1895
New Bedford came alive in the spring, shrugging off the
winter's sleep with the first thaw.
It was an eclectic little town, long before it had become fashionable
to be so, supporting
not only a thriving fishing commerce, but also welcoming the overflow
of international
trade that spilled out of nearby Boston Harbor.
New England itself was a small town, its coastal cities
and towns were its Main Street.
There was an elitism that ran from harbor to harbor, from dock
to dock, those who
worked the waterfront considered themselves the town elders. It
was they way of small
town folk to tend to the business of their neighbors, if Quentin
Collins had forgotten this
while an anonymous Westerner in the Orient, he was quickly reminded
now, on this, his
last stop before returning home.
Distance had been kind to Quentin: had allowed him a confidence
he did not feel now.
Here, where his name was known, he could feel the pull of Collinsport.
All too soon he
would once again be nothing more than the younger brother. The
thought infuriated him,
and he hoped that he could hold onto that rage, that it would
give him an edge when it
came time to see Edward. That the rage would be stronger than
confusion that would
over take him when he saw Laura.
He hadn't given Laura much thought in the time he had been
away. If she crossed his
mind at all it was only when he was scrawling a letter to Jamison,
or laughing with Evan
over this first step in what he planned as the complete displacement
of Edward. It had
seemed so funny then, to sneer at his far away brother, to wonder
just how hard it would
be to step past a man who couldn't even see that you were sleeping
with his wife. Now,
however, he saw no humor in the situation he was returning to.
He remembered just who
was in charge.
There had to be some way around Laura, some way to get her
to let go. He knew that to
tell her it could not go on would be more dangerous than to let
it continue. Laura was not
a woman to casually dismiss. He could still see the way her eyes
snapped with fury the
last time he had mentioned the name of a woman he had fancied
himself interested in. He
could not remember the name of the woman now, but was sure Laura
had not forgotten.
Just as he was sure that Laura would expect him to return to her
beck and call. He knew
that he had to do something, something not even Laura could ignore,
but did not know
what that something was.
Trying to shake off his thoughts, he scanned the crowded
room for the serving girl, hoping
that just one more drink could push Laura from his mind. As he
looked around, he saw
her for the first time.
She sat on a stool beside the piano. He had been vaguely
aware that someone had been
singing, but had been to caught up in himself to pay much attention.
Now he considered
her carefully. She was dressed in black, the rose she had pinned
at her breast demanded
that attention be given to the low cut of its neckline. A black
ribbon was tied around her
throat, its ends trailing across one bare shoulder. She wore her
hair loose, which was
startling in itself, but its color was even more so caught somewhere
between russet and a
blazing red, like an autumn leaf, still undecided.
As she began a new song, he looked more directly at her,
and found her eyes meet his. He
let his crooked smile slowly erase the worry from his face, tipped
his head slightly in her
direction, raised his glass to her. The blush she answered him
with surprised him, and his
smile became genuine. He leaned back in his chair, never taking
his eyes from hers. He
had found his answer to the problem of Laura.
Quentin Collins would take a bride.
Her name, she told him, was Jenny. She had no problem with
this, she did consider it her
name, and had since that day she first took a real look at herself.
She was different from
her sister, different from the extended family she traveled with.
The difference was more
than just the paleness of her skin, or the flame of her hair,
it was within her, in the things
she dreamed and longed for. When she grew old enough to learn
the ways of her people,
the contributions of the women, she understood her difference.
There was no shame with the realization, she felt freed
by it. If the others taunted her,
made light of the airs she assumed, she did not care. She knew
that the time would come
when she would step out of their world and into the other, the
world she was meant to be
a part of.
As she grew older, she grew further away from them. The
other girls looked down on
her, while envying her at the same time. They made fun of her
light skin; her flaming hair,
but each wished that they could be more like her, that they could
remain hidden at the
camps rather than be sent into the towns to entice the money out
of the pockets of the
gringo. Her life could have been one of the outcast were it not
for her sister - Magda truly
had the gift, and with it the respect and fear of the others.
And Jenny was Magda's prize.,
she would allow no real harm to come to her baby sister.
As Magda's gift was her sight, so Jenny's was her song.
