by Carole King
“Let us put all this fuming behind us, love,” said Cain. “As you said last night, we ought to make the most of this holiday—a much-deserved holiday. We must do everything that all the other tourists do in Philadelphia. Will you show me your beautiful city, Autumn?” She agreed with much relief. Cain promised her that this would be a time, a precious, unforgettable time, for two people, wildly in love, to make the world their very own.
The city became a playground for Autumn and Cain. All manner of diversion was theirs to enjoy. They rode bicycles in Fairmount Park, sailed on the Delaware, cheered for their favorite horses at the thoroughbred races, shopped at the merchant exchange. They dined, attended the theater, and went to concerts. They stood in awe before the historic Liberty Bell and toured the mellow majesty of Independence Hall, where crackly yellow parchments, gleaming crystal inkwells, and battered desks carried the patina of an age. In Germantown they saw a barn that had once stabled George Washington’s horse. At the Museum of Art, they studied, and with much humor adjudicated twelfth-century masterpieces and Barberini tapestries and decided for themselves whether those works of art were worthy of their elevated places in history. Autumn directed Cain to stand beside a particularly ornate suit of armor. Assuming a knightly pose, he stood stiffly before her, and she walked around him assessing how he might have measured up to one of those medieval heroes.
“I would have made a splendid knight,” he assured her.
“And you would,” she agreed, “have been quite content to keep me securely mounted upon a pedestal.” Cain’s eyes, as he settled his regard on her, took on a mischievous glint.
“Securely mounted, love, but not on a pedestal.” He stepped down from the dais that he had occupied and moved toward her. Sweeping her into an embrace, he bent his lips to her ear and whispered a suggestion that made her heart tip.
“Oh, yes, Cain,” she whispered back. They were never far from the swelling splendor of such moments, never too absorbed in their exploration of the city’s sights to become absorbed in an exploration of their love. The afternoon ended as many had before it, with the two lovers discovering the opulence of treasure to be found amid the tangled blankets of their four-poster bed at the Olympus Hotel.
Toward the end of their holiday, they strolled down Locust Street one dewy morning, toward Rittenhouse Square. The weather, always capricious in the city, turned chill, and as they reached the park a sudden squall swept in from the river. Cain protected Autumn as best he could, pulling her along in the circle of his embrace to the shelter of a tree. Looking down at her, with water dripping from the limp brim of her once pert bonnet and her heavy skirts trailing flaccidly behind her, Cain attempted, with a hopeless lack of success, to hide his amusement. He offered his handkerchief—small succor, Autumn pointed out as she mopped herself to little effect.
Cain lifted her chin with a tender forefinger, and Autumn knew she was to be kissed . . . in a public square of all places. Her alarm melted before it took hold, however. She loved Cain so. For his part, Cain could not quite understand the odd infusion of tenderness and lust that welled in his heart, but he fought neither sensation. Passersby, gentlemen and ladies all, tipped their umbrellas not in offense but in indulgent pleasure at the sight of the young couple so obviously in love. Beneath the dripping canopy of the trees, Autumn and Cain kissed, welcoming the world into the perfect circle of their love.
They spent their last day in Philadelphia with their mothers—and Alistair MacKenzie. The red-haired adventurer had quite literally swept Isabel off her feet the night of the Drexel party, and these days he seemed to be attempting the same feat. He was a robust man given to very public displays of both his strength and his affection for Isabel. Lawn bowling was a sport at which he excelled—he told them all—and invited them for a day of games in Fairmount Park. Whipping off his waistcoat and tossing off several well-aimed strikes before lunch, he quite proved his boast that day. He cheered himself unabashedly and took Isabel into his bearlike embrace with joyful self-congratulations. While the ladies found Alistair’s behavior endearing, Cain remained grimly miffed. He thought it unseemly of Isabel to make herself available to such unrestrained exhibitions of public passion, and later over supper—to which Cain had purposely and quite pointedly not invited Alistair—he scolded all the women for their encouragement of such behavior. Autumn reflected wryly on how quickly Cain had forgotten his own behavior of the day before in Rittenhouse Square. And though Vanessa deemed Alistair “charming” Cain would not be moved.
