The Bungalow (5 page)

When Mother was out of earshot, I rolled my eyes at Maxine. “She’s in a
mood
, isn’t she?”

Maxine handed me the dress. Her eyes told me she was still smarting from Mother’s dismissive tone. We walked back to my room, and I shut the door.

I draped the dress against my body. “Are you sure this one will look all right on me?”

“What’s bothering you, Antoinette?” she asked. I could feel her eyes piercing my skin, demanding an answer I wasn’t yet prepared to give.

I gazed down at my bare feet on the hardwood floor. “I don’t know,” I said, hesitating. “I worry that it’s all happening so fast.”

Maxine nodded. “You mean the engagement?”

“Yes,” I said. “I love him; I really do. He’s such a good man.”

“He is a good man,” she said simply, leaving room for me to continue.

I sat down on the bed and leaned my weary head against the headboard. “I know a person can’t be perfect and all,” I said, “but I sometimes wonder if I’d love him more, feel more deeply for him, if he’d do the right thing.”

Maxine hung the dress up against the door. “And join the war?”

I nodded. “I just wish some things were different about him, about us.”

“Like what, dear?”

“I want to feel proud of him the way the other women feel about their men joining the fight,” I continued, pausing for a moment to think of other couples I knew. “I want to feel passionate about him.” I giggled nervously. “Kitty thinks we don’t have enough passion.”

“Well,” Maxine said expectantly, “do you?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, before shaking off the thought. “Listen to me going on like this. What a terrible fiancée I am even to speak this way.” I shook my head. “Gerard is a dream come true. I’m lucky to have him. It’s time I start playing the part.”

Maxine’s eyes met mine. I could see a fire brewing inside. “You must
never
talk that way, Antoinette,” she said, making each word as clear and firm as she could muster with her heavily accented voice. “You can never play a part in life, especially not in love.”

She wrapped her arm around my shoulders the way she’d done when I was a child, nuzzling her cheek against mine. “You be yourself,” she said. “And never ignore what your heart is telling you, even when it hurts, even when it seems like following it will be very difficult or untidy.”

I sighed and buried my face against her shoulder. “Maxine, why are you telling me this? Why now?”

She forced a smile, her expression oozing regret. “Because I didn’t follow my heart. And I wish I did.”

Gerard’s mother, Grace Godfrey, was a formidable woman in appearance. Her dark eyes and sharp features, which looked so handsome on Gerard, manifested in the female form as alarming, jarring. But when she smiled, the edges softened. As a child, I often wished Mother could be more like Mrs. Godfrey—practical, down-to-earth, despite her wealth and her position. In a time when women in her class offloaded much of the child rearing to hired help, Mrs. Godfrey did not. During their childhood, if one of the Godfrey boys skinned their knees, she’d shoo the nanny away and swoop in to bandage it herself, kissing the injured child gently.

“I don’t know why Grace Godfrey doesn’t let her nanny do her job,” I overheard Mother complain to Papa when I was in grade school.

And true to form, as my parents and I walked across the lawn at the Godfreys’ that afternoon, Grace could be seen assisting the waitstaff in carrying an ice sculpture—a large duck with three ducklings trailing precariously behind—from the terrace to a table on the lawn.

“Let me help you with that,” Papa called out from behind me.

“Grace, be careful,” Mother chimed in. “You’ll put out your back.”

Mrs. Godfrey relinquished her hold on the duck, which looked perilously on the verge of collapse, just as Papa dove in to assist.

“Thank you,” she said, before turning to Mother. “Hello, Luel-len, Anne. Isn’t it a lovely day for a party?”

“Yes,” I replied, peering up at the blue sky, a single fluffy white cloud its only resident. Tables covered the expansive lawn, and in every vase atop the lilac-colored table linens were five stems of purple hydrangeas. “It’s . . .” I paused, suddenly overcome with emotion for the display of love for me, for Gerard, for our impending union. “It’s all so beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Mrs. Godfrey said, entwining her substantial arm in mine. “Gerard’s on the terrace waiting for you, dear.”

I could see him in the distance, stretched out on a chaise longue, puffing on a cigar with his father. Smart, handsome, strong, he could have stepped from the pages of one of Mother’s magazines. When he saw me, he stood up quickly and snuffed the celebratory smoke. “Anne,” he called, waving, “I’ll be right down.”

I adjusted the sash on my dress, and Maxine’s words rang in my ears: “You can never play a part in life, especially not in love.”
But everyone plays a part, don’t they? Mother. Papa. Kitty, in some ways. Even Maxine. Why should I be expected to behave any differently?

Moments later I felt Gerard’s arms around my waist. “You,” he said, whispering in my ear, “are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

I blushed. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so,” he replied. “Where did you get that dress? You are a vision.”

“I wore it for you,” I said. “I wanted you to—”

“Wait, is that Ethan Waggoner?” He squinted at the entrance to the garden as a man and his very pregnant wife walked through the gate. “Sorry to interrupt, sweetheart, but it’s an old friend from college. Let me introduce you.”

The afternoon was so filled with introductions and how-do-you-dos that I hardly saw Gerard, except for an occasional wave from across the terrace or a kiss on the cheek in passing. Engagement parties were not for the engaged.

As the dinner bell rang, I looked around for Kitty, realizing that I hadn’t seen her all afternoon.
That’s strange; she’s known about the event for weeks.
Throughout dinner, her spot at the head table next to Gerard and me remained curiously empty. And when the band started to play the first song of the night, “You Go to My Head,” I began to worry.

