by Rachel Hauck
“Yes, she is, Father. Getting . . . married. And tonight . . . tonight is . . . well, a big night for us all.” Just speak it out, Emily. Father will know what to do.
“Is something on your mind, daughter?”
Yes! Father always could see through her. She came in here with no small thing on her mind. Emily paced over to the window, seeing a phantom image of Daniel’s fine, even features in the shadows of clapping tree limbs.
“Remember how Howard Jr. didn’t want to go to Harvard? He wanted to attend the University of Alabama as I did, but you insisted. He argued Harvard was too far away, a Yankee school, in a cold Yankee town.”
“He’s learning his father knows best.”
“That is why I’m here, Father.” Emily came to the chair by his desk. “I need your best advice.”
“What is it, Emily? You sound troubled.” Father removed one of his precious Cuban cigars from the humidor.
Despite the fact that Father hid Daniel’s letters from her, he was her rock, her support, the one who more times than she wanted to admit had chosen rightly for her. Her education. On occasion, her friends. Even suggesting Phillip as a proper suitor when Daniel left to play for the Barons.
“Is this about Loveman’s? Your mother told me what happened with Mrs. Caruthers. Don’t take it to heart, dear girl. She’s merely a dressmaker and all we need from her is her best work. Your mother will see to that, never fear.”
“I do take it to heart, Father. I don’t like her, nor her attitude about coloreds.” But in light of Daniel’s insinuation about Phillip, Mrs. Caruthers’s prejudices paled for the moment.
“Careful, Emily, there are laws.”
“I’m aware of the laws.” The very unfair laws. But at the moment, she craved Father’s comfort concerning Phillip. “Father, I’m not here about Mrs. Caruthers. I’m here about Daniel Ludlow.”
Father averted his gaze to his cigar as he took several deep puffs and relaxed in his winged chair. “I’d heard he’d returned.”
“You hid his letters from me.” The sentence warranted no quarrel. Just pure, simple truth.
“That’s a rather grand accusation, Emily.” Father continued to puff on his cigar. Emily went to the window and opened it. The dewy evening breeze, scented with the sunbaked earth, dissipated the tobacco smoke.
“Is it? I found them in the stable.”
“What were you doing in the stable?” Father tapped ashes into the ashtray stand by his desk and peered at her. “Molly gave me up, didn’t she?”
“She did not. You have a loyal confidante in her. Daniel came to see me. He told me about the letters.” Emily held steady with courage—that was the way to converse with Father, head on and confident. “Why did you take them? I believe they belong to me, Father. It’s not like you.”
“Letters that arrive at my home are my property. To do with as I see fit.”
“Not when they are addressed to me. I am not your property. You raised me to be my own person.”
“I did. Yet in matters of the heart, fathers know best. Daniel Ludlow is a fine boy, Emily, but he is not for you.”
“How can you say such a thing?” Emily leaned over his desk, hands gripping the thick edge. “You barely know him.”
“I know him enough, his family and lineage. I watched you two over the last year, and what I hoped was a schoolgirl crush turned into something you considered love.” Father pointed at her with his cigar. “I was glad when he left to play ball.”
“It’s my decision whom I love, Father.”
“Do you not love Phillip?”
“We are not talking about Phillip. We’re talking about Daniel. You didn’t give me a chance to decide for myself between Phillip and Daniel. You manipulated my heart your way by hiding Daniel’s letters.”
“What do you want me to do? Let you return Phillip Saltonstall’s ring? Whether you appreciate it or not, a Saltonstall match is good for you and the whole family, Emily. Your mother is invited to the women’s clubs that formerly snubbed her. I’ve taken a higher position at my own club. Cameron Saltonstall intends to bring some of his banking business to Canton Exchange, as well as give recommendations to his friends. Much more is on the line now than your heart, dear girl. Besides, I didn’t raise you to marry a man with no money, no connections, and no future.”
“You had no money, no connections, and no future when you started out. But you made connections, you made money, and thus your own future, Father. You didn’t fear hard work, and it molded you into a great man of character.” She went around the desk and knelt by his chair, pressing her hands on the smooth wooden arms. “That’s what I saw in Daniel. Those pieces of you that made you great. But you never gave him a chance.”
