by Jane Steen
“While we teeter along a promenade.” I sighed. Sometimes I envied Martin, and even Sarah, who had taken off her shoes and stockings to splash in the shallows. Miss Baker’s slight, boyish figure was so close to the water that I wondered if she too was paddling. We all sea-bathed most mornings, but it involved such a rigmarole of struggling with hooks and eyes in a dark wooden hut that I occasionally wondered if it were worth the effort.
“Will you want to come to Europe again?” Tess asked suddenly, stopping so I too had to halt. She led the way to a green-painted bench before I had the time to answer, seating herself with a satisfied smile. “That’s better. Look at Sary and Miss Baker! Mrs. Parnell says Miss Baker runs around like a hoyden, but Miss Baker says she’ll be dignified when she’s old. She told me she grew up in the country and climbed lots of trees.”
“I don’t imagine for a moment Martin will be satisfied with just this one voyage.” I shaded my eyes with my hand, squinting at the bright sea and trying to discern all the different colors in it. “Wouldn’t it be nice to visit Italy? And Martin tells me the Alps are quite spectacular. I suppose it would be good for Sarah too, to see a little more of the world.” I looked at Tess. “But don’t worry, I’m never going to propose moving here or anything like that. I’m quite astonished by all the Americans we’ve met who say they’re never going back to our country; what on earth do they imagine is wrong with it?”
Tess frowned. “I don’t think I like traveling, not all that much. It’s very hard to always see new things all the time. I’m glad I’ve seen Europe, but I don’t want to cross the ocean again. I’m going to tell Sary I’m happier at home.”
“I’m sure she knows already.” I patted Tess’s gloved hand—even our gloves were new from Paris. Elizabeth was going to be green with envy. “She told me you were homesick.”
“She’s very clever.” Tess’s eyes, magnified by her spectacles, were moist. “All I really want is a nice fire to sit by, a cozy chair, and people I love around me. I’ve thought very hard about how much I’d miss you if you went traveling without me, but perhaps I could invite Billy to stay and keep me company—if I had nobody else.”
The downward turn of her lips told me more than she said. I was beginning to realize she was trying to come to terms with Donny’s apparent lack of interest, but no amount of effort could make her less miserable.
“We won’t travel often,” I promised. “For one thing, Martin and I don’t like being away from the store. And if you stay at home, we’ll have all the more reason to hurry back, won’t we? But Madame was right—I needed some diligent idleness. What I’ve seen in the last few weeks seems to have lit a fire inside me.” I shrugged, my eyes on the tumbling waves. “I want . . . something. I’m not sure what it is. Not money; we have too much already. Nor fame.” I laughed. “Could you imagine me wearing ridiculous clothes like Mr. Worth with my clients groveling for five minutes of my time?”
“Perhaps you want a store of your own,” Tess suggested. “With Lillington & Co. over the door. Only you’re Rutherford now.” Her brow wrinkled. “But your dresses are Lillington dresses. From Rutherford’s store. That’s very strange.”
“It’s an idea.” I looked up at the seagulls circling overhead, my mind busy. “But no, I don’t think I want my own store. Certainly not a department store.” And one day I would be the head of dressmaking at Rutherford’s anyway—that was Madame’s obvious intention. By that time, I hoped, I would have achieved what Madame called “true mastery.”
“That’s it.” I smiled at Tess. “I want to be at the absolute top of my profession. An acknowledged expert. Like Madame.”
“Does Madame ever make dresses?” Tess asked. “I’ve often wondered.”
I blinked at her, surprised. “No more than Worth does, I imagine. She makes other people do the work, which gives her plenty of time to walk around and terrify the dressmaking staff.” I frowned. “Come to think of it, perhaps she makes her own gowns at home occasionally. I’ve definitely seen her in confections I’m sure have never passed through our atelier.”
