Chapter Eight

CHRISTMAS MORNING DAWNED WINDY, cold, and overcast. After breakfast alone in the empty dining room, Bennie called a taxi for the ride to the Grant mansion. Occasional spits of snow splattered the windshield as the driver wound slowly up the driveway, being careful to avoid icy patches that threatened to send them careening off the road.

“They’re down at the stables, Mrs. Grant,” Haskins said as he held an umbrella over her and helped her out of the car.

“In this weather?”

“Miss Livie can’t bear to be away from her new pony. I was about to take some hot chocolate down to them.”

“I’ll take it.”

When Bennie got to the stable, she found Livie decked out in riding boots, jodhpurs, and a helmet, sitting astride a brown and white pinto pony. Will held the bridle and Olivia stood by smiling.

“Mama, look at him! I can’t ride this morning, but maybe this afternoon if it stops snowing. His name is Dasher, like in The Night Before Christmas. And Grandmother got me the boots and things.”

“He’s very handsome, baby.” Bennie suspected that the doll she brought Livie had been overshadowed.

“Can we stay till this afternoon, to see if it stops snowing? Please?”

Will and Olivia turned to her in unison, waiting for her answer, their expressions impassive. Will had been right. Livie was obsessed with the pony. Bennie didn’t have the heart to insist that Livie leave her new pony to spend the time with her at Mary Bradford’s.

“If you come to the house now and show me the rest of your presents, you may stay.”

Olivia smiled and took Bennie’s arm as they started toward the house. “This is a very good decision, my dear.”

Bennie glanced at Olivia and knew that her mother-in-law wasn’t referring to her decision about Livie and the pony. She meant Bennie’s agreement to the six-month cooling off period. Olivia was probably the one behind the proposal. She was glad Olivia’s statement didn’t need a response. She doubted she could give a civil one.

Christmas dinner in the residence hall dining room seemed to go on forever. Bennie would rather have skipped it since Livie wasn’t there to share the meal, but Mother Berry asked her to gather the few girls who were staying at school over the holidays for what the headmistress called, “Just one big happy, Mary Bradford family Christmas dinner.” The kitchen staff combined two tables so that the fifteen girls, Mother Berry, Miss Dodie, and Bennie could sit together.

The meal seemed to move in slow motion. After the last plate had finally been cleared away and Bennie was about to make an excuse to go to her room, Mother Berry insisted they go around the table and share their favorite Christmas memory. The girls squirmed in their seats and looked to Bennie as if to say, “Save us.” Finally, the last girl had told her story.

Bennie pushed her chair back with a loud scrape that echoed in the nearly-empty room. “Well, girls, Merry Christmas 1950.”

Back in her room, Bennie changed into a nightgown and robe and settled on her bed to read Tennessee Williams’ latest play, Summer and Smoke, but she couldn’t concentrate. She found the heroine’s indecision tedious beyond endurance. She went to sleep with the bedside lamp on and the book lying on her stomach.

The insistent jangling of the telephone woke her early the next morning.

“Hello, gorgeous. Merry Day After Christmas,” Alice said when Bennie answered the phone. “I opened my birdie and she’s sitting on my lapel right now, chirping her little heart out. Thank you. I have something for you too, but you know how bad I am about the mail.”

“What are you doing up this early?” Bennie asked.

“Long story. How was your Christmas? How is Livie?”

“That’s a long story too. Just a minute, Alice.”

Bennie set the phone down and tiptoed down the hallway listening at each door to make sure the girls were still asleep.

“I’m back. I’m sorry but you know I don’t have any privacy.”

“I know. I don’t understand why you don’t get your own phone, or why you’re there at all. You know you’re welcome to stay with Mother and me. This house is huge. You’d practically have your own apartment. But we’ve been through all this. Don’t let me preach at you.”

“Thank you for that. Your long story doesn’t have anything to do with your young golfer friend from the cocktail party the other night, Sarah Bridgeport wasn’t it?”

“Sarah from Bridgeport, not Sarah Bridgeport. But you tell me your long story first.”

Bennie recounted Will’s late-night visit and the deal she made with him with the hope of getting his agreement on shared custody of Livie. “So, for the next six months Livie will be living at Olivia’s, and I have to be satisfied with talking to her on the phone or visiting her there or episodic times when we can be together. And no finality of divorce until after June.”

“Tell me again that I’m not the cause of all this,” Alice said.

Bennie shook her head. “We’ve been through all that before.” Bennie felt impatient with Alice. Things were difficult enough for her without all the adults in her life needing assurances of her thoughts, feelings, and future actions. She took a deep breath. “No, Alice. You’re not the cause of it. You were a symptom.”

“That makes me feel a little better, but not much. You make me sound like a skin rash.”

Bennie laughed out loud. She peered around the corner to be sure the girls’ doors were still closed. “What are you up to this week?”

“I’m going to a house party in Southampton, but I’ll be back on Friday. Let me take you to dinner on Saturday.”

“I’ve already got a date.”

