by Joani Ascher
She stood beside him looking quite small in his coat, and vulnerable in the dim light of the hotel lobby. He had to find a way to keep her close to him.
“Let’s take a hansom ride,” he said. “We’ll go through the park.”
“Prescott, how will we explain our absence to our hosts?”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Leave it to me. Come inside to get your coat, and I’ll go make our excuses.”
He knew he was nearly babbling when he said good night to their table, where the main course had just been served, and hoped Jane would not be annoyed that he had said she was coming down with a virus.
They snuggled down beneath wool blankets in the cab. For several minutes neither spoke, and the only sound was the clopping of the horse’s hooves in the dark park. Prescott could feel Jane beside him, and he wanted so much to kiss her it hurt. But he was afraid.
“We’ve let so much time pass,” he said, thinking out loud. “Why were we so stubborn?”
****
“Stubborn?” Jane asked, wondering why he sounded so miserable. Until then she had been experiencing profound joy, encircled as she was in his arms. She wished more than anything she could make this moment last forever.
“You know what I mean,” he said. He tilted her chin up to his, and she could feel his breath. “I’ve never stopped having feelings for you.”
She caught her breath at his admission. Maybe it was time for her to be honest too. She had always loved him. But so much time had gone by.
The ride was over too quickly. Prescott helped her from the carriage but held her tight even after her feet were on the ground. “I’m sorry,” he said, as if embarrassed. “Let me take you home.”
He hailed a cab, and they drove to Brooklyn. Telling the cabby to wait, he walked her up to her apartment and took her hands in his. “Will you join me for dinner?”
Jane was grateful for the dark hallway, because she knew she was blushing. “I already have.”
“No, I mean tomorrow, and the next day and every day after that. Will you?”
****
In just a few weeks, Jane realized he was completely part of her very soul. At that moment, she stopped cold.
“What’s wrong?” Prescott asked. They had been walking through Central Park, enjoying the mid-November sunshine streaming through the leafless trees.
Jane stared at him. He was hatless, like John Kennedy, the president-elect, and the sun shone on his face. “Prescott, I—”
He stopped her and led her to a bench. They sat down, but he immediately moved off the bench and knelt on one knee in front of her. Pulling a Tiffany box from his top coat pocket, he said, “I never dared hope I would find my way back to you, but miraculously, I have. Will you make me the luckiest man in the world and marry me?”
“Yes!” She took his face in her hands and kissed him. A small group of bystanders began to clap.
Pulling him back up onto the bench, Jane buried her burning face in his shoulder.
She waited until the crowd moved away. Swallowing hard, she said, “But I’m too old—”
“To have children? I don’t need children. I want you. Besides, Ellen is a wonderful girl. Anne always says so.”
Jane laughed. She had only been worried that she was too set in her ways to marry, but his words caused tears of relief and hope to run from her eyes.
****
“Ellen,” Jane said, “I would like you to meet Prescott Weaver.”
She was adorable. Prescott recognized her similarity to Olivia, whom he’d first met when she was not much older than Ellen was now. Her long dark hair shone in the sunlight. But the way she looked at him, with those large, dark brown eyes, was more like the way Jane assessed people, forthright and open.
Ellen looked up at him and then at her mother. “Welcome to our family, Mr. Weaver.”
“Please call me Prescott. If that’s all right with your mother.”
“Of course,” said Jane. “Whatever is comfortable.”
Ellen scowled, wrinkling her dark eyebrows. “How about Uncle Prescott? That sounds more related.”
“That’s a deal.”
Prescott realized Jane had been holding her breath when it came out in a relieved rush. He put out his hand and Ellen shook it, sealing the agreement.
It seemed as if fifty young girls came to say goodbye to Ellen while she and Prescott were packing up the car. Ellen proudly introduced each one to her Uncle Prescott. It took much longer to leave than he had expected, but he didn’t have the heart to rush her along.
Throughout the Thanksgiving weekend, Prescott saw Jane and Ellen almost continuously during waking hours. Their conversations ranged from discussion of the recent election to the Cold War to questions about countries Prescott had visited and places Anne was scheduled to see. They also spoke of pets and horses. Ellen was a charming child, very intelligent and interested in the world around her. The school she attended was obviously doing an excellent job.
Unlike some children Prescott had met, Ellen neither shied away from talking to adults nor monopolized a conversation. She was very grateful when he took her to her first basketball game at Madison Square Garden. He was able to get seats close to the floor, and Ellen sat, in her hat and gloves, transfixed, watching as Ray Felix made foul shots. And on the way home, she reached out her hand and put it into his. He could not speak for five minutes.
****
Ellen confided to Jane before going back to school, “I like him a lot. I can barely wait for the wedding.”
Jane hugged her daughter. “Me too.”
****
Jane walked up and down the corridor outside the judge’s office in the Newark, New Jersey courthouse. New York State refused to recognize divorces such as the one Prescott’s ex-wife had obtained in Florida, forcing them to go out of state for their wedding. All during the ferry ride, Jane had become more worried.
