by Renée Rosen
Just outside the kitchen window, she saw Nannie standing in the dark, staring in at her.
“What’s wrong?” Paxton was still laughing.
“What is it?” Arthur dabbed the sweat from his brow.
Delia turned around and pointed to the window but Nannie was gone.
• • •
“Please tell me I’m not losing my mind,” Delia said to Marsh later that night. She had been so distraught over what she’d seen or—according to Arthur and Paxton—what she thought she’d seen that they couldn’t calm her down. That’s when Paxton suggested that Arthur find Marsh and bring him back to the house.
“I know you think I’m being foolish,” she said, clutching his handkerchief, “but I feel like she’s out there right now. I feel like she’s standing in the dark watching me.”
“I highly doubt that,” said Marsh, rubbing his hands over Delia’s shoulders and down her arms. “She was sound asleep when I left the house.”
“See?” said Arthur. “What did I tell you? Nothing to worry about.”
“Except that I am crazy. I am seeing things.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Arthur.
It went on like that for another half an hour or so until, finally, at half past midnight, Delia and Marsh said good night to Arthur and Paxton and then to Williams before making their way up the grand staircase. The servants, at both the Catons’ and the Fields’ mansions, were accustomed to Delia’s and Marsh’s comings and goings. If they found it peculiar or the subject of scandal, Delia would have never known it. She trusted her staff. She was generous to them and kind and received their loyalty and discretion in return.
After they were in Delia’s bedroom, Marsh held out his arms. “Now would you please come over here and kiss me.”
Delia crossed the room and slipped into his embrace. It was the first time she had seen him in almost a week. Nannie had already interfered enough with their precious time together and Delia didn’t want her to take anything more away from them.
That night Delia and Marsh made love quickly, efficiently. The hunger they’d once felt for each other had changed over the past two years, gradually being replaced with a comforting, familiar need for each other.
Marsh rolled onto his back and Delia scooted over, resting her head on his chest, her ear picking up on every heartbeat. They were talking about Ethel, who had just lost another tooth.
“You’d think she was losing an arm,” said Marsh. “That tooth’s been loose, just dangling by a thread. I wanted to pull it two days ago and Ethel wouldn’t let me. Just clamped her lips together and refused to open her mouth.”
“Don’t forget to put a silver dollar beneath her pillow before she wakes up.”
Marsh gave her a puzzled look. “What for?”
“The tooth fairy,” she explained with a laugh. “Didn’t you ever do that for Junior?”
“I haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about.”
“When we were little, my father always put a silver dollar under our pillows each time we lost a tooth. We thought it was from the tooth fairy.”
“That’s a very expensive practice,” he said.
“I thought all parents did that.”
“Not this parent. And not my parents, either. My father used to go after our loose teeth with a pair of pliers. And heaven help you if you cried. The first sound of a snivel and he’d threaten to take out another tooth whether it was loose or not.”
Delia laughed.
They talked some more as they lay in each other’s arms, holding each other until the last possible moment when they both knew he had to leave her bed and return home to Nannie.
When she finally dozed off that night, she had a nightmare about Nannie standing in her closet, watching her every move. Delia woke up in a cold sweat and turned the lamp on until it was daylight. For the next week or so she found herself always looking for Nannie, half expecting her to appear on every street corner, inside her favorite tearooms and restaurants. Delia supposed it was foolish, but still that eerie feeling of being followed never fully left her. There were nights when she asked Arthur to check the grounds, making sure that Nannie wasn’t there, somewhere, watching her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
1881
Delia cuddled the baby, kissing her tiny curled fingers, pressing her lips to her button of a nose. As far as she was concerned, this was the most beautiful, perfect baby girl in the world. “She looks just like you,” she said to Abby.
“Oh, no. I think little Catherine here looks more like Augustus. Look at those cheeks.” Abby reached down and lifted her daughter from Delia’s arms. Delia wasn’t ready to let go and tried to mask her disappointment as Abby set the baby back in her buggy.
“I wish we could stay longer,” said Abby, “but I have to take Spencer to a friend’s birthday party.”
Delia looked at her sister, lost in her motherly bliss. As happy as she was for Abby, she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for herself. It was as if everyone in her world was moving forward, progressing, maybe even passing her by: Abby now had two children, Arthur spent all his free time with Paxton, and Marsh’s business affairs consumed most of his time. As for Delia, she was paying the price for love as her social circle continued to narrow and the rumors continued to spread.
It was ironic, but despite the nearly half a million people who now lived in the city, Delia found Chicago to be a very small place—especially among their elite group. Avoiding Nannie indefinitely was impossible. Every now and again their paths would cross, in the neighborhood, at the theater or at a tearoom. They both kept to themselves, steering clear of each other.
And yet, despite it all, Delia felt more connected to Marsh than ever. When he was restless she felt it, even without him having to say a word. In separate bedrooms, in separate houses, she felt him tossing and turning through the night as if he lay beside her. From around the corner she sensed him pacing, brooding, contemplating.
