by Mercy Levy
Thinking back, her fingers itched to play the piano at her aunt and uncle’s and try her hand at the lilting, rollicking jazz music she’s heard. She loved playing the piano, but hated the dreary, lumbering dirges her father thought were appropriate for a young lady. Her mother had been more understanding, and smuggled her a few folk tunes and Mozart pieces to play when her father was away on business, but nothing she had ever played made her toes twitch and her fingers dance the way that the pianist, a man by the name of “Jelly Roll” Morton had, along with his band.
3.
Aunt Bea had dozed off during the ride and Meg gently shook her awake as they arrived. She helped her aunt from the carriage and Alma walked with her into the house, wary of the new coat of ice that had formed while they were at the speakeasy. Meg didn’t want to ask in front of Alma, afraid that she’d mock her for her interest in the music that was associated with wantonness and illicit drinking, so she offered to walk with Aunt Bea up to her quarters to check on uncle Daschle, while Alma checked on the supper fare in the abandoned kitchen.
“Do you know, why William has to hide his gambling and hard liquor in the basement of the restaurant?” Aunt Bea asked Meg as they strolled arm in arm.
“I know that prohibition means he could lose his business license or even go to jail if the police caught him. As fun as it was, I don’t know if it would be worth the risk to me.”
“If it was just a business, you would be absolutely correct. But, this isn’t just his business. It’s a place for conscientious people to speak out against the wrongdoings of our government, and the pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness, despite government intrusion that limits that.” Her aunt patted her on the arm again. “We don’t support William because we want to drink in a basement,” she chuckled. “We support the freedoms our country stands for.”
Meg hugged her aunt hard. She’d wondered how she could enjoy a place that was so intent on moral decay and lowering one’s inhibitions. She and her aunt paused at the bedroom door.
“I hope you and uncle both get some rest. I was wondering, would it be possible for me to use the pianoforte? I would very much like to go home and still play well-enough to avoid too much trouble with Mother.”
“I saw those little fingers of yours wiggling and waving when you were listening to Jelly Roll play. He’s a master, isn’t he?” Aunt Bea smiled.
“He is indeed. It made me feel ashamed for failing to practice more often. His hands were a blur on the keys!” Aunt Bea patted Meg’s shoulder and agreed that she should practice to her heart’s content while she was in Hartford.
“Just think, someday, that could be you playing on William’s stage.” She suggested. Meg’s eyes widened at the thought of being on stage. Not many women were able to be performers, and those that were, well they were usually of a certain, less desirable, reputation. Yet, as she heard those words, Meg realized that was exactly what she wanted to do. To play the lively rollicking jazz on stage, or the smooth, meandering tunes that made men and women want to sit at their tables and nurse a drink while they closed their eyes and were carried by the tune.
She sat at the piano in the library and carefully plunked at the keys, relieved to find that it was in tune and playable. She ran through scales and pieces that she knew, and after a few minutes, grew brave enough to attempt some of the music she’d heard in the speakeasy. The fast songs were more difficult, but she found herself smiling as she rocked on the bench in time to a softer piece that she’d danced to with William. Her eyes closed and she played by feel, humming quietly along.
She remembered how it felt for him to pull her in close and hold her, not tightly, but firm against his body, pressed against parts of him that she had been taught to pretend didn’t even exist. When the dance was done, there was a fire low in her stomach that she couldn’t deny or explain, but just playing the song brought it all back, and she flushed at the memory.
“Well, you mademoiselle, are a woman of many gentle talents, aren’t you?” A soft masculine voice behind her made her start, and her hands slipped off the keyboard, palms hitting the bench seat on either side of her to steady her. She slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder, and Will was standing there, in his heavy winter overcoat, his hat in his hands.
“I came with more soup fixins’ for Mr. Chilton. I wasn’t expecting to hear such a fine concert in this house. In fact, that might be the first time that piano has been played in years.”
“Oh, I don’t know, it’s tuned, so someone must care for it.” Meg argued.
