The Shadow Portrait (17 page)

“And the material is so thin you can see through it. It seems to me,” Peter said, “that women are now wearing in public what they only wore inside their bedrooms at one time.”

“That’s the idea, to make you men look at us. Come on. I’m going to try on some clothes. You can sit over there.”

For the next two hours Peter sat as Avis tried on dress after dress, and he had to admit that no matter what she put on, she made it look good. Some of them were rather daring, and as he frowned, she came over and grabbed him by his hair and pulled his head back. “You’re nothing but a Puritan,” she whispered. “I need to reform you from all that.”

Finally, after she had made her selections, they left the ladies’ department burdened down with packages. “I’m glad men’s clothes don’t change,” Peter muttered. “The only change I’ve seen is that men are wearing derbys instead of high silk hats.”

“Here, I’ve got a present for you,” Avis said. She fished into her pocket and came out with a small package. “You can open it in the carriage.”

When they were outside and had stored the purchases that Avis had made, Peter settled back, with Avis sitting very close to him. He could smell the perfume she had on, a pleasing fragrance that was always with her. As she leaned against him, he was distracted but continued to open the package.
When the paper fell away, he exclaimed, “Why, it’s one of those watches you wear on your arm!”

“Yes. See how handy it is? Let me put it on,” Avis offered, smiling at him. She fastened the watch by the leather strap and said, “Isn’t that nice?”

Peter Winslow stared at the watch, then twisted his shoulders uncomfortably. “You know, there’s an idea going around that no true man would wear one of these.”

“Why, there’s nothing to that! Soon they’ll be the in thing for all men. Why, the pocket watch will be in museums in another year.”

Peter laughed and reached over and pulled her toward him. She came eagerly, put her arms around his neck, and drew him closer and kissed him. Peter Winslow knew that he really had nothing in common with Avis Warwick. She was a woman completely immersed in the world’s values, longing for what the day could offer, never thinking of the future. She craved the things that satisfied the flesh and gave no thought, apparently, to the spirit. Still, as she came back to him and kissed him again, all this was swept away, and he forgot their many differences.

The race was exciting and Jolie Devorak cheered herself hoarse as Peter drove the
Jolie Blonde
to victory. Despite the cold weather, an extremely large crowd had gathered in Newark to watch the field of seventeen of the fastest cars in the country duel it out. Peter had driven a smart race, letting some of the drivers batter each other in the sharp curves, and then in the last three laps he had come from behind to win.

Jolie rushed forward to join those who gathered around as Peter and Easy climbed out, but she stopped abruptly. Avis Warwick was suddenly there smiling up at Peter as the photographers snapped photos from every angle.

As Peter answered the questions of a reporter from the
New York Times,
Jolie could not help but remember how
she
had
been the one beside Peter before Avis Warwick had come into their lives. Now she could not force herself to go forward. She stood back and watched as Peter and Avis departed arm in arm. She was startled when Easy suddenly said, “Why didn’t you come over and get in the picture, Jolie?”

Turning to the undersized mechanic, Jolie stared at him and the bitterness she felt somehow spilled over. “It looked like Peter was pretty busy!”

Instantly Easy’s eyes came to meet those of Jolie. He had become very sensitive to this young woman and understood immediately the emotion that was racing through her.

“Well, I guess it’s pretty flattering to a feller having a rich woman make over him like that. Most would lose their heads, I reckon.”

“I suppose so.” Jolie turned to go away, but Easy fell into step beside her. He said casually, “I knew we was gonna win that race because I dreamed of white clouds last night.”

“White clouds? What does that have to do with the race?”

“Why, everybody knows if you dream of white clouds it’s a good sign. It’s just like when you dream of a funeral. A weddin’ is gonna follow.”

“What if you dream about a wedding?”

Easy shrugged his wiry shoulders eloquently. “Well, that ain’t so good, Jolie. Every time you dream about a weddin’, there’s death a-comin’ somewhere down the road.”

“I think that’s a bunch of foolishness! Dreams don’t have anything to do with what happens to us.”

“You ought not to talk like that, Jolie,” Easy protested. “Why, back once when I was fifteen years old, I dreamed about a black dog three nights runnin’. And it wasn’t but six months after that when the cholera epidemic came and just about wiped out the whole town.”

Jolie had long since given up on trying to change Easy’s strange views. He was tremendously superstitious and spent a great deal of time collecting remedies that he was convinced could fight off disease or cure those already in progress. Now
she could not help but smile and say, “Did you get those warts off your hand?”

“No, but that was because I didn’t start soon enough.” Easy looked down at the back of his left hand and shook his head dolefully. “But I’ve got a sure-fire cure now that I’m gonna try.” Without waiting, he launched into it eagerly. “Never known this one to fail, Jolie. What you do is take a grain of corn, cut the heart out, and cut the wart until it bleeds. Then you take a drop of the blood and put it in the corn, where the heart was taken out, then you throw the grain to a chicken.”

“And then the wart goes away?”

“That’s right. I just ain’t had no fresh green corn, but now I’ve got it all right.”

By this time the two had gotten beyond the crowd, and Easy could tell that Jolie was still angry. Reaching out, he took her arm and said quietly, “You don’t want to worry about Peter and Avis. She don’t mean nothin’ to him.”

“I don’t care. It’s no business of mine.”

