Love, Lust, and The Lassiters Read online

  Love, Lust, and The Lassiters

  By McKenna Merrill

  Kindle Copyright ©2011

  By McKenna Merrill

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction; any resemblance between events, organizations or people, living or dead and characters, events, or organizations in this work are purely coincidental and beyond the intent of writer or publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, saved or transmitted without express written consent of the publisher.

  “Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

  Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night

  Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear;

  Beauty too rich for use, for Earth too dear!

  So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,

  As yonder lady oe’r her fellows shows.

  The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,

  And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.

  Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!

  For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

  from Romeo and Juliet

  --Shakespeare

  The Lassiter Effect

  It was 1920 when young James Lassiter came to America from Ireland, and as had been the case with every man in his family as far back as he knew, he fell in love with his wife the moment that he saw her, soon after he disembarked, in a café in New York City. He’d gone in for a cuppa, to warm himself and to fill his empty stomach, and he’d seen her, a girl of perhaps seventeen, young, straight, proud, with shining red hair and green eyes that flashed fire when he dared to touch her hand. He loved her instantly, with a passion and a heat that made him unsteady where he stood, still clutching his bag and the cap he’d removed at the sight of her. She felt sorry for him then, and helped him into a booth, asked if he was all right.

  “What is your name, please?” he’d asked on a whisper.

  She’d said Mairead O’Reilly, and he heard it like the song of angels, a name he knew was somehow destined to be linked with his, to be written in the church book alongside the name of James Patrick Lassiter, forever Amen.

  James recovered enough to charm his waitress out of a piece of pie, and after gaining courage from a stomach full of blueberries and pastry, he told her that she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and he intended to make her his wife. In truth, their two names were written in the marriage book, side by side, at Our Blessed Savior Church in New York City only two weeks later. James Lassiter took the hand of his beautiful bride, who wore a simple green suit with a white rose in the lapel, and walked with her to the train station, where they boarded a train bound for Illinois, and his uncle’s farm.

  The rest, in the legendary loves of the Lassiter family in America, is history.

  Chapter One

  So far the plan was working perfectly. She’d called the taxi on Friday night and slipped out when no one was looking. Everyone was far too busy with wedding plans to take notice of a little girl, even a little girl like Lilah, who normally didn’t like to fade into the background. Tonight that had suited her just fine. She had slid past the long, elegant, stocking-clad legs of Mom and Grandmother, who were bent over a seating chart for a reception hall, murmuring about aunts who couldn’t sit with ex-uncles, and tut-tutting over the husband-stealers who would be taking up table space and consuming Fairchild-funded dinners. She’d tiptoed past the corsages, without fragrance in their stiff plastic boxes and looking like so many soldiers lined up on the sideboard. She’d dashed out into the darkness clutching her purse full of Mommy’s money and the plane ticket she’d purchased online, and told the driver that she was meeting her mother at O’Hare Airport, American Airlines Terminal.

  “Not so nice for a little girl like you to travel by herself,” he’d said uncertainly, looking back at the giant house from which she’d emerged.

  “Oh, I travel alone all the time,” she lied. “My mother would have come with me, except she had to do some shopping first, so she’s meeting me there.” Lilah was surprised how much adults would believe if you merely looked them in the eye and smiled sweetly.

  Now here she was, in the bustling airport. Her plan had worked, she’d dealt with the confusion of finding her gate, and she’d asked a nice porter how to tell if her plane was on schedule. As it happened, it was ready for boarding, and for the first time she felt her age, which was ten. She felt a bit frightened, and suddenly very lonely. What she needed, she decided in an instant (the way she decided everything) was a travel buddy. It was too hectic here, too busy, the people too rushed and foreign-looking, even the ones who were probably from Chicago or some harmless suburb. She scanned the line of travelers ready to board. Most of them looked tired, unfriendly, angry even. People who traveled, she knew, tended to be cranky. Her gaze lingered on a pretty woman in a blue jean dress, her brown coat slung over her arm, her boot-clad feet crossed as she leaned against a pillar. She didn’t look angry or tired. She looked sort of lost, like the puppy without a home that Bindy had read about to Lilah the night before, the one from The Big Book of Children’s Stories.

  Lilah was a very good judge of character, and she knew what she wanted. Her favorite movie was Mary Poppins, and she thought of the Banks children, how specific they were in their criteria for a nanny: “She must be kind, she must be witty, very sweet and fairly pretty . . . .”

  This woman was more than fairly pretty. She was very pretty, with shoulder length chocolate colored hair that shone like silk under the harsh airport lights. She had eyes that matched her hair, and a small straight nose, and naturally pink lips. Having lived with her mother and her extravagant cosmetics for ten years, Lilah was very sure that this woman wore no makeup, or none to speak of. It gave Lilah the feeling of honesty, somehow, which she valued despite her own evening of telling lies.

  More important than that, though, the woman looked friendly, the sort who would be sociable, even to a child. Many people seemed to think that children were beneath their notice, and certainly not worth talking to. Lilah was going to pin her hopes on this woman. She would be her travel buddy and her friend, and Lilah would confide in her. She would know what to do.

