The Swan House (46 page)

When Trixie had tucked Lucy into bed in the guest room and checked on Jimmy's fever for the third time, she opened another small cardboard box, and I caught my breath suddenly as she lifted two miniature white swans from the box. Mama's swans. The ones made out of fine bone china that Mamie had bought her in London. They were a pair, small, with hollow backs so that you could put salt and pepper in them and serve it out with two tiny silver spoons. But at Christmas, Mama would always set the swans on a red satin place mat in the center of the dining table and place a tiny gold candle in each one. She had lit the candles every evening in December.

I picked up one of the swans. “Mama said they'd be mine someday. I guess that day has come.”

Trixie didn't know what to say. “Would you rather not put them out this year, Swannee?”

“No, it's all right. They need to be here to remind us of Mama.” As if everything I was doing didn't already remind me of her.

“How are you doing, Mary Swan?” Trixie asked, when the swans had found their rightful place and Trixie had put the small gold candles inside.

I shrugged.

She lit a cigarette and curled her feet under her on the couch. “Did you have fun at the Christmas dance? Your dad said you went with Robbie Bartholomew.”

I felt my face warming. “Yeah, we had fun. It was a good evening.”

“That doesn't sound too convincing.”

“No, it was really good. But I think my favorite part was seeing my friends from Grant Park there.”

Trixie blew a long wisp of smoke off to the side. Her eyes got narrow, and she smiled. “I have no idea what you're talking about, Swan, but it sounds interesting. Explain.”

“I have some friends, black friends, guys.” I sneaked a look at her, but she didn't flinch. “They're great musicians. They have a jazz band, and I asked Mrs. Appleby if they could play as the warm-up band at the PDC, and she agreed. And they were great. Really great.”

“That's remarkable, Swannee! And you say they're friends of yours?”

Suddenly I wished I hadn't told her. “Yeah, but promise you won't say a word to Daddy. He knows I go down to Grant Park, but he doesn't know much else.”

“Is there a lot else to know?”

I glanced her way. “Yeah, but I don't wanna talk about it.”

She crushed out the cigarette in the silver ashtray. “No more questions, then.”

So we listened to the Christmas music and admired the blue spruce. “I have a question for you,” I said finally. “You're the only one I can ask.”

“Uh-oh, I can hear trouble coming,” she teased.

I grimaced. “Do you think—is there any way that maybe you could take me to Resthaven sometime soon?”

“Mary Swan . . .”

“I know you'll say I've got to talk to Daddy, but I swear it's impossible. And I have to go back—I mean, go there.”

She didn't miss the slip. “Back?”

I nodded.

“You've been to Resthaven recently?”

Another nod.

Trixie mashed her lips together and reached for another cigarette. “Tell me about it, Swannee.”

“I can't now. But I'll explain it all to you if you'll take me. It's important. Very important for Mama. And for me.” Now I stared straight into her eyes, pleading.

“My goodness, Swan, you look just like your mother right now. You are a beautiful young lady.”

I was so taken aback by her comment that I couldn't think of anything to say. A smile curled on my lips.

“Let me look at my calendar. See if we can work out a time after Christmas.” She gave a sigh. “What are you getting me into, Mary Swan?” But when I gave her a quick hug and started up the stairs, she was smiling.

I don't know what time Daddy came in because I was in the
atelier
working on a sketch and getting ideas for my painting when I heard his car drive up. I finished up the sketch, so it must have been five or ten minutes before I left the
atelier
. I was in the hall, about to go downstairs and greet Daddy when I heard Trixie's voice saying, “Don't worry. They're all asleep.”

Daddy's answer was muffled. “I don't want to talk about it tonight. Some other time, Trixie.”

“JJ.” She sounded irritated. “Listen, JJ, she's a girl, a young girl who is trying to figure out a lot of hard things.”

“She's got no business figuring them out. If I kept them from her, it was for a good reason! You're the one to blame, Trixie! If you hadn't told her about Sheila's depression, she'd have never known. And why in the world does she want to go snooping around for all this stuff, anyway?”

By now I had seated myself on one of the stairs and was leaning against the banister, straining to hear the conversation taking place in the living room.