“He is like a boy in his exuberance,” Autumn offered.
“But he is not a boy,” Cain countered over the remnants of their meal.
“That he is not,” Isabel commented reflectively. Cain’s brows furrowed, but he continued.
“Isabel,” he argued, “how many men swing a bowling stick about their heads and hurl it to the ground triumphantly simply because they’ve hit a strike? He might have injured someone. A grown man ought to have more sense.” Isabel cocked an oblique smile.
“No one was in any danger from Alistair’s bowling stick, Cain,” she pointed out.
“That is a matter of speculation, Isabel. In any event I should think twice before I accepted another of his invitations.” He leaned forward across the table and confided, “In my opinion, he is a common sort—not nearly in your class. It is one thing for a man to marry ‘down,’ in fact it is quite the most desirable and natural of arrangements. It is entirely another matter for a lady to do the same. You must think of your reputation.”
“Cain,” Isabel replied, reaching out and patting his hand, “please do not misunderstand. Though I appreciate your advice, I am of an age and at a time in my life when marriage is not a consideration. I had a beautiful marriage with Autumn’s father. We shared a great love and I am not anxious to see that relationship overshadowed. I shall never consider marrying again.”
Cain placed his hand over hers, and said, “I am glad to hear that, at least in regard to MacKenzie. Still, you may change your mind someday, and I’d not like to think that you had sullied your reputation with the likes of that man. You must keep your options open, Isabel.”
Isabel sighed. Cain had, in fact, misunderstood her. She did not bother to explain, however, that if the occasion suited her, she fully intended to take Alistair MacKenzie as a lover. Cain was bound to the role of protector, and though he seemed quite willing to forego convention where Autumn and he were concerned, he had quite a different standard for others.
She listened patiently as he continued. “Also, you must remember to take the advice of the men around you. The financial officers at the bank, for instance, are there to help you. I realize that you are astute, but it remains true that a woman of your high breeding has no true idea of what can go on in the world of business. That is a man’s province.” Isabel glanced to the other women, studiously avoiding any facial expression.
“Again, I thank you for your advice, Cain,” she said, patting her lips delicately with her napkin.
“It will be difficult to discourage a man like MacKenzie,” Cain continued, “and in the absence of a father or a brother or a son, you might wish me to speak for you.”
“I believe,” replied Isabel, “that I can present Alistair with a clear message of my intent.” Cain nodded with satisfaction and called for the bill. As they made their way back to the hotel, Autumn refrained from pointing out to Cain that his advice of the evening smacked of the ivory-tower mentality of the medieval knights he had so successfully imitated at the Museum of Art. While that image constituted a romantic fantasy, it had little to do with real life—Isabel’s life, at any rate.
The next morning, as Isabel and Vanessa continued their house hunting, Autumn and Cain left Philadelphia.
“I shall miss you, my darling,” Isabel told her daughter.
“I shall miss you, too, Mother.”
“Take a little advice with you back to Cape May. Love Cain enough to release him.”
“Rele
ase him?” Autumn asked.
“Cain sees himself in the role of protector, custodian guardian—a knight in shining armor. Allow him to remove that armor, Autumn. I imagine it can become awfully heavy.” Autumn smiled.
“I shall do so, Mother,” she said.
Cain and Autumn arrived in Cape May to find that summer had blossomed fully. In their absence the Byron estate had become a bower. Flowers bloomed everywhere; green life had overtaken the lawns, vines of ivy and roses had twined along the fences and over the porch railings. Carrie greeted their arrival announcing that she had decided to stay on to see to the establishment of Cain’s medical office. She accompanied Autumn upstairs—up the front stairs—to her bedroom to see to her unpacking. As Autumn pulled the pins from her wide straw bonnet and unfastened the ribbon tie from beneath her chin, she eyed the woman in some puzzlement.
Drawing off her gloves, she said, “I do thank you for staying, Carrie. I hadn’t expected such a lovely surprise. We have plenty of people now to take care of the house, and I am sure you have trained them all well.”
