Landry Park

by Bethany Hagen

  And after the week of fog passed, I woke early in the morning, the January wind wailing around the corners of the house, at times slow and mournful, other times shrieking and screaming like a banshee. I pulled back the covers and watched goose bumps travel up my legs. Outside the window, I saw workmen arranging solar heaters in the pleasure garden.

  It was really happening. I was debuting tonight.

  The dress was a dream.

  The bodice fit snugly around me, softening the angles of my frame and spilling down into a full skirt lined with silk flowers. The lower half of the dress opened in on itself, revealing ivory chiffon and tulle sparkling with crystals. It was so beautiful that even the sour-faced seamstress smiled as she laced up the back, and I couldn’t begrudge the dress the thirty minutes it took to button and hitch and lace and steam, so that no wrinkles shamed the China silk.

  Elinor was just approaching me, ready to pin up my hair, when the door to my bedroom opened and David stepped inside and leaned against the doorframe. The maid and the seamstress froze. I stared.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, all levity and friendliness, as if he hadn’t spent the week ignoring my messages.

  “We are pinning up miss’s hair,” Elinor answered for me. “And you shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Ah. I just wanted to speak to Miss Landry about her father’s prisoner.” His hands were in his pockets and he looked like the David from before the battle—emitting charm and spice and canine grins. His eyes raked over me, sending blood rushing to my cheeks, to my thumping heart. “Leave it down,” he told me, his gaze trained on my hair. “It would be a crime to pin it up.” Then he left as suddenly as he had appeared.

  I stared after him, a tight sensation in my chest.

  “Miss?” Elinor asked.

  “Leave it down,” I said hastily, ignoring the part of my mind that begged to me forget about David. “Don’t put it up.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Most ladies wear their hair up to debuts, miss.”

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t care.”

  She shrugged and put down her pins. Slowly, with a brush and palms covered in ivy-scented oil, she smoothed and arranged my hair so that it spilled gracefully over my shoulders and down to my waist. Then, with the precise concentration of a sculptor with a chisel, she inserted the ancient tiara that my mother had worn to her own debut.

  There was a knock at the door. It was Mother and Father, standing together as they had before the Danas came to the city, united as they had been when I was a little girl.

  “It’s time, Madeline,” Father said. The stone-faced dictator of last week had been replaced by the image of a gentleman. His tuxedo was crisp and perfectly tailored to fit his tall frame. His red hair was combed back. A bright red rose and an ivy sprig were pinned to his lapel. On the other lapel glittered a platinum brooch wrought in the shape of our family crest. And Mother, standing beside him, looked the part of the ideal gentry wife, with the train of her beaded gown spread around her feet and her dark hair held up with ruby-encrusted hairpins.

  My father held out his arms to me and I allowed myself to be embraced, hating how much I loved the feeling of my father pretending to love me—and just not the Landry blood inside me. He kissed me on the forehead and said, “You look perfect.”

  The illusion of perfection—that’s all he wanted. He didn’t care how cracked and confused I was inside, as long as I played my part. I wondered if he’d released Charlie yet, but was too scared to ask.

  We walked to the end of the hallway, where the voices of the guests spilled up the stairs in a champagne-scented din. Jude stood waiting, in his scarlet uniform, hands clasped behind his back, like he was presenting himself to a superior officer. His eyes widened at the sight of me and he strode forward to take my hand and kiss it. It was like something out of Camelot, a knight and his lady.

  Except I’d always pictured David as my knight.

  Father nodded his approval. “Let’s give them some privacy, Olivia,” he told Mother, who sniffled.

  “My little girl,” was all she said as he led her away.

  Jude still hadn’t let go of my hand. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I said. For once in my life, I did feel beautiful. I did enjoy the feeling of silk on my skin and jewelry heavy in my ears and on my wrist. But hearing it said out loud seemed . . . scripted. Unreal. This is what every man says to every woman at their debut, I thought. And now perhaps, he will say it again, and then say how happy he is to be here with me. I wonder what David would have said to me—

  “You are truly lovely. I’m so glad you accepted my offer.”

