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  “I know she would have rather you had taken her in the limousine. She told me so. The double-dating had never really excited her. She wasn’t really excited about helping to pick out your mother’s dress. I’m sorry. I feel like this was all my fault.”

  “It wasn’t all your fault. Forget about it. Get ready for my stepmother. She’ll be worse than the detective. She’s in a rage about my not going in the limousine this morning and Sam’s hysterics.”

  I knew he was right. The worst was yet to come.

  11

  RYDER AND I were happy that no one on the bus had asked us anything about the day’s events, but we were aware that everyone had been watching us and whispering our whole trip home. When we reached our stop at Wyndemere, we got off the bus and stood there a moment, silently contemplating the mansion as the bus pulled away.

  Dr. Davenport’s car was parked right behind the limousine.

  Ryder looked at me and reached for my hand. What a shocking picture we would make for Bea Davenport, I thought. We walked like two people on their way to their own funeral.

  Before we reached the steps, however, Ryder stopped. “My dad’s rarely home this early,” he said. “I can only imagine the hysterics she performed on the phone. You’d better go around to your entrance.”

  “Don’t argue with him, Ryder. Riding the school bus with me is not that important. I’ll be fine by myself.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d rather be on the bus to make sure of that,” he said, and headed for the front entrance. I watched him go in and then started down the walkway toward the rear of the mansion.

  The spring blue sky had been battling streaks of gray clouds all day. Pulling reinforcements from a storm in the Midwest, the clouds were overtaking the more welcoming azure and now looked more like forecasts of rain. Above, on the mansion, the gargoyles looked down angrily at me for bringing grief to Wyndemere. Down to my right, across the lawn and between the patches of woods, Lake Wyndemere was a darker gray, the surface looking more like the shade of an aged and well-worn quarter. There were no boats out. The wind strengthened, and the newly sprung leaves on trees young and old looked like they were struggling to remain attached.

  I opened the door and entered the kitchen. All was quiet. I was sure my mother was somewhere in the main house overseeing some work or helping with dinner preparations. I dropped my books on my desk in my room and practically dove onto my bed, facedown. For a while, I lay there feeling stunned and helpless. It had been a horrible day, a day that should have been wonderful for me as the reigning prom queen. What a joke. My crown was stuffed in a hall locker. I quickly put an end to my self-pity and thought about Ryder and what he must be facing at the moment. How could I let him face this all by himself?

  I got up, hesitated, and then hurried out of my room.

  The hallway from our living quarters to the main house was not very long, but it was always poorly illuminated with some simple low-wattage wall fixtures, as if the original owners and now the Davenports always wanted to impress everyone with the fact that the help lived in a place so different from Wyndemere’s interior that it was truly like leaving the property, even going beneath it to some dark, unpleasant world. I hated walking through it. Whenever we were invited to something in the main house, something usually all the servants were welcomed to attend, I’d go around to the front of the house, even though my mother wouldn’t.

  Occasionally, when I was much younger but old enough to be left on my own, I would sneak down the hallway, especially when my mother was working in the main house, and then snuggle in a nook that housed a large black Egyptian pot that the original owners, the Jamesons, had brought back from one of their world trips. I could easily fit in between it and the wall and remain fairly well hidden. From there, I would look out at the comings and goings of the servants, Bea Davenport, her friends, my mother, and often Ryder and Sam. The nook was only around a half dozen feet from Dr. Davenport’s office doorway.

  Once as he was entering it, I thought he had seen me, but he had said nothing. I liked to think that he had smiled to himself, thinking I was cute or amusing, but it could just as well have been a grimace of annoyance. At least he hadn’t yelled at me or chased me away.

  Older and taller now, I was less dependent on the black pot to hide my presence and more dependent on the shadows. I saw two maids chatting in subdued voices as they crossed the hallway and went into the dining room. Neither looked my way. A moment later, my mother hurried along and went toward the stairway. She was carrying a vase of red and white roses. Sam was following her just the way I would when I was her age, talking incessantly and probably asking one question after another.

