The Jewel Cage

by Jane Steen

  “I sometimes think what you call bravery on my part is simply lack of imagination,” I confessed. “Or cowardice—refusing to face what might happen.” I ran my hands through my hair, which Martin had helped me to free from its pins and comb, and watched as Martin stood to turn off the gas lamps.

  “Not at all. It’s just that in our heart of hearts, we’re sure that what’s going to happen will merely be a long and uncomfortable night.”

  Martin reached up with his bound hands, and I saw my useful piece of string grow taut. He’d tied it firmly around the table leg at one end and looped it over his hand at the other so he would be able to find his way back to me in the dark. The hissing of the gas jet died into nothing, its mantle still glowing; Martin moved to the other light.

  Darkness replaced light. I was still able to see the two glowing mantles. I stared hungrily at those dimming points of red light, sensing Martin’s movements as he carefully made his way back to our upturned table. The faint lights winked in and out as Martin moved between them and me; in a few moments, he took his place at my side. I had sacrificed my overskirt to use as a pillow, folding it inside out so that the fine lining would be beneath our heads.

  “Are you comfortable?” Martin asked.

  “Tolerable.” My voice sounded somehow louder than it had when the lights burned. “Are you?”

  “I’d be happier if my hands were free.” Martin yawned. “But it’s good to lie down. Try to sleep, Nellie. It will help.”

  I stared into the dark as the tiny red glow of the cooling gas mantles died into nothing, aware of Martin shifting as he tried to make himself comfortable. “I’ll try.” I said. “It won’t be easy though.”

  I did sleep, on and off. It was often thirst that kept me awake; it wasn’t unbearable, but it was a constant torment. At times I had to make a deliberate effort to distract myself from thoughts of cool water, rivers, pools . . .

  Occasionally, there came moments of panic, convincing me that I would lose my mind if we stayed in this utter darkness for a moment longer. I would have to fight to calm my breathing. I didn’t even know how I managed to free myself from the grip of fear time after time, but eventually my heart would somehow stop pounding. Out of complete exhaustion I would drift, slowly, into semiconsciousness again.

  At another time, I found myself analyzing, quite dispassionately, the words “utter” and “darkness” and deciding that neither word was adequate to convey the sense of presence, as if the darkness were a thing that stood in opposition to light rather than the mere absence of light. How to describe true darkness? I didn’t have the words. I had fallen asleep in the end and dreamed I lay in a sunlit field, knowing all the while that when I opened my eyes again, I would be as blind as a worm, that I had never been able to see and the sunlight was the product of my imagination.

  When I was quite sure Martin was asleep, I gave in occasionally to a few tears, especially when I found myself thinking of Sarah. But at other times, I was certain he lay awake, still and silent as I; did he too weep when he knew I had at last gone to sleep again? I hoped not, and anxiety about him somehow, eventually, cast me adrift into another sea of oblivion from which I emerged only slowly and reluctantly, more slowly and reluctantly each time.

  I was awake again. Somewhere in the darkness, Martin’s pocket watch ticked frenetically. My own timepiece had stopped. I had no idea what o’clock it might be. Were we minutes from being released from our tomb, or had we only been here for an hour or two? Was it even Martin’s watch that was ticking or the mechanism of the time lock, counting down the moments of our imprisonment?

  A movement beside me signaled the sudden absence of Martin from my side. After a few moments, I realized he was relieving himself and that, in spite of my thirst, I needed to do the same if I were to have any hope of getting back to sleep. I confessed as much to Martin when he returned, and he helped me put the loop of string over my hand and set off in a different direction to the one he had taken.

  The whole business was remarkably difficult; as soon as I stood up, I became confused and weak, and only the prospect of disgracing myself kept me on my feet for long enough to do what was required. I fumbled my way back along the length of the string and collapsed gratefully onto the floor between the legs of the table.

  “I wish I could put my arms around you,” Martin’s voice whispered out of the darkness. It was odd, but since we had awoken this time, we had spoken in whispers as if there were another sleeper in the room we were afraid of disturbing.

