The Woman Who Fell From Grace (21 page)

Mercy didn’t leave the house for several days. None of the family did. They just sat in the peacock parlor, dazed. Richard drank brandy after brandy and twitched a lot. Frederick chain-smoked. Edward kept coughing and opening the window, and Frederick kept closing it. Mercy sat on the sofa with a box of Kleenex, sniffling. No one talked. It was kind of pathetic, the silence. They had held such bitter feelings toward Mavis, yet they seemed lost without her. She had defined their lives. Her will, her demands, had dictated how each of them functioned and interacted. Without her there they were like strangers, sitting around waiting for a bus. And a new master. I had a pretty good idea who that master would be, too, only he was reluctant. He wasn’t a family member. Not yet, anyway. But when it became obvious they needed him, Polk Four did step forward. It was he who made the funeral arrangements. Charlotte worked the phone. Pam kept the place running and meals on the table.

Little Gordie made for kind of a sad footnote to the story. The kid had already lost his natural parents. Now he’d lost his adoptive mother, too. Strangely, he didn’t seem upset or hurt by it. I guess it was impossible to hurt him now. To him, this was just business as usual. And that was the saddest thing of all.

There was much debate in the
Staunton Daily News Leader
over whether or not to cancel next week’s golden-anniversary festivities, the gala screening, the VADD costume ball. Naturally, the film studio was eager to capitalize on Mavis’s death. They weren’t alone. The Virginia tourism people had a lot riding on the anniversary, as did the town fathers of Staunton. Still, no one wanted to look too crass, so they left it up to the Glazes. Polk Four had to pull them together and make them decide. They decided the celebration would go on. Mavis, they felt, would have wanted it that way. Everyone was glad. I know I was. This meant Rex Ransom would still be coming to town. It also meant I’d actually have the opportunity to see Henry Kissinger in a powdered wig, red velvet knee breeches, and white silk stockings.

The Major League Editor who was publishing
Sweet Land
kept calling me from New York, and I kept ducking her. I returned her fourth call. It would have been unprofessional not to.

“Exactly how far along are you?” she wondered anxiously. “Not that I’m trying to pressure you.”

“Exactly two chapters into it,” I replied.

“That’s
all
?”

“I’ve only been here a few days,” I pointed out.

“I know, I know. I just … I mean, we’re all over the front page right now. Do you need help, Hoagy?”

“Generally.”

“I mean, is there something I can do to help speed things up? Anything?”

“Do you really want to help?”

“Absolutely. You’re our top priority. Just name it.”

“You could stop calling me.”

“Stop calling you?”

“Yes. Every minute I spend on the phone with you is a minute I’m not spending at the typewriter.”

“You mean like right now?”

“I mean like right now.”

Click
. She was gone. Smart lady. There’s even talk she’ll be getting her own imprint when she turns twenty-five.

My involvement with
Sweet Land
was actually out in the open now. Sort of. They put out a bogus press release saying Mavis had completed most of the manuscript herself before her fatal accident, and that I was being brought in to do a light polish. Hey, if you’re looking for the truth, don’t read the newspapers. And if you’re looking for appreciation, become a licensed plumber — ghosting isn’t for you.

I worked around the clock to the sounds of Garner and Gordie, who sat outside in the courtyard, tossing his ball against the wall for hours. I had no contact with the outside world, unless you count the telegram from Merilee: “I WANT YOU OUT OF THAT HORRIBLE PLACE RIGHT NOW, MISTER. STOP.” To which I replied: “CAN’T. HAVING TOO MUCH GOOD, CLEAN FUN.” Sadie was a frequent visitor, though unlike Lulu she kept climbing up on my desk and playing with the paper in my typewriter. I left my quarters only to eat and to take Lulu out for her midnight assignations with Bowser. Roy was keeping up his vigil by the wall. Mavis might be gone, but the precious Shenandoah peacocks were still in danger, or so he thought. If he thought. I had my doubts. Mostly, we caught him snoozing.

It was the morning of Mavis’s funeral when Mercy knocked on my door, wearing a Mary Baldwin sweatshirt and jeans, face scrubbed, notepad in hand, composed, alert, all business. “I’ve looked into Vangie and John’s marital vows, like you asked,” she announced briskly.

“You really didn’t have to do it now.”

“I wanted to. It’s keeping my mind off … other things, you know? I can come back later if you’d rather.”

“No, no. Now is fine.”

