Blackberry Winter: A Novel (25 page)

“They’ll love you.”

I scrunched my nose. “I’m not so sure.”

“You’re worried about Josie, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well, don’t,” he said. “You’re the woman I love, and that’s that.”

I nestled my head into the fold of his shirt, breathing in the comforting scent of pipe tobacco and cologne.

“You make me so happy, Vera.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I do?”

“You do. I love your strength.” He traced my nose with his fingertip. “You’re a force. You can look at me with those eyes and make me question everything I ever believed about the world.” He placed
his hand over my heart. “But, here, inside, you have so much love. It beams from you.”

I grinned playfully. “You’re sure your parents wouldn’t rather you marry a society girl?”

“I can assure you, my love,” he said, inching his face closer to mine, “I would rather banish myself to the farthest corner of Alaska than marry a society girl.”

“All right,” I conceded. “I’ll meet your parents. But only if you really believe it’s a good idea.” I tucked my hand in his. He kissed my palm. “Have you told them yet? About our engagement?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I think I’ll surprise them tonight.”

I fussed over what to wear for hours before Charles picked me up that night. Caroline’s red dress seemed too tawdry for a dinner at the home of my future in-laws; besides, it fit too tightly. I wasn’t far along, but Caroline and the other girls had made suspicious comments about the few pounds I’d gained. I eyed my old blue dress critically.
Much too drab.
I didn’t want to pretend to be anyone I wasn’t, and yet I needed them to accept me. It was a delicate dance. Eventually, I settled on the yellow frock Charles had purchased for me weeks ago. I’d worn it on many of our dates. I hoped he hadn’t tired of it.

I retied the sash a dozen times in the car on the drive to his parents’ home. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the ribbon to hang properly.

“You look fine,” Charles said, sensing my anxiety.

“I just want tonight to go well,” I said, turning to him.

“It
will
,” he assured me, wrapping a lock of my hair around his finger.

I pulled back. “Careful,” I said. “You’ll ruin my hair.”

He disobediently sank his hands deeper into my scalp.

“You’re incorrigible,” I said.

I’d been so distracted by my dress, and my hair, and my worries that I hadn’t paid attention to where we were, but we’d been driving for several miles, so we must have traveled a ways from downtown. Charles turned the car between two stone pillars—the entrance, according to a placard, to Windermere.

I’d heard of the privileged community, of course. Before her death, my mother had cared for the children of the wealthy inside this very neighborhood. And Georgia looked after the children of a wealthy family who lived within. She caught a ride on the milk truck every morning at five, which deposited her at the home just before the children woke. Her employer, a stern woman who slept until noon each day, complained that the truck soured Georgia’s clothes. The woman made her change into a uniform in the servants’ quarters before entering the main residence.

“So you grew up in this neighborhood?” I said, admiring the well-appointed homes, a mansion with a gabled roof to our right, a Victorian estate to our left. I wished Charles would slow the car so I could study each with greater attention. I’d never seen such elaborate dwellings.

“Born and raised, I’m afraid,” he said, as though the revelation marred his record. I admired the carefully tended gardens on either side of the road, not a weed in sight. A row of azaleas, their blooms a symphony of crimson, begged to be noticed, but Charles kept his eyes on the road, oblivious to their beauty. “When I turned eighteen, I couldn’t wait to fly the coop,” he continued.

“Why?” I asked wistfully, intoxicated by the neighborhood’s beauty.

“I guess I just came to despise it all,” he said. “The way everyone pretends to be so perfect.” He looked at me for a moment before turning back to the road. “I can assure you, what goes on inside those homes is far from perfect.”

He didn’t have to tell me that; I already knew. Mother had recounted a story of a disturbed little girl she cared for in this very neighborhood years ago. The child had taken a candlestick to her mother’s dressing room curtains and burned them so badly, she almost set the whole house ablaze.

