The Silver Shoes

by Jill G. Hall

  Across the aisle, on the groom’s side, three large men she’d never seen before sat with crossed arms in dark suits. The other pews were filled with her father’s business associates, clients from the brokerage firm, and Odd Fellows Lodge members, many of whom she had met for the first time at her coming-out ball.

  Step touch, step touch.

  Bea, seated with her parents, waved with a sad smile. Clair’s father had told her that Bea’s parents kept her under lock and key, with no marriage prospects in sight.

  Step touch, step touch. The odor of candle wax permeated the air.

  Mr. O’Shaughnessy and his family took up an entire pew, and all grinned as she passed by. Dr. Johnson nodded at her. Aunt June turned to her from the front row with sorrowful eyes.

  Farley in his tight tux waited for her, a stuffed penguin in a museum. Red-faced, sweat seeping from his brow, his hands fidgeted like they did right before he reached for a cigar.

  At the altar, her father let go of her arm and sat next to Aunt June. Clair pivoted to escape, but Farley grabbed her hand with his sweaty one and glared at her. Resigned, she exhaled and stood quietly beside him, but she pulled her hand from his.

  The priest nodded and began to sermonize, but she didn’t hear much of what he had to say. On and on he droned, until finally he asked her to repeat after him.

  “I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.” She nearly choked on the words.

  In a resounding voice he added, “You will obey your husband. You will obey your husband.” He caught Farley’s eye for emphasis.

  Beside her, Farley began to weave back and forth. Clair turned in horror, just in time to jump out of the way, as he keeled over and fell forward on top of the priest. Farley hit his forehead on the altar, and brass candlesticks tumbled to the marble floor with a crash.

  A communal gasp rose from the congregation. Her father and Aunt June leaped to their feet.

  Aunt June held up her skirt and stomped out the burning candles before the altar cloth caught fire.

  Clair’s father laid Farley on his back, crouched beside him, and yelled. “Farley! Farley!”

  Clair helped the priest up, and he stumbled to the pulpit.

  Dr. Johnson ran up the aisle. “Someone call an ambulance!”

  Aunt June pulled smelling salts from her bag and wafted them under Farley’s nose, but that didn’t revive him. A purple eggplant of a mound had already started to form on his forehead.

  “Out of my way.” Dr. Johnson pushed Aunt June and Clair’s father aside and checked Farley’s pulse. “Dear, dear, dear.”

  The priest began to orate, “All kneel and let’s pray. Our father, who art in heaven . . .”

  The congregation ignored him and continued to hover and talk.

  After a few minutes, medics rushed down the aisle. Soon they had lifted Farley onto a stretcher and carried him out of the church, with Dr. Johnson following.

  “We’d better go to the hospital, too.” Her father carried his top hat in his hand as he headed up the aisle. “Come along, Clair.”

  Relieved that she didn’t need to marry Farley today after all, Clair glanced up at the Jesus statue above the altar with a nod of thanks.

  Aunt June stepped up to the pulpit and put her arm on the praying priest’s shoulder. “Let me say a few words, please.”

  He acted flustered but stepped back. She faced the church. “Friends, Farley will be fine. Let’s move to the reception hall and enjoy the repast the caterers have prepared. That’s what Leland would wish us to do.”

  Clair pulled back her veil and followed her father up the aisle.

  “Bad luck.” Mr. O’Shaughnessy shook his head as she passed by.

  At the back of the church, Rudy and Winnie stood waiting.

  Her friend giggled from under her hat. “Too bad, toots!”

  Rudy leaned over and took Clair’s hand. “Dodged a bullet there, gal pal.”

  “At least for now,” she said, and tried not to smile.

  36

  A wail woke Clair. She threw on her wrapper and ran to the parlor. “Goodness gracious me! It’s freezing in here.” She rushed to shut the open window. Outside, gray clouds filled the sky. The leaves had fallen off the maple trees long ago.

  “Gone.” Her father hunched over in his chair, took a handkerchief from his smoking jacket pocket, and blew his nose.

