Once We Were

by Aundrea M Lopez

  Ioan replied in French, “I suppose I can take that compliment in all masculinity.”

  Lavinia didn't speak for a while. Her gaze never left Ioan as he finished his repair. “That should do it,” he said, handing it to Cora. “I'll be going now. Too many ladies in one room.” Lavinia's eyes chased him from the room. She smiled at Cora. “Well, as I said before, Miss Harlow, we have much work to do.”

  * * *

  Ioan tapped his pen dully as Mr. Spruce placed photos of wealthy men before him. “I've arranged your guest list for the charity concert. If you want to create a good public image, you want to appear generous, but I highly recommend you seek investors. Here are a few possible invites. Mr. Thompson, another one of your father's closest friends and connection. He has shares in the growing oil industry. Mr. Touchstone, he helped your father open his tea shop and is also very fond of the theater. Mr. Hudson, he's the man that supervises your hotel. Would you pretend to pay attention?”

  “Right. Buy them a pint. Talk lots of rubbish big words. Get them to cough up some money. No problem.”

  “Yes, there is,” Mr. Spruce replied. “This is not a roll in the scalawag pub. This requires skill. You don't buy them a pint. You offer a cigar. You pour a shot of brandy. Gentlemen like to show off their intelligence by quoting Greek and Latin. They will test you. Once they see you are one of them, they will try your knowledge of politics. If you pass, they will ask about your business strategies, during which you will propose your charity. If they see benefit for themselves, they will invest. Then you offer them another shot of brandy to success and long life. A gentleman will invite you to his gentleman’s club. Once he's done that, he will consult with members of the club who will collectively agree to admit you. You will attend every other night to dine, smoke, and discuss politics. A woman's name is never mentioned in these settings. It's highly distasteful.”

  “I like that idea.”

  “Then, and only then, will you be considered a gentleman.”

  “You sound exactly him. He'd thrash me before I forgot any of this.”

  “You should thank him. Your survival depends on it. You are clearly out of practice,” Mr. Spruce said gravely. “Now, Mr. Livingston wears a walrus mustache. You'll especially want to remember his face. Before he died, your father drafted a contract with Livingston wineries. The offer is still on the table. Have you asked Miss Harlow to accompany you?”

  “You're better off convincing the devil to sell you back your soul,” Ioan replied. “She won't go.”

  “She must go.”

  “I don't need a chaperon.”

  “You do need an escort,” Mr. Spruce told him. “It's tradition. I certainly can't be that woman for you.”

  “Then get me someone else. I won't go with moaning minnie.”

  “Yes, there's another one for the papers.”

  “And remind them how happy we really are.”

  “Well you have until tomorrow night to get happy.”

  “And you expect me to just waltz up there and ask her? She's fuming on the inquiry. The mare won't let it go.”

  “Are you frightened of her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then man up. She's coming upstairs.”

  “I'm not asking her. You ask her.”

  “Don't be absurd. Get over there and ask her, nancy boy. Now's your chance.”

  “I am not afraid of her!” Ioan declared. He turned to find Cora right behind him. “Cora, I was wondering if you'd-”

  “No,” she said simply. “Can you ask Mrs. Dillsworth to deliver these invitations for me?” she said to Mr. Spruce. She turned to leave.

  “I wondered if maybe you'd go to the concert with me!” Ioan called after her. A slamming door answered him.

  “Bravo,” Mr. Srpuce commented. “It's safe to say the Saier bloodline is set for extinction.”

  “Christ, are you sure there's no one else?”

  “If she hasn't forgiven you by now, I doubt she ever will. Perhaps you're not working hard enough.”

  “You should be working, not commenting.”

  “I'll find the perfect girl for you.”

  “Those words should never be uttered in the same sentence.”

  “Do you want the girl or not?”

  “Fine. Anything's better than the creature.”

  * * *

  Cora went out. She had to escape the house. Ioan's obsession for the charity drew him behind closed doors. He was unseen, but always heard. He and Spruce never stopped going at it. It was like old Mr. Saier never made it under ground. Spruce played a faithful puppet. Cora knew she shouldn't take anything to heart, but sometimes it was necessary to just run away.

