An Ever Fixéd Mark (36 page)

“You were her professor?”

“I was still in grad school – a TA,” Oliver
twisted the paper.

“When did you find out she was like
you?”

“Like me?” Oliver looked up. “Lizzie… I …
changed her.”

“Oh,” Lizzie felt the redness in her cheeks
burn.

“I thought for sure Ben would have told you
that.”

“He didn’t.” Lizzie drank the rest of her
margarita. She watched Oliver crumple the wrapper and toss a tight
little ball onto the table. “How does that work?”

Oliver breathed in slowly. “I drank from
her. Then she drank from me.”

“So they get that part right in all the
stories?” Lizzie played along with his levity.

“Pretty much,” he didn’t take his eyes off
her. “You and Ben never talk about that?”

“Why would we?”

“I… I just figured.”

“What’s her name?”

“Alison,” he smiled.

“Alison,” Lizzie nodded to conceal another
sink of her stomach. “Does she know about Lily… and all that?”

“Yes.”

“And she knows you are here, seeing me?”
Lizzie dared herself with the tequila warming her.

“No.”

Lizzie looked up as the waitress landed the
food on the table. “I didn’t tell Ben I saw you,” Lizzie picked up
her fork and knife.

Oliver set his hands flatly on the table and
met Lizzie’s eyes. He looked away from her and picked up his own
fork, only to move some of his food around on the plate. “Lizzie, I
want you to feel free to ask me anything. I imagine you have a lot
of questions.”

“Will you tell me about Lily?”

Oliver swallowed and set the fork down. His
eyes broadened with an intense pain, but an equally intense
sympathy. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. All I know is the few details
that Ben told me and … how she died,” Lizzie looked down into her
food.

“What did Ben tell you?”

Lizzie bit her lip and lifted her eyes away
from her food. “He just said that she was a maid. That… she was
Horace Fulton’s lover… and then Charlotte’s,” Lizzie watched his
reaction to see if that stung him with any amount of jealousy.

“
That’s true,” Oliver
nodded as though they were discussing Abigail Adams or Marilyn
Monroe.

“Where was she born?”

Oliver offered her his margarita and took
her empty glass towards him. “Her mother worked – just like Lily –
as a lady’s maid for the Jacksons on Brattle Street. Mr. Jackson
took a fancy to her and… there was Lily.”

“Margaret’s maiden name was Jackson,” Lizzie
hesitated over her sip.

“
They were half-sisters.
Not that anyone spoke of such things. But to be fair, it was
Margaret Fulton who arranged for Lily’s mother to find a place when
she was cast out of her father’s home. Her housekeeper…”

“Annie,” Lizzie swallowed Oliver’s
margarita. He paused, looking at her curiously. “Um, we learn at
the museum that the housekeeper was named Annie.”

“She was my aunt,” Oliver breathed out
slowly. Lizzie chose not to tell him she dreamt that detail.
“Lily’s mother was 8 months pregnant when she went to Margaret
Fulton. Mrs. Fulton found a place for her to give birth. Lily’s
mother died in childbirth. Mrs. Fulton and Annie arranged for Lily
to live with my mother. Before she was married, my mother worked
for John Fulton and cared for his oldest son. My mother knew how to
read. Margaret asked her to prepare Lily to return to the Fultons
when she was twelve.”

“So you grew up with Lily?” Lizzie set down
her glass.

“She was a year younger than me. She helped
my mother in the kitchen between her lessons. I worked with my
father in his wheelwright shop. But we were … always together…”
Oliver looked back towards the window. Lizzie wondered how vivid
the memories of his childhood could be so many years… centuries
later. Some of the details of her life faded after just a few
decades.

“She went to the Fultons when she was
twelve?” Lizzie brought his focus back from the window.

“To help my aunt and look after Margaret’s
children.”

“Harriet and Peter.”

“Yes.”

“And Horace Fulton?”

“Lily resembled her mother’s beauty. She was
already imperfect with her illegitimacy. It wasn’t difficult to
think of her as a lover. Even for Horace Fulton. “

“Did she love him?”

