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Part 2/7 💜📸📝

“I didn’t like the way he stared at her.”

“Who? Oh, Mr. Masters? I didn’t notice.”

“Well, I did. He’s still looking.”

“Who, Fanny?”

“Mr. Masters.”

“Don’t look at him, then.”

“Do you think he’s after her, George? I rather hope not, if I’m honest.”

“Why? He has a bit of money. And he’s clever.”

“But is he just looking for a wealthy socialite?”

“Well, he seems quite taken by your daughter’s beauty, and he wondered—”

“Why? I mean, why should he wonder?”

“He wondered if there was anybody— Well, that is, anybody she liked.”

“Did he ask you to find out?”

“Who, me? No, no. I just—”

“Well, you may tell him that we don’t like anybody in our house. That is, we like a great many people, but we don’t like men. Oh, we like men, too, but don’t like men who wonder about who else we Skeffington women like. My daughter is too young and far too clever to bother about who wonders about her. It’s ridiculous, that’s all. Ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you ask Mr. Masters to dinner? You can look him over and learn the worst. Give him a real chance, and perhaps you’ll like him even more than Sir John Talbot.”

“That won’t be necessary. An agreement between Sir John and I has already been reached.”

“Still invite him. You can size him up and he can size you up. If you don’t invite him, Fanny, then I will.”

You got eyes for Jim Masters, the chauffeur. Fanny had her suspicions, but there was some part of her that didn’t want to believe it. Manby said when you told your stories, Jim always made everyone be quiet so he could hear well. Jim was super likable. Everyone liked everything about him. You couldn't stop smiling when Jim started talking. The smiles you gave him made your mother want to puke. You smiled as if your relationship with Jim meant much more than the one you had with her. She’d never seen you smile like you smiled when you were around him. She told you to bring him to the house for dinner but you said he wouldn’t come because he was too shy and wouldn’t have time between his work, but Fanny wondered if that was the truth. Something changed. She felt it. It could have been so simple only if Jim didn’t get in the way. Both you and Jim kept saying nothing was going on between you. But she wasn’t about to believe everything was just rainbows and butterflies. In her eyes, Jim was using you to fill his sad, empty life. Fanny knew she had to do something. You’d been growing the idea of leaving New York since you came back from Berlin. Living with her didn’t help much with you being attached to your hometown. She and you never got to talk about it seriously, you didn’t really want to, but every time you hinted about leaving, Fanny tried so hard to ignore what it meant for her. Even those pictures in the morning newspaper were laughing at her... They were making fun of her impending doom. They were all saying,

“Ha ha ha. See? You’re gonna die alone here.”

She couldn’t let that happen. Then she remembered. Jim wrote secret letters to you. Manby got hold of the most recent one and gave it to her. In it, he was asking you to meet him. She locked it up so you wouldn’t ever read it. You weren’t allowed to see Jim of course and if you never saw that letter maybe you would think he didn’t like you anymore and maybe you would stop liking him. Your father would’ve known what to do. Fanny wished he was here. Unbeknownst to you, she knew where you kept your diary and letters. But they had no special meaning for her. Until curiosity got the better of her. What if you wrote something about Jim in your diary? What if your diary had something to do with Jim’s existence not just in your life, but in hers? She started digging. The first few pages were nothing outstanding. Just about your new school.

August 1932

When you live in one place your whole life, your next door neighbor is kind of like, your default friend. And Jeremy only got weirder over the years. With Janie Clarkson as his mother… I can’t put him completely at fault for how insufferable he was when he was a kid. Moving away has been a good excuse to...not see him anymore, but he did say he had plans to move out when he turned eighteen... I wonder if he’s going to follow through with those plans. Maybe he was just saying it because he was sick and tired of his overbearing mother and wanted to separate himself from her. Whatever his decision, hopefully the years have done him some good and he’s freed himself from his mother’s clutches. Hopefully he’s grown out of whatever his mother’s influence did to smother his individuality and corrupt his personality and behavior when we were in school together. Can’t say I don’t empathize with him. He and I share the same sentiment about our mothers. Maybe I'll give him a call to see how he’s doing.

September 1932

Starting at a new school is a right of passage at certain ages, yet when you are the only new person you feel that there is a spotlight on you. But in that attention there is a chance, right? There is a chance to find new friends to connect with. Going in with a positive attitude is easier said than done, but when you make a great leap, you have to commit to it, right? That's how you land with grace on solid ground. So this new school, I’m gonna make it be okay. I can do that. Starting at a new school is a chance to start over, to have a reboot of who I want to become, a chance to make new friends. On this first day of school I’ll go to meet my other family, the one I will spend years learning with. I will gain new brothers and sisters from various walks of life. I will become part of their community and begin that journey of growing into the fine lady I am destined to become.

October 1932

[…] As for now, I’m just gonna leave those POI on my ‘To Do List’ which is already filled with a crazy amount of homework. I now know why youngsters of Zurich will try their best to get as far away from school as possible after class: to escape from choking on the pressure that teachers give them! Even on weekdays, pretty girls like Stephanie will have their boyfriends give them a ride, and others make use of the power of PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION to get to the more crowded part of town. It does feel too quiet since I’m no longer in public school, but at least I don't feel as lonely as I did in New York. At least I don't have to watch everyone I know turn their faces away like I’m some kind of a demon spawn. At least I don’t have to be reminded how fucked up things can be in a single moment.

November 1932

[…] but people in this town see graffiti as nothing but trashy doodles. I want to show the hidden side of girls—their impulses, their urges. What are YOU hiding inside…? Fanny, Uncle George, Father… they all tell me, “Don’t worry about what people think. Be proud.” How could I ever be proud of myself…? My classmates talk about me…

“Well! I don’t think you suffer as I do. You don’t have to go to school with impertinent girls who label your father just because he’s Jewish.”

“If you mean libel, then say so, and stop talking about labels as if Father was a pickle bottle.”

“I know what I mean. And you needn’t be satirical. It’s proper to use good words and improve one’s vocabilary.”

“Vocabilary?”

Father told me that it’s important to have goals in life. I wonder what life goal I should have. I wonder what Father’s goal is. Might not be a bad idea to leave town, actually… The great thing about graffiti is, the world’s your blank canvas, your home, begging for you to paint it with your hopes and dreams. I can have fun anywhere. Maybe that should be my goal. I’ve decided that’s what I want to do with my life. I’m going to travel the world, painting, photographing, and documenting my own finds! Well, as soon as I’m old enough to escape Mother, that is. There was an explosion in my brain... the good sort... the type that carries more possibilities than I could be conscious of... but there were hundreds of ideas there in that buzz of electricity... I could feel it. It was the calling card of adventure, of paths awaiting my feet.

Fanny kept flipping through the pages, until she found what she was looking for. It wasn’t even a challenge. She saw just how far back your and Jim’s affiliation went. It was beautiful. She found the perfect story, all she had to do was fill in the ending.

September 1934

So funny to find this diary again! I must have forgotten it at the bottom of the drawer during my travels. I still remember how innocent I was then... So many years ago... I remember being thirteen going on fourteen. I wanted to learn photography, so Father hired Rupert to be my tutor. At first, I thought he would be too old to teach. Plus, his techniques were probably too ancient. But when he came, I was surprised that he was a very humble person. Despite our age differences, we talked for hours. I felt comfortable around him. Then he showed me the photos he took. They were beautiful. It was around that point that I figured out that Rupert was perfect as a tutor, that I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge the old man. I'm glad Rupert was my teacher. I spent nearly five years under his tutelage and it’s paid off! Though I am only eighteen going on nineteen and will never get a degree in photography, Rupert said I’m a professional in my own right!

September 1934

Today I climbed a great pine tree at Wakeforte Park to try to get a shot of something. I can’t remember what I was even trying to photograph, but I didn’t realize how far up I had climbed until I fell out of the tree! I met a kind man when I hurt my leg. He rushed over and helped me, asking if I was okay and if anything was broken. Luckily, nothing was.

You know that feeling where the first moment you see someone, it's like they have a big gold star around them, and you have to get to know them? Well, there's this man. I had no idea how I would ever, like, have an excuse to talk to him... until he opened his suitcase to take out some bandages and I noticed all the pictures, stickers, and souvenirs that decorated both the outside and inside of it. He was a seasoned traveler from the looks of it and, when I mentioned it, he said he just came back from a trip in Hong Kong a month ago and he was now visiting Switzerland. Just passing through, really. Maybe I should have been frightened of him. This older man who saw that I was alone, who possibly felt like I owed him something, which was the worst thing a man like that could feel. He looked grim, all right. I could see how his face might frighten a lot of people, but I couldn’t imagine being afraid of him. Somehow, I... I rather liked him.

“You have a very bad habit of climbing trees. This is no place for children.”

“You think of me as a child? Well, you’re wrong. I am much younger than that!”

“You think my face frightens people, do you?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes. So you must’ve been thinking it.”

“Yes... sir. Frankly, I do. You understand, I don’t think you mean to frighten them, but your face— Well, you asked me, sir, and, yes, I do think so. But you don’t frighten me. You intrigue me. You’ve been to Hong Kong, huh?”

“My girl, there’s no spot on this earth I haven’t been.”

“Tell me about your time there. What was it like? What did you do?”

“Well, I confess once in Hong Kong when I was desperate I sold a relic of which I was only a part owner.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Being a citizen of San Francisco I sold my share of the Oakland ferry to an Australian who wished to make a gift of it to his fiancée. And a very lovely fiancée. You know, she had the most beautiful… Well, that’s another story.”

“I’ve bet you got a satchel full of stories.”

“Mhm. I got the stories, all right. Trouble is, finding somebody who’ll listen.”

“Well if there’s a couple of bottles of beer around, I might be persuaded to lend an ear.”

“If there isn’t any, I’ll make some. Drink up, my good woman. The Earth’s a savage garden.”

“…It was the third day. I had fallen in with a group of Moorish travelers. One of them was suffering, struck with the curse of Scrofula, so I prayed with them for her fortitude, that she might reach the Cave of the Mother with all speed. They told me that a temple was within two day's journey, should all go well. Yet there was an obstacle still to overcome. The path went through the demesnes of one Idris Hannachi, a robber-baron of the Ottoman people. Pilgrims had to pay a heavy tithe to use his water, and to travel the mountain pass. I had spice, and three thalers left. I prayed it would be sufficient…”

“…Nigh a tenday I’d gone without honest fare worthy of the name - drank naught but what the sky offered for my thirst. Why, some bread, cheese, and a cup of wine would’ve appeared unto me a feast! Surely those fine people wouldn’t begrudge me a mite of rest and repast before I got ‘out with it’? Fine, fine. I turned a deaf ear to the clarion calls with which my scorned stomach beseeched me. Graver matters were at hand. Plenty to digest, after all. A good deal to stew over, if you will. Words ladled with import should be savored so as to better absorb their meaning, wouldn’t you agree?”

“…And so I drank the native wine, signifying eternal friendship. It was a touching scene as I bade the Mahabus farewell. For eight years, I said, I’ve been your chief. I give you modern plumbing, surrealist art, and a smattering of air conditioning. I hope that in time you forgive me. And so I leave you, before I bequeath you any more of the horrors of civilization.”

“I’ve listened to you for two hours. And two hours more solidly packed with bologna I’ve never listened to in all my life.”

“Well…perhaps I did lie a little. I like my stories. Like to hear myself talk. I like a little drama, I do. Mind you, lately there’s enough of it about. Do you know, my dear, as you grow older, you’ll find there’s nothing fuller than the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

“You’ve kicked around the world all this time and you got nothing out of it at all. I wanna see this world too. That’s all I care about. I wanna get out of this hole. But it’s not wanderlust with me. Who cares about what New York or Copenhagen or Singapore looks like? They probably all look like Sacramento.”

“They all do. Except Sacramento.”

“What’s going on in this world? Things are happening all around us. Why are they happening? You ever seen so much hate in one universe? Well, who sets it off and why? You read this in the papers and that. One person tells you one thing and another person tells you something else. Well, who’re you gonna believe? They all got an axe to grind. I’m shut up here. I know from nothing. But I’m gonna find out. I’m gonna find out for myself. And let me tell you one thing. They won’t keep me in the dark.”

“Well, listen. Don’t take it out on me. I’m not keeping you here.��

“I’m sorry. I get too excited. Let me tell you another thing. When I find out, I’m gonna do something about it.”

“Okay by me. And with that, you rather like me, do you?”

“Yes, I do. I really do, in spite of everything.”

“And I like you.”

“What is your name, please?”

“Don'’t you think secrets are fun? Just refer to me as a wayfaring stranger.”

“But I owe you so much for coming to my aid. I should pay you back somehow.”

“You are paying me back by lending an ear. I want to know who’s letting me talk her ear off. You haven’t told me your name either.”

“Don’t you think secrets are fun?” you parroted his words back to him with a smile. “Just refer to me as an ambitious tree climber.”

“It sounds so mysterious. From where do you come?”

“I am of the wind whose sound is heard, yet none can tell from whence it comes or where it goes.”

“Well, the next tour group gathers within the hour. Try not to blow away before then.”

When I was a girl, Dad always told me to not trust strangers, especially men, but I’m a woman of eighteen, soon to be nineteen now and I don't think he’s a bad guy. If he was, why would he go out of his way to help me? They do say we sometimes become friends with those who are at the opposite ends, so maybe it's not such a weird thing. I’m exhausted but hyped up beyond my limits. I can’t sleep. How can I when the whole day just feels like a dream? Maybe if I meet him again at the park, I can tell him stories of my own.

October 1934

I’m finally focused on my studies, so I think I might pull an all-nighter. It won’t be good for my skin (I can just hear people calling me "troll" and "nerd"), but I don’t care. I have to make it to college. Dad is counting on me to do well. I’ll make him proud by getting into my first choice. All right, time to hit the books till morning! My future isn’t in Switzerland or New York, it’s wherever college life is waiting for me. Everything’s riding on my entrance exam next year. I have to get out before I go stir-crazy.

February 1935

Today I went to Wakeforte Park again, and he was there! I raised a hand to wave and he spied me in an instant, sitting by the water fountain as I was. His face split into the grin I had imagined him to wear often. Then he came over in fast, easy strides and took my offered hand in his two, shaking and squeezing. I hadn’t seen him in over four months. I thought I was imagining him at first, seeing things. But it was him! I told him about the book I read last night. It was about the species of plants and flowers and that even now not all of them are discovered! I told him I want to be the one to discover them, but I’m not good at science. Then he said if I don’t give up, I can do it. I’m happy I told him. It was as if no time passed between us at all and we picked up right where we left off. He finally told me his name - Jim. Jim Masters. I like being with him. I can be myself in front of him. He doesn't judge me, or tell me what to do. He cares about what I think. He makes me happy. He talks a lot to me recently, and I feel comfortable whenever he’s around. I can be myself in front of him. He said we could meet here at Wakeforte for as long as we’re both in the area. I wonder if this is what friends are like.

“Where were you born?”

“The corner of Market and Cherry Street. Same hospital my father was.”

“Market and Cherry? Where's that?”

“Foot of the East River. It's about ten miles, I should say, from the nearest governess.”

“How do they call you?”

“Skeffington.”

“Curious name. Skeffington. That’s a strange name for Market and Cherry.”

“You mean, is that my real name? Yes and no. When my father was a child and he came over with my grandparents, the immigration official on Ellis Island wasn't a good speller...and ‘Skeffington’ was the closest he could get to Skevinzskaza. That’s my father’s real name. But Skeffington is what he goes by, so it says Skeffington on my and my sister’s birth certificates.”

“Market and Cherry… That’s in New York, isn’t it?”

“It is. I grew up on Charles Street.”

“You are far from New York, Miss Skeffington. Do you miss your family back home?”

“There’s not much of a family to miss. My father and sister are here, and my mother and Uncle George are back in New York. There’s my aunt, Martha Tintagel, but she lives in London, so I’m not very close to her. I’ve only seen her face on Christmas cards and such and have never heard her voice or met her in person. She’s a Lady and has a husband and three children - two boys and a girl. She’s a happy mother, always wrapped up in them. She loves being tied up, and is sure she can’t stand five minutes on her own feet unassisted. My other aunt, Nigella Pontyfridd, is wife to my Uncle George, but she kept her maiden name and they have no children. She doesn’t mind, though, because her heart is full to the brim of Uncle George. They’re not really my aunts and uncle, though. They’re my mother’s cousins. We’ve just always called them that for simplicity’s sake. As for everyone else… They’re dead. And they died before my sister and I were born, so we never knew them. Anything we know about them comes from the word of others. I miss Uncle George and Aunt Nigella, but my mother…”

Sensing that you didn’t want to talk about it, Jim changed the subject. “You have quite an art studio here. Did you bring all these art supplies from America?”

“A few of them.”

“May I look at them?”

“Of course. I even painted something for you to take with you on your journeys. Something to remind you of me.” You showed him the painting. It was small, a miniature portrait really, but the detail was exquisite. It was a painting depicting the exact spot you met, more specifically, the tree you fell out of and the surrounding area.

“This is beautiful. Looking at this, I can feel as if I’m actually there. You know, some works are so familiar. Looking at them is like being home again.”

“That's a nice music box you got there.”

“Most of my belongings I could bear to leave behind. I sold almost everything I owned to get my passage to come here, but this… Never. It's one of the few things I brought with me from the States. I will carry it with me everywhere I go.”

“What’s that little song playing?”

“Do you like it? A man composed it for a young violinist he once knew, a girl of infinite beauty and sensitivity. So far apart in age, yet a pair of misfit beauties they were. I can see why they both ran to the other. As for this… A remarkable painting by the hand of an even more remarkable painter.”

“You flatter me, sir. But I’m so happy you like the painting. I was thinking of you when I painted it. I knew you’d be able to tell.”

“Why do you always call me ‘sir’? You know my name.”

“Well, perhaps if I saw you oftener than once every two or three months. When you happen to be passing through.”

“If you think it’s on my way, you’re mistaken. When I left Spain my tour required I proceed direct to Paris. So…you see?”

“Then take me with you, please. You promised.”

“My dear, an attractive woman doesn’t go to Paris. She lets Paris come to her.”

“Meaning you, I suppose? You are so wise and so clever. Paris is a good place for a new life. I believe Paris is where you go to reinvent yourself. Will you be returning to Sacramento, Mr. Masters?“

“For God’s sake. Jim. Call me Jim. Please. Mr. Masters was my father.”

“Jimmy,” you said teasingly with a smile to match.

Jim laughed but then turned serious. “No. Jim.”

“All right. Jim,” you said, liking the way his name sounded on your tongue. “I better get going. My sister, Fanny, is waiting on me. Goodbye, Jim.”

“And when may I have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

“When Paris no longer comes to faith,” you teased him again before walking off.

Since he was heading out soon, he offered to give me a tour of the city.

“I was just going.”

“I’ll walk home with you. I’m afraid I’ve neglected my gentlemanly duties too long. Maybe I ought to go in and say goodnight to your old man and sister, huh?”

“Now listen. If you’re going to come around here to see me, you’ve got to promise to be friendly with my father, but not too friendly with my sister. While I want her to like you just as much as I want Dad to, she’s the pretty and sweet one of the two of us. We’re twins, but we’re nothing alike, you see. I wouldn’t be surprised, but I’d be greatly disappointed in you if you fell in love with her at first sight.”

“Who says I’m coming around to see you?”

“Who says you’re not?”

“Are you a natural brunette?”

“Practically. A chocolate rinse now and then.”

“I’m taking the boat out tomorrow at six. The main wall.”

“I’ll be there.”

“If you’ve got a good book, stay home and read it.”

“I don’t like reading. I was never much good at it in school. I couldn’t stand the snobs with impeccable taste. Still can’t. These people say: ‘I'd rather a good book than a shallow person’. They could cry over the plight of a fictitious character but they shamelessly insult real people because real people are ‘shallow’ and according to snobs these ‘shallow people’ don't deserve to live.”

“You don’t like reading? But last time we met, you told me about a science book you liked.”

“That was an exception to the rule. I can read, but only because of the efforts of my former psychiatrist, David Jaquith, and his wife, Charlotte. Adventure is allowing the unexpected to happen to you. Exploration is experiencing what you have not experienced before. I prefer spending my time doing something and actually experiencing it, instead of reading about it in some book. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so. In that case, I guess…I guess I should let go of this. I won’t need it after tomorrow. Just one final reminder of bad memories I can do without. You can take this. I've already read it. If you read this and tell me what you think of it, that bad memory will become a good one.”

You looked at the cover. “Pulp horror fiction?”

“Yeah…sorry.”

“No, not at all! It’s my guilty pleasure.”

“Mine too. This one's great, You ever heard of Henrik Creighton?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Oh! Well he—”

“Wait, we’re getting off-topic. Why did you mention taking the boat out if you don’t want me there anyhow?”

“All right, all right. Be there. Make that five instead of six. And uh, better bring your book along.”

“I’m sure there’ll be no need. You’ll have plenty of stories to tell me.”

“Don’t forget my jacket! It might get chilly later on,” Fanny called after you just as you were about to rush out the door for your…outing…with Jim. You didn’t want to call it a date. It wasn’t a date. Just a tour around town with a friend.

“You’re a darling. Wish me luck.”

“Aren’t I going to meet him?”

“What? And have him wonder why he picked me? No, you’re much smarter and better looking than I am. I’m only the intuitive one. We’re going out for dinner afterwards, so you don’t need to wait up for me.”

“I’ll wait up. If I want to.”

“And what will you tell Father when he asks?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle him when he gets home. Although you might have to tell him something when you get back. The truth, preferably. I might not wait up for you, but he undoubtedly will.”

“I don’t know why I’m making such a thing of it. You’re right. I could tell him the truth and he wouldn’t mind very much. He’d be happy I have a friend here.”

“We better not waste any more time dawdling. Isn’t Jim waiting for you outside?”

You gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re right! Gotta go!”

Out the window I could see the weird gigantic hill that was also visible from Jim’s motel room. He revealed that it's his secret base of some kind since few people actually visit Wakeforte Park and the surrounding area. He jokingly said he could take me there when I’m old enough. After dinner, Jim dropped me off at home and drove off. The second I went inside and closed the door behind me, Fanny was there waiting for me. She was sneakily watching me and this mystery man of mine from the window and now had a million questions. It was impossible to keep anything from my sister.

“Yoo-hoo! Hey, anybody home? Fanny, where’s Father? Isn’t he home? Is he asleep?”

“No, he’s still in Kreuzberg. There was a mixup and he has to take a later train. He called to tell me he’d be home tomorrow and to let you know. Lucky you!”

“Fanny, don’t tease.” Your admonishment was more playful than serious and Fanny knew that.

“Why, darling sister, who is he? Where’d you meet him?”

“Look, Fanny. I met him five or six months ago, but I’ve really only known him for two weeks at the most. He travels a lot. When we do meet, it’s mostly by chance. Well, he just came back last week. He's so handsome.”

“Where’d you meet this time?”

“He was with Mr. Hunneker. He drove up in a great, big, gray car.”

“Mr. Hunneker? As in Hamilton Hunneker, the Polo player?”

“That must’ve been the one.”

“Sister, you say the handsomest...”

“Well, make that the most distinguished.”

“Is he tall?”

“Well… Yes and no.”

“Is he young?”

“He’s young enough.”

“And he’s rich?”

“He is as poor as one might imagine an itinerant philosopher to be. Yet, as the hours go by I see that he is unfailingly generous to me. I am grateful to have a friend.”

“What did you say his name was again?”

“Jim. Mr. Jim Masters.”

“He can’t be so very rich.”

“He’s comfortably moderate in his money, But he’s rich in knowledge and experience. He asked me to go sailing with him Friday night. I accepted.”

“You didn’t?”

“I did.”

April 1935

I got some materials from my first choice in the mail today! I really want to be a college freshman at the Roski School of Art and Design in Southern California! If I got in, I’d be so, SO HAPPY! Dad, I’m going to work my ass off and be the best daughter ever! Thank you so much for everything!!!

May 1935

I’m so stupid sometimes. I was telling Jim that I was applying and hoping to get into my summer college program thing, and I was all making plans, telling Jim he should come visit me, stay in my dorm room. But he said, “Darling, I leave on June 6th.” I was like... “leave? You’re going? To where?” He said, “To Peru! What did you think I was doing all that stuff for?” I guess he’s been planning to continue his journey. And I guess he’s really going to do it. So I said, “I’m just... never going see you again?” He said, “Let’s just have fun while we can.”

May 1935

I asked Jim what he had to do to get ready for his trip to Peru. He said, “Not a lot, really. As a rule, I don’t allow myself to bring too much with me— the more I carry, the more slowed down I become. I have only a few possessions, but unlimited contact with the outside world while I’m…on the road, so to speak. I just wander every day. And then I keep on wandering from there.” So.. he’ll just go away. To Peru and then… to who-knows-where. The other side of the country? The other side of the world? My mind can't process it. That he’s really going to be... gone. Just gone.

