The Jewel Cage

by Jane Steen

  “I wish I didn’t have to,” said Tess in a small voice. “But I guess I’m not a servant or a child either, so I have to be brave, and I can pray to the Lord to help me.” She frowned. “Will the rich people be mean to Donny?”

  “I hope they’ll be far too well-bred.” I smiled at her fondly. “And we’d always be there with you. But the point is you haven’t asked Donny for his opinion—and as far as the world’s concerned, he’s your driver. Must he pretend to be something else before he’s ready? Has he given you any sign that he’s as sweet on you as you are on him?”

  “What sort of sign?”

  “Well, has he tried to hold your hand? Or kiss you? Has he said any sweet nothings to you?”

  “What are sweet nothings?”

  I tried to recall things Martin had said to me when we were alone, and for a moment I felt the warmth of our bed, his arms around me. My mood lightened a fraction.

  “That you’re beautiful. That he can’t live without you. Compliments on your eyes, your hair, your—”

  I stopped, aware I was blushing. Martin was occasionally quite effusive with his sweet nothings. “Well, compliments,” I finished.

  Tess thought for a moment. “He says I’m real smart.”

  “Does he say it in the way a friend does, or in a lover-like way?”

  Tess thought again. “Is a lover-like way like when Martin asked you to be his wife and went down on one knee? Like when the two of you kiss and all that when you think nobody’s looking?”

  I wanted to ask what “all that” was but didn’t dare. “Yes, like that.”

  Tess shook her head. “I guess Donny says nice things in a friendly-like way.”

  I cleared my throat and held out my hand to my friend. She put her small hand into mine, her short, stubby fingers curling round my longer ones in complete trust.

  “Donny’s a delightful man,” I began, “and it’s possible that love might grow between you in time. But I have seen no real signs of romantic interest on his part, and it’s not fair to him if you act as if there are such feelings between you. Paying for a trip to Europe is the action of far more than just a friend. If you insist he come, I don’t suppose I can stop you—I couldn’t stop you inviting him to the Thanksgiving dinner, after all. You’re part of our family and we respect your wishes. But how is Donny going to live for all those weeks? Will you feed and clothe him? Or ask us to pay? We would, of course—you know Martin would.” I smiled. “But will you insist he accompany you to every dinner and trip to the theater and the Universal Exhibition and everything? Make him talk to all the people we meet? How do you imagine that’ll make him feel?”

  A tiny frown puckered the skin between Tess’s almond eyes. “Like a doll,” she intoned at last. “Or a pet dog. Or a child. Like the way people who don’t know me treat me sometimes.”

  I kissed the small hand that lay in mine. “Tess, there would be nobody more delighted than I if love were to blossom between the two of you. Real, lasting love. It would thrill me to see you settled in a home of your own—although I’d miss you terribly, and so would Sarah.” I looked into the dear face of my best friend and remembered how heartbroken I’d been a year before when Tess considered moving in with her sister Mary. “Heaven knows, you deserve every kind of happiness God might see fit to shower upon you.”

  Tess blinked. “I am happy, Nell.” Her gaze turned inward, and she frowned. “Mostly.” Her frown deepened. “I was very happy until I saw Donny, and now I feel different. Why is that?”

  “Because romantic love isn’t always a comfortable sensation.” I remembered my emotions when I realized I’d fallen in love with Martin, in those days a married man. “Sometimes it’s easy, but often it’s not. What I’m trying to say is . . . I don’t think Donny’s ready to woo and win a woman yet. I imagine he still sees you as a friend, or even perhaps as a grand lady. You’ve gone far beyond the Tess of the Poor Farm.” My words faltered. “We have all gone far beyond the Poor Farm.”

  “I want Donny to love me the way Martin loves you.” It dismayed me to see Tess’s lower lip tremble. “And I’m not at all sure I like being a grand lady, Nell.” She looked around at her beautiful sitting room, and a fat tear caught in the rim of her spectacles. “I mean, I like being rich and living in a pretty house. But it’s difficult being rich too. I liked it when we were in Kansas.”

