The Blue Bottle Club (6 page)

"Yes, honey, today was a good day."

"We had macaroni and cheese for lunch. I remember that."

"I know, honey, it's your favorite."

Brendan listened to this exchange and watched the obvious affection between the two women. "Do you think you could talk to me, tell me about the bottle, and about your friends?" she asked gently.

"The bottle? Oh, yes, the bottle." An indignant expression washed over the old woman's countenance. "I'm old, child, but I'm not crazy. I might not remember lunch, but I remember 1930 like it was yesterday. I can never forget that, no matter how much I might try."

She looked up at Gert and nodded. "You go on to the grocery store. I'll be just fine. We'll sit here and have ourselves a little talk."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Brenda here will stay with me until you get back, won't you, Brenda?"

"Yes, ma'am." Brendan suppressed a smile.
Gert gathered up her purse and car keys. "I won't be long."

"You take your time, now," Letitia said. "Brenda and I have got lots to talk about, I think. And bring me some of those little cupcakes, please."

"I always do." Gert came over and kissed Letitia on the top of her head. "There's more coffee in the kitchen," she said to Brendan, "and cookies in the jar."

"We'll be all right." Brendan smiled up at Gert. Frau Klein wasn't so terrifying after all. The killer Doberman was just a puppy at heart.

When the front door closed gently behind Gert, Letitia settled back on the sofa. "I get so mad sometimes," she said, clenching her fists in frustration. "Some days everything is so clear, like I was forty again. And other days—" She waved a hand in the air. "Other days aren't so good." She sat up straight and fixed Brendan with an intense gaze. "Don't ever let anyone tell you it's a blessing to live a long life," she said fiercely. "It's a curse, old age—not what you forget, but what you're condemned to remember."

"And what," Brendan prodded gently, "do you remember?"

"I remember that bottle. I remember making a solemn promise. And I remember, every day, that I failed to keep that vow. It's my one regret in this life."

The old woman let out a heavy sigh. "Getting old wouldn't be so bad, I suppose, if it weren't for the loneliness. Except for Gert, bless her soul, I think I'd go mad." She shook her head, and an expression of deep sadness filled her rheumy green eyes. "The hearing fades and the eyesight dims, and the old body just won't obey any longer. But you can endure all of that with grace as long as you have friends." She pointed a shaky finger at the blue bottle. "Friends like that."

"Do you mind talking about it?" Brendan asked. "It's not my intention to cause you pain."

"Pain is a fact of life," the old woman muttered. "Besides, I'd think about it whether you were here or not. It's just when you showed up at my door with this bottle, everything came rushing back like a flood." She picked up the bottle from the coffee table and caressed it with arthritic fingers. "The house is gone, you say?"

"I'm afraid so. It was condemned by the city. I covered the story of the demolition."

Tears swam in her eyes. "It was a wonderful old house, full of memories."

"Yes, it was. A landmark. I was sorry to see it torn down."

"Some of the memories aren't so good," Letitia whispered. "But the memory of that day, that Christmas—" She smiled and closed her eyes.

Brendan reached into her bag and brought out her notebook, a small tape recorder, and the photocopies of the papers she had found in the blue bottle. "Would you like to read what you wrote and put in the bottle?"

Letitia shook her head. "I don't need to read it. I know it by heart, every word. I was seventeen that Christmas, and so sure of everything. Sure of the future. Sure of the man I was destined to marry." She let out a long sigh. "I,
Letitia Randolph Cameron, on this twenty-fifth day of December, 1929, here set
forth my dream for my life. ..."

LETITIA

5

O HOLY NIGHT

December 24, 1929

L
a-tish-ahhh!" The familiar screech echoed up the stairway and careened around the doorpost into Tish's room. She winced. Philip was coming up the walk—she had just looked out her bedroom window and seen him—and no doubt he, not to mention the rest of the neighbors, had heard that banshee wail.

Letitia wished, for the thousandth time, that her mother would make an effort to be a little more refined. Daddy had all the class in this family, and why he had married Mother was a mystery not only to Tish herself, but to most of the rest of Asheville society. She had seen people whispering behind their hands at parties or the symphony. Mother was too outgoing, too eager—what people derisively called New Money. She laughed at her own jokes, readily admitted her ignorance of social customs, and actually seemed to enjoy the social faux pas she committed with alarming regularity. In short, Mother embarrassed Tish. She was too real, too down-to-earth.

Some of Tish's friends—especially Eleanor and Mary Love—adored her mother, thought she was funny and wonderful and easy to get along with. But then Eleanor was entirely too liberal for Tish's tastes, and Mary Love was, well, if not common then at least middle class. She could hardly be blamed for not knowing any better.

Adora, Tish's best friend, of course favored Tish's father. Adora had style and grace and a sense of propriety. And Philip Dorn, the boy Tish fully intended to marry when she turned eighteen, gracefully ignored Mother and cultivated a relationship with Daddy. The two of them could talk for hours about stocks and bonds and what investments would yield the most capital growth. Both of them were convinced that this downturn in the market would spring back and right itself if people would just be patient.

Tish didn't understand finance, but she did understand that Daddy wholeheartedly approved of Philip. And Philip, on his part, idolized Daddy. There was a partnership in Daddy's firm with Philip Dorn's name on it, just waiting until Philip finished college. By the time their first child came along, the sign on Daddy's office door would read
Cameron, Matthews, and Dorn.
Philip would be a bona fide financial adviser and commodities broker, and they would raise their children to be responsible, profitable members of polite society

"La-tish-ahhh!"
Mother squealed again. "Your young man is here!"

