Anna Godbersen: Rumors

“…but I have some small holdings of your father’s that have been wrapped up for a time — I won’t bore you with the details, but I have just recently been able to liquidate them, and I have come to help your family put itself back together. I hope you won’t find me overly forward, Miss Holland, if I observe that your family has found itself in financial straits and that such a situation ought to be corrected.”

Elizabeth went forward to the place on the carpet where Snowden stood and took his hand. Her sister could sense, even looking at her back, that she had summoned all her old warmth and radiance. The sun coming in through the high windows shot through her pile of blond hair, illuminating it. When she spoke, it was with the sweet, low tone of a much older girl. “I thank you for that, Mr. Cairns. It is unbelievably kind. I know how much affection my father had for you, and I can plainly see how much you want to repay that. My whole family and I are deeply grateful.”

“It is an honor.” Snowden held on to Elizabeth’s hand even as he made a little bow. “And I will continue my presumptuousness by telling you that my men have brought some presents that I would like very much to give you, and later on I hope you will allow me to provide your kitchen with what is necessary for a proper Christmas dinner.”

Diana looked back at Will, who was standing at attention with his hands behind his back and whose shirt of blue and black plaid was a handsome contrast to his suntanned skin. All of her embarrassment and confusion must have been evident on her face because he winked at her in a way that momentarily alleviated her tension.

“Oh, Mr. Cairns, such kindness.” Elizabeth’s hands remained in his, and her tone was full of honey. “I cannot imagine a better way to celebrate the holiday and—”

Diana saw the figure in the hall around the time her sister stopped talking. Her gaze drifted, and she noticed that the woman watching them through the partially open doors seemed to have tried to do her hair, although the effect was messier than if she had simply left it down. The long nightgown, which was fitted in the bust and neck but flowed outward from the elbows and the waist, gave Mrs. Holland the look — it occurred to Diana, before the gravity of the situation settled in — of a rather mad member of a Greek chorus. She was small of body, but she was watching the scene with eyes that were large, the irises like black pools in a forest, and rimmed with alert anxiety.

That’s what real surprise looks like, Diana thought to herself a little regretfully, just before she realized that she and her sister were going to have a lot to explain.

Grandes dames do not let go of their grudges willingly; I have known some to cherish a resentment for twenty years or more, against their rival social arbiters but also against their own sisters and children. Such is their privilege, though there are those of us who wake up on Christmas morning hoping that this year it will be a day of reunion.

— MRS. L. A. M. BRECKINRIDGE, THE LAWS OF BEING IN WELL-MANNERED CIRCLES

THE SILENCE MIGHT HAVE LASTED HOURS, ALTHOUGH it was difficult to be certain. Elizabeth realized that her mother was watching her from the foyer, and then, before anyone made a sound, there was time for her to recall all the things that used to be expected of her and to turn, slowly, to face the petite matriarch. She felt plainer and less adorned than she ever had. She was wearing the same worn dress — she had looked in her closet for something else, but all the old things were gone — and she felt denuded. Mrs. Holland’s mouth hung open, and she hardly seemed to be breathing as she remained in the doorway with a steadiness that, given her behavior the night before, Elizabeth would not have thought her capable of. She appeared to be using the moments of silence to check every inch of her daughter. When they were over, she took two long strides to the center of the room and pulled Elizabeth to her breast.

“Oh thank God, thank God, thank God,” she repeated over and again.

Elizabeth hadn’t been so close to her mother’s body since she was a child. The moment passed, however, and quickly. Mrs. Holland kept a hold on her daughter’s elbow as she stepped back. “Claire!” she yelled. The force of her voice somewhat calmed her daughter’s worries about her health. “Claire, come here!”

Claire came hurrying in, her wide cheeks pink with exertion. She placed a hand on the stomach of her plain black percale dress with the wide boat neck and looked around the room. Elizabeth tried to smile at her reassuringly, and after Claire had looked back for a few long seconds, the tip of her nose began to turn red and her eyes started to well.

“Claire,” Mrs. Holland said sharply. She kept one hand at her daughter’s elbow, and the other went to the back of Elizabeth’s head, where it rested, firm and loving. “Draw the curtains. Miss Holland has come back to us, as you can plainly see. You will be able to talk with her later. Mr. Cairns, forgive me, you will think us a very odd family. I do hope you will stay on for Christmas dinner. Diana—”

Everyone looked at Diana, who brought her arms up over her laces, suggesting deep discomfort and a barely controlled impulse to go off and hide.

“Yes?” Even in the morning with her hair hardly done and her face nothing more than washed, she shone with a loveliness that was new to her, more grown-up. She seemed to know what she had now.

“Diana, you shall help Claire prepare luncheon for Mr. Cairns. You will see that he is entertained.” Mrs. Holland’s eyes flashed about the room, as though she were assessing the extent of her resumed authority. Claire had drawn the curtains, which brought shadows back into the room. It was now the parlor that Elizabeth remembered. Without the natural light you hardly noticed the missing Asian vases or the one or two landscapes that had been taken down from the walls. It was again the dense and richly colored collection of objects that had always represented the Hollands. “And you, Keller.”

Elizabeth felt a little quickstep of panic. “Mother, he’s not to blame. He—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Elizabeth.” Her mother’s grip on her head tightened, and she could feel the command to silence as though it were emanating through her palm. “I was asking Keller where he’s been. It’s been damned hard for me to find someone who knows as much about horses since you’ve gone,” she went on in Will’s direction, “and I frankly blame you that I had to sell them.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Holland.” Will looked into his old employer’s eyes as he might look on a frigid morning that there was no choice but to go out into. He moved his head just slightly but kept his gaze steady. “But you knew I couldn’t stay here forever.”

He blinked, and then his gaze was on Elizabeth. She wanted to go stand beside him, to show everyone just how she felt, but she knew from the way he was looking at her that this was unnecessary.

“Keller, we’ll discuss this at a later hour.”

Mrs. Holland’s hand now went to Elizabeth’s wrist, and Elizabeth felt herself being drawn out of the parlor. From the four others there was plain silence. Elizabeth could only note the piney smell of the tree, the soft snap of the fire that Will had built that morning, and the faint and reassuring smile that he managed to give her before she was pulled from the room. Then she was going up the stairs. She felt the old fear of her mother’s temper, and was nervous about how she’d ever explain where she had been and what she had done. But her mother’s strong grip, which indicated how very much among the living she was, was some kind of consolation.