The Way of Beauty

by Camille Di Maio

  “Cozy?” he asked. He leaned his forehead against hers before pulling away.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Vera wished that she understood the language of love. These kinds of affections seemed so intimate, as if his thoughts matched her own, but her father had done the same thing often enough—so maybe it was just a familial gesture that meant nothing more.

  “Would you like tea from the dining car?” she asked Angelo, standing up before she could feel any more overwhelmed, and was relieved when he said yes.

  Will grew weary of the view only an hour in, and Vera didn’t blame him. The excitement that had built in her chest as the engine roared to life and the awe at watching the city disappear gave way to a blurred tedium as the train sped through an endless countryside. The starts and stops along the way became routine, save for a delay in Philadelphia when she thought, I am only blocks away from Independence Hall. How proud it would make her father to know that his daughter was so near to where the American dream was born. Though he was a poorly educated man, he used to read every night before going to sleep—usually the works of Benjamin Franklin or Thomas Jefferson. Sometimes he would recite a passage to Vera or her mother. In his states of delirium, Vera would read to him now, though she doubted that he understood it anymore.

  Will became restless.

  “Shh, shh,” Angelo said, trying to comfort him. He took a metal toy train from his pocket. “I’ve been saving this for the right moment.”

  “I think that moment is now,” Vera whispered.

  “Me too.” He held the train out to Will, but the boy swatted it with his hand. His face turned red, and a stench began to encompass the small space.

  Vera and Angelo looked at each other with wide eyes.

  “Is that . . . ?” he said.

  “Yes,” she responded. She took Will from Angelo’s arms before either could protest and slung her bag over her shoulder. She rocked Will in her arms as she hurried down the aisle and through two cars to the nearest washroom.

  These spaces had definitely been designed by men who never had to consider such situations. The tiny compartment barely fit the two of them, and she couldn’t even close the door all the way. She turned around, deciding that it would be best to lay him across the sink.

  He wailed as she placed his back against its metal edge. “I’m so sorry, darling,” she cooed. “I wouldn’t like that, either, but it can’t be helped. Zia Vera will go as quickly as she can so we can get out of here.”

  She’d come prepared for such an incident and pulled the cloth diapers from her bag. She wet one of them, maneuvering Will away from the faucet, and wiped him down before replacing the soiled one with the new one. When she’d finished, she looked around but could not find a place to dispose of it. She considered the toilet, noting the sign that was hung above it: DO NOT FLUSH WHILE TRAIN IS STANDING AT THE STATION. She wondered why.

  We’re not at a station, she thought, and put the diaper into the bowl and sat Will on the sink. As she pulled the lever above, a hole opened, exposing the rapid speed of the tracks below. The diaper fell to the ground. Horrified, Vera wondered if she’d made a mistake, but there was nothing else she could have done. It would have been unseemly to return such a thing to her bag.

  She thought of Pearl, marching for women’s votes. Maybe that would lead to women in industry. A woman knew how a women’s bathroom should be designed. And this was not it, despite the token nod to femininity from the pink floral wallpaper that adorned the wall.

  “Well, look at you!”

  Vera jumped at the sound. Angelo stood in the doorway, his frame nearly filling it up.

  “What are you doing here? This is the ladies’ facility!”

  “I came here to help, but I think I’m too late.”

  “Thank goodness for that. You would not want to see what I just saw.”

  “That wouldn’t be the first time I’ve changed his diaper. My boy really is a champion, believe me.”

  Vera laughed. “Well, not just that, but look.” She pointed to the toilet and pulled the lever. “It goes right down to the track!”

  Angelo stepped forward to look, taking up all of what little space there was.

  It was Angelo’s turn to smile. “Well, of course it does. Where else would it go?”

  She stood there and considered the options. “I—I guess I don’t know.”

  “People romanticize train travel. But it’s not all glamorous, is it?” Angelo asked.

  The idea of romance when they were standing in such a confined place made her dizzy.