  She sighed, suddenly weary, stepped to the stewardess, and handed in her ticket.

  On the plane she saw that the pretty woman was seated next to an elderly man. The woman was distracted, taking some sort of pill with her cup of airline coffee. Lilah approached the seatmate, pasting a sad expression on her face (a face her father told her could melt the heart of Blackbeard) and said, “Could I switch seats with you? I didn’t get to sit by my aunt, and I really want to, and besides I have a window seat, which you might enjoy.” The man looked at her, his face a mixture of indulgence and confusion, then looked at the area to which she was pointing. He shrugged, turned to the woman and said, “You have a lovely niece. I won’t mind giving up my seat at all.”

  Typical, Lilah thought, that he spoke only to the adult, and not to her. He only patted her on the head as he walked by with his little carry-on bag. Lilah settled into the seat next to the pretty woman, who also smelled nice, Lilah was happy to note. She expected the woman to look mystified, or shocked, or angry. She looked none of these. She merely smiled at Lilah with a rather suspicious expression and said, “What a special day for me. Until this moment I didn’t know I had a niece, and now here she is.”

  “Well, there is a family resemblance,” Lilah offered, holding up a handful of her own brown curls.

  “I’m flattered. You’re a lovely girl. Now what exactly are you up to, little one?”
>
  The plane began to move. Lilah, who had never flown before, clutched the woman’s hand. “Will it be scary?” she asked.

  Surprised, the woman patted her. “No, sweetie, it’s over before you know it. There, see, now we’re rising—wasn’t that smooth? And we go up, up, up . . . there. And that’s all there is to it. Not bad, huh? Think how much we owe to the Wright Brothers.”

  Lilah brightened. “I learned about them in school. Orville and Wilvin.”

  “Wilbur.”

  “Yes. We saw a picture of their plane. You mean that we owe them our thanks, for all of the experiments they did.”

  “Exactly.” The woman looked at her with an almost proud expression. “May I ask what my niece’s name is?”

  “Lilah Fairchild.”

  “An appropriate moniker for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’re a very pretty girl.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” Lilah was still holding the woman’s hand. She lifted it, looking for a ring. She’d learned this from her mother. “You’re not married?” she asked.

  “No,” the woman said, and looked out the window at the darkness.

  “What’s your name?” Lilah asked.

  The woman looked back. “My name is Veronica James.”

  Lilah nodded her approval. “It sounds like a movie star.”

  Veronica laughed. “You can call me Aunt Veronica, since you’re my niece—my only niece. Now tell me where your mom and dad are sitting.”

  “Oh, it’s only me on the plane,” Lilah said. “I ran away from home tonight. I’m going to see my father.”

  Chapter Two

  Veronica had been feeling guilty all day, and by the time she’d gotten to the airport she had the twinges of a headache, which she knew would grow worse if she didn’t find some ibuprofin in her bag. A voice in her head told her she was being stupid, that she was running away. First to Chicago, and now to the East Coast? How far do you have to run to prove your point? Her conscience nagged at her. Or perhaps it was the voice of her sister. It’s what she would have said, tearfully, if Veronica had given her the chance to speak. As it was, she hadn’t laid eyes on Juliana in two years, nor had she spoken to her.

  The airport lines were long and tiring. She distracted herself by stealing glances at a tiny girl who stood bravely by herself, clad in a stylish coat trimmed with fur, clutching a little bag and wearing a velvet purse over her left shoulder. Proving something to Mom and Dad? Veronica wondered, scanning the line. The girl couldn’t be more than nine or ten. She reminded Veronica of one of her former students, and she continued to steal glances at her, eventually worrying when a parent didn’t show up to hug her and lead her onto the plane.

  Then, suddenly, the girl had stood before her with this story, had effectively eliminated her neighbor (Veronica was relieved; he’d looked like a snorer) and was now ensconced happily in the seat beside hers, sharing the news that she’d run away. She had become Veronica’s responsibility, and that was a concern.

  Veronica looked at Lilah now. The girl was digging in her velvet purse; soon her hand emerged clutching bubble gum. “Would you like some?” she asked politely.

  “Yes. I love bubble gum,” Veronica told her. They chewed together companionably for a time, priming the gum for bubbles. Then Veronica asked, “Why did you run away?”

  Lilah looked at her thoughtfully. She was a pretty child with dark hair and dark lashes, a tiny bit of a nose, and a generous mouth that loved to smile. Her little teeth were widely spaced and white. They’ll be very straight;, she won’t need braces, Veronica noted, with a teacher’s eye for child development.

  “My mom never lets me see my dad. She’s supposed to; they are supposed to share custody of me, but since he moved she makes up excuses and reasons why she can’t take me. And he hasn’t been able to fly in much, because he has a new business. I know my dad feels guilty for going far away, so he lets her do it. So I had to do something myself. I miss my daddy.” She said it all matter-of-factly, but the very words belied the tone and struck Veronica as incredibly sad.

