Hawthorn (35 page)

I asked if I could read it, and he showed it to me reluctantly. “This isn't half bad,” I told him (when, in fact, it was
very
good). “You should show it to Vi and Lil. They've started a little magazine . . .”

In the end I showed it to Vi and Lil and they published it in the
Bell & Feather.
A New York editor on holiday got a hold of it and asked Nathan if he had any more like it. Nathan said he didn't but he'd see if he could dash off a few more. He started writing in the cafes, and drinking less, and began to look a shade less haunted.

“I'm married to a writer!” Helen remarked one day gleefully. “My mother will be mortified!”

Although she professed annoyance with her mother I knew that Helen sent regular checks to support Mrs. van Beek in her suite at the Franconia Hotel in New York, and I heard from Caroline Janeway, who together with Etta and Ruth Blum had opened the New York branch of Madame Hélène's, that Mrs. van Beek spent her afternoons at the shop bragging to clients that her daughter was a successful couturière.

I was just beginning to think that it might be time for all of us to go back home—at least for a visit—when we got a telegram from Dame Beckwith.

Grave situation in the Blythe Wood STOP Council meeting called for August 26 STOP Your presence needed!

“My mother always exaggerates,” Nathan said. “It's probably just an excuse to get us to come visit.”

“Well, that's reason enough,” Helen said. “I need to go to New York to see how the new shop is doing.” I knew that wasn't strictly true. Miss Janeway and the Blum sisters were more than capable of running the store, but I backed her up.

“I would like to see my grandmother.”

“And I'd like to have a fly over the Gunks again before they get too built up,” Raven added.

“Then let's go,” Nathan said. “I can visit with my new editor. Have I mentioned that Scribner's is publishing my first novel?”

THE FOUR OF
us sailed to New York in the summer of 1920. Agnes and Sam, married the spring before, met us at the dock with my grandmother. When I saw how frail my grandmother had grown, I was sorry I
'd stayed away so long. (She had refused to set foot on a ship since her experience on the
Titanic
.) Still, when she embraced me I felt a steely strength in her arms.

“Don't look at me as if I'm on death's door, girl. We Hall women aren't so easy to kill off.”

We dined at my grandmother's house on Fifth Avenue and spent the night there—in separate rooms since Raven and I weren't married, a fact that my grandmother commented on several times at dinner much to my embarrassment. The truth was that since my reaction to his first proposal, Raven hadn't asked me again, and even though I knew that a modern girl wouldn't sit around waiting for a proposal, I was shy of bringing it up. Among our friends in Paris it didn't seem to matter, but back in New York it might.

The next day we took the train to Blythewood. Gillie met us at the station in a horse-drawn open carriage festooned with flowers. While Helen rushed to embrace the caretaker, Raven stared at the carriage. “It looks so . . .”

“Quaint?” I finished for him. “Old-fashioned?”

“I imagine that there will come a time when a horse-drawn carriage will be a novelty,” Raven said.

“Good riddance,” Nathan said. “Give me a Gold Bug Speedster any day. Hullo, Gillie, old man!” He clapped the tiny man on the back. “What say we go down to Poughkeepsie later and look at the latest Fords?”

The sky turned an ominous green as Gillie grumbled that he didn't need “no newfangled contraption.” Raven was still staring at the carriage, an odd look on his face.

“What is it?” I asked. “Are you nervous about going to Blythewood?” It had occurred to me that because the school had once been at war with the Darklings, Raven might feel uncomfortable there. “We can stay at Ravencliffe if you prefer.”

“No,” Raven replied, shaking himself as if shedding cold water. “I was just wondering what else about our lives might someday seem obsolescent and hopelessly outdated.”

“You need only stick with me,” Helen said, tossing her long fringed scarf over her shoulder and adjusting her cloche hat, “and you will always be in style. I shall never obsolesce.”

Raven broke into a grin. “No, I don't believe you will.”

It was a perfect summer day to ride down River Road, the sky so blue it seemed to seep through the sycamore branches overhead. The apples were ripening in the orchards and the hedgerows were full of white flowers—hawthorn flowers. The flowering tree the fairies had planted to protect the vessel and the door to Faerie had spread from the woods into the fields. In the Ardennes, where we had gone in the spring to lay a wreath on Mr. Bellows's and Jinks's graves, the woods were
still blasted and bare. Aesinor, who still stood guard over the last vessel, said that most of the fairies had vanished from the woods.

“What are you thinking about now?” Raven asked.

