by Renee Yancy
Maddie frowned. “My goodness, whom have you been speaking to?”
“No one.”
“Then how do you know that particular fact so surely?”
“I read the newspapers.”
Madeleine laughed. “Darling, how boring. You definitely must stop that.”
“But Maddie, haven’t you ever had the urge to do something different with your life? Something useful?”
“Useful?” Maddie frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“To help others. Something that will have meaning at the end of your life?”
Maddie came over and laid a cool hand on Lindy’s forehead. “You must be taking a chill. I can’t think why else you’d be speaking this nonsense.”
“Truly? You never think on these things?”
Madeleine shook her pretty curls. “Never. I think about marrying an English lord, having a beautiful wedding, and a spectacular honeymoon.” She laughed. “Oh, and an amazing trousseau, all French, from my unmentionables out!” She dropped a kiss on Lindy’s cheek. “Come, darling, I want to see these on you.”
Madeleine tugged her toward the dressing table, pushed her onto the bench, and blithely tried the hats on her.
Lindy stared at her reflection. For as long as she could remember, her mother had planned Lindy’s future marriage. The masquerade ball was her earliest memory. She had crept out of bed to the musician’s gallery on the second floor and pressed her face between the marble balusters of the balcony to watch the glittering figures below.
Thousands of American Beauty roses and white orchids swagged the walls of her mother’s golden ballroom. Massive chandeliers of ormolu and crystal blazed overhead while the flames from a thousand tapers glimmered from candelabras and multiplied their tiny points of light in the tall leaded windows.
One figure in the sparkling gold ballroom drew Lindy’s attention again and again—her mother, dressed as a princess in a cloth-of-gold gown embroidered with pearls and silver beads. The diamonds adorning her neck and décolleté sparked rainbows in the candlelight.
Mama looked up and spied her, then smiled and waved. A moment later, Lindy smelled her mother’s jasmine perfume.
“Now, my darling, what are you doing out of bed?” Her mother’s arms went around Lindy’s shoulders.
“I want to see the queen, Mama!”
Her mother laughed, a tinkly silver sound. “That’s right, darling. The queen is coming. So, I mustn’t stay here long.”
“Who are all these people?”
“Why, that’s Joan of Arc. See there?” Mama pointed to a tall woman clad in shimmering silver mail. “And there goes Elizabeth the I of England.” A woman in a brilliant red wig crowned with a diamond tiara had entered the ballroom, with a ruff of lace a foot deep around her neck.
Lindy stood on tiptoes to get a better look. “Is that the queen you’re waiting for?”
“No, darling. I’m waiting for Queen Caroline.”
“Is she a real queen?”
Mama nodded. “In her own way, she is indeed a queen.”
“How will I know her?”
Her mother rose to her feet and smoothed the gold cloth of her skirt. “When you see all the guests part to let her through. Then you’ll know. Then we’ll know.”
“Know what, Mama?”
“If she has accepted us.”
“How will we know?”
Mama smoothed a curl out of Lindy’s eyes and kissed her cheek. “If she smiles, darling. If she smiles, then everything will be all right.”
The queen had to smile then. So Mama would be happy.
“Go to bed after that, my sweet lamb.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Her mother swept out of the gallery and reappeared in the ballroom below a few moments later. Papa, looking so handsome in his white tie and tails, waited for her near the massive marble fireplace at the end of the ballroom where the receiving line had formed.
More and more guests entered the ballroom, and still, the queen hadn’t come. Lindy’s eyes grew heavy, and she’d almost fallen asleep when the buzz of conversation in the ballroom dimmed and then rose to a new high. Lindy sat up. The crowd of gorgeously costumed guests parted to allow a statuesque woman in midnight blue silk approach Mama. Diamonds covered Queen Caroline from her tiara to her slippers and dripped from her earlobes and wrists. A hush fell over the crowd as the queen held her hand out to Vera, who shook it heartily and bent forward to whisper in the Queen’s ear. Lindy held her breath.
