Page 74 of Dreams of Falling
Bitty, standing next to her, took Ceecee’s gloved hand and squeezed it. The Darlington luck had been legendary, so why had it stopped? What did it mean? Ceecee’s minister father said there was no such thing as luck. Or fate. It was God’s will and nothing more. But if God was good and merciful, why were Margaret’s parents both gone?
Her thoughts turned darker, remembering what her mother had told her long ago about her friendship with Margaret. How jealousy was one of the seven deadly sins, and whether you disguised the green-eyed monster with admiration or friendship, it would always be a sharp-toothed beast, waiting to pounce. She watched Margaret lean into Boyd, pressing her face into his shoulder as the reverend said the graveside prayers, and she watched as Boyd placed his arm around Margaret to keep her from slipping to the ground. And as Ceecee watched, she felt her heart grow heavier and heavier, a rock tied to her ankle that dragged her to the silty bottom of despair.
The reverend said his final amen, and the mourners began to drift away. Bitty squeezed her hand again, jerking her chin in the direction of the Hardings, who’d flown in from London, where Margaret’s uncle Milton had been assigned a diplomatic role at the American embassy. Aunt Dorothy gently took hold of Margaret’s arm and led her away from Boyd to the backseat of a black sedan driven by a uniformed driver. Uncle Milton turned around and asked Boyd to join them, and Boyd nodded, sending an apologetic glance in Ceecee’s direction.
They were headed back to Carrowmore, where Margaret’s aunt had orchestrated a tasteful wake. Her firm and unyielding will would have made her late sister proud. She had no time for dawdling or grieving.
In the corner of her heart where charitable thoughts were allowed, Ceecee was glad Aunt Dorothy was there; she imagined her to be a great comfort to Margaret. And then, not as charitably, she wished Margaret would turn to Aunt Dorothy for guidance and consolation instead of clinging to Boyd as she had since that awful day at the morgue.
Because of Uncle Milton’s pressing duties, the Hardings were due to fly back to London the following week. They’d wanted Margaret to come to London and live with them, but Margaret had turned them down, saying she wanted to stay at Carrowmore. Only after reassurances by both Ceecee and Bitty and their families that Margaret would be well attended, her emotional and physical needs cared for, had they reluctantly agreed.
Bitty, knowing how progressive Aunt Dottie was, tried to convince Margaret to tell her about the pregnancy. Maybe this would be the perfect opportunity for Margaret to have a baby without anyone back at home ever knowing.
But Margaret had insisted she wanted to stay at Carrowmore. She was convinced that Reggie would show up any day now. It was the one thing that she clung to, the one thought that seemed to be keeping her sane. Bitty and Ceecee were unwilling to threaten the well-being of the baby growing inside her, or sever the one remaining tie that connected her to a sound mind.
The family’s attorney would make sure that Margaret lacked for nothing financially and would handle all estate matters, with Uncle Milton acting as executor and trustee. Margaret would land on her feet, as she always had, the thought darkening Ceecee’s mood even further. Grief and love for her friend battled with the little green-eyed monster that kept prodding her in the sensitive spot between her shoulder blades.
Ceecee took one last look at the gaping holes in the ground, and shuddered as she recalled her dream. She made to join her own family, but Bitty pulled her back. “Come with me. I need a cigarette first.”
Ceecee called out to her parents that she’d join them at Carrowmore, ignoring her mother’s look of worry. Ever since the day Dr. Griffith had called with the news of Margaret’s parents, Ceecee’smother had been hovering near her daughter, just like she probably had when Ceecee was learning to walk. It was as if her mother were anticipating a sharp corner or an uneven surface that would rise up and hurt her little girl.
Bitty took off her gloves to light her cigarette, shoving them into her purse. They’d be impossibly wrinkled. Not that Bitty cared about wrinkles or uneven hems or poker-straight hair that wouldn’t curl. She kept threatening to cut it off and wear it like a boy’s.
Now Bitty took a deep drag, closing her eyes as she held the smoke in her lungs. She blew it out in widening rings, which she and Ceecee watched float through the thick limbs of an oak tree whose roots were nudging at some of the older Darlington gravestones.
“So, what are you going to do?”
Ceecee looked at her, not understanding. It wasn’t as if she had control of anything right now. “About what?”
“About Margaret’s leaning on Boyd for everything. I don’t like it, and you shouldn’t, either.”
“Of course I don’t.” Ceecee looked away so Bitty couldn’t see her eyes. “But Margaret has just lost her parents. Not to mention she’s pregnant and unmarried, and the father of her baby is halfway around the world training for war. Boyd is Reggie’s brother, so I suppose it’s logical that Margaret would lean on him in Reggie’s absence.”
“Are you listening to yourself, Ceecee? Because the one thing you forgot to mention is that Margaret is one ofyourdearest friends. ‘Friends forever,’ remember? Yes, she’s in a twisted mess right now—most of which is of her own doing—but she’s either blissfully unaware or, worse, aware but ignoring the fact that you are her close friend and Boyd is yours.”
Ceecee stepped back, feigning surprise. “Really, Bitty. How can you say that? I’m sure if the tables were turned, Margaret would understand if it were Reggie comforting me.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She has no idea how to put another person first. It’s not her fault, of course. She was never taught that. It’s easy to be generous with your friends when your needs are met, and hers always were—tenfold. But that doesn’t mean she’s a generous person.”
Ceecee began to walk away, too afraid to listen. To acknowledge that what Bitty was saying was not only the truth, but echoed her own shameful thoughts. “She’s our friend...”
Bitty pulled on Ceecee’s arm, jerking her around so they were face-to-face. “To a point. Remember that. I love her, too. We’ve always considered ourselves sisters, haven’t we? And I will do what I can to help her get through this.” She put her lower lip between her teeth, as if deciding whether to say more. Eventually, she said, “I told Mrs. Harding about the baby.”
“You what?” Ceecee was torn between abject horror at the breach of confidence, and relief that—with this revelation—Margaret might end up an ocean away. “What did she say?”
“Not what I expected. She told me in no uncertain terms that any hint of scandal would destroy her husband’s career. He’d like to be ambassador to the Court of St. James’s one day, and one doesn’t get there with scandal riding one’s coattails. Those were her exact words.” Bitty took another drag from her cigarette. “Her best offer was to ask her husband to solicit his friends in high office to find Reggie and get a message to him. But that’s all.”
“That’s horrible. And so unfeeling. Have you told Margaret?”
“Of course not.” Bitty stepped closer, her breath heavy with the smell of nicotine. “It’s our job as friends to stand by her. But never forget that Margaret’s made her own bed, and now she has to lie in it. Don’t let her mistakes become yours.”
•••
?It had been almost three weeks since the Darlingtons’ funeral. Ceecee was yanking weeds from her mother’s flower bed when she saw Boyd’s car pull up to the house and park. Her mother stood, a worried look on her face.
Ceecee stood, too, wondering why it was taking Boyd so long to get out of the car. When he did, his movements were slow. His face, under the brim of his hat, couldn’t hide the grim set of his jaw. Ceecee moved to greet him, but her mother held her back.
“You go on inside and get some sweet tea and let me talk with himfor a moment. I don’t like the sound of your father’s cough, and I want to get Boyd’s opinion.”