  “I know what you mean.” I gathered Tess to me, small and soft and warm in my arms, and rested my cheek on her fine hair. “When I accepted Martin, I didn’t dream about traveling to Europe in the company of the Vanderbilts and Morgans.” A tiny convulsion of mirth shook me, and I hugged Tess tighter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh—but it is laughable, in a way. From disgrace to wealth. It’s like one of those novels you like to read.”

  Tess sniffed. I loosened my grip as she fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “At least you’re elegant and look like you belong in a ballroom, Nell.”

  “Even if the ladies think I’m eccentric because I’m a working woman?” I tried to smile. “But listen, darling. I didn’t ask for love—it just came. Could you be patient a little longer? And if you’re adamant we should take Donny to Europe with us—in whatever capacity—don’t you think we should at least ask his opinion first?”

  Tess replaced her spectacles on her nose. “Can we do it after luncheon?”

  I looked at my timepiece again and sighed, seeing the afternoon’s work recede from me like a retreating tide. But I knew when I absolutely had to put friendship first.

  “Of course.” I rose, smiling as cheerfully as I could. “Let’s walk down to the stables after we’ve eaten.”

  25

  Jealousy

  Our stable and coach house were not part of the main house, as Martin had bought a separate piece of land after deciding he wanted a larger residence and garden. They were on a stub of Twenty-Second Street, near the railroad but screened from it by a high wall topped by spikes to keep out intruders. An icy wind blew off the lake even now that it was April.

  We found Donny filling a bucket with water from the pump. Our driver, Capell, who was washing the tail of Martin’s horse, Gentleman, called a polite greeting as we entered the yard. The horse, a friendly beast, turned its head to see the visitors and blew through its nostrils, nudging Capell with its noble nose.

  A giggle alerted me to a young woman standing behind Donny. She was tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with muscular arms and a freckled countenance; the work-roughened hands and the scarf tied tightly around her curls, along with her manner of dress, suggested to me she worked in the laundry we had passed on the way to the stables.

  “Who’s that?” She placed a hand on Donny’s arm somewhat familiarly, calling his attention to us. “The horse seems to like them.” She smiled at us in a bold but not unfriendly fashion, revealing good teeth. “Hello, ladies.”

  Donny let go of the pump handle, his shy smile stealing over his face. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Rutherford. Good afternoon, Miss O’Dugan.” Clearly, Sarah’s lessons in correct address had continued.

  “Ah, you’ve got such nice manners.” The girl cast a fond gaze at Donny and then inspected us, inscrutable dark eyes roving over our smart walking dresses. “You ladies better mind the horse apples with them nice boots. You friends of the place too?”

  “The owners,” I said briefly, fiddling with the buttons on my butter-soft doeskin gloves. “How do you do?”

  “Yes, I work for them, Annie.” Donny wiped his hands on his trousers.

  She didn’t seem impressed. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.” Her gaze flicked to Tess. “Are you the little lady he drives in his carriage?” Her cheerful smile lit up her face again as she looked back at Donny. “All smart in his uniform. I s’pose I do some of your washing, ladies—although I guess your maid does most of it.”

  Of course—I had always known that our rougher linen went to a laundry, but this was the first time I’d had to concern myself with such details since we’d m
oved to Chicago. Another sign of my elevated social status, I supposed. I nodded, not quite knowing what to say. “Thank you” seemed the best response.

  “Oh, you’re welcome.” Annie’s smile widened. “I do the menservants’ laundry too.”

  Donny blushed, and Annie threw back her head in laughter, exposing her long white neck.

  “Ain’t it sweet how he gets all bashful about his combinations? Well, it’s made my day to meet you ladies.” She stood on tiptoe to give Donny a swift peck on the cheek, which caused him to blush even more. “Be a good boy now,” she said to him. “I got to get back or Ma O’Shaughnessy will fine me a nickel.”

  She tugged the plaid shawl over her shoulders and walked out of the yard at a leisurely pace, waving a cheerful farewell to the stable hands who were emerging from the tack room. It was all very friendly; I gathered that Annie was a regular visitor.