  Lavinia planned to show up at one. This time she sent a card. If Cora kept her waiting, maybe she'd go away. How wrong that assumption really turned out to be. Somewhere deep in Lavinia's shallow heart, Cora believed she intended to stay forever. When she reached the garden, it became unmistakably obvious.

  The perfect Miss Appleby sat like a picture in the garden. Cora spotted the navy blue scarf hanging over her lap. Her first reaction was to rip Lavinia's pretty blonde curls out, but she wasn't going to let this woman turn her into a fool.

  “Miss Harlow, haven't I told you about walking alone?” she scolded lightly. “We were worried about you. Kitty said you went missing this morning without explanation or note.”

  “Kitty?”

  “Oh yes, Mrs. Dillsworth, of course,” Lavinia reminded her. “Isn't it her name? She makes the best blueberry muffins on this end of town. I'm sorry you missed them.”

  “Where did you get that?” Cora asked.

  Lavinia glanced innocently at the scarf. “Oh this poor thing? I found it while looking for you upstairs. I happened to glance into Mr. Saier's room and saw it laying on the dresser. It was ghastly before I got to it. I don't understand how a seafaring profession can be so abusive.”

  “You went into his room?” Cora demanded.

  “To rescue the thing. I spent all morning knitting it back into shape. I patched the holes here and here and added an extra layer to the entire thing. It's nice and thick now. I've never been to sea, but I hear the cold is bone chilling. He'll always be warm wearing this.”

  “You shouldn't sneak into his things,” Cora warned her. “Such behavior is frowned upon in all societies.”

  Lavinia smiled. “Oh, Cora, don't be offended. It's only a scarf. Just a little busywork until you returned. Would you care to help me finish the ends?”

  Every impulse forbade Cora to do it, but she couldn't let Lavinia have anything of Ioan's. She sat next to her and took up a pair of needles. Silence encouraged Lavinia to chatter for the both of them. Anyone would have mistaken Cora for her best friend rather than the other woman. Lavinia did a poor job on keeping her thoughts secret.

  “Do you think he wore this scarf on Titanic?” she asked Cora.

  “He has a handful of these that he wears with his uniform. Who's to say this is the one he chose to wear on Titanic? It wouldn't have saved him as he jumped off the ship anyway,” Cora answered flatly.

  “I suppose you're right,” Lavinia answered. “It's just very nice to think about.” Cora didn't answer. It seemed silly to talk about a man's scarf like an excavated ancient artifact.

  “So what's it like?” Lavinia asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Marrying an Englishman?”

  “I won't tell him you called him that.”

  “Why?” Lavinia giggled. “Isn't that the origin of his accent? I think it's absolutely charming. How can you contain yourself with that walking around?”

  “There are plenty across the pond. Too many. You should get one yourself if you like them so much,” Cora replied.

  “Oh, Britain is much too far,” Lavinia lamented. “Fortunately they're making their way overseas. I shall have to thank you for recommending me, Miss Cora.”

  “They're only men. None of them are the handsome princes you re
ad about. Whether a Brit or a yank, they make mistakes. They do foolish things. They always mismatch their socks in the laundry. They're argumentative. They think they're witty. They're impossible to live with.”

  “But you must love him,” Lavinia answered. “Whenever I find my husband, I'd like us to be as close as you and Mr. Saier. He looks at you in a way that would make any girl envious. You're very lucky, Miss Harlow. You have it better than the lot of us.”

  * * *

  Spruce was right. Cora had a temper. She lacked the passive ladylike nature of Miss Perfection Appleby. Ioan broke his promise. It shouldn't be overlooked because he's a man. If he'd done something wrong, Cora would have him know about it. There was no reason to forgive him except for the very pure sake of love. He didn't understand a lot of things, but that she never wanted him to forget. They were a hopeless case. She knew in her right mind that they would never work under any circumstance. Nonetheless, if it meant having those demented moments where passion was greatest, it was worth every effort.