  “No, it isn’t,” she lied and maneuvered herself away from the door to put some space between them.

  Angelo took Will in his arms, and they walked back to their seats. Once again she sat arm to arm, leg to leg, shoulder to shoulder with Angelo, pushed together so tightly that they might have been one person.

  He turned to her and said, “I really owe you. Thank you for taking care of that, Kid.”

  How she’d hoped that he would have said her name at last. “It was nothing.”

  Angelo looked in her eyes then, and she saw them widen. They seemed to get softer. “You don’t like being called ‘Kid,’ do you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He placed his hand over hers, and she trembled at his nearness. He was so very close.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I think that name is long outdated. Look at you.” His eyes glanced over the crest of her head as if he’d never seen her before. She felt her cheeks flush. “You’re a woman now, Vera,” he whispered. “A beautiful one.”

  They looked at each other, and she saw an expression in him that she had never seen before.

  He pulled back suddenly, as much as the seating arrangement would allow. “I mean, sure you are. You can’t be a kid forever, I guess.” He stared out the window and didn’t speak again.

  She felt her blood pulse, announcing its might through every bit of her body, and she thought she might die from it. A blissful, enraptured death.

  Although she had no experience with men, Vera knew with the intuition of a woman that this was no brotherly affection that had passed between them.

  She rubbed her temples. No, no, no, she said to herself. You can’t think like this.

  But the bliss that he had noticed her. That he saw her as she was now, not as she had once been. In a way, it was all she wanted. This acknowledgment. Even if nothing more could ever come from it.

  The train took a sharp curve, and Will wailed from bumping his head against the window, breaking the magic.

  Vera busied herself with comforting Will. She could not look at Angelo. She feared that his eyes would reflect the longing that she felt so deeply, and she wasn’t sure that she was strong enough to withstand it.

  It was only right. It was only fair to Pearl.

  Neither spoke again for the short duration, but she felt the rigidity of his body next to hers and heard him sigh a deep breath that sounded like an ache, a sound that echoed what she felt inside.

  His resistance made her love him all the more. If either gave in to what she suspected they were both feeling, they wouldn’t be themselves anymore. They would be the kind of people whom she had little respect for. It was their mutual sense of kindness, honesty, simplicity that had made their friendship so enduring. It was what they admired in Pearl.

  But how long could such a thing last?

  When her father read to her from the Declaration of Independence, he’d extolled upon the importance of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The beautiful formula that made America. He said that if you took away even one of those hallmarks, the whole country would crumble. Like a stool with only two legs.

  She hadn’t understood it at a much younger age. But she did now.

  Pearl, Angelo, Vera. An evenly proportioned spirit of friendship among them could be something everlasting. But the weakening of any of the sides, the hint of imbalance, would collapse the whole thing.

  Removing
herself from the little family would give them the best chance to remain intact. Perhaps it wasn’t supposed to be Pearl, Angelo, Vera.

  It should be Pearl, Angelo, William.

  Though she’d wrestled with the idea before, it was clear as day to her. To let them thrive, she needed to step away.

  The realization frightened her. It would send her back to factory work. She would miss them all terribly. But it had to be done.

  Already, she felt the loneliness of it swallowing her.

  None too soon, the conductor shouted, “Union Station, Washington, DC.” As the train pulled in, Angelo and Vera gathered their bags and stood. Their actions were perfunctory, as if this new recognition made them strangers rather than the dear friends they’d been. Vera sensed the shift in Angelo’s demeanor. She would give anything to be “Kid” again, because at least he’d laugh with her and buy her gelato.

  But it didn’t matter, anyway. She looked over to the window and saw Pearl waving to them from the platform. Beautiful Pearl who looked just as fresh and regal as if she’d taken the train as well and not walked for weeks as she had.

  Vera had little to give to Pearl.

  But she had much she could give up.

  Chapter Nine

  “Darling!” Pearl’s voice pealed like tiny icicles glistening through the brisk weather. Vera took Will from Angelo’s arms. He gathered the bags and hurried down the steps of the train onto the platform. He embraced his wife and kissed her cheek before looking back.

