Over six weeks had passed since that horrible night with her father at Greystone townhouse, a night Lizzy had tried to forget, but to no avail. Diligently attentive to his comings and goings, she could not find anything that pointed to him being a true Nazi sympathizer or worse—collaborator. There was no evidence that the items of propaganda in Meercrest’s library were his and there was nothing otherwise untoward to be found. Even his flagrant infidelity with the willing blonde, undisputed by her own observation, seemed carefully hidden. For that, she was thankful because, as disappointing a mother as Frances was, she still didn’t deserve a philandering husband.
No, his only crimes were an unquestionable, pompous, Germanic arrogance and the clear fact that he had shown himself to be as anti-Semitic as Ingrid. Bigotry and excessive pride were character flaws to be sure, ones that diminished her daughterly affection for him significantly, but in no way did they verify that her father was what Will believed him to be. She was determined to prove that estimation wrong. However, the one thing that truly troubled her was how on earth her father had discovered that Will’s mother’s family were Jews. Will explained that was a secret tightly held by his family for almost forty years.
Lizzy walked past the Aeolin pipe organ prominently situated by the base of the entrance steps where Mr. Howard and one of the maids, unceasingly worked entwining evergreen into the banister of the public hall.
Thanksgiving had come and gone, and now Christmas decorations showcased the full splendor of Meercrest. Decorated fir trees stood elegant in every room and each fireplace mantle was adorned with pine as plenteous swags and boughs hung lavishly throughout the mansion. The decorations were early by some standards, but not for those in the Social Registry. The upcoming weekend launched a series of balls and festivities until concluding on Twelfth Night, but it all commenced at their estate.
Mrs. Davis had stocked the pantry with the girls’ favorite holiday treats, acquiring sugar, and now coffee, through illegal black market channels. Beef, even though in short supply, was purchased from whatever dubious contacts could be contrived. Frances didn’t care where these expected commodities came from so long as they were available. She, herself, rarely drank coffee, only occasionally partaking in the new craze of Irish Coffee, but she hated the Irish—Catholics as they all were.
The overpowering scent of pine turned Lizzy’s stomach nauseous as she made her way through the grand marble foyer, passing the Degas painting her mother, just the day before, had Mr. Howard re-install above the ornate Eighteenth Century gilded console. Outgoing mail sat upon the silver tray awaiting the afternoon visit of the letter carrier, Mr. Murphy. She hoped Will would receive her Christmas greeting card in time. After all, this was the postal service’s busiest season, particularly during wartime, and she was late in mailing it. If only she hadn’t been so tired and had purchased one sooner. With less than two weeks for it to get to England—or wherever he was—she was sure it wouldn’t arrive in time but she hoped her last letter, filled with all the right sentiments, would.
Ingrid strolled past her in the west hallway, having just come through the family entrance. As usual, she looked gorgeous, right down to those perfectly sculpted eyebrows and that fake beauty mark above her lip. “You’re looking positively ghastly, Lizzy.”
“Gee thanks, you look stunning as well. Love the dead animal draped over your shoulder. Looks like something I saw flattened on the side of the road.”
“Don’t be so droll. Red fox stoles are all the rage. You could use a little color to brighten up that peaked complexion of yours, perhaps a little rouge. Are you ill?”
Lizzy’s false smile matched the sarcastic tone in her voice. She was in no mood for this challenge from her sister, not today. “No. I’m not sick, just disgusted by your obvious penchant toward death.”
“You’d better not be ill. Mother will have a fit. The Society’s Christmas Ball is in two days, and you are expected to be at your best as her co-hostess. Many of Father’s most influential business associates will be in attendance, and I plan to make an announcement with John. I cannot be expected to act as hostess since I am the guest of honor.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“Oh, I am serious.” She held her chin higher with an air of superiority. “Father has assured me that my offered dowry will guarantee the engagement. It’s a natural match. Robertsen Aviation with Renner Railways. It’ll be the talk of the society pages.”
Lizzy chortled. “So, you’ve had to pay off Johnny. That’s a gas! He’d be a fool to agree to marry you otherwise.”
“He hasn’t quite said yes yet, but rest assured he will. He’s been in love with me forever.”
“I wonder, Ingrid, what will George Gebhardt have to say about your announcement?”
Ingrid took a step closer to her, eyes narrowing to mean slits of cold blue ice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just curious that’s all. Whose bed will you share once you’re married? After all, you are a share crop.”
