Writer's Island Prompt - Masquerade

A letter addressed to Bianca Devlin lay on the hall table, its envelope yellowed by age.  The corners were bent, its middle bowed, as if gravity had tried to fold it in half.  The return address was missing, yet Bianca recognized the handwriting.  Even after six years, there was no mistaking how the n continued upward in its quest to dot the i in Devlin.

Nervous fingers involuntarily moved toward the envelope, coming to a halt when Flossy interrupted.  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Roberts.  Mrs. Devlin is in the sun room.  She’s expecting you.”

“Flossy,” Bianca stopped the maid’s retreat.  “What’s this?”

“The letter M’am?”

“Yes.  The letter.  Where did it come from?”

“Jane found it when she was cleaning earlier.”

“Jane?”

“Yes M’am,” Flossy continued.  “Jane took over Ella’s position.  She’s the new housekeeper Mrs. Devlin hired.  She was bragging earlier as to how no one had cleaned under that table for years.  I guess it was too heavy for Ella.  And you know Ella, she would never think of asking for help.”

Bianca Devlin Roberts nonchalantly placed the letter inside the pocket of her linen jacket.  “Something smells wonderful, Flossy.  Have you been baking again?”

Flossy smiled meekly, “I have.  I baked those orange cranberry scones you like so much.  You go on in and see your mama.  I’ll get the tea tray.”

Bianca walked down a long hallway toward the back of the house.  The aroma of freshly baked scones, mixed with the sweet smell of honeysuckle blowing in through an open window.  She stopped outside the French doors to watch her mother.  Inside, Carolyn Devlin sat with one elbow propped on the arm of a white, wicker chair, an open book in her lap.

Carolyn didn’t hear the door open, nor did she hear the muted tap of leather soles against the shiny hardwood floor.  As Bianca planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek, the book slid to the floor, Carolyn shrieked and jumped up from her chair, knocking a stately fern from its pedestal.  Potting soil flew across the room, some bouncing off the baseboard, some stopping to add color to the neutral tones of a wool rug in the center of the room.  Bertie, the parrot in the corner, whistled, flapped his wings wildly, and then began his manta of, “What’s wrong Bertie?  What’s wrong Bertie?”  Chaos mocked the peaceful intent of the room.

Mother and daughter's laughter echoed throughout the house.  Regaining some semblance of control, Bianca observed, "I see you're reading Stephen King again mother.”

Flossy stood in the doorway holding the silver tea service.  Glancing around the untidy room, she said, “There is a lovely breeze off the lake.  Shall I serve tea on the deck instead?”

Butter melted quickly into the steaming center of the scone on Bianca’s plate.  Flossy poured the tea and returned to the house, leaving mother and daughter alone.

The mood had changed from joyful to somber.  This was the anniversary of a tragedy both women hesitated to mention.  Exactly one year had passed since Bianca’s husband, Matthew Roberts, had been killed after loosing control of his car out on Hillsborough Road.

Carolyn was the first to bring it up.  She placed her hand over Bianca’s arm.  With a compassionate squeeze, she brought up the subject they had been avoiding, “How are you holding up?”

“I got through the day better than I expected.  Jen put a stop to my plan to wallow in despair.  She literally dragged me to lunch and then insisted we go shopping after.  You know Jen, she talked non-stop.  There wasn’t time to think; besides she’s so perky it’s impossible to be depressed around her.”

“Good for Jen.”

Bianca took a sip of tea, “She’s a good friend.”

“There was a time when I thought you two would never speak to each other again.  Right before the wedding.  Remember?  What was your little tiff about anyway?”

Bianca raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I do, but only if you want to tell me.”

“Remember Ben Lawson?”

“I know Ben.  I still play tennis with his Aunt Delia.”

Bianca watched as a rabbit hopped across the corner of the lawn, making a mad dash through the peony bushes.  The pink blossoms jerked back and forth as the rabbit made his way toward the safety of the woods beyond.  Bianca considered escaping herself, but it was time her mother knew the truth.”

“Bianca?”  Her mother questioned.

“Sorry,” she apologized.  “What you don’t know is that Ben and I, we, well we dated.”

“You dated Ben?  How?  When?  He never came to the house.”

“Ben and I spent four years together at Stanford, well not really together until our last year.  I didn’t bring him home because I knew Daddy had his heart set on my marrying Matthew.”

Carolyn stared at Bianca, wondering how she could have overlooked something so important to her daughter, “But you married Matthew the June after you graduated.”

“Yes, and that’s why Jen and I argued.  She tried to convince me to cancel the wedding.  She thought I should be with Ben.”

“But you loved Matthew, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.  I wouldn’t have married him otherwise.  We had five wonderful years together.  Years I will always cherish.  My feelings for Ben were...different.”

