Page 14 of Dreams of Falling
Her mother and Lloyd, her brother, carrying her small traveling case, followed Ceecee out onto the porch. The case was her graduation gift from Margaret, and it had Ceecee’s initials on it. Bitty had been given one just like it, but with her own initials. It was the finest thing Ceecee owned, and she couldn’t believe it was hers. Her mother and grandmother had worked so hard on a quilt for Ceecee for her graduation gift, but even it had lost its shine when placed next to the soft brown leather of her traveling case.
They walked down the porch steps together, Mrs. Purnell’s arm through Ceecee’s. Ceecee wasn’t completely convinced her mother would be able to let her go. She had to restrain herself from pulling away and rushing forward when she saw Margaret behind the wheel of her mother’s convertible Lincoln Cosmopolitan. Dark sunglasses sat on her nose, and if Ceecee hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn she was Lauren Bacall. A turquoise silk scarf, the color of her eyes, was tied beneath her chin, but it couldn’t completely hide the golden sheen of her hair.
Mrs. Purnell’s grip tightened when Margaret turned the force of her smile on them and waved. “Ceecee!” Bitty squealed from the backseat, using the nickname Ceecee’s mother abhorred. Mrs. Purnell’s worry radiated waves of heat, making Ceecee perspire.
“Hello, Mrs. Purnell. You’re looking well.” Margaret slid the sunglasses down her nose. “Just put her bag in the backseat next to Bitty, if you would, Lloyd.” She turned the force of her smile on Ceecee’s brother, making him blush.
Mrs. Purnell put her hands on Ceecee’s shoulders. Quietly, she said,“You don’t have to go, Sessalee. Just because Margaret Darlington invited you doesn’t mean you can’t say no.”
“But I want to go,” Ceecee said. “Please stop worrying. You’ve raised me right. And I’m eighteen years old, Mama. I know how to behave.” She smiled reassuringly. “Remember last summer, when Mrs. Darlington sent us all to the Junior Homemakers of America Camp Lodge at Ocean Drive Beach? We behaved like respectable ladies—you even received a nice letter from the camp supervisor telling you so. Remember? So, you don’t need to worry. Besides, Margaret’s aunt and uncle will be our chaperones at all times.”
She wasn’t exactly sure that was true, but she could sense her mother’s resistance growing, most likely owing to the sight of Margaret in that scarf and sunglasses behind the wheel of the convertible. It probably seemed to her mama that the devil himself had pulled up in front of their house to take Ceecee away for good.
Mrs. Purnell frowned, and Ceecee knew she shouldn’t have mentioned the aunt and uncle. Margaret’s uncle Milton was a friend of the Huntingtons from Connecticut, who’d bought nine thousand acres near Pawleys Island as a winter retreat for Mrs. Huntington’s health, as well as a place to display her sculptures. As if it weren’t bad enough that the land had once belonged to four large rice plantations, the Huntingtons were Yankees—and rumored Nazi sympathizers during the war. Ceecee had heard a rumor that they’d helped supply U-boats along the South Carolina coast, an easy feat since their land abutted the Atlantic Ocean. Nothing was ever proven, but people like her mother, who didn’t understand the concept of “summering” anywhere, were inclined to believe the worst of outsiders.
“They’re decent people,” Ceecee said in a rush. “Mrs. Harding is Mrs. Darlington’s sister. God didn’t bless them with children, so they enjoy spending time with their niece and her friends. I’d almost say we’re doing a charitable thing by visiting.”
Ceecee could see her mother wavering. She refrained from mentioning that Aunt Dot’s childless state was most likely intentional, judging by the book by activist Margaret Sanger in her bedside table drawer.Their own Margaret said she’d been looking for a pencil and discovered it by accident, but Ceecee wasn’t sure that was the whole truth.
Regardless, they’d done the responsible thing and told Bitty’s mother about the book. She’d sat down and explained what it was all about and how the girls should never, ever mention the book to their mothers if they ever wanted to be let out of their respective houses ever again.