She sang her first words, and
rarely spoke without a trace of some melody in her voice ever
since. Her voice would
take her out of the camps, this she knew as surely as she knew
that she was Jenny, a
person of her own creation. When the caravan moved East, she stepped
into that other
world for the first time. In Boston, she made her first attempt
at real entry. With Magda's
help, she tore the fringe from the bodice of her dress, tapered
its skirt, and went to offer
her talent. On the first try, the man behind the bar took one
look at her red hair, her fair
skin, and turned her away - "We don't hire no Irish on here."
She was thrilled.
It was Magda who convinced her to try New Bedford, and here
she found that the beauty
of her voice was enough to gain her acceptance. They came to hear
her sing, and never
suspected that each night she boarded the late train to Boston,
then walked nearly an hour
to the camp.
She told Quentin none of this, only that her name was Jenny.
She met him every day for
an early supper before rushing off to become the evening's entertainment.
Over a weeks
worth of suppers she listened to his tales of adventure, she learned
of his family, of the
business he was going home to. She loved the sound of his voice,
the blue of his eyes. She
loved that he was a part of that world she had dreamed of for
herself. She could have
listened forever.
If Quentin had been less intent on his courtship, he may
have wondered why she offered so
little of herself. He knew only that she went home each night
to a sister who would worry
should she miss the last train. But Quentin was not given to considering
a woman's
thoughts, he cared only that he was a part of them. So he wooed
Jenny, presenting
himself with all his considerable charm. Seduction was Quentin's
strongest game, and
over their suppers he played it deftly; when he told her he loved
her, he said it with such
conviction he nearly believed it himself.
When the week had come to a close, and it was time, finally,
to go home, he asked her to
come with him, to be his wife. So in love was Jenny, with the
dream and the man, she
said yes without caring that it would mean leaving Magda behind.
It could not really be called a wedding, it was only a rite
of passage, taking place in the
small chapel the fishermen's wives had dedicated to the safe return
of their men. The
ceremony was sealed with the telegram Quentin sent ahead, to Collinwood,
to alert them
to his return, and ask that a room near his be prepared for the
companion he would be
bringing with him. The reception was a few hours, just the two
of them, in Quentin's
room at the Inn, the honeymoon the train ride home. Neither questioned
the haste of the
process; each was eager to claim the other, to secure the belonging
that had given birth to
the desire.
Quentin's logic did not see the portrait he had painted
of his family as a lie, he presented
them as he wished them to be. He did not worry that they would
disappoint him, they
were nothing if not proper, and would behave with social precision
when meeting the new
Mrs. Quentin Collins.
It was after the introductions, when Jenny had been seen
to her room and Quentin was
alone with the rest of them that the true nature of the family
was allowed to surface. They
were predictable in their reactions, but Quentin would not let
them steal the glory of his
moment. He had stunned them , and would savor his victory.
For once, Edith would not let her preference for Quentin
grant him absolution. Marriage
she considered sacred, proper marriage ideal. If her own union
was more so in memory
than it had ever been in fact, she did not choose to reflect upon
the reality now. Much of
her faith in Quentin was based on his disregard for sentiment,
and to imagine him blinded
by love was more than the old woman had ever bargained on. Edith
did not set much
store in love, that it should be her Quentin that had succumbed
to a whirlwind romance
was not something she could absorb with objective. And so she
turned to Edward. Later
there would come a time when she could see clearly that it was
this moment, this single
simple acceptance of Quentin's word that had been the determination.
But for now, she
could only defer to Edward.
"A week...a week!" Edward's outrage was a tangible,
and being Edward, he wore it well.
"what can you possibly know about this woman?"
Quentin cocked one eyebrow at his brother. "I know
that she is beautiful and passionate,
and isn't that all any man really looks for in a wife?"
Edward slapped one hand down on the mantle, ready to challenge
his younger brother,
when Judith rose from her chair. Her readiness to join in surprised
them, they had always
taken her lightly, the very fact of her being a woman enough reason
to overlook her.
Widowhood and age lent Edith credence, Judith had neither, to
her brothers she had never
been more than incidental.
Now she came forward, taking her place where even Carl had
the good sense to remain on
the side.