  “Couldn’t you?” I forced my sluggish mind to find a solution that would not involve having Martin’s arm trapped uncomfortably under my body, a difficulty we had already encountered as we shifted and turned through the endless night. “If you lay on your back and I put my head on your shoulder . . .”

  It took a little while and the removal of Martin’s pocketbook and various other masculine necessities from his inner pockets before I was finally comfortable, my head pillowed so I heard the thump of my husband’s heart and the faint sound of his breathing. “That’s better,” he said.

  “Yes.” I was more fully awake now, a little clearer in my mind despite the trembling in my legs and the overall lethargy that was surely the result of my raging thirst. I remembered the other fact that had tormented me at intervals and decided the time had come to share it.

  “I believe I might be with child again.”

  I heard Martin’s sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t speak, so I did. “I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but I missed my monthly time last month.”

  “I thought you had. I didn’t want to mention it either.”

  Martin’s mouth pushed aside my heavy curtain of hair to find the skin of my forehead, and his kiss lingered. I tilted my head back so that his lips found mine. Our breath was sour, our lips dry, and the darkness smelled of our own bodily waste, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  “It occurred to me last night,” Martin said after a few moments. “When we were in bed. I worried that you might be carrying a child and I would hurt it.” His arms tightened around me. “But you urged me on, and I couldn’t help myself.”

  “I was similarly affected.” There was laughter in my voice, faint as it was. “If that were our last night together in our bed, I’m glad it was such a good one.” I swallowed, trying to bring some moisture into my mouth. “I love being married to you. I love you. I admit it wasn’t easy for me at first, being married, after all the struggles within myself. But whatever happens to the two of us, I want you to know that I now think marrying you was the most splendid thing I’ve ever done. Better than becoming one of the best couturières in Chicago. Better than being a partner in Rutherford & Co., although that in itself is very splendid. I’m starting to feel our story is the bedrock on which all my other stories are built.”

  “Only starting?” Martin’s mouth moved against my forehead. “I’ve felt like that ever since the day you said you’d be mine.” He laughed, a little burst of hot breath against my skin. “And what do you mean, one of the best couturières in Chicago? You’re the best in America, in my opinion.” He moved a little, so my head nestled more snugly into his shoulder. “Don’t doubt yourself.”

  I was clammy, as if I were covered with blankets and beginning a fever, but I didn’t want to leave Martin’s arms. Closing my eyes wouldn’t make much difference in this darkness, but I closed them anyway, and my other senses seemed to sharpen. I shifted again, just a little, so I could find Martin’s hands and press them to my belly, keeping them there with my own fingers.

  I was surrounded by Martin—his heartbeat, his breath, his touch, his smell, the strength of his muscles—and if I concentrated hard, I sensed his child inside me, a presence I could neither feel nor see in any concrete way but that I knew to be there, a tiny spark of life far within my body, unreachable as the outside world. It too was in the darkness, I realized, and needed to stay there until the time was right. I forced all anxiety from my mind and made my
breathing as even as I could, relaxing into the soft velvet of the dark.

  51

  Light

  I was dreaming of the sunlight again, and I wanted to be sick. It was no wonder the way the floor swayed under me. I opened my eyes to protest, and instead of darkness a yellow light stabbed me, causing me to sit up precipitously. My hand encountered empty air—I fell forward—

  “Mrs. Rutherford, no!” The floor beneath me stopped moving and hands steadied me, preventing me from plunging into the abyss below. “Lower the stretcher,” the same voice said.

  The familiar hardness of the ground under my torso allowed the wave of nausea to pass, and I opened my eyes. I lay on the floor again—but it was the floor of the antechamber, not the vault. I had survived; surely the ten hours must be over. Unless I was still dreaming.

  “Martin?” I croaked.

  “I’m here.”

