The Gilded Hour
Page 61
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She looked at Anna over the rim of her glasses. “I believe that’s as much as I can do for you, Dr. Savard.” To Sister Mary Augustin she said, “I am glad to hear that you are doing so well at St. Patrick’s, but we felt your loss and still do.”
Anna saw Sister Mary Augustin swallow and then nod, unable to respond in words.
• • •
MOST OF THE way back to the city they debated whether to share this new information with Rosa. Jack thought it would be better to wait until they had confirmation; Anna swayed back and forth between agreeing and disagreeing. Many people withheld information from children out of a misguided understanding of what they most needed. She knew this from personal experience.
Mary Augustin said, “Are you going to write to Father McKinnawae, or go to see him?”
“I’ll write first.”
She was confused by this; Anna could see it, and felt compelled to explain.
“I will go straightaway if Father McKinnawae answers my letter with real information about the boys. Otherwise it must wait. I’m on night duty most of this week, and a trip to Staten Island requires at least one full day.” She was oddly relieved to realize that this was all perfectly true: unless Father McKinnawae had more news to share than any of the other dozens of people she had written to or visited, Staten Island could safely wait until Jack was back and could go with her.
• • •
WHEN THEY HAD dropped Mary Augustin off at the New Amsterdam to return to Sister Xavier’s room, Jack motioned for her to come sit next to him on the front bench. Anna hesitated for just a moment. Under other circumstances she would have gone inside to check on her patients, but it was her day off, after all, and Jack was leaving.
Even on Sunday afternoon there was a good amount of traffic, and they were quiet as Jack negotiated the way south on Broadway. He would have to return the borrowed surrey to the police stables, and then what? She hated the nervous fluttering in her stomach, the wondering what he had in mind. Most likely he would take her home and then go home himself to get ready for his trip.
With that thought still in her head she put her hand on the bench between them and then shivered when he covered it with his own.
• • •
IT WAS FIVE by the time they were free of the surrey, and then they stood for a moment in the tumult that was the corner of Mulberry and Prince Streets. Across from the police headquarters was an unbroken line of taverns and dance halls and theaters, cheek and jowl with oyster saloons and stale beer joints. She had once wondered how they could stay in business under the nose of the law, but from Jack she understood that this was nothing out of the usual. The beer would cost a penny more, and all those accumulated pennies would end up in the pocket of a roundsman and the superiors who had perfected the art of looking the other way, so long as they got appropriate recompense.
They had walked back to Waverly Place from this very spot more than once, but now Jack hailed a cab. Anna kept her confusion to herself; he never did anything without a well-thought-out reason that he was willing to talk about, if she asked. And this time she was afraid to ask because she suspected that they weren’t going to Waverly Place at all.
Jack helped her up and then went to talk to the cabby. In the span of ten seconds or so it took to give the man directions, Anna reminded herself of her age, education, sensible disposition, and ability to make responsible decisions, and the fact that she wanted to go with Jack, wherever it was he was taking her. To his home, was her guess. She had never even seen the house, but not for lack of trying. The first time she had found a reason to walk past Mezzanotte Brothers Florists after he had explained to her exactly where he lived, she realized that only the very front, the shop itself, could be seen from the street. Everything else was hidden behind a high brick wall interrupted by recessed doors painted a deep glossy green.
Anna wondered if the power of speech had left her permanently, then realized that Jack was just as quiet. He held her hand in the cab, one finger tracing back and forth across her wrist very gently. The nerves of the wrist, Anna reminded herself. She could name them all and still she had had no idea that such a simple touch could be so engrossing. Even while this thought came to her, Jack opened the buttons on her jacket cuff with a shocking nimbleness.
She heard herself make a low sound, a clicking in the back of her throat while his fingers moved over wrist and forearm with a fine rasping touch. When he let her go Anna was breathing fast and the pulse at the base of her throat echoed like a drumroll.
