by Hazel Gaynor
At last, departure day came, and I arrived early at the Cunard-White Star pier in New York City. Thankfully, the early spring rain held off for the first time in days, and my gloves and hat kept me warm in spite of the chilly March breeze. I wondered how cold it would be on the sun deck of the Queen Mary as we made our way across the Atlantic, to Cherbourg, and then on to Paris by train. Violet had chosen our first stop wisely. As a city of art, Paris would make Clara happy, and as the home of writers like Hugo, Voltaire, and George Sand, it would also make me happy.
I held a hand to my eyes and peered up at the mighty Queen Mary. Smoke already billowed from her three funnels that reached proudly into the clear sky, and colorful flags fluttered from her masts. She was magnificent. I turned my gaze to the crowds gathered on the dockside: elegantly attired passengers greeting each other with kisses and handshakes, flustered-looking lady’s maids, and porters pushing luggage carts loaded with trunks and hatboxes. The noise was deafening, the anticipation for our departure palpable as my mood swung from excitement to uncertainty. Where was Clara? It wasn’t like her to be late. I wondered if Charles had talked her out of the trip, after all. It would be just like him.
I hadn’t told Clara where I’d seen Charles, only last week. I’d been donating time at the soup kitchen and among the breadlines on the Lower East Side. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Charles there, doing just the opposite. I wanted to help those who were still suffering immeasurable poverty after the market crash years before, but I was also looking for a story, or something to inspire one.
Charles wanted to buy property, to demolish it, and erect a new building at the site. The only problem was that the tenements on the land he wished to purchase still lived there. But I suspected he, and the landlord, had a plan about that. We’d exchanged a few choice words before Charles left with a final threat, telling me to stop interfering and poking my nose into things I didn’t understand. I considered it a job well done to have made him angry. He was difficult to ruffle, being an opportunist and a ruthless businessman, but he knew I was onto something, and he didn’t like it. The only good thing I could say about him was that he did seem to care about Clara, at least in his own way, though I still didn’t believe it—he—was enough for my sister.
Intent on beginning the day in a happy mood, I pushed Charles Hancock from my mind. I’d figure out how to tell Clara later what he was up to, if I decided to tell her at all.
Eventually, I spotted her in the crowd and breathed a sigh of relief. As much as I was looking forward to the trip, I really didn’t want to do it alone. Still, I’d rather miss the boat than admit as much to Clara.
She hobbled along the dock, carrying two enormous handbags. A porter walked behind her, dragging two large trunks. Typical Clara. She’d probably packed a dozen pairs of shoes and three dresses for every occasion. I watched in disbelief as I took in her wool overcoat trimmed with fur, an elegant hat, and diamonds at her ears. The hem of a blue silk dress fluttered around her calves in the wind. I had to suppress a laugh. She looked more like she was heading to an evening gala than about to set sail across the Atlantic.
I waved my arm overhead to grab her attention, but the dockside was too crowded for her to see me. I stuck my fingers in my mouth and gave a loud piercing whistle, just as Auntie Nellie had taught me when I was a girl. “It’s the only way to get anyone’s attention on a crowded street,” she’d said. “That’s why the bellboys whistle to hail a cab in Manhattan. No point standing around waving like a helpless woman for hours on end.”
Clara turned her head, her face creasing into a disapproving frown when she saw that it was me who’d made the noise. I stuck out my tongue, and while I knew I’d already embarrassed her, I saw her lips curve into a smile. I’d forgotten how easily I could make her laugh, how a smile changed her face from prim and pretty to charming and radiant. As she made her way toward me, I was also reminded why everyone loved her and that I’d always been the other girl beside her, the younger, difficult sister skulking in the background.
While we hadn’t been so different as young girls, adolescence and adulthood had emphasized Clara’s petite beauty and my gangling awkwardness. More and more, I’d noticed how everyone’s gaze alighted on her while I was ignored until eventually, I’d stopped caring, stopped trying to impress and be someone I could never be. The question now, I supposed, was: Who could I be? Who was Madeleine Sommers?
Violet said I was a work in progress. “You’ll figure it out, Maddie,” she’d said as I’d kissed her goodbye. “You’ll find your chapters and your epilogue. While you’re busy delving into everyone else’s stories, don’t neglect your own.”
But other people’s stories were so much easier to write.
Clara
I was as surprised as anyone to find myself at the pier in New York, the mighty Queen Mary soaring into the sky beside me. Although I’d made it this far, I was still apprehensive about the prospect of traveling to Europe, especially with Madeleine. Even as I’d packed the last of my things just an hour earlier, I still wasn’t sure if it was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever agreed to, or the most thrilling. In the end, I’d agreed to go because there were more reasons to undertake the trip than not. More reasons than I was prepared to admit, even to myself.
Madeleine beamed an annoying self-satisfied smile when she saw me weaving through the crowds. I left my luggage in the care of a porter who assured me, twice, that he would take it directly to our stateroom, and I joined my sister in the line for first-class ticket holders.
“Must you really make such a spectacle, whistling like a hotel bellboy?” I chided.
