by Robyn Carr
“I can’t go,” Patricia said sullenly. “I have the most terrible pains. It’s my monthly.”
“Are you sure? Can’t you make yourself extra safe? Double slips? I can’t stand for you to miss the fair. There might never be another chance.”
“Oh, Mama, I couldn’t enjoy myself. I feel terrible and I’ll be an awful mess. I just couldn’t.”
“But Patricia,” Lilly implored. Lilly thought it silly to give the thing so much importance. “If you’re walking around a great deal, you’ll get to feeling better. And there will be some sort of powder rooms where we can freshen up.”
“Never mind, Lilly, I can’t do it. My flux is much worse than yours. I’m always ill with it. Mama, will you make me some tea?” She pulled herself up in the bed. “I just want to stay in bed with a hot pack.”
Emily frowned in concern. “Are you sure that’s the trouble, Patricia? I hadn’t thought your monthly was due now. I thought,” she began, glancing away and putting a finger to her lips as she tried to remember the last time Patricia had complained of menstrual pains. She and Lilly were not so plagued, but Patricia did seem to suffer quite a lot.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sorry, Mama, I don’t want to ruin your day. Can’t you just tell Mr. Padgett I have a sick headache and can’t go along?”
“Maybe we can change our plans. Perhaps there’s another day--”
“After all the excitement? Oh no, Mama, you can’t! Everything’s arranged. Mrs. Fairchild is going to her son’s house and the others are looking forward to it.”
“There will be no one to fix dinner for you,” Emily said. “There will be no one here. You’ll be completely alone.”
“That’s just as well. It’s so embarrassing to huddle in my room and have everyone always asking. I’ll just rest.”
“I could stay with you. Lilly would be in good hands with Mr. Padgett and the others.”
“Oh, Mama, don’t fuss so. What could you do for me? Go on, I’ll be fine. I’ll find something simple for dinner and drink tea. Then tomorrow you can tell me all about it.”
“Are you quite sure, Patsy?” Emily asked.
Patricia settled down into the bed once again. “Will you make me some tea before you go?”
“At the very least,” Emily said.
Lilly stood over the bed looking down at her sister for a long while. “I think it’s the whole way you look at it, Patsy,” she said. “Try to ignore it. We’ll go slowly and stop quite a few times. You could try a seltzer for the cramps and the exercise of walking--”
“Never mind, Lilly. My head aches so that I can barely see. And I wasn’t as excited about going as you were anyway. I don’t care very much about inventions. Not really.”
Having Patricia miss the excursion dampened everyone’s mood, and Emily was reluctant to leave her. But the group, excepting Mrs. Fairchild, departed at seven in the morning.
It was nearly ten when Mrs. Fairchild tapped lightly on the door to say good-bye to Patricia. The sound of the old matron’s cane on the floor tapped closer to the bed. “You’re looking quite pale,” she observed. “Sassafras will help.”
“I’ll be fine. If I can just have a quiet day, I’ll feel better by evening. Go on to your grandchildren, Mrs. Fairchild.”
“Is there anything I can put out for your dinner?”
“Not a thing. I’m going to make myself some honey and bread and a cup of hot tea. I’ll be going to bed quite early. Before you’re returned I’ll be sound asleep.”
“That’s a good girl. Pity you have to miss the fair.”
“Oh, better I stay here than to go and ruin everyone’s fun by moping and complaining.”
Patricia heard the sound of Walter Fairchild’s carriage, his knock at the door, the door being closed, and the distant, mumbled voices as he helped his mother down the porch steps and out to the coach. And then, the blessed sound of creaking wheels pulling them away. She lay still for a long moment, listening to a quiet she had never before heard in the house. A smile grew slowly on her face. There was no flux today. And she had never felt better in her life. But she had purposely been stoic during her usual cramps all summer, ever since Dale’s suggestion that she could beg off when her family went for an outing. It had given her the idea. She had just never thought the whole household would ever go for an outing. Emily had been putting pennies in a jar for a year, saving for the fair, but the jar filled with aching slowness.