  Jude leaned in and swept his lips past mine, and I stayed completely still. He took my whole face in his hands, so gently that his fingertips tickled my jaw, and kissed me harder, his mouth firm and warm. It felt nice, in a distant, premeditated sort of way.

  I wished I was kissing David.

  I wished I knew if Charlie was safe, and that Jack knew I was sorry.

  Jude pulled away, looking dazed and triumphant at the same time.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Too troubled to do anything but nod, I placed my hand on his arm, and we descended the stairs.

  Ivy trailed everywhere—around table legs, over portrait frames and mirrors, and even on the chandeliers high above the ballroom. A fresh green smell filled the room, drowning out even the smells of the banquet tables so piled with food that they threatened to sag. There were roast turkeys, peafowl, Cornish hens, and two suckling pigs. Veal and prime rib and lobster and Atlantic flounder flaking and drenched in herb butter. Delicacies from the East obtained at exorbitant cost, even after the battle: shark-fin soup, steamed bamboo shoots, and piles of peanut noodles flecked with peppers.

  The dessert table was crowned with a giant spun sugar swan, sitting serenely in a lake of taro ice cream, kept cold and solid by a hidden nuclear-powered freezer underneath the tablecloth. Waiters circled the room with aperitifs and hors d’oeuvres. A few hours from now, their trays would be loaded with cigars, cigarettes, and sake.

  I searched for David and saw a flash of white-blond hair in the corner of the room. But the shuffling of the crowd and the incessant tug of Jude’s arm made it impossible to catch David’s eye.

  Mother stood on the dais by the band, giving an uncharacteristically coherent and concise speech, while Jude caressed my fingers with his in small motions that no one could see. My pulse was racing, and I had a sick, anxious feeling in my stomach; I didn’t want to be here anymore. Would Jude try to kiss me again in front of the guests? And David?

  The band struck up, the crowd applauded, and Jude pulled me out onto the ballroom floor. I remembered how I felt dancing with David at Cara’s debut and my body lit with fire at memory. I hoped I could dance with him at least once before the night was through.

  “Are you happy?” Jude asked into my ear.

  “Yes,” I lied, acutely aware of all the eyes on us. Of my father’s eyes.

  Jude bent down and kissed me again. It was a good kiss, deep and soft, with his arms strong around me, although I still felt only a tithe of the desire I’d felt when David ran his thumb down my arm. My dress swirled around Jude’s feet as we stopped midspin, and the guests cheered and clapped at this display. When I opened my eyes, I saw David first among the crowd, next to Cara, his face a cipher.

  Jude and I broke away from our kiss when the music ended. Suddenly we were surrounded by men and women, eager to fill our dancing lists. I danced with cousins and classmates, boys I’d known since childhood and strangers who were visiting relatives from the East Coast.

  And then, without being aware of how it happened, I was dancing with David. His hand was flat against the back of my corset, pulling my waist toward him. We stepped in time to the music, our heads turned away from one another.

  “Well, Madeline, you’ve finally debuted. Everyone is raving about your dress, and Jude is in love with you. Is this what y
ou wanted?”

  “No. I want Charlie to be safe. I want this all to be over.”

  “You seemed pretty confident that your father would free him. I’ve passed the message along to Jack.”

  “What did he say?” I asked fervently. “Was he angry with me?”

  “Jack is never angry with anybody. Well, unless they are the Uprisen . . . or the government . . . or the military. I will rephrase: I don’t believe Jack would ever be angry with you. He said he knew you had done everything you could and he wanted to thank you. He hopes that once he has Charlie back, you will come and visit him.”

  I was almost too relieved to keep dancing. “I was so worried. If something happened to Charlie, he could never forgive me and I could never forgive myself.”

  “Could you forgive yourself for letting Charlie die a long, radioactive death instead?”

  “What?”

  David changed tactics. “Jude told me that your father was amending his will. Jude is too good-hearted to realize what’s going on, but I put two and two together. Your father offered you the university in exchange for a marriage to Jude, didn’t he?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Madeline, what are you doing?”

