George nodded. After a deep breath, he began. As he spoke, Michele sensed that he had never told this story before.
“I met your mother at the home of the Astors. I was fortuitously early that day, the first to arrive for a card game with the gentlemen. When I went into the library to wait, I bumped into Mrs. Astor’s new social secretary—Alanna. The moment I laid eyes on her, I felt … well, it was the most curious thing. I felt as though I had rediscovered someone precious to me, someone who had been missing all that time.”
Michele felt a jolt in her stomach. That’s just how I feel about Philip.
“She was like a dream come to life,” George continued, a faraway look in his eyes. “I had never forgotten my favorite journey as a boy, when I accompanied my father to County Kerry, Ireland. Since then, I had been entranced by the Irish culture, and so Alanna was simply fascinating to me, with her shining red hair and light Irish brogue, and the mesmerizing stories she wove about her homeland. As we grew to know and understand each other, it felt like we were kindred spirits.” George closed his eyes for a moment. “I was married when we met. Henrietta and I already had a son, with Violet on the way. I’ve always been fond of my wife, of course. But what I felt for Alanna … well, it was simply the only time I’ve ever known real love or true happiness. You can imagine my joy when she told me she shared my feelings.”
Michele and Clara both watched George intently as he spoke, riveted by the story.
“I desperately wished to marry Alanna, but please understand, as rare as divorces are now, they were even more impossible to obtain in the 1890s. The courts were extremely reluctant to grant them, and Alanna and I both knew that leaving Henrietta meant leaving my children. I couldn’t do that to them. And then Alanna discovered that she was pregnant—and she panicked.” George’s eyes filled with tears. “She was terrified to be pregnant out of wedlock, and she couldn’t bear for our child to be raised as an illegitimate.”
Michele looked at Clara. She was sitting motionless, her face frozen, but her eyes too brimmed with tears.
“Alanna had a lifelong friend from Ireland—they had both immigrated to the States at the same time, and took care of each other here. His name was Edmond, and he had always loved her.” George’s face contorted with pain. “When Alanna confided in him her secret, he offered to marry her and raise the child as his own. Alanna thought this was the answer to her prayers for our unborn child. They were married immediately at city hall. And then, on the most terrible day of my life, she came and told me everything, the wedding band on her finger. She said that I’d always be the love of her life, but for your sake, she had to pretend you were Edmond’s and move back to Ireland with him, where they would have the help of their families in raising you.
“I always wanted to be your father. I hated that Edmond was the one who got to hold you and soothe your cries and watch you grow. That should have been me.” George’s voice broke with anguish. “But Alanna wouldn’t separate from you. She said we had to end our affair immediately, before anyone had a chance to speculate that you might be mine, and she insisted on taking you to Ireland as soon as you were strong enough for the journey. It was the most heartbreaking time of my life.” George took a shaky breath. “I tried to find you and Alanna for years. I hired a detective, and it took a decade to uncover the truth, for my detective focused his search in Ireland. But you three had never made it there. Alanna and Edmond tragically died of the Spanish influenza when you were four years old, just before you three were set to depart for Belfast. You cannot imagine my shock and devastation when I learned that my Alanna was gone and our daughter had been living in an orphanage this entire time, right here in my city.
“I love you, Clara, and all I’ve wanted all of these years was to be your father,” George declared, his tears now falling freely. “Might I have a second chance at that?”
Clara’s hands trembled.
“I—I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “It’s so much to believe. Everything I thought I knew about my mother and father … was wrong.”
George shook his head. “Not everything. You thought you had a mother and father who loved you, and each other, very much. And that is true. I miss and love your mother every day—and I’ve loved you all this time, even before knowing you.”
Clara stared at her father, and as the truth sank in, tears began to fall down her cheeks. She got up and took a tentative step toward him, and the two of them hugged, crying as they shared their first father-daughter embrace.
