I didn’t know what to expect when we started on this journey. Farmland stretched for miles outside the window of the coach. Daphne said we’d stay with her mother. I had asked about her father, but Daphne became evasive and only offered that he wasn’t in town.
When we chugged into the Bloomington railway station, I noticed a tall woman standing next to a Ford Woody station wagon. She had to be Daphne’s mother. The resemblance was unmistakable.
No one seemed to recognise Daphne as we followed the porter with our luggage to the car. Either they didn’t know she was a movie star, or they thought of her as family—someone who’d left the small town to make her way to stardom.
I stood back as Daphne embraced the woman.
“Mom. It’s so good to see you.”
Her mother held her at arm’s length. “You’re not getting enough rest,” she said as she caressed Daphne’s cheek.
“I’m fine.” Daphne led her to me. “Mom, I’d like you to meet a very special friend of mine, Eleanor Burnett. Eleanor, this is my mother, Margaret O’Shea.”
I held out my hand, surprised at the firm grip I received. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. O’Shea.” Same dark brown eyes. Same defined cheekbones. Her hair, pulled off her face, held a few grey hairs but not enough to think this could be Daphne’s mother. She looked more like an older sister.
“Please, Eleanor. Call me Margaret.”
I waited for her to ask why I’d joined Daphne on her trip, but no question was forthcoming.
The porter loaded our bags into the station wagon. Daphne gave him such a large tip I thought the poor man might have a heart attack.
Daphne fell into an easy conversation with her mother about their family and neighbours. I focused on the homes we passed and gawked at the stateliness of some of them. We eventually hit dirt and gravel roads until Margaret turned into a long drive that led us to a well-kept, two-story farmhouse. We carried our bags into the home and walked into a large entryway leading into the living room. Shiny wood floors and pastel-coloured walls made it feel like home. The smell permeating from the back of the house made my mouth water.
“I’ve seen that same expression from my Daphne many times, Eleanor,” Margaret said. “How would you like a home-cooked meal? I’ve kept it warming in the oven.”
After we put our bags upstairs in the small bedroom at the end of the hall, Daphne led us back downstairs to the dining room. Margaret had already set the table. It appeared she’d laid out her finest china along with sparkling silverware for the occasion.
“Mom, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“Nonsense. How often do you come home? Once, maybe twice a year? Always the best for my girl.”
Daphne helped Margaret bring out the food—pork chops, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans, dinner rolls that smelled heavenly. Good Lord. I hoped she didn’t expect me to eat all of this. It looked like enough food for eight people.
“Expecting company?” Daphne asked in a teasing tone.
“Oh, hush and sit down.”
Margaret reached for my hand and Daphne’s and stared at Daphne until she reached her other hand across the table to me. Margaret bowed her head.
“Dear Lord, we thank you for the safe travel of Daphne and Eleanor, and we thank you for the abundance of our blessings. Amen.”
“Amen,” I murmured.
Margaret passed me the pork chops. I scanned the meat and tried to find the smallest one. She didn’t pass the mashed potatoes. Instead, she ladled out a large scoop onto my plate. I again wondered how she expected me to eat all the food. I took the bowl of beans offered by Daphne and dished some onto my plate.
I was the only one who wasn’t eating, so I cut into my pork chop and took a bite. It was just as tasty as its aroma promised. I paid no attention to the conversation between Daphne and her mother as I devoured my food. When I noticed a lull, I looked up.
Daphne grinned at me. “How do you like my mother’s cooking?”
Embarrassed, I apologised, but her mother stopped me.
“No need to say you’re sorry, Eleanor. It’s a compliment to see someone enjoy my food as much as you have.”
I glanced down at my plate, a little horrified to find only a smattering of mashed potatoes and a dribble of gravy left standing.
“It’s quite good, Margaret. Well, was quite good.”
She stood up. “I hope you saved room for my apple pie,” she said as she headed to the kitchen.
Daphne gazed at me from across the table. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For coming here and meeting my mother.”
I was about to ask about her father again, but the front door flew open and banged against the wall in the living room. I jumped at the sound.
“I hear my daughter’s back in town,” a voice boomed from the front of the home. Heavy, stomping footsteps approached the dining room. A large man with greying, mussed hair filled the entryway with his bulk. The red veins in his nose stood out prominently, and his cheeks were flushed. A thin sheen of sweat dappled his bushy moustache. Alcohol fumes pervaded the small room. He swayed and placed his thick hand on the plastered wall. Steadied somewhat, he still looked as though he would fall over at any moment. Lifting his chin at Daphne, he slurred, “An’ there she be.”
Daphne seemed humiliated at the sudden appearance of her father. I wanted to go comfort her.
“Patrick O’Shea, what in God’s name are you doing here?” Margaret shouted.
