by Nancy Moser
Was marrying Edward the right thing?
She remembered Morrie’s words. By gaining status in the world, would she be risking her soul?
“You risk losing you.”
Rowena leaned forward, cupping her face in her hands. Oh, God, please show me the right thing to do. Please show me what you want me to do.
She sat in silence a moment, hoping God would send her a sign that would guide her and show her the—
“Rowena? Are you all right?”
Mother walked toward her. Rowena sat up, mourning the interruption and the lack of a clear answer from the Lord. “I’m fine, Mother. Do you need me for something?”
She held out a note. “This just came for you.”
Rowena opened it and read: Dear Rowena, I’m sorry but I can’t accompany you to the Dashells’ this evening. I will see you tomorrow. Yours, Edward.
Mother was waiting. “Well?”
“Edward can’t go with me tonight.”
“Whyever not?”
“He doesn’t say.”
Mother shook her head. “That boy. Doesn’t he realize how imperative it is for you two to be seen together at every convenience? People will begin to talk and think you aren’t engaged.”
And there it was. “But we’re not engaged, Mother.”
“You nearly are. It’s been arranged.”
“By you and Father.”
“And the DeWitts.”
She pushed herself to standing. “What about what Edward and I want?”
Her mother looked as shocked as if Rowena had uttered a string of curses. In a way, perhaps she had, for she’d certainly expressed an opinion akin to blasphemy.
Mother put a hand to the cameo at her neck. “I thought you liked Edward.”
“I do. And I believe he likes me.”
“Then what is the problem?”
Rowena sighed heavily and looked out to the ocean that cared not a whit about this conversation. Perhaps she should take note. . . .
She faced her mother and offered a smile. “ ‘A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.’ ”
“What—?”
“If you’ll excuse me, Mother.”
This time when Rowena entered the house, she had no fear of the looming walls, for the gates of heaven had been opened. God had heard her prayer.
And answered.
Lucy relished being on Dante’s arm, strolling along the busy streets of the city center. Although the experience lacked the intimacy they gained on the Cliff Walk, it gave Lucy a truer feeling of what life would be like once they were married and forging a life together as a couple amongst the world.
She pointed to a shop window. “Ooh, look at that hat. I love the way the feathers are made to bend around each other in a spiral.” She stopped to study it. “I’ll have to tell Mamma about it so she can copy—”
“No need to tell her . . .” Dante pulled her inside, where he bought her the hat.
“I’ve never had anyone buy me anything,” she said as the clerk put her old hat in a hatbox.
“Never?” Dante asked. “I find that hard to believe.”
Lucy remembered Angelo buying her a flower from a cart once, or on second thought, had he simply retrieved a fallen flower from the street?
They left the shop with Dante carrying the box for her. “Everyone’s noticing your new hat,” he whispered. “They’re jealous.”
People jealous of her? It was another new—
Lucy stopped and craned her head to see through the other people, walking on the sidewalk.
“What?” Dante asked.
That looked like Bonwitter.
She continued to peer around people, hoping—yet fearing—to see the same man. What if it was him? But how could it be him? Was his hate for Lucy so strong he’d traveled to Newport to get revenge?
“Lucy? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, dispelling the image. “Nothing,” she said. “I’m just seeing things.”
Dante put two fingers toward his eyes. “Only see these eyes loving you, all right?”
All right.
“Where are you taking me?” Sofia asked Hugh as he helped her down from the carriage.
“To the best restaurant in Newport, matey.”
“But I’m not dressed fancy enough—”
“Not that kind of ‘best’—the best food. Come on.”
They zigzagged through the crowd on the sidewalk until they came to a restaurant called The Captain’s Bounty. When they entered, the man behind the bar called out, “Hugh’s here! Dump a lobster in the water!”
Hugh placed Sofia in front of him, his hands upon her shoulders. “Captain McEnery, I’d like you to meet Sofia. Sofia, meet the captain.”
Sofia nodded, and the captain winked at her. “You like lobster, young lady?”
“I don’t know.”
