December
I hovered over the candle, listening to the stillness of the empty room. I could hear the garage open and the hum of the car as it drove off into the distance.
I laid my head against the closed lid of the piano, watching
the flame dance mercifully into the night. Somehow I was able to ignore the pain, I wasn't sure if it was emotional or physical. I began lulling myself to sleep I thought of
happier times, I thought of the charity dinner this summer, I thought of warmer times and nights
. 1 .
September 1st - Sway with me
The family had flown to the Hamptons for the weekend, I remembered that warm August night on the private patio of 1770 House.
Dinner had been long since finished and 50 of the DeLune academies largest donors had gathered, mostly to just be seen.
Clairce and Claudia were there with their perspective
fiancées. I’d worn a white chiffon dress with a black silk sash around the
middle, catching a 360 degree view of the Charity Dinner while accompanied on
the dance floor.
Every time my dance partner, whose name I didn’t know then, stepped and turned around the corner of the dance floor I caught a glimpse of my father’s table, stealing occasional glances at tonight’s largest donor.
Mr. Fierro had made a rare appearance outside his house, he occasional leaned in and made a comment to my father and his company. He always made it a point to appear busy. My father and I shared a smile across the dance floor and I continued into the second song with my partner.
Dinner had ended in a quiet rumble of conversation and the music slowly lulling. A few camera flashes had gone off around me, as my partner held on to me tightly. I began to ask my partner his name when I was interrupted.
“I believe I will cut in”
I turned, not even realizing when Mr. Fierro had left his
seat, my father was now deep in conversation with a doctor, he had already taken my hand.
“I don’t think I have a choice”, I politely excused my previous partner and took Mr. Fierro's other hand into mine.
He pulled me toward the corner of the dance floor, gently correcting my hands.
“Hello", I said
"Hello", he responded
You made a very generous donation”, I said as we began to dance, “Thank you"
“No more or less than I felt was adequate”
“You’re very . . . coordinated”, I reached for a compliment
as he gently lead me back and to the side, I was suddenly aware of how light my heart felt.
“Practice, Ms. DeLune”, he turned me once,” I’ve heard your father speak highly of you to other men.”
“Has he”, I looked over his shoulder to see my father still
lost in conversation with Dr. Florist, our family doctor.
“Yes, although your social graces speak for themselves.”
“Speaking of social graces, you are being unusually sociable this evening.”
“One can hardly expect to make it in this world without proper connections.”
“You mean you didn’t’ come all this way to see me”
"No” he answered simply, “although I find you being here very agreeable”
“Hm. . “, is all I offer
Turning again I noticed my father was no longer at his table. My sisters whispering intently to each other behind their wine glasses.
"Where did-"
“. . . And here he approaches”, Mr. Fierro narrated into my ear, “Though Martin hardly ever felt threatened. Still as he moved along the jovial dancers ,he began to worry for his youngest daughter; locked in the arms of the strange man whose wealth and regency had permitted him notice. . . still Martin knew this strange man harbored a secret.”
Our embrace became closer and I steeped back, my heel tapping the toe of my father’s shoe. I stepped off quickly and came face to face with him.
“I’m sorry Father”, I apologized
“I think Clara could use a break”, Father spoke over me, clearly not sore over his scuffed shoe.
“Of course”, Mr. Fierro obliged. He kissed my hand before letting go.
Behind me my father had walked off.
I stood on the dance floor alone as the lights began to dim
. . .
I blew out the candle, giving into the flames torment and sunk deeper into myself. The realization always hit me that it had been the end of September were this story started. It was the wedding and what followed that made me prisoner in this house.
+2+
September Pachbel
“Wait, wait . . .”
I dashed away from the guest I had been introduced to and across the lawn of the vineyard, I had my shoes in my hand and reached the Tuscan-style villa just in time. Eleanor Lamont, also barefoot, was already sitting down gently strumming her bass. Eleanor and I had been friends since school, her father was a composer and frequently held lectures at the Conservatory. Issac,a friend of Peter's stood tuning his Violin. Peter was sitting at the piano and slid over to make room for me.
