Duet for Three Hands Read online

  He and Walt arrived in New York late on a Monday night, and he fell into a deep sleep, thankful for his own bed, excited but nervous to call Frances in the morning.

  He woke refreshed and went out for a paper and a loaf of bread from the bakery on the corner around midmorning. Upon returning from his errand, there, standing outside his apartment building, was Frances. Startled, and then unsure it was actually Frances, he stopped mid-stride and froze. She was here, now? Were his eyes deceiving him? But no, it was his beautiful Frances in front of his building. He gaped at her, blinking his eyes in rapid succession. His mouth suddenly dry, he walked toward her. “Frances? Is it really you?”

  “Nate.” She ran toward him and threw her arms around his neck, the bread in his arms a pillow between them. “I’m so glad to see you. I was afraid I had the wrong building.”

  “What’s happened? Why are you here?” He searched her face. Her complexion was odd, almost yellow tinged. She seemed subdued, cowed even. Was she ill? “Frances, are you all right?”

  “I had to see you right away.” She paused. “I have some rather frightful news. I’m going to have a baby.”

  It might have been that someone hit him, that’s where he felt the blow, right in the middle of his chest. “A baby?”

  “It’s yours, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  He shook his head, confused. Why had she said that? “I wasn’t wondering. Not at all, in fact.”

  She started to cry and pulled a lace handkerchief from her purse. “There’s only one thing to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’ll have to get married.”

  What had she said? Married? He floated there for a moment, watching the girl in front of him, who was both a stranger and yet achingly familiar. How often he’d imagined her smooth skin, the way she’d sighed when he kissed her neck. And then, out of his mouth as if they’d been perched against his teeth all the time, came the words, “Yes, right. We’ll get married.” He smiled and took her hands. “Frances Bellmont, will you marry me?”

  “Oh, Nate, I’m so relieved. I’m horrified at what’s happened, and I was afraid you might not want me.”

  He cleared his throat, looking at her hands in his, trying to order his jumbled and confused thoughts into something coherent. “Does your mother know?”

  “Yes, she’s waiting at the hotel. She gave me no choice but to tell her. It was the only way I could persuade her to bring me here to see you. She thought it inappropriate to call on you, of course.”

  He felt sick, thinking of the kind Mrs. Bellmont he’d met at the party and how disappointed this must have made her.

  “Mother was upset, or shocked might be a better word. She wants you to come to supper tonight at the hotel so you two can discuss the details. This is the way, you see, Nate. A young, southern lady decides nothing for herself.” She went on without taking a breath. “The main concern is scandal. Daddy can’t have it getting out. So we’ll have to hurry everything along.”

  “I’ll arrange everything with your mother.”

  “Everything arranged. That sounds so final.” Her eyes went flat, and she looked suddenly young and vulnerable. “I wanted so many things for my life. I’m not ready to be a mother.”

  “Frances, this doesn’t have to be the end of your life. I’ll be a good husband, I promise. We’ll have help for the baby. Whatever you need. Don’t worry. There are many interesting people here that you’ll enjoy and parties every night if we want to go. I never do, of course, but I could.” He paused, searching her face. “If you wanted to, I would. If it pleased you.”

  She smiled, tilting her face upward and gazing into his eyes. He felt a flutter in his chest and was filled with the possibility of things, of this new start to his life as a family man. “We’ll live here in the city, right, Nate?”

  “Yes, of course, and you can travel with me if you want. We’ll go all over the world together. Would you like that?”

  She sighed, smiling again. “Well, that sounds wonderful.”

  “And there’ll be a baby.” His chest expanded further. “I’ve longed to be a father, Frances, for many years now. We’ll be happy, the three of us.”

  She began to cry. “I’m awfully frightened. You won’t let anyone talk you out of this, will you?”

  “Absolutely not.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed her wet cheeks. “And don’t be frightened. I’ll take good care of you.” Picking up her small white hands between his own, he brought them to his mouth, brushing them with his lips. Gardenias. Frances would be his wife. Could it all have happened, or was it a dream? “I’ll go out this afternoon and find you a ring. Something beautiful for your beautiful hand.”

