Pearl on Cherry

by Chanse Lowell

  “Please, good gentleman,” someone’s voice boomed with a baritone husk, stationed somewhere deep in the crowd. “Go home. We will see to it the banks are backed and—”

  “How?” the burly balding man to his right howled. “We have no guarantee!” He shook his fists in the air.

  Morgan drifted away and worked his way up the steps so he was on higher ground. “I will back the banks even more. I will do it so your families do not starve!” He nodded at William.

  William worked his way over to Morgan. “I will do the same,” he shouted.

  A few murmurs rose, and like a rippling wave, the men all pressed in on William and Morgan.

  “How can we trust the likes of you?” that same angry man said.

  “Because I intend to marry someone who has suffered as all of you have. She knows what it means to be destitute, and I have sworn to the love of my life she will never go hungry again. She cares about all of you, and because of her, I do, too.” William swallowed, and his stomach tightened.

  “Who is this phantom woman?” the same antagonistic man bellowed.

  “Her name is Clarissa Stone, and she works harder than any woman I’ve ever met. I admire her tenacity, her spirit and integrity. I am a changed man because of her.”

  The crowd slowed with their movements, and there seemed to be a hush befalling them.

  “We will straighten this out,” Morgan said, waving with his arms toward the right. “Please, vacate the premises. Let us gather resources. Let us take care of this.”

  The men continued to bicker for a few minutes.

  William cleared his throat and was struck with an idea. “I vow to you I will not leave this place until this is solved. My motorcar will stay where it is until we have a plan to move forward. And when we have done that, I will promise you a colossal celebration in a few months’ time so we can forget this madness ever happened. You have my word.”

  Someone backed him up by starting a chant, “The hands of faith. The hands of faith.” They all raised their hands in the air—some gloved, some bared, but all were in agreement, shouting it in unison.

  Over the next hour, men shook his hand, along with J.P. Morgan and a few other wealthy men that were committed to back the banks.

  When the last of the men were gone, he slumped against the wall.

  “That was a fine speech. Do you intend to actually stay? I had heard you had found your roots in France and planned to live there.” Morgan motioned toward the double doors.

  “I am bound to keep my word. If I did not, my sweet cherry girl could never look me in the eye again—and frankly, I would have to avoid every reflection I found of myself. I am your man to help and serve these people. My money, though it has lessened lately, is here to assist.” William followed him inside.

  For the next two days straight, the group of men in charge of solving this dilemma debated, shuffled papers around, shared ideas and almost lost their minds.

  It wasn’t until Tyrone and Clarissa made an appearance and Tyrone shared his ideas that something shifted.

  “My family knows what it means to watch suffering individuals. If we put money back into the market and back into circulation, this city will thrive again,” Tyrone said, and he slapped the deed of the theater onto the table.

  William’s eyes went wide. It seemed he’d signed it over to Clarissa.

  He turned to her. “What is the meaning of this?”

  She beamed at him. “Tyrone and I are using all the proceeds to fund the banks and this panic. I will perform for free, and so will he. We have a new writer, and his new play is very apt for this situation. It’s entitled The Servant in the House.” She hugged William.

  The room broke out in applause.

  “It will break records. I promise you that. These people will need an escape as we clean this mess up.” Tyrone took William’s hand, shook it and left the room in a grand exit.

  * * *

  December 31, 1907

  The night was lit up, and though fireworks were missing this year, the new ball was ready to drop and herald in the New Year.

  “A few hours, and you will be Mrs. William Berling Ferrismore II.” He was barely able to stand still.

  “It seems criminal after so many around us have lost all their money,” she said.

  “Yes, ‘tis a shame, but we continue to help as many as we can.” He smiled and held her in his arms, her back to his chest, his chin resting on her shoulder. “And you and Tyrone have raised so many funds from the play, it’s astounding. I am in awe of you, and I love watching you on stage—always.”

  He rocked her back and forth to beat of the song people were singing in the street while she hummed and melted into him.

  Tyrone approached them, beaming wickedly. “It’s ready.” He stood next to them, gesturing up at the lit up ball. “Grand idea—the ball drop. Seems like a great way to break with old traditions and show our faith in this city.”

  “Yes, it should send a message that we will never be beaten down.” William kissed the side of her cheek. “We promised a grand celebration, and this city shall have it.”

  She hummed a little louder and gripped his arms wrapped around her waist.

  William glanced over at Tyrone. Should he mention what he knew?

  He kept hesitating, unsure of how to phrase it. Could he just blurt, “See here—I might be your brother. Want to smoke cigars and share stories about our father?”

  He blinked and tried to shake off the strange vibe he was getting from Tyrone.

  They actually did have quite a few similar facial features, and their body type was fairly similar as well.

  William sucked in a breath like he was winded and turned back to the sparkling ball at the top of the Times tower.

  “It’s majestic almost, isn’t it?” She stroked the backs of his hands with a lazy caress.

  He hummed his response.

  Everything was calm in the midst of this madness.

  Somewhere out here were all the people they both loved.

  Her cousin, Leo. Her friends, his servants, more of his possible family and people he did business with.