June 1935

Jim had his going-away party with me tonight. He’s so incredible... When he was telling his stories, I could practically forget...everything... That we only had forty-eight hours left... That I don't know what comes next... That I can’t live without him. Then, he dedicated the last story...to me. And I couldn’t take it. I was out on the curb in the alley, sobbing till my ribs hurt. I would follow him anywhere. But I can’t, not where he’s going. After a long time he found me. He said he was sorry. He said, “I wish things could be different. I just wanted to make you happy.” I said, “I don’t think you can anymore.”

June 1935

We agreed our last night together would be our happiest ever, and we’d forget tomorrow was going to come at all. It worked for a while— We had a good time seeing Gabriel off, then ran up to the attic to look through our photos, to find one for Jim to take with him...and looking at them, I realized they were all in the past, and there wouldn’t be any more, and I didn’t know what I was going to do, and I cried, and he held me. He said he knew it was hard, but life would move on. I said I didn’t want my life to keep moving without him. That’s when he cried too. I was so exhausted, I must have fallen asleep like that, in his arms. In the morning, I woke up, and I was finally alone. I thought I found my happily ever after, but it was all a dream. I have to get out of here. I want to disappear. But where would I go? This is all a bad dream. This is all a bad dream. This is all a bad dream.

Darling,

Meet me at our secret place in Wakeforte Park. You know where. I need to see you one last time before I go to Peru. From there, I’ll go to Greece to make myself worthy of you. Be assured, my darling, it is you I want, and not your family. Please, do not do anything we will regret. Just in case I’m held up and can’t get away to meet you in time or something, I will leave a message for you with your sister so she can give it to you. It’s a puzzle, a sort of belated birthday gift for you. In that puzzle, you’ll have to visit both yours and my favorite locations in Switzerland. In each location lies a clue that I had written on the wall of the building exterior. The clues, when put together, will point to you the location of your gift. I thought it was a neat idea. I like vexing your brain, because when you are thinking real hard, like when you’re trying to capture the perfect shot or drawing the perfect subject, you are more beautiful than anything in the world. You’re always drawing in that sketchbook, looking so intense. While I’m gone, you can keep busy by looking for what I hid. Start by using this piece of paper to mark where all the rock pictures are. They will tell you what to do next. Your favorite flowers, start keeping them in mind too. Find my hidden treasure, darling. It’ll explain everything better than I could before.

Your friend,

Jim

June 1935

Dear Miss Skeffington,

After carefully reviewing your application, we regret to inform you that we are not offering you admission to Roski School of Art and Design. We realize that this decision may come as a real disappointment. We also hope that you will understand the decision as a reflection only of the extraordinary talent represented in our applicant pool, not a judgment about your own abilities. This year’s pool of applicants was the largest and most accomplished we’ve ever received, making our decision very difficult. Although we’d like to extend admission to all our applicants, we have limited space in each admitted class. Of the more than 19,000 individuals who applied to Roski School of Art and Design, most are fully capable of doing successful work and making a unique contribution to the Californian community. It is painful to us that we must turn away so many superbly talented students. You may be tempted to ask what was lacking in your application. In truth, it is usually difficult for us to point to obvious weaknesses, when so many applicants have demonstrated real achievement and potential for the future. Our decisions say far more about the small number of spaces available and the difficult choices we make than they do about a candidate’s personal and academic promise. While regretting that we were not able to respond positively to your interest in Roski School of Art and Design, we want to wish you every success in your educational pursuits. Experience suggests that regardless of our decisions, most of our candidates will be welcomed by other outstanding colleges. We acknowledge the time and energy put into your application and congratulate you on your academic accomplishments. We invite you to reapply in the future and extend our best wishes for the coming year.

Best regards,

Roski College Admissions Team

All that hard work was for nothing?! No way! I can't stay here! I can't be stuck here in New York with Mother!

June 1935

Jim is gone, and I can’t stop reminiscing on the time I spent with him. It all happened so fast. I was outside in the park reading when Jim appeared out of nowhere (again). He said “hello” and I started telling him how I actually enjoyed the book and how I never read the same book twice in my life.

“Well, I’ve come to entertain you. I’ll read aloud, and you can listen. I do love to read aloud.”

“I’d rather just talk, if you don’t mind.”

“But this is German romantic philosophy! We throw off all our constraints and come to know ourselves through insight and experience. But it got out of fashion now.”

“Not in the Skeffington family, I’m afraid. It’s just that there comes much emphasis on perfecting oneself.”

“Ah! This gives you a problem?”

“I’m hopelessly flawed.”

“If only we could be ourselves without perfection, like your poet, Walt Whitman, who rides up and down the streets of Broadway all day shouting poetry against the roar of the carts. ‘Keep your silent woods, O nature. Your quiet places by the woods. Give me the streets of Manhattan.’ I think we are all hopelessly flawed. Oh, no. I love to talk, too. Very well. Let’s talk.”

Ten minutes later we were passing Bess’ Bakery. Home of the world famous Belgian waffles. “You’d find no better waffles than in Belgium itself,” said Jim.

There was also a gym across the diner. Fanny hated those kinds of places because they were teeming with creeps. I found my own POI: a bookstore! It was weird seeing a bookstore and a gym standing side by side though. At the end of the tour I finally got to taste that sweet Belgian waffle Jim worshipped. I miss Bess’ Bakery. Fanny never shut up about its doughnuts when we were children. The doughnut shop was her MUST GO TO place. Personally, I enjoyed the blancmange we’d get at another little shop. It was soft, so it would slide down easily. So tasty. But the doughnuts DID taste sweet. Just like Jim’s heart. Each bite was another memory to savor. But just like a doughnut, it had an expiration date. It turned cold and bitter. I miss its warmth. I miss its sweetness. I need it. I need to eat it up.

Why? Because after all those months, I just can’t forget about what used to be the light of my life. (I know. Overdramatic, much?) Resonating with Jim as much as I did is bound to leave that big chunk of residue. Let’s just say this diary is what’s left of our relationship. I miss him. Even when I’m with him. I see him. Even when he is not looking. As the time we spent together grew longer, one question kept on growing with it. What does the ME in Jim’s eyes look like? Does he see me as I see him? Does he see me as I see myself? Does he see me as I want him to? Things were so much easier back then. Jim could just say, “Hello”, and I would say “Hello”. Nothing but spending time together after that, with the occasional visit to Wakeforte Park. We had such a good thing going.

Every time I was around Jim, my head spun faster than a tornado. I didn’t “get” Jim sometimes. Like, his walk and his talk and everything were all “anti-authority,” but he said he was in JROTC and did drills in perfect formation, following orders, no question. He went to join the Army and had to lie about his age, about who he was. He said, “they didn’t need to know what they didn’t need to know,” like it was no big deal. This coming from the man who punched a man so hard the poor bastard was knocked out cold to defend my honor... I learned when to stop arguing though. I don't think Jim “gets” Jim sometimes. The person I saw depended on who he was talking to and what he wanted. He could be everything from invincible to vulnerable, albeit with a new story of each new situation. He had an infinite number of childhoods. His parents were happy, divorced, fighting, abusive, or dead. His father had been a banker, a road digger, a burglar, or unemployed. His mother had been a drunk, a politician, a Sally-home-baker, or a tart. He was an only child, the last of eight, brought up in a foster home or the heir to a fortune. Part of me wanted to walk away, but I was the only one he could tolerate. Why? Because I never asked to see behind his ever-changing disguise. Inside that body was a kid, a kid locked in at some emotional age far younger than his forty-something exterior. I’ll never know what happened to him but, whatever it was, it just stopped his development at that age. It was a one-way friendship, I knew that, but he needed someone.

July 1935

At night when I kneel to say my prayers I rest my elbows on the hope chest Uncle Fred gave me for my eleventh birthday. “We’re going to make a family someday, just you and me,” you’d said. Inside that chest are our dreams, Jim. I’m keeping them safe on my end, so you do your part over there and we’ll be right as rain soon enough. Moving on won't be easy but as long as I keep myself busy it won't be that hard. As for my weekend plan... I’ll just improvise in the morning. Write you later!

“Doesn’t it feel odd to have the rooms back? And only asked to sit in them. I suppose we’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know what it is to travel now. To walk around for a full day, to be tired in a good way. I don’t want to start dress fittings or paying calls or standing behind the guns.”

“But how does one escape all that?”

“I don’t know yet. Oh, Fanny, truly I don’t know if I could ever be good like Father. I rather crave violence. But I’m not dreaming of hitting anybody. I’m just unhappy.”

"Then you’d better have your tea while it’s hot.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said before. You’re not just as shitty as them. It’s just that I feel very lonely and overwhelmed. But I love you. I’m just unhappy, indeed,” you sniffed. “If only I could do like Father did and go to war and stand up to the lions of injustice.”

“And so Mother does in her own way. And Uncle George, with his charities.”

“Yes. But I want to do something different! I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m on the watch for it.”

“You’ll find it. And thanks for the apology, sis. I know it isn’t ideal living in this house… But I’m here for you, no matter what.”

“No matter what, huh? Let’s both go back to bed, Fanny. I’m tired.”

“Sure. Goodnight.”

July 1935

Let’s see, Dad. I hope your dear friend can help a girl out. Come on Corporal Mark Pearce, I’m counting on you. Ahem. ‘Dear Miss Skeffington, my dear, I remember your father well and am forever in debt to his many sacrifices in the name of freedom. He was a frank man, so you’ll forgive me for being frank when I say that he'd have a conniption if he knew I put his sweet girl in the line of duty.’ W-what? Fa-Father would be proud of me! I’ve had more conniptions in my first twelve years of life than Father has had in his entire lifetime! Oh, well. No point in having one over the first rejection. If at first you don’t succeed, try again. Back to the drawing board.

July 1935

Aha, the WASPs! Boy, I’d like to slip into the cockpit of a Twin Beech! ‘Thank you for your interest in the Women’s Airforce Service Pilots. Unfortunately, all of our WASPS must be at least 21 years of age, at least five feet and two inches tall, in good health, in possession of a pilot’s license and 500 hours of flight time. Our records show you do not meet all of these requirements.’ Well, that’s just FOOLISH! I’m a fast learner and… Oh. No use crying over spilled milk! Once more unto the breach!

August 1935

From the office of Harold Perkins. Oh yes, the fellow from the local recruiting office. Surely they’ll have something for me to do overseas. ‘Dear Miss Skeffington, We appreciate your numerous requests to be placed in the field, but believe me when I say the most action you’ll see is from behind a desk.’ Excuse me? ‘I’m sure you’re a top notch typist, so why don’t you come down to the Boston—’ Typing? I wonder what an itchy trigger finger would do to a girl’s word-per-minute. Oh, cheer up! Miss Skeffington, you’ll get there yet. No point in being all down in the mouth. Mother might begin to suspect something. She almost did at dinner. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk. You’ve barely touched your plate, my love. Go on, have some more,” she said. She’s got a point. My body needs the vitality for action.

August 1935

To trust yourself when all doubt. To lead from a danger only you can see clearly. To explain enable the blind to see. To give people the power to hear the extraordinary in the ordinary, the everyday and normal encryption of the spoken word. To show them the messages and conversations that happen all around us to different levels of the brain. That’s quite the challenge. That’s quite the challenge when, until you can prove it, they will think you mad and threaten you with the consequences that come to the insane. To speak and risk the twisting of the knaves of sophistry. That is what they ask. Last time I complied I almost died. I almost lost everything for nothing. So, tell me again why, tell me why this is the time, because even if it is now or never, I won’t act unless I can win. I know more than most what these adventures into the world of the saviors costs...and the cost is never to myself alone. You know what? I do trust myself. I do. It’s every other bastard out there I don’t trust. This is a world of monsters. So many monsters.

Those bastards. Kraut…bastards. You don’t belong over there. I do! When I find that gun I’m going over there and there will be hell to pay! Oh, for Heaven’s sake, where is that gun? Now, Dad, don’t you fret. I’ll find that gun lickity split. No soldier worth his salt ought to carry those shoddy government-issued pistols. Plastic handles? Pshaw! Give me checkered walnut any day. Practice, practice, practice. I don’t need fancy tools to disassemble a gun. See the cartridge here as a screwdriver. Just like Uncle George showed me. Next time, we should get a stopwatch and have some fun.

September 1935

Women’s Army Auxiliary Corp, you’re my last hope. ‘Dear Miss Skeffington, thank you for your enthusiasm. While we are always eager for more Women’s Army Auxilary Corp, we are unable to offer you—’ …malarky! Fine. Let’s see what I can do at home. At the very, VERY least. I won’t— I won’t be deterred. Perhaps I could appeal again to Mark. He might listen to reason.

September 1935

Here it is, my last shot. Come on. ‘Dear Miss Skeffington, I’m not sure what you mean by being “ready and able” to fight. You’re five foot nothing, and a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. How could you ever hold your own against a German brute? Think about holding down the fort instead. Think of the good you can do with a victory garden and a can drive. I’m sure a nice girl like you could certainly help out at the…women’s club bake sales downtown…’ Why won’t anyone give me a goddamn chance?

September 1935

I haven’t really been in a good mood since this morning. I got a letter at breakfast, but I didn’t have time to read it or even see who it was from since my schedule for the whole morning was filled. I left it in my dresser drawer to read later, and didn’t think much of it. It was midday by the time I got back. I’ve tried to lose myself in my art, but I’m not feeling it. Maybe it’s because Mother and I argued this morning? Probably not. We’ve clashed before. I’ve known for a long time we value different things. I just couldn’t stand Mother’s preaching attitude so I yelled back at her. I know I shouldn’t have done that but I’m so frustrated. She said that I’m not trying hard enough. What does that mean? I pressed her to keep talking, but she wouldn’t tell me anything after that. Is it because the Orwood girls teased me? I doubt it. They don’t know me. They’re just taking their issues out on someone. As awful as this morning was, this afternoon is looking up! Jim has written to me, and he’s coming to New York - more specifically, to Charles Street! Thanks to me, he heard about Mother’s advertisement for a new chauffeur that was put in the paper. Also thanks to me, the position still hasn’t been filled. Fingers crossed neither of us fall at the last hurdle and Jim gets the job!

Miss Skeffington,

It seems my luck has finally turned around. I received a phone call from the Silver Star Line, and it turns out I won a trip…to New York. I’ll be boarding the flagship Silver Star next week, and will soon be crossing the ocean to come see you. Or rather, your mother for a job interview. Hang tight, I’ll be on my way in no time. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see me!

Your friend,

Jim Masters

“Mr. Masters calling on Mrs. Skeffington. He’s here for an interview.”

“Oh, for the chauffeur position. Of course. Won’t you come in, Mr. Masters?”

“Thank you, I will. Hello, Mrs. Skeffington.”

“Hello. Let Clinton take your coat.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s have some tea. How many lumps?”

“Uh…two, please.”

“Well, Mr. Masters, now do tell me all about yourself. Of course, I know all about your school and how you ran away to join the army. But before that, what?”

“Well, I used to live in San Francisco with my parents—”

“San Franscisco? My cousin, George, lives around there. I went to California when I stayed with him, you know.”

“Really? When?”

“During my pregnancy. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know it would be twin girls.” The mere mention of it brought forth a memory to the forefront of Fanny’s mind. A memory of Job. She tried to think of something or someone else but, once it began to play out, she couldn’t stop it.

“You’re laughing at me again. I suppose I’m just as fond of children as anybody else. Well, it’s just that... It’s just that babies grow up, and everybody expects you to grow up with them.”

“You’re not afraid of growing old, are you, Fanny?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, babies stay young for quite a long time.”

“Other people’s babies, never your own. Do I look puffy yet?”

“You look beautiful, Fanny.”

“I don’t know why. My face is all tear-stained.”

“Just enough to be becoming.”

“Well, I wanted to keep on crying, but I didn’t have the strength. You see, the sedative the doctor gave me made me very drowsy. Job, George is going to California in a week. I want to go with him and have my baby there.”

“You don’t want to have your baby in this house?”

“No.”

“But, Fanny, you love this house so much. Why, when we were married, you made me give up my home and live here.”

“Of course I love this house, but it’s too close to my friends. Soon, I’ll be all swollen and puffy and ugly. I don’t want anybody to see me like that. I couldn’t bear it. I won’t have them see me all swollen and ugly.”

“You’ll never be ugly, Fanny. And I don’t care how swollen you look. Fanny, a woman is beautiful when she’s loved. And only then.”

“Nonsense. A woman is beautiful if she has eight hours' sleep and goes to the beauty parlor every day. And bone structure has a lot to do with it too.”

“But I’m so busy in New York, and California is a six-day train trip. I won’t be able to see you very often.”

“I’ll write you every week, Job.”

“Fanny, that’s not the point. I want to be near you.”

“I’m so sleepy.”

“All right, Fanny. You can go to California if you want to. Fanny, aren’t you really happy about having...?”

Wanting to dispel the visions of Job and his sad, brown puppy dog eyes from both her mind and her sight, she quickly changed the subject back to what it was before. “Did you and your parents get on?”

“Yes, we got on very well. I’m an only child and, after my father died, I started to work for my mother as a sort of companion. Oh! And what a nervous, fidgety soul she was, too. Well, anyway, my mother had rheumatism, and the doctor thought, baths. Oh-ho, not that she hadn’t got baths. She had a very nice one in her house. Did you go to the baths while you were in California, Mrs. Skeffington? I mean, for your rheumatism.”

“I haven’t got rheumatism.”

“Oh, neither have I, but, you see, I figured baths wouldn't do me any harm, that is to say, while I was there. But I’ve always wanted to go to Europe. Not for the baths, of course, not at all, but for my writing. It's so good for writers. You see, my mother— Oh, but you don’t know my mother. What were you going to say, Mrs. Skeffington?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything. And I’m not Mrs. Skeffington. Not really. My husband and I divorced years ago, but I still go by his name.”

“I see. Well, Mrs. Skeffington… How are you getting along without him?”

“Oh, fine, fine, once I got used to it.”

“And your daughters?”

“You know, my daughters are... Well, they’re all right.”

“But they could be better?”

Around thirty or so minutes later, Jim emerged from your father’s office. You had been loitering outside, pretending to keep busy with drawing in your sketchbook so the servants wouldn’t question or bother you.

“How did it go? What did she say?”

“Your mother asked if I would like to be the chauffeur. She said your last driver wants to spend more time with his grandchildren, and is planning to retire. I have by the end of this week to decide.”

“And?”

“It’s a good opportunity. I’d get a raise in salary and I’d get to travel around the country. I think I’ll say yes.”

November 1935

It’s been almost two months since Jim first began driving for us. Instead of getting a taxi, Jim drives me. I know how to drive, I have my license, but this is one of the few times we can be together. Though we planned this scheme together, and I recommended him for the job under false pretenses so Mother would be none the wiser, it still feels strange that he’s the chauffeur and is technically below me. Social status serves as an invisible barrier between us when we’re in the company of others. As he’s driving, we talk freely as we always do whenever we’re alone together. I’ve been opening up more to him, telling him about the struggles I’ve been faced with, my rocky relationship with Mother, how I really dislike the confines and limitations of high New York society. I expressed that, despite having a successful art career, I felt empty and tired. Jim said that he wished he could do more to comfort me, since I’m going through so much right now. Sometimes, he will give me some suggestions when I ask what I should do. Other times, I just want someone to listen to me. Mostly, I am just happy to be with him. If only we could confess to everyone how much respect we have for each other, how much we admire each other. We’ve confessed to each other every opportunity we get, in different ways. I wish we didn’t have to hide, but keeping our friendship in secret will have to be enough for now.

“Hey, look, who’s taking you to dinner tonight?”

“Jeremy Clarkson.”

“Well, couldn'’t you speak to him?”

“I guess I could.”

“And who’s driving you to town tomorrow?”

“Matthew Jones.”

“Well, couldn’t I speak to him?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“And who’s taking you to dinner tomorrow night?”

“Brenda Jenkins. But nobody has to speak to her. We don’t like each other, so she probably won’t want me there, either. She was probably pressured into sending me an invite.”

“In that case, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Oh, I’d be delighted.”

“Shall we go to the Waldorf?”

“Not the Waldorf. That’s where I’m not having lunch with Brenda Jenkins and her friends.”

November 1935

I told Mother and Uncle George that I was going to a double feature with Ann Lemp and that I wouldn’t be home till the morning. That’s only the half-truth. I did go to a double feature, but it wasn’t with Ann. Only Fanny knows who I was with. Afterwards, Jim and I crashed at a nearby motel. There was only one bed to sleep on, so we shared it. We kept our clothes on, only taking off our shoes and jackets so we’d be comfortable. He slept on top of the covers while I laid under them. The lights went out... I was turned toward him... My eyes started to adjust, and then I could see he was looking at me, too. In the dark, he smiled. My heart was beating so fast. I rolled over, I felt so... I don’t know, nervous? After a minute he put his arm around me and turned me back to face him, and he was so close, and whispered in my ear, “I really do love you, you know. In a way I thought I’d never love again.” I just nodded my head and I really hope he could tell. I really hope...that he meant what I think he did.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Oh, Fanny! It’s only you. You startled me.”

“How was the double feature?”

“It was good, though I don’t remember most of either film, to be honest. We got distracted.”

“It’s past lunch time. You must be starved.”

“What makes you think I didn’t have any dinner or breakfast?”

“Well, you were out with Jim Masters. If you got potato chips, you were lucky. I saved you some leftovers. Turkey leg’s in the kitchen. If you’re hungry.”

“It’s beautiful. Can’t be Manby’s work. It’s too neatly arranged.”

“Manby did the cooking. I did the assembly.”

“Thanks. Mother very much worried?”

“No. I told her you’d be a little late because you had gone to Selena’s to do some shopping this morning. You called while she was out, and since it’s Sunday and the servants’ day off, I answered the phone.”

“I don’t understand. Why did you lie?”

“Mostly from force of habit. Although I did rather gather that Mother wouldn’t be too pleased if she knew that you were out with Jim.”

“I see. I can understand Mother’s attitude, though. You can’t grow very fond of a daughter you’re always trying to keep on a leash and out of trouble. She keeps herself separated from the servants, always strictly professional and impersonal. She expects the same of us. She doesn’t know Jim the way I do.”

“Of course not.”

“You saved this food for me, and you lied for me, and you like Jim. You sure nobody’s home?”

“Nobody.”

November 1935

A week passed since my movie night with Jim. Fanny and I were looking out my second story bedroom window at Jim, who was out on the driveway, working on one of the cars.

“There he is. Fanny, stand back a little. Well, I'm glad he's a man. Certainly would like to know a man for a change and have a little fun.”

“Don’t let Mother hear you say such things.”

“Hello! Good afternoon!” Jim called up to you, raising his arm to wave at you.

“That dreadful man, he waved back.”

“You’re every bit as bad as he is.”

“I know. I wonder how I could get to know him. I wish we had a dog or a cat, and it would get lost and he’d bring it back, then we’d get to talking...”

“I don’t think that’s very romantic.”

“Who said anything about romance? I’m going to go down. I’m going to talk to him.”

“And if Janie Clarkson or one of her friends catches you? What will they think? Stopping to talk with the chauffeur.”

“I don’t care. Anyway, Janie and her friends weren’t very friendly to Jim. They wouldn’t even say ‘good afternoon’ or ‘hello’ to him whenever they saw him when they passed by our house.”

When I came out the front door and walked down the driveway to meet Jim, he was wiping his hands off with a cloth.

“Miss Skeffington. Why do you sit at your window looking out at me when I’m working on the driveway or in the garage?”

“It’s my family’s property, and I can look out as much as I like.”

“I saw you. I waved to you, but you didn’t wave back.”

“I was embarrassed you caught me. It's rude of me, I know, but you always seem to be having such a good time. When I watch you work on cars, it’s like looking at a picture and I want to commit it to memory. I wish you could come inside. Then you’d be a part of the picture. But Mother mightn’t approve. She doesn’t believe Fanny or I should be too friendly or overly familiar with the staff. How muscular your arms are when you roll up your sleeves, your skin glistening with sweat from the summer sun as you comb your hair back from your forehead with your fingers while you pop the hood of a car to tinker with an engine…”

“Miss Skeffington.”

“Oh no. Did I say that last part out loud?”

“You did.”

“I’m sorry. My mouth has run away with me again.”

“No, Miss Skeffington. It’s your mouth that has me hypnotized.”

“Watching you just reminds me of when we were in Europe. You asked me to see a wrestling match with you and stay over at your friend's place in the city after. That was a lie-to-Mom-and-Dad situation. But it was sooooo worth it. The men in the arena were just so big and muscular and sweaty, and everybody was moving together like one intricate dance. Between two matches you leaned over and said, ‘how do you like your first wrestling match?’ I was so happy I felt tears starting in my eyes, and then you up and hugged me. I think you could tell I was crying.”

“I could, but I didn’t want to say anything and ruin the moment.”

“Sometimes you just have to lie to Mom and Dad, just like we did last week. You know, I’m going to tell you something. Everybody in this neighborhood likes you, except for Mother and her followers.”

“Isn’t your mother and her followers practically everybody?”

“Exactly my point. In fact, there’s a popular front against you. Mother formed it last night, and it’s made up of her circle of so-called friends, lovers, and their envious wives.”

“Guess I deserve it.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. But I don’t feel the way Mother does. If you ask me, I think you’re all right.”

“Do you?”

“I’ve always had a lot of fun talking to you. You know, you’re not such an ogre after all, no matter what they say.”

