A few moments passed, and Emmeline realized that she must not let Georgie sulk. The story she’d just concocted made little sense—everyone knew Freddy was too exacting a man to give jewels that needed fixing, and the claim about the ring would not be believed by anyone if repeated.
“Georgie,” Emmeline said as she crossed to her wardrobe. She pulled her robe in tight to her body, and tried to move with the elegance and importance of her station in life. Using her body to shield Georgie’s view of her actions, she pulled open a drawer, and removed most of the bills that Fiona had earned selling her old jewelry, except one, which she put back into the white envelope. “You’ll be run off your feet today, and have to work much more than your usual wages compensate you for. Here. Let me give you this. For your trouble.” She returned to Georgie and put the envelope in her hand. “Now, I need just a little time to calm my nerves, and you—go get a little lunch, who knows when you’ll be able to eat again!”
Georgie gave a stubborn, solemn shake of her head. “There’s no time for that, Miss Carter. It’s ten past noon and your guests are already arriving. If we need to summon the tailor, if there’s anything that needs fixing about your appearance, we’ll want to know now.”
Outside, Emmeline heard the string section of the band begin to practice a lively tune.
“Even so, I’d like a little . . .”
“Please,” Georgie said, and before Emmeline could stop her, she had removed the wedding dress from its box—pulled it out by the stiff, adorned bodice so that the great sweep of the skirt spilled over the side of the bed like a mighty waterfall. “Please, try it on? For me.”
“All right,” Emmeline replied, hoping this would appease the girl. “But then I’d like just a few minutes alone.”
Georgie gave a little squeal and advanced toward Emmeline with the great white dress.
For perhaps the sixth time, Emmeline sent Georgie away to fetch something, and Georgie began to wonder if being the friend and confidante of the lady of the house wasn’t more trouble than it was worth. She had almost entirely missed the parade of finery as the guests arrived (which she had so been looking forward to, and was the only reason she’d come up to the third floor in the first place) and been generally run ragged since.
“How is the young lady of the house?” asked Cook, who had finally found time to put her feet up, and seemed somewhat amused to see Georgie rushing to make a pretty tray of lemonade. Georgie supposed that there would be some jealousy among the staff regarding her sudden elevation, and rationalized that Cook was only being mean out of spite.
“I think she’s nervous.”
“White as a sheet?” Cook chuckled. “Here, give her some of this,” she said, filling an enamel coffee cup with the dark liquid she used when she made her famous baba au rhum.
“Thank you,” said Georgie, and went off with the rum and the pitcher of lemonade.
As she came up the servants’ stairs, the low rumble of voices from the parlor ceased. Even within that corridor, Georgie could hear the heels of a pair of fine dress boots clack against the Carters’ parquet. Then there was applause, and then she heard the servants down below, peeking out through doorframes, saying what a handsome groom Mr. Tree made, and what a lucky girl Miss Carter was to be his bride.
Mr. Tree had already arrived!
The nervousness this aroused in Georgie became something else when she reached the third-floor landing, and saw Mr. Carter leaning against the paneled wall.
“Where is Fiona?” he asked coldly.
“I . . . I don’t know,” she muttered, and Mr. Carter made a face as though he thought it was all poor Georgie’s fault.
“You better hurry up and get Miss Carter ready, then,” he said without moving. “The guests are beginning to talk.”
If she’d had more time, she would have changed into the maid’s uniform, and slipped down the back way. But she was out of time. She would have to take the servants’ stairs, and if she encountered anyone, make up some ludicrous excuse—she was seemingly full of those today—and put them off long enough to leave the property. Georgie had kept pace with Emmeline as she made a thousand alterations to her appearance. On that score, she had not failed as a lady’s maid. The mirror in the dressing room reflected the very picture of an immaculate bride.
Georgie returned, and said Mr. Carter was most eager that Emmeline should appear soon, as it was now half past one and the guests were becoming agitated on the first floor.
“Go tell him I’m ready,” Emmeline said. Then she noticed the cup in Georgie’s hands. “What’s that?”
“Cook said it would help with your nerves.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Emmeline drained the rum. “Oh,” she groaned, and shuddered in disgust at the way the liquid burned a trail from the back of her throat to her belly. Yet Cook must have had the right idea, for in the next moment she felt ready, and was on her feet, possessed with conviction. “Go, go now. Tell Father to meet me on the second-floor landing.”
That way, she could escape down the servants’ stairs, and be halfway to the river by the time he realized she was gone. Emmeline took the veil, so that at least when she reached the streets, nobody would know which bride was not where she was supposed to be. She closed the suitcase, and picked it up. When Georgie came back, to say that Mr. Carter was on the second-floor landing waiting, her eyes went straight to the suitcase, and Emmeline couldn’t think of a good explanation, so she didn’t bother with one.
“Thank you,” she said instead. At the door, she glanced back once. “Georgie? I’ll never forget what you did today. If they ask you, please just tell them I had to be true to my heart.”
Georgie was strangely unable to meet her eye, but Emmeline couldn’t worry about that now. She was worried, mostly, about figuring the quickest route to the West Side, and also about the alarming acceleration of her heartbeat.
