“Good evening, Mr. Hayes,” Patrick said. “Is Mary ready?”
“Hello, Patrick, come in. I think she’s almost ready, ‘least she was a few minutes ago. I’ll go up an’ check, though. Why don’ you have a seat for a minute?” He motioned toward a brown, moth-eaten davenport.
“Of course,” Patrick said. The thought of his suit touching that upholstery displeased him, but he did as he was asked. Mr. Hayes smiled, then turned and practically ran up the stairs. He found Mary on the bed, curled into a fetal position.
“Mary! Mary, he’s here. What’s wrong?” he said, bending over her.
“Papa, I can’t go with him. I feel sick. Please tell him for me.”
“Mary, I thought you were goin’ to be all right with this. You were so excited when you told me about it earlier, an’ he really cares about you, you know.” He paused. “Mary, you’re nineteen years old, an’ you can’t go on like this. You need to be with other people, especially people your own age. I know you like Patrick. You went ridin’ with him all summer. You should spend more time with him. I’m not goin’ to be here forever, an’ you can’t be by yourself for the rest of your life.”
Mary remained motionless on the bed.
Mr. Hayes sighed. “Patrick’ll be disappointed, you know. I’ll tell him you’re not able to go, but I wish you would try, Mary. You know I only want the best for you,” he said, and went back downstairs.
Patrick jumped to his feet as Mr. Hayes reached the bottom of the stairway. He suspected that getting Mary out of the house would be difficult, and one look at the farmer’s face confirmed his suspicion.
“She’s too nervous, isn’t she?” Patrick asked before Mr. Hayes could say anything.
“Well, you know how she is,” he replied. “When she freezes up like she does, I jus’ don’ know what to do. I tried to talk her into comin’ down, but I don’ believe she will.”
“Perhaps I could go up?” Patrick offered. “Maybe if I talk with her a little, reassure her, she might relax.”
“That’s good of you, Patrick, but I don’ think it would do any good. She’s pretty upset. I asked her to go tonight, but....” Mr. Hayes’s voice trailed off, and he and Patrick stood awkwardly in the old living room.
Patrick struggled to mask his frustration. “Well, please, tell Mary that I’m sorry she couldn’t make it this evening,” he said as he turned to leave. “I’ll try to come out to visit after work one night this week, and--”
The wooden stairs were creaking behind him. Mary stepped hesitantly into the light of the living room. She stopped on the bottom step and faced him, trembling and clutching a dainty black pocketbook. There was no color in her face.
“Mary,” he said. He would have an opportunity to work on the first obstacle after all. He rushed over to her, took both of her hands in his. “Your father said you weren’t feeling well. Do you think you’re up to this evening?”
“I suppose so,” Mary replied, looking up at him. Only then did she realize he was holding her hands, and she blushed. She glanced over at her father, but he was smiling with approval.
“We won’t be out late. Don’t worry,” Patrick told Mary and Mr. Hayes. “But we should be going. Mother’s expecting us by six-thirty.”
Mary felt herself cringe when Patrick mentioned meeting his mother, but she allowed him to take her arm and lead her to the door. Her father patted her on the shoulder as she left.
“You two have a good time,” Mr. Hayes called to them as they headed down to the car.
Patrick opened the passenger side door of the Lincoln for Mary, then ran around to the other side and got in himself. Mary occasionally rode into Mill River with her father in their old truck, but riding in the Lincoln was a completely new experience. The smooth hum of the engine was nothing like the rough idle of the pickup. The tan leather seat was buttery-soft, and it cradled her. Mary folded her hands over her pocketbook in her lap, afraid to touch anything lest she leave a smudge on the polished interior of the car.
Patrick smiled down at her. She was sitting calmly, but her face betrayed the anxiety she felt. She continually looked out the window of the car. Mary reminded him of a little bluebird, perched and ready to fly away.
Not this evening, not ever
, he thought.
They were a few miles outside Rutland when Mary started to shake uncontrollably. She faced forward in her seat and whispered to him.
“Patrick, I can’t do this. Please go back. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
Patrick reached over and placed his right hand over both of hers. At the same time, he stepped more firmly on the accelerator.
“Mary, please try to relax. It’s only my family, and I’m sure they’ll like you.”
