Chapter Twelve
We need to talk. Those words rarely contained idle pleasantries and were more often omens of something difficult. Was Pearl going to reprimand Vera for disappearing from their lives three years ago? Was little Will thriving, or could something possibly be wrong? She dreamed about him sometimes. His sticky little hands. Who had wiped them when she wasn’t there?
And Angelo. He was never far from her thoughts. She missed him. But she stayed away.
All worries left Vera as they stepped into the breathtaking hall of Pearl’s grandmother’s house. The ceilings soared three stories high, capped with stained glass capturing scenes of tangled vines. Practical as always, Vera wondered how such a thing would fare in a hailstorm, but perhaps the wealthy could replace them on a whim.
The room was lined with columns and arches on either side, and the abundant plants in the center reminded her of pictures she’d seen of jungles. Vera knew little about horticulture, but it seemed unseasonable to have such things growing. She brushed her hand along one particularly thick leaf and marveled that there was not a speck of dust on it. Nor did she see the kind of particles in the emerging sunlight that she often saw in the rays that shone through at Penn Station.
What kind of magic was it that made a place like this so idyllic in the middle of Manhattan?
Money can’t buy happiness, she’d heard. But this clearly proved that an untruth. Who wouldn’t be happy in a place like this? Well, except Pearl. She’d left all this of her own choice.
Pearl. Vera snapped out of her wonderment and ran after Pearl, who was now helping Vater into a room framed by tall double doors.
“The library fireplace has been started for you, Miss Pilkington,” said Victor.
“Excellent. Do you have any coffee brewed?”
“I’ll ask the cook to start some.”
“Thank you.”
The butler began to walk out, but Pearl stopped him once more. “And, Victor, do you think you’d be able to find any of my grandfather’s old shirts? Mr. Keller here is soaked.”
“I believe Lady Pilkington may have kept some of his things in an armoire in the attic. I will check on that for you.”
The doors made no sound as he closed them, but the thud Vera heard must have been her own heart. She was finally alone with Pearl and her father. It might as well have been just the two women. Vera couldn’t remember ever being this nervous, maybe not even when she had been alone with Angelo in that hostel room. Now that the emergency was behind them, would Pearl reprimand her for—for everything?
They sat Vater right next to the fire, leaned against a pile of plush, tasseled cushions. They unbuttoned his shirt to remove the cold, wet cloth from his skin and covered him with a sumptuous blanket made of fur. He sank into the surroundings, not really understanding where he was, and fell asleep. Vera stroked his hair and enjoyed seeing a peace in his face that had not taken residence there in weeks.
We need to talk.
Pearl said nothing, so Vera spoke first. An innocuous topic. “Lady Pilkington?”
“Yes.” Pearl pulled a pack of cigarettes from her skirt pocket and lit one. She inhaled slowly and closed her eyes. A thin finger of smoke escaped from her lips before she spoke again. “Gran is one of those rich American women who married a titled Brit. It saved his estate and raised her status. Like a society version of a mail-order bride. She’d only met him twice before agreeing to marry him. But they were lucky ones. She genuinely loved him, and he loved her. Not all of those kinds of arrangements turned out quite so well.”
“Does that make you a lady? I mean, an official one?”
As if Vera needed one more thing to make her feel inferior to Pearl.
The end of the cigarette seemed spent. An arch of ashes looked like they would disintegrate. “No. My father was the fourth son in their marriage. The other three stayed in England, but Father returned here with Gran after my grandfather died. I don’t think she was ever really happy being away from New York. Grandfather’s family wasn’t very kind to her. So my father made his own way in business, and Gran continued to live on her own money.”
“Will she mind that we are here?” Vera felt like she and her father were intruders. Not merely because they were so out of place in such opulent surroundings but because of Pearl’s estrangement from her family.
“Nah. Gran has been warming to my side. Ever since William was born, she’s helped me out.”
She paused and ground the remains of the cigarette butt in an ashtray. Vera thought again of that sweet little boy she’d loved so much. How could she ask about his well-being?
Pearl continued. “I guess thawing might be the better word now that I think of it. We’re not all the way there yet. I think my mother wants to be in touch, too, but Father dear swims in a moneyed set of tightwads who really, really don’t believe in rights for workers and votes for women.”
We need to talk.
The words still hovered in Vera’s head, like a toothache that wouldn’t go away no matter what else was screaming for attention. But Pearl had not yet made a move to discuss anything that seemed fitting for that kind of prologue.
A robust knock echoed through the library door, and Victor entered, followed by two servants. All were carrying large trays, Victor with a full array of silver service that he explained had a selection of coffee and hot chocolate. He also explained that he could have some tea brewed, if they preferred. The woman behind him, clad in a smartly starched white apron, set down a tray of offerings that rivaled any bakery window that Vera had ever seen—croissants, petits fours, fruit pastries of every variety. It astonished Vera that they thought three weary people could eat so much.
The third person, a man in an ink-black uniform, bore a stack of perfectly folded clothing.
Victor turned to him and took several items off the top.
Vera was grateful for the distraction.
