I shoved Rose’s journal under my pillow.
“I hope you didn’t waste your money on one of those dime-store novels,” Cat said. She stood in the doorway, her deep crimson dress made celebratory by a blue-and-white striped sash at the waist. She held an envelope in her hand. “If you’re looking for a little sauce just walk back into the speakeasy and open your eyes. People love to neck in the corners. Why is that? I’d think it would be uncomfortable.”
“I don’t think they care,” I said.
She didn’t say anything after that, just studied me with an odd expression on her face. The band started up a jazzy number, their new singer laying into “Somebody Loves Me” with too much juice, hitting at the notes like a punch-drunk boxer. When I asked Stan if I could sing again, he said I “wasn’t seasoned enough.”
“What is she, a roast chicken?” Maude said in my defense, and I loved her for it.
Cat tossed the envelope my way, bringing my attention back to her. “Jimmy dropped this off.”
I couldn’t imagine Jimmy sitting still long enough to put pen to paper. Curious, I ripped it open, but it wasn’t from Jimmy. It was from Rose.
Cat perched awkwardly on the bed next to me. For the first time since I’d known her, she seemed unsure of herself. “Do you mind if I stay while you read?” she said, and I wondered if she had an inkling of what it contained.
“You’re already sitting down, aren’t ya?”
July 4th, 1925
Dear Ivy,
I look for you everywhere. I peer down the streets hoping to see a flash of beads. I listen for your laughter. I keep expecting that you’ll return, slamming the doors and everything will go back to the way it was. Only it can’t...because we are not the sisters we used to be.
I think I’ve realized why our argument became a silent war. You may correct me if I’m mistaken, but I feel as if we both had urgent matters of our own hearts that had to be addressed. What could we have said to each other after that night? We’d experienced so much change in such a short span of time, we—or at least, I—didn’t have the vocabulary to clearly express my thoughts. It’s odd, this new language. Words I said before hold no meaning for me now. Words like “No,” and “Ninnie,” and “Disgusting.” Harsh words that serve no other purpose than to sting and slash. Saying I’m sorry for the things I said to you, for slapping your sweet face, for all our years growing up, means nothing now. Because, you see, I realize that we cannot go back to the past. We can’t return to who we used to be, and we can’t undo the things already done.
Those first few days after you left, I was a muddled mess, then an angry tiger, then a fragile cup teetering on the edge of a high table. For so long I thought that you and I fit so tidily in the perceptions that our parents, without meaning to do harm, built around us.
Rose: the eldest child. Responsible and plain. A cold streak running through her for defense, because Papa thought I’d never marry, and would live with him, taking care of him forever. My, how the hidden urgencies of family can demolish those they love.
And Ivy: the youngest child, wild and free. An exotic girl meant for greatness.
First Mother, then Papa, locked us inside those boxes, Ivy, and though the fragrance of those traits may have scented our baby hair, it’s a shame they didn’t notice how they mingled. How when we held our little girl hands tight against the world, we were infinitely stronger.
When and if you decide you are ready to see me again, I want you to know in your heart two very important things. First, I forgive you for not telling me Lawrence’s confession about the house being mine all this time. If I’d known when you found out, I may never have opened my heart to Santino. So thank you. And second, I have found the most amazing clue to finding Asher. I’ve been so patient with myself, for I refuse to peruse it until you and I are together again. I was a thief, you know! Took a photo album from Nell’s study. I’m sure it holds many answers to the myriad of questions we still have.
We’ll find him, Ivy, but only if we work together. For the first time in our lives, we must be the pair we were always meant to be.
How about it, doll?
All my love, from yesterday, today and tomorrow,
Rosie
I thought the first time my sister touched me with any real emotion it was the slap, but that was just frustration. This letter was her heart meeting mine. I began to cry. Cat didn’t pat my back or murmur soothing words as most women would have done, but she placed her hand on my arm, and for some reason that was better consolation.
“I never had a sister,” she said gently. “But from what I gather you didn’t have one, either, and neither did Rose.”
“Do you think it’s possible to make up for lost time?” I asked, lifting my chin to meet her eyes. She was still hard to read, but something warm melted away the frost I usually saw when she looked at me.
Cat shrugged. “Why would it matter if the future is going to be different?”
“Is it?”
“Ivy,” she said, standing up, “forget about finishing your shift. Maude and Viv can manage. Go to bed and get a real night’s rest. When you wake up in the morning, go see Rose. It really is that simple.” She pulled back the bedclothes, and I slipped in, conscious of the journal cradling my head through the thin pillow.
Cat switched off the lamp. “I’m not an overly optimistic person, but I do know that when you wake up the sun will be shining. Like someone stuck it up there just for you.”
“Like aces high in the ever-loving sky,” I murmured.
“Your father used to say that to you, didn’t he?” Cat asked, her voice soft. I wished she hadn’t turned off the lamp. I wanted to see her expression.
“He did. How did you know?”
But she was gone and I was tired. I closed my eyes finally and slept.