“Oh yes, it’s well cared for. It just never gets played,” Will laughed. “You are a blessing to this house, to be sure.” He glanced around, and seeing no one watching, advanced into the room a few steps. “I don’t suppose you would show me to the door, in the absence of your aunt and uncle, Miss Margaret?” Blushing, Meg agreed and stood, closing the distance between them as she tried to pass him on her way to the front foyer of the house.
When she was close enough, he reached out, lightning quick, and grabbed her arm, pulling her in close to him. His hands were cold even through the back of her dress as he held her against his scratchy wool coat and gazed down into her eyes. They were so close that the gold flecks in his hazel eyes began to dance before her vision, and she closed her own to stop the dizziness that crept up on her.
Her eyes flew open again as his mouth assaulted hers, his lips soft and ravenous at the same time. His hand was on the back of her neck, holding her still as he used his tongue to part her lips and explore the inside of her mouth, and she gripped his lapels to steady herself as she gave over to the sensation of wet heat that dragged a desperate moan from her throat. He pulled away, breath heaving, and buried his face in the nape of her neck, laughing softly between the little kisses he trailed from her jaw to shoulder.
“My God, Meg, I just cannot get enough of you.” He met her confused gaze. “You are so innocent, and so ready to accept what I have to give you. How far, I wonder, would you go to learn what I have to teach?”
“I fell in love with the music and the library and the speakeasy the moment I stepped into your world. Whatever you have, to teach me, that is what I desire.” Will groaned and rested his forehead on her shoulder.
“Little love, there are things you don’t know that could take a man to heaven, or hell, if you wished it for him. With your sweet face, and lithe little body, you could drive a man to drink, or the altar. Be careful with your choice of words. One more nudge in the right direction, and I will be forced to begin your education this very moment.”
“Sir, you already have,” gasped the poor girl. “I’ve never been held like this, or kissed so passionately. If there is more you wish to teach me, I am your willing student. No other man has ever made me feel so strong, and so helpless at the same time. I would give anything to feel this again.”
Will tipped the girl’s chin up and leaned in close. He lightly brushed her lips with his own, a kiss that was positively chaste compared to his initial assault on her sweet mouth. His kiss trailed along her jawline and he reveled in the whimper he drew from her as he dipped down and kissed her neck, softly, then with his tongue and teeth, taking skin into his mouth and sucking it until he pulled the color into it like bruises.
He moved farther down, never straying past the neckline of her dress, but kissing down the very edge of it, over her collarbone and lower, until her breath came fast and shallow, and her hand fisted in his hair. She fought with the clasps on his coat, and it fell open, and Will shrugged it off and picked her up, burying his face in the gentle swell of her cleavage and pressing her against the bulge in the front of his pants.
He laid her down on the settee and pushed himself between her legs as she clutched at him in her need, too innocent to know what to do, but give herself over to him. He came to his senses before he undid his trousers and fell against her, as much to stop himself, as to be close to her.
“Woman, you are driving me to madness,” he ga
sped as he threaded his fingers through hers to stop her hands from moving down his body and further. “I will leave now, before I do anything that will cause you distress. But, I must see you again. Will you come to me?” Meg nodded a silent “yes”, the color leaving her cheeks as the realization of what they had almost done swept over her.
He kissed her again, then sat back and watched hungrily as she adjusted her dress and straightened the pins in her hair. After a moment, he could move about, having regained enough control of his body and his desire that he no longer feared to touch her. He picked up his heavy wool coat from the floor and slid his arms into it, slowly clasping it shut, one wooden toggle at a time as he watched her pull herself together, back into the cool, reserved southern belle he’d met in his restaurant.
“You truly are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid…eyes on,” he drawled as she pinned a stray lock of hair into place. “I will be watching my door until you come again. And, this time, maybe we’ll make you play.” Meg rewarded him with a small smile, and he leaned forward to bow and take her hand in his for a more customary kiss to the back of it. As he looked up into her eyes, something in the softness with which she looked at him, brought his mouth back to hers.