  I blinked furiously against the light, seeking the source of the voice. Martin sat on the floor of the antechamber, his back against the wall. He was barefoot and in shirtsleeves. There was something strange about that, and then I realized his handcuffs had been taken off. His chest heaving, he began making the effort to rise and then fell forward onto hands and knees.

  I sensed the touch of liquid against my lips and tried to grab greedily at the water, succeeding only in slopping a good deal of it down my front. A hand guided the glass to my mouth again, and I gulped desperately.

  “More.”

  “You need to wait a few minutes, Nellie.” Martin accepted the help of two men and rose to his feet, staggering toward me like a drunken man. “I wouldn’t listen and drank too much, and now I’ve been sick all over the floor.” He sank to his knees before me, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. I realized I was wearing far less clothing than I expected but had no memory of taking it off.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t next to you just now.” Martin stroked my hair. “As soon as we made sure you were breathing, I had to get out of there.” He glanced back at the opening through which I had evidently just been carried and then looked around at the various men milling around us. The antechamber was very full, I realized, and I tensed as I saw the dark watchmen’s uniforms among the crowd.

  “Joe?” Martin called.

  “Right here.” Joe Salazar squatted down on his heels so he was on our level. He looked terrible; one eye was entirely closed and very swollen, his lip so distended that it made his entire face look lopsided. The skin of his face was bright yellow in places where iodine had been applied, as were the tips of the fingers on his uninjured hand. One hand and the other arm were heavily bandaged.

  “You’re a mess.” Martin stared at his partner. “Any more injuries than the ones I already know about? What about McCombs?”

  “No injuries,” Joe said briefly. “They had a carriage ready. Two of them drove us to the north end of Government Pier, blocked the carriage doors with a couple of iron bars and left us there. McCombs did a pretty good job of getting us out and raising the alarm. I wasn’t much use.”

  He grinned, showing his uninjured hand. “I did a nifty bit of field dressing with plenty of Lugol’s Solution once we got back to the store. Nell, can we try to get you upstairs? The store’s closed, of course; it’s one in the morning.” He shook his head ruefully. “You should start feeling better with some rest and sustenance, and then the two of you are going home. No arguments. I’ll send the detectives to you if they insist on interviewing you straightaway.”

  “I’m not arguing.” Martin pressed his hands to his temples. “I think my head’s about to drop off.”

  “It’ll get better.” Joe sounded weary. “We’ll all need our strength. We’re going to have the devil of a time with police, insurance, and the newspapers. As soon as I can, I’m going home to Leah and the children. I’ll never hear the end of it when she sees what they did to me.”

  He laid a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “I hoped the worst nights of my life were behind me when I took off my soldier’s uniform, but I’ve never felt worse than when I was on one side of that door and you two were on the other. Ah.” He rose to his feet and in a moment presented Martin and me with glasses half-filled with fresh water. “Sip this. The only thing you should worry about right now is yourselves. We’ll deal with all the rest later.”

  “Except for one thing I need to say,” said Martin after he’d taken a cautious sip. “We are going out of the jewelry business—or at least out of the business of selling the costly pieces. Joe, as soon as you’re better I want you to arrange for our stock to be liquidated—I don’t care what I lose on it—and you’re going to ensure that damned door is disabled and left open. Use the room for what you want. I’m done with that particular venture.”

  A movement in my boudoir woke me. I had been dozing, half sitting on a chaise longue near the window with a light blanket over my knees. Outside, rain lashed the sidewalk, the wind tearing the leaves from the small trees that bent sideways under its fury; in short, a good Chicago storm was in progress. It must have been midafternoon, but it was twilight beyond our windows.

  “Hello, Nell.” Tess’s round face and sweetly plump form emerged from the armchair where she’d been sitting, no doubt waiting for sounds of my awakening. “Do you want anything? Let me give you some lemonade.”

  I accepted the beverage with pleasure and sipped it slowly, reveling in the cool air that stroked my skin with gentle fingers. The French windows to the balcony stood open a crack; the eaves of the house protected us sufficiently from the rain. Refreshed, I remembered what my first thought had been upon waking.

