Memoir

Walking through the hall into the main receiving room, Margaux can see the dust motes in the fingers of sunlight seeping in from the window attempting to penetrate the shadows of the room and once again she is a young girl of eleven. Hiding her hands to keep from revealing the marks of shackles she has felt for most of her life. She half expected someone to object to her presence, but no one seems to be looking at her or her wrist; no one scoffing at her with shock and dismay. Could it be?  Would she be allowed to stand here among the pretty people, those who have never known a discomfort in their lives? The air suddenly seems too stuffy; she has to get out, escape. Margaux squeezes through a large set of doors filled with panes of glass out onto the veranda. The cool breeze washes over her face, teasing and tempting her wayward curls. Surely no one will mind if she lingers here. Leaning against the railing she gazes out across the manicured lawn to the gardens that stretch out to touch the edges of the forest. Right now she would like nothing more than to disappear among the pines and hardwoods, but she knows she must stay; otherwise all the hard work to get her an interview would be in vain and Sister Clarese would never understand if she threw it all away. Just then a girl with mousy brown hair and a sweet, almost too sweet, face steps out onto the veranda as well, looking back over her shoulder as if she suspects that someone might be following. Margaux hopes that she will blend into the surroundings; she stands very still, barely breathing. The wind blows from the forest and her hair flutters, the girl snaps around having caught the motion in the corner of her eye. Slowly, the girl approaches and when she has come close she pauses, uncertain. The girl’s eyes stare into Margaux’s searching. Finally, she says “Hello, I am Edith Stansberry, who are you?” Margaux blinks, afraid to speak but something in the girl’s eyes makes her whisper, “Margaux”. In response Edith looks around to see if anyone is watching and when she is sure that there is no one, she grabs Margaux’s hand and pulls her away from the railing saying, “Come Margaux, let us leave these people and find a  place for just us girls.” This is the first kindness Margaux has ever known. She releases her hold on the rail and they run to the corner of the veranda to a small flight of stairs. Once they reach the bottom, Edith grips Margaux’s hand harder and takes off at a run toward the stables. Once they are inside, Edith lets go of Margaux’s hand and begins to talk animatedly as she continues into the stable with Margaux following, still in shock. At last Edith stops at a large gate near the end of stalls and upon opening it steps inside. Margaux gasps. The stall is large but that is nothing compared to the giant horse that is filling it. Edith crosses the stall and climbs up the slats on the wall to a small loft and motions Margaux to follow. Closing the gate behind her, Margaux creeps around the edge of the stall to climb up to the loft with Edith…

“Margaux” Edith calls, “Is that you? I have been waiting for you all morning. How was your trip?” Margaux shakes her head, coming out of her revere. “Yes, I am here Edith, just here. This place is moldy and full of memories, how can you stand it. I feel like I am meeting myself around every corner.” Margaux and Edith share an embrace and move out onto the veranda. “You know I love this place, I always have. Besides where else am I to go, all my life has been here” says Edith. “That’s just it” replies Margaux “You have never gone anywhere or had a life outside of these walls. If I were you I would have ran screaming into the forest ages ago.” “I seem to remember you did run into the forest many times, but you always came back, even as you are back again today. Surely you miss something of this place whenever you have time to think of it between one movie and another” says Edith. “Oh, I do miss it… Well I miss you that is what I mean; I miss your company” Margaux replies. “So is that what has brought you home, my company?” asks Edith. “Well, of course and because my wonderful agent thinks it is time that I write my memoirs and is hoping that being here will help to get me a good start.” Margaux replies and mumbles to herself, “She has no idea what she has done.”

They pass the afternoon pleasantly reminiscing through memories and laughing over glasses of wine. The breeze that flows up from the forest is gentle and filled with the smells of the earth. It is probably the trees that Margaux remembers the most fondly. They were her refuge as a child, whenever life was too much and she had run away; the forest had always sheltered her. She still retreats there sometimes in her mind when the world clamors around her and the cameras flash make her want to stay in her car instead of stepping out onto the runway of life.

