The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer: My Life at Rose Red (17 page)

Underlying all this suspicion of reason on my part is the consummate

belief that Sukeena possesses a wealth of knowledge that

even Madame Lu may not match. Sukeena is my dark angel. She

not only nursed me back to life in the African bush but in the

process became part of me, a friend, a sister. There are times—I

must confess here in the privacy of my writing—that I glimpse the

small of her back or the curve of her hips, and I am taken back to

my shameful lust for my Indonesian chambermaid. She rubs my

tummy with oils in an effort to return it to its former shape

before the birth, and I long for her strong hands to wander my

body. (My husband and I have not been with each other in

months, and since the birth I am loath to even think of our joining.)

So sinful are these thoughts that I hardly dare write them

here. But if not put down here, they are left to linger inside my

thoughts, and that is far more destructive. (You will never know,

Dear Diary, what a help you are to me. Once my thoughts ?nd

their way into your pages I am free to start over. I am purged. I

am certain, for instance, that once I lay my pen down by your side

here to-night, I shall call for Sukeena and she shall come, and all

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shall be forgiven. There is much talk in society of this foreigner

Freud, and his formidable insight to the human condition—but I

see no need to share with others that which I can place in your

pages. You save me with your listening!) So it is with Sukeena and

I—a mystery that has yet to fully unfold, not so unlike this house

and the people who inhabit it.

I return to your pages now after a brief and wonderful reunion

with Sukeena. She made no objections to my suggestion of visiting

Madame Lu, and to my relief will make the arrangements

herself, having struck up something of a friendship with Tina’s

handmaid, the woman named Gwen who joined us before.

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27 september 1909—madame lu’s

I can see now that John’s fascination with his heir is fading. He

?nds the smells, the crying, the spit-up, even the breast-feeding a

bit too much to take. (This, despite the two nannies—one, a wet

nurse who feeds Adam at night.) I suspect that when Adam is

eight or nine—an age for hunting and ?shing and the like—my

husband’s affections may rekindle, but for the time being he is

absent, showing no interest in the boy whatsoever. His dawdling

attentions lavished on me during my pregnancy are a thing of the

past as well. I have carried his child. His ?rstborn was a boy. My

purpose is served, I fear. Were I to have known that this was the

life destined for me, I might have expressed reservations in consummating

this marriage. Now, however, it is far too late for such

decisions. I can only make the best—or the worst—of the situation.

I labor for the higher ground, fearing the results if John

and I entrench ourselves for a protracted battle.

I will ask my husband back to my bed as soon as I feel my body

recovers fully from childbirth. I see now that my joy and happiness

in life is to come from the children. (Adam gives me more

joy in my heart than I have ever felt. He is nothing short of a

miracle. I have reason to live. Reason to love!) If I am here to

make babies, make babies I shall, even though I alternate between

loving my husband and despising him. Adam Rimbauer holds a

place special and dear in my heart that no other person shall ever

come close to occupying. I can’t imagine this feeling multiplied

by four or ?ve! I can’t wait! I long for the sound of many small

feet scurrying about this house! Damn John Rimbauer. I shall

make a life for myself in spite of his womanizing ways.

My arrival at Madame Lu’s felt considerably different today than

it did when I viewed this part of town for the ?rst time. I will not

go as far as to say I’m comfortable with Chinatown, but I am at

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least familiar with this area of it, thus reducing my anxiety.

Madame Lu, for her part, was most welcoming and accommodating.

Again, I was in the company of Tina Coleman, and again

Tina was responsible for much of the social talk to introduce us

(the Chinese insist on this social exchange before any business is

discussed). Finally Madame Lu glanced in my direction and spoke

to me.

“You wish ’nother visit, child?”

“Yes, Great Lady.” (I follow Tina’s lead wherever possible.)

She looked me over. “Something much troubling you.”

“Our home,” I answered. “Our house.”

She nodded. That enormous head falling forward like a stone.

She wore a good deal of her hair in a bun at the back of her head,

and yet the tail that spilled out of this nest was easily two feet long.

All told, her hair must run ?ve feet or longer—as tall, or taller,

than she is herself. “I in contact with people, child, not houses.”

“Two women have disappeared in our house. One, a chambermaid.

A young girl. She’s there still, but no longer ?esh and

blood. I saw her with my own eyes. My handmaid saw her as well,”

I said, indicating Sukeena. But the Great Lady would hardly

acknowledge Sukeena’s presence.

Tina Coleman gasped. Until that moment I believe she

thought my entreaty might concern my marriage or my childbirth

—at worst, the disappearance of Mrs. Fauxmanteur. A second

disappearance (previously unknown to her) and subsequent

ghost sighting appeared too much for her to bear. She engaged

her fan, swiping the air with such force that some of her hair

stood up on end.

The big woman said, “I be little help to you, child. Not in

house. Need be in house, speak to missing women.”

“A séance?”

“Need be in house. Not for me. Madame Lu never leave

neighborhood. Dangerous outside neighborhood.”

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“But I could send a carriage,” I said, immediately protesting.

Tina leaned over and whispered, supplying quickly that

Madame Lu would never leave this place—any of the powerful

Chinese caught outside their own ?efdoms were subject to the

whims of city police. Madame Lu knew better than to challenge

these long-held principles. The city’s political structure is said to

be rife with corruption, favor-peddling and nepotism. The city

runs exceptionally well for its businessmen, and no one is prepared

to challenge its structure. I didn’t like hearing any of this—

I wanted to understand the goings-on at Rose Red—but I also

recognized that despite the in?uence of my husband’s name in

some circles, in the world of Madame Lu we barely existed.