“I brought my Bible, Mrs. Purnell,” Bitty said somberly from the backseat. “So we can say our evening prayers together.”
Ceecee’s mother relaxed beside her, then turned to fix Ceecee’s hat, a monstrosity of straw and dried flowers her mother had said she’d need to protect her skin from the sun. Ceecee imagined a scarecrow somewhere might be missing its hat, but she wore it to make her mother happy. “That’s good of you, Martha,” Mama said. She was the only one who ever called Bitty by her real name. “And I know Sessalee appreciates it as much as I do.”
She looked at Margaret, waiting for her to say something, but Margaret was busy refreshing her lipstick.
Using her mother’s distraction, Ceecee opened the passenger-side door and slid quickly into her seat. Lloyd gave his sister a cursory wave, his gaze settling on Margaret. Ceecee waved to her mother and brother, facing forward as soon as she saw her mother raise her hand to her mouth like she might cry.
“Don’t forget to take lots of pictures!” Ceecee’s mother called after them, forcing a smile that didn’t fool anyone.
“Did you really bring your Bible?” Ceecee asked Bitty as they pulled away.
“Yes. Just in case your mother needed more convincing. I didn’t want to lie to her.”
Ceecee waited until they’d turned the corner onto Church Street before throwing back her head and laughing. Margaret pressed down on the gas pedal and headed the car north on Highway 17 until Georgetown was behind them and then, with squealing tires, pulled onto a dirt road and traveled along it until they couldn’t see the highway behind them.
After putting the car in park, Margaret turned to Ceecee and slipped her glasses down her nose. “Sessalee Purnell, where on earth did you get that hat?”
“Mama gave it to me. You know how badly I freckle, and she told me she didn’t want me looking like a pickaninny when I get home.”
“Well, you look like a nun. I simply can’t drive into Myrtle Beach with that on your head.”
Margaret reached for the hat, but Ceecee pulled back. “What? You can’t be serious...”
“Really, Margaret,” Bitty said, always the voice of reason. “I think Ceecee will feel better wearing her hat until we get to your aunt’s house. We can buy her another before she heads to the beach.”
Margaret turned to regard both of her friends with one of her brightest smiles, the ones that always sent alarm coursing through Ceecee. “Are y’all ready for the biggest surprise?”
Bitty and Ceecee exchanged a look. Bitty could take Margaret’s surprises in stride, probably because of her parents’ uninformed (Mrs. Purnell’s word) views on the greater scope of life. But Ceecee was always pretty sure Margaret’s surprises would end with her feet dangling over the fire pit of hell (another of her mother’s observations).
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Bitty said with a tight smile, squeezing Ceecee’s shoulder as if to show they were on the same team. Although a team of two was never big enough or strong enough to win against Margaret Darlington.
“My aunt Dot thinks we’re coming to Myrtle Beachnextweek! She and Uncle Milton are at their house in Connecticut until the middle of May. Mama doesn’t know that, of course, and I’ll make sure Aunt Dot is in the know before we leave—she’ll love the conspiracy. We’ll have the house all to ourselves without having to worry about curfews or chaperones. Isn’t that brilliant?”
If it had been anyone else, Ceecee would have mentioned the holes in her plan, as glaring as the craters in the moon. But Margaret was a Darlington—as she often reminded them—and therefore the possessor of a charmed life.
Ceecee and Bitty exchanged a glance, and Ceecee opened hermouth to tell Margaret that this was unacceptable; that her mother trusted her, and this would be the absolute worst breach of trust she could ever imagine. But those words didn’t come out, her mind drifting instead to dreams and possibilities. She remembered the ribbon she’d put into the Tree of Dreams, the fundamentally unimaginative wish of an eighteen-year-old girl.I wish to marry the perfect man—handsome, kind, and with good prospects, and my love for him will be endless.