“Can’t go, please stop, I’m going to be sick—” She pulled one of her hands free of his and clutched at the passenger’s side window.
“Mary, we’re almost there. Take a few deep breaths. You have nothing to fear from this evening. It’s only dinner, and I’ll have you home before you know it. Do you trust me?”
She was curled against the door, whimpering. Patrick focused on keeping his voice calm.
“You’ll be with me. If you start to feel anxious, squeeze my arm, and we’ll try to get away for a few minutes until you feel better.”
Mary’s cries quieted a little as she listened.
“That’s better. I won’t leave your side, I promise,” he said, gently rubbing her hand.
Mary remained silent as they drove into the city of Rutland. Patrick pointed out several of the more prominent buildings, including a complex comprised of the tall structures of McAllister Marbleworks. “Here’s the downtown district,” Patrick said as Mary stole a glance out the window, “and here’s Main Street Park. The house is just up ahead.” The Victorian-style homes were growing larger and larger. The house at the end of the street was the grandest of them all, a great yellow Victorian set against a backdrop of autumn maples. Patrick pulled into the circular driveway.
Mary looked around. There were at least six other cars parked around the house. Several young men stood on the porch, talking over drinks and cigars. The wide front door of the house was open, leaving only a screen door that did nothing to conceal the voices of other guests already inside. The windows and door spilled light into the evening. Mary fought to keep from retching. The house was a great gaping monster from which she might not emerge.
“I thought you said this was only a family dinner.”
“It is. Everyone here is family.”
Mary’s face lost all trace of color, and her hands suddenly became so clammy that her fingertips ached. Her violent trembling returned, and she seized Patrick’s arm before he could open the driver’s side door.
“Please, Patrick, I can’t go in there,” she said, her voice rising to a fevered pitch. “I’m not ready for this, I--”
Patrick glanced at her, and, for just a second, his green eyes flashed a strange hostility. His voice, though, was as soothing as ever.
“Mary! Mary, you
are
ready, and everyone is expecting us. Don’t worry. It won’t be as bad as you think.”
He extricated his arm from her grasp and quickly got out of the car. When he came around to her side to help her out, she again grabbed his arm and squeezed it as hard as she could. Patrick gasped in surprise and shook his head as if she were a naughty little girl. “Now now, I told you not to worry,” he said, patting her hand and pulling her toward the house.
Waves of nausea washed over Mary.
“Hey, Patrick!” said one of the men on the porch through a cloud of cigar smoke. “We were beginning to think you weren’t comin.’ Yeah, we thought you mighta got lost out there in the country, if you know what I mean.” The men sniggered, and the speaker winked and elbowed the man standing next to him.
“Right,” Patrick said. He patted Mary’s hand again. “Fellas, I’d like you to meet Mary Hayes. Mary, these are two of my cousins, Phil and Donovan Leary.” The cousins nodded to her. “The loudmouth is my brother, Jacob.”
Mary took a deep breath and looked up at the three. She managed to smile. Immediately, the faces of the three men lit up with dopey grins.
“Call me Jake,” the younger McAllister said. “And if I’m a loudmouth, it’s only because I’ve had an older brother to set a great example for me. Isn’t that right, Patrick?”
Patrick scoffed and guided her into the monster’s mouth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary,” Jake called after them.
A butler held open the screen door for them, and Patrick and Mary walked through the grand foyer of the McAllister home. They made their way into a large sitting room in which people were gathering. Patrick proceeded to make the rounds, introducing Mary to more cousins, aunts, and uncles. Patrick noticed his father across the room, pouring himself a brandy. As he glanced proudly down at Mary. Stephen followed his son’s gaze and promptly overfilled his glass.
Through all this, Mary looked up only occasionally, and gripped Patrick’s arm with such ferocity that her knuckles turned white. She was thankful that Patrick moved between introductions quickly enough to prevent anyone from saying much to her. When the arm supporting Mary finally began to ache, Patrick bent down and whispered in her ear.
“Would you like to take a break?”
“Please, yes.”
They turned to exit the great room, but were blocked by two stunning redheaded women. They wore different gowns and hairstyles, but their faces were mirror images.
“Patrick, we’ve been looking all over for you,” one of them said.
“We’ve been dying to meet your little friend,” the other chimed in.