She threw back the quilt and put her feet on the cool, wooden floor, stretching her arms up over her head. She loved staying in bed until late in the morning. She made a waking sound, ending with a little whoop that seemed to echo in the empty house. And then she let go with a robust laugh.
The group started out sullenly. How like Patricia to spoil the day one way or the other, Lilly thought. She would be the least enthusiastic were she along, and by staying behind with a sick headache, she had cursed the event in absentia.
Lilly guessed from the expressions on the faces around her how each felt about what Patricia had done. Sophia was frowning when she looked at Emily; Sophia had always thought Patricia a little too spoiled, though she did not remark on it often. John Giddings was disappointed; he looked down at his feet. Likely John had hoped to impress Patricia. Lilly had noticed how John’s eyes brightened when Patricia was near, but he was too painfully shy to say anything at all to her. Annie and Jamie, though they held hands affectionately, looked toward Emily with pity--perhaps they were really concerned about the girl. Only Mr. Padgett seemed unaffected.
Perhaps Mr. Padgett had a reason for his indifference. Having already been to the Centennial Exhibition, he knew what they would see and do; he knew that even Emily would not be able to keep the excitement buried for long.
They took the horsecar to the wharves in the city where Mr. Padgett helped them all board the ferry that ran loads of visitors up the Schuylkill River, a new boat departing every ten minutes. They made plans to meet for lunch at the Dairy building at noon where they would take free buttermilk to the banks of the Wissahickon and spread a picnic blanket. At seven in the evening they would meet again, at the Horticulture building in the center of the grounds, to go together to the fireworks display. And the eight-thirty ferry would take them home.
The enthusiasm was contagious among the ferry passengers. Children were difficult to control, and young girls nervously twirled their parasols. The fairgrounds came into sight; buildings and tents rose in the distance at Fairmount Park. Excited spectators poured through turnstiles.
It was like stepping into the next century. There was too much to be seen in a week and Lilly’s excitement and sheer wonder were hard to rein in. The Corliss engine was like a moving monument. There were fountains everywhere, some scented with cologne. The chief building, Main, was the largest structure in the world, with the Hook and Hastings organ at the east end, the Hilborne L. Roosevelt organ in the north transept, and the Electric Echo in the English tower. Music was scheduled so that the organs didn’t compete with any of the many bands.
Exhibits numbered in the thousands, from buildings erected by foreign countries to depict their lives, their clothing, their foods, music, and art, to inventions and products never before seen but soon to become available in America. There was a floor covering called linoleum that intrigued Emily. And Lilly, who had never been on a train, stepped inside the displayed Pullman Palace car. The Norwegians showed their silver. There was an invention called the telephone, through which people could talk to one another without ever leaving their homes, but Lilly didn’t quite believe it would ever catch on. There were guns, safes, clothing, glassware, inks, jewelry, arts, books, lighting fixtures, kitchen appliances.
The life-size grouping, art in the most realistic sense, called The Siege of Paris, caused Lilly to imagine herself abroad, caught in a tremendous political conspiracy. There were tropical gardens filled with rare flowers so overwhelming that Emily’s eyes actually filled with tears.
As Noel had pre
dicted, their group had separated as different interests dictated. At lunchtime they exchanged experiences to help each other decide on the afternoon activities. Annie wanted to hear the sixty-piece band at Operti’s Tropical Garden, and Mr. Padgett heard from John how terrific was Theodore Thomas’s beer and concert garden. Even Emily had to relax her standards so that her escort would not be deprived; she muttered brew with a smile.
Lilly laughed and ran; she ate pastry at the Vienna Bakery and was gifted with a souvenir parasol from the Japanese pavilion. Mr. Padgett was generous, inviting them to enjoy flavored seltzers and a new drink called root beer, over which Emily hesitated until she was promised there was no liquor in it. They decided on a French scent as a gift for Patricia and had their supper at the Kohn pavilion where the waiters wore Hungarian national dress.