But her heart nearly stopped when she stepped into the hall and saw Father. He was just outside the door, with his jaw tilted at the ceiling.
“I . . .” Her voice was so small, she barely managed to make a sound. “I told Georgie . . .”
“Yes, I know what you told Georgie. But I pay Georgie, not you, and whether you stay and marry Mr. Tree—or go, and don’t—it will still be I who am responsible for her keep.”
“Go?” Emmeline repeated stupidly. Then she remembered the suitcase in her hand, and tried to put it down, behind her skirt, as discreetly as possible.
“Yes, my darling Emmeline. I do not know what you have planned, but I know that your engagement ring is not being polished, and I know that you went to a boxing match in the old neighborhood the other night. I know, of course, that that boy who courted you before we left has made a name for himself at the fights. Do you think my interests do not require me to know such things? Did you forget I built our prospects on winnings from the card table? This—” He gestured at the the mouldings, the framed landscapes on the mahogany paneled walls. “All this is because I happen to know when someone is lying.”
Emmeline’s face was hot and she could not seem to lift her gaze up from the floorboards. “I don’t love him,” she said. “Freddy, I mean.”
“But you will, in time. Enough. In a manner of speaking.” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Emmeline, you are the thing I love most in the world, but if you betray me today—if you humiliate us, and ruin my name—you will not be welcome back here. I will be destroyed, you see. Not financially, perhaps, but in other ways. Do you understand? If you leave, you leave forever. It is up to you.”
Emmeline found the courage to glance up, and winced when she saw the sad, steely quality in his eyes. His attire was smart and lustrous, but his face was tired.
“I will be on the second-floor landing, as you wished,” he said, and walked away.
His footsteps echoed in the stairwell and the hall was chilly like a room after a spirit has passed through. All her hopes and fears and
wants and schemes evaporated into the air: Her father would not come to understand, as she had hoped. He would not set up Anders in business. She would not be able to hire Fiona and her siblings, as she had promised. Now it was plain that she could not do as she had planned. They would have to give up too much, and they would have to live on too little, and her promise to Fiona would be a lie, and she would, in the end, let everyone down.
Anders! her heart cried, and she wished with the whole force of her small body that it was still that night, that they were in the doorway down by the river, that he would put his mouth to hers as he had before, that they had left then. But her father’s voice in her head told her no, she could not have that, and must not think such things anymore.
She wanted Anders, still. To see the color of his eyes change when he tried to make her laugh, and know what would be between them now, these years later.
But she had just discovered that her father’s chief lesson—that she could have anything she wanted—was a lie. The realization made her weak. Perhaps she should not have wanted so much. There was nothing to do now but go along with what Father said she could have. If she did now what her Father wished—well, there would be some nobility in that. She would make him happy, at least—him and Freddy. And maybe he was right, maybe in time she would learn to love Freddy, as he loved her.
She brought the veil down over her face, as though it were sharp enough to sever her from the sweet dream of eloping with her first love.
Nineteen
“A lady keeps them waiting” is a general principle that is never so effectively used as on the day she becomes a married woman.
—Private diary of Mrs. Fletcher Fleming, 1863
By the time she reached the second-floor landing, Emmeline had become tough to her own wild heart. When she reached Father, she saw that he was relieved and proud, and she knew she could go through with it. She was as steely as he was, and made for grand occasions such as this. He took her by the arm, and down another flight they went. He cleared his throat, and the band started to play.
Every inch of floor was taken up by chairs—Emmeline had not known there were so many chairs in the whole city! Only the aisle was left unoccupied, and this was covered by a path of white rose petals. As the music swelled, the people in the chairs turned, and she saw expressions of impatience melt into appreciation. The rum had been for courage, but now it made her feel faint, and she was glad Father was holding her up.
The air was fragrant with the lilies erupting from the vases on the windowsills. Through the net of lace, Emmeline saw how the faces in the crowd smiled, nodding their approval. The music seemed to lift her up, as though she were floating on a gentle breeze. For a moment she was sure the hours she had stalled upstairs were a folly, and that the romantic notion that had disrupted her life over the last few days was a delusion. She was born for this. A destiny greater than herself was moving her onward through the crowd, past notable gentlemen and fashionable ladies, toward an altar made of apple branches. When they arrived there, her father kissed her cheek.
The music stopped, and the moment ended.
Emmeline stood alone, facing Freddy. His hair was slick for the occasion, and his black tailcoat had the high gloss of patent leather. Even through the veil, she could see that his face would always disappoint her. No matter how long she looked at that face, it would not be Anders looking back. Anders with his quick smile. Anders who knew her. Anders who she had always loved, and always would. Emmeline glanced in the direction from which she had come, but the room was too crowded; there was no route of escape. The priest had begun his droning ceremony. Emmeline’s body went cold. The only thing she could feel was the bouquet, although she could not remember how it had arrived in her hands. She gripped the collection of lilac and hyacinth, trying to stay upright and appear as normal as possible.
