"There are things which happen and leave no discernable trace, are not spoken or written of, though it would be very wrong to say that subsequent events go on indifferently, all the same, as though such things had never been." -Possession, A.S. Byatt
Chapter I: A Boy Called Ben
Margaret makes her way down the path to the small wooden gate hidden amongst the vines of the garden wall at the back of the large estate. She quietly undoes the latch and pushes the gate open just far enough to peek into the garden. Once certain that no one has seen her, Margaret slips into the garden and closes the gate behind her. The humid July air is thick with the scent of gardenias and standing barefoot in the middle of a seemingly endless sea of green grass is a tall, young man. His dark hair absorbs the rays of the afternoon sun and the sound of his laughter is bright and clear, even at this distance, as he and his wire fox terrier roughhouse with each other. She has no way of knowing it then, but the sight before her this moment is one she will carry with her for many, many years. As the sound of her footsteps becomes noticeable, the young man jumps up and his already smiling face brightens even more.
"Well go get her, Huckleberry!" he says excitedly, and a flash of white fur cuts through the plush grass before materializing at her feet with its tail wagging furiously. She kneels down and reaches out with both hands to give the dog a good scratch behind his ears. Without fail, Huckleberry rolls over on his back, and she can only giggle as she gladly complies with his demand to have his belly rubbed. Benjamin grabs his shoes and runs over to them. He kneels down beside Margaret and joins in on the fun, the sound of his laughter mingling with hers. When Huckleberry decides he's more interested in the squirrel scampering up the magnolia tree, Margaret looks over to where Benjamin is pulling on his shoes and asks him what he's smiling about. But he only answers her with an even wider smile and a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. He tells her she'll find out soon enough and immediately takes off running, with Huckleberry right on his heels. Margaret gets up as quickly as she can and runs after them.
She runs past the great house and arrives at the stables, which had been converted years ago into a garage to accommodate Edward Langston's newfound hobby of expanding his ever-growing car collection. She finds Benjamin standing beside the always impeccably polished Ford Model T, with Huckleberry already comfortably stretched out across the passenger seat.
"Ta da!" Benjamin gestures towards the car, but Margaret just frowns at him in confusion as she tries to fix her messy pigtails, which have unraveled from their once neat braids following her run through the Langston estate. Finally, she decides it's a lost cause and unties the white ribbons and puts them in the pockets of her dress.
"How in the world is this a surprise? Your father has had this car for years," she says, slightly exasperated.
"Yes, but I learned something interesting about this car a few days ago that I thought I'd share with you, little Miss Anderson," he says in a tone of mock frustration. "It just so happens that good ole Edward Langston bought this car in 1927, the same year that the last Model T was produced. So, seeing that it's your birthday and all, I thought you should get a chance to drive a car that's the same age as you are," Benjamin replies, smiling in amusement as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys to the Model T.
"Your father would be furious if he found out!" she exclaims.
"And Warren would be even more furious, especially since he thinks this car already belongs to him and he's never even driven it," Benjamin says with a grin.
She doesn't want Benjamin to get into any trouble and she knows she should talk him out of whatever he's got planned. But the idea of taking the car for a joyride down to the lake sounds too good to refuse, so Margaret eagerly hops into the passenger seat. Huckleberry climbs into her lap and Benjamin drives the car out of the garage and down the estate's long driveway. Once they're outside the main gate, Benjamin puts the car in park and the two of them switch places. She's never driven a car before and her hands twitch with nervousness as she prepares to release the brake. But Benjamin is a wonderful teacher, and somehow she manages to drive the car down to the oak tree by the lake without incident. Benjamin hops out of the car and runs over to open her door. The adrenaline is still coursing through her and she feels rooted to the spot, with her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles have turned white. She can barely hear Benjamin congratulating her on a job well done and wishing her a happy eleventh birthday. It's only when he reaches behind the driver's seat to grab the picnic basket she didn't realize was in the backseat and his arm brushes against hers that she lets out a laugh and jumps out of the car to follow Benjamin and Huckleberry down to the dock.
