The Shadow Queen (11 page)

Not even for a minute did she think John Jasper wouldn’t be there.

Phoebe had been quite explicit in the instructions she had told Wallis to give him. “The dirt road is quite manageable in the dark. Leastways, none of my beaux have come to grief on it. Oldfields can be seen quite clearly from it, and if he halts his car so that it is directly in line with the school, you won’t be able to miss each other.”

Wallis had a steady nerve, but crossing the grounds by moonlight tested them to the limit. She imagined dark shapes in the darkness where she knew no dark shapes could possibly be. An owl flew unnervingly low past her. Seconds later, as the owl plummeted, a small animal made a terrified screeching sound. Wallis almost did the same thing. Phoebe had made her nighttime escapades seem a piece of cake. What she hadn’t said was that the night would be filled with creatures—owls, mice, bats—that no sane person would want to tangle with.

When she finally neared the dirt road and John Jasper’s voice came out of the darkness, saying low and urgently, “Wallis? Is that you, Wallis?” it took her all of her self-control not to cry with relief.

Calling out, “Yes, it’s me,” she ran toward the sound of his voice, determined not to let him see how unnerved she’d been. Though she would never have been so forward as to run into his arms if they had been meeting in daylight, running into them now seemed the most natural thing in the world to do.

He hugged her tightly. “Dear Lord, Wallis! I’d no idea you’d have to come so far in utter darkness to meet me. If I’d known, I’d never have let you do it.”

Held deliciously close against the tweed of his ankle-length overcoat, she giggled. “It was nothing,” she lied glibly. “I’m not scared of the dark, John Jasper.”

She felt his lips touch her hair, and then, as she smelled the faint familiar fragrance of lemon cologne, he said gruffly, “I don’t know any other girl who would have had the guts to do what you just did, Wallis.”

Wallis moved in the circle of his arms in order to look up into his face. “I do,” she said impishly. “Her name is Phoebe Schermerhorn and she does this kind of thing all the time.”

He didn’t grin back down at her. Instead, he traced the line of her cheek with his gloved forefinger, tucked a stray strand of her hair back into the woolen beret she was wearing, and said thickly, “I think I’m in love with you, Wallis Warfield.”

“That’s good.” Her eyes held his steadily. “Because that’s just what I want you to be, John Jasper.”

He chuckled at her sassiness, then lowered his head to hers.

Her arms went up around his neck and she did what she had longed to do ever since they had been children in Miss O’Donnell’s classroom. She hooked her fingers into his hair, feeling the tight curls spring coarsely against her palms. His mouth was hot and sweet and this time when they kissed, she instinctively allowed her mouth to open and her tongue to slide past his.

The impact on John Jasper was profound.

He gave a low groan, and Wallis was overcome with elation. If this was all it took to bring boys to their knees in submission, then she need never find herself without a beau.

“Let’s sit in the car,” she said huskily when he finally raised his head from hers. “I want to hear all about Loyola. Are you on the baseball team? And I want to hear all the Baltimore gossip.”

For over an hour they sat in the Packard, talking, kissing, and canoodling, and then talking some more. At last she said regretfully, “It’s time I was getting back, JJ.”

He nodded, trusting her judgment, well aware that she was the one who was running all the risks. “But not on your own,” he said. “I’m going to walk you back across the grounds.”

She was too relieved by his suggestion to argue. She took good care not to sound it. “If you want to,” she said, as if predatory owls and bats and mice held no terrors for her.

The look of admiration he gave her sent fresh tingles down her spine.

Tonight something very special had happened between her and John Jasper. He wasn’t merely now just a beau. He was a beau she was certain would still be her beau when she had her debutante year. A beau who, when he finished college, would ask her to marry him.

When he did so, she didn’t have a shadow of doubt what her answer was going to be. Though John Jasper’s family weren’t as superlatively wealthy as the families of some of the girls she was now friends with, they were still wealthy enough for her Uncle Sol not to think such a match a misalliance. John Jasper was an only child and was studying law. Not only would he be a husband she was head over heels in love with, he would also be a husband able to give her the financial security she had so far had to live without.

