The Memento (19 page)

Deep in July I took a vase of fresh flowers up to Marigold’s room just after breakfast. A light rain had fallen in the night and I’d been soaked from the raindrops falling off the leaves as I picked the flowers. I had to change when I got back. I was late coming up and hurried along to her room.

When I walked in the door Margaret was helping Marigold pull on thick support hose, which she wore to support her bulging veins. Her white hair was braided and pinned up on her head.

“Oh, how stunning, Fancy. Put them right here on the table beside me. I admire midsummer flowers but there’s nothing quite as special as the first and last flowers of the season, the mayflowers, and the October roses. I see you’ve been cutting the Lord Black of Swallow’s Hill. I worship the tea roses. I did a hybrid once, for my husband. I called it The Colonel Parker. But it had a fishy odour so I let it die. Charlie’s rose garden is doing well. They are keeping them splendidly. Arthur is a great help in the garden, they tell me.”

She moved over to her dressing table where she looked at me in the round mirror. Margaret came over and helped her with her makeup. There was a magnifying glass on the table that Marigold used on her own so she wouldn’t get the lipstick and eye liner crooked.

“Maybe you’ll end up working in a flower shop. Agatha would find that terrifying, of course. What a silly girl she can be, afraid of a vase of flowers. I never understood it. Agatha says cut flowers reek of death as they wilt and brown. She’s terribly morbid, that dear child, which I attribute to her mother.”

“Jenny sure knows her own mind,” I said.

Margaret was standing silently with her lips pressed together as we talked about Jenny, like we was talking about a lunatic. She went off into Marigold’s closet in an adjoining room.

“No lady wants a shiny face.” Marigold chuckled with delight at her reflection and brushed some sweet-smelling powder on
her cheeks with an enormous puff. “Well, each to their own, I say. There is time yet, so much time for you young people. Margaret and I are having a slow morning today.” She picked up a big pea-cock-feather fan with a base of abalone shell and started flapping it about. “Estelle says we should have air conditioning but I think that’s absurd. All you need is a breeze and you can endure any heat. And what we must never forget about summer, darling, is that it just doesn’t last.”

Since Marigold seemed to be talking to herself, I left her at the vanity and went through the adjoining door. Margaret turned around holding an antiquated maid’s outfit. “Jenny sounds like a freak, Fancy. I hope she doesn’t come out,” she whispered.

“She ain’t that bad. You get used to Jenny. She can be kind. You just never know when. Same with being mean. Ma says that’s a family trait. Except for Pomeline.”

“I just hope they keep Jenny in the city.” Margaret held out the black dress with a white apron. “Look what I found yesterday, on the third floor in the sewing room. Or linen room. Whatever it’s called. Marigold asked me to go looking for them, for nostalgia’s sake.”

Margaret carried the maid’s uniform on the hanger to show Marigold. She clapped her hands together and tittered like a mindless young girl. “It will be just like the old days. Why don’t you try them on, my dears? There must be one that will fit you, Fancy. Go have a look-see. So much nicer than what those cleaning girls wear, dressed like they’re going to a gymnasium. Margaret, take Fancy upstairs to change.” Marigold was looking at the dress fondly, like it might get up and start moving around the room and fold her clothes, maybe serve her some tea and crumpets.

Margaret bit her lip and went out the door carrying the dress, and I followed her up the stairs to the third floor and past a long row of storage rooms. The nursery had been up there, as well as the room for the nanny and governess, though I couldn’t remember those
being used in my lifetime. Margaret took out a skeleton key when we came to the room at the end.

“Where’d you get that?” I said, thinking about the key to the Annex.

“Marigold sent me down to get it from Loretta. Loretta said it would be good to humour her.” She shrugged. “They’re paying me. I could care less. The summer will be over soon enough. That old lady’s crazy. You should hear the stories she tells me.”

The key turned with a loud click, and she twisted the glass knob and opened the door. The room was large and the air was stale and dry. There was a small deep-set window with a window seat overlooking the back of the house. I reached for the tarnished brass light switch. There was a light fixture on the opposite wall with a pink sconce. I flicked the switch back and forth but it didn’t come on.

“Another thing that doesn’t work,” Margaret said. “Surprise, surprise, with the age of this place. Hector says the whole place needs rewiring.”