And then it happened.
Lindy gasped and clapped her hands. Now Mama would be happy. All she had spoken of since Christmas was the masquerade ball. Even on Lindy’s birthday a few weeks previous, her mother had worried and fussed through the party that the ball might not go right.
But all was well. The Queen had smiled.
Maddie snapped her fingers in front of Lindy’s face. “What are you daydreaming about?”
Lindy blinked.
“I called your name three times.” Maddie frowned and scrutinized her. “You must be coming down with something. Shall I get your mother?”
“That’s not necessary. I’m fine.” Lindy rose from the dressing table. “It must be nearly time for tea. Let’s go down.”
She followed her chattering friend through the marble halls and down the staircase to the régence salon. She had never questioned her mother’s love for her or the plans for the future marriage. But suddenly, the future had arrived, and the doubt inside her grew like a canker—a little bigger every day.
How do I tell my mother I no longer want any part of the plan?
Chapter 12
A blur of luncheons and tea parties had filled the last four weeks. But finally, her mother had a private engagement that didn’t require Lindy’s presence.
Her shoulders relaxed when the oak library door closed behind her. Even the air here seemed different from the rest of the mansion. Quiet, peaceful, and orderly. And she had the rest of the afternoon to herself since she couldn’t make social calls alone. Thank goodness.
A blond head popped up from the leather sofa near the fire. “Good afternoon, Miss Lindenmayer.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Winthrop.” Her pulse skipped a beat. “I haven’t seen you—since your mother’s passing.” She could have kicked herself. Perhaps he would have preferred she not mention that sad day. “How are you faring?”
Mr. Winthrop left the sofa and took a chair across from her. “I am well.”
Her heart missed another beat. She could barely remain polite and ladylike when his nearness kindled heart palpitations. He did look chipper—rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. “I’m so glad to hear it. I was concerned about you, after—”
“My mother’s death.”
“Yes.” Oh, why did I say anything?
“Thank you for your kindness.” He smiled then, revealing his dimples. “I want to tell you something.”
Her mother’s face rose before her. I should discourage him. Instead, she waited for him to continue.
The faint scent of sandalwood from his toilet water drifted to her nose when he leaned toward her. “I had an epiphany one night after the funeral. I’d been sitting up late, studying.” He smiled faintly. “I felt so weary and alone. I had the garret window open, so perhaps it was only a stray breeze that ruffled my hair.” He glanced at her. “I hope you will not think me irrational, Miss Lindenmayer, but it seemed to me my mother touched me gently, as she used to stroke my head when I was a little boy.” He swallowed as if a lump had risen in his throat. “And then the terrible emptiness disappeared. And as sure as I had ever known anything, I understood in my heart she was alive, with God in heaven, and I rejoiced.”
Her own heart responded with another thump. “How marvelous.”
“And that is why I can truly say I am well.” He studied her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Miss Lindenmayer. The most enormous bouquet of daisies arrived at the church on the day of the funeral, tied with a bl
ue silk ribbon. But no card arrived with them.”
Lindy smiled. “You’ve found me out. I sent them, I confess.” How could I send a card when no one can know of my clandestine association with you?
“How thoughtful. Of all the flowers there, the daisies meant the most. To me, I mean.”
“I’m glad I could give you a moment of joy on such a sad day.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Winthrop regarded her with such an intent expression, she turned away. It seemed he grew more handsome with each visit to the library. I’m going to drown in those brown eyes if I’m not careful.
“What are you studying today?” She kept her voice light.
“A history of Martin Luther. I’ve an exam on ecclesiastical history this week and must spend every waking moment with my nose in a book.”
“Don’t allow me to distract you then.” She retrieved her copy of The Jungle Book and curled up in the red leather chair. But even Mowgli and his escape from the Bandar-Log couldn’t distract her racing thoughts. The entire week had been an endless round of luncheons, teas, and long afternoons spent in mindless conversation about subjects that had no import.
