“You’re doing fine,” I said.
From the corner of my eye, I could see a face peering through a crack in the doorway. Hannah, hovering. I felt the familiar irritation swell up, then almost instantly subside. For the first time, I saw Hannah for who she was: a woman on the brink of old age, trying desperately to maintain her grip on power. She ruled Lakecrest; she ruled Lemont Industries; she ruled her own son. But she would not reign forever. Step by step, day by day, I’d make myself indispensable. I’d learn about the business and demand a seat on the board of directors. Convince Matthew to tear the gargoyles and turrets off Lakecrest and transform it into a modern showplace. Raise Stella to look to the future, not the past.
Hannah had never denied meddling with my family-planning supplies; I still believed she’d done it. If it weren’t for Stella, Matthew and I might be in Africa right now, or Paris, or New York. We might have escaped Lakecrest. I looked over Matthew’s shoulder, directly at Hannah, holding her gaze.
This baby is mine, my eyes told her. I win.
EPILOGUE
The Depression didn’t wipe us out, but life at Lakecrest changed. There were no more parties, and my redecorating plans had to be put aside. I listened to the dismal economic news with only halfhearted interest. Childbirth had changed me more than just physically; it was as if the struggle to bring Stella into the world had destroyed my ambition. It was enough to sit with Stella in my lap, watching her grab at my hair or skirt. When I was bored of mothering, I handed her to the baby nurse and napped or read a book. When I bothered to reflect on what my life had become, I was mystified by my lassitude. It took a long time to realize that what I was feeling was contentment. Never before had I experienced it so completely.
Years passed as if they were days, with little to distinguish one from another. Blanche sent letters from New York and Miami, and I answered with note cards, unable to find enough news to fill a whole page. I made appearances at appropriate events: meetings of the Ladies’ Club and a Young Mothers card group with Eva. By the time Stella was walking, Matthew and I had agreed to have another child, and Robbie was born in the spring of 1932. An easy birth for an easy baby. From the beginning, he wanted nothing more than cuddles and affection, and my most vivid memories of that summer are of sitting under a beach umbrella with Robbie kicking on a blanket and Stella splashing at the water’s edge. I was sunstruck and lazy, free of the inner turmoil that had propelled me into this privileged life. When Matthew came home from work to join us, the children looked at him with the same stunned awe I used to feel early in my married life: what a wonder that such a gorgeous man should be ours!
My battles with Hannah faded into insignificance. I was relieved to be spared the running of the household and allowed her to supervise the nurse and the children’s schedules. There were signs here and there that she hadn’t given up her interfering ways. An offhand comment she made about boarding schools that I chose to ignore. Her insistence we spend August in Maine, despite the expense, because the “right people” would be there. I went along without complaint, biding my time. As my children became more independent, flickers of my old self sparked to life. With every step Robbie took, a piece shifted back into place.
Turning points are often best viewed in hindsight, but I knew right away the phone call from Terrence Fry could change everything. He was a well-known architect working with rich clients who wanted a lakeside home. Might some of our property be for sale? Despite the times, there were apparently still people with enough money to pay handsomely for a water view. It sounded like an offer heaven-sent to solve two problems at once. We’d be rid of the bleak, deserted north estate, and we’d finally be able to afford a renovation of Lakecrest.
Matthew and I were immediately in favor of selling, but not Hannah. We first discussed it over dinner, resolved nothing by dessert, then dragged the arguments along with us into the next day. I turned on the charm, and Matthew pulled out the family accounts to make his case, but Hannah wouldn’t budge. It was then that I realized my life and my children’s future were still firmly in her hands.
I began tallying up the slights I’d previously brushed off, the constant instructions to do things this way or that. Early motherhood had been a cocoon, nestling me as I transformed into a sharper, clearer version of myself. Before I had children, I prided myself on being strong and independent; now, I saw how weak I’d really been. Cowed by Hannah’s anger and scared of Matthew’s mood swings, I’d allowed a leaky house and bossy old lady to drive me nearly crazy. Matthew’s dreams were long gone, thanks to Lemont Medical’s magical syrup, but if they ever started up again, I knew I’d no longer cringe at the edge of the bed if he attacked me in the night. I’d fight back.
Pent-up anger builds in secret, like a volcano beneath the surface. You never know when the tremor will hit that sets it off.
It was an ordinary summer day, the heat building but not yet oppressive. Hannah and I were following Stella and Robbie and the nanny on our usual midmorning walk. There’d be luncheon in an hour, then a nap for Robbie and an afternoon at the beach with Eva and her children. The routine was ingrained, and nothing in those fateful minutes warned of approaching danger. But isn’t that often the way of it, right before your life inexorably changes?
The nanny held Robbie’s hand while Stella skipped ahead. She became a speck in the distance, a whirl of blonde and white in the waist-high prairie grass. Around her hovered the ghosts of buildings past. I would never be able to look at this landscape without seeing the Temple and the Labyrinth, without picturing Cecily stabbing herself to death.
I stopped and turned to Hannah. We had understood each other once on the day Stella was born. I appealed to the Hannah buried beneath the stern self-righteousness, the woman who had acknowledged my importance to her family.
“Don’t you want to be free of all this?” I pleaded. “There’d be a new family, a new house. A fence. We wouldn’t have to face this constant reminder of what happened.”
“There’s no need to be dramatic,” she said. “And to think you accuse me of dwelling in the past!”
Irked by her dismissive tone, I struck back. “If that were true, you’d welcome the changes I planned for Lakecrest.”
“You know very well that we can’t afford to redecorate.”
I could have stopped right there and accepted that Hannah was being Hannah and stomped off after the children. But the pride I’d kept caged was pushing to break free. I wanted to provoke Hannah and show her I wasn’t beaten.
“We’d have the money if we sold the land!” I exclaimed. “Matthew’s all for it.”