Frost on the Geraniums
Rating: K
December, 1886 (Chester is twenty four, Cora is sixteen, Harold is ten, Martha is thirty eight, and Isidore is forty two.)
The hearth in the drawing room has been lit and the presents are laid out in a rectangular shape on the table that is placed in front of the Christmas tree, a recent addition which makes Cora's mother extremely nervous, as she is very protective of the room's furnishings and does not want the added worry of pine needles embedding themselves in her carpet and settees. Nevertheless, Martha is, for once, merry and affable, dancing a little waltz as she sashays into the room to pour a glass of whisky. Cora follows suit shortly after, dressed exquisitely in a rose red dress that skims her ankles and matching three inch strap shoes which are an exciting early present; her first time elevated higher than two centimetres off the ground. The sleeves of her dress end just above her elbow and are rouched, drawing together in a cinched fashion and ruffling out in matching lace. The buttons that do up the front of her dress from her navel to her neck are pearl white and she is wearing a circle of matching beads that hang around her neck like a choker, exposing her delicate collarbones and highlighting her neat, ivory skinned neck. Her gloves are pale pink and her hair falls, for once, in dark ringlets about her shoulders, the front pinned back in a perfect coil and topped with a silver comb to keep it off her face. She glances around and her gaze settles on the tree, her eyes lighting up like a little girl's. There comes a knock on the door and she squeals, hurrying back out. The footman opens the door on Chester, dressed in his best white tie and tails. His hair is her only reminder of the man she knows – unkempt and wild, uncontrollable yet perfect.
"Chester! You came!" She throws herself at him and he hugs her back, chuckling. The footman closes the door, and walks away, biting back an admiring smile. They pull away and laugh, as she takes his hand and shakes it fervently, a picture of decorum.
"Of course I came, you devil, you invited me." He goes to ruffle her head and she bats his hand away, not wanting the neat curls disturbed. He settles on twirling one around his finger, smiling as she tries to come up with a sufficient answer.
"Well...I didn't know if you would want to or not. Because of...all this." She waves a hand encompassingly and he tenses up for a moment, almost tempted to turn around and walk out, taking her with him. But her young, innocent face tells him to stay.
"Well, if such a beautiful young lady asked me, how could I say no?"
She grins mischievously, and grabs his hand leading him into the drawing room where the rest of her family have gathered. They all turn round at their entry and look at him curiously. It is not the first time they have met him, but it surprises them no end to see how well he has brushed up. The truth is that they love him, even Harold, despite his often misplaced remarks about his background. Martha smiles kindly and crosses to greet Chester, hugging him to her and kissing him on both cheeks, making his face burn bright red. They all laugh at this, and he breathes a sigh of relief when both men shake his hand.
"I'm so glad you could make it, my dear fellow. Cora was very insistent you came." Isidore's words make his blush burn brighter, and he squeezes Cora's hand in his.
"I'm so very glad you invited me, I was worried you thought me far too forward the last time we met."
"Not at all, not at all. I'm so happy Cora has someone so kind, smart and protective as you to keep her company. She's quite different now, I can tell you that."
"Papa!" It is her turn to blush.
"Oh?" Chester's eyebrows rise in curiosity.
"She now actually speaks to us with a reasonable degree of sensitivity and care. You should have seen the huffs and puffs of her before. We were lucky if we got a civil word out of her, weren't we, Martha?"
"Indeed, you have changed her dramatically, and I must congratulate you, Mr Beaumont. I did not think a girl with such a lack of care for those around her could become so loving within the course of five months. What did you do?"
"Mama!"
"Please, Mrs Levinson, call me Chester. And in all honesty, I didn't do anything. The company of your daughter has been the greatest I have ever had to pleasure to attain in all my life. She is amusing, highly engaging in her maturity and knowledge, and she never ceases to amaze me with her many brushes with the law and with talk of incurring the wrath of her 'hideously overbearing' family."
Martha and Isidore roar with laughter, Harold looks perplexed and tries to work out the reason his parents have turned into loons, and Cora looks ready to run out the room.
"Chester, can you please stop talking as if I'm not here?" He turns with a smile to her, but he sees the struggle in her eyes. They have only known one another for five months, but within that time, she has been able to share the most intimate of things with him. In truth, it hurts to hear him say the things she spoke to him about in secrecy, especially due to her age. Any other girl of sixteen would love to have a close connection with an older man, platonic or otherwise, and none of them would want the things they shared with him divulged to her parents involuntarily.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry." He turns to her and hugs her again, pulling her close. As they embrace, Martha and Isidore exchange a look that says 'she loves him'.
"Dinner is served, sir."
"Ah!" Isidore gently taps Cora's shoulder and they break apart. "Time to go through."
"Is it just us?" Chester suddenly looks a little anxious, and he glances around, hoping the other guests are hiding behind the potted plants and overfilled oak bookcases, and can step in to save him from his grave humiliation.
"Yes, and a very merry gathering it is too!" Isidore claps a hand on Chester's arm and leads the company through, the young man and woman bringing up the rear.
"Cora, I –"
"You might be eight years my senior but that gives you no right to tell Mama and Papa of the things I share with you!" The words come out softly yet sharply, scaring him. She backs him up against the wall and stares him down. He can't look away.
