Siri Mitchell

by Unrivaled

  “When are your at-home days, Winnie?”

  “This week?”

  I already regretted the words I was going to say, but I nodded anyway.

  “Thursdays. From two o’clock until four.”

  “I’ll come for a visit.”

  “You will?” Her smile grew even larger, her eyes even wider.

  I nodded. “I promise.”

  She squealed and kissed me on the cheek, then darted away toward the dance floor.

  At last I reached the refreshments. As I surveyed the table, my spirits lifted. There wasn’t one piece of candy left. I clasped my hands to my chest as I looked at Sam. “It’s a success, then? It looks like every piece has been eaten!” As I spoke, a server whisked away one of the empty trays.

  “No, Lucy, it’s—”

  Mistaking him for a fellow server, the man turned to Sam. “Now that those awful candies are gone, go back into the kitchen and get something else to take their place.”

  Had he said . . . ? “Did you say—?”

  The server bowed. “Yes, miss. Someone delivered us candies that weren’t worth eating, but we’ve thrown them all away. You’re not to worry.”

  “Weren’t worth—? But . . .”

  Sam drew me away by the elbow.

  “Weren’t worth eating?” I looked up at him. “What was wrong with them?”

  “Lucy . . .”

  “No one liked them?”

  “It wasn’t the candy exactly. It’s just that nobody liked the way they tasted. Maybe if—”

  “No one?” No one had liked my candy? My father had been right. There was no place for me in his business. And it wasn’t because I was a girl. He must have been trying to spare my feelings all this time. The truth of it was that I had no taste. I was just like that awful Walter Minard . . . and that’s what hurt most of all. I took a step back from Sam.

  “Lucy, wait—”

  I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I turned from him, gathered up my trailing skirt, and ran.

  12

  I looked beyond the man who had introduced himself to me. The Queen of Love and Beauty was over by the food tables, talking to one of the servers. I’d been trying to get a good look at her face, but so far, I hadn’t been able to. After I’d come down from the balcony, I’d almost talked myself into going up to her and introducing myself. After all, I’d probably never look more presentable than I did right now. But as I stood there, she put a hand to her mouth and spun away from the server. Then she gathered up her long skirt and ran from the room.

  I watched to see who would go after her.

  No one did. No one even seemed to notice. It’s as if they’d all been put to sleep by the band’s version of a waltz.

  Putting my hand out to the man, an owner of some kind of store or other, I smiled. “It was nice meeting you. Please excuse me.” I could have walked around the edge of the room, but the fastest way to reach the door was across the dance floor. Taking up the rhythm of the waltz, I slid between dancing couples, ducking once when I saw the girl I was supposed to dance with next.

  I’d expected to see the queen out in the hall, but the only people there were drivers, waiting for the ball to end. Where would she have gone? Where would I have gone if I’d wanted to get away from everyone?

  I had already circled the balcony once before I found her. She had pressed herself into a corner, back against the wall, far from the reach of the ballroom’s lights. She was crying the way my little sister had the year my mother told her Santa Claus wasn’t coming.

  As I walked up, I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket. “Those don’t sound like tears of joy.”

  She turned her head from me.

  I pressed the handkerchief into her hand. “Take it. I only carry one because that’s what someone told me gentlemen should do.”

  She tried to give it back.

  “Please, don’t tell me he was lying.”

  Though she still wouldn’t look at me, her fingers curled around it, and she lifted it to her cheeks.

  I thought . . . if she would just look at me . . . I thought it might be her. That girl from Olive Street.

  “Most girls would be over the moon, being named queen.”

  “I’m not like the others.” She said it fiercely, eyes glaring at me above the handkerchief as if I should know better.

  “So . . . if you’re not crying about being queen, then what are you crying about?”

  Her chin trembled as she dabbed at an eye. “No one liked my candy.” She’d barely finished speaking before she began to howl as if I’d just declared the sun would never rise again. I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I put an arm around her shoulder. I knew what it was like to have people disappoint you.

  She clung to me, sobbing into my shiny silk lapels, burrowing into my shoulder, and tickling my nose with all the hair she’d piled on top of her head. But I didn’t mind. She smelled delicious, just like caramel. It was a scent that matched the color of her hair. For one sweet moment, she stayed within the curve of my arm, but then she pushed away from me, turning once more, as if to hide her tears.

  “No one liked it?” Didn’t everyone like candy? What was wrong with the people in St. Louis?

  Her chin dipped. “They threw it all away.”

  Something wasn’t making any sense. “You mean you made candy and you brought it here? To the ball?”

  She cupped the handkerchief over her mouth and held it to her nose, nodding.

  Making candy seemed like a strange thing for a queen to have to do. “I never had the chance to try it. And I consider myself an expert in candy.”

  “You do? You like candy?”

  “Like candy? You could say it’s become my profession.”

  “Would you—would you like to try some?” The glow of the ballroom reflected off the tears that had made a path down her cheek. If she would just turn her head a little bit more . . . maybe I would recognize her.

