A Fall of Marigolds

by Meissner, Susan

  Ethan handed the driver money before I could even think of reaching into my handbag. Then he got out of the car and came around to my side, opening my door and extending his hand to me.

  I stepped out slowly, breathing deeply as Ethan had instructed me, and when my feet were firmly on the pavement I gazed up at the hotel. It looked a lot like the Asch Building.

  “They all look the same,” I whispered.

  “But they’re not.” Ethan closed the cab door and the car pulled away from the curb. “Would you like me to escort you inside?”

  I shook my head. “I can make it.” But as soon as I said it I was keenly aware of how much Ethan had done for me that morning. I knew I wouldn’t be standing there had it not been for him. “I am so very grateful for your help. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You just did.” He smiled at me. And then he raised his hand, hesitated, raised it again, and tucked a fallen wisp of hair back under my hat.

  His touch unnerved me for only a moment as I realized my cowering and clutching certainly had to have taken their toll on my appearance. “Oh, my goodness. I must look a fright!” I reached into my handbag for a mirror but could not find one.

  “You look lovely.”

  “I’ve forgotten my mirror!”

  “Clara, you look fine.”

  I pinched my cheeks and licked my lips.

  Again he smiled at me. “I will come back for you at two. And I will meet you in the lobby.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “It’s Manhattan. I will find a place to haunt for two hours. Don’t worry.”

  I was suddenly sad to think of him leaving me, but I also knew I wanted to meet my father alone.

  He tipped his hat and started to walk away, but he turned back and I knew he was waiting for me to walk inside the hotel and complete my journey. I took a step toward the hotel entry. A uniformed porter opened the door for me as he greeted me warmly.

  And then I was inside.

  I hadn’t given much thought to what I would say to my father or what he might say to me. Since I had gotten his letter on Monday I’d been intent solely on getting myself to the hotel. Now that I was making my way through the richly appointed lobby, it occurred to me that my reason for staying on the island had been dealt a blow even as I closed the distance to the dining room doors. I was off the island. I was in Manhattan. I was three blocks away from where hell had opened up right in front of me. And I was able to keep walking. An unfamiliar confidence seemed to rise up from a slumbering place inside me.

  My father was seated near a window and he rose when the waiter who’d met me at the dining room entrance brought me to him. He looked just as he had six months earlier, when he and my mother had come to take me home after the fire and were unsuccessful. I wondered whether I looked the same to him.

  “Clara!” He took me into his arms and kissed me on the cheek. I could smell the country air on him, and his brand of tobacco, and even a hint of my mother’s cologne, from when she had hugged him good-bye.

  “Hello, Father.”

  He stepped back from me with his hands still on my shoulders. “You came!”

  “You . . . you invited me.”

  “But I wasn’t sure you’d come. Henrietta thought you might not.”

  I smiled nervously. “Well, here I am. Shall we sit?”

  “Of course, of course.”

  The waiter, who had idled by while my father greeted me, now pulled out my chair, and as I took my seat I mentally prepared myself for what else Henrietta might have said.

  “So how is everyone?” I said. The waiter handed me a menu and I thanked him. “Mother doing well?”

  “Everyone is fine. We’re wondering how you are. We’ve been worried actually. I think I mentioned that in my letter.”

  I took a sip of water from the cut-crystal glass in front of me. A tiny spiral of lemon slice sparkled in it. “You did. But I am well, as you can see.”

  He folded his hands and regarded me, considering me the way I’d seen him study a confounding symptom. “You look wonderful, certainly. But . . . Henrietta mentioned you’d seemed melancholy in your letters to her. And that’s why you hadn’t been off the island since you arrived. Not even once.”

  I set the glass down carefully. “Henrietta mentioned nothing of these concerns in her letters to me.”

  “But you haven’t been off the island until today. Isn’t that right?” I could see the care in his eyes, how much it pained him to ask me this.

  “I haven’t. But I am here today.”

  “But it took effort to come, didn’t it? I can see how hard it was.”

  One of the benefits of working closely alongside someone for so many years is that you are in tune with their unsaid thoughts and the language of their body. My father read the account of my travail to get to him like he had read the menu at his elbow.

  “It was a little difficult, yes. But I managed it, Father. A friend from the hospital came with me to make sure I got here.”

  Again he studied my face, searching it for clues as to what I was not telling him. There had to be more; he could sense that much.

  As I in turn studied him, I knew that I could probably trust him with the details of Edward’s influence on my life. Having told Dolly, Ethan, and even Andrew Gwynn about losing Edward, I now realized no one had thought me silly for falling in love with a man I barely knew; nor had anyone ridiculed me for grieving his death the way I had.

  But it also seemed that every time I shared Edward’s story with someone, his hold on me diminished a little. And I didn’t want him to disappear from me; I had so little of him to hold on to.

  “I had a rough time for a while, Father. I will admit that. And the horror of the fire took . . . took a long time to ease into something I could live with. But I am not the same person I was the last time you saw me.”

  “So, perhaps you are thinking it is time to move on? Seek another post?”

  I shifted in my chair. “I haven’t been looking for another post. I like working on Ellis.”