“Only that it feels strange to be back somewhere that hasn't been a war front,” I answered.

“We've had our own wars here,” Gillie said, turning his head to look at me. His eyes were the sharp green of new leaves, and I felt a restless stirring in the trees on either side of the drive as we turned into the gate. The scrolled ironwork motto—
Tintinna vere, specta alte—
looked a bit rusty. “Ring true, aim high,” we were taught to translate it. But the last part also meant “look up.” I looked up now, half expecting to see shadow crows, but here was only the melting sweetness of a summer sky and the gentle flutter of green leaves . . . and the ringing of bells, so clear and sweet they sounded like the soft air had been given voice.

“Oh, they're ringing us home!” Helen cried. “Look, it's dear old Blythewood! It looks just the same.”

And it did. The stone castle walls shone honey gold against the deep blue of the mountains across the river. I'd seen many castles since I'd last seen Blythewood, but none as pretty or serene. My eyes filled up with tears and Raven squeezed my hand. “You saved it,” he said. “You've kept it from being ruined.”

“
We
saved it,” I answered. “You held the door and Nathan led an army and Helen went into the shadows . . .”

“Oh, but the gardens are rather overgrown,” Helen said as we drew closer. “Gillie, why have the gardens been let go?”

“We don't have so many students no more,” he replied, “and so there's no' so much money for extras like gardens.”

“Why is the enrollment down?” Nathan asked.

“Weel, your modern female doesna have to go to a girls' school anymore and this new generation thinks the school's old-fashioned. Besides,” he added in a lower voice, “there's no need to defend the world against fairies now. There's hardly any left.”

“But why . . . ?”

“The Dame will tell ye more. It's why she wanted you to come.”

“Not another council meeting,” Nathan grumbled. “I thought that was just an excuse to get us back to the States.”

Gillie glared at Nathan over his shoulder. “It's no' all about you, lad.” Then he added in a gentler voice, “But your mother will be right glad to see you.”

Dame Beckwith was standing on the front steps as we came into the circular drive. I was startled by how much older she looked. Perhaps it was just that the last time I'd seen her had been in Helen's dream space when she'd been much younger, but when she stepped forward to greet us her step seemed a bit unfirm, and when she clasped my arms and looked me in the eyes I saw that her characteristically piercing gaze was clouded over by cataracts.

Her voice, though, was as rich and commanding as ever. “Ava, you look more and more like your mother. And Helen, you're . . . why, you're glowing! Are you . . .”

“Just a few weeks along. Nathan thought I was seasick on the boat but I never get seasick.”

Dame Beckwith's eyes filled with tears as she looked toward her son. “Don't worry, Mother,” he said, “Helen's sure it's a girl, so you'll have another student for Blythewood.”

A cloud seemed to pass over her eyes, or perhaps it was just the sun reflecting off the cataracts. She hugged Nathan fiercely and then turned to Raven. “You look so handsome, young man, your parents will be so proud to see you.”

“My parents are here?” Raven asked.

“Of course. This concerns the Darklings most of all. Come along—there's a buffet in the Great Hall but the meeting will take place in the garden. Help yourself to tea and sandwiches.”

She led us into the Great Hall, which was crowded with old friends—human, Darkling, and other. Omar and Kid Marvel were there with a crowd of madges, Sam and Agnes, Vionetta and Lillian chatting with our old teachers, Miles Malmsbury and Euphorbia Frost, Beatrice and Cam laughing with Marlin and Louisa. I saw my father and rushed forward to embrace him. He was standing with Master Quill, Merlinus and Wren, Gos, and a crowd of unfamiliar-looking Darklings. They were all sipping tea and eating sandwiches and scones and Victoria sponge cake cheerfully doled out by Harriet and Emmaline Sharp. When Merlinus turned to ask my father a question I excused myself to walk over with Raven to talk to Marlin and Louisa.

We hadn't seen much of Marlin since the Armistice. He and Louisa had been posted to Munich, ostensibly as attachés to the British embassy, but I suspected that they were still working as spies. I saw him pull Raven aside to talk to him
about something called the German Workers' Party.

“We've seen shadows lurking at their meetings in the beer halls,” I heard him tell Raven. I shivered and turned to talk to Louisa, but she was pulled away by Professor Jager.