“No one has ever looked at me the way you do.” She whispered against his lips as he lightly grazed them over her mouth.” He sighed and cupped her face in his callused hand.
“Unfortunately for me, there will be many who look at you as I did when I first saw you. But, I don’t care to think that any of them see as deeply into you as I do now. Promise me you will come to me.” He commanded her, his raw need echoed in his eyes and voice.
“Of course, I will come to you, as soon as I may.” She replied. Suddenly, her arms reached around him and she hugged him tight, like a child would her father before a long absence from home. “Although,” she added as she pulled away, “I expect you will have forgotten me by tomorrow.” He scoffed and donned his hat, and Meg walked him to the door.
Just as she opened it for him, Alma appeared from the kitchen, to report that the kitchen girls had returned and, thankfully, had taken over supper, so Alma would not have to cook.
“I’m surprised to see you only just leaving, Will,” she declared archly. “It has been quite some time since you left the kitchen.”
“I stopped to listen to the piano music. It was quite lovely. It’s a shame it doesn’t get played more often.” Alma shrugged and glared at Meg balefully, and Will tipped his hat and bid the young redhead and her cousin a polite farewell, before descending the stair and strolling off toward his restaurant, under the lamplight.
4.
Mr. Chilton did begin to get better, but slowly, and the cousins spent most of their time reading to him, with Meg playing the piano in the evenings and Alma engaging him in lively arguments, both of which activities, Aunt Bea declared, being the things that turned the tide for her husband and chased away the winter blues.
William continued to come to the house, bringing food and stopping to visit for an hour at a time, but Meg never got to see him alone anymore, and it was driving her half mad with need. On the fifth day of his visits, Will declared uncle Daschle whole, and entreated the family to join him the next evening to celebrate the incoming year. There was to be a full band downstairs and a feast.
Meg sat stock still on the piano bench and held her breath. Alma was also very quiet, on the other side of the room. Uncle Daschle glanced at his daughter and his niece, both of whom were studiously staring down and not saying a word.
“Well, if the weighty silence in the room is any indicator, my life will be an uneasy one if I decline such a generous invitation. We appreciate the invitation and gladly accept.” Alma and Meg both sat up taller and Meg risked a glance over her shoulder at the handsome man seated behind her.
It was a surprised Alma that noticed the way he looked back though, after Meg had gone back to lightly touching the keys in her “silent practice” mode. His eyes were soft and warm, and fiercely possessive at the same time. The elder Miss Chilton was shaken and embarrassed by the chill she’d developed toward her younger cousin. Mr. Larabie was a desirable figure, of course, but in no way was Alma so infatuated with him that she couldn’t be happy for them both. Especially, if being with William kept her cousin and best friend near her.
Will caught her watching him, and he colored slightly. Alma grinned at him, and suggested an early toast for the New Year and even more success (and maybe the end of prohibition) to the restaurant, Bon Manje, and the speakeasy below it.
Uncle Daschle filled everyone’s glasses with his finest bourbon, and all toasted the end of one year, and beginning of the next. Only minutes later, William excused himself to return to his business. Alma jumped up and offered to walk him to the door, a task Meg had tried to claim as much as possible at these visits, for the moment alone as much as for his swift but passionate kisses.
A flash of annoyance flitted across Will’s face, but he chased it away with a wan smile and bid his farewells to the family and, with his coat over his arm and hat in hand, followed Alma to the door.
“Do you love her?” The woman demanded as he donned his coat. He glanced up at her, and she stared straight into his eyes and repeated herself.
“Well, I certainly would like the chance to find out.” He finally offered. “I care for her. But, I know that this is not her home. I can’t expect her to give up the finer lifestyle of a plantation to marry a man who could be in jail tomorrow.”
“She doesn’t want to go back… And I’m not just saying that because I don’t want her to go back, but I don’t and if you don’t, then maybe that’s enough reason for her to stay. I’ve already wasted too much time being irritated wither for being prettier and more pleasant than I am. If she wants you, then that puts me back at the top of the food chain, matrimonially speaking.” She shrugged and Will barked out a laugh.