  “May we talk with you, Donny?” I asked, dismissing the laundrywoman from my mind. “Perhaps we could go inside where it’s warmer.”

  “Sure, there’s a fire in the tack room.”

  Donny led the way into the room, where a small fire was burning in the grate. He offered us two of the straight-backed wooden chairs before seating himself. The smells of horse, leather, saddle soap, brass polish, and oil melded together in a pleasing harmony that made me think of Martin when he returned from a day off hunting, fishing, or riding with his merchant friends.

  “Tess has a . . . proposition,” I began when it became clear that Tess was waiting on me to speak. I turned to her. “Don’t you want to ask him yourself?”

  “You do it.” Tess blushed, but it was an uncomfortable blush rather than the rosy glow that usually graced her countenance when Donny was around.

  “Very well,” I said. “Donny, Tess has a notion—in short, she’d like you to accompany us to Europe. As a first-class passenger, you understand. Would you like that?”

  Donny’s eyes widened. “No, ma’am.” He shook his head vehemently. “I’m not getting on no boat.”

  “It’s a big ship, not a boat.” Tess sounded a little offended. “Martin says it’s like a great floating hotel with dining rooms and a gymnasium and even a library. You’d get your own room and everything.”

  Donny shook his head again. “What would I want to go on a big ship for? I belong here.” He looked around at the gleaming saddles mounted on the walls. “Mr. Capell says he’s going to teach me to drive two horses, and once I’m steady with two horses I can try a four-in-hand one day. I like it here. I got a room all to myself and good food, and I can work hard all day. And nobody steals my money, and I don’t got critters in my clothes no more.”

  “I’m so glad you’re happy here,” I said. His smile in response lit mine, but Tess’s face was the picture of dismay. I knew I had to try harder. “I think the point is,” I said, “that as our friend you don’t have to work hard. Tess thinks we got off on the wrong foot by employing you instead of—well, instead of just inviting you into our home. Like we did with Miss Lombardi.”

  Donny broke into a guffaw. “I’m not a smart man, Miss Nell—Mrs. Rutherford—but even I know you can’t pick a pebble up off the road and shine it into a diamond,” he said when he’d finished laughing. “Miss Lombardi, now she’s different. She’s genteel, a young lady. But I’m a working man, and it’s right that you gave me a job to do. I couldn’t live without working hard, and I’m proud to work for you and Mr. Rutherford and to drive Miss O’Dugan here. So this is where I stay as long as you got use for me. But I thank you kindly for the thought.”

  It was the longest speech I’d heard Donny make. I hardly dared look at Tess.

  “Would you accept if you traveled second-class as our driver or bodyguard, or whatever role you wish?” I said. “We’re going to Paris and London. Wouldn’t you like to see those places?”

  Donny crossed his arms over his massive chest, shaking his head again. “No, ma’am. If you make me go, I guess I have to go, but if I can choose—”

  “You can choose.” Tess spoke in a small voice.

  “Of course you can choose to go or stay if you wish,” I confirmed.

  “Then I’ll stay right here, ma’am. I’m Donny Clark of Clark Street, Chicago, and Chicago is where I choose to stay.”

  “It’s because of that Annie.” Tess barely waited until we were outside the stable yard to say what was on her mind.

  “I’m sure it’s not, Tess.”

  “But supposing I come back from France and he’s married her?” Tess’s voice rose to a wail. “Then I’d lose him forever.” She took off her spectacles to scrub at her face with her handkerchief. “I wish I hadn’t promised Sary I’ll go.”

  “You won’t make his heart grow fonder by insisting on sticking by his side, will you?” I pointed out. “If he likes you at all in a romantic way, he won’t marry someone else when you’re gone.”

  “Martin did.” Tess sniffed loudly.

  My steps faltered to a stop. “Well, Martin—but he—he—he made a mistake.” I had to admit she made an excellent point.

  “And if that man hadn’t stuck a knife into the first Mrs. Rutherford, Martin would be lost to you for always and always.”