  “What are you doing?” I countered. “One moment you’re not speaking to me, the next you’re waltzing into my dressing room or giving me marriage advice. I can’t keep up with you.”

  “But you do want to keep up with me,” he said with a grin.

  “Stop,” I said. “This is not a game to me, no matter what it is to you.”

  Moving in time with the other girls in my line, I held my skirt in one hand and turned so that my back was to him. He pressed his hand against my stomach, and we began to step in small circles. “It’s not a game to me either,” he said as we turned. He pulled me close. “I’m sorry if you ever felt that way.”

  His mouth was very close to my cheek. If I turned my head now, our mouths would meet.

  “Are you being serious?”

  He sighed. “Look—I was upset about Charlie this week, okay? And then I found out you were debuting with Jude, days after it was already decided, and I felt a little confused about all that.” He stopped and my heart skipped, then started again at a breakneck pace.

  Confused? I have spent the six months twisted in longing and jealousy and hopelessness, and now he decides to feel a little confused?

  “David,” I said very clearly, “it’s none of your business whom I debut with or why. And I’m tired of you treating this—us—like a joke.”

  “Oh, there is an ‘us’ now?”

  “This is exactly what I mean,” I said. We slowly stepped in a circle around each other. “You know there’s something between us. There has been since we met at Wilder House. But it’s like it’s nothing to you. Do you have so many people that you care about that you can afford to be callous to them? Because I do not.”

  “Madeline—”

  “You’ve treated me like I don’t matter, like I’m perfectly willing to have my feelings trampled on a ballroom floor while you pursue whomever you please. Let me tell you one thing, David Dana, it won’t happen again. I won’t watch you kiss Cara and then saunter back to me with more flirting and more lies. I’m done hoping for something you are clearly too selfish to give.” I tossed my head back and raised my chin. It felt so good to tell him that.

  He looked indignant. “I am not selfish.”

  “Please,” I snorted. I wanted to say more but he held a finger to my lips.

  “Hush,” he said, “for just a moment. Let’s go back. You said that I made you hope for something—what are you hoping for?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Because,” he whispered, “I hope for very much when I am with you.”

  I meant to ask him about Cara, about why he chose her, but the words left my mouth as ghosts of a breath I could barely breathe, for at that moment, he pulled me closer.

  His hand slid against the small of my back and I was pressed against him, forced to look up and confront his sharp, handsome face and his deep eyes. A wordless ache claimed me, consuming me, and my mouth parted in surprise at the sudden and knife-edged power of the feeling. He leaned his head closer to me, and I could see his lips parting too.

  And then abruptly, the dance ended, and I was aware of how utterly inappropriate this was, me dancing so intently with David when I was supposed to be debuting with Jude. David looked very much like he wanted to hold on to me, like there was more he wanted to say, but Jude came forward to claim me for another dance.

  “What were you and David talking about?” Jude asked as we began moving in a line of dancers. His voice was possessive and his grip was firm; I was suddenly aware of his height, of the muscles heavily layered under his expensive tuxedo.

  “Nothing of any importance.”

  David watched me from across the room. He tossed back a glass of whiskey and set it on a nearby tray. Jude and I walked in a circle with the other dancers, then came together for a spin. When I found my place in line again, David was gone.

  Hours later, the debut concluded with a shower of gifts and handshakes from the guests. Jude gave me one last kiss on the patio, where the solar heaters had melted the snow off the atomic symbol, making it glisten under a thin layer of water. The lavender glow of the city washed the snowy lawn and garden in dark purple shadows.

  “I want every night to be like tonight,” Jude said, looking out at the park. “I want us to be together like this, always. I feel as if we belong together, here at Landry Park, like all of this is meant to be. Don’t you?”

  I murmured a quiet assent.

  Jude kissed my head. “I have been thinking about our future, Madeline, and about what we could do together. I want to be a general someday, like my father, and to do that, I will need a partner like you. A woman with impeccable breeding and an impeccable estate.”

