“Well, Miss Adler, Albert would very much like to speak with you about singing at our, ahem, venue.” He looks at the book in my hand. “Just how old are you, Miss Adler?”
The dress code at the academy demands that we girls wear starched white blouses with ruffled collars with our midnight blue skirts, and our hair pinned up off our shoulders like married women wear theirs. It’s to prepare us for life as respectable adults. I had always thought it was kind of silly to dress this way until just now. Our uniforms and coiffures make us look older than we are.
“Eighteen,” I say, as confidently as I can.
“Eighteen?” Mr. Trout echoes, his brows arched high. “You’re a bit slight for eighteen, aren’t you?”
“People come in all shapes and sizes.” I nod toward his girth.
He tips his head back and laughs. “Right you are, Miss Adler. Right you are. I take it you’re not married?”
I swallow a laugh. “I am not.”
“And your father doesn’t work for the government?” He says this in a quieter tone.
“He does not.”
Mr. Trout leans in close. “Now, you strike me as a rising star, Miss Adler. You’ve always wanted to sing on a stage with an audience captivated by your every note, haven’t you? You’ve longed for people to adore the very sound of your voice, yes? Aren’t you ready to give up tossing your talent down dirty grates to sing instead for people who will pay good money to hear you?”
I can’t answer him. I am transfixed by the images his words are planting in my head. He sounds like he is offering me rum punch, as much as I want, for the rest of my life. He is offering me escape from my everyday life. And not only that, but adoration.
The music below us suddenly stops.
“So, then,” Mr. Trout continues, “might you consider lending your dulcet tones to our little stage? Albert is prepared to pay you the going rate for a vocalist of your quality.”
“I might,” I finally say.
He leans in even closer. “Come back tonight at ten o’clock so you can speak to Albert, then. Use the door around back. The password is Cincinnati.”
“Ten o’clock?” I gasp.
He frowns a bit. “Keep your voice down, Miss Adler. Yes, ten o’clock.”
I look toward the grate. “Why can’t I talk to Albert now?”
“Because it’s not even four o’clock in the bloomin’ afternoon!” He laughs again, but this time at my naïveté.
“Oh.”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
By ten, everyone in the Bright household is usually in bed asleep. Usually. Sometimes I will see a seam of light under Papa’s bedroom door. Sometimes Maggie is still awake. Alex is always fast asleep. Evie, if she’s home, will have gone to bed long before then; she’s always exhausted by the time she makes it back to us. “Not if I can sneak out.”
Mr. Trout smiles conspiratorially. “Sneaking out will be good practice for you. You’ll want to be good at keeping secrets from now on, if you know what I mean.” He winks.
I suddenly want to get away from him. I need to think. I need for my heart to stop its wild thrumming. “I should be going.”
He tips his derby to me. “See you tonight.”
I start to walk away and he reaches out to stop me. “One more thing. What’s your first name, love?”
Again, the name Mama was called when she was my age falls from my lips before I can wonder why. “Polly.”
CHAPTER 53
• October 1925 •
Maggie
A crisp autumn breeze is scuttling the leaves at our feet as Palmer and I stroll down Walnut Street. We have just left a lovely French restaurant, and though the food was delectable, Palmer wasn’t his usual talkative self. His thoughts seemed far from me. He would ask a question about my day or the family or what I was reading, and I’d answer, but he wasn’t hearing my replies. They seemed to float in one ear and tumble out of the other. At one point, I asked if he was feeling well, and he’d replied that he was fine. But I could tell something was distracting him, and I couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he’d met someone else—another woman—and needs to break off with me. I would have asked him right then at dinner if there was something he needed to tell me, but I couldn’t summon the courage.
And now we are out in the cool night air and the stars are twinkling and the noise and lights of the city surround us softly. My arm is on his, and his gloved hand rests atop mine.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say, inviting him, I hope, to be frank with me.
“You are very welcome.”
We take three steps in silence.
“I have some news, Maggie,” he says.
I’m not surprised by his words, but I am surprised to realize that despite expecting him to have some news, I’m not ready to hear what he will say. It can’t be good and I suddenly want to be home. I want to be with Alex and Papa and my sisters.
“Oh?” The tremble in my voice betrays my anxiousness.
He turns to me and stops. We are under a streetlamp and it bathes us in creamy light. Palmer smiles, as if he’s heartened that I’m anxious. “It’s not bad news.”
My stomach does a somersault nonetheless. “Does that mean it’s good news?”
“I very much hope so.”
I can only wait for him to continue.
“I’ve been offered a position in New York. For the borough of Manhattan. It’s a very good job, Maggie. Twice the pay that I’m getting now.”
“New York?”
“Yes.”
“New York.” How can that be good news? I want to ask. I want to yell it. His moving a hundred miles away is not good news. Our courtship has been going well. Papa likes Palmer. Alex adores Palmer. Palmer’s the first man I’ve ever been seriously interested in. This is not good news.
He takes my other hand now and draws me close. “I’ve grown very fond of you, Maggie. So very fond.”
