Miller's Secret Page 13

  “That’s understandable, being a new home and all.”

  “I suppose,” she said.

  “Where’re you coming from?”

  “San Francisco. I worked there. At a dress factory.”

  “You were a seamstress?” he asked.

  “At a factory. Many of us hunched over sewing machines for hours and hours a day.”

  He knew of them, and their reputation for working the girls hard. This did not concur with his original assumptions. A woman who worked in one of these factories was not from wealth. He resisted the urge to ask further questions.

  “I’m going to paint the fence,” he said. “I’m sorry it looks rough. I built it just last week, after I learned you had a little boy. This way he can roam the yard without fear of the edge.” He pointed toward the sea. “It’s a steep drop.”

  “Thank you. Would you like help?”

  He wasn’t sure what to say. Help from a woman? One who appeared so delicate? He didn’t think that was an appropriate task, especially since he was supposed to be providing a place for her to live. “No, thank you.” What he said next surprised him. He hadn’t planned to say it, but suddenly it was out of his mouth. “Would you and Teddy care to join me for supper this evening? Every Friday, Mrs. Thomas fries up a chicken for my weekend meals.” As way of explanation, he added, “She looks after me. Housekeeping and cooking, a couple days a week.”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Sayer. Teddy’s a rambunctious boy.”

  “That won’t bother me, Mrs. Rains. I used to be a rambunctious boy myself.” He smiled. “Less rambunctious without my arm.”

  She shuffled weight from one foot to the other, like a dancer doing the two-step.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Best I talk about it so folks aren’t uncomfortable.”

  “Was it the war?”

  “Yes. Normandy. USS Corry.”

  “My husband died in combat. Somewhere in France.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rains.”

  “Thank you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, looking out to sea. “I think about it all the time. What he must have been thinking right before he was killed.”

  “Who’s to say? When we invaded Normandy, it was our job to protect the men on the beach. I’m not sure any of us had time, in that moment, to think of anything but our assigned tasks.”

  “Were you and your shipmates scared? It must have been a long journey. Too much time to think about what might happen?”

  The way she asked, he knew it was important that he answer with only half the truth. No reason to break her heart. He would not describe the way his shipmates’ eyes had looked like deer chased by a pack of wolves, sure of their inevitable demise. “The day before the invasions we were told to turn around, that the mission was called off, then suddenly, it was back on. We wanted to fight and were disappointed when we had to turn back, and jubilated when we were told to continue as previously planned. We were proud, Mrs. Rains. That we could possibly make a difference in the ultimate victory for the allies was something that gave us courage.”

  “Well, one can be afraid and courageous at the same time.”

  “Very true. I didn’t know that before the war,” he said.

  “Me either,” she said.

  “We all sacrificed. Some more than others. I lost a lot of friends that day.”

  “Please, call me by my first name. My friends and family have always called me Phil, short for Philippa.”

  “Then you must call me Henry.” He smiled, leaning down to retrieve the basket. “This is for your lunch. I’m off to work now. Say six for dinner? Is that too late for Teddy?”

  “How thoughtful of you to ask,” she said. “Most men don’t think of the habits of little ones. Six will be just fine.”

  “Also, it’s not safe to swim on our beach. The current would pull Teddy out to sea, but he can splash around in the tide pools.”

  “Is there a place to swim that’s safe?” she asked.

  “Just north of here, at the edge of town, there are several long stretches of sandy beaches, perfect for swimming and picnicking.”

  “I grew up swimming in lakes and rivers. I’ve never swum in salt water before. Is it true that it makes you float?”

  “Yes, it does make you more buoyant. It feels nice on your skin, too. I don’t swim any longer, but I grew up in the ocean with my sister and William. Ever since I spent two hours in the Atlantic, I haven’t been able to go back in. Plus, not sure how I’d do without my arm.” Snapping his fingers, he pointed to a shed on the other side of his cottage. “I have buckets and a small shovel in my shed, if I remember right. It’s unlocked. If you decide to go down to our beach, grab whatever interests Teddy. Just over the fence, there’s a path that leads to steps. I recently checked and they’re solid, but hold on to the railing, just in case. Sometimes it’s slippery. And now I must be getting along.” He tipped his hat. “Until tonight.”