  “But it seems to have kept you from moving on from the fire, Clara. At least, it looks that way to us.”

  “Us?”

  “Your mother and I, and Henrietta. We all see it in your letters. Henrietta especially so. I agree that you are not the same girl you were when we saw you after the fire, but you’re not the same girl who left home for nursing school, either. You’ve changed, Clara.”

  “Everybody changes.”

  He nodded. “Of course they do. But not all change is for the good.”

  The moment these words were out of his mouth, I heard echoes of the very same thing I had said to Ethan only a few days earlier.

  “You seem sad,” he went on. “And that makes us sad. I think you need to get out of New York altogether. We all do.”

  For a moment I could not find my voice. When I did, my words surprised me. “I am a grown woman, Father. I make my own choices about where I will live and work. Just as you made yours when you became an adult.”

  I had never spoken to my father like that before. It was on the tip of my tongue to quickly apologize, but he spoke before I could.

  “You are absolutely right. I am not telling you what to do. I am suggesting something to you, Clara, because I love you and I can see your life from a perspective that you cannot. You witnessed something . . . horrific. More horrific than you are telling me. I think staying in New York, staying on Ellis, is asking too much of yourself.”

  “But New York is where I want to be!”

  “This is where you wanted to be. I don’t think it’s the same place that you’d dreamed of. Not now.”

  The waiter appeared then, but he saw we were engaged in a heated discussion and scurried away.

  I looked directly at my father. “I am not coming back to Pennsyl
vania.”

  “I’m not suggesting you do.”

  A second of silence hung between us.

  “You’re not?”

  “No. I know you love the city and I know our quiet life back home is not what you want out of life. But there are other places besides New York, Clara.”

  He had come to New York to propose something to me. That was clear to me now. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’ve a friend who’s a professor at a medical school, who will be traveling to Edinburgh for a year on a research project at the university there. His wife is in fragile health and needs nursing care around the clock. He wants to hire a nurse to go with them to Scotland. You would have every other weekend off. And you’d be able to travel with them to sightsee the rest of the British Isles, as well as the Continent. I told him I would ask you about it. The post is yours if you want it.”

  “Edinburgh?” That one word encompassed a dozen questions. My father seemed to discern them all.

  “I know you’ve longed to see Europe, as much as you wanted to see New York. Here is your chance. It’s only for a year. When they come back to the States you can see where you want to go next. They are nice people. She is especially kind, despite her many health problems. And as sad as your mother and I would be to have you so far away, it would get you off that island.”

  The thought of leaving Ellis for good was both exhilarating and terrifying. I could barely speak.

  “Promise me you will think about it? You don’t need to decide for a week or so. They leave the first week in October.”

  “I promise I will think about it.”

  He smiled, reached across the table, and covered my hand with his. “I am so glad to hear you say that. And I’m so glad you came today. I’m sure it was harder than you’ve let on.”

  I smiled back, unwilling to confirm or deny it.

  He let go and we each reached for our menus.

  Twenty-Seven

  MY father had an appointment with a colleague in Midtown at two o’clock, which he apologized for, but I was glad to kiss him good-bye fifteen minutes before the hour. I wanted a few minutes to myself to collect my thoughts and ponder in a snippet of solitude the proposal my father had spoken of before Ethan returned. I told my father I would send a telegram to him about the job by the middle of the month.

  After he departed, I settled into the sitting area in the lobby with a view of the front doors. As I imagined myself living in Scotland for a year, traveling to the Continent, and caring for just one frail woman, a strange but welcome ache for the loss of my island fell over me: the ache of losing something that is comfortable only because it is familiar, not dear. For the first time since I’d made the island my home, I could picture myself packing my belongings and leaving.

  If I was truly to let go of Edward, I needed to do so in as complete a way as I could, and yet the thought of doing this filled me with the same dread as when I had stepped off the island earlier that morning.

  I was so lost in contemplating my life without the richness and sadness of Edward being in it, I was unaware that Ethan had entered the hotel and was standing before me, his hat in his hand.

  “Did it not go well?” he asked kindly, when I lifted my startled gaze to his.

  I stood quickly. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long. Did it not go well?”

  “No. I mean, yes. It went well.”

  “That’s wonderful.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Is this how you normally respond to something going well?”

  “I am just surprised. I thought Father was going to try to talk me into coming back home to Pennsylvania. He didn’t.”

  Ethan took my arm and we began to walk toward the hotel doors. “Then it must have been a pleasant visit.”

  We stepped outside into the early-afternoon sun. “He thinks I need to leave New York.”

  Ethan held his hand up to signal for a cab, but he lowered it. “Because of what happened to you here.”

  “Yes.”

  “And is that what you think you need to do?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. He found a post for me with an older couple moving to Scotland for a year while the husband is occupied at the university on a research project. The wife is in fragile health and needs round-the-clock care.”

  “Scotland?” He sounded as if the thought of my saying yes were unthinkable.

  “I’ve always wanted to see Europe. And I know I can’t stay on the island forever. I’ve always known that.”

