CHAPTER 28
On this day, Leonora’s eleventh birthday, the rain of Pittsburgh did not end in rainbows. It blackened with night, stained the bark of the great oaks, dried in gray streaks down the slate roofs like sooty tears and pivoted from steady pours to ashen sniffles.
Leonora pulled the covers up to her neck, watched the bloated splatter against her bedroom window, dancing finger taps upon slick glass. Eleven—a number, an age—a birthday to celebrate—a fake date—another stomachache. The guests had departed, the chatter and footsteps silent.
A light rap knocked against the door, but she didn’t answer. “Are you awake?” her uncle asked through an open crack.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He closed the door behind him and lingered at the knob. “I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye.”
Owen Fairfield’s figure moved through the room. He sat at the foot of the bed. He reached for the lamp and turned the brass key, lighting a square above the covers. His white beard was short and clean and perfectly lined at the jawbone and mouth. He looked quickly at the gold pocket watch in the vest of his gray twill suit, his traveling attire. White suits never lasted more than a few hours in the coal-laden air without him having to change.
He tried to lighten the mood, tried to get her to look at his face. “You had such a busy day, I thought you’d be asleep.”
She smiled weakly. He smelled of pipe tobacco, slightly sweet.
“Eleven!” Owen Fairfield shook his head. “Eleven years old, I can hardly believe it. Seems like just yesterday you were a little girl and now you’re halfway grown.” He pointed a finger at her, his eyes crinkling with affection. “You’re making an old man out of me, darling.”
Her uncle peered around the room, looked up at the coffered ceiling. “You didn’t open any of your presents.”
The shame of what she had done brightened her cheeks and she turned away.
“It wasn’t your fault, Leonora.” He pinched her chin. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” He looked down at his hands then, twisted his wedding band around his finger. “She’s too hard on you. Always has been.”
He stayed quiet for a moment before pulling out the watch again, then snapped it shut and tucked it back. “Car’s waiting for me,” he said without rising. “I’ll be gone six months at least. China and Japan.” He frowned. “Traveling’s not what it used to be; things are tightening. Hard to explain. Like the whole world’s being pulled in different directions like elastic. Used to be a lot simpler, friendlier. World’s changing, darling, and I’m not sure it’s for the better.” Worry lines changed to smiles as the weight of the words struck him. “And here you are, eleven! Changing right in front of my eyes.” He pointed another finger at her. “No more growing while I’m gone, you hear me?”
She nodded.
“I’ll bring you back a silk kimono, one that picks up the gold in your hair and eyes.” He winked. “Maybe a jade tree. You and I got a thing for the rocks, don’t we?”
Her uncle leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, looked like he wanted to say more but then left the room—an incomplete sentence. A few minutes later, the beams of the Rolls-Royce splashed against the window before turning down the pine-lined drive.
Leonora wrapped her arms around her belly. The room widened in emptiness, the canopy bed loomed and the gaping mouth of the marble fireplace wheezed a cold draft. The house was icier without him, like a scarf removed from an already-chilled neck. Not that he was attentive or playful, but instead a distraction between her and Eleanor. With Owen gone, her aunt’s anxiety and missing of her husband always turned to hard focus, singular and defined, to Leonora. Nothing she could do was right and so she spent her days hoping to evaporate with the morning dew.
In the darkness of the large room, Leonora’s mind was too busy, the day too full with unpleasant moments that kept replaying, drawing in scenes from the past like moths to a flame. So, with bare feet, she climbed out of bed and went out to the hall, felt the way down the thick walnut banister.
The fireboxes were out and the wood floors chilled as Leonora tiptoed past the closed doors of the kitchen and shrank into a corner, tucking her nightgown around her ankles. The room was cold, but the noise behind the walls was a heat that warmed from the inside out. She opened her ears to the lone area of activity in the house. The sounds of clean dishes clinking mixed with laughing voices over scrubbing pots and the pounding of rolling pins.
The kitchen nourished with more than food. Words stirred within the walls; emotions flowed freely. Real words. Real feelings. Not the contrived small talk and lies that filled her day or the relentless tutoring of facts, history and numbers drummed into the creases of her brain. So many words spoken in a day—words that must be remembered; words that had to be recited, but never words that meant anything.
A door slammed on the servant side and a woman moaned. “You’re still here?” Bertha’s voice bellowed. “Thought you turned in for the night.”
“Huh! To be so lucky.” Leonora recognized the voice of Mindy, the table maid. “Had to polish the silver twice!” the woman grunted. “Once before the party and again after. Even the pieces nobody used!”
“Well, sit for a spell and have some tea before you go!” ordered Bertha. A stool screeched across the floor. “Mrs. Fairfield asleep?”
“Far as I know. Course she’ll be up for her midnight feeding soon, sucking the blood out of kittens and babies.” The cooks laughed. “Cake looked out of this world, Bertha. Spice cake?”
“Carrot. There’s a whole one left. Take a piece.”
“You heard what happened?” Mindy snickered.
“Everyone heard what happened. Was it so bad?”
“Worse. The girl threw up all over herself just as she was blowing out the candles! Should have seen Mrs. Fairfield’s face—her eyes bulging and her face red as a tomato!” The woman snorted. “Leonora be lucky if she lives to see twelve.”
