Dunaway's Crossing (27 page)

C
hapter 29

W
hile a chicken roasted in the oven, Bea Dot filled her tub and washed the kitchen smell off her skin. Although she had her kitchen in order, for the past two days she’d walked a tightrope in her own home, bristling under Bonner’s supervision and avoiding Ben’s ire. Even in her private bath, she felt wound up like a toy.

She’d just managed to dry and put on her robe when Ben opened her bedroom door without knocking. “What’s taking you so long?” he complained, pulling his watch out of his vest pocket. “We have to leave in ten minutes.” Then he was gone again.

Bea Dot breathed deeply, trying to calm herself.
Just get through tonight
, she encouraged herself.
Don’t do anything to make him angry. Then you can work on Bonner again tomorrow.

She rifled through her closet, half-empty since she departed for Pineview, for something suitable to wear to an armistice celebration
at the Wesleyan Club. In the back, she found the midnight-blue dress from her trousseau. The sleek lines of the bodice added an inch or two of height to her petite frame, and the beaded embroidery o
n the front panels dressed up the garment for a formal occasion. With matching stockings and shoes, Bea Dot almost resembled the girl she’d been a year ago before she married. She felt like a decade had passed since then.

The door burst open again, and Ben glared this time. “Let’s go.”

“Just one second,” Bea Dot said as she took her wrap off its hanger. Opening her bureau drawer, she pulled out a drawstring purse and a pair of gloves, which she stuffed into it. Lastly, she opened her jewelry box and selected an ornate glass brooch, a gift from Aunt Lavinia. She pinned it to her shoulder, securing her wrap, as Ben nagged her to move along.

As they departed through the back door, Bea Dot glanced through the kitchen door and saw Bonner peeking into the oven at his supper. She wanted to tell him to give the bird fifteen more minutes, but Ben pushed her into the cold darkness toward his new touring car. In his hurry, he stumbled into Bea Dot, who hit her shoulder on the car door. The brooch cracked against the metal, and Ben clutched her arm, growling, “If you’ve scratched that paint, I’ll slap you silly.”

“I’m . . . I’m sure it’s all right,” she stammered before getting into the car. Her entire body hummed with trepidation, and she fought to calm her nerves as he cranked the engine and settled into the driver’s seat. Maybe by morning he would have forgotten the scratch.

Weaving erratically around Savannah’s squares, Ben blew the car horn at pedestrians daring to cross a street. Bea Dot’s skin crawled at the eerie sight of people gathering in the squares to celebrate victory. Most shook hands and kissed cheeks, barefaced after weeks of wearing gauze masks. Still others maintained the cautionary measure and kept their mouths and noses covered. Ben had driven the touring car around two squares when he took an unexpected left turn.

“Where are we going?” Bea Dot asked. “I thought we were having supper at the club.”

“We are,” Ben replied, “but I have to mail a letter first.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” he said coolly. “I thought it best, considering your behavior the last two days.”

“What are you talking about?” Bea Dot asked, frowning in confusion.

“It seems that you are determined to defy me, in spite of my specific instructions,” Ben said, lowering the pitch of his voice, as if talking business with associates. “I know about your attempts to make telephone calls.”

Bea Dot huffed in exasperation, on the verge of objecting to Ben’s complaint, but then she caught herself and paused. No need to fuel his temper. “That’s true. I did try to place a call to Aunt Lavinia,” Bea Dot lied, “because I didn’t realize that wasn’t allowed. Mr. Bonner stopped me.”

“That was not the only time you used the telephone,” Ben said with a grimace.

“That’s correct,” she continued. “And I’m sure Mr. Bonner explained that he monitored me the entire time I placed my orders.” Bea Dot’s shoulders and back tensed with her efforts to remain calm and placate Ben. She felt as if she sat next to a rattlesnake, coaxing it not to strike.

Ben’s frown loosened, which suggested his acceptance of her reason.

