Meg at Sixteen (11 page)

“England,” Nick said. “Well, that isn't surprising. They figure if they put some distance between us, we'll fall apart. Maybe I can spend my junior year abroad, if I can get the money together.”

“That might hurt worse,” Meg said. “Knowing you were in the same country, and we couldn't even see each other. I don't know. It's not for another year yet anyway.”

“You said that was the bad part,” Nick said. “What could be worse?”

Meg stared out at the ocean. She knew she couldn't face Nick and tell him. “She's threatening to put me in a sanitarium,” she whispered. It hurt too much to say the words out loud, even with just Nick and the sea gulls to hear her.

“What?” Nick said.

The mist had turned into a soft but steady rain. Meg felt the drops mingle with her tears. “She's worried that I'm crazy,” she said. “I think it's more Uncle Marcus's idea. It's all arranged, though. They're on twenty-four-hour alert if they're needed.”

“They would do that to you?” Nick asked. “Just because you love me?”

Meg nodded. “They don't understand,” she said. “They don't know you. You scare them somehow.”

“You're the one who scares them,” Nick replied. “Because you have feelings. They're not used to that, and it frightens them. Oh Daisy, what have I done to you.”

“You've given me life,” Meg said. “You've loved me.”

“That isn't enough,” Nick said. “You're wrong, Daisy. They are worse than my stepfather. I swear to you, if they even try to have you committed, I'll kill them. I'll see them dead before they do that to you.”

Meg knew Nick meant it, and it terrified her. What had she done to him? What was he willing to risk for her love?

“It'll be all right,” she said. “I think it's just a threat so I won't make too big a fuss over the new school. There'd be a scandal if I were put away. Too many people would know and talk about it. They hate that. When my parents died, well, it wasn't their fault, but there was a lot of talk, and Uncle Marcus and Aunt Grace hated it. They just want me to be afraid.”

Nick kissed her. “You're the bravest person I know,” he said. “They're fools to think they can break you.”

“They don't want to break me,” Meg said. “Not the way you mean. They want me to be someone I'm not, and they don't know how to make me into that person, so they're trying all kinds of crazy things. They'd say they're just trying to protect me, and they'd mean it, too.”

“You're too kind to them,” Nick said. “They don't deserve you.” He laughed. “But then again, neither do I. All right. She shows you the report, and you act all horrified, and then we take it from there. Can you do that? It almost makes me wish I hadn't been honest with you, so you really might be upset. You're the first person I've ever been honest with. Maybe I was wrong.”

“Shush,” Meg said. “You were right. I love you, and I don't need your pretty stories. I hate the thought of pretending, but if that's what I have to do, then I'll do it.”

“It's only for a couple of years,” Nick said. “Once you're eighteen, we can be together.”

“Do we have to wait that long?” Meg asked. She clenched her hands into fists and forced herself to be as brave as Nick thought she was. “In my room tonight, well, I had nothing else to do except think, so I thought a lot, and it occurred to me, we could elope right now. Well, not this very minute, because Clark would never let us, but in a few days. You could help me escape, and we could go to some state where sixteen-year-olds can get married without parental consent, and then Aunt Grace couldn't do anything, like send me away to school, or put me in a sanitarium, because I'd be your wife. I'd quit school and get a job, and you could finish college. I know it wouldn't be Princeton, but at least we'd be together. Couldn't we, Nicky? Couldn't we do that?”

“You'd give up everything like that?” Nick asked. “Just for me?”

“I have nothing to give up,” Meg said.

“That isn't true,” Nick declared. “You have a lot. They just don't seem important to you right now, but you have family and friends and social position and money. You'd be giving all that up for me.”

“Gladly,” Meg said. “Please, Nicky. Please say yes.”

Nick shook his head. “It seems like the right thing to do tonight, in the rain,” he said. “But tomorrow morning, you may not think so. We don't have to decide tonight. Maybe things will work out for us some other way. Maybe Grace will come to her senses, realize she's risking losing you. Let's just see how it goes before we decide on anything.”