The shoes she wore, vanilla to go with her silk suit, clicked on the tile as she paced, sending echoes. She touched her kid gloves to her matching pillbox hat, just like the ones Jackie Kennedy wore, and straightened its little veil.
“Why are you so nervous, Mom?” Ellen asked. For the occasion, she wore a new dress, deep crimson velvet with white ribbons, with black patent leather shoes that sounded solid compared to Jane’s as they walked. “Aunt Anne and Grandma say you’ve loved Uncle Prescott for years.”
Jane stopped and smiled, feeling as though a fog had lifted. “I really have. I’m just nervous about being someone’s wife.”
Ellen blushed.
“I wasn’t talking about that, young lady, and get it out of your mind. I meant sharing a home. I’m so set in my ways after all these years.”
“Oh,” said Ellen. “Hold on a minute. I have a note here from Aunt Anne. She said to give it to you if the subject came up.”
Jane took the note and read it. “Dear Jane,” it said. “If you are reading this, you’ve told Ellen you are afraid Prescott will be displeased by your set ways. I can only remind you that I was worried about that with Schuyler, and it turned out not to be a problem.” She had signed it, “Your more rational friend, Anne.”
“Did she send you any more letters to give me?”
“Three. They are in case you worry about giving up your career, which she says don’t, changing your politics, for which she advises agreeing with whatever Uncle Prescott says and then voting your conscience, or postponing the wedding until she comes home. She’s emphatically against that.”
“Your vocabulary is improving,” Jane noted. “Is that it?”
“There was one I wasn’t supposed to open.” She held an envelope out.
Jane took it and opened the flap. It read, “I wish more than anything that I could be with you today, to see your face full of the love I know you have for Prescott. All my love, Anne.”
A man came out of the judge’s chambers. “We’re ready.”
Jane moved forward, but Ellen stopped her. “There is on
e more thing from Aunt Anne.” She took a small box out of her coat pocket.
Opening it, Jane found another note from Anne. “I can’t be there to attend you, but I wanted to be sure you were prepared. I had the store include a blue bow on your slip with your outfit, as you probably noticed, and this will fulfill the other requirements.” Jane opened the felt pouch attached to the note. Inside was her grandmother’s cameo, the one she had sold to Anne so many years ago.
Ellen and Jane held hands as they went inside. Then Ellen stepped back, linking Jane’s hand with Prescott’s. With her twelve-year-old daughter giving her away, and Mr. Dobbin, Mrs. McGill, and Prescott’s sister and brother-in-law standing as witnesses, and all that had led to this point, Jane was nearly overwhelmed. But when she looked into Pres’s eyes and saw the happiness there, she felt her own heart expanding to envelop her whole family.
Well-wishers met them back in Manhattan, where there was a small luncheon at the Union League Club. As the Champagne was poured, Mr. Dobbin stood and held up his glass.
“Jane, you are like a daughter to me,” he said, his blue eyes watering once again. “And yet in some ways, you have always taken care of me. Prescott is a lucky man.” He smiled at both of them and directed his gaze to Jane’s new husband. His voice nearly broke when he added, “Take care of her.”
Prescott rose and shook the old man’s hand. “I give you my word, sir, I will.”
Mrs. McGill wiped the tears from her eyes and hugged Jane and Prescott when it was time to leave. When their friend Constance Merriam came to take Ellen and her own daughter back to their boarding school, Jane held Ellen close before she left. “I’m going to miss you so much,” she said.
“Oh, Mom, you always say that,” Ellen teased. “Besides, you and Uncle Prescott will be coming to see me during the winter games. They’re only weeks away.” Putting her hand up, she touched the cameo pinned to Jane’s suit. “Now that you are married, I’m supposed to tell you that is one of the gifts from Aunt Anne. It’s no longer borrowed, it’s yours.”
Jane missed Anne more than ever, as she hugged Ellen. “Your aunt is a wonderful woman.”
Prescott held Jane close on one side, with Ellen on the other. Then Ellen blew a kiss to the married couple and ran outside to catch her ride.
Jane and Prescott were finally alone.
They went to the suite in the Waldorf that Prescott had reserved for the night before they left on their honeymoon trip. He carried her over the threshold into a room filled with yellow roses and illuminated by dozens of candles.
“The roses,” she said, remembering her reaction all those years ago.
“I’m hoping they’ll make you happy this time.”
“They do. You do.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. He leaned down and kissed her until she was lightheaded, then picked her up and placed her on the bed, where they continued their exploration of one another.
Contrary to what Jane’s stepmother, Pearl, had predicted, Jane’s marriage never lacked for passion.
Chapter Thirty-One
The New Year and John F. Kennedy’s new administration brought a resurgence in the economy. Both Jane and Prescott were kept busy. They had agreed to keep their businesses separate, and each blossomed.
But they had time to set up their new apartment on Fifth Avenue, overlooking Central Park. It had four bedrooms, a study, a large formal living room, a dining room, and three fireplaces. Jane had never before allowed herself to care about her surroundings beyond being clean and tidy. Now she threw herself into decorating. By sacrificing some of her lunch hours, she was able to select fabric, dusky pinks and dark greens, to go with the blond wood of the Danish Modern furniture she chose for the apartment.