They're sitting cross-legged on the picnic blanket with the dog sprawled on its side hours later. The sandwiches are long gone but there's still plenty of lemonade left. The oppressive summer heat continues to die down as the sun sinks lower and lower. In every direction, the fireflies have come out. Margaret is still bursting with excitement about her first driving lesson. She can't stop grinning until she realizes that Benjamin has been standing at the edge of the dock for several minutes. His back is to her and he's uncharacteristically silent and still. There's tension in his shoulders, so similar to the tension she's seen in her dad's shoulders over the last few years. She stands and wipes the crumbs off her dress before putting her hands in her pockets. A sense of dread settles into her stomach. Benjamin's never this quiet. She comes to stand next to him, but doesn't say anything or look at him. They both stare out at the lake, silently watching for the fireflies. Benjamin's usually cheerful face is pensive, as if he's debating whether or not to speak. But eventually he is the one to break the silence.
"Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, it's okay." There's concern in his voice, and if she could meet his eyes, she knows she'd see concern there too. She can't explain it, but somehow, she just knows exactly what he's about to ask her. She's sick with worry about how he'll react when he finally hears the truth from her. But he deserves to know the truth, so she summons up what courage she has and just nods.
"What happened at the barn that day?" he asks softly. She knows what day he's referring to. Benjamin had found her crying inside the barn that afternoon, and she had wanted to tell him everything right then and there, but she didn't know how to explain what she had witnessed. She still doesn't know how to explain any of it. Instead, she had quickly wiped her eyes and run away from the barn as fast as she could. Benjamin had called out after her, but thankfully he hadn't followed her. For months now, she had somehow managed to keep what she saw that day a secret. But the loneliness of carrying such a huge secret had eaten away at her. Even the sound of the water from the falls near the old saw mill could no longer lull her to sleep as it once had. She knows that she needs to talk to someone about what happened that day, but she had decided that that someone could not be her dad. He could never know that she had been there.
"You can tell me anything, Margaret. I want you to know that."
She slowly sits and stares at her shaking hands. "I know," she tells him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just…promise me you won't tell my dad. Please, he can never know." Her voice trembles with desperation and a painful tightness builds in her chest. Benjamin doesn't say anything as he and Huckleberry silently slide over to where she sits. Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap to prevent them from shaking. Benjamin places a hand over hers and gently lifts her chin so he can look her in the eye.
"I promise," he tells her, and she believes him.
She takes a deep breath and keeps her voice as steady as she can. "Your father came over to the farm that morning. It was still dark out. He stormed into the kitchen and I could hear him telling my dad that the demons had come back again the night before. My dad had shut the kitchen door, but I could still hear them talking about how to go about killing the men this time. I snuck out my bedroom window, and I ran to the barn. I wanted to do something, but I didn't know what to do. And the two men were already chained up against the barn wall, so there was nothing I could do. I thought, if they could just get away, maybe they'd stay away. Maybe all of this would finally be over. And my dad would finally be…free. But even if they could escape, I knew they wouldn't get far. The man with the leg brace…" her voice trails off. She takes a few deep breaths, willing herself to continue. "I've never heard anyone cry like that before. It was like he was howling. The other man…he must have been scared too, but he kept telling the man with the leg brace that everything would be okay and to just let go. He just kept repeating it. And I don't know why I did it, but I closed my eyes too and I just listened to him repeating the words over and over. Then it got really quiet. I opened my eyes, and the men were both gone. They'd just vanished. And I don't think they'll ever come back again."
She's finally done it, finally told someone about that day. She waits, but the sensation of relief doesn't come. Benjamin's hands tighten around hers. He's staring at the lake and looking the most forlorn she's ever seen him. When he looks back at her, there's something different about the way he looks at her. And she does not like it. Something inside her snaps then. There's a deafening ringing in her ears, and she can feel hot tears streaming down her face. She knows she's screaming but everything sounds muffled, as if she's underwater.
