hand on her possession, holding Rose back, even though Rose didn’t know it.
Well then, so be it. Celia had her own bank account.
A woman had to secure her independence in any way she could, even if she did it secretly. William was much older than she was, and not very well. When he was gone (of course she hoped that would not be for many years, but one had to be realistic), she would inherit some money; but he was not a rich man, and when she was a widow again she would have to take care of Daisy and Harriette until they found good husbands. Certainly none of William’s children would take care of
her.
Rose was useless, Hugh, unless college shaped him up, was on his way to becoming useless too, and the only one with money was Maude, but she had two children now, and the way things were going she and Walter would happily have a dozen. No, Maude couldn’t be depended upon either. Celia quietly took some of her household money each week and deposited it in her own account. No one asked, no one knew. Many shrewd women did that. It was not as if she were saving the money to run away, she simply wanted to be comfortable for the rest of her life.
Ben Carson had graduated from Yale and was now at Yale Law School. He came home for vacations, and whenever he did, he came to visit Rose. Celia couldn’t imagine why he continued to do that. Now that Rose was teaching, and surrounded by lively, living people, she seemed much less despondent, but she had no interest in being flirtatious or charming. Apparently they were friends. Celia knew it was only a matter of time before he met someone else, if he hadn’t already, and then Rose would have lost her best chance, if in fact Ben Carson was a chance at all anymore. I would have done it so much better than you, Celia thought, if it had been
my
life.
Now there was a psychic in town, and some of Celia’s friends had gone to see her and enjoyed it. Although Celia prided herself on being a rational modern woman, she was also superstitious and liked the occult. So one afternoon she went to see Madame Pauline, as the psychic was called, and took Rose with her, Rose of course protesting all the way about how silly it was.
Madame Pauline was dressed like a gypsy from a carnival—for all Celia knew, she was one—so Celia held tightly to the strap of her pocketbook while she sat down. The psychic had rented a storefront with two rooms, one of which was a small waiting room. The main room was draped in jewel-colored velvets and paisleys, and on the round table behind which she sat, there was a crystal ball, a deck of soft and rather filthy Tarot cards, and an equally unappealing deck of ordinary playing cards that had seen a great deal of use. Rose waited outside for her turn.
Madame Pauline asked Celia to shuffle the first deck and then laid out a hand. “Someone in your family is ill,” she said. “Your husband?”
“That’s true.”
“I wouldn’t worry though, he has many years yet.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Celia said.
“And someone dear to you has died, some years ago.”
Celia felt a lump in her throat. “Yes, my son.”
“He’s happy. You must let him go and attend to the present. You still have three daughters at home to guide to lives of their own.”
“Two,” Celia said.
“I see three. Two young ones and an older one. Is she a niece, perhaps?”
“My stepdaughter.”
“Ah . . .” Madame Pauline laid down some more cards. “What an extraordinary life she has before her!”
“Rose?” Celia said in surprise.
“Yes. Do you see this card?”
Celia nodded.
“Sometimes destiny has nothing to do with what we do or what we choose. It simply happens to us. Each event leads to something else. I don’t think you believe that.”
“I do, but I don’t really understand,” Celia said.
“There is nothing to understand. It is.”
Celia nodded. Madame Pauline asked her to shuffle and then laid out another hand. “There’s another boy in your
Well then, so be it. Celia had her own bank account.
A woman had to secure her independence in any way she could, even if she did it secretly. William was much older than she was, and not very well. When he was gone (of course she hoped that would not be for many years, but one had to be realistic), she would inherit some money; but he was not a rich man, and when she was a widow again she would have to take care of Daisy and Harriette until they found good husbands. Certainly none of William’s children would take care of
her.
Rose was useless, Hugh, unless college shaped him up, was on his way to becoming useless too, and the only one with money was Maude, but she had two children now, and the way things were going she and Walter would happily have a dozen. No, Maude couldn’t be depended upon either. Celia quietly took some of her household money each week and deposited it in her own account. No one asked, no one knew. Many shrewd women did that. It was not as if she were saving the money to run away, she simply wanted to be comfortable for the rest of her life.
Ben Carson had graduated from Yale and was now at Yale Law School. He came home for vacations, and whenever he did, he came to visit Rose. Celia couldn’t imagine why he continued to do that. Now that Rose was teaching, and surrounded by lively, living people, she seemed much less despondent, but she had no interest in being flirtatious or charming. Apparently they were friends. Celia knew it was only a matter of time before he met someone else, if he hadn’t already, and then Rose would have lost her best chance, if in fact Ben Carson was a chance at all anymore. I would have done it so much better than you, Celia thought, if it had been
my
life.
Now there was a psychic in town, and some of Celia’s friends had gone to see her and enjoyed it. Although Celia prided herself on being a rational modern woman, she was also superstitious and liked the occult. So one afternoon she went to see Madame Pauline, as the psychic was called, and took Rose with her, Rose of course protesting all the way about how silly it was.
Madame Pauline was dressed like a gypsy from a carnival—for all Celia knew, she was one—so Celia held tightly to the strap of her pocketbook while she sat down. The psychic had rented a storefront with two rooms, one of which was a small waiting room. The main room was draped in jewel-colored velvets and paisleys, and on the round table behind which she sat, there was a crystal ball, a deck of soft and rather filthy Tarot cards, and an equally unappealing deck of ordinary playing cards that had seen a great deal of use. Rose waited outside for her turn.
Madame Pauline asked Celia to shuffle the first deck and then laid out a hand. “Someone in your family is ill,” she said. “Your husband?”
“That’s true.”
“I wouldn’t worry though, he has many years yet.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Celia said.
“And someone dear to you has died, some years ago.”
Celia felt a lump in her throat. “Yes, my son.”
“He’s happy. You must let him go and attend to the present. You still have three daughters at home to guide to lives of their own.”
“Two,” Celia said.
“I see three. Two young ones and an older one. Is she a niece, perhaps?”
“My stepdaughter.”
“Ah . . .” Madame Pauline laid down some more cards. “What an extraordinary life she has before her!”
“Rose?” Celia said in surprise.
“Yes. Do you see this card?”
Celia nodded.
“Sometimes destiny has nothing to do with what we do or what we choose. It simply happens to us. Each event leads to something else. I don’t think you believe that.”
“I do, but I don’t really understand,” Celia said.
“There is nothing to understand. It is.”
Celia nodded. Madame Pauline asked her to shuffle and then laid out another hand. “There’s another boy in your
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