed all that time she spent in an orphanage made her stingy. Had sickly Aunt Mary treated me the way Angelique did, then I’d miss her. I felt bad because I was supposed to feel sad.

Reverend Atherton patted my shoulder. “Your aunt was very special to you, I know.”

I couldn’t smile, but instead nodded at the minister, which amounted to the same thing as saying “yes” right out loud, and hoped I didn’t go to hell for being a liar.

My father checked the time on his watch. “Is it possible to hold the service tomorrow?”

“That soon?” As Reverend Atherton swallowed, his Adam’s apple bounced up and down. “What about your other relatives? Won’t they need time to get here?” He expected our family to be like everyone else’s.

“There is no one.” Daddy wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I have to go to Cairo on Friday.”

The minister looked puzzled. “Illinois or Georgia?”

“Egypt.” My father’s expression said business-as-usual. He wasn’t worried if Reverend Atherton figured out he didn’t care about anyone.

Twisting my lips and frowning, I tried to look sad and hoped Reverend Atherton was convinced. I didn’t want him to think I was anything like my father.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Awake early, I’m glad to put yesterday behind me. For the last few days, it seemed I left a piece of me, if not my hard-earned money, everywhere I went: Big Jack’s office, the hospital, the art gallery, Mike’s office, Angelique’s house, the emergency clinic, the bakery. Tuesday’s people and events carved up a large chunk of my spirit, and I feel relieved Colton didn’t call out during the night, for both our sakes.

While brushing my hair, I gaze out the dressing room window overlooking the back yard. Beyond the garage, the far edge of my greenhouse glows more than it should at dawn, and for a flashing moment, I worry Angelique’s first cigarette of the day ended up on the window ledge, still burning. When I realize I failed to turn off the lights last night, I giggle in relief. How unlike me to be so careless.

Downstairs, I fill the coffee pot and leave it to perk while I tend to my greenhouse. The floor needs sweeping where the pine bark mulch spilled, and I move three more terra cotta pots to line up with the others. I inhale the warm humid air, satisfied the new sprinklers had dependably performed their overnight duties. Most of the geraniums and begonias will find a fresh, sunny home in the gardens of those office buildings I envision, and payment for such a big landscaping job will ease my financial burdens. With a smile, I turn off the lights.

In the kitchen, I set out two cups and saucers, remembering how much Angelique appreciates Grandmother Mason’s china. Before I can decide between eggs or oatmeal, the phone rings.

“I figured you’d be up early, after what happened at the bakery last night,” says Judith. “How many stitches did he get this time?”

“Not too many.” I grimace as I realize the whole town buzzes with the news. “So glad you called. Can you watch Colton for me this morning?”

She can’t come stay with Colton at our house, but she is willing to pick him up and take him home.

“Angelique and I are leaving here at a quarter ‘til to be at the doctor’s office by eleven. We can’t exactly drag him with us. He’s needs rest, and he’s still too groggy from the meds.”

“Hmm, busy day ahead. I’ve got orthodontist and gymnastics on my list, plus hair cuts for all three kids. Hold on.” She drops the receiver and calls her children to breakfast. Picking up again, she says, “Meredith gets her learner’s permit at the DPS by ten-thirty at the latest. Maybe sooner, unless we’re in line behind every other fifteen-year-old in the county. I’ll swing by and get him after that.”

“I’m tired already, just listening.” I try to sound impressed, or at least sympathetic. “Once Colton wakes up, I’ll explain to him that he’s to wait here. You won’t be much later than eleven?”

“Yeah. Or so. I’ll take them all back to our house for a good hot lunch.”

“I’ll guess he’ll be okay for a few minutes by himself.”

After we hang up, I ask Saint Trixie to keep an eye on her grandson.

You didn’t do such a good job with Jack. Here’s your chance to redeem yourself.

ANGELIQUE CRAVES COFFEE
, no cream or sugar, followed by dry wheat toast smothered in peach preserves. When she finishes eating, she steps outside in the driveway to smoke and pick up the morning newspaper. I hope the neighbors don’t object to seeing her in nothing but her flimsy silk caftan.