  Will squirmed and used his feet to push himself down Vera’s body until she could no longer hold him. She supposed that he, too, would run to Pearl, but he did not. He held firmly on to Vera’s hand, merely wanting to walk on his own. This little man chose her company while the bigger one rightfully loved his wife.

  “William!” Pearl finally noticed her son, but he only gripped Vera’s hand tighter at his mother’s approach. Pearl’s smile straightened at the rebuff, but she turned to Angelo and slipped her hand into his.

  Angelo voiced what Vera was thinking. “How is our favorite suffragette? You don’t look like you walked here all the way from New York.”

  “You might not have said that yesterday,” she answered, smoothing her hair. Vera noticed that her hands were red and raw. “And I’m not going to show you my feet. They’re quite blistered. But some donors put their money together and rented hotel rooms last night for all the walkers. A soft bed and a hot bath, and I felt as if I were living at my grandmother’s house on Madison Park once again.”

  Angelo asked, “Is there space in your fancy room for a weary husband and eager son and a friend? Or will we be staying at the hostel where I reserved some rooms?”

  The friend comment was a welcome thing. It reassured her that, despite the moment of tacit honesty that had passed between them on the train, Angelo knew his place as much as she did. That would make it easier. She worried that she couldn’t be strong enough for both of them.

  “Wouldn’t that be a dilly, my lovelies?” Pearl said. “How grand it would be for us all to stay here. I’ve been offered the room for two more nights, and if it were mine alone there is nothing that I would want more than to have my family join me. But as it is, we are four women to a room, having asked the donors to economize and give the remaining money to the cause instead.”

  Of course she would have done that. Saintly, perfect Pearl. Vera immediately admonished herself for her fleeting resentment. Pearl had been nothing but kind to her. Mama had always said that jealousy was like a monster that ate up your insides, and Vera had realized over the past few months how true that statement was.

  She didn’t want to envy Pearl, who deserved every bit of support and kindness that could be given. To stay might turn Vera into a person she didn’t want to be.

  Angelo said, “Don’t let us rob you of your place there. You’ve earned it. I can take Vera and Will to the hostel, and you can rest up for the big day tomorrow.”

  Vera held her breath. What was he thinking? This was the very time that he and his wife needed to be together.

  Pearl touched his cheek. “And that makes you a dear. But no, I plan to join you at the hostel.” She clapped her hands together and said that she had an idea. “I think we all deserve a little treat, though. The hotel has the most charming dining room where they serve ice cream in crystal bowls. Would you like that, Will?”

  The child didn’t hear her, as his attention was set on the man who was changing the letters on the arrival and departure board.

  “B-b-b,” he started. He closed his eyes and took a breath. “B.” He opened his eyes and pointed to the word Baltimore. Vera looked up at Pearl, waiting for her to lavish praise at his accomplishment, but she had already turned around and was sweeping her arm across the cityscape, narrating to Angelo, stopping at the view of the milky-white Capitol building. It was indeed breathtaking, and Vera had never seen anything like it. But this was the first time that Will had identified a letter or slowed down enough to deliberately overcome his stutter. Vera found that to be an even more marvelous thing.

  She crouched down to his height and took her hands in his. “That was so good, sweet boy. Zia Vera is very proud of you.” She decided to distract him from Pearl’s preoccupation by continuing the lesson. “And what about that one? Can you tell me that letter on top?”

  She pointed to the next column on the board. New York.

  Will pursed his lips and wrinkled his little brow. “M,” he said on the first try without stumbling.

  “So close, my love. It nearly does look like an M, doesn’t it? But it’s M’s neighbor, N. Can you try saying that one?” Her own mother had patiently taught Vera her letters and numbers and coins in much the same way.

  He quieted once again before saying the letter with perfection. Vera squeezed his hands. Pearl and Angelo were watching by this time.