  “What’s gone?” She knelt in front of him and put her hands on his shaking knees.

  “Gone. All gone.”

  “What’s gone?”

  He didn’t answer. She’d never seen him cry before. It couldn’t be on account of Farley and the wedding fiasco. That had been a month and a half ago. Farley had been released from the hospital a few days later, and resumed coming over every evening. Within no time, to her chagrin, the men started to make new wedding plans.

  Clair had tried to reason with Farley. “Wasn’t your accident God’s way of telling us we’re not supposed to wed?”

  “Don’t be silly. It was only a little spill.” Farley had put his hand on his still-black-and-blue forehead.

  Last week, after the devastating stock market crash, he had stopped coming. When her father called Farley’s hotel, they said he’d checked out. She was mightily relieved, but it seemed odd that he would leave without so much as a goodbye. He always seemed to have access to cash, and with her father’s business acumen, she had assumed he had foreseen the crash and had cashed in all the stocks he managed. But she might have been wrong.

  A knock sounded at the door. Had someone heard her father howl?

  He put his hand on her arm. “Don’t answer it,” he whined.

  Another knock followed. She tried to ignore it, but it grew louder.

  She stood. “I should get it.”

  Her father shook his head and grabbed her hand. What had gotten into him? She pulled away, stepped into the foyer, and opened the door.

  “Your father, please.” Mr. O’Shaughnessy slid his foot over the jamb, holding an envelope in his hand. His tall body filled the whole doorway.

  Clair paused. “He’s unavailable. May I give him a message?”

  “There’s the matter of the bill.” He looked down at her.

  “What bill?”

  “The hotel bill.”

  “What about it?”

  “It is past due.”

  “I’m sure he’ll take care of it right away.” It didn’t make any sense. Her father always boasted that he paid every bill in full at the end of each month.

  But things had been so strange lately. The kitchen had forgotten to deliver their breakfast, and three times she had to call down to remind them. Even Mr. O’Shaughnessy frowned at her when she walked by, instead of giving her his usual smile and nod.

  Now he stared at her coldly. “Your hotel bill has been in arrears for quite some time. I told your father if he didn’t pay by today, you had to go.”

  The stocks. That must be what was gone. The truth hit Clair like a pail of cold water. “But I’ve lived here my whole life.”

  His eyes softened. “Sorry, Miss Devereaux, but the hotel owners say it can’t be helped. You aren’t the only ones.”

  She swallowed, eked out a smile, and took the envelope. “I’m sure Father will pay you directly.”

  “I hope he can.” Mr. O’Shaughnessy stepped back.

  In a daze, she closed the door and wandered back to the parlor. Tears continued to slide down her father’s face.

  “I’m cold.” He shivered.

  It had begun to snow. The fire had gone out in the grate, but when she tried to start a fire, there was no fuel. She wrapped the sofa blanket around him, pulled over the hassock, and sat down in front of him. “Did you lose it all in the crash?”

  He moaned, “How will we survive?”

  She took his hands in hers. “Answer me. Is our money all gone?”

  “I’m sorry.” He put his
head in his hands.

  She placed her hand on his back for a moment and then stepped over to his desk. In the top drawer she found the account book. Since she was ten, it had been her job to open the bills, fill in the checks for him to sign, and do the sums in the bankbook. About a year ago, though, he had told her it was unladylike and took that role back from her. She thought nothing of it at the time. Now in a bottom drawer she discovered a pile of bills and glanced through them quickly, realizing they were all past due.

  It all began to make sense—the hotel staff’s attitude, Farley’s disappearance. Her father must have lost Farley’s investments, too.

  Her father began to moan again, “What are we going to do?”

  She grabbed his cash envelope from the drawer and put it in her purse. “Let’s go!”

  The cab dropped them off at Aunt June’s apartment. Clair helped her father up the steps and knocked on the door.

  Aunt June opened it wearing an apron. “What a surprise!” She smiled at Clair, then saw her father wrapped in the blanket. “Oh, dear me, Leland.”