“A date? Not with the mustache from the cocktail party.” Alice’s voice showed her disappointment.

“No, I’m teasing. It’s not a date. I’m having dinner with one of the Board members. Mother Berry has me shilling for money to support the drama department. The Board member invited me to her house for dinner.”

“‘Her’ house? That stuffy group of old men added a woman to their hallowed ranks? Who is she?”

“Laura Clayborn, the interior decorator.”

“Oh, ho.”

“What do you mean, ‘oh, ho?’ Do you know her?”

“Well, I’ve met her, and I certainly know of her. She probably wouldn’t remember me. I’m not her type.”

“That’s a catty thing to say. I found her impressive. What do you mean you’re not her type? Where did you meet her?”

“Another long story that I’ll tell you the next time I see you. I don’t mean to be catty. Maybe I’m a little jealous that you’re seeing her for dinner instead of me. I’m sure she’s going to be a big supporter of the school. Since your social calendar is full, I’m putting your Christmas present in the mail today. Better late than never. And I’m trying not to be jealous.”

Bennie wondered why Alice was deliberately steering the conversation away from telling her where she met Laura Clayborn.

 

***

 

Saturday afternoon, Bennie looked at the clock on her bedside table. Only five minutes had passed since she checked it last. She still had twenty minutes until Laura was due to pick her up in front of the residence hall. She had filled the morning hours by talking with Livie on the phone, doing laundry in the residence hall basement, and taking a long, relaxing bath.

She stood with her back to the open door of her room, folding her fresh laundry. She jumped when someone knocked and she whirled around to find Laura framed by the doorway. Bennie’s hand flew to her mouth. She had contemplated what it would be like meeting Laura again sitting across from her in the car. She was unprepared to have Laura appear in her room. Bennie saw the puzzled look on Laura’s face as she retreated a few steps.

“Bennie? It is you, isn’t it? I was early, so I thought I’d come in and see the old place again. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Of course, it’s me. You’re not intruding.”

“Good.” Laura threw her coat on the bed. “I’ll go have a look around while you finish.”

By the time Bennie had stuffed her clean laundry in a drawer, Laura was back.

“The place looks just the same, except smaller than I remember. I suppose a girls’ school communal bathroom doesn’t change that much, though.”

Laura looked around Bennie’s room at the sparse furnishings. She walked to the bookshelf and ran her finger along the spines.

“Do you teach all these or are plays your passion?”

“I mainly teach Shakespeare and the classics.”

“But it seems you like the modern playwrights—Lillian Hellman, Arthur Miller, and Tennessee Williams. I may not be intellectual enough for you.”

Bennie experienced a rush of pleasure. She was flattered that Laura might care what Bennie thought of her.

“Is your passion interior design?” Bennie asked.

“Let’s talk about that on the road, if we must.”

Laura drew her coat on in one graceful motion, then turned to help Bennie with her jacket. She left her hand on Bennie’s elbow and they went down the stairs side by side. On the ground floor, Laura stopped in front of the archway leading to the dining room.

“How I hated meals in this room. Is it still so regimented? We had to take turns at the head of the table, always pass the food to the right, and stay seated until everyone finished eating.”

Bennie nodded. “It’s still like that.”

“I skipped meals as often as possible. I existed on the peanut butter and crackers I hid in my sock drawer even though I knew it was against the rules. Mother Berry claimed it was to discourage mice, but I thought that the rules were designed to turn us into cardboard cut-outs of traditional women.”

Laura swung the front door open and held it for Bennie. The day was sunny, and the air was so still and cold Bennie could imagine cracking it like a sheet of ice. Laura’s long sedan was parked in the circle drive in front of the residence hall.

Bennie hoped that Laura would take up the conversation about her passions, once they were in the car and headed down the hill. Instead, she pointed out historic homes that had been restored to their pre-Revolutionary War conditions. She knew who owned them, both in the 1700’s and now, and whether the current owners had done a credible job of restoration.

Bennie studied Laura’s profile. “I think architecture is your passion.”

Laura glanced at her. “You might be right. I became a designer because studying architecture was too unconventional for a woman. Does that make you think less of me?” Laura spoke in an offhand tone, but Bennie sensed sincerity in the question.

“You don’t seem to be someone who pays attention to convention,” Bennie said.

Laura stared straight ahead.

Bennie was afraid her comment may have been too personal and that she might have stepped over a line. She wondered if Laura was wishing she’d never invited her to dinner and at any moment would swing the car around and take her back to the school.

“I don’t always pay attention to convention,” Laura finally said.

In downtown New Canaan, the crowds of pedestrians on Main Street seemed reluctant to give up the holiday spirit. Santas with sleighs and reindeer still rose from each street light pole, and carols rang out from the bell tower of the First Presbyterian Church. About five minutes past the village, Laura turned into a drive blocked by a gate that hung between two large brick obelisks. She rolled down her window and pressed a code on a keypad outside the gate. An automatic opener swung the gate open.

“It’s magic.” Bennie clapped her hands.