Turning to the sound of Margaret’s voice, I got a glimpse of where Daphne inherited some of her spunk. Margaret didn’t seem in the least frightened at the appearance of this bear of a man. To the contrary, I thought she could throttle him.
“I came to greet my daughter. Since she can’t see fit to seek me out on her own, I thought I’d find her.” He lurched over to Daphne.
Daphne stood up. “I haven’t wanted to see you, Dad. I’ve told you that. You’ve not changed, and I’ll no longer subject myself to your abuse.”
His face contorted in anger. He raised his meaty paw and slapped her face hard. She grabbed the back of her chair but was unable to catch her balance. She tumbled to the floor, and the chair landed on top of her.
“Daphne!” I jumped to my feet, moved the chair out of the way, and knelt at her side, holding back a gasp. Her cheek had already swelled with an angry red welt.
I shot up from my kneeling position and moved toward him. “I don’t know you, and I’m a guest in this home, but don’t think for one minute I’ll allow you to hit her again.”
He squinted in an obvious effort to focus on me.
“And who might you be? Her British whore?”
Daphne had struggled to her feet. “You’ll not talk to her that way.”
“Or what?” He bellowed. “What’ll you do, Daphne Katherine O’Shea? And it is O’Shea, despite what those bastards decided to name you. Do you think you can do something about it?”
A loud click sounded behind us. I’d heard that noise on one other occasion in my life when I’d accompanied my father on a hunting trip. I turned to see Margaret aiming a shotgun barrel at her husband’s chest.
“She may not be able to do something about it, but I will.”
The ruddiness drained from his cheeks, leaving his face a pasty white. “Now, Maggie. Don’t go doing something stupid.”
“This?” Margaret asked and waved the gun slightly. “This would be the smartest thing I’ve done. I told you when I kicked you out of this home that if you ever came back and laid a hand on me, I’d take care of it. That also includes laying a hand on our daughter. Your days of violence are over, Patrick. Get the hell out. If you ever so much as allow your shadow to pass through that door, I’ll blow your damn brains out. There’ll be no blathering beforehand, either.”
Daphne grasped my elbow and pulled me back to stand behind Margaret.
“Fuckin’ bitches,” her father muttered. But the bluster had disappeared from his demeanour. He made a hasty retreat to the door and left, slamming it shut.
Margaret leaned the shotgun against the wall. She cupped Daphne’s face and tilted it toward her. “The bastard. Let me get you a towel and some ice.”
I led Daphne to the living room and sat next to her on the sofa. Tears streamed down her face.
“I guess you know now why I don’t visit that often.” She sniffed and ran the back of her hand along her nose. “And why my name is DeMonet rather than O’Shea. Why my bio lists my birthplace as New York City and not Bloomington, Indiana. My agent and the studio didn’t want to chance the press hunting down this story.”
“I’m so sorry, Daphne.” I gently caressed her cheek and wiped away another tear.
“I didn’t leave to find fame and fortune, Ellie. I left to get as far away from that son of a bitch as I could. I became a different person and tried to leave this life behind.”
Seeing her so vulnerable and so open to her feelings, I knew what made her such a good actress. She’d recreated herself and, by doing so, entered a new world where imagination and subterfuge reigned supreme.
Margaret entered the room and offered the dish towel full of ice to Daphne. “Here, honey. Put this to your face. It’ll help the bruising and swelling.”
Daphne took the towel and held it to her cheek. “Come to Los Angeles, Mom. Get out of this town and start a new life with us.”
Trying to discern if Margaret knew what “us” really meant, I watched her reaction. Her eyes darted to mine.
“No. You have your life to live now, Daphne. You don’t need me there to muck everything up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Sweetheart, this is the first time you’ve brought a friend home. I believe I understand how special Eleanor is to you. I also know you need your privacy. Besides, this is my home. I was born in this town, and I’ll die here. Don’t worry about your father. He’s not come to this house in months.”
“But—”
Margaret shook her head. “No more discussion. Why don’t you both get some rest? I’m sure you’re exhausted from your travel. And it’d be best for you if you lie down, Daphne.”
Daphne and I rose and started for the stairs.
“Eleanor, if you don’t mind, before you go up, I’d like to have a word with you.”
Daphne hesitated.
“Honey, don’t worry,” Margaret said. “I won’t browbeat the poor child. I only want to talk with her briefly.”
“It’s okay,” I told Daphne. “Go on. I’ll join you soon.”
Daphne gave her mom one more look before going upstairs.
“Sit with me. Please.” Margaret moved to the sofa.
I sat down and smoothed out my trousers, unsure of where to put my hands.
“How long have you known my daughter?” Margaret asked as she settled back into the cushion.