“You came, then?” she said, ignoring my admonishment and making no attempt to conceal her sarcasm.
“Of course I came. You didn’t really think I’d let you travel to Europe alone?”
“Actually, I didn’t think you could bear to be away from Chuck for so long.”
“I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, Madeleine. And please don’t call him Chuck. His name is Charles.” I turned to face her. “I’m here because Violet asked me to be, and whatever reservations I have about spending the next few months in your company, I would go around the world with you twice if it was what Violet wished. Besides,” I continued, tipping my chin to take in the sight of the majestic Queen Mary, “the chance to see Paris and Venice was far too tempting. I doubt even you will be able to spoil such beautiful cities.”
“Oh, you underestimate me. I’m sure I’ll do my best.” She lit a cigarette. “I see you dressed for the occasion,” she continued, eyeing my outfit with a bemused expression.
“I did. And I can see that you most definitely didn’t. Really, Madeleine, you’d think you were traveling in steerage.” I shuddered at her poor choice of navy slacks and sensible shoes, and the untidy curls of strawberry blond hair she hadn’t bothered to pin properly beneath her hat.
She laughed. “I dressed as someone about to travel across the Atlantic. I give you ten minutes on the promenade deck in that flimsy dress before you’ll be running to the stateroom for an extra coat.”
I decided to ignore her. Madeleine knew nothing about fashion. If she wanted to dress like a pack mule there was very little I could do about it. Soon, I would be walking through the great halls of Europe’s finest art galleries and museums. I would focus on that, not on how easily my sister soured my mood.
“I half expected Chuck to have a change of heart,” Madeleine remarked as we moved forward in the line. “I know he doesn’t like you to be more than a few feet away from him at any given time.”
I bristled. Why must she always be so condescending? “I have Charles’s full support for the trip. He thinks it will be good for me to see a little of the world before I become a wife and mother.”
“Mother?” Madeleine’s eyes widened with exaggerated surprise. “You should have said, Clara. I’d have brought my crochet hooks to make a bonnet.”
Color rushed to my cheeks. “Don
’t be ridiculous! I meant, in time.”
Thankfully, our conversation was interrupted by the announcement that we could start boarding. My stomach lurched. This was it, then. No going back.
“Charles only wants what is best for me,” I added as we prepared to board. “And he’ll join me in Vienna so we can travel home together on the Hindenburg and then we’ll be married and there’s not a thing you can do about it. I don’t know why you must be so entirely against him.”
Madeleine smirked. “I see him for who, and what, he is. I’m not blinded by his slicked-back hair or his dreamy blue eyes. Where is he, anyway? No tearful farewell?”
I huffed at her reply. “We’ve already said our goodbyes. In private.”
The truth was, I’d asked Charles not to come to the pier. I’d told him it would only make me emotional.
Madeleine turned her attention to a slim volume in her hands.
“What’s that you’re reading?” I asked, glad to change the subject.
“Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days. I thought I should read it since we’re here partly because of it. This copy belonged to Auntie Nellie. Look. She inscribed her name inside and crossed out the eighty on the title page and changed it to Around the World in Seventy-Two Days! She left the book to Violet when she died. Violet gave it to me for good luck.”
I placed my hand in my coat pocket and felt for the pocket watch Violet had pressed into my hands that morning. “It belonged to dear Nellie,” she’d said. “She took it with her on her race around the world, so that she would always know what time it was back home. She gave it to me just before she died, said it had always brought her luck. I think she’d like for you to have that luck now.” I decided not to mention it to Madeleine.
“I’ve taken the liberty of writing out some rules,” I announced, changing the subject before Madeleine launched into another of her monologues about Auntie Nellie and how inspired by her she was. As the line inched slowly forward, I fished in my handbag for the page of writing paper I’d folded neatly inside and handed it to Madeleine.
She scrunched her nose in disdain. “Rules?”
“Yes. I thought it would be helpful to establish some dos and don’ts. So we know where we stand.”
She took the piece of paper from me and began to read aloud. “You must refer to me as Clara, not Sis. You must let me do the talking in any difficult situations. You must avoid eye contact with strange men. You must not refer to Charles as Charlie, Chuck, or him. You mustn’t mention the wedding, unless you have something good to say about it.”
Madeleine looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Really, Clara? You couldn’t resist, could you?” She folded my page of rules and proceeded to tear it into pieces.
I stared at her in shock. “What on earth are you doing?”
Ignoring me, she walked to the edge of the pier and scattered the torn fragments onto the water.
“I’m feeding the fish.” She brushed her hands against her slacks. “How about this for a rule,” she continued. “There are no rules. We make it up as we go along. Let fate, luck, and chance be our guides.” She turned back to face the ocean, her hands on her hips, her feet splayed inelegantly. “Who knows what’s waiting for us out there, Clara.” She swept her arm in a long arc across the vast expanse of the Hudson stretching out ahead. “Aren’t you excited? We’re free women! We can be whatever and whomever we choose. This is the one time in our lives when we don’t have to abide by anybody’s rules! I say we embrace it.”
Her enthusiasm was hard to ignore. A shiver ran across my skin as I gazed at the water, the horizon beckoning.
