Chapter 12
That night, I dreamed of dark things coming for me.
They shifted like smoke, morphing around me in a swirl of green-black and midnight blue until I was plunged into a dark body of water.
I swam with all my strength against a current that dragged upon my limbs until the current won and swept me toward an outcropping of rocks.
Just as I was to be smashed upon their sharp edges, the location shifted, and I found myself no longer in the sea but in a room where the dark things returned, pressing around me, against me, forcing me to face them.
I squeezed my eyes closed, balled my hands into fists to will them away, and as I did, liquid heat pooled in my chest. Somehow I’d summoned something buried beneath my skin that I didn’t understand.
My body shook so intensely with the power of it that I awoke with a start.
I bolted upright in bed, heaving, my hands trembling.
I couldn’t make sense of the dream. It had felt as if I were being chased by something evil.
Had my imagination run away with me, or was I truly sensing an energy beyond my understanding?
Either way, the dreams had intensified lately, and I couldn’t seem to shake them.
When morning dawned, I slid out of bed, padded into the washroom, and peered into the mirror at my pale face.
I hardly recognized the haunted eyes, the deep creases around my mouth.
I bent over the porcelain bowl and splashed my cheeks with cold water.
In an instant, an image of Julien’s broken body flashed before my eyes.
I gasped, clutching the sink. I had seen the horrible vision so often, and still, each time it returned, it was as if I were seeing it for the first time.
The way the car had raced around the corner, skidded as it hit a puddle from the afternoon rain.
How I’d screamed as the car crashed into my brother, felling him instantly.
Henry and I racing down the park slope toward him. The swarm of police and bystanders.
I winced and slumped against the wall, grappling with my emotions, trying to collect myself, to push it all away.
“Elisabeth?”
My father’s strained but clear voice cut through the cloud of emotion bearing down on me.
Father needed me. I pushed up from the floor and wiped the moisture from my face.
Some days, he seemed better, as if emerging from the fog that had enveloped him since Julien’s death, and others, he was lost in another world, lost in his mind.
I could see a change in him for the better, though, and I’d begun to have faith he would return to himself in time.
I pulled a housecoat over my cotton nightgown.
By the time I’d knocked at his bedroom door, he was waiting for me.
“Come in!” he called impatiently.
I pushed open the door to find him sitting up in bed. Though his hair was wild, his cheeks were flushed as if he’d exerted himself.
I perched on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m hungry,” he replied, laying a hand on his deflated abdomen. “Have you eaten?”
I covered his free hand with mine. “How about some ham and eggs? I’m going to make a plate for myself. I can bring up a tray.”
“No need to bring a tray up. I’ll come down to the kitchen. Perhaps I’ll go for a short walk afterward. I think it’s time I built my strength again, don’t you?”
Feeling optimistic at his reply, I allowed the smallest smile. I had never admitted my real fear aloud, that I had worried that I’d lose him forever, too, and I would be left without my twin and my father, without anyone. But times were changing yet again, and I was relieved.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said.
In the kitchen, I heated a pan, fried two thick slices of ham, and slid them onto plates.
After, I melted a pat of butter, whipped eggs vigorously in a bowl, and poured them into the hot pan, pushing the mixture with a spatula until a thick, fluffy cloud of eggs formed.
As I spooned the eggs onto the plates, the sound of Father’s foot on the stair came behind me.
“You’re just in time,” I said as he took a seat at the table. “Everything is nice and hot.” I set the two plates down on the table and poured us each a cup of coffee.
When our forks scraped against empty plates, he broke the silence.
“We received an invitation to a bazaar tomorrow,” he said. “You remember the spring bazaar?”
“Of course, yes.”
“You should go,” he said. “See what others are selling. Perhaps it will motivate you with your own collection.”
“Perhaps,” I said, not enthused with the idea of going to the bazaar alone.
In years past, it had been great fun going with Julien and my father and occasionally with Henry.
And yet I knew my father was right. At the very least, I should speak with the organizers so I might set up a booth for the bazaar in the fall.
Preparing himself another cup of coffee on the stovetop, he added, “I forgot to tell you. There was a call from a woman named Evie while you were out yesterday. She asked you to stop by her house on Saturday morning. Is she a new client?”