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. My mind is spinning. Does this mean he will write so that we can try courting long distance? Or is he saying he’s very fond of me but the job is too good to pass up and he must choose it over me?
“Do you hear what I’m saying?” Palmer tips his head to make eye contact with me. “I’m saying I’m in love with you. I want you to come with me. As my wife.”
A buzzing in my ears commences, and for a second I can hear nothing but the sound of a thousand bees in my head. And then I hear this: I’m in love with you. I want you to come with me. These two thoughts muffle the imagined sound of whirring wings. I am loved by a man who wants me.
“Maggie, I’m asking you to marry me.”
My voice is shuttered and I cannot push out any words. I’m speechless at the idea that all my life has been a journey to this moment when I make a decision that will change the course of my existence. Just like Papa and Mama did all those years ago in the curing barn when they chose to leave Quakertown and come here. Just like that day all of Philadelphia decided to go to a parade and the flu came down on top of all of us. Just like when Mama wanted me to show her where I found Alex and I decided not to tell her. And when I think of this, I realize I’ve not yet had that needed conversation with Palmer. I had thought it was too soon. The name comes out in a whisper.
“Alex,” I murmur.
Palmer blinks. “Alex?”
“I can’t leave Alex.” The second I say this, I know in my core it is true. Alex is my one hold on anything truly wonderful in this world. How could I walk away from him?
Palmer closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, he breaks into a wide smile of relief. “Is that all that keeps you from saying you’ll marry me? My darling, you needn’t leave Alex. We can raise him together. You and I. Alongside our own children. He can come with us.”
“He can?” But even as the wor
ds leave my mouth, I am overcome with how much Papa and my sisters would miss Alex if I were to do such a thing. In all my imaginings of a life with Palmer Towlerton, I never pictured us living anywhere but right here in Philadelphia. I even thought we might stay at Uncle Fred’s spacious house, with Palmer and me sharing Mama and Papa’s old room on the second floor and Alex keeping his room right across the hall. I wouldn’t have had to take Alex away from anything or anyone then.
“Of course!” Palmer says. “Alex will love Manhattan. As will you.”
The bees are returning to their strumming in my head. I need to think. I need to go home.
I look up at Palmer and he cups my face with one hand. “May I speak to your father, Maggie? Please say I may.”
For a moment I wonder if it is possible to just run away instead. I imagine grabbing Palmer’s hand and running with him headlong into the great unknown, like Jamie did. I imagine flying away from everything and everyone and beginning life anew, as though I’d never grieved a dead brother and dead mother, never taken a child from his home and kept him, never loved a man who had no need for me, never sung songs to cadavers as I combed their hair.
“Please?” Palmer says.
I hover a second between running away and running home, but then all that I am and have been pulls me back.
“Palmer?” I whisper, and I cover his hand on my cheek.
“Yes, my darling?”
“I need to think about what this will do to my family. Leaving and taking Alex. I need to think. It is no easy thing.”
“But . . . do you love me as I love you, Maggie? Can you not answer me that?”
His gaze is hard on mine. There is love there in his eyes, but also determination.
I want to answer that he is not just asking if I love him; he is asking if I love him more than I love my home, my family, and my memories of the only life I’ve known. He is asking if I will leave it all for him. And I wonder if he would do the same for me.
“What if I asked you to stay?” The words come out of my mouth soft as gauze.
“What was that?”
“If I asked you to stay here with me, in Philadelphia, would you?”
He blinks, but his gaze never leaves mine. “You want me to decline the job?”
“No, I don’t. I just want to know if you would if I asked you to.”
“To marry you and live here?”
My heart is pounding at the thought. “Yes.”
He puts his hands around my waist and draws me to him even though we are on the street and passersby are surely staring. “If you asked me, I would stay.”
And then his mouth meets mine in a kiss. He has kissed me a few times before, but this is the first that hints of a greater passion, a deeper longing. An ache low in my gut nearly takes my breath away.
I could lose myself in this feeling and never want to be found, but I pull back before it sweeps me away.
Palmer is saying he loves me enough to turn down the job and stay here in Philadelphia. Maybe he does. Surely the woman deserving of that kind of love should cherish him enough to go with him to New York. I cannot ask him to give up the new job when I’m not sure yet that I do love him like that, only that I want to.
“I don’t want you to decline the job.”
He leans his forehead against mine. “Then marry me. Come with me.”
“Will you let me think on it? Please?”
This time he kisses my temple before pulling back. “Yes. But I must leave before the end of the month. And I wish to speak to your father before I go. I can find a place for us and then come back for you and Alex.”
I can only nod as again my voice has escaped me.
He takes my arm, smiling down on me. “Come. I’ll take you home.”
As we walk, Palmer tells me about the new position in Manhattan and about the legendary locale itself. It is small talk I appreciate because it leaves me free to quietly disengage to contemplate the choice I must make.
When we arrive at the house, he walks me up the stoop stairs and kisses my hand. “We could have a wonderful life together, Maggie. You and I. Alex, too.”
