The Memory of Us: A Novel (4 page)

No one spoke at first as our skillful fingers wrapped and twisted. We were exhausted after such a full day.

Lucille broke the silence. “Jul?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad to have my friend back.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve been moping about like something out of a Boris Karloff flick. I wasn’t kidding when I called you Grumpy. But I think you’re earning your way back up to happy now.”

I was sorry that my melancholy had alienated her. Did anyone notice it besides Lucille? She knew me better than most and deserved to know the truth. Reluctantly I let her in on the whole story. She listened with rapt attention, her jaw dropping at all the appropriate times.

“A priest, Julianne? A priest? Oh, leave it to you—the one man that you finally fancy, you can’t have!” Finding the irony amusing, she stifled a giggle at the whole impossible thing.

“Oh, let it out, Lucille! You know you want to laugh. But he’s not a priest. Not
yet
, anyway. He still has six more years at the seminary.” I said it as much to convince myself as her.

But there was no fooling her. “Jul, you know how King Edward abdicated to run off with that Wallis Simpson?”

“Of course. Who will ever forget?”

“What did we think of her?”

“That she was a lowlife bugger.”

“Exactly. And why was that?”

“Well . . .” I hesitated. I didn’t want to admit to what she was suggesting.

Lucille completed my sentence. “Because she brought scandal to the monarchy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you don’t see the similarity?”

“You’re not comparing me to an American divorcée, are you?”

“Of course not. Not entirely. You’re a far better person than she was.” She patted my hand. “But it’s kind of the same thing. Isn’t Kyle promised to God or something like that, even if he hasn’t taken his vows yet? Isn’t he supposed to belong to the people of the church, just like the king was supposed to belong to us?”

I was at a loss to disagree with her, but held out one desperate hope. “Well, with all the problems in the world, surely God wouldn’t notice one stray seminarian leaving the fold.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “And this is the theological brilliance of whom? The girl who goes to church, say, twice a year? When there’s a good excuse to buy a new Christmas or Easter dress?”

“Why do you have to do that?” I sighed.

“Do what?”

“Be
right
!” I tried to act indignant, but could manage only an anemic huff as I threw a pillow at her. “I think we won in the end, though. King George is a doll, even if he does stutter, and it’s quite fun to see the pictures of the princesses all dressed up.”

“See, Jul? You’ll win, too, if you just do what you should.” She walked over to my four-poster bed, and I helped her pull back the enormous down blankets.

I admitted defeat. She was spot-on. It was pointless to wrap myself in knots over something so futile. I’d be heading to London soon, anyway. Full speed ahead.

I switched off the lamp and fluffed my pillow. I laid my slippers next to my bed, straightening them until they were lined up just so. I peeked at Lucille lying next to me, and her eyelids were already drooping. When she spoke it was with the low drawl of someone lingering between consciousness and the dream state, not that it dulled her witty tongue.

“Why Jul, what
is
that in your hair?
Holy rollers!
”

“Hardy har har. Good night, Lucille.”

“Jul, do you think we’ll have a
mass
amount of people at the festival tomorrow?”

I ignored her.

“Jul, do you think your father will
pope
his head in here if we’re too loud?”

“Oh, that one was terrible.”

“You’re right. I just couldn’t help myself. Sweet dreams.”

“You, too.”

We were quiet for ten minutes, and I thought she was asleep.

“Jul?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not
incensed
with me, are you?”

“Good night, Lucille!”

Smiling as I closed my eyes, I sank into a refreshing calm, the kind that occurs when your mind is finally liberated from something troubling. I had no way of knowing that my afflictions would return stronger than ever by this time tomorrow.

Chapter Four

The weather was cooperating so far. Some rain clouds idled in the distance, but they didn’t seem as if they would do anything more than threaten us. It was always a gamble to hold a festival outdoors, but if the sunshine prevailed, it was well worth it. The fresh air augmented charitable sentiments, and the grounds of the botanic gardens provided a stunning backdrop.