"I wish I hadn't seen any of it! I had already seen those men burn to death, but this was even worse. Because they wanted to die, Benjamin! It was like I was watching them commit suicide. And do you know what scares me the most? It's that there was a moment in the barn where I understood what it is to feel completely hopeless, to feel like nothing good would ever happen again. It was when I opened my eyes. Those men were gone, but I was still here. And I wished…it was only for a moment…but I wished I could have just disappeared too."
It's the middle of summer but she feels cold and numb all over. Suddenly, she feels as though she might faint. Everything starts to go black until she feels Benjamin wrap his arms around her slender frame and pull her into a crushing embrace. He cradles her head against his chest, and his fingers close around her messy hair in an angry fist. "Don't ever say that!" It's the first time he's ever sounded angry and scared when speaking to her. It actually takes him several breaths before he finally calms down enough to tell her the kindest words she's heard in a long time. "You're my best friend," he whispers. "I don't want anything bad to ever to happen to you."
She can't hold back a sob and buries her face in his shirt. "I just feel like there's something wrong with me, like there's something rotten inside me now and I'll never be able to get rid of it," she admits through an onslaught of tears. "I just want everything to go back to the way it was."
Benjamin doesn't say anything, but he wraps his arms around her a little tighter. She cries until she can't cry anymore. Against the crown of her head, Benjamin's breaths are deep and steady, and eventually she's breathing in time with him. She had been so scared to tell either her dad or Benjamin the truth. She had seen those factory workers die over and over again until they had finally vanished into thin air. For months, she's felt like she's not normal anymore, like some hideous creature that needs to be hidden away. And she doesn't want Benjamin to ever think those things about her too. But as Benjamin continues to stroke her hair, she feels the worry inside her dissipate and she reminds herself never to doubt Benjamin again. She can feel one of her fears begin to subside only for a new one to rise up in its place.
"I'm so sorry, Benjamin. I'm so sorry that I keep telling you all these horrible things, especially about your father," she blurts out. After all, she had been the one to tell him about what happened at the factory that day three years ago. And she had regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth. She had been so angry and confused and had spoken without any consideration of the consequences. Benjamin hadn't even been at the factory that afternoon. He had gone over to the high school with his friends to watch the varsity basketball squad practice before that evening's game. He was supposed to go straight home afterwards for dinner, but instead he'd gone to find Margaret down by the river near the factory. He had been in a great mood, and she had been the one to spoil it. She had called Edward Langston an evil man and watched the mirth leave Benjamin's eyes. He had stared at her in stunned disbelief before silently turning and walking away. He had avoided her for a few weeks after that night and now, as his arms drop back down to his side and he takes a few steps away from her, she wonders if he'll avoid being around her again. How long will he be mad at me this time?
She goes back to staring out at the lake and wishes she hadn't said anything. She can hear Benjamin rummaging around behind her and it makes her wince. He wants to leave, wants to get away from me as soon as possible. She expects to hear him walk back towards the car, but instead his footsteps get closer and closer.
"Here," he says, handing her the last of the lemonade. He still looks a bit melancholy, but he doesn't look angry. She sips her drink silently and watches as he kneels down to rinse out a Mason jar in the lake.
"I'm glad you told me, Margaret. I don't know if you feel any better now that you've told someone. I hope you do. I just…I feel better knowing you're not carrying all that on your own anymore."
"So, you're not angry with me?" she asks, chewing her bottom lip nervously.
"No, of course not," he replies without hesitation. "I wish none of it was true, but you can't change the past. And I don't blame you for being angry at Edward. I don't know if he's a bad man. I mean, I know he's not a good man, but that doesn't necessarily make him a bad man. Anyway," he says, sitting down with his feet dangling off the edge of the dock, "I suppose I'll never truly be able to hate him. But I don't think I'll ever love him beyond the very least that a son owes his father."
