In the Shadow of Lakecrest(84)
“Stella,” I cooed, and the baby twisted her face into what I took as agreement. Already, I was charmed by every movement of her lips and arms, and I pulled away the blanket to tickle her toes.
“I’ve brought my colleague, Nurse Gage, to take you through the feeding when you’re ready,” Dr. Westbrook said. “I find most patients prefer to do a few weeks themselves before the baby nurse takes over.”
“Time we left the new parents alone to get acquainted,” Hannah announced. “Kate, would you like something to eat? You must be famished.”
Surprisingly, I was. I nodded, and Hannah smiled with brisk satisfaction. Her entire confession felt like a distant memory, a story I’d heard years before. The woman who’d driven her sister-in-law to suicide, who’d kept the secret of Cecily’s death a secret for nearly twenty years, was still in control of everyone and everything around her.
Once we were alone, Matthew climbed up on the bed next to me, oohing and aahing over Stella’s scrunched-up face. With the ether wearing off, I was starting to feel sore, and I winced when he put a hand around my shoulder and pulled me tight for a hug.
“It’s all right,” I said when he tried to apologize. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I always will be.” A gentle peck on my forehead.
I thought of us pushing a carriage along the lakefront path and watching Stella build sand castles on the beach. Perhaps she would be tied to this land as much as Obadiah was when he surveyed the edge of the prairie and built the estate that would be his legacy. I passed Stella into Matthew’s arms, and as I watched them, father and daughter, I felt almost crushed by my love for both of them.
I finally understood what Hannah had been trying to tell me. History depicts families as generations of men passing down talents and weaknesses along with their last names. But every birth is a blend of old and new, a mingling of the father’s blood with that of another line whose name is lost as soon as the wedding vows are said. Every great dynasty is an intricate stew of mothers and fathers, recreating itself with each generation.
The Lemonts’ reputation was formed by Henri’s ambition and Obadiah’s quest for wealth. But every Lemont had also been shaped by the family’s forgotten women. Matthew and Marjorie inherited their father’s arrogance and their aunt’s eccentricities, but they were also Hannah’s children, gifted with her perseverance and strength. Marjorie, for all her brittleness, had a fundamental decency she tried to hide, and Matthew fought to stay loyal and kind despite his troubled mind. Hannah hadn’t been a perfect wife or mother, but she’d done her best. In the end, her children had turned out better than Cecily and Jasper. My daughter with Matthew would do even better.
Stella let out a mewling sort of cry, and Matthew looked to me for reassurance.
“You’re doing fine,” I said.
From the corner of my eye, I could see a face peering through a crack in the doorway. Hannah, hovering. I felt the familiar irritation swell up, then almost instantly subside. For the first time, I saw Hannah for who she was: a woman on the brink of old age, trying desperately to maintain her grip on power. She ruled Lakecrest; she ruled Lemont Industries; she ruled her own son. But she would not reign forever. Step by step, day by day, I’d make myself indispensable. I’d learn about the business and demand a seat on the board of directors. Convince Matthew to tear the gargoyles and turrets off Lakecrest and transform it into a modern showplace. Raise Stella to look to the future, not the past.
Hannah had never denied meddling with my family-planning supplies; I still believed she’d done it. If it weren’t for Stella, Matthew and I might be in Africa right now, or Paris, or New York. We might have escaped Lakecrest. I looked over Matthew’s shoulder, directly at Hannah, holding her gaze.
This baby is mine, my eyes told her. I win.
EPILOGUE
The Depression didn’t wipe us out, but life at Lakecrest changed. There were no more parties, and my redecorating plans had to be put aside. I listened to the dismal economic news with only halfhearted interest. Childbirth had changed me more than just physically; it was as if the struggle to bring Stella into the world had destroyed my ambition. It was enough to sit with Stella in my lap, watching her grab at my hair or skirt. When I was bored of mothering, I handed her to the baby nurse and napped or read a book. When I bothered to reflect on what my life had become, I was mystified by my lassitude. It took a long time to realize that what I was feeling was contentment. Never before had I experienced it so completely.
Years passed as if they were days, with little to distinguish one from another. Blanche sent letters from New York and Miami, and I answered with note cards, unable to find enough news to fill a whole page. I made appearances at appropriate events: meetings of the Ladies’ Club and a Young Mothers card group with Eva. By the time Stella was walking, Matthew and I had agreed to have another child, and Robbie was born in the spring of 1932. An easy birth for an easy baby. From the beginning, he wanted nothing more than cuddles and affection, and my most vivid memories of that summer are of sitting under a beach umbrella with Robbie kicking on a blanket and Stella splashing at the water’s edge. I was sunstruck and lazy, free of the inner turmoil that had propelled me into this privileged life. When Matthew came home from work to join us, the children looked at him with the same stunned awe I used to feel early in my married life: what a wonder that such a gorgeous man should be ours!