“This is Mary Hayes,” Patrick began. “Mary, meet my sisters--”
“--Sara,” one of the twins said.
“--and Emma,” the other finished.
They smiled together.
“Hello,” Mary said.
“That’s a lovely dress,” Sara observed, looking wistfully at Mary. “The color’s good on you.”
“Much better than it would have been on us,” Emma agreed. “We saw that very dress in the window at Carolyn’s downtown several months ago. Both of us wanted it, but the store had only one left.”
“No matter,” Sara said. “It was headed for the sales rack—styles change so quickly these days. Besides, that shade of blue looked absolutely ghastly with our complexion. But it looks very nice on you.” Both sisters smiled sweetly and walked away arm-in-arm.
Mary was mortified. She gasped, unable to speak.
“I’m sorry about them,” Patrick said. “You’re so beautiful, and they’re just jealous of you. Let’s go get some fresh air.”
Again they tried to escape, but an elegant blonde woman appeared in the doorway of the great room and announced that dinner was ready. She saw Patrick and Mary coming toward her and intercepted them.
“Patrick, darling, there you are!” The older woman clasped her hands together. “And you must be Mary! Patrick has told us so much about you. I’m Elise McAllister, Patrick’s mother.”
Mary had rehearsed a hundred times what she would say to Mrs. McAllister upon meeting her. Still, speaking to her reflection in her bedroom mirror paled in comparison to addressing the genuine article. Mary’s tongue was a thick ball of wax in her mouth. She hoped the effort she exerted to speak didn’t contort her face.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McAllister,” Mary said carefully.
Patrick’s mother smiled, unaware of Mary’s concentrated effort. “The pleasure is mine, Mary. You must come by and have tea with me one of these afternoons.” She looked at Patrick. “Why don’t you two take your seats with the others? I’ve got to make sure there are enough places set, so if you’ll excuse me….”
“Of course, Mother,” Patrick said as she hurried away. “She’s a real perfectionist,” he whispered to Mary.
All the guests filed into the dining room. An enormous table, set for dinner and illuminated by a sparkling chandelier, stretched the length of the room. Patrick selected two seats near one end of the table and pulled Mary’s chair out for her. She sank into it.
The dinner passed in a haze. Uniformed house staff continually refilled glasses and cleared away dishes. Mary tried to eat, but her stomach was increasingly unsettled. She pushed her food around on her plate, hoping to make it look as if she had eaten something. She politely nodded and smiled throughout the meal but spoke very little. The words and laughter from the others seated at the table swirled incomprehensibly in her anxious mind.
“Is anyone ready for dessert?” Patrick’s mother finally shouted. In the midst of the family’s enthusiastic response, Mary asked Patrick where the washroom was and excused herself from the table.
Mary walked to the bathroom as quickly as her wobbly legs would carry her. Once inside, she locked the door and slid to the floor with her back against it. She couldn’t take much more.
She stayed several long minutes inside the temporary sanctuary, listening to the muffled conversation coming from the dining room. She couldn’t go back there, at least not yet. Mary opened the washroom door and slipped out into the hallway. She walked away from the dining room, looking into open rooms as she passed them. Library, parlor, guest bedroom. A door at the end of the hallway was closed but not latched. She listened for a moment, and, hearing no one inside, slowly pushed the door open.
It was an office. An executive desk covered in books and papers faced the doorway. Bookshelves surrounded the desk. Framed photographs sat on top of the bookshelves and filled almost every inch of open wall space. Mary recognized the people in many of the pictures as Patrick and his parents and siblings. There were several shots of McAllister Marbleworks. One of those pictures in particular caught Mary’s attention. The photo hung behind the desk apart from the others, and was smaller and more yellowed than those nearest it.
Mary recognized neither of the two smiling men in the picture, although they looked enough alike to be father and son. She leaned closer to the picture. The older man had his arm around the shoulders of the younger, and a bronze engraved plate attached to the bottom of the picture’s frame read, “
McAllister Marbleworks, 1894
.”
“Ah, to be nineteen again,” a voice said behind her. Mary whirled around. A tall, white-haired bear of a man stood in the doorway of the office. He watched her with curious green eyes of the same shade as Patrick’s. Mary froze where she stood.