“A set of pajamas for Mr. Keller and a robe. I’ve rung for a valet to come and assist with him tonight. And I took the liberty of laying out bedclothes for you and Miss Keller in your chambers and bringing an assortment of other articles for your comfort now.”
“You’re too good, Victor,” said Pearl. “I’ll be sure to write my grandmother at the California house and let her know how well you’ve taken care of us, and on such short notice.”
Victor stoked the fire and promised that a valet should be on hand within the hour, apologizing for the wait. He helped Pearl and Vera ensure that Vater was comfortable as he slept on the cushions. Then he and the others left in silence.
Alone again. Vera’s heart raced. Surely their conversation was imminent, and the things she’d worried about for three years would come to light.
The crackling of the wood burning was the most luxurious sound she could ever remember hearing, though it was little comfort to her right now.
“Dessert?”
Vera inhaled sharply. She heard desert. You deserted us, Vera. Vera, the deserter.
“Vera? Are you okay?” Pearl held out the plate of treats, and she chose a raspberry tart. She nodded as she took a bite. It was the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten. She just wished she could enjoy it.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Vera blurted. She couldn’t wait any longer or this night might never end. But she couldn’t look her friend in the eye as she asked it.
Pearl took a bite of a chocolate-filled croissant and wiped the crumbs from her chin before speaking. Her movements were slow, and Vera felt her eyes move up and down as if she were assessing her. But her voice retained its carefree tone.
Her old friend sat back and crossed her legs. “Everything. I’ve missed you, Vera. We have three years of catching up to do. I was so surprised that you disappeared on us just like that.”
Vera took a deep breath while trying to make it sound normal.
“Will missed you like crazy, too. He drew a picture of a train for you. I came by your apartment to deliver it, only to fi
nd that you had moved and didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
“I—I would like to have seen it.”
A silence descended. She picked at a snag on her finger. She knew what was coming.
“Where did you go, Vera?” Pearl’s eyes didn’t leave hers.
What had Angelo told her? She hadn’t even mentioned him. But Vera didn’t want to bring him up.
She adjusted her seat and crossed her legs just like Pearl.
“I am very sorry about how I handled that. I did not mean to leave you in the lurch like that. But it just seemed better all around. At the time.”
It sounded as weak as it felt. There were no words to convey the agony that she’d gone through ripping herself from the fabric of the family they’d grown to be. But she couldn’t say to his wife that with one word Angelo might have been hers instead.
Pearl didn’t speak, so Vera rushed on. “You made me want something more for myself. I—I started taking art classes.”
She’d been able to afford exactly twelve classes in three years, but it was a start. And she didn’t feel that specificity was required.
Pearl looked at her with unsure eyes. “I still have the drawing, if you want it,” she said.
The drawing? Oh, yes. The one that William drew.
“How is little Will?” asked Vera.
Pearl curled her legs under her on the sofa, and Vera thought she seemed to be relaxing. “Not so little anymore. He’s nearly six years old now.”
“Six!”
“Yes. And he comes up to here on me.” Pearl put her hand at the bottom of her rib cage.
So big. And she’d missed that. Along with countless other things.
Vera couldn’t wait any longer, and this was the next natural question. A heavy breath sat in her chest as she spoke.
“And what about Angelo?” The words were so hard to say.
Pearl paused and cocked her head. “Did you ever marry, Vera?”
“Marry? No. I’ve been too busy for that.” And I’ve never stopped loving your husband. But she couldn’t say that, of course.
“Mmm-hmm.” Pearl sat up straight again. “Angelo is . . . fine.”
“You hesitated. Is he really okay?”
“Yes. He’s fine.” Pearl sighed. “We’re just not seeing eye to eye on something right now.”
So they were together. A part of Vera was happy. That’s what she had left to do. To allow them to be a husband and wife without her interference.
But—the romantic piece of her had hoped, in the dark nights of lying alone in her bed at night, that Angelo might have come looking for her and somehow there was a way for them to be together.
Pearl looked her up and down again and then leaned forward in a gesture that made Vera think that she’d made up her mind about something.
“Vera, it’s a stroke of luck to have seen you today.”
Given the very real trauma that she was facing with her father, she might say the same. By this time tonight she’d expected him to be in some cold hospital bed in Washington Heights and she would be making her way home on the subway, surely crying her eyes out at the guilt of abandoning him. But that was probably not what Pearl was thinking about.
“Yes. And how kind it was of you to bring us here.”
“Really, finding you again is an answer to a prayer. Several, in fact. I’m hoping that you can help me.”
She was starting to sound like the old Pearl. Like the sister she’d been. It was like clouds parting to let the sun through.
“You know I’d do anything for you,” said Vera.
Pearl curled her legs up again and lit another cigarette. “Angelo and I believe that it is only a matter of time before we join the war in Europe, and that means so many things. Primarily it means that women will be called into working the jobs that the men will have to leave as they go and fight. I just returned from Atlantic City and heard the most rousing speech by Carrie Chapman Catt in which she predicted that the war will be the event that turns the tide for us. Already, it has taken the lives of millions of men, and when we join, how many American lives will it take? Women will assume the roles of men not only when they leave but when they return home, many injured and many not coming back at all. Only then will society understand our capabilities. But we have to put a structure in place that supports this newfound independence so that we don’t lose the ground we will assuredly gain.”