As Michele watched them, she was taken aback by her own mix of emotions. She was thrilled for Clara, but a painful ache had settled into the pit of her stomach as she’d heard George’s story and watched him embrace his daughter. She thought of her broken family: her mother, who was gone; her grandparents, who were in their own distant world; and her father, who she would never know. She had never before felt the loss of him, but now, watching the emotional reunion of Clara and George, Michele felt as if her heart were being twisted by an invisible fist. She lifted the skeleton key necklace and stared at it. If only Henry Irving could somehow find her and give her the answers she needed … If only she could wake up the next morning and find herself no longer an orphan …
Michele quietly left the study and drifted off to Clara’s room to wait. When Clara returned a while later, her eyes were watery but bright. She threw her arms around Michele.
“I cannot thank you enough for uncovering the truth and bringing me and my father back together,” she said, clasping Michele’s hands gratefully.
“I’m glad I could,” Michele said. “You’re so lucky to have this chance at being part of a real family.”
“I’m so accustomed to loneliness,” Clara remarked. “It’s difficult to believe I might actually be loved.”
“Well, it’s clear your dad really loves you,” Michele said, giving her a tremulous smile. “And you also had a mom and a surrogate father who would have done anything for you. I think what Edmond did for you and your mom was pretty amazing.”
“Yes, it was,” Clara agreed. “I feel grateful and saddened by it, all at once.”
“When is George going to tell the rest of the family about you?” Michele asked.
“He wanted to tell them straightaway, but I asked him not to,” Clara replied, sitting down at her vanity.
“What? Why did you do that?” Michele looked at Clara in confusion.
“Well, Father is going to adopt me. So I am officially going to be Miss Clara Windsor.” Clara’s cheeks flushed with happiness. “And Violet has guessed the truth. But I don’t want to cause Henrietta and little Frances pain, and I know it would hurt them if Father confirmed that I’m his daughter. It’s enough for me that he and I know. And I know that I was conceived in love, but … well, you know how it would look to society. It would ruin the family reputation. I could never let Father do that for me.”
“Wow,” Michele marveled. “That’s really generous of you to keep that a secret your entire life!” So I’m the only person alive in my time who knows the truth, she thought with amazement.
“Father doesn’t like it, but I know in time he will see that it is the best thing for all of us,” Clara said.
“But how will he explain why he’s adopting you?” Michele asked.
“We’re going to say that my father was a childhood friend of his, and he couldn’t bear knowing that his close friend’s daughter was a penniless orphan,” Clara explained.
“Hmm. That’s a good one.”
“I admit I am nervous about how Violet and Henrietta and the others will react to Father adopting me,” Clara said, biting her lip. “But he says there is nothing they can do to object. He says Henrietta wouldn’t dare leave him over it, for fear of what society would say. And even if she and Violet do shun me, as long as I have Father, it’ll be all right.”
“I bet they’ll get over it and grow to love you,” Michele said encouragingly. “You’ll be a good influence on those snobs!”
Clara covered her mouth, giggling. Just then, one of the maids knocked on the door.
“Dinner is about to be served, Miss Clara. Will you be requesting a tray again this evening?”
“No, thank you. I’ll join the family downstairs.” Clara grinned at Michele.
Before heading to dinner, she gave Michele another hug. “Thank you so much. You are the kindest ghost I could ever hope to meet.”
“Thanks.” Michele laughed. “Good luck, Clara.”
Michele lingered in the room after she left. Clara’s so lucky she has a real family to have dinner with every night, Michele thought wistfully. As she pictured the solitary dinner in her room that awaited her back in 2010, the loveless atmosphere in the Windor Mansion of her time, she felt a fresh surge of pain. She had to get out of the house. She had to try to escape the dull ache inside her.
“Michele!”
Her heart leaped as she looked up. She had just passed through the Windsor Mansion gates and was heading toward the Walker Mansion—and there was Philip, grinning ecstatically at her. Michele raced toward him, overcome with emotion. But before they could embrace, he grabbed her hand and led her to the back of the Walker Mansion, where no one would see him. Once they were alone, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her lips and hair and eyelids.