As the evening is coming to a close, Margaux and Edith are reluctant to part. Each for very different reasons; Edith because she has missed Margaux terribly and doesn’t want to miss one minute of her visit and Margaux because she is not sure that she wants to sleep again in the room that had been hers since that first day on the veranda when Edith had declared to her father that she loved Margaux and that she wanted a sister more than anything in the world. All this after they had been found in the stables by the stable boy, apparently they had caused quite a stir when the maid, that had been expecting to interview Margaux, could not find her and Edith’s nanny could not find her either. Edith’s father had stared at Margaux for a moment and finally said that she could stay the night. The next morning Edith had insisted that she must have Margaux for a sister and Margaux had moved into the mansion with a room of her own and for the first time in her life, no one was yelling at her or getting on to her and there would be no more shackles, not ever.

Stepping into the room, Margaux drew in a breath; it was as if she had never left. All of her things were just as she had left them, even her clothes were still hanging in her closet. Margaux walked around the room touching the trinkets on the mantle and caressing the cheek of a favorite doll. She could feel a tear in her eye but she does not let it fall, because the trail of one tear always makes way for others to follow. Climbing into bed, Margaux looks around one more time before turning off the light and whispers to herself, “It is just for a week; only a week that is all. I can handle it. Think of Edith, we cannot break her heart. She has no idea about the things we feel, the things we remember - although she might have had a suspicion.”  Margaux hears the words in her head as clearly as the day they were said, “Sometimes I think Father loves you best, Margaux. It makes me sad a little that he loves you more than me. But then I am glad because he was so lonely after Momma died, we both were. This way Father and I are both happy” said Edith. “Oh Edith, I am sure you are wrong. How could Father possibly love anyone more than you? You are his greatest treasure, he is always saying so” replied Margaux.

Margaux had written in her notes, Walter Stansberry had never been unkind, he loved me… I am sure. Yet somehow the name Father didn’t feel right whenever I addressed him. Of course no one knew how could they? No one would ever suspect Walter Stansberry of any indiscretion he was a well respected man. All the women watched after him at social gatherings. The adoption of the homeless child only made him seem more like a prince. Perhaps their musings would have been different if he had just married her instead. Right or wrong, she had loved him in the dark corners of her heart. She had never given herself to another, not her heart and soul. Oh she had danced with many, loved many; but she had belonged to none of them.

Margaux lay for a while staring at the ceiling and thinking back over her childhood until finally her eyes became too heavy to fight it anymore. In her dreams Margaux stands at the edge of the grave too afraid to step onto the freshly covered tomb. The stone was small, with only a name and dates; not even a mention of her family or that she was a loving mother, and tears are streaming down her face…  Margaux sat up in bed and rummaged through her side table until she found the paper and pencil that she had always kept hidden there as a child and she began to write.  She was buried with her still born child cradled in her arms. The ladies at the church said that father was a hard man, full of drink and hate, always taking it out on mother. She could have taken me with her; she had to know what she was leaving me to. I watched her go; her eyes were dead before she was. I called to her but she could not hear me. When they closed her eyes her last tear ran down her cheek and fell onto her pillow. I slept with that pillow for weeks; refusing to let it be washed. It was full of tears; first Momma’s and then mine. I should have hidden it, I should have known.