“Emily dear, years ago, an investor came my way while I was breaking my back to build my company. He offered me a leg up, his financial backing. Do you think I was wise to take it?”
“Certainly”—she brushed ashes from his sleeve—“you’re not a fool.”
“And neither are you.” He regarded her through the swirl of smoke. “Phillip is your offering of a better life, Emily. A leg up in society, a way for your children to have even more than you’ve had.”
“All right, fair enough, but what if . . .” Emily stood, staring down at her hands, a chilly nervousness in her veins. Was this fair to Phillip, to bring up his indiscretion when she’d not confronted him? When she’d not inquired about his side of the story? For all she knew, Daniel lied to her. Though she’d never known him to lie. Not even a little white one. Certainly her own eyes never lied to her. She saw what she saw that day at Loveman’s. So had Daniel.
“Emily? You were asking ‘What if?’”
She glanced at her father. “Nothing, I suppose.” What would Father think if she accused Phillip with such a thing? He’d think she was speculating and foolish, collaborating with her jilted lover. “I just wondered about the letters.”
“So Molly is my trusted confidante?”
“She’s no fool either, Father.”
“Emily, why are you not dressing?” Mother swooped into the library. “Your party begins in an hour. Howard, why are you keeping her?” Mother wore a fitted gown of pale pink chiffon and lace. Her rich brown hair with amber highlights was swept into a thick, full pompadour. Diamond earrings shimmered from the tips of her ears. “Molly has taken your dress upstairs, Emily. Hurry, get changed.” Father stood as she approached and leaned to kiss her. “Your tuxedo awaits you in your quarters, Howard.”
“Are you finished speaking with me, Emily?” Father began to put away his ledger and pen.
“Yes, Father.” She started for the door. “Thank you.”
“Emily,” Father called. “All brides get nervous. Rest assured, I didn’t steer your brother wrong by sending him to Harvard. I’ve not steered you wrong either.”
From atop Red Mountain, overlooking Jones Valley and the flickering lights of the Magic City, Emily was a princess for the night. A hundred guests dined on roasted quail and creamed potatoes, with chocolate mousse for dessert. All in her and Phillip’s honor.
Phillip looped his arm through hers as they gathered on the perimeter of the Saltonstall’s grand ballroom. The butler shoved open the terrace doors and a cool breeze swept up from the valley. On the far side of the room, a small orchestra tuned, drawing bows over strings, creating a dissonant melody.
“It was a fine dinner, Saltonstall.” Powell Jamison, one of Phillip’s oldest friends, joined Phillip and Emily in the center of the room and turned in a slow circle, facing the guests. “Ladies and gentleman, as my good friend Phillip’s best man, may I offer a toast.” He raised a glass of golden champagne. Around the room servants distributed bubbling crystal flutes to the guests. “To Phillip and his lovely bride-to-be, Emily.” The guests raised their glasses. “Best wishes for a long and happy marriage. Emily, later you can tell me what the lousy cad did to persuade you to marry him.”
Laughter flowed about the room. Phillip a
nchored his arm around Emily’s waist just as she caught Father’s eye. He nodded to her with a wink. Did I not tell you . . .
Emily raised her glass to him. To you, wise Father.
“Thank you all for coming and celebrating with Emily and me.” Phillip held her closer as he addressed the ballroom. “How did I win this fine creature as my bride, Powell? Naturally, I wooed her with my charms.” Phillip bowed to the room, which rippled with applause and laughter.
“I daresay it’s the large ring you gave her.” Cornelia Weinberg took a bold step forward, distinguishing herself from the other guests. At thirty-four, she was a widow already, her husband passing three years ago from heart failure at sixty-five. “I tell you it would’ve wooed my affections.”
“Ah, but I believe I’m too young for you, Cornie,” Phillip teased. “You like your men more . . . shall we say . . . seasoned?”
Emily leaned against her man, letting all her doubts fade away with the lively banter of friends and the elation of being celebrated for the night. Cornie was becoming a dear friend and Emily admired her resilience.
