by Nancy Moser
For some reason it made her nervous.
She hurried back to the room. “Here. Bed—”
Sofia was seated at the chair, holding—
Lucy snatched the note away from her. “Give me that!”
“Who’s Dante, and why does he have Father’s name?”
“None of your business.”
Sofia leaned back in the chair as if she owned it, a smug smile upon her lips. “You’re meeting him tomorrow. Can I come too?”
“No, you may not!”
“Does Mamma know about this other Dante?”
Lucy dropped the linens to the floor. “Here. Make up your own bed.”
Sofia shrugged. “Help me?”
The audacity.
Lucy left her to do it herself, and while Sofia’s back was turned, she gathered Dante’s other notes and slid them under her mattress. For now at least.
There were no words exchanged until the lamp was extinguished and both girls were in bed.
Sofia broke the silence by saying, “Mamma said sharing a room would be good for us.”
Lucy faced the wall. What was Mamma thinking? The only good Lucy could imagine was that it would keep Sofia farther away from Haverty and the other stableboys.
But closer to Hugh . . .
She closed her eyes and tried to think happy thoughts.
Sofia turned over on her mattress with a distinct plop. It was not her first act of restlessness, nor would it be her last.
Part of the reason she couldn’t sleep was regret. She shouldn’t have read Lucy’s notes. She’d known it at the time but had been unable to control her curiosity.
Lucy had a suitor?
Sofia knew Lucy had come close to marrying Angelo Romano, and she didn’t fully understand why it had been called off. But other than Angelo, she’d never seen Lucy be flirtatious; in fact, the thought of Lucy being in love was absurd. Love was all about lingering looks, desperate embraces, and undying passion. Or at least that’s how her novels portrayed it. She could not imagine Lucy in any of these situations. Lucy was the sensible one, the—
Sofia’s thoughts flipped from Lucy to herself, and then to Hugh.
With little effort she could imagine herself in his arms. She would look up at him and he would smile down at her, and then, with a lift to her chin, he would . . .
Yet again, Sofia turned over as sleep eluded her.
Chapter Seventeen
Mamma held on to Lucy’s arm tightly. Lucy could tell she was apprehensive and entered the Langdons’ church as if entering a foreign land. Lucy understood her disquiet. Mamma liked what was known. After all, she’d lived in the same apartment on Mulberry Street for two decades, and had sat in the same pew at the Old St. Patrick’s every Sunday. The fact that Mamma had adapted rather well to their new home above the dress shop was a miracle. Now, to ask her to attend a different church, in a different town, in a different state—with strangers?
Lucy patted her hand and whispered, “It’s all right, Mamma. God lives here too.”
They followed the other servants into the sanctuary, and sat as a group near the back. What surprised Lucy the most was how the church was shared with the upper classes and the servants. The congregation of their old church was strictly immigrants. It wasn’t that they didn’t allow the rich to enter; it just was. But here in Newport, the wealthy residents sat up front, walking past in all their Sunday finery, while the people who served them sat in the back.
Lucy wasn’t certain how to feel about it. Wasn’t the God they were here to worship the same for all? To be so segregated was a bit disturbing, and yet . . .
It would have felt far more awkward to sit intermixed. There was comfort in sitting among people of like kind.
The church was full, and Lucy sat shoulder to shoulder with Haverty. She’d purposely placed herself so, shooing Sofia into the pew after Mamma. Of course, that didn’t stop Sofia from leaning forward and smiling at the man, or the other boys who worked in the household.
“Stop that,” Lucy whispered.
“There’s no rule against smiling in church.”
But how about flirting?
The organ music began and all stood to sing from a hymnbook. They weren’t used to singing songs in their church, but Lucy helped Mamma find the book and turn to the right hymn: “The Church’s One Foundation.” Mamma shared with Sofia, leaving Lucy to share with Haverty. The man had a nice baritone voice and they sang the first verse and started the second. “ ‘Elect from every nation, yet one o’er all the earth; her charter of salvation, one Lord, one faith, one birth; one holy name—’ ”
Lucy glanced up and stopped singing. There, across the church, was Dante! He was sitting with an older couple. His parents? She’d always assumed he lived alone, that as a businessman he lived above his shop, or—
Had he ever said he ran a shop? Had he ever told her anything about how he made his livelihood?
Haverty nudged her arm, and she returned to the hymn, but only mouthed the words as her mind raced. From the older woman’s attire it was clear she was wealthy, or at the very least upper middle class.
She knew Dante wasn’t poor. She had known that from the beginning.
As if he felt her gaze, Dante glanced back and saw her. Lucy offered a subtle nod, but Dante quickly turned forward again. His mother gave Lucy a glance too before returning to her hymnal.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t acknowledge me. He’s ashamed of me!
A moment after the rest of the people in her pew had sat down, Lucy realized she was still standing. She quickly sat and received a questioning look from Mamma for her tardiness.
Unfortunately, Sofia looked directly at Dante, then at Lucy. Her smile was mischievous.
She knows that’s Dante. . . .
As the sermon began, Lucy’s thoughts sped to what was going to happen at two o’clock. She was supposed to meet him on a street corner . . . but not at the Cliff Walk, which will certainly be teeming with people.
