The morning of Lucy’s funeral, Henry told me that Ruth didn’t want me to go. I still hadn’t seen Ruth to tell her how sorry I was. I’d asked Henry several times if I could speak to her—or rather, if she would speak to me—but he seemed determined to keep us apart. Maybe that was for the best. Of course she blamed me for the accident, though probably not as much as I blamed myself.
“You can come downstairs afterward when people are back here at the house,” Henry said as he buttoned his shirt. “I’ll insist she agree to that.”
It would be awkward seeing Ruth for the first time with other people around, but maybe it would be all right. Maybe that would soften her reaction to me.
I was glad that Henry no longer seemed quite so upset with me. When he’d driven me home from the police station, he’d barely been able to contain his anger at me.
“I told you not to use the Buick,” he’d said.
“I know.” I’d run my palms over my damp skirt. “Lucy pleaded with me and I thought it would be all right. She wanted to take the money for the headstone to Adora. She didn’t want to have to take a cab.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Then why were you near the river?” he asked.
“She had some … I don’t know exactly what it was … a business document she said you wanted her to take to someone on the other side of the river.”
I thought his face paled a bit. I didn’t want him to blame himself.
“It’s my fault.” I reached over to touch the back of his hand on the steering wheel. “I should have just told her no.”
When we got to the house, he told me to go straight upstairs and I did. I sat on the edge of my bed, still in my clammy clothes, and I knew the exact moment Henry told Ruth what happened. I heard her agonized wail and the sobs that followed. Her cries were loud enough to rise up the stairs and through the bedroom door. I held my hands over my ears, choking on my own tears as the reality of the accident washed over me. Lucy was dead, gone forever, her future stolen from her. Nausea came over me and I raced from the bedroom to the bathroom. I was sicker than I’d ever been in my life, and I welcomed the misery. I thought I deserved far worse.
* * *
Once Henry and Ruth left for the funeral, I lay on my bed in my black skirt and white blouse, staring at the ceiling as I imagined the scene at the church. Lucy’s girlfriends would be there, weeping, feeling vulnerable, unable to believe that one of their own could so easily die at the age of twenty. The Ladies of the Homefront would certainly be there as well, and all of the women from Ruth’s various book clubs and the bridge club. Members of the country club would come, I was sure, and many of the townspeople too, despite their anxiety about gathering together while a polio epidemic raged through the area. They would come anyway, loving the Kraft family. Wanting to show their support.
The house felt spooky to me with everyone gone. It was rare for me to be there entirely alone. Even if the family was out, I was always aware of Hattie’s presence, but Hattie was at the church with everyone else after spending the early hours of the morning in the kitchen preparing food for when people came back to the house.
I got up from the bed and left the room, then stood in the eerie silence of the upstairs hall. The door to Lucy’s room was directly in front of me and I stared at it for a moment before crossing the hall and pushing it open. Instantly, I smelled her. I didn’t think it was the scent of her perfume as much as the hair spray she used to hold her dark blond bob in place. The scent was so distinctively Lucy that I let out a little “Oh.” I stood inside the door, looking around the room. The crisply made bed. The lavender wallpaper. The assortment of cosmetics and perfume bottles on the doily that topped her vanity. There were photographs tucked into corners of her vanity mirror and I walked closer to look at them. Most were high school graduation pictures of her girlfriends and I recognized a couple of them. There were two pictures of young men in uniform. But the photograph that grabbed my attention was of Henry standing on the front porch of the house. He stood in the middle of two girls, an arm around each of them. Lucy and Violet. All three of them smiled at the camera. They looked so comfortable with each other. So happy together, and I wondered, as I often had in the last few months, what alliances I had disturbed when I came on the scene.
Staring at that photograph, I had a sudden feeling that someone was standing behind me, watching me. I turned quickly, but no one was there. Yet the feeling was still strong. I felt dizzy and held on to the corner of the vanity.
“Lucy?” I said out loud, feeling crazy. There was no response, of course, yet I still had a strong, almost suffocating, sense of her presence. I quickly left the room, slamming the door hard behind me, and hurried across the hall to Henry’s bedroom. I was shaking by the time I reached the haven of my bed. So silly, I chided myself. My guilt was wreaking havoc on my imagination.