Mostly Emily relished moments like these when friendship and camaraderie extinguished all social decorum and folks felt free to laugh.
“If I’d set my sights on you, Phillip Saltonstall, I’d not have missed.” Cornie squared off with him in the middle of the floor. Phillip kept Emily tucked in close.
“You’re not that good of a shot, Cornie.” He lowered his chin but raised his brow.
“I suppose now you’ll never know.” No other Birmingham belle could jest like Cornie. She had a way of making it all seem so innocent.
“All right, you two.” Powell stepped in between them. “The orchestra is ready. Cornie, you can take the first dance with me.” He was a confirmed bachelor, and Cornie’s husband-hunting tactics didn’t scare him.
The guests gathered in small pockets, waiting for the dance to begin. Women chatted about the upcoming debutante season. The men discussed the Barons and Alabama football.
“Phillip, lovely party.” Herschel Wainscot shook his hand. “Emily, lovely as always. Do you mind if your intended and I talk business, just for a moment?”
“Only a moment, Mr. Wainscot. This is my engagement party and I won’t have it spoiled.” Emily gave him a scolding look, but only a quick one. She was too happy.
“I promise not to keep him long, but for some reason I can’t seem to track Phillip down during business hours. He’s very busy.”
“I’m always available to you, Hersh.”
“Then stay in the office once in a while. I’ll telephone you.”
A willowy woman appeared next to Mr. Wainscot. Emily straightened when a flutter zipped between her ribs. The woman from the street . . . outside Loveman’s. Her legs trembled beneath her full, taffeta skirt.
“Introduce me, Herschel.”
“Emmeline Graves, this is Mr. Phillip Saltonstall and his bride-to-be, Miss Emily Canton.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mr. Saltonstall.” She offered her hand to Phillip but kept her eyes averted. “Miss Canton, your gown is quite lovely.”
“Thank you.” Emily braced as she peered up at Phillip. Would he be drinking in the sight of this slender woman? The one Emily saw laughing with him on 19th Street? She had the same thin frame and thick golden hair.
But Phillip barely shook her hand and instead fixed his attention on the bandstand and the orchestra. “How long does it take them to tune, for Pete’s sake?” he said. “I’m ready to twirl around the floor with this gorgeous creature in my arms.” He peered down at Emily, lifting her chin with a slight touch of his finger.
Mr. Wainscot chuckled. “Well, while we’re waiting, let me have a word with you. Phillip, how’s the convict-leasing program working for you and Saltonstall mines? We’ve been thinking of using them to work on the city roads. Save some money on labor. Slag is a bit more expensive than concrete.”
“We have no complaints from our overseers.”
“But you do from the citizens, Phillip.” Emily stepped into the conversation. “The convicts live in deplorable conditions and they’re treated brutally. Father has horses and hounds that fare better.”
“Emily—” Phillip’s glare demanded her quiet submission.
“They’re men, not animals.”
“They’re convicts, Miss Canton.” Mr. Wainscot’s tone was devoid of his previous charm. “They’re paying their debts to society.”
“Leg irons, hard labor for a misdemeanor? Half starving, whippings for the smallest infraction. It’s barbaric and beneath a Southern gentleman’s ways.” She leaned close to Wainscot. “And they’re all colored.”
“I didn’t know you cared, Emily. They’ve received due process.”
“From a white jury and white judges, who give cruel and unusual punishment they’d not hand down to white men. Not for the same offense. I don’t see white convicts assigned to this leasing program. The men are cheated, made to work longer than their sentence, to pay for what? Living in squalor? Lining the pockets of the mine owners and crooks who run the city?”
“Miss Canton.” Mr. Wainscot squinted at her. She braced for his shallow rebuttal. He burst out laughing and clapped Phillip on the shoulder. “Phillip, you have a spitfire here. Intelligent. Speaks her mind with eloquence. Even better than most men. Perhaps she’ll study to be admitted into the bar. Or take up management in the Saltonstall offices.”
Phillip chuckled as if Wainscot surely had to be joking. “Emily has no such aspirations.”
