by Y. S. Lee
“Why are you so quiet, Eve?” her father asked, ignoring Edith.
“I had the strangest dream.”
“Heavens!” Edith said, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t be so harsh with your sister.”
“Only the weak-minded dream,” Edith said, throwing her napkin on the table and leaving the room.
Eve returned her father’s apologetic gaze with a sad smile. “It doesn’t matter, Father. Edith only sees what she can see.”
“Have you ever thought, my darling, that you only see what cannot be seen?”
She squeezed his hand, realizing what he did not. That he’d built this estate on a need to belong to a world more imaginary and less accepting than any of hers.
That day, Eve crawled onto the statue of Neptune, frustrated to discover there wasn’t a secret door in his throne. She stood on his marble knees and put her hands on his marble cheeks. Staring into his white eyes, she pleaded, “Open sesame!”
“What are you doing?”
Eve knew the voice. Looking down at her sister, she said, “Never you mind.”
“Never I mind? Never I mind! The servants are watching.”
Eve kept searching. Had the door moved? Under his trident?
“Eve!” Edith yelled.
Eve sat down on Neptune’s lap and looked at her sister.
“You’re getting your dress…look at it. We can see your undergarments. Eve, you’ve got to stop. See Mother and Father back there, afraid to approach you.”
In the distance, her hand shielding the sun, Eve spied her parents standing at the door of the house.
“Maybe they’re only enjoying the morning air,” Eve said.
“Eve, I’m telling you now. You’ll not ruin my wedding.”
“Whyever would I do such a thing?” Eve asked, surprised.
“By being your odd self.” Edith stepped forward, lowering her voice, “I realize I’m quite fortunate that I’ve been selected—.”
“Selected?”
“—when we’re nouveau riche and not even that anymore. If William discovers that my sister is touched in the head, he might call off the whole thing.”
“Why would he care if I am?”
“Because, you ninny, he’d worry his own children would be like you. No one wants children like you. Now get off Neptune and come inside.”
Eve’s feelings were a little hurt by what her sister said, but she also thought that Edith was going to live a very dismal life, worrying about what William thought about things and if their children were like their Aunt Eve.
That night, Eve stared out the window, willing the music to start and the lake to glow. Finally, she went to bed, but dressed in a gold glittering gown of Edith’s, clutching the iron key in her hand.
She woke to music bouncing off the walls of her room. How can no one else hear it?
She jumped into her shoes, scooped up the key, and threw open the door, half-expecting Edith and her parents to be in the hall shocked by the commotion. But the rest of the house was fast asleep. The music was only for her.
Neptune didn’t judge her as she climbed up his statue and shouted out in happiness when she found the door in his throne. She inserted the key and turned. The triumphant click of the lock opened her heart. Pushing on the door, she peered in to find a very dark circular staircase. She’d forgotten her electric torch, but she could see light at the bottom, coming in from the depths of a tunnel.
Using the moon’s light, she slipped into Neptune’s throne and grabbed the cold railing. Water dripped and echoed as she used her feet to find the steps and guide her spiral descent. If she could just get down the stairs…
Halfway down, she took one last look up at the open door. What if it shuts? What if I can’t get back out?
The music and the light and her memory of the green of the young man’s eyes beckoned. For protection, she tapped the railing three times and didn’t look back again.
The long concrete arched tunnel was not anything like the underwater ballroom. It was bleak and unwelcoming, lit by dismal electric lamps, making her wonder if this was all a horrible mistake. But she didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t. She pressed toward its end and double crystal doors that were beckoning to her. Beyond them, she spied a crowd of people.
The doors opened, releasing gaiety and music that swept away the doubt and dreariness. Many faces turned toward her, but it was the young man who had her attention.
He was there, smiling. “Dance with me.”
“No,” she said, wondering if he was real.
“But why?” he asked.
“I don’t dance.”
“Why not? It’s great fun.”
She caught the smiles of the dancers. “They do look like they’re enjoying it. But I don’t know how.”
“Is that all?” he asked, offering his hand. “No one does.”
With her nod, he pulled her into the room and wrapped her into his arms and spun her into the dancing and the laughter. Her gold dress flew up, the beads hitting her legs. The music so vibrant the notes seem to take shape and float up to the top of the dome and rattle the crystals in the chandeliers above them. Eve was under the water. She was under the world.
“Would you like champagne?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, please.”
He put a cold glass in her hand. She stared into his green eyes as tiny bubbles of champagne burst on her tongue.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Ezra.”
“Ooh. That’s a name.”
He only laughed.
Two men with beards behind her were shouting at one another about the Industrial Revolution and someone named Engels and the poor.
“Why are they so angry?” she asked.
“They’re having a wonderful time!” Ezra said, with a laugh. “Best of friends!”
The men were now pointing at one another and laughing and she saw Ezra was right.
A table was laid out with strange delicious things to eat. Eve bit into a scrumptious dried fruit that tasted like the conjuring of a magician in Arabian Nights.