Mr. Winthrop hummed under his breath as he flipped pages and took notes. How wonderful it must be to follow your heart and study the things that pleased you. His research of Luther had engaged him completely. What a noble profile he possessed. He turned to her as she admired it.
Lindy’s cheeks flamed, and she hastily returned to Mowgli. How awful to be caught staring at the fellow. Her throat thickened. What’s wrong with me? She was about to cry. Fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief, she failed to notice Mr. Winthrop until he stood next to her.
“Dear Miss Lindenmayer, is anything amiss?”
She shook her head and burst into tears. Oh, horrors! And of course, she didn’t have a handkerchief. But she couldn’t restrain them, and she didn’t try. Instead of fleeing, he reached into his coat pocket and handed her a large cotton handkerchief, then pulled up a chair and waited while she sobbed into it. She seldom cried. At that thought, she sobbed harder.
Finally, the deluge ended. Mr. Winthrop hadn’t moved, and she had wet the handkerchief clear through with her tears. She wiped her eyes with a damp corner and then blew her nose with a loud honk. He raised an eyebrow daintily when she stole a glance at him, and she giggled.
Mr. Winthrop laughed then too. She started to return the handkerchief, but Mr. Winthrop stopped her.
“No, you keep it,” he said hastily, and that sent her off into another gale of laughter.
“Oh, oh—don’t make me laugh anymore, please.” She waved him away, holding her sides. “No more faces.” She hiccupped. “You must excuse me. I’ve been out of sorts this week.” She tucked the crumpled hankie into her pocket. “I’ll return this to you, Mr. Winthrop. Many thanks. I had better let you resume your studies. The history exam?”
He nodded but made no move to get up. “You’ve listened and encouraged me during my bereavement as a true friend. If you have need of me, if it would relieve you to speak about it...”
“Oh, no, I could never presume to do that.” It just wasn’t done. Open her heart to this young man who regarded her with such deep kind eyes? According to her mother, this type of conversation should never take place between a young man and woman.
“We are friends, are we not?”
“Yes.” But a young woman in my society circle doesn’t dare confess her deepest thoughts to anyone.
“Surely it would unburden you to speak about it. What did you tell me when my mother died? ‘Shared joy is double joy; sorrow shared is half sorrow?’”
“But that was different, Mr. Winthrop. I would never compare the sorrow you felt at your mother’s death to my foolish thoughts.”
“Perhaps they are not foolish. Let us examine them.”
She sighed. “You are quite persistent.”
“Tenacity is one of my strengths. And sometimes, my weakness.”
Her pulse picked up a pace. Did another meaning underlie his words? Why did it seem an invisible line tightened between them, drawing them closer?
She stood abruptly and put the chair between them. “If you must know, I was sitting in envy of you at your studies.”
“Envy?”
“Yes. The paths open to me as a woman are few. But you may study anything that pleases you.”
“Within means and reason.”
“Yes.”
“If it weren’t for the benevolence of my uncle, I wouldn’t be in school.”
“True. But you always have that possibility, don’t you see? I am denied that.” Her fingers tightened on the chair. “You may seek to do anything you wish, go here or go there with impunity and choose your own calling!” Mr. Winthrop’s eyes widened at her strident tone. I’m making a mess of things. What did it matter? In a few days, she’d head to Newport for the short summer season, and wouldn’t see Mr. Winthrop for two months. Perhaps it was for the best. “I’ve said quite enough. Good day, sir.”
She fled the library as quickly as she decently could, her spine straight, and her head held high. Only when she reached the safety outside the doors did she pick up her skirts and run.
***
Jack tapped his pencil on his knee. He had detected her sadness as soon as she walked into the library. The way she held herself, as if she might shatter if she relaxed her shoulders. The rosy blush in her cheeks had disappeared, and her complexion had grown pale. Each day he had eagerly looked for her, but until today he hadn’t seen her in nearly a month.
How difficult it had been to keep from touching her as she wept. More than anything, he wanted to take her in his arms and do all in his power to take her pain away. His fingers had twitched with the effort to restrain himself.
