‘Thank you for writing to me,’ Evie called to Sister Mary’s departing back.
She returned her attention to the baby. It was so small. Defenceless, unable to do anything for itself. How could anyone have thought of leaving such a tiny and helpless thing to die by a river? Evie swayed from side to side and the grizzling began to quieten.
‘She seems to like you,’ Sister Margaret said.
‘I’m glad she’s stopped crying. She sounded so sad. Is she healthy?’
‘Yes, she’s healthy enough. But she cries most of the time. She stops if I hold her. But I can’t carry her around all the time. Sister Mary –’ Sister Margaret pressed her hand over her mouth and stared at the floor.
Evie looked around the room. Most of the other children were unnaturally quiet; there was no rough and tumble boisterousness or show of high spirits as one might expect. Sister Mary was nowhere in sight, nor were any other nuns. Still, she lowered her voice. ‘Has anyone claimed the baby?’
‘No. She will attend nursery school here and then be sent on the orphan train to Maryland when she’s six or seven.’
‘The orphan train?’
‘We place babies with Catholic families out of state. Sister Mary says it’s for the best.’
‘Can I keep visiting the baby while she’s here?’
‘I should think so. We can do with the help. If one of the children is looked after for even an hour, it’s a blessing.’ Sister Margaret’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And it’s so nice to have a visitor when you live somewhere like this.’
Evie heard the wistfulness in Sister Margaret’s voice, but before she could respond, footsteps approached behind them.
‘It’s late.’ Sister Mary was back. ‘Time for the children to get ready for bed.’ She took the baby and placed her in the crib.
‘I’ll be back again next week,’ Evie said.
Sister Mary nodded frostily, then indicated that Sister Margaret should walk Evie to the door.
They walked back through the big room full of so many lost and unloved children. Evie wanted to take them all with her. But she could barely help one, let alone so many. She glanced at Sister Margaret. It would be good to have somebody looking out for the baby. ‘Thank you for talking to me,’ Evie said. ‘I wish there was more I could do for her.’
‘I could check on her each day. Then when you visit I can tell you how she’s been,’ Sister Margaret said eagerly, so desperate to help, desperate for friendship. Desperate for a visitor too.
‘Were you an orphan here?’ Evie asked with sudden intuition.
Sister Margaret blushed and nodded.
Evie felt her eyes fill with tears. ‘I’ll bring some chocolate with me next time. To say thank you.’
Sister Margaret looked down, too overcome to speak.
‘I’ll see you next week,’ Evie whispered, stepping outside.
As she walked back to the Whitmans’, her head was full of the baby’s cry, a sound that seemed as if it could go on forever, and would go on forever in Evie’s head until she could visit her again. What a day it had been. And now the prospect of sitting at dinner with Charlie and pretending nothing had happened. She couldn’t do it.
She crept into the house and told the butler she wouldn’t be coming down for dinner. Then she telephoned Lil. She changed into a dress she’d bought in her first week in Manhattan and not yet worn because she hadn’t been sure if she was ready to become the bold and reckless woman it would best suit. But perhaps now, after refusing Charlie, after severing that strong link to her past, she was.
As the cab sped downtown, Evie wondered if the world had been turned upside down, that the city was in fact the night sky. The illuminated windows of the skyscrapers were as bright as any star, and Manhattan was hung with a necklace of lamps, shining from each of the bridges that surrounded the city – the Brooklyn, the Madison Avenue, the Manhattan, the Washington, the Williamsburg. Watching the lights, Evie began to understand she had to concentrate on the points of radiance in her life, rather than the shadows. She jumped out of the cab, pretending that with each step she was skipping from constellation to constellation, an astrologer learning to read the signs of her city.
‘Let’s get half-seas over and have a gay old time!’ a familiar voice shouted. It was Lil, striking in a breathtaking silver dress.
Leo pushed himself away from the wall and threw his cigarette onto the ground. Lil and Evie linked arms with him and waltzed through the door of Chumley’s.
