Unfinished (Historical Fiction)

by Harper Alibeck

  “Lilith!” James jumped off the bed, unclothed and half drunk, and burst through the door. Her boots clacked against the unfinished wood flooring and he saw the last of her skirts round a corner. He began pursuit.

  “What are you doing? Running into the street naked?” Maria's voice startled him; he'd forgotten she was there. Scrambling back into the room, he searched for his clothes and threw them on, feeling like a caged animal on a sinking ship.

  What was Lilith doing here? Think, James. Think. Half drunk, still, and foggy headed, he stumbled and fell against the bed, nearly cracking one knee against the bedpost. She'd rejected him. Rejected him outright, in her perfunctory manner. Reaching for his bedside table, he snatched up the well-worn telegram, the paper that ruined his life.

  No. I cannot accept. We are too different and this is no life for me.

  Two sentences that destroyed him.

  And now she was here? Why? To completely humiliate and debase him?

  Maria's fury grew obvious as he sat in a stupor, mind racing to understand why Lilith had journeyed so far to see him. The telegram had arrived six weeks ago, a knife so sharp and that cut so deep it seemed to cleave his heart in two with one clean stroke. Staggering out of the telegram office, James had two different passersby ask him if he'd just received news of a death in the family. Essentially, he had. His entire future died in two sentences, along with his heart.

  Maria had appeared the next day, checking in for her father. Drunk to the point of near unconsciousness, James had reached for her. And now, six weeks later, she still warmed his bed and poured his pisco, the light liquor he'd grown to enjoy a bit too much. While it – and Maria – did not fill the hole created by Lilith's telegram, it made him forget the hole for brief moments.

  Or, at least, allowed him to pretend he forgot.

  And now – this? Lilith, here in Santiago?

  “Why is she here?” Maria asked angrily.

  “You tell me,” he laughed harshly, standing and pacing in the tiny room. The laughter turned to a deep, ragged cough, one that had settled into his lungs recently and, it seemed, permanently. The bed sagged in the middle and the window faced a small courtyard. A chipped glass pitcher of water and two lip-stained glasses littered the top of the bedside table. The room stank of sour sweat and sex. His stomach roiled as he fought for clarity. Pouring himself a water, he tossed it down quickly, followed by a second glass, emptying the pitcher.

  “She wasn't supposed to come.”

  Eager to find Lilith, he walked unsteadily to the door once more, then halted abruptly at her words. “What? What did you say?”.

  Her nostrils flared in anger, hands gesturing wildly. “If you leave, you'll never see me again.” Maria's voice was ice, palms splayed and facing him, like an angry mime with words.

  Without so much as a backward glance, James stepped out into the bright hallway and ran down the hall.

  Maria did not call for him.

  “Busco una Americana. Rubia. Ayudame, por favor?” James begged of the well-dressed businessman standing in front of the Church of San Francisco. I am looking for an American woman. Blonde. Please help me. Ah, his simple Spanish plagued him, though it certainly had improved this year. Ayudame – such a simple phrase that meant so much more. Help me find my heart. Help me sew it back together. Help me find the love of my life. Help me to kill the pain.

  Help me.

  Some beggar children played nearby, taunting a mangy stray dog who looked to be days away from starving to death. He found the boys as pitiful as any in South Boston, only more so, two of them half blind – literally, with scarred eyes– and most running barefoot and filthy. Desperate, he asked if they'd seen a blonde American woman. Promising them a hot meal if they could find her, he sent them off into the streets, despair seeping into his heart.

  If Lilith didn't want to be found, it would be hard to hide. Santiago had few inns decent enough for a woman of her class, and he set out into the dusk in search of every single one. His tattered Spanish proved sufficient to confirm that she simply would not be found. Desperate, he visited the docks, finding one steamer ship with passenger accommodations that befitted someone of Lilith's class. Unable to board, he hounded every ticket-taker and dock hand with descriptions of Lilith, begging the main office to pass on his desperate plea that she contact him. He hastily scribbled a message:

  My Dearest Lilith,

  Please come back to me. You were not supposed to see what you saw. It is not what you think. Please. Please.