Carolyn finished chewing a bite of scone.  “How?”

“Matthew was sturdy and dependable, the kind of man you marry because he would be a good father to your children, and he would have been a great father, had we been able to conceive.  Ben on the other hand was daring, exciting, and unpredictable.”

Carolyn noticed the change in Bianca’s voice when she spoke Ben’s name.  It was softer, almost reverent, with a hint of amusement, and a large dose of longing.  “You loved Ben.”

“Yes, I loved him.”

“And Ben loved you, too.  That explains why Delia is always so curious about you.”

It was Bianca’s turn to be confused, “She is?”

“Delia invariably turns our conversations into quiz-fests.  She wants to know everything you are doing, are you happy, that kind of thing.”  Carolyn looked into her daughter’s eyes, “You know Ben isn't married?”

“Mom!  No matchmaking.  It’s too late for us now.  The day I left Stanford, we had a huge fight.  I told him about Matthew.  I hurt him.  He left without saying goodbye.  He didn’t try to contact me at first, and when he finally did call, I was angry and wouldn't take his calls.  Maybe if I had talked to Ben things would have turned out differently, anyway the invitations had already gone out, and so I married Matthew.”  Bianca reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter.

“What is it?”  Carolyn asked.

“It’s a letter from Ben.”

“He sent you a letter?”

“No.  Yes.  I mean not recently.  The letter was mailed from Italy, postmarked on June 4, 2001, two weeks before the wedding.”

“Bianca, what did the letter say?”

“I don’t know.  I just got it today.”

Carolyn threw up her hands, “You are so frustrating.  How did you just get it today?”

“Your new housekeeper found it when she was cleaning under the hall table.”

“Impossible.”

“Possible.”

“Are you going to open it?”  Carolyn asked.

Bianca didn’t answer.

Exasperated, Carolyn repeated her question, “Bianca, are you going to open the letter?”

“I don’t know,” Bianca responded.  “What if I regret my decision to marry Matthew?”

Both stared at the letter in silence.  Carolyn was the first to speak, “Think about it.  Don’t you find it just a little odd that you found Ben’s letter today?  Maybe this is fate.  Open the letter Bianca.”

Bianca calmly opened the envelope.  The letter was brief.  It read:

Bianca, I’m coming home today.  Please don’t marry Matthew, marry me.  I love you, Ben.

“Call him Bianca.”

“It’s too late.”

***

Carolyn Devlin’s costume ball was a highly anticipated event.  Always held the weekend before Halloween, Bianca arrived as Marie Antoinette, with Jen dressed as Yolande de Polignac

Bianca mingled.  Catching up with old friends, making new ones, and helping her mother make sure everyone had a good time.  It was almost midnight when Carolyn pulled her daughter aside.  “Sweetheart, we’re running low on wine.  Would you mind telling Flossy?  She’s in the kitchen.”

Bianca wove her way through the crowd of revelers, passing Davy Crockett, Scarlett O’hara, and Mr. Everett from next door dressed as Mark Twain, leaning precariously against the wall.  When Bianca entered the kitchen, Flossy stood on the opposite side of the center island talking to Zorro.

Bianca cleared her throat.  Flossy looked up, while Zorro swiveled to face Bianca.

“We’re running low on wine out there.  I passed Mr. Everett in the dining room.  I think he might be the cause,” Bianca said.

Flossy chuckled.  “I’ll get Phillip to take Mr. Everett home and get the wine.  You keep Zorro company until I get back.”

Bianca sat down on the bar stool next to Zorro and introduced herself, “Hi.  I’ve always wanted to meet you.  I’m a huge fan.  Huge.  My name is Marie, you know, as in Antoinette?”

Always the gentleman, Zorro stood, removed his hat, and bowed gracefully.  He reached out for Bianca’s proffered hand, and took it in his, “My pleasure Ms. Antoinette.”

Bianca stared into the eyes behind the mask.  Her right hand still clutched tightly in his, Bianca tore away the mask with her left.  “Ben!  How?  What are you doing here?”

A mischievous grin prefaced his answer, “Your mother invited me.  Does this mean you’re happy to see me?”

Without saying another word, Bianca responded by stepping into his waiting arms, arms that surrounded her with a love that spoke of forever.

Carolyn Devlin and Flossy watched their plan unfold through a crack in the kitchen door; however, they saw more than was expected.  Looking exactly like he had the last time Carolyn saw him, Matthew Roberts stood next to Bianca and Ben.  The women blinked simultaneously, as if to clear him from their vision, but he was still there.  Matthew gave the two women a conspiratorial wink, before slowly becoming transparent, and then disappearing altogether.

Carolyn closed the door gently, looked at Flossy, and shrugged, "This was OUR plan, wasn't it?"

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