Chloe

by Lyn Cote

  Chloe’s life had changed in an instant. I’m married to Theran Black. Tears trailed down her cheeks. She tried to hold them in, but they flowed unchecked. “Don’t cry, honey.” Theran, her husband, pulled her close and hugged her.

  In an instant, the same breathless feeling she’d felt that night after the tango caught Chloe up in its web. Desperate to know she’d done the right thing, she pressed herself against him, drawing his assurance to her. This is my husband. And she turned her face and kissed his lips as she had wanted to for weeks. But even though his lips were reassuringly solid, the feeling of unreality lingered.

  From behind Theran, Roarke gazed at her, but differently. Now, he looked at her the way he always had before yesterday. Had she broken his heart? She couldn’t believe it. But then, she’d barely believed he’d proposed to her.

  Clutching her hand in his, Theran hurried them out the door and down the wide marble staircase. “Let’s go celebrate.”

  Chloe glanced back at Roarke. He nodded to her and she smiled at him uncertainly. I married Theran Black and it was the right thing to do. The judge’s words came back to her: “Marry in haste and repent at leisure.” She closed her eyes and drew on her inner resolve. There will be no repenting. I married for love, not for gain like my mother. We’ll be fine. Everything would turn out all right, she knew it would. I’m married now. Let it all work out.

  The day had passed in a whirl of sightseeing. Each moment made Chloe feel more as if she were in a trance. Every few minutes, Theran would touch her in some way. His touch compelled a response from her, that intensity she’d experienced with their first kiss. She imagined them alone together—completely alone as man and wife. The thought both enticed and frightened her. She kept reminding herself that he was her husband and he would want to be intimate with her. But she had no idea what that meant beyond kisses.

  Riding in taxis and buses, they’d traveled all over Manhattan and across the Brooklyn Bridge and back. They’d all strolled through a buoyant Central Park eating hot dogs—a new food to Chloe and Minnie—and ended with a tour around the stately grounds of Columbia University, now Theran’s alma mater. Proud and awed, Chloe kept glancing at Theran, the stranger who held her hand. I’m married. This is my husband. For all their reality, she could have been saying, “I can fly. This is my airplane.” The words didn’t ring true.

  Now, in early evening, Chloe and everyone looked out a taxi window into what Theran had announced was Harlem. Chloe noticed that the people on the street were almost all Negro. In the backseat, Minnie perched between Kitty and her. Minnie was sitting up straight and looking around, hungry for every sight, just as Chloe was.

  “Minnie, you’ll like it in Harlem,” Kitty said, glancing at Chloe from the girl’s other side.

  “I ’spect I will, Miss Kitty.”

  “I haven’t written you your letter of recommendation yet.” Chloe sat up straighter. She hadn’t been thinking about Minnie leaving her. Her heart suddenly sped up.

  “Minnie won’t be going to any employment agency until Monday,” Theran soothed from the front seat. “Right now we’re taking her to a nice boarding house where she can stay the weekend. When you said you were bringing her along, I thought I better find a place for her. Yesterday I talked to a janitor on campus and he recommended this place, said the landlady was very respectable. I checked and she had a room vacant, so I reserved it for your maid.”

  Chloe looked at the back of Theran’s head. She reached forward and caressed his neck. “That’s so sweet of you, honey.”

  Theran glanced over his shoulder. “I am sweet, sugar.”

  Chloe recoiled. “Sugar” was what her father called her. “Please . . . don’t call me sugar.”

  “Okay. How about ‘honey’?”

  “Fine.” What a silly thing to be talking about. “Fine.”

  The cab pulled into the curb in front of a tall, narrow house. “Here we are, Minnie.”

  Chloe suddenly panicked. She caught Minnie’s shoulder. “Theran, give her our address. Minnie, I’ll go with you Monday to the . . . employment place. I want to make certain you get settled with a nice family.”

  Minnie looked into Chloe’s eyes and smiled reassuringly. “Yes, miss.” Roarke opened the door and Minnie climbed around Kitty and out. “Good-bye, Mr. Theran. Take care of yourself and don’t let them Germans hurt you none.”