“You’re late”, he teased me
“I know, I know”
From where we were sitting I could see the entire reception, a large group of beautiful people chatting and talking, occasionally passing glimpses to the two sets of newlyweds sitting at the head table.
Although it had only been a few hours, my two sister’s new married lives ,almost for a minute seemed brighter than my own. They were each made a beautiful couple, Clarice and Colin has a calm sensibility about them while Claudia and Derek seemed to always be having a good time.
“You came alone ?”, asked Peter
“Yeah, you ?”, I asked to be polite although I already knew the answer.
“Yes”, he looked back down at the keys and then at the song book, “What are we playing”
“My sisters favorite song”, I answered
We continued to tune the piano in a tense and rather uncomfortable silence as the emcee called the brides and grooms for the first dance.
I let Peter play the first bars, after a slow count in Issac began a rhythmic strumming against the strings of the violin . I turned the sheet music picking up wherever Peter left off, out of habit I began to play with my eyes closed, knowing I was missing the first dance. When the music began to pick up Eleanor chimed in. The bass provided the perfect rhythm and other couples where encouraged on the dance floor. The sounds came together seamlessly and ---
“Wait a fucking minute, Martin”
“Roger--er Dad, not now.”
My grandfather and father whom were previously absent
entered the reception area and began to cause a ruckus, Father had two glasses of wine in
his hand no doubt taken from Grandpa. Everyone looked over quickly and then
back at the newlyweds.
I jumped at the chance for damage control, while Peter finished playing
“Father”, I said going over to join them and pulling them away from the main tent, “What’s wrong?”
“Not now, Clara”, Father was stern
“Leave her alone, Martin”, Grandpa chimed in, “It’s okay Clarabelle grandpa and your father are just having a disagreement”
Father began to retort but their argument took a quick intermission when one of the photographers came over, and like clockwork they struck their “proud father-son” pose for the camera.
Grandpa stalked off to talk with some business associates.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have had the wedding in a vineyard ?”, I offered.
“Don’t be smart Clara, it’s not your wedding”, father snapped, pouring out the wine.
I let that comment past and shadowed my father till the first dance was done and went to help the other musicians pack, Peter was putting the case over the piano, I helped Eleanor with her bass.
“Peter told me you had an audition with the Hartman Symphony’, she said
“Yes, I just thought I’d try something new next summer. . . something I was passionate about.”
We chatted a little when the two blushing brides found their way over to us, each giving multiple hugs.
“The music was beautiful, thank you guys”, Clarice said. Her bouquet still in hand
“Speaking of beautiful”, said Eleanor, “Where did you get the roses they are beautiful”
“One of father’s friends or something. You’ll find no other flowers like it anywhere.”, she let Elanor admire her bouquet, “I can’t wait to see the pictures .. .”
I left them alone to chat and went to find Grandpa, I knew
the family gave him a hard time about his drinking. From a distance
I watched as he and Father continued to fight. They were only forced together a handful of times during large family events yet they always seemed to end the same.
+3+
The residential villa on the northside of the vineyard had been reserved for the weekend. While the reception came to an end a few select guest and friends milled around the private villa, either watching the sunset or sampling the local wines.
I curled up on a bench outside, spent after spending the day on my feet. The pleated ends of my pale green bridesmaid dress dusted along the grass. A dark shadow loomed over me as I skimmed and slid the next page of my book.
“What do we have here ?”
The voice belonged to an older man I had seen at the
wedding, I believed he was one of my mother’s friends; an actor or musician. He
held himself well, he was well dressed with a designer tie.
“Just taking a break, did you enjoy the wedding ?”, I wanted to be a good hostess.
“Yes, I did, I did”, he repeated himself
“I’m glad”
“What are you reading ?’
I clutched the book closer, before handing it to him.
“Anna Karenina ?”, he read aloud, “It’s a bit dense isn’t it ?”
“ A little, Not as much as War and Peace , according to some”
“You’ve read War and Peace ?”
"Yes. . . I’m sorry I don’t know your name ?”
