Anna Godbersen: Rumors

“It really worked, didn’t it?” Tristan’s voice had lowered, although she still wished he wouldn’t talk about it in public. “You didn’t think it would…I could tell. You looked so scared in the hotel that night. But I knew. I’ve been around, I know when to play a card.”

Carolina nodded faintly. She found she didn’t want to acknowledge the thrust of this conversation out loud.

“Before we go looking for things for you, though…” There was a quality in Tristan’s voice that she had never heard before, and it made her turn toward him. “The high-class ladies I’ve befriended in the past, when I’ve had a small debt to pay or some other expense, I’ve filched a little here or there and nobody has ever noticed.” He paused and looked away. Behind him, shopgirls hurried back and forth. “I have a confession to make. I took your money, but I didn’t know it was all you had.”

Before Carolina knew whether she should be angry or frightened or grateful for this news, whether her impression of Tristan was that he was more or less trustworthy now, he gave her a wolfish grin and went on.

“But you see how much better it worked out in the end? I hope you feel I have repaid my debt.”

Like any society girl confronted with an uncomfortable fact, Carolina felt overwhelmingly now that she simply didn’t want to have to think about it anymore. “Oh, let’s not talk about all that hash,” she said. Then she thought of something pleasant and smiled. “Let’s see what pretty things Mr. Longhorn doesn’t want to buy me today.”

His response didn’t come immediately, and she wondered in the interval whether he wouldn’t keep trying to bring up the past. But then a smile came, spreading steadily under the neat mustache, and there was that flash in his hazel eyes. “Yes, let’s,” he said, and offered an arm. As she took it, they moved forward across the floor, each one playing their part to perfection.

As Carolina’s strides brought her further into that sanctum of all that was fine and beautiful, she began to notice her reflection in the mirrored columns that supported the high, arched ceiling with its classic white filigree designs and dangling chandeliers. Everything held the light of precious metals, and it was all to reflect on her. Or girls like her. But she was now, most assuredly, a girl like that. One could see it, plainly, as the reflection passed from one gold-shot mirror into another, with the upturn of her nose and the careless cast of her pretty eyes.

She knew where they were going. The Holland girls had told Claire about it, and Claire had told her. They were going to one of the private rooms where special customers could sit in comfort and wait for things to be brought for them. She had even heard that there were sweets and champagne. Until that morning, she had never been sure whether she was even really wanted in any of the shopping emporiums. But now she felt completely taken up.

Just as they were about to pass into the elevator area, with its peacock-colored enamel-inlaid walls and large bronze arrows bouncing in arcs to show which floor the carriage was on, Carolina noticed something that made her lungs swell up with air and then crumple as though they had been rained on by shattering glass. “Oh,” she whispered quietly, to herself, so that no one else could hear.

Over there, walking between tables of neckties as though he had just walked down the plank and onto the harbor of a foreign country, was Will. Beautiful Will, with his serious eyes and his hair a little overgrown looking around him in that meticulous way he had. His skin had somehow or other been darkened by the sun, and he looked as though he had seen some hard things. There was a sweet ache spreading all over, and she had to close her eyes so that the feeling wouldn’t overwhelm her. In a moment she tried to open them, but found that she had to bring her hand up to cover her gaze again.

Maybe he really had read about her in the papers. Maybe he was there to fetch her. He hadn’t seen her yet, however, and even in her brief glimpses of him, she knew that he hadn’t made his fortune out west. He was wearing those same serge trousers, that same slightly too large black coat. There were no new comforts in his life, she could see that in a few seconds. But still she wanted him. The want had not faded after all.

“Miss Broad,” she heard Tristan say.

She nodded, to him or to herself she wasn’t sure. The elevator doors had opened, and other shoppers were passing them on their way to the registers. She moved her hand. It was somewhat easier to watch him when there were bodies passing between them. And though she felt so light as to have no control of her limbs, she found that a few more blinkless moments allowed her to see what she must do. The want was there, but she couldn’t follow it. Will was so close to her, and she had come so far. He would understand how foolish he had been if he saw her, but then she would have to come down, and she couldn’t stand that. She couldn’t stand to fall even a little bit.

“Are you all right, Miss Broad?”

“Oh…yes,” she said. She stepped away from Will and let go of the old wants. “Just a little headache that came and went.”

As the operator brought down the iron grate, she told herself she’d made the right decision. Her new friend Penelope Hayes would not have stooped at the sight of some passing fancy from years ago. Her desires would already have been set on something far better. It would be so like Elizabeth to stumble on sentimentality, to give up everything for some old dream.

“Are you sure that you’re all right?”

“Yes.”

She wet her lips and forced air back into her lungs. She thought of Mr. Longhorn as a young man and how many young men she had met just two nights ago and of all the things she deserved. She thought of the difference between real kisses and imagined ones. She smiled, although it was a weak sort of smile. She could not help but think, as she was borne upward beside Tristan, who seemed like so many things and was never quite any of them, that it was unfortunate that she had ever known him. It was true that she might have been too shy or gaffe-prone ever to win Mr. Longhorn’s patronage without him, but even so, he was becoming distasteful. He would have to be cut loose soon, too, she told herself, with that hardness that was taking form inside her heart. She would have to be nice to him for a while longer, but already she did not need him.

Her smile dimmed, but she kept looking at Tristan as she said, with a certain declarative panache: “In fact, I feel just perfect.”

There has been much talk about the deceased Elizabeth Holland as of late. Many have suggested that with the recent discovery of her engagement ring, she has likely perished at the hands of a band of thieves. If she is discovered, she should quickly be married upon her return, no matter what unimaginable things have occurred in her time away from society.

— FROM THE EDITORIAL PAGE OF THE NEW YORK TIMES, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1899

“IF ANYONE KNOWS ANY REASON WHY THIS MAN AND woman should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace….”

There was a slight murmur of approval and amusement across the room, and then it became very evident that no one was going to object. The floor had been covered in white petals; the windows had been draped in lace. The lesser parlor, on the east side of the Holland town house, was still lacking in furniture, but it made a perfect place for a wedding. They had moved in a small settee on which sat Elizabeth’s mother — much recovered from her illness, but still somewhat feverish and weak — and her aunt Edith, who had not stopped crying or smiling all morning. Behind them stood four of Snowden’s men, in their worn leather waistcoats and thick, off-white collared shirts. Near the covered windows stood Snowden, holding a Bible and his duties seriously, and to Elizabeth’s back were Diana and behind her Claire, both of them in white, both clutching the little bouquets of lilies of the valley and white roses that the three girls had put together that morning and tied with lavender ribbons.