  Your love,

  James

  The ragged street kids would comb the streets until their feet bloodied and their voices went hoarse, he knew. A hot meal was a rare treat. Indeed, he planned to feed them regardless, but in the receding sun's anemic light, as each hotel concierge turned him away, all James could think about was that afternoon in the wildflower field, when the sun watched over a hope that died now as the stars awakened, darkness taking control of the city and James' heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  “IT IS ANOTHER ONE, MISS STONE.” The maid thrust the paper into her lap. Lilith ignored it, the telegram fluttering to the ground.

  “Oh, for God's sake, Lilith, pick up the piece of paper and read it!” Esther demanded, marching into the room.

  Lilith stood and walked slowly toward them mantel, then flung the telegram into the fire.

  “No! Miss Stone! You don't know what it says!” the maid exclaimed, red faced with horror and embarrassment at her rudeness to her mistress.

  Lilith turned slowly toward the girl, eagle-eyed and somber. “I should think that is the point of burning it, you ninny.” Esther shooed the young girl out of the room, who was only too pleased to escape.

  “Have you burned them all?” Esther asked.

  “How do you know there are more?”

  “Because the man was in love with you. If he sent one he's sent a hundred. He tried to reach you at the ship before you returned – he is determined!”

  “Why does he torment me if he is, as you claim, in love with me?” Lilith said, her voice without affect, as cold as an ice cube on a spine. Chilling and calculated and horrifying at once.

  Esther snorted. “Because that is how love works. Or so I am told. Love isn't rational.”

  “I caught him in bed with Maria Escola. After proposing to me. And he dares beg forgiveness?”

  “It makes no sense, Lilith.”

  “It doesn't have to.”

  “But it should! Why would he put you through the travel if only to be in another woman's arms? Why would he chase you down to the ship and leave notes? You said he shouted from the docks for three days before your ship left port. You can't see how intent he was on reaching you?” Lilith saw the maid's eyes widen with Esther's words.

  “I have been trying to understand that for the eight months I have been home, Esther. If you can decipher the puzzle, I am all ears.”

  Esther shook her head sadly, a shock of grey hair flopping with vigor. “I keep thinking that your father has something to do with this.”

  Lilith snorted, her first real expression of emotion all day. “My father didn't make James and Maria sleep together in a hotel room in Chile.”

  “No, he didn't.” Esther conceded the point. “But Lilith, it's so fantastical. The man proposes and then, after making you travel so far – ”

  “Don't you think I don't know that, Esther?” Lilith's voice was so high it nearly rasped, the screech of despair thinly veiled by ingrained good manners. “That my mind hadn't turned in on itself, racing like a rat in a circular cage? That I haven't spent countless hours and sleepless minds reliving every moment, trying to grasp the exact moment during which I failed?”

  “You failed?”

  “Yes! I failed to protect myself. When we left McLean I swore no man would hurt me again. I failed.”

  A creak in the floorboards outside their door startled Esther. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and made her way to the door, yanking i
t back. Lilith expected to see one of the gossips on staff.

  Instead, Esther uncovered a very guilty-looking Jack Reed.

  “Just what I need,” Lilith muttered.

  “Just what no one needs,” Esther joined her. Then she upped the ante. “Mr. Reed, I didn't know that you had become a regular Sherlock Holmes. Holmes never joined forces with Moriarty, though.”

  Lilith stifled a giggle.

  Reed didn't get the joke.

  “That means that by working with John Stone you are choosing the bad man,” Esther said slowly, as if explaining a simple concept to a very young child.

  He blinked rapidly.

  Esther threw her hands in the air. “I give up. What do you want? Are you spying on Lilith? Is the snake plotting yet another way to lock her up?”

  “What snake?” Reed asked, genuinely perplexed.