She sits down next to Benjamin, letting her feet dangle above the water. It isn't the first time she's marveled at Benjamin's goodness. She wonders if any of that goodness has rubbed off on her, because while she may despise Edward Langston, even after all the bad things he's put her dad through, she does not want Benjamin to hate his father. She thinks of her dad and how, despite all the awful things he'd done, she still loves him very much.
She's so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed what Benjamin had been doing with the Mason jar until he sets it down between the two of them and Huckleberry suddenly takes an interest in it.
"That's for you," he tells her with a lopsided smile. She brings the jar up to eye level and can only stare at it in wonder. Benjamin's always been the expert when it comes to catching fireflies and the jar is full of them. Her eyes fill with tears, but they aren't tears of anger or fear. Benjamin's looking through the jar from the other side, and through a seemingly infinite glowing field of fireflies, his kind, brown eyes are looking directly into hers as he whispers, "Happy birthday, Margaret."
She can't explain it, but it feels as though something she thought she'd lost forever has been returned to her.
It's a clear, starry night as they make their way back to Arcadia. Margaret sits in the passenger seat with her jar of fireflies and Huckleberry curled up in a ball in her lap as Benjamin drives the Model T. He whistles a happy tune as he drives through the town square, and it makes Margaret think of her dad.
"My dad used to whistle all the time," she says with a hint of sadness in her voice.
"Yeah, I remember that too." Benjamin may be Edward Langston's son, but he had always enjoyed being on the factory floor. The factory would never be his responsibility, but he has a natural ease with everyone and a genuine curiosity about the workers and the products they made. He'd spent a lot of time with her dad, who never minded the company of an eager pupil, even if Benjamin's lathe work had more to do with makeshift baseball bats than handcrafted dining sets. "He's a good man. I don't have any doubts about that. And he's a good father, nothing like good ole Edward Langston."
She smiles at Benjamin. He loves her dad as much as she does, and it's just one of a multitude of things that endears Benjamin to her. Her dad is the only parent she's ever known. It's just been the two of them for as long as she can remember, and while it never felt like anything was missing, Benjamin just fit into their lives like he was always meant to be there. The Langstons, on the other hand, feel more like a collection of characters from various classic novels or like one of those families from a giant oil painting hanging in a manor house somewhere in the English countryside, rather than an actual family. There was always a sense of disconnect between the Langstons and the rest of Arcadia. And from the way Benjamin talks about his family, she suspects that sense of disconnect exists between the Langstons as well.
"I still think it's strange that you call him "good ole Edward Langston". My dad's always been "Dad". I can't even imagine calling him anything else," Margaret says.
Benjamin chuckles at that. He can't deny that his parents have the strangest rules when it comes to how people, even members of one's own family, were to be addressed. Pet names were definitely off limits in the Langston household. Even "Father" and "Dad" were treated like pet names. He can still recall the morning he ran up to the dining table and greeted his father with an excited, "Hi dad!" Edward Langston had slammed the newspaper down and immediately reprimanded his three-year-old son. Ever since that day, Benjamin had followed his mother's example and addressed his father as either "Edward" or "Sir". The same rule went for his sisters. As always, the same rules did not apply to Warren.
"Well, little Miss Anderson, we have very different relationships with our very different fathers. I don't have any memories of your mother, but I'm certain your father loved her very much. I'm sure of it, because I know how much he loves you. But Edward's not like that. The Langston name may mean something in a small town like Arcadia, but it's nothing compared to a family with old money from Chicago. Edward will always have a chip on his shoulder about that. As far as I'm concerned, he put that chip on his own shoulder all by himself the day he decided to marry for status. He may have chosen her because of the McCormick name or maybe because she happened to be the prettiest one. Unbeknownst to him and luckily for me, she also happened to be the one who would make the best mother."
Like every other girl and woman in Arcadia, Margaret is in constant awe of Caroline Langston, the effortlessly elegant, beautiful blonde socialite from the big city of Chicago. But unlike everyone else in Arcadia, Margaret has the advantage of hearing about Caroline Langston from Benjamin. He absolutely adores his mother, and it makes Margaret happy to know that he has a good relationship with one of his parents.