Jack said, “We’re here. I can ask the cabby to take us back to Waverly Place, if you’re uncertain.”
“Don’t you dare.” Her voice was a little creaky, but she managed a small smile.
• • •
THE SHOP WAS closed on a late Sunday afternoon, but he used a key to open the door and took her through to the greenhouses, stopping to name plants and flowers, bending down to examine a leaf or break off a bud to show her. Anna breathed as deeply as she could to slow her pulse. She tried to ask intelligent questions and sometimes succeeded. A rose that originated in France in 1820, how exactly did they know that? He answered, and she immediately forgot.
Jack was in no hurry. He held her hand, never giving up the soft stroking of her wrist and palm that made her fingers jerk. Anna forced herself to concentrate.
“It’s very quiet here, considering how close we are to Union Square. Peaceful.”
Somehow it was the right thing to say, or maybe the wrong thing. He was studying her face now, and his expression was not hard to interpret.
She said, “You’re the one who isn’t sure.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He used both hands to cup her face and tilt it up so that he could kiss her. His hands and his mouth and nothing else, at this moment, and that was enough. For a long minute they were satisfied with the soft warm suckling and then Jack dropped one hand to press it to the small of her back.
Against the corner of her mouth he said, “Would you like to see the workrooms too? Or I can show you the house right now. If you like.”
They left the greenhouses by a back exit that opened onto a narrow path paved with flagstones. An overarching arbor was dense with deep green foliage and flowers as white and round and flat as a plate. Another time she might have asked for a name to pass on to Mr. Lee, but the capacity for speech had left her.
Jack started to say something and then stopped, his head canting sharply toward the far end of the passageway and the green door in the perimeter wall, small with a rounded top. As it swung open a conversation came to them. Two women, speaking Italian. Jack closed his eyes and shook his head in obvious disbelief and frustration.
The women stopped where they were, as surprised to see Jack as he was to see them.
“Anna,” he said. “Let me introduce you to my sisters. Just returned from New Jersey. Without notice.”
16
ANNA HAD HEARD enough about Jack’s sisters to be able to tell Bambina from Celestina. Bambina was the youngest, but her gaze was sharp and unflinching, while Celestina was confused and struggled to make sense of the unexpected sight of her brother with a woman.
The introductions were short and to the point, and then Jack disappeared to carry luggage into the house while his sisters made soft exclamations of pleasure: Such an honor, please join us, coffee, cake?
Celestina showed her into the parlor, excused herself, and disappeared down the hall to what Anna assumed was the kitchen, leaving her alone for the moment. By rights she should have found someplace to sit and stayed there with her hands folded in her lap, but curiosity was a powerful thing. She was calmer now than she had been a half hour ago when she thought the evening would end very differently. More than that, she was enjoying herself, as long as she didn’t think too hard about what Jack Mezzanotte might be telling his sisters. That’s Anna, she imagined him saying. A heathen. Unsuited to housework, clever with only one kind of needle. Overeducated, stubborn, an advocate for rational dress, women’s education, birth control, orphans, and the poor.
She got up to explore after all.
• • •
WHILE HIS SISTERS made coffee and cut up the cake they had brought with them from home and lamented the lack of anything more substantial to offer their guest, Jack did his best to hide his irritation and answer their questions—very reasonable questions—with calm certainty. It was Bambina—it was always Bambina—who spoke the question he had been waiting for.
“Who is this Miss Savard to you?”
Jack considered. He would let Anna tell them that she was not a Miss, but the crux of the question was his to answer. On the promenade of the new bridge he had been glib, a mistake he would not make here. Nor would he be coy or dismissive or anything but honest. Anything else would be disrespectful to Anna and to his sisters and by extension, his parents as well.
They had paused their work to wait for his answer. Bambina studied him as she would a dropped stitch, weighing alternative approaches to get the solution she desired. Round faced, full in the chest and hips, she struck most people as the matronly type, which was a serious miscalculation. Many shopkeepers who had thought she was too dull to notice a miscalculation in cost had learned differently. And now she wanted to know about Anna.
