Ginna had a few minutes to think, while her companion talked on. She was tempted to confront him with the truth-tell him that he wasn’t who he thought he was or maybe that she wasn’t who he thought she was. At any rate, none of this was making any sense to her, and she needed to ask a lot of questions and get some answers. Right now! But then she thought better of taking that tack. Hadn’t people been put into insane asylums in the nineteenth century for acting queer and asking odd questions? Worse yet, women who acted strange could be branded witches! No, she decided, that was in a different century. Still, she thought she had better play along and see what she could find out about Channing McNeal and this Virginia-person he was mistaking her for.
Without explanation, Channing turned north and began walking up Broadway.
“Where are we going?”
“To Mr. Charles Lewis Tiffany’s jewelry establishment. It’s only five blocks up, at Fifteenth Street. This is such a fine day, I thought we might walk.” He looked at his companion questioningly. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
“I’d love to,” Ginna said, flashing her handsome escort a bright smile. In truth, her worries about her current situation were being pushed aside by her curiosity and her interest in old New York. Horses dashed this way and that, with riders or hitched to all manner of conveyances, from honey wagons to fine traps. Street performers drew crowds to watch as they cut silhouettes, did card tricks, capered about in wild dances, or played musical instruments. Channing and Ginna stopped to listen to an old Italian man play his hurdy gurdy. A bright-eyed monkey dressed in a feathered hat and a scarlet coat held a tin cup, begging for coins.
“Oh, Channing, may I?” Ginna pleaded.
He laughed and gave her several large pennies, which she dropped into the monkey’s cup. In gratitude, he danced a little jig on his master’s shoulder.
Ginna was feeling better every minute. She all but forgot that, by rights, she should be at Swan’s Quarter, visiting with Pansy, Elspeth, and Sister. This new old world around her was both mysterious and fascinating. She glanced up at Channing. He was most fascinating of all. Virginia, she mused, was a very lucky lady. It was obvious that her fiancé adored her. Ginna herself was not immune to the warmth of his nearness.
“Look there, just ahead,” he said, after they had walked some distance. “That’s Union Square. You’ll want to see the new equestrian statue of President Washington sculpted by Henry Kirke Brown. I believe it’s quite a good likeness, an imposing piece of statuary. It was dedicated only a few years ago, on July the Fourth 1856, but already it’s become quite an attraction for visitors.”
They had to wait while a detachment of U.S. Marines marched past. Considerable excitement was aroused among the bystanders on the street, seeing so many uniformed troops in one place. Ginna heard one man nearby say to his companion, “General Winfield Scott’s getting ready, all right.”
A glance up at Channing told Ginna that he had heard too. “Ready for what?” she asked. “What are those men talking about?”
Channing’s hesitation made it clear that he didn’t want to give her a reply. It didn’t matter. She got her answer from the source of the question. The man with the bullhorn voice bellowed, “They’re off to reinforce Fort Sumter, down by Charleston. When war breaks out, we’ll need that outpost, deep in rebel territory.”
“War?” Ginna gasped, clutching Channing’s arm tighter.
“Don’t pay any attention to that, dearest. The man has no idea what he’s talking about. I have it on good authority that those Marines are up from Washington and will be garrisoned at Bedloe’s Island. The military is always on the move, shifting troops from one post to another. It means nothing, Virginia.”
Ginna was not quite convinced.
Once the Marines had passed, Channing said, “Let’s go see that statue now.”
Braving the horse-drawn traffic, they crossed to the center of the intersection at Broadway and Fourth Avenue to get a closer look. The huge bronze of Washington towered above them on its stone base, surrounded by an iron spear fence and four elegant lampposts.
“It’s magnificent!” Ginna said, duly impressed. She had seen pictures of this very statue in history books. She knew that in the twentieth century the monument would be moved from the busy intersection to nearby Union Square Park.
“This is supposed to be the very spot where the general was received by the citizens of New York after the British evacuated the city on November 25, 1783.”
Ginna glanced up at Channing, her lovely eyes glittering. “I’m impressed! So many dates and details. You certainly know your history.”