  Theran chuckled. “Don’t worry, Minnie. I’ll come home singing a song.”

  “Minnie,” Chloe said, opening her purse, “do you have money?”

  “I been savin’ up, miss. I’ll be fine.”

  Chloe still handed her a dollar. “Come over after one on Monday. Theran gave you the address. I’ll be seeing him off in the morning.” Nodding, Minnie waved and with her cardboard valise walked up the six steps to the door of the boarding house, painted in neat gray and white.

  Chloe felt tears gathering in the back of her throat. Theran would be leaving and so would everyone else familiar. Wasn’t Roarke escorting Kitty home for a visit? That meant her best friend wouldn’t even be here. Suddenly Chloe was very glad Minnie had come with her to New York.

  The rest of the evening fled by—a festive supper at a little Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village and then Roarke and Kitty were dropping Chloe and . . . her husband off at Theran’s rooming house.

  Roarke hung back beside a taxi at the curb, facing Theran and Chloe. “I’m heading home right after I drop Kitty off.”

  “Oh, Roarke, I can’t leave till after Monday,” Kitty said from the front seat. “I have to meet a professor once more.”

  “I can’t wait. I need to get home.” He looked at Chloe.

  She tried to read his eyes, but the curtain had come down and would not be lifted. She’d made her decision and she could see he’d accepted it. She held out her hand. “Thank you for everything, Roarke.” She wished she could say more to her old friend. “Rest on the train. You didn’t sleep much last night.”

  He touched the brim of his hat and then lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “All the best, Miss Chloe.”

  She nodded, unable to speak. Kitty clambered out of the car and hugged her one more time. “I’ll be leaving soon, but I’ll check on you Monday. You’ll love it up here. Nobody watches a person’s every little move like at home.”

  Theran shook Roarke’s hand and kissed Kitty’s cheek. “Thanks, Little Miss Matchmaker.” Kitty chuckled. Then Roarke and she got into the taxi and drove away. Theran swept Chloe up into his arms. “Alone at last.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Chloe stood looking out the large, dusty window in Theran’s room. The view featured the rear windows of other brick houses. For a moment, she let her mind drift to the very different view from her window at Ivy Manor—green lawn and magnolia blossoms. Then she stopped herself. I’ll probably never see it again. This brought moisture to her eyes and an ache over her heart. She’d loved Ivy Manor. That wasn’t what she’d run away from.

  “It’s late, Chloe,” Theran said, as if commenting on the weather. “I’m going to turn out the light, give you some privacy.”

  She froze in place. The mystery of what intimacies a wedding night entailed loomed before her and uncertainty sluiced through her like ice water. “Theran . . .”

  He came up behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her, nuzzling her neck. “Don’t be afraid of me, Chloe. I’d never hurt you.”

  “I know that.” But her voice sounded low and slid over her throat like splintered wood. Theran’s banded arms moved up and rested on her dress just above her corset top. The intimate contact made her inhale sharply.

  “I’m going to lie down and turn my back to you.” He kissed her nape again. “I’ll be waiting, dearest, but take your time.”

  Within moments, she heard the brass bed’s springs creak and then only the street sounds from below. She lowered the shade on the window; the street lamps glowed around the frayed edges. Then in the semi-darkness, she began unfastening the row
of small mother-of-pearl buttons down the front of her dress. Her every move seemed layered with new significance. This is my husband. Being together like this is right and proper. But her fingers fumbled with the buttons and her breath came out in shivers.

  Theran began humming some slow melody, something that reminded her of dancing at the honkey-tonk. The sound did things to the hairs on the back of her neck. A tingling coursed through her in cadence with her shallow breathing. A problem presented itself. Her mother still insisted Chloe wear an old-fashioned corset that laced up the back—she said it was the mark of a lady to need a maid to dress herself. But Chloe couldn’t call Minnie all the way from Harlem to untie her corset. There was only Theran. She tried to loosen the ties herself without luck.

