Sharyn McCrumb - Sick Of Shadows

“Well, I’m going upstairs!” she said loudly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The only response was an absent wave from Geoffrey.

She went upstairs, thinking what a perfect house this was for a wedding. The red-carpeted stairway was a proper setting for the wedding pictures: Eileen on the landing with her train draped in a circular pattern beside her, with the other members of the wedding party on descending stairsteps.

I’m getting as bad as Aunt Amanda! she thought wryly.

She made a face at the yellow bridesmaid dress hanging in the closet. How corny can you get-yellow chiffon! She would want a winter wedding, and maybe-yes, maybe the bridesmaids could all wear black velvet bodices and long skirts of the MacPherson clan tartan! Now that would be stylish!

She caught herself in this daydream and laughed. It’s the house. I may have to be deprogrammed when I leave here.

The elegance of the Chandler house had impressed her more than she cared to admit. At times it was a conscious effort to keep from showing it (Geoffrey would have a good laugh over that one). Apparently it was bad form to be impressed by anything, even if you did live in a brick ranch house with a carport, and were visiting people who lived on an estate. She should be used to it. After all, she and Bill had spent summers here as children. But that had been a long time ago, and children seemed to take any environment for granted. Now, after a span of years, it was different.

Someone tapped on the door.

“Come in!” called Elizabeth, wondering what Aunt Amanda had forgotten to tell her.

When the door opened, however, it was not Aunt Amanda who came in, but Eileen.

“Am I-I’m not disturbing you, Elizabeth?” she faltered, hesitating at the threshold.

“Well, of course not, Eileen,” said Elizabeth. “Come in.”

Eileen, who was still dressed in her painting khakis, brushed off imaginary dust and perched on the edge of Elizabeth’s bed with a tentative smile. “I wanted to thank you for coming,” she said.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth, deliberating between “Thank you for asking me” or a more honest “You’re welcome.” In the end she said neither.

“I see you brought the dress,” murmured Eileen, nodding toward the open closet.

“Yes, of course.”

“Mother picked it out.”

Elizabeth sighed.

“But I’m sure you’ll look lovely in it!” Eileen hastened to add. “You have such nice dark hair, and you’re taller than I am. You do like it, don’t you?”

“It’s fine, Eileen. We had to have it altered, but it’s okay now.” Except that I loathe it, she finished silently.

Eileen relaxed a little. “Well, that’s good. I hope everything goes all right.”

“I’m sure it will, Eileen. Just try not to be nervous.”

“Oh, no! I’m too happy to be nervous. Have you had a chance to talk to Michael?” Her voice softened as she said his name.

“Oh-only at dinner,” said Elizabeth.

“Isn’t he wonderful!”

Elizabeth smiled nervously.

“I knew you’d like him. Everybody does,” Eileen went on, twisting her engagement ring. “I want you to read some of his poetry, too, Elizabeth. It is so beautiful. He says I inspire him.”

Elizabeth wondered how long she could go on smiling.

“Maybe I can get him to give a poetry reading after dinner tomorrow night. He’s had three published in the campus literary magazine. Though, of course, he won’t be able to read the one he’s working on right now. It’s a wedding gift for me.” Eileen smiled complacently.

She went on talking about how she had met Michael and about the wedding plans, while Elizabeth asked herself why women became so smug when they were in love. They all behaved as if no one were important except Mr. Wonderful. (“Michael was in the library working on a poem, so I thought I’d come and see you.”)

“I feel like a fairy princess,” sighed Eileen. “I don’t suppose you’d understand, but I feel as if I’d been shut up in a tower all my life-just looking at life. And now that Michael has come along, I can finally begin to live.”

“Well, then, I hope you live happily ever after,” said Elizabeth. She did hope that. Eileen had been through enough unhappiness as it was, and Elizabeth wished that things would work out. And the farther from Aunt Amanda, the better, she thought.

“Thank you,” murmured Eileen. “I have to go in a minute and see if Michael is finished, but I am glad I got to talk to you. Things are so rushed these days. I guess Mother will arrange a rehearsal for us in a couple of days.”

“I expect so.”

“And I just found out that I can’t paint tomorrow because Mr. Simmons is coming over.”

“So I heard,” said Elizabeth grimly, remembering her mistake before dinner.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, Elizabeth! You just graduated, didn’t you?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“And I’m getting married before you! Just imagine! I was sure you’d be the first one of us to do it, so I never even counted on the inheritance-”

Elizabeth, who had been mentally rehearsing an edited version of the story of Austin, interrupted her. “What inheritance? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard about it? It’s a family joke, really.”

“Well, I heard Captain Grandfather mention something about a ‘silly will’ being just what he had expected of his sister, so I assumed that it had something to do with Great-Aunt Augusta, but she’s been dead for ages. What about her?”

“Back in the twenties, her parents wanted her to go off to a finishing school, but she wanted to get married to a country singer. Of course, Great-Grandfather disowned her when she finally did elope with him. But it was very romantic,” sighed Eileen.

“Well, if she left you an inheritance, she must have been rich. Who did she marry? Hank Williams?”

“Oh, no. Nobody famous. He was killed in a bus accident a year after they were married.”

“Killed? Then where did the money come from?”

“Great-Aunt Augusta invested his insurance money in California real estate and made a fortune,” said Eileen.

“Why does the money come to you, Eileen?”

“Didn’t you know? Everyone else has been teasing me night and day. According to the terms of her will, the money comes to the first of her grandnieces or grandnephews to get married,” said Eileen. “And next Saturday, that will be me.”

“I wish someone had told me,” said Elizabeth. “I would have tried harder.”

Eileen giggled. “Oh, Elizabeth. You’re as bad as Geoffrey! Always joking! Anyway, it isn’t that much, really. Just about two hundred thousand after taxes.”

“Is that all?” murmured Elizabeth.

Eileen stood up. “Well, I’ve intruded on you long enough. Let me go and see if Michael has finished in the library. Good night, Elizabeth.”

“What? Oh! Good night, Eileen.”

When Eileen opened the door, Geoffrey, who was coming up the stairs, called out, “Don’t shut it! I have a message for Elizabeth! Is she decent?”

Elizabeth peered out into the hall. “What is it?”

“Alban has gone home. It is my belief that he turns into a pumpkin on the stroke of midnight, but-”

“What is the message?” Elizabeth demanded.

“I am coming to that, my dear. It’s from Alban. He said to tell you that you are to go over at ten o’clock tomorrow to be shown around the Albantross. Not his exact words, of course. Got that? Good. Then I shall say good night ’til it be morrow.” He sauntered off toward his room.

“Thank you, Geoffrey!” called Elizabeth, closing the door rather more loudly than necessary.

Eileen Chandler did not go downstairs immediately. She flipped off the hall light and sat down on the top step. The drone of the television drifted up from the family room; she sighed and settled back into the companionable darkness. Behind her something moved, and she turned sharply to look. The pier mirror at the top of the stairs had caught her reflection as she moved. Nothing to be afraid of, she told herself; it was her own face she had seen. Eileen closed her eyes and thought back over her conversation with Elizabeth. Had she been convincing? Was that how a bride was supposed to talk? No one must suspect the fear that was growing inside her. She must sound normal. She must!