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Charlie looked out the window. Jenny was crossing the lawn, head down, pace slow, headed toward the stables. “Tell that to a fourteen-year-old whose grandmother had just kicked her in the heart.”
Peter pulled his hands from her and marched toward the desk. “Dammit, Charlie! You’re acting like a spoiled brat. After all Mother did for you …” He slapped his palm on the edge of the desk. Charlie felt the sting as though he had slapped her face. He turned toward her again. “Oh, God, Charlie,” he said as he went back and stood, facing her, arms straight at his sides. “I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless remark.”
Charlie kept her arms tight around herself. She looked at her husband but didn’t answer.
“I don’t know why I said it.”
She unfolded her arms and took his hands. “You said it because you believe it is the truth.”
He shook his head. Tears formed in his eyes.
Charlie remembered their first night together here at the manor. She had seen tears in Peter’s eyes then, when he was faced with his mother’s rejection. It had been part of the reason Charlie tried so hard, part of why she immersed herself in the symphony, the art museum, the ballet. They were things she thought would please Elizabeth, make Elizabeth accept her, make Peter glad he had married her. It had taken a couple of years for Charlie to realize Elizabeth found these pursuits frivolous—business was all she respected. Instead of bringing them closer together, Charlie’s efforts had only pushed them further apart. The irony was that business was what Charlie had once wanted for herself, long before Peter had entered her life, long before Elizabeth had made her feel so inferior. But Charlie had closed the door on a career, and staying busy, frenetically busy, became her refuge—a way to pass the time, a reason to get out of the manor, away from the watchful eye of the matriarch. And, she had hoped that someday Elizabeth would come to respect her and approve of her. Like Peter, she had kept trying.
“Your mother could not help the way she was,” Charlie said, as she reached to brush a tear from her husband’s cheek. “Any more than I can. We all do our best. It’s all we can do.”
Peter tipped back his head as if trying to hold back more tears. “I don’t know if I can handle things without her.”
Charlie felt the pain in his heart. Fifteen years of marriage, she reasoned, bonded one human being to another. She wondered if it had been love or the storms that had become the glue for their vows. “You’ll handle things, Peter,” she said with conviction. “Now, I think I’d better find Jenny. She doesn’t understand this the way we do.” She left her husband standing by the window and wondered if, in fact, he—or any of them—would really be able to handle things without Elizabeth Hobart.
A pungent scent of manure and hay filled Charlie’s lungs as she walked into the stables. She swallowed quickly and made her way past the stalls, looking into each one for Jenny. She knew Jenny would be here; from a young age, the girl had seemed to relate better to animals than to people.
At the stall marked with the purple blanket that read Bluebell, Charlie stopped. Jenny stood inside, her chocolate silk dress covered with hay, her ivory face pressed against the sleek side of the regal Morgan. She was whispering to the horse, words that Charlie could not understand.
When had her daughter become so somber? Charlie wondered. When had the vibrance of her childhood been dulled by this dark, melancholy cloud? And worse, why hadn’t Charlie noticed? She drew in a breath. “Honey, are you all right?”
The whispers ceased. Jenny lowered her chin and tossed back her long, dark hair. She began brushing the horse. “I’m fine, Mother. I just came out to groom Bluebell.”
Charlie took a step into the stall. “In your silk dress??
??
Jenny kept brushing.
Charlie reached out for her. “Honey—” She broke off as Jenny moved to the other side of the horse.
“With all the funeral stuff going on I’ve been neglecting the horses,” Jenny said clearly, not looking at Charlie.
“That’s why we have grooms. It’s their job to see to the horses.”
Jenny was silent. The sounds of her gentle strokes swished through the air.
“I thought you might be upset over Grandmother’s will,” Charlie said.
Jenny stopped brushing. “Why? Because Darrin got the house in the Hamptons? I’ve barely been there, Mother. I spend summers with Tess, remember?”
“I was referring to the jewelry. To the fact that she left it to Patsy.”
“Who needs jewelry? Tess says jewelry is a waste of money because the only people who enjoy it are the people looking at you. You can’t see it to enjoy it yourself.” She started brushing again. “Besides, I got an egg. At least it’s something I can see. It’s something I get to enjoy.”
Charlie wondered if Jenny was serious. Did Tess really feel that way? She thought of her old college friend, wrapped in long skirts and shawls, hair long and straight, face scrubbed of makeup. Yes, Charlie realized, Tess would have said that. Which was so ironic, because, unlike Charlie, Tess had been wealthy enough to have all the jewels she wanted.
The horse snorted. Jenny reached into the pocket of her four-hundred-dollar dress and pulled out an apple. She tucked it between the horse’s large teeth. Charlie stepped back.
“Can I pick out my egg today?” Jenny asked. “Can I take it to show Tess?”
A vision of Jenny’s suitcase being tossed into the luggage compartment of a bus came to Charlie’s mind. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
Jenny moved to the corner of the stall and began fluffing the bed of hay. “I’ll be careful with it, Mom.”