Anna saw Sister Mary Augustin swallow and then nod, unable to respond in words.
• • •
MOST OF THE way back to the city they debated whether to share this new information with Rosa. Jack thought it would be better to wait until they had confirmation; Anna swayed back and forth between agreeing and disagreeing. Many people withheld information from children out of a misguided understanding of what they most needed. She knew this from personal experience.
Mary Augustin said, “Are you going to write to Father McKinnawae, or go to see him?”
“I’ll write first.”
She was confused by this; Anna could see it, and felt compelled to explain.
“I will go straightaway if Father McKinnawae answers my letter with real information about the boys. Otherwise it must wait. I’m on night duty most of this week, and a trip to Staten Island requires at least one full day.” She was oddly relieved to realize that this was all perfectly true: unless Father McKinnawae had more news to share than any of the other dozens of people she had written to or visited, Staten Island could safely wait until Jack was back and could go with her.
• • •
WHEN THEY HAD dropped Mary Augustin off at the New Amsterdam to return to Sister Xavier’s room, Jack motioned for her to come sit next to him on the front bench. Anna hesitated for just a moment. Under other circumstances she would have gone inside to check on her patients, but it was her day off, after all, and Jack was leaving.
Even on Sunday afternoon there was a good amount of traffic, and they were quiet as Jack negotiated the way south on Broadway. He would have to return the borrowed surrey to the police stables, and then what? She hated the nervous fluttering in her stomach, the wondering what he had in mind. Most likely he would take her home and then go home himself to get ready for his trip.
With that thought still in her head she put her hand on the bench between them and then shivered when he covered it with his own.
• • •
IT WAS FIVE by the time they were free of the surrey, and then they stood for a moment in the tumult that was the corner of Mulberry and Prince Streets. Across from the police headquarters was an unbroken line of taverns and dance halls and theaters, cheek and jowl with oyster saloons and stale beer joints. She had once wondered how they could stay in business under the nose of the law, but from Jack she understood that this was nothing out of the usual. The beer would cost a penny more, and all those accumulated pennies would end up in the pocket of a roundsman and the superiors who had perfected the art of looking the other way, so long as they got appropriate recompense.
They had walked back to Waverly Place from this very spot more than once, but now Jack hailed a cab. Anna kept her confusion to herself; he never did anything without a well-thought-out reason that he was willing to talk about, if she asked. And this time she was afraid to ask because she suspected that they weren’t going to Waverly Place at all.
Jack helped her up and then went to talk to the cabby. In the span of ten seconds or so it took to give the man directions, Anna reminded herself of her age, education, sensible disposition, and ability to make responsible decisions, and the fact that she wanted to go with Jack, wherever it was he was taking her. To his home, was her guess. She had never even seen the house, but not for lack of trying. The first time she had found a reason to walk past Mezzanotte Brothers Florists after he had explained to her exactly where he lived, she realized that only the very front, the shop itself, could be seen from the street. Everything else was hidden behind a high brick wall interrupted by recessed doors painted a deep glossy green.
Anna wondered if the power of speech had left her permanently, then realized that Jack was just as quiet. He held her hand in the cab, one finger tracing back and forth across her wrist very gently. The nerves of the wrist, Anna reminded herself. She could name them all and still she had had no idea that such a simple touch could be so engrossing. Even while this thought came to her, Jack opened the buttons on her jacket cuff with a shocking nimbleness.
She heard herself make a low sound, a clicking in the back of her throat while his fingers moved over wrist and forearm with a fine rasping touch. When he let her go Anna was breathing fast and the pulse at the base of her throat echoed like a drumroll.
Jack said, “We’re here. I can ask the cabby to take us back to Waverly Place, if you’re uncertain.”
“Don’t you dare.” Her voice was a little creaky, but she managed a small smile.