  It seemed all of New York City was in attendance, and the white noise and energy was palpable.

  As the night wore on, Tyrone chatted with them, and William kept getting this odd feeling like Tyrone had some secret agenda of his own going on.

  So many times William would open his mouth to ask him, but the words would get stuck in his throat.

  Besides, he wanted to pay attention to his girl and this exciting occasion.

  Familial issues could be dealt with later.

  “It’s almost time!” She jumped for a second, and he released his hold on her, stepped to her side and held her hand.

  The countdown began, and right as his heart was nearing his gut, mimicking what the ball was to do very shortly as the ropes were tugged and yanked into place to lower it, he heard the unmistakable sound of Tyrone’s father, Harold, calling out, “Son! I’m here!”

  The older gentleman pushed his way through a thicket of people and right when he was about to crash into his son, he turned to William and hugged him. “My son!”

  “What in damnation?” William groaned and somehow lost contact with Cherry girl and hugged back this man he’d only seen a handful of times at the theater in passing.

  “Son?” Tyrone cried out.

  Harold Power let go of William, and with tears streaming down his cheeks pointed at William. “Yes, he’s my son.”

  The ball descended, William was blinded by the smiling man before him and something inside him slid into place.

  Maybe it was his heart? Or maybe it was his soul?

  He didn’t know what it was, but when his mother came up on the other side of him, pulled him into a hug and whispered in his ear, “Happy New Year, my William!” that thing that clicked—it suddenly locked into place and he was hugging her tighter than ever, feeling right in his bones and in his heart.

 
He picked her up, circled around with her in his arms and laughed.

  His heart enlarged, and all he could do was hold her.

  The crowd burst into raucous cheering, noise makers were let loose and he was temporarily deafened by the roaring.

  It mattered little, though.

  Because the minute he let go of her, she went to Harold, took his hand and set her head on his shoulder.

  Tyrone stood with his mouth agape, staring at them and then at William in turn.

  Moments later the sea of people were dancing, singing and some trying to escape the snare of being in this web of bodies.

  “How did this happen?” Tyrone’s shoulders rolled forward.

  “I should be ashamed to admit to an affair, but you had to know,” Harold began.

  “But why? You love Mother,” Tyrone said, his tone more defiant than shocked now.

  “A man can love more than one woman. We’ve discussed this before, and you knew I wanted Genevieve, here, more than anyone else.” Harold turned to William’s mother and simply gazed in her eyes. “Though I cannot have you, I will ever hold you in my heart.”

  “And now you hold what we made together when you hug our son,” she replied, her eyes misted over.

  The hum of energy between them was as electric as what William experienced daily with his cherry.

  When he glanced over at his darling girl, she was smiling and crying, watching the simple exchange between this couple that could never be.

  No one said another word, they simply drifted apart.

  An hour later, William held his girl as they rode in a carriage to Central Park to finally be wed.

  They were silent, and so many unspoken emotions hung in the air.

  Their feet ghosted over the walks once they were on foot again, headed to the Bethesda terrace. They emerged from under it like they were being reborn themselves.

  “See the Angel of the Waters?” he asked her, tucking her arm into his.

  “Yes. She’s mesmerizing,” she replied, her tone soft and filled with awe.

  “She’s much like us, isn’t she?”

  She stopped walking, forcing him to do the same. “How so? Am I an eight-foot winged creature, looking down on you?”

  He chuckled. “Hardly.” He tugged her forward, approaching the fountain and the angel frozen in time. “She has those four cherubs surrounding her. Each one represents some different virtue—temperance, health, purity and peace. We’ve both had people or circumstances that have brought us together and moved us into those roles.”

  He stopped in front of the fountain, bent over and scooped up a handful of water and then cupped her hand beneath his. The water was released a moment later into her palm.

  “We have exchanged them back and forth, sometimes losing some of ourselves, sometimes gaining more, but always we find solace.” He dumped her hand over and let the remaining water fall away.

  Her eyes followed his hand as he drifted it up her inner arm.

  “Leo was your health. Your cousin took care of your physical needs.” He swallowed. “Pauline forced me to improve in matters of temperance. She showed me my cravings do not own me or make me the person I am. They are a part of me I can control and enjoy.”

  “If she did that for you, then what could I have possibly done?”

  “Shhh . . . I’m getting there.”

  Her right shoulder dropped, and she scowled.

  He brought his wet, right index finger up and ran it across her bottom lip. “You have brought me peace through your purity.”

  “And who is the angel, then?”

  “My mother. For without her, I would have never known why I was despised, why I even exist—and now we both have a parent to love and include in our life. She’s there to watch over us, but never intrude.”

  Right as he said these words, a priest was approaching them, and the very person he’d just spoken of was trailing behind him.

  “She’s to witness this most treasured event,” he said.

  He pulled a sixpence out of his pocket, tucked it in Cherry girl’s shoe without an explanation and winked at her.

  When he straightened to his full height, she kissed him and shook her head like he was a silly, lovesick boy.

  As Genevieve and the priest continued to near them—Leo and Elizabeth, along with Pauline and Samuel, emerged from under the tunnel.