* * *
I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, car doors were slamming outside. I lay still, barely breathing, listening. Voices downstairs, first two or three, then many, until they formed a sea of sound that hummed in the walls of the bedroom. I got up from the bed and smoothed my white blouse and black skirt. At the dresser, I stared at my pale face. The skin beneath my eyes was purplish and baggy. The little sleep I’d had since the accident had been marred by dreams about Lucy. Dreams about drowning. I looked at my compact and rouge on the top of the dresser. I wouldn’t bother with them. Nothing was going to save my face today. Instead, I tried to run a comb through my tangled hair. I hadn’t styled it since the accident and I had to admit that Ruth had been right when she said I looked like a Gypsy. Today I truly did. I gathered my hair into my hands and twisted it into a bun at the nape of my neck. It was the best I could do for now.
Palms sweating, I made my way down the stairs. The first person I saw as I neared the foyer was Violet, and it wasn’t until I reached the bottom step that I realized she was speaking to Henry, her hand on his arm. Both of them looked in my direction at the same moment. Violet dropped her hand quickly and, with a last glance at Henry, moved away. Henry, his face unreadable, walked toward me.
“Are you sure you want to be down here?” he asked when he reached my side.
“I think I should be.”
He looked reluctant. “Avoid my mother,” he said. “I thought it would be all right, but…” He shook his head. “You can talk to her later, when the guests have gone, but now is not the time to try to speak to her.”
I nodded. “All right.”
Someone called to Henry and he left me standing there alone feeling awkward and vulnerable. I took a deep breath and stepped into the entrance to the living room. I spotted Honor Johnson passing a tray of food from one group of people to another and guessed she was helping Hattie in the kitchen. I saw some of the women from the Ladies of the Homefront, including Mrs. Wilding—who had never gotten back to me about her niece the nurse. I approached them, hoping to find a small circle to fit into.
“Thank you for coming,” I said, as they turned toward me.
Absolute silence greeted me. Each of them stared at me as though I were a stranger. Mrs. Wilding finally spoke.
“Do you think you should be down here, Tess?” she asked.
I straightened my spine. “I cared about Lucy,” I said.
“You weren’t supposed to use that car,” scolded one of the women—I couldn’t recall her name.
I could think of no response, my mind a miserable blank canvas.
“Whatever possessed you to drive a car with rundown old tires?” asked a third woman.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping away from them. I couldn’t face their coldness any longer, and yet where could I go? I saw many people I knew, however vaguely. Lucy’s girlfriends. Byron Dare and his blond wife, stunning in black. Mayor Finley and his wife, Marjorie. So many of Ruth’s friends. I felt their furtive glances in my direction. Where was Henry? If I was to be down here, I needed him by my side. I happened to glance through the window toward the backyard and spotted him crossing the lawn, moving away from the house.
I walked into the dining room and over to window for a better view of my husband. He’d reached Hattie’s cottage, where Zeke was pointing toward the eaves. Henry stood next to him, looking up, pointing toward the eaves himself, and I guessed they were talking about something that needed repair. Zeke suddenly reached toward Henry, resting his hand on Henry’s shoulder in what looked like a gesture of comfort over Lucy’s death. I felt a bit like a voyeur, witnessing the true nature of their friendship in that moment. It was a friendship that went way, way back and I was both touched by it and envious of it.
I stepped away from the window and saw the faces of the people in the dining room turn from me. I couldn’t stay down here any longer without Henry. I headed toward the foyer, but when I reached the stairs I felt a tug on my skirt and looked down to see Honor’s little girl standing next to me. She carried a good-sized doll in her arms.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” I smiled at her, then sat down on the next-to-the-bottom step so I was at her level. “What’s your name?” Her name was Jill, I knew, but I would let her tell me.
“Jilly,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Tess,” I said. “How old are you, Jilly?”
“Four,” she said, holding up four fingers. Her hair was smoothed back into two short thick braids that grazed her shoulders and she wore a little green pinafore over a white blouse.
“That’s a pretty doll,” I said, and Jilly held it in front of her to show me. The doll had eyes that opened and closed, pursed pink lips, and molded blond hair. I wondered what it was like for a colored child to have a white doll. Jilly was not as dark-skinned as her mother, but the doll’s pearly skin was pale in the little girl’s toffee-colored hands. I knew they made colored dolls. I remembered seeing one in a little toy shop in Baltimore when I’d been shopping with Gina sometime before Christmas. That felt like a lifetime ago.
“Does she have a name?” I asked.
Jilly sat down on the step next to me. I could feel her warmth and her wired little-girl energy.
“She don’t have a name,” she said.
“Oh my goodness,” I said. “She needs one, don’t you think? Everybody needs a name.”
Jilly studied the doll, which was almost too big for her to hold on her lap. “This baby don’t need one,” she said.
“Was she a present?”