He turned onto a side street, where the houses appeared even more extravagant, then veered the car down a long driveway. At the very end was a gate, where a man in a black suit stood. “Good evening, Mr. Charles,” he said, tipping his cap and swinging the gate open. Charles proceeded around the gravel-lined circular drive, parked the car, and got out to open my door.

“I want to introduce you to Old Joe,” he said to me. “Joseph!” he shouted to the man at the gate. “Did you miss me?”

The older man with graying hair smiled heartily. “Welcome home, Mr. Charles,” he said, reaching for a rake to resettle the disturbed gravel. I marveled at Charles’s world—a foreign place where servants appeared around every corner, making sure every pebble in your wake was returned to its rightful place.

I looked up at the house—so beautiful, so perfect, it frightened me. “It looks like a…
palace
,” I said under my breath, entranced by its grandeur.

“Mother saw a château in France she liked and Father had his architect reproduce it,” he said, sounding a little embarrassed by the obvious opulence of his family’s whims.

Twin cypress trees framed the entryway, nearly brushing up against the slate roof, where a massive chimney presided. I surveyed
the handsome stonework that made up the residence’s thick, commanding walls, crowned by intricate cornices. A pair of urns bracketed the front door. Each held emerald green boxwoods clipped and trimmed into perfect spirals.

“Charles!” A woman with outstretched arms approached from the front door. Her ivory dress swished as she walked. I immediately noticed her tiny waist, accentuated by a wide blue sash. Her upswept hair struck a regal note.

“Mother,” Charles said, leaning in as she took both of his hands in hers before kissing each of his cheeks. I waited for her gaze to turn to me, and it did.

“Why, Charles,” she said, “who is this?”

“This is Vera,” he said, beaming with pride. “Vera Ray.”

I held out my hand and prayed she wouldn’t notice my chapped, red fingers, raw from the washbasin at the restaurant and nicked by one too many paring knives. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Her skin felt like cool white velvet against mine. I wished I’d taken the time to soak my hands in bacon drippings, the way Caroline had advised. Now I’d pay for it.

“You may call me Opal,” she said, casting a glance at my shoes. The dress may have been couture, thanks to Charles, but the shoes were undeniably shabby. My forehead began to perspire.
Is the hole in my right shoe or my left?
I took a guess and wedged my right toe behind the heel of my left. I didn’t dare look down at my feet, which would only draw more attention to the offending heels. To think I had saved almost three months’ wages to put a pair of black leather pumps on layaway at Frederick and Nelson. Charles would buy them for me in an instant, of course. But I didn’t ask him for things. It didn’t feel right.

“I’ve been so looking forward to introducing Vera to the family,” Charles said, kissing my hand lightly.

“How…charming,” Opal said, her voice a few octaves higher on the word
charming
. Her smile quickly disappeared and her eyes narrowed. I felt clumsy in her gaze. “I believe you’ve already met Josephine.”

I recalled the strained circumstances under which I had encountered Josie, Charles’s sister. Twice. “Yes,” I said, certain my cheeks had flushed to a cherry red.

“Well,” Opal continued, “I’m glad you dropped in, son. Will you stay for dinner?”

“Yes, of course,” Charles said. “Is Father here?”

“He’s in his study,” she said. “I’ll have Greta ring him.”

Ring him.
I marveled at the way they regarded one another with such formality.
Can’t she just dash down the hall to the study and call him up?

We followed Opal inside. The instant Charles held out his outerwear, a housekeeper stepped forward to retrieve the garment as it fell from his fingertips.

“Greta will take your wrap, Ms. Ray,” Opal said. She spoke to me slowly, as if to a child.

I nodded, letting the green shawl slip from my shoulders. I’d made it myself from scrap linen Caroline had brought home from the factory. At the time, I’d thought it rivaled any of the fine wraps I’d seen in shop windows. But inside Charles’s family home, it seemed more suitable as a dust rag. I nervously handed it to the housekeeper, who looked at me curiously. “Thank you,” I said, awed by the home’s interior. We passed through a long hallway lined with oil paintings. Their subjects depicted a comfortable life, in which pampered terriers lounged on sofas, country houses
nestled among rolling hills, and women socialized beneath parasols. The hallway wended toward a large room with a grand piano and windows overlooking an enormous lawn outstretched to a lake.

