A Beautiful Poison

It was too late for a social call, but Jasper didn’t consider this until he stood shivering before the Cutter house. The lights were bright inside and illuminated the street with rectangles of gold, luring him closer. Well, he’d spent a fare to get here, so he reached for the great brass knocker anyway. As soon as the elderly butler opened the door, he smelled a fire burning in the hearth and something sweeter, like taffy. He was led into the main sitting room, where Holly sat by the fire, playing with a doll and a wooden truck. Allene, Birdie, and Andrew were at a small Queen Anne table playing a card game. Allene had hooked Birdie’s arm in her own, so that their heads were touching while they played cards.

Only Holly saw him at first. She jumped up from her station near the fire and shouted, “It’s Jasper!”

The others looked up, and Andrew stood to receive him. Birdie and Allene both smiled, but blandly, as if dampening their true sentiments in Andrew’s presence.

“Hello, Holly. I thought it was time to come by for a visit.”

Her hand quickly found his, and he couldn’t help but notice Birdie’s strained expression. Holly didn’t notice, only stamping the floor in complaint.

“You said you would visit sooner, and it’s been days and days and days and—”

“Holly.” Birdie cut her off. “Jasper has been very busy, I’m sure.”

“I have.” He strode over to the card table, gently extricating his hand from Holly’s sticky one. Andrew stood to shake his hand. He was looking a touch thinner than before, which, unfortunately for Jasper, made him seem inches taller and more lordly. “Andrew. How are you?”

“Been better.”

Allene tsked. “Andrew had to fire their cook after she made a marvelously bad roast beef. Poor Andrew was quite wrung out.”

“I’m fine,” Andrew said, irritated. He gestured to the empty fourth seat. “Please, join us. We’re playing pinochle.”

“Isn’t that a Kraut game? How terribly unpatriotic of you all.”

“Sit,” Allene ordered, eyes sparkling. “So what brings you here on a Friday evening?”

He smiled, feeling foolish, and had nothing to say. Birdie and Allene were dressed in frocks of gauzy femininity, Andrew in a simple but polished suit. Even Holly was wearing a Cutter classic, a white dress with a blue sash around her waist. The only person who didn’t belong was him. Jasper knew his trousers were frayed at the hem because they were Oscar’s old pair, and they were too long and got caught under his muddy heels. His shirt needed a darning at the elbows.

He thought of his uncle and didn’t wish to return to that mess, and realized that this was the only other place he could go. And of course, he shouldn’t be here either.

“Where’s your pop?” he asked Allene.

“Resting upstairs. He has a cold, but we won’t take any chances that it might turn into influenza or pneumonia. He’s to stay in bed for a few days.”

Jasper’s eyes flicked upward, as if he could espy the microbial truth through the ceiling. He slipped his hands into his pockets, fingering the wad of envelopes. “I received your letters, but I figured I might as well skip the reading and slip you an earful in person. It saves me the postage, doesn’t it?”

“My letter!” Holly rushed over and grabbed the three envelopes that Jasper was now holding in his hands. She dragged Jasper to sit on a sofa next to her and riffled through them. “I read it.”

“This isn’t how the mail works, you know,” Birdie commented. Even when she was scolding, she was exquisite. But like Andrew, she seemed thinner. Allene must be getting some swell eats off her companions’ gilded china. Her figure was as fine as ever.

“It’s also from ten days ago. You ought to have replied by now,” Allene added.

“So much fuss over a few letters. Maybe I should read them aloud?” Andrew asked, standing and heading toward Jasper.

Allene stood abruptly. “Now, don’t be silly, Andrew. They’re tiresome tirades on a bunch of busy nothings.”

“Like I said, so much fuss.” He bent to kiss Allene on the cheek. “I ought to be going anyway. I have to wake up early tomorrow for the committee chair meeting. Maybe you could send a few letters to your devoted fiancé once in a while, hmm?”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense, Andrew. You visit every evening!”

“And to think, in one month we’ll be in our own house. You can leave me letters by my breakfast silverware.”

“As you wish, dear,” she said, but the playfulness had crept out of her voice.

“Which reminds me. Mother tells me that you’ve been late in speaking to the band and florist.”

“I’ll get to it soon,” Allene said. She strode out of the room to accompany Andrew to the door.

When she returned, Holly was still busy reading her letter to Jasper, who was pleasantly lost in the charm of her lisps and mispronunciations.

“I am . . . looming . . . leaning . . . learning . . . how to call-tie-vate . . . a rosebush . . . but it pricks me every day.”

“Cultivate,” Birdie corrected her.

Holly put the letter down, flummoxed. “I said that.”

“Of course you did,” Jasper agreed, before hiding a smile.

“Holly, it’s bedtime,” Birdie announced, gathering Holly’s toys and tucking them under her arm.

“Do you have to be up early for work too?” Jasper asked.

“But tomorrow is Saturday,” Allene complained.

“I work on Saturdays,” Jasper said defensively.

Birdie exchanged glances with Allene. Allene answered for her.

“Well, Birdie is taking some time off from work.”

“No, Allene, I’m not,” Birdie began.

“But you don’t need the money. You’re here.”

“Not forever. I’m not here forever.” She was staring into the darkness out the window, but when Jasper followed her glance, he saw nothing. He thought of his uncle, alone in his apartment, feeling misused and abandoned. He ought to go back home, but the magnetic charm of Birdie and Allene kept his feet in place. Why was it that when he was in their presence, he eventually felt all the imperfections and tarnishes in his life buffed away?

Allene was still arguing with Birdie. “You shouldn’t. All those women working together? You’ll catch the grippe! It isn’t safe.”

Birdie laughed. “I’m not going to die from influenza.”

As if on point, Jasper coughed. They all stared at him.

“It’s a tickle! It’s nothing. I feel fine. I already had the flu last spring. Anyway, it’s time to read Allene’s letter—”

“Which is the oddest reason to call on your friends, Jasper.” But Allene seemed pleased that he wanted to read it, even in her presence. “Here, I’ll do you the favor and read it myself. It’ll be like you’re inside my head.”

“Now there’s a place I’ve never been. Add that to Paris, Belgium, Japan, and Coney Island.”

She whacked his sleeve, and Holly trotted over with the envelopes. When Allene looked at them, she said, “Why, Jasper, this one isn’t mine.” She handed him the extra envelope.

He studied it curiously. It was addressed in an elegant script, which he’d thought was Allene’s but, in fact, was different. There was no return address. His skin flushed with anticipation as he tore the envelope open and unfolded the single sheet inside. His mouth went dry, and his hand shook.

Birdie and Allene asked him, almost simultaneously, “What’s the matter?”

He said nothing, only showed them the words on the page.

You’re welcome.





CHAPTER 22


The look on Jasper’s face was more than just fear. It was regret, so deeply etched that he seemed ravaged by time in an instant. Birdie had never witnessed anything like it, and it frightened her.

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