  “The one you work for.”

  “The one I – ” He suppressed an annoyed look, then bowed slightly toward Esther. “I would like to speak privately with Miss Stone.”

  “Come to finish what you started last fall?” Lilith asked.

  He blushed furiously but said nothing.

  “Too late.”

  “Lilith, I don't think that shade of scarlet appears in nature. Mr. Reed must be half lobster.”

  “He's half something, Esther, but I'm not sure what.” Esther made a joking face and walked out of the room.

  “Why are you here?” Lilith asked flatly.

  “You're moving soon.”

  “Yes. My father told you?”

  “To Toronto.”

  “Yes. As soon as my money is mine.”

  He began to fidget, reminding Lilith of James in his too-tight boots. Reed opened his mouth, then closed it, sighed, then groaned.

  “What is it?”

  “You need to know something. It's not right to let you move and not know.”

  A prickly cold blossomed at the base of Lilith's neck. “What has he done now? I am weeks from my twenty-fifth birthday. How will he use the law this time?”

  Reed shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “There is nothing he can do with your money. You'll inherit on your birthday.”

  “Oh.” She relaxed and regarded Reed with disdain. “Then why are you here?”

  “It's about James.” Now the prickly feeling returned.

  “What about him?”

  “He – you – your father...” Reed's voice trailed off as he stammered.

  “Out with it!”

  “Your father intercepted your acceptance telegram. And sent one in its stead. A rejection. James never received the telegram you wrote.”

  Esther burst into the room, obviously having eavesdropped on the other side of the door. “I knew it! I knew that man had something to do with this!”

  All of the energy in Lilith's body pooled into her ankles and made her drop to the floor. “I...he...what?”

  “Oh, Lilith, he did this. You!” Esther shouted, pointing at Reed. “Tell us exactly what happened.”

  Reed turned a ghostly pale shade. “Your father had me intercept the telegram you sent,” he whispered. “And replace it with one that rejected James' proposal.”

  “Oh, my God,” Lilith whispered. She stared at Esther, finding the same horror in her eyes, but also a kindness and a compassion she saw from so few.

  “What did it say?” Esther asked.

  “What did what say?” Reed replied.

  “Does your mother remind you to breathe every day when she dresses you?? You have the sense of a toad. What did your telegram say?”

  “It said no. That Miss Stone couldn't live that life.”

  “So why was he with Maria Escola when I found him, then?” Lilith's brain began to clear, her legs gaining strength.

  “Mr. Stone asked her to go. Said it would accomplish his goal.”

  “Which was?” Lilith asked weakly.

  Now Esther snorted. “Your emotional destruction, apparently.”

  “Well..” Reed started to argue and dropped his voice immediately

  “And you let her travel to South America? Under false pretenses? You knew that Mr. Hillman would have spent all those weeks thinking she had rejected him?”

  Reed squirmed. “I'm telling you now.”

  “You shameful snake,” Esther spat.

  Reed replied by walking out of the room, turning back at the last minute. “I'm sorry, Lilith.”

  “Why are you telling me now?” she whispered, red-rimmed eyes aching from tears and disbelief.

  “Because I thought you ought to know before you move to Toronto.”

  Esther hovered over Lilith, who now felt like a small pile of bones and flesh, empty and full at the same time. She stared up at Reed, then narrowed her eyes. “He fired you again, didn't he? You have nothing to lose.” Esther dropped her jaw. “Or an heiress to gain? Are you trying to curry favor?”

  Reed straightened his spine, the gesture less of offense and more of uncertainty. His eyes darted nervously around the room and, once again, Lilith berated herself for nearly delivering her maidenhead to him.

  “I knew it. Get out.” Esther threw her hat at Reed. It ricocheted off the doorway and into the hallway as he scampered down the hall. The maid picked it up and stepped nervously into the room.

  “Miss?”

  “Get the coachman ready. I need to send a telegram,” Lilith announced, standing and smoothing her skirts.