“Thanks to West Point,” he answered. “It’s my favorite subject, military history in particular.”
A question popped into her head—one that seemed innocent enough. “What made a Southerner like you decide on West Point?”
His dark eyebrows drew down in a frown. “Virginia, what a question! You of all people know that. Why, haven’t you and your brother and my father been after me all my life to go to the Academy? That’s all I heard from the time I was old enough to pick up a toy saber. Father had me enrolled by the time I was ten, the same time Colonel Swan enrolled Rodney. And you, why, you always said you could hardly wait to be an officer’s wife—this officer’s wife.”
Swan! Channing’s mention of that name made some more of the pieces of this exasperating puzzle fall into place. The “Colonel Swan” Channing mentioned must be Virginia’s father, and Rodney her older brother. She had heard Elspeth telling the family history on more than one occasion. “Dear Miss Virginia, the prettiest belle in the Frederick County.” Ginna tried very hard to recall what else she had heard from Elspeth and the others. She knew that Virginia had supposedly hit a Yankee over the head with the old silver teapot, scarring it forevermore. She had always assumed, though, that the tea-time tales of the Swan family were mere fabrications used by the three women to while away lonely hours.
“We had better move along now, darling. I promised your mother and father that we would meet them back at the hotel by two. They’ll never trust me alone with you again if we’re late.”
Melora and Jedediah. The names of Virginia’s parents suddenly surfaced in Ginna’s memory. He had been a colonel in the Civil War. His wife had donated their plantation as an old soldiers’ home when the rest of the family died off and Melora herself was quite elderly and all alone. The rest of the family gone? What could have happened to Virginia—to Channing?
“Watch your step, Virginia.” Channing’s warning, as she stumbled on an uneven cobble, snapped her thoughts back to the present—or the past, as it were.
“That horse nearly ran me down! We should have crossed with the light, Channing.” The words were barely out of her mouth, before she realized her mistake. To cover her blunder, she changed the subject quickly, before Channing had time to ask questions.
“You said we’re going to Tiffany’s?”
“Yes. That’s Mr. Tiffany’s establishment, that fine looking building with the cast iron facade, there on the left.”
“Won’t a ring from Tiffany’s cost a fortune, Channing?”
“Nothing is too good for the woman I love.”
His words made her heart flutter. Or was she feeling Virginia’s reaction to the man she loved? It didn’t matter. She basked in this feeling of being cherished and adored. No one had ever treated plain old Ginna Jones this way. It felt good!
Channing opened the beautifully etched and gilded door for her. The moment she stepped inside, she was dazzled. Crystal chandeliers sparkled with gaslight, casting a brilliant aura on Mr. Tiffany’s exquisite gems in their glass cases. Charles Lewis Tiffany, a distinguished looking man of about fifty, came toward them with a welcoming smile.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Channing said.
“Mr. McNeal, how good to see you again. And this must be your lady fair.” He reached for Ginna’s hand and touched his lips lightly to her
glove. “Welcome, Miss Swan. I have so looked forward to meeting you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tiffany.” She smiled at having her present identity confirmed, once and for all. She was indeed Virginia Swan of Swan’s Quarter, soon to become Mrs. Channing McNeal.
After a brief period of small talk, Tiffany brought out the first offering of rings, then tray after tray of others. Although Ginna would have been thrilled to wear any one of them, her fiancé was not so easily pleased. He was searching for something special, he said, something unique. “Something as lovely as my bride,” he added, with a smile that all but melted her soul.
“Perhaps you might like to see some of my unset stones,” Mr. Tiffany offered. “I returned only recently from a buying trip to Amsterdam and Paris. Some of the gems I brought back were actually worn by European royalty.”
“By all means, sir.” Channing sounded more than eager and cast an excited glance at Ginna.
Tiffany smiled at the two of them. “Come with me to my office in back,” he invited.
Once in the lavishly appointed office, they settled into deep, plush chairs, while Tiffany excused himself to go to the safe. He returned with several velvet-lined trays of radiant diamonds, emeralds, opals, and rubies.