We remained home as long as possible before I had to take the curlers out, and Lucille spent the time reviewing last-minute details. She should have been the one inheriting my father’s business.

When we could stay no longer, we took down my hair, ironed out Lucille’s, and packed our gowns for the evening. The mislaid priorities of the earlier summer months needed to remain squarely behind me, according to Lucille’s decisive counsel. I had to free myself from the preoccupation with Kyle McCarthy. The auction would be the perfect distraction.

Although Mother retained a chauffeur, Father and I shared an affinity for driving, and he let me have his new Bentley for the day. In its polished black exterior, we took a final look at our reflections. We drove the four miles to the grounds, whizzing by lesser automobiles and horse-drawn carriages whose owners defied progress. I hoped to park away from anything that could scratch the car, but people were already crowding into the limited spaces. I maneuvered it, finally, between a tangle of bicycles and a tree overrun with birds. I gave the birds a menacing stare, warning them against leaving any deposits, then took Lucille’s arm.

We stopped first at the bake sale, where she priced the items and I sampled them before leaving things in her capable hands and going to check on the other tables.

The dunking booth was overflowing with water, and I called for a stack of towels to be placed behind it. Reverend Parker was the first to volunteer, and I wanted to make sure that he was well cared for when he got drenched. No doubt the booth would be the busiest when he provoked the crowd from the hinged seat.

The bread contest table had twelve of the entries in place already, including Alice’s lemon poppy seed. It was iced with a sugary coating, and I knew from one look at the competitors that I would be pinning the ribbon on her yet again.

Tin cans were stacked in pyramids waiting to be pummeled, and lights were strung between lampposts. The band was rehearsing in a pavilion. All seemed to be in wonderful order. I reclaimed Lucille, and we set out to report to Mother. We found her talking with Mrs. Denton, and nearly knocked her over with our embrace as we thanked her for the jewelry.

“Now now, there’s no need for that,” she said, her arms stiffening at the contact. “Your help was invaluable.” She slipped out of our hold and shooed us off. “Everything is under control. Go enjoy the festivities. I’ll see you at the auction.”

We set off to visit a caricature artist but didn’t get far before hearing our names.

“Julianne! Lucille!”

Turning, we saw Lotte and Blythe waving us down. I hadn’t seen much of them since leaving upper school, which, in Lotte’s case, was a welcome interlude. Blythe was a jewel, though, and it was one of the world’s great mysteries that they were friends.

“Everything looks aces, Julianne,” said Lotte between breaths. “Really, you did a first-class job. Of course, I visited a carnival in Manchester once, where they had fire-eaters and unicyclists. And there was that fund-raiser for the university where they actually built an ice rink. In the summer, no less! But don’t you worry. I’m sure you did the best you could.”

Lucille grabbed my hand and squeezed it, lest I say anything I might regret.

“Where are you going first? May we join you?” Blythe chimed in, but Lotte charged on with the real reason that she had come over.

“Now, I have some news that’ll really blow your wig!” She grabbed my arms, and I felt her nails press against my skin.

“What news?”

“John Parker proposed to Maude and she
accepted
!” Her hands flew in the air as she anticipated a response that would confirm her as queen of the tittle-tattle.

Although this was indeed news, I knew Lotte far too well to take the bait. I simply turned to Lucille, and she shook her head.

“Are you sure?” I asked Lotte.

“Of course, I’m sure,” she said. “I just heard it from Maude’s sister
herself
. We all saw it coming, but it’s so exciting now that it’s finally happened!” Lotte could have powered the strung lights with her enthusiasm. “Of course, how Maude could be content being a minister’s wife, I don’t know, but there are some things that defy all common sense. And it’s not as if he even has a position yet—he’s still a
student
, for mercy’s sake. Still, one can’t help but be bolstered by love in the air.” She twirled her finger toward the sky.