Ingrid’s hand was swift but not as swift as Lizzy’s quick step backward, barely avoiding the malicious slap aimed at her cheek.
“Be careful with that sharp tongue of yours, sister dear. Between you and Kitty, I just don’t know who should receive the majority of my attention,” Ingrid threatened.
Lizzy’s voice lowered an octave, all traces of its melody or her customary effervescence were vanquished from her steely words. “Stay away from Kitty.”
“Or what? What will you do? You’re as worthless as she is. Just like Lillian, you’re not fit to bear the Renner name now that you’ve fraternized with a Jew, even if he is dreamy looking.”
“And what makes you assume that?”
“Oh, I have my ways. Tell me, Lizzy … is he circumcised?”
Now it was Lizzy whose hand was swift, achieving firm contact. The slap was in defense of Will; the words following the strike were for Kitty. “If you go anywhere near Kitty, you will have to answer to me, and I assure you, I’m not as docile as you think. As for Johnny, you better ditch him and this conniving plan of yours, or I’ll flap my lips to the society pages about what a bigot and whore you really are. Then we’ll see who’ll want to marry Miss Ingrid Renner! Money won’t save your tarnished reputation.”
Ingrid laughed, showing no effect to the sting on her cheek. “Why, Elizabeth, I should think you would want me to marry John. Then I wouldn’t have to look at those shriveled legs of Kitty’s every day. I’d be taking up residence at the Robertsens’ estate Evermore in Mill Neck.”
“Yes, that’s right. You would be miles from harming her, far from pushing her down the stairs.” She raised a challenging eyebrow.
“You’re such a naïve fool, Lizzy. Distance won’t stop me. You’ll see. It won’t be long before New York State finally mandates compulsory sterilization.” Turning her back, she walked away, not even glancing over a shoulder to bid her sister adieu. “We’ll see whose threats hold more weight. Your Juden scheiss isn’t here to protect you or your deformed sister.”
“Such Christmas spirit, Ingrid. Peace on earth and goodwill toward all men. Not only have you become a shameless harlot, but you’re a barbaric zealot, too. You make me positively sick to my stomach.”
Lizzy watched the confident sway exaggerating her sister’s hips with each departing step she took. When she flung the poor red creature around her neck over her shoulder, the accompanying malevolent cackle echoed through the paneled walls of the stoic hallway. A chill shot up Lizzy’s spine until the distracting, welcome squeak of Kitty’s wheelchair in the entrance foyer alerted her that the postman had come and gone.
Her favorite sister loved to get the mail. It seemed to be the one task she looked upon as her contribution to the Renner family, validating her and providing her with an opportunity to not appear so … so useless. Twice a day, she greeted Mr. Murphy, handing him the outgoing mail, carefully sorting the incoming post into piles, then personally delivering all of Lizzy’s correspondence from Will.
Lizzy’s false smile couldn’t hide her tumultuous feelings over Ingrid, or the fact that she was indeed ill for the past two weeks straight and, additionally, now felt a head cold coming on.
“Kitty, you shouldn’t be at that door. It’s below freezing out there.”
“I know. Just doing my bit. There’s no mail from Ducky this afternoon.”
“He’s probably overwhelmed with training or the squadron’s departure for England. I haven’t received a letter in a few days, but I know he’ll write when he can. He told me that there may be a delay.” Having reached her sister, she pushed the wheelchair from behind, giving a quick glance to the silver tray to ensure Will’s Christmas card was now en route.
“How are you feeling, sissy?” Lizzy asked. “Is your cold any better today? Maybe you should have stayed in bed.”
Kitty blew her nose, congestion distorting her speech. “I feel like you look. What is wrong with you?”
Lizzy met the query with silence.
“Lizzy?”
They headed down the east hall, wheels squeaking and soft footfalls patterning in unison to the beating of Lizzy’s thundering heart. “I’m keen on visiting the solarium today. How about you? It’s a sunny day and it’ll be nice and toasty in there. Perhaps some quiet time for you and me is just what the doctor ordered.”
“I think that’s better than that disgusting cod liver oil Nurse Keller makes me take. I swear, I think she enjoys giving me that stuff.”