The priest went on and on, but Emmeline heard only a few solitary words. The guests who watched fanned themselves to keep awake. Finally, Freddy’s young cousin, Reginald Tree, appeared with the white satin cushion. Emmeline murmured along with Freddy as they slipped the rings onto each other’s fingers. The brightness of the gold band caught her eye, and she almost laughed, for she knew that once the rings were put on, you were married. But in her heart, this did not feel like a marriage at all.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the priest. “You may . . .”
Freddy stepped forward, lifting the yards of lace away from Emmeline’s face. The sunlight surprised her and she was afraid he would notice her insufficient happiness. But this fear was unwarranted; he noticed nothing at all. He had a grip on her shoulders, and his mouth was suddenly pressed to hers. This was not the way it had been with Anders—every kiss asking if there could be another kiss—but an awkward collision of lips. When it was over, Emmeline had to fight the instinct to dry her face with the back of her hand.
“Oh, Emmeline,” Freddy murmured, and she wished she had the heart to say something sweet and happy in return.
Meanwhile the wedding guests had risen. They whooped and stomped their feet. Emmeline glanced back, trying to see her father, but Freddy was already pulling her down the aisle. The noise had become so loud it rattled her bones. When she saw Cora, smiling her garish red smile, Emmeline felt relieved by the opportunity to unburden herself of at least one thing, and simply handed her the bouquet as they passed on through the crowd.
Emmeline was too completely shocked by the very permanent thing she had just done, and had not meant to do at all, to notice as she passed into the hall that several members of the Carter household had gathered in the narrow passage that connected to the kitchen (the better to watch the bride return from the altar) or that Fiona was among them, in the back. Fiona, too, was numb with shock, although she had realized somewhat ahead of Emmeline that there had been a change of plans. This was after she had gone down to Water Street and hailed a passing hansom, after she had begged the driver to wait with her among the other carriages on Clark, after she had tipped him extra to stay just a little longer, and finally, at long last, admitted to him and to herself that Emmeline wasn’t coming, after all.
A few days ago, all she wanted was for Emmeline to marry Freddy Tree. Once that happened, Fiona had believed, her own love story could begin. But now that it had come to pass, the news cast a shadow on her heart. Although Emmeline had seemed to vacillate yesterday, Fiona still could not believe that she had gone through with the marriage, after everything. After all Fiona had been through to secure the money for the elopement! After the hardening of her own heart through these awful days. After keeping Anders in a town where he was wanted by gamblers who meant him harm. For Emmeline to not even say anything, to either of them. For her to explain so little. Rage surged in Fiona, so fast and molten she was afraid it might sweep her away and melt her down to nothing, too.
In her little room, Fiona sank to her knees in prayer, as though that might help her stop the seething, airless anger. A floorboard sighed overhead, as someone went up the stairs, and a conversation floated by the door. Her gaze focused on the edge of the blanket, where the thread was loose. The stuffing was escaping in little wisps, and the stitching was all ragged. “Damn,” she whispered, annoyed with herself for not noticing before, when she’d had her sewing tools out to repair the dinner napkins. And then it occurred to her that if she was gone—if she left now, regardless of Emmeline’s choice—it would not matter if the blanket was coming undone. None of this mess would be her concern any longer.
Fiona scrambled to her feet in a hurry, before she lost her nerve. She took down the old duffel that she’d packed her clothes in when she moved to Dearborn. Into the duffel went Emmeline’s old best boots, her winter coat, the books on etiquette and ladylike attire that she had been given to help Emmeline with her education, two sets of clothes, and her sewing kit. She would need that where she was going.
The pocket watch she turned over, considering. She wondered if Emmeline might come to regret losing h
er mother’s prized piece. But—Fiona reasoned—Emmeline did not as a rule give away possessions she was not entirely willing to part with, and, anyway, as Emmeline herself had said, if Fiona ran into trouble she might need an item of value. In the meantime, just looking at the elegant design of the watch—so heavy and shiny—made Fiona feel that she could carry out the audacious plan that was only now taking shape in her head. She hoped she could keep the watch forever, and hold it in moments like this—moments when bravery and doubt warred within her—and know what she was capable of.
She, too, could buy a train ticket. After all, she had some savings. She, too, could travel to a new city. She was already an accomplished seamstress—everybody said so—surely she could get work somewhere else. Maybe, in time, she would become something even greater. A dressmaker of renown, her name carved in the lintel of her own shop. The only way to find out was to try.
In the third-floor hall, she found the suitcase that Emmeline had meant to take with her when she went to Anders. She picked it up, put it on the bed in the room with the flocked peach wallpaper, and placed her goodbye letter inside, where only Emmeline would find it.
The wedding of Emmeline Carter and Frederick Arles Tree was to be an all-day affair, as Emmeline knew, having had a say in the planning. Now she could only think of the long sequence of formal dances and activities as an interminable series of empty gestures. She stood dutifully in the reception line, as Chicago’s best people came to congratulate her, and afterward, sat under the oak tree on the front lawn for the photographer.
Because the photographer told her so, she knew that she was the picture of happiness, the perfect bride. But her soul seemed to hover somewhere slightly above her body, looking down on a white dress, a posed family, which had nothing in particular to do with her.
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