"Speaking of my mother, she's planning her annual end-of-summer party and I overheard my sisters saying that there'll be a 12-piece orchestra this year. So, maybe this will finally be the year that the engagement is announced. My money's on Susan Edgerton finally winning the Mrs. Warren Langston Sweepstakes," Benjamin tells her with an exuberant laugh.
In the two years since Warren Langston had turned 30, according to Benjamin, there had been an endless parade of families inviting themselves to dinner at the Langston estate. Suddenly, it seemed as if every family within a hundred miles had a daughter or a niece they wanted to introduce to Arcadia's most eligible bachelor. It was after one particularly disastrous dinner that Benjamin had derisively labeled any discussion about Warren's marriage prospects as "The Mrs. Warren Langston Sweepstakes". Margaret had burst into laughter almost immediately. The sight of Benjamin pacing back and forth on her front lawn, still dressed in his pristine white dinner jacket and grumbling in frustration as Huckleberry had scampered alongside him, had only added to the hilarity. Benjamin had given it his best effort, but he had been unable to remain cross, and the two of them had dissolved into a fit of giggles that had only resulted in both of them getting the hiccups and laughing even harder.
"Do you really think so? Do you think this will finally be the year?" she asks excitedly.
Benjamin shrugs as he steers the car over a hill. "Your guess is as good as mine. You could always sneak through the garden gate on the night of the party and we could find out together," he says.
He turns the car off the main road and down the small drive that leads to the Andersons' farm. It's so quiet that Margaret can hear the water from the falls. The porch light is on, but she knows her dad isn't at home. He had told her that morning that he would be working late at the factory, and while she hadn't said anything, she had been upset when he left for work. He hadn't wished her a happy birthday, and as she watched her dad walk out the door, she had felt both anger and hatred towards Edward Langston and his factory for taking yet one more thing away from her. She had gathered the dishes from the breakfast table and put them in the sink. But instead of washing the dishes after breakfast like she always did, she had looked out the window to where the barn stood in clear view. She had needed to get out of the house and had wandered into town. As Benjamin brings the car to a stop in front of her house, she realizes the unwashed dishes will still be waiting for her exactly where she left them. She sits there staring at the empty porch, not quite ready to go inside. Benjamin turns the engine off and as he begins to ask her what's the matter, she quickly turns to him and asks "Do you ever wish you could get out of Arcadia?"
She doesn't know if he's more taken aback by the suddenness of her movement or by the question she's just asked. His brow furrows slightly and he simply nods. "I do. And I know I'll get my chance in a few years." He leans back and runs a hand through his hair. "He's never said it, but Edward's always made it clear that, as the eldest son and heir, Warren will inherit everything. Evelyn, Alice, and Laura would have to marry for their fortunes, and I would simply have to make my own. And he never had any intention of assisting me in the slightest. And that's fine with me." He pauses for a moment, as if he's carefully weighing out his words.
"It would be so easy to hate Warren or envy him the way my sisters do. But after you told me about what my father did that day, it was as if I finally realized something I had always known but had never really understood." He takes a deep breath and looks away from her. He stares out the car window to where the barn is just visible beyond the house. "Edward's not a good man, but he is my father. And some part of me loves him and always will. But I'm not proud to be called his son, not like how I'm proud…tremendously proud…to be called my mother's. You see, my sisters want our father's attention and his approval, and Warren's always had those things, probably just takes them for granted. But me…I don't think all that highly of my father. So, I suppose those things don't really mean very much to me."
He turns his head to look at her, looking slightly embarrassed for having said the words out loud, but she's looking at him with those beautiful, large eyes and there's no judgment in them. He smiles and hesitantly takes hold of her hand, running his thumb across the soft skin of her knuckles. Her hand is so small compared to his. "What I'm trying to say is, don't feel guilty for telling me about what my father did to those men. I know that you love your dad, that you loved him before the fire, and that even after all this has happened, you still love him. I know it's not easy. I know you're struggling with it. But, my relationship with my father is nothing like what you have with your dad. So, don't feel bad. Because you didn't ruin anything, Margaret. Okay?"