“You don’t make dresses anymore either.” Tess looked down at her rose-red walking dress, kicking her small feet out experimentally so that the vertical pleats at the bottom of the underskirt spread themselves and then returned perfectly to where they were supposed to be. “You never finished Sary’s dress, and I expect she’s too big for it now.”
I felt instantly guilty because Tess was entirely correct. My feet had barely touched the ground for more than a year—far longer, in fact. Was it two years since Tess and I had sat companionably sewing together? I realized that because I hadn’t been sewing, neither had Tess. When we had moved to the Palmer House, Sarah’s summer dress had been packed in a box. It was probably still in that box, somewhere in the attic or the basement or wherever such things were stored in our grand new house. We had lived there for the best part of a year, yet I could not have told anyone what exactly was in the cupboards and closets.
“Supposing—supposing I took the whole of every Wednesday off instead of working in the morning and rushing home to make and receive calls?” I asked, after a few moments in which my mind raced and thrashed and somehow suddenly found itself in an entirely new place. “After all, we’ll have that dratted telephone thing if Martin or anyone else absolutely must talk to me. We could sit and sew together all morning, have luncheon, and then change for making our calls.”
Tess beamed, but the smile was as brief as a glimpse of sun through cloud. “Would you be doing that just for me, or for yourself?” she asked after a few moments’ silence.
I hesitated, but I had to be truthful. “Well—partly for myself. I’m sure that’s the wrong answer, but if Madame’s right and I have to feed the artist in me, those peaceful times will help. I’ve realized most of my ideas come to me when I’m not working—or at least not surrounded by people and letters to write and things to sign.” I sighed. “I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, Tess. I’m sure you’d like me to be a better companion.”
To my surprise, Tess seized my hand in hers and kissed it, laughing. “That’s the right answer, silly. And if you can do something just for yourself, I can be a little selfish too. I don’t want to pay calls, Nell. I’ll come down and visit with some of the ladies when they come to our house—the ones I like—but I don’t want to dress up and go out unless I feel like it. I’ve been doing it for your sake, but it’s the least favorite thing I do.” She turned her grasp on my hand into a handshake, grinning. “Like Martin says, do we have a deal, Mrs. Rutherford?”
“Good heavens.” I stared at my friend. “I declare you just maneuvered me into a good many concessions.”
“I don’t know what maneuvered means,” Tess said artlessly—but there was a gleam in her eyes that contradicted that assertion. “Don’t you think it’s time we went back to Villa Rosa? Sary will need a good wash, and we don’t want to be late for tea.”
29
Return
“As soon as we dock, I’m going to the White Star Line office for our mail.” Martin grinned as he took off his hat in salute to a group of cheering men on a small packet steamer far below the deck on which we stood.
Ships and boats of all kinds thronged the harbor. Across the water was New York, its mass of buildings punctuated here and there by church steeples. Ahead of us was a green park dominated by the Emigrant Landing Depot, where we would stop first.
“It’ll be busy, of course, so you needn’t come with me. I’ll see the four of you onto the hotel omnibus beforehand and make my own way later. I’ll probably look up a couple of business acquaintances.”
I winced and put a hand to my ear; Martin had spoken directly into it in rather a loud voice.
“Leaving me to make all the arrangements at the hotel, I suppose.” I aimed a surreptitious poke at my husband’s lean midriff and got a kiss on the cheek in return.
“Nonsense. It’s the same suite at the Fifth Avenue, the same femme de chambre
and everything. Stop pretending you can’t cope. All a man has to do is to sit around and watch, and where’s the fun in that? I’ve spent the crossing writing telegrams while you’ve been playing with Sarah, talking to Tess, and making sketches. An afternoon’s freedom from the womenfolk is all I ask.”
“Hmph.”
But my pretended indignation was forgotten as I darted forward, not for the first time, to prevent Sarah from trying to climb the deck railing. Miss Baker did the same. We grinned at each other as our hands landed on Sarah’s skinny shoulders at the same moment.
“But I want to see the poor people.” Sarah looked over her shoulder at us.
