Lilac Girls - Martha Hall Kelly Page 0,32

firelight.

“We don’t have much of a marriage now.”

“Paul. Such a cliché.” Why could I not stop talking to men like a schoolmarm? I deserved to end up alone, sent out on an ice floe as the Eskimos do with their elders.

“Rena’s so young. A lot of fun—you’d like her, I’m sure—but we could never sit here like this and talk about life.”

“What does she like to do?” I said.

The fire popped and whined as it consumed a drop of pitch.

“Dancing, parties. She’s a child in many ways. We got married very soon after we met. It was great fun at first, and the bedroom time was incredible, but soon she grew restless. I’ve heard she’s had some attractive boyfriends.”

Incredible bedroom time? Heavenly, no doubt. I flicked a bit of lint off my sleeve.

“By the way, in this country, men don’t talk about their bedroom exploits.”

“In this country, men have none to speak of,” Paul said. “They get married, and their exploits shrivel up and fall off. Rena is a wonderful girl, but according to her, we are just incompatible. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

He fiddled with the fire some more and came back, this time sitting closer to me on the sofa. For such a virile man, he had a lovely mouth.

“Is anyone compatible anymore?” I said. “My parents are the only couple I’ve ever thought were truly in sync.”

“How did your father die?”

“I’ve never talked about it before. I was eleven, and back then one didn’t discuss such things.”

“Was he a good father?”

“On weekends he came up from the city to Connecticut. He exchanged his starched collar and waistcoat for khakis and pitched to us, endlessly, at the baseball field Mother had made at the far end of our property.”

“Was he often sick?”

“Never. But the spring of 1914, one day he was sequestered in his bedroom here, out of the blue. Only Dr. Forbes and Mother were allowed in. By the time I was sent to relatives with my valise packed, I knew something was terribly wrong. The maids stopped talking when I came into the room, and Mother’s face had a hunted look I’d never seen on her before.”

“I’m so sorry, Caroline.” Paul held my hand in his warm and soft one and then released it.

“Five days later I was allowed to come home, but no one would look me in the eye. As always, I got my best information hiding in the dumbwaiter just off the kitchen, peeking through a crack. We had four Irish maids living in at the time. The eldest, Julia Smith, filled her coworkers in on the big event as she shelled peas at the kitchen table. I still remember every word. Julia said, ‘I knew Mr. Ferriday wouldn’t go down without a fight.’

“Mary Moran, a skinny new girl, was pushing a dirty gray squid of a mop back and forth across the black and white tiles. She said, ‘Pneumonia’s the most wretched way to die. Like drowning, only slower. Were you in the room? Better not have touched him.’

“Then Julia said, ‘One minute he was laughing like a lunatic, and the next he was clawing at his chest saying it was too hot and crying for Dr. Forbes to “Open a window, for God’s sake.” Then he started asking for his daughter, Caroline, and it just about broke my heart. Mrs. Ferriday kept saying, “Henry, darling, don’t leave me,” but he must have already died, because Dr. Forbes stuck his head out the door and told me, “Run get the undertaker.” ’

“Lily Clifford, the youngest of the four, chimed in: ‘Just caught a glimpse of Mrs. Ferriday, arms around him there on the bed, saying, “I can’t live without you, Henry,” sounding so sad and lonely I wanted to cry myself.’

“That evening, Mother told me the news. I just stared at Father’s humidor, wondering what would happen to his cigars now that he was gone. Mother and I never spoke much of Father’s death and she never cried in front of me or anyone else after that day.”

“What a terrible thing, Caroline,” Paul said. “You were so young.”

“I’m sorry to ruin our festive mood.”

“That’s a heavy burden for a child.”

“Let’s talk about happier things.”

“You have a kind heart, Caroline,” Paul said, as he reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I almost jumped, his touch a jolt of warmth.

“Enough death and dying,” I said. “What else can we talk about?”

We both stared into the fire for a while, listening to

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