“Gerard,” I whispered in his ear as we swayed on the dance floor, feeling what seemed to be a thousand pairs of eyes staring at us through the warm night air. I tried to ignore them. “Kitty hasn’t shown up. I’m worried about her.”

“She’s probably just running behind schedule,” he said, without a trace of concern. “You know Kitty.”

True, Kitty was often late. But not
five hours
late—to the engagement party of her best friend. No, something was wrong. I felt it.

I rested my head on Gerard’s lapel as he led me around the dance floor in perfect form. I closed my eyes and let him lead me, as I always did, never taking the reins for a moment, as I listened to the words of the song.

You go to my head and linger like a haunting refrain. . . .
Did
Gerard
go to my head?

“Gerard,” I whispered, “have you thought much about the war? About joining?”

He pulled back to look at me. “Sweetheart, if you’re worried about me being drafted, please don’t. Father’s already taken care of that.”

I frowned. “Oh,” I said, pausing to choose my words carefully. “But, don’t you ever worry that . . .”

“Worry about what?”

My thoughts were interrupted by motion, detected in the corner of my eye, at the entrance to the garden. Someone was waving, trying to get my attention. The lights from the dance floor blurred the periphery, but I squinted hard to bring the person into focus.
Kitty.
There she was, standing behind the garden gate.
Is it locked? Why isn’t she coming in?
She dabbed a handkerchief to her eye.
No, something is wrong.

The song ended and several other couples joined us on the dance floor. I leaned in close to Gerard and whispered, “Do you mind sitting this one out?”

He gave me a confused smile, but nodded, before I raced through the gate, where I found Kitty seated on the sidewalk, slumped over, head buried against her knees.

“Kitty, what happened?” I noticed her face first, the tear-smeared makeup down her cheeks, eyes red from crying.

“You must think I’m a terrible, terrible friend,” she sobbed, burying her face again.

I smoothed her hair, tucking whatever stray locks I could back into her hairpins, but it was no use. Her curls were disheveled in a way I’d never seen before. “Of course I don’t, dear,” I said. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

“I’m so sorry, Anne, for standing you up like I have,” she sniffed. “You must consider me a wretched friend. And I am. I am a miserable, unworthy friend.” More sobbing ensued, and I pulled out a fresh handkerchief from the fold of my dress and handed it to her.

“You are not an unworthy friend,” I said. “You are my dearest friend.”

Kitty blew her nose, and looked up at me with frightfully grief-stricken eyes. Her gaze telegraphed sadness, that was certain, but also a glint of desperation. Here was a woman on the verge of a drastic move. I looked away.

“I arrived hours ago,” she said. “But I just couldn’t come in.”

“Why on earth not?”

She blew her nose again. “Because I can’t bear to see you off,” she said.

“But I’m not going anywhere, Kitty.”

“That’s just it,” she said. “You are. You’re getting married. You’re changing. And I know I should be happy for you, but all I can think of is how I’m losing you.”

“Oh, Kitty,” I said. “You’ll never
lose
me!”

She nodded. “But I will. And it’s the way it has to be. I just haven’t gotten used to it yet.” She pointed to the party on the other side of the hedge. “It’s why I couldn’t join in tonight. I’m so sorry, Anne.”

I reached for her hand. “No,” I said firmly. “You mustn’t apologize.” I used the hem of my dress to blot an errant tear from her cheek.

“Anne,” she said, a little distantly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I let go of her hand. “What?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Tell me anyway,” I said, bracing myself for whatever was coming.

“I’ve made a big decision—about my future,” she said. She cleared her throat. “You’re moving on, and so must I.”

“Kitty, whatever do you mean?”

She took a deep, calming breath. “You remember the pact we made when we signed up for nursing school together?”

I nodded. “Yes. We swore we wouldn’t end up like our mothers.”

“Exactly,” she said, staring straight ahead. “And that we wanted a different life, a more meaningful life.”

I frowned. “Kitty, if you’re implying that by me marrying Gerard I’m—”

“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t mean that at all. I’m just saying that it occurred to me that there is something
I
can do with my life, with my skills—something of great meaning. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, ever since we first heard rumors of the war, but tonight, Anne, it’s clear what I need to do.”

I clenched my hands tightly in my lap.

“I’m going away,” she said. “Far away—to the South Pacific. I’m joining the Army Nurse Corps to assist with the war efforts. I was downtown today at the volunteer registration center. Anne, they need trained nurses. They’re desperate for them. This could finally be a chance for me to do something of value.”

My heart surged with emotion. I thought of the stories recounted in Norah’s letters about the islands—the muggy nights with the stars so close you could touch them, the beauty and the mystery, the fear of destruction, of war, lurking around every corner. The men. And though I’d only dared to dream about what it would be like, I had no idea that Kitty had been quietly making plans to go.

I kicked a pebble, sending it flying into the street. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

I sighed.

“Listen,” Kitty continued. “You’re getting married. Everyone’s getting married, or going to school, or going somewhere. I won’t sit here idly and watch while everything changes. I want to be a part of the change.”

Yes, change was happening to both of us, whether we wanted to participate or not. The closer we came to it, the more painful it felt. And now that we were staring it in the eye, it produced an ache in my heart that I could not ignore.

“Mother hates the idea, of course,” Kitty continued, “of me running off to an untamed island, to mingle with
savages
, to live among army men, but I don’t care. I don’t care what anyone thinks, except”—her tone became more cautious—“well, you.”

I couldn’t bear to think of Kitty out there either, but not because of the “savages” or the men, though the latter did concern me a fair amount. No, I couldn’t stand it that Kitty was leaving, flinging herself to another part of the world—without me.

“I’ve been corresponding with Norah,” I finally confessed.