  “Do you know where my overskirt is from yesterday?” I set down my glass. “I’ve recalled something that I put in the pocket.”

  “The pretty jewels!” Tess exclaimed. “Alice found them. They bundled all your clothes and things into a big Rutherford’s box and sent it home with you.”

  She bustled off into the next room and returned with a porcelain dish on which sat my little watch, my thimble, and the two pieces I picked out the evening before. A century ago. It didn’t seem possible that it was less than twenty-four hours since my only concern was to find a present for Tess. I had been sleeping on and off all day, rising only for the basic necessities; Martin had slept until ten and had since then been closeted with either the police or the insurance men.

  Lightning flashed across the sky, hurting my eyes because I’d been looking directly at the spot where it appeared. The rain intensified as the thunder answered with a low growl. The lights had been lit to counter the unnatural darkness.

  “They’re so pretty.” Tess picked up the pink brooch, holding it up to catch what light there was. “I like the color of this one.”

  “It’s yours.” I grinned. “We’d just chosen it for you as a wedding present when it all happened. We were going to have it cleaned and put in a box for you, of course, but I put it in my pocket by accident.”

  “Mine.” A pleased smile spread across Tess’s face as she breathed the word. “Can I pin it on my dress now?”

  “Of course you can.” I took up the sapphire-and-pearl pendant. “And this is for me to wear with my blue gown.”

  I held the bauble up to the light, watching dreamily as the two sapphires reflected the glimmer of the gas lamps and a fresh stab of lightning, yellow against a dark gray sky. “I’m going to have a baby,” I said.

  Tess looked up from pinning her new brooch to her bodice. “Oh, Nell.” Her smile was tender. “When?”

  I counted in my head for a moment. “February, I suppose. Another winter’s child, like Sarah. As long as our stay in the vault didn’t do him—or her—any harm.” I laid the sapphire pendant along the base of the ruffles that decorated the upper part of the peignoir I wore. “But somehow I don’t think so. I had such a strong conviction during those hours that our baby was safe.”

  “I hope so.” Tess raised my hand, the one that bore my wedding and engagement rings, to where she could kiss it. The fourth
finger of my right hand bore the incised gold ring I received from Hiram to promote the lie of widowhood, and which for me had become the symbol of my love for Sarah. Next to it shone the peridot ring Martin had given me for my twenty-fourth birthday. So many jewels. I sat up, pleased that my head was clearer than it had been earlier, and gave Tess a long, hard hug.

  “Would you go down and see if Martin’s overexerting himself? Tell him he’s not supposed to. And if you can find Sarah, let her know I’m awake. She can come talk to me.”

  Tess stood, looking down at me. “I wish you wouldn’t keep getting into danger, Nell. It was so horrid when they told me what had happened.”

  “I know.” I grinned at her. “And such a waste of time when life’s already so full. I’m going to sit quietly tomorrow and work on the details of your wedding. What do you think of that? And then I might sketch some ball gown ideas.” I drew my knees up to my chin, enjoying the freedom of being in such light clothing at this time of the afternoon. “But your wedding comes first. I want it to be an absolutely glorious day.”

  52

  Contentment

  “I’ve gotten my wish about the weather.”

  I raised my face to the September sun. Its warm, mellow orb had risen above a calm lake, and its autumn-gold rays were burning away the early fall mists.

  “The lull before the storm.” My husband, an expression of mirth on his countenance, tipped his head up to scan the blue heavens. “And by storm, I refer to the guests rather than the weather.”

  Our garden was once more neat and orderly. Tess and Donny’s new home looked incongruously tall to my eyes, but I knew that was just because I wasn’t used to it yet. Below it, we had festooned the space that Martin still insisted on calling his billiard room with ropes of flowers and ribbons. Cleared of anything remotely connected with sporting pursuits, it was elegantly furnished for a large wedding meal.