Meg knew Nick was right, but she felt disappointed anyway. Nick saw it in her face, and kissed her. “I love you,” he said. “And I want you, and I want to be your husband. Don't doubt that, Daisy. Don't ever doubt that.”

“I won't,” she said, and felt relieved and happy in his arms. “Kiss me again, and then I should go.”

Nick nodded. They shared one last kiss, and then Meg forced herself to walk away from him, toward Clark. She wanted to turn around and stare at Nick, but she was afraid she'd never leave if she did, so she kept her back to him and thought only about how safe she felt with him, how loved, how happy.

Clark had the kindness not to speak until they were far away from Nick. “Do you feel better?” he asked then. “Was it worth the risk?”

“Much better,” Meg said. “He loves me.”

“That's not hard to do,” Clark said.

Meg smiled. “We even talked about getting married,” she said. “Now, this summer, if we have to.”

“You're a fool,” Clark said, and he kept quiet for the rest of the walk back to Grace's, back to the locked room.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

“Come, Margaret. We don't want to be late.”

“No, Aunt Grace,” Meg replied, and picked up her pace. She'd been walking slowly on purpose, so Aunt Grace wouldn't see how excited she was to be let out of the house. But if Aunt Grace wanted speed, then speed she'd get.

“There's no need for you to run,” Aunt Grace promptly declared. “We're going to church, not the racetrack. Take ladylike steps, Margaret.”

“Yes, Aunt Grace,” Meg said, trying to match her steps to Grace's. She hadn't been running or anything close to it, so it was wrong of Aunt Grace to claim she had. Maybe all those years Grace had accused her of mumbling and stooping, Meg hadn't mumbled or stooped even once. It was a heady thought.

“I trust you will behave yourself,” Aunt Grace said as they climbed into the car that would drive them the mile or so to church.

“Yes, Aunt Grace,” Meg said. She'd managed her midnight tryst with Nick, and had for the two days since then been a model prisoner, always polite, never rebellious. Sunday had finally arrived, and with it, an outing to church, and then who knew what wonderful new freedoms. Meg refused to believe she'd be locked up again, at least not on the Sabbath.

It felt great to be in a car moving anywhere, even if the distance was short and the company unpleasant. Meg stared out the window, saw the people she'd grown up with as they too approached their house of worship. The weather was perfect, sunny and in the eighties. Meg wondered if she might be able to convince Grace to let her have a walk around the garden once they got home. She knew better than to ask for swimming privileges, but Grace might have it in her heart to agree to a short, well-supervised stroll. Meg pictured plunging a dagger into that shriveled heart, and giggled with pleasure at the image.

“I fail to see what's humorous,” Aunt Grace said. “Do you intend to laugh like a hyena throughout the service?”

Probably, Meg thought, but she shook her head and tried to look somber. You're an old woman, she said to Grace silently, and I'm young and in love and that terrifies you. She tried picturing Aunt Grace young, and even though she'd seen many photographs of her in her teens, she couldn't imagine it.

“People may ask questions,” Aunt Grace said. “You will know better than to answer them.”

“Yes, Aunt Grace,” Meg said.

“Very well,” Grace said. “Stay by my side at all times, and remember, this is a church service, and not some picnic event for you to run wild at.”

Meg nodded. She followed Grace out of the car, and to their pew at the church. She saw all the familiar faces there, and was certain she was being stared at. Everyone in town must know what's going on, she decided, and Aunt Grace is probably embarrassed. Maybe even ashamed that she has a niece capable of falling in love in such a spectacular fashion. Meg's dress was navy blue, conservative and completely acceptable, but she felt as though she were wearing scarlet. She began to blush, and could feel herself shaking.

“Stop making a spectacle of yourself,” Aunt Grace whispered, and grabbing Meg's arm, pulled her to their seats. Meg pushed her imaginary dagger deeper into Grace, then thought how inappropriate the thought was inside a church, and blushed all the harder.

“Sit down,” Aunt Grace whispered, and gave Meg a push. Meg sat. She looked down, trying to keep from crying. She'd been looking forward to this trip for days, and now Aunt Grace was turning it into another nightmare. She could hear the whispers around her, and she was sure she made out the word “unstable” from a row or two behind her.