“In fact, I have a couple good qualities if you look deep.”

“You certainly do. You’re very understanding and you like Fanny and Dad. That definitely shows a lot of character. I wouldn’t be surprised if we became more than good friends after a while.”

I’ve felt like a shook-up can of nerves ever since. I hope we have a chance to talk again before I explode.

December 1935

Mother wasn’t home, something about doing some Christmas shopping, so Jim made an excuse and came into the house today. He came into my room and said he had a note for me from Fanny, just something to get past Soames. I told Soames I could manage from there and dismissed him, and then Jim and I were left alone. But everything was...different. He was sitting at my desk chair while I sat on my bed. He wouldn't look at me. Finally I asked him what was going on. He said he felt like he’d done something wrong that night in the city, that I must think... But I said no, there was nothing wrong. I just wanted to say... But I couldn’t find the words. I felt like I was going to cry, but I wasn't sad. He got up and sat next to me on the window seat. I looked at him. “Jim... do you...think...you could ever...” And that’s when he kissed me. A kiss should be the simplest thing in the world. Not this gentle stirring, like wind through the underside of leaves, inexorable as the glacier grinding behind us. So hot and yet it doesn’t scorch. No, with every breath, with every touch, his kiss carves.

January 1936

It’s different now. I mean, we still see each other all the time like before. But now when no one else is around...well, you know. So you COULD say we’re dating. But it’s secret. Secret dating? I don’t know. I mean I guess that’s the real difference: Now, when we get off the phone, or go home for the night...or it’s just quiet and we’re alone...we say, “I love you.”

March 1936

Mother’s birthday is next Thursday, the 12th. Instead of celebrating on the day, she’s hosting a birthday ball at the house this Saturday. Probably to ensure she’ll have the largest turnout possible. She’s invited everyone, even me and Fanny. Weird that she sent for us so she could tell us this HERSELF instead of having Soames, Clinton, or Manby do it for her. Even weirder is that she wants either of us there. Surely she wouldn’t want us, reminders of Father, to be there? I was expecting her to ask us to go to the theater again or make some other excuse to get us out of the house so that we wouldn’t take any attention off of her. Heaven forbid one of us talks to a man for more than five minutes while she’s in the same room. We’re her daughters, yet we’re seen as competition to her. Normally whenever she sent for us, she recited the same script along the lines of, “I wanted to explain to you and your sister, Fanny... l’m giving a dinner party on Thursday for some very old friends of mine. And I’m sure it would be a frightful bore for both of you. You understand? Why don’t the two of you go to the theater? I hear there are some very good plays now.” and we’d take that as our cue to make ourselves scarce. We’d always say, “Oh, yes. Yes, of course we do. All right, Mother.” After all, I reasoned that Mother, who considered herself a very sensible woman, was soon going to have a fiftieth birthday, and on reaching so conspicuous, so sobering landmark in one's life, what more natural than to hark back and rummage, and what more inevitable, directly one rummaged, than to come across Father? Perhaps it was the highly unpleasant birthday looming so close that set her off in these serious directions.

“Good morning, Mother.”

“Good morning, girls. Come in. What sweet dresses.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“You don’t think, perhaps, they’re a little old for you?”

“You sent for us, Mother?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I wanted to explain to you, girls...l’m giving a birthday ball on Saturday for myself and some very close friends of mine. And I’d like you and your sister to attend.”

“Would you really, Mother?”

“Yes, very much. A lot of my friends have sons and daughters that are around your age. It’d do you both some good to mingle a little, make friends. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course we do.”

“Mother, do I really have to go? There’ll be all those people,” you asked, your voice laced with anxiety.

“Oh, it would hurt my feelings if you stay in your room or go elsewhere. Besides, dear, you must learn not to be afraid of people.”

March 1936

St. Mary’s is an old school and very well respected. Though Mother didn’t care for it. She wouldn’t, even if it was where Georgia O’Keeffe herself learned to paint. I teach nice young ladies to paint. What could be more respectable? I only kept it a secret because I knew she’d be angry and/or disappointed. She found out about it the same afternoon as Uncle George, so she thought my contempt for them both was at least consistent. But I don’t have contempt for anyone. “George, why didn’t you stop her?” she asked, to which he asked in return, “Me? What could I have done?” It doesn’t seem to bother Uncle George that I teach at the school, or Fanny. Mother tried to tell me that the people in charge at the school feel sorry for me, that’s all. She’s wrong. Not everyone is as cruel and mean-spirited as her. I said as much. “Is it cruel to mind it when you stamp on our name and drag it in the mud? Now, get out of my way!” she huffed, and stormed off. Neither I nor Uncle George made a move to stop her. She just needed time to cool off and get used to the idea. I suppose in any other circumstance, I’d have to drop it. But I won’t. I’ve given my word to the headmistress, and I’m not going to break it. Things may be uncomfortable, but so what? I won’t be put in a cage! Soames came in and asked if everything was all right. He heard our shouting, which is unusual in this house. It... It was unusual, yes. But every now and then, I wonder if it isn’t good to shout a little and let off steam.

“Masters, when you’ve finished unloading, run down to the school and remind my daughter that we expect her here for dinner. And tell her I mean it. Really. She’s working herself to death like a canary in a coal mine.”

“I think she enjoys it though.”

Fanny turned around to put him in his place. “Please tell her to come home in time to change.”

Jim nodded grimly and returned to the car.

“I can’t possibly come! Really, Mother is incorrigible!”

“It’s not poor Masters’ fault.”

“But what is the point of Mother’s soirees? What are they for?”

“Well, I’m going out for dinner tonight and I’m glad. Is that wrong?”

The sudden act of courtesy was enough to leave me frozen. But to think of it, a self-conscious beauty queen like her would love showing off how ‘tolerant' she could be. I learned that very often the most intolerant and narrow-minded people are the ones who congratulate themselves on their tolerance and open-mindedness. I’d prefer celebrating quietly with her in her room, but since the party is practically being held for her and she is my mother, I thought it would be somewhat rude of me to not be there. Maybe I can use this birthday party as an opportunity to sneak away out the back door and spend more time with Jim. He has been nothing but sweet on me since Mother hired him, so the least I could do is show up, make my rounds of saying hello and exchanging pleasantries and engaging in idle chitchat with a few of the guests, then make my move. It’s not like anyone would miss me. I know Mother especially wouldn’t. Maybe…just maybe I could even piss Mother off if I manage to strike conversation with Jim. A Skeffington spending the entire evening with the chauffeur? Mother would be beside herself, fuming about how I mess up her ecosystem. No peer pressure, Miss Skeffington. Just clean drinks and hopefully some casual talk with Jim. What could possibly go wrong?

You finished your hair as Fanny entered.

“Mother said you were honoring us with your presence at dinner.”

“It’s easier there in the school. And I can always get changed back into my painting clothes if I need to. This stuck-up thing. Oh, dear. It shows.”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll blend it right in. I can do it with just a few strokes of the brush. Splendid. I’ll stick to every chair in the place.”

“I thought if I pinned this bow over it—”

“A bow? There?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but you’ll just have to sit on it.”

“Sit all evening?”

“You could stand if you’d keep your back to the wall.”

“You’d better hurry, girls,” your mother said as she came in to check on you. “Guests are arriving.”

“Oh... Oh, how I hate to be elegant.”

“Oh, how I detest rude, unladylike girls.”

“And I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits.”

“Oh, the dress is lovely, darling. Just lovely.”

“Oh, thank you, Mother, for letting me wear your velvet and pearls.”

“They’re old, but you’re young and very pretty.”

“Oh, thank you, Mother. Well, my shoes are too tight, and I have nineteen hairpins sticking in my hair and a curling iron burn mark on the back of my dress, and I feel dreadful.”

“Where are your gloves?”

“Here. They’re stained with lemonade. I don’t think I’d better wear them.”

“Why, you must. You can tell a lady by her gloves.”

“Not this lady.”

“A lady barehanded? You have to have gloves. You can’t dance without them.”

“Ha! I can’t dance and keep a back to the wall anyway. I’ll crumple them up in my hand.”

“At least wear one of my nice ones and carry one of your ruined ones.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Don’t stretch it. Your hands are bigger than mine. Don’t eat too much. Wait until you’re asked. Don’t be afraid, darling. Have you and Fanny got clean handkerchiefs? And don’t put your hands behind your back or stare. Don’t stride about or swear. Don’t use slang words, darling. Vulgarity is no substitute for wit, and wit is very fashionable at the moment.”

“All right.”

“And please don’t talk about Europe all the time. And especially don’t mention Cascade. You’ll embarrass me and yourself.”

Though she didn’t bring it up by name, I could tell she was referring to that infamous dinner party, when my unpleasant characteristics became especially evident, where I, unknowingly to myself, embarrassed her by singing and playing badly. I was only a child then, and was regarded as the plain-looking sister. Though much more sensible than my mother, I was still considered to be very silly by her peers. Despite the fact that my father was studious and once described as the most accomplished in the neighborhood, I lacked genius and taste.

“And stop whistling. It’s so boyish.”

“That’s why I do it.”

“I just want to make things easier for you.”

“For me or for you?”

“Don’t disappoint me, darling. Not now that you’re here.”

“Not to worry, Mother. I’ll be prim as a dish. Let’s be elegant or die!”

“Oh, so boyish.”

“Mother, you’re perfect.”

“Oh, thank you, darling. And you. Aren’t you the pretty one? Walk toward me, darling, that I may appraise you. Go on. Walk to me. Stand up straight. Turn around. Shh. Mm, yes. Oh, it’s quite as I expected,” she said. “You know, you’re very tall for your age.”

“Really? But, Mother, I’m nearly... Well, yes, perhaps I am.”

She placed her hand under your chin to cup your face. “You possess a woman's chin. Skin is a little dull. Have you not noticed? Observe her mouth, Fanny. And as for you, darling, now that you turn up your hair, you should realize you’re a young lady. My daughter...a woman. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She’s going to be a stunning woman, don’t you think, Fanny?”

“Yes, she’s going to be.”

“I’m not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I’ll wear it down or in two tails till I’m ninety. I won’t grow up and be Miss Skeffington. I won’t wear long gowns and look like a China aster. Oh, I’ll never get over my disappointment of not being a boy, and look at me! I’m dying to go and fight like Father did in the last war. Fine soldier I’d make. And here I am sitting and knitting like a poky old woman.”

“Knitting. Bless me. Poor you. Almost a lady. You must spend less time with the neighbor boys, and more time with me.”

You’ll never guess who I bumped into as I left the party that night. Oh, Fanny, it was meant to be. It was so perfect. There I was, weeping on the terrace, and there he was, Jim. He waited outside so he could give me some time without going too far.

Jim heard heels clicking on the garage floor and glanced up from the car engine. He did a double take as he saw you in your evening gown. You tilted your head shyly, waiting for him to say something. It was the first time you wore a dress since you were a baby.

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

“You look very fine.”

“Everything I own is trousers and shorts. Too boyish, according to Mother. Usually if I have to wear a dress or a skirt, Fanny lends me something. Mother lent me this dress from her season before the previous war. It’s very old, but she wants me to try to wear it out. If you ask me, it’s already there. Yards of fabric and I still feel naked.”

Jim continued to check you out.

“Where have you been all day?”

“Nowhere. I’ve just been busy.”

“I thought you were avoiding me.”

Jim walked purposefully forward. “Of course not.”

“But you haven’t come up with an answer yet, have you?”

Jim ducked his head and stared at the floor. “Not yet, I’m afraid. I know you want to see the world and play your part in its troubles, and I respect that, but… I have a lot weighing on my mind, and I need to sort it out before I can make a decision about us just yet. It won’t be long until I give you an answer. So, will you wait?”

“I’d wait forever.”

“I’m not asking for forever. Just a few more weeks. Darling, there’s something you should kn—”

“I’ve been thinking about us lately. Of course, I don’t want Mother to know that I deserted her so quickly so, if anybody’s around, you don’t mind if I act sort of cool and distant? To keep up appearances. Do you know how it is?”

“I certainly do. I understand perfectly.”

“Why are you smiling? I thought you’d be angry.”

“Because that’s the first time you’ve ever spoken about ‘us’.” Jim smiled with a sigh of relief and leaned forward to kiss you, but you held back.

“Yes, you can kiss me, but that is all until everything is settled.”

“For now, God knows, it’s enough that I can kiss you. The rest will be worth waiting for.”

You smiled at his reply and shared a kiss.

“In the meantime, you act as snippy as you like toward me so your mother and everyone else will think the front is still on.”

“Good. We’ll just act as if we never had that talk or shared that kiss. You know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean.”

“This can be good enough for us. It has to be good enough for us. I envy you. I feel so flat after the rush and bustle of the last two or three years. They were all sighing for the old days at dinner, but all I could do was think about how I wish everything could’ve gone back to the way it was in Europe, about how much more I want from life now than I did then. I wish I knew how an engine worked, for example.”

“I can teach you, if you like. But it’s very late. I think you’d better go back inside now, sweetheart.”

“Oh, please. Please, I can’t go back inside. It's dull as tombs in there. This is by far the most boring party I’ve been to in the last seven or eight years. Every time I go to one of these, l ask myself: What the hell am I doing here? I hate cocktail and dinner parties and all the schmoozers that come here.”

“Well, it’s a chance for all those people who admire your work to meet you.”

“No one gives a damn about art. All they care about is how much money they're gonna make out of it. They’re here for Mother and only Mother.”

“Are you sure it’s not too chilly for you out here?”

“Oh, no, I’m quite comfortable, thank you.”

“Does your mother know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Won’t she and the others worry?”

“They’re all so excited, they won’t care where I am. Come on, let’s have a drink! All the excitement of this whole thing has made me thirsty, so I brought a little pick-me-up. Shall we have a nightcap?” You pulled out the bottle you had stashed and hid underneath your dress skirts. Dresses could have their usefulness, you supposed.

“Scotch, neat as usual?”

“No. Bourbon.”

“Okay! But you know what your doctor would say...”

“Yeah... Well, he can kiss my ass! I’m old enough to choose my own medication.” Forsaking a glass, you took a small sip straight from the bottle, not caring how unladylike it looked, and then passed it to Jim as you leaned against the hood of the car together. You looked up towards the night sky from the open garage door.

“Why the fuck did I come back here?”

“Here?” Jim was, of course, referring to the garage and looked around. “To…drink?” He took a drink and handed you the bottle back.

“Back to New York.” You took another sip. “I spent the first twelve years of my life trying to get out of this place. And I succeeded. I should’ve stayed in Guatemala even after that school program ended. Sure, they got volcanoes and kudamundis everywhere…”

“What’s a kudamundi?”

“It’s like a little raccoon thing. They get into shit. People hate them.”

Jim took a swig when you passed the bottle. Instead of passing it back, he held onto it. “So is that what drove you back to New York? Kudamundis? Up in your shit?”

“No. It was the unrest in Germany. Dad thought maybe Fanny and I’d better come back here to Mother. We wrote her we were coming, from Berlin. But she never received the letters. I guess the censors must have confiscated them. We wrote her what we thought about the Nazis.”

“The Nazis. Yes, of course. Did your father come with you? I haven’t seen him, so I did wonder…”

“No. He’s still in Berlin. The Nazis don’t frighten him, but they frighten us, so...”

“So here you both are.”

“Here we are. It’s not at all the way I pictured it. It’s been done over, hasn’t it? Fanny and I were the last people Mother was expecting to see. Fanny…” you grabbed the bottle from him and took a long swig. “She’s the good one. When we were twelve, she got this binder where she planned out her whole life, and I swear to God, she’s going to stick to it. Bullet point by bullet point. Job, husband, house, kid. And when one sister is so on top of her game, it almost demands the other become a fuck-up, right?”

“What is ying without yang?”

“That’s how I see it. In Europe, she was off, doing life. And I was doing…something else. Backpacking, mostly. Surfing couches. Bumming around.”

“You did good getting off that boat when you did. St. Louis is dull as dishwater.”

“Jim, do you ever think of the old days there in Wakeforte Park?”

“Now and then, in the shower or in the car.”

“I felt quite at home there. More than I do here. Even back in New York, Fanny and I… We’re still like we were when we were kids. She will invite me places every once in a while. For the big events. Wedding. Baby shower. I’ll always say, ‘Sorry, sis. I’ll get the next one.’ But I never attend any of them. Too awkward. Too ashamed.” You took another swig. “I came back for Dad, and I’m staying for Dad. It’s weird living in someone else’s shadow. When the light shines on your life for the first time, it doesn’t look too good. Here I am. Nearing twenty. No roots anywhere. Except New York. So I figure I’ll make something of myself. I apply for college, hoping I can enroll somewhere to get a degree, then I tried to enlist in the war effort by applying to every branch and organization that accepts women... I wanted to do something my dad would be proud of… but I got rejected by all of them…” You trailed off and nearly fell asleep on your feet. Jim had to steady you before you collided face-first with the concrete floor of the garage.

“Um... You probably had enough to drink for tonight. A bit too much. My darling, you must be very weary to have drank so much. I’ll get you some water, help you to your room…”

“No, I can’t go to bed. Not yet.”

“You must, darling. I brought you a gift.”

“A gift?” His words had your attention for about three seconds, but you turned towards the sound of the front door opening. “There’s Mother and Manby now. Must be time for cake and presents. I better get out of here.”

“Let me walk you to the door at least.”

“It’s not that far. I can make it. Goodnight, Jim.”

“Goodnight.” He then stopped you for a moment so he could whisper in your ear, “And I give you leave to look in at me whenever you like.”

After you went inside with your mother, Manby walked towards Jim with a raised eyebrow. “I guess that irresistible charm of yours didn’t work on Miss Skeffington.”

“I’m saving it for you, Manby.”

March 1936

Oh, man… everything’s gone wrong! All my senses are screaming in pain. I don’t even remember drinking that much booze! Am I really such a lightweight? I had a tray sent to my room and slept in, but the pain only escalated the moment I came down after breakfast and Jim asked me, “Are you feeling okay?” No, I was not okay, and WHY IS JIM ASKING ME THIS? Did I do something to him?? It’s so unfair how because he’s a man and his body is built differently, he has a higher tolerance for alcohol than I do. He drank more than I did, but isn’t affected by it at all! According to Jim, I went from being quiet to crazy-happy and cute (his words, not mine) real quick. I was so close to being the center of the party that he had to bring me back to my room when Mother asked him to. We went upstairs to my bedroom and I wanted to wait it out, to make my triumphant return to Jim after Mother’s friends had left and everyone had retired for the night and fallen asleep. But my body had other plans, because I fell asleep minutes after my head hit the pillow. I didn’t even bother to change out of Mother’s dress and pearls. Why can’t I remember any of this??? Congrats, Miss Skeffington! You’ve reached a new low in life! Shit, is this how I die? I sincerely asked Jim if there was a good place to kill myself before I died of embarrassment. He said, “Maybe now would be a good time to show you my other secret hideout. Consider it an early birthday present,” since I passed the test by showing the whole room of Mother’s admirers and “friends” a different me. Is he seriously going to take me to another secret hideout of his?? I’m going to the Red Fern Gardens, the so-called most romantic place in New York with Jim (according to him). There’s something in my head that’s keeping me awake. And it’s not the hangover.

March 1936

Oh my god! Jim actually took me to the Red Fern Gardens. The hideout he mentioned was on a hill and had a wonderful view of the city. The whole place under the golden sunset. The best part of this spot was that it is quite hidden and unsafe. You could easily roll down the hill if you are careless or drunk, and no one could find you for days (how awesome is that?). Luckily, enough time had passed and most of the Bourbon had left our systems. I could tell the worst of its effects had worn off, but I still felt a lingering tingle or warmth in my blood. But being drunk in that wonderful moment didn't cause any accident, though. We sat there for less than an hour but it felt like an eternity. I can't even remember what we talked about. I do remember, saying how beautiful The Red Fern Gardens are and Jim being all indifferent about it. I guess you can get fed up with views like this too. There’s a motel nearby, so we have decided to make it our secret hideout from now on. That’ll turn it from something ordinary to something really special. Mother is uninterested in me, which should keep Jim and I safe. She won’t ever know that we are secretly meeting.

Today’s only regret is that I failed to bring the true essence of the Red Fern Gardens back with me (Photography can only capture so much. There’s so much more that can be seen with the human eye). At least the close up shot of Jim was not half as bad. When I came back down from the hill, it became clear that my life just became a bit more messed up now. I know because I really want to talk to Jim again soon. I know I promised myself to stay away from people, stay away from the drama. But when I look at Jim, when he talks to me, it feels like, maybe, just maybe it’s okay to have a little drama for myself. I'm not ready to define what this feeling is, but for now, I’m going to label it as ‘looking for a hand to hold' and just shove it under my bed just like the pictures I took. Help me get to sleep quickly today, Diary.

March 1936

Mother passed the crisis last night. Manby called Henri’s Beauty Salon to get Mother everything she’d… ”need”. He’s very familiar with Mother’s hair, so he’s made wigs for her. He’s also given her a face pack, muscle oil, wrinkle cream, tissue builder, massage cream, eyelashes, and astringent. She’s home now. She looks so…so…different.

“That must be Mother now.”

“Welcome home, Mrs. Skeffington.”

“Thank you, Clinton.”

“Darlings. Fanny, dear.”

“Hello, Mother.”

“Georgie, I had no idea that you were here. You know, it's heavenly to be back home again. Manby, shouldn't you go and see that the luggage is taken care of?”

“Yes, Mrs. Skeffington.”

“Georgie. This is such an unexpected pleasure.”

“Fanny, my dear.”

“Welcome home, Mother.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll have some tea, Mother.”

“Oh, I think that would be delightful. Oh, this looks so cheerful after that depressing rest home.”

“Notice how Fanny arranged the flowers?”

“Oh, how sweet of you, Fanny. They’re perfectly lovely.”

“Sit here, Mother. Let me help you with your coat.”

“All right. You know, I’m not really such an invalid. Well, wasn’t it just like me to contract a child’s disease? Georgie, I look dreadful, don’t I?”

“Fanny, you could never look anything but adorable.”

“You’re lying. I know perfectly well how I look. But after a few weeks' rest I’ll be quite recovered.”

“Of course you will.”

“Henri saved my life. I don’t know what I would have done without him. He’s so clever. Of course, here I am, chattering on about myself. Fanny, what have you been doing?”

“Oh, nothing very much, Mother.”

“Have you seen Johnny Mitchell?”

“Yes, I’ve seen him.”

“How is he?”

“Oh, he’s just fine.”

“And what are you up to, darling?”

“Nothing much. Drawing and photographing. I don’t have time to get up to anything else.”

“Only, Fanny and I were talking about you. You know, the other day.”

“Oh?”

Your sister looked at you, just as caught off-guard as you were. She hadn’t spoken to your mother once throughout her illness. From across the couch, she looked at you with wide confused eyes and mouthed, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you see, sometimes in war, one can make friendships that aren’t quite…appropriate. And can be awkward, you know, later on. I mean, we’ve all done it. I just want you to be on your guard.”

“Appropriate for whom?”

“Well, don’t jump down my throat, dear. I’m only offering friendly advice.”

“Darling, I never said anything to Mother, honestly.”

“I believe you, Fanny. How could you have done? She didn’t want any visitors. But why did she suddenly start talking about inappropriate friendships out of nowhere? Could she be hallucinating?”

“She thinks you must have a beau, and if we don’t know about him, then you have to be keeping him secret. It’s just Mother being Mother. Don’t make such a thing of it.”

“Fanny, you know how Mother is not exactly... super open-minded about things. It feels like every minute I don’t spend with Jim, I spend worrying about her finding out about us. And what would happen if she did...”

April 1936

I don’t get it. Why would Mother suddenly forbid me to be around Jim? Is it because he’s not rich? Or because of our age difference? Is that why she also forbade us from seeing each other? Mother is so judgmental and hypocritical! She doesn’t want me to be near Jim, saying that I should find someone who is closer to my age and of the same class as me. What does that even mean?? Who determines what class Jim is in? Did she find out about us? Does she know we’re in love? Did she talk to her friends? Did those odious women say something to her and get into her head? Jim didn’t say anything to me about it. Maybe he doesn’t love me anymore? Or maybe he doesn’t know about what Mother said yet? I feel so confused.

I’m not too young. You’re just jealous and angry. You’re so accustomed to hogging all the men, but now that they’ve all left you with no thought to return, you can’t stand seeing me happy and in love with a man of my own choosing. If you can’t have a man who loves you, I can’t either, Mother? Is that it? This is all your fault. Everything. You're a heartless bitch. You STOLE my only friend from me, my place in this world, ALL of it. And you don’t even care. I’m invisible to you. I fucking HATE you. You’re not talented! You’re not special! You wasted your life away, and then came out of nowhere, suddenly decided you wanted to try your hand at parenting and ruined EVERYTHING! FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF!!! Get the fuck out of my life, you puffy, over-perfumed PRIMADONNA!!