“Oh, you're wrong, JJ. She was finding things out on her own. She's trying to figure out who she is and who her mother was.” I couldn't see it, but I could imagine Trixie sitting across from Daddy, giving him a stern look, her legs crossed primly. “JJ, you cannot hide things from Swan. Can't you see your daughter needs you? Can't you see she is dying to have you take some time with her? Explain life to her? If you don't do it, who else does she have?”

Daddy cursed, then said, “Trixie, for heaven's sake. It's none of your business.”

“Well, then, who will tell you the truth before it's too late? Not your parents! Ella Mae? She'll be loyal to the great JJ Middleton and her memory of Sheila to the grave. But you can't reproach Ella Mae. She did the only thing she thought she could get away with. She took Mary Swan to help out at her church.”

That terrible beast in the pit of my stomach had revived and was knocking against my sides.

“I don't know if you've looked at Swan lately, JJ. But she's blossoming in every way. She's a wonderful kid. She thinks about things. About segregation. About poverty. About what part religion plays in her life. And she thinks about her mother. A lot. You're the only one, JJ, the
only
one, who can tell her the truth.”

There was a moment of silence, then I heard Trixie's voice again. “Please don't make her hide behind a bunch of lies. Free her! Don't put her through the hell I lived through. The whisperings. The feeling of being completely alone in this world with no one to protect you. I moved here for Tony. Moved from the cotton plantation. And when he left me, I was twenty-five and pregnant. My parents were a long way away, but the scandal nearly destroyed them. They couldn't bear it.

“But you know who I had? I had Sheila! I had your wife! Why are you embarrassed to tell Swan that Sheila was sick? Why do you have to make it seem like everything was always perfect? We're all just miserable fallen creatures. Some of us are hurting in our minds, like Sheila, others somewhere else. But we're all weak. It isn't a sin to admit it, JJ. Swan will understand. Tell how her mama was awfully sick, but tell her about her heart of gold. You fell in love with her not just for her looks, but for her heart. I know it, JJ. You told me. Tell her how Sheila used your money. Tell her how it helped Ella Mae. Tell her about the room at Resthaven.”

Throughout the whole monologue, Daddy hadn't breathed a word. Now he sighed, long and hard. I imagined him leaning over, head in his hands, tracing a finger around his eyes and Trixie's small hand, with its perfectly manicured nails, resting lightly on his bent-over back.

“JJ, this plane crash has the potential to destroy the lives of a whole lot of people. People who have lost their civic leaders, workers who have lost their company presidents. And mostly, children who have lost their parents. Their role models. Please talk to Swan. She needs you. Jimmy needs you too. But he needs you to throw a ball with and to take him out to get a milkshake and wrestle with and go to his games. Swan needs her Daddy. She still needs you for a few more years. Either you help her through this terrible time and build something harder, but stronger and more secure, or you let her fend for herself and lose her emotionally forever.”

“You're hard on me, Trixie. You've always been hard on me.”

Things were quiet for a moment. Then Trixie said so softly that I could barely distinguish her words, “Somebody has to tell you the truth. Sheila was my best friend. She's not here to say it. You loved her, JJ. Do it out of love for Sheila, and for Mary Swan.”

“I loved her. God knows I loved her.” There was a catch in Daddy's voice. I was terrified for him. Was Daddy going to cry in front of Trixie?

“Tell me what to do with her, Trix. I'm so lost. Do you know what she did the other day? Came in with her hair all braided like a Negro!”

“And that upset you?”

“Of course it upset me, Trixie. She spends half her time in the ghetto with Ella Mae. Before you know it, she'll be talking like them.”

“JJ, she's helping down there. You should go and see. Her eyes were dancing when she told me about it! At least she's not getting drunk on the weekends or sleeping around or getting into a hundred other kinds of trouble. There are a lot of different ways to act on your grief, some more constructive than others. Alcohol, or boys, or overwork.” I could imagine her looking at Daddy accusingly on that one.

“So tell me what to do.”

“Take her out on a date. Girls love that. Take her to the City Club, alone. Just you and Swan. And talk to her. Ask her questions. Answer her questions. Talk. And listen. Try to listen to what is behind her words, JJ.”