“Henry Thorpe… you must be Clara DeLune”
I recalled a Thorpe pharmaceutical company, it would explain the only way he gained admittance to the wedding
“Well, it was nice to have met you, Mr. Thorpe”
“Don’t be silly Clara, we’ve met before.”
“We Have ?”, I stood up and took my book back. Yes, he had been my dance partner at
the charity event. Well, my other dance partner, “Yes, in the Hamptons.”
“And before that. . .you were much younger then you probably don’t remember.”
“Oh, well it was nice to have met you. . . again”
I said a quick good night and went inside the villa, Mother was leaning against the sofa peering out the window. A few guest were sitting in a circle listening to my father speak.
“Going to bed so soon, dear ?”
“Yes, Mother”
“Was Henry pleasant ?”, she asked
“Yes, Mr. Thorpe was interested in my reading habits.”
She let out a light hearted laugh and sat on her heels, holding out her hands to pull me closer.
“Your father seems to think you two would be a good match.”
“Father thinks a lot of things.”, I could see father amiably engaged with a few guest.
“True dear, but you know Henry has been to numerous of our functions and you know he is looking for a wife. Your father likes him and I’m sure you would. . .”
“Mother”, I said a little to loudly removing my hands from hers. Father turned noticing my outburst.
“Don’t make a scene dear, think of your father-“
“My father ? what about me”, I said in a hushed voice , “You can’t make me marry him—“
“Clara”, she turned and smiled to guest passing by, “When you were going to marry Peter you made a promise.”
“Not that kind of promise”, I said a little louder.
I glared at my father before going up to my room, my father catching drift followed with my mother close behind. I could hear Grandpa snoring peacefully as I passed his room.
Father, embarrassed at my outburst, shut the door behind them as they entered.
“I’m 22 years old”, I started "you can’t just—“
“Listen to me Clara”, father restrained himself, “Your mother and I never ask anything of you and your sisters, not once. This one time you will not be an ungrateful child. This is for the good of the family and I won’t have another word about it.
“Mother”, I looked to her for support
“We just want you to be taken care of”, she answered.
“You can’t”, I was almost in tears, “I don’t even know him. . . he’s almost 40 for Godsakes”
“Don’t make this about age”, mother interjected, "good families should marry into good families"
I opened my mouth to protest to ask her what that meant when my father seized my wrist and
pulled me almost to my knees, Never had I been disobident nor he more agressive. His increasing anger and
strain on my wrist threatened tears to fall, he was hurting me but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
“You will marry him or I will put you out. Out of the house and the family”, he pulled closer to the floor with each word.
He let go of my wrist, I felt ridiculous for almost crying and began throwing clothes into a suitcase.
“Clara”, mother, “it’s not the end of the world. .. you had a choice, we let you make one mistake with Peter. Darling it—“
“How can you be so archaic”, I shouted to both of them,
I began to gently fold my clothes hoping for their apology. I thought about the DeLune Academy where I had attended school, letting my thoughts grace to how I was accepted into Rochester after my father’s dinner with the dean.
My parents continued to watch me pack while I thought about how
Father Ligardi helped me get a job at St. Theresa. The condo my parents had paid
for, the car I didn’t have. The hospital bills they paid, even the clothes I was packing now.
Had I done anything in this world without my family's connection ? Could I do anything ?
If Father told them to cut me out would they ?
All of this paled in comparison to the fact that I loved my family. I didn’t want to ever be without them again. I wiped a final tear and closed the empty suitcase
“I’d like to go bed now.”, I finally looked at them. They stood firm arm and arm, “I won’t leave… I promise”
Father left first. My mother brimming with maternal instinct pulled back the covers of my bed.
“It’s a hard world out there dear, we just want you taken care of“
“I won’t marry him”, I whispered to her, "I can take care of myself"
I was only half-convinced.
Mother turned away, drumming her fingers against the door.
“Stop being selfish, Clara. For once”
She closed the door behind her and I sat in my room for a long time till I fell asleep.