When she was safely back in her bed, she wondered how many children they would have. A boy first, of course. Everyone wanted to have a boy first. They would be able to call him John Jasper II. Then a little girl would be nice. If they had a little girl she would call her Alice, after her mother. That meant their daughter’s second name would have to be John Jasper’s mother’s name. She wondered what his mother’s Christian name was and hoped it wasn’t something awful, such as Wilhelmina or Augusta. Then, reliving the passionate kiss she had shared with John Jasper when he had said good-bye to her outside the infirmary window, she fell asleep to dreams of wedding bells and fairy-tale white gowns.

The next morning she woke to find she had earned herself a whole new reputation at Oldfields. Not only was she now known to be hardworking and fun to be with, she was now known to be fearlessly daring. She had always been popular within her own small group; now everyone wanted to be her friend. It was a popularity that sat easily on her. Too angular and boyish in build to be as pretty as the other girls, she had long ago learned that to be noticed, she had to be different. Thanks to her mother’s dressmaking skills, she had succeeded where her clothes were concerned, and now, thanks to her reckless nighttime meeting with John Jasper, she was succeeding in other ways as well.

The bubble burst a few days later when she was called out of the classroom and told that Miss Nan wished to speak with her.

As she walked with leaden feet from the classroom, she knew that behind her every girl was holding her breath, certain that she would never return to it; that Miss Nan had learned of her escapade and that she was about to be expelled.

Wallis was also utterly certain she was about to be expelled. The blood drummed in her ears as she neared the room known at Oldfields as the Holy of Holies. What on earth was her Uncle Sol going to say—and do—when he was informed of how disgracefully she had behaved? Even just thinking about it made her feel violently ill.

“Miss Nan has asked that you go straight in,” the school secretary said, with a look of exquisite sorrow.

Wallis drew in a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back, and lifted her head high. If she was going to the executioner’s block, then she was going to go with panache.

Her initial shock on entering the room was that there was no anger or disappointment on Miss Nan’s face. Instead, like her secretary, she simply looked immensely sorry for her.

“Please sit down, Wallis.”

Wallis sat down, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her heart thudding.

“I
t is my painful duty, Wallis, to tell you that your stepfather has died. You will, of course, be given time off school to attend the funeral. Deep as your grief will be, Wallis, I am trusting you to conduct yourself through these difficult days with dignity. When tears are shed, they should be shed in private.”

Wallis was too stunned for tears. How could Free be dead? He was always so amiable. Always so happily content. That she would never hear his chuckling laughter again or be the subject of his gentle teasing was almost impossible to take in. And what about her mother? Her mother and Free had been idyllically happy together, and they had only been married a few short years. How was her mother going to come to terms with such a devastating blow?

“Your stepfather had been ill for some time, Wallis,” Miss Nan continued. “Your aunt, Mrs. Merryman, tells me it is something your mother kept from you, not wanting to cause you anxiety and worry. Mr. Rasin died in Atlantic City, where he had gone in an effort to improve his health. Your mother will be bringing his body home to Baltimore for the funeral.”

She rose to her feet. “There is no need to return straight to your classroom, Wallis. Please take all the time you need for quiet reflection. Perhaps a long walk or time spent alone in the chapel?”

“Yes. Thank you, Miss Nan.” The words came stiltedly and automatically.

Miss Nan walked her to the door. “Later on today, when you have composed yourself, you will need to pack a suitcase. In the morning you are to return to Baltimore until the funeral is over. As your mother has not yet returned to Baltimore with your stepfather’s body, your aunt will meet you on your arrival.”

Wallis left the room in a daze. A half hour ago, confident of John Jasper’s love for her, she had been the happiest girl in the world. Now all she could think about was the depth of her mother’s grief and her own deep sense of loss. Free had been a kind stepfather to her, and she was going to miss him a great deal.

She didn’t take Miss Nan’s advice and go for a long walk or spend time in the chapel. Instead she went back to the empty dormitory, sitting cross-legged on her bed as she tried to come to terms with the latest upheaval in her life.