And so, when Delia saw Marsh that evening, she already knew something was on his mind. It was after ten when he arrived. She offered him a drink, but he declined, and after they’d gone upstairs, he sat on the side of the bed, hung his head and rubbed his eyes.
Delia closed her bedroom door and stood before him, stepping into the opening between his legs and pressing his head against her breasts as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “What’s wrong? Something’s bothering you.”
He stood up and pulled her close for a kiss. “We have such little time together these days, I don’t want to spoil it by talking.”
They made love that night and afterward as they lay in each other’s arms she asked again what was bothering him.
“Oh, I had a falling out with Levi today. Why can’t he see that it’s not good enough to be good enough.” He dragged a hand over his face. “The man is an imbecile and he’s rude. Rude to me, rude to our customers. I told him so and he stormed out of my office and slammed the door so hard he broke the frosted glass panel. I went by his office later in the day and he wouldn’t speak to me.”
“I don’t understand why you put up with him.” She was lying close to him, stroking his hair. “His values are completely incompatible with yours. How long can you go on running a company with a man you’re not on speaking terms with?” Delia asked, as she rolled onto her side, pulling the bedsheet up over her breasts.
Marsh didn’t answer.
“You’ve succeeded all these years in spite of Levi. Imagine what you could do if you didn’t have to work around him.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“You know very well what I’m going to say. It’s what I’ve been telling you all along. I think you should buy him out. You don’t need Levi. He’s only holding you back.”
“He’s been my partner for sixteen years. We’ve built something very solid together, very good.”
“It’s just that I see what this store can be. I know the kind of experience we can create for shoppers. You know I always say ‘Give the lady what she wants.’ I believe that’s the key to our success and Levi fights me on it all the way. Just refuses to cooperate.”
Delia reached up and traced Marsh’s cheek with her fingertips. “Then buy him out. Open your own store. You can do it right this time. Exactly the way you want.”
He stretched his arms and then crossed them behind his head. Then something shifted in his eyes and he looked at her, his expression open and filled with curiosity. “What would I call this new store?”
Delia propped herself up on her elbow and laughed, “Why, Marshall Field & Company—what else?”
• • •
One month later, in February of 1881, Field, Leiter & Company closed its doors for good and the renovation of the new Marshall Field & Company got under way.
Marsh unrolled the blueprints while Delia and Arthur looked on over his shoulder. Paxton stood off to the side, checking his pocket watch. The four of them were going to a play that evening, but Marsh wanted to show them the new floor plans first.
“This is going to cost a fortune,” said Arthur.
“A million, to be exact,” Marsh said with a satisfied smile. “But I don’t care. It has to be perfect. Everything from the fixtures to the flooring has to be perfect.”
Delia stood back, taking in this new extravagant side of Marsh as he rolled up the plans.
They were about to leave for the theater when the butler came in the drawing room. “Mrs. Field is here,” said Williams.
Mrs. Field? They all turned around. Delia couldn’t imagine what Nannie was doing at her home. No doubt she knew Marsh had plans that night and that she was not included. She wouldn’t have expected to be, either, for Nannie hadn’t joined her husband socially in years. According to Marsh she’d been fairly civil as of late, but usually that just meant that something else was brewing beneath the surface.
“She has her children with her,” said Williams. “Shall I show them in?”
Delia looked at Marsh and then at Williams. “Of course.”
Arthur and Paxton stood protectively on either side of Delia as her heart beat wildly. Marsh finished rolling up the blueprints and fastening them with an elastic band while Nannie marched into the drawing room.
“Wait here,” she told the children as she stormed up to Marsh. Her jaw was set, her eyes were glaring, and through gritted teeth she said, “Look after your children. I’m going to France.”
Delia was dumbstruck as Nannie went back over to Junior and Ethel, kissed them both on the cheeks and said she’d be back soon.
No one knew what Nannie meant by “soon.”
She just disappeared after that and with each passing week the children became more traumatized by their mother’s departure. All that spring and into the summer Delia tried to help Junior and Ethel cope by spending as much time with them as possible.
Of course, she quickly realized that at thirteen, Junior preferred the company of his friends or going fishing or hunting with his uncle Arthur, whereas Ethel was just eight and in desperate need of her mother. Over the past six months, Nannie had sent letters and the occasional telegram, but Delia knew that wasn’t enough for Ethel. Delia also knew she couldn’t take the place of Ethel’s mother, but she tried to be a source of comfort for the girl. She took her to matinees and out shopping. She attended her ballet and piano recitals and sat up with her all night when she had a fever and cried out for her mother.
Delia even took Ethel with her to visit Abby and the new baby. Abby and Augustus still lived with Delia’s parents at the house on Sixteenth and Michigan, the house they’d built after the Great Fire. It was hard for Delia to imagine still living at home, but Augustus had made some poor investments and been nearly ruined in the depression of ’77. On top of that, he had been fired from the railroad company, and though he secured another position with a competitor several months later, Augustus had never quite gotten back on his feet.