"Cora – "
"No! Do you realise how difficult life is for me? No, you don't, because like every other adult, you think I'm too young to understand or experience anything of the sort! Do you know how intimidated I feel in this house? No, you don't, because like every other adult, you think I'm spoilt and have never experienced anything like that! I thought you were different. I thought you cared about me, Chester!"
"I do! I do! I'm sorry, it fell out of my mouth, I didn't –"
"I know. You didn't mean to. And that's fine! But you know what? You need to realise – you are the only thing that matters to me. I need you on my side. If you're going to share our conversations with my parents, I can't see how I'm going to hold my own. Please. Just...I'm struggling. Okay?" Suddenly, as if woken from a dream, he looks at her, and he sees a grown woman, not a sixteen year old, a woman who is breaking at the seams. He sees a woman who is struggling to pick up the pieces of a broken home and who is paying the price of the tension that radiates from Mr and Mrs Levinson. He sees a scared little girl, hiding from it all. And he sees the older, mature, beautiful woman she shall grow to be.
"Come here." He pulls her into him and they hug again, but this time the connection is intimate, as if holding out for something more than close friendship. She looks up at him between their embrace, and he smiles, taking her hand in his.
"I'm sorry, Chester. But...can we talk later?" Her eyes are pleading.
"Of course we can." He cannot wait.
Dinner is a gruelling affair, mostly consisting of questions enquired as to how he spends his Christmas, and whether his business is going well. He continuously nods emphatically at the latter and, in terms of the former, he tells them all about life in the Beaumont household; speaking of their marking the end of the Civil War as his father fought in it against the Jews. Isidore freezes at this, and Martha exchanges a quick glance with Cora. Chester is looking at his plate as he says this, and continues to talk, unaware of the sudden frost that has engulfed the table. "Of course, the Jews were disloyal war profiteers, driving the poor Christians out of business and aiding the enemy. Of course, my family are anti-Semitists; we never supported the Jews in going to war."
The silence is almost deafening. Chester finally glances up. Isidore's face is a picture of fury.
"How dare you. How dare you have the nerve to come into my house and insult my religion!" His voice thunders around the room, as he slams a hand onto the oak table, making everyone jump in fear.
"Oh, I'm – I'm so sorry – "
"Get out!"
"Papa, please!"
"No! I will not have an anti-Semitist at my table!"
"Please, sir, I didn't mean –"
"It's best if you go. I'm sorry, Chester." Harold has spoken quietly, shocking them all. Cora stands carefully, her plate empty anyway, and places a hand on Chester's arm, speaking gently. "He's right. Come with me, I want to talk to you anyway."
"You're not taking him to your room!"
"Papa, as soon as he leaves the room you will regret this nonsensical behaviour. You're so touchy. He's my guest, and he came here at my invitation, and I shall hope he will leave the same way! So, yes, I am taking him to my room." With that, Cora storms out of the door, Chester following closely behind. The door slams behind her. She is right, as seconds later, Isidore sinks back against his seat, disappointed. As much as he is protective of his religion, he has a good friendship with Chester, and he is irked by his strong reaction to Chester's pronouncement.
"Should I go and apologise?"
"No, Isidore. Let your daughter be with him."
"I can't understand what he sees in her. I only see a tiresome, spoilt little minx who has no respect for her elders and betters."
"Then you don't know her at all. He doesn't see anything in her at all, not in the way you think. He is happy to be with her, and to have her much valued friendship; which is more than I can say for you." And she goes back to her duck, which is a little cool now, the food having been interrupted in the excitement.
Outside, in the drawing room, Cora has sunk onto one of the settees and is trying to control the tears that are threatening to fall. "Cora? Are you okay?"
"No," she replies brokenly. Suddenly, the sixteen ear old stands, surprising him. "Come on, let's go to my room."
As she leads him up the long, spiralling staircase, he can't help but feeling that he shouldn't be doing this, she's only sixteen, it's not proper... but then he realises. She sees him in a purely friendly way, and not romantically at all. She is expecting nothing of that sort. She just wants to talk. He follows her as she pushes open the first door they come to that overlooks the stairwell. Inside, the walls are cream, and all the furniture is decorated in the same dark mahogany. Her bed lies beneath the window, swathed in a lilac coverlet, and a chaise longue is perched at the end of the tall windows that open onto a balcony that overlooks the city. A desk and a dressing table lie on the same wall, some considerable distance apart, and the opposite wall is swamped by a wardrobe that stretches from window to door. His eyes pop out on stalks. She flops down on the chaise and pats the space beside her. He carefully seats himself, trying not to panic. Glancing across, he sees that her head has fallen to her hands.
"Cora," he whispers, taking her hand. She looks up. Tears glisten in her lids, and she tries to smile, but it fails and she crumples. "Oh, Chester, I'm so sorry." Her words are small and tentative, as if he may explode at any moment.
"Don't be. Don't be." He hugs her again, leaning his cheek on the top of her head. She doesn't say a thing about her hair.
"They never listen to me. I try to let them know what I think, or what I need, and they shake me off, like it's nothing to them. I can't believe what Papa said to you."
"Your parents love you very much."
"They wouldn't fight for me, though!"
"They wouldn't fight for you because they know that they wouldn't win."
She sinks into silence. Then, glancing up, she says:
"I'm glad you're here, Chester."
I hope I got the facts about Judaism right, but if not, then let me know. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed this! Don't worry, the next one will be happier. :)