  Her eyes widened, and she smiled wide, her perfect teeth white against her red lipstick. “It wouldn’t sadden me to have something large and sparkly.”

  “I think I can manage that.” He laughed, feeling ridiculously happy that he could do this thing for her. “May I kiss you?”

  “I suppose it’s only appropriate since we’re engaged.” Her voice was husky, almost breathless.

  He leaned toward her, determined to give her a kiss she’d never forget, to make her forget her fear or uncertainty. Capturing her mouth in his, he gently pressed into her. She put her arms around his neck and sighed into him.

  After a moment, he drew back, scrutinizing her face. “Could you ever love me?”

  She giggled and placed her fingertips on his mouth. “Nate, I loved you the first time I set my eyes on you.”

  Soaring happiness like the perfect crescendo in a musical movement. To love and be loved in return? Was there anything finer?

  “I will be a good husband and father, no matter what comes our way, Frances Bellmont.”

  “I know you will.”

  After Frances left, Nate sat at the piano in his front room for a moment, staring at the keys. He would have to call his mother. His dear mother. Her discipline and rigidity, brought about from her strict religious upbringing, remained intact despite the changing world. She spent her days caring for the sick or poor in her little town, never tiring, it seemed, no matter how long the day. She walked everywhere in her comfortable shoes with her Bible tucked against her side, in case there was a soul that needed saving before they went on to the next world.

  This rushed marriage—she would not approve. She would know straightaway why. He sighed, bracing himself. The truth must be told.

  His mother didn’t have a telephone, and there was only one phone available in her small Maine town for public use, located at the dry-goods store. He called the owner, Lou, who offered to send his boy over on foot to ask Nate’s mother to be at the phone at three o’clock.

  “Ma,” he said when she answered, immediately falling into the way he used to talk.

  “Son? Is that you?” She always talked too loudly into the phone, not understanding that one didn’t have to shout to be heard through the wires. He imagined her long neck stretched like an ostrich’s, eyes fixated at the mouthpiece while pressing the earpiece into her poor ear hard enough to make a dent.

  Lou’s store was probably packed with locals, playing checkers, talking about the day’s catch, sipping bootleg booze from coffee cups. Everyone listening. He cringed as he spoke. “Ma, I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to repeat it. In case there’s anyone listening.”

  She didn’t say anything, but he knew she was probably bobbing her head in agreement, one arm crossed over her spare chest.

  “I’m getting married.”

  “You’re doing what?”

  “I’m getting married. To a girl from Georgia. Her name’s Frances Bellmont.”

  The line crackled.

  “Are you there, Ma?”

  “Yep, I’m here. When?”

  “In a couple of weeks,” Nathaniel said.

  Silence for a moment. “How long have you known her?” She no longer shouted. He knew what she looked like: mouth clenched, t
he little muscle below her cheek flexed, her eyes unblinking. She’d given him the same look when he’d been caught at the back of school smoking a cigarette with Billy Bradshaw, or the time he’d lost one of his schoolbooks on the way home. During the entire week he’d been home to bury his father, she had never once loosened her face to betray her grief. The woman could hold her emotions inside better than anyone he’d ever met. Who knew what storms raged within? Her face was like ice covering a lake in deep winter. One knew many things lurked underneath the glittering surface, revealed when spring came in a rush of life. For his mother, spring never came.

  “Couple of months.” This was true, he thought, if you counted the time he was away in California. He didn’t share the fact that he’d spent only part of a day and a night with her. Some things could not be told to one’s mother, especially his.

  Silence for another moment, and when she spoke again, her voice sounded hollow with disappointment. “Only one reason you’d be rushing into a marriage.”

  He leaned his forehead against the phone’s bell-shaped receiver. “Ma, she comes from a good family. They’re part of Atlanta society. It’s a good marriage.”