His tone is so reassuring and the sensation of relief she had been waiting for finally comes. She had been so worried that saying anything bad about Edward Langston would drive a wedge between her and Benjamin, and that one day she would inevitably say something that would do irreversible damage. She's so relieved that she can only nod. Benjamin's brow furrows again and he shakes his head. "And I'm sorry," he tells her.
"For what?" Margaret asks incredulously. What does he have to be sorry about?
He lets out a sigh and says, "For not speaking to you after you told me about the fire. For making you think I was angry with you. I wasn't mad at you. I was...mad at myself. It wasn't easy hearing about what my father had done. But the worse part was how it didn't really surprise me…that he would choose his money-making factory over the lives of those men. And that's a horrible thing to think about anyone." He shakes his head again. His jaw tenses as he continues, "And I was scared…really scared, that you would hate me. Because I'm Edward Langston's son, and he had done this awful thing and that you and your dad would suffer for it. I thought you'd never want to see me again. And I didn't want that."
Margaret's overwhelmed by this newest wave of affection that she feels towards this wonderful boy. She finds it touching to know that Benjamin worries what she thinks of him, just like she worries what he thinks of her. A small smile tugs at her lip and she squeezes his hand gently, but firmly. "You're my best friend. I could never hate you," she tells him, her voice as clear as a bell in the quiet night. She feels like she's said the right thing when she sees the relief in Benjamin's brown eyes. He pulls her hand towards his lips, and she can feel his smile followed by a feather-light kiss against her knuckles. A blush creeps into her cheeks and her heart is suddenly racing. This must be how Snow White felt when she saw her handsome prince.
"Well, I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say that, little Miss Anderson," he says in an exaggerated Southern accent. The lightness of his tone makes them both laugh. He lets go of her hand and she opens the car door. Huckleberry immediately jumps out and darts up the porch steps. Margaret grabs the jar of fireflies and she and Benjamin walk towards the house. She's in a light mood until her foot meets the first porch step. She suddenly remembers something Benjamin had said.
"What did you mean earlier?" He freezes at the top of the steps and turns around to face her. She walks up the last two steps and leans against the porch railing. "When you said you'd have the chance to leave Arcadia soon?"
"Oh, right! Well, remember what I said about having to make my own fortune?" he asks as he goes to sit in one of the rocking chairs. Margaret nods and goes to sit in the other rocking chair. She sets the firefly jar on the table between them and looks at Benjamin expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. "I figure the best way for me to do that is by going to college. I know it's what my mother would want. And it's also what my Grandpa McCormick wants. He said that if I earn a spot at the University of Chicago that he'd pay my tuition. And as you can imagine, good ole Edward Langston was not too pleased to hear about that. He hates the idea of paying for my education, but he hates the idea of his father-in-law paying for my education even more. Just think, Margaret! This is a chance for everyone to get what they want!" he says excitedly.
Margaret smiles but inwardly she's well aware that this means Benjamin will be leaving Arcadia in three years. She gets up and walks to the front of the porch and leans on the railing. Everyone except me, she tells herself. Her gloominess must have showed, because Benjamin stands up from the rocking chair and joins her. He leans backwards and rests his elbows on the railing, giving her a sidelong glance.
"I'll write to you from Chicago, you know? After all, I'll be counting on you to tell me about all the mischief the little troublemaker gets himself into," he says, gesturing towards Huckleberry. She watches Huckleberry running around the yard, and her mood lightens slightly.
"I'm happy for you," she says, trying to make her voice match her words. "You're really lucky."