“You’re back!” He broke off, looking at her with concern. “What’s the matter? Have you been crying?”
Michele looked away self-consciously. Philip tilted her chin toward him.
“Tell me. What’s wrong?” he asked soothingly.
“I’m just—” Michele swallowed hard.
Philip stroked her hair. “It’s all right. Go on.”
“I’m so alone,” Michele whispered. “Except when I’m with you.”
Philip held her closer. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t have—I don’t have any parents.” Suddenly, Michele’s tears broke forth with sobs. “And I might as well not even have grandparents. I just—I feel like I don’t have any family in the world, like I’ve just been thrown out there to fend for myself.”
Philip stroked her trembling back, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry … so sorry,” he murmured. “I know what you mean. I feel just the same.”
Michele wiped her eyes. “Aren’t we a pair?”
Philip leaned his forehead against hers. “Someone once told me that friends are the family you choose. So here’s an idea—I’ll be your family, and you can be mine.”
Michele felt a warm glow inside her. She gave him a watery smile. “Okay … That sounds nice.”
“Now, it’s time we cheer you up,” Philip declared, the sparkle returning to his eyes. “I’m taking you on a proper date.”
“Um, where can we go?” Michele replied with a giggle. “No one else can see me. They’ll think you’re pretty crazy if you try to get a table for two at a restaurant.”
“I have an idea,” he said with a wink. He took her hand and led her into the Walker Mansion, down the stairs and into the servants’ quarters. Philip swung open the door to the kitchen.
“Mr. Walker!” “Oh, my goodness!” “What are you doing here?” The cries rang out among the cook and the scullery maids, all of whom looked stunned at the sight of Philip in their kitchen. Michele gave Philip a bewildered look. What was the big deal?
“Oh, do relax. Surely there is nothing wrong with me visiting the kitchen now and again,” Philip said cheerfully.
“But the masters and mistresses of the house never come down to the kitchen!” the cook exclaimed. “It’s not proper for you to see us. You know that, Master Philip.”
“Well, it’s about time we disrupted that silly tradition, don’t you think?” Philip smiled. “Now, I was wondering if you might prepare me a picnic basket. Maybe enough food for two, as I am extra hungry tonight.”
Michele grinned. A turn-of-the-century picnic! What a perfect idea.
“Isn’t it rather late for a picnic?” the cook asked. “I’m not sure your uncle would—”
“Oh, I just need some fresh air and time alone to think,” Philip said, improvising. “And please, there is really no need to tell my uncle.”
“Well, all right,” the cook agreed. She quickly put together a basket as Philip called out suggestions: “The best cheeses, salami, and fresh bread—oh, and chocolate truffles too!”
After the picnic basket was fully stocked, Michele and Philip ran up the stairs to the main quarters of the mansion. Staying close together, they walked into the still, starry night toward Central Park. Michele was nearly dizzy from all the stimulation to her senses. She was mesmerized by the passing sights of old New York at nightfall while her heart raced from Philip’s scent and the feel of him next to her. They walked past the twenty-story emerald-topped Plaza Hotel and into the park through Scholars’ Gate at Fifth Avenue. As they entered the park, Michele’s heart rate picked up even more. She wondered what this famous landmark would be like one hundred years earlier.
The pastoral, picturesque landscape was just as Michele knew it, its wide, rolling meadows contrasting with a woodsy, untamed hiking area known as the Ramble and the more formal walking grounds, called the Mall. There was the park’s most famed monument, Belvedere Castle, with its Victorian structure towering atop giant rocks. Surrounding Michele and Philip was the comfortingly familiar meandering lake. But the silence and emptiness of the park made it feel like an altogether different place. Even in all the movies she had seen that featured Central Park, Michele had never seen it empty but for two people. Yet tonight it looked like they were the only ones there.
“It’s like our own private sanctuary,” Michele said, marveling, to Philip.