In one corner, a group spun dice and threw out money and jokes. In another, a proper lady in a dress from decades ago was sitting in a chair looking straight-ahead talking to no one. Some guests were only eyes behind elaborate masks adorned with bright jewels. One man had feathers in his hair and glitter on his eyelashes. Some ladies wore flirty hats. Some gentlemen too. And one tall, lean man dressed in a long gray cloak watched the crowd with eager eyes under a close-fitting cap.
“Has there been a murder?” Eve asked this Sherlock Holmes look-alike.
“There will be,” he said before disappearing behind a large palm tree in a pot and looking quite ridiculous peering out from behind the leaves.
An acrobat in a red leotard with black fringe twisted her bare legs and arms into odd, wondrous shapes. Eve cocked her head to try to puzzle it out, but Ezra was leaning down blocking her view. “Would you like another champagne?” he asked.
“Another dance, please.”
As he spun her around the ballroom, she watched the blues and greens of the mosaic tile beneath her shoes. She was so dizzy from the spinning and the champagne and the happiness she sank into a velvet-cushioned chair and closed her eyes for only a second. It was only a second. When the music and the voices faded, her eyes flew open.
The young man was gone. The band was gone. The champagne was gone.
Her heart sank. How could it be?
The goldfish watched her as she left the ballroom. She climbed the stairs and crawled through Neptune’s door. The moon was full. Her heart was lost.
The page had turned.
Sunlight was pouring in through her bedroom window when she opened her eyes. She still wore Edith’s gold dress and clutched the skeleton key.
She ran to the lake, staring into the still water. She threw off her clothes and dove in, swimming deeper and deeper. No light. No music. No dome. No Ezra.
She lay
down on the edge of the lake.
“Eve.”
The voice was cold, like the chilly breeze across her skin. She didn’t open her eyes. “Go away, Edith.”
“What have you done with my gown? It’s ruined!” Edith shrieked.
“I needed it for the party.”
Edith gave out a little scream. “Will you ever stop? You will get up and come into the house. If William ever knew—”
“William reminds me an awful lot of Mr. Collins.”
“Mr. Collins? Who is Mr. Collins?”
Eve didn’t answer.
“I won’t have you all the time throwing out names I don’t know. Is he another character in your books? Do you think they matter, Eve? They’re not real, you fool!”
“Ha!” Eve exclaimed, opening her eyes. “I just remembered. Mr. Collins is a William too.” Thank goodness her books had shown her the type of person not to chain one’s soul to.
Edith balled her delicate hands into fists and let out another frustrated scream.
Eve didn’t move. She’d discovered if your heart was broken your legs were too.
That afternoon, she was reading her book underneath the horse chestnut beside the quiet lake. At the slightest sound, she’d sit up, looking, looking. But it was only a mole or a rat or a toad or a badger. Never Ezra.
But soon it was her mother.
“Won’t you join me in my little blue boat?” Eve asked.
Her mother studied the blanket on the ground suspiciously. “I only want assurance that you’re keeping on your clothes.”
“As you see.”
“Eve, are you all right?”
“I’m not sure really,” Eve said carefully. “I’ll find myself brokenhearted and then delirious with happiness.”
“What? All in one day?”
“Oh, Mother, sometimes it’s only moments between one and the other.”
Mrs. Winklevoss hesitated. “But why?”
“It’s not an easy thing to explain. Are you certain you won’t join me?” Eve asked hopefully.
“I don’t sit on the ground.”
“But there’s such joy in it.”
Mrs. Winklevoss sighed. “Edith said…” But her voice drifted off as she looked at her youngest daughter worriedly. “Well.”
That night, Ezra was waiting for Eve at the ballroom doors.
“Where did you go?” Eve asked.
He laughed. “I’ve been waiting all night.” He took her hand and Eve began to fall in love. Not only with Ezra. But the saxophone and the hors d’oeuvres and the costumes and the divine confetti that showered them at night.
“Where does it come from?” she asked, laughing, as Ezra pulled bits of ecru paper out of her hair and off her eyelashes.
“I don’t know,” he said.
She asked Mr. Holmes about the confetti. He peered down his long, thin nose at her, saying nothing, as the paper piled up on his cap.
“No murder yet?” she asked.
“There will be.”
“Don’t tease me, Mr. Holmes.”
Again she grew too tired to stand and sank into the chair only to close her eyes for a moment and have everyone disappear.
One night the acrobat taught her how to do a handstand.
One night the men who argued told her who Engels was.
One night a saxophonist stirred her soul.
One night a girl named Zelda with hopes as bright as the sun taught her a dance Eve had only read about in the newspaper.
One night she sat by the woman talking to herself and realized she was reciting an entire novel—a story Eve adored.
And one special wonderful night Ezra took her in his arms and as she looked into his green, green eyes he gave her a tender kiss that made her head spin.
“How long have you been doing this?” Eve asked Ezra.
“Doing what?”
“Coming to the ballroom?”
He laughed. “I don’t know.”
“What were you doing in the village?” Eve asked Ezra.
“What village?”
“Where you gave me the key,” she said.
“What key?”
“What do you do all day?” Eve asked Ezra.