Poor Professor Jager. I remembered what an intimidating presence he'd been in the classroom, but now he was frail, like one of the old cypress trees I'd seen on the Côte d'Azur, bent and twisted by the wind. In his case he'd been worn down by the merciless winds of war and Dolores's death. Left on my own I looked around the room. Nathan was surrounded by a gaggle of Blythewood schoolgirls, who were supposed to be serving tea, asking him to sign his first novel. I saw Helen besieged by the Montmorency set and heard Myrtilene drawl, “How clever of you to run your own little dress shop. I'll be sure to drop in.”

I excused myself from two old women who wanted to know when Raven and I planned to get married and rescued Helen by saying we wanted to see our old classrooms.

“Thank the Bells! You saved me from swatting Myrtilene's hat off her head. Doesn't she know that wearing dead birds is so pre-war—oh, look, Ava, Miss Frost's old room. D'you remember when Daisy had a fit about dissecting lampsprites? And here's a picture of us playing field hockey—can you believe they made us wear those dreadful bloomers? And here—”

Helen's voice cut off abruptly. We'd come to Mr. Bellows's old classroom. A plaque had been erected on the door. “Rupert Bellows 1890–1918:
Their shoulders held the sky suspended; they stood, and earth's foundations stay.
”

Helen took out her handkerchief and handed it to me. “Why,
he was hardly older than we are now.” She sniffed. “Ava, there's something I've always wanted to ask. When Mr. Bellows . . . when he . . . did you . . . ?”

“Was I the one who carried his soul off the battlefield?” Helen nodded. “Yes. Raven offered, but I wanted to. He'd done so much for us all, I wanted it to be one of his students. He—he told me he was glad it was one of ‘his girls' and that he was so proud of us all . . . then he asked if I would help him remember something . . .”

Helen waited until I'd wiped my eyes and then asked, “What was it?”

“It was just an ordinary day, us having tea at Violet House, a few of his favorite students, Mr. Bellows balancing a teacup on his knee and making a silly joke that made Vionetta Sharp laugh. That was the last moment he remembered before he flew free. I think a part of him is always there. I think a part of you and me—and Vi—are always there with him.”

“Oh,” Helen said, “oh. What a lovely place to be. I wouldn't mind if that were my last dying thought.”

I squeezed Helen's hand and looked meaningfully down at her still-flat belly. “I think you might have some moments coming up that will contend, but yes, I wouldn't mind if it were my last . . .” Only I wouldn't dwell in my last moment forever. Because I was a Darkling and there was no forever for my kind.

Voices broke the moment. Daisy came into the hallway, a mischievous smile on her face.

“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Helen said.

“Oh! I do have some wonderful news but I'm going to leave it for Dame Beckwith to announce.” Then she linked her arms in ours and pulled us through the library and out onto the lawn toward the gardens. They
were
overgrown, I saw, with hawthorn bushes in full bloom. The bushes formed a wide circle, inside of which had been set folding chairs. Some of the guests had found a chair; some were lounging on the grass, sipping tea or lemonade, brushing scone crumbs from their shirtfronts, chatting amiably. A stirring from the hawthorn bushes alerted me to the presence of more Darklings, roosting in the bushes and the woods, whispering nervously amongst themselves. But they all grew quiet when Dame Beckwith stepped into the center of the circle.

“Before we begin with the main business of the day I have a bit of good news. Our friends in Washington, D.C., have telegrammed to say that the Nineteenth Amendment has been ratified. Women have the vote!”

“Huzzah!” cried Cam.

“About time!” Miss Harriet Sharp muttered, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Well,” said Helen, “I might consider moving back to this country after all.”

“I'm glad to begin with some good news,” Dame Beckwith said when the excitement had died down. “As I'm afraid that there's graver news to report. For some years now we here at Blythewood and our friends at Ravencliffe have noticed that the door to Faerie has been growing smaller and harder to find.”

There was a murmur of concerned voices and one old
woman croaked loudly, “In my day we'd have welcomed an end to fairies!”

“Those old days are long gone, Lucretia,” Dame Beckwith said, bending the undimmed force of her eyes on Lucretia Fisk. “The fairies and Darklings are our friends now and we mourn their passing—”

“Their passing?” It was Raven, gotten to his feet. “Is it as bad as all that?”

“Close to, son,” Merlinus said. “When was the last time you ushered a fairy-soul to Faerie?”

“I was rather busy in the war with human souls,” Raven answered angrily. I reached up and squeezed his hand. When he spoke again his voice was more tempered. “And afterward the woods of the Ardennes were destroyed. It's true I haven't seen a fairy there since the war. But why would they be dying out here?” He spread his arms to take in the peaceful summer afternoon. “There was no battle here.”