As they walked through the park, Michele didn’t see any playgrounds or boathouses, and the Great Lawn was missing too. They haven’t been built yet, she realized. Philip led the way to the grassy Cherry Hill, which overlooked the eastern edge of the lake and the romantic cast-iron Bow Bridge, the star of many Manhattan-set movies. As Philip spread a blanket over a patch of grass for them, Michele stopped to admire the fountain at the center of the hill, a granite pool with a black and gilt cast-iron structure in the center, topped with a golden spire and round lamps.
“What are you concentrating so hard on?” Philip chuckled, gesturing for her to sit beside him.
“I just … I can’t believe I’m here with you. I want to remember every detail of tonight. So I can relive it whenever I want,” Michele answered shyly.
Philip smiled at her. “Why not write it down, then?”
Michele’s cheeks turned pink. “It’s funny you say that.”
“Why?” Philip asked.
“Because … I actually do write. I’ve been writing poems and making up lyrics to songs since I was a little girl. My secret dream is to be a professional lyricist for singers and Broadway shows,” Michele confided, smiling. “But I mean, I have no idea if I’m any good at it. The only person I’ve ever let read my work is my mom, and she loved it. But then, she was my mom, so how could she not?”
“I can’t imagine you being anything but wonderful at it,” Philip said encouragingly. “You have a poet’s soul, the way you see and understand things, even things one hundred years in the past! How could your writing not be great?”
Michele felt her heart lift at his words.
“You know, I had stopped writing after my mom died,” she said suddenly. “My writing was something I’d only ever shared with her. It was … our thing. When she died, I felt like I lost my writing too, like I was permanently blocked. But then, after meeting you, it … well, it all came back.”
“Really?” Philip’s eyes warmed. He touched her cheek. “What did you write?”
“Lyrics to a new song,” Michele said shyly.
“Oh?” Philip looked even more interested. “What is the song called?”
“Um… ‘Bring the Colors Back,’ ” she answered with an embarrassed giggle.
Philip grinned and kissed h
er.
“I like that title. You a lyricist, me a composer—you and I make a complete song.” Philip sat up straighter, looking excited. “That’s it! We have to write a song together. Perhaps I can try to find a melody for ‘Bring the Colors Back.’ ”
“That—that would be amazing,” Michele said slowly. “But …” She was too embarrassed to finish the sentence, but the idea made her nervous. What if Philip thought her writing sucked? Clearly sensing her hesitation, he smiled at her.
“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he said reassuringly. “You’ve told me a secret, so I will tell you mine. I haven’t repeated this yet, since I know my mother and uncle won’t approve—but after I graduate this June, I’m going to pursue a full career as a composer and pianist. In fact, I’m expected to attend Harvard next year, but … well, I’ve been accepted to the Institute of Musical Art here in New York, which is the nation’s best music college. And that’s where I intend to go.”
“Wow!” Michele exclaimed, beaming at him. That’s Juilliard! she thought, remembering from her own college research that Juilliard had originally been called the Institute of Musical Art.
“I want my life to have a purpose. Do you know what I mean?” Philip looked intently at her. “Something more meaningful than simply accumulating more wealth through the family holdings. I know Mother expects me to graduate Harvard and then help Uncle run the business, but she will be in for a bit of a shock when I enroll in music conservatory instead. I only hope that between that and … well … breaking off my engagement to Violet, she can forgive me at some point.”
“Breaking off your engagement?” Michele repeated. “You—you’ve decided on that, then?”
Philip nodded seriously.
“Philip, are you … sure? About Violet, I mean.” She bit her lip anxiously. “I feel like I’m disrupting your whole life.”
“But in the best way,” Philip countered. “Don’t you see that my life needed to be disrupted?” When Michele didn’t answer, he continued, “I was never in love with Violet. We were simply friends who had grown up together, whose parents intended on creating even more wealth by marrying us. That’s how all New York society marriages work—but it’s not for me. I need my music, and I need—well, after finding you …” Philip flushed, suddenly looking awkward. “Well, how can I be expected to marry someone else now?”
Timeless Page 12