  All was quiet again, and then I heard what was definitely Bea’s high-pitched, whiny voice coming from inside Dr. Davenport’s office. Considering all the trouble that had occurred today, it was very risky for me to step out of the shadows and quietly approach the office doorway. Anyone seeing me eavesdropping there would surely cry out, and I’d be in bigger trouble, certainly with Bea. Nevertheless, my curiosity and concern for Ryder were too great for me to succumb to fear.

  I approached the door.

  Now inches away, I stood, practically holding my breath, and listened.

  “Your stepmother is right, Ryder,” I heard Dr. Davenport say. “I have seen a dramatic change in your behavior. You should have been more concerned with your sister Samantha’s feelings. The talk about this disastrous past weekend spreads into the middle school, too, and her classmates might be teasing her or asking her embarrassing questions. You have to be a big brother and let her feel you’re there to protect her. Now, Bea is the mistress of Wyndemere, but, more important, she is my wife and your legal guardian. Her orders and instructions are to be obeyed as if they came directly from me. Is that understood?”

  I heard nothing but imagined Ryder had nodded or perhaps simply stared at the floor stone-faced, the rage in him swelling his shoulders. He’d never cry, but I had seen his eyes glaze over with trapped tears whenever his father reprimanded him. I felt like rushing in and throwing my arms around him. Let him alone! I’d scream. Stop hurting him!

  “You will accompany Samantha in the limousine to school every morning,” Dr. Davenport continued. “It’s admirable that you have been a friend to Fern, but you’re both young adults now, and I agree with your stepmother that in light of all that’s happened, anything more than that is inappropriate.”

  “What do you mean?” Ryder asked. “What’s inappropriate? What did she tell you?”

  I could easily imagine him glaring hatefully at Bea, who surely had a self-satisfied smile smeared over her face.

  “I don’t want you sneaking off to spend time with her in her room, and I don’t want you encouraging her to come into the main house unless either your stepmother or I have a specific reason for it,” Dr. Davenport said quickly and sternly.

  “Why not? What did she do? She’s the victim here. Her prom evening was ruined, and she’s had to deal with all the questions and comments some of the bitches made.”

  “She hasn’t done anything I know of, but we both think it’s wrong for you to encourage too much familiarity,” Dr. Davenport said in a more reasonable tone of voice. “It was unquestionably a mistake to arrange this double date for the prom in the first place. Your stepmother is already fielding too many inquiries from important people in Hillsborough. We have to be concerned about the family’s reputation.”

  “The family’s reputation? That’s the first time I can recall when you’ve sounded like a snob, Dad. I guess she’s rubbing off on you after all.”

  “Ryder! I can’t tolerate your being so insolent to your stepmother. I’m not going to warn you about it again. Until you show proper respect and decorum, we’ll be putting the idea of your getting your own car on your next birthday on hold.”

  “That was something you promised me. Now she has you breaking your promises,” Ryder said. “I’ll say it the way you like to say it, Dad. Let me be pe
rfectly clear. She will never be my mother. I will never treat her like I would my mother.”

  “Then treat her like my wife!” Dr. Davenport responded, his voice raised unlike I had ever heard it. “Until I believe you are doing that, confine yourself to this property every weekend. Parker will be instructed not to drive you anywhere but to school and back. I want you to spend your time thinking about all this and what you can do to tone it down. Is that perfectly clear enough for you?”

  Ryder did not respond. I turned away quickly, my heart pounding, my heart breaking for him. I started to cry on my way back to my room, and when I got there, I closed the door and sat on my bed and stared at the wall. Who was more loyal to Dr. Davenport than my mother, and yet look how he thought of me, her daughter. I was like an untouchable in this house. If I never said another word to him again, it would be too soon.

  Lying on my side, I closed my eyes. I felt hollow inside. My sobbing put an ache in my chest. The strain of this terrible day and what I had just heard exhausted me. In moments, I was asleep and grateful for that. My mother didn’t wake me until she had our dinner ready. I was sure she had looked in on me and left me sleeping. When I finally did open my eyes, I saw her standing there, looking down at me.