“The latest thing,” Laura said. She guided the car up the drive between low rock walls. They crested the hill, and a perfectly square structure that appeared to be made entirely of glass, came into view. The effect was so dramatic that Bennie gasped.

Laura smiled. “See? Unconventional.”

Laura parked the car and led Bennie across the geometrically laid out gravel paths that created a pattern in the snow-covered front lawn. The house was built with steel beams, painted charcoal grey, and floor-to-roof glass walls. Inside, the floor was brick, laid in a herringbone pattern. Everywhere were clean lines. To the right of the front door, a low walnut cabinet created a bed area.

To the left was a stainless-steel kitchen with a view of the back of the property. The living/dining area was furnished with black leather and chrome sofas and chairs and glass-topped tables. An easel near the fireplace held a large painting of a pastoral scene. The house seemed designed to be a piece of magical minimalist art, starkly and beautifully simple.

“I had no idea this house was here. Did you design it?” Bennie asked.

“Yes. I had some help with the engineering aspects, but it was my vision that we pursued, a place in harmony with its surroundings. We finished it in the fall.”

In the gathering twilight, Bennie could still make out the surrounding woods and a pond in the back, frozen over at this time of year. She walked to the windows. “The outdoors is your wallpaper.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Laura looked at Bennie with a slight smile. “That’s an astute observation.”

They had a simple supper of tomato soup and chicken salad with warm, crusty bread. After the meal, Laura poured brandies for each of them and invited Bennie to join her on the sofa.

“Now, tell me more about your passion for the theater,” Laura said.

“You mean the drama program at Mary Bradford’s?”

“No, we can talk about that any time. I do intend to make a gift, now that I’m on the Board, but Mother Berry and I can work out those details. Tell me more about how you became interested in acting.”

“I’m not interested in acting. I do a little of it with the community theater, when I have to, but my interest is in directing.”

“I apologize. I made an assumption. I thought with your beauty…” Laura gently tucked a strand of Bennie’s hair behind her ear. “I thought that you’d be on the stage rather than behind it. Do you forgive me?”

Bennie felt a blush creeping up her neck. “Of course.”

“Tell me how you became interested in directing.”

“I remember my grandmother reading to me when I was little,” Bennie said. “I pictured the characters acting out their parts, and, when I could read on my own, the stories turned into plays. I imagined the creative process that would give an audience, and the cast and crew, a memorable experience.” She stopped, out of breath, and looked at Laura. “Too much passion, right?”

“No. How is teaching Shakespeare and the classics to adolescent girls satisfying all that fiery passion in you?” Laura placed her hand lightly on Bennie’s as it rested on the back of the sofa. “Tell me more.”

Bennie told Laura about studying directing at Barnard, but that she met and married her husband in the middle of her second year.

“Will was ten years older than I. When we married, he wanted to start a family right away. Livie was born on our first anniversary. When she was old enough, I got involved in the community theater group. It’s quite good. I direct some and we have visiting directors from New York who are generous with their mentoring. And now I teach drama at Mary Bradford’s.”

“Why do you say he was ten years older?”

“I should have said he is older. We’re separated.”

“And your daughter?”

“Staying with Will and his mother for a while, until we get things straightened out.”

“I see.”

Laura took her hand away from where it had been resting over Bennie’s and sipped her brandy. A phone jangled in the bed area and Laura excused herself to answer it. Bennie went to the glass wall that was now opaque against the velvet blackness of rural Connecticut. She tried to avoid overhearing the call. Laura’s responses to whomever was on the phone were short and without emotion, and she soon hung up. Bennie watched Laura’s reflection in the glass as she came back to the sofa. Something about her posture told Bennie that the call had upset her.

“Shall I take you back to school?” Laura seemed distracted. She drained her brandy. “You’re welcome to stay here and go back tomorrow morning.”

Bennie glanced over the low walnut divider to the bed on the other side.

Laura followed her look.

“I haven’t shown you the guest house. There’s plenty of privacy, but it’s no trouble to drive you back tonight.”

“I should go,” Bennie said.

“Yes, I’ll take you back. On the way you can tell me more about your plans for the drama program.”

On the road back to Mary Bradford’s, Bennie told Laura about her wish to broaden the drama courses to include more contemporary plays and to increase the number of performances to three a year in addition to the Revel. Laura listened and asked appropriate questions, but she seemed a million miles away. Bennie kept talking to fill the void.

Bennie already had her hand on the door latch and was surprised when Laura turned off the motor when they pulled up to the residence hall. Laura shifted in her seat to face her.

“I hope we’ll see each other again. Are you ever in New York? I suppose that would be difficult for you during the week with your teaching responsibilities. Call me if you ever are.”

There was a shadow across Laura’s face and her tone was too matter-of-fact to read. She opened her handbag and took out a business card. On the back, she wrote a number.

“That’s my home phone.” She handed the card to Bennie. “Goodbye.”

As soon as Bennie was out of the car, Laura started the motor and drove away.