Her eyes were full and her spirit soared. The streets of the Exhibition were overflowing with foreigners wearing their native garb and dignitaries from the United States identified by ribbons. Governors chatted with senators; Japanese smiled and bowed toward Swedes. Lilly had not known how much world existed beyond her mother’s boardinghouse.
When she thought she might explode from all she’d seen in one single day, they rested under a generous tree in the Lansdowne ravine and looked upward toward splashes of color against the darkened sky. Fireworks! Noel said the display was nothing to what had taken place on the Fourth of July, two weeks earlier, but Lilly had a hard time imagining anything more grand than this.
Fatigued, gritty, but full on experience, they moved to the ferry, and on the ride home the passengers behaved like a well-acquainted group, singing popular songs--”I’ll Take You Home Again” and “Rose of Killarney.” Then they wearily transferred to the horsecar, their necks almost too weak to hold up their heads. John and Sophia separated themselves from the others so he could walk her home. Annie and Jamie lagged behind. As the boardinghouse came into view down the street, Lilly hurried toward the light, her arms heavy with packages--her own treats plus surprises for Patricia.
The front door stood opened, and the light from the parlor poured through the window onto the porch. Lilly heard her mother, just behind her and on Mr. Padgett’s arm, wistfully comment, “I wish Patsy could have seen it. It would have filled her with such possibility--just what she’s needing now.”
Lilly thought Patricia was on the porch, waiting up. She hurried up the steps, and Mrs. Fairchild dragged herself out of the chair with the help of her cane. Lilly and Mrs. Fairchild stared at each other. Worry met surprise. Had Patsy become very ill?
Emily stopped behind Lilly and looked up at Mrs. Fairchild.
“She ain’t here, Emily. The girl. Gone.”
When everyone had gone to the fair, Patricia moved about languidly, enjoying the luxury none of them ever had: solitude. She went downstairs in her nightgown, fixed herself tea and bread, and dragged out the big wooden tub from the pantry.
She wished she had scents and someone to help her with her hair. That will come later, she thought, smiling to herself when, at nearly noon, she sank into the warm water. She longed for perfume. That would come later, too, when she was rich. Then she would bathe in French perfumes in her own bath closet. Some maid would worry about her hair, not her.
She envisioned her future maid as harried and frightened, sensing that was the way of it. Wasn’t everyone frightened of power? Wouldn’t she be powerful as the rich lady of the house?
She indulged a long fantasy of how her family would respond to her wealth, for she would share it. She leaned back in the tub, closed her eyes, and saw her mother nicely clothed in bright colors and Lilly entertaining gentlemen callers in Patricia’s parlor. She saw them coming to her for advice. She imagined them asking her opinion of the gown they chose for her party. She believed that their superior attitude would shift quickly to respect--and not grudging respect, but deferential awe, for she would do what she had set out to do. They would shake their heads in amazement for only a moment, then shrug, smile, and say, “Imagine! How clever of her!” Most important, they would eventually be both repentant and grateful.
There was no vision of any man in her fantasy, until a picture of the cowboy, wearing boots with a formal suit and standing beside Emily, made a surprise appearance into her thoughts. She extracted herself from the tub. I won’t allow it, she thought. I simply won’t allow it to happen.
She patted herself dry, dressed in her camisole, slip, and bustle, and disposed of the bath water. Then she dragged a chair across the bedroom to sit before the mirror and began fixing her hair. She was going to the four o’clock performance of Richard III at the Academy of Music. She’d rather music than Shakespeare, for she wasn’t certain she could discuss what had happened on the stage afterward. Then there would be a nine-course dinner in a fancy restaurant called Tiffin’s. Nine courses! And she would not be able to eat a bite, certainly.
Still, she had not considered Dale. It was as though he was irrelevant to what was really happening. It was not until she cautiously pulled the fancy gown over her head that his face came into her mind. Dale. All this must be done through Dale. He was the benefactor.
