The Pursuit of Lucy Banning,A Novel (Avenue of Dreams)

by Newport, Olivia

  Charlotte glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty. She was already dead on her feet. How would she last another three hours—or more?

  Archie came in from the coach house, stomping snow off his feet. “Even the horses are restless tonight. They know it’s time for a party.”

  “It’s all the lights, I suppose,” Charlotte said. “Everything lit and everyone dressed up.”

  “How about you?”

  Charlotte looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

  “Aren’t you the least bit in a party mood?” Archie asked.

  Charlotte moved to the icebox for the cucumber sandwiches she had made that afternoon. “I hadn’t much thought of it,” she answered. “I’m serving and cleaning up, just like any other evening.”

  “But it’s New Year’s Eve! Are you at least looking forward to the new year?”

  Charlotte sighed. “I guess I am.”

  The new year could hardly be worse than the one it replaced. Last year at this time she hadn’t even known she would have a baby and could not have imagined that experience would transfigure her existence. Last year there had been no Henry. This year he was all she thought about. Last year she had never lived anywhere but the farm, her life an open book to everyone who knew her. This year a crowded city was her safety. No, the coming year could not be worse than this one.

  Archie winked. “I hope you’ll find yourself in the kitchen at the stroke of midnight.”

  Ignoring him, Charlotte picked up the trays of sausages and sandwiches and headed for the foyer.

  He brooded outside. With a party inside, no one thought to close the drapes, and he could sit comfortably in his carriage and observe everything that happened in the parlor’s glow. Two people. They were the only ones who mattered, and each time they shifted toward each other, his heart pitched anew.

  He was the reason she had done it. Daniel could see that now. She had thrown him off for this architect from New Jersey who offered her nothing.

  She was across the room from Will, but Daniel saw how her eyes lifted in the direction of his laugh.

  How his glance returned to her as predictably as a ticking clock.

  How she smiled across the room to him.

  How he made space for her on the settee.

  The way she didn’t want to move from that spot until he offered his hand to assist her.

  The cards they took up together at the game table.

  Daniel saw.

  She was his. What was she doing in there? She was his!

  Lucy almost stayed upstairs in her suite for the evening. She certainly had not wanted to go to a ball, and she doubted she would be missed at any of the extravaganzas to which she had been invited. Leo was the life of any party, and even though the group was small, it was sure to be the best gathering in the neighborhood. She just hadn’t felt like a party of any sort. She knew Charlotte was on duty and she could have rung for food if she wanted any, but mostly she would have been grateful for a quiet evening with a couple of books. Then Leo pleaded. He offered Harry and David for her amusement, and even tried to induce guilt by claiming to have goaded his friends into coming with the promise of her presence—as if anyone had to be goaded into coming to a party Leo Banning was hosting. However, when he revealed he had invited her old schoolmate Cynthia for Will, Lucy changed her mind and thought seriously about what to wear. The ribbon-striped fabric was lined with red silk, and a diaphanous chiffon frill cascaded around her neck and shoulders.

  Lucy laid her last card facedown on the game pile and called out, “Seven.”

  Harry responded by saying, “Cheat!”

  Lucy smiled and revealed the card she had played. “I know the rules of ‘Cheat,’” she said. “I can claim my card is anything I like unless I’m challenged. In this case, though, it really was a seven.”

  “And you really are out of cards,” Will said. “Congratulations. You win!”

  Harry groaned. “I only had two cards left to get rid of.”

  “I think I’ll reward myself with a piece of cake,” Lucy announced.

  Will was on his feet instantly to pull her chair out. “I could use a bit of refreshment myself.”

  He offered his arm and she took it. How completely natural this feels, she thought. They walked together to the refreshment table. Charlotte smiled vaguely and nodded at them.

  “Cake, Miss Lucy?” Charlotte asked. “Mrs. Fletcher made the red velvet.”

  Lucy had not indulged in red velvet cake since the last time she had dinner at the Jules house—the night she broke her engagement. Her eyes flickered at what else the table offered but soon returned to the cake. I am not going to give up my favorite cake for the rest of my life.

  “Yes, Charlotte, a piece of red velvet cake, please,” Lucy said. She picked up a fork, already feeling sweetness melt on her tongue.

  Cake in hand, Will lightly took her elbow and together they stepped away from the table.

  “Are you all right, Lucy?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “A moment ago you said you wanted cake, then you almost turned it down.”

  How could he possibly have noticed so brief a hesitation?

  “The last time I had this cake was the night I broke my engagement,” she admitted simply and softly.

  They ate a few bites without speaking.

  “And have you now redeemed your favorite cake?” Will asked.

  “I’m working at it.” Lucy took another bite. “Mmm.”

  “Do you think of him often?”

  “It’s as if he’s always here,” Lucy said, “which of course is frequently true. He still stays the night sometimes during the week. The rest of my family welcomes him. His scent is in every room and does not abate. I sometimes feel that he has me under his thumb somehow, even though I know that’s ridiculous. I feel him near even when I know he is not.”

  “Yours is a complicated relationship,” Will observed. “Your families have been entwined for decades.”