I’ve done it now.
Fallen in love with a girl I can never have.
Chapter 13
August 1897, Newport, Rhode Island
Gray light filled the usually sunny breakfast room at Seaside, the Lindenmayer’s Victorian “cottage,” as Lindy’s mother called the three-story marble mansion. Lindy and her father drank their tea and read the newspapers while the white-capped sea roared outside the French doors. The wind had risen steadily since yesterday, and a possible hurricane forecast had made Mama decide to leave early for New York instead of staying the last two weeks of August. The maids had stayed up all night to pack the trunks.
For nearly two months, Lindy had resolutely pushed all thoughts of Mr. Winthrop out of her mind. Her mother had kept her occupied with endless rounds of luncheons, teas, and picnics on the beach. Perhaps he had forgotten about her. She had been rather abrupt the last time she had seen him. She had even stayed away from the library at Seaside, choosing instead to read on the beach or in her bedroom to avoid reminders of him. But for all that, a butterfly still hatched in her stomach at the thought of returning to New York City.
Percy brought in a silver tray laden with letters for Papa. He flipped through the stack, opened one, and gasped.
“What is it, Papa?”
He rubbed his forehead and scanned the telegram again. “It’s from my brother, Henry. My brother Kurt is dead.”
“Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry.” She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Uncle Kurt was your youngest brother, wasn’t he? I thought you didn’t know where he was.”
“We didn’t. My brother Henry received notice of his death a week ago. He’s been living in Brockport, New York. On the Erie Canal, of all places. He died in a measles epidemic.”
“How sad.” She kissed her father’s cheek and sat next to him.
Otto smiled wistfully and patted her hand. “Kurt never wanted anything to do with our family after he had a falling out with Henry about selling their oil refinery to Rockefeller. But there’s more.”
Mama entered the room in a Japanese morning kimono. “More what?”
Otto handed her the letter.
She read it quickly. “Oh my. And there’s a
daughter!”
Her father nodded. “And Henry’s her guardian. Imagine.”
Mama laughed. “I can’t image Henry being responsible for a young girl.”
“So, I have a cousin. What’s her name?”
“Emma. She’s seventeen. Apparently, Kurt contacted Henry years ago out of nowhere and asked him to be her guardian. Then we never heard from him again. Until now.”
“Will we get to meet her?”
Vera frowned. “Is there to be a funeral? I don’t relish a trip to the far end of western New York State right now.”
Lindy touched her father’s arm. “We could visit Aunt Gertrude in Buffalo afterward. I haven’t seen her since I was twelve.” Her German grandmother had lived with her aunt in Buffalo, and up until her grandmother’s death, visits between New York City and Buffalo had been regular family outings.
Mama pursed her lips. “You’ll see her soon enough. She’ll be here for a fortnight in October, before your debut.” She rolled her eyes. “As if I won’t have enough to do with the preparations, I’ll have to entertain your sister during the busiest two weeks of my life.”
“Now, dear, Gertrude can entertain herself,” said Papa mildly. “She’s always been a self-sufficient woman.”
Mama smirked. “I’ll say. Playing the stock market like a man.”
Papa rubbed his chin. “Well, she was good to you when we were first married. Stayed in New York after the wedding and introduced you to all the highest society friends she had.”
Her mother nodded begrudgingly. “That’s true. Although she hot-footed it out of here as soon as she decently could.”
“She never cared much for New York City.”
“But why Buffalo of all places? It’s full of Poles and Italians.”
“And Irish. And Germans too, like us, liebchen.” He raised his silver eyebrows at his wife.
Lindy smiled at her father’s term of endearment. Her parents rarely displayed affection, and sometimes she wondered what had drawn them together in the first place.
Mama smiled. “You’re right, Otto.” She sighed. “I’ll do my best to get along with Gertrude. But for heaven’s sake, I hope she’ll leave her social reform causes in Buffalo.”