They’d turned one of the guest rooms into a nursery. A walnut crib rested in the corner next to a matching hutch with a stack of baby blankets, booties, bibs and a silver rattle on top. The room smelled sweetly of baby talc. As Ethel sat in the rocking chair, holding baby Catherine, Delia’s mother came into room. As soon as she saw Ethel, Mrs. Spencer frowned and summoned Delia out to the hallway.
“Really, Delia, you brought his child here. To my house!” Her mother folded her arms across her chest and paced back and forth. “You’ve got the whole town talking about you as it is and now you’re parading around with his daughter. I won’t be a part of this. I can’t be.”
Delia received a similar response from Annie Swift the following day when she took Ethel down to State Street to buy her a new Easter bonnet. Annie spotted them from down the block and quickened her step to catch up to them, her white blond ringlets bobbing up and down.
“Isn’t that Marshall’s daughter?” Annie asked, nearly out of breath as she gave Delia a hard glance.
As Delia introduced Ethel she noticed that a group of socialists had begun to congregate along State Street. Their signs and banners crowded around the construction team’s wheelbarrows, ladders and sawhorses parked on the sidewalk. One of the new electric cable cars rumbled by, adding to the confusion and chaos around them.
“I don’t think Nannie would approve of you spending time with her daughter. Do you?” Annie pursed her lips.
“I think under the circumstances, it’s fine.”
“You can be sure I’m going to write Nannie right away and let her know.”
“I assure you that won’t be—”
But before Delia could finish her sentence, Annie cut her off and said, “I can’t imagine what it’s like being you—just going through life, doing whatever you please, without a care in the world for anyone else. Really, Delia, you are the epitome of selfishness.”
“Annie, that’s not—”
“Good day.” She brushed past her, leaving Delia at a loss.
“Who was that lady?” Ethel asked, looking back over her shoulder. “Why was she talking about Mama?”
“Oh, she’s no one. Don’t you give her a second thought.” Delia put her arm around Ethel and quickly walked her in the opposite direction, away from the protestors, who any minute would surely be calling for her father’s death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was the start of another holiday season, and with Nannie still in Europe, Delia anticipated sharing it with Arthur, Paxton, Marsh and the children. She envisioned them all sitting around the table at Thanksgiving and then weeks later trimming the tree on Christmas Eve. She had stockings made with their names embroidered along the tops and was going to hang them along the fireplace hearth. They would open presents and sing Christmas carols.
This was what she was thinking as she walked with Junior, Ethel and Spencer. She’d just taken them skating at the frozen harbor not far from the Prairie Avenue District. Now they marched through the snow alongside her, their skates tied together by their laces and slung over their shoulders like scarves.
The city was a blanket of white with smoke puffing from chimneys and foot-long icicles hanging down from rooftops. Flossie shivered in Delia’s arms despite the cashmere sweater covering her little body.
When they entered the Field mansion, Delia heard the cockatiels squawking and beating their wings wildly.
“There you are,” came a voice from across the room.
Delia looked up and did a double take.
Ethel dropped her skates and shouted, “Mama!”
She ran across the room into Nannie’s open arms. Junior followed suit, charging toward his mother
and fiercely wrapping his arms about her.
Delia swallowed past the lump in her throat. She was so unprepared for this. She’d never felt so jealous of Nannie or of any other woman. One look at Nannie and all the ice cream sodas, the baseball games, the new toys, were forgotten. No matter how rotten Nannie was, no matter how neglectful, she was still their mother and that was a bond that Delia could never compete with.
While gripping Spencer’s hand and holding tight to Flossie’s leash, Delia tried to be gracious and welcomed Nannie home.
“You can run along now, Delia,” said Nannie with a dismissive wave of her hand before turning back to the children. “Mama’s home and we’re going to have a marvelous family holiday.”
Delia was still in a stupor after dropping Spencer off at his home. She decided to head down to State Street to warn Marsh that Nannie was back. The store still wasn’t open to the public yet but that didn’t stop the labor organizers. They were out front, stirring up trouble.
One of the leaders, standing in the middle of the crowd, was shouting, “Marshall Field has got to go! He refuses to hire immigrant workers! Marshall Field is anti-America!”
This was met with a chorus of cheers.
Luckily one of Marsh’s office boys recognized her out front and let her in through a side door. There was a haze of dust floating through the air and scaffolds and ladders scattered about the floor, but still, she could see what was taking place inside those walls. Giant white marble pilasters were stationed every ten feet within the aisles and an enormous grand staircase swept upward from the first floor. Wires stuck out of the ceiling in all directions like crazy tentacles awaiting the crystal chandeliers from France. The walls and the main aisles were set in Italian marble and fourteen-karat-gold wall sconces were on a table, waiting to be mounted.
The office boy led Delia into Marsh’s makeshift office on the lower level. She found him leaning over a desk, his shirtsleeves rolled up, a ledger before him. He’d been so busy working, getting ready to open the store in less than two months, that she’d hardly seen him lately, and now here she was, turning up uninvited and with news about his estranged wife.