More (Found) Letters to Dr. Weiss

(Found) Letters to Dr. Weiss, Letter #3

After my Great Aunt Agnes’s death I was gifted a box of her old letters. Among them I have found several to a “Dr. Weiss” with whom she corresponded for many years. In these (mostly incomplete) letters she referenced and shared parts of a novel she had written. The only thing I know about this novel is from the excerpts she sent to Dr. Weiss, I have never found the book in its entirety.

The following is her third correspondence and it’s enclosed excerpts.

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Dear Dr. Weiss,

I just wanted to send you a brief note to tell you to thank you for your generous donation to my Solstice Party! I admit I had become discouraged with the amount of critism I have been receiving on the theme; I don’t understand why I have associated myself with so many prigs! Any way, your yards of sackcloth is already being tailored into robes for my guests and if you send along your measurements, I will make sure to have one sent to you promptly.

The enclosed excerpts are those which we discussed at your sisters luncheon. Please find I have included your suggested edits and I am so pleased with your input.

Fondly,

Agnes

P.S. I’m still in a maddening search for any amount of goats. I only need them for the evening of the Solstice and I’ve been so suprised to discover there is no rental service in our area for anything other than Shetland ponies and lambs.

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(excerpt from Chapter 7 (page 85–86): Therese Receives a Letter )

The new portrait loomed over the fireplace. No one dared to look at it. Everyone had heard about it and now here they were politely maintaining pleasantries as if it was the most natural thing in the world. An elaborate display of pretty pastel petitefours sat untouched on a tray and every so often a guest would remark “what a pretty display!” and try not to allow their eyes to wander to the gilt framed monstrosity just beyond the table. Six women sat together keeping precious eye contact. Conversation lathered along.

“I heard they are erecting a May Pole in the Town Square, in fact.”

“How charming!”

“Charming, indeed! Reminds me of my childhood in Larkness Park…”

“Ah, my sister has recently relocated there.”

“To the Square?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your sister has recently moved to the Town Square?”

“No…to Larkness Park.”

“I see. You know, Gladys grew up there.”

“Yes, I heard. She just now mentioned her fond memories of it…and the May Poles of her childhood…just now in fact….”

“Indeed!”

“I don’t think one could actually live there…”

“Larkness Park!? Of course, many people move there for the clean air…”

“No, the Town Square.”

“No, certainly not…”

“Certainly not…no one could actually LIVE in the Town Square”

“Unless one moved into the clock tower.”

“Pardon me?”

“One could live in the clock tower…”

“I suppose.”

“Yes, I suppose one could live in a clock tower…”

“Oh! But all that ticking…”

“Yes, the ticking would drive me mad!”

“I personally could never stand all of that ticking. I prefer the peacefulness of the countryside.”

“Ah, yes, like in Larkness Park!”

“So lovely there. Never a disturbing ticking there, certainly not.”

“And the gong!”

“Pardon me?”

“The gong! From the clock in the clock tower. Can you imagine!?”

“Every hour…”

“Indeed, that’s true. It would gong each hour on the hour.”

“And on half hours, too, you know…”

“Yes, that would be enough to fray my nerves to ribbons!”

“Much nicer in the country, I’ll say…”

“Indeed, so quiet…never any gonging here.”

“Certainly not!”

The new portrait seemed to pulse in everyone’s periphery, seemed to emanate a strange heat making their faces flush. As the evening wore on and the natural light dimmed the guests hoped the portrait would become less intrusive and yet somehow it became even more illuminated. Throughout the room the guest’s collective preoccupation with the portrait hanging just at the border of their vision disrupted the party on a cardinal level. A nervous distress displayed itself in every gesture, seeped in and fractured their focus and slowly cloaked the room in an unspoken chaos.

The men sat around a cards table in strained silence masked as game concentration. The women courageously chattered and toiled through a champagne service.

“If it’s nice weather tomorrow we plan to walk over to the old mill…”

“Lovely! I’ll join you if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!”

“Why….why would it not be nice weather?”

“No, I only mean if it is warm…”

“Weather does not have a proclivity.”

“Haha, I suppose not, Elise…”

“Yes, if it’s nice weather I’d love to join you.”

“Why, is some weather mean, cruel?”

“What an odd question, Elise…”

“What is odd about my question!?! I think it’s odd you think it’s odd!”

“…ah. Well. I’m simply saying that if the sun is out and it is warm we, the ladies and I, plan to walk…”

“Ha! The sun doesn’t go IN, Marjorie! Is that what you are saying? Is it!?!?”

“No…I…I think perhaps you must have misunderstood me…”

“I understand perfectly well!”

“Yes, dear, well…”

The ladies straightened their blouses and smoothed thier skirts and pressed their hair back off of their dewy foreheads. They sat in cordial silence and smiled at each other. One woman adjusted her necklace. Another intently stared at the carpet like a puzzle. A jittery woman in loud satin shifted several times in her chair. Another hummed a hymn to herself and then cleared her throat as if to make some bold proclamation and then dropped her head and twisted a ring on her finger. It felt as if the portrait was closing in around them. A clock chimed in a distant room and the women exchanged looks of relief and hopefulness.

“I suppose we should begin to say our good-nights, then…”

“Yes, I regret to say I’m terribly tired tonight…”

“Yes, we all should, then, I suppose…”

The women searched around them for their purses, scarves, shawls. The woman named Elise abrutly let out a feeble shriek, cupped her mouth, and plopped back down on to her chair squeezing her eyes shut.

