The Woman Who Fell From Grace Read Online Free PDF

out why, since he’s not exactly what you’d call competent. Of course, one thing you’re gonna discover is things don’t always make sense around here.”
    “Sounds not dissimilar to everywhere else.”
    We took the covered brick arcade back to the old house. Six of the Shenandoah peacocks were out on the lawn now, strutting and preening. One of them honked at us, a flat, derisive Bronx cheer of a honk.
    “That’s Floyd,” declared Fern. “He’s the biggest.”
    Not that any of them were exactly small. They were big as torn turkeys. Their electric-blue necks were nearly three feet long, and their train of tail feathers was twice that. They were aware of us watching them. They watched us back. They didn’t look very friendly. One of them spread his fan of plumage for us to see. It was not unimpressive.
    “That’s Wally. He’s all ham.”
    I felt something at my feet. Lulu was crouched between my legs, trembling.
    Fern looked down at her and laughed. “I guess we don’t have to worry about her at that.”
    The great lawn sloped downward from the back of the house. A circular footpath ringed it, the border beds planted with tulips and daffodils. Beyond were orchards, a pond and gazebo, the family cemetery, where Alma Glaze was buried. For a backdrop there were the Alleghenies. The sun was setting over them.
    “If you’re going to live in a museum,” I observed, “this isn’t a terrible one.”
    “Mavis, she feels America has a right to see Shenandoah,” Fern said with more than a trace of pride. “After all, it’s a national treasure. Family doesn’t make a nickel off the proceeds, y’know. All goes to the Society for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities, of which Mavis happens to be president.”
    “Been here long, Fern?”
    “Thirty-five years,” she replied. “Longer, if you figure in the movie. I was in it, y’know. What’s wrong, honey? Don’t I look like your idea of a movie star?” She laughed hugely. It had been a long time since I’d met anyone who laughed so easily and often. “Fact is, damned near everybody in town was in it, with all them crowd and battle scenes. But me, I was picked out of fifteen other girls in the tenth-grade class to play Vangie’s little sister, Lavinia. Had me one whole line of dialogue, too: ‘Why, thank you, Mistuh Randolph,’ ” she declared with a dainty curtsy. “Miss Laurel Barrett, she was a fine actress and lady, and very, very kind to me. I sure felt sorry she had so much misery in her life. … ” She looked up at me very seriously for a moment as if she wanted to tell me something. But then she changed her mind and went and got my suitcases.
    There was less grandeur in the east wing. The ceilings were lower, the floors carpeted, the decor 1950s English country estate, complete with chintz-covered furniture and flowery wallpaper. Lots of peacock art, too. Framed peacock watercolors. Vases of peacock-feather arrangements. Peacock needlepoint pillows. You’d be surprised just how little it takes to make a really powerful peacock statement. A short hallway led to the kitchen, which was big and modern and cluttered. A round oak table piled with papers sat in the middle of it. Fern’s bedroom and a suite of offices were off the kitchen.
    “This here’s kind of the nerve center of the estate,” Fern explained. “Though I reckon you’ll find wherever Mavis happens to be at the moment is the nerve center.” She laughed. “She and Charlotte do their business here. Charlotte is her assistant. Nice quiet girl. Handles her correspondence, her schedule, and so forth. She’s up in Chicago with Mave and Richard right now.”
    We went out the kitchen door to an L-shaped brick courtyard that was the modern service yard. There was a three-car garage, a garden shed, a workshop. The tractor mower was parked here next to a pair of battered pickups. At the far end of the courtyard was a row of low, attached, wood-framed cottages that looked quite