He was ashamed of her! Of being seen with her!
Suddenly, Lucy’s opinion of being set apart, servants from masters, changed. Forget the comfort of being among like kind. This segregation had to be the idea of the wealthy. It was they who wanted the separation as a way to showcase their position and standing. To sit in the back as lesser people . . .
Papa’s voice sounded in her mind: “Chi la dura la vince.” He that endures overcomes.
But she didn’t want to endure such a blatant snub. She was very willing to work for the wealthy. There was honor in work. But on Sunday, the day of rest and no work, to have her status shoved in her face . . .
Lucy had the urge to storm out of the church in protest.
But even as her mind warred with the notion, she found her body standing and going through with it. “Pardon me, excuse me,” she said, edging out in front of Haverty and two others.
She hurried toward the side aisle and, with a single glance, saw Dante watching her go.
What have I done?
It was too late to worry about that now. Lucy ran out of the church and down the steps to the street. She ran toward home.
No, not home. Toward the Langdons’ home.
Where was Lucy?
When church was over, Rowena had seen Mrs. Scarpelli and Sofia milling about, but Lucy was nowhere to be found.
Hugh sidled up next to her. “If you’re looking for Lucy, I saw her run out of the church midway through the service.”
“But why?”
Hugh shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t like the sermon.”
As soon as Rowena got home she knocked on the door to Lucy’s room. When Lucy answered she looked pale and her expression was distraught.
“You’re not feeling well?” Rowena asked.
“I am well. Physically. I just got upset during church and . . . I ran out. I’m sorry to cause you worry.”
They moved into the dressing room. “But what’s wrong?”
Lucy shrugged, but Rowena wou
ld have none of it. “Lucy, please. Aren’t we friends? I want to help.”
Lucy was still reluctant, but she answered, “He was there. At church. And he’s rich.”
He must mean Dante. Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Really? Didn’t you know he—?”
“No, I didn’t!” Lucy said, too loudly. “Sorry. I don’t mean to shout, but I feel duped, as if he led me on to believe he was something he wasn’t.”
“What did he say he was? What does he do for a living?”
Lucy was faced with the reality that Dante knew far more about her than she knew about him. “I know he wants to be an architect. But other than that, he let me talk about myself.”
“So he knows you are a . . . a seamstress?”
“Yes.” Lucy began to pace. “He knows the conditions I grew up in, he knows my family immigrated from Italy, he knows . . .” She stopped and looked at Rowena. “He knows too much.”
Rowena took Lucy’s hand and led her to the ottoman. “He knows who you are, your background, your occupation, yet he still wants to see you.”
“Well . . . yes.”
“I think it would be far more of a problem if you’d kept your roots from him than the fact that he has kept his from you. He is the one to blame, not you.”
Lucy’s worry lines eased. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Rowena said. “But just as he doesn’t hold who you are against you, so you mustn’t hold his status against him. You must see him today, as planned.”
“But—”
Rowena put a finger to Lucy’s lips. “No buts. You have to go. True love should not be cast off for such a trivial issue.”
“It’s not true love. I barely know—”
“Which is why you must see him. To know him better.” She stood and pulled Lucy to her feet. “How can love grow if you suppress it before it even has a chance?”
“But I’m never supposed to be in love.”
Rowena did a double take. “Not supposed—?”
“With my father gone, I’m the head of the family. Mamma and Sofia depend on me.”
Rowena placed her hands on her hips. “So you’re sacrificing your own happiness for duty?” She didn’t let Lucy speak, but continued. “Duty is fine, duty is noble, but you can’t ignore your own future, your own purpose, for . . .”
She noticed Lucy had crossed her arms and was shaking her head.
“What?” Rowena asked. “Do I not speak the truth?”
“Oh, it’s the truth all right,” Lucy said. “But it’s your truth as much as mine.”
Her words caused Rowena to take a step back. Duty. Sacrifice.
Lucy’s voice softened. “We’re both dutiful daughters, thinking of our family’s needs before our own.”
Rowena was very confused. She’d never considered her situation similar to Lucy’s. And yet . . .
She sat upon the ottoman, bewildered. “I’m trying to love Edward and trying to get him to love me, and you are trying not to love Dante while he clearly loves you. All for the sake of duty.”
“We are quite a pair.”
Rowena nodded. “But what should we do? To ignore duty seems the epitome of selfishness.”
“But what about ignoring love?” Lucy asked.
Rowena took Lucy’s hand and pulled her down beside her. “I want to love someone. I want to have that ever-after knowledge that I am meant to be with a certain man for the rest of my life.” She looked into Lucy’s eyes. “Don’t you want that too?”
“I didn’t think I did. I didn’t think I ever could . . .”
“But now that you’ve met Dante?”
Lucy shrugged.
The gesture sparked Rowena’s anger and propelled her to standing. “You must love him, Lucy. You must allow yourself to love.” Rowena remembered her latest gaffe with Edward, telling him she had no talents whatsoever. It was akin to saying there was no reason for him to marry her. “I wish I had evidence of love like you do.”
“Aren’t things going well between you and Edward?”
