She stepped back. It was so hard for her to keep her balance with this music. She saw him take her hand, felt his harsh dry fingers. All the tiny lines in his hands were full of grease. He smelled like the highway and the cars that shot by. He smelled like cigarettes.
She let him tug her gently through the door, into the warm enfolding light, where the people were dancing. Now the vibration passed all through her. She might have gone slack all over, and fallen down in a heap on the floor. There she could have lain forever listening and singing with it, seeing the glen. The glen was as beautiful as the island ever had been.
It was either that or pull herself together with it, dance and dance and dance.
That’s what they were doing; the man had begun to dance with her, had placed his arm around her waist and had come close to her. He said something. She couldn’t hear it. She thought it was “You smell good!”
She shut her eyes, and turned round and round, leaning on his arm, holding tight to him, tilting from side to side. The man was laughing. In a flash she saw his face, saw his mouth moving with words again. The music was thunderous. When she closed her eyes, she was back with the others, dancing in the circles, round and round, out from the stone circle, so many circles that those in the first could not see all the way to those in the last. Hundreds and hundreds dancing to the pipes and the harp.
Oh, but those were the first days, before the soldiers came.
In the glen, later, everyone danced together, tall and little and poor and rich, human and nonhuman. They had come together to make the Taltos. Many would die, but if the Taltos were made…If somehow there were two…She stopped, her hands to her ears. She had to go. Father. I’m coming. I’ll find Michael for Mother. Mother, I did not forget. I am not childish. All of you are simpletons, children! Help me.
The man pulled her off balance, but then she realized he was just trying to make her dance some more. Turning her, twisting her. She began again, sliding into it, loving it, rocking back and forth ever more violently, letting her hair swing.
Yes, love it. In a blur, she saw the real music makers. Scrawny and fat and wearing glasses over their eyes, they scratched at their fiddles, and sang in high voices, through their noses, rapidly, unintelligibly, and they played a little bellows organ of which she did not know the name. That was something not inside her, that word. Or the word for the mouth instrument, like the Jew’s harp, which wasn’t quite the same. But she loved this music, she loved the insistent pulse of it, the divine monotony, the buzz all through her limbs. It seemed to tap on her eardrums, to tap on her heart, to freeze her and consume her.
As in the glen, these humans here danced-old women, young women, boys and men. Even little children. Look at them. But these people couldn’t make the Taltos. Get to Father. Get to…
“Come on, honeybabe!”
Something…a purpose. Leave here. But she couldn’t think while the music went on, and it didn’t matter.
Yes, let him make her twirl. Dance. She laughed delightedly. How good it felt. Now was the time for dancing. Whoa! Dance. Father would understand.
Twenty-nine
IT WAS FOUR a.m. They were gathered in the double parlors-Mona, Lauren, Lily and Fielding. Randall was also there. Soon Paige Mayfair from New York would come. Her plane had arrived on schedule. Ryan had gone to get her from the airport.
They sat quietly and waited. Nobody believes in it, thought Mona. But we have to try it. What are we if we don’t give it a try?
Earlier, Aunt Bea had come from Amelia Street, to lay a midnight buffet out on the table. And she had put thick votive candles in the two fireplaces. They were only half melted away and the hearths still gave a warm and dancing light.
Upstairs, the nurses on standby talked in low voices-having made a station, so to speak, with their coffee and their charts in Aunt Vivian’s room. Aunt Vivian had graciously gone up to stay at Amelia Street, yielding to the firm attachment of Ancient Evelyn, who had gestured and murmured all evening to Vivian, though no one was sure that Evelyn really knew who Vivian was.
“Two old ladies meant for each other,” said Aunt Bea. “Let’s call them Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Ancient Evelyn isn’t speaking again. It’s a cinch, she’s Tweedledum.”
Throughout the house, in other rooms, even up on the third floor, in makeshift beds, cousins slept. Pierce and Ryan and Mandrake and Shelby were all here, somewhere. Jenn and Clancy were in the front bedroom upstairs. Other Mayfairs were out in the guest house beyond Deirdre’s oak.
They heard the car stop in front of the gate.
They did not move. Henri opened the door, admitting the woman whom none of them had ever seen in their lives. Paige Mayfair, great-granddaughter of Cortland and his wife, Amanda Grady Mayfair, who had left Cortland years before and gone north.
Paige was a lithe little woman, not unlike Gifford and Alicia in face and form, and only a little more birdlike, with long thin legs and wrists. That type of Mayfair, thought Mona. The woman’s hair was sharply bobbed, and she wore those huge dazzling clip-on earrings which a woman must remove before answering a phone.
She was matter-of-fact in her entrance. All but Fielding rose to greet her, to bestow the kisses that were customary even with a cousin whom no one had ever seen before.
“Cousin Paige. Cousin Randall. Cousin Mona. Cousin Fielding.
Paige sat down finally in the gold French chair with her back to the piano. Her little black skirt rode up on her thighs, revealing that they were almost as slender as her calves. Her legs looked painfully naked compared to the rest of her, swaddled in wool, even to a cashmere scarf which she unwound now from around her neck. It was very cold in New York.
She stared at the long mirror at the far end of the room. Of course it reflected the mirror behind her, and the illusion of endless chambers, each fitted with its own crystal chandeliers.
“You didn’t come from the airport alone, did you?” demanded Fielding, startling the woman as usual with his youthful and vigorous voice. Mona realized she didn’t know who was older-Fielding or Lily-but Fielding looked so old with his translucent yellow skin and the spots on the backs of his thin hands that you had to wonder what was keeping him alive.
Lily had vigor to her, though her body seemed all ropes and tendons beneath her severe silk suit.
“I told you, Great-granddaddy,” said Mona, “we had two policemen with her. They’re outside. Everybody in New York is together. They’ve been told. There isn’t a single member of this family anywhere who is alone now. Everyone has been told.”
“And nothing further has happened,” said Paige politely, “isn’t that so?”
“Correct,” said Lauren. She had managed to remain her well-groomed corporate-style self even through the long day and night. Not a single silver hair out of place. “We haven’t found him,” she said as if trying to soothe a hysterical client. “But there has been no further trouble of any sort. There are people working on this investigation as we speak.”
Paige nodded. Her eyes veered to Mona. “And you’re the legend, Mona,” she said. She gave the indulgent smile one gives to pretty children. “I’ve heard so much about you. Beatrice is always talking about you in her letters. And you are the designee if we cannot get Rowan to come back.”
Shock.
No one had said such a thing to Mona. She had not picked up the slightest vibe of it from any of them, either here, or downtown, or anywhere. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Lauren.
Lauren didn’t meet her gaze.
You mean this has already been decided?
No one would look at her. Closed minds. She realized suddenly that only Fielding was staring at her. And she also realized none of them had been shocked by Paige’s words, except for her. It had been decided, but not in her presence, and no one wanted to explain or amplify or clarify now. It was too much to discuss just now. Yet it was enormous, the designee of the legacy. And some very sarcastic little phrase went through Mona’s mind suddenly, “You mean crazy little Mona in her sash and bow, drunken Alicia’s vagabond kid?”