  “Hello, June.” He lifted his glassy eyes toward her.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” Clair frowned.

  Aunt June took one arm and Clair the other, and they led her father across the oriental carpet that flanked the hardwood floor and sat him on the sofa. Clair stirred the fire in the hearth.

  “It’s gone. It’s all gone.” Her father shook his head. “What are we going to do?”

  “You are here now.” Aunt June spoke softly. “Everything will be okay.”

  “Thank you, June.” He stared at her. “You have always been so kind.”

  She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyes to the ceiling. Then she closed the floral drapes, helped him lie down, and covered him with the blanket. “Close your eyes, and soon you’ll be in the arms of Morpheus.”

  She led Clair into the kitchen, put the kettle on, and whispered, “How long has he been like this?”

  “Since early morning. I’m sorry to barge in on you.” Clair sat at the dinette. “Mr. O’Shaughnessy told us we had to leave immediately. Turns out father hadn’t been paying the bill.”

  Aunt June nodded, and her eyes softened. “You are always welcome here.”

  “But there’s not enough space.” The apartment had only one bedroom and a bath.

  “You’re family. We’ll make do. Where’s Farley?”

  “Apparently he flew the coop last week.”

  “Good riddance!” Aunt June set cups on a tray and sat down across from Clair.

  “Can his investments all really be gone?”

  “I’m afraid so. He must have lost it in the market like so many others.”

  “But he always said it was important to diversify.” Clair’s eyes filled with tears. “What about the properties?”

  “He must have sold them off a while ago.” Aunt June paused. “He suggested I sell this apartment, too, and let him invest the money in the market, but I declined.”

  Clair sighed. “You saw it coming. I know he made other investments in the market for you, though. Is that all gone, too?”

  “Never you mind. Everything will work out.” Aunt June patted Clair’s hand, stood, and took the boiling kettle off the stove, pouring it. “Check on your father while I finish the tea.”

  He had fallen asleep. From the table beside the sofa, Clair picked up a silver-framed daguerreotype. The older girl appeared to be a younger version of her aunt, and the child of about ten looked similar, but with more delicate features. Both had large doe eyes, with the curls of their lips in wry smiles. The younger one must be her mother! Odd Clair had never seen this picture before. She’d been to the apartment hundreds of times.

  Her aunt came into the room and started to set up tea. Clair swiftly replaced the photo, planning to study it later. Pshaw! All the pictures of her mother had not burned up in a fire. Clair glanced at her father. He had probably not even loved her, and now the money was gone. He was a liar! Perhaps there were other secrets he was keeping.

  37

  The next morning, Mr. O’Shaughnessy allowed Clair into the suite to sort through their things.

  “Thank you, Mr. O.” She hadn’t called him that since she was a girl.

  He smiled sadly. “Do you need assistance?”

  “No, thank you. Aunt June is sending over a man to pick up a few boxes.” Clair could only take the minimum.

  “Feel free to leave whatever you can to help pay the bill. I’ll check on you in a little while.” Mr. O’Shaughnessy closed the door behind him.

  Shaking her head, she sat at her father’s desk, studying the bills again. He had been too agitated to come with her, and the idea of clearing out his things overwhelmed her. Holding the rose paperweight, she rubbed her fingers over the smooth glass. He had tried to keep her like that rose under glass, perfect and unchanging. She had bucked at his restrictions and insisted on whirlwind adventures, but now that was all over.

  She sighed. Of course she couldn’t take the piano. She crossed to the bench, sat down, and played the Chopin piece one last time. Tears ran down her cheeks like the rain the music implied. She finished playing the notes softly at the end, closed the cover, and ran her hands across the carved wooden front. “Goodbye,” she whispered. “Thank you for the years of pleasure.” Opening the bench, she straightened her sheet music and put it in the “keep” crate.

  She picked up the mantle clock. Even though its incessant chimes annoyed her, she had a yen to take it. Leaving the fragile Waterford candlesticks, she carefully wrapped the clock, a photo of herself at eight, and a cupid figurine in newspaper and put them in the “keep” crate, too.