I gave her some coffee. She sat on the love seat with it, looked around at the room. It’s entirely possible she’d never been in it before. She’d certainly never owned it before. Lulu sniffed at her, then turned her back on her and sat with a loud, disapproving grunt. Mercy watched this curiously.

“Don’t mind her,” I said. “She’s just a little overprotective.”

Mercy smiled. “She thinks I’m going to steal you from her?”

“From Merilee, actually.”

Blushing, Mercy dove into her notes. “Okay, it seems the Anglican Church was the only officially recognized faith in the Virginia Colony,” she reported. “And Anglican clergymen were the only ones empowered to perform marital vows. So I guess they would have had an Anglican wedding.”

“Okay.”

“What did people do who
weren’t
Anglicans, I wonder?”

“Either pretend to get the faith or pretend to get married, I suppose.”

She glanced through her notes, shaking her head. “Totally medieval. Do you know if you didn’t attend an Anglican service at least once a month you could actually be fined? And if you … you … ”

I heard a soft, plopping sound first. The sound of her tears falling onto the page. Then she hiccoughed once and her shoulders began to shake and then she was gone. I went to her. She hurled herself into my arms, heaved great sobs, held on tight. When she was done watering my shoulder, I gave her my linen handkerchief.

“Sorry,” she said, sniffling, wiping her swollen eyes. “Didn’t mean to … ”

“It’s okay. Nothing to be sorry about.”

“I’m just not ready.”

“For what?”

“Any of this. The estate, being in charge. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand anything.” She buried her face in my chest. “I’m so
confused
.”

“You’re growing up all at once. Sorry to be the one to break it to you.”

“I’m just not ready,” she repeated.

“You’ll be fine. You’ve got your father, your uncles, Polk … ”

She shook her head. “I’m breaking it off with Polk.”

“Since when?”

“It’s something I decided I have to do.”

“I wouldn’t. At least not right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re under a lot of strain. It’s not a good time to make this kind of decision. Besides, he’s not such a bad guy, in his own way.”

Her eyes shone as they searched my face. “You surprise me. I thought … I mean, I thought you’d kind of approve.” She lowered her eyes shyly. “You left someone out. You said I had Father and my uncles and Polk. There’s also you.”

“I’m not worth much on the open market.”

“You are. You’re so, I don’t know,
sure
of things.”

“The only thing I’m sure of is that I’m not sure of anything. I’m merely good at pretending. Comes with being old.”

“Not so old,” Mercy said softly. She raised her face to mine, her young lips parted slightly.

I shook my head. “That’ll make things even more confusing.”

My intentions were good. At least I think they were. Unfortunately, my timing stank. Richard stormed in just then without knocking. Finding us like that on the love seat didn’t make him too happy.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Mercy!” he roared. “I see I was looking in the wrong room! Go inside and get dressed at once! The
minister
is here!”

“Yes, Father.” She gave me back my handkerchief. “Thank you, Hoagy. For everything.” Then she went out.

Richard waited until she’d closed the door behind her before he lunged at me, grabbing me by the throat with his big hairy hands. “I don’t believe there’s a word in the language vile enough to describe you!” he spat out. “Taking advantage of a grieving girl, her mother not even in her grave yet!”

“Believe what you want, Richard,” I gasped, sucking for air. “But you’re wrong. She needed a shoulder to cry on. She happens to be the tiniest bit upset at the moment.”

Richard stared deeply into my eyes. Abruptly, he released me, ran his hands through his hair. He slumped wearily into the easy chair. He seemed older to me. Mavis’s death had aged him. “Sorry, lad,” he said hoarsely. “Awfully damned sorry. Didn’t mean to … Just not myself.”

“I can’t imagine why,” I panted, fingering my throat.

Mercy had gotten coffee. Daddy got a single malt.

“It’s a bitch, this,” he confessed, sipping it gratefully. “An honest-to-Christ bitch. Mave was a hard, hard woman, lad. At times, I hated her more than I ever believed a man could hate a woman. But I did love her as well. I don’t believe I realized just how much until now. I’ve no one now,” he added mournfully. “No one in this world who gives a good goddamned about me.”

“There’s Mercy.”

“She has her own life ahead of her. Marriage, children … ”

“There’s your brother, Kenneth,” I suggested.

That one he left alone.

“Too bad he can’t make it over for the funeral,” I pressed. “Being so ill, I mean.”

He glanced at me sharply. “You know the truth, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“One of the brothers tell you?”

That one I left alone.