  Cora didn't find him in his room, or the study, or the sitting room, or the garden, or the entirety of the house. There was only one place he could be. She found the balcony key hidden in another ditty box and unlocked the doors to the sea. He walked the shoreline like a castaway, his trousers rolled to his knees. He wore a loose white shirt, trading formality for spontaneity. She loved him that way. She wasn't sure how she'd say sorry without looking awkward, but all that vanished as she approached him. She wanted him close and to think of nothing else.

  She stopped.

  Lavinia waddled from the other side of the beach. “Mr. Saier!” she called. “Is it very cold?”

  “I'm sorry. I can't hear you,” Ioan called over the wind.

  “How cold is the water!” Lavinia screeched as her feet slipped against the wet sand. Ioan hurried to catch her. It was disgusting how he fell for it. Anyone with a brain knows she planned the whole thing.

  “Alright there?” Ioan asked lifting her to her feet.

  “I'm so sorry,” she laughed, turning red. “I haven't been to a beach in years. I forgot how unsettled they are.”

  “Those heels will make anything unsettling,” Ioan commented. “You should try going barefoot.”

  “Is that entirely proper?” Lavinia asked.

  “Naturally,” he said. “It's a beach.”

  Lavinia placed her heels next to his shoes and the two continued barefooted across the sand. She clenched his arm when the tide came in and washed the sand from their feet. “I've never done this before,” she said.

  “You've never wiggled your toes in the sand?”

  “I was never allowed to. Do you do this often?”

  “I used to,” Ioan said.

  “I never expected it to be so soothing.”

  “Go to sea then,” Ioan said. “You'll never wish to come back.”

  “Perhaps you'll oblige me one day,” she suggested. Ioan smiled politely. “You don't really have to,” she said. “I understand if you're hesitant towards the sea, after all you've been through. It explains why you keep all your shore view windows locked.”

  “It's not the sea I'm trying to shut out,” Ioan said. “It's me I'm trying to lock in. She's the only thing keeping me here. If it were up to me, I'd walk into the ocean and never look back.”

  “You should do this more often,” Lavinia suggested. “I like you like this. This is the real Mr. Saier.”

  “I didn't expect anyone to find me out here,” Ioan said.

  “Well, I don't mean to disturb you. I only wanted to give you this.” She draped the navy scarf over his shoulders. “You'll want to be careful. You'll catch your death out here when the sun goes down.”

  “Is this my uniform scarf?”

  “I restitched the White Star Line flag on the inside corner. I thought it should be preserved.”

  “Thank you,” Ioan said sincerely. “It's been through hell. It's a marvel you still mended it.”

  “Anything can be mended with a little patience,” Lavinia told him. He smiled at her. “I appreciate it.”

  “Enjoy your stroll, Mr. Saier.” She stumbled for her heels.

  “Miss Appleby,” Ioan stopped her. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Of course. Anything, sir.”

  “I don't know exactly how to say this, considering the circumstances, but are you fond of dancing?”

  “I am a dancer by trade, sir.”

  “Perhaps you wouldn't mind me escorting you to the concert tomorrow night. Miss Harlow is not yet well.”

  “I would love to go with you in support of your cause. I think it a very noble thing.”

  “Good,” Ioan said relieved. “Tomorrow night.”

  “Yes, sir,” she smiled at him. “Good day, sir.” Ioan watched her climb up the beach. Then his eyes met Cora's. She couldn't hear it all, but she knew enough by the look on Lavinia's face. Lavinia celebrated some big accomplishment. Ioan and Cora stood there for moments. He didn't dare move and she was too infuriated to shout at him. Lavinia had him where she wanted him. He was hers now. Cora turned and walked away. She carried on like nothing happened. She was ready to play along.

  Chapter 13

  Every piece laid on the bed in a specific order. White dress shirt, white vest, white bow tie, freshly pressed black trousers, long dress socks, shining black dress shoes, and a black waist coat. Ioan didn't wish for this even at his funeral. He made a note to die naked or in uniform, which he took more pride in than his family name. It hung away in the closet, perhaps forever this time. He had no idea when he'd return to sea. He gave up his own completeness for Cora's happiness. Yet, she wouldn't even go to dinner with him.