I froze. He hadn’t put two and two together, realized that Evie was Evalyn McLean.
He’d assumed it was a different woman—trusted I wouldn’t go back to the woman who wore a cursed gemstone, to the house where Julien had met the beginning of the end.
As I searched for what to say, I glanced at the pink in his cheeks that had at last returned.
He was finally up and about the house, finally making his way through a full plate of food, finally planning to go out on his own after seven months in bed.
I couldn’t risk how he’d react to the news of my working for the McLeans.
He wouldn’t agree to it, wouldn’t allow it.
And it very well might send him back to the precarious edge from which he finally seemed to be retreating.
I forced a light tone. “Yes, she’s one of several new socialites who would like to hire me. To hire us,” I amended. “I might even be able to work with Alice Roosevelt Longworth! Father, she’s as colorful as they say.”
His brow arched in surprise. “Are these Sam’s friends?”
In that moment, I realized I shouldn’t have linked my new clients to Julien’s friend Sam, because Father was good friends with Sam’s parents.
It would be easy enough for him to trap me in the lie.
I still couldn’t bring myself to tell him about Evalyn, so yet another lie sprang to my lips. “I met them through Rosalee Smith.”
“Ah, Rosalee. How is she?”
“Oh, fine. Lovely as always. How’s your coffee?” I asked, eager to change the subject. My dear old papa had no idea what I was up to, how much I was risking for our home—or how close I was to the Hope Diamond and the people with whom Julien had entangled himself before he died.
“That’s great news,” he said, cradling his mug. “I always knew you had it in you, no matter how much you’ve protested against being a salesman. You should invite them to the shop, show them our entire collection.”
It was a good idea to invite Evalyn and her friends to the shop, as long as it was during a time Father typically napped or went for a walk. I didn’t want to risk him seeing Evalyn. Perhaps instead, the next time I visited Friendship, I’d bring our showcase box to her.
“I plan to,” I lied. I didn’t like lying to him, but given the circumstances lately, I didn’t see any way around it.
He pushed his empty plate forward and tossed his napkin over it. “When they come, be sure you show them your own collection as well.”
I knew this was his way of saying he was proud of me. Part of me warmed to the clear but unspoken praise, and the other felt the shame of wishing I didn’t have my unfinished collection hanging over my head.
All I said was, “I will,” and squeezed my father’s hand.
* * *
The following morning arrived bright and clear, and as I arrived at the bazaar, everyone appeared to be cheerful.
Vendors were ready to sell, sell, sell, and customers delighted in the array of goods.
I sauntered through the dozens of booths featuring fuchsia, orange, and cobalt blue silks of glittering saris from India, paintings from scenes of the purple Virginia mountains or the jagged Maryland coastline, knit shawls and caps and gloves, and a hundred other items. The jewelry section bled into the wholesale stones, and I found myself sorting through bins of tiger’s-eye and rose quartz and shiny chunks of pyrite, fool’s gold.
As I wandered back to the jewelry booths, featuring a range of semiprecious stones from smoky quartz to jade, I thought of Julien, his involvement with Ned and his friends, and their possible business venture.
What had he been up to? If he’d sunk money into their schemes and lost it, I could see why he’d become so agitated those final weeks before his death.
Or perhaps he’d overstepped, inserted himself with the big boys too quickly, too soon.
Evalyn had made a quip about how he did business…
I knew I was closer to the truth, but something still didn’t add up.
I stood over a display of hammered gold bracelets and thought back to the last jewelry show I’d attended with my brother.
He’d been in great spirits, and I’d been desperate to sell something from my collection, though it wasn’t yet complete.
All I’d wanted was to prove to Father—to myself—that I could do the work he so longed for me to do.
The colorful bazaar before me blurred as I retreated into the memory.
* * *
The show had filled quickly, patrons pouring in with smiles of delight, accepting a glass of champagne from a tray as a waiter circulated through the room. It was a great strategy on the organizer’s part, to fill patrons with fizzy warmth so they were more likely to buy.
“How are things, Beaumonts?” A familiar voice caught me by surprise.