I tried to do the same but still felt on edge. “We met last August at the studio. I had a small part in one of her movies.”
Margaret didn’t speak right away but observed me for a long while. “You’re different than the others.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, uncertain if her mother knew the extent of Daphne’s affection toward women.
“It’s okay, dear. I’ve had my suspicions about Daphne since she was a teenager in high school.”
I found my voice. “And you approve?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But I do want my daughter happy. Seeing the two of you together seems to do the trick. I noticed how she watched you throughout dinner.”
“Daphne means the world to me.”
“Enough that you’ll promise me two things?”
“What are they?”
“Smart girl. Let’s hear the terms first.”
“Well—”
“I understand. Here they are. Promise me you’ll never break her heart, and promise me you’ll never give up on her.”
I didn’t answer right away, choosing to let the gravity of her words sink in. “She’s already broken my heart, Margaret.”
“And this is where I’d ask you to not give up on her.”
I gazed down at my hands. “If she ever betrays me like that again, I’m not sure.”
“She’s a complicated young woman, my Daphne. She’s also been a lost spirit since she left home right out of high school. But with you, I’ve seen something in my daughter I’ve never seen before.”
I raised my head.
“She loves you,” Margaret said.
“She’s said as much. And I love her.”
“I know I’m asking a lot of you in staying with her through thick and thin, but she’ll come around some day and quit her foolish ways.”
“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you.”
“You didn’t think you’d hear these words from a simple bumpkin from Bloomington, Indiana?”
I smiled. “And I’m a simple bumpkin from Banbury, Oxfordshire.”
She returned my smile. “So?”
“I promise I’ll try, Margaret. It’s the best I can offer.”
The stairs creaked. Daphne stood halfway down the stairs with her hand on the banister. “Is everything all right?”
“I think it is,” Margaret said. “Don’t you, Eleanor?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Margaret rose. “You go on now. I’ll clean up the dishes.”
I rose, too. “You’re sure you don’t need me to help?”
“No, I think you have more pressing matters upstairs.” She tilted her head toward Daphne.
I stood there and watched her leave, trying to grasp the enormity of our conversation. Daphne’s voice cut into my musings.
“Are you coming, Ellie?”
In answer, I went to the stairs and followed her to our room.
“The bath’s across the hall if you’d like to freshen up before you lie down.”
I touched her cheek, which already sported a slight bruising. She flinched.
“I hate that he hit you.”
“It’s not the first time, but it’s the first in a very long while. I’ve avoided him in my other trips home. I thought he’d left town, but I was mistaken.”
I stripped away my clothes until I was down to my undergarments.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m taking you to bed.” I caught the expression on her face. “And, no, not what you’re thinking. I want to lie with you and hold you.”
She slipped off her robe, still dressed in her undergarments. I led her to the bed, we lay down, and I held my arms open for her. She threw one leg over mine and wrapped her arm around my waist.
“You’re not making this easy on me,” I said.
“Whatever do you mean?” She batted her eyelashes.
I stifled a giggle. “You’re incorrigible. You do know that, don’t you?”
“I’ve been called worse in my life.”
I kissed her forehead. “We’ll make love again, Daph. Soon. But for now, I want to hold you, tell you I love you, and let you know I’m sorry about your father.”
“He’s not a bad man when he doesn’t drink. But that’s just it. He’s rarely sober. I couldn’t stay any longer and watch him beat my mother. He would hit me on occasion, but he took most of his anger out on her. I tried to get her to leave with me, and I’ve tried over the years to convince her to move to California. She’s always refused.”
“It’s her life and her decision to make.”
Daphne leaned up on her elbow. “What did you and my mother talk about?”
“She wanted to let me know she approved of her daughter’s choice.”
Daphne sat up suddenly and propped her back against the headboard. “She what?”
“She knows about the two of us, Daph.”
Daphne blinked in obvious startlement. “She does?”
I joined her in sitting up. “I guess it’s not too difficult to see. Especially for a mother.”
“And she approves?”
“She didn’t say that exactly. She said she wants you to be happy and can tell that you are with me.”
Daphne let a few seconds pass. “Imagine that,” she said, with a touch of wonder in her voice. “What else did you talk about?”
“Wasn’t that enough?” I tried to inject humour in my tone. I didn’t add the other words her mother and I had shared.
“I guess so.”
“Why don’t you get that rest your mother asked you to?”
“Will you stay?”
In answer, I moved back down into the bed and pulled her with me. I draped my arm around her and tugged her to my body.
Daphne eventually drifted off to sleep. I petted her hair as the shadows lengthened and engulfed the room. My thoughts drifted back to her mother’s request.
“I’ll do it, Margaret,” I whispered. “But she has to meet me halfway.”