I hate Mother for trying to stop me from seeing Jim. And I hate her even more for going so far as to drag John into it. John doesn’t deserve to be mixed up in this mess that she’s created. None of us do. She must be out of her damn mind if she thinks I’ll ever walk down the aisle or say “I do”. My engagement with John is just for show. I know it, John knows it, Jim knows it, and Mother knows it. When I mentioned to Jim that she seems to be really bothered by the name Nan or Nancy, he tensed up. I could tell by the way his hands gripped the steering wheel and flexed. When I asked if he knew her, he told me he did, and that he’d tell me about her and about himself, but not now, not in the car. It’s a conversation that requires the both of us sitting down. I let the subject drop for now. Nothing he could tell me could stop me from loving him.

Jim was there. He’s always been there. When you cut your knee from falling out of a tree, when you sobbed at night in a room you didn’t recognize, and when…you kissed him in the garage during her birthday party. You had no interest in men whatsoever and suddenly now you’re staying out late into the wee hours of the morning with a man more than twice your age?? That moment, Fanny got tired of doing nothing. You were in trouble. Jim was not for you. She didn’t know how to explain it, but…his presence here added to his enchantment. Somehow you thought your father’s charm glowed in him. It wasn’t George’s fault, but his stamp of approval was on Jim. If he stayed here, you’d run off with him, she was sure. And then he’d do to you just what he did to his first wife. Somewhere out there, there was Nan, Fanny thought, another woman who felt like she did that day she discovered Job’s infidelity with his secretaries. Nan was young and stupid when she married Jim and when she divorced him. It happens. She’s not the first girl to have been taken in by words that evaporated as soon as they were said, but it still hurt Fanny to see you, her daughter, potentially put yourself in the same situation. Did you even know about his past? Could you even begin to comprehend what life was like for Nan and those four girls after he scooted off? Jim was the cause of that woman's anguish. What do you—

She was sure you were headed for the same misery even now she couldn’t bring myself to describe, and you would assuredly wind up with a broken heart yourself because of him if you carried on as you’ve been doing. Fanny knew she couldn’t prevent that and, if Jim were to break your heart, you might not be as strong to cope with it as Nan was. But if your heart was to be broken, it wouldn't be because of her. She’d do the pleading now with Jim. If he really loved you like he said he did, he had to leave. Leave, and never come back. Only then you would know your place. It was looking more and more like George might’ve been right. She had to invite Jim herself. As you and Manby were downstairs in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a meal that you would undoubtedly take most of the credit for, Fanny knew she had to make the best of it. You were all going to have a wonderful dinner, and you would appreciate what she had done, even if you didn't know the half of it.

“Masters— that is, Jim... I must see you. Will you come to the house tonight? You needn’t stay but ten minutes. I must talk to you.”

“Anything wrong, Mrs. Skeffington?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet. Could you come over for dinner tonight?”

“Whose invitation? Yours or your daughter’s?”

“Mine this time. Say, seven o’clock?”

“All right.”

“Good.”

As soon as Jim set the phone down, he heard a knock at the door. Who could that be? It couldn’t possibly be you, and you were the only person he would’ve expected. When he looked into the peephole, he was taken aback and took several steps backward. What was she doing here? He hadn’t seen her since… He thought that maybe if he didn’t answer, she would go away. But when she continued her persistent knocking after a few minutes of silence, he was proven wrong. It seemed that she would wait him out, no matter how long it took. Having no other possible escape route and no other choice, he took a deep breath and braced himself before opening the door.

“Hello, Jim.” She stepped past him into the room. Jim said nothing as she looked around, only stared at her in silent astonishment, disbelieving that she of all people was really there. “You’re awfully quiet, which is so unlike you. Don't you recognize me, Jim? Look hard. Look into my eyes. You called them the most beautiful you'd ever seen once, a long time ago.”

“I’m afraid you’re making a mistake.”

“No, Jim.”

“My name is—”

“Don’t pretend. I know who you are.”

“And who am I?”

“You’re Jim Masters, My ex-husband.”

“Your ex-husband? My dear woman, Perhaps if you’ll tell me who you’re looking for…”

“Oh, stop it. I saw the picture In the newspaper announcing Miss Skeffington’s engagement to Sir John Talbot. But I couldn’t help but notice you in the background, looking at the couple, or more specifically, her, your eyes filled with jealousy and longing and…something else I dare not name.”

“Nan. What are you doing here? You’re an awfully long way from California if you’ve only come to see me.”

“I had to come to see if it was true. It is.”

“What are you talking about? What’s true?”

“I can’t explain it. I only know it’s happened.”

“What’s happened? Nan, what are you implying?”

“You’re going to marry someone else, and leave her, just like the way you left me.”

“Oh, Nan. Nan. You misunderstand. We’re not—”

“Jim, it’s wrong. You can’t go on hurting people.”

“Nan—”

“I can’t let you marry her, Jim.”

“Nan! Would you just listen to me for a second? I know what you must be thinking but, as I said before, you misunderstand. Miss Skeffington and I aren’t getting married. Not anytime soon, at least.”

“You’re not? But you love her.”

“Yes. And she loves me.”

“And you want to be with her.”

“Yes. And she wants to be with me.”

“So, what do you have in mind?”

“Nan, this is hardly the time and place—”

“No. You must have something in mind. Otherwise you would not be conspiring to run away with her.”

“How do you know about that? Who told you?”

“Nobody. I just know you, Jim. It’s the kind of person you are. Flighty, running away from responsibilities… So what will you do to make a living? Do you think you’ll go on ringing doorbells trying to sell streamline refusCans and she will wait till you’ve scraped enough pennies together so you can be married?”

“If you must know, yes, we do have a plan. I’ve got a job on a paper. I’m a journalist now, but I’m not a fool. I’ve got brains. I could go into business. She could pursue her art career and work on commissions, sell sketches and paintings for money. She could have everything she wanted.”

“Young men’s talk. Oh, you would still want to give her those things. But you don’t know Mrs. Skeffington if you think she’d let you do it.”

“Of course she wouldn’t want me to run away with her daughter. Would you, if you were in her shoes?”

“No.”

“I’ll stay here at the inn until she’s ready to make her departure. I don’t want to cause her unnecessary stress by pressuring her to get a move on. She has important matters to attend to involving her family and Sir John Talbot. Loose ends to tie up.”

“Loose ends to tie up or ties to sever?”

“Nan, don’t be cruel. You can insult me all you want, I know I deserve it and more after everything I put you through. But don’t insult Miss Skeffington’s intelligence and independence by insinuating that she has no idea what she’s getting herself into. She may not be very book smart, but she’s an emotionally intelligent woman who can make up her own mind. She’s not a mindless doll to be molded into what I want her to be, only to get thrown away as soon as I get bored of her. I’m many things, I’ll admit it, but I’m not her puppetmaster, stringing her along and playing with her feelings. I’m not manipulating her thoughts or actions in any way, shape, or form. She knew very well the risks of carrying on with me. It took a long time, but eventually we built trust between each other and finally there came a day when I felt I could tell her everything. So I did. About you, about our daughters, about what my lifestyle has been for the past twenty years, what a life with me would truly entail. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I urged her to think through the implications, and I gave her all the time she needed. She listened intently the entire time. She thought about it long and hard and, in the end, she realized the pros far outweighed the cons. She’s made her choice. I did nothing to sway her one way or the other. So don’t for a second imply that I’m forcing her to give up her family. If they want to cut her off, that’s their decision. It’s not her doing, it’s not her fault. Nor is it mine. I know nothing I can say can convince you of my sincerity. To you, I’m a monster. But to her, and to myself, I’m a man. I’m just a man who’s in love and who is loved in return. Everything I feel for her, and everything she feels for me, is genuine. As soon as she comes to me, as soon as she lets me know she’s ready, we’ll go.”

“Go where?”

“I don’t know yet. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure that out when we get there. The point is, we’ll be together.”

“So she’ll live with you? Unmarried?”

“Sure, why not? Nan, we’re not in the 1920’s anymore. The world has changed. People have changed. Many unmarried couples live together nowadays and nobody bats an eye at them. It’s much more practical, and not just from a financial standpoint. Don’t go clutching your pearls and acting aghast as if it’s too scandalous of a prospect. Many couples do it now as a sort of compatibility test, to see if they can actually stand living together before marriage. I’d never do anything to jeopardize Miss Skeffington’s reputation or put a black mark on her.”

“But this plan of yours… The worst of it is, you’d never know her disappointment. She’d never reproach you by a word or a look. But you’d always know what you’ve done to her life and so would she.”

“Well, let’s look at the other side of the picture, Nan. You say I can’t be with her. I’ll get over that, I suppose. But what about her? She gets excited about all my crazy dreams, but what happens to her dreams?”

“Well, you can run away if you want to. But listen, Jim. You couldn’t make her or anybody else happy. Do you know why? Because there’s only one thing in this world you’re good at. And that’s making people miserable.”

“Ahh. Don’t give me any of that paper cover philosophy. You listen to me. I quit selling whale’s teeth because of her. I wear ties because of her. I watch my English because of her. Well, look, I even went to work because of her. She has reformed me, and I’m not giving her up. Thank you for coming, Nan. Though I wish your visit had been under different circumstances, it’s good to see you. And thanks for all the things you didn’t say. You might’ve pointed out the beautifully poetic justice of a man deserting his family twenty years ago and being deserted by them in turn. Or you might’ve thrown together a few matsims, sins cast upon the waters, coming home to roost. Or you might merely have reminded me this is my past catching up with me. A final accounting. A case of delayed bookkeeping. You might’ve said all these things. But you didn’t. I don’t know if my prayers get much attention in Heaven, but they’re not just for Miss Skeffington. Of course, I thank God every day for how He made her, but I still have prayers for you and Sam, and the girls and their families. But I think it’s best you leave now. As much as I’d love to stay to chat and reminisce on our shared past and what we used to be, I have an engagement this evening.”

“What sort of engagement?”

“I have been invited to dinner by Mrs. Skeffington. Goodbye, Nan. I’ll give your regards to Chief Mahabu when Miss Skeffington and I are on the other side of the world.”

Instead of driving to the Skeffington residence, Jim instead opted to walk there. It wasn’t very far from the hotel, and Nan’s unexpected visit, though he wouldn’t go so far as to say she was right in her arguments, had still managed to shake him up. Though he hated to admit it, he was having second thoughts and could use the air to clear his head. But while he was walking, he could see a group of women up ahead, a circle of friends no doubt gossiping amongst themselves as he passed by them. Janie Clarkson was among them, and she had her legs crossed and was tapping her fingers on the armrest of the porch swing she was sitting on. Her hair was even neater than usual and her dress was new. She looked up from her magazine, smiling in that tense way she did when she was about to vent. She put her magazine down gently and smiled just the same way she did for her friends. They never knew the difference, but Jim did.  “Did you hear about Rodger?” she began, her attempt to keep things light already waning.  “Oh, no. What about him?” Mrs. Ridgefield took another sip of her coffee, trying not to lose all of her lipstick on the rim. “He got his PhD last week, he called me, all excited. Those three letters just mean he wasted three years of his life and is massively in debt.” Then, despite the rising tension in her voice, she snickered. “What a fool, eh?” Mrs. Ridgefield pursed her lips. She'd known Rodger a good deal longer than Janie and he'd always been a sweetheart. Not her type, but as far as friends went, he was a keeper.

With no other alternate route available to him to avoid the women, Jim squared his shoulders and kept walking forward towards the Skeffington residence, straight into Janie’s line of sight. As expected, as soon as she and her friends noticed him, she, though she didn’t greet him with so much as a “hello” or “good evening”, changed the subject to him. She was none too subtle as she purposefully spoke at a volume that let Jim know she wanted him to hear her conversation.

“Look, Gladys, Sir John Talbot is being announced.”

“He would be punctual.”

“That’s his car. Isn’t it a beauty?”

“It looks paid for. I’d still like a white horse.”

“Gee, Vera, an open car. It will muss Miss Skeffington’s hair up every which way.”

“No, it won’t. If she’s sensible, she’ll wear a scarf.”

“Well, what do you think of that man of hers? Miss Skeffington’s friend who's coming for dinner, Mr. Masters?”

“I’ve heard about him.”

“You have? I see. And have you reached a verdict?”

“Yes, I have. I think— Never mind. I’ll be quiet again.”

“I don’t like the way my color looks plain. Has anybody got a bright red lipstick? Mine’s grown anemic.”

“Here, I believe this is for the lips. Make yourself beautiful for Alan.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. Maybe I better blacken out a couple of teeth. Now what do you think of him?”

“We all know what to think of him. The problem is how to get rid of him.”

“Why? Is he staying? Say, Fanny isn’t going soft on him, is she?”

“I don’t think so. She didn’t say a word about doing such a thing.”

“But Fanny must be planning to accept him, make him one of the family.”

“You’re talking nonsense. Miss Skeffington is engaged to Sir John Talbot.”

“Do you think Mr. Masters is interested in her too?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Instinct.”

“Fanny’s also got it into her head that he’s interested in her daughter.”

“Mr. Masters seems to like her enormously. I think he may be, but I question his motives. He hasn’t been here for a while, has he?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“And I know why.”

“Are you going to enlighten us?”

“She must be planning to dissolve her daughter’s engagement to Sir John in favor of Mr. Masters.”

“I’m not so sure. Miss Skeffington is determined on a love match for herself. She wants to be happy. But Fanny has big dreams for her daughter. If she was going to dissolve the engagement, why announce it tonight all of a sudden? She would never put Masters in the class with Sir John Talbot. She will be a very rich young woman with him. If I was in Fanny’s shoes, I would have felt very guilty selling Miss Skeffington to that Masters. She deserves better than a fortune hunter. Or shouldn’t I say that?”

“You can say it to us.”

“And if anyone plans to marry her for money, he’ll need much more to offer than Jim Masters.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I know his kind like a book. He’s the ‘I-sold-papers-when-I was-a-kid-now-look-at-me’, type. I��ve got Miss Skeffington’s type neatly cataloged, too. Any bets? At any birthday party, she’s the sort that always piped up with: ‘I-never-had-a-birthday party-or-got-a-present’. Isn’t that right?”

“From what I can find out, he must be a fine one. It was a pity he backed off when Fanny had that trouble with her illness.”

“Maybe he thought she’d be too busy to bother with him.”

“You mean he wasn’t sure she’d survive the scandal.”

“Why? What’s he done?”

“I heard he has a daughter by his former maid that he refuses to provide for. Sent the maid and the child away to fend for themselves and live off scraps before the girl even popped.”

“Who?”

“That Masters.”

“Ha! I didn’t know the old fusspot had a child. Was it really born out of wedlock?”

“Mm, that’s not true. You’re talking nonsense. That’s quite enough on the subject.”

“You really think Sir John Talbot is worthy of all this here fuss?”

“Why sure he is, honey-child. Sir John Talbot has got money and lots of it. What Fanny wanted when she married was butlers like the Rawlings, with servants to order around. Now she wants the same for her daughter.”

“Then why allow another man in the house? I know the choice of husbands is eccentric in that family. They already claimed a Jew and soon they can boast a chauffeur, but even so—”

“Did anyone notice his eyes? They’re rather nice. Blue.”

“What are you doing? Defending him? Give me a piece of tissue.”

“Just because I happened to say he had nice eyes. Read your history. Some of the foulest people had the nicest eyes.”

“Well, I noticed them. They’re only fair.”

“Besides, they’re not blue. They’re brown.”

“Well, you’re crazy. They’re blue—”

“Oh, why are you always—”

“Now wait a minute. We’re not getting any place. What we need is a plan in case he intends staying.”

“Why does he stay? A man who’s wandered around the world all his life. You’ve got too much powder.”

“Whether he plans to stay or not, we’ve got to get rid of that-that indescribable monster as soon as possible.”

“Right.”

“Now wait a minute. I’m still not trying to defend him, but after all, I don’t think we ought to call him an indescribable monster. We don’t really know him.”

“All right. If you want me to, I’ll describe him. But the hair will be blue.”

“I dislike him just as much as you all do, but didn’t he fight in the last war?”

“First he ran away from his family.”

“That's the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“They couldn’t trace him anywhere. When they did find him, he was in an army hospital, wounded. He’d joined up under another name and lied about his age.”

“How perfectly splendid.”

“All right. That entitles him to one more night’s lodging. That better?”

“Much better.”

“But if you ask me, he’s got to go.”

“We don’t need a definite plan. All we’ve got to do is show him that he’s not wanted. We’ll freeze him out.”

“Freeze him out? Not with a man who’s been to Siberia.”

“It’s agreed then. We’re to keep the popular front against him ongoing, with or without Fanny. And nobody weakens.”

“Nobody. Gladys?”

“Nobody.”

“And in case anybody does begin to feel sorry for him, remember our motto: He shall not pass.”

“Well, I should be off.”

Jim entered the drawing room purposefully. Everyone stared.

“Yes?”

You tensed in anticipation.

Jim looked at your mother. “I’m here.”

Your mother got up and walked over to Jim. “I don’t think this is such a good idea. We mustn’t worry Manby.”

“You’ve asked me to come, and I’ve come.”

“Would someone please tell me what is going on, or have we all stepped through the looking glass?”

“Your maid has as much right to know as anybody else.”

“Why don’t I find that reassuring?”

“Miss Skeffington. How well you look.”

“Er, John. This is Masters, our chauffeur. Masters, this is Sir John Talbot.”

“Hello, Sir John.”

“Hello, Mr. Masters. Miss Skeffington never told me you were coming.”

“I didn’t know he was.”

“Well, the thing is, I was driving down from Rye and I suddenly realized I’d be passing the neighborhood.”

“What were you doing in Rye?”

“Oh, I was doing various car things.”

“I see. How do you know Miss Skeffington, sir?”

“Well, I don’t. Not really. But, uh, I want to. Very much.”

“We cannot always have what we want,” your mother mumbled.

“Oh, Mother, John, Masters is teasing. You know, before he was our chauffeur, Masters was our neighbor.”

“Or at least, my grandfather was. I was saying to Miss Skeffington, we should all see more of each other.”

“Maybe. Have you brought a dinner jacket?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you were very well-equipped to do your ‘car things’ in Rye.”

As John and Jim talked amongst each other, you went over to your mother and pulled her aside, speaking in a hushed tone so the men wouldn’t hear. “Did you plan this?”

“I might have said if he was coming from Rye, then he’d be driving quite close.”

“Rye is an hour or more from here. Don’t think I’m amused. I dislike my hand being forced.”

“No one’s forcing anything.”

“Just send John away! As quick as you can. For all our sakes.”

Instead, she then turned towards Jim and John, and raised her voice to grab their attention. “Now you’re here, Sir John, I hope you’ll stay the night at least.”

“Perhaps John is in a hurry to get home.”

“No, no, I’m not.”

“It’s settled then. Clinton, will you please tell Manby to set up a room for Sir John and to set a place for Masters at the table? He’ll be joining us for dinner tonight. And ask someone to unpack for Sir John.”

“Don’t tell me that Manby is the cook again tonight, Mrs. Skeffington.”

“Indeed, and why not?”

“Well, I think it’s time that I tried Miss Skeffington’s cooking.”

“Don’t worry, you will. Well, shall we sit down?” you said. Once John and Jim went into the dining room, you turned to your mother and hissed under your breath through gritted teeth, “This is so precisely not the way to win me over!”

Dinner that evening was an uneventful and uncomfortable affair. Nobody remembered anything about it except that time seemed to slow down to an unbearable slog. It was so unbearable that you, sick and tired of putting on the pretense, snapped. Whatever you said didn’t matter. What mattered was that you openly displayed your frustration as you threw down your silverware with a loud, metallic clatter and abruptly scooted your chair back. It made an irritating squeak against the fine wooden flooring as you threw your napkin on your plate and left, retreating to your room. Your plate was barely touched but your wine glass was emptied. You were so stressed that you had no appetite and were afraid that eating more than three bites would cause you to be sick and throw it all back up.

#Jim Masters x reader #mr Skeffington #now voyager #wolf man #claude rains #bette davis #x reader #daughters courageous #crossover au #crossover fic #crossover #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it

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free-for-all-fics · 4 days

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So… Turns out I wrote waaaaaay more than I thought because what I was hoping would be only a 3-part fic at most turned into 7 parts due to post limits. Whoops? Anyway, hope you Claude Rains fans enjoy this crossover fic. If you’re inspired by it at all pls tag me and I’d love to read it! 1/7 💜📸📝

Warnings: Harsh language, intense anger issues, bullying, time-period sexism, religion and antisemitism mentions, violence, age-gap romance (you’re in your 20’s, the Claude character is in his 40’s) Fanny Skeffington bashing and strained/tense mother-daughter relationship (in the context of the story, you’ll see.)

“I’m very happy, Fanny. How about you?”

“Well, at the moment, I'm more surprised than happy.”

“Don't you like children?”

“No. They always seem to be so wise.”

“Well, I think any child of ours has a fair chance of being stupid, Fanny.”

On April 16, 1916, Mrs. Frances “Fanny” Skeffington unexpectedly gave birth to twin girls, you and your sister, Fanny. When you were born, you screamed like your body was rebelling against your existence - as if you’d arrived in a world that made no sense at all. When you were very little, one thing ever upset you and brought tears to your eyes: When your father went away. While either of you were awake, Job would never leave your sister or yourself for more than an hour or two. But being a Skeffington meant he had duties to perform. As much as he missed his daughters when he was away, especially if it was for days at a time, and would have loved to have taken you and your sister with him on various business trips, even he had to admit that it was no place for children and, sometimes, you and your sister were better off staying in the safety and warmth of the house on Charles Street. You seemed to disagree most days. Temper tantrums were inevitably bound to happen, especially in very young children. Job knew this. You were so little, you just didn’t know how to regulate your very confusing emotions yet. Job didn’t think much of it back then. But there was one day where it was especially bad.

You, your father’s darling daughter, were sat in the middle of your nursery. Your small face was red and scrunched up in displeasure. Tears were streaming down your cheeks and onto the carpeted floor below. It was half past seven o’clock in the evening. You were supposed to be put down for bedtime thirty minutes ago, but nothing seemed to work. When it was bedtime, Fanny usually fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. But you were usually a bit fussy and didn’t want to sleep. You wanted more food, you wanted to play, you wanted to be held, you wanted something. The nanny put you in your crib like always, but you just tossed and turned, rolling this way and that until you kicked off your blankets, like always. You used the wooden bars to support yourself and stand up. You couldn’t climb over and out, so you just stood there, watching and waiting. The nanny tried everything she could think of, but you were determined to stay awake. So she brought in your father for help. Maybe you wanted him. He picked you up and lifted you out of your crib and, after holding and rocking you for a few minutes, placed you on the floor. It made your father’s heart hurt to see you this way, but nothing he said or did seemed to console you.

“I’ll be back very soon, my darling,” he cooed from where he was crouched in front of you, brushing back some of your baby hairs from your forehead. “It’s only for a short time. Then I’ll be back.”

Though you were little more than a baby at the time and couldn’t possibly comprehend what he was saying, it was almost as if you didn’t believe him. After a short pause, you leaned back and inhaled, and then let out a great wail of anguish.

Your father winced. “Please, sweetheart.” He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe your tears, but you turned your head every which way, hating the feeling of the soft cloth on your sticky, wet face. Job snatched a cushion off the nearest chair and threw it on the floor on the other side of the short-legged tea-table before lowering himself to the floor, sitting squarely opposite you. He moved quickly and quietly, sweeping you onto his lap and crossing his legs, allowing you to rest easily on his thighs, and gaze up at him. “It’s all right. No need for such tears!”

“Mr. Skeffington, I can fetch the nanny,” Manby said from her place by the door in a small voice. No doubt, she didn’t think it was suitable for him to be on the floor, holding a wet and weeping child.

“Nonsense. She’s my daughter, I can handle—”

His words were cut short by another wail, one so loud he doubted it even came from you. Was such a thing even possible? You were so small, and the voice was so loud… Suddenly, Fanny, his wife, swept into the room. Manby, still stood by the door, bowed her head in a polite nod to acknowledge her Mistress’ appearance. Fanny caught Job’s eye and, upon seeing him on the floor, frowned slightly. Clearly, it wasn’t just the household staff that thought the image of the Master on the floor of the nursery was an interesting one.

“I wondered what had happened to detain you,” your mother said slowly, making her way into the room.

“Apologies,” he replied, raising his voice slightly to be heard over you who, on seeing your mother, had begun to squirm and cry even louder than before. He turned his attention back to you. “There’s no need for that, my love,” he huffed, a sound halfway between amusement and a sigh. “As you can see, I was preoccupied,” he continued, bouncing his legs slightly, mimicking the flap of butterfly wings, hoping that the action might’ve pleased you and gave you a respite from your tears. It didn’t as, once again without warning, you let out another wail.

“What in all the world has happened to warrant such tears!” your mother asked your father with wide eyes.

Still bouncing his legs, Job explained, “I made to leave.”

Your mother didn’t understand, but Manby understood immediately. Job looked down at you with a small and sad smile, before raising his head towards the door. “You can go ahead and leave us, Fanny. Inform Mr. and Mrs. Malloy that I will not be at the dinner this evening.”

“Well… If you’re certain, Job.”

“I am. I’m sure Chester and Freddie won’t mind if I don’t come along.”