Before they sat down at their table, Evie let the gold and black brocade shawl she’d worn in order to avoid scandalising the cab driver fall onto a chair. The dress beneath was sapphire blue. It had a tulle skirt that fell to just below the knee. The bodice was sequined and the neckline dived gracefully to end at her sternal notch. An inset of semi-sheer flesh-coloured fabric was artfully placed over the middle of her chest, but even knowing that, Evie had blushed when she looked in the mirror. Her hand had moved to her breasts and she’d turned to the side to see how the fabric both revealed and concealed the line of her cleavage. Now she didn’t blush. She stood tall and proud, because she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of.
Leo smiled at her. ‘Evie, you look magnificent.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Lil.
Leo bought their drinks but Evie barely had time to sip hers before he took her hand. ‘It’s “Hot Lips”,’ he said, and Evie recognised it as the song she’d tried to play on the piano at the Whitmans’ in Concord, the song that had so angered her mother and Charlie. The song that had made Thomas say she had a beautiful voice. Tonight it was fast and loose and full of brass that made her limbs shimmy along with the dipping and rising of the trumpets.
‘So will you be sticking around?’ Leo asked as they danced.
‘I don’t know. For six weeks anyhow.’ She twirled under his arm and hoped her dress wouldn’t shift around too much, but it seemed the dressmaker knew exactly what a girl might get up to when wearing it and everything stayed where it should.
Soon she was smiling in a way she couldn’t remember doing since she was a child. It was as if she had risen to the top of the Woolworth Building and the whole city lay at her feet. The song finished and the next one began. Another man – Frederick – asked her to dance, and then another – Caleb – and another, until she left the floor, breathless and laughing.
She rejoined Lil and Leo for another drink until a man by the bar caught Lil’s roving attention. ‘I might go see if he takes cash or cheque or just a bit of chin music.’
‘I think I’m meant to say good luck,’ said Evie, ‘if I’ve interpreted right.’
‘You have,’ said Lil with a wave of her hand as she walked away.
Evie watched Lil approach the man without a hint of shyness. She turned to Leo. ‘Let’s dance some more.’
‘I’ll never say no to that,’ he replied.
The music segued into a slower song, meant for lovers and not-yet-lovers.
‘Why don’t you have a girl?’ Evie asked.
‘I like too many girls.’
‘Really?’ There was something about the way he said it that made Evie not quite believe him.
‘Well, there’s really just one, but she doesn’t know I’m alive. Not in that way.’
‘Then she’s a fool.’
As they danced, Evie found that their bodies had moved closer together and that it was not at all unpleasant. And because he’d told her he was in love with someone else, and because she still wanted to know what it was like to be kissed and she figured it was better to find out with someone who had lots of experience, someone who was in no danger of falling for her, Evie rested her cheek against his. Then she looked up and saw that his eyes were intent on her face. She smiled.
‘Have you ever been kissed, Evie?’ Leo asked.
‘Is it so obvious that I haven’t?’ she said.
‘No, but you’re looking at me like someone who’s curious to know what happens next.’
&
nbsp; ‘Is this a service you offer to all girls newly arrived in the city – first kisses in exchange for a dance?’
‘Only the beautiful ones.’
Evie laughed. Her lips touched his and her hand moved up to the back of his neck. After a minute, she pressed her mouth to Leo’s a little more firmly until it opened against hers and she lost herself in the wonder and joy of casually kissing.
Chapter Eight
The next day, Evie’s head was still spinning when she woke to the blessed news that Charlie had embarked on his tour of the bank’s east coast assets. Viola seemed uncharacteristically glum at the news but Evie was thankful she wouldn’t have to see him for some time.
While Mrs Whitman kept Viola busy paying calls, Evie threw herself into summer school with a will but was met with sneers. No one wanted to speak to her. She became so used to men looking at her with derision and contempt that she had to remind herself that this was not what men were really like. She told herself they would become accustomed to her if she kept quiet and studied hard, but so many small incidents threatened this optimistic viewpoint.