  “How wonderful, William,” Pearl said. “What a smart boy for learning your alphabet. Can you say that one?” She pointed to the top of the departure board.

  Philadelphia.

  “P-p-p-p-p-p.” Will’s sounds stumbled as if he weren’t really giving the same effort.

  “Almost, William. Keep trying.”

  “P-p-p-p-p-p,” he repeated. Vera saw his face go red and recognized the look of anger that flickered in his eyes. Was it possible that for Vera he tried and for Pearl he didn’t? Vera again chastised herself for her vice—Will’s dual responses tempted her to feel superior, if only on this one tiny point.

  “It’s a P. But don’t worry, William. You’ll get it soon enough. Shall we go get some ice cream?”

  What he probably wanted was a hug, some sign of affection from his mother. But as soon as Vera caught herself making such a judgment of Pearl, she engaged a method that she’d learned about in a Sunday sermon: replace a thought of bitterness with one of gratitude. It was much like the Glad Game, an idea in a new book out called Pollyanna. Vera sympathized with the character.

  I am thankful, she told herself, that while I had a mother for too little a time, she was affectionate toward me. Poor Pearl had only the example of a mother who required a proper silence around adults. She is trying. I know she loves Will.

  The thought immediately warmed her.

  Pearl held her hand out to Will, and at Vera’s hidden nudging against his back, he tottered over to her. Angelo took his other hand, and Vera walked behind the proper family of three.

  They are not mine. But I am theirs, she thought. I will be lost without them when I go.

  Vera kept a few paces behind them as they walked more than a mile to the Willard Hotel. Sometimes she caught a word that Pearl said to Angelo; sometimes the breeze carried it in another direction. Pearl seemed to know quite a lot about the city in so short a time.

  “The Smithsonian,” Vera heard as Pearl pointed to a building far to their left. It looked like a redbrick castle, complete with a glass turret that seemed befitting of royalty. She imagined that a lonely princess lived in it. A gir
l awaiting her one true love to overcome every obstacle. But before her thoughts could get away from her, Pearl was on to the next item on the tour.

  “The White House.”

  Vera looked ahead of her.

  She’d seen many marvels growing up in New York City, but besides Penn Station, none caught her breath quite as much as the White House in DC did. It was simple in its design—a long rectangle with columns in front. It was not the ornate palace she’d imagined but a building of quiet humility. The Vanderbilts and the Rockefellers and the Pilkingtons of the world all lived in much grander mansions that were inaccessible to all but those of their class or those who served them. Yet the White House, though large in scale, seemed like it was constructed so that all people—even the Kellers and the Bellavias—might feel welcome in its presence.

  Vera owned so little. But she felt as if she owned a piece of this. Hard-won for her by her immigrant parents.

  Her mother died providing an income for her family. Pearl rallied to improve working conditions for people like Mutter and Vater. They were here today to give voice to the women both now and in future generations so that they could all make use of the opportunity that the White House represented. If someone like Abraham Lincoln could be born in a one-room cabin and go on to become the president, then maybe anyone could. Vera’s future daughters or granddaughters. The notion exhilarated her. In New York, Pearl’s ardent work sometimes seemed futile to Vera. But here it all made sense. This was possible.

  She owed her loyalty to Pearl more than she’d ever realized.

  Pearl had taken Will in her arms as they turned to the right. “That’s where the president lives, darling. And tomorrow we’ll have a new president. Woodrow Wilson. That’s why we’re all here. To tell him we want votes for women.”

  Will turned to Vera. “Votes for women,” she repeated, lifting a loose fist in the air. He grinned.

  “And here we are,” Pearl announced. “Who wants ice cream?”

  Vera looked up at a stunning white building, twelve stories high. It looked like a wedding cake rising above the ground. Or something like pictures she’d seen of Paris. The American flag was the only thing that belied that particular fantasy. It sat atop the building, its tips unfurling just enough to see it. She wondered if it was a new flag—the one that included all forty-eight stars since Arizona and New Mexico had joined the United States last year.