  She immediately felt my forehead. “You’re a little warm, Fern. I’d like to take your temperature.”

  “If there’s anything wrong with me,” I said, sitting up, “don’t call on Dr. Davenport.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I overheard him tell Ryder basically to stay away from me. According to Bea, I’m dirtying the Davenport name. I don’t want to live here anymore. I don’t!” I shouted, hopefully loud enough to be heard in the main house.

  “Calm yourself. How did you overhear this?”

  “I went out and listened just outside Dr. Davenport’s office door.”

  “But why would he say such a thing?”

  “Ryder went to school with me on the school bus this morning, and Bea had a meltdown.”

  “He did?”

  “And rode back on it as well. Sam was upset about having to ride alone in the limousine.”

  “I see.”

  “He’s confined to Wyndemere on weekends until further notice, and Dr. Davenport might not buy him the car he promised for his birthday. I don’t care how many people he has saved. Ryder’s right. He’s a snob and very unfair.”

  She nodded. “We have to let things calm down, Fern. People say things they really don’t mean when they’re upset.”

  “Like your father said to you? Get out? Get out of his and your mother’s and your sister’s life?”

  “Yes. I think there were many nights when he regretted it, but it had gone too far, and he didn’t know the way back. Neither did I, but that doesn’t have to happen here. You know Bea Davenport almost as well as I do, as well as all of us who work here do. She doesn’t like looking foolish or being the object of unpleasant gossip, especially in the circles where she dwells. The weekend brought unpleasant attention to Wyndemere, and she’s just flailing about like some overwrought spoiled brat. As I’ve said many times, ignoring people like that is the best defense.”

  “Ryder can’t. He’s being punished because of her and because he’s helping me.”

  “Dr. Davenport will ease up as soon as the fire dwindles,” she said. “Now. Let’s take your temperature. When people get so upset, their immune systems suffer, and they get ill.”

  She went for the thermometer, and I lay back on my pillow.

  I really did want us to leave now, leave at all costs. I even considered running away if she wouldn’t leave. Maybe I would go to England and find her sister. All sorts of fantasies began to play in my imagination.

  She returned with the thermometer. I didn’t have any fever, but I was burning up inside with rage.

  “Let’s just get some good, hot food into you, and then you know what? We’ll take a nice walk down to the lake. How’s that?”

  “Maybe I’ll jump in and drown myself,” I said.

  “Take a shower and change your clothes,” she ordered. “Stop this tantrum.” She smiled. “I’m making one of your favorites, one Mrs. Marlene taught me well, chicken piccata.”

  I did smell the aroma, and despite my fury, my stomach churned with hunger. I had barely eaten anything at lunch. I nodded and did what she asked.

  After a shower and a good dinner, I did feel better. My mother had tried to change the topic while we ate, but I didn’t think she was doing that solely to get me to stop thinking about it all. She was genuinely excited about what she was telling me. She had received a note in the mail from the doctor who had delivered both Ryder and me, Dr. Bliskin. It was like she had won the lottery or something.

  “He wanted to know how we were and said he was doing some traveling involving a medical convention and just might take a short detour on the way home and stop at Wyndemere. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “Probably mainly to visit Dr. Davenport and kneel at the throne.”

  “Oh, Fern, that’s not nice. Of course he wants to see Dr. Davenport, but he specifically wanted to be sure we’d be around, too.”

  “Oh, we’ll be around.” I thought a moment. “Where would we have gone?” I asked. “Well?”

  Was there somewhere we could go, somewhere she had kept secret? Had she been thinking of returning to England to what remained of her family? A new start in life might have been just the right thing for both of us.

  “We wouldn’t have gone anywhere special, Fern. He simply meant he wanted to be sure we were still here when he visits,” she said.