“I like to work the crossword first thing,” she says when she returns to the kitchen. “It’s one way I make sure my brain still functions.” She hands me the front-page section with its headline about the new Alaska pipeline. “Wonder how all our Texas oil men will react to such a big development.” She dabs the tip of her pencil on her tongue and settles in her chair. “What’s a four-letter word for uh-oh?”

“I’m sure some of them are in for a shock.”

“Hmmm. Not enough blanks, but I do think it starts with the same two letters.”

Where others think nothing of a potty mouth reply, Angelique has never let a curse word or obscenity foul her ladylike lips. She gives me a crooked smile. “You-know-who will make another fortune on the deal before it’s completed.”

I sigh.

She rattles her paper. “When it comes to opportunity, Nate certainly has cornered the market.”

I want to argue that his public success means nothing to his family, that he was a complete failure at understanding the needs of his wife and his daughter, that there is no way to corner the market on forgiveness. Instead I slice a Gala apple and hand her a juicy section. “I have to give Mike a call.”

“Don’t you want to wait until after you talk to Colton?”

“I want to share my new theory with him about Jack’s note. Besides, Colton’s still asleep.”

“Just now I saw him from the driveway, standing at his window. He waved at me.”

“Then he should be downstairs soon.”

“Shouldn’t we see if he needs anything?”

“He’ll let us know.” I pick up the receiver.

“Maybe you should check. What if he can’t get his shirt on?”

I replace the receiver in its cradle, but pick it up again immediately and begin dialing. “You go.” After three digits, I hang up. “Sorry, I should remember not to over exert you. I’ll help him.”

“While I start the pancakes.” She shoos me through the doorway. “Where are those mixing bowls? Oh, baby, how I wish my precious Raúl were here.”

She remembers Colton loves pancakes, but does she also realize someone will have to cut them for him? It pains me that I already know Colton’s choice. I clench my teeth and head for the stairs.

As I enter his room, he looks anywhere but at me. I explain the nurse’s instructions. He has to bathe with his right hand in a plastic bag, sealed with a rubber band, held aloft away from the spray. While he showers, I sift through his drawer for tee shirts and pull out four of them. He shakes his head until I find the black one with the Rolling Stones logo. I leave the other three on the floor where he discarded them with the rest of his jumbled mess. During the hour it takes to get Colton cleaned up and dressed, he never utters a single word.

In the kitchen, Angelique chats and gossips enough for two people. When she reads Ann Landers aloud, she tilts her head toward Colton and snickers as if they share the secret handshake. He shoots daggers back at me every time I glance at him, and I feel neglected and left out. She would never cause such feelings on purpose, but he’s an ace at it.

“Holy smokes, the hour!” Angelique says. “Please say you don’t recognize me when next I appear. Glamour shall have transformed me.” She stands up and calls over her shoulder as she drifts toward the doorway, “Colton, remember to take your pills.”

I clap my hand to my temple. How could I forget? “Do you need something for pain now?”

He gives his right wrist a light shake, winces, and nods.

I hold out two tablets, a painkiller and the antibiotic, and wait for him to stretch out his left hand.

He doesn’t move.

I set them on the counter. “Milk is in the fridge.” I could add, “asshole,” but don’t want Angelique to overhear me on her way out of the room.

After I clear the dishes and turn off the griddle, I call Mike. We agree to wait to see how Colton feels by afternoon. I save my new theory until I see him in person, and I don’t tell him Colton thus far has refused to speak. It sounds too crazy.

I wish I could understand my son’s behavior better. What keeps me on track is the hope that everything will change once we settle Jack’s death as unintentional. Besides, I remember acting sullen at his age, especially after my mother died.

By ten-forty, Angelique hasn’t reappeared, so I go upstairs and knock on her door.

“Come in, darling girl. I’m almost ready,” she calls.

I open the door. Angelique sits on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, panting. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing. I can’t find my other earring. It dropped out of my hand.”

“Did you search under the bed?”

“Well, no. I . . . I’m afraid–”

“That’s where it probably landed.” I kneel down near her feet and pat the floor. “Slide over a little, will you?”

She raises her feet, and I spy the gold bauble on the other side of the bed, just beyond the white eyelet dust ruffle. “There it is!”

“Thank you. I’m vastly relieved. I thought maybe if I crawled under there, I wouldn’t be able to get back out. Then you’d find me weeks later, all skin and bones and very thirsty. And craving a cigarette.”