“I know your coldness toward her has been weighing heavy on her mind. I’m happy to lend my aid in getting her away from any other eligible bachelors and out of your way. You are, after all, the first who should be married.” Alma started to nod, then frowned.
“If you decide you want her, you had better marry her, whether I am married or not.” She demanded. “My cousin is a lady of virtue. Or, at least she was, before she met you.”
“Her virtue is intact, Miss Chilton,” he replied stiffly. “I am not quite the rogue you believe me to be.” Alma sniffed.
“At least this time, you must remain a gentleman.” She threw her arms around her friend and hugged him. “I am so happy for you both!” She whispered in his ear, before pulling away. He flashed her a grin and disappeared into darkness beyond the lamp at the foot of the steps.
Her parents exchanged a glance when she finally returned, but said nothing. Alma could see her cousin’s shoulders were tight and her posture stiff, but she resolutely stared ahead of her at the jazz sheet music Will had brought her as a belated Christmas gift. Meg hoped to perfect it and play it in the restaurant, maybe even the downstairs hidden pub, if she was good enough to play with the musicians Will hired regularly.
Uncle Daschle let Meg practice a little more, then suggested the girls go to bed, as they would have a very late night following. Alma followed Meg to her room and lounged in the chair by the fire while her cousin changed out of her dress and into a sleep shift.
“I have a better dress for you to wear tomorrow than that white thing you wore on Christmas” Alma offered as she stared into the fire. “Something a little more suited to dancing with the man you love.” Meg scoffed.
“First, I do not recall having said that I had feelings of any kind for a man in Hartford. Second, I do not need your charity. I’m certain that something serviceable lies within my own wardrobe.”
“Oh Meg, my dearest, please don’t be angry with me anymore,” Alma cried in anguish, leaping out of the chair and embracing her cousin. “I was a terrible little viper, completely jealous of your beaut
y and the air of mystery that surrounded you, as an unknown from foreign lands. No, don’t pout, that is how you are viewed here, by so many who have never been further south than Jamestown.” Meg laughed, agreeing that the Northerners did have interesting ideas of the south.
“So, we are friends again?” Meg asked, apprehensive. Alma had always been prone to high emotions, but the quieter Meg seldom ran afoul of them, so she wasn’t certain if they were ever going to be like they were.
“Always and forever. What would I be without my almost sister?” Alma declared. She hugged her cousin. “Now, I’m going to get that dress, and tomorrow, you are going to knock Mr. Larabie right off his feet.” Meg giggled and shook her head. Alma was wild and demonstrative, but still her best friend. It would be far more enjoyable an evening by her side, than it would be if they were still at odds.
5.
The air fairly hummed with the girls’ excitement as they descended from the cab to the flickering pool of light the gas streetlamp cast at their feet. Excitement filled the air as they walked down the sidewalk towards a crowd that gathered in front of William’s restaurant, but their cheer turned to panic when they saw police uniforms mingling among the civilians and ordering everyone away from the front door.
As Meg rushed to the front of the crowd, Will was brought out, his hands cuffed behind his back, and was led to a nearby paddy wagon. In alarm, she turned to search the crowd for her uncle, only to see him already deep in conversation with a uniformed officer. Alma took her by the hand and snuck her in the door as another push of the crowd claimed the attention of the police guarding the front. There was another officer inside, pulling at the hanging ropes and moving the statuettes that were part of the décor. With dread, Meg snuck a peek inside the library. Yet another officer was pulling books off the shelves, slowly and methodically, looking for any sign of the secret door.
Alma showed Meg a button, but silently waved her away before she could push it. She pointed at the library and gestured Meg to head toward it, and as soon as Meg was almost in the room, but hidden by the drape that hung to one side, Alma pushed the button. Meg jumped at the loud buzzing sound, and turned to see Alma fleeing the restaurant, chased by the uniformed officers. Meg hurried to the secret door and flipped the switch, replacing the book before slipping through the door and closing it behind her.