Page 63 of My Favorite Lost Cause
I don’t know if I’m really following in Margaret’s footsteps or not, but it’s probably time to find out what happened to her next.
June 24, 1916
William acted as if I was invisible all morning. Perhaps he’s embarrassed about dancing with me last night, or perhaps it’s simply that I’m so much younger than he is. Although Matthew Lessard is courting Ethel Brown and they’re nearly ten years apart, while William and I are only half that. I was angry and went into town for the church social and let George walk me home. I finally admitted something to myself when I got to my room, though: I don’t think I want to marry George. He’s nice enough, but he has mentioned wanting to move upstate a few times now, and today he said he didn’t understand why I would need to go to teacher’s college since I’d just be having children. And that’s true, but I’m not sure I want a husband who says it outright.
July 1, 1916
Tonight, at last, William came out to the gazebo. I’ve come out here more and more this summer, though the mosquitoes are terrible, and I think it was simply to be nearer his cottage. We talked about the book I was reading—A Room with a Viewby E.M. Forster. I’m quite enjoying it, while William insists Forster’s new book is much better. Either way, it was a lovely talk, which he ruined while walking me to the door.
“You can’t be serious about George,” he said, and even though I’ve had the same thought, he had no right to comment on who I’m serious about as if I’m a child. I told him I was very serious about George and flounced inside, which I now regret. I wish I’d been a bit more dignified. I wish he’d give me a reason to turn George down instead.
For the rest of July, her journal is nothing but her discussions with William. They meet at the gazebo each night and discuss books, but he never indicates any interest in her at all. I’m as confused by this as Margaret. “Grow a pair, William!” I shout as I flip through the entries. “Make your move!”
And, at last, he does.
August 10, 1916
This was William’s last night here. I was near tears all through dinner thinking I’d never see him again. After dessert, Mama sent me down to the root cellar to get a jar of plums. He was on his way to his cottage for the night as I emerged, but he saw me and then marched back my way, as if he was furious with me. And then he kissed me. He kissed me so hard that my back was pressed to the wall and I dropped the plums entirely but didn’t care, and then he said, “Wait for me, and don’t you dare marry George Graves,” and then he marched back to his cottage as if he was still furious. But when I got to my room, I found the most glorious bouquet of roses besideHoward’s End, the Forster book William likes best.
The roses. That overwhelming scent of roses, fresh from the garden, before I dissolved in grief.
Whatever happened to Margaret and William, it wasn’t good. I shut the journal again, because I really don’t want to know anymore. Yes, Charlie and I danced. Yes, he rescued thepuppies. But he’s certainly not going to demand I don’t marry Andrew, nor would he ever kiss me the way William kissed Margaret, though I sort of wish he would.
Whatever parallels exist between my story and hers, I’m pretty sure they’ve reached their end. It leaves me sad for all four of us.
28
MAREN
It’s the day before Kit’s engagement party, and I am still not in the Hamptons. My mother is livid, even when I explain that trying to get out there on the Fourth of July would be nearly impossible, and that I’m flying straight to the island’s tiny airport in the morning.
“You’re dragging your heels,” my mother snaps, and she is right.
Iamdragging my heels, because I’m probably not coming back, so I want to stretch these final moments out as long as possible. I’ve been in South Carolina for a month now, living vicariously through Margaret—or perhaps she’s living vicariously through me—while my real life back in Manhattan withers on the vine. Harvey has threatened to give away all my clothes and says he’s changed the locks on the condo. These are things I don’t care about, but I bet if I spent enough time in Manhattan, I’d realize Ishouldhave cared.
But tonight, this last night with Charlie, is going to be magical. They’re having a town festival for the fourth, with food vendors and fireworks and I’ve convinced him that we should bike into town. In part, because parking will be a nuisance,with the crowds, but mostly because I want to feel like a kid who grew up here. A kid who was here in the twenties or thirties. Maybe even a kid growing up now. I had a city childhood. I didn’t bike anywhere, ever, unless we were off on vacation somewhere. The one time I asked Henry to let me and Kit bike somewhere—swearing we’d be careful and that we’d stay on the sidewalk—a homeless man exposed himself to us. I bought our ice cream and let Kit eat mine as well as hers, and she threw up on the way home.
I never asked again, but tonight I’m going to get a little taste of that life.
Charlie’s waiting for me by the porch that evening in khaki shorts and a T-shirt. The simplest outfit possible, but I’m almost sickened by how handsome he is.
“You’re wearingthat?” he demands.
So, I guess the admiration isn’t mutual.
I glance down at my red-and-white-striped sundress. “It’s patriotic.”
“It’sshort,” he grouses. “We’re parking these bikes outside town and walking in. I don’t need every guy on the street trying to look up your skirt on that bike.”
I shrug and climb on my bike. “Obviously, you’ve got a lot more experience perving on women than I do.”
“I certainly hope so,” he replies.
We start down the road that leads to town under the shade of the live oaks.
I wonder if Margaret ever biked on this road.Didgirls bike back then? Maybe her brothers brought her in a Model T like William’s, or possibly she went on horseback.
She was a beautiful girl. She must have married, even if it wasn’t William she wound up with. She probably had kids. Loads of kids…People spat them out like rabbits back then and no one blinked an eye if you were married straight out of high school. So how did the house fall into disrepair, how did itfall into the hands of a bank, and why can’t I find a trace of her?