  “Until then.” She smiled, brushing back strands of hair and peering up at him with those soft, sweet eyes that reminded him of Mr. Thomas’s most recent calf.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Phil

  AFTER HENRY WALKED AWAY, Phil returned to her chair. The ocean breeze cooled her skin, despite the bright sun on her back. Without enthusiasm, she picked up her sketchpad and examined the new dress design she’d scrawled on the page, her morning spoiled with this new complication. Henry Sayer. The landlord. He was not what she’d expected. She hadn’t had a concrete image of him, nor had she given him much thought, but had assumed, quite wrongly, that Mr. Sayer was an elderly seaman, spending his twilight years by the beach. Why a young man would live here in the middle of nowhere she couldn’t be sure. She was surprised, too, that he had no wife or family. He was quite handsome, with that thicket of dark blond curls that fell over his forehead, and he was charming, well-spoken—refined even. His eyes were a pretty shade of light blue, and he was tall and muscular, despite his missing arm. She’d noticed his arm, embarrassingly enough, after she had stuck out her hand. He’d recovered gracefully, pretending that it hadn’t happened, which told her he was a kind man. Thoughtful, as well, to think of Teddy’s bedtime in relation to the dinner hour, not to mention the new fence.

  Miller wouldn’t like this. A young and handsome landlord? Less had caused Miller’s jealousy. She shivered. Stay away from him. Make it so Miller never knows of his existence. Otherwise it will not be safe here.

  She picked up her abandoned pencil. It calmed her to draw, especially outdoors. The movement of her hand, the focus on a task, eased her mind, kept the terrible bouts of anxiety at bay. Perhaps she should take up a physical activity as well? Collecting seashells? Walking the beach? Simply staring at the view didn’t seem like a useful task. It was breathtaking today—the endless blue and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. To the right, craggy boulders jutted out of the water, the waves doing their best to mold it, change it, but it resisted, for now, or at least the changes were not visible. Like a person, the battering changed one little by little.

  It used to be God, family, Iowa soil, in that order. She could hardly remember the girl she’d once been. The choices she had to make to protect her child had hardened her. Even this. Her eyes scanned the sea. Miller had suggested a house by the ocean and she’d agreed. Far away from the city and Miller Dreeser’s wife and family. Tucked away. Hidden. The cost to her own young life? She did not have the luxury to calculate it. She was not the first woman in the world to trade her body for nourishment, for a roof over one’s head. Sacrifices had to be made. For Teddy.

  Henry’s car rumbled in the driveway. She turned and gave him a small wave. He unrolled the window and waved at her with his hat. Henry Sayer. He’d unsettled her, made her feel anxious. Why had she agreed to dinner? There were rules. There were to be no friends, no attachments, no other men.

  From inside the house, Teddy called to her. “Mama, I be nice now.” He was talking a lot these last couple weeks. Her baby
becoming a boy right before her eyes. How long until he understood things he shouldn’t have to?

  Setting her pencil aside, she abandoned her unfinished piece for the only thing she’d ever made that was exactly perfect: Teddy. She was almost to the kitchen door when she remembered Henry Sayer’s basket and went back to retrieve it. Lunch, at least, was taken care of. The rest I’ll sort out later.

  Teddy stood in the middle of his bedroom, wearing only short pants, his chubby arms crossed over his middle. His face, flushed from the warmth of his bed and the room, had an imprint of the pillowcase on his cheek. He grinned and held out his arms. She went to him, kneeling to gather him against her. “Hi, Mama.”

  “Hi, Ducky. Let’s get you dressed. I have a special treat for your lunch.”

  “Wookies?” His name for cookies.