Ginna tugged Channing’s sleeve and whispered when he leaned close, “Chan, any one of these will cost more than a whole plantation. You shouldn’t! I have you. I don’t need an extravagant ring.”
He chuckled and brushed her cheek with his lips. “That’s a lovely sentiment, my darling, but I’m not exactly in the poor house, you know. I want to do this. Don’t spoil it by worrying about the cost.”
If there was one thing Ginna Jones always worried about, it was the cost of things. She was a coupon-clipper, a sale-shopper, a thriftshop patron. If anyone had ever told her that someday she would find herself in the private office at Tiffany’s, choosing from among the jewels of royalty, she would have told Dr. Kirkwood back at Swan’s Quarter to ready a padded cell for that crazy person. But here she was, big as life, with a fortune in jewels spread before her. She had only to choose her heart’s desire.
Channing leaned forward, examining each stone closely. Finally, he shook his head. “I can’t decide. Which one strikes your fancy, Virginia?”
Still nervous about the cost, in spite of what Channing had said, she pointed to a fiery opal, guessing that it must be the least expensive of the lot. And it was a lovely stone, all brilliant colors and deep gleaming fire.
Channing frowned. “Aren’t opals supposed to bring bad luck?”
“Oh, Channing, you can’t believe that? Why, it’s a beautiful stone! Look how the colors shift and change in the light. I love it!”
He took a closer look, then gave Ginna one of his slow, lazy, bone-melting smiles. “You’re right, darling. The opal matches your eyes—all glowing pastels and silver and gold.”
“You’ve made a fine selection, Miss Swan,” Tiffany said. “This stone has rare fire and warmth.” He nodded solemnly. “And Mr. McNeal is right, it does match your lovely eyes. Now, what about the setting?”
Happy with his fiancée’s choice, yet disappointed that she would never wear one of the flawless diamonds he had hoped to place on her finger, Channing insisted that the opal be set in platinum surrounded by a halo of diamonds.
“Perfect!” Tiffany agreed. “We will have it ready for you in a week’s time.”
Channing’s face fell. “But Miss Swan will be gone by then. I wanted her to have something to wear, to show off to everyone when she gets home.”
“It’s all right, Channing. I don’t mind waiting. You can give me the ring when I come back up for your graduation in May.”
“Well, I promised you something and you will have something! That silver locket there, Mr. Tiffany. Could we take a closer look at it?”
The jeweler hesitated before he reached for the box on the shelf behind him. “I’ve only just fashioned this one. It’s a new style I designed myself.”
“Won’t you let me buy it for Virginia, sir?”
Holding the tiny silver heart, Tiffany looked from Channing to Virginia. Her face—Ginna’s face—was absolutely glowing. Neither of the men could know that she recognized the locket. She had been wearing one like it when she was found as a baby. What had become of it, she had no idea.
“I’ll want her name engraved on its face,” Channing said.
Tiffany frowned, measuring the miniscule space with a keen eye. “I’m sorry, Mr. McNeal, but I don’t think we can do that The surface inside the flower edging is quite small. Perhaps Miss Swan’s initials would do?”
“Would there be room to write Ginna?” she asked softly.
“Five letters?” Tiffany was gazing at the heart mentally engraving the piece. At last he nodded. “Yes! The letters will be small, but I’m sure I can do that. Ginna it shall be.”
When they left the elegant store a short time later, Ginna was wearing the token of love Channing had chosen for her. She had no idea how or why it would happen, but over a century from now, when she was abandoned by her natural mother, she would again be wearing this heart this token of unselfish and undying love.
“Thank you, Channing,” she whispered, squeezing his arm. “I love my locket and my ring.”
He didn’t reply. Suddenly, Channing McNeal seemed a million miles away.
The minute Virginia suggested to Tiffany that he might engrave “Ginna” on the locket, some small door to Neal Frazier’s memory opened to Channing McNeal. He knew that name, but how? No one had ever called Virginia by a nickname. Yet it seemed so familiar to him. As he tried to force himself to remember, bad feelings came over him. Feelings of guilt and hopelessness. Once the heart was engraved, he dismissed all this, attributing the sensations to the stuffiness of Mr. Tiffany’s office and to the fact that they had yet to eat their noon meal.