There was a curious light in the room coming through the window, staining the white walls pale purple. “I guess this was the sewing room. I ain’t never been in here.” The walls were lined with closet doors. There was a long oval mirror mounted on a stand-up wooden frame, the glass warped and dusty. On either side of the mirror was two of them dress forms, black metal skeletons to pull a dress over. A set of shelves was built into one wall with irons lined up, some books, a stand full of dress patterns and a porcelain watering can with faded yellow lilies on the side. I opened up a cupboard and it was packed with fabric, carefully folded but never used. It was like it had all been abandoned. On the floor was a brittle wickerwork box of embroidery flosses and fabrics and needles, probably my mother’s. I could hardly believe my find. There was also a box of wooden frames. I knelt down and started looking through them.

“You might as well take those. Whoever stored it there is probably dead. I’d have figured you and Art would have been through the whole house,” Margaret said as she opened up the centre closet, where butler suits hung. “So many doors in this house, and most of them are locked.”

Margaret opened up another closet. It was stuffed full of black dresses and white aprons. The upper shelf had white hair bands with a lace detail at the front. “Mrs. Parker said they had a seamstress at one point, when she first married Mr. Parker, to make all the clothes for the staff, and for her and the children.” We stood there in front of the big mirror, holding our dresses. “I’m going to put it on if that will make the old lady happy. She’s going to give me a reference. And maybe a raise.” Margaret took off her skirt and top and stood there in her bra and panties. She didn’t mind being undressed, even with her rolls of flesh, her big breasts stuffed into her black bra. “A girl should wear sexy underwear,” Margaret said, catching me glancing at her. “It catches a man off guard.” She pulled the dress on, buttoned it up and tied the apron. “Go on,” Margaret said. “It won’t bite you. And it will make Marigold shut up.”

I turned my back. It was my first year wearing a bra. I had no choice for in just one year I’d gone from a girl flat as a cutting board to having breasts that reminded me of the naked statues in the gardens that the Colonel coveted. Loretta would have put brassieres on the statues if they’d have let her. She bought a couple for me, a scratchy beige industrial fabric. She said it wasn’t right for a girl my age to go jiggling about, although Loretta said nothing about Margaret’s bosom. I pulled the dress on and it seemed almost tailor-made for me. I looked in the mirror as I tied the apron. It was then I saw my mother’s initials embroidered on the pocket. I ran my fingertips over the stitches as Margaret came behind me and put lace maid caps on our heads. We stood there side by side in the mirror, me puny and short, and her tall and
wide, an odd pair if there ever was one. I raised my hand and the girl in the mirror raised her hand back as far off we heard a door slam and we was both startled out of the strange mood that had come over the room.

Margaret took lipstick out of the skirt she had laid over a chair. She circled my lips with it without even asking, and I let her do it. I examined my reflection, and I scarcely recognized myself. I smiled in the mirror and the small young woman smiled back. Margaret suddenly took a deep breath. I looked at her in the mirror, watching myself watching her, or the little maid in the mirror watching her. Margaret’s eyes weren’t on mine in the glass, or on my dress. She had one hand on my shoulder, and when I followed her eyes they were staring at a face behind us, reflected poorly in the blemished mirror, a young woman’s face watching us there in our uniforms, cameo perfect, motionless, just a disembodied head above Margaret’s shoulder.
Fancy Mosher
, it said.

The head in the mirror broke into laughter and Margaret gasped. We turned around and there was nothing there. Margaret yelped, and I put my hands over my mouth in fear. A young woman stood in the doorway in the muted light.

“Pomeline! What are you doing here?” I yelled.

Margaret was almost crying.

Pomeline seemed nervous, like we’d scared her as much as she’d scared us. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. What did you think? That I was a ghost? It should be me screaming, seeing the two of you. I’m sure this is Granny’s idea. She’s lucky you’re as patient as you are. She’ll be trying to get me in her musty garden party clothes next. Granny’s very good at getting what she wants, isn’t she?” Pomeline fanned herself with her hand. She was flushed. “It’s warm up here. I was looking for some books in one of the guest rooms. My father kept a variety of his things stored up here. I didn’t expect to see anyone on the third floor.” Pomeline stepped back into the hall, adjusting her dress.

