Meggy

Southampton

Meggy Westmoreland loved the toy pram her father had brought her back from New York City. She had snuggled two of her favorite dolls inside, wrapped up tightly in a blanket which had been a gift from her late grandmother. It was a lovely spring day, and she pushed the pram back and forth along the stone path that trailed through the back garden. While she loved all of the beautiful flowers that grew here, the lilacs and oleanders were her favorite. She had even named one of her dolls Lilac, despite her mother’s insistence that it was a “ridiculous name.” The urge to pick the flowers was overwhelming, but she had learned her lesson the hard way when she was only three, and the sharp slap to her hand hadn’t been forgotten. Her mother and uncle sat under a shade tree in the distance now, and the possibility of getting away with even pulling one petal free was simply not worth the risk.

As she walked back and forth, stopping occasionally to check on Lilac and her sister Dolly, who had the loveliest blue eyes, she wondered what her mother was talking about. She couldn’t make out many words, but her tone seemed quite serious. She held a fan in one hand and every once in a while, she placed it in front of her face and leaned in next to Uncle Bertram, as if she were afraid someone might overhear or read her lips. Though she was certain whatever they were discussing was likely a “grown up problem” as her da put it, she was still curious by nature and wished she might at least hear enough of the conversation to know if they were speaking about her. From time to time, her uncle looked at her in a strange way, one that made her feel quite uncomfortable, and this made her wonder if maybe they were discussing sending her away to boarding school or making her work at her father’s factory. With her mother, one could never tell.

A rustling in the bushes caught her attention, and as she turned to see what the noise might be, a loud voice shouted, “Boo!” followed by the sound of breaking branches and laughter.

Meggy jumped, but upon seeing that it was only Ezra, the gardener’s son, she became more perturbed than frightened. “Ezra!” she scolded, looking over her shoulder to see if her mother had heard. “What are you doing? If my mother catches you in her bushes, she’ll box both of our ears!”

Still laughing, the slightly older, gawky boy said, “Aw, she ain’t heard nothin’, Meggy. She’s too busy yammering to your uncle. Why don’t you come play in the carriage house wi’ me?”

Meggy shook her head. “You know I can’t go in there without my mother’s permission, and if I interrupt to ask her, she’ll give me what for.”

“You’re a silly girl, Meggy!” Ezra shouted. “You should do whatever you like, and see if your mother even notices. She never pays you any mind.”

While she was certain he had a point (most of the time, her mother didn’t seem to notice what she was doing or where she was) her mother did have a knack for finding her just when she was up to no good. Since her nanny was allergic to flowers, Meggy was only allowed to play in the back garden when her mother was present, which wasn’t often. She was more interested in her pram just now than climbing around the dusty carriage house with Ezra, but then, having a playmate was also a rarity. She was torn. Scratching her head, she glanced over at her mother and then at Ezra. Perhaps she could at least ask, and then, if her mother said no, she could continue to play with her baby dolls and Ezra could go off on his own and let her be.

“All right then,” she muttered, and leaving the pram behind, she made her way across the yard, her fingers interlaced in front of her.

“I’m just concerned, that’s all,” her mother was saying, leaning in closely to Uncle Bertram. “It’s as if he knows what we’re about. And I don’t like it.”

“Then perhaps it is time to accelerate our strategy,” Bertram, who was at least ten years older than her father, with streaks of gray at his temples, replied. “If you’re afraid he will find out and change the will….”

“Mary Margaret?” her mother questioned, just noticing her presence. “What in the world are you doing? Why aren’t you playing?”

“Beg your pardon, Mother,” Meggy replied with a small curtsey, “Would it be all right if I went to play in the carriage house with Ezra?”

“The carriage house?” she repeated, her blue eyes widening in dismay. Her mother was strikingly pretty, but Meggy thought her expression always ruined her face. Why didn’t she ever smile? Why must she do her hair up so tightly that she always looked surprised? “You know how I feel about you climbing around in there in your frock! You’re liable to get dirty or catch a tear….”

“Now, Millie,” Bertram interrupted, “Perhaps Meggy should be off to the carriage house. That way we can speak about… matters… without being interrupted.”

He smiled at her, and Meggy felt as if little insects were crawling all over her arms. There was just something about the heaviness of his eyes, as if he could cut her open with a look. She turned away, back to her mother. “Please, Mother?”

She sighed and whispered a word Meggy knew she was never to repeat before she finally said, “All right then. Off with you. But do be careful. I don’t want that dress ruined.”

“Yes, Mother,” Meggy nodded, holding back her smile so that her mother couldn’t see how delighted she was to be given permission to do—anything. She scampered off to meet Ezra who was already headed toward the carriage house which sat at the back of the property. Despite her inability to initially make up her mind, she knew she’d made the right choice. She always had fun with Ezra.