The next day’s train journey back to Baltimore, knowing what lay at the end of it, was a miserable one. Her Aunt Bessie was at the station to meet her and, heedless of what Miss Nan had told her, tears came the minute her aunt’s arms went lovingly around her.

“Hush there, pet,” Bessie said, her own eyes overly bright. “We have to be strong for your poor dear mother. Her train from Atlantic City arrives on platform four in thirty minutes’ time.”

When the Atlantic City train steamed into the station, it did so slowly, as if its driver were well aware there was a dead man aboard, being brought home for burial.

Wallis pressed a black-gloved hand to her throat, wondering if her mother had traveled in the guard’s van with Free’s coffin; wondering where the coffin was going to be taken; wondering how long it was going to be before the funeral took place.

The train surged to a noisy halt, and within seconds the platform was a mass of disembarking passengers. Even in such a crush, Wallis spotted her mother the instant she stepped down from her carriage.

Dressed in widow’s weeds, a black crepe veil falling to knee length, she looked so tiny and lost that Wallis’s heart felt as if it were going to break.

“Mama!” She began to run down the platform toward her, pushing past everyone who stood in her way.
“Mama!”

Alice stumbled into Wallis’s arms, Bully at her heels, and Wallis could see that beneath the veil, her mother’s lovely face was the color of parchment.

“Oh Wallis, sweetheart.” Her voice was a cracked whisper. “I hadn’t thought it was possible to be hurt so much, so soon.”

The next few days were tougher than Wallis had ever thought possible. First of all there was the grim task of accompanying Free’s coffin to the undertaker’s, where it was to remain until the funeral. Then came the realization that she and her mother were not returning to Biddle Street until the funeral but were to stay with one of Free’s sisters. Bully wasn’t welcome there and so he went to stay with Bessie, which was very much where Wallis wished she and her mother were staying.

The funeral took place at the Episcopalian church where her grandmother had worshipped her whole life, ensuring that the service was dignified by her presence. All through it, as Alice wept uncontrollably, Wallis remained by her side. Afterward they returned to Free’s sister’s home and it was there that Alice was dealt yet another blow.

“Free’s estate is entailed,” her sister-in-law told her just before the will was read. “And as you and Free had no children of your own, I think his will may come as something of a shock, Alice dear.”

Her words were an understatement, for the shock was so great, Alice never fully recovered from it. Much as he had loved her, Free had been unable to leave her anything. Instead, his estate was divided equally between his three sisters. The monthly checks from his trust fund stopped and Alice—and Wallis—were again wholly reliant on Sol.

“And your Uncle Sol isn’t going to fund Biddle Street,” Bessie said to Wallis the morning she was to return to Oldfields. “He’s just as jealous of Free as he was when Free was alive, and he doesn’t want your mother living somewhere she and Free were so happy.”

“But where will my mother live? She has to live somewhere! I can’t believe Uncle Sol is being so cruel to her! It’s not her fault she doesn’t love him!”

“He’s renting an apartment for her at Earl’s Court, on the corner of St. Paul Street and Preston Street.”

“Preston Street? Is that so he will be able to keep an eye on her?”

“I guess so, Wallis. But if the man had eyes in his head, he’d know it was unnecessary. Free’s early death and the loss of her home has aged your mother overnight. She’s lost all the liveliness she used to have, and I don’t think she’s ever going to get it back again.”

Wallis didn’t think she would either, and it made her heart ache in a way she found almost unbearable.

Saying good-bye to her mother when she left for the train station was one of the hardest things she had ever done, but she had no choice. Her mother took pride and pleasure in her being an Oldfields girl, and her not returning to Oldfields wouldn’t bring her mother comfort. Instead it would only add to her bitter unhappiness.

She arrived back in the midafternoon, when everyone was in class. On her bedside locker was a small pile of mail. She could tell from the shape of the envelopes that most of them contained sympathy cards. The only exception was one addressed to her in John Jasper’s familiar large scrawling handwriting.

From the very first sentence it was obvious that when he had written it, he had been unaware of her stepfather’s death.

Dearest darling Wallis
,