"I've always been lucky," he replies. "It's something I realized in the weeks after you told me about the fire. One afternoon, after one of my boring French lessons, Madame Claudette told me that benjamin is what French people call the youngest child. She said that sometimes Benjamin is the name given to a youngest son, especially if he's a lot younger than his siblings. Apparently it comes from the Bible, something about how Benjamin was the youngest of Jacob's twelve sons. And I guess I'll always remember that because I was twelve years old at the time. It's hard to explain, but somehow, the more I thought about my name, the more I began to understand my parents. Maybe there's a reason why my mother has always been so warm towards me. Maybe it's because she knew that I was the last child she'd ever had. Maybe it explains why my father has always been so distant, because he thought he had everything all planned out. He already had his seventeen year old son and heir and three daughters to marry off by the time I came along. The last thing he wanted was another child. And he doesn't hide his resentment. It doesn't bother me when he directs his resentment towards me. What I can't forgive is when he directs that resentment towards my mother. She takes everything in stride, but I don't know how she does it. I think she knows that Edward sees her as nothing more than a means to an end. That it's the factory that's the great love of his life, not us. For a long time, I envied Warren. But now I just feel sorry for him, because I'll always have the one thing he never did: freedom. Warren's entire life has been meticulously planned out for him. He'll marry whoever my father chooses, and he'll never get to experience the world outside of Arcadia. But I've decided that I'm going to get into the University of Chicago. And I don't know if I'll ever come back to Arcadia."
There's a faraway look in his eyes as he takes in his surroundings. "It's so strange. I've never even seen the ocean, and yet I can imagine it so clearly – the smell of the salt water, the sound of the waves, even the warm sand between my toes. Somehow, I just know that I want to live my life next to the ocean. That's where I'd want to build a life and raise a family and I'd do it all so differently from the way my father did."
His voice is steady and determined, and Margaret truly believes he will have everything he could ever dream of. She's never seen the ocean either, never been anywhere but Arcadia, but the image of Benjamin living somewhere perpetually drenched in the golden California sunlight is so vivid in her mind.
"I'm going to have a great life, Margaret. I've decided that's just how it's going to be. And I'll be a better husband and father than Edward Langston could ever be."
He lets out a soft laugh and looks at her. "If I'm lucky enough to have a son, I think I'd like to name him after your dad."
She can only stare at him, feeling equal parts dismayed and full of affection. "After everything he's done?"
"He's a good man," Benjamin says without any hesitation. "He wanted to do the right thing and he's loyal. Even to people who don't deserve it. Besides, Jacob Langston has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" he asks with his usual impish grin.
She has to admit the name does have a nice ring to it. She doesn't know what to say. In some ways, Benjamin's kindness and generosity has surprised her. And in other ways, he's the same unfailingly kind young man he's always been. In a teasing tone, she asks, "And what if you have more than one son? What would you name them?"
Benjamin looks somewhat bashful, and Margaret realizes that he's given this quite a bit of thought. "I guess it would depend on what their mother's name is. Maybe we'd give them names that start with the same letter as her name."
She's about to tease him, telling him that it'll be just his luck to end up marrying a girl named Ursula or Zelda, when he looks at her and says, "Although, I have to admit that I'm rather fond of the names Michael and Matthew."
"Well, I'm sure Mary Edgerton will be ecstatic to hear that!" she manages to say through a fit of giggles.
Benjamin looks positively horrified. "Mary, Mary quite contrary Edgerton? Not a chance!"
"Surely, you've noticed that Susan isn't the only Edgerton girl who's hoping to marry a Langston. Mary's probably looking forward to the party at the end of the summer even more than Susan is. And besides, she's very pretty," Margaret counters.
"She's dull," Benjamin protests as Margaret continues to smirk. "Of all the silly girls in Arcadia, you just might be the silliest, little Miss Anderson!"