“I don’t know,” he said, letting out a light, hollow laugh that Eve couldn’t quite catch.
“Do you have any questions for me?” Eve asked.
“Will you have more champagne?”
That night, Eve noticed that the two friends were having the same argument over and over again.
And Mr. Holmes was still waiting for a murder that would never happen.
And the lady reciting was at a place in the novel that Eve didn’t like.
Standing before her, Eve ordered, “Don’t say it.” But words kept spilling out of the storyteller’s wide literary mouth.
Eve reached forward and pinched her stubborn lips together. “Don’t say it.”
But the lady, with a quick vigorous flip of her wrist, slapped away Eve’s hand, never pausing in her story.
“But why didn’t Jo love Laurie?” Eve asked, rubbing the sting out of her hand.
Even here, she couldn’t change the story.
She pressed her face to the glass of the dome, peering out into the water, wanting to be Captain Nemo stepping out of his submarine and walking the ocean floor.
“Wake up, please.”
Eve looked up into her mother’s eyes.
“What’s wrong with you, Eve?”
Eve didn’t speak or move. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she might be wearing Edith’s gold dress beneath the covers.
Her mother paced as she talked, her elegant hand gesturing elegantly. “Every day, you are lifeless. Your eyes are red. You’re very pale. You hardly speak. What’s wrong with you, Eve?”
“I dance at a ball every night, Mother. It’s exhausting.”
“Really, Eve. And does Holden drive you to the ball?”
“No, it’s under the lake.”
“Can you be serious, Eve? Your sister’s getting married.”
“What will I do, Mother?”
“Do? What do you mean?”
“After Edith marries.”
“You’ll be here with your father and me, of course. What else would you do?”
“I’ll have my books,” Eve said to herself, but for the first time she wondered if they were enough. “Why did Aunt Dorothy leave, Mother?”
Her mother put her hands on her hips. “She should’ve gone out of shame. She embarrassed the entire family, especially your grandmother.”
“How?”
“She wasn’t conventional, Eve. You’ll do to learn from her example.”
“But why wasn’t she?”
“She had thoughts. Very bizarre thoughts.”
“Where did she go?”
“Last your father heard she was in Italy,” her mother murmured, now looking out the window.
“Italy!” Eve exclaimed, sitting up. “Why, that’s just like Lucy Honeychurch.” Looking down, she saw that she was indeed wearing Edith’s golden gown.
“Who is this Lucy Honeychurch?” her mother asked, turning. “Is she invited to the wedding?”
Eve dropped back onto the pillow as she whipped up the covers. “Mother, have you ever been kissed in a field of violets?”
“What?” Mrs. Winklevoss asked as if she hadn’t heard. “Eve, do get out of bed.”
“Do you think a girl feels the same when she reads about being kissed and when she’s actually kissed?”
“Oh, Eve. We may need to take away your books.”
Eve’s heart stopped beating for one, two, three long seconds, before it started up again. “That would never be the answer.”
That night, Eve was weary as she danced at the bottom of the lake.
Ezra was talking to Zelda, who had pearls in her red-gold hair. He turned back to Eve and put his hand on her cheek. “I might kiss you later,” he whispered.
“Your kisses are paper thin, Ezra.�
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His eyes clouded. “Does that feel nice?”
“I’m not certain.”
His brow creased. “Aren’t you having fun?”
She took another sip of champagne. “I’m not sure.”
“Then let’s dance.”
“No,” she said, setting down her glass. “I have to go.”
“Go?”
Mr. Holmes popped out behind palm leaves. The acrobat fell out of her pose. The musicians dropped their instruments. The dancers stopped spinning. The two friends gasped. And finally the storyteller was mute.
“Eve,” Ezra said insistently. He gripped her arm as she spied a familiar face in the crowd of dancers. She leaned forward, trying to remember who it was.
But Ezra pulled her closer, his eyes on hers. “Where will you go, Eve?”
She smiled. “You’re as lovely as I imagined,” she said, her hand on his cheek. “Well, almost.”
As she left the stilled ballroom, he called out, “I might kiss you later.”
She shut Neptune’s door, realizing with a surprised gasp, it had been Dorothy among the dancers. Eve was almost sure.
Eve hung up her dress. She pulled out her bag and packed it with her favorite things, which included five books. Finding they wouldn’t all fit, she removed three, holding each one tenderly before putting it aside. She took out all the money she had in the world. She tiptoed into Edith’s room and left the skeleton key beside her bed. She took the back stairs into the dark kitchen the dawn hadn’t yet touched. The servants were all on their feet in a panic when they saw her.
“What’s wrong, Miss Eve?”
“Holden, I need you to take me to the train station.”
Glenda’s lips pressed tightly together. “I’ll wake your mother.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Eve said firmly.
Taken up short, Glenda said, “I’ll come with you then.”
“You’ll not.”
“I’ll get the car, miss,” Holden said.
Eve sat in the front seat. She didn’t look back as they took the long driveway.
“Thank you,” she said to the lake.
“For what, miss?”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Holden.”
He nodded.