“Emigrants.” Miss Baker firmly captured Sarah’s hand and settled her straw boater back on her head. “They’re not there as entertainment for little rich girls, Sarah.”
“You’ll see them when they put the gangways down.” I added. “And then we’re going to the Ladies’ Saloon, or somewhere where there’s some shade. It’ll be at least an hour before we reach Pier Forty-Five.” I put up my parasol with a snap; the scar by my ear was beginning to sting as it always did when I got too much sun.
A shudder ran through the ship, and an increase in shouting suggested the process of docking was taking place. The air smelled of salt and soot and people; there was very little breeze. Perhaps being at the hotel wouldn’t be so bad. I would give the chambermaids instructions and then all the womenfolk could go find some refreshment in a nice cool parlor.
I didn’t expect much mail as we’d received a large packet of letters when we’d arrived at the Germanic. Two from Elizabeth, mostly about baby Mabel; one from Teddy to inform us he was in Ireland and would prefer to defer his return to Chicago until the end of winter. Much correspondence for Martin, all business; several notes from female acquaintances for me; and letters for Tess from various family members. Our normal life, waiting to envelop us once we set foot on American soil.
There had also been a dutiful but brief reply from Thea to the letter I had sent her. In between news of Mabel, Elizabeth had informed me that Thea had spent the summer working hard and had had a very smart dress made at cost in the store. She spent most of her working life in the jewelry department. This report had been corroborated by Madame, who had mentioned in one of her letters that Thea was doing nicely.
I closed my parasol and moved under the large black umbrella that Martin had opened above his own head. Miss Baker had one as well. A number of umbrellas had spread like mushrooms on the promenade deck as we watched the constant stream of people below us, herded by officials toward the imposing round building. Imagine them all having been on the ship, I thought, and we’d barely even seen them.
“All right?” Martin put out his free hand and drew me as close as our hats allowed.
“Too hot.”
“Chicago will seem hotter, no doubt.”
“Ah, but it’s home, and that makes all the difference.” A thrill ran through me as I anticipated seeing familiar streets and buildings again. “And I have such plans.”
Martin didn’t arrive at the hotel until nearly dinnertime. By then we were all cool and refreshed and comfortable in our surroundings, even Tess, who declared herself delighted to be back in an American hotel. Sarah had been at her most restful, passing the hours after luncheon reading What Katy Did, with some help from her grown-ups when she had difficulty with a word. She stopped many times to discuss the actions and words of the children in the book. I experienced a queer, aching sensation as I watched my child grapple with the notion of having brothers and sisters and friends and cousins and spending time in the company of children rather than adults. If I’d married Cousin Jack, we’d probably have six children by now, and Sarah would be the oldest, just like the Katy of the novel. But perhaps I’d have died, like Katy’s mother; and I would have to be married to Jack if I didn’t die. I was sure I wouldn’t be as happy with Jack as I was with Martin.
Martin’s arrival ended my reverie. His hot and dusty appearance and the strong smell of other men’s cigar smoke clinging to his person made me glad I’d been relegated to the womanly, domestic role of settling into the Fifth Avenue. He drank coffee as he listened to Sarah’s minute description of every feature of the hotel—which he knew well, having stayed there often—and sorted the letters into piles. Two for Tess, two for Miss Baker, three for me, and at least a dozen for Martin. This ceremony over, my lord and master declared he would have to wash and change quickly. He headed for our suite in the confident expectation that everything would be arranged just as he liked it.
Twenty minutes later, I put my head around the bathroom door, a prey to some degree of agitation.
“I’m not late, am I? I should get a shave.” Martin’s top half emerged from the steaming bathwater as I entered the room. He blinked at me from under the fringe of wet hair, which the water had turned pale yellow rather than his usual white blond, and fingered his chin. “It must be at least twelve hours since I saw a razor. I swear this day’s gone on forever.”
“You need to be quick. Listen, I have to tell you something.”