  He didn't look at her as he passed her room. “Cora, I'm going out,” he said. No further explanation needed.

  “Good evening, Mr. Saier,” Lavinia greeted from the middle room.

  “I was going to send the car for you. You thought ahead of me,” Ioan said.

  “I don't mean to make you uneasy by showing up myself. I just thought if I arrived, we'd get there early. This is an important night for you. We don't want to risk being late,” she told him.

  “Of course,” Ioan replied politely. “You're lovely at night. Well, not that you weren't lovely before. It's just you're exceptionally lovely now.”

  “No harm done,” she said. “I know I'm lovely, but thank you anyway.”

  “Shall we then?” Ioan offered his arm. “Don't wait on me, Mrs. Dillsworth. I don't expect to ever come back.” He led Lavinia to the door but stopped. “Damn, my coat,” he remembered.

  He turned around. Cora descended the stairs clipping on a pair of earrings. His smirk melted away. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders from a rhinestone bouquet of silver flowers. She wore a navy dress with a fitted waist and a sweetheart decolletage. The neckline left little to the imagination. Her shoulders were bare except for a lace scarf training from her elbows. It was almost unacceptable for a married woman and highly immodest for a single woman. Yet, she was stunning, like a wealthy heiress. Ioan was appalled.

  “Miss Harlow, what are you all about?” he questioned.

  “Oh, Mr. Saier,” Cora said. “I thought you'd left for your concert.”

  “You haven't answered my question,” he persisted.

  “Why do you look so surprised?” she asked. “I'm going to the concert.”

  Ioan noted how well her gown outlined her figure. “No, you're not,” he said.

  “It's your big night,” she answered. “Of course I'm going.”

  “In that?” he demanded.

  “Don't you like it?” she asked.

  “You have nowt on! Where did you get that rubbish?”

  “It doesn't matter. I like it,” she said. A faint tap sounded at the door. Cora started to answer it.

  “Hang on. You're not going anywhere,” Ioan stopped her.

  “I'm entitled to go.”

  “You didn't want to go. I've already asked Miss
Appleby to join me. I doubt there's enough room in the car for another.”

  “Oh, I don't mind stepping aside so Miss Harlow can go,” Miss Appleby said graciously.

  “Don't fret, Miss Appleby. He's yours tonight. I have my own escort,” Cora answered.

  “Escort,” Ioan chuckled. “Right, enough, Miss Harlow. You had your laugh. Go on back upstairs and put something on.”

  “Will you step aside or at least answer the door?” Cora suggested.

  Ioan glowered at her. He yanked the door open. A gentleman in a evening suit stood at the door. He smiled at Ioan and titled his hat. “How do you do, sir?”

  “Who the devil are you?” Ioan ordered.

  “Halsey Hamilton the second, stock broker and financial adviser.” He held out his hand. Ioan didn't shake it. “Cora!” Halsey exclaimed.

  “Halsey, dear, you're early,” she said, kissing both his cheeks.

  “I noticed,” he answered, striding pass Ioan and Lavinia.“I'm rather embarrassed, Miss Cora. I lack the vocabulary to describe you. You look exquisite.”

  “Exquisite is the word you use before you devour a meal,” Ioan remarked.

  “Oh yes, something especially delicious, isn't it? Chocolate strawberries. Bananas and whip cream. Cherry pies.”

  Lavinia gullibility agreed. Ioan clenched his fist. He knew exactly what Halsey was getting at.

  “You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Hamilton. I shall be the most hated woman in the room,” Cora complimented.

  “Quite,” Ioan interjected. They ignored him. The compliments and smiles went back and forth.

  “Let me stop you there,” Ioan turned to Cora. “You're head's lit if you think you're going with this sad bastard,” he whispered.

  “I'm sorry you feel that way, Ioan. However, his car is large enough to fit at least five people with no trouble.”

  Mr. Hamilton chuckled. Ioan mimicked his laughter through gritted teeth. “Actually I thought it more fitting to bring the carriage. The air is fresh. I couldn't stuff myself in the car tonight.”