  Esther beamed, a smile Lilith hadn't seen since their adolescence.

  Dear James,

  I fear you won't believe this, but ignore my last telegram. Father stole mine and replaced it with that lie. I do accept. I know why Maria was sent to you, too. I forgive. Please reply.

  Love, Lilith

  James sat up and reached for a glass of water. A wet cough claimed him and he shuddered. The doctors said that the mines were taking bits and pieces of his lungs from him, one breath at a time, cough by cough, and that the sickness claimed most saltpeter miners.

  “You need to go back to the United States,” his doctor had told him. “They can help you there.” Yet James had too much to do in Chile. His first payment had cleared, with more zeros at the end than he'd ever seen in his life, and without the decimal point for the dimes and pennies. Wiring money to his parents had been a moment of triumph, though the telegram he'd received in return had been cryptic.

  Thank you Mr. Hillman. Won't spend.

  What? The whole point was to spend the money! Ah, Ma. Three more cables and she seemed to understand that this wasn't money to hold on to for James. He had more than enough. This was for them to spend. And how he wished he could see their faces right now.

  Then Lilith's face flashed before him.

  He sank back in the pillows, hacking.

  Maria floated into the room, a telegram peeking out from her pocket. “What's that?” James rasped. Maria had run the telegrams for him; his lungs hurt too much to walk far. After Lilith's unexpected appearance Maria had left, but reappeared a week later. His decline in health had been sudden, and he was grateful for her help.

  “This? Oh, nothing,” she said, voice tight.

  “Ma and Da writing more?”

  “No. It's from my father,” she said, her voice curt.

  “Oh.”

  She poured a shot of pisco and handed it to him. “Here. This will relax your muscles. Help the cough.” He drank it gratefully, coughed when it burned his throat, and promptly fell back to sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DEAR MISS LILITH STONE,

  It is with regret that I inform you Mr. James Hillman passed away. Before he died, he received considerable funds from his sodium nitrate venture, and wrote a legal will the day before his death that leaves you partial beneficiary. I am sending details through our New York office so that you may receive the funds, which total several hundreds of thousands of dollars. My condolences.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. Juan Barcos de Ferrerra, Esq.


  Lilith's screams brought half the household staff running. The sound of shattered glass made them back away as Lilith ran into the formal dining room and systematically found each prized goblet from her father's grandmother's collection and shattered them against the stone mantel, one by one, until the front of her dress and hands were dotted with glass dust.

  “Coachman!” she bellowed, running down the hall, glass crunching from her skirts long after she left the room.

  “He's not in, Miss. Took your father to a business appointment.”

  “Then I shall walk.”

  The shabby townhome in Cambridge hadn't changed in the year since she was last here with her mother and the Beacon Hill Biddies. Early morning activity near Harvard meant that progress was slow, but Lilith managed to walk steadily from the underground station. Taking the subway scandalized her mother, but these days nothing bothered Lilith. All was a blur, a mindless, tasteless, bleak, unfocused flurry of nothingness that thrummed a painful phantom pain, like an amputee whose leg still hurt though it had gone missing long ago in a field surgical hospital.

  Lilith's phantom limb was buried somewhere in Chile.

  Three quick raps on the door and then Lilith settled in for the wait, her face stinging. A shuffling, then the thick, oak door, varnish bubbled and faded from the elements and time, opened an inch.

  “You!” The word was a long, drawn out hiss of shock and anger.

  “Yes, Miss Wolf. Me. I've come for a séance of one.”

  The thick oak door slammed shut, nearly flattening the end of her nose.

  Angry, but more shocked by the poor manners, Lilith knocked on the door with great vigor.

  No answer.

  Exasperated, Lilith exhaled through widened nostrils and said in a loud, firm voice, “Miss Wolf, I know you're in there, and I know you are in need of fees.”

  The door opened a crack. “Please leave.”

  “Why? Because I believed you to be a fraud?” Lilith's laugh was sharp and mocking.