She blinked again, even rubbed her eyes with her good hand. This had to be a dream. This couldn’t be real. “You aren’t ashamed of me? Of the divorces and the risqué writing? And the not being an intellectual, serious pillar of the community?”
“Why would we need you to be exactly like us? Or your siblings. That would be rather dull.” Her mother leaned into her father, before patting Amalia’s leg.
“But I don’t contribute to the family. I only take resources and attention.” Which they had to resent. Who could want that in a child?
“There are plenty of resources to go around.” Her father gave her a lopsided, charming grin that lit up his entire face so one would hardly believe he was a man of sixty. “And money isn’t everything. Isn’t that what Mr. Zisskind likes to drone on about, ad nauseam?”
“The theories and ideas aren’t bad. Some of them have promise, if correctly applied.” Her mother coughed a little and lowered her voice. “Even if that Marx lives off his mother’s family’s fortune, made from the tobacco trade.”
Her father emitted a strange, choking sound.
“What?” Her mother straightened a bit. “Once upon a time your great-uncle had him on a list of potential grooms for me.”
That was met with a full snort from her father as Amalia stared at them. She really needed both hands to work so she could pinch herself.
“Anyway, wealth and retaining it isn’t paramount,” her father said. “It’s a means to an end and don’t get me wrong, pays for a great deal of wonderful things, including, it seems, men your Uncle Bernard would’ve preferred your mother to marry over me to live well in England.” He straightened his rather expensive jacket and tie with his free hand.
“It’s a privilege and a responsibility.” Her mother gazed into Amalia’s eyes, ignoring her husband. “But I think you understand that. Which is why you don’t hoard it and spend in an appropriate manner.”
“So I can use it for my charity?” she managed to ask as her head spun with all the information. Inside, a tiny version of herself was leaping and jumping for joy.
“Yes. All you had to do was ask.” Her mother shook her head, even, natural curls tumbling over her shoulders. “Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” Amalia slumped a little as she worked to gather her thoughts, to explain, somehow. “I guess I was afraid you’d confirm what a failure I am.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t see a failure at all. Do you, Jay?” Her mother turned to her father, her back straight as a railroad spike.
“Nope,” her father said without hesitation.
“But you hate all my decisions. Called me a waste and said to behave myself and never marry again.” She wagged a finger at her father. “That’s what you told me.”
“What?” Her mother frowned and stared at her father. “Jay? You said that to Amalia?”
“I didn’t mean it.” Her father blinked before squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his nose. “I was frustrated at the time. And I never literally told you not to marry again. It might have been implied, but not intentionally.”
“How could you? Especially without speaking to me first.” Her mother swatted her father’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “You know she’s sensitive. Like you.”
“I’m not sensitive.” Her father placed a hand over his mouth and glanced at her mother, who was glaring. “I’m sorry, Amalia. I’m usually better at this. Much better. I only intended to make you pause, not to hurt you, not to make you feel like you had to behave only in a particular manner, be something you’re not because if anyone knows how impossible that is, it’s me.”
It was her mother’s turn to make a snorting sound.
“But you were right.” Amalia sighed, because in a great deal of ways he was. “I was so foolish. And you tried to stop me, but I ignored you about Ethan, which is what caused all of this in the first place.” If only she had listened. If only she’d thought more and acted less.
“I—we understand why you did it. You lost Simon. You weren’t thinking clearly,” her father added. “No one could blame you for trying to be happy. I just didn’t want to see you hurt again.”
“Sometimes lessons need to be learned by experience. Luckily, we can provide a rather soft landing for your rather painful ones. Though...” Her mother inclined her head. “We never did understand why you married Bloomenstock in the first place, without really knowing him. You’re such a romantic and though on paper he was a practical choice, the way you did it...”
“David.” The confession roared through her body.
“What?” Both her parents stared at her in unison. “David Zisskind.”
“Don’t tell me I’m going to have to punch him again.” Her father glowered.
“You didn’t punch him, dear. I stopped you, remember? And you won’t. I abhor that sort of patriarchal nonsense.” Her mother pursed her lips and screwed them to the side. “Though I’m not above matriarchal nonsense if he did something bad enough.” As if to emphasize her point, she began unbuttoning her pearl trimmed gloves.
Amalia grimaced. “It isn’t his fault. It’s mine. I’d lied to him and told him I was engaged so I needed to find a fiancé with some alacrity.” She swallowed as guilt rose in her throat like bile. Oh, if she could just go back and shake some sense into the teenage version of herself. “I described said faux fiancé as well. Very specifically, in a way that would hurt David—poking at his insecurities.”
“Why on earth would you ever do that?” Her mother dropped her father’s hand, wrinkles on her brow now.
Amalia squirmed against the sheets under the older woman’s glare. “Because he didn’t—doesn’t believe in marriage and I wanted to be married so badly, wanted a family like ours—with two people who loved each other at the head. And I’d wanted it with him and when I couldn’t have it, it hurt. But I wasn’t fair. He’d been very upfront with me.” There was a catch in her throat now.
