Hope's Daughter

by Joani Ascher

  “Please let me escort you.”

  “Oh, no, that isn’t necessary.”

  He smiled broadly. “But it would be my pleasure.” He held her coat for her. “Let’s go.”

  All the way to her home they talked about the city, and the opera, which Jane loved. “I saw every opera I could last season,” Jane told him. She did not mention that she saw all of them standing, as she had never been able to pay for a seat.

  Lloyd’s eyes took on another look of surprise, but then he laughed. “I haven’t ever seen one,” he admitted. “But I’m sure they must be wonderful if you like them so much.”

  Jane had trouble finding words for a while and let Lloyd chatter on. Eventually, he spoke about what was going on in Europe. She realized he was not as opposed to giving aid as he sounded, but he was unwilling to commit troops. His father was buried in Flanders Field. “No little boy should have to grow up without his father,” Lloyd said, and Jane’s heart went out to him.

  They arrived at the steps of the walk-up she lived in with Olivia. It was hard to pay the rent in that building, since it was more expensive than they could afford, but Jane had insisted they could not live somewhere cheaper, since it was just too dangerous for two girls on their own.

  Jane noticed the heavy living room drapes in their front apartment on the second floor sway as her sister let them go. Seconds later the front door opened.

  “Thank God,” said Olivia, rushing down the steps to the street. “I was so worried.”

  “You’ll catch your death,” Jane chided, putting her coat around her sister’s shoulders. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  Olivia smiled, wiping a tear from her eye. “It’s all right, you’re here now.” She turned to Lloyd, a question on her face.

  Jane introduced them. But she could not help noticing that both Olivia and Lloyd kept their eyes on her. It was unusual for her to be the center of attention. And wonderful.

  ****

  The next day Jane’s mind was far away, remembering the time she’d spent with Lloyd. She had never been paid so much attention by a man. She did not know what to make of it. When Mr. Weaver said she could go to lunch, she was happy to hurry off to be alone with her thoughts.

  She had only walked a half block to the luncheonette when her path was blocked. Looking at the man standing in front of her, Jane felt her face flush.

  Lloyd Hammer smiled, gazing into her eyes. “I was hoping to see you. I was just on my way to your office. Might I invite you to lunch?”

  It was a lucky thing he took her by the arm, she observed, because there was a distinct possibility she would have passed out from shock. His suit may not have been of the quality of Mr. Weaver’s or that of his client, Mr. Canfield, and his collar might have needed turning, but he held her arm as elegantly as Mr. Canfield had held his wife’s, and guided her along the street.

  They went to the delicatessen and talked so much Jane did not finish her lunch. She was fascinated by Lloyd’s stories of growing up in a poor section of Boston, and she could barely tear her eyes away from his. When he told her they had been there nearly an hour, it came as a total surprise.

  “I must get back,” she said, almost upsetting her wooden chair as she stood. It bumped into another diner, who glared at her as she grabbed at it. Mumbling apologies, she rushed toward the door.

  Lloyd hurried to pay the check and catch up with her. “Will you meet me for lunch tomorrow?”

  Jane was still unsure about this man with the strange politics, but she agreed. They met every day for lunch after that, sometimes taking their sandwiches to a park, and sometimes, on warmer days, walking over to the river to watch the boats. After two weeks, Jane felt comfortable with him. He was charming, and such a good conversationalist.

  “I earned a bonus today and I want to celebrate.” he said, turning away from the river and looking into her eyes. “May I see you tonight?”

  Jane could not think. But she had to say something. He looked at her with such hope she could not disappoint him. “Yes.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll pick you up at seven, and we’ll paint the town.”

  Chapter Three

  Olivia fluttered around Jane, helping her dress for her date. Lloyd had said they would go to Peter Luger’s for supper, and hinted that they might even go dancing afterward. Olivia let her imagination run freely, as well as her tongue, and filled the time talking of how wonderful it would be tonight with Lloyd, how romantic, and how someday she hoped she and Horace would have that kind of evening. Jane chuckled at the thought of that beanpole, with his lopsided grin and chipped front tooth, dressing up to go to a place like that. It would probably be years before he made enough money for such an excursion. She also knew Olivia would gladly wait.

