1888
The train ride from Hebron Academy to Collinsport wasn't
a long one, but it was boring,
especially for two young men who were high spirited by nature,
and restless by
circumstance.
The brothers were so unlike each other, were it not for
the expensive cut of their clothing,
and the forced companionship of their travel, one would not be
able to identify them as
such. The younger was a lanky boy, heartbreakingly handsome, his
manner as casual as
the shock of tousled chestnut hair that fell untamed into his
impossibly blue eyes. He
carried himself with the self assurance good looks afford, and
the air of expectation that
the wealthy assume. His natural grace was something he wore with
such nonchalance, it
was impossible to notice how very aware he was of his own beauty.
The older was a study in contrast: his sandy hair grew in
different directions, but it was
not a disarray of exuberance, as on his brother, rather a defiance
of order. He was a slight
man, though no kindness could describe him as lean, he was merely
skinny. If his body
seemed to arrest in a state of perpetual adolescence, his face
was even more startling.
Though newly 20, his features were those of a child. He would
have liked to have been
called handsome, but, with his little boy smile, and guileless
eyes it was not an apt
description. He was, however, enormously appealing, and everywhere
he went, he left
behind laughter.
Everywhere but home, which is where the two were headed now.
Carl knew that his academic performance in this final year
at the Academy would exact its
penance with the family. He did not so much care that he had disappointed
them - he
expected that, they expected that - but did worry about their
next planned course for him.
He could not bear the thought of another year of school, he had
already been held back
twice, and to repeat another year would mean being left behind
by Quentin, who had been
blessed with a charm that was as foreign to Carl as it was enviable.
He both adored and despised his brother.
Beside him, Quentin was trying to look sophisticated and
weary with travel, but on the
inside he was as hesitant and unsure as Carl. Home was a battlefront,
the factions clearly
marked by age and personality. He and Carl, the "boys",
at constant odds with their older
brother and sister. The years of his growing up had been characterized
by division, and he
had never really questioned it before. Not until this summer.
This summer there would be no refuge in the familiar camp
he and Carl had settled in the
War of the Collins family. This summer he had outgrown Carl. This
summer, when he
needed him most.
None of the old strategies would apply this summer, all
the rules of the game had been
changed on the last visit home, when he had been drawn precariously
close to the edge of
the adult world at Collinwood. Close to the final breakdown, and
he was not sure he
could retreat, not sure he wanted to.
This summer he would have to redefine his position, have
to realign the parameters to
accommodate the new dynamics of the home and family. Have to play
out the intrigue
that had begun on that last visit home, at Easter.
When his sister-in-law had broken all the rules.
COLLINWOOD
Edith Collins was at once relieved and anxious...
The last of her grandchildren were on their way home, their
primary schooling done. She
had looked forward to this time for so long, and now that it was
here it only added to her
problems.
She would have like to enjoy her middle age, not spent it
raising a second family. Hadn't
she done right by her own sons? All the energy that had been spent
on her boys, only to
lose one to war on a far away battlefield in Georgia, and the
other to the shoddy
workmanship of a wheelwright whose hands shook from the drink.
And just where did
that leave her? With four more children to do for, that's where.
Four children! Really, it was all so common. There had been
a son and a daughter, that
is all any parent could hope for, but that giddy headed fool her
son had married had
wanted another child, then a companion for that baby. Children
of her own, she had called
them, children that would belong to her and not to some nanny
that would mold them into
perfect little Collins.
How she had coddled those two boys, spoiling them with such
abandon, only to up and
die, leaving Edith with two young princes, neither with half the
sense God gave a gnat.
She would have left when Judith and Edward had grown old enough
to resume
responsibility for their brothers - packed herself off to Poland
Springs, or maybe Saratoga,
but she was actually far fonder of the boys than she cared to
let on. This house always
seemed colder than a tomb when they were gone, not even the great-grandbabies
in the
nursery could shake the chill.
Edith listened as the clock in the foyer tolled the time.
The train should be pulling in just
about now, soon she would have to go about the business of welcoming
the boys home,
while not offending the others with her obvious delight at having
them back. Judith
particularly resented her brothers, as though they were to blame
for her bad luck at having
been born a girl. She was far to cunning to show that her resentment
also spread to
Edward, but Edith knew. For all her granddaughter's display of
familial loyalty, Edith
knew that Judith considered herself far brighter than Edward,
and she was probably right.
Judith would never had made a marriage so unsuitable as Edward's.
Such a gadfly Edward had brought home! While Edith had to
admit that Laura had
managed to soften the edges on Edward somewhat, and that she did
entertain brilliantly,
she was quite sure she would never understand where that girl
got some of her notions.
Like this homecoming surprise for Quentin. The very idea of a
boy Quentin's age having a
suite of rooms so far removed from his family, off in the West
Wing by himself! A sitting
room, bed, and bath, for young Master Collins, it was all too
ridiculous. That boy was far
too full of himself as it was. She would have flatly refused,
were it not for the simple
practicality of distance...the further removed Quentin was from
Edward and Judith, the
less he could rankle them. Still, why Laura would think a boy
that age would need such
privacy was beyond her. He would be off to Bowdoin in the fall,
his newly appointed
suite of rooms would hardly be used.