“So you directly asked him if he’d be interested in marrying you and he told you no, but engaged in...whatever you did the other night?” Her father leaned forward, hands under his chin, intent on her.
“No. I mean, I never asked, but he told me time and time again that he didn’t believe in it. He made a bunch of excellent points. And he has personal reasons. He’s upset because his father abandoned his mother and believes now his duty in this life is to work towards equality to make up for it, or something.” Amalia’s ears scalded, worse than the pain in her arms. Because out loud, to her parents, that all sounded like a bunch of excuses. “Oh god.”
“What?” Her mother’s rasp of distress was so loud, Isis squawked and found a higher perch.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” And now came the tears. “If I was really enough, he’d find a way around that, wouldn’t he? Or he’d suggest an alternative. Because if he loved me like I love him, he’d offer something, some sort of sign of devotion. He’d find a way to make us a family, not just some private dalliance.”
Her mother shook her head, her bright cornflower eyes stricken. “I can’t answer that. That’s between the two of you.” She wagged her finger so hard it was a wonder the large amethyst didn’t fly from its casings and hit someone in the face. “I will say, though I can’t advise you, unless the two of you can discuss this and be honest about what you want and what your limits are, you will only repeat the same hurt over and over.”
“Though—” Her father’s voice took on a dangerous edge. “Listen to me closely, Amalia. You’ve spent way too much time trying to mold yourself into someone else’s vision. You deserve better than that.” He glared. “If he refuses to compromise, or try to see your perspective, he’s worthless. Completely and utterly beneath you—” The slam of a door down the hall startled her. She gasped as familiar footsteps clapped towards the stairs. “How long was he in here?”
Her parents both glanced at
each other, their eyes wide in surprise and horror.
No.
He couldn’t have heard her father, could he? Or at least if he did, he’d stop, let her explain.
With what little strength she could muster, she lifted herself up, for once without thoughts about her hair or garments. Amalia hobbled to the door and down the hall, calling his name. He had to stop, had to listen, had to talk. If they could talk to each other and not past each other, they’d make everything all right.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Blood pounded in David’s ears as he raced down the hall towards the grand staircase. He had to get out. Had to leave. Had to crawl into a hole somewhere and sleep and maybe, just maybe his heart wouldn’t break into a million pieces that could never be put together again.
Though the cracks were coming. His chest ached as if it would explode any moment. Someone was calling his name, but he paid them no heed as he took the wide stairs two at a time into the vast foyer.
“Where are you going so fast?” Will, with Thad next to him, trotted in from the parlor.
“What’s wrong?” Thad asked. The taller man paled. “Is my sister well?”
“Oh, she’s recovered.” Bitterness spewed from his throat as he made his way to the door, not waiting for the well-dressed butler to assist him. “Well enough that she and your parents are discussing how worthless and unsuitable I am. A penniless peddler is fine to use in the field, but in your home?”
“What?” Thad followed him outside, Will on his heels. “What do you mean? I can’t imagine Amalia or my parents saying anything like that. My family doesn’t care about where you’re from or how much money you have. Not all of us were born rich, you know?”
“Well, I think your sister forgot that, or was never told.” He clenched and unclenched his hands. How could he have been so foolish, to let himself be blinded by her...her...her charm? Again.
David slammed a fist against his thigh, though the pain of the hit did nothing to stop the pressure behind his eyes. “She hasn’t changed. She’s the same person who was willing to sneak off with me, but marry Ethan. Fine to use as a workhorse or as a—” He bit his tongue, unable to even describe what Amalia used him and his heart as.
He whirled around to face them, forcing his back and posture straight even as everything inside him crumbled.
“Don’t you not believe in marriage? Don’t you rail about that every two seconds? To anyone who will listen?” Thad asked.
“He never said that to me.” Will frowned.
“He’s smart enough not to spew his nonsense around someone whose rights are limited in that respect. But for someone who understands the power of words...” Thad continued on but his words jumbled as David’s mind spun and churned, bringing him back to Grodno and his family who resented him. And his father.
Who didn’t want him either. Just like Amalia.
Why did he do this to himself? Why did he think it could be different?
“Why did I ever believe her apology, believe that she somehow thought better of me? Or more that we had the same view of the world?” His throat burned. “It’s fine. I know where I’m no longer wanted. I did my job and did it well and I can leave you all to live your happy lives, without me.”
The drumming returned to his ears. He turned on his heels with as much dignity as he could muster, especially given his jacketless, baggage-less state, and marched towards the road. He’d walk to the train station if he had to. And get some good boots in Philadelphia. And figure out a way to forget these people—well, one particular person—once and for all.
* * *
Tears streamed down Amalia’s cheeks as she near threw herself down the staircase and towards the open front door. Why wouldn’t her legs work right? Hair flopped in her face as she stubbed her bare toe for the fourth time. Her shoulder throbbed but she couldn’t, wouldn’t stop, because she had to catch him, had to explain, louder and better.
“I have to get to him. I have to make him understand.” She repeated the words over and over until two small arms stopped her and eased her to the floor in the center of the foyer. Meg pulled her close to her body.