“You must let me phone the grocer, Ben,” Bea Dot said gently. “Unless you want to accompany me to the store every other day.”

Ben lifted an eyebrow as he glanced at her. Bea Dot wished she knew what his expression meant, but he said nothing more. Instead, he swerved the car to the side of the street next to the post office. After engaging the brake, he pulled an envelope from his inside coat pocket. He held it up, but in the darkness, Bea Dot couldn’t make out the address.

“I don’t believe you, my dear,” he said. “I know you weren’t calling your aunt; you were trying to reach the telegraph office, likely
in attempt to reach that Dunaway fellow Bonner told me about. So I’m taking this precaution.” He stepped out of the car and dropped the letter in the mailbox next to the post office door.

“I don’t understand,” she said when Ben returned to the driver’s seat. A bed of ants had erupted inside her, and she clasped her hands together, trying not to let him agitate her.

“At first I wrote a letter to that Dunaway,” Ben explained. “Then I figured there’d be no point of that. He’s likely dead by now.”

Bea Dot’s throat tightened at the thought.

“Instead, I penned a letter to those people you were staying with, the Taylors,” Ben said with a sneer.

Bea Dot felt the blood plummet from her face.

“In my letter, I’ve told them all about your past. I’ve informed them of the kind of person my wife really is.”

“You didn’t.” Bea Dot felt as though he’d knocked the wind out of her. How much of the truth did he tell? And how much did he exaggerate? Her face burned with a combination of fear, shame, and defeat.

“I’ve apologized for any inconvenience you may have caused them to this point, and I warned them not to have any other contact with you. What’s more, I’ve asked them to inform others of your tendency to lie and cheat. After all, I wouldn’t want you to try to take advantage of anyone else the way you did me.”

Ben put the car in gear and pulled it back onto the street. Bea Dot forced herself to breathe evenly, her face turned toward the window. Willing herself not to cry, she racked her brain for ways to return to that mailbox, to reach into it and pull Ben’s letter out. With all her effort she hid her emotions, but never had she hated anyone as much as she hated Ben at that moment.

When the car reached the exclusive Wesleyan Club, white-gloved valets opened doors for Bea Dot and Ben, and Savannah’s elite filed into the redbrick building in their tuxes and party dresses. Ben sauntered around to her side of the car and holding his arm out, said, “Smile, my dear. It’s a party.”

Numbly, Bea Dot followed him up the front steps. In the crowded ballroom, people shook hands, kissed, and hugged with a freedom Bea Dot had not witnessed in two months, as if armistice had wiped away any risk of contagion. She approached her mother-in-law and greeted her, forcing a weak smile. “Good evening, Mother Ferguson. How nice to see you.”

Ben’s mother kissed the air next to Bea Dot’s cheek, then said, “So glad you came, my dear. All of Savannah’s been wondering where Ben’s wife ran off to.”

Bea Dot ignored the slight and nodded.

Fingering the brooch on Bea Dot’s shoulder, Mrs. Ferguson added, “My, what an interesting piece of costume jewelry. Did you find it up in, where is it? Pine Wood?”

“No, it was a gift,” Bea Dot answered.

“Oh,” Ben’s mother cooed. “Well, I wouldn’t know where to buy such things. I only wear true gemstones.”

“Bea Dot, you’re home!”

Bea Dot’s heart soared at the sound of the familiar voice. She turned to find Aunt Lavinia, dressed in black and looking frail, the burden of grief poorly hidden behind her smile. She held her arms out to her niece, and Bea Dot fell into them with loving relief.

“Oh, Aunt Lavinia,” Bea Dot moaned into her aunt’s shoulder. As she fought tears, her throat contracted, keeping her from uttering more. But what else was there to say?

Aunt Lavinia pulled Bea Dot to arm’s length and studied her with a loving tear at the corner of her eye. “I heard you’d returned,” she said. “I wish you had come to visit me, but I understand why. Darling, I don’t blame you.”