  The only problem was that Jane had nothing to wear suitable for the occasion. Neither she nor Olivia had ever had a fancy dress.

  In the end, they shared their problem with Mrs. McGill, their landlady, who came upstairs a half hour later with one borrowed from her niece.

  She held it up proudly for them to inspect. Olivia took it and twirled it around, making it flare.

  Mrs. McGill turned to go, reaching into the pocket of her housecoat to take out the soft rag she carried to polish her beloved brass rail. The banister ran from the first floor of the walk-up midway to the second, acting, along with the marble stairs, as the focal point for the large front hallway. Mrs. McGill thought the marble-floored lobby made her building the envy of all the similar ones nearby, a notch above its peers. She never failed to wipe the railing on her way up or down the stairs.

  “I’ll be right back with an evening bag,” she promised Jane, who stood in the doorway watching her rub the rail. “And a stole.” Smiling with excitement, she hurried down.

  The pale Pacific-blue ankle-length gown made Jane’s changeable eyes look the same shade of blue. Unfortunately, when she put it on, the neckline formed a deep V, which gapped, due to Jane’s lack of natural endowment. Something would have to be done about it.

  Mrs. McGill returned with the accessories and assessed the problem. “My niece fills it out better than you do, dear. I’d recommend using some type of brooch to hold it closed.” She and her polishing rag went back downstairs.

  Olivia went to her own room to hunt for a pin.

  Jane struggled with her corkscrew hair, lamenting its independence. The latest style, a bob with bangs, was totally out of her reach. Her hair was all wrong. No matter how much dressing she put on it, it would never curl under at her neck. If she had her hair cut short enough for the bob, it would surround her head like a bad hat.

  Her only defense was to keep it longer; the weight alone helped to keep it down. Ideally, she could put it up, although every attempt she had made so far this evening had failed miserably.

  Finally, she allowed Olivia to twist the mess into a low chignon, not as elegant as Olivia could make her own dark hair, but presentable.

  “Your hair looks fine,” her sister assured her. “But I still haven’t found a suitable pin for you. And something else is missing.” Suddenly she smiled. “I have just the thing!” She ran out of Jane’s room and returned a moment later, carrying a bottle of perfume. “You probably don’t remember this,” she said. “I know I wouldn’t, if I hadn’t found that letter with it.”

  Jane looked at the beautifully shaped bottle. It was still sealed. She could not recall ever seeing it before. “Where did you get that?” she asked.

  Olivia held the bottle reverently. “Father had put it away. After he—” She swallowed. “When we cleared out his things, I found the bottle. Father had left a note with it. I guess he wanted to give it to me when I turned eighteen.”

  She blinked back tears before continuing. “The perfume was my mother’s. He said in the letter that he hoped this unopened bottle, one he bought for her when her other one was getting low, would last until I’m old enough to wear it.” She opened it, and a long forgotten scent filled Jane’s nostrils.


  It was as if she were four years old again, on a summer afternoon, walking down the long front lawn of the big house in Westchester to the creek. Little Jane reached up to take the hand of the beautiful lady who had come to marry Father after Mama died. Jane remembered nothing of her own mother and knew only what her father and Pearl had told her about Hope, the woman who had given birth to her. But she vividly recalled those days with Vanessa, whom she was told to call Mother.

  Her hair was so dark, and she wore a beautiful white sundress, which protruded in the middle. She said that soon Jane would have a baby brother or sister. Jane loved that thought, and loved sitting under the weeping willow tree beside Mother while she read to her. Sometimes she fell asleep sitting there, surrounded by the scent of Mother’s perfume.

  It took effort on Jane’s part not to cry now, as the vapors of the long-stoppered perfume wafted in the air. The pain of losing Mother had come so quickly after the joy of Olivia’s arrival, and it had hurt so much.