  “We are missing Tyrone, though,” Cherry said.

  “He has another purpose tonight, and you do not get to question this time. I promise, it is for a good reason.” He smiled at her.

  She smiled back, and under the haze of a cloudy but spectacular night, they were married like two lovers ought to be—in a blanket of peace and surrounded by a few cherished friends and family.

  * * *

  Clarissa boarded the ship with him directly behind her, carrying her bag.

  She stopped once she was out of the way of the other few passengers boarding behind them.

  “William, why did you put a sixpence in my shoe?” She settled up against the railing.

  “I can answer that,” Tyrone said, walking up the bridge to the ship.

  “Are you joining us?” she asked Tyrone.

  “No—only passing through for a few minutes to wish you both well.” He handed a parcel to William.

  “So? Why the money under my foot while I was being wed? Is it that old saying, ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue—and a lucky sixpence in your shoe?’” Her eyes narrowed at Tyrone.

  “Yes.” Tyrone smirked and chuckled. “I’m a sap.” He looked up at the sky for a moment. “I told him I would not do this tradition for him if he did not do that one. I believe in the power of coins.” He pulled a sixpence out of his pocket. “It’s a pair. They always brought me luck, and my dad told me mere moments ago as he drove with me here that one had belonged to him and one to Genevieve—William’s mother. They had promised to marry each other and exchanged coins rather than rings. At the time, it was all they could afford.” His voice got choked up at the end.

  “What a lovely story. Thank you for sharing it.” She reached out and gripped his wrist.

  Tyrone smiled. “The coin is my gift to you—a sign of my goodwill. It’s a lucky charm to symbolize how life will bring you both wealth and happiness by surrounding yourself in things you enjoy. Including lacy lady’s garments.” He bit his bottom lip and almost wore an expression of gloating.

  “Yes, I’ve told him,” William explained to her. “He has done this for me tonight, and he has connections.” William tried to shoo him off, flapping his wrist, but Tyrone stood stock still, staring at her.

  “Why couldn’t you have had a tempting sister?” Tyrone’s smile spread wider.

  “Oh good Lord—what a burden that would’ve been.” She laughed. “William can barely handle me half the time. Can you imagine if I’d had a sibling to burden him? He would’ve ran screaming all the way to France.”

  William clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I’m hardly that squeamish and girlie.”

  “You, sir, are a lucky bastard, and that’s all I shall say. Good night to you both.” Tyrone hugged her and then departed.

  William tossed the box in his hands up in the air for a moment, then caught it—grinning all the while.

  They were shown to their estate room and once the door was closed and they were alone, he passed her the box. “Open it.”

  She gave him a reprimanding look, took it from him and sat on the edge of the bed.

  He took a spot on the blue settee in the corner.

  She opened it, and a V formed above the bridge of her nose. “Three? Why are there three?”

  She pulled out the three slippers and lined them up on the bed.

  “I left one for Tyrone. He’s to use the other when he gets married and the other set of ballet slippers are for you. No proper actress and dancer can go about in faulty footwear.”

  “I’m still at a loss for the third. What am I to
do with it?”

  He grinned. “I am to drink champagne out of it.” He motioned to the bottle sitting in ice on top of the side table a few feet away from him.

  She lifted out the wrapped articles beneath the shoes.

  One by one she emancipated the beaded reticule, the melon scarf they’d played with many times and a new set of matching bra and panties.

  “When I get back from our honeymoon, I am attending women’s rallies religiously. I will tell them you support women’s votes,” she said, laughing as she tossed him one of the ballet slippers.

  “You can tell them what you like, but only after I’ve thoroughly ravaged you and fucked you raw.” He got up, grabbed the champagne bottle and opened it. Once it was ready, he prowled after her, stopping right before her, nestling his legs between hers.

  “Undo my trousers.” He jutted his hips forward so his thickening cock was before her face.

  Her fingers were trembling a little as she released him. “No union suit?”

  “I went without. I saw no need.”

  “I wore my undergarments,” she said, gawking.

  “That is fine. Yours are pretty, and I made them for you for this particular occasion, but I will tell you this now—you will go without on this trip unless I tell you otherwise.”

  She blinked, nodded and continued to push his trousers down to his thighs.

  “Hand me your reticule,” he said, motioning for it.

  “What for?” Her jaw flexed.

  “Surely you didn’t think I’d be drinking alone, did you?” He fingered the long strand of pearls she wore that had once been her mothers.

  She grabbed his hand. “My something borrowed.” She swallowed hard. “I never told you how I came in possession of those pink pearls and these.” She blinked, lowered her head and looked up at him through her lashes. “The day my parents died in that tenement disaster—I had been playing dress-up with my sister. She was allowed to wear Mother’s shoes, and I wore her costume jewelry. Mother bade me not to touch her pearls because they were real—passed down from her mother. I snuck and put them in my dress, tucked against my sash. It was all I had left when they were gone.” She sniffed. “So, even though you broke the pink strand that day, you saved me from selling something I cherish more in this world than almost anything.”