“I looked at it.”

“Pardon me?”

“Pardon me?”

“Elise.”

“Pardon, what was that you said Elise?”

“I looked at it.”

“Oh, Elise…”

“I looked. I was trying to find my clutch…I was thought it was here right behind me and when I turned…I just …I LOOKED…”

The women stood and stared at her, sucking in their cheeks and bulging their eyes. The woman in the loud satin noisily waved Elise’s husband over from the cards table and together the two ushered her out of the room. A moment of icey discomfort lingered between the women. Finally, one woman spoke.

“It would be so nice to pick berries along the way…to the mill…don’t you think?”

“Yes! I will bring a basket.”

“What a wonderful idea.”

“I do so love berries and cream, don’t you?”

“Reminds me of my childhood.”

In small, chattery groups the guest spooled out of the room. The petitefours remained untouched.

(excerpt from Chapter 5 (page 68): Denny Pens a Poem)

Handsome Mr. Peirce waved one more good-bye and everyone thought about how handsome he was, how well his suit had been made to fit him, how glossy his shoes were, how his hair stayed perfectly in place, how his smile conveyed one thousand things at once.

Everyone thought these thoughts, but in their own seperate ways:

Therese thought these thoughts as she clutched her hand to her chest, pressing the little perfect ruby ring to her heart in some vague symbolism she didn’t entirely think through but didn’t need to because it felt more meaningful than any thing had ever been to her ever ever ever before in her entire life. She sighed and waved dreamily after him like a girl in a book…yes, like she was a girl in a book and the book was all about her and how handsome Mr. Peirce adored her only her.

Algernon thought these thoughts and clenched his fist so tight his hand spasmed and an arrow of sharp pain shot up his arm. Involentarily, he barked and dramatically collapsed on the gravel. He laid there paralysed by rage, his face pressed into the tiny stones staring at the wheels of handsome Mr. Pierce’s car as they slowly rolled down the long driveway.

Denny thought these thoughts as he tore off down the drive to run beside handsome Mr. Pierce’s shiny black automobile. Tears welled in his eyes as he ran, blurring his path and making it nearly impossible to make out a final glimpse of handsome Mr. Pierce, which was the whole point of running after him in the first place. Denny stopped at the end of the drive and wiped his face. Handsome Mr. Pierce waved to Denny one last time out of the window which hit Denny like a bullet. “That was only for me”, he thought “that wave was just from him to me. Like a secret we share. Like a secret.” He bit his bottom lip and looked to the sky wishing a flock of doves would fly over him precisely at that moment.

Daisy thought these thoughts and calculated. She narrowed her eyes and thinned her lips. She watched Therese. No, she watched THE MAID. Daisy watched the maid, HER maid. Yes. She watched Therese the MAID watch as the car turned off onto the main road. She examined Therese. She noted how thick and coarse Therese’s hair was, probably split at the ends, probably washed in old laundry water, probably so rough to the touch it’s like an animal. And not a good animal, either. She considered Therese’s frame, so skinny, like she grew up being fed only…well…whatever poor people eat…oats or something. She inspected Therese’s profile whistfully gazing off into the space from where handsome Mr. Pierce has just departerd. Daisy audibly scoffed. She found it nearly impossble NOT to find flaws with Therese’s face. Her eyes were too small her nose was too big her mouth was so wide her skin was so rough and freckled her cheeks were so…none of it was right.

Mother stepped outside on to the portico and didn’t think any thoughts about the handsome Mr. Peirce. Rather, she had just roused herself from a wormhole of memories (night swimming, bioluminescence, opening her eyes underwater, opening her mouth underwater, sucking it in, being dragged up onto the beach, hands grabbing so tightly around her arms, being rolled over and forcefully struck on the back, the sea water spilling out of her mouth, droplets of water dripping from his face onto her face, the words he used to scold her, the sand shifting under the back of her head, the fingernail moon, “you gave me quite a fright, Lorna”, his hands shaking her shoulders, his heavy breathing and the way he said her name in his accent “Laaar-na”) which had frozen her in the middle of the hall for how long she didn’t know but she was aware that she had dropped her teacup and saucer.

Mother anemically called to the children. None responded. She clapped her hands together and arched her back for a second attempt, “Childsrend!” she wheezed and shook her head knowing she had said it wrong. Again, no recogntion. Defeated, she returned to the foyer to fetch her little bell and rang it as forcefully as she could muster. One by one the children and Therese filed back into the house.

Therese held Algernon’s starched little sleeve as they walked down the hall together, pulling him along. Algernon stopped and yanked Therese around. He lifted his head slowly and smiled as sweetly as he could at her, batting his thick lashes and tilting his head to the side “may I see you ring?” he asked.

“Here” she pushed her hand in front of him and wiggled her fingers to make the little stone dance.

“No, can I hold it? Please oh please oh please!? Mother always let’s me hold her new rings I just want to see it up close!” he begged and pulled playfully at her fingers.

“Fine” Therese carefully slid the ring off of her finger and placed it in Algernon’s palm. Algernon pushed it around in his palm thoughtfully.

“So pretty…” he beamed up at her. She smiled back. Then with one swift gesture Algernon shoved the ring into his mouth and violently swallowed several times. Therese wailed and grabbed Algernon, shaking him in a panic. “YOU’LL HAVE TO DIG IT OUT OF ME!” he screamed and bolted up the stairs.