I retrieve the earring and hand it to her. “They’ll make you take them off for the doctor’s exam.”

She sticks out her tongue at me, and I laugh. It’s nice to find what you’re looking for, especially when you can’t locate it on your own.

My mother couldn’t find her diamond brooch. She was certain she had it yesterday afternoon at tea. The problem was, nowhere in her room at the hospital could it have gotten lost. All the furniture was plain and beige, and there wasn’t much of it. Her clothes hung in the closet, but it wasn’t crowded in there. I knew because I looked in the corners and, now that I was twelve, I’d grown tall enough to see on top of the shelf. The diamond brooch was nowhere to be found.

Daddy said not to worry about it. He would bring her another one next time we visit.

I asked her where she went for tea, but her answer confused me. I didn’t know they let her out of the hospital to go for tea at the Dorchester Hotel. Daddy shook his head.

This trip, I brought my sketchpad again to show Mother my drawings. She said she remembered Angelique, but when I passed on Angelique’s greeting to her, Mother looked like she didn’t know who I was talking about.

Daddy suggested we go outside and sit on the terrace. There were big wicker chairs with cushions and large woven backs shaped like fans. Mother explained they’re called ‘peacock style.’ She grinned when I stood behind the chair and peeked through what were supposed to represent feathers.

Mother turned her chair away from the sun, and the light that poked through it like little crystals gave me an idea. “Why don’t I draw your picture sitting in the chair?”

She patted my cheek and I sat on the stone steps with my sketchpad in my lap. After I chose my first colored pencil, I could almost hear Angelique’s voice telling me about negative space and light source. Mother made a good model, because she hardly moved at all. Her blue dress was a soft contrast to the white wicker, and her wrists were draped gently over the armrests. She took off her shoes and tucked one leg under her.

When an attendant brought two cups of coffee, Daddy disappeared behind his newspaper, probably because Mother had fallen asleep in her chair. They never talked much anyway. I decided to draw her face with her eyes open. I had gotten better at faces lately, using simple strokes for the nose and the chin. Since the front porch at home would make a better background than the hospital, I could save those details for later.

After about twenty minutes, I stopped to inspect my progress. I thought the dimensions and perspective were just about right. With a little more contrast, the filtered sunlight behind her would sparkle more. The last touch was to add a diamond brooch to her shoulder. She wouldn’t mind that it wasn’t exactly like the one she couldn’t find.

This could have been my best drawing ever. I captured my mother’s figure and expression perfectly. She looked beautiful and peaceful and happy. Maybe Daddy would want to frame it for his office wall.

“Okay, I’m finished!” I announced.

Daddy looked sideways from behind his newspaper. With a groan, Mother startled and sat up straight.

I stood up and turned my sketchbook around to show her. “What do you think?” I stepped next to her chair and held it out for her to look closer.

She smiled and praised my choice of colors. I felt really proud when she said how talented I was. As her smile faded, she frowned up at me. Her finger pecked the page like a nervous bird. Finally she asked me who the woman was.

“Can’t you tell?” I struggled to keep my voice from cracking. “It’s
you
.”

She shook her head violently and said no.

“I’m sorry, Mother.” I didn’t want her to see me cry. “I guess I didn’t–”

My father jumped up and called the nurse. “Put your stuff away now, Sally,” he ordered.

Sobbing, Mother wrung her hands and asked for her diamond brooch. Daddy knelt in front of her, almost knocking me out of the way. “Weesie, don’t do this,” he said in a quiet tone, as he took her wrists and held them. “Not in front of Sally.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I didn’t mean to upset her.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

Daddy didn’t pay attention to me. He talked to Mother in a voice so low I couldn’t hear what he was saying. She twisted to escape from his grasp, but he was too strong for her.

“Stop! You’re hurting her!” I tried to pry his hands away and free her wrists, even after Daddy warned me not to interfere. She moaned as if she was in pain, but I was the one who winced.

Breathless, I pulled on Daddy’s arm as Mother screamed. Without looking at me, he shook me off, all but shoving me against the other peacock chair. My sketchpad landed on the ground, and in the chaos, Daddy’s cup tumbled from the little table and spilled coffee on my drawing. The colors ran in a puddle. It was ruined. Tears spilled down my cheeks, but no one could hear my sobs.