“She loved that whole wretched family. Even
when they treated her so… even Horace Fulton,” Oliver shook his
head. Lizzie felt another question form on her tongue as he started
to speak again. “She was only there a year when he brought her to
the garden and performed inappropriate acts.”

“He molested her?” Lizzie wondered how
loudly she asked the question.

“I guess… I suppose that’s what it would be
called today,” Oliver breathed out. Lizzie was startled by his
sudden sensitivity. She forgot they were discussing a different
century with different sexual mores. She wondered if he was still
that tender… or if he could excite her nerves as much as Ben. Her
cheeks burned, realizing he was watching her thoughts wander. “He
was older than her.”

“Five years,” Lizzie found the detail from a
memory that might have come from the museum or her
subconscious.

“Yes,” Oliver nodded. “She visited my mother
every Sunday after church. She said goodbye and then met me in my
father’s shop. She read me books she took from the library. She
told me about all the people who visited the Fultons. She was
always fascinated by the foreigners because they traveled from a
great distance – places she wanted to go. I loved to listen to her,
to just watch her think. She was so bright and… beautiful…” his
voice softened from his professor vernacular. An impish grin slowly
curved across his chin. “She was curious about so many things.
Maybe it’s because of what Horace did to her, but she didn’t
hesitate to show her affection. She was very, very sexy.”

“So she became your lover?” Lizzie laughed,
not sure if it was amusement or discomfort that prompted it.

“She was my first,” Oliver smiled sweetly.
“I wanted to marry her. My mother loved her, but didn’t… my parents
knew about Horace and didn’t think she was good enough to be a
wife. They wanted me to marry the daughter of another local
businessman.”

“What did you want?”

“I went to New York to fight the British in
1812. I asked her to marry me before I left, but she refused. She
knew what my mother wanted for me and was ashamed of what Horace
did to her. ”

“But she loved Horace?”

“She thought it was her fault for tempting
him,” Oliver clenched his jaw. “But he died. Then she became
devoted to his widow.”

“Charlotte,” Lizzie watched his reaction to
the second pronouncement of that name. He was cool and calm, no
indication that Charlotte took his life or that he took hers.

“They were friends. I didn’t understand the
depth of their intimacy until… what has Ben told you about
this?”

Lizzie shook her head and lifted her
shoulders. She wasn’t sure what Ben could have told her. “Just that
Lily went back to you until Charlotte discovered your affair.”

“I decided to leave my family and marry her.
We planned to go west,” he looked out the window again.

“I’m sorry to ask you to remember this,”
Lizzie saw the cheese congealing on her plate.

“I remember it whether you ask me or not,”
Oliver said softly. “I… it is good to tell someone. To tell
you.”

Lizzie straightened her spine and went to
her diminishing margarita. “So why didn’t you go west?” Lizzie knew
that wasn’t how the story ended.

“She was worried about the Fultons,” Oliver
rubbed his hand against his chin and looked at Lizzie.

“Because of Charlotte?”

“Lily and Charlotte were friends. I can’t
speak for what Lily felt or wanted from that friendship,” Oliver
paused, revealing a glint of hurt in his eyes. “Charlotte admitted
many years later that she loved Lily. Lily listened to her, as she
listened to everyone in her life. Lily was the last human Charlotte
ever let herself trust and feel anything for. She ended up killing
Horace because he assaulted Lily. Lily knew what Charlotte was
capable of. I think she believed she could keep Charlotte calm and
so she stayed.”

“
Did she keep Charlotte
calm?”

Oliver’s face seemed to turn towards a
frown, but suddenly forced a smile. “As long as Charlotte believed
that Lily loved her.”

“But in the end, she didn’t take out her
wrath on the Fultons. She took it out on you.”

Oliver picked up his fork again to try the
pretense of eating. Lizzie looked at her plate and took a forkful
of rice. It was lukewarm and its taste didn’t register.

“
Ben said you…” Lizzie was
conscious of the chatty lunch crowd around them. “He said…
Charlotte deserved her end.”

“He told you I was responsible for that,
too?”

“Yes,” Lizzie took another large sip of
drink.

“It’s true.”

“Would Lily have thought she deserved
it?”