  “Yes, but the only thing keeping you on the island is you, Clara. You can leave it anytime you want. And you don’t have to go to Scotland to get away from it.”

  There was truth in what he said, truth that I had long known. I was the one keeping me chained to the island. If I was going to leave it for Scotland, or anywhere else, there were a couple of things I needed to do. If I waited, I might lose my courage, especially if I went back to the island and let it lull me again into a dazed stupor. I knew that with Ethan there with me, I could manage them both.

  “I’d like to drive by the Asch Building,” I said.

  Ethan stared at me. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I would. I want to drive by it.”

  “You do know that just two hours ago when you thought we were driving past it, you nearly—”

  “Yes, I know. But I want to try. It’s different when it’s something I choose. Do you see? When I thought we were driving past it and I hadn’t known we would be, I felt powerless. But if I ask to be driven past it, then I am in charge.”

  He seemed unconvinced that I knew what I was talking about. “All right,” he said slowly.

  “I need to come to terms with what happened between Edward and me. I need to drive by the place where I watched him die. And I want to find the cemetery where he’s buried. Just like you said we could. I want to do that.”

  The confidence in my voice surprised us both. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” He tucked my arm in his and with his other hand he signaled for a passing hansom.

  Once inside the carriage, Ethan told the driver to take us past the Asch Building.

  The driver turned to us. “If you’re looking to see what’s left o’ the fire, you’ll not see anythin’. Been telling tourists that for a while. You can’t even tell.”

  “Just drive past slowly, please?” Ethan said politely.

  The driver shrugged and turned back around.

  We set off, and in a matter of minutes Washington Square was in view, and the brick-faced tower that was the scene of my undoing. I reached instinctively for Ethan’s hand.

  “Have him turn down Greene Street.” My voice sounded strained in my ears. Ethan repeated my instruc- tion.

  As the building began to grow in scale, such that it filled my field of vision, the heavy weight that had been pressing against my chest all day suddenly blossomed like a rose in a hothouse. I could scarcely hear Ethan’s voice beside me, telling me over and over that I was safe, I was safe, I was safe.

  The driver was taking it slowly, as we’d instructed him to, but out of the corner of my eye and as we turned down Greene, I saw him glance back at me.

  “Stop here!” My voice came out in a rasp, like tattered metal in the wind.

  “What was that?” Ethan said.

  “Tell him to stop.”

  This time my voice carried throughout the cab and the driver pulled on the reins.

  As Ethan was asking if I was sure I wanted to do this, I stepped out of the carriage in front of the greengrocer’s store, at once assailed by the twin smells of earthy vegetables and remembered smoke. Ethan had jumped out, too, and I heard him tell the driver to wait for us. But I was only minimally aware of him joining me as I began to walk across the cobbled street, undaunted by the sound of a car horn and the tinkling bells of bic
yclists.

  My body seemed powered by some outside force as I stepped onto the sidewalk where the dead had fallen. It was bleached clean of human tragedy. All the red blooms had faded into remembrance and the handful of people who walked past did not even seem to be aware of where their feet were walking. I sank to the pavement and pressed my hand to the warm stone.

  “I am sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Ethan knelt beside me just inches away, ready to catch me if I collapsed into despair, I suppose. But I did not feel despair, kneeling there on an ordinary sidewalk in the heart of Manhattan. I felt only regret that we are so fragile. Our bodies are so weak. We are capable of feeling such powerful emotion, such that if the body could match the potency of what the heart holds, I could have flown to Edward’s side as he stood on the flaming window ledge, and carried him down.

  Or he could have flown to me.

  But the strength of what I held inside didn’t match the strength outside.

  “I couldn’t save him,” I said aloud.

  After a moment or two, I felt Ethan’s arms on my shoulders, lifting me up and away.

  We walked silently back to the hansom. Ethan assisted me inside and closed the door. The driver’s eyes were wide as he looked back at me.

  When Ethan was seated next to me, he turned to me and took my hand. “Do you still want to know where he’s buried?”

  I nodded.

  Ethan turned to the driver. “The main office of The New York Times, please.”

  The driver said nothing as he eased us away from the curb.

  “Are you all right?”

  It took me a moment to answer Ethan, but strangely enough, I was all right. I was still greatly saddened by what I had lost, but kneeling on that pavement where Edward had died had reminded me that he had been real. Our spark of a romance had been real. It had been sweet enough to enjoy, long enough to mourn.

  “It was worth it,” I finally said. “I don’t wish I hadn’t met him. And I am glad I can say that.”

  Ethan stroked the top of my hand in wordless affirmation. It should always make us happy to say that loving someone and being loved by someone is worth whatever price is paid. I felt myself relax for the first time since I had opened my father’s letter. The clanging weight in my chest had diminished to a wedge of unfinished business with no dread wrapped around it. Edward had told me that his parents had lived in New York City since they’d stepped off the ferry. I could only hope that they had buried their son here so that I could at last say good-bye to him, thank him for loving me, tell him how sorry I was that he had been on the ninth floor waiting for me when the fire broke out, and that I would never forget how he gallantly offered his hand to that young woman when the two of them were swept away to heaven.