In companionable silence, they passed through a long corridor lined with statuary and massive family portraits peering down on them with disapproval. Even those were ceremoniously draped with evergreen, leaving no wonder to an imaginative mind as to why they frowned so. Several open anteroom doors revealed maids hard at work, dusting every nook and curio, busily preparing for the upcoming ball, the event of the social holiday season and one Lizzy had once looked forward to with gleeful anticipation. Inevitably the belle of the ball, dancing and flirting with society’s most sought after bachelors had always been a gay time. Not this year. In fact, following the wonderful visit with Will, she had entirely forgotten about it until her arrival home.
The sisters passed by their father’s study as well as three sets of double doors opened wide to display the grand ballroom in all its finest Christmas décor. The massive tree, reaching to the frescoed ceilings stood twenty feet tall and was fully festooned in opulent gold and red.
“You’re very quiet lately, Lizzy, ever since your arrival home from Florida. Is everything okay?”
“Sure, everything is fine. The book collection is still going strong. Even the milkmen are involved in the collecting now, and the VBC is preparing for a nationwide campaign next month. There is even going to be an event held on the steps of the New York Public Library. Mrs. Tinsdale says that Merle Oberon and Danny Kaye will be there.”
“Oh yes, I read about it. I wish I could go, too. If only to see Gypsy Rose Lee. She’s a campaign volunteer just like us! That would be such a kick!”
Lizzy laughed. “The burlesque star? You’re nuts!”
“I am not. She’s not trampy, Lizzy. It’s art what she does, and she won’t be doing it on the steps of the library with her feathers and fans, at least not in the dead of winter. I read in the newspaper that she actually wrote a mystery book for the boys. Something about a G-string murder.”
“Do you even know what a G-string is?”
Kitty glanced upward over the tall back of the chair, and she giggled. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Mrs. Davis tells me that the Woolworth heiress is attending the ball here with her new husband.” Lizzy smiled wistfully knowing how her sister enjoyed reading Modern Screen magazine for all the latest Hollywood gossip.
“The dreamy Cary Grant is coming here?” Kitty squealed, clasping her hands.
“That’s what she said.”
“Hot dog!”
They turned down another hallway lined with potted palm trees, towering upward toward another frescoed cathedral ceiling. Lizzy loved this wing of the mansion. Tranquil and exotic, it reminded her of warm nights beside Sarasota Bay and that midnight skinny dip she and her flyboy had taken. Her eyes welled with tears, as they seemed to do with great frequency lately. She thought of his tender kiss when he carried her nude body up the stairs from the swimming pool.
The warmth and quiet of the solarium greeted the sisters with streaming winter sun from the arched glass above. The delicate scent of crisp tropical greenery and non-seasonal flowers filled the peaceful sanctuary. It had yet to be turned into a Christmas explosion for the ball, but she was sure that her mother had dictated specific instructions for its transformation by the following day.
A trickling stream moved around the intricately embellished, white gazebo that connected to a footbridge just wide enough for Kitty’s chair. “Shall we sit in the gazebo? I need to talk with you about something important,” Lizzy said.
“I knew it! You had that look about you. Apart from your unusual fatigue, I could tell something was eating you.”
A tender instinct unconsciously caused Lizzy’s hand to smooth over her tummy at her sister’s words. If her suspicions were correct, it wouldn’t be long before the new John James dress she wore wouldn’t fit properly, but she was torn between feelings of elation and fear.
The chair rolled over the bridge, and she looked down at the ornamental Koi swimming below, colorful and content, the Japanese carp clustered as a family. “Aside from the water tower, I think this place is my favorite. It reminds me of Rosebriar in a way.”
“I’m keen on it, too. You can almost guarantee that neither Gloria nor Ingrid will ever come here and mother says the heat frizzes her hair,” Kitty stated.
“Yeah, well, there are many reasons her hair frizzes. She’s still using tonic from the 1910s, swearing it will grow her hair.”
“Then I’m surprised she doesn’t drink it!”
Lizzy shot Kitty a humored, wry smile, took a seat on the bench facing her dearest sister, and reached across to clasp their hands together. “What I have to tell you, you have to promise to take to the grave.”
“Sure, you know me. I’m great at keeping secrets, not as great as Lillian, but still good. Like the time you and Henry broke Father’s model of the Odin. I never told a soul.”
“This is different, Kitty, and I need your advice.”
Tears welled and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
“You’re worrying me, Lizzy. Please tell me. I promise to help you any way that I can. Whatever it is we’ll find a solution … together.”