Quentin off to Bowdoin, imagine. There would be quite the
ruckus when he heard the
plans that had been made for him. Especially when he heard that
Carl was to be given the
Grand Tour. There was really nothing else to be done with Carl,
he had none of Edward's
discipline, Judith's common sense, or Quentin's charm. The best
that could be hoped for
Carl is that his name would attract a proper girl, one who would
be willing to brook his
nonsense for the privilege of becoming a Mrs. Collins, of the
Collinsport Collins'.
For that is all Edith really hoped for her grandchildren,
that they would make suitable
matches. Edward had disappointed her, Judith she had no hopes
for, Carl could count
only on his family name, but Quentin...Quentin with his astonishing
good looks and ready
charm. Quentin could be the one to make a marriage that would
do the family proud, if
only that spirit of his could be tamed.
And now that damned fool Laura had fixed things so Quentin
would be off there by
himself, where Edith couldn't keep an eye on him. No telling what
devilment a boy like
Quentin could get himself up to when left on his own like that.
They all thought Edith
was just an old goose, but she knew what was what, she knew there
were women out
there who were more than willing to let themselves be entertained
by a man of good looks
and breeding - no telling what trouble one of them could bring
to a fine, respectable
family.
Yes, that Quentin was the one to watch, with his looks,
and her money, he could make
them very proud.
Or destroy them.
The polished mahogany gleamed, warm with the reflected light
of the twin crystal
chandeliers that hung above it. For this special dinner the table
had been laid with the
finest of the family's china, the most precious of the silver.
On this night, the family was
gathered together, and if they were not comfortable with the actual
proximity of one
another, they were very accomplished at pretense.
Edward's position at the head of the table was one of his
greatest pleasures. He was a
man who found great comfort in symbolism, whether represented
by his seat on the town
council, the front pew in the village church, or here, in the
imposing house that was itself a
symbol of the superiority that was the Collins family.
His wife sat to his right, far less content with her position
than he was. Each meal was an
affront to Laura Collins, a reminder that she was nothing more
than ornamental. That the
old woman held sway at the opposite end of the table from Edward
was an insult
compounded by Judith's position directly across from her, at Edward's
other hand.
Tonight, the balance at the table had been tilted even more, with
Quentin being seated
beside Judith, leaving her with Carl as a dinner partner. That
Judith had even less use for
Quentin than she did for Carl was not a consideration, the hierarchy
had been established
by Edith.
Laura's sole claim to belonging at the table was her position
as mother to the children who
slept upstairs. They were true citizens of Collinwood, born to
the manor, not naturalized
by marriage as she had been. In a conceit peculiar to the elderly,
Edith saw the children as
a continuation of self, while to Edward they were no more than
tokens of his own
masculinity, his own devotion to the institution that was the
family. Laura's most fervent
wish for her husband was that the irony would not be lost on him
when it was time for the
children to realize their heritage.
Laura herself had little patience for the practicalities
of motherhood. She had delivered
these children, and would be crucial to their rebirth, but for
now they were little more than
a nuisance to her. She felt particularly removed from Nora, who
was after all, a rather
unnecessary little creature. She had fulfilled her duty with the
boy. Though Nora had
proved useful, allowing Laura to plead the rigors of two closely
placed confinements
whenever Edward made his clumsy advances.
For now, however, Laura's maternal obligation was to bide
her time, something she was
quite willing to do, provided she could allow herself some amusement.
She smiled across the table at Quentin, and had to stifle
a laugh at his obvious discomfort.
She had played her hand wisely this past Easter, had left him
wondering exactly what her
new found interest in him meant, but after tonight, she knew that
he would willingly play
her game, may even think he was in control.
It would all begin very soon now...Edward was ready.
It was time to tell Quentin and Carl of the plans that had been made for them.
They all seemed so far away...their voices distant, their
images distorted by the rage that
pounded at his temples. Carl to be given a year in Europe, while
he was to be packed off
to Bowdoin. To another four years of them chipping away at his
soul, until there was no
Quentin left, only Collins.
He tried to make sense of them all, to bring them into focus.
Somewhere in the distance
that was the reality of this evening, their voices swam together;
Carl's excited and happy,
Edward's characteristically smug, Judith's cheerful with perversion
at his being so soundly
put in place. The voices rose and fell, their cadence rich with
the timbre of self
righteousness until they seemed to enter his own throat, choking
the breath from him,
suffocating him with their condescension. They were killing him
with their words, each
inflection and nuance another battery, until his grandmother's
voice, serene and unaware,
rose above the rest.
"You boys must be tired, you may be excused."
This was the most incredible of all, the standard of polite
society spoken, giving credence
to the conversation of the dinner table.
"NO."
They all turned to look at him, as if suddenly aware that he was there with them.
"No, I will not be excused. I will not be dismissed."
He stood, faced Edward. "This is
absurd, it is my future, and should be my decision. Nothing that
has been said here tonight
has been, even remotely, something I would consider. You all seem
to be forgetting that I
am the one who has come home with a certificate of completion
of studies, yet it is Carl
who is to be rewarded?"