Appearing to grudgingly accept the validity of Lotte’s bulletin, Lucille added, “Well, if that’s so, that means that Maude can’t be in the auction now. You can’t be in the auction if you are engaged or married. Couldn’t they have waited until
after
the festival?”

“Oh, I asked her sister that very thing. I know how much she had been looking forward to the auction. But, she is
ever
so much
more
looking forward to showing off her ring, especially with so many people in one place!”

Something told me that it was Lotte who was
ever
so much
more
excited. Maude was not one to relish attention, a quality as foreign to Lotte as kangaroos and courtesy. In fact, I was sure that Maude was quite relieved to be out of the auction spotlight. Still, I was going to chide John for taking away such a valuable commodity at the last instant and call upon his honor to make up for it with a hefty donation.

Despite Blythe’s request to join us, Lotte grabbed her companion by the sleeve and rushed off to break the news to her next unsuspecting target.

Romance flourished for more than John and Maude.

Boys of all descriptions were traveling in packs, whistling at the girls and making ardent attempts to pair off with some of them. I wasn’t interested, since I was still smarting from the ridiculous infatuation that had swindled me out of my perfect summer. But for Lucille’s sake, and that of the event, I finally acquiesced and let one boy buy a glass pendant for me. His friend won a stuffed puppy for Lucille. Bolstered by these cracks in our resolve, we had offers from others to win bigger prizes, but we declined and stole around to the food booths, where we split an undercooked Welsh cake with blackberry jam.

At five o’clock we made our way to the check-in at the lodge.

We were a few minutes late, and about forty girls had already gathered. Only sixteen were in the auction, but everyone liked to participate in the revelry. Some were reminiscing about their past auction years, and the rest, like Lucille, were giddy about their upcoming ones. We were engulfed in a sea of corsets and cosmetics.

After I’d washed my face, Lucille gently lowered my dress over my head and zipped the back. We powdered our noses, rouged our cheeks, smacked our lips, and darkened our eyelashes with mascara. She refreshed my curls and stepped back, looking at me with one finger over her mouth before smiling in approval.

The last touch was our jewelry. Earrings and bracelets on first. Lucille clasped my necklace for me, and I did likewise for her.

We waited our turn for a mirror.

“Julianne, you look like a starlet, straight from the screen,” Lucille said.

“You sound like Lotte.”

“Well, at least I mean it. And it’s true. I pity the rest of the girls. They might as well concede now.”

I was about to repay the compliment when Mother entered. I did a little pirouette for her, and she told me that my earrings were crooked. Then she spotted a friend and left with a pat on the cheek.

Lucille compensated me with a warm squeeze, and we walked out to the makeshift stage. We were again surrounded by fussing and flattery, girls complimenting one another lavishly while each covertly wondering how she measured up. The auction wasn’t really a contest, but there was an undeniable cachet in being the one to raise the most money.

We drew numbers to settle the order of the auction, after which lists of all the contestants were distributed to the crowd outside so that they could make plans for their bids. Mine was number nine.

The emcee for the event was Lord Mayor William Denton, whose term was soon to expire. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” His booming voice must have sounded impressive in the halls of city government. Cheers erupted from all sides. “I hope that you have all been enjoying the festival so far.”

More applause. Behind the stage sixteen girls fidgeted and adjusted their gowns.

Lord Mayor Denton gave a little speech on the importance of the auction’s two causes tonight, drumming up enthusiasm and priming the crowd to loosen their purse strings.

“Remember,” he thundered. “This is all in good fun for not one but two worthy causes. Tonight, you are bidding the opportunity to escort one of these lovely girls to the Ladies’ Society Autumn Picnic. Let’s remember that they are volunteering for this to help the cathedral building fund and the children of the Seaman’s Orphanage. Remember as well that you may bid on a young lady
for
someone else. So, mothers out there, tonight is the night to win the girl that you’ve always had in mind for your sons!”

That got a chortle from the spectators, though it wasn’t in the least facetious. Four years ago Mrs. Hawthorne won a bid on behalf of her visiting nephew, and he married Grace White a year later.