+4+
Grey Room
Mr. Fierro
The wedding was on Saturday.
On Sunday ,the front page of the New York Times society page was littered with images of the DeLune family. The Sunday paper was opened and creased with eight black and white images boasting class, elegance and the family whom was rumored to descend from nobility. All spread across my dining room table.
“Mrs. Beck ?”, I called to the woman in the next room
“Yes, sir?’, she came into the dining room and noticed the table, “Oh, I’m sorry about the paper, my neighbor was going on and on about that wedding. I just had to see”
For the most part Gail Beck was a quiet middle age woman
with a moderate amount maternal affection. I paid her well to keep my schedule
and not cause any rifts, something any simple housekeeper should be able to do.
“Just coffee this morning, Mrs. Beck thank you”
I turned the page again, looking over each picture, specifically the one of Roger with his family. Along the bottom was text about the wedding details. The last page of the article contained the wedding pictures of 3 generations of the family.
Lucie and Roger’s was placed in the center, her gown and the position they were in concealed her condition. Lucie and Clara shared the same dark hair and features, possibly the same smile ?
Would she still be as beautiful if—
“Here you go sir.”, Mrs. Beck laid the cup in front of met, the liquid leaving a stain along the inside, “Not sleeping well ?”
I moved the unfolded and open section of paper to the corner of the table.
“Dispose of this, immediately”
She gathered the paper and headed toward the back. I contemplated my inability to sleep through the night. Even knowing Roger was spending the weekend at Wolffer Vineyard with his family did little to affect my constant insomnia.
I had begun to read the front page when I heard Ms.
Beck’s scream come from the backyard. She slowly came in through the backdoor,
her back to me, eyes fixed on the ground.
“Mrs. Beck what—“
She had dragged in bloody shoe print, her face twisted in a sort of unexplained agony.
“Don’t go out there, sir” , she stammered, suddenly realizing the blood on her shoes.
My first thoughts went to Mr. Ciani. I brushed passed Mrs. Beck, whom made a failed attempt to stop me, and out to the backyard. I followed the thin trail of blood down the back steps to the side of the house.Tucked away in the flower bed I saw the bodies flushed among the flowers. Although the scene was gruesome I attempted to piece together what happened.
“I’m so sorry, sir”, Mrs. Beck offered, she was hardly able to control her emotions, unable to take her eyes from the carnage just a few feet ahead of us.
“Where are—“, I considered and said without thinking, “Where are the heads?”
I ordered Ms. Beck into the house and fetched a tarp from the greenhouse and covered the bodies. Mrs. Beck had already began to clean up the blood on the dining room floor, she appeared ill to what she had witnessed.
“They were good dogs”, she said, “I know you cared for them”
I went back to the dining room, feverously going through the paper again. Pushing the coffee aside I had lost my appetite.
+++
“Cigar ?”
My eyes continued to scan the contracts infront of me, for a moment I ignored Martin DeLune’s offer. He seemed to enjoy presenting his wealth, though I dared think he was attempting to befriend me.
“Churchill ?”
“That’s all I smoke”, he said
Mr. DeLune dipped the end of his cigar into his scotch,
leaving seven tiny drops spread across my desk. I offered him a match and he
considered it an olive branch that I would let him smoke in my study.
“Most people wouldn’t touch one”, he blew an even column of smoke.
“Is that so”, I placed the cigar inside my desk.
Mrs. Beck came in to do a fair bit of dusting, first opening
a window and letting the fresh air through. She smiled at Martin (recognizing him from the paper) and continued
polishing the bookshelves, I had to redo them later.
“You weren’t at my little girls wedding”, Martin began looking around for the invitation, “they didn’t notice but I did. Wedding are were I do my best business”, he was offended
“I was ill”
“Is that so ? Is that so, Sweetheart ?”, he addressed Mrs.
Beck. She was a bit shaken at being acknowledged by Mr. DeLune.
“Oh, yes Sir. Terribly ill. I had to come in on my day off”
She met my eyes to see if I approved of her lie, not that I offered her the relief.
Martin began to laugh, “That so ? what was he looking a little pale ?”