• • •
THE SHOP WAS closed on a late Sunday afternoon, but he used a key to open the door and took her through to the greenhouses, stopping to name plants and flowers, bending down to examine a leaf or break off a bud to show her. Anna breathed as deeply as she could to slow her pulse. She tried to ask intelligent questions and sometimes succeeded. A rose that originated in France in 1820, how exactly did they know that? He answered, and she immediately forgot.
Jack was in no hurry. He held her hand, never giving up the soft stroking of her wrist and palm that made her fingers jerk. Anna forced herself to concentrate.
“It’s very quiet here, considering how close we are to Union Square. Peaceful.”
Somehow it was the right thing to say, or maybe the wrong thing. He was studying her face now, and his expression was not hard to interpret.
She said, “You’re the one who isn’t sure.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He used both hands to cup her face and tilt it up so that he could kiss her. His hands and his mouth and nothing else, at this moment, and that was enough. For a long minute they were satisfied with the soft warm suckling and then Jack dropped one hand to press it to the small of her back.
Against the corner of her mouth he said, “Would you like to see the workrooms too? Or I can show you the house right now. If you like.”
They left the greenhouses by a back exit that opened onto a narrow path paved with flagstones. An overarching arbor was dense with deep green foliage and flowers as white and round and flat as a plate. Another time she might have asked for a name to pass on to Mr. Lee, but the capacity for speech had left her.
Jack started to say something and then stopped, his head canting sharply toward the far end of the passageway and the green door in the perimeter wall, small with a rounded top. As it swung open a conversation came to them. Two women, speaking Italian. Jack closed his eyes and shook his head in obvious disbelief and frustration.
The women stopped where they were, as surprised to see Jack as he was to see them.
“Anna,” he said. “Let me introduce you to my sisters. Just returned from New Jersey. Without notice.”
16
ANNA HAD HEARD enough about Jack’s sisters to be able to tell Bambina from Celestina. Bambina was the youngest, but her gaze was sharp and unflinching, while Celestina was confused and struggled to make sense of the unexpected sight of her brother with a woman.
The introductions were short and to the point, and then Jack disappeared to carry luggage into the house while his sisters made soft exclamations of pleasure: Such an honor, please join us, coffee, cake?
Celestina showed her into the parlor, excused herself, and disappeared down the hall to what Anna assumed was the kitchen, leaving her alone for the moment. By rights she should have found someplace to sit and stayed there with her hands folded in her lap, but curiosity was a powerful thing. She was calmer now than she had been a half hour ago when she thought the evening would end very differently. More than that, she was enjoying herself, as long as she didn’t think too hard about what Jack Mezzanotte might be telling his sisters. That’s Anna, she imagined him saying. A heathen. Unsuited to housework, clever with only one kind of needle. Overeducated, stubborn, an advocate for rational dress, women’s education, birth control, orphans, and the poor.
She got up to explore after all.
• • •
WHILE HIS SISTERS made coffee and cut up the cake they had brought with them from home and lamented the lack of anything more substantial to offer their guest, Jack did his best to hide his irritation and answer their questions—very reasonable questions—with calm certainty. It was Bambina—it was always Bambina—who spoke the question he had been waiting for.
“Who is this Miss Savard to you?”
Jack considered. He would let Anna tell them that she was not a Miss, but the crux of the question was his to answer. On the promenade of the new bridge he had been glib, a mistake he would not make here. Nor would he be coy or dismissive or anything but honest. Anything else would be disrespectful to Anna and to his sisters and by extension, his parents as well.
They had paused their work to wait for his answer. Bambina studied him as she would a dropped stitch, weighing alternative approaches to get the solution she desired. Round faced, full in the chest and hips, she struck most people as the matronly type, which was a serious miscalculation. Many shopkeepers who had thought she was too dull to notice a miscalculation in cost had learned differently. And now she wanted to know about Anna.
