Chapter Thirteen #4
Julia’s first reaction was to think it was a rather sweet poem to have made up on the spot. She knew her sister-in-law had a wit, albeit one she kept on a short leash, like a dog that is only let out in a fenced yard. (She probably never let William see it. He’d just try to train it out of her.)
It was only later, when Julia was in bed and the lights were out, that the last lines of the poem echoed in her mind: I fly down South, where the weather is warm … Where I’m with friends and safe from harm.
Pauline’s poem was not about an egret. It was about herself.
The next morning, Julia resolved to approach Mother in a spirit of open inquiry. Unfortunately, Father had arrived for the weekend, and his demands on Mother’s time made it difficult to get her alone.
Late in the afternoon, Julia was sitting on the porch that faced the front of the house when her father and mother came in from tennis.
“I should have gone back to the line,” Julia heard her mother say. “That was my fault.”
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Liz. You played so handsomely at the net, I would not have told you to do otherwise.”
Something about the exchange irritated Julia.
Her parents never spoke about politics, literature, feelings, or anything of substance.
If not for golf, tennis, and sailing, they would live in near silence.
Meanwhile, William was mistreating Pauline, who was in obvious distress, and Mother’s biggest concern was that she failed to return to the line in her doubles match?
Julia knew it was unwise to speak with her mother before she got her temper in check. She slipped out and made her way to the cliff path, following it until she reached a spot with flat rocks that made a nice perch, took a deep breath, and tried to collect herself.
With more time, she might have done so, but only a few minutes later, she heard her name and turned to see that Mother had unfortunately chosen this moment for an amble. Julia sighed, got to her feet, and returned to the path to meet her.
“Hello there. I didn’t know you were out here,” Mother said pleasantly.
“I just came out,” Julia replied, her own tone cold.
Mother was quiet a moment. Julia felt her eyes on her but did not wish to meet them. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out at the water.
“Is something wrong, Julia?” Mother asked finally.
“Is anything right?” Julia replied, still refusing eye contact.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Julia. You’ll have to fill me in.” Her tone was even, and not unkind, but somehow her lack of emotion triggered the opposite in Julia. Her gaze snapped back to her mother.
“I am talking about our family, Mother.” It occurred to Julia that they stood on almost the exact eastern tip of the peninsula, Julia facing south, Mother facing north. Points on a compass, opposite directions.
“What about it?”
“I have not failed to notice William’s treatment of Pauline. I gather she has had a few drinks on occasion.” She added, parenthetically, “A tendency I must say I sympathize with. I suspect I’d take to the bottle, too, if I were married to William Demarest.”
Mother flushed slightly, then raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, as if to say, And…? No reaction could have angered Julia more.
This was either the best place for this conversation or the very worst, depending on how you looked at it. In Fourwinds, anyone might be within earshot of an open window. Out here, Julia’s words would reach her mother’s ears, then be swallowed up by the wind and waves.
“And you are just going on!” she continued, volume rising. “Smoothing it all over, pretending nothing is amiss!”
Mother’s jaw tightened, but other than an impatient little “Hmm,” she offered no reply.
“Do you have nothing to say?” Julia yelled.
“You seem certain you have everything figured out, so what more is there to say?” Now Mother’s expression was sardonic, and she mirrored Julia’s posture, crossing her arms over her chest.
Julia uncrossed her own arms and leaned forward, a finger pointing west, toward Fourwinds.
“I cannot believe this!” she yelled. “A woman is living in your house, powerless, bullied by your brute of a son, and you have nothing to say? You are doing nothing to protect her?”
Mother paused, the strain now telling in her taut jaw.
“A house you have not set foot in for years, Julia,” she said finally.
“Do you not think that renders you a bit ill-qualified to judge what happens beneath its roof?” She let out a huff of breath and looked away, obviously trying to rein in her temper.
Meanwhile, Julia wanted nothing more than for her mother to unravel, to show some emotion, some passion—something!
That said, she did feel a small flash of compunction.
It was possible, of course, that she was not in possession of all the facts.
But was that any excuse? If Julia did not have the facts, it was because nobody had shared them with her.
Her family was so unwilling to express themselves, so terrified of airing their dirty laundry.
If Pauline was struggling, didn’t Julia deserve to know the reason?
“And you wonder why I haven’t been here,” Julia said.
“You’re an adult, Julia. You are free to come and go as you please.”
“Yes. I am.”
After a chilly goodbye to her family, Julia left the next day.