Web of Dreams (Casteel 5)

The school year ended and all of us in the "special club" said our goodbyes, promising to write each other as much as possible. I felt terrible about never having invited anyone, even just Jennifer, to Farthy, but each time they had inquired, I had been forced to come up with another good excuse, leaning heavily on Troy's health problems. I knew they were all very disappointed, especially Jennifer, but there was little I could do. Whenever I had brought it up, Momma would go into a panic, sometimes even a rage. It was too soon . . . wait, wait, WAIT. I grew tired of asking.

But a little less than a week after Tony had left for Europe, Momma surprised me by telling me I could invite Jennifer to spend a few days at Farthy. I called her at home and told her. She squealed with delight. It had been only a week since school ended for the year, but we already missed each other terribly.

She was very impressed with Farthy. I took her horseback riding on the beach and we went swimming every day. She loved Troy, who enjoyed showing her about and demonstrating his toys. Unfortunately, he was not permitted to go swimming yet. There was even some question about his being allergic to the chlorine.

Jennifer was fascinated by Momma. She won Momma over immediately when she told her she couldn't believe someone who looked as young as she did had a daughter as old as I was. Momma asked her dozens of questions about her family and her home in Hyannis at dinner every night. And then Momma made all sorts of suggestions to her about how to wear her hair, what clothes would be most flattering, what color lipstick to wear. Jennifer listened attentively, her eyes big, nodding as if she were sitting with a movie star. Afterward, she couldn't stop talking about how beautiful and sophisticated Momma was.

We sat up in my room until very late every night talking.

"Your mother is so young-looking and beautiful. Was your daddy heartbroken when they got a divorce?" she asked one night.

I recalled Daddy that morning on The Jillian when he came to my room to tell me what Momma had decided.

"Yes, but he blamed himself and kept himself as busy as possible so as not to think about it. Momma always said he was married to his business as much as he was married to her," I added sadly, for I had come to believe that some of that was true.

"I can't imagine your daddy not wanting to throw himself off the ship when he learned he would lose her," Jennifer said. Then the smile that accompanied this romantic fantasy wilted and she turned away, her eyes filling rapidly with tears.

"What's wrong, Jen?"

"It's my mother," she said, weeping. "She's dating another man, a man who was once my daddy's best friend." She spun around, her eyes wet, but her face on fire. "I told her I hated him and he would never be my daddy and I hated her for seeing him."

"What did she say?" I asked, holding my breath.

"She cried and told me she couldn't help it because she was lonely. It wasn't enough that she had me and my sister. She needed a husband.

"But I don't want another man living in my house and using my daddy's things!" she cried. "I don't, I don't!" She began to sob. I embraced her and held her and then I told her about Daddy and Mildred Pierce. She stopped crying and listened anti soon felt sorry for me.

"Oh Leigh," she said, "adults are so very selfish. I'll never be like that when I'm their age. Will you?"

"I don't know, Jen. I hope not, but I don't know." What was the point in making vows and promises? We could swear on a thousand Bibles that we would never betray each other or the people we loved, but Fate seized us in its grip sometimes and made us forget our dreams. I was tempted to tell Jennifer the truth about me, the truth about Momma and what she had done, but I was too ashamed of it. It was a secret that would burn in my heart only, no matter how painful that fire was.

We were both very sad when it came time for her to go home. She asked Momma if I could come visit her and Momma replied, "We'll see. There is much we have to do here this summer, dear, and Leigh has to help with Troy."

Help with Troy? I thought. Since when did Momma worry about how Troy was occupied? What she really meant was help with Tony, but she couldn't say that. Oh, once again my Momma's selfishness made her wants come before mine. It was unnatural, I thought, to put me in charge of entertaining her new husband.

One day in late June dawned very hot and I had spent most of the afternoon lounging at the pool and reading. Troy and his nurse had been with me for a few hours since the doctor had put Troy on a schedule of sunshine, now that summer was in full swing. I remained at the pool until the sun started to drop behind the trees and cooler, long shadows crept up over the patio to cover the lounge chairs and me. I slipped into my robe, put my towel

around my neck, and started for the house. When I entered, I heard Momma's and Tony's voices coming from the living room on the right.

"Leigh!" Tony cried as soon as I peeked in. "I've missed you! Look how tan you've gotten in only this short time." "Hello, Tony. How was your trip?"

"Quite successful," he said and smiled at Momma. She sat back on the new Charles II, ornately carved and caned armchair she had bought as part of redecorating the room. With her pear-shaped diamond earrings dangling, her hair swept back perfectly, not a strand out of place, and her fingers covered with emerald, diamond, ruby and sapphire rings, she looked like a queen. She wore a white lace dress with a sweetheart neckline so that her most precious diamond necklace lay softly on top of her rose-tinted bosom.

"Tony has a wonderful new idea," she proclaimed. "And he wants you to be a part of it."

"Me?" I stepped farther into the room.

"Remember I told you about this European company that was making toys similar in style and purpose to the Tatterton toys?" he said quickly. I nodded. "Well, they have some of the finest artisans in the world in Europe. What am I saying? They do have the finest. But," he added winking first at me and then at Mamma, "I have some of them now.

"In any case, during my travels to one of their factories in a small village just outside of Zurich, I discovered they were making something called 'portrait dolls.--

"Portrait dolls?" I slipped onto the settee to listen.

"Yes. Brilliant idea!" he said, clenching his hands into fists and lifting them to punctuate his enthusiasm. "None are more enamored and entranced with themselves than the wealthy. They think their money and position buy them immortality, so they all have their portraits painted by the best artists and photographs taken by the best photographers. They will go to any length, spend any amount of money, to get it done to their satisfaction."

"What does this have to do with dolls?" I asked.

"Everything. Imagine a doll that has your face and is your doll! Everyone will want one--mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts; even men will come to want male dolls made in their images eventually.