Fanny exited the nursery, Manby following and closing the door behind her, leaving just you and your father alone, the nanny not having been called. You sat in silence for a moment, your father watching as you sniffled and looked up at him with your large, wide eyes. Your face was still damp with tears and the color in your cheeks had dulled to a flushed, rosy pink. You were seemingly much calmer now, as if you heard the door click shut and had the keen awareness that your father had given in and opted to stay with you after all.

Suddenly, Job let his relieved smile, that he had stifled in your mother’s presence, show. He leaned forward to run his hand down your face. You finally let him brush away the drying tears and, while he was at it, he took the opportunity to also brush back your hair, trying to tame the wild strands that were messy and poking up in every direction. “Well, darling, looks like it’s just you and me tonight. I’ll tell you a secret: I didn’t want to go to that dinner party anyway. I’m sure Chester and Freddie will be pleased. Come on, sweetheart. Come on,” he said, somewhat gleefully. He picked you up like you were expecting but, to your disappointment, he laid you back down in your crib and covered you with the blanket. You were about to pout and fuss again, but his voice stopped you. “Darling?” your father asked carefully, “Would you like to see something? Something special?”

Another thing that you had in common with your father: A burning curiosity. You nodded furiously, and Job smiled. You watched, enthralled, as your father held a mobile in his two pale hands out in front of himself. He hung it up over your crib. It was beautiful, with butterflies of all kinds, all painted beautiful shades of blue, green, and purple. The light from your room illuminated it in a way reminiscent of the moon as it reflected off the spinning mobile. You watched in awe as the small butterflies began to move and fly out in all different directions. You laughed and wriggled, before reaching out your hands in the direction of the butterflies, as if to grab them. But you had no luck in reaching them, they were too high up.

“Dada!” you whined suddenly, dropping your hands in defeat.

Job froze, as did the nanny who had come in to check on you.

“Dada! Dada!”

The nanny raised her head to Mr. Skeffington, intent on sharing a surprised look, but instead, she noticed his eyes had filled, and he looked ready to cry, and yet he was smiling.

Nine years after your birth, your chubby little baby face had developed into a beautiful little girl. In your mother’s words, your sister, Fanny, inherited all of your father’s brains and none of her looks. As a matter of fact, Job said she looked like his grandmother. You, the other daughter, however, were the exact opposite. You inherited all of Fanny’s looks but none of Job’s brains. By the time Fanny was only six, she was as gentle as a hummingbird. She knew her courtesies well. Not only that, she was a model student. She had her struggles in certain subjects like every child but, unlike her, you were struggling and failing almost everything. It was around the time when you were both nine years old that the people around you, especially your father and Uncle George, began to really notice your behavioral problems. You began to exhibit hostile behavior. The littlest things seemed to set you off. One day at school, you and Fanny were playing on the playground, complete with a swings carousel, jungle gym, and a tall corkscrew slide made to look like a rocket ship, just like the other kids. You played amongst yourselves, but then you noticed something that made you stop short. A girl approaching on a bicycle. It was Emily. You didn’t know her last name, nor did you care. All you knew was that she was your main bully. She acted as ringleader to a group of girls whose mission it was to make your life harder than it needed to be.

You had a Christian mother and Jewish father, but you and Fanny were raised without an affiliation to either religion. You’d always considered yourself non-religious despite your regular conversations with God. You didn’t understand that your mother and father were of different faiths, nor the importance of it. Until you realized that, in New York, all the neighbors and other kids’ parents were either Christian or Jewish and their children were raised to be the same. One or the other, but never both. The group of girls always called you names. You didn’t understand what “crossbreed” and “kike” meant. You felt you had to make a choice to "belong", so you decided to do your own research about faith. You attended two Christian services with your mother and one Jewish service with your father, but you found the services boring and hard to follow (as you didn’t know the songs or the meanings of anything), and spent the time counting hats. You also dealt with the issues of growing up and puberty—including worry over periods, feelings about boys, getting your first bra, and jealousy about others. The girls at school pulled your hair, messed with your personal belongings… But Emily was the worst of them.

They didn’t go after your twin sister, Fanny. Just you. She wasn’t bullied, harassed, or tormented by other children like you were, probably because you were the much easier target. Fanny was a little lady, practically perfect in every way. She was everything you were not, but you didn’t envy her. She could be shy and soft-spoken at times, but she made friends easily, got good grades, and dressed and behaved in a way a girl should. You, on the other hand, were cursed with your late uncle’s temper at times, and the rudeness was all yours. You were furious when Fanny’s friend’s parents insisted that you both must be a Christian because your mother is one and faith passes through the mother—and they could overlook the "sins" of your father being Jewish. You were already angry at them for coming to visit at all, but them insisting on you being Christian was your rage breaking point.

“I found it odd you didn’t join us in saying Grace at dinner. With your father, it’s understandable, but... Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Your sister did.”

“She wanted to. I didn’t.”

“Are you one with Christ like your mother and sister, Miss Skeffington?”

“Your parents didn’t raise you and your sister to be of different faiths, did they? That’d be rather…unheard of.”

“How about you shut your damn mouths?”

“Language, young lady! Don’t use such words. The Lord hears everything, even after we say ‘Amen’.”

“You’re guests in our house. I’ll say whatever I damn well please. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

“Won’t you tell us a story? My old man, God rest his soul, used to say that Jews are good at telling stories. You must have your father’s Jew blood in you.”

“You want a story? Fine. There once was a man who came to know Christ in a monastery. He wanted to be a priest. And under the guidance and discipline of the monks who lived there, he came to memorize both the testaments, the writings of Assisi, Aquinas, Erasmus, all the saints and scholars. His father, a vulgar man, did not think much of this education, and so he and his brothers conspired to pull him out, lock him away, where, between beatings, starvations, and the failure of Christ to intercede the beatings and starvations, he slowly forgot all about the testaments. Assisi, Aquinas, Erasmus, all of it.”

“Stop.”

“And so to answer your boring question, there is an ocean between Christ and myself. I hope that satisfies you. But who can say. Your brain must be collecting dust in your skull from years of disuse, you pigheaded fool.”

“Stop!”

“Then don’t do that shit here! Not with me, not with my sister, and not with my father. You understand?”

They left the house and never came back after that. You weren’t sorry to see them go, of course. You were only sorry that Fanny lost a friend because of you. Going back to school was awkward. Both for her and for you.

October 1925

Today was P.E. and we played soccer. Jasmine and I were team red. I think Kristina wanted to be team red too. Jasmine is really good at soccer. P.E. is the only subject I’m good at. I’m failing almost everything else. I hope Mother and Daddy won’t be mad at me. I don't like after school programs, especially ballet. It's difficult, and boring. And I hate proper etiquette. What's wrong with being myself? I don't need to be like Mother. Miss Brook came to pick me up from my after school program and defended me today. The kids walked away when she said her brother is going to catch them and put them in jail. He’s a politician or something. I don’t know. I want to be like her. I want to be the next Miss Brook! That way, no one will ever bully me.

November 1925

Yesterday’s classes were the worst! Mr. Davis was usually very nice, so I was happy to be in his class again today. But this morning, I was disciplined for the first time. During class, Mr. Davis caught me daydreaming again. I didn’t realize what I was doing until he called my name two or three times. He made me show him my slate, (a test to see if I was paying attention? A test I was doomed to fail?) and, instead of spelling, there were doodles all over it. I pleaded and insisted that I didn’t remember drawing anything, but…I must’ve. Why else would those doodles be on my slate? I said that I wouldn’t do it again, but he didn’t believe me because this wasn’t the first time. He had me stand up and come to the front of the classroom. He struck me. In front of the entire class. Something about being an example. I was terrified, but Mr. Davis said it needed to happen for me to learn and grow. He struck me. He hit the palms of my hands with his ruler so many times, it made me want to scream. I wished I could go numb to what was going on. I don’t want to experience it ever again. I can cover the marks with gloves and Mother’s makeup for now, but I just hope nobody will notice. It hurts to even hold a pencil or piece of chalk.

“Class is dismissed.”

“I hope this will teach her a lesson. Stuck up thing.”

“Miss Skeffington, you may close the door.”

“Mr. Davis, if I solemnly promise not to draw anymore on my slate when I'm supposed to be practicing my spelling, may I go?”

“Have I your promise?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Give me your slate.”

“Oh, no.”

“Your slate, Miss Skeffington.”

“I beg of you.”

“The slate. Did you draw this, Miss Skeffington?”

“I-I think so.”

��Hand me the ruler. Hold out your hand. Higher. Higher.”

“I'm ready, Mr. Davis.”

“You may go, Miss Skeffington.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you. Oh, thank you, Mr. Davis.”

Emily pretended to not see you and just rode right by. You watched, your face strangely slack, then started to follow her. Fanny gave you a confused look, but tagged along. You found Emily’s bike parked nearby where she was playing. There were kids playing and moms and dads watching. You ignored them all. Emily was climbing on the jungle gym with some other kids. You walked over with Fanny in tow and just watched Emily play. When Emily saw you watching her, she made a face. You just stood there, staring.

“What are you looking at?”

No response. Fanny tugged on your arm, but you were rooted in place, staring blankly at Emily. Finally, Emily couldn’t take it. She climbed off the jungle gym and walked away, and you watched her go. Emily got on a swing but, just as she started to get some height, you were right there, staring at her again. Fanny happily grabbed a swing for herself, but you were fixated on Emily.

“Stop staring at me! Stop it!”

But you were unwavering and couldn’t take your eyes off of her. Emily got off the swing and ran away, while you walked after her. You looked calm on the outside, but inside you were simmering with rage. She had to pay.

“Go away! Stop following me, freak!”

Fanny saw you following Emily and grudgingly got off the swing, hurrying to catch up. Emily gave the both of you an angry look as you followed her across the park, Fanny still uncertain about what was going on. Emily headed for the tall corkscrew slide. Steep stairs led to the enclosed top, the tip of the rocket ship.

Emily started up the stairs, then paused. She turned to you. “You go first.”

You didn’t move, but Fanny gladly took her turn. After a beat, you followed Fanny up the stairs. Emily stayed behind, watching. Fanny went down the spiraling slide, but you just stood at the top, looking down at Emily.

“Go!”

You continued to stare down at her for a beat, then turned and disappeared from sight. Only then did Emily climb up. Fanny ran to the stairs for another turn, while Emily reached the top and looked around. She saw Fanny, but where were you? She turned, and suddenly, you were right in front of her. You didn't go down the slide, you were just crouched out of sight. Emily gasped - then you spat In her face and pushed her down the stairs. Emily screamed as she fell, her limbs flailing out of control. She landed hard in the dirt and just laid there crying, clutching her arm and bleeding from a gash in her forehead. Emily’s scream drew alarmed looks. One of the playground mothers came running to help. But Fanny stood frozen, gaping at you in total shock. You stared blankly down at Emily from atop the slide, utterly emotionless. Emily’s father arrived on the scene. Emily said something to him and pointed at you and Fanny, who watched from a distance. The principal was called, who in turn personally called your father to come pick both you and Fanny up, cutting your school day short. You and Fanny waited outside the principal’s office, sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs while he and your father were having their private discussion about the incident at recess and your involvement in it. You couldn’t hear anything of their conversation except for,

“Well, to begin with, your daughter has many good qualities. She’s intelligent. She has imagination...”

“Oh, this is gonna be even worse than I thought.”

And then the heavy wooden door closed, preventing you from listening further. Twenty minutes felt like an eternity to the two of you, especially since you couldn’t hear a word of what was being said from inside.

“Are you going to tell on me?”

Your sister shrugged, unsure what to do.

“I didn't mean to hurt her. I just wanted her to stop picking on me.” When you noticed the look your sister was giving you, you continued, “Don't you hate it when someone is mean to you for no reason? Wouldn't you do almost anything to make them stop?”

A beat. Fanny nodded. Finally, mercifully, the door opened and your father emerged.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go.”

You and Fanny both immediately got up, eager to be free from the hard plastic chairs. Your father walked between the both of you, holding your hand in his right and Fanny’s hand in his left. In your free hand, you clutched a sketchbook held together with a rubber band. Your feet were encased in saddle shoes and they clicked on the concrete as you walked outside to your father’s car. Activity on the playground stopped as the girls watched you leave. None of them looked sorry to see you go. You ignored them. Your father put your things - your backpack and your paintings - in the trunk of the car.

November 1925

Manby saw the marks on my hands and helped me. She cleaned my wounds. It was painful. I told her what happened, told her that I could not stand the degradation of being forced to attend school with a lot of ill-mannered girls who stick their silly noses into other people's business. Manby said I should be patient. But they threw stones at me. Manby told me to forgive and forget. She said they don’t know what they’re doing. I like Manby, but I hate the other kids.

"Sweet child, it is a myth that the strong bully the weak. It is those who cannot handle their stress with grace, who attack the gentle natured. You are attacked because you have self-restraint, a trait often only seen in adults. You are mature beyond your years, although you are still a child. Those bullied are often the "too much" children. They are too clever, too pretty, too kind... The things said to justify the abuse are false. They are excuses and no more. No person can tell you who or what you are, for you build yourself with your own choices, as do they. With every choice to be unkind, they build themselves to be unkind. You're different. That's good. With every choice you make to be kind, you build yourself into a kinder person. Every great person I know was bullied as a child. That which makes you a target now, will make you great in your lifetime. Through sadness we learn empathy, to know how others feel in pain transforms us, and we make ourselves kinder all the more."

She told Daddy. That made me panic. What did he do? What did he say to Mr. Davis? Is Mr. Davis going to punish me more? She said he didn't say anything to Mr. Davis. Not yet, at least. When she told him how I'd been humiliated, he merely told her that he would most certainly take me out of that miserable school. He told her he could not stay to discuss the matter with me just now as he had to prepare for Uncle George’s charity gala he’s attending tonight, but he will as soon as I get up and have my breakfast tomorrow. It’s a school night, but Fanny and I don’t have to go. He still expects us in bed at the usual time, though.

November 1925

Daddy told me this morning after breakfast that I won’t have to go to school anymore. He was looking at other options for Fanny too, but Fanny is gonna stay because she likes it there, has friends, and is a good student. Her teachers are nice to her, but Daddy says he’ll pull her out too if he ever gets even a whiff of trouble like he did with me. He says he's gonna teach me out of books and things. He says it'll be better for me. But everybody goes to school. I don't. Not anymore. Maybe I can't ever go anywhere. Maybe I’ll just have to stay home all the time.

You sat alone in your painting room in the attic. You could hear your parents below, but didn’t pay attention to what they were saying until you heard your name. You stopped painting and listened, suddenly apprehensive. Though you couldn’t see your parents, your mother sounded troubled by what your father had told her.

“We’ll talk to her about it tonight.”

“You think that’s enough?”

“What do you suggest?”

“I could take her to Dr. Jaquith.”

“I don’t think we need to call in the shrink just yet. We already had Dr. Melton examine her. We're not going to keep taking her to doctors until you hear what you want to hear.”

“That’s not what I'm trying to do, Fanny. I want this to work just as much as you do, but there are serious questions that we still don't have the answers to. If the school principal, Mr. Benson, was right about her, then children are getting seriously hurt because of her.”

“Maybe. It still could’ve been an accident. Kids fall off of things all the time. He didn't really believe that our daughter would intentionally hurt another child.”

“He didn’t want to believe it. But he was worried enough to think we should put her in Dr. Jaquith’s care until we found out for sure.”

“For all his good intentions, Mr. Benson is not a trained psychologist. I get what you’re saying and I’m not trying to dismiss or diminish your concerns, Job, I just don’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than it is.”

“The incident at the playground yesterday… It just reminded me of what Mrs. Saunders said. We really don't know that much about her.”

“She had certain suspicions about her and they turned out to be wrong. Dr. Melton told us she’s just going through a phase and that she’ll come out of it on her own. Why can’t you accept that?”

“And what if, down the road, somebody else thinks there is something seriously wrong with her? Somebody like Janie Clarkson? If it’s a dead end, I’ll drop it. But we have to get a second opinion at this point, and Dr. Jaquith is a specialist.”

Fanny considered what Job was saying. She didn’t want to be unreasonable. If you could be helped in the way she wished she could’ve helped Trippy, she’d take that opportunity. She nodded. “All right. See what you can find out.”

“Emily says you pushed her.”

“That’s not true! We were just playing and she tripped! I swear!”

Your father turned to ask Fanny, “Did you see what happened?”

You eyed Fanny expectantly. She hesitated, but eventually said, “It was an accident, Daddy.”

Job sighed, not entirely convinced. The door opened, and Soames appeared in the doorway of the parlor.

You turned on him with extraordinary violence. "Didn’t I give you the strictest orders not to come in?" you cried.

So much violence about so small a thing. Why shouldn’t Soames have come in? The poor man, still obviously in a state of inner turmoil, only wanted to take away the tea. You were their daughter and all that, but the strict orders and the violence did seem rather overstepping the bounds of what you might and might not do. Funny, how everybody and everything was that day. Nothing, since your mother left her bedroom that morning, had been in the least what she was accustomed to. Soames, met by this outburst, hesitated on the threshold. Yes, he had been told not to come in but, after a while, he had found it impossible to stay out. He was much too frightened. The silence, the death-like silence downstairs, had frightened him enough to begin with, but it was nothing to the fright which overwhelmed him when you started screaming blue murder. When you finally exploded, you didn’t go for the pictures or tchotchkes as usual, you went straight for him; pummeling, hitting, kicking, biting. Your father was quick to intervene and break up the distressing scene, grabbing you and pulling you away from Soames while you thrashed and bucked like a wild animal. Your father glanced uneasily across at Soames. This was the final straw. Despite your mother’s reluctance, your father knew he needed to consult with Dr. Jaquith immediately. It couldn’t be put off any longer. He should’ve gone to him months ago, but both he and your mother were still in denial, under the illusion that either you’d grow out of it or they could help you without needing a doctor’s assistance. Dr. Jaquith was a renowned psychiatrist that specialized in working with both children and adults. He’d know what to do, much better than anyone else in the household. Job knew it was time to swallow his pride.

“Fanny, darling, go find Marie and play with her for a while. Soames, call the doctor. It’s too late in the evening now and the last train has gone, but there may still be a late one if he drives into Waterbury. If not, tell him that we need him to get on a train to New York as quickly as he can. We’ll reimburse his travel expenses if we have to. Just get him here,” was all he said, and Soames hastily bowed and turned on his heel, eager to flee the room and follow his Master’s order. Fanny was a bit more hesitant, obviously concerned about you. A part of her wanted to stay but, after staring at you for a few more seconds, she realized her presence wouldn’t help you in this situation, so she left the room to find Marie as she was told to. Hopefully Dr. Jaquith would be here by the day after tomorrow and, until then, Job could find ways to console and calm you down.

“Messy things, pipes. I like them. Mr. Skeffington. Mrs. Skeffington. How do you do? I’m Dr. David Jaquith.”

“Dr. Jaquith. Of course. You’ve taken us by surprise. We weren't expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Yes, there was a mix-up. I had to take an earlier train. I apologize for dropping in on you unexpectedly. I know you may not want me here at this very moment since I’m a day early. If this is a bad time, I can go to my hotel and come back tomorrow.”

“Hotel? Don’t be silly. There’s plenty of guest rooms here. We can have Manby make one up for you. And it’s quite all right, Doctor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Come in, come in. Clinton can take your coat. So long as you help our daughter, you’re welcome under our roof here. We’re happy to have another set of eyes and hands looking after her, but we do hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“How grave you make it sound. Of course, I want you to know that I’m here to help you with anything you need.”

“That’s real kind of you, Dr. Jaquith. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Skeffington. Though I could use a coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Manby, could you make Dr. Jaquith a cup of coffee? Well, thank you for coming, Doctor. Really, we’re honored by the visit of the foremost psychiatrist of the whole country. We think it was pretty sweet of you to come all the way from Vermont to New York. We know that, generally, you don’t come to see people. They go to see you.”

“That’s from lack of time, not from vanity. But the phone call I received from one of your staff - Soames, was it? - sounded very urgent. I had to come in person so I could properly assess the situation and determine for myself if your daughter is an urgent case or not.”

“The people who recommended you said you treat adults, too.”

“That is correct. But I’ve always found children’s minds to be more interesting.”

“What we’d like to know, Doctor, is if you can cure our daughter. Before we end up in a heap of ash.”

“As a psychiatrist, I treat mental and emotional disorders in my patients, and I try to alleviate their condition. I do not presume to cure them. If you don’t mind, I’ll have to ask you and Mr. Skeffington some questions first.”

“Of course. Ask us anything you like.”

“Soames said she’s been throwing inexplicable temper tantrums, that she’s been lashing out violently. How long have these tantrums and acts of violence been going on? Do you have any idea what could have triggered the first episode?”

Job had a flashback to when you were five years old. You pulled the rope next to your bed to ring the bell and call your nanny into the room. You asked her to retrieve him, hoping against hope that he was still awake at such a late hour. You knew he was rarely less than ten steps away. When he arrived you were crying in the corner, sucking your thumb with a teddy bear in your arms. He picked you up and held you, patting you consolingly on the back and combing his fingers through your hair while he paced back and forth around the room as you cried and screamed. At the time, Job thought it had just been a terrible nightmare. But maybe…maybe it was something more. Whatever it was, you just needed to let it out… Surely, if he could find a better outlet for you, then these episodes would stop or, at the very least, decrease in frequency.

“Since she was five years old, she’s had a history of temper tantrums and fits of violence. We didn’t reach out for help sooner because I was often called away on business, Fanny had her own engagements, and we didn’t think it was anything more than the usual temper tantrums and aggressive behavior that come with being a toddler. She was a holy terror but we thought that, with our help, she’d eventually get past it, grow out of it once she reached a certain age. But it’s been over four years and not much has changed. Now she’s nine and hasn’t shown much improvement, despite our best efforts to console and help her. I wish I could be here more but, as a banker and businessman, I’m always being called away without warning and without any say in the matter. As much as I’d like to, I can’t take my daughters with me everywhere I go. I’d much rather be here with her. Although…”

“Mr. Skeffington?”

“It’s just that it hasn’t been very easy for me to talk to her lately. Whenever I called her from abroad while on my business trips, which was at least once a day, she always seemed to fly off the handle for no reason. We’d be talking about the weather or school or something equally innocuous, and suddenly she’d bellow at me and slam the phone down, which doesn’t make sense. My other daughter, Fanny, has always been extremely level-headed and even-tempered. She never gets angry. But with her…”

As Job spoke of you, he mused on you, how you weren’t anything like your sister, but you weren’t like your mother either. You were like him in some ways but oddly, or maybe not so oddly, in many ways, you reminded him of Trippy, Fanny’s brother. Was it possible that you took after him instead? He kept that thought to himself.

“Are you sure you didn’t inadvertently say something…you know, argumentative?”

“I promise you, these rages of hers are totally uncalled for and quite…unbearable. Everyone in this house loves her dearly but…she is making things very difficult. Frankly, talking to her is something we’ve been quite unable to do lately. These temper tantrums of hers make rational discourse well nigh impossible. We’re just about at our wits’ end. We don't know how or why she is the way that she is, but we do know she's a good kid, underneath it all.“

“Maybe she’s just unhappy here.”

“We don’t know why. I mean, she was thrilled to start the new school year and couldn’t wait. Something has changed her. We’re just as bewildered and upset by her behavior as any parent would be.”

“The last doctor that examined her said that aside from a little dry skin, which is not unusual for her, she was perfectly fine,” Fanny interjected.

“I didn’t trust his judgment, Fanny, so I had to get a second opinion from a doctor who wouldn’t be afraid to give us an honest assessment, even if it upset you.” Job turned from his wife to the doctor. “My father used to say that when a child misbehaves, it’s a parent’s duty to correct that child. Now as a father myself, I’m inclined to agree, but… Never mind. You asked for signs and symptoms. The first signs of a tantrum begin with her breath turning from quiet and regular to a panting gasp. She sucks at the air like it’s suddenly become thick and is now almost too difficult to draw in. She becomes deaf to my soothing words, and I’ve had to rapidly back-track on my previously tough stance, offer her more than what she had asked for in the first place. But by then, it’s irreversible. Her next stage is always to smash whatever she can lay her hands on. Fanny and I have seconds to hide everything we care about. Most parents, like my father, would have just held the child down until their energy was spent or they became too big, but I don’t want to do that to her. That’d only frighten her and make an already bad situation even worse. There’s got to be a better way, but… I just don’t know what more I can do for her. I feel like I’ve tried almost everything. Please get to the bottom of this, David. You’re our last hope.”

“She’s just testing us, there’s no doubt about that. But I know we’re doing a good job. Maybe we’re not strict enough with her, but it’s been nowhere near as bad as we expected.”

“I’ll have to be the judge of that, Mrs. Skeffington. Can you describe to me her behavior during these fits? What kinds of things has she been saying and doing? Can you tell me of any incidents that stand out to you?”

“Impertinent. Upsetting rules. Thinks she can run the works. Talking back to me. Purposefully disobeying. I've been going out so much lately that, by the time I get back, I have no energy. I was exhausted after attending a dinner party and said I just wanted to relax...but the banging on the walls and slamming of the door was making it hard for me to unwind. If she would just be quiet for a little bit, everything would be fine. But…”

“Anything else? Mr. Skeffington?”