There was the time the anatomy lecturer asked her to leave the room because they were going to discuss the male genitalia. Evie hadn’t replied; she’d simply sat in her seat and stared at her desk and refused to move. She knew that her cheeks were the brightest of reds, but it wasn’t because of the male genitalia that were apparently too shocking for her; it was because she could hear the sniggers, could sense the disapproval from the lecturer and the other men in the room. In the end, the lecture went ahead with her present, but she was too afraid to look up lest she catch anyone’s eye. At the conclusion of the lecture, one of the other students sidled up to her and asked if she’d like to study some of the finer points of anatomy with him, which sent him and his pals off into boisterous fits of laughter. Again, Evie didn’t respond. She slunk off, feeling as if she’d been the one who’d done something vulgar, feeling the men’s mockery sit like filth on her skin.
But her mind soon became used to the rigours of study and she concentrated hard on what she needed to learn, rather than the jeers directed at her. She spent every day at the college, or with Mr Childers working on physics, chemistry and mathematics. She returned to the Whitmans’ house late at night and had dinner on a tray in her room, talking to Mrs Whitman about the things she’d learned that day: that an eye behaved in the same way a camera did, and that it contained parts with such wonderful names as vitreous humour. She talked about the weather with her sister when they passed in the hall; for some reason, Viola had decided to leave Evie alone, and Evie was so grateful for this that she never once thought about what Viola might be up to.
After the first couple of tests, in which she struggled, Evie’s grades slowly improved, until by the last two weeks she was consistently achieving marks in the highest range. When she received her first perfect score, she almost wept. To think that just a few weeks ago she knew so little about physiology and now she was able to answer everything correctly. She began to feel more confident of success. Surely the medical school would have to admit somebody who was one of the strongest students?
Six weeks passed with the speed of a jazz pianist’s fingers, during which Evie tried many times to write to her mother to tell her that she’d refused Charlie. Finally, with one week to go – it would take at least that long for the letter to arrive in Concord – she sent a short note admitting she’d turned Charlie down and apologising for not being able to do what her mother wanted. She tried not to think about what would happen when her mother read it.
Then it was the day of her last tutoring session with Mr Childers. The following day would be her admissions interview with the dean of the medical college.
That morning, Evie caught the El down to Bleecker Street as she always did. To her, the El symbolised all the contradictions of New York City: inside, the trains had mahogany walls, leather seats and carpeted floors, but the engines dropped soot and oil on the heads of everyone who passed beneath the elevated tracks with more precision than a Central Park pigeon. The El was grimy and grand all at the same time.
Once off the train, she smiled at the Italians selling fresh ears of corn and lush broccoli stems from the stalls along the sidewalk, and at the newspaper boy calling out, ‘Extra! Extra!’ as if in Manhattan there was always something new worth hearing. She sang as she walked, because she was so close to victory, and when a passerby stared, she gave him the full force of her smile and said, ‘Manhattan can make one a little mad.’ He nodded as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
‘Your admissions interview is tomorrow,’ was Mr Childers’ greeting.
Evie sat down in her usual seat; by now she was used to the way he gave the climax before the warm-up. ‘How do you think I should approach it?’
‘The same way you approach everything in life, Miss Lockhart. Boldly.’
‘I wondered if I should try to be less like myself.’
Mr Childers laughed. ‘Why?’
‘I want them to admit me. If the way my parents react to me is any indication, I have a habit of irritating conservative people.’
‘If any woman can convince the college to accept her, you can. You’re more determined than when I first met you. And more adept.’
It was the best compliment she’d ever received. She was becoming adept. Physiology especially was her strong point. ‘Thank you,’ she said. And then because they’d shared a lot of Irish coffees over the last six weeks and because he’d been patient with her, she told him what she’d told nobody else. ‘I’ve staked everything on the interview tomorrow. I can’t return to a life I’ve outgrown. I belong to New York now.’ Mr Childers nodded as if he agreed. They settled down into a final session of calculus, at the end of which Evie stood up and shook Mr Childers’ hand. ‘May I let you know how I get on?’