Lizzy looked out beyond their small shelter, her eyes locking on the amaryllis at the far corner of the room. “At Rosebriar, Will and I … um … remember the book you and I read?”
Kitty furrowed her brow.
“You know the one … with sixty-four positions.”
“You didn’t! What was it like? How did it feel? Did it hurt?”
“Yes, wonderful, incredible, and yes it hurt but only for a little while … and … I um, think I might be in the family way.”
Freeing one hand, she covered her eyes and sobbed, feeling the relief of telling someone what she suspected after missing her menstrual cycle two weeks earlier. Tears wracked her body as Kitty’s hand squeezed hers tightly.
“Oh, Lizzy. Could you be mistaken?”
The sobs continued to come as Lizzy bent forward, resting her forehead upon their hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Oh G-d, I wish Lillian were here. She’d know what to do and say.”
Lizzy nodded, but was sure that this was one secret she would never share with Lillian. “I have an appointment with a doctor in the city on Saturday morning.”
“But that’s the day of the Christmas ball!”
“It was the best I could do. I’ll have to think of some reason to go to the Bronx, maybe for last minute shoes or a purse, maybe to run an errand for Mrs. Davis.”
“You can’t use shoes as an excuse; they’re on the ration now.”
Anguished, Lizzy snapped, “Whatever, Kitty! I don’t know. This doctor has assured confidentiality.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If I am expecting, I need it confirmed as soon as possible.”
Her sister sighed deeply, then focused her worried gaze intently upon her. “What will you do if you are preggers? Father will disown you!”
Lizzy sniffled, removed the handkerchief from her pocket, then wiped her tears. “I don’t know. As soon as I’m certain, I’ll write Will and together we’ll decide. He’ll know what to do. Until then, I’ll pray the war will end before the year is out. There is talk of that, you know.”
“And what if he doesn’t come home? Think about this clearly, Lizzy. Father will send you away, take away your Trust, abandon you. Girls of our society do not become unwed mothers!”
“Don’t be so negative. You’re not helping the situation.”
“I’m not negative. I’m a realist.”
“There’s a difference between being a realist and a pessimist. I’m an optimist. Will is going to be home soon, mark my words, and as soon as he is, we’ll marry. No one will be the wiser.”
Yes, she’d convinced herself of that over the last two days. There was no way she could leave this house—and Kitty—under any circumstances other than a marriage where she could bring her sister with her. Ingrid had just confirmed the necessity of that, less than fifteen minutes ago.
“What could Will possibly tell you, Lizzy? He’s most likely in England by now and not coming back any time soon. If you are preggers and unmarried, then they’ll take your baby away!”
Frantic fear shot through Lizzy. “Stop it. I can’t hear that. The war will be over by Christmas. He will come home.”
Kitty reached over, clasping hands with her. “You have to listen. We have to have a plan.”
Standing abruptly, breaking their joined grip, Lizzy paced the small confines of the gazebo, passing left and right before Kitty’s blanket-covered legs. She wrung her suddenly freed hands, attempting to literally hold herself together, already feeling nauseous for the sixth time today.
“One step at a time. First, I’ll see what the doctor says. Maybe I’m just late. Perhaps, a solution will present itself beforehand. I have to believe that. Leaving you here alone with Ingrid is not an option and never will be.”
“Maybe you should take Father up on his ultimatum to marry Mr. Gebhardt.”
Aghast, Lizzy’s hands instantly flew to protect her tummy. She gasped. “Never! This is Will’s baby—I am Will’s. I would never consider accepting Gebhardt’s hand in marriage even if he was the last man on earth.”
“But if it meant giving your child a name—legitimacy—then it seems a swell option. No one would know the baby wasn’t his, and I’d never tell. I could go to live with you both.”
With a bleak expression, Lizzy sat once again before her sister. How could she tell her of the suspicions she had about where Ingrid came to believe such hatred and evil ideas? How could she elaborate about the pamphlets and National Socialism’s views of the “unfit”? How could she tell Kitty that she had already, firmly surmised Ingrid and Gebhardt were both fascists and that raising this child in any family other than Will’s was unacceptable?
“Kitty, I know my imagination can run wild, but I fear that Gebhardt … um … may be a Nazi sympathizer and … and …” She whispered into her sister’s ear. “Not only would it be dangerous for you, but Will is Jewish and so is this baby.”
Now it was Kitty who gasped.
~~*~~