She doesn't believe for a second that Benjamin has no interest in Mary Edgerton. All the Edgerton girls are considered local beauties, with flawless fair skin and flowing golden hair and shimmering green eyes. Margaret simply smiles and shakes her head in amusement as Benjamin pulls a face. They stand side by side, occasionally elbowing and laughing at each other until Benjamin points out that it's getting late and even the tireless Huckleberry is beginning to yawn. Benjamin gathers the jar of fireflies from the small table and hands it to Margaret.
"I hope you had a nice birthday and that you like the present your dad got you. It's in your bedside table."
She looks up at him in confusion.
"I helped him pick it out," he says proudly. "It has something to do with your name, actually." He crouches down to scoop Huckleberry up, and Margaret reaches out to give him one last scratch behind the ears. She looks up at Benjamin, who looks down at her with such warmth in his brown eyes. For a few seconds, they just smile at each other. Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he tells her, "Call me Ben. My parents would never approve, but it can be our secret."
"Alright…Ben," she whispers shyly. It's the first time she's ever called him by his nickname, but it feels so natural to her. She can't help but relish the idea that she is the only one who calls him Ben. He smiles again and leans in to kiss her cheek. "Good night, Meg," he whispers in her ear and it makes her heart race. She stands on the porch and watches as the car drives down the driveway. Ben's kiss is still warm on her cheek and she feels as if she's floating on a cloud.
It's almost midnight when she hears her dad return home. Ever since the day of the fire, she would often pretend to be asleep when her dad would come home late after work and look in on her. But tonight, she doesn't pretend. He walks into her room and kneels down by her bed. He gazes at the jar of fireflies on her bedside table before turning to her and tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.
"How's my beautiful girl?" he asks in his warm, soft-spoken voice. "Did you have a good birthday?"
She answers him with a nod. He smiles, and she could burst into tears from happiness. It's the happiest she's seen him in a while. She sits up and hugs her knees, watching silently as he picks up the open jewelry box beside the twinkling jar of fireflies.
"Do you like your present?" he asks, as he comes to sit on the bed.
"Very much," she replies. She rests her head upon her knees and smiles, recalling her surprise at opening her jewelry box and finding the bracelet inside. It's the most beautiful piece of jewelry she's ever seen: snow-white pearls on a thin silver chain. He smiles, and his eyes are full of tenderness.
"I know it's still a little bit too big for you," he says, taking her hand in his and caressing her tiny wrist with his thumb. "But I have no doubt you'll grow into it in no time at all." He leans forward and kisses her on the forehead as he's done so many times before, and she instantly feels safe and calm. He hands her the jewelry box, and she takes one last look at the bracelet before closing the box and putting it back on the bedside table. She lies back down and looks up at her dad.
"Ben said that the gift has something to do with my name," she says, her voice full of curiosity.
Her dad strokes her hair and nods. "That's right. It was your mother who decided we should name you Margaret, and she chose the most perfect name. Somehow, she just knew what a wonderful person you'd be, because Margaret means pearl. And you're my pearl, my greatest treasure in the whole wide world," he says. His voice is thick with emotion and Margaret's eyes fill with tears. She's never had any doubt that her dad loves her, but to hear him say it out loud overwhelms her. She throws her arms around him and buries her face in his neck. She can hear his relief as he exhales. She feels his hand come up to cradle her head and hears him breathe her in.
"My perfect little pearl," he whispers into her hair.
They may never be able to go back to being like two peas in a pod, but her dad is a good man and he loves her. Ben believes that, believes it without any hesitation. And she knows that she can believe those things again too. Gently, her dad lays her back down and dries her cheeks with his sleeve. "Good night, Meg," he whispers, just as Ben had and kisses her on her forehead once more.
That night, she watches the random twinkling of the fireflies until her eyelids grow heavy. Her mind drifts to a sunny beach somewhere far away from Arcadia. Everything about the place is warm, from the feel of the soft sand between her toes to the breeze rushing through her hair to the feel of her fingers entwined with another's. It feels like a glimpse into the future, and she feels the tiniest spark of hope catching fire from somewhere deep within her. And for the first time in months, the sound of the water from the falls lulls her into a peaceful sleep.