  I pulled away, startled out of my thoughts. “Sorry?”

  He took me by the shoulders. “I want you to be my wife. Ever since I met you, I knew you would be the perfect partner for me. I need someone who is smart, but quiet. Pretty but not flashy. An heir in her own right, but willing to use her resources to help me and my cause.”

  I struggled for words, unable to process what I was hearing. “Your cause?”

  He nodded. “I want our military to be as strong as it was before the Last War. I want to strengthen the mountain holds, and then, when the time is right, take back the land that the East stole from us two hundred years ago.”

  “That’s impossible. We have a treaty. And anyway, the Empire is stronger than us. There would be no way to beat them.”

  “That’s what our leaders said when the East swarmed the mountains. But I did it, didn’t I?”

  So he had. And he so looked the part of the hero, with the broad shoulders and square jaw. I could almost imagine him succeeding, pushing the East back with the force of his will.

  But. That didn’t mean I was ready to marry him.

  “Who knows? Maybe I could be elected president someday. Especially with your Uprisen connections.”

  “Jude . . .”

  Jude let go of my shoulders. “Please, just think about it. We would make a wonderful team.”

  Of course, I knew that this was part of the bargain struck with Father. That Charlie’s safety and my future and maybe even the stability of the city rested on my ability to convince Father that I was a dutiful daughter. But I couldn’t speak the words; I couldn’t accept a proposal I didn’t want, not when I could still so clearly see David’s lips, parted and close to mine. “I don’t know if I want to be part of a team, Jude. I want to marry somebody I love, if I marry at all.”

  Jude came closer, and I could feel his warmth through the chilly air of the patio. “Madeline, I love everything about you and your life. What else do you want?”

  “I want you to love me.”

  For a moment, he said nothing, and my words hung around us like a charged, electric f
og. “I think what you really want has already been claimed by Cara Westoff,” he said pointedly. “And I know you’ll see reason soon. I am willing to wait.”

  He bowed and left, the expression on his face icier than the wind outside.

  Finally I was free to shed the embroidered silk heels that pinched my feet and the tiara that dug into my scalp. My parents had long since retired to their separate bedrooms, and our Uprisen guests had also taken to their beds after their customary smoke in the library.

  Music and laughter wafted up from the kitchens. The serv-ants, Elinor included, were downstairs enjoying the remaining food and drink, and many of them would have the day off tomorrow. Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t unfasten my dress and unlace my corset without help. But I didn’t feel like dragging Elinor from her party just to help me change into a nightgown. I curled up on my bed in a pile of crystals and silk and tulle.

  I watched the moonlight dance off the embellishments on my skirt and held up my hand to watch the prisms dance across my fingers. What was Charlie looking at right now? The same moonlight through the bars on a jail window?

  And David? Was he with Cara?

  I adjusted my head on the pillows, and a hard lump reminded me what was hidden underneath. The journals.

  I sat up, ignoring the corset jabbing me in the ribs, and ripped the pillows off my bed, sending a stray feather or two floating into the air. The journals lay underneath, exactly as I had left them, brown and age-stained, smelling slightly of dust and smoke.

  I got up and checked that my door was locked, and then rustled my way back to the bed. Hiking up my skirts, I climbed back onto the tall mattress and opened one cautiously, not sure what I expected. It looked exactly as I’d expected a centuries-old journal might—brittle pages, faded brown ink, and the sort of narrow slanted handwriting that suggested the person who’d written on these pages had been meticulous and exacting.

  I began reading. The first journal contained mostly diagrams and equations, detailing Jacob Landry’s exploration of nuclear physics and his initial attempts at creating a stable source of light for people unconnected to the power grid. He hoped to light every village in the Southern Hemisphere and make the entire globe glow blue. It was hard not to pick up on the occasional note of avarice in his words—he mused upon the buying power of third world governments and the benefits of limited trading with China and the nations under her sway—but amazing to think how groundbreaking his work had been at the time.