  When she told me about this, she held the note as if it was a precious historical document or something. Then she put it back in her purse. Why was she saving it in her purse? Was she going to take it out and reread it as if it was a beautiful poem or something? Whatever pleasure it had brought her was meaningless to me.

  “I don’t remember him,” I said petulantly. It was certainly not anywhere nearly exciting enough news for me to forget the misery I felt for myself and for Ryder.

  “Well, he remembers you and me, of course, very well. C’mon. We’ll take that walk now before it gets too late. You need some fresh air. Put on a light sweater, love.”

  My mother and I rarely took walks together on the Wyndemere property, but I refused to get happy about it. I didn’t want to do what she suggested and ignore what was happening by distracting myself. Dr. Davenport’s words still circled my head like annoying flies.

  Folding my arms under my breasts, I left the house with her and walked the pathway that led over the grounds and down to the Davenports’ boat dock.

  “Dr. Bliskin occasionally took time out when he made a house call for us or for Sam and walked down to the lake,” my mother said. “Most of those times, Dr. Davenport was at work and couldn’t accompany him, so I did. He was always very envious of Dr. Davenport, you know. Men always accuse women of being very competitive, but the truth is, they are far more vulnerable to suffer envy than we are. They’re so concerned about their manliness, proving it.

  “There isn’t that much of an age difference between them, either. Dr. Davenport is only three years older, but because he is this highly respected and regarded cardiac specialist, Dr. Bliskin talked about him as if he were some venerable old man. I teased him about that,” she said.

  I didn’t know if she was rattling on like this as a way to get me out of my funk or because she was really remembering some happier moments in her life here. Obviously, Dr. Bliskin was someone she had liked very much. She wasn’t even looking at me when she spoke. She was gazing ahead at the lake and walking. I could have stopped yards back, and she wouldn’t have noticed.

  “ ‘You have to remember,’ I told him. ‘It’s true, Dr. Davenport is an exceptional man, brilliant and skilled, but he was someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Like Americans say, he was born on third base and thought he hit a home run, whereas you came from a far, far more modest background. In so
me ways,’ I pointed out, ‘you have accomplished more.’ ”

  I was impressed that she remembered her conversation with him word for word.

  “I mean, Dr. Bliskin had to work and win scholarships, and his parents sacrificed so much so he could have a medical degree. Why, he was still paying off loans until the day he left Hillsborough, you know. I think that was what made him a compassionate man. Too many doctors treat the disease or the illness and not the patient.”

  “Like Dr. Davenport,” I said.

  “What?” She paused as though she had just realized I had been walking with her. “Oh. Well, not exactly. I mean, Dr. Davenport cares for his patients. He just views them as more of a . . . a challenge. That’s not a bad thing, either, Fern. He takes his failures very personally, not that he fails that much, but when he does, when he loses a patient, he’s very difficult to live with, I’m sure.”

  “I doubt Bea even notices or cares,” I said.

  We had reached the dock. The Davenports’ motorboat bobbed in the water next to a pair of rowboats as the strong early-evening breeze stirred the lake. It wasn’t overcast any longer, however. The winds had blown the storm farther north. Mr. Stark was always giving us weather reports. I think it rubbed off on me.

  “Dr. Davenport had given Dr. Bliskin permission to use his boat anytime he could. The Davenports didn’t have as elaborate a boat back then, but it was quite nice.”

  “Did you go on it with Dr. Bliskin?”

  “Once. I brought you along, too. You were only six months old. You were quite fascinated, even at that young age,” she said, and looked out at the lake.

  The breeze toyed with her hair. She brushed some strands from her eyes and kept that soft smile, what Mr. Stark called her “clotted-cream English smile,” on her face. At the moment, her jewel eyes sparkled.

  My mother was very beautiful, I thought, far more beautiful than Bea Davenport or any of her posh friends, for that matter. Why hadn’t Dr. Davenport seen that and, instead of having himself fixed up with the hospital administrator’s daughter, probably to continue his meteoric climb to the head of cardiology, married my mother instead? To me, his marrying Bea was the same as selling your soul to the devil.