  “You’ll have to make your peace with God, not me.”

  He let that sit for a moment, feeling the familiar blackness of guilt and shame, like a hole he couldn’t escape from. “Ma, maybe you could come down for the wedding? I’ll send money for a train.” Even as he said it he knew it was impossible. Not only did he know she would refuse on her principles, there was no way she could get there in time, given how quickly everything must be done.

  “Impossible to make that kind of trip without your father.”

  “I’ll bring her to see you. Later.” He almost said, after the baby comes, but he held back, some part of him hopeful that she didn’t know the truth.

  “Write to me, son, and let me know how you’re doing.” The line went silent.

  The hotel restaurant bustled with life. Well-dressed patrons ate and drank and toasted one another. Ladies in short dresses of every color wore cloche hats, some beaded, some with ribbons, perched deftly over bobbed hair. Men wore gray, brown, or black suits and striped ties in shades of wheat, their hair slicked back with pomade. Optimism, he thought, a sense that life could and should go on like this forever. Silver and glasses clinked above the low hum of laughter and voices. Servers moved about efficiently in black pants and crisp white shirts as the scent of baking bread, cigarettes, coffee, and roasted meat mingled. Nathaniel spotted Mrs. Bellmont at a table toward the back. She sat alone, tracing a circle with her finger on the white tablecloth. As he wove his way between tables he felt like a young performer before a concert, nauseous and sweaty. What could he say to this intelligent and trusting woman that might make her forgive him and maybe someday like him once again? There was nothing. That was the bitter truth. He had betrayed her trust. Would there ever be a way back? Please, God, let it be so, he prayed silently.

  When he arrived at the table, Mrs. Bellmont looked up, smiling in a way that didn’t reach her eyes. She was dressed tastefully, a gray gown with a modest scoop neckline falling at her collarbones and ash-blonde hair arranged perfectly around her pretty face were in direct contradiction to her red and puffy eyes. He’d made her cry. It was almost too much to bear.

  The waiter pulled out his chair, and Nathaniel sat. His throat tightened. Could he speak? But right away something came out of his mouth. “Mrs. Bellmont, I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.”

  “Yes.” She sounded tired, like she hadn’t slept for nights. “It diminishes our last delightful encounter somewhat.”

  “I know.” He looked at his hands. “I’m ashamed and can only say in my defense that I fell in love with her at first sight. I’m powerless to resist her.”

  Her face softened. “Yes, I can see that.”

  “Mrs. Bellmont, I’ll spend a lifetime trying to make her happy.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Frances can be difficult. She expects a lot. I hope it won’t prove too much for you.”

  “It won’t be, Mrs. Bellmont. We’ll be a family. There’ll be a baby. Think of that.”

  She looked down at the table and then up at him, her eyes alive for the first time since he’d sat down with her. “I hadn’t thought much of the baby, only how it came to be, but yes, there will be a baby. A baby to love.”

  “Mrs. Bellmont, please say you’ll forgive me someday. I’ll do anything to win your affection.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Oh, Mr. Fye, yes, I forgive you. I’m married to Frank Bellmont. I understand how these things happen.”

  What did this mean? Had they married under the same circumstance?

  She twirled her knife in a clockwise motion—once, twice, three times. “The force of his personality has a way of making life turn in unexpected directions. Frances is the same. Anyway, we’ll all be the better with you in our family, no matter how you’ve come to us.”

  He felt a lump developing in the back of his throat as he pulled from his pocket the ring he’d purchased earlier and handed it to her. “I’ve bought this for Frances. Do you think she’ll like it?”