  “I would love to try some.”

  Her chin tipped up as a trembling smile crept up her face. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and for the first time that evening, she looked up into my eyes.

  It was her.

  As she looked at me, her eyes widened. “But—I know you, don’t I?”

  I flashed her a grin and bowed. “I believe we’ve met before.”

  “You’re—you’re the man from the street! The one I bumped into.” Her smile disappeared as she glanced toward the floor. She took a step from the shadows, moving toward the stairs. “And now I’ve inconvenienced you again. You must think me so rude.”

  I stepped forward and caught her hand in mine. “Don’t go. Not yet. You promised me a taste of your candy.”

  For one long moment, she looked as if she might leave, but then she held up a fancy bag that dangled from her arm and fished inside it. When she brought out her hand, her fist was closed.

  I held out my own hand, palm up.

  She dropped something into it.

  My fingers closed around it, but not fast enough to trap hers. I put it to my mouth and took a bite. Chewed. “Hmm.”

  She’d been watching me. At my comment, a silvery tear spilled from the corner of an eye. “You don’t like it either.”

  “I didn’t say that. What I said was . . . hmm. It’s just that I’ve never tasted anything like it before.” And I didn’t particularly want to again.

  “They’re hazelnuts.”

  I nodded.

  “And nougat.”

  I swallowed the rest whole before I’d have to chew it again. It had a strange, musty taste to it. “Have you ever thought of trying peanuts?”

  Her chin trembled. But then it lifted. “Everyone’s tried peanuts. I wanted to do something different.”

  She was so pretty with that hair around her forehead and those large blue eyes. “Then I have to say you succeeded.”

  Her eyes darkened for a moment, but then she broke into a smile. That dazzling, breathtaking smile. “That’s the ni
cest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

  I smiled back. “The texture’s very . . . different.”

  “I know! The chewiness of the nuts and the creaminess of the nougat. I tried something like it once before and I wanted to see if I could match it.”

  “And did you?”

  She seemed to give my question some thought. Then she looked me right in the eye. “I think—I had thought—that mine was even better.”

  “Then does it really matter if no one else liked it?”

  “That was the whole point. The only point. To make something I thought everyone else would like.” The corners of her mouth had dipped again.

  “Do you do this often? Just . . . make things up?” Usually people seemed so set on doing the same things the same way they always had.

  “All the time! When my father was still . . .” A shadow seemed to pass over her face. Something about her glow dimmed. “I used to do it all the time when my father was well. Back when I was a child.”

  “I don’t have the first idea about how to make candy.” At least not without a factory and an army of workers. “But I do like to eat it.”

  The beginnings of a smile pulled at her lips. “Then you’re my favorite kind of person.”

  “You really like it, don’t you? Making candy?”

  “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do: help my father make candy.”

  “Then it would be a shame if everyone down there talked you out of doing it.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “But why should I even try anymore if I’m not good at it?”

  “Aren’t you? Even the best candymakers must sometimes make mistakes.”

  She smiled again, but this time it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “You’re very kind.” She handed my handkerchief back. And then she glanced around the balcony. “Did you . . . follow me up here?”

  I shrugged. “Someone had to. Besides, I don’t belong down there, with all those fancy folks.”

  She gave me a look, from the tips of my bow tie to the tops of my shoes. “Why not?”

  “I’m not like them. Not really. You can pretend to be anyone if you wear the right clothes.” I turned back toward the railing and looked out at the people who were dancing down in the ballroom.

  She put a hand to my arm.

  I wanted to take it up and press a kiss to it, but I didn’t. It was something I was sure Charles would never do.

  “You should go back. They need you down there. I need you down there. You’re different.”

  I flashed her a smile. I knew all about being different. “Different isn’t always better.”

  “You’re the only one tonight who truly saw me. I meant it, what I said before. You’re very kind.”

  That’s the second time she’d said it. And tonight was the only time anyone had ever accused me of that. Except for my mother. But mothers didn’t count. They were always saying things like that.

  She squeezed my arm, then drew her hand away before I could reach over to grab it. “Besides, who cares what they think? Isn’t that what you just told me?”

  I straightened and looked at her. “Easy for you to say. I’ll bet you grew up here with all of them.”

  “I did.” She looked away. “But everything’s different now. I don’t really belong either.”

  Then that made two of us.

  I glanced over at her. She wasn’t crying anymore. And soon, someone was bound to notice their queen was missing. Even old Charlie knew enough to understand that Charles couldn’t be the man she was found alone with in a dark balcony. I held an arm out toward the door, where a pale light shone from the staircase. “Shall we?”

  I let her leave first, then I waited a few minutes before I followed. I knew what happened to girls who ruined their reputations. Though I didn’t know how those things were handled in polite society, I couldn’t imagine anyone looking on them more kindly than folks from the South Side would have.

