They went back to work on their lists. Little Marilyn interrupted again.“What if it was Ben who ransacked your office?”
Surrendering to the interruption, Fitz put down his list.“Where on earth do you get these ideas?”
“I don’t know. Just popped into my head. But then what would you have that he wanted? Unless he was siphoning off our accounts, but both you and Cabby say all is well.”
“Allis well. I don’t know who violated my office. Rick Shaw doesn’t have a clue and since the computer and Xerox machine were unmolested, he’s treating it as an unrelated vandalism. Kid stuff, most likely.”
“Like whoever is knocking over mailboxes with baseball bats in Earlysville?”
“When did that happen?” Fitz’s eyes widened in curiosity.
“Don’t you read the ‘Crime Report’ in the Sunday paper?” He shook his head, so Little Marilyn continued. “For the last six or seven months someone’s been driving around in the late afternoon, smashing up mailboxes with baseball bats.”
“You don’t miss much, do you, honey?” Fitz put his arm around her.
She smiled back.“Once things settle down around here …”
“You mean, once they downshift from chaos to a dull roar?”
“Yes … let’s go to the Homestead. I need a break from all this. And I need a break from Mother.”
“Amen.”
42
Weeks passed, and the frenzy of Christmas preparations clouded over the recent bizarre events until they were virtually obscured by holiday cheer. Virginia plunged into winter, skies alternating between steel-gray and brilliant blue. The mountains, moody with the weather, changed colors hourly. The spots of color remaining were the bright-red holly berries and the orange pyracantha berries. Fields lapsed into brown; the less well-cared-for fields waved with bright broomstraw. The ground thawed and froze, thawed and froze, so fox hunting was never a sure thing. Harry called before each scheduled meet.
The post office, awash in tons of mail, provided Harry with a slant on Christmas different from other people’s. Surely the Devil invented the Christmas card. Volume, staggering this year, caused her to call in Mrs. Hogendobber for the entire month of December, and she wangled good pay for her friend too.
So far, Susan had rummaged through BoomBoom’s jewelry, an easy task, since BoomBoom loved showing off her goodies. Harry picked over Miranda’s earrings, not such an easy task, since Miranda kept asking “Why?” and Harry lied by saying that it had to do with Christmas. The result was that she had to buy Miranda a pair of earrings to put under her Christmas tree. Biff McGuire and Pat Harlan found the perfect pair for Mrs. H., large ovals of beaten gold. They were a bit more than Harry could comfortably afford, but what the hell—Miranda had been a port in a storm at the post office. She also splurged and bought Susan a pair of big gold balls. That exhausted her budget except for presents for Mrs. Murphy and Tucker.
Fair and BoomBoom were holding and eroding. She asked Blair to accompany her to a Piedmont Environmental Council meeting under the guise of acquainting him with the area’s progressive people. This she did but she also performed at her best and Blair began to revise somewhat his opinion of BoomBoom, enough, at least, to invite her to a gala fund-raiser in New York City.
Harry and Miranda were up to their knees in Christmas cards when Fair Haristeen pushed open the front door.
“Hi,” Harry called to him. “Fair, we’re behind. I know you’ve got more mail than is in your box but I don’t know when I’ll find it. As you can see, we’re hard pressed.”
“Didn’t come in for that. Morning, Mrs. Hogendobber.”
“Morning, Fair.”
“Guess you know that BoomBoom left this morning for New York. Her Christmas shopping spree.”
“Yes.” Harry didn’t know how much Fair knew, so she kept mum.
“Guess you know, too, that Blair Bainbridge is taking her to the Knickerbocker Christmas Ball at the Waldorf. I hear princes and dukes will be there.”
So he did know.“Sounds very glamorous.”
“Eurotrash,” Mrs. Hogendobber pronounced.
“Miranda, you’ve been reading the tabloids again while you’re in line at the supermarket.”
Mrs. Hogendobber tossed another empty mail bag into the bin, just missing Mrs. Murphy.“What if I have? I have also become an expert on the marriage of Charles and Diana. In case anyone wants to know.” She smiled.
“What I want to know”—Fair spoke to Mrs. Hogendobber—“is what is going on with Blair and BoomBoom.”
“Now, how would I know that?”
“You know BoomBoom.”
“Fair, forgive the pun but this isn’t fair,” Harry interjected.
“I bet you’re just laughing up your sleeve, Harry. I’ve got egg all over my face.”
“You think I’m that vindictive?”
“In a word, yes.” He spun on his heel and stormed out.
Miranda came up next to Harry.“Overlook it. It will pass. And he does have egg on his face.”
“Lots of yolk, I’d say.” Harry started to giggle.
“Don’t gloat, Mary Minor Haristeen. The Lord doesn’t smile on gloaters. And as I recall, you like Blair Bainbridge.”
That sobered Harry up in a jiffy.“Sure, I like him, but I’m not mooning about over him.”
“Ha!” Tucker snorted.
“You do like him though.” Miranda stuck to her guns.
“Okay, okay, so I like him. Why is it that a single person is an affront to everyone in Crozet? Just because I like my neighbor doesn’t mean I want to go out with him, doesn’t mean I want to go to bed with him, and doesn’t mean I want to marry him. Everyone’s got the cart before the horse. I actually like living alone. I don’t have to pick up Fair’s clothes, I don’t have to wash and iron them, and I don’t have to worry about what to make for supper. I don’t have to pick up the phone at seven and hear that he’s got a foaling mare in trouble and he won’t be home. And I suspect some of those mares were BoomBoom Craycroft. My nightmare. I am not taking care of another man.”
“Now, now, marriage is a fifty-fifty proposition.”
“Oh, balls, Miranda. You show me any marriage in this town and I’ll show you the wives doing seventy-five percent of the work, both physical and emotional. Hell, half of the men around here don’t even mow their lawns. Their wives do it.”
The grain of truth in this outburst caused Miranda to think it over. Once she took a position it was quite difficult for her to reverse it—modify it perhaps, but not reverse. “Well, dear, don’t you think that the men are exhausted from their work?”
“Who’s rich enough to keep a wife that doesn’t work? The women are exhausted too. I’d come home and the housework would land in my lap. He wouldn’t do it, and I think I worked pretty damn hard myself.”
Little Marilyn came in.“Are you two having a fight?”
“No!” Harry yelled at her.
“Christmas.” Miranda smiled as if to explain the tension.
“Take Valium. That’s what Mother does. Her shopping list contains close to three hundred names. You can imagine what a tizz she’s in. Can’t say that I enjoy this either. But you know we have a position to maintain, and we can’t let down the little people.”
That toasted Harry, pushed her right over the edge.“Well, Marilyn, allow me to relieve you and your mother of one little person!” Harry walked out the back door and slammed it hard.
“She never has liked me, even when we were children.” Little Marilyn pouted.
Miranda, inviolate in her social position, spoke directly.“Marilyn, you don’t make it easy.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“You’ve got your nose so far up in the air that if it rains, you’ll drown. Stop imitating your mother and be yourself. Yes, be yourself. It’s the one thing you can do better than anyone else. You’ll be a lot happier and so will everyone around you.”