  Like a naughty child, she tiptoed over to the side of the bed where he lay, facing away from her. “Theran,” she whispered, “I need you to loosen my corset laces.” Her face burned. She was afraid he’d say something bold and embarrassment would kill her.

  He said nothing. But the bed springs creaked as he sat up behind her. Then he tugged her gently and made her sit down on the bed, facing away from him. His nearness warmed her and she realized she was chilled. She felt him untie the laces and then slowly stretch them, crisscross by crisscross, his fingers brushing her spine. As her corset stays finally released her, she sighed as she always did at the sudden relief. Before she could rise, Theran kissed the back of her neck and drew her back against him. “Don’t go away, my sweet bride,” he murmured. “Stay with me.”

  She didn’t move, her breath suddenly difficult to find. Theran’s scent filled her head as he kissed her neck and held her spine to his chest. She felt their skin touch and she quivered with the sensation. Slowly, he turned her and drew her up beside him—so close she could hear his heart beating. Or was it hers?

  “Trust me,” he whispered and she put her arms around his neck and sighed with his kisses.

  In the morning, Theran in a shirt and slacks went out and brought in a bag of fragrant sweet rolls and coffee. She sat up in the brass bed, suddenly flushing to have Theran gaze at her even if she’d buttoned up her prim, high-necked nightgown.

  “My blushing bride.” He chuckled and bent to kiss her. Then he opened the bag and handed her a paper napkin and a sweet roll. “I’m hungry and you must be, too.”

  Thinking of how little sleep she’d had, she blushed again. He kissed her once more and sat down beside her on the creaky bed. With a grin, he poured steaming coffee into two chipped, mismatched cups on the nightstand, handed her one, and then settled back against the headboard. “We need to talk about practical things now. Then we can just concentrate on being together the rest of the day.” He gave her a private smile.

  Chloe blushed warmer.

  Theran chuckled and bit into his roll. After swallowing, he pulled out a small, black leather book from the nightstand drawer. “This is my bank book. I’ve already put your name on the account. It isn’t much, but it should help you out until most of my army pay starts arriving here.”

  “Will you have enough?” His matter-of-fact acceptance of his leaving for war struck her as very brave.

  He shrugged. “The army has to feed me and clothe me.” He looked suddenly almost boyish. “I know you’re used to the very best, Chloe. I promise I’ll be a good provider. This war will be over before you know it and I’ll get my career on track.”

  Chloe wanted to remind him that the “very best” had carried a price tag she’d run away from, but she couldn’t. Not with him talking about leaving, about the war. She leaned over and kissed him, hoping her lips could say what her voice couldn’t: I don’t want you to go. We’ve just started.

  Theran rested a hand on her cheek, caressing it. Then he settled back and took another bite of his roll. “Also, I’ve written to my parents all about you and I’ve noted their address inside the back cover of the bank book. I hope you will write to them. They’ll help you if you need anything.”

  Chloe digested this sobering thought. Surely Theran’s parents couldn’t be anything like her own. As if reading her mind, Theran went on, “They aren’t anything like your parents. I think you’ll like them.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Chloe replied obediently, ignoring the skip in her pulse.

  “Before I leave on Monday, I’ll show you the bank.”

  “Don’t talk about Monday,” she whispered, suddenly losing her appetite.

  “We’re not going to worry about this . . . war. I’m going to come home fine and we’ll have the rest of our lives together.” He kissed her lips, sugary-sticky from the sweet roll. This made her laugh and she wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.

  “And you’ll have Kitty nearby and Minnie in town. This city has parks, museums, theaters, wonderful stores—” He chucked her chin. “—and I don’t want you moping around.”

  “I thought I might volunteer to do some war work.” Chloe took a sip of hot, creamy coffee. “I read about it in the paper.”

  “That’s my wife. You’ll do fine. I remember how strange it was when I came from Buffalo. But soon you’ll love it here.”

  Chloe felt her spirits lift. “I know I will.” Because Daddy will never find me here.

  Theran rewarded her with a smile. “No man could ask for a sweeter, prettier wife than you, Chloe.”