“Miss Lucy gave her to me.”
I felt my heart contract. For all Lucy’s self-absorption, she’d cared about this family. Sometimes I felt like I’d misunderstood my sister-in-law the same way she’d misunderstood me.
“That was sweet of her,” I said. “I guess Miss Lucy and Mr. Hank grew up with your mama and your uncle Zeke, hmm?”
Jilly looked at me blankly as though she didn’t understand what I was saying. “Miss Lucy’s in heaven now,” she explained. “She’s with Butchie.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yes, she is. I’m sorry Butchie got so sick. I’m sure you miss him.”
To my surprise, she leaned against me, her little head resting on my arm. “I’ll see him again someday,” she said, “but not till I’m a old lady.”
“That’s right.” I freed my arm and put it around her shoulders. At that very moment, Honor walked through the foyer carrying a tray of pimento-cheese-stuffed celery. She did a double take when she saw me sitting next to her daughter.
“Jilly!” She stood in the middle of the foyer, the tray balanced in her hands. “Go in the kitchen with Nana ’Dora. You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Oh, she’s fine,” I said.
Honor didn’t seem to hear me. “Go on now,” she said to her daughter. “Git!”
Jilly got to her feet and, without looking back at me, took off at a run for the kitchen.
“Sorry if she disturbed you, Miss Tess,” Honor said.
“She was fine,” I repeated, getting to my feet. I dusted off the back of my skirt. “She’s very sweet.”
Honor didn’t respond, but she looked away from me toward the rear of the foyer. I’d only seen her up close once before, that day in February when she and Lucy were talking with Hattie at the clothesline. I was mesmerized by her green eyes. There was so much sadness in them today.
“I was so sorry about Butchie,” I said. “And I hope your hus—your son’s father—Del? I hope he can come home soon, safe and sound.”
She looked back at me, at first mutely as though she didn’t understand what I’d said. Then she smiled. There was pain in that smile. She was apart from the man she loved. I knew exactly how that felt.
“I hope so too,” she said. “I miss him.” She hiked the tray a little higher. “Can I get you anything, Miss Tess?” she asked. “Would you like one of these celery sticks?”
“No, thank you,” I said. “I was just about to go upstairs when Jilly—” I stopped speaking as my eyes lit on Jilly’s doll. She’d set it on the step and forgotten it when she ran to the kitchen. “She forgot her doll,” I said, picking it up.
“Just leave it there. I’ll come get it when I put this tray down.”
“I’ll take it to her,” I said. The last few minutes of civil conversation with Jilly and Honor had given me courage, and I left the foyer and walked with my head held high through the dining room, ignoring everyone I passed.
In the kitchen I found Adora and Jilly sitting at the table, eating ham biscuits, while Hattie arranged more of them on a tray. All three of them looked up at me.
“What you need, Miss Tess?” Hattie asked.
I’d been holding the doll behind my back, but now I produced it and Jilly sucked in her breath.
“My dolly!” she said, hopping off her chair and running over to me. I handed the doll to her and she cuddled it before carrying it back to the table.
I thought Hattie looked overwhelmed, surrounded by half a dozen plates of hors d’oeuvres. She’d been kind to me since the accident. It weren’t your fault, honey, she’d said to me that horrible first night. That girl could make anybody do what she want. You was just tryin’ to please her.
I moved deeper into the big kitchen. “How can I help?” I asked. “How about I take that tray out for you?” I pointed to the tray of ham biscuits. It would give me something to do. A reason to approach the unwelcoming circles of people. I reached for the tray, but Hattie gave my hand a little swat.
“No, Miss Tess,” she said, “that ain’t your job.”
“Honor’ll pass it ’round,” Adora said.
“Let me,” I said to Hattie. “Please.”
Hattie shook her head like I was the stupidest woman in the world, but she raised her hands in the air in surrender. I carried the tray to the swinging door that led to the dining room, feeling Hattie’s and Adora’s eyes on me.
In the dining room, I carried the tray from person to person, relieved to have something concrete to do other than struggle to make conversation. People treated me as if I were invisible, which was fine with me.
“Tess!”
I turned to see Ruth hurrying toward me, pushing her way through the crowd that had congregated around the table. Avoid my mother, Henry had warned me. I wasn’t going to be able to avoid her now.
“Ruth, I—”
“Come with me,” she said, walking past me until she’d reached the corner of the dining room. She stood next to the buffet, away from the people gathered near the table. I followed her, tray in my hands, and she turned to face me.