  She smiled. “No, but delicious bread and butter. And strawberry jam.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Miller

  MILLER LAY SUPINE IN BED, watching the ceiling fan go around and around, making dust dance in the beam of sunlight that stole in from under the drawn shade. From the bathroom came the awful noise of Caroline’s vomiting. He rolled to his side, toward the windows that faced the street. Damn if his wife wasn’t going to have another baby. Caroline had yet to tell him, but he knew, having witnessed three of her previous pregnancies. Her breasts were swollen, especially noticeable because they were small, no bigger than a child’s fist, so that any increase was obvious, and they were tender to the touch. Just last night, he’d noticed her wince when Audrey had given Caroline one of her enthusiastic hugs. There was no denying it. She was pregnant. Thirty-seven and pregnant with their fourth child. A lapse in judgment, to say the least.

  The only night he and Caroline had been intimate for months, he’d come home late from work slightly tipsy. To his surprise, Caroline had stayed up for him, and when he slipped into bed, she pressed her body against him. It had been a week since he’d been able to spend time with Phil. He imagined it was her, not his wife. The dark made this possible.

  The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Caroline was taking a bath, providing an opportunity for him to paste his latest article in his journal. He padded to the window in his bare feet and opened the curtains to San Francisco in all her glorious shades of gray. Fog covered the city, hiding buildings and the bay, giving everything a feeling of quiet in direct juxtaposition to his home. Downstairs, the children were yelling to one another and running through the house like a bunch of animals. Did anyone ever walk in this house? He pulled at the collar of his pajamas and tried to breathe, but it was no good. He was suffocating. His family was an albatross around his neck, yoking him to the chaos they inevitably brought with them. No matter that the house was enormous, there was not one empty room. Not ever. Servants coming and going, the nanny, and their three children, always movement, noise, distraction. Caroline never ceased talking. Every detail of every child, of the book she was reading, of something funny her father said. He wanted to shout at them all: be quiet. Regardless of his desires, he held it inside, like he always did, like he’d trained himself to do.

  He reached under the bed and pulled out a small box. He doubted anyone, including Caroline, even knew it was under the bed, except for the maid. Regardless, he kept a lock on it, the key hidden in plain sight on his keychain which he stored each night on the bedside table, no matter which house he happened to sleep in that night. Lately, though, he knew the box belonged at the beach with Phil. It seemed wrong here, under Caroline’s bed, when it held his world. His real world. He opened it now, pulling the eighth journal in a series started all those years ago at the orphanage. From his wallet, also on the bedside table, he pulled the latest article on the Bennett family and pasted it on the second to last blank page.

  Edmund Bennett names Stewart Young his successor.

  When he was finished, he placed it in the box with the rest. Then, he reached for the house phone, calling the kitchen. Mae, their housekeeper, answered. “Yes, Mr. Dreeser?”

  “Send up breakfast, please. Mrs. Dreeser doesn’t feel well. Make it dry toast and weak tea. A few pieces of bacon and some fruit for me. And send Joseph up. I have something I need delivered this morning.”

  In minutes, Joseph was at the bedroom door. Miller pointed to the box, speaking just above a whisper. “Take this out to Phil’s this morning. Ask her to store it under her bed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Miller handed him a few dollars in cash: insurance that Joseph kept his secrets. As he closed the door, Caroline came out of the bathroom. The master suite was opulent, decorated in light blues with everything made of something either shiny or soft, with cushions and chairs and a four-poster bed practically the size of the room he’d shared with six other boys in the orphanage. Dressed in her cotton nightgown, Caroline’s skin had the green hue of pregnancy, and dark circles under her eyes marred her usual attractiveness. He had to admit, she’d aged well. Despite three pregnancies, other than stretch marks on her stomach, she remained rather unchanged over the years. She ate almost nothing, afraid to return to the fat girl of her childhood, and was small-boned yet muscular from tennis and horseback riding. White blond hair set in waves contrasted her California suntan.

  She came to bed, pulling back the heavy covers, and climbed in next to him. “Good morning.” She smelled of her bath soap.

  “Nice bath?” he asked.

  “Yes. I wasn’t feeling well and hoped a warm bath would help.” She yawned. “It didn’t do much for me, unfortunately.”

  “I’ve ordered breakfast up,” he said.

  “I should cancel my tennis game with Meredith.”