  “What shall we name your sister?” Mother had asked, when her baby was born. When Jane did not have an answer, she said, “Your mother chose Jane for you, and it is a nice enough name, but I think your sister will be Olivia. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

  Mother had been so happy. But then she was not happy anymore, and it frightened Jane. One day she was gone. Father said she had died, like Hope. Jane thought it might be her fault her mothers went away. But Father said that was silly. He also said that Jane and Olivia would always have him. They moved to the big apartment overlooking Central Park after he married Pearl, and some of Jane’s pain went away.

  When Father succumbed to cancer, Jane knew how much he hated leaving them, and what a sense of failure he had because he could not be with them anymore. She had tried to relieve his guilt by promising she would take care of everything. But he shook his head. “Don’t forget to live your own life,” he had said.

  “I will,” she had replied, through the tears. She would live up to that promise, someday, and she would have her career.

  “Put some on,” said Olivia, snapping Jane back to the present and the matter at hand. “Your date will be here in a few minutes.”

  That sounded so peculiar to Jane. She had never really considered dating. Now she was actually preparing for it.

  Jane remembered with clarity the preparations Pearl had made for any evening out. She would spend the morning in the beauty parlor, having her hair done elaborately. She also had a manicure, choosing whatever shade of pink the girls suggested. Then she would come home and soak in a bubble bath. The girls always sat with her, listening to her imagine all the people who would be wherever she was going that night, and which singers would sing and which bands would play. Olivia was too young to understand what their stepmother was saying, and she usually just repeated the funnier-sounding words, making both Jane and Pearl laugh till tears ran.

  That was all before the stock market crash. Afterward, many people, among them their parents, no longer had the money or desire to celebrate as they once did.

  But Jane had loved those evenings before, when after her bath Pearl would put on her beautiful corsets and most delicate crinolines. She would dab perfume, a very different scent than Vanessa’s, behind her ears and on her breastbone, and her dressing room would smell delicious. Then, slipping into her gorgeous clothes and pulling on her gloves and fur stole, she would wait in the front hall for their father. His Chesterfield overcoat made him look so handsome, Jane had often thought her heart would burst.

  The memories did not help with Jane’s preparations for her own evening out. The perfume Olivia wanted her to wear only brought uncomfortable recollections of… She shook her head, trying to clear it.

  “What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.

  “I don’t want to wear that perfume.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think you should be the one to wear it. She was your mother.”

  “She was your mother, too. You always told me how much you loved her.”

  Another wave of shivers passed over Jane. It was true that she told Olivia how wonderful her mother had been, since as a baby she could not have any recollection of her. But Jane had some unpleasant memories. After Olivia was born, it was all kind of dark and foggy, with muffled sounds and strange people trooping through the house until, one day, Vanessa was no longer there. Jane learned quickly not to ask about her.

  “No,” said Jane. The memories were too painful, and she did not want pain tonight. “I’d rather you be the first one to wear it.”

  “But I am not going out tonight, and besides, I’m too young for this scent.”

  “Then we’ll keep it for later. It won’t be long.” Vanessa had been only eighteen when she married their father and had worn the scent. “Now, where is my watch?”

  Olivia handed Jane her watch, which she intended, since she had nothing else, to pin to her dress. She had opened the double clasp when her sister stopped her. “Wouldn’t you rather wear the cameo?”

  Jane had not thought of the cameo in years. It was a legacy from Father’s mother. Pearl was very fond of it and had often said that one day Jane would own it. “You are your father’s eldest daughter,” she said, “and it will be yours someday, when I am gone.” Inspired, Jane pulled out the old velvet box she had kept hidden in her dresser. Inside, the cameo nestled on cotton. It was lovely, with a delicate carving of an ancient Greek scene of long-haired maidens filling urns with water. It was surrounded by gold, with a little fleur-de-lis-shaped top, and tiny diamonds and pearls. The background was of a lovely shade of pinkish brown, and the detail was exquisite.

  Jane pinned it to the bodice of her dress, tightening the fabric so it did not gap, and stopped to look at herself in the mirror. What she saw pleased her, even with her slenderness. Her complexion glowed, and for the first time, Jane felt beautiful.