“And so, without further ado, let’s bring out our ladies!”

The crowd applauded—mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, friends, and potential suitors alike. As with all past auctions, this was sure to be talked about for the next few months.

“Lady Number One is Miss Penelope Cumberland. Miss Cumberland has been attending the University of Edinburgh, studying music. She enjoys playing the piano and helping her parents breed spaniels.”

Penelope and I had been in school together for years. Plump and pretty, she was a sweetheart if there ever was one, and I hoped that her auction went well. She walked out onto the stage confidently, turning this way and that.

“Do I have ten shillings?”

“Ten shillings!”

“I have ten shillings. Do I have twelve?”

“Twelve shillings!”

And so on and so forth. Penelope went for a respectable one pound and two shillings, and was bought by her beau of seven months, Nigel Gray, who had worked overtime pumping petrol to make sure that no one else took his girl out. He hopped onstage after he’d won and planted a big kiss on her cheek. Together, they shuffled through the crowd toward the band, waiting for the auction to end and the dancing to begin.

“Lady Number Two is Miss Rose Smith. Miss Smith moved to Liverpool from Swansea only two years ago, and is employed as a seamstress. She enjoys seeing movies and going on picnics. Do I have ten shillings?”

Rose Smith went for one pound, seven to Mrs. Tabitha Brewer, her employer. I knew that Rose wanted to participate but
really
didn’t want Charlie Franks to win her. He had asked her to step out with him several times, and obstinately didn’t believe that her no was firm. When it appeared that he was going to be the winner, Mrs. Brewer threw out a mercy bid and won Rose herself. No doubt she intended to let Rose select her own escort for the picnic.

We were all crowded around in the back, hoping for glimpses of the progress of the auction. It provided juicy gossip, and everyone wanted to be the first to spread it.

I finally had my turn to peer through the curtain, just in time to see Lady Number Three, Miss Anne Murrish, daughter of a local solicitor, ready to take the stage.

“Do I have ten shillings?”

Thwarted by his last attempt, Charlie Franks was determined to win an evening with
any
girl, and was the first to acknowledge the ten shillings.

“Who will give me twelve?”

“Twelve!”

I looked to see who had bid next. I found the source of the voice, and nearly lost the contents of my stomach.

It was Kyle.

Dressed smartly in gray slacks and a herringbone jacket, he was even more handsome than I had remembered. And I had tried so hard
not
to remember. I must have been barmy to think I could. Why was he here tonight? Why was he bidding on a girl when he was heading back to the seminary? I thought he wasn’t allowed to like them.

He didn’t bid beyond the twelve, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

I gave up my spot at the curtain and laid my head against a tree. My perfect day, my perfect evening. Ruined by the very person that I had tried so hard to forget.

I could hear that Anne went for a respectable two pounds. I tried to summon up happiness for her, but it was beyond my abilities.

Five more girls before it was my turn. I checked my wristwatch and ran back to the hall to put myself back together.

Lucille saw me leave and ran after me.

“Julianne! Jul! Wait for me!”

I slowed a little so that she could catch up, but I kept moving forward because I had to get out of there.

“Jul, what happened?” Her words came out with labored pauses as she caught her breath, but it didn’t stop her from springing into action. She brushed my hair from my face and pulled out her powder to fix me up.

I hung my head and didn’t want to tell her at first, but I knew she’d get it out of me anyway. “It’s
him
, Lucille! He’s here, and he just bid on Anne!” I pointed a shaky finger in the direction of the stage.

“Him, who?
Him
him? Your
priest
?”

“Cut it out, Luce. Yes,
him
. And no, he’s not
my
priest. He’s not
any
priest. I told you that he’s not nearly done with school yet.”

I sniffed, and she pulled a handkerchief out of my handbag.

I asked her all of the same questions that I had agonized over myself. “Why is he here? Why is he bidding on Anne?”