“Last year, there was the dinner party Fanny and I were invited to by the Cookhams. It was Sunday, the nanny’s day off. We had planned on leaving the girls at home and having George watch them, but something came up at the last minute and he couldn’t. So we brought them with us. Fanny was on her best behavior, but our other daughter hated the dinner we shared. I could hear my parents’ voices in my head, telling me I should probably teach her to eat things she doesn't like. I was forced to eat things I hated when I was a kid, but we were poor. You have no idea how poor.”

“You weren’t actually hungry?”

“My father sold chocolate bars with almond nuts on a pushcart. When he had a good day, we ate meat. When he had a bad day, we ate chocolate bars with almond nuts. The bad days had a slight edge. It had to be done. But then… My brother died of a food allergy when he was young. We couldn’t afford the medicine that might’ve saved him.”

“You remember a lot about when you were a little boy, don’t you?”

“Especially the lack of plumbing. I was afraid that same allergy might’ve passed on to her or Fanny, but I thought that limiting what my daughters did or didn’t eat because of an uncertain possibility could be just as damaging to their eating habits as the allergy itself. The world of medicine isn’t what it used to be when I was their age. It’s evolving every day. I can be thankful for that. There’s medicine and treatment now to cure many food allergies, not to mention safe and controlled allergy tests so that medical professionals can find out what patients are allergic to without putting them at risk. So that’s what I did with her and Fanny. I took them both to get tested, and they both got off scot-free. No allergies detected. With her and Fanny, the only rule I enforced when it came to food was that they had to at least try it first before deciding if they liked something or not. She and Fanny aren’t extremely picky. They’ll eat practically anything you put in front of them. It wasn’t the food that bothered her, but she threw her plate onto the floor, breaking it and making a mess. I had to take her outside, apologizing profusely to everyone, especially the staff.”

“What’s wrong with her? My friends looked annoyed when we left. Our friends, our neighbors… I hear them in the church… They’re whispering about what’s happening in this house. And now certain friends of mine don’t visit as much as they used to. I hope they don’t hate me... She definitely needs some form of discipline, but she still won’t take to it. If I don’t figure something out, I may never see those friends again.”

As a psychiatrist, Dr. Jaquith was always making notes. Not just on paper, but mentally as well. And what he was noting about Fanny’s attitude and priorities was…troubling. Though she didn’t say it, Dr. Jaquith had a feeling that Fanny used you, her daughter, as an excuse to arrive and leave dramatically and make herself the center of attention. Though Dr. Jaquith was a professional and kept his face neutral, he was less than impressed from what he was inferring about the household environment, if the parents were anything to go by. And, in almost all cases, it most definitely was.

“And she dropped some rather vulgar language on me a few days ago. I can’t bring myself to repeat it. It was language that is unbecoming of a lady, especially a Skeffington. I swear, we didn’t teach her to say such things. At first, I thought she could have picked it up anywhere. She probably heard it at school. But this wasn’t something she overheard. She knew what it meant. And the way she said it… I don’t even think she expected to get in trouble over it. If she’s saying it to my face, what’s she saying or doing when we’re not around? We have to be thinking about what kind of influence she’s having on Fanny.”

Dr. Jaquith raised his eyebrows in comic, exaggerated surprise. “No explanation necessary. I don't think there is anything that girl could say that would surprise me. But this is important so I must ask, is she only talking back and disobeying you? Or does she behave the same way with you, Mr. Skeffington?”

“Not with me, no. She’s never once disobeyed or talked back to me, at least…not deliberately. If she ever did either of those things, it was because she was in the middle of an episode and couldn’t hear me or focus enough on my voice to listen to what I was saying, like her body was there but her mind was elsewhere, somewhere far away and beyond reach.”

“I see. Soames mentioned acts of violence. Have there been any incidents where she hurt either herself or another person?”

“Well… A girl she and Fanny were playing with in the school playground got hurt. There were some broken bones.”

A beat. Dr. Jaquith was suddenly apprehensive, but tried to cover by asking, “Really? Is the girl all right?”

“She broke her arm and had to have something like eleven stitches, I think. She was lucky.”

“She doesn’t sound very lucky.”

“She's lucky she didn’t break her neck.”

“She broke that girl’s arm only days ago, and now this! Poor Emily. They had a…small fight. She just pushed her, but she had a bad fall. I’m so ashamed… Her parents must think we raised a savage.”

Dr. Jaquith seemed troubled by this. “May I meet her?”

“Of course. She’s in her painting room. She adores drawing and painting. Fanny wouldn’t allow her to paint or draw in her bedroom. She was afraid she’d get paint on the carpet or the furniture, so I suggested that perhaps she might like her own area in the house for her art. It was a good compromise. The attic was largely unused, so I had it refurbished and repurposed so she could have her own space to get as messy as her heart desired. I still remember when I first surprised her with it last year…”

Enveloped in darkness and trusting your father as he led you through echoing hallways was something you never imagined you would be doing on what had, so far, been a typical Tuesday. He was brimming with excitement though, and the smile on his face had been so genuine that you had let him tie a silk blindfold over your eyes so he could properly escort you to the surprise. You needed a bit of cheering up and, besides, his anticipation was catching. Well, that and the fact that his hand wrapped tightly and comfortingly around yours was sending little sparks of electricity that you knew to be excitement throughout your body.

“There’s a ladder here, darling. Watch your step. I’ll be right behind you in case you slip, but no peeking!”

Despite being blindfolded, you realized you were going up to the attic. You’d gone up there many times before, usually after school. It was your safe space, your tower. The temptation was so strong, but you refrained from peeking. If your father went to so much trouble to make something special for you, you didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“Excuse me, darling. I just need to reach over you to open the door.”

You bit your lower lip to conceal a grin, one eyebrow arched above the blindfold. You felt your father’s chest pressed against your back as he reached an arm over and past you. You heard a door latch turn, and the creak of hinges.

“Okay. You can step forward, darling. The attic is just there. One more step.”

Once you climbed up and your feet touched the familiar wooden flooring, you walked a few paces forward to give your dad enough space to follow behind you. You had stopped and waited. "Can’t I take this off now?"

“Not yet. I told you, I want this to be a surprise.” Once again his hand slipped into yours, your fingers interlacing easily and naturally. He squeezed your hand and drew you forward. Immediately you were assaulted with familiar smells…but weren’t able to place them.

“Now?”

“Impatient girl,” he chided, tweaking your nose. “Not yet!”

He moved away, letting go of your hand, and you could hear the rustle of fabric. The darkness around you grew a tad brighter, as if he had opened curtains to let the sunlight in. You couldn't hide your smile. “Now?” You felt him loosening the knot at your nape, his energy rolling down your spine like a physical being. The blindfold loosened.

“Okay…now,” he said, and slid the silk away from your eyes.

Immediately you gasped, a hand fluttering up toward your mouth, changing its mind, and then settling against the base of your throat in amazement. Golden sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the twenty easels that stood guard over hundreds of pristine canvases, all waiting for an artist. Tall tables, regular tables and low tables were placed casually around the room, piled high with every medium on the face of the earth, oil paints, watercolors, charcoal, pencils, inks, acrylics, woodblocks, stained glass, beads, and brushes that ranged in width from the size of a Hoover vacuum cleaner to the size of a pinhead. In addition, stacked neatly along one wall were sketch books; two pieces of light shale wrapped in cotton with pieces of vellum and parchment sandwiched between. Everything you would ever need. A small platform with candles placed strategically around it for a model to pose from, and drop cloths in perfect rolls swinging from a hammock that was suspended from the cathedral-like ceiling. Tears glistened in your eyes as you walked slowly around the room.

“I don't believe it…I've never seen so much…in my whole life!” you said, awed and unable to find all of your words.

Your father saw the mixture of tears and happiness on your face and smiled nervously. “Does this please you?”

You beamed at him over your shoulder. “Yes, oh, yes!”

“Then it is yours,” he said.

No one had ever given you something so wonderful, so perfect for you. You rushed to him, taking his hands in yours and, without thinking, rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, thank you so much, Daddy!”

In surprise, he turned his head slightly towards you, questioning to himself if this was indeed the same angry and violent little girl who was responsible for that horrid playground incident. But you were so overwhelmed with joy that you didn't notice. In the span of one second it was no longer his cheek under your mouth, it was your forehead under his lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he locked his arms around your back, and you held each other in a warm hug as you both cried tears of joy and maybe relief. You lowered your head, blushing furiously and unable to meet his eyes, as if you suddenly came to your senses and were embarrassed by your emotional outburst. One hand rose to cup your chin, and lift your face to him. He was as cool and refined as ever, and only smiled at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He didn't draw unwanted attention to your own tears, only used his thumbs to stroke your cheeks and wipe your tears away. In this emotional moment, your familial bond grew stronger.

“You’re welcome, my dear.”

“But, Job, painters are not highly thought of in good society. And there is nothing so difficult to marry as a painter, especially one who’s female.”

The statement was so absurd, it snapped Job out of his reminiscent reverie and Dr. Jaquith out of his train of thought.

“Marry?”

“Marry? But, Fanny, she is not yet thirteen. She’s a bit young for us to be thinking of such things.”

“Not now, but someday, I mean.”

Of all the things to take away from what was being discussed about her daughter, Fanny’s main concern was her future marriage prospects. Disappointing? Yes. Surprising? No.

“She’s been really absorbed in her work lately. I thought she might finally be free of her despair, her anger, because she never before felt this inspired. She said she was going to put every last bit of herself into this piece. I found her painting today. It was almost done. While I did in fact encourage her to take up this new hobby, after seeing this piece I… Well, it sickened me. It made me question my own advice. It wasn’t her technique that gave me pause but, rather, her subject matter. She decided to paint two girls jumping off a roof. They looked exactly like herself and Fanny. When I asked her about it, she said they weren’t falling, they were flying without wings and that she’d like to think they left this place for something better. It’s a strange, swirling vortex painted in dark watercolors. My head throbs when I look at it.”

“Won’t she be coming down?” Dr. Jaquith asked as he stood up.

Mr. Skeffington followed suit. He took Dr. Jaquith’s arm and lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “It might be better if you went up. She’s a bit upset. There was a little trouble here this morning.”

Dr. Jaquith gave Mr. Skeffington a quick look. “What kind of trouble?”

Mr. Skeffington was quick to follow up with, “Nothing serious.”

Dr. Jaquith and Mr. Skeffington could hear humming coming from down the hall or, to be more precise, above it. They followed the humming to a room that was overhead. The ladder was already down, so Mr. Skeffington climbed the rungs. “Wait here a moment. She doesn’t let just anyone come inside, so I have to clear a path for you, tell her you’re a friend and can be trusted. She doesn’t trust easily.”

“Of course. I’ll wait here.”

You sat staring at the unfinished painting on your easel, willing yourself to just bring your brush down to it, to feel inspired, to feel anything other than numb. But instead of adding to your creation, you sighed and brought your brush to the cup of water. You watched as the colors stained the water red until nothing was left on the brush but the taupe of the pokey bristles. Lately you'd been feeling like the brush, like all the color had been drained out of you. This feeling wasn't foreign. Sometimes you felt stagnant, letting moments pass you by. Being there but not being a part of them, at least not how you wanted to be. From the floor below, your father knocked on the attic trapdoor in a unique rhythm. A secret code to tell you that it was him. Your humming stopped.

Dr. Jaquith could hear a little girl’s voice telling Mr. Skeffington to come in. As he waited, he could hear your father talking to you.

“What’ve you got there? Are you drawing something?”

“Nothing special. I’m just bored.”

“How’s it coming?”

“All right.”

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you mind if I join you? What’s the title of the painting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Darling, I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve brought someone to come and meet you today. He’s my very good friend, Mr. Jaquith. I ran into him on the street and brought him by for tea. I thought your mother and sister would be pleased, and I hoped you would be too. I’ve told him what a bright and talented girl you are, and he would very much like to meet you. May he come up? He’ll help you to paint. That is, if you don’t mind. Of course, some people prefer to do a painting alone.”

“I guess… If he’s your friend, Daddy, then that would be okay.”

“Wonderful! You can come up now, David.”

Given the all clear, Dr. Jaquith climbed the ladder to the attic. Light slanted in from a big-window, shining on you, a little girl in blue jean overalls and a striped shirt. You hated skirts and dresses since you were old enough to walk. Before that, ever since you were born, you’d always take off the bows and headbands your mother tried to put on your head or in your hair. Since your parents were always too busy, and Uncle George couldn’t be trusted to be knowledgeable when it came to girl’s fashion, Miss Brook often took you and your sister, Fanny, shopping, especially in the summer when a new school year was about to begin. But for you, it never went well. Trying to get you to conform to what was socially acceptable for a girl to wear was like pulling teeth. As you and your sister looked through racks of children's clothes, Miss Brook pulled a dress with flowers embroidered on the pockets. The material would be perfect for playing outside, while looking very stylish and pretty. But you scrunched your face in disgust and shook your head.

“This is cute,” she insisted.

“Dresses are ugly.”

“But, sweetie, you have to have something you can play outside in.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to look like a doll.”

As unconventional as it was, you spent most of your time in trousers. Girls often teased and bullied you for “dressing and acting like a boy” and called you mean names.

And there you sat in front of an easel, all alone, painting another extraordinary picture. Dr. Jaquith watched, curious. You ignored him and your back was to him, so he couldn’t see your face, just your hair messily pulled back, strands of it coming loose from your shoddy attempts at tying it back with a bandana or hair tie. It spilled down a bit over your shoulders and clung to the back of your neck, but so long as it didn’t get in your eyes, it didn’t bother or distract you. You never learned how to properly do your hair. Your mother tried to teach you, but you were stubborn and refused to learn, believing it to be a waste of time. She gave up on teaching you the importance of a beauty regimen quite early on. The paintbrush froze mid-stroke as you turned to face him, as if you suddenly decided you were ready to acknowledge his presence in your space. Like your sister, you had pale skin and bright, doe-like eyes, your delicate features framed by Shirley Temple curls. Yours was the face of a porcelain angel, a perfect little living doll, friendly and inviting.

“Why, what’s this? Did you do these? Are these paintings all yours?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well, the point is how you could. They’re really professional. Do you mind if I look at them?”

“No, I don’t mind. They aren’t very difficult. Daddy gets the paints and materials from New York, so I have the tools. It’s just a matter of the doing.”

“And the skill. You know, this is very good detail. I have a great admiration for people who are clever with their hands. I was always so clumsy with my own.”

“I should think you were the least clumsy person I’d ever met. Do you really like them? Really, really?”

“Very much. They’re remarkable. Where did you learn how to do this?”

“I’ve just had lots of time to practice, I guess. My unfulfilled ambition is to paint a great many things, to tell stories about my adventures. I do know a thing or two about pirates.”

“What adventures?”

“I’ve yet to have them, but they will be perfectly thrilling. My paintings are stories that come from my imagination. This one’s about a sad mother wolf who can’t find her cubs. She’s dreaming about her babies. It’s the only thing that makes her happy.”

“Well, I hope she finds them.”

“She will. Look.” As you spoke, you dabbed your brush and painted little wolf cubs curled up in front of their sleeping mother. “They were lost in the jungle and they were so scared because they didn’t have a mother or father. But just when they thought they’d be alone forever, they found their mother sleeping under this tree. And they felt so safe that they fell asleep too. Now when the mother wolf wakes up, her dream will have come true. She’ll have her family again. Isn’t it lovely? Look at my new paintings.” You took Mr. Jaquith’s hand and led him around the room, eagerly showing him your other paintings.

He noticed a gothic mansion in several of your older paintings. “Is that a real place?”

“No. I just made it up. It’s a haunted castle where a beautiful princess was locked away. She waited so long and was so sad that she filled the moat with her tears, but then a handsome prince swam across it and rescued her. I like happy endings. Don’t you? I’ve even done a portrait for everyone in the family. And a painting of everyone together. Come see!”

The painting of your family was indeed extraordinary. You were all smiling and holding hands. But Dr. Jaquith couldn’t help but notice that your mother was missing from it. It was just your father in the middle, with you and your sister on either side of him.

While you were looking elsewhere, Job tapped Dr. Jaquith on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, “I wish she would have drawn her mother as well...”

In an equally hushed tone, Dr. Jaquith said, “Maybe she doesn’t realize she is part of your family?” He then turned to you and said in a normal volume, “That’s one good-looking family you’ve got.”

“I know. Aren’t they perfect?”

“You know, these are excellent.”

“You may have one if you like.”

“May I? Any one?”

“Of course. All except this one.” You took a ruined canvas off its easel and put it off to the side. “When I was working on it, my mother sent for me. My brush slipped and I spattered paint on it.”

“A pity to ruin such a nice painting.”

“Yes. I’ll get you something to wrap it in.”

“Oh, don’t bother.” But it was too late. You were already rummaging through drawers for brightly colored tissue paper. “Well, then any old piece of paper will do.”

While your back was turned, Dr. Jaquith and your father shared an amused look. Once you haphazardly wrapped the painting in pink tissue paper, you handed it to him with a big smile, showing off your baby teeth, though some looked to be missing or growing in. The tooth fairy had paid you a visit or two, it seemed. You then took him by the hand and led him from easel to easel. Dr. Jaquith saw all that you were working on, including the pencil and charcoal sketches pinned to your wall. In most of your paintings, you had captured the subject perfectly, but there was nothing special about them, nothing to show your personality, your personal touch.

“These are perfect copies of reality. But painting is not about replicating the world, it’s about interpreting it, improving on it, showing something you see.”

“Can you help me with my painting? Daddy said you might.”

Dr. Jaquith grabbed a blank canvas and set it on the easel in front of you and handed you a palette of paints and a brush. “Here, try looking from a new perspective, a different approach. Try to imagine something that doesn’t exist. Something you’ve never seen. Now, concentrate…on how it makes you feel…and let your hand drift across the canvas.”

You looked down at the palette of paints and your brush, then to the white canvas in front of you, waiting to be colored in. You dabbed your brush into the paint and closed your eyes, and just let your imagination guide your hand. You didn’t think too hard about it. In fact, you didn’t think about much at all. You just painted what you felt, what you questioned about yourself. Your identity…anger, doubt, hope, pain, sadness, belonging…who were you? What was hiding deep down inside you, just waiting to come out? When you opened your eyes, you took in your creation. Your masterpiece. It was almost done, but there were still some things missing.

“Give me more blue, please!” When you held out your palette, Dr. Jaquith did as you requested, grabbing a tube of blue paint and squeezing some out. “Thanks! Now, can you give me some red?” Again, he fulfilled your request. But the bottle of red paint was nearly empty and made a sputtering noise as he squeezed out what little was left. It wasn’t enough for you. You needed more to complete your creation. “More red, please!”

“I’m afraid the red is all out. Maybe you could use magenta or orange instead?”

“Out?…But…But we can’t be out.”

“It’s okay, you can ask your father for more and—”

“You’re hiding more red from me... I know you are.”

“I’m n—”

“GIVE IT HERE!”

And suddenly you snapped and lunged at Dr. Jaquith with teeth bared and nails out. But you were grabbed and held back by your father before you could make contact with your intended target. You were like a feral wolverine as you fought against his hold, foaming at the mouth and ready to bite or claw at anyone who came too close. You were desperate to make Dr. Jaquith bleed if it meant you could get your precious red paint. As you kicked and screamed, you accidentally kicked the light switch off, shrouding the attic in total darkness. While your father was about to turn the light switch back on, he stopped. Dr. Jaquith did too. The paintings they saw… The mother wolf and her sleeping cubs… The cubs were now dead and the mother's mouth was dripping with blood. The paintings that looked like typical family portraits in normal light were now nightmarish visions of death and violence. In one, your eyes had been gouged out. In another, your throat had been slashed. In the picture of the whole family, you and Fanny and your father looked normal, but your mother appeared in the background, only visible under darkness, and she was a decomposed corpse. You stopped fighting, but your father didn’t notice. He was frozen. He staggered back in shock, still holding you, while Dr. Jaquith just looked at you, expressionless. The telephone rang, startling all of you.

While you were sitting by yourself in a corner and curled up in a ball, the doctor said to Mr. Skeffington, “A violent temper is often the result of trauma brain architecture, which is a form of developmental mental illness. It can be fixed with a bouquet of coping strategies, from a calmer environment, to exercise and talk therapies. Music, dance, and the expressive arts are all wonderful for gaining good insights into the self. We can expand positive role models via movies or stage plays, because this is how we dream together, expanding the healing power of dreams into the community. We need to see the temper as a symptom and really tackle the cause, the need to develop a healthier brain, with multiple solutions at once.”

Later, you weren’t sure exactly how much later, you had calmed down and were suddenly very remorseful for your outburst. You apologized to Mr. Jaquith immediately, but were very afraid that he wouldn’t accept it. You didn’t mean to snap. You didn’t want to hurt Daddy’s friend. You didn’t want to hurt anyone. You just…you didn’t know. You didn’t know why you said the things you said, thought the thoughts you thought or did the things you did. It was like you blacked out and someone or something else took control of your body.

“Of course I accept your apology, Miss Skeffington. I’ve worked with many children just like you, so I know you didn’t mean to do it, that you couldn’t help it. I know it’s scary, even for you. But I promise that, through it all, I’ll still be your friend.”

What did he mean he’s worked with other children just like you? Was he a teacher? Or was he a doc…? You suddenly became apprehensive, unsure if you could trust a word he said. “My friend?”

“Yes. And since we’re friends, I wonder if I might ask you a favor. Would you be nice and show me around this house? You must be an expert and know this house in and out. One doesn't often get the chance. Yes, that's right, I had a look at the downstairs when I came in. There's nothing like these old New York homes anywhere. On Marlborough Street or Beacon Hill, you see them standing in a row like bastions. Firm, proud, resisting the new. Houses turned in upon themselves, hugging their pride.”

“Introverted. That’s what my teachers call me.”

“I wouldn’t know about that. I don’t put much faith in scientific terms. I leave that to the fakers and the writers of books.”

You didn’t take his hand again, wanting to keep him at arm’s length just in case it turned out he couldn’t be trusted after all, but you signaled for him to follow you. You climbed down the ladder, and Dr. Jaquith and your father followed. Your father was smart on his feet and quickly made an excuse to leave so he could give you and Dr. Jaquith some much needed one-on-one time. It’d be better if Dr. Jaquith got a chance to know you, the real you, without him lingering over your shoulders. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a mass of letters to write and phone calls to make before lunch. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, I’ll be in the library. Darling, please be a good girl for Mr. Jaquith while you show him around.”

As soon as your father left, you turned to face Mr. Jaquith. You suddenly eyed him skeptically, suspecting he wasn’t a Mister at all. The ruse fooled you at first, but you wouldn’t let it go on any longer. You were keenly perceptive, far more than most children your age. “I know who you really are.”

“You do? Who am I?”

“You’re not Daddy’s friend. You’re my new doctor.”

“No, I’m not. You’re quite wrong.”

“You can’t fool me. And I know why you’ve come here. To make sure I don’t run away from this place again.”

“Did you run away from here once? I didn’t know. Where were you headed when you ran away?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here, I guess.”

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name. That’s why you stood there and stared at me.”

“That was very rude of me. But, you see, you reminded me of somebody.”

“Who?”

“Well, if you must know…my wife, Charlotte. Of course, at your age. You’re about eleven, aren’t you?”

“I’m nine...nearly ten. You know my name, but what’s yours?”

“David.”

You nodded once then continued giving Dr. Jaquith a tour. “My mother’s room.”

“And your father’s also?”

“No.” The conviction with which you said the word made Dr. Jaquith raise an eyebrow.

“Your parents sleep separately?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“They just do. It’s always been that way. I don’t want to talk about this. What difference does it make anyway?”

Clearly you didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so Dr. Jaquith let the matter drop. But already he was making mental notes.

“Fine room.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course, I’d prefer to see what your room is like. Is it nearby?”

“I’m not your patient yet, Doctor.”

“Well, now, nobody thinks you ever will be. I’ve seen the rooms of lots of people who aren’t my patients. My friends. Of course, if you don’t want to...”

“It’s on this floor, down the hall.” You then brought Dr. Jaquith to your room. You stopped sharing a room with Fanny when you were six years old. You took out a key. “She locks her door, Doctor. Make a note of it. Significant, isn’t it?”

“Well, it signifies that it’s your door. I never heard it said that a girl’s home is not her castle.”

“My castle, Doctor.”

“You know, stuff like this was built to last a lifetime. Solid.”

“Enduring and inescapable.”

“Are you comfortable here?”

“I try to be. I’m here a good part of the time. It’s so boring here.”

“You don’t play outside with the other girls in the neighborhood? Sounds like they’re having fun.”

A beat. You were hesitant. “I don’t like playing with the other girls. I like going outside, but…the other girls and Fanny usually prefer to stay inside. That way they don’t get their dresses dirty.”

“Well, that’s very responsible of them, but couldn’t they find something else to wear when playing outside?”

“No. Image is everything.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But I hear Mother and the other ladies say it a lot.”

“What about at school? Don’t you play then?”