His eyes grew large. “You don’t know? Well, now, we’ll take care of that.” To Hugh he said, “Take a seat and I’ll ’ave Molly get you goin’.”
“Crab legs, scallops, and shrimp too, Captain.”
He laughed. “A seafood feast, coming right up.”
Hugh pulled Sofia to a table by the window, where a plump woman accosted them, setting hands upon her ample hips. “So, Hugh. Ale for the two of yous?”
“Just one, Molly. And a root beer for the lady.”
“What’s root beer?” Sofia asked.
“You’ll see.”
Soon after, Molly brought Hugh a mug of beer and Sofia a bottle that said “Hires” on it.
“Taste it,” he said.
The taste was tangy yet earthy. “It’s good.”
“It’s just the beginning of new tastes for you, Sofia.”
She could believe it. “I’ve never eaten in a restaurant either,” she said.
He gaped at her. “You’re joshing me.”
Sofia regretted her confession.
He squeezed her hand. “I’m honored to be the one to give you your first dining experience. And The Captain’s Bounty is the perfect place for it, you’ll see.”
“It’s already perfect,” she said. “Without the food.”
While they waited for their meal they looked out the window, to the street and the harbor and the bay beyond. “God lives here,” Hugh said.
“Here? In this restaurant?”
He laughed. “I meant here, by the sea. On the water.”
“I thought God lived in church.”
Hugh shook his head, his eyes still on the water. “I know He’s everywhere, but out there, on the waves, under a blue sky, that’s where I feel Him.” He looked at her. “How about you?”
Sofia had never thought much about it. God always was for her, yet He also always was a ways away, as if He were on a throne in the next room, a room where she never gained access. She extended an arm straight out from her body. “God always seems over there.”
“Over where?”
“Anywhere I’m not.”
Hugh seemed taken aback.
How could she explain? “Maybe it’s because I’ve always lived in the city, where the buildings are high and there’s only a narrow slice of sky, where colors are drab and trees nonexistent.”
“What about Central Park?”
She shrugged. “That’s as foreign a place to me as Newport.”
“Oh, the places I will show you, Sofia.”
It was her turn to be taken aback.
He noticed. “Do I shock you by being so forward?”
“I don’t know forward from backward, but yes, you’re talking far beyond our short acquaintance.”
He sat back in his chair and sighed. “I . . . I don’t know what to do with you, with the way I feel about you. I’ve never felt like this about any girl.”
Sofia’s thoughts raced to what she’d heard about him. “What about that maid? The one . . .”
“Addy?”
“The maid you . . . you . . .” She couldn’t say it aloud.
He leaned forward, his voice adamant. “I did nothing to that girl beyond exchanging a few words. If she got in the family way, people need to look elsewhere.”
Sofia believed him, and yet . . . “Then why do people say such things about you?”
He took a sip of his drink, then set it down and turned the mug this way and that. “Because I let them.”
“Why do you let them?”
“Because it’s easier to be thought of as a fool than live under the expectations of being someone who’s worthy and honorable.”
“That’s a horrible way to think.”
He shrugged, then took her hands and held them in the table space between them. “But meeting you, finding a connection with you . . . it’s made me want to be a better man. It makes me want to be worthy of you.”
She was touched and flattered, but also scared. Where could this go? Certainly no good could come from their relationship. For fool or not, he was still the heir to the Langdon fortune, and poor or not, she was still beneath him in status, education, and breeding.
“Do you want to know a secret, matey?”
“Of course.”
“When my parents think I’m out carousing, I’m actually down here, volunteering on a fishing boat. Those men teach me about the world, about life, about living.”
Her need to respond was taken away when Hugh pointed out the window. “Look there. Why is Lucy walking arm in arm with Rowena’s Edward?”
Sofia saw her sister on the sidewalk. She couldn’t see the man’s face, as he was looking down at Lucy, but by the way Lucy was leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked, there was an evident connection between them. A romance.
The man shifted.
“That’s not Edward,” Sofia said. “That’s Dante. I saw him in