  Lucy forced a smile. “We must not get too dismal at Leo’s party. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Let’s find a game where we can be partners,” Will suggested.

  Leo poked his head out of the parlor. “Lucy, perhaps you would favor us with the results of your long years of study at the piano.”

  “I’m not sure I know anything gamey enough for your gang,” she answered.

  “Let us be the judge. Get in here and tickle the ivories.”

  21

  January blustered in as it always did in Chicago—icy temperatures, frigid winds, the menace of snow perpetually in the air.

  It was Tuesday. Lucy fastidiously stuck to her routine of being out of the house on Tuesday afternoons, and January 17 was no different. Having pored over the course offerings seeking a class offered on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for the next term, Lucy settled on an Introduction to Philosophy class. Certainly riskier than art history and no doubt unseemly for a woman, it nevertheless appealed. She now held in her hand the confirmation that she had reserved a seat in the lecture hall of a prestigious professor for the term that would start soon. How much longer Daniel would keep her secret she could not know, but she would welcome every class session she could manage.

  The coming months would be busy. In addition to the class and her usual Fridays at St. Andrew’s, Mondays largely would be consumed with committee work for the women’s exhibit at the fair. Just the day before, the group she worked with had agreed to meet every Monday until opening day to review thoroughly every detail.

  Successfully registered, Lucy turned her attention to her wardrobe. When winter finally relinquished its hold to spring, she would need some lightweight dresses to serve both for classes and the orphanage. Marshall Field’s store was just the place. Choosing something from the rack seemed so much simpler to Lucy than selecting fabric and looking at sketches and going to fittings and acting like every dress was a wedding gown. No, a few ready-made simple suits and dresses would suffice for
looking inconspicuous.

  Lucy had sent Paddy on his way as soon as he dropped her at the university. Relieved of worrying about Daniel’s disapproval, she had taken to making her way around the city on public transportation more frequently, at least when she felt fairly sure she would not encounter family members. Chicago seemed to be adding streetcar and train lines constantly. The pressure of the world’s fair spurred construction and infrastructure in every direction, which Lucy was eager to take advantage of. Now she wrapped her woolen cloak more tightly around her and hopped on an elevated train to head to the shopping district.

  She heard her name almost as soon as she stepped off the train a few minutes later. Turning her head, she adjusted the angle of her hat’s brim to respond.

  “Will! Once again our paths cross in a delightful surprise.”

  “I’ve just come from presenting a proposal to a new client. I think I’ve got the job!”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “Come celebrate with me,” Will said. “Let’s have tea.”

  She agreed immediately, and they ducked into the lobby of a hotel well known for its afternoon offering. Lucy was thrilled to be seated close to the heat of the onyx fireplace dominating the room. Will helped Lucy remove her cloak and they slid into their chairs. As soon as they ordered, he launched into an explanation of the project he had just proposed, a new office building.

  “It’s the first commission I’ve brought to the firm on my own,” he explained. “They loved my concept of openness and light. I’ll be the one to lead the design team and present every stage to the client. I’ve never supervised a project of this scope before.”

  “It’s a wonderful opportunity for you, Will. I’m so pleased.”

  “I’m babbling like a little boy.”

  He’s blushing! Lucy realized. “I’ve never seen you look so happy.”

  “You were the first person I wanted to tell, Lucy. I can’t believe you were right there, getting off a train.”

  Lucy grimaced. “Don’t tell my mother I ride trains. They’re as bad as streetcars in her estimation.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” he assured her. “All your secrets will always be safe with me.”

  Her breath caught. What other secrets did he know?

  When Lucy left Will, she took a streetcar, deliberately going south past her neighborhood. If she hailed a carriage cab on Michigan Avenue and rode north, she would arrive home from the direction of the orphanage, where supposedly she had spent the afternoon. At five-thirty, Michigan Avenue bustled and cabs were plentiful. She had no trouble finding one and giving brief directions to go north and then cut east to Prairie Avenue.

  She could see the tower of Second Presbyterian from several blocks away, but it seemed strangely lit for the hour. The sky around it hung thick and eerie in the late afternoon shadows.

  A fire! The church had already burned once at its original location, before rebuilding at Michigan and Twentieth. Lucy leaned forward and to the side, trying to make sense of the scene in front of her and trying to remember if Aunt Violet or her mother were supposed to be at the church today. Two blocks short of the church, the carriage stopped, stymied in standstill traffic. Drivers quarreled over street space as they attempted to turn around and seek another route. Both sides of the street began to fill with pedestrians.

  Lucy pulled on the handle and got out of the cab. The driver jumped down to attend to her.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, the road is blocked. We can’t go any further.”

  “That’s all right.” Lucy handed the man a coin. Her eyes stung with the scene raging in front of her—literally. Smoke draped across the sky above an orange inferno.

  “The Calumet Club!” a voice shouted. “It’s on fire!”

  Lucy gasped. Panic immediately subsumed relief that the church was not burning. Her father belonged to the Calumet Club, across the street from the church, and often dropped in for an hour or two after leaving his office before coming home to dinner. She pressed northward on foot, weaving between the stranded horses and carriages, until she was enmeshed in a growing throng of spectators.