* * *
The next morning Cat was nowhere to be found. I let the cleaners in to scrub the floors and got dressed in my best-cut dress, a sky-blue drop waist. I pinned a pink summer cloche to my bob and carefully adjusted my stockings. My pulse raced so quickly I almost asked Bessie to pour me a quick nip.
“Aren’t you a picture?” she said, and I decided I didn’t care if she meant it or not.
“It’s my day off. Why not put on the dog?”
Bessie reached into the pocket of her apron and placed a telegram on the wet bar. “This came while you were getting gussied up.”
I snatched it up before the water ruined it. Was it from Rose?
Western Union
From: J. W. Lawrence, esq. , Forest Grove, New York
To: Ivy Adams, New York City, New York
Arriving on the 5:00 train. STOP. Grand Central. STOP. Meet me at the station? STOP. A country lawyer could get lost in the big city. STOP.
“I tipped the boy,” Bessie said, interrupting my thoughts.
I stuffed the telegram into my purse and handed Bessie a dime. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” I said and rushed up the stairs and into the day.
* * *
MacDougal Street looked just as I’d left it, a patchwork quilt of old and new New York. Cat had been right; the sun was absolutely blinding, and I squinted across the street at Empire House.
I saw Nell first, shouting orders to Sonny, who smiled lazily, nodding his head but not moving. Claudia lay stretched across the sidewalk playing marbles and annoying passersby, who had to scoot around her.
Rose sat on the top stair. The sun caught her hair and skin, painting her in the golden hue worthy of Klimt’s brushstroke. She wore a gypsy-cut gown in the lightest of cotton, a dress she’d made with her own hand, I could tell. She laughed at something Sonny said, but her smile was wistful.
Still, I balanced on the curb, watching the scene as if it were a play. Was there a place on that stoop for me?<
br />
MacDougal, so familiar to me now, was more than just a street to cross. It held everything this city had to offer, including my sister’s friendship.
I needed her to look at me. If I saw welcome in her face, I’d run pell-mell across that street. If she didn’t, I’d stay lost, wandering the city like a ghost.
Look at me, Rose. Please. Look at me.
Please.
CHAPTER 17
Rose
I SAT ON THE stoop in the morning with my eyes open in a way they hadn’t been before, and I was seeing things for the first time. Our attic, for example, was lovely. Where before there were only dusty floors, I saw the history of all the previous tenants. Where before, the confines of the place left me feeling nothing but fear, I looked into the recent past and saw my own bravery. Where before I’d thought there was no honesty to be found in what I thought was a cruel city, I now saw the truth hidden between each line of conversation and each glance back and forth between those I realized were now friends.
Everything looked different to me through my new eyes, including my sister, who, I realized, was standing across the street, looking back at me. From the moment Santino and Nell urged Claudia inside and I followed their gaze across the sunny street, I knew, just from seeing the way her face lit up, that she had changed, as well.
She raised her arm in a wave, but I could not get over how stunningly perfect the moment was. I was recording it in my mind. I was savoring it. I may have even closed my eyes, because when I opened them, she was walking away.
“Ivy!” I yelled, chasing her, barefoot, the pavement burning my feet.
She stopped and turned around at the corner. I saw she was crying.
“I thought...I thought you didn’t want to see me. I thought you’d changed your mind,” she stammered.
“I wanted nothing more!” I said and pulled her to me so tight I may have pushed the breath right out of both of us. “It’s so wonderful to see you.”
She was looking at me in a way I’d wanted her to look at me since we were small. The way she looked at Father, and the way she looked at The City the first day we arrived.
We held each other, daring the sun to burn our bare shoulders. We couldn’t let go, because both of us knew we wouldn’t be able to go home again. I was learning I never really wanted to, and Ivy was learning, for the first time, that the safety it had given her was gone, making her grieve. I hushed her. “We’ll create a new family together, Ivy,” I said, holding her as the busy city disappeared, leaving only us.
“I’m sorry I slapped you. I was overwrought,” I said after a long silence. “Also,” I said, wiping my tears, “you were right. I cry much too easily, I’ve found.”
“You feel things deeply, Rose. There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t think anything you cried over was easy at all. Unless I’m mistaken and you cry when you burn toast.”
“No,” I said, laughing.
“So, what do you want to do?” she asked.
“I want to find Asher, and I think I’ve found the last clue. Cat and Nell are in on it, and I overheard them discussing Daisy—she has to be the key. I think she’s hiding Asher.”
I looked at my sister for any sign of surprise, but her eyes reflected a softer understanding. Then she said, “And Cat, I believe, knew Papa very well. Only I can’t put all the pieces together.”
“Of course you can’t. We need to be together to do that.”
“And now we are,” she said.
“Onward.”
“Onward,” agreed Ivy.
* * *
Arm in arm we walked back to Empire House. Words tumbled out over one another. She told me of her suspicions about Cat knowing our father. I told her of my suspicions of Cat and Nell being related.