“Ah, well.” He chuckled softly to himself. “We all play a role of some kind. I’ve played mine, and damned well, I like to think. Mave’s idea from the start, you know. To impress the great unwashed. Meant a lot to her, bringing a fine English gent home to America with her, rather than a postman’s son from Derby. I refused to play along at first. Wounded my pride. But I did it — for her. Sorry I had you on before. Been playing at it so long it almost seems real. It’s certainly so to Mercy. She still doesn’t know who I really am. That’s how Mave always wanted it.”

“She won’t hear about it from me.”

“Thank you, lad. Damned gentlemanly of you.” He drained his whiskey. “I’m not coming into any money of my own, of course, other than whatever stipend Mercy gives me. I was having you on about that as well. Sorry.”

“That’s okay — I didn’t entirely believe you. But I think Charlotte did.”

He shifted uneasily in his chair. His face darkened. “Charlotte … ”

“What are you going to do about her?”

“I honestly don’t know, lad. What should I do?”

I sighed inwardly. I was getting tired of being the answer man. “Tell her the truth about yourself, for starters. If you don’t, Pam will.”

He grunted unhappily. “Dear, dear. And then?”

“Do I really look like Mary Worth to you?”

He stared at me, waiting.

I stared back at him. “Do you love Charlotte?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out. See what happens now that you no longer have Mavis between you. See if a relationship grows.”

He thought this over. “That’s good advice, lad.”

“It’s true. I give excellent advice. I just don’t take any of it myself.”

There was a tapping at the door. Charlotte. She had on a black dress, drab, for the funeral.

“What are you doing out here, Richard?” she asked crossly. “You’re needed inside.”

“Sorry. Was on my way in.”

She looked down at him. “You were not,” she said gently. “You were sitting here jawing. Come along.” She held her hand out to him, like she would to Gordie, if she cared for Gordie.

He reached up meekly and took it. “Yes, Charlotte.”

Obediently, he followed her out. I watched him go. He needed this. He needed another woman to take charge of him. And Charlotte? I wondered about her. What was Charlotte capable of doing to get what she wanted? Did she figure in? How?

Mavis was buried that afternoon in the Glaze cemetery. It was a brief affair, and private. Immediate family only. And Charlotte and Polk Four and me. I don’t know why I was invited, but I was, so I went.

She was buried next to her mother and father, beneath a big family stone. Frederick’s and Edward’s names and birth date were inscribed on it next to hers. A blank space remained — to be filled in when they died. Neither of them took their eyes off that space once during the entire ceremony.

T
HE
OH
,
SHENANDOAH
GOLDEN-ANNIVERSARY
celebration was a truly major nonevent. Charter buses began pulling into Staunton shortly after dawn five days after the funeral, disgorging thousands of fans from all over America, most of them elderly ladies in pastel pantsuits who had seen the movie fifty times and knew every line, every detail, every morsel of gossip about the filming — or so they thought. The whole town gave itself over to the promotional frenzy. There were parades and banners and horse-drawn carriages and lots of people in Revolutionary War costumes. There were Vangie look-alike contests and movie memorabilia auctions and reenactments of battle scenes and panel discussions among self-proclaimed
Oh
,
Shenandoah
scholars. There were tours of historic homes and demonstrations of historic crafts and firearms. There were vendors selling peanuts and cotton candy. There were people, people everywhere, milling around the streets, stuffing their faces, taking pictures of each other, yelling, buying.

The Hollywood contingent began arriving later that afternoon. Most of them were billeted at The Shenandoan, a big new conference center built up on a hill on the outskirts of town. Such noted sons and daughters of the South as Chuck Heston, Ed McMahon, Shelley Winters, Gene Kelly, Roddy McDowall, Zsa Zsa Gabor, and Sonny Bono were on hand to pay tribute to Mavis Glaze’s favorite charity and to get their faces on
Entertainment Tonight
. A number of them were granting interviews in the lobby when I got there. Sam Goldwyn, Jr., was on hand, attending to his father’s interests. Cookie Jahr, the makeup girl who had been in the sitting room when Fern O’Baugh screamed fifty years before, was there. And so were Helene Bray and Rex Ransom, the two surviving
Oh
,
Shenandoah
cast members. Helene, the fast young actress who had played Vangie’s friend Abigail was now the seventy-three-year-old proprietor of an art gallery in Carmei, California. She had short, severe white hair and a deep tan and wore a lot of heavy, jangly jewelry. She arrived in the company of a young, blond hunk of Eurotrash named Wulf. Rex Ransom arrived alone.