  “You look wonderful,” said Olivia. “Like a princess.”

  When Lloyd arrived, he seemed dazzled. He himself looked dapper in his overcoat with a flowing white scarf. It was all Jane could do to remember to keep breathing, seeing him here, in their small living room. Lloyd helped her into Mrs. McGill’s stole, took her gently by the arm, and promised Olivia, who seemed unable to stop smiling, that they would not be late. Then he led her down to the street, where he had a cab waiting.

  The evening was magical, everything Jane had imagined her parents doing, with the addition of Champagne, which had been against the law during Prohibition. It tickled Jane’s nose. After dinner they went to Twenty-One, for an hour or so, and then to the Rainbow Room. She had never talked so much in her life, but she felt as if she would never run out of things to discuss with this man in the white dinner jacket. She made an effort, however, to avoid talking about Lloyd’s advocacy of America First, feeling she had made herself clear that she did not agree. For his part, he did not push his view.

  It was in the doorway of the Rainbow Room, while their wraps and Lloyd’s hat were being checked, that she saw the Canfields. At first, Jane was embarrassed, feeling oddly shy to be seen in the same establishment as her employer’s biggest clients. In the hope of not being recognized, Jane turned to Lloyd and asked if they could leave. His disappointed face convinced her to retract her request, and after a few turns on the dance floor she felt more comfortable. She was grateful to her sister for insisting they practice dancing, for hours at a time, when Olivia was fifteen. As it was, Jane still felt her technique left something to be desired.

  They were almost ready to leave when Jane saw Mrs. Canfield staring at her. She seemed to be measuring Lloyd. Jane was convinced the assessment had not been positive. Mr. Canfield turned to look in the direction of his wife’s gaze and spotted Jane. Before she could blink, the couple was standing next to her.

  “Good evening, Miss Baldwin,” said Mr. Canfield. “It’s lovely to see you.”

  Jane made the necessary introductions, all the while feeling Mrs. Canfield’s eyes on her. It occurred to her that Ll
oyd might possibly start to talk about American involvement overseas. She held her breath, hoping he would keep his opinions to himself.

  But they discussed the stock market. While Mr. Canfield and Lloyd chatted about business, Jane turned to Mrs. Canfield, wondering what kind of small talk she could make.

  The matter was out of her hands as soon as Mrs. Canfield opened her mouth. “That is a lovely cameo.”

  Jane’s hand touched her brooch. “Thank you.”

  “It looks very old.”

  “Yes. It belonged to my grandmother. It was her mother’s.”

  Mrs. Canfield narrowed her eyes, giving Jane the impression that she was a cat, gauging the distance to her prey. “I have always wanted one like that,” said Mrs. Canfield. “If you should ever decide to sell it, come to me first.”

  It was odd, that she, Jane, had something that Mrs. Canfield wanted. She was just as sure, though, that the woman could find one for herself. She knew that while her own was exceptionally high in quality, and different from the more common portrait of a woman’s head, it was not rare.

  She was saved from having to reply by Lloyd. “Would you like to go home now?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Will you excuse us?” she asked the Canfields.

  Mr. Canfield’s eyes moved from Lloyd to Jane, and his puzzled expression vanished. “Good night, my dear. Take good care of yourself.” His sincere warmth almost made up for Mrs. Canfield’s chilly dismissal.

  Lloyd was charming and sweet all the way back to Brooklyn. He thanked Jane for allowing him to meet Hugh Canfield. His enthusiasm was contagious, and by the time they got back to Jane’s street, she was giddy with excitement.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go away tomorrow,” he said, leaning close to her. “I will miss you so much.”

  This was the first Jane had heard that he was going away. She did not know what to say.

  “Please promise me,” said Lloyd, holding her at arm’s length, and looking directly into her eyes, “that you will still be here when I return.”

  “I was planning on going inside when you leave,” Jane said, forcing a smile to hide her disappointment about his departure. “I don’t think it would be practical for me to remain on the street for any length of time.”