Only someone like Pearl—or apparently this Catt woman—would think so far as to how the aftereffects of a war that the country had not even engaged in would impact women, but Vera couldn’t disagree with the premise.
“Carrie said, ‘The woman’s hour has struck,’ and it is so true, Vera. Local organizations are communicating with one another in unprecedented ways, growing into a national movement the size of which we have not yet seen. This is, indeed, the hour, and there is much need for me to travel through the states and assist with the effort.”
Vera reached for another croissant to avoid the shaking she felt growing inside. She had a feeling about what Pearl might say next. And the prospect was too exciting for her to put into words first.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “You’ll be away for longer?”
Pearl nodded heartily. “Exactly. I may be gone for weeks—months at a time. This is an opportunity that cannot be lost. This is why seeing you today is providential. Are you ready for a crazy proposal?”
Vera was ready for anything that might take her from the loneliness she’d fashioned for herself, but only after her father was cared for in a proper way. She could not gallivant off to adventures when she was the only person Vater had to take care of him. But if it involved being with Pearl and Angelo again, she would have to tread carefully.
“Okay.” Pearl clapped her hands. “This is big, big, big. But let me know what you think.” She took a deep breath. “Nothing happens without reason. I was going to return home tonight and tell Carrie about my commitment to traveling with her even without knowing who might take care of Will. But what about this—you remain here with your father for the time being. Gran will be away for another few months, so it’s not as if you’d be in her way. Will can stay with you again like old times. That way your father will be in comfort, and it gives Will someone to look out after him, and you don’t have to work in that factory job anymore. Assuming that is still where you are.”
The same proposition as before. Only this time she wouldn’t have to work under Angelo’s roof, seeing him every day. Maybe not at all.
Instead they would be living here in this palace, and best of all—she would be able to get help and keep her own family together.
But what about Angelo? Pearl made no mention of him in this grand plan. It was not only this thought that occupied Vera. This was enticing beyond words, and maybe worth the risk if it helped her father. But it was also fraught with holes.
What if this was too much for her father to comprehend?
What would Pearl’s grandmother really think of this arrangement? Vera wasn’t sure that, present or not, she’d want a sick old man, a penniless girl, and a near-orphaned child landing in her home unexpectedly.
“Well, what do you think?”
Vera rubbed her hands across her face, not realizing that she had not yet voiced any response to this generous offer.
“I am overwhelmed, to be honest. Of course I want to support you, and I think what you say about this time for women makes sense. But I have so many questions, not the least of which is what I will do for money if we stay here.”
Pearl waved her hand in the air as if to disregard the comment. “Nothing to worry about there. This just came to me as the perfect solution to all our problems. You won’t have rent, and Victor and the staff will feed you splendidly. As for incidentals, we’ll work out a stipend just like before.”
It was all so tempting. But it could be history repeating itself. Would it have made the last three years a waste, as if her leaving had never happened?
“And where will Angelo be in all of this? Wouldn’t he want Will to be at home with him?”
Pearl sighed and walked over to a nearby sofa to escape the raging heat that was now coming from the hearty flames coming from the fireplace.
“Oh, my dear, I haven’t told you that part yet. Had we found each other just a few weeks ago, I might have tried to solicit your help to talk him out of his foolish plan, but we are too late for that now.”
Vera gripped the arms of her chair. “What on earth do you mean? Is Angelo unwell?”
“Not at all. His medicals came back with perfect marks, I’m nearly sad to say. No, the man has gone and signed up for navy service before there is even a definite war. I told him that thirty was much too old to be expected to serve. I begged him to wait to see if there’s a draft—who else might stay home with Will?—but he walked out saying something like, ‘It’s time to go be a man’—whatever that’s supposed to mean—and he’s rearing to dig into a fight.”
Angelo. Going into war. Vera didn’t even want to contemplate that thought. She was already afraid for him, and he hadn’t even left yet.
She joined Pearl on the sofa and sank into its endless softness, taking this in. Her first thought was that this was an ideal decision on Angelo’s part. He would not be the sort to shirk a chance to serve his adopted country. And for this, she was immeasurably proud of him.
“He’s already been away this week for some initial training and then leaves next week for good. But I’m sure he would approve of this arrangement,” said Pearl. She held Vera’s gaze again in that cryptic way. “I know that he would consider finding you today to be rather opportune.”
Vera wasn’t sure what Pearl’s meaning was. But fear for him also lurked, spreading its darkness into the pit of her stomach. Indeed, millions had already been lost overseas, as Pearl had mentioned, and despite the professional boon that entering the war might mean for women, Vera abhorred the idea of the United States entering a war that had already devastated Europe. A whole generation of young men had been killed in Great Britain alone. And for those at home? She’d read about starvation. About farms turned into battlefields. Widows. Orphans.
The Way of Beauty Page 13