  She held it between her thumb and finger. The round diamond sparkled in the overhead lights like rays of sunshine as she handed it back to him. “It’s beautiful. Frances will love it.” She straightened the knife so that it was in the correct position before meeting his gaze. “It’s important we keep the details of Frances’s condition from Mr. Bellmont. I’m not sure what he would do.” She shivered and hunched forward as if cold, folding her arms over her chest and causing the neckline of her dress to shift momentarily, revealing her neck and chest just below her collarbones. He stifled a gasp. A purple bruise hovered just below her left collarbone. He blinked, unsure if he was correct. Was it a bruise the size of a fist? Yes, and she’d tried to cover it with powder, but it was no use. Oh, Mrs. Bellmont, he thought. What hell do you live through? But he knew. Mr. Bellmont was a violent man. Had he ever hurt Frances?

  She must have caught him staring because she straightened and tugged at the neckline, smoothing it across her collarbones.

  He felt sick to his stomach. The worry he’d caused her from his lack of restraint was unforgiveable. He leaned forward. “I can marry her tomorrow.”

  “No, that won’t do. Frank will assume the worst unless we have a real wedding. When the baby comes, we’ll all pretend he came early. It’s an old trick. People have done it for centuries.” The waiter came to take their order. “Nathaniel, will you order something for me? Anything’s fine.”

  Nathaniel asked for two roast beef specials. When the waiter left, he turned back to Mrs. Bellmont. “Can you arrange something quickly? Tell him I’m leaving for another tour and want to take her with me?”

  She appeared to think for a moment, folding and unfolding her napkin. “Yes, that will work, I suppose.” She paused as the waiter brought them a basket of bread. “We’ll do the wedding at the lake house. I’ll tell Frank you want only a small affair. Just the family.”

  “Whatever you want, Mrs. Bellmont. Anything.”

  She looked at him long and hard, with searching eyes. What did she look for, he wondered?

  Chapter 6

  Jeselle

  * * *

  The day after Mrs. Bellmont and Frances returned from New York City, Jeselle finished up the morning dishes while Mama sliced onions at the kitchen table. Mama worked in silence, her mouth still set in a hard line, squinting at the door into the hallway every minute. Sometimes she held the knife, suspended between chops, and cocked her head, obviously listening for something. The juice of the onions was potent enough that Jeselle’s eyes watered, but not Mama’s. She was impervious, it seemed, to crying. Not even an onion could do it.

  Mama looked over at her, pointing the knife toward the pantry. “Jes, stop daydreaming and concentrate on what’re you’re doing. I asked you to look in the pantry for the dried thyme.”

  She hadn’
t actually asked her, but Jeselle kept that to herself. No need to poke the bear, as Whit would say. In the pantry, Jeselle climbed up the stepladder to look on the topmost shelf. There were a half-dozen dried herbs in canning jars. The jar of thyme was all the way in the back. She’d have to move the stepladder over a foot to reach it.

  Before she could do so, Jeselle heard a clicking sound on the hardwood floors of the hallway—Mrs. Bellmont’s shoes. She stepped down from the ladder and peeked through the crack in the slightly open door. A moment later Mrs. Bellmont entered the kitchen, closing the kitchen door behind her. She’d changed into a beige linen dress with white lace around the bodice and a sweetheart neckline. Her fair curls were damp and stuck to the sides of her face and back of her neck. She spoke softly to Mama, “Well, it’s done. He’s agreed to the marriage.”

  Mama put down her knife, glancing at the door. “You all right then?”

  “Frank was calm. None of the nonsense.” Mrs. Bellmont brushed her flaming cheeks with the tips of her fingers. Nonsense? It bothered Jeselle to hear the way Mr. Bellmont hurt Mrs. Bellmont described as nonsense. The word was cruel. C-R-U-E-L. The way he hurt his wife, sometimes enough that she had to hide for weeks inside the house for fear someone would spot her bruises, could not be described any other way. Frank Bellmont was a cruel beast.

  “What did you tell him?” asked Mama.

  “I said, as simply as I could, that after the incident last year at Flora Waller’s coming-out party, Frances didn’t exactly have many opportunities for securing a good marriage. I went on to say that this man, Nathaniel Fye, while older, is wealthy and famous, a musical genius, and apparently so in love with Frances he wanted to get married right away and without any fuss, given his upcoming European touring schedule.”