“Perhaps you’re right, Ivy,” I said. “Maybe Nell is Asher’s very own Miss Havisham!”
“Of course,” she said, and hugged me again, touching my long braid.
“I like your hair this way,” she said. “I’m proud of you, Rose.”
“I’m proud of you, too.”
As we reached the stoop, her eyes fell.
“What is it?”
“You said in your note to me that you stole something. Did you really?”
“Yes, and I haven’t been able to peek at it or put it back for that matter, until I was with you again. So let’s go! It’s a photo album. I just know it holds the answers.”
She reached into her rucksack, brought out my journal and set it in my hands.
“Is it stealing if we learn things? Is it stealing if we give it back?”
“No. It’s not,” I said and kissed her cheek.
“I’m glad you never bobbed your hair,” she said as we walked into Empire House. “It’s lovely this way. You should wear it down completely, you know.”
I stopped at the foyer mirror, took my hair and unbraided it at the bottom, letting the loose layers frame my face. “Are you sure it doesn’t look too much like I’ve been in bed for too long?” I asked.
Ivy laughed. “No, Rose, you look like a writer,” she said.
“I’m not really a writer.”
“Yes, you are. Who knows? Someday, you may travel to Europe and write with the Parisians.”
I knew that she was proud of me.
“You look like a gypsy,” she said.
“I feel like a gypsy,” I replied.
We walked up the stairs together, arm in arm, unwilling to let go, and laughed at our bodies bumping the walls as we rounded each landing. We were starting again.
“I missed this place,” Ivy said when we reached the penthouse.
* * *
Claudia came bounding up the stairs after us. She surprised me by throwing her arms around Ivy’s waist, and Ivy surprised me by hugging her back. “I missed you!” said Claudia. “And I can read!”
Ivy laughed and nodded her head patiently, listening to a litany of the weeks that had gone by at Empire House. “Can I show you how swell my penmanship is? Rose says it’s near perfect for a girl my age.”
“Yes, of course,” said Ivy, who turned back to me as Claudia went to retrieve her notebooks. “Did a letter arrive recently, Rose? I didn’t get a chance to tell you before I left, but Mr. Lawrence said he’d found a sealed letter in Papa’s safety deposit box at the bank. It should be addressed to both of us.”
Claudia dropped her notebooks. She stood stock-still in the middle of the penthouse. I could tell she didn’t know whether to run from us or to us. “Miss! Oh, no. Miss!”
“What, what it is Claudia?” I asked.
She stepped backward toward her little corner under the eaves, and then, turning around, she reached into an apron pocket on a low hook and retrieved an envelope.
“I found it in the foyer. I thought I’d put it by your bed, like a favor. But then I must have forgotten about it.”
Ivy and I looked at each other.
“Show me,” I said.
“Swear you ain’t mad.”
“I swear!”
She brought us the letter.
* * *
“Just so you know,” said Claudia, who sat on my lap, “I didn’t steal it or nothin’, I swear.”
“We both know you didn’t steal it,” said Ivy.
“You’re good sisters. I wish I could be one of you.”
“How about we just say you are?” I asked.
“You mean it?”
“You bet,” said Ivy.
We sat on my bed side by side, and I held Claudia on my lap for comfort. Ivy opened the letter. “It’s from Papa,” she said.
“Read it aloud, Ivy.”
Ivy read us the last chapter of our search.
Dear Ivy & Rose,
If you are reading this, I’ve died. Believe me, it’s as shocking to me as I’m sure it is to you. Please know how much I love you.
There is no way for me to explain what I have done, or how I have behaved. I took advantage of both you.
I’ve always searched outside of me for a reason—to be here. To be a person of this world, a citizen, a man who lives outside of the internal workings of his mind. Your mother always thought I loved Colleen, Asher’s mother, more than I loved her. That she was in competition with a ghost. Colleen died giving birth to Asher, and we had such a short marriage, I could never compare the two.
Love is a mystery, girls. When I met your mother she was a wild, progressive creature, ready for adventure...see, she took me away. I never had to look deep into myself until you girls were born. I’m ashamed to admit that every time I looked at the two of you, especially you, Rose, for reasons you either understand already or are soon to understand—you stirred feelings inside of me that reminded me of what I’d left behind. And your mother, she never wanted a sedate life at all. She would have kept traveling and having children at the same time. I was the one who insisted we settle down at my family’s home. A place I’d yearned to escape from myself, as a boy. I think I killed her spirit, only one of my many sins brought about by fear.
Here is what I know: I know that Asher went to war, and I know that upon his return, he was not well. I tried to see him. No...that’s a lie. I wanted to see him. But I was afraid.
The truth is I couldn’t face him. I left him the house as a consolation prize. I know that hurt you, Rose. But I also knew you couldn’t live here forever, caught in some dream that would only wake you when you were old, and your life already gone. Trust me, I know because I recently woke up and it had happened to me.
I am enclosing his last known address, the name of his grandmother and his sister, Cat, who was five years older and never very fond of me, or so I thought.
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