  “How old are you, Lilah?” Veronica asked.

  “I’m ten. I’ll be eleven in October.” She said it as though October were right around the corner, instead of eleven months away.

  Without thinking, Veronica reached out to stroke her hair. “You’re a very brave girl. And a lucky one, to have a mom and dad who love you so much that they sort of fight over you.”

  Lilah smiled. “I know. They’re both nice, you’d like them. They just weren’t meant for each other, that’s what Mom tells me. Plus Dad says that he doesn’t fit into Mom’s world, which he says is the world of the filthy rich.”

  Veronica didn’t know what to say to that, so she opened her bag and pulled out a cell phone. “You need to call your mother. She’s probably called the police, she’s probably crying and tearing out her hair, wondering where you are. Now be a good girl and call her. She can’t get you up here, so you’ve already gotten your way.”

  Lilah nodded and took the phone. “Will it work while we’re up here?”

  “It should. I think it’s okay at this time of the flight. I’ll tell the stewardess if she asks.”

  She watched Lilah as the little girl dialed her number, waited, then said, “Mommy, it’s me.”

  For a time, there was silence as Lilah apparently listened. Veronica could hear a raised voice, but no words. Lilah seemed almost to be not paying attention as she fingered her bag, which Veronica now saw had a sequined kitty embedded in the velvet. “Yes, Mommy. I wanted to see Daddy. I borrowed some money, and I’m on the plane, and I made friends with a nice lady—what? Right next to me. We made friends, and—okay.”

  Lilah handed the phone to Veronica. “She wants to talk to you.”

  Shocked, Veronica considered not taking it. Lilah shook it slightly, an insistent expression on her little face, and Veronica took the phone and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Hello. Who am I speaking to, please?”

  “My name is Veronica James. I just met your daughter on the plane, and I told her I thought she should call you.”

  “Well, thank you, Miz James. You have no idea what we’ve been going through.” The voice was cultured and under normal circumstances would probably be attractive, but now sounded rather ugly with anger. “My little brat probably didn’t mention that I’m getting married tomorrow, did she?”

  “No,” Veronica said.

  “Or that she’s my flower girl,” her mother said bitterly.

  “No.”

  “Or that I don’t have time for a spoiled kid to run off when I have a million things on my mind.”

  Veronica was starting to feel angry. Not once had the woman asked if her daughter was all right, or if she was frightened. She hadn’t asked what Lilah had gone through, nor had she introduced herself to Veronica.

  “ . . . tell her,” Lilah’s mother continued, “that when you get to Vermont she is to get on the first plane back here and I’ll have her picked up at the airport, and don’t bridge any backtalk from her. I’ve had a horrendous day and this just caps it off perfectly. That child will be in the procession tomorrow if she has to walk in her sleep. I want you to call me when—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, we’re landing; we have to shut off our phones,” Veronica lied, and cut the connection.

  Lilah looked apologetic. “She’s just nervous,” she said. Veronica thought this a very generous point of view. “And mad at me, of course.”

  Veronica put the phone back in her purse, and pulled out a little pad and pen. “Do you know how to play Hangman? My students used to love it.”

  “You’re a teacher?” the little girl asked with wide eyes.

  “Yes. Second grade.”

  “Oh, I just loved my second grade teacher. Mrs. Schloss. She was so nic
e.”

  “Who is your teacher now?”

  “Miss Hendon.”

  “She’s going to be worried about you, too.”

  “Do you really think so?” Lilah seemed to feel flattered.

  “I always wondered where my students were, if they were absent more than a couple of days. Assuming that you will be,” she added.

  Veronica drew a gallows. In Mrs. Fairchild-soon-to-be-Mrs.-Someone-Else’s angry fantasies, Veronica and Lilah were probably marching up to one of these right now. Despite the fact that Veronica had nothing to do with Lilah’s planned escape, Mrs. Fairchild seemed to hold her somehow accountable, and strangely enough, Veronica felt a stab of guilt, as though she truly were a conspirator, rather than a woman with a job interview in Vermont.

  She drew three blanks and said, “Now you must guess this word, and it has three letters. You guess a letter. If it’s part of the word, I write it in the blank. If it’s not, I draw a part of the man here on the gallows. Gruesome, isn’t it? Oh, you might not be familiar with that word.”

  “Oh, yes, I am, because I heard Daddy call Mommy and her fiance Kent the Gruesome Twosome. I asked him later what gruesome meant, and he told me horrifying or terrible. But he didn’t know why I asked.” Lilah smirked. “I guess E.”

  Veronica held back her own smile as she drew a little noose on the gallows. “No E. Try again. Save the man if you can.”

  Lilah did save him, after only ten guesses, with the word “cat”. Veronica was relieved. She thought she might have to start drawing fingers and toes before Lilah would get it. But the girl was smarter than she’d given her credit for. She also looked very vulnerable, when her bravado occasionally slipped, and the child peeked out from beneath the practiced veneer of mock-adulthood. “It must be sort of hard, knowing that your mom is getting remarried,” Veronica said gently.