  “Meredith will give you hell for that,” he said.

  She turned on her side to look at him, her fair hair splayed against the pillow. She gave him a weak smile. “I’m pregnant.”

  He must pretend to be excited. “I thought as much.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Are you angry?”

  He swallowed, preparing his answer, knowing he had to be convincing. “Why would I be angry?”

  “You’re not particularly interested in the ones we already have.” She smiled in a way that softened the words. She’d always had such a gentle smile, almost indulgent, especially with him and the children. It did nothing but fill him with disdain. This ridiculous woman wouldn’t know the truth if it hit her in the head.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I adore our children.” He tickled the side of her face with a strand of her pale hair. “Another baby will keep us young.”

  “Daddy said he wanted you to spend more time with us. That if you did, he might consider giving you partial ownership in the textiles.”

  “More time with you. What does that mean? Come to the beach house this summer?” Edmund, the big man. The top hat, demanding what he wanted in exchange for money and power.

  “At least for some of it. He wants to see you be more of a family man,” Caroline said. “It’s important to him.”

  His stomach clenched. The damn beach house. They were all mad about that house. It was all anyone could ever talk about. They would all depart in the next day or so, not to return until the last weekend of August. He’d hoped this would give him ample time with Phil, but once again, the Bennetts had ruined his plans. “I will make it a priority,” he said.

  “Thank you, darling.”

  “I know the children love the time at the beach. I would’ve loved it as a kid, I can assure you of that.” Bringing up his childhood always evoked sympathy from her.

  “Oh, my poor Miller.” She kissed his shoulder. “Anyway, my father and Seb can spend time together. There’s something troubling Seb. I’m not sure what.”

  “Seb? He’s fifteen. What isn’t troubling him? It’s probably a girl. They can do wicked things to your brain, you know.” He said it with just the right connotations, so that she would think it was her to whom he referred. “I think it’s a splendid idea for you, not just the children. Se
a air is just what you need to grow a healthy baby. And I’ll get down as often as I can.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. I feel better just thinking of it.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Phil

  TEDDY SAT AT THE TABLE on a stack of books, short legs dangling, face smeared pink with jam, and gulped the last of a glass of milk. When the glass was empty, he picked up another piece of buttered bread covered with jam and split it apart before taking a large bite from the middle, making murmuring noises of appreciation. Her Teddy loved his meals. The sacrifice was worth it, she reminded herself. Remember what it would be like without Miller. Don’t ever forget.

  Phil leaned against the sink and folded her arms over her stomach, clutching at the skin around her waist—a habit when she was nervous. Dinner. What could she say to get out of it? She could lie. Teddy woke up sick. No, that wouldn’t work. He would see Teddy bouncing around the yard and know she’d fibbed to get out of dinner. She could feign a headache. This sometimes worked with Miller when he was amorous and she couldn’t stomach one more minute of his hands on her. Other times he took what he wanted, regardless. It depended on the number of drinks.

  The sound of a car coming up the driveway distracted her. She crossed through the kitchen and went to look out the living room window. “Oh, no,” she whispered. Miller’s Rolls-Royce slowly made its way up the long driveway. What was he doing here in the middle of a Friday afternoon? Now that he’d found a place to stash her, he planned to visit several nights a week. This way he could tell his wife he had business meetings and would be late. But a Friday during the day? This was unprecedented.

  She went out to the front steps. They were newly built, she noticed for the first time. Fresh paint. Not a creak as she stepped down onto the lawn. Henry had made sure they were safe, that neither she nor Teddy would slip and fall. The sun, directly above, shone with intensity. She shielded her eyes with her hand as the front door of the car opened. Miller’s chauffer, Joseph, was so tall that when he came out of the car it always looked uncomfortable, like he was unfolding from a space much too small. In his early fifties, his once dark hair was almost completely white, but thick and always in exact placement. He had a slight paunch, mostly hidden by his dark jacket, a jowly face that reminded Phil of a bulldog, and a deep voice he did not often use. When he did, he spoke softly as if to mask the resonance, which gave the impression of humility combined with dignity.