“Oh, the house is runnin’ fine,” explained Carrie as she began hanging up clothes, “but I wanted to stay until them carpenters left. They was creatin’ an awful mess, Miss Autumn. I just couldn’t stand them strangers comin’ in with their dirty boots and tools and nasty cigars and nobody to tell them what’s what . . .” Her voice trailed off. “The truth is,” she admitted after a pause, “I didn’t want to leave. I suppose in a way—a real strange way, mind you—I’ve gotten used to life here in this house. My Henry says it ain’t my own life, but I tell him it’s the one I’m used to. Sometimes, funny thing, we get real scared when we get exactly what we want. You know what I mean, Miss Autumn?”
“I do, Carrie,” Autumn acknowledged sincerely. She moved to the woman, who had sunk down on the edge of the bed. “But you know your place is with your husband. He has every right to expect you to reside with him, especially now that you’ve been given the opportunity to do so.”
“Especially now,” murmured Carrie, “when I’ve got me a bun in the oven.” Autumn’s brows knitted.
“A . . . bun?”
“A baby, Miss Autumn.”
“You’re carrying a child, Carrie?”
“I am, miss.”
“But, Carrie, that’s wonderful!” Autumn knelt before the woman, smiling up at her. “Oh, that is surely the best news in the world. It’s what you’ve dreamed of.”
“Like I said, it’s one of them things that when you finally get it, it’s scary.”
“Nonsense,” Autumn returned. “Having a baby is the most natural thing in the world.” Her smile deepened. “We shall have it together.” Carrie regarded her in dismay, and Autumn continued earnestly. “I want a baby, too, someday, Carrie. Sadly that is impossible right now. So, please, let me join you in your pregnancy. We shall buy new clothing for both you and the baby, and we shall scrub the nursery till it sparkles and paper it and furnish it with the very finest of baby things, and we shall pick out a splendid pram—”
“Is it true, Miss Autumn, that ladies . . . die sometimes when they’re havin’ their babies?”
“Of course that happens sometimes, Carrie. But it’s not going to happen to you. We shall set you up with an appointment with the finest doctor in the world.”
“Not Dr. Beame.”
“Oh, no, Carrie, Dr. Byron!”
Autumn grabbed Carrie’s hand and the two women bundled down the stairs to Cain’s new office. Halting just inside the door, Autumn was amazed at the transformation that had taken place. What had once been Cain’s pretentious and brazenly masculine parlor had been converted into a sterile, whitewashed harbor of doctorly order. Gone were the animal heads and brass carvings, the friezes and tasseled drapings. The only thing that was left that even remotely resembled the former ambience was the little animal horn chair, and even that had been reupholstered in a cool gray, replacing its former covering of red velvet. Cain’s desk remained, but the ornate lamps and other furnishings had been supplanted by appointments of modest line and almost exaggerated ordinariness. Shelves had been built into the walls and medical books and instruments of all sorts were lined up neatly. The portrait of his father still resided over the hearth.
“I am hoping,” Cain commented, “that it will inspire confidence.”
“It inspires no confidence in me,” Carrie said with a small shudder. Cain regarded her with a question.
“Carrie is to be your first patient,” announced Autumn.
“Are you ill, my girl?”
“No . . . not ill. I mean . . . I been a little under the weather, don’t you know, but it’s nothin’ serious.” She gave Autumn a warning glance. “I ain’t sick.”
“Carrie’s pregnant,” Autumn declared. Cain merely stared. Only Autumn noted the almost imperceptible moment of uncertainty that clouded his gaze. Could it be that Dr. Cain Byron, the assured and confident Cain, was skittish about such an important first assignment? Such a familiar first patient? She moved to him, placing her hand on his arm. “Isn’t that wonderful, Cain?”
“Indeed it is,” he agreed, rallying. “Congratulations to both you and Henry.” He glanced at Autumn then back at Carrie. “We shall have to examine you,” he offered smoothly. Carrie’s eyes widened.
“That’ll be fine, sir. Let me just . . . I’ll bring the two of you a pot of tea,” she said scrambling from the room.