Rowena moved away and fingered the cuff of a hanging gown. “We attend the same soirees; we talk.”
“But . . .”
“As much as I wish for him to love me, I’m afraid he doesn’t. Not really.”
“Do you love him?”
She hesitated. Did she love Edward? Suddenly the words came spilling out. “I want us to adore each other and be all things to each other, and share secrets and dreams and . . . and know the worst about each other but not care.” By saying all this aloud, Rowena realized how far her relationship with Edward needed to go. She’d been ordered to love him, but she didn’t. As Shakespeare wrote, “There’s the rub.”
She turned back to Lucy. “My friend Morrie says that Edward would be an idiot not to fall for me.”
“Morrie is right. Give it time and Edward will see what an amazing woman you are.”
“But I’m not—” And time is short.
“Shhh. You are, and that’s that.”
Rowena offered a smile of surrender. “Enough of me.” She began riffling through the rows of dresses. “What are you going to wear to see your Dante?” With a glance over her shoulder, she added, “For you are going to see him.”
“I can’t wear your clothes again.”
“They’re not good enough for you?”
“Of course they are, but—”
Rowena pulled a pale olive pinstripe from the pack. “This one, I think.”
“Where did you get that dress?” Mamma asked.
At the question, Lucy immediately regretted her decision to stop by the workroom to tell her mother she felt better and was going to meet a friend.
“Rowena loaned it to me.”
Sofia let out a puff of air. “When can I wear her clothes?”
“You can’t.” She’s not your friend. “They wouldn’t fit you.”
Lucy turned toward the door. “I really need to go—”
“But why can’t I go too?”
Her regret in coming to the workroom deepened. “Because you weren’t invited.”
“Now, now, Lucia,” Mamma said. “It seems very convenient you are suddenly feeling better—just in time to meet a friend.”
“He’s not just a friend,” Sofia said. “Lucy has a beau.”
Lucy felt the heat of Mamma’s questioning eyes. Should she deny it?
“A beau, Lucia?”
Lucy flashed Sofia a scathing look—to no avail. Sofia busied herself with a bowl of buttons. “He’s a very nice man, Mamma. We met on the Cliff Walk. Actually, he saved me when I slipped down to a ledge.”
“You slipped?”
Lucy wasn’t sure whether to exaggerate her fall or act as though it were nothing. She decided to focus on the aftermath. “He pulled me to safety.”
“Tell me about him. What’s his name?”
Before Lucy could answer, Sofia did it for her. “Dante. Like Father.”
Lucy felt her cheeks flush. “That’s my name for him. He was a hero in saving me, and Father was my hero, so . . .”
“What’s his real name?”
Oh dear.
“Lucia?”
“Barth-something? I don’t really know.”
“You don’t know his name, yet you’re meeting him on some street corner?”
It did sound questionable. “We’ve had long talks, Mamma. He’s easier to talk with than any man I’ve ever known. He’s a good man. I know it.”
“They write each other notes,” Sofia added.
That was it. Lucy lunged at Sofia, making the buttons spill. “You little brat! You have no right—”
Mamma got between them and, thankfully, pointed a finger at Sofia. “You hush now. This is Lucia’s story to tell.”
Sofia couldn’t resist one more jab. “He was at church this morning.”
Since Sofia had seen the glance that had passed between herself and Dante, Lucy wondered who else had seen.
“Why didn’t you
introduce me to him?” Mamma asked.
“I . . . I didn’t feel well, remember?” She glared at Sofia, trying to warn her to keep any additional comments to herself.
Oddly, her sister remained silent.
“I really have to go, Mamma. You need to trust me, trust my judgment.”
Mamma studied her face a moment more, then nodded. “Be wise and be good, Lucia.”
She’d try.
I’ll follow her.
If she hurried, Sofia could spy on Lucy with this wealthy man who’d captured her sister’s heart.
She headed for the door of the workroom.
“Where are you going?” Mamma asked.
“For a walk.”
Mamma gave her the look she deserved. “You leave your sister alone.”
Sofia saw an opening. “But I thought you didn’t approve—”
“I understandably have questions, piccolina. A mother always fears for her daughters’ hearts.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about mine. I’m not the one in love.”
Mamma looked heavenward. “Grazie, Dio.”
Sofia realized too much time had passed to catch up to Lucy now. She had no idea if she was meeting Dante on the Cliff Walk or somewhere else, and now it was too late.
She put her hand on the doorknob. “I’m not following her, Mamma. I’m just going up to our room to read.”
“Promise?”
Sofia crossed her heart. What other choice did she have?
As she walked toward the main house, she glanced toward the stables. She could go talk to the stableboys. They seemed eager for her company.
Too eager.
She continued toward the house, where she went in the back entrance and up the stairs. But once on the first floor she noticed how quiet it was and remembered passing a certain room she really wanted to see. . . .
Holding her breath in order to listen for others, she heard nothing, which provided a boost of courage to move forward, down the wide hallway, to the room of her dreams.
The library.
She peeked around the doorjamb and found it empty—of people.
It was full, entirely full, of books. Shelf upon shelf, wall-to-wall books, just waiting to be read.
And she, the willing reader.