  Unfortunately, my father met me at the bottom step. “I’m not sure what’s considered proper in Chicago, but here in St. Louis, the only kind of girl you’d be alone with in the dark is a whore. Or your fiancée.” He frowned. “The rules are different here, and I’m taking a lot of risks trying to make sure you’re accepted. You need to act like a gentleman as long as you’re here in the city with me.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  He waved off my protests with the hand that held his cigar. “And stay away from that girl, in particular.”

  “But—”

  “Here’s something I’ve learned since I’ve been here: A gentleman is as a gentleman does. All these people here are happy to treat you like one just as long as you don’t give them any reason not to. This city can give you a second chance at life, just the way it gave me one. You can be anything you want here.”

  “And I appreciate that, but I was only—”

  He leaned close. “I know what I’m talking about. I’ve left the past behind. Finished and done. You can do it, too, just as long as you don’t mess up.” He turned and walked back into the hall, leaving a cloud of pungent smoke hanging in the air behind him.

  13

  “Are you all right, Lucy?” Sam had seen me walk back into the ballroom. Unfortunately, so had my mother.

  I looked back over my shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of that man I’d been talking to. As I watched, he stepped through the door and acknowledged me with a touch of his hand to his forehead. And then he flashed me that dimpled smile.

  I smiled in return before I could remember not to. Being up there alone with him in the balcony probably hadn’t been wise.

  “Lucy?” My mother reached my side and took hold of my arm. “You have responsibilities to uphold tonight as queen. Everybody knows you’ve only just got back from Europe. You need to show them that you’re more refined, not less.”

  “I am.” Of course I was. I looked back once more as my mother steered me through the crowds, but the man had gone.

  Mother and I rode home later through gaslit streets as automobiles buzzed up to and then swung out around the carriage to pass us. I dug into the tufting of the bench with my finger. Neither of us spoke. At the house, the coachman handed us down from the carriage. As we went up the walk, Mother gestured to Father’s room. The light was on. “He hasn’t been sleeping well. At least, not at night. Why don’t you go tell him about the evening.”

  He might have predicted the outcome himself. No good could come from a girl meddling in business.

  Mother pushed me toward the stairs with a firm, though gentle, hand. “Go on.”

  I knocked on the door, softly enough not to startle him if he were sleeping, but loudly enough for him to hear, should he be awake.

  He answered and so I entered.

  A smile lit his face. “Sugar Plum! My Queen of Love and Beauty.” The smile was the only sign of vitality. Everything else about him—his hair, his eyes, his face—was gray. “How was it?”

  Terrible. Wretched. Humiliating. “It was fine.” At least my mother hadn’t known of my candy’s debut.

  “I wish I could have been there. I wish I could have seen it when they announced you as the queen. I’m sure you were a complete success.”

  I was an abysmal failure.

  But still the man’s words echoed in my thoughts. “Does it really matter if no one else liked it?”

  It did . . . and it didn’t. If I hadn’t created the candy in order to save the company, then I would have exulted in the fact that I’d made a chew even better than the one from Europe. But it was poor solace, given the fact that nobody else wanted to eat it. What good was a candymaker if she couldn’t create anything anyone liked?

  “What is it, Sugar Plum? You look as if someone’s stolen all your candy.”

  I had a sudden, wild urge to laugh. Someone had stolen it. They’d taken it and thrown it all away.

  “Tell me about it.”

  I bent and kissed him on the cheek. “There’s nothing to tell. I’d been holding
on to a dream for a while, and tonight I realized that it will never come true.”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. Can’t save spun sugar once it starts to melt, but you can turn it into something else.”

  Something else. I didn’t want anything else. I patted his hand, then turned off the lamp.

  Mother was right. She’d always been right. A lady didn’t belong in the kitchen . . . and Father was right too. She didn’t belong in business either. I hadn’t had to go to Europe at all in order to learn those lessons. I’d learned them right here. I’d have to tell my mother that I’d failed. There was no point in trying to delay the sale of the company any longer.

  Only I didn’t know how to tell her.

  Admitting to myself that I’d failed was hard enough. I couldn’t yet bring myself to admit it to anyone else. Except Sam. He already knew, though he was hardly sympathetic.

  He paused in sweeping the back porch the next morning. “You have to admit it’s hard to top Royal Taffy. And your father’s been trying for ten years now.”

  “I don’t have to admit anything. And I’d have thought you’d be just a little more understanding.” He had changed while I’d been gone. And it hadn’t been for the better. It really was just me against everyone else. I felt a tear slide down my cheek and for one mad moment wished for the comforting arms of that man from the ball. What an odd thought! And why hadn’t I asked for his name? “I just . . . don’t you have a handkerchief?”

  He looked up from the broom at me, startled. “I, uh, sure. Of course I do.”

  “Can I have it?”

  “I was saving it.”

  “Sam!”

  He looked chastised and stuck a hand into his pocket. But when he brought it out, a red wrapper fluttered from it and drifted to the ground.

  “Is that a—”

  He snatched it up and shoved it back into his trousers.