Then suddenly she thought, Maybe Nicky is here. The church was a public place, after all, and while she and Nick had never discussed religion, she was sure he was some sort of compatible denomination, and would feel perfectly at ease in her church. The idea that he was there, under the same roof, made her look up and around, but there was no Nick.

“Stop gawking,” Aunt Grace said. “You're acting like a tourist.”

Meg began to lower her head, but before she completely sank into embarrassed oblivion, she caught a glimpse of Clark, who smiled at her. She smiled back. At least she had one friend there. That was more than Aunt Grace had.

The service, which usually dragged for Meg, went entirely too fast. Meg was certain that her behavior had made Grace decide to lock her back up as soon as they got home, all that running and blushing and gawking, just the kinds of things Grace hated. Meg pictured Grace slipping handcuffs on her, but she didn't even smile. No freedom, no Nick, no smiles.

After the service, Grace stood around with Meg by her side, and said hello to various people, almost as though it were an average Sunday morning. Nobody said anything to them about Meg's peculiar behavior of late, and Grace certainly didn't bring it up. Meg thought about making a break for it, running away on that beautiful July morning, vanishing into the netherworlds of Eastgate, finding Nick, finding a new home, but she hardly had the strength to stand there, exposed in public, and she knew she wouldn't make it fifty feet before collapsing into a blushing heap. Awful as it was, it was easier to stand next to Grace and mumble the sorts of things people expected her to mumble. What a pretty day it was. What a stimulating sermon. How good the choir sounded. How lovely her birthday party had been. Mumble and stoop, just the way Grace claimed.

“Come, Margaret,” Aunt Grace said, when the socializing time of the day had ended. “It's time to go back home.”

“Yes, Aunt Grace,” Meg said. She tried to look around inconspicuously, in case Nick had slipped into the neighborhood, was lurking around in a doorway or behind a tree, waiting for her to see him so he could say, “I love you.” But if Nick was there, he was doing too good a job at lurking, and Meg couldn't find him. He probably wasn't there. Meg suspected she'd made him up, that none of this had happened, that Grace had always kept her locked up because of her unstable tendencies.

“You will stay downstairs for dinner,” Aunt Grace declared, once they were in the privacy of the car. “Depending on your behavior, I may allow you to spend the rest of the day in the parlor.”

Meg wanted to ask if she could walk through the garden, but she lacked the courage. “Thank you, Aunt Grace,” she said instead.

“Stop mumbling,” Aunt Grace said. “I shall have to see if at St. Bartholomew's they can provide you with speech lessons. You certainly need to learn to enunciate.”

“Is that the name of the school?” Meg asked. “St. Bartholomew's?”

“Yes,” Grace replied. “It's an excellent school too. Father John mentioned to me yesterday that he knew a young girl several years back who had been an enormous worry to her parents, she drank, he said, and got into trouble with the law, and after three years at St. Bartholomew's, she was able to return to society and behave quite properly.”

“What kind of trouble with the law?” Meg asked.

“He wasn't at liberty to tell me,” Aunt Grace said. “But I imagine he was talking about the Bishop girl. I know she went to St. Bartholomew's.”

Meg tried to remember all she could about Georgina Bishop. “She's married now, isn't she,” she said.

“To the Phelps boy,” Aunt Grace said. “A fine match. I'm sure she regarded her three years at St. Bartholomew's as a small price to pay for being able to assume her proper role in life.”

Meg pictured herself spending two years at St. Bartholomew's, only to graduate into marriage with Clark. If the car had been moving faster, she would have flung herself out of it.

“I spoke to Maude Bishop about St. Bartholomew's,” Aunt Grace declared. “While Marcus and I were discussing your alternatives.”

“What's it like there?” Meg asked, trying to sound casual without mumbling.

“Of course they're very strict,” Aunt Grace said. “That's the whole point of a school of that sort. To provide girls from proper families with a school that offers them sufficient structure to keep them from sordid mistakes.”

“Do a lot of Americans go there?” Meg asked.