By now they had stood up and were walking toward the front door. I scurried up the stairs and into the hall.

“This is hard, Trix. Everything is too hard.”

“You can do it.” Then she gave Daddy a kiss on the cheek and said, “I'll be back in the morning to get Lucy.” And she was out the door.

Everything was deathly quiet for five minutes. Finally I tiptoed to the top of the stairs and peered over the railing. Daddy was leaning against the wall in the entranceway, staring up at the painting of me on the tree swing, the one that had hung in the High Museum for several months and now was back home.

Chapter 22

W
e got through Christmas in a sort of truce, Daddy and I. Neither of us talked much, and fortunately the days were filled with tradition—a Christmas Eve meal at Grandmom and Granddad Middleton's followed by the midnight service at St. Philip's, a day with all the relatives at my aunt's house on Christmas afternoon, and a wonderful French five-course dinner at Mamie and Papy's plantation the next day. And the house looked festive enough, thanks to Trixie's initiative.

I also attended several open house parties at friends' homes, which was another Christmas tradition, and Robbie was at every one. We could make small talk fine, but that wasn't what I wanted to do. I wanted to encourage him to follow his heart and pursue his dreams, and I wanted to tell his father what a great job Robbie had done planning the Day at the Park. I found that I missed Robbie Bartholomew, our dates, our talks, our kisses, just about everything. I missed him, and something inside felt funny just waving good-bye to him at a party instead of driving off with him in that bright red convertible. He didn't bring anyone else to these parties, but it was obvious that we were no longer dating. I noticed several other girls flirting with him, and that hurt like fire. That really stung my heart.

When I was near Robbie, I couldn't imagine how things could possibly work out with Carl. But when I sat alone in my room or in Mama's
atelier
, especially in the
atelier
where I'd gotten “the hug,” well, then everything seemed possible.

“How's Robbie Bartholomew?” Daddy asked after I returned from a party two days after Christmas.

“Fine, I think.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

“Yeah. I just saw him at the Garretts' house.”

“Hmm.” Daddy looked a little perplexed. “Everything all right between the two of you?”

“Well, everything's all right, but we aren't dating anymore. We broke up after the Christmas dance.”

“I see” was all that Daddy managed to say, but there was a look of disappointment in his eyes.

It was on Friday of that same week, in between Christmas and New Year's, that Daddy and I reached our absolute lowest. Ella Mae was back at our house after her annual four-day Christmas break. I had just slipped into my jeans and pulled on a sweatshirt and was headed to Rachel's to ride when I heard Daddy call out, “Ella Mae. Ella Mae, I need to talk to you.” The tone of his voice stopped me cold.

Ella Mae went obediently into the study. Daddy must have thought I'd already left to ride because he did not lower his voice. “Ella Mae, I won't have you carting Mary Swan down to the inner city anymore, you hear? It isn't safe or proper. Not for a girl like her.”

I couldn't see Ella Mae, and she wasn't saying a word.

Daddy sighed. “I appreciate your trying to get her to help out down there. Just as you did for Sheila. But not now, Ella Mae. You know I didn't approve of Sheila going down there. I felt it wasn't safe, especially in her condition. But she was an adult. Mary Swan is just a child. A young girl very capable of being influenced in the wrong way. I can't have it. Is that clear?”

“Yessir, Mista Middleton, I understand.”

And that was the end of the conversation.

My mouth went dry, and I hesitated at the back door. Did I run to Daddy and tell him I'd heard every word? Beg him to reconsider? Apologize for being insolent with him? In the end, I couldn't say a thing. All I could do was hate whatever it was in Daddy that made him react that way. And I had a clue of what it was.
Mama had helped out
in the inner city! This was something to talk to Miss Abigail about!

When I returned from riding, Ella Mae had finished frying the chicken, and she nodded to me when I grabbed a chicken leg and took a big bite, but she didn't smile. She didn't say a word. She just wiped her hands on a dish towel and gave me a slow nod and walked right straight toward Daddy's study. She knocked on the closed door, something I had never once seen her do before.