Heat grew sharp to Leonora’s cheeks, burned her ears. She felt sick just thinking about it.
“Poor girl,” Bertha tsked. “Got a room full of people she don’t even know telling her how pretty she is, asking her questions. More grown-ups than children. See all those presents with the blue wrapping paper? Crystal and silver! What’s a child going to do with that stuff?”
“Not for her at all, you know that,” answered another voice. “Kissing asses. Every guest had lips puckered for a taste of the sweet Fairfield behind—tasted better on their lips than your carrot cake, Bertha.” There were throaty chuckles before she continued, “Can’t blame the girl for barfing. Can’t be easy knowing you ain’t got no friends.”
“You’ll hear no pity from me!” Mindy snapped. “Mark my words, Mrs. Fairfield will have one of us fired over this. I’m telling you, that girl is like a curse. Her maids and tutors don’t last more than a year. Soon as she warms up to them, they’re gone. Get too close to that one and you get burned.”
“Poor thing’s just lonely. Child wouldn’t hurt a flea,” said Bertha, her voice mellowing like her arms were crossed against her stomach. “I pity her. They got her scheduled with lessons from morning to night. She’s not allowed to have any friends or playmates. And look who she’s got to live with? An uncle who drops a present at her feet and taps her on the head as he leaves and an aunt who’d freeze the devil’s tail with a look.”
“So terrible is it?” Mindy scoffed. “Imagine never picking up a dirty dish or having to cook a piece of toast.”
“No shame in hard work and you know it. Would you want her life?” The maid fell silent.
“Of course not.” Bertha’s tone deepened. “It’s no life for a child. I wouldn’t wish her life on a dog.”
The teacup moved to the counter and Mindy’s feet tapped against the tile as she got off the stool. “Well, the girl might seem sweet and innocent now, but Leonora’ll grow up mean as Mrs. Fairfield. You’ll see.”
Leonora cowered into the wall, replayed the words over and over, half-conscious of the waning sounds of the kitchen. The lights switched off, snapped away the beam of white near her feet. The servant door closed and the key rattled as it locked. It would be the last time she would hear the voice of Bertha, the cook who would sneak her extra desserts and squeeze her with fat, warm arms, the last time she would hear this kind woman defending her. For her aunt had already decided to fire Bertha, blaming Leonora’s sickness on the cake, too rich for a child’s stomach. Leonora remembered the maid’s prediction: Get too close to that one and you get burned. The guilt and shame rose swift and hot.
What little warmth left and the cold from the empty kitchen seeped into her bones, shaking her limbs. She rose unsteadily and inched blindly back through the hall and up the staircase. As she passed her aunt’s room, she slowed her pace and held her breath, the familiar fear rising. But another sound crept upon her and she stopped, listened. Hiccups of sobbing, low and prolonged, seeped from behind the closed door.
Leonora could not move, the feeling akin to seeing a rose blooming in the dead of winter, the oddity of it stunning and strange—the reality of a fleeting moment of grace and truth even stranger. Without thinking, Leonora touched her fingertips to the door, and it swung inward. Eleanor sat hunched before the fireplace, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking. The moment was so soft, the woman’s pain so real, that Leonora’s eyes welled, her heart breaking at another’s suffering.
Leonora inched silently to her side, leaned in and wrapped her arms gently around her aunt’s bent neck. In Leonora’s arms, in a moment of warmth and emotion, the neck fell limp upon her shoulder and a weak cry left the woman’s throat. Leonora had never touched Eleanor, never felt an embrace or a kiss from the woman, and she melted into the cold skin, lost herself in a single moment of closeness that her whole soul craved. But it was only a moment. One moment to be forever lost, for suddenly the woman’s neck and head jerked up as if awakened by a thunderclap. The eyes glowed black, rimmed red with tears. “How dare you come in here.” Eleanor’s voice cracked and her chin shivered. Leonora stepped back.
“How dare you sneak up on me!” Eleanor screamed. Leonora retreated two steps more, but Eleanor grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “If you ever tell anyone about this,” Eleanor hissed, “I’ll leave you out in the dust! Do you understand me?”
Leonora tried to pull back, began to cry, her voice closed with the habitual panic.
“Do you understand?” Eleanor screamed. “I will leave you!”
I will leave you. I will leave you. I will leave you.
Leonora’s mind went blank and she nodded furiously, kept nodding furiously even as she fled the room and ran through the hall.
I will leave you. I will leave you. I will leave you.
These were the threats, Eleanor’s promises, the lullaby that sang in Leonora’s ears since the Fairfields adopted her in case she dared slip about her past, made any mistake. And no one ever defended or protected her from the promise, not even her uncle. Owen upon hearing the woman’s threats would always draw inward, his face sallow and gray as if the words were spoken to him. And he would leave, never defend, never say all would be all right, and for this the pain was worse. So Leonora never misspoke, stayed silent and shared her secrets only with the birds and trees and barn cats and hunting dogs who would lick away her frowns.
Leonora climbed into her bed and hid under the covers. In the darkness, she pulled out a tiny, egg-shaped stone from her pocket, curled it into her palm, ached for the friend who had given it to her, ached for a place to belong, ached for a home that didn’t exist. And this night, like so many others, she held on to a memory that neared a dream, shivered in the silent darkness and fell asleep in a nightgown wet with tears.