She acknowledged, privately, secretly, that she disliked him. In fact, of all the young men she had known since she had first become aware of young men, there were several she found easier to abide. For one thing, he was difficult to fool and tease; he made her work so hard to entice him. But he wanted her. For the sheerest sliver of a moment she wondered whether she should sacrifice so much potential wealth for a man who was a bit easier to like. And she decided quickly against it. She could be civil to any beast of the jungle if it meant she would never again have to worry about money or social status.
Dale called for her in a hired trap, a decent, closed coupe. He did not come to the door for her, but waited within the coach while the driver knocked, escorted her to the road, and lifted her in. Just as he was handing her in to Dale, he leered at her, and she noticed he had a front tooth missing.
Dale received her with his hands. “Even with all this trouble, we’ll be found out eventually,” she said.
He kissed the cheek she turned to him. “It won’t matter after tonight, darling.”
“How can you think that?” she asked, somewhat annoyed.
“As we said, we’ll show Mrs. Armstrong what a lovely man I am--how courteous and responsible.”
“Yes. Yes, indeed.”
He reached up and touched her bare shoulder, playing with the lace ruche and silk flowers that made for a thin strap. Today she wore the tulle wrap around her shoulders.
“Dale--”
“Come now, Patricia. If I begin to think you don’t want to be with me--”
“I do, you know. Haven’t I risked everything for this day? You must be polite. You must not compromise me. Dale?”
He dropped his hand to her waist and smiled into her eyes. “I certainly don’t want to muss your appearance before we even get to the play or to dinner, but don’t you have a kiss for me? After all this waiting, all this trouble?”
“A small kiss,” she said, hoping her eyes twinkled.
“A meaningful kiss, I should hope.”
“How will I know it’s meaningful?”
His lips were nearly on hers; his hand squeezed her narrow waist. “Simple,” he whispered. “Kiss me in a way that makes me believe you are as tempted as I. I want to believe your desire matches mine, that you will desire me this way for the rest of your life.”
Just as his mouth, hot and wet, pressed down on hers, she felt her pulse begin to race. My God, she thought wildly, he means it. He wants me for his wife! Forever! And she allowed him, without rehearsed abandon, to push open her lips with his, to penetrate her mouth with his tongue. She raised her arms, drawing him closer. She became suddenly feverish, hot all over, damp and prickly. She opened her lips wider, hoping he was poisoned by her, hoping he was drowning in her. She would have to endure so many of these awful kisses in a lifetime…but it didn’t matter!
His hand began to glide up her rib cage toward her breast, and she felt herself stiffen. She tried to pull away, but one arm was around her waist and held her too firmly. “You shouldn’t,” she managed softly, against his wet mouth.
“Let me,” he begged. “Let me just once. Please. I’m dying for want of you.”
She relaxed as much as possible, feeling his hand slipping inside the gown and his thumb grazing her nipple. She sighed, or hoped she sighed. If she wasn’t terribly, terribly strong with herself, she might pull away. She hated being touched this way. She forced her mind to go to a cold, dark place while she squirmed slightly, enticingly, with her body. It was going to be far worse than this, she knew. He was going to claim his conjugal rights one day, lay atop her, get himself right inside her, whenever he liked. She hoped she would not faint. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
“Please, Dale. You promised.” She whispered it, as if it was as difficult for her.
“But you like it. You want more.”
“You must be a gentleman,” she said, not denying it.
“It will be right with me.” But he removed his hand and shifted a bit on the seat. Then he looked at her. His eyes were commanding. “You know it, don’t you, Patricia? That it’s going to be me?”
“Yes,” she said, breathless with the wonder of how all this had worked.
The only way she could console herself was to remember that all women paid such a price. The bargain was simple: a woman yielded to the physical demands from a man in exchange for her keep. And if one must be kept, one does well to choose a situation that is at least luxurious.
The theater was not well attended, and Patricia’s dress was too fancy. Women wore afternoon toilettes of somber colors and more sleek design, but of course Patricia had no other clothes she could wear to such an event. And when she asked why the audience was so sparse, Dale reminded her that there were not as many performances in summer; it was not the season.