Will and her brother thundered towards her, almost running down the butler.
“Do you?” It was Meg who asked the question. “Why is it your job when he’s the one running around refusing to listen?” She rubbed Amalia’s shoulder. “I mean neither of you are particularly good at communicating, but he’s really a...what word does he use? Shmuck?”
Thad snickered a little, but her chest still tightened.
“Meg?” Will cocked his head at the scene, the two of them on the ground.
“No, Will, I’m serious.” She waved him off. “Amalia did nothing wrong. And neither did her parents. He made her no promises, kept putting off speaking with her on the matter, made everything about him and his duties and his pain and his timeline and then jumped to conclusions, and refused to even listen to a word she said.”
Amalia opened her mouth and closed it. Because yes, put like that, it was all true. But why did it still hurt so much?
Meg eased her around so they could face each other. She put her hands on Amalia’s cheeks, forcing her to focus. “What do you want?”
“What?” she asked. What did Meg mean? She wanted a lot of things, but they weren’t important since they weren’t possible and even if they had been at one point, she’d made so many mistakes...
Fingers snapped in Amalia’s face. “If you could draw it up, what would you like your life to look like?”
“I want to be with David. I want him to be part of my family. I want him to be at the table for every holiday and to sit with me at night and celebrate good things and commiserate over the bad. I want to laugh with him and have him challenge me, push me, and be able to do the same for him.” She didn’t even have to think about it. That all she ever wanted. No matter what you wanted to call it. And with David. Not anyone else she’d ever met.
The problem was that it wasn’t possible, at least not truly, so she’d have to figure out a way to have at least part of it. Meet him somewhere in the middle. After all, he’d been through so much. She shook her head. “I want to be married to David. I know it’s selfish to demand the commitment and the risk—”
“Stop it.” Meg’s voice was harsh. “You’re permitted to want it.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I’d pretty much do anything for it, even if it’s only a piece of paper that can be undone by some of your fancy lawyers. It’s important to me and I’d give up a lot of things for it. With the person I want.”
Amalia glanced at Will’s face and her heart squeezed. How unfair was life? At that very moment, a congressman from Missouri was pushing a constitutional amendment to prevent two people who would give anything to be married from having that right. But she could blithely marry and divorce over and over without truly appreciating how lucky she was.
And David could denigrate it, criticize it, refuse to consider it, not out of real objection, but because of his own insecurity. His own fear of failure.
Or maybe that was too harsh. Maybe it was too hard for him. After all, he’d lived through and sacrificed so much for the good...
She swallowed. “But it feels wrong to demand it. Because maybe it isn’t him, it’s me. Maybe I’m just not enough.”
“If you’re not enough, make him admit it, make him tell it to your face. You’re owed that much. You aren’t forcing him into anything, you’re just asking for what’s fair.” Meg brushed a strand of hair off Amalia’s face. “No one’s perfect and there’s no one way to build a life, but demanding what you want, not settling for something that will make you unhappy, that’s not selfish.”
“And you should know where you stand,” Thad added. “You shouldn’t have to guess. And if he can’t see that you’re worth a million risks, well, I’m sure whatever insults our parents hurled are apt
.”
“But if he tells me that he doesn’t love me like that...” A sob lodged in her throat.
“It’ll hurt. But you’ll heal.” Meg stroked her injured shoulder. “Just like this will heal and your hand will heal. But now, you’re just letting things fester, get infected.” She handed Amalia a handkerchief. “Besides, you already tried pretending in two marriages. How did that work out?”
Amalia blew her nose and gave a harsh laugh. “Not well.”
“So don’t accept less this time.” Meg stroked her hair again. “Even if you love him. Don’t be the only one who gives. It’ll destroy you both.” Meg glared. “And if he can’t be made to see that and respect you enough to have a real, honest conversation, well...”
“Just like Thad said, he’s not worth it.” Will folded his arms.
Thad ran a hand through his hair, his pose so much like their father’s. “You’ll survive it and him. You’re a Truitt after all.”
She managed to give a small head-bob of assent. Meg was right. They were all right. Even if asking for it was painful or cost her the little she had. Because there could be no halfways. And if that meant losing him completely, well, so be it.
“I have my column and my charity.” Her voice cracked a little.
“You do.” Meg patted her cheek. “You created those, yourself. No one can take that away from you. And anyone who doesn’t want to be a part of that, well, it’s their loss. Make yourself happy. ‘Tea instead of hot water, meat instead of beans’ and all that rot.”
She giggled. “You actually listen to me.”
“When you say something smart.” Meg helped her to her feet. “You just need to listen to yourself.”
“I will,” she promised. And she would.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Home sweet home. David stood in the threshold of his apartment off South Street. He dropped his small satchel and kicked it across the empty floor.
“Keep it down.” A woman’s voice from behind the curtain dividing the space called. A baby fussed. At least only two of the Weisses were home. If any of the other children were about, they’d be jumping on him, begging for rides his back couldn’t take.
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