“I hope so,” Oliver looked at Lizzie as if
expecting her to make an answer for Lily.

Lizzie took another bite of her cold rice.
She slowed the movement of her jaw, hoping he would fill the
silence. “They found a letter Harriet wrote to Charlotte. She
probably didn’t send it if they have it at the museum…” Lizzie
wiped her fingers on the napkin in her lap. “It’s strange to think
that I was part of this… but I really don’t remember much of
it.”

“Do you want to remember it, Lizzie?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

“There was a lot of sadness,” Oliver turned
away from the table.

“But… isn’t it a part of me?”

“I don’t know. Is it?” Oliver looked at
her.

“Isn’t that why you and Ben are in my
life?”

“You don’t think you have control over your
own destiny, Lizzie?”

Lizzie picked up her fork and stabbed it
into the food. “I don’t know.”

“We all have a choice,” he nodded as the
waitress stopped to check on them. “I learned the hard way it is
too easy to blame fate for making poor choices.”

Lizzie looked at the fork sticking through
her untouched chimichanga. His words echoed of Nora’s constant
advice. The fact he lived through much more horrific choices than
Alec McCaffrey and came to that conclusion seemed like true
wisdom.

“In the end it is my responsibility… for
Eloise and for Lily.”

Lizzie wanted to remind him of Melissa, but
decided to not open her mouth. She was tempted to take another sip
of margarita, but decided her blood was bitter enough.

“You ran a marathon, Lizzie. Can you give
fate… or Lily credit for that?”

“A half marathon.”

“The point is,
you
did it.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“No,” Oliver nodded. “No.”

“If you accept that you did those things…
why are you sitting here with me? How can I not believe you won’t
do it again?”

“Is that what you believe?”

“I don’t want to,” Lizzie breathed out
slowly… looking at him. “I mean… I changed. I like to believe
anyone can change and make themselves better. Especially if they
are on this planet forever.”

“You aren’t her,” Oliver looked down sadly.
“Lily was unforgiving.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“You’ve hardly touched your lunch.”

“Neither have you,” Lizzie caught his eye
briefly and then looked for the waitress.

*****

She laughed as she ran through the hedges
into the Harris’ yard. There was just enough moonlight to define
the shadows of the trees. She saw a candle in a window of the house
as she waited. Suddenly his arms came around her, turning her into
his kiss. He lifted her off the ground and held her against the
wall of the carriage house. She heard one of the horses whinny in
alarm, speeding up the rhythm of her heart. The thrill of potential
discovery heightened the thrill of his touch…

Her heart beat rapidly as she opened her
eyes to the darkness of Ben’s room. She pulled the blankets over
her head and cocooned herself in the warmth, but it wasn’t the same
as Ben beside her. Even when his body cooled at the end of the
week. She closed her eyes, hoping to find sleep but was only able
to see Oliver’s dark eyes nearing her before a kiss.

She tried to fill her brain with other
thoughts – of necessary tasks at the office, of groceries to buy on
her way home from the hospital, Nora’s baby shower – but the dark
shadows of the crescent moon kept haunting her mind.

It was difficult to distract herself with
the information Oliver gave her. She left the restaurant under the
pretense she had to rush back to the hospital. She regretted
letting Oliver pay for the meal… the meal neither of them ate. She
didn’t want to linger much more in his company to argue the point.
Nothing he said was too startling or disturbing to her reality. She
heard much of it as if it were a history lecture in college or a
training summary from the preservation society. Not that the
preservation society would educate her about the bedroom habits of
the servants or the presence of vampires in the Fulton House.

She didn’t know if what she learned should
make her feel better or worse about Oliver. It was obvious he loved
her – Lily. He still hurt from what happened to her… and what she
did to him. She chose to marry him in the end, but she wouldn’t
leave the Fultons. What kept her in Cambridge? The friendship of a
female vampire? She didn’t want to stay. She wanted to be someplace
else and with the one who could take her away from her cursed life.
Did Oliver say that? Lizzie couldn’t remember that detail in the
midst of two strawberry margaritas. Was that something he said? Or
was that her active imagination speculating about history? Or was
it… something dislodged from her memory?