  I felt my shoulders slump. “Yes,” I said. “He would.” I reached out a hand toward Tess. “I don’t have any answers left. I’m sorry.”

  Tess sighed. “You were right, though; I can’t make Donny do things he doesn’t want to do. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Yes, he’s very much his own man, isn’t he? I admire his determination to be true to himself. Many men in his position would have conceded anything just to keep their job.”

  A tremulous smile spread across Tess’s face as she looked up at me.

  “He’s a good man, Nell.”

  “Worthy of your love,” I agreed.

  We walked on in silence until we were on Calumet Avenue, and then Tess spoke again.

  “I don’t like feeling this way. I’m all uncomfortable inside. I’m thinking unkind things about Annie.”

  “And you didn’t even know she existed this morning,” I observed.

  In a couple more minutes, we arrived at the house. Tess was silent once more as we mounted the shallow steps to the front door. She said no more until we were inside and had shed our outer clothing into Mrs. Hartfield’s arms.

  “I’m going to my room,” she said at last.

  “Would you like me to stay with you?”

  To my surprise, a smile—almost carefree—spread across my friend’s round face.

  “You go to the store, Nell. I’m going to pray. Mrs. Lombardi always said we should take all our troubles to God, so I’m going to pray and pray to Him to make me brave about going to Europe and about Donny. And to make me stop thinking unkind things.” She patted my hand. “If you don’t have any answers left, then I guess praying is all I can do.”

  26

  Baubles

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Rutherford,” said my husband when I finally arrived at work.

  I grinned at Martin, who was resplendent in his working uniform of morning coat and silk cravat. I had found him on the sales floor with his notebook in his hand, talking to Powell McCombs, the head of the jewelry department.

  “I’m aware it’s three thirty, thank you,” I said. “You needn’t be so pointed.”

  “No criticism was implied,” he lied. “How is Baby Fletcher?”

  I had almost forgotten about my visit to Elizabeth, truth be told. “Her name is Mabel, and she looks healthy. Elizabeth needs cheering up, though—I’ll have to visit often until we go to Europe.” I smiled at Mr. McCombs. “I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation.”

  “Actually, you should see this.” Martin turned to Mr. McCombs. “Could you get that pin out again?”

  Within a few moments, we were all inspecting a large oval pin of quite astonishing beauty. “That must be a sapphire,” I said, taking the object from Martin’s hand and holding it up to the light to view the larg
e blue cabochon stone in the center. “And are the table-cut stones emeralds? If they are, that’s a far more expensive piece than we usually sell.”

  Martin and Mr. McCombs exchanged a look, and the older man spoke first. “Not for much longer, ma’am. This is by a Chicago designer—a woman—and I’ve found more artists of similar quality.”

  “The pendant’s an emerald too, but more natural.” Martin indicated the large green stone that dangled from the base of the pin. “The artist has traveled in Europe a great deal—you can detect the Renaissance influence in the enamel base.” His eyes shone clear gray in the light from the windows. “We’re already developing a reputation for affordable jewelry to go with our dresses—now we want to do the same for our wealthiest clients. Give them something truly special.”

  “I’m confident I can sell a piece like this in a week or two,” Mr. McCombs said. “Especially with the help of the dressmaking department.” His eyes, a soft brown, twinkled at me but then took on the alertness that stole over any salesman when a potential customer drew near. “I observe you are interested in this exquisite piece, sir,” he said to a spot just behind me. “Are you looking for a gift for your lady wife, perhaps?”

  “I don’t have a lady wife,” said a deep, familiar voice, and I turned to find Victor Canavan looming above me with a benevolent smile on his well-shaped lips. “In fact, I’ve been hoping for a word with Mrs. Rutherford. But it is very beautiful. May I see?”

  Martin, who had possession of the brooch, handed it to Mr. Canavan. The latter surprised all of us by taking a small brass object out of a vest pocket and folding back the covers to reveal a little magnifying glass—a jeweler’s loupe, perhaps—which he used to scrutinize the pin in every detail.

  “I note you are a connoisseur, sir,” Mr. McCombs said, a sale still clearly on his mind.