The fountain pen snapped and bleed over my hand, unnoticed by Martin who was still finding humor in his joke. Mrs. Beck smiled politely and excused herself.
Once again we were alone and I began fighting ill thoughts about the well dressed man. His station, family and career lined perfectly in order. Everything had been given to him, nothing taken.. . not yet
Would he act this way if he was my son ?
The pen fragments pinched and sliced through my palm a insignificant
drop of red slid down my palm, still I pressed further.
I must not think such thoughts
“You alright, son ?”, he asked noticing my hand
“I told you. . . I’ve been ill… my dogs have also died”
“That’s too bad, bet it’s like losing family, if I lost my girls.”
"How is your youngest ?”, I asked in passing.
“Clara ? She’ll settle down. . . her mother and I will figure something out”, he takes out his cigar, “why do you ask.”
“If it ever comes down to it I would very much like to take her”, I took a minute to locate a handkerchief in my desk, “as part of my staff. I would very much like to have an assistant and she seems as if she could follow orders.”
His cigar finds its way back into his mouth and his eyes brightened slightly.
“You are a very funny man, Mr. Fierro”
“Funny how?”, I further inquired
“Funny peculiar”, he clarified.
Our conversation quickly turned back to landscaping and flora.Though the conversation was most likely forgotten by him, I believe that day lead to the events of his daughters disappearance.
+++
I escorted Martin to the door, where his daughter was waiting for him outside. His daughter was sitting on the steps with a book in her hands. There was any empty glass next to her, Mrs. Beck had probably come to speak to her.
Until previously I hadn’t been aware she had accompanied him
“Taking my daughter out today, that right sweetheart.”, he explained, "maybe we can look at another SUV?"
She nodded but continued to read.
“Yes, father is keeping an eye on me.”, she said
Ms. DeLune turned the book over in her hands.
“Anna Karenina?”, I read the title
“Have you read it ?”
I took the book and familiarized myself with some of the text.
“Yes, although not in English.
She took the book away, “Of course”
“I happen to own a third edition. . .You may find it more beneficial. If you would prefer, madam”
"Why not', she answered
“It will just be a minute.”, I told Martin taking her back inside the house.
I knew exactly where
the book was housed it took 23 seconds to reach and unlock my study. I found the hardcover version of Anna Karenina, a few notes had been written in the
margins otherwise it was in perfect condition
She reached for the book, and lightly touched my hand and before I can stop her she began to earnestly kiss me.
“Ms. DeLune”, I separated myself from her
She gazed up at my under her long lashes, Her hand trailed over my shirt, hovering just a few inch
es from my face.
“I want to . . .”, still I wondered whether it was a question or demand.
“Your father is waiting”, I opened my watch and checked the time exactly one minute
I pressed the book into her hands so she would not forget it. She looked down at it and pushed it back into mine.
“Keep it”
“Clara”, I attempted to get her attention
She turned back and removed the watch from hands, letting the silver chain slip through her fingers. She stared at it intently knowing what laid beneath the face.
“I get it” Ms. DeLune said, “you have hard limits. . . so do I.”
She held the watch at the hinge, pressing it lightly as if threatening to break it in half. I knew she had more sense than that.“Stop looking for what is not there.”
“You let her touch you.”, she spoke in a hushed voice
“We were married it was different”, I copied her tone
“No it’s not. what kind of world is it when marriages makes people jaded, selfish, greedy, idiotic and submissive”
She placed the watch on a table in the hall.
"What is this about ?", there was something else.
“They want me to marry some. . .person. . . Henry Thorpe”, she said his name with contempt, “my father is being so-so—so tyrannical”
“Ms. DeLune your father can do very little to force you to marry this man.”
At that moment my comment only intensified her anger.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand familial obligation. Honestly, Mr. Fierro, Is that all you can say ?”
"Is there something in particular you would like me to say ?"
"Yes", was all she said.
I understood her meaning, in truth I understood many things but I said nothing.
She passed out of the study doors and down the hall without so much as a second, third or final glance.