I nod and say nothing.
“Good night, my darling.” He steps away to hail a passing cab and then turns to smile at me as he gets inside it.
When I step into the house, I am enfolded by all that is comfortable and dear to me, and I at once feel the tugging of the two lives that beckon: the one I have and the one being offered me. I hear music in the sitting room. Willa is at the piano, singing and playing—something she is doing a lot these days. She seems lost in her beautiful music, playing as if to charm demons into benevolent supplicants. I cross the foyer to peer inside and I see Papa and Alex involved in a chess game. Papa is explaining all the moves and Alex is listening with rapt attention, fingering the ebony horse head of one of the knights. Behind me on the other side of the entry, I hear Evie in the kitchen at the sink. Everyone is home tonight. Even Mama’s presence seems to warm the house as everyone goes about the evening’s activities. It’s as if she is right there, sitting in the armchair with a book. I long to tell someone what Palmer asked of me. My heart is bursting with the need to share it.
I imagine telling Papa and him being both happy and sad, and then the look on his face when I tell him I want Alex to come with me. Or telling Alex and having him stare up at me with equal parts excitement and apprehension and responding wide-eyed with “We’re leaving?” I look to Willa and imagine telling her and hearing her say I’m selfish to even suggest taking Alex. Then I look at the armchair by the fireplace, and its emptiness pierces me.
I turn toward the kitchen, knowing it is Evie I must talk to first. Wise Evie.
I make my way quietly to the kitchen so that the others in the sitting room will not hear that I’m home from being out with Palmer. Evie is drying her hands on a towel. The carcass of the chicken I had put in the oven earlier for their dinner still lies on its platter, now picked of its meat and ready to be thrown out.
She turns toward me. “Did you have a nice meal?” She looks tired. I cannot guess how many hours she spends at that asylum every week.
“I did.”
Evie nods and picks up the teakettle. “Care for some?”
“Yes. Please.”
She fills the kettle from the tap at the sink. As she sets it on the flame, I tell her. “Palmer is taking a new job in New York. He wants me to go with him.”
Evie turns her head, an eyebrow raised.
“He wants to marry me.”
For several seconds my sister says nothing. She is thinking. This is Evie’s way, and it’s why I’ve come to her instead of anyone else. She doesn’t hear that I’ve said Palmer has asked me to marry him; she hears what I’m really saying. She hears that I don’t know how I feel about Palmer and his proposal.
“Do you love him?” she asks.
“I might. I’m not entirely sure.”
Evie reaches for the tea tin in the cupboard. “What did you tell him?”
“That I need some time to think.”
“And what about Alex?”
Here again she knows without my saying it what burdens me just as much as not being sure if I’m in love with Palmer. What would my marrying and moving away mean for Alex? Can I take Alex away from his home here? Should I?
“Palmer says we can bring him with us. We can raise him as our own, alongside our own children.”
Evie closes her eyes for a moment, her hand motionless atop the tea tin. She is imagining what I have been picturing in my head the last half hour. Alex leaving this house with me. Alex saying good-bye to her and Papa and Willa. And for whose ultimate good? Mine or his?
“I don’t know what to do,” I say. “I can’t imagine leaving Alex, and I can’t imagine taking him from Papa. And you and Willa. I don’t know what to do!”
“No! I don’t. I think I love Palmer. But I’m not sure. Shouldn’t I be sure? I don’t even know what this kind of love between a man and woman is supposed to be like.”
And there it is. This is what is perplexing me and tying my stomach into knots. The only love I had ever had for a man is the old one that belonged to Jamie Sutcliff, someone I barely know and whom I haven’t seen or heard from in six years. In the first week after meeting Palmer, I’d spent more time with him than I had with Jamie Sutcliff in all the years I’d known him. And yet a buried part of me still yearns for Jamie.
“I don’t know what this kind of love is supposed to be like,” I say again, more to myself than to Evie.
My sister opens Mama’s tea infuser in the shape of a cat and plunges it into the tea leaves.
“Yes, you do,” she says, practically whispering.
I just stare at her.
Evie withdraws the infuser, fat with leaves, and clasps it shut. She stares at it for a second and then turns to me. “I think you do. I think we both do.”
I open my mouth to ask her how she can know that, but Papa and Alex are suddenly there, having come into the kitchen so that Papa can make them both hot cocoa.
I wait for another chance to speak with Evie alone, but it doesn’t present itself before she excuses herself and goes to bed.
Later, when I have tucked Alex into his bed, the light in her room is off and all is quiet behind the door.
I head to my own room with her earlier words swirling about in my head, challenging me to believe they are true.
CHAPTER 54
Evelyn
The front parlor in this house is the finest room I’ve ever seen. The furniture is upholstered in expensive velvet brocade with satin trim, the wool rugs are Persian, the woodwork gleams, and the crystal chandelier above my head sparkles like it is made of starlight. Fresh flowers in Oriental vases grace every table even though it is October. The teacup in my hand is delicate bone china with gold filigree.
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