Easy had known for a long time of Jolie’s devotion to Peter Winslow, and now he said gently, “You know, a lot of things can be figured out if a body’s smart enough. Some things you can add up, and some things you can’t.” He dropped his hand and said slowly, “Love don’t always add up, Jolie.”

Startled, Jolie lifted her eyes. She had enormous eyes of a peculiar powder blue hue set in her squarish face, but they generally did not betray her feelings. She had become skilled at hiding what went on inside her, mostly because of her scarred face. Now, however, Easy had caught her off balance, and she stared at him, unable to speak. Finally she shook her head stubbornly and said, “It’s none of my business what he does, Easy.”

Easy watched as Jolie wrenched herself away and stalked off, her head held high and her back stiff. There was a stubborn set to her shoulders, and Easy shook his head, muttering sorrowfully, “I sure do hate to see Jolie actin’ this way.” He had thought many times of Avis Warwick, and now declared,
“I wish she’d find someone else to lavish her attention on. Man in love ain’t got no sense whatsoever!”

Clinton Lanier was in the crowd in New Jersey watching the race. He had been sent by his father on an errand, but had made the trip a long one by stopping by the race track. He had not seen Peter or Jolie since his father had forbidden him, but each day he had become more and more bitter about his father’s order to stay away. Now he lost himself in the roar of the machines and felt his heart catch in his throat as Peter barely avoided disaster on a turn. When Peter won, however, Clinton did not go forward to congratulate him; instead he turned to leave without speaking to anyone.

“Hello, Clinton!”

Clinton stopped abruptly, startled at the sound of his name, and when he turned to find Phil Winslow coming toward him, he flushed as if caught in some wicked deed. The first thought that came to him was,
What if he tells Father that I’m at the races?
Then he realized that Phil Winslow was not likely to be seeing his father at all, and he managed a smile, saying, “Hello, Phil.”

“Great race, wasn’t it?”

“Yes it was. Peter’s a good driver.”

“You taking a holiday from the office?”

“Not exactly.” Clinton struggled for a moment, then shrugged. “I had some business to take care of close by, so I thought I’d come on and take in the race.”

Somehow Phil understood that the young man was embarrassed and quickly decided that it had something to do with being at the race track.
His father’s got him afraid of his own shadow,
he thought. Aloud he asked, “How’s the family?”

“Very well,” Clinton said briefly. He hesitated, then added, “Cara misses you a great deal, Phil.”

The comment surprised Phil Winslow. “She does? I’m surprised about that.”

“Why should you be surprised? You know she doesn’t have any life at all.”

The bitterness in Clinton’s voice startled Phil. He glanced quickly at his friend’s profile and saw that embarrassment and anger were mingled on Clinton’s aristocratic face. “I wish things were different,” Phil said. “I’d like to go see her, but I don’t think I’d be welcome.”

“You probably wouldn’t be, at least by Father, but Cara misses you. None of the rest of us know much about painting, Phil. About all I can say is ‘that’s a nice picture.’ You ought to hear how she talks about you. Her eyes light up and she gets pink in the face.”

“That amazes me. We don’t agree at all on painting styles.”

“Oh, I know that! She told me your idea—to paint things from life.”

“Well, I was afraid I might have insulted her.”

“No. Nothing like that.” Suddenly Clinton was filled with an impulse. “Look here, Phil. It would be good for Cara if you would drop by sometime. I know you think our family’s weak—”

“I don’t think anything like that!” Phil protested. But at the same time he realized that this was
exactly
what he thought. Still, he could not say that to Clinton. “I just don’t want to intrude where I’m not invited. I admire your sister very much. She’s got more talent than she even realizes.” He saw Clinton’s face glow with the compliment and went on to say, “It’s a shame that she can’t go to Europe. She’d enjoy it.”

“Europe? That’s about as likely as my going to the moon! Father’s dead set against her going anywhere but her room.”

Phil did not answer, but a bitter reply leaped to his lips. He bit it off with an effort and shrugged, saying, “I had supposed that was the case.”

Suddenly Clinton turned, stopping so abruptly that it caught Phil off guard. “Look here,” he said earnestly, his direct blue eyes catching at Phil. “Why don’t you just drop
by sometime? I know it sounds a little bit, well, sneaky, but you could go during the day. Father’s always at the office.”

“Doesn’t sound right to me. I hate to go sneaking around.”

“I know you do, but in a case like this, it would give Cara a great deal of pleasure. She doesn’t get many good things in her life. Cara’s a sweet woman, and she’s had a rough shuffle. I wish you’d do it, Phil.”

“All right, Clinton. I will.” Phil was surprised at his own agreement, but discovered that he was perfectly willing to be a sneak if that is what it took to encourage Cara. He wanted to believe that rules didn’t count where men like Oliver Lanier were concerned, but that was not what he needed to say to Clinton. The two walked on, and before they parted, Phil said, “If your father catches me and turns a shotgun on me, I’ll hold you responsible.”

Somehow Clinton was relieved by Phil Winslow’s attitude. He admired the man tremendously and slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll even sneak around to the servants and let it be known that my father doesn’t need to know every visitor that Cara has.”

“You’re pretty sneaky yourself, Clinton,” Phil grinned. “I’ll drop by tomorrow if you’ll put that word out.”