  In her father’s closet she pulled clothes from the rack and laid them on the bed. Returning for more, she spied Mr. LeRue’s painting hidden in the back.

  “Egad!” She’d forgotten all about it. Even though it had only been a few months, it seemed like years since her coming-out ball. She set the painting on the dresser and stood back to inspect it. Still hideous—the pink dress with crisscrossing black lines made her skin crawl.

  But as she studied it, she realized that Mr. LeRue had been trying to do something modern. A few weeks ago, Aunt June had taken her up some stairs to a photographer’s gallery, where he displayed his wife’s modern flower paintings. The bold turquoise, purple, and green colors were so welcoming, Clair wished she could dive into them and take a swim.

  She left the portrait in the closet to help with the bill, but she doubted it would bring in much. Perhaps someone would buy it for the canvas.

  She threw most of her father’s clothes in another crate and put it in the foyer. In her room, she tossed her most fancy shawls, hats, and shoes onto the bed to leave, and picked through the armoire, choosing her most practical outfits. She couldn’t resist keeping the pink corset and fringed dress at the bottom of her trunk, and folded all of her keepers on top. Rolling her jewelry into a silk slip, she piled it in her valise along with her hidden makeup and beauty products.

  The full crates were soon stacked by the door.

  In the stuffy parlor she raised a window, and blaring city noise filled the space. She sat at her father’s desk once again and began to sort the contents, throwing out pencil nubs and stubby erasers. The bills, all official-looking papers, fountain pens, and ink went into the keep pile. She picked up a box of cigars and hesitated. Maybe he’d quit that stinky habit—a luxury he could no longer afford. But she put them in the crate so at least he could enjoy these last few.

  Mr. O’Shaughnessy knocked on the door and stepped inside the foyer. “Ready?” he called.

  Clair wiped her eyes. “Almost. I need another few minutes.”

  He turned and left.

  An envelope poked out from under the desk blotter, and she pulled it out. Strange. It was addressed to her. She opened it to reveal her father’s stationary, his initials LLD embossed at the top of the thin blue paper, his penmanship scratchy.

&nb
sp; Dearest Clair,

  If you are reading this, I am gone. I am ruined, but you are not. You still have your whole life ahead of you. I waited too long to sell off before the crash. I couldn’t resist the lure of the market and possible riches. Greed was my downfall. I’ve lost everything.

  Her eyes filled with tears as she continued reading.

  I couldn’t face your aunt and the others I had advised. I truly believed those investments were solid. I never meant to deceive them.

  I rue other mistakes I’ve made and apologize for never having the nerve to tell you the truth about your mother. Aunt June will explain it to you. Tell her I have always been sorry.

  Clair paused. She wondered what the truth was—and what it had to do with him calling her mother a tramp.

  Cash can be found in my closet safe. The combination is written on the back of the top desk drawer. This money should tide you over for a while. You’ll have an easier time without me. When Farley returns, marry him, and have a good life. Sorry I couldn’t protect you from all this.

  Raffie, you have always been my best girl.

  Love,

  Father

  Clair reread the first line. Where would he have gone? A horn honked outside, and she glanced at the open window, the one that had been wide-open yesterday morning.

  He had been contemplating suicide!

  Oh, no. Would he try again? Aunt June was at school teaching, and he was alone in the apartment. Her hands shaking, folding her father’s note, Clair quickly put it back into the envelope and pushed it in her purse. She took out the desk drawer, wrote the combination on a slip of paper, and attempted to open the safe hidden in his wardrobe. Her hand fumbled on the first try, but she was successful on the second. Inside she found the cash, counted it, and folded it neatly in her purse, too.

  38

  What a horrible flight. Anne had forgotten to bring a book to read. She tried to sketch in her journal, but the flight was too bumpy. She’d eaten seven bags of peanuts, read the in-flight magazine twice, and tried to watch Frozen on the tiny TV screen five seats forward. Finally she gave up and listened to music on her iPhone instead.