“How do you know, Phillip?” Emily said. “Have you asked me? It’s men like you two that make women want the vote, so we can bring some civility and humanity to politics.”
“My dear.” Phillip wrapped his hand about her waist and pressed her to him. “You sound like pamphlet rhetoric. I thought you didn’t care for the suffrage meetings. Hear now, it’s our party. Why don’t we”—the orchestra began a waltz—“dance?”
“Yes, of course.” Emily dabbed the moisture from her forehead with the handkerchief tucked against her palm. “I’m sorry, Phillip, I didn’t realize all of that was inside me.”
“Then you surprised us both.” He held her face in his hands and stroked his thumbs over her lips, sending a buzz through her. “But you’re beautiful when you’re fiery. It makes me want—” His lips covered hers and Emily clung to him, and his passion. When Phillip released her, she fell against his chest.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t embarrass me, love, but make no mistake, I am a man like Herschel Wainscot. A businessman in this city, working to make it better for all of us. Hersh is a bit arrogant, but he’s a reasonable, solid character.” Phillip brushed his hand over her cheek as he started to waltz her about the room. Step, turn, step, turn. “I never tire of looking at you, Emily. You’re so very, very lovely.” His low, romantic tone wooed her. His eyes gripped hers and she felt locked into him.
“You are most dear, handsome Phillip. I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
“I look forward to our wedding night. Perhaps you’ll reserve some of your fire and passion for me there.”
“Phillip,” she whispered, burning with embarrassment, though his intentions awakened her desires.
“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll teach you.” His lips caressed the soft flesh at the base of her ear with no regard for the room full of friends and family who might be watching.
Emily shifted her head away from him. It was not their wedding night yet. Though, obviously, he’d like it to be so.
“Phillip, may I ask you something?”
“Anything.” He spun Emily about the floor with grace and ease.
“Do you know Mr. Wainscot’s friend, Emmeline? Where is she from?”
“I know what you know, dear Emily. Just met her tonight.”
Wainscot appeared through the dancing couples, the willowy woman in his arms. “Phillip, do your ole pal a favor. For the grand ole frat, Phi Delt.
Dance with Emmeline, and let me take a turn around the floor with this vision of a woman you call your fiancée.” He lifted Emily’s hand from Phillip’s and twirled Emmeline into Phillip’s arms. Wainscot settled his hand on Emily’s back, her palm in his, and danced them away.
“Thank you, dear Emily, you rid me of that silly dame.” Herschel stepped her around the floor, light on his feet. Emily’s skirt swished against her legs. “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight, and I’ve never been so jealous of my best pal.”
Emily darted her gaze to the floor as they turned, heat creeping along her neck. How did he expect her to respond?
“Mr. Wainscot.” Emily raised her chin, keeping her voice light and airy, boasting a smile. “If the dame is silly, why’d you force her onto my Phillip?” She coyly peered around his shoulder to see Phillip dancing with Emmeline as if her form was familiar to him. As if her curves belonged beneath his palm.
“Because I wanted to dance with you.” He exhaled, his port-tainted breath brushing over Emily’s hair. “Phillip’s always had the luck with the ladies. I remember our first day on campus, he had the girls fawning all over him. I decided then he’d be my best friend.”
“And does he still? Have luck with the ladies?”
Herschel looked in her eyes and exhaled, his breath warm on her face. “He has you, hasn’t he? I’d fight him for you if I thought you’d take me after I won.”
“Mr. Wainscot.” Emily moved out of his arms.
“Call me Herschel, please.”
“You seem to be in no short supply of beautiful escorts, Herschel. Emmeline is quite beautiful.” Emily knew most every woman in their social circle, even the nieces, granddaughters, and relatives who came to Birmingham for long visits now and then. “How do you know her?”
“She’s the daughter of a friend.” Herschel offered Emily his arm, motioning to the refreshment table. He handed her a glass of punch, then took one for himself.
The drink was sweet and minty, but the air between Emily and Herschel was hot and sticky. Wanting to escape his company, she scanned the guests for a sign of Mother and Father. Or Phillip. But she couldn’t find them among the dancers.