"You met her in New Bedford", Judith's tone left
no doubt that she considered the town
and anyone that may have come from it beneath her, "I hardly
think she is suitable. Would
it have been asking so much of you to at least give yourself,
and us, some time to know
her? To find out something of her background? New Bedford! If
you had suddenly
found yourself so ready to marry, I'm sure I don't know why you
couldn't have spent time
instead in Boston, met a proper lady."
Quentin laughed, a response that infuriated them as much
as the fact of his marriage. "A
proper lady! Why not indeed? Because, Judith, they bore me. Hot
house orchids who
exist only to pour tea and dress their hair. To marry well, and
produce others just like
them. Every one exactly like the other, every one exactly like
you."
He turned to face Carl. "And you? Haven't you something
to say? I would hate to leave
this conversation without giving you your chance."
Where Quentin had met his wife meant nothing to Carl, he
cared only that his younger
brother had once again bested him. Carl's simple mind could not
quite grasp the
complexity of snobbery, and he had to struggle to find words that
would complete his shift
to the other side. When they came, they were as basic as Carl
himself, "We don't even
know her last name."
Quentin tucked his hands in his pockets, rocked back on
his heels. "I thought I had made
that perfectly clear, even to you. It is Collins."
He let his eyes wander the room, pausing briefly on each of them, settling finally on Laura.
"Now if you will all excuse me, my bride is waiting."
Given that it was a contrivance of his own creation, the
marriage of Quentin Collins was
shockingly full of the unexpected.
He found a wife a rather convenient thing to possess, and
as with anything that became
too familiar, he quickly grew bored with the new Mrs. Collins.
Jenny was eager to please,
which Quentin appreciated in the times he spent with her, but
felt suffocated by when the
realization of marriage crept into his consciousness.
His wedded state gave him new understandings, the most disquieting
being an alliance
with Laura. Jenny, by design, was meant to discourage his sister-in-law's
attentions, but
Laura was not easily dissuaded. Quentin's implied unavailability
only increased his
desirability in her eyes, her pursuit became more daring. While
Quentin still held a distinct
disdain for Laura that bordered on contempt, he was very fond
of intrigue. The added
complication of Jenny served only to give Laura an appeal that
had been lost on him in the
past.
As the weeks of Quentin's marriage grew into months, he
played Laura's game with an
energy he had never bothered to spend on her before. He rarely
thought of Edward in
relation to Laura anymore, so preoccupied was he with the compartments
of his own life.
The strategy of the game exhilirated him - stolen times with Laura
driven by the passion of
the forbidden, nights with Jenny fired by thoughts of Laura's
knowing. Considering how
consummed he was with thoughts of one while with the other, it
was almost amazing how
capable he was of thinking of neither when alone.
If Jenny had any misgivings about the nature of her marriage,
she could only assume it was
an ignorance of the lifestyle that unsettled her. She had come
to genuinely love Quentin,
and her only hope was to be a proper wife to him. Having achieved
entrance into his
world, she now applied the ambition that had led her there to
assimilation. She attacked
the business of becoming a lady with a single mindedness that
at first amused Quentin, but
soon came to annoy him.
While his purpose in taking a wife may have been quite different
from most men, his
expectations were not. He wanted only a woman who would be available
when he wanted
her, and understandingly distant when that was his preference.
That she should keep
herself attractive for him was a given, that she should expect
his participation was not. He
did not see why a woman could not simply decide on which dress
to wear to dinner
without consulting him, could not understand how he could possibly
be expected to notice
that she had pinned her hair differently today from yesterday,
or that the blue of her
slippers was periwinkle rather than robin's egg. For that matter
he didn't even know what
the hell periwinkle was.
More than anything he could not understand how a wife could
become more of a nuisance
than a mistress, even given the complexity of one's mistress being
his own brother's wife.
But everyday it was another thing with Jenny, another domestic
issue that he had no
interest whatsoever in. Last week it had been their calling cards
- should they be engraved
in the same manner as those that represented the family as a whole,
or distinctive? He had
told her then that in household matters she was to make the decisions,
and hoped that she
had understood. Apparently not, though, for tonight, on his way
out the door, late in
meeting Evan, she was at him again with her nagging. Always something;
slippers, calling
cards, and now she was after him about a personal maid. He didn't
have time for this, and
brushed her aside. She wanted a maid? Fine, let her have one.
What possible difference could it make to him.