When sunlight came through the window announcing the end of her dreams, Margaux dressed quickly and left her room glad to be away from her troubling memories. Not that the rest of the house is not full of memories but at least most of them are memories of happy times when she and Edith had played along the corridors and hidden in many secret rooms. The breakfast table still sits in a small alcove just off of the kitchen surrounded by windows so that one can look out over the grounds as they take in their morning repast. Already the table is occupied by Edith and covered in dishes complete with the most wonderful thing so far this morning, coffee. Margaux pulls out a chair and joins Edith saying “Good morning. I hope that you slept well.” To which Edith replies, “Of course, I slept like a baby. It is so wonderful to have you here. I went to sleep planning and thinking of all that we can do while you are here.” Margaux sighs, she had told her agent that she would not get much done on her book here and that she would do just as well to stay in her own place. But her agent had said, “You simply must go home. I am sure that you will discover many ideas for you book and likely remember things you have long forgotten.” Margaux thought to herself that those memories were precisely why she had not been here in so long. Now that she is here Margaux is sure that she would rather be anywhere else, although spending time with Edith is good. Struck with an idea, Margaux says to Edith, “Why don’t you come and stay with me a while? It would do you good to get out and see some of the world. My agent has recently talked me into buying a house in Florida on the Gulf of Mexico and it is much too much for me. Let us pack some bags and leave today! I would love to introduce you to some friends and show you around.” Edith smiles and says, “Oh, I do not know. I have so much here; and to leave today would be a lot of trouble to get things ready.” Margaux scoffs, “Trouble? You have people to take care of most everything and we can pack a bag in about an hour. I can call my agent and have all the arrangements made by the time we are ready to go. Please say yes, it would be wonderful to have you come and stay with me. You can stay as long as you like and whenever you are ready I will bring you right back here.” Edith looks doubtfully at her plate, stirring the leftover bits of food with her fork and then finally says, “It would just be for the week, right?” “Sure, a week or however long you are willing to stay! So will you come? Replies Margaux. “Yes, I will come! I can feel my heart fluttering already. I haven’t done anything exciting in a long while” says Edith. Margaux picks up her cell phone and calls to make the arrangements and before lunch their car is waiting and they are placing the last things in suitcases and Edith is going from room to room trying to finish getting ready. Margaux knows that she is just having a hard time leaving, but she is content to wait. At least she will not have to stay another night here.

As they arrive in Florida, Margaux and Edith sit in the back seat of the limousine that Margaux’s agent has sent for them and talk about all the things that they can do while Edith is visiting. Margaux points out the club house that belongs to the community where she lives saying that they can go anytime they like when they want company other than each other. Edith is overwhelmed by it all, her home is a mansion but some of these homes are like palaces. “Margaux, you live here in one of these enormous homes? Whatever do you do with all the rooms?” “I know Edith, I told my agent that I did not need a large home but she would not hear of my choosing a smaller place. She consented that I might buy a retreat somewhere but that my home had to be grand. I really only live in a small portion of the house, but the view is wonderful and it is very secure. No one can even get into the property unless they own a home here. I think that is my favorite part of the whole house, the privacy. I never bring anyone here you know, I just do not want strangers looking about at my personal things. I am glad you who know me inside out already will be here for a while. The house does get a little lonely now and then. ”

As the sun sets, Margaux and Edith sit on the deck just outside of Margaux’s dining room and take their tea together. The water is smooth as glass and the white sand seems almost undisturbed as if no one has placed a foot upon it. Edith smiles and says to Margaux, “I am glad that you talked me into coming here. You are quite right about the breeze; it feels like the passing gust of an angel’s wing. Oh listen to me; I am going to be spouting out verse next!” “It is beautiful; nothing clears my mind like sitting here and watching the waves return over and over to the shore. It makes me think of how the ocean is a lot like life in that we all return again and again to the same things. We all want the same things when you strip all the dressings away, we want to love and be loved; we want a home and we want our family” says Margaux. “Well, we are philosophical, no wonder your agent is after you to write a book. Are you sure that you will stop with only your memoirs?” Edith asks. Margaux laughs and the two continue to share small talk until all of the light from the sun is gone and the moon is high. Finally, Edith yawns and Margaux stands to lead her inside to her room. Late into the night Margaux sits at her table in the dining room and writes as the memories pour from her pen. When the sun returns again the next morning Edith is the one to come and find the table occupied and dishes covering the table amid scraps of paper. “Have you been here all night?” Ask Edith. “Yes, I have. I sat down to scribble a few lines and have written a book.” Margaux replies.