Page 75 of The High Tide Club
“Relax,” Lizzie said. “Granny never mentioned it. But she kept a scrapbook. She clipped all the newspaper articles about the disappearance of… what was his name again?”
“Russell Strickland.” As Josephine whispered the name, she reached over and briefly clutched Varina’s hand.
“Right.” Lizzie snapped her fingers. “Russell Strickland. Big mystery back in the day. There was even a story inThe Saturday Evening Post. Granny pasted that in the scrapbook too. Along with some photos of three girls dressed up in fancy evening gowns. I’m guessing it was Granny, Millie, and you.”
Josephine pressed her lips together and said nothing.
“Was this man actually engaged to my mother?” Marie asked. “Is it really true?”
Josephine’s chest heaved and fell. She coughed, covered her mouth with her hand, and finally grabbed an inhaler from the table beside her chair and took two puffs.
“It was a mistake,” she said when she’d regained her breath. “He was all wrong for Millie. A dreadful man. We tried to get her to break it off.”
Brooke was intrigued. “What was so awful about him? And if all of you hated him, why would she agree to marry the guy?”
“She had no choice,” Josephine said. “Millie’s father…” She nodded at Marie. “Your maternal grandfather lost everything in the stock market crash in ’29. He took his own life not long after that.”
Marie looked shocked. “I didn’t know.”
“It was hushed up. I doubt Millie ever knew the truth. My papa told me, strictly in confidence. But Millie’s mother was destitute. They had no money and were dependent on her grandmother.”
Josephine continued with her story, meeting Marie’s gaze as she spoke. “Your maternal grandmother’s people, the Prestons, still had money and a certain position in Boston society.” She smiled ruefully. “We all did. Our families—mine, Ruth’s, Millie’s—were what people calledrobber barons. We weren’t Rockefeller or Vanderbilt wealthy, nothing as showy as that…”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lizzie drawled. “I’d say owning your own private island is pretty damn showy.”
“Touché,” Josephine said. “Anyway, after her father died, Millie’s mother and grandmother were determined that she would make a brilliant marriage. Russell Strickland’s people—his grandfather, that is—owned banks, railroads, a seat on the New York Stock Exchange.”
“In other words, he was mega-rich,” Felicia said.
“I suppose.” Josephine tugged the afghan on her lap, drawing it up to her shoulders. The room was suffocating, with only the box fan droning away in an open window, and everybody except the hostess dabbed at the perspiration on their faces.
“She met Russell at Ruth’s coming-out party in Newport.” Josephine’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “He cut quite the figure in white tie and tails. He was tall and rangy. Broad shoulders, dark hair, and the most arresting deep blue eyes. What we used to callmatinee idol looks. He had buckets of money, and he threw it around like it was water. Anyway, he swept Millie off her feet—or rather, he swept Millie’s mother and grandmother offtheirfeet.”
Marie’s brow puckered. “He doesn’t sound like Mama’s type at all.”
“No. Forgive me, dear Marie, but he was rich, which meant that he was your grandmother’s type. By then, Millie had dropped out of college. Her mother didn’t see the point of spending money on educating a girl, and anyway, Russell was in hot pursuit.”
Felicia fanned herself with her hands and yawned. “Can we cut to the chase, please? Like, how did this Russell Strickland just up and disappear?”
Josephine fixed Varina’s great-niece with an icy glare. “I was getting to that.”
“Russell proposed, and Millie accepted,” Josephine said. “At first, Ruth and I were happy for her. But then, the more we saw of him, the less we liked. He was loud and could be very intimidating. He was so possessive of Millie. Jealous, especially of her friendship with us, and he drank too much. And when he drank, he was mean.Abusive, we’d call it now.
“The wedding was set for November. Of 1941. Ruth and I were to be bridesmaids. Papa was so fond of Millie. He thought we should give an engagement party for her. Here on the island.”
“Not back in Boston?” Lizzie asked.
“No. My mother had passed away the previous year, and Papa was devastated. He loved Talisa and spent as much time here as possible, especially after Mama was gone. So we planned the party. We brought in an orchestra from Jacksonville and the best caterer in Atlanta. It was the social event of the season. White orchids and gardenias flown in from Miami. The ballroom looked like a fairy tale.”
“There’s a ballroom?” Felicia asked incredulously. “Here?”
Josephine seemed not to have heard her. “Millie looked so beautiful that night. She had a couture gown, flowers in her hair. We all had new dresses.” She looked over at Varina and smiled. “Even Varina.”
“Oh yes,” Varina said dreamily. “Josephine gave me a dress, pink, the nicest thing I’d ever owned. And Millie gave me those pretty shoes to match.”
“You were invited to the party?” Felicia looked dubious. “In the Jim Crow South? In 1941?”
“Not exactly,” Varina said.