I sat down on a green velvet sofa next to Charles, unable to take my eyes off the breathtaking body of water, soft like the gray velvet wingback chairs in the lobby of the Olympic Hotel.

“You look as if you’ve never seen water before, Miss Ray.”

“Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen Lake Washington, ma’am,” I said, before considering the implication.

Opal held a hand to her mouth. Laughter escaped. “Why, that’s like saying you’ve never seen the moon.”

“Mother,” Charles said protectively, “Vera lives in the city.”

“Why, of course, dear,” Opal said quickly. She offered me a cup of tea, and when I lifted my arm to take it, my limbs felt leaden.
Why am I so stiff, so awkward in this place?

Opal set her cup on the saucer and held up her index finger. “I know,” she said. “You could take her out for a boat ride, Charles.”

He looked skeptical. “I don’t know, Mother. It’s awfully windy today. It might not be the best time for—”

“Nonsense,” Opal countered. “The young lady says she’s never seen the lake. You
must
show it to her.”

“But isn’t it almost time for supper?”

“I’ll tell the cook to hold off for a half hour,” she said. “That should give you enough time to take her around.”

Charles turned to me. “What do you think?”

The gray clouds overhead loomed, and the wind shook the tree branches outside the window with such force, I could only imagine what it would do to my hair. But not wanting to disappoint Opal, I obliged. “It sounds grand,” I said, hiding my apprehension.

“It’s settled, then,” Charles said, standing up.

I followed him out to the back deck, and together we descended the stairs that led to the lawn. I had been too captivated by the lake to notice the spectacular sight below the house, a veritable zoo of animals clipped out of hedges. Rabbits. Dogs. A turtle. A mare and her foal. I stopped to admire a hedge carved into the unmistakable shape of an elephant.

“These are remarkable,” I said, running my hand along the elephant’s scratchy trunk. “The precision, it’s uncanny.”

“Joseph has a gift with boxwood,” he said. “Father would rather have them all cut down. But Mother loves them. She spends a great deal of time out here. They bring her comfort.”

I imagined Opal petting the boxwood giraffe to my right in her extravagant way. “I don’t think your mother fancies me much,” I said. A cool breeze rolled off the lake, and I wished I hadn’t relinquished my shawl.

“Of course she
fancies
you,” Charles said, pulling me toward him. “How could she not? You’re lovely in every way. Just be yourself, and they’ll see the woman I love so.” He kissed my cheek lightly. “And she’s going to love you even more when I announce our news tonight.”

I stiffened. “Do you really think we should tell them tonight?”

Charles nodded. “I can’t bear to keep it a secret any longer.”

“But,” I said, fumbling, “I worry they’ll think it’s so sudden. I mean, won’t it be jarring to hear we’re getting married moments after meeting me?”

Charles shrugged. “Vera, don’t you see?” He pointed up toward the house. “That’s my past, and you”—he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear—“are my future. Telling them is inconsequential. There’s nothing to fear.”

I exhaled. “All right,” I conceded.

I followed him onto the dock, where two boats lay overturned. “Now,” he said, examining both, “which one has the hole?”

My eyes widened. “Hole?”

“The last time I was here, Joseph mentioned that one needed repair.” He ran his hand along the hull of one. “Aha, here it is. Found the hole.”

“Good thing,” I said. “I don’t swim.”

“I can swim for both of us,” he said with a smile, kneeling down on the splintered, sun-bleached planks of the dock to untie the rope that secured the second small boat to a rusted cleat. When Opal had mentioned a boat ride, I had pictured something a little more substantial. The small craft hardly passed as a dinghy, not unlike the ones my father had taken me out in as a child on the Puget Sound. We’d capsized in one, and I’d almost drowned. I hadn’t been in a boat since.