“You don’t want to do this,” she said quietly, motioning to the tray. Her cheeks were pale and drawn as though she hadn’t eaten or slept in days. “Set the tray down and come into the living room with the guests.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Really. I’d like to help. And I wanted to tell you—”
“No.” Her smile was tight and I was aware that some of the people in the room were glancing in our direction. “You need to set it down, dear,” she said quietly. “Let Honor or Hattie pass the hors d’oeuvres. That’s their job, not yours.”
I didn’t want to let go of the tray. It felt like a lifeline, the only way I’d found to be comfortable in the room.
“I wanted to be useful,” I said.
“You’re not a servant, Tess,” she said. “Put it down.”
Reluctantly, I set the tray on the buffet. Then I dared to reach out to touch her arm. “I’m so sorr—”
“Don’t touch me!” she said, jerking her arm away from my hand. Her voice, suddenly loud—too loud—held such disdain that I took a step away from her. Behind me, all conversation stopped, leaving a silence as big as death in the room.
Ruth leaned forward, closing the distance between us, her lips next to my ear. “You are so common,” she said, only loud enough for me to hear. “I rue the day you ever set foot in this house.”
So do I, I thought, but I steeled myself. Tightened my jaw. I would take whatever she dished out to me. “I’m sorry, Ruth,” I whispered again. My eyes burned. “I wish there was something I could—”
“You ruined my son’s life and destroyed my daughter’s,” Ruth said, her breath sour against my ear. “You’re a low-class tramp with no right to be here in my beautiful home and if there was a way to cut you out of the Kraft family without bringing shame to us, I would do it in a heartbeat.”
“Mama.” Henry broke through the crowd and was instantly at my side. With one look at our faces, he seemed to intuit our disintegrating exchange. He took my arm and turned me in the direction of the foyer. “Go upstairs,” he said quietly. My body felt wooden and he had to give me a push to start me moving. “Just go.”
I felt everyone looking at me as I walked through the dining room toward the foyer. I stared straight ahead, but from the corner of my eye I could see Adora and Zeke in the doorway of the kitchen and Violet and her parents near the arched entrance to the foyer. A couple of Lucy’s girlfriends stood near the foot of the stairs. They couldn’t have heard all of the conversation with Ruth, but surely they could guess the heart of it. They would be talking about me for the rest of the day. Perhaps the rest of the month.
* * *
I didn’t go downstairs for dinner that evening, and when Hattie brought me one of the ham biscuits, I thanked her but told her I had no appetite. Henry was quiet when he came upstairs and it wasn’t until we were in bed that I broke the silence.
“Do you think of me as a tramp?” I asked him. We were both lying on our backs looking up at the dark ceiling.
“Of course not,” he said. “Don’t listen to Mama. She’s wounded, Tess. She lost her only daughter.”
“She hated me before that and she hates me even more now.”
“We’ll be out of this house in a month,” he said. “That is, if you’ll ever sit down with that interior designer. Things will be different then.”
I suddenly wondered if Henry’s lack of interest in lovemaking had something to do with living in Ruth’s house. Maybe he was concerned about making noise? But no, I thought. Henry was simply one of those rare men who had little interest in sex. I had to accept that. If we stayed locked in this marriage, we would never have a truly intimate relationship. Not physically. Not emotionally. Vincent’s face flashed into my memory and I blocked it out. Thinking about Vincent would do me no good at all.
“I did sleep with you when I barely knew you,” I said. “That was a terrible thing to do. A trampy thing.”
“And I slept with you when I barely knew you,” he said. “We’re both culpable.”
“It’s kind of you to say that,” I said. “Not many men would, I don’t think.”
He sighed. “This is a very rough patch, Tess,” he said. “We just have to get through it.”
“Henry, please…” My voice broke. “Please can we find a way to end this marriage?”
I felt rather than heard his annoyance, and it was a moment before he spoke again. “We’re not talking about this now,” he said, and he rolled onto his side away from me.
He fell asleep quickly, while I lay awake for hours, torturing myself with memories of that afternoon. I should never have gone downstairs. There had been nothing to be gained by it. I wasn’t thinking clearly these days. I played Ruth’s insults over and over in my mind.
If only I could talk to Lucy to tell her how sorry I was. I’d tell her I wished I’d gotten to know her better. I thought of her giving that baby doll to little Jilly. How good she’d been to care for that family. I would withdraw forty dollars from my bank account and take it to them for the headstone. I’d bring them extra groceries when we could spare them, as Lucy would have done. The least I could do was take over that caring role for her. And there was one more thing I wanted to do for that family.
I got out of bed and wrote a quick note to Gina.