“I don’t go to school anymore. I’m homeschooled. When I used to, sometimes during recess, Fanny and I played amongst ourselves or we split off and she played with the other girls while I played with the boys. They weren’t afraid to get dirty and were much more fun.” You knew many things that boys talked about. You played more with boys than with girls, and liked them better. You were a picture of energy and aggressiveness. You were common, but with a frank and engaging commonness. “The girls were prissies.”

“Upon my soul, how children are educated nowadays. Where did you learn that word? It’s not a very nice word.”

“I’m afraid I am not learned at all, Doctor. It’s true! They were all cowards. They were boring and just played with their ugly dolls and lame dollhouses. Dolls are ugly and stupid, and sometimes creepy. I don’t know why Fanny liked playing with the girls. They were stuck-up. Total snobs. They thought having the most popular or most expensive doll made them better than other girls. Karla and Jessica showed off their Princess Eliana dolls. During recess, Katie couldn’t play with them because she only had the Dearly Doll. She liked her Dearly Doll, but she thought Princess Eliana was really pretty and wanted to play with them. But they told her to go away. They wouldn’t let girls who didn’t have the same dolls play with them. I didn’t get why. Those girls were dumb and they made up dumber rules. I didn’t think it was fair for some girls to have plenty of lovely things and other, prettier girls to have nothing at all. Fanny’s too prim. If she doesn’t take care, she’s going to grow up and be an affected little goose.”

“Aren’t there any boys in this neighborhood you could play with?”

“No, there aren’t. So I stay inside. I want to explore the woods, but Mother wouldn’t like it if I tracked mud and dirt into the house, so Marie doesn’t let me go beyond the park. But there’s nothing to do at the park. I’m not even allowed to climb trees. I'm just different from everyone, I guess.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being different.”

“Yes, there is. Everybody says there’s not, but it isn’t true.”

“I’m just saying you could probably go outside and make friends, if you really wanted to.”

“I don’t care what they think. If I’m sad or lonely, I just come to the attic and paint a story with a happy ending and when people say they like my paintings, like you did, it makes me feel better. I think people should always try to take the bad things that happen to them and turn them into something good. Don’t you?”

Dr. Jaquith was taken aback. Before he could respond, your father came back.

“How is everything?”

The two men shared a look and gave a subtle nod to each other. Dr. Jaquith had seen enough. It was clear to him that you were a very precocious child and could be sweet at times, but that you’d need to spend a considerable amount of time at Cascade. Weeks, maybe even months depending on how you progressed. You definitely had spunk. A Skeffington needed that to get along in the world, but you needed to learn there were better times than others for it. Though they both knew you’d take it very hard and that it was going to be a big and scary change for you, it really was for the best, for your own benefit. Now was the time to tell you their decision.

“Your father has told me much about you. Both he and your mother have told me a great number of things, some good and some…not so good. What your mother and father have described to me, and what I’ve seen for myself, your latest peculiarities...your fits of crying, your secretiveness...indicate you’re on the verge of a mental meltdown.”

“I’m not melting down!”

“Now, nobody said you were. Not definitively, at least. But your uncontrollable fits of anger and violence, your lashing out is—”

“What Dr. Jaquith is saying, darling, is this is why we worry about you. We have given this a great deal of thought. Darling, believe me, we’re only trying to help you. Dr. Jaquith has a sanitarium in Vermont, I believe. Cascade has an excellent reputation. He’s suggested you spend a few weeks there.”

“A sanitarium? But that’s a terrible place, everyone says so! It's like a jail! Probably one of those places with a high wire fence and yowling inmates. If I go with him, he’ll drive an ice pick through my skull! I’ll be a vegetable!”

“Well, now, I wouldn’t want anyone to have that mistaken notion. Cascade is just a place in the country. People come to it when they’re tired. You go to the seashore. They come there. What you’re describing is called a lobotomy, a procedure that went out of fashion years ago and isn’t practiced anymore. At least not by any reputable doctors who still have their license to practice medicine. I promise you, you won’t be subjected to inhumane experiments. I’m a psychiatrist, not a mad scientist. I only want to help you.”

“But I’m not sick! I’m not a bad person, I’m really not! Daddy, tell him! Tell him I’m perfectly fine and don’t need to go!”

You looked close to tears and Job felt something tear at his heart, but he was determined.

“Of course you’re not a bad person. But, darling, sickness can present itself in many different forms. It’s not always a fever or common cold. There are people, both children and adults, who are afflicted with sicknesses of the mind. Now, while Dr. Jaquith may not be able to cure you, he can help you manage your anger, if you let him.”

“No! I won’t go! The other children will laugh at me! I’ll be the local failure! I’ll just die from shame! I’ll just die! I’ll just die!”

“Darling, please don’t dramatize!”

“There’s nothing shameful about my work or frightening or anything else. It's very simple, really, what I try to do. People come to a fork in the road. They’re confused. They don’t know which way to take. I just put up a signpost: ‘Not that way. This way.’"

“Girls emerge from there as refined young ladies well-versed in etiquette and manners, both of which you are sorely lacking. There’ll be girls and boys there that are around your age and just like you. Maybe you’ll even make friends with some of them.”

“But I don’t want to be one of those girls.”

Your mother entered the room, curious as to what was causing so much commotion. “Which is precisely why you must go. I cannot let your unbridled nature ruin your chances for a respectable future. Remember your courtesies, young lady. You will thank us for this. A lady, especially a Skeffington, needs to know how to control her temper!”

“Fanny, please.” Though she meant well, her presence and comment certainly weren’t helping. Your father turned to you with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, but we have to do what’s best for you, sweetheart. You’ll be angry with me at first, but you’ll see that this is for your own good!”

“I won’t do it. I’m not like those girls. I won’t go! I won’t go!” You fumed and angrily threw objects across the room, uncaring if they were breakable or not.

“Dr. Jaquith, could you leave us for now? I and the servants will get her all packed and ready to go and we’ll meet you outside within the hour. If you could just wait for us in the foyer?”

Forty-five minutes later, your bags were packed. Dr. Jaquith walked out to his car, concerned as he helped Soames load your bags into the trunk. He didn’t see you spying down from your bedroom window, just staring at him with that strange, blank look. Five more minutes passed, and Dr. Jaquith, your father, and yourself were in the car and on your way to the train station. You turned around in the backseat and looked out the window as Uncle George, Fanny, your mother, and the servants watched you go and waved goodbye. You put on a smile and waved back, but once the car pulled out of the drive, your smile faded. You seemed vaguely troubled as Dr. Jaquith drove, your father in the front passenger seat. You didn’t pay attention to their conversation. You were too deep in thought. Even when the three of you were on the train, you didn’t say a word the entire ride. Neither your father nor Dr. Jaquith pushed you too hard after their first attempts at engaging with you and making conversation failed. They realized you were still angry at them and giving them the silent treatment. They knew they wouldn’t get a word out of you while you were like that, so they let you be. You only focused on either looking out the window or drawing in your sketchbook.

Once you arrived at Cascade, Dr. Jaquith gave you and your father a tour of the facilities.

“The exercise room is over here. The music room is down the hall. The dormitories are upstairs, and you may have seen the playground. You look as if you like playing outdoors.”

Patients, both children and adults, were sitting on benches and sunning themselves, swinging on swings, playing games and sports, etc. So many patients were smiling and seemed to be having fun and enjoying themselves. It really was a beautiful place. It wasn’t at all what you thought it would be, nothing like the horror stories you heard, but you still didn’t want to be there. Your father stayed for a few hours to ease you into being there. He knew the transition would be uncomfortable at first, but he couldn’t stay forever. When it came time for him to leave, you cried and clutched onto him, begging him not to go. You didn’t care if you were making a scene. You didn’t care if people were staring at you. You were afraid. Deathly afraid. You didn’t want to be abandoned and left all alone here, surrounded by people you didn’t know. It was only when your father promised you that he’d write every week and call you every day that you relinquished your hold on him.

“Promise me you’ll be a good girl and try to make friends while you’re here?”

“I-I’ll try,” you hiccuped. You did your best to cease your crying and put on a brave face.

Your father nodded. Trying was better than nothing, and he was proud of you for wanting to make an effort. “If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to call,” he told both you and Dr. Jaquith.

“We will.”

Your father shook hands with Dr. Jaquith before giving you one last hug and kiss on your forehead. Then he was gone.

A violent temper in the home harms the developing brain of the child in the same way as combat harms a soldier. Their PTSD is massively under-diagnosed. Additionally, such emotional harm influences the expression of over nine-hundred genes via epigenetic toward poorer health - survival mode over longevity. The child learning to cope with their own stress in positive ways through meditation, mindfulness, and self-awareness could be the most important thing Job and Fanny could do as parents.

At the end of your lesson, you were fuming at the nurse who doubled as your teacher. Your head pounded and your eyes were sore from constantly staring at the page. You left as soon as the lesson ended. You never wanted to see your nurse ever again. In fact, you would run away from the sanitarium and make your father miss you so much that he would find you and have to take you back home. That would really show him. You loved your father like none other, but he could be stiff at times. He was a great businessman and banker, you reminded yourself, and he was Jewish, which meant he was held to different standards than most men, though you didn’t understand why. Why did it matter if you could or couldn’t read? You would, in all likelihood, get married to a handsome and intelligent man when you were older, and you’d manage the house while your husband managed the money and signed all the important papers, just like Mother and Daddy did. Miss Trask tried to get you to do your homework, but you just ran away from her. You could hear her calling after you, but you didn’t listen and kept running. She couldn’t keep up and you left her in the dust as you ran and ran and ran until you reached your sanctuary. Here, you could be alone, enjoy peace and quiet as you listened to the sounds of nature. You climbed one of the trees and tried to forget all about your lesson by doodling in your sketchbook. You didn’t have any particular live subject. You just let your imagination run free and drew whatever came to mind, like how Dr. Jaquith showed you to do when you first met. Here you could lose track of time. You could stay here for hours, even as the sun set and the sky began to darken. You’d stay in the great outdoors forever if you could.

There was a quick, rapid knock on the door, and Dr. Jaquith looked up, frowning. Everyone knew not to disturb him when he worked on his patients’ documents. It must’ve been something important. He called for them to enter. It was Miss Trask, one of the nurses.

“Dr. Jaquith,” she began. Then she stopped talking.

“Yes?” he said, looking straight at her. “You came into my office during a critical time. Clearly you have something important to tell me.” Dr. Jaquith could see her swallow away the lump in her throat. His fingers drummed the desk, and he glanced at the stack of documents on it.

“Sir, it’s about Miss Skeffington.”

When Miss Trask said your name, Dr. Jaquith’s attention was immediately piqued. His stomach dropped. He wanted to swallow nervously just out of habit, but refrained from doing so. Oh, God, what happened this time? He thought you had been doing so well in your therapy sessions, but he knew that slip-ups and relapses into old habits could still happen. You’ve had them before. After all, this was a long process and progress wouldn’t be obvious right away. But did you do something as bad as break another kid’s arm again? Or something worse? Miss Trask, though, couldn’t tell his mind was going a mile a minute with worrying, for he kept his same stoic expression. A perfect mask of impassivity that took over a decade of hands-on experience to perfect.

“She’s not doing well in any of her classes. She’s failing almost everything except for P.E., and is especially struggling with her reading. I’ve been doing my best to help her, but she’s being stubborn and won’t cooperate. Now she’s run away again. I tried to chase her, but she was too fast and slippery.”

“Oh, dear. Again? Not to worry, I know where she is. I’ll see to her now. Thank you, Miss Trask. You may go.”

She nodded and left the room.

Dr. Jaquith looked over at the pile of documents on his desk. He had managed to finish the bulk of them, and had hoped he’d be able to finish them all, but it looked like they’d have to wait until tomorrow. He had to see to you, see what the trouble was right then. If Miss Trask personally came to his office to seek out his help instead of that of another nurse or Dr. Brine, it must’ve been more than serious. It must’ve been an emergency. Unlike his paperwork, you unfortunately couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He left his office, giving only a nod of acknowledgement or a quick but polite “Hello” or “Good Afternoon” to the patients and staff he passed by as he walked briskly through the sanitarium. Not wanting to alarm anyone unnecessarily or look unprofessional, he refrained from running or sprinting, but his pace was fast enough to signal to people that he had somewhere to be and couldn’t be bothered to slow down or stop for even a moment. He went through the gardens, then followed a dirt trail in the woods for about five minutes. It was technically outside the bounds of the grounds of Cascade, but was still safe. It was a perfect place where you could wander, explore, climb up trees…you could do almost anything there. Sure enough, Dr. Jaquith found you seated on a low yet sturdy tree branch of one of the larger trees. You looked to be sketching, so deep in thought that you didn’t hear his approaching footsteps. He cleared his throat so as to alert you to his presence without startling you too much. He didn’t want to make you jump and fall out of the tree. You weren’t very far off the ground, but you could still hurt yourself if you fell.

Your heart stopped. You turned to look at him and, seeing him standing there, it was as if you realized the danger you were in with his arrival. You swung your legs over and jumped off the branch and to your feet, smoothed your clothing and stood before him. Even though he grinned at you, you felt a shiver pass up your spine. You had been more than a little frightened of him.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I thought you might.”

“Miss Skeffington, does Miss Trask know that you are skipping your lessons to go wandering in the woods by yourself?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from you. “Why aren’t you in your lesson, Miss Skeffington?” he asked, cutting to the point.

“I don’t like my nurse. She’s a boring tutor.”

“You’re learning to read, amongst other important life skills. Lots of children your age don’t get that opportunity. Someday you will thank me for everything I’ve done for you,” he said.

You glared up at him. “I just don’t like reading. I’m not good at it, and I can’t do it. No matter how hard I try, I don’t understand the letters.”

“Is that so? Have you told Miss Trask?”

The mention of that odious woman gave you flashbacks to your lessons with her and no matter how much you tried to forget it by coming here as some form of escapism, the memory of your horrid experience with her just minutes ago was brought to the forefront of your mind.

“What are you doing here?” you asked as Miss Trask entered your room.

“You need to study outside of your lessons,” she said firmly. “Where are your books?”

“I just got out of my lesson! I need a break!” you cried.

“Your mind is sharpest right after a lesson,” she said. “Do you want to learn to read or not?”

“I don’t want to learn!” you snapped. You had crossed a line, and you knew it.

Miss Trask’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You will read those books, Miss Skeffington, and I won’t ask you again,” she said in a low voice. “Your father went to a lot of trouble to get you treatment and an education here. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your father, would you?”

“No…”

A determined look flashed across Miss Trask’s face. “There was a boy that was like you. He was angry with me too, but now he can read. Ever since, I thought this might happen again with another child… and it looks to me like that child is you.”

“And how did he learn how to read?”

“I sat him down with me for three hours each day, which is exactly what I’ll do with you.”

“Miss Trask!” you cried.

She cut you off. “Be quiet. Don’t dramatize.”

“But three hours!”

“I expect you downstairs with your book in five minutes.”

You shrunk back, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape your eyes. You hated disappointing your father. He was your hero. But Miss Trask just didn’t understand how hard it was for you to read! You watched as she left the room. You didn’t move for a moment and, when she was gone, you threw your easel against the wall. You picked up the book and tried to read it, determined to show both Miss Trask and your father, but the more you looked at it, the worse your headache got and you found you just couldn’t do it. You didn’t want to visit Miss Trask, but maybe if you just studied for many hours at once, you could get it all done and over with. Hugging the book, you stomped past your broken easel and out the room. Every step taken was torturous. You really, really did not want to see Miss Trask. What did that old lady know anyways? Why couldn’t Dr. Jaquith have given you a fun nurse to be your teacher? You bet even he himself would’ve been more fun than Miss Trask. She was waiting at the table, but you walked right past her. When she called after you, you ran. You were worried that if you didn’t get away, you’d do something you’d regret. You were sent three hundred miles away to be educated. But what your parents didn't understand was you only wanted to step just outside your fence...so you did.

“I tried, but she just said I’m not working hard enough. But I am working hard! Really, really hard, Dr. Jaquith! I spent two hours looking at the same page, and when Miss Trask asked me to read aloud, I just couldn’t do it,” you argued. “All I do is stare at the page. I know the letters. I see her write them, and I can go through the alphabet. She says my penmanship is wonderful, but when I have to read a word, the letters move around on the page and I can’t make any sense of them!”

Dr. Jaquith nodded, and you were quiet. He had heard of this sort of learning disability before, but it was rare. So rare that not very many teachers had ever personally dealt with it before, or even acknowledged it. You gathered your things that were resting by the base of the tree, including the book that Miss Trask was trying to force you to read. “I’m going to go now, if that’s okay. I don’t like to stay too long in the same place. Dr. Brine might find me.” You made to leave, but Dr. Jaquith’s voice stopped you in your tracks as he turned around to face you.

“Where are you off to now?”

You stared at him, fingers clutching the book. You wanted to run, but you knew you needed to be brave. He wasn't really a monster. He was frightening, but he was still your doctor and he only wanted to help you. Tina Durrance, so far the only child - heck, the only person you befriended - got along with him, and you trusted her judgment. If she could trust him, you probably could too. “I’m going to Miss Trask,” you said shortly. “I’m learning to read.”

“When you said you didn’t understand the letters… Are you mixing up the letters on the page?” Dr. Jaquith asked in a gentle tone.

“Um…” How did he know that was your problem? Did Miss Trask tell him? Or maybe Charlotte did? He was her husband, after all. But Mother and Father were husband and wife too, and they didn’t tell each other much, if anything. Maybe, as your doctor, he just had a way of knowing. Like a sixth sense. “Yes…”

“Just like some children that came before you, or so l hear,” he said. “You don’t need to go to Miss Trask anymore. I’ve already cancelled her. She'd only further bore you to tears with her lessons. It looks like she already has.”

He had a point. More than once you woke up with your face buried in a book. Books were makeshift pillows for you many times. Every time it happened, you panicked slightly but, by the sky outside your window, you knew it wasn’t time for supper yet. You’d always sigh with relief, then pick up the book.

“But I have to learn to read so Daddy will be happy,” you snapped, embarrassed.

“Yes, we must keep your father happy.”

“I need to go.” When you turned away, Dr. Jaquith gently laid a hand on your shoulder, turning you back to face him. You froze, remembering what your classmates had told you about shrinks. Dr. Jaquith looked kind of funny, but could he really be a monster like the inhumane doctors at insane asylums?

“D-Doctor,” you stammered, voice squeaking. You knew you’d been impertinent and were afraid he’d call you on it. You had been acting like you were no longer his patient, like you'd become a member of his staff with how often you tried to test and push boundaries.

“I have a proposition to make to you. Mightn’t Charlotte be your nurse instead? She will teach you to read.”

“Do you really mean it?”

“Well, I’m crazy, but if you promise to behave yourself and not to do anything like what you and Tina did again without asking my permission first.” His tone was final, but soft. It was true he was probably softer with you than most doctors were with children, but it was because you reminded him so much of his dear, sweet Charlotte. “I’d also teach you if I could, but I’m afraid my days are sacrosanct and I don’t have the luxury of the time necessary to properly dedicate to one-on-one lessons. Charlotte, however, doesn’t have anything to do with her time, so she’ll be teaching you instead. She’s read a lot and, like me, she’s even stumbled on some of the studies of the human brain that recorded other children with the same problems you were having.”

“You’d do that? Just for me?”

“Of course. We’re here to help you.”

“So Charlotte is going to be my new nurse?”

“Not just your new nurse. She’ll be your friend, if you’ll have her. She’ll stay with you. Pay attention to you. Make you feel wanted and important. Go back to your room for now. I’ll speak with both Charlotte and the other nurses and doctors about the changes in your scholarly pursuits. You won’t learn to read by supper, I’m afraid. You’ll have to come back each day, but I promise you Charlotte will make it much more painless than Miss Trask’s method. You’ll be reading in no time. Once you learn how to read, a great many worlds will open to you, worlds beyond this one that your imagination wasn’t able to comprehend before.”

Your lips quivered for a moment before breaking into a shy smile. You looked to be on the verge of tears again, but it was happy tears that time. You suddenly hugged Dr. Jaquith and he didn’t know what else to do other than stroke your hair. Though you didn’t say anything, he knew this was your way of thanking him. You gave him one more tight squeeze around his waist before letting go and stepping back.

“You're only on probation. Remember what it says in the Bible, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.’”

“How does it feel to be the Lord?”

“Not so very wonderful since the Free Will bill was passed. Too little power.”

And then you ran off. He watched you go, slightly amused, but slightly exasperated at your behavior. You were often unpredictable, always keeping him on his toes. He still remembered the day you and Tina skipped your lessons and went to the park to play without permission. That was a big offense, but since you and Tina were both found unharmed and it was the first time either of you had smiled or laughed in days, you were both given only a mild punishment and had to promise Dr. Jaquith that if you wanted to leave the grounds again, you’d have to ask him or a nurse for permission first so you could have a trusted adult to watch you. Maybe he liked your impertinence. Just a smidge. No day at Cascade was ever boring with you around, that was for sure.

You had been visiting Charlotte ever since. With Charlotte as your teacher, you were able to see improvements you never thought possible. Even Miss Trask praised you when you actually read two pages aloud and only had to pause a few times. What really confused you though was that you were actually starting to like your lessons. What would Mother say? Perhaps Father would be happy for you. Charlotte was kind to you and very patient when you made mistakes. She was constantly egging you on, but in a way that showed she really cared.

“You know this word,” she said as you hovered over the same word for over a minute. “You can do it...”

“Elfan... No, that’s not right.” The letters were moving again. “El...eh…Elephant!”

Charlotte applauded you, and you blushed. You then read the full paragraph aloud:

“‘She was a happy little train. Her cars were full of good things for boys and girls. There were all kinds of toy amin…animals. Gir…Giraffes with long necks, teddy bears with no necks, and even a baby el…elph…elephant. There were all kinds of dolls. Dolls with blue eyes and yellow hair, dolls with brown eyes and brown hair, and the funniest toy clown you ever saw. There were toy trucks, airplanes, and boats. There were picture books, games, and drums to play. The little train carried every kind of toy that boys or girls could want.’”

“Wonderful!” She said, “Wonderful! Can you read the next paragraph?”

“‘But that was not all. The little train carried good things to eat, too. Big, round oranges...fat, red apples...long, yellow ban…banan…nana… bananas...fresh, cold milk...and lawl…loli…lollipops to eat after dinner. The little train was taking all these good things to the other side of the mou…mountain.” Your voice went up a notch at the end. You glanced up at Charlotte, praying you'd gotten the paragraph mostly right and, by her smile, you knew you had. And again she applauded you.

“I did it! I’m learning to read, Charlotte! You’re the best!”

You kept improving, and you actually sought out books to try and read. Most of them you couldn't, but you could understand a lot more than you could before. Four days later, you were in yet another lesson with Charlotte. She and Dr. Jaquith no longer frightened you, and the words of the other kids at school seemed to fade from your memory. Those kids had no idea what they were talking about. Charlotte was ever so nice.

June 1926

Today a new girl came to Cascade. Her name is Christine. She is close to my age. Maybe I can be friends with her. I really like her, but I’ve never been good to new people. Nobody else seems to like her, so she must be a really awkward person. That’s okay, because I’m awkward too. I promised Daddy I would try to make friends. I overheard Charlotte and Miss Trask talking about her.

“By the way, her room is next to yours, so you’ll share the same bathroom. Don't be disturbed if you hear her crying. She has spells of it. Just ignore it. It’s one of her little tyrannies, like refusing to eat. Just ignore that too. Only if you could manage to get a little food into her tonight, it would help.”

“I’ll try.”

She was sitting alone at a table, a puzzle in front of her. She wasn’t at all interested in working on it, though.

“How’s it coming?”

“All right.”

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here’s the little girl’s other slipper. Do you mind if I join you?” You sat down next to her. “What’s the title of the picture? Oh, ‘The Proposal.’ I’ll collect all the pink pieces, that is, if you don’t mind. Of course, some people prefer to do a puzzle alone. How long have you been at Cascade?”

“Ten days. Nearly eleven.”

“You don’t like it much, do you?”

“No.”

“Neither did I at the end of ten days. The first two weeks are the worst.”

“I shall never like it.”

“Do you want to go home?”

“No.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. My mother doesn’t want me at home. That’s why it’s helping Father for me to be here.”

“My mother doesn’t want me at home either. But Daddy said being here would be good for me. I didn’t believe him at first, but he was right. I stay here for Daddy. I know it’s wrong to have favorites, but I love my daddy more than my mother.”

“So do I.”

Whenever either you or Tina were feeling homesick, Charlotte made you feel better by helping you fall asleep or taking you out for ice cream and letting you call your dads.

“It’s me, Tina. Don’t be afraid. What’s the matter? Oh, Tina.”

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t till you’re asleep. Tell me, what’s the matter?”

“I’m ugly and mean, and nobody likes me.”

“You?”

“I’m not pretty in the least. You know I’m not.”

“Well, whoever wants that kind of prettiness, Tina? There’s something else you can have if you earn it, a kind of beauty.”

“What kind?”

“Something that has nothing to do with your face. A light that shines from inside you because you’re a nice person. You think about it. Someday you’ll know I’m right.”

“Will they like me then?”

“Who are they?”