Bea Dot put her hand to her mouth and fought her tears. Once she’d overcome the emotion, she said, “Oh, Aunt Lavinia, the first thing I wanted to do was come see you. But I couldn’t. It’s Ben. He’s—”

“There you are, darling,” Ben’s voice resounded behind her. She felt the tight grip of his hand just above her elbow. “I thought you’d snuck away from me. Good evening, Mrs. Barksdale.”

Aunt Lavinia tilted her head as she gazed at her niece. Bea Dot hoped her aunt would sense her tension. Lavinia then turned her eyes to Ben as she replied, “Thank you, Ben, and same to you.”

“I was just going to escort my wife to the dinner table,” he said with false joviality. “Do excuse us, please.”

“Oh, dear, how sweet of you to wear the brooch I gave you. But I’m afraid it’s broken.” Aunt Lavinia fingered the piece on Bea Dot’s shoulder. “Come. We’ll go to the powder room and repair it.” She took Bea Dot’s other arm and tried to pull her away from Ben, but he tightened his grip on her.

“No need, Mrs. Barksdale,” Ben said with a tight smile. “We’re walking that direction. I’ll escort her. Excuse us, please.”

He pulled Bea Dot away from her aunt, and as they made their way through the crowd toward the powder room, Bea Dot looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of her aunt with a worried frown. Then Uncle David appeared at Aunt Lavinia’s side, and she said something to him, still frowning, while pointing in Bea Dot’s direction.

“Don’t stray from me again,” Ben murmured in her ear. His breath already reeked of whiskey. Then he called to his friend with a smile, “Roger! Good to see you, my man!”

Bea Dot waved to Roger before speaking. “What about the powder room?”

“I’ll be just outside the door,” he said. “Hurry. I don’t want to stand here all night.”

Bea Dot nodded, then slipped through the door. Immediately, her muscles relaxed as she seated herself at the vanity. She removed the brooch from her shoulder and dropped it in her drawstring bag, then sat quietly on the cushioned stool and put her head in her hands. Relieved by the short respite from Ben, she still wondered how she would ever endure this evening. And even if she did, what then? In the past fifteen minutes, Ben had destroyed any chance she might have for an ordinary life. Now, added to the agonizing uncertainty about Will was the shame that he, if alive, would learn her disgusting secret. Bea Dot raised her head and stared blankly at her reflection. Was there any point in trying to get away?

An opening door washed in the noise of the party, interrupting her thoughts. A woman about Netta’s age entered and sat before a mirror across the room. In her own looking glass, Bea Dot watched the woman dab the dew of perspiration from her upper lip and forehead.

“A crowded room gets mighty warm, doesn’t it?” Bea Dot asked.

“Yes, it certainly does.” The woman fiddled with her handkerchief without looking up. Then she coughed so severely, Bea Dot feared the woman would damage her throat. The woman covered her mouth with her hanky and coughed again, this time retching also.

Bea Dot bristled at the noise. “Can I get someone to help you?” she offered. “A friend or relative?”

“Thank you, but no,” the woman said, rubbing her temples. “My husband is just outside. I think I’ll ask him to take me home.”

Good idea
, Bea Dot thought. As the woman exited the powder room, Bea Dot wished her well, then shuddered at how close she sat to sickness. As she rose to leave, she stopped at the sight of the woman’s handkerchief, crumpled atop the opposite vanity. She first recoiled from it, but upon second thought she sat on the woman’s stool and stared at the lacy white fabric, its center soiled with the woman’s sputum. She’d had a temperature, a headache, a cough—every ailment pointed to influenza.

The hanky teased her. It could be her key to escape from Ben. But did she have the nerve to use it? She shook her head with shame, rose, and stepped to the door. But before she pulled it open, she lunged back to the vanity and opened wide the mouth of her drawstring purse. She retrieved the brooch, which she used to sweep the soiled handkerchief into the bag. Then she dropped the brooch back in and pulled the strings tight, muttering, “Just in case.”