  She looked down at the black bank book. She’d only thought of escaping her parents. But even though Theran would be heading off to Europe and the war, he had thought of how to provide for her. She leaned her forehead against his. “You’re a good husband, Theran. I love you.”

  He took the cup and half-eaten roll from her hands and pushed her back against her white feather pillow. “You love me, huh? Show me.”

  On Sunday morning, for the second time in two days, Quentin Kimball brushed past Maisie, the McCaslin housekeeper, and charged into the sunlit sage-green and honey-oak McCaslin dining room. Looking at him, Roarke knew this scene would live in his memory forever—the morning sunshine blazing through the diaphanous white sheers and glinting on the sterling silver coffee urn on the oak sideboard. The smell of bacon, coffee, and melted butter. Maisie’s black face peering through the half-open kitchen door.

  Kimball glared around and then stopped short, squaring off across the table from Roarke. “So you got home, McCaslin. Where’s my little gal?” Kimball looked upward at the ceiling. “Chloe!” he roared. “Chloe, sugar, it’s your daddy!”

  Roarke watched the red-faced man and caught himself just in time to prevent a smile. Roarke had lost Chloe, but he still retained the pleasure of telling Kimball the truth.

  “Good morning, Mr. Kimball,” Roarke’s mother said as politely as if the man usually dropped in unannounced for breakfast. “Would you like us to set a place for you?” All three would be leaving for church after they’d finished their coffee.

  “I don’t want breakfast, woman! I want to see my daughter here with a McCaslin weddin’ band on her finger. Or I’m going to know the reason why.”

  Swallowing hot coffee, Roarke looked into the man’s blotchy face, its nose reddened by too much booze. “Chloe’s in New York with her husband, Theran Black,” Roarke said, “so I don’t know why you’d expect her to be here, wearing my wedding band. I was best man at their wedding.” Even as he said it, each word pounded a nail in his own coffin. Chloe couldn’t have run away without his help. He was paying for that now and he feared the ache that weighed on him wouldn’t go away any time soon.

  He watched Kimball gabble for a few moments before becoming coherent once more. “My daughter left my house in your care,” the man’s voice quavered with pent-up fury. “And you helped her run off and marry another man! You’re a fool!”

  If Roarke thought her father’s outrage sprung from love of Chloe, he’d have been ashamed of himself. But he knew it wasn’t. It was just pique at losing one of his possessions, as if Chloe was a filly in Kimball’s stable. He wondered, had the man learned of Minnie’s leaving yet? Acid s
purted in Roarke’s stomach. He longed to say, “You’re the fool.”

  Kimball switched his glare to Roarke’s father. “Thomas, did you know this yesterday?”

  “Of course Thomas didn’t,” Mrs. McCaslin said, looking outraged.

  “Of course, I didn’t.” Roarke’s father agreed as he steepled his fingers and coolly returned Kimball’s stare. “If I had, I’d have told you when you came last night.”

  Kimball turned to Roarke. “When you didn’t come home at a decent time, I came over to ask your daddy where you were—”

  “At one in the morning,” Roarke’s mother slipped in, quietly disapproving.

  “—and your daddy told me,” Kimball continued to bawl, “that he had expected his son home sooner, but in any event my daughter was safe in his son’s care. So where’s my daughter?”

  “I told you,” Roarke repeated, fatigue rolling over him, “she’s in New York with her husband.” And I’m too tired to be polite very much longer. Losing Chloe stung him like poison nettles and his temper reflected that.

  “Nonsense.” Kimball dismissed this with a wave of his stubby hand. “My wife is prostrate with worry. I want to know where our Chloe’s run off to.”

  “Kimball,” Thomas spoke up in a sterner tone, “my son has told you where your daughter is. I don’t approve of his aiding her in an elopement. But I also don’t approve of a parent who burns letters from a girl’s honest beau who happens to be leaving for war. And in any event, what’s done is done.”

  Kimball stared at Roarke’s father, his eyes narrowing. “Are you tellin’ me that someone burned my daughter’s letters? Who?”

  “I believe you should discuss this with your good lady.” Thomas took a sip of his coffee. “In any case, your daughter is a married woman now.”