“Everybody. All the kids at school, Miss Trask, and the nurses and the doctors. There must be something awfully wrong with me.”

“Do you like them? The kids at school, and Miss Trask, and the nurses and the doctors?”

“No, I hate them.”

“That’s something else you’ve got to grow up with. If you want people to like you, you’ve got to like people. That’s why Miss Trask asked you to cooperate, and that’s what Dr. Jaquith means when he tells you to play the game.”

“I bet you’re only fooling me.”

“You try it and see. In the meantime, if it’ll help you any, I like you. I think you’re very pretty, and very sweet.”

“All right?”

“All right.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because somebody was good to me once when I needed somebody. Now, go to sleep. Close your eyes and let your muscles go all limp. That’s better. I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was afraid. A little girl who was afraid because she thought she was alone…”

“Listen, Tina. There’s the telephone booth. And here's my change purse. Do you think your father will be home tonight?”

“You mean I can call him now?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Go ahead.”

“Help me, will you, please? I’m not sure I can run it.”

“Of course.”

“Number, please.”

“Long distance, please.”

“Long distance.”

“I want to put in a person-to-person call to...”

“Jeremiah Duveaux Durrance. Mount Vernon 2940.”

“...to Mr. Jeremiah Duveaux Durrance. Mount Vernon 2940.”

“2940?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Deposit 50 cents, please.”

“All of that?”

Depending on whose turn it was, either you or Tina would sit at the table with Charlotte so whoever was on the phone with their dad could have some semblance of privacy. It was your turn.

“I want to put in a person-to-person call to...Mr. Job Skeffington. Charles Street 2926.”

If Dr. Jaquith was the Lord, then Charlotte was an angel.

Job Skeffington hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days, in part because the fools over at Wall Street were shortsighted and wouldn’t know whether to buy or sell or invest if common sense slapped them in the face, but mostly because he laid awake at night thinking about you. He had been pouring over documents and filling in terms and conditions and signatures all morning but, after lunch, he found himself again sat in his study, staring at a half-blank page as he tried to draft a letter to you. The postage stamp on your letter was not neatly in the top right-hand corner of the envelope, yet creatively positioned as if its landing place was an act of random joy. Job could only suppose that it was your first attempt at sending your own letter and he found himself smiling as he opened and read it. Never before had putting his thoughts to paper been so difficult. What could he have possibly said to you that he hadn’t already said over the phone?

My dear daughter,

I was sorry to see you in tears when I left. They say we cannot feel the pain of another, but your screams were agony seeping into my skin. I took it in, let myself feel it, and stayed right there to radiate the love I felt for you. Daddy understood - you were crying because you were being left alone. But today I made a discovery - All people are alone in some ways and some people are alone in all ways. Even after someone is grown up, she can be alone.

Dr. Jaquith told me that once you mastered being alone, then you were ready for the company of others. That didn’t make it easy though. When everyone's life journey separated from your own, when the only heart beating in this house belonged to you, it wasn't something most children would be able to take. There were days when your brain became a cold fire. Perhaps that was what others called panic, but when you were alone, who were you going to call? I guess the good news is that, in time, after many unpleasant days, you’ll be okay. Then you’ll find joy again, or maybe it will find you. After that, your journey can change, take on new and exciting adventures… I wish I could wave a cure for you who are alone, but there are some things you must learn the hard way, my love.

He couldn’t get your tear-stained face out of his mind. He didn’t particularly like upsetting his daughter, but he was determined to give you the best life he could. Being a father as well as a banker and businessman could be difficult at times. It was a delicate balancing act, and he worried he’d tip too far to one side. You had been much more rebellious than Fanny, so he at least should have been grateful that he didn’t have to deal with that when it came to her, but it didn’t make having only one daughter at home much easier. It had been two weeks, and while Dr. Jaquith kept him informed, he had to be honest about how you were doing, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He told him that, while you were showing signs of improvement, progress was slow. Though he tentatively suggested two weeks at Cascade, as the two weeks almost came to an end, he told Job that you’d have to remain at Cascade for the foreseeable future, maybe even another year or two. To take you out of Cascade prematurely would only be detrimental to your treatment and everything you’d worked so hard for would be lost. He trusted Dr. Jaquith’s judgment and agreed to keep you there for as long as the doctor saw fit, but that didn’t make him miss you any less. He talked to you on the phone every day, but he regrettably hadn’t been able to come see you at all in the two weeks you’d been away. Just when he thought he could get away, he was pulled back in by something. He couldn’t seem to catch a break from the incessant phone calls, business meetings, and so-called “emergencies” that his partners and associates seemed to find themselves in. Not since Russia had declared war on Germany in 1914 had he witnessed mass-panicking of this magnitude. He was heartsick for you. So was your sister, Fanny. She wrote you letters too and he felt awful that he couldn’t take her with him to visit you yet. He was broken out of his thoughts by his phone ringing.

“Hello? Yes? Hello? Hello? Hello?”

“Hello? Hello, Daddy.”

“My darling girl! Anything wrong?”

“Oh, hello, Daddy. Are you all right? Oh, Daddy, I just wanted to hear you speak to me. When are you and Fanny coming up to see me? I'm so lonesome here. Why can't you come tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but I’m afraid I can’t. Tomorrow I’m meeting Mr. Parker at the station. We’re leaving at an early hour for a business trip up country.”

“But, Daddy, you promised.” Your voice was almost a whine as you said it, but you couldn’t mask your disappointment after waiting for so long, only to be told you’d have to wait even more. Two weeks felt like a lifetime.

“I know, I know. But I have other commitments that unfortunately can’t wait and need to be attended to first. It’s all rather dull, but it’s very important I finish with the bulk of my work before handing it off to someone else. Dr. Jaquith has been telling me what a good girl you’re being and I’m so sorry to have to break my promise, but as soon as I can get away, Fanny and I will come see you. The next time I see you, I’ll make it up to you. That’s a promise I will not break. Do you remember your promise you made me about making friends?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Have you had any luck?”

“Well… I’m not going to have a nurse anymore. I’m just going to have Charlotte. She’ll be my... What are you?”

“Your friend.”

“Yes. She’s going to be my friend. And she’s from Boston. And she’s ever so nice.”

“Tell her t…”

“What’s that, Daddy?”

“Tell her ‘thank you’.”

“He said to tell you thank you.”

“Charlotte sounds like a lovely person, but have you made friends with any of the other children?”

“Well… I did make one friend. Her name is Tina Durrance. Really it’s Christine, but she wants me to call her Tina. She was so unhappy here, but I’ve gotten to know her.”

“That’s such wonderful news! I'm glad to hear you’re coming out of your shell. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“It’s just one friend.”

“One is better than none. And if you ask me, it sounds like you have three very good friends. Keep at it, and I’m sure you’ll make more in time.”

“And just as soon as Dr. Jaquith said we could, Charlotte made plans to take us camping in the woods. Tina adores camping, just like me. Of course, I couldn’t do it without your permission. I wouldn’t. We’re supposed to be heading out tomorrow, but if you want me to stay and study…”

“No, I want you to go. Camping sounds like a wonderful break for her and for you. Daddy’s got to go now, darling, but I’ll call you again tomorrow at lunch, as always. Have fun on your camping trip. I love you. Goodbye.”

“I love you too, Daddy. Goodbye.” You hung up the phone and turned to Charlotte. “Thank you for letting me call him. Thank you, thank you.”

The next morning, it was Saturday. Time for you, Tina, and Charlotte to go camping. It was your favorite activity. You loved it just as much as you loved your art.

“There you are, Mr. Skeffington. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hello.”

“Good to see you again. Where’s Mrs. Skeffington? Isn’t she with you?”

“No, I’m afraid not. She had a prior engagement that she couldn’t cancel or reschedule, so I’ve brought her cousin, George Trellis, with me in her stead. He’s my daughter Fanny’s godfather and like an uncle to both of my girls. George, this is Dr. David Jaquith.”

Dr. Jaquith and George shook hands cordially, but the disappointment in the doctor’s eyes was hard to miss. “Well… I can’t say I’m not disappointed that her mother isn’t here to see her, especially after so many months of hard work, but I’m glad you’re here in her stead, Mr. Trellis. it’s very nice to meet you.”

“And same to you, Doctor.”

“And of course, you remember Fanny, my daughter. Say hello, Fanny.”

“Hello, Dr. Jaquith.”

“Hello, young Fanny. It’s good to see you. I’m glad you could come along to see your sister. Maybe you could help to lift her spirits.”

“Sorry we’re late. We lost our way a bit. Tell us, how is she?” George asked.

“Better every week. In fact, she’s almost well, but she doesn’t believe it. The prospect still looks dark to her. Going through a sickness like hers is like going through a tunnel. It’s pretty dark right up to the last few hundred yards.”

“Have you seen my daughter yet?”

“Literally speaking, no, but I did talk to her. Not that she told me anything. As I said, she’s in low spirits. You’ll find her feeling depressed today because this morning, I told her she’s a fledgling now.”

“A fledgling?”

“Well, it’s time for her to get out of the nest and try her own wings. Contemplation of going home has struck her pretty hard. I haven’t told her there’s any alternative.”

“Then you think well of my alternative?”

“It’s a gift from Heaven. But we won’t tell her about it till you’ve gone. Now, don’t expect to find her looking well. She’s a pretty sick girl.”

You were in your room, painting and cleaning with Charlotte. You hung up some of your paintings to dry as she did some tidying up around the room. You were a mess. Your hands, face, hair, and clothes were stained with both dirt and paint. Clearly you had been playing outside earlier in the day. Your father didn’t expect anything else, and it was a welcome sight. Your eyes lit up and you smiled when you saw him, Fanny, and Uncle George, but they quickly dulled again and your lips drooped lower when you suddenly remembered what Dr. Jaquith told you just that morning. Your excitement had been overshadowed by the realization of what their presence here meant. Fanny was quick to run up to you and give you a hug. You hugged her back.

“Darling, I’m so glad to see you. Dr. Jaquith says you’re much better, almost well,” your father said.

“Yes, that’s what he says.”

“Mr. Skeffington, Fanny, Mr. Trellis, this is my wife, Charlotte. She’s chief of my police force here and has been acting as Miss Skeffington’s nurse. Charlotte, this is Mr. Job Skeffington, Mr. George Trellis, and young Fanny, her father, her mother’s cousin who’s like an uncle to her, and, of course, her twin sister.”

“How do you do?”

“What’s this, sweetheart?” Your father put his arm around your shoulder and kissed you on the side of the head as he looked over at the canvas you were currently working on.

“I’ve been helping Miss Skeffington with her painting. Now you’ve come, if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to do.” Charlotte and her husband shared a knowing smile as she left the room.

“How’s Mother?” you asked nervously as you played with your hands and picked at your fingernails before stuffing them in the pockets of your trousers.

“Fine. She’s been having a wonderful time entertaining, paying visits to all her friends and blessing them with her presence at parties. She’s spending the day with Mrs. Thornton and her sister at present.”

“Has Dr. Jaquith told you?”

“Told me what?”

“He says I’m well enough to leave here now. I’ve got to go home. Daddy, I dread it so terribly. I know it’s awful not to want to see Mother, and it’s wrong...”

“Stop, look, and listen. New England conscience on the track.”

“Perhaps you don’t have to go home.”

“Mayn’t I tell her, Dr. Jaquith?” Fanny asked.

“Later, maybe. We’ll see how she behaves.” When you looked at Dr. Jaquith quizzically, he explained, “We have a scheme, your father and I. Your sister knows about it.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling you yet. Marvelous chance, though, to use your re-education. Well, my time for pleasure is just about up. I thought I’d show your Uncle George around the place a little. You can show him and your father the rest of the works when we get back. Meet me outside in a minute, Mr. Trellis?”

“Oh, I’ve been thrown out of better places than this, Doctor. Fanny, would you like to come with?” Taking their cue, your Uncle George and Fanny followed Dr. Jaquith out of the room, leaving you and your father alone for a tearful and heartfelt reunion. As soon as the door closed, you hugged your father tight. You didn’t want to let him go. You told him all about your time at Cascade, not sparing any detail of your experiences and adventures, both good and bad. Though you often rambled incoherently in a way all children do, your father avidly listened to every word. He responded to you, asked you questions, matched your energy. He cared about you and your interests, even if they were so different from his own, and that meant the world to you. You couldn’t wait till you could show him the big surprise.

You never cared much for keeping a diary. You tried, but only wrote a handful of entries before your time in Cascade. But Dr. Jaquith said it could be a good outlet for you to let out all your pent up emotions and encouraged you to take it up again. Since you would be at Cascade for the next two weeks, possibly even longer depending on how you progressed, it seemed to be a good time to start keeping one again. When your time at Cascade went from two weeks to two years, you were so glad you followed Dr. Jaquith’s advice. Journaling the day’s events and what you were thinking and feeling helped you in more ways than one. Even after you were deemed well enough to return home and your time at Cascade came to an end, you still kept the diary going.

September 1927

It’s finally Daddy’s day off today but I can’t show him my drawings or how I’m coming along in my reading just yet. Daddy is so busy. He said that he was sorry, but he was hung up with Thomas, the lawyer. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was talking to Thomas on the phone. He seemed mad at him. I don’t know what lawyers do, but it sounds boring and tedious. Daddy is always working now, so I only see him on his day off. The babysitter’s name is Hannah. We talk about Daddy sometimes. I think she is Daddy’s friend. I am glad Daddy has someone who cares about him. She picked Fanny up from school yesterday since Daddy was too busy. Daddy said never to go with strangers, so Fanny had to call him just to be sure Hannah could be trusted. Hannah’s nice, but I don’t really like having babysitters.

You found yourself outside your father’s study. He would be finished with his paperwork any moment. You waited there, going over again and again Charlotte’s cheers in your mind. The door opened, and your father stared down at you, as if surprised to find you there. You drew yourself up as tall as could be, but he still towered over you.

“Do you need something, sweetheart?” he asked.

You nodded, but didn’t answer. Without a word, you strode right inside his study. You heard your father close the door behind you and follow.

“Is something wrong? Are you hurt? Sick?” he asked you.

You shook your head.

“Have you finished your studies today?”

You reached up and took the first bit of parchment off the stack.

“Careful, darling, those are important documents. They can't be lost—”

“Public notice… Pending dem…demo…demolition… This property will be demol…demolished as ordered by the Department of Ins…inspec…inspections and Lice…Licenses.” You looked up from the random sentence and hid your smile. Then you continued, and you read the entire letter out loud to your father. “No person may remove this notice prior to the approval date which the demolition may commence. The owner of this property has not been found and therefore this dwelling unit and the surrounding land will be placed under ownership of the state. The area is to become a natural wildlife refuge until further need or sale approval by the state courts. The structure and fou…founday…foundation of this property are not stable. Anyone entering the premis..is…is…premises under permit must take pre…preca…precautions and care. Multiple injuries have occurred due to the structural inte…inte…gritty…integrity of this property.” When you finished, he actually laughed, and you felt your cheeks go red. You loved it when you pleased her father. You had seen his smile more times than you could count, but you rarely heard a laugh.

“You see, darling? You are a Skeffington! You always had it in you!” he said. “You've got quite the attitude, but I'm proud of you. Keep up the good work.” He touched your face and then embraced you. “Come now, supper is waiting for us.”

You beamed at him, and you headed to the dining room together. You recounted the story to Uncle George, and he laughed first and then congratulated you. Then he hugged you. After supper, you returned to your room to practice some more and then prepare for bed. You still had much farther to go, and the letters still got jumbled, but you were determined to work hard. The next morning, you once again found yourself pouring over a book. You finished reading the paragraph aloud and looked up at Marie. She was absent-mindedly working on something with a needle.

“Um… Marie, I have a question,” you said.

“Ask away,” she urged you.

“Well, it’s just about something that I overheard. One of the neighbors said a Miss Rosalyn seduced her husband. She called her a whore. Marie, what does seduce mean? And what’s a whore?”

The needle suddenly slipped and pricked her finger. You felt bad for giving her an ouchie.

October 1927

Although they live in the same house, Mother and Daddy hardly speak to each other. Mother was very upset because Daddy had lady friends that came to visit him in his office at the bank, but Mother has gentlemen friends that come to see her at the house, so I don’t see the difference. Why was it wrong for Daddy to have friends? Mother and Daddy are always telling Fanny and I the importance of making friends. Can’t they just all get together for a play date like me and Fanny did at recess? It’s after dinner. Fanny and I have been sent to our rooms. Mother and Uncle George are arguing with each other. They're talking about divorce. Weren’t Mother and Daddy supposed to work everything out? Did something happen? What changed?

“Five secretaries in a row? I’m not that forgiving.”

“The second secretary must have forgiven him for the first. The third for the second, and so on. Can’t you be as forgiving as a secretary?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m very grateful to Job for making it so easy for me to divorce him. I must admit, at first I was very angry. And then suddenly, I realized that the five secretaries were five gates to freedom.”

“And now you can live with your conscience.”

“Well, yes.”

“I hope the two of you will be very happy.”

I thought I was being so careful, but Mother saw me peeking from the railing.

“What do you think you're doing, young lady? Upstairs. It’s books and study. Besides, your father and I have something to discuss.”

November 1927

I think I’m finally finding my study groove. My test scores are really good. I’m worried about how much my parents are fighting recently, though. They were yelling at each other again today. I asked Mother why, but she wouldn’t say.

December 1927

This is it. Test day tomorrow. But this Monday isn’t going to be like other Mondays. It’s different because it’s the last big exam day before the end of the semester. Daddy told me I should be proud of myself since I've worked so hard, so l’m feeling great. He’s not around very much, but I know he loves me, and I love him. Daddy, I’m going to ace this test tomorrow for both you and Mother!

December 1927

I did really well in all my tests! I studied really hard. I still have two more semesters to go, but I wanted to show Mother and Daddy. Maybe they will become happy if they see how smart I am. It’s winter break and I’m going to enjoy not having to do any lessons for the next week or two.

January 1928

Where’s Daddy? We haven’t seen him since Christmas. Uncle George won’t say. Fanny and I have been talking and playing almost all day, every day, except for the time we have to do our homework. Homework is boring, but it’s nice being in the same room together.

February 1928

It’s the day after Valentine’s Day. Usually it’s Mother’s favorite day of the year because she gets spoiled with even more attention and affection than she does on any other day of the year. Abundant gifts of chocolates, flowers, and other pretty and sparkly things from men take up so much space in the house, the servants don’t know what to do with it all. I don’t think even Mother knows what to do with it all. This year was much of the same. The men gave her presents and impassioned proclamations of love, but there was no payoff. But, today, she was very angry and upset. When I innocently asked her where Daddy was, she snapped at me and said he wasn’t coming home anymore. What happened? Did Daddy get a time out?

February 1928

Mother keeps getting visitors. Peter is still here. He showed up again with a smile on his face and flowers in his hands from the new place he was raving about. He was here last week too. I now know why the neighbors say Mother and Peter are more than friends. I would have called them a couple too if only Mother wasn't so…so… I don’t know what the right word is. I mean, she spends more time looking in a mirror than looking at people when she’s talking to them! Today, Peter got Mother a gift made from Goldstone. It’s already her second since he came here! Are there other presents I don’t know about? He bought Fanny and me a bunch of books and toys. He must’ve thought, that should be enough to keep us occupied, right? The last present I got from Daddy was at Christmas. When he still lived here. I know Peter is doing this just because he’s worried about us. He wants us to feel more comfortable with him in our home. Did he really think these things would be enough to keep us occupied and out of his way? It might be enough for Fanny, but not me. I feel like he’s giving way too much to Mother. I know I’m immature to think this way. Daddy hates when people are immature. Everything seems to be going well now that they’ve been going out on dates. But I don’t trust Peter whatever-his-last-name-is. He’s trying to take Daddy’s place. I won’t let him. I’ve taken a permanent offense at him and I’ll make sure he knows it. I’ll look him right in the eye and I’ll tell him, “I don't know who gave you the right to call my mother your wife. She's not your wife yet and will never be your wife.” I wish Daddy would come back. I need to stop thinking about stupid things.

February 1928

If only Mother and Daddy could make up. Mother, Daddy... Can you try to behave like a happy couple? Or wouldn’t that be rather dishonest? They haven't separated yet, but it is too late. Mother and Daddy are liars. They always told me I need to make up with my friends when we fight. They told me to forgive Sarah whenever she took and broke my stuff. But they won’t make up. Even though they aren’t together anymore, I still hear them fighting over the phone. Sometimes Daddy says he is going to keep Mother away from us. Daddy says that he is going to rescue Fanny and I from Mother. Why can’t they just stay together? Would it kill them to put on a show for a few more days? The thing is, I don't want to give Janie Clarkson any ammunition by extension. I’m “friends” with Brenda, who’s friends with Janie’s son, Jeremy. I know Janie and Mother don’t like each other. Yet Janie keeps trying to go out with Mother to lunch. Grownups are so confusing.

March 1928

I got a letter in the mail. It was one from Brenda again, asking how I was feeling about Mom and Dad’s break up. With a flick of the wrist, I threw it in the trash. It was none of her damn business how I felt. None. Just because Brenda had been the one I’d gone crying to, it didn't give her the right to keep on prying. Nosey parker. She was probably having a good old laugh about it with her friends. I know she’s a blabbermouth and is friends with Jeremy Clarkson. I didn’t tell her anything, so how did she find out? Fucking Jeremy. The twerp always sticks his snotty nose into other people’s business. Like mother, like son. He said his uncle saw Daddy at a speakeasy with a lady who wasn’t Mother. Miss Eleanor Morris. And that Mother was also there with a man who wasn’t Daddy. Max MacMahon. Neither of them knew the other was there, so their running into each other was an unpleasant surprise. Usually he’s full of shit, but this…I don’t want to believe it, but…it’d explain why Daddy is gone so much. I don’t know. I’m still mad at Brenda for telling Jeremy about Mom and Dad. Well, I’d show her. Come exam day I’d get the top grade. If there was anything I didn't understand I’d have Brenda explain it, then I’d go in and beat her. It worked like a charm every time. When Brenda didn't understand something I would just pretend I didn't get it either, even if I did. The phone is ringing. It’s probably Brenda again, something about a family emergency and she needed to talk. The last thing I needed was some crying mess wrecking my day. There’s more important things to do.

You sat at your easel, painting. Your father entered and sat down on one of the chairs. You bid him enter the attic, but you didn’t look at him. You were painting a sophisticated, stylized royal portrait of a fluffy cat dressed like it was a man from the Renaissance era. Why? You saw a stray cat in the neighborhood and thought it was pretty. Other animal portraits were already leaned up against the wall. You were either experimenting or going through a weird phase.

Your father shifted uncomfortably. “We need to talk about last night.”

“Do we?”

“Yes. There are certain things that grownups do, that kids aren't supposed to see. And that was one of them.”

You kept painting. You still didn’t look at him. It was the first time he was home in weeks, and the first thing he did was…that. With another woman. He hadn’t realized that when your mother, uncle, and sister went out for the evening, you had stayed home because you made an excuse that you weren’t feeling well. You didn’t want to believe Jeremy, (you mentally nicknamed him “germy” for good reason) but now you had to, because you had more than just his word. You saw the proof with your own eyes. When he realized you were there and what you had seen, your father was quick to react by hurriedly cleaning himself up and sending Miss Morris home, all but pushing her out the door with a million apologies on his lips. But the damage was done.

“Darling, I need you to listen to me.”

You paused. You deliberately set your paintbrush down and turned to your father. An awkward beat.

“See, when two grownups love each other very, very much, they like to…show that love to each other.”

“I know. They fuck. Like Mrs. Ledger’s basset hounds. Do you love Miss Morris? More than Mother?”

Your father was dumbfounded. You regarded him with a bored, aloof look.

April 1928

I miss you sometimes, Daddy. Today was a cleaning day and Manby found some of your books and cologne bottles that you left. I miss you. I smell your favorite cologne bottle just to remind myself what you used to smell like. Mother got so upset when she saw the bottle. She made me throw them away. I secretly kept one. I miss you, Daddy. Sometimes when you went to visit other places, you’d come back with candy for me and Fanny. You told me that you would write to me if you went somewhere else. That was three weeks ago now. No one wants to tell me if you went somewhere else. The neighbors and servants just tell me to keep my lips zipped. I'm sorry for what I said about Edward and Freddie at dinner. Is that why you aren’t coming to stay at home anymore? I know Mother likes them, I just— I just want you back and didn’t want them to replace you. I miss you, Dad. I love you, Dad.

I haven’t seen you for a while. I wonder when you’ll be back to visit me. Every time I entered Dr. Jaquith’s office, I could smell his tobacco. It reminded me of your study room, even though you don’t smoke. It was the perfect reminder when you were gone for so long. I miss you, Daddy. Mother wrote, but she never visited. She was always busy with her friends. She has no time to spare for me. Sometimes I wonder if Mother loves me. Maybe I should call Charlotte or Manby my mother instead.

For your whole life, seeing the world had only been a dream, but, with your parents’ divorce and your father taking you to Europe with him after gaining full custody of you and Fanny, it could be a reality.

#mr Skeffington #the wolf man #daughters courageous #now voyager #Claude rains #bette davis #crossover au #crossover fic #crossover #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it #x reader

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