She found a schoolgirlish excitement in getting mail with her new name on it. Mrs. Prescott Weaver. It was silly to be so enamored of it, but she could not deny her feelings.
That is, until one day when she got a letter with no return address. It was postmarked Manhattan. She had hurried home to dress for the opera but took the time to open the envelope:
Dear Jane,
Let me be among the first to congratulate you on your marriage. I read about it in The New York Times.
I, too, have good news. There is a wonderful investment opportunity coming up which will finally enable me to fulfill my potential. I can assure you, it’s strictly legit. Unfortunately I am a little short on capital. It would be a pity if I missed out on this. I’m hoping you can help bridge the gap.
I will only need five thousand dollars. At present I am between residences, but I will call on you in a week. At that time I am sure you’ll be generous enough to lend me the money I need. After all, we are bound by a mutual love for Ellen. Sincerely, Martin.
Jane’s hand shook as she read the letter. Prescott was not home yet, and she did not want to spoil their evening with such a nasty reminder of the past. She tore the letter up and threw it into the fire, intending to put the entire thing out of her mind.
But she found herself worrying all week about what to do when Martin called on her. She thought about telling Prescott, but she wanted more than anything not to trouble him with this remnant of her past life. She finally decided the best way to handle it was to send him away without seeing her. She left instructions with the doorman that when a Mr. Martin Roche came he was to be turned away, firmly and finally.
****
A few weeks later, she received another letter from Martin:
Jane,
I don’t think you understand how important my investment is. I must have that money. There is no more time to wait or play games. If you don’t pay the money, all five grand, I will find a way to make you give it to me. Or I’ll make you wish you had.
His signature, under an underlined “Sincerely,” looked like the writing of an extremely angry man. Jane knew it was time to tell her husband about the threats.
“There’s something I must tell you.” As calmly as she could, she explained about the letters she had received.
Prescott tilted Jane’s chin up and looked deeply into her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“If we don’t put a stop to it, we’ll never be free. He has no power over us. I’ll just point that out to him.”
****
Jane and Ellen had barely stepped out of their car in front of their apartment building when they were set upon by reporters.
“Is it true what they’re saying about Prescott Weaver?” asked one.
Jane’s heart felt as if it were lodged in her throat. “What do you mean?”
“A man attacked him. When he was arrested he made allegations that Mr. Weaver had purchased a baby. That’s a federal offense. If it’s true, Mr. Weaver could be in serious trouble.”
Ellen stepped toward the man. “My stepfather never did any such thing.”
The man held his pencil poised over his pad. “Any comment, Mrs. Weaver?”
Jane looked from him to her daughter. Ellen had never been told about the money her father took to give up custody. She did not want her to find out now. “Come inside, Ellen.” Pulling her by the arm, she led her into the building, with the doorman bringing in her bags behind them.
He shut the door in the reporter’s face. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Weaver. I didn’t know he was going to say those nasty things.”
“I’d just like to get Ellen upstairs,” said Jane, looking in frustration at the empty elevator. The operator was apparently on break. “Would you take us right up?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Once they were in their home, Ellen turned to Jane. “What was that all about? Is Uncle Prescott in trouble?”
What could Jane say? How could she tell her child what had happened so many years ago? But Ellen had a right to know. At the same time, Jane was terrified of what it might mean to Prescott, and she had to talk to him right away.
“Jane, is that you?” Prescott’s voi
ce came from the kitchen. He pushed open the door and came into the living room.
“How did you get here?” asked Ellen. “We didn’t see you downstairs.”
“I came through the servants’ entrance. I can’t believe I had to do that in my own home.” He came around the corner into the living room, and Jane saw that he had a blackened eye.
“Prescott,” said Jane, “what happened to you?”
“I, uh—”
“Who did that to you, Uncle Pres?”
He came over to Ellen and hugged her. Over her shoulder he looked at Jane, leading her to believe it was Martin. And from what the reporter said, she knew it had been bad, and public.
“We’ll talk about it soon, darling. But I’m expecting a call from my attorney.”
Jane barely noticed when he helped her off with her coat. She had a terrible sense of foreboding. “There was a reporter,” she said.
Prescott nodded. “Outside. I saw. That was why I came around the back. If I had known you would be coming in then, I’d have run interference. I’m so sorry.”
“It isn’t that,” said Jane. She turned to Ellen.
Ellen looked at each of them. “I think I’d better unpack.”
When she was gone, Jane took Prescott by the arm and led him to the couch. “Let me get you something for that eye.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Just wait a moment.” She went into the kitchen and took out the thick steak she’d planned for dinner. Suddenly her knees felt very weak, and she had to lean against the counter to regain her strength.
“Pull yourself together,” she murmured to herself. Taking a deep breath, she brought the steak to her husband and helped position it on his swollen eyelid. “I have to talk to you,” she whispered. “The reporter said something about buying a baby.”