Tina spoke to the Great Lady, inquiring after someone who

might perform the séance.

“There is one I know,” Lu said. “Madame Stravinski. Only

one. No other. Come Seattle not often. I write letter and see.”

“I would be most appreciative,” I said.

“You suspect husband,” she said bluntly.

I felt my breath catch in my throat.

“Tell me why,” Madame Lu said.

I glanced at Sukeena, who looked as surprised as I did. Tina

would not look in my direction. I wondered if I could speak

freely in front of my friend. I saw no other course to take. I told

Madame Lu about our recent experience in the barn and young

Laura in that awful state of undress, legs spread on the bed of that

wagon. Sukeena throwing the skirt. Laura gesturing at my husband

and his stable master.

Madame Lu’s face never changed. She looked at me impassively.

“Has been dancing or celebration at house of late?”

“My husband is generous with the dispensation of spirit, at

week’s-end, there is often music heard in the servants’ quarters.”

“Place where husband or stable hand might seen young girl

dancing like this?”

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“The servants celebrate. It sometimes goes on all night, I’m

told.” Again, I checked with Sukeena. Again, Madame Lu did not

let on that Sukeena even existed. My throat constricted.

“Other lady missing. She know husband or stable hand?”

“Mrs. Fauxmanteur?” I said. “Certainly not. She was a friend

of Melissa Ray’s,” I said, pointing to my dear friend to my left.

“Tea, was all.”

Tina Coleman looked over at me with a face I took for the

dead. It held no color whatsoever. Her lips looked yellow despite

her application of color there.

“Dear friend?” I asked.

“I wish to contradict this notion of yours, sweet Ellen.”

“Tina?”

“As to the nature of the friendship between your ?ne husband,

John, and my dear friend Melissa Ray.”

“They knew each other?”

She found her color as she blushed. “John . . . well, he’s

been to the house on business, you see. Many times. My husband

is an investor with your John. Did you know that?”

My head was spinning. “Perhaps,” I mumbled. It seemed to

me I did know this, though I still did not make the connection

that I should have made.

“They had met, several times. Mrs. Ray and the widow, Fauxmanteur.

Your husband.”

“Widow!?” I exclaimed.

“They make friendship,” Madame Lu informed me, as if

reading Tina’s mind. “Your husband understanding man, yes?

Feel badly woman lost husband. Make friendship.”

Tina confessed, “There were several dinners . . . while you

were with child, and not feeling well . . . dinners John attended

without you.”

Madame Lu closed her eyes and added, “Husband offer his

carriage.”

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“And Melissa’s visit to our house?” I asked, my whole body

numb. “For tea. It was her idea to bring along her friend. Tell

me it was so.”

Tina’s lips quivered. She looked to the ?oor. “Connie

Fauxmanteur asked Melissa to arrange it. John . . . it seems John

would not return Connie’s notes . . . and since it seemed unjust

to Melissa that he should . . . for you see, she had con?ded in

me the nature of their . . . their friendship.”

“My husband and Mrs. Fauxmanteur?” I gasped. “Are you

saying what I think you are saying?”

Tina was in tears. Madame Lu looked carved from stone. The

Great Lady said, “One must not look for that which one does not

wish to see.” It sounded to me as if she were quoting. I’d never

heard such a complete statement spoken by her.

“I . . . want . . . the truth,” I said. I swear I heard my words

echo in that room.

“Madame Stravinski,” Madame Lu said without hesitation. “In

Europe. I write note. I call for her.”

“Do we wait weeks?” I asked. “Months?”

“Years,” Lu answered. “Patience, my dear. In matters of the

spirit, time is of little consequence.”

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16 january 1910—rose red

This day follows another extraordinary celebration at Rose Red,

this time marking the second anniversary of our inaugural. To

my great delight, the grand house remains under construction, at

great cost to my husband. The facade of the house is much the

same as a year ago, and so to the casual visitor little would appear

different than during the inaugural a year ago, but in fact much

has changed. I have ordered the complete remodel of the East

Wing of the third ?oor, an area of some six thousand square feet,

now designated “Adam’s Wing.” Once complete, there shall be a

child’s library holding some two thousand volumes, a recreation

room, a train room ( John’s contribution), a small gymnasium

and a classroom.

I wore the same gown as last year—repaired to look like new—

and hope to make this a tradition. (I was so pleased to show the

other women that I had recovered my form a scant four months

following Adam’s birth! Some women never recover at all!) The

gowns were among the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, blue velvet

being the most popular. We served nearly seventy-?ve more couples

than last year, the invitation list growing with the popularity

of the event. Thankfully no one got lost or disappeared—how

ridiculous that looks on your pages, Dear Diary, but oh, how I

worried! I was in a frightful state all night, pacing the halls, escorting

guests on tours, believing Rose Red might spoil our fun, and

although the guests seemed to enjoy themselves, it required three

tall ?utes of champagne before I fully relaxed. Alas, our grand

house allowed us to enjoy its existence. (I wonder if it feels the

presence of all the guests, if it celebrates along with us?)

There is little to tell, other than the usual rumors of mistresses

and misconduct. What ills society spawns! Our head chambermaid,

Mrs. Watson, reported to me this morning that a

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woman’s full set of underclothes was found kicked under the bed

of one of the guest rooms in the East Wing. (She apparently left

the party with nothing beneath her gown but that she was born

with!) Such stories abound at all the best parties. John stayed by

my side most of the night, and I know even he is not rogue

enough to attempt such a tryst at his own party, so I’m greatly

relieved to know he had no part in this, or any other such assignation.

In fact, after the guests were gone (nearly four in the morning),

my husband—a bit tipsy—found his way into my chambers