“She’ll get used to the idea,” said Autumn, smiling.
Cain folded his hands behind his back. “But will I?”
“You will, my darling,” Autumn assured him, reaching up and smoothing the furrows that had formed on his brow. At this moment, she felt a well of love for him. That part of him that dominated and preached had disappeared with his uncertainty, and it was this part of Cain that Autumn held closest to her heart.
Once Vanessa had arrived home and the household settled into a regular domestic routine, Autumn and Cain made a purposeful effort to keep their relationship on an apparently professional level. Neither of them wished any gossip among the people of Cape May that might jeopardize Cain’s career or Autumn’s reputation. The fact that Cain was still ostensibly engaged to Antoinette Fraser offered a certain protection. And Autumn’s position as Vanessa’s companion kept the illusion that she was an employee of the household. Still, the respectability that they were attempting to create was but an illusion and the knowledge of that lay heavily between them.
Autumn attempted to separate herself from Cain as much as possible, making a life for herself that was suited to that of any working girl. Publicly, at least, she managed an independence of spirit and a sprightly self-sufficiency. At Carrie’s departure, Autumn had taken over the running of the house. She shopped daily and visited the circulating library several times a week, bicycling into town sporting her breeches—of which Cain still deeply disapproved—and making friends. She joined a literary club that met on Tuesday nights and attended local concerts and lectures. She encouraged Vanessa to come along, but that lady remained as reclusive as ever. Most afternoons Autumn spent getting Carrie’s new house in order, and, as promised, preparing the nursery for the new arrival.
For his part, Cain began the business of building his practice. He received new patients every day. They were people from the town and even vacationers from the resort hotels in the city seeking the ministrations of this new young doctor. After a few short weeks his reputation began to grow, even outside Cape May. He was acclaimed as an excellent man of medicine, and he gained a reputation for gentleness and a friendly ear. He smiled easily at children who were frightened by a visit to the doctor and suggested to Autumn that she furnish the office with a few toys. Autumn noted with a jaundiced eye that Dr. Byron was especially popular with the ladies. One young woman, a Miss Rose Evert, the nubile daughter of a local businessman, came in weekly with one ailment or another. She was an attractive girl, Autumn observed, with great trusting eyes and a moist bud of a troubled pout.
Through the month of July, she had one case of a pretty cough that would not go away, at least three complaints concerning an ongoing pain in her trim ankle, and several sieges of an inexplicably palpitating heart. Autumn suggested, smiling sweetly over supper, that the girl might need the attentions of a heart specialist.
Hiding his own smile, Cain commented quite forlornly, that “the poor child” was a mass of complex ailments. “A specialist,” he explained, “would look to only one part of her body. Miss Evert needs someone to care for her whole ravaged self.” Autumn’s smile vanished and her amber gaze darkened to a copper hue.
“Miss Evert,” she returned, “needs a good spanking for wasting the time of a busy doctor with her play-pretty ailments.”
Cain lifted his dark brows. “A spanking . . .” he said in solemn reflection. “I had not thought of that mode of treatment.” Autumn’s regard narrowed. She hurled her napkin to the table and pushed back her chair almost to the point of its falling. Without further words she made her way from the dining room across the entrance hall to the front door. Slamming from the house, she paced the wide front porch restively and noted that her footsteps sounded hollow, as hollow as her fit of temper. She chastised herself over her inability to make a joke over a silly girl’s adolescent crush on a handsome young doctor. It was the stuff of which jests were made between cozy married people. But Cain and she were not cozily wed. And until Antoinette Fraser decided their future, that fact would always be a source of tension between them. She glanced up as Cain joined her on the porch. He said nothing but leaned out over the railing and surveyed the wide expanse of lawns. The evening was nearly purple in its gloaming radiance. Stars were beginning to appear overhead, and the scent of bougainvillea and the sea sweetened the warm night. He turned finally and sat on the edge of the railing. Extending his arm, his hand held out to her, he said softly, “Will you take a walk with me, love?” Autumn offered an oblique and guilty glance.