Chapter One #3
Maybe it was because Fairchild had never emphasized beauty being very important, which is a good thing to some extent, but it might have been beneficial at this point for someone to say something about it.
Occasionally, when she pulled her hair back and didn’t wear something strangely reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie, she was very obviously beautiful.
But not many people had ever seen it before.
Finn, of all people, was one of the only true witnesses.
He’d arrived home for Christmas break his third year at Harvard when he saw Flora emerge from the tennis courts.
Mrs. Woodhouse always felt bad for Flora—stuffed above the garage with a father who read all day and dressed like an eccentric Sherlock Holmes.
“Robert Fairchild is a nice man but with no sense of refined taste!”
Because of this, Clara always encouraged Flora to use the ever-expanding facilities, which included the swimming pool, the tennis courts, the stables, and a soon-to-be built archery field.
“The girl must be well rounded! We cannot let her suffer the lack of culture while she lives under this roof!” Clara announced.
So, Flora used the tennis courts every week. No real lesson, just hitting balls from the machine for about an hour or so and listening to Fleetwood Mac over the speakers.
She shut the court gate, sweaty, in a tennis skirt and a tank top, hair pulled back, and wearing contacts when Finn spotted her.
He’d done a double take, wondering who in the world was on their courts.
A new girlfriend of Roman’s perhaps? A prettier one than his usual run-of-the-mill blonde at that?
He took a few steps back, holding his suitcase tightly, and squinted to see who it was.
“Who—”
“Dearie, dearie,” his mother said emerging from the house in a gust of red and black.
She was headed to yet another party. “I am so happy you’re home…
what are you looking at? Oh, it’s just little Flora.
She uses the courts every week. Plays that bloody Fleetwood Mac.
I suggested she try something less grating, like Mozart, but apparently that doesn’t suit exercise for the masses.
Come in, come in, before I have to leave for the Andersons. ”
Finn was surprised that Flora was using the courts, mostly because he never knew her to be the organized sports type.
If he remembered correctly, Flora had been forced to take Physical Education 2 at Tamalpais High School, which was unheard of—most students just did after-school sports to get the credits.
But of course, Flora and her best friend Allison Scott were likely the first enrolled in P.E.
2. He recalled them always being at the estate after school, stealing his Cheetos from the pantry, and definitely not anywhere near a soccer field.
Plus, Flora didn’t really have the appearance of coordination, and Allison always looked like someone had dropped a bundle of toothpicks on the ground.
So he was shocked to see Flora playing tennis.
And even more shocked to see her not looking like a granola, Haight-Ashbury hippie. She looked, well, good with her hair out of her face. He stared for a few more seconds and then moved along and forgot all about whatever Flora was doing.
Other than that, Flora’s beauty was seldom recognized, acknowledged, or spoken of.
This was of little matter to her though because she never had any hopes otherwise. Flora learned early not to expect attention.
She knew she would never morph into a swan. She was destined to be one of those brown geese that frequented public pools forever. So, she picked up hobbies, made good friends, and developed a personality since she was never busy with dating.
Sometimes, she wondered how some girls were so pretty and she was so below average. But she never stewed on it, simply moving along to her next activity, which usually involved some sort of woodland adventure.
It was quite strange the way she wandered off into the woods, but everyone loved to see her do it. Just like they loved Finn storming around on a call and Roman driving his Ferrari into the bushes because he was running late for something.
The estate’s heartbeat lay in the fact that they had three children—well, adults now—that lived and went about their business there.
As much as they did not mingle with one another, their collective presence on the estate gave everyone something to talk about, worry about, and wonder about.
The house staff wondered if Flora would ever stop tracking dirt into the house and her father worried about her crush on Roman.
Rosa worried about Finn’s junk food habits and his mother worried about his stress levels.
Everyone together worried, wondered, and talked about the indefinite fate of Roman, who had more direction to the spa than to Woodhouse offices.
This was the state of affairs at the Woodhouse Estate, and this state was not often altered unless by some unforeseen and unfortunate event.
Though, usually, even the forces of nature did not dare disturb the Woodhouse Estate.
But fate, unfortunately, was another matter entirely.