  The Calumet Club, one of Chicago’s most exclusive establishments, was a proud structure, an architectural hallmark of Burnham and Root—the same firm responsible for several homes on Prairie Avenue. Barely ten years old, it was supposed to endure for decades, boasting twelve stories and turreted corners. Yet it was crumbling before Lucy’s eyes. Jagged brick walls caved in heaving piles to the sidewalk below. Flames blazed in every direction as the fire crew abandoned their effort to contain the inferno.

  Lucy hastened her step, foraging the mob for anyone she knew who might answer questions. Between the darkness and the smoke, she could discern nothing useful. Finally, she resorted to grabbing the sleeve of a stranger and begging for information.

  “Is anyone hurt?” she asked. “Did everyone get out?”

  One person after another shrugged. It was just too hard to see, too hard to hear, too hard to know. She would have to get closer.

  Lucy pressed forward, aching to know if her father had been in the club that afternoon. She squeezed through the smallest openings in the crowd, feeling the heat rise with every step closer to the blaze. And then she saw a form she knew. “George!” Lucy called. “George Glessner!”

  His shoulders turned, and she saw his soot-covered face.

  “Oh, George, are you all right? Were you inside?”

  George shook his head. “The call came through on the telegraph in my old schoolroom,” he said. “I found it printed out on the signal repeater tape and came right over.”

  “Is everyone out?”

  “A few of the men are trying to save some of the artwork, but I think they’re giving up. It’s burning too fast.”

  “Is anyone hurt?”

  “One of the maids was taken to the hospital, and another one is missing. They fear she didn’t make it down the stairs.”

  “How awful. My father—”

  George shook his head, emphatically this time. “No, he wasn’t there today. I saw him get out of his carriage in front of your house with my own eyes, not forty minutes ago. He’s fine.”

  Lucy nearly collapsed in relief. “Thank you, George, thank you. I was frantic with worry.”

  “He’s fine,” George repeated. “Shall I walk you home?”

  Lucy shook her head. “No, that’s not necessary.”

  A crash made her jump, and a cry went up from the throng as yet another tower of bricks surrendered to the lack of structure to hold them in place.

  “If you don’t feel you need me, I’m going to go see if I can do anything closer in,” George said, and Lucy lost him to the blackness.

  Half an hour after the fire started, nothing remained of the Calumet Club but a heap of smoking ruins. Lucy clenched grit in her teeth and coughed against the ashes settled in the weave of her cloak. Tears she had not realized she was producing streaked through the soot on her face and smeared across the back of her hand as she wiped them away.

  “It’s a shame about the artwork,” a voice behind her said. “It was quite valuable, you know.”

  Lucy wheeled in the darkness. “Daniel?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I was afraid . . . my father . . . but . . . he’s safe.”

  Daniel reached out and took her hand. “Let me take you home. We’re just in the way here.”

  Lucy nodded and let him thread through the crowd ahead of her, holding her hand tightly. They did not speak again until they were well past the worst of the chaos.

  “It was foolish of those men to try to save the artwork at the possible expense of their own lives,” Daniel said. “I can’t imagine what they were thinking.”

  “I suppose no one expected a building like that to come down within thirty minutes.” Lucy suddenly realized she was shaking.

  “Architects are not the gods they think they are. You would t
hink a brick building would withstand fire more admirably than that.”

  Lucy tried to withdraw her hand from Daniel’s, but he tightened his grip.

  “Architects are wrong about a great many things. Take your friend Mr. Edwards, for instance. His understanding is quite limited.”

  “Daniel, what are you talking about?” Lucy finally managed to ask.

  He gave no indication of hearing her. “Mr. Edwards believes he is on the brink of a defining career, and I imagine you find that attractive. However, the truth is it’s unlikely. He doesn’t understand how these things are done.”

  Lucy tried again to pull her hand out of his. “Daniel, let me go,” she said softly.

  “He doesn’t understand the truth about you, either,” Daniel continued. “When are you going to tell him about your educational shenanigans?”

  Lucy stopped abruptly and pulled hard. Her hand came free at last. Plunging both hands into the pockets of her cloak, she looked him full in the face under the radiance of a streetlight. “Daniel, let me go,” she repeated. “Let me go.”

  His brown eyes glimmered, and one side of his mouth turned up. “I would have expected more of you, Lucy.” Then he turned and left.

  Lucy was still a block away from home, and she could hardly make her feet move below her trembling knees. In horror, she wondered if Daniel had anything to do with the destruction of the Calumet Club. Surely not.

  Surely not.

  22

  According to the newspapers, the Calumet Club fire was traced to shavings left by carpenters doing repair work in room twelve. Lucy absolved herself of believing Daniel capable of such a deed as quickly as she had allowed the thought into her mind.

  Nevertheless, a month later, Daniel’s behavior was still unnerving. Lucy was wearying of avoiding him in her own home, and he seemed to turn up at odd, unexpected moments in the neighborhood or downtown. Most recently he had accosted her as she left the university. Lucy sat in church remembering the encounter a few days earlier.