Pomeline had what Loretta called poise, even when she was startled.

“We should open some windows,” she said. “Air conditioning is one thing I miss from the city.” A drop of sweat rolled down her forehead and stopped between her eyebrows like a crystal-clear pearl.

Margaret was shifting her weight from foot to foot, her arms crossed, pulling the uniform crooked. Margaret didn’t know how to behave around a girl her own age, let alone someone like Pomeline. She cleared her throat. “Must be awful quiet out here after living in the city. No television, no friends, nothing to do,” Margaret said. “No wonder you go wandering around the house, trying to find anything to keep you from dying of boredom.”

Pomeline came back into herself and gazed at Margaret in that same pitying way Marigold looked at people who didn’t understand her. “I don’t mind at all. I’m so busy with the piano. I’ll see you later then, girls. I might have a nap before lunch. I haven’t been sleeping well. The party planners are coming out tomorrow and it’s going to be busy.” Pomeline put her hand on the wall momentarily, like the weight of the whole house was upon her, then stood up, posture perfect, and walked back down the stairs without making a sound.

Margaret sat at one of the old sewing machines. It had a foot pump that she started pressing so that it whirred and clunked. “She might look young but she acts like her grandmother. Who takes a nap at eighteen? Did you hear how she talked to me? She thinks she’s better than us because of all their money but she don’t fool me like she’s fooling you. She’s not living in the real world.”

We heard a creak from the hall, and another creak and another. We tiptoed to the door and saw Dr. Baker standing on the landing, his hand on the railing. He waved up at us. “Girls. I heard your voices. Now look at the two of you …” He looked at us both from head to toe and burst out laughing. “How quaint. You both look
so grown up. My goodness. This must be Marigold’s doing. You’re good to indulge her, girls. And you both look lovely. We need a breeze in here. My God, it’s hot as Hades.” He too started fanning himself.

“Mrs. Parker thought we might want to wear uniforms,” I said. “I didn’t know you were out to Petal’s End today.”

Dr. Baker fussed with his sleeves. “I got here early this morning. I’m out for a few days. Well, I must go check on Marigold.” He hesitated a moment, then left.

We stood there until we couldn’t hear his footsteps no more. Neither of us said a word to each other but I knew Margaret thought what I did. Dr. Baker hadn’t been coming up the stairs—he’d been going down them, trying to sneak by without us seeing.

I went back into the room and put the embroidery basket in the box with the frames and carried them down the stairs behind Margaret.

When we got back to Marigold’s room she was resting and Dr. Baker wasn’t there. Margaret cleared her throat and Marigold opened her eyes. She put her hands to her lips and pointed at me, staring. She snapped out of it, shaking her head. “Oh my. Fancy, for a moment I thought Marilyn Mosher was standing in front of me. She was young when she wore that, just a few years older than you are now. You are more congenial. She never liked being told what to do, and that’s simply part of working here, that you’ll do as you’re told, and behave properly. It’s too bad your mother didn’t understand that.” Marigold rubbed her face on the stiff side. She gave a cough and took a deep breath. “Let’s think of more pleasant things then, shall we? It’s just like when I was young,” she said. “We’ll skip the embroidery today, girls. There’s so much to plan for the party now. Never underestimate an old woman. Dr. Baker has found us some professionals to help plan. Ladies he knows in the city. Isn’t that exciting? Loretta will be looking for you, Fancy. I kept you too long.”

I smoothed my apron and left them there. I picked up the box I’d left in the hall, hurried back to my room and put it in the closet.

The Parkers took their lunch on the verandah. Pomeline appeared to have cooled down. Dr. Baker was laughing and chatting about some fancy event and how the same ladies who had planned it would be planning the garden party. Margaret and I began clearing their dishes. Loretta came out then, with her Lady Dundee cake and iced tea with lemon slices, and we served. Marigold took a bite of her dessert, tasting the whipped cream, smacking her lips. “Now, my cousin Harold and his wife Sakura are arriving tomorrow. Harry is helping me with my will. Estelle won’t like
that
one bit but it’s really none of her concern.”

Pomeline sighed. “You know what Mummy’s like, Granny. She’s just worried things won’t be taken care of.”