BEVERLY BARTON - The Daughter

When Reed hopped into the truck, Briley Joe squealed the tires as he raced out of the gravel drive and onto the road leading into town.

‘Hell, man, I thought we’d never get out of there.’ Briley Joe shoved his foot down on the accelerator, sending the old truck into greased-lightning speed. ‘After fifteen years without a woman, you’ve got to be dying for some hot pussy.’

Reed laughed, the sound mixing with the warm summer wind blowing in through the open windows. Leave it to Briley Joe to hit the nail on the head. Reed laughed again, louder. Damn, but it was good to be free.

Ella stood outside her mother’s bedroom door. She had never been allowed entrance into Carolyn’s inner sanctum without knocking first and asking permission. She’d been taught respect for other people’s privacy from early childhood. As a little girl she’d felt privileged when she’d been allowed to bring some of her toys to her mother’s suite and play quietly on the floor. Often Carolyn had read to her, and later they’d shared a meal together, just the two of them.

Viola was always nearby. Then and now. If not in the room with them, then hovering just beyond the door to her connecting room. Of course, Ella understood the necessity of having her mother’s nurse close at hand. Viola had joined the household before Ella’s adoption, so her presence in the mansion actually predated Ella’s. Sometimes she felt guilty for wishing she could have her mother all to herself, especially when she thought about how dependent her mother was on Viola. Carolyn’s spine had been severely damaged after a dreadful horseback riding accident, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. Only daily exercises, seen to by the devoted Viola, keep atrophy from claiming Carolyn’s leg muscles.

Aunt Cybil had upset her mother this evening. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. As much as she loved her mother, her loyalties were divided. She didn’t approve of her aunt’s drinking or of the way she occasionally treated Uncle Jeff Henry so cruelly. But Ella loved her mother’s younger sister because Aunt Cybil adored her so unabashedly. Her aunt had been the one who’d bought her her first bra; the one who’d explained about menstruation; the person she’d turned to when she wanted to know the facts of life. Often Ella felt as if she had two mothers, each performing different functions in her life. Carolyn was her moral center, the one who taught her good manners and lectured her on the art of being a lady. But it was Cybil who had made mud pies with her and pushed her high into the sky on her backyard swing and taught her how to drive a car.

Whenever a family evening ended badly, Ella knew that it was her job to console her mother, while it was her father’s job – when he was in town – to help Uncle Jeff Henry control Cybil. How was it possible, Ella wondered for the millionth time, that two sisters whose physical appearances were almost identical could have personalities that were poles apart?

She lifted her hand and knocked. Viola opened the door, her expression void of any emotion.

‘She’s been waiting for you,’ Viola said. ‘I’ve changed her into her gown and helped her into bed. I don’t know why she puts up with it. Family or no family—’

‘Why don’t you go on to bed, Viola? I’ll stay with Mother until Daddy returns.’

Her mother’s nurse huffed. ‘Very well, Miss Ella. But if you need me—’

‘I’ll call you if I need you.’

Viola plodded over to Carolyn’s bed, fluffed the pillows around her and asked if she needed anything. Ella watched how caring and attentive the nurse was, and once again she chastised herself for disliking the woman. Viola Mull looked like Mrs Potato Head, with thin legs and a rotund body. She kept her gray hair cut in a short, straight bob that made her head look as round as her figure.

‘Ella, darling, is that you?’ Carolyn’s voice contained just a hint of weakness, as if she was exceedingly weary.

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘Come sit with me.’ Carolyn patted the bed. ‘Talk to me until your father comes home.’

Wearing pale-yellow satin pajamas, Carolyn sat perched in the middle of the massive, canopied mahogany four-poster with white lace trailing down the posts and pooling on the hardwood floor beneath. Pristine white sheets edged with lace perfectly matched the white down coverlet that lay folded at the foot of the bed. White pillows, stacked three deep, rested behind Carolyn’s thin body.

‘Let my hair down for me and brush it, would you?’ Carolyn smiled at Ella. Ever since she’d been a child, Ella would do anything to be rewarded with one of her mother’s smiles. She had spent a lifetime trying to please Carolyn, hoping that in some small way she could repay this lovely woman for having adopted her and for giving her a family and a life that others could only dream of having.

Ella went into the adjoining all-white bathroom and gathered up her mother’s silver brush and comb along with the matching hand mirror. When she sat down on the side of the bed she laid the items in her lap, then scooted up in the bed so that she sat beside Carolyn. Brushing her mother’s hair had become a ceremony over the years, and to this day she loved the feeling of closeness that this simple act generated between them. One at a time, Ella loosened the pins that held Carolyn’s hair in the loose bun. When she removed the last pin, her mother’s shimmery black hair fell down her back, stopping just inches above her waist. Only a few strands of gray glistened when the lamplight struck Carolyn just right.

Ella began brushing, slowly, carefully, making sure she didn’t pull too hard and cause Carolyn any discomfort. As she had so many times before, Ella marveled at her mother’s beauty: alabaster skin, silky black hair and striking silver-gray eyes. How often had Ella wished this woman were her biological mother? If she were, then maybe Ella would be prettier. Even though people often mentioned that she actually resembled both her parents, Ella found it hard to believe that she looked anything like the stunning Carolyn. She did have the same color hair, but there the resemblance ended. Carolyn was thin and petite, classically beautiful and feminine in an old-fashioned, ladylike way.

Ella sighed as she continued brushing her mother’s hair. When she finished the task – one hundred strokes – she held up the mirror so that Carolyn could inspect herself.

‘Lovely, darling. Thank you.’ Carolyn leaned over and kissed Ella’s cheek. ‘You’re such a good daughter. I’m going to miss having you here with me when you and Dan get married.’

Ella tensed. She’d been dreading this conversation. As a child her parents had chosen her playmates, and as a teenager they had often picked her dates. She was well aware of the fact that Dan Gilmore’s parents were part of the old-money set in Spring Creek – people whose ancestors had been a part of this town since before the War Between the States. Carolyn had telephoned Dan’s mother shortly after Dan’s divorce had become final last year and insisted on getting their children together.

‘Mother … I … I don’t think Dan and I will be getting married.’

‘Has that young rascal not even hinted about marriage?’

‘He’s hinted, but … I don’t love Dan.’

Carolyn lifted her eyebrows and rounded her mouth as she sighed. ‘I see. And is there someone else?’

‘No, there’s no one else.’

‘Dan is quite a catch, you know. If you let him get away, some other lucky girl will be wearing his ring by this time next year. His mother has told me that he wants to get married again. His son needs a mother, and a man in his position needs a suitable wife.’