"And you, Quentin, seem to be forgetting that Carl
is older than you." Edward spoke with
an assurance that contradicted the most basic tenet of the family
order. Carl, though older
by birth, had long been considered the youngest. It had been a
natural assumption, and if
it was now Edward's choosing to restore Carl's birthright, he
would not do so without
Quentin's resistance. The cohesiveness of the family, always tenuous
at best, became a
concrete, with Quentin at its center. He alone could maintain
the balance, or undo the
framework that had become their design. He hesitated only a moment.
"I stepped past Carl when I was first learning to walk.
And that, Edward, is what scares
you. If I could so easily leave Carl behind, you could be next."
He had done it, had said the words aloud. The silence that
had bound them had been
broken, and each knew that nothing would ever be the same. They
waited, not sure what
it was they were waiting for, only knowing that something must
be said before they were
freed to go on. When the words came, they were all surprised at
their source.
"Quentin!" Judith spat his name out, as though
it had left a bitter taste on her tongue.
"We are a family, and you speak of us as though we are a
parlor game."
He spun to face her. "Oh, but this is a game, dear
sister, and you aren't even a player."
He stalked from the room, leaving them with the truths he had
dealt.
Later, in the privacy of his new rooms, there would be a
knock at his door. He would call
out for her to come in, and it would begin. It was only meant
to be an insult to his
brother, but this night would set it all in motion. On this night,
Quentin Collins would cast
the die that would determine the fate of the Collins family.
The glare of daylight offered little in the way of luxury.
Morning erased all shades of gray,
leaving no ambiguity for a young man to hide in.
In the daylight, last night's confrontations loomed tall,
and Quentin felt very insignificant in
their shadow. While his arrogance was inherent, it was not yet
mature, and he was not
certain that he could defend his bluff, should they decide to
call it. He could only hope
that Edward's insufferable ego would not chance being bruised
by acknowledging the truth
of his younger brother's accusations.
Quentin had no doubts about his own abilities or instincts,
but he was unsure of his skills
as a manipulator. He needed more time, more experience. That he
could one day
complete his ascension to the top of the pecking order was a certainty,
he only hoped last
night's rashness hadn't triggered Edward's defenses. Just this
once, he would like to see
Edward's blinders of self-importance firmly in place.
Now, as he stood ready to open the doors to the drawing
room, ready to answer the
summons, he forced himself to shrug off his insecurities and step
into his mantle of
confidence.
"You wanted to see me, Grandmama?"
Edith looked up, and despite her resolve to be firm with
Quentin, was softened by the
sight of him, so handsome, with that crooked smile and unmanageable
thatch of hair. She
had watched this boy grow up, and knew full well that there was
a streak of the hell-bent
in him, but unlike the others, she believed that with a little
encouragement his spirit could
make, rather than doom him.
"Come kiss me good morning, Quentin, then sit and hear
me out." She offered him her
cheek, then patted the ottoman by her feet. "Now there's
a good boy."
"You will go to Bowdoin, Quentin, and when you have
completed your studies, I promise
you a few years to yourself, to see as much of the world as you
care to, then, when you
come home to us, you will be ready to take your place in the company."
"But, Grandmama! Why Bowdoin? Bowdoin is a Liberal
Arts College...why wouldn't I
be sent to study business as Edward had been, if you honestly
believe that there is a place
for me?"
The question delighted Edith, reassured her faith in him.
He was the brightest of her
grandchildren, hopefully bright enough to see the wisdom of what
she was going to offer
him.
"Because Quentin, you are quick. All you need to know
about the business you will learn
once you take your place there. And because people like you...they
defer to Edward and
tolerate Carl, but they like you." she raised a hand, ready
to wave away his protest, should
he make it, "but you are reckless, you need to learn patience."
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a piece of seaglass
he had once given her, after a
long ago picnic on the beach. "Do you remember this, Quentin?",
she waited for his nod,
then continued, "you are like this glass. It was once jagged
and sharp, but see how
beautiful it is now that it has been polished with time and perseverance!
You do this for
me Quentin, and I promise that I will do well by you."
Quentin stood, then stooped to kiss the old woman. "Yes, Grandmama, I will try."
He left the drawing room, his confidence restored. She believed
in him, and she was all
that really mattered. None of them could stand in his way, not
if she was on his side. Not
Edward, not Judith, not Laura.....
Laura....damn. It had seemed like such a good idea, and
it had not even really been his.
She had started it, she had wanted him. He wanted only to lash
out at Edward. Now,
when it was too late, he realized that he hadn't really needed
to. Edward mustn't find out,
everything would be ruined. He left the house, ran down the drive,
towards the stables.
He ran along the bridle path, ran has he had when he was a child,
but knew that he would
never be able to out run her. He knew that last night, when caught
up in the passion and
the excitement of doing the unthinkable. She wanted something
more from him, but he
didn't know what. He knew only that she was unlike other people,
that something almost
unnatural motivated her.
He knew that she would never willingly let him go.