‘I’d very much like to know.’
When Evie returned home, earlier than usual, nobody was around. But there was a letter for her. And this time it was from Tommy!
Evie curled up on the sofa in the sitting room and read about what he had been doing in London, in between employing men to work in the bank and meeting the people he hoped would become their clients. It all sounded so grown-up and independent, and no one thought twice about him being adventurous because he was a man. A man, as it turned out, with a rather nice turn of phrase; after reading his description, Evie almost felt as if she was walking through St James’s Park with him. Her smile widened when she came to the end of the letter: How is summer school? Tommy had written. I hope I’ll find you well on your way to becoming a doctor by the time I return. Even though I’ve only been away a few weeks, I’m already looking forward to seeing you again.
She stood up and spun around, feeling impossibly happy. Despite being so busy, Tommy was thinking about her. And for the first time in her life, Evie herself was on the brink of doing something that mattered. One interview to get through tomorrow and then she’d hopefully be accepted into medical school! She danced a few steps, pretending Tommy was with her, reaching out to take her hand.
Ouch! She’d knocked her knee against a table. Rubbing it, she laughed at herself, dancing alone in the cosy room. It was a room that lacked fuss, a room Evie loved spending time in; the walls were covered in cream silk, the Aubusson carpet on the floor was gently patterned with lutes and swans, and there were touches of the outside everywhere. Ferns and palms stood in vases by the door, and roses sat in loose bunches on the occasional table that had injured Evie. Above the fireplace was a recent portrait of Mrs Whitman and her two sons, gathered together in an embrace of love. Evie studied the portrait and decided that the artist had not done justice to the rich blackness of Tommy’s eyes.
She sat down, picked up a pen and paper and began to write back to Tommy. She told him about her perfect score and how good Mr Childers had been to her. At the end of her letter she wrote: I talk to your mother every evening about my days. But I often wish you were h
ere, so I could talk to you too.
‘You look happy.’
At the sound of her sister’s voice, Evie dropped the pen on the floor and hastily folded over the letter.
‘I’m happy too,’ Viola continued, stepping further into the room. ‘I’m especially happy with my correspondence.’
‘Correspondence?’ Evie realised that her sister was dressed up more than was usual for a family dinner, in a shapeless plum-coloured velvet shift that overemphasised her solid frame.
‘With Charles.’
‘You’ve been writing to Charlie?’
‘You need to come to dinner tonight,’ Viola said, not elaborating any further. ‘Mother and Father are here.’
‘What?’ Evie spluttered as her mind raced. What elaborate ruse could she conjure up in order to escape to her interview tomorrow? Then another thought struck her. ‘Why are they here?’
‘To see us, of course. They arrived while you were out. I took them for afternoon tea. You’d better get changed.’ Viola nodded at Evie’s dress, which was creased from the day spent squashed behind a desk. ‘Charles is here too.’
Evie stopped herself groaning aloud. Viola sounded more assured than usual, almost as if she were challenging Evie. Was she going to tell their parents that Evie was up to something? Surely Viola hadn’t a clue what Evie was doing.
Evie decided to play nicely. ‘Thank you for not telling Mother that I’ve been … busy during the days.’
But Viola clearly wasn’t susceptible to charm. ‘Just make sure you’re at dinner in half an hour.’
Damn. Evie left the room wondering why this had to happen today, of all days. She had so few fences left to hurdle, and ideally she’d spend the night preparing for her interview. Now she was going to be stuck at dinner with her family and Charlie. How awkward.
At the top of the stairs, she saw Mrs Whitman. ‘Now you have even more of my family to accommodate,’ Evie said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t mind. It’s my husband and Charles I’m most worried about. I have to get them through the evening without killing each other.’
A Kiss From Mr Fitzgerald Page 10