“I’ve got plenty to tell you too. I met an importer who—”
“Martin.” I put my hand on his arm as he made to disappear under the water again, feeling damp heat, hard muscle, and the wet, smooth texture of the hairs on his forearm. “It’s important.”
“Well, it’s nothing too dreadful or you wouldn’t be so calm.” Martin soaped his face vigorously and rinsed it before speaking. “Couldn’t it wait till dinner?”
“No. Elizabeth wrote me that Thea appeared in a theatrical entertainment at the Jewel Box. Teddy is going to have conniptions when he finds out.”
“What kind of entertainment?” Martin pushed his wet hair back from his forehead, tousling it charmingly. I wanted to kiss him, but this was not the time for distractions.
“A pictorial piece,” I explained. “Scenes from Shakespeare.”
“But Mrs. Furmann would never allow her out in the evenings to perform in a theater.”
“That’s just it. She doesn’t live in the residence anymore. She moved out to a boardinghouse on Taylor Street. Elizabeth had no idea until Madame told her. And Madame found out some three weeks after the event because it was only then that Mrs. Furmann mentioned it to her. I had a letter from Madame too. She’s not happy.”
Martin hauled himself out of the bathtub so precipitously that water splashed onto the marble tiles. “I’ll be having a word with Mrs. Furmann when I get back.”
“I don’t think you should be too hard on her.” I sighed. “It seems Thea convinced her that Teddy had given his permission for the change. She conveyed the impression that Teddy is going to live there too when he returns. Since Teddy’s letter was so recent and he didn’t mention it, I don’t believe that’s the case. And don’t forget that she’s sixteen now, one of the older girls in that residence. She’s always behaved with Mrs. Furmann as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. I suspect she just completely fooled the poor woman.”
I followed Martin as he, having vigorously applied a towel to his person, stalked into our adjoining bedroom. He began to dress with a rapidity and precision that suggested a certain degree of temper.
“Apparently, the boardinghouse is very respectable,” I said to placate him. “And the theatrical piece in question was of the mildest sort. Elizabeth found out because one of the older ladies on that committee her mother has had her join—the one that’s a breeding ground for future causes and the women to run them—told her that her own daughter was in the performance. I know that woman. She wouldn’t let any child of hers be in anything that might reflect badly on her family.”
Martin, halfway through donning his socks and garters, stopped and glared at me. “Is Miss Thea still working at Rutherford’s?”
“Of course she is.”
“Well then, you can stop making excuses for her.” Martin reached for his trousers. “No shopgirl at Rutherford’s can be an actress. I’ll write t
o Joe and tell him to terminate Thea’s employment immediately.”
The warm day suddenly became chilly. “You’ll fire her? You can’t just do that—”
“Yes, I can. She’s given us ample cause.”
“But what will she do?”
“Go back to Teddy, of course. Or come back to us.”
“But Teddy’s planning to stay in Europe until sailings start up again in April.”
“There’s still time to recall him back to Chicago. As you pointed out, he’ll be fit to be tied, but there’s nothing for it. He’s the head of the family. Or, as I said, she comes to us.”
“But—but—she hates living with us, and you said yourself—she was ruining our lives.”
“You should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you?” Martin crossed to the mirror, fastening his collar and tying his cravat with swift, expert movements before grabbing his hairbrush and the bottle of hair oil. “When you promised to do everything you could for them.”
Indignation rendered me speechless for a few moments, and Martin had donned his evening pumps and cufflinks before I finally exploded.
“You’re being unfair. You were the one that offered them a place in our home.”
“Because you wanted it. And moderate your voice; we’re in a hotel. I’m going to get a shave.”
A clean chin and an excellent dinner did much to calm Martin’s ire, although I sometimes caught him looking at me with an exasperated expression that suggested he was still somehow blaming me for the entire mess. I did my best to be the perfect wife and mother during the meal, ensuring that everyone had a generous portion of their favorite foods and that the conversation was bright and breezy, but all the while my mind was busy.