"He has a name, Mother," Tish muttered under her breath. She shoved the last pin into her hair and turned to survey her appearance in the full-length mirror. Oh, yes, Philip would be pleased. The green velvet dress she had wheedled out of her father set off her gray-green eyes to perfection and made her waist look smaller than it actually was. Her hair, a pleasant enough shade of strawberry blonde, glistened in the light, and she had filched a bit of rouge and lipstick from her mother's cosmetics drawer. She would do, she thought. Tonight she would be a suitable adornment for Philip's arm . . . almost.

Not for the first time, Tish thought what a cross it was for a girl to bear the knowledge that her intended was better looking than she was. Philip was so thoroughly handsome, with his dark hair and eyes, his muscular shoulders and slim hips, and that million-dollar smile. He always upstaged Tish wherever they went.

But what she lacked in natural beauty, she made up for in grace and charm and social poise. Tish made sure of that. No one was going to talk behind her back the way they talked about Mother when she wasn't around. She would be a fitting wife for Philip Dorn—and an acceptable match in the eyes of the Dorn family—if it took her last ounce of energy and imagination.

When she descended the stairs to find Philip waiting for her, Tish smiled to herself at the look of admiration that settled on his handsome features. His eyes lit up and he smiled, showing the little dimples that always took her breath away

They were going to have a wonderful life, Tish was sure of it. And beautiful children.

The sanctuary of Downtown Presbyterian Church was already beginning to fill up with the Christmas Eve crowd by the time Tish and Philip made their entrance. But the music hadn't started yet, and a ripple of hushed admiration ran through the congregation as the handsome young couple made their way down front to the second pew.

Adora Archer slid over to make room for them, and when they were seated, Adora squeezed Tish's hand. "You look beautiful!" she whispered and reached over Adora to pat Philip on the arm.

"Thanks." Tish smiled and winked at Adora. "I worked at it. Believe me, it isn't easy when you've got a fellow like Philip."

"Well, you make a lovely couple," Adora said. "Are your parents coming?"

"They'll be here. Mother had some last-minute preparations for the party. You are going to join us, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it. Daddy will be late, of course, because he has another service after this one." She nodded toward her father, who sat in his customary seat on the platform looking over his sermon notes. "Mama will come with him. What about Little Eleanor?"

Tish craned her neck around and waved a hand toward the back of the church. "Here she comes now. Oh, gosh, you don't think her mother intends to sit with us, does she?"

"Big Eleanor? Your favorite person?" Adora giggled. "I'll just make sure she sees us." She stood up and started to motion to Ellie's mother, but Tish grabbed her hand and jerked her back down into the pew.

"Stop that! Sit down, will you? Ellie will find us. I'd rather her mother sat somewhere else."

"You don't like Big Eleanor much, do you?"

"She's so stuffy. And so pretentious. She's always talking about her money. And she's always riding Ellie. I don't agree with everything Ellie believes, but does her mother have to nag her all the time?"

"Your father talks about money all the time too."

"That's different. That's professional. He's supposed to talk about it. Big Eleanor is just a snob about her wealth."

"But she will be at your parents' party, won't she?"

Tish sighed. "I don't see any way around it. She is one of Daddy's most important clients. We'll just keep our distance."

Ellie, minus her mother, slid into the pew on the other side of Adora just as the organ music began to play. "I love Christmas," she whispered to Tish and Adora. "It's such a sacred time. Listen."

The organist was playing "O Holy Night," and as she concluded the interlude, a young man stood up and began to sing. His voice, a clear, effortless baritone, rang out over the hushed congregation with such power and warmth that Tish almost imagined she was hearing an angel's song.

Adora poked Tish in the ribs with an elbow. "Who is he?"

"His name is Jack something—Bennett, I think. He's the new music director."

"Shhh," Ellie reprimanded.

"Shhh yourself." Tish turned her attention back to the singer. "He's wonderful."

"Leave some for the rest of us, how about it?" Adora muttered. "You're practically engaged."

"I didn't mean it like that," Tish protested. "I just—"

"Sure you didn't." As the last notes of the song died away, Adora turned and grinned at Tish. "Take my word for it; you're better off if you steer clear of professional Christians."

Tish settled back in the pew and laced her fingers through Philip's. From everything Adora had told her, it was probably good advice. People like Pastor Archer, Adora's father, tended to be strait-laced and unyielding. And most of them were married to the ministry. They were at the beck and call of their parishioners twenty-four hours a day, and their own families often got left behind to fend for themselves.

Tish wasn't sure how much of this information had been filtered through the grid of Adora's ongoing conflicts with her father, but of one thing she was sure: Philip would never let her take second place to his career. Philip would always care for her and protect her.

By midnight, the Christmas Eve party was winding down. The Archers had made an appearance after the late service but only stayed a few minutes, and Adora had gone home with them. Mary Love Buchanan had arrived, at Ellie's invitation, around eight and stayed until she had to leave for midnight Mass. Over Big Eleanor's objections—which were none too vehement since she was embroiled in an animated discussion with Tish's father over how to ride out the storm of the current stock market problem—Ellie went to Mass with Mary Love.