“You’re starting to sound like her,” I said.
“Like who?”
“Auntie Nellie. Next you’ll be telling me you only brought one bag and one dress for the entire journey.”
She laughed. “You know me too well.”
“You didn’t? Really?”
“No. I didn’t. I brought two bags, and two dresses. How many pairs of shoes did you bring anyway? I saw the poor porter struggling with your trunks.”
I was about to chastise her for teasing me when I heard my name being called.
“Clara! Clara, wait!”
I turned and reached up onto my tiptoes to see who was causing such a commotion.
“Isn’t that Edward Arnold?” Madeleine said. “Your art tutor? What’s he doing here?”
I stared in disbelief, my heart clattering as Edward threaded his way through the line, apologizing and excusing himself as he sent people scattering. He was tall and easy to spot, and the sun glistened against the gray in his hair. He said it made him look old, although he had only just turned forty. I thought it looked distinguished.
His mouth broke into a wide smile when he saw me. “Oh good! I made it! I thought I was too late.”
Too shocked to speak, I was glad of Madeleine’s interjection.
“Edward, what a surprise!” she said. “Did you run all the way from the West Village?”
He gripped his sides as he caught his breath. “Nearly all the way! I’m not as fit as I used to be!”
“Are you traveling to France, too?” she added since I was still unable to find my tongue.
He shook his head. “Unfortunately not, Miss Sommers. But hopefully to Venice.” He turned his attention to me then. “I wanted to give you this, Clara. For the trip. I meant to give it to you when I saw you yesterday, but I found it still sitting on the countertop when I opened the gallery this morning.” He handed a book-sized parcel to me, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
“For me?” I asked. “But whatever—”
“Just something small. Watercolors, to encourage you to paint the sights. You said you might. Now, I hope you will.”
I didn’t know what to say, what to do, where to look. To see Edward here, with such a thoughtful gift and the light dancing in his eyes . . . I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, despite trying to present an air of casual calm. “That’s terribly kind of you, Edward, but really you shouldn’t have. . . . I . . . thank you.”
We were holding up the line. The passengers behind us began to grow impatient.
“We have to board,” Madeleine urged. “Come along, Clara.”
Edward looked at me, a broad smile on his lips. I smiled back, unable to hide my delight. Nobody had ever done anything so unexpected and thoughtful for me.
Someone behind us grumbled about the holdup and another shouted about being left behind on the docks.
“Clara,” Madeleine repeated, a warning note in her voice.
“Have the most wonderful time,” Edward said. “They say the light in Venice is the best anywhere in Europe. I can’t wait to see it for myself.”
“You’re going, then?” He’d told me about an exhibition he was due to attend in Venice later that month but hadn’t decided if he would go. Things were a little strained between him and his wife and he’d worried that spending time apart might prove to be the final nail in the coffin.
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m going. How can I not?”
He paused, holding my gaze before stepping aside to let the passengers behind him move forward, and I found myself propelled up the gangway toward a narrow door in the side of the vessel.
I turned at the top before entering the ship. Edward stood in a pool of sunlight, his rumpled hair waving in the breeze, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows as if he’d just put down his brush. He hadn’t worn a hat or a jacket. Edward wasn’t bothered by such things. He was a true artist, his mind too busy working through a palate of color combinations, or the details he’d add to his latest tableau, to worry about things like hats and propriety. I smiled, all thoughts of arguments with Madeleine forgotten as I waved a final farewell and followed my sister inside.
“Yesterday?” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. “What were you doing at Edward’s gallery yesterday? I’d have thought you’d be too busy saying goodbye to Charlie.”
I studied a sign on
the wall, deep in concentration as I checked which direction our stateroom was in. The detailed labyrinth of decks, restaurants, leisure rooms and lounges, corridors, and stairwells was both exhilarating and alarming. How would we ever find our way around, and—more to the point—if the deck map of a ship was overwhelming, how would we ever manage with a map of Paris?
“That’s none of your business,” I said as I set off down a long corridor to the left. “But, if you must know, we were working on pointillism. Paintings made up of lots of tiny dots. It’s a fascinating technique. Seurat and Signac became famous for it. I think it may become a favorite of mine. Not that you’d care about any of that.” I was talking too much in my attempt to distract her. Madeleine was tenacious. When she detected a story, she pursued it relentlessly, and I really didn’t want her poking her nose into my private life. “I hope the porters have been efficient with the luggage,” I continued. “I’d like the stewardess to unpack my dresses before they get too creased.”
As I pressed on, Madeleine remained unusually quiet, and the question of my visiting Edward’s gallery yesterday hung in the air around us. If I knew my sister at all, she was simply biding her time to raise it again. When she did, I would hopefully have a suitable answer.
Maddie
Clara was hiding something, I could tell. She’d lit up the moment Edward arrived with his gift, though she’d tried to play the polite art student. Edward was an older man, and a married man. It was a delicious nugget of gossip. I wondered how much time she’d spent with him since I’d last seen her a year ago, and—more to the point—whether Charles was aware of the obvious attraction between the two of them. He was so self-absorbed he probably hadn’t noticed.