Quickly, he paid cash for the locket—a mere trinket actually—then left instructions on where the ring should be sent. He promised to send a bank draught promptly to cover its cost. After thanking Mr. Tiffany and saying goodbye, he ushered Virginia out of the store. The flash of silver at her slender neck, as the sun struck her locket, brought a smile back to his face.
Seeing his reaction, Ginna touched the heart. “It’s really lovely, Channing. I’ll treasure it always.”
“I’m glad you like it, darling, but it must be quite a disappointment, when you thought you would be wearing your engagement ring instead.”
“Not at all! I have this, and I plan to put your picture inside. The tiny one you gave me when you went away to school. I’ll still have my ring to look forward to.”
She shivered suddenly, as a cold gust of wind whipped around the corner. Immediately, Channing hailed a carriage. “I don’t want you to catch a chill,” he explained. “Besides, it’s nearly two. Your parents are probably tapping their toes with worry, already.”
Traffic was unaccountably light and the drive up Broadway to Madison Square and the new Fifth Avenue Hotel took only minutes. As they drew up to a line of carriages, with their passengers waiting to alight at the classical portico of the swank establishment, Channing said, “You know, people called this place ‘Eno’s Folly’ when it was built two years ago, because it was so far uptown. But just look at it now. This is the very center of the city and the hotel itself is the heart and soul of New York’s social and political life.”
Their first glimpse of Virginia’s father, upon entering the hotel’s lobby, corroborated Channing’s words about it being a center of politics. Jedediah Swan was in a heated arguement with some stranger. They stood toe-to-toe, almost nose-to-nose, and, although the two men tried to keep their voices down in such a public place, Ginna heard the words “secession,” “disunionist,” and “damnyankee,” the latter from Swan’s own angrily pursed lips. His gray-blond mustache quivering, his face red with rage, Virginia’s father was obviously “discussing” the possibility of a coming war with an equally
outspoken and pugnacious Northerner.
A woman dressed in a fashionable gown of coppery colored bombazine hurried toward them, her exquisite face filled with torment and the red tinge of embarrassment. “Channing, do something!” she begged. “Colonel Swan has obviously lost his wits. The next we know, he’ll be rolling on the Turkish carpet, exchanging blows with this total stranger. Why, I’m tempted to summon a policeman and have them both thrown into jail!”
“No, Mother!” Ginna exclaimed.
Mother? It was the first time in Ginna’s life that she had ever addressed anyone in that manner. The word felt warm and sweet on her tongue. Once again, she realized that Virginia Swan had something Ginna had always longed for.
“Oh, I wouldn’t really, dear,” Melora said, “but don’t think I’m not tempted. Lately it seems I can’t take him anywhere. It’s all this war talk. It gets him so riled up. When that fellow started handing out broadsides around the lobby, extolling the cause of abolition, Colonel Swan simply lost his head. They’ll be duelling in the middle of Fifth Avenue, if you don’t stop them, Channing.”
Channing pressed his future mother-in-law’s hand. “You ladies go into the tea room and wait, Mrs. Swan. I’ll take care of this.”
“Thank you, dear,” she murmured, ushering Ginna toward a doorway across the lobby.
Ginna felt Melora Swan’s hand trembling on her arm, as the men’s angry whispers grew almost to shouts.
“It will be all right, Mother. Channing can handle Father.”
“We really shouldn’t have come North at this time. I’m worried to death about your father, Virginia. He has always been so quick of temper. With feelings for and against secession running so high all through the South, I should have known your father wouldn’t be able to control himself up here. All that unrest at West Point didn’t help any.”
“Unrest?” Ginna asked. “What do you mean?”
Melora gave a short, humorless laugh and patted Ginna’s hand. “Blind with love, that’s what you are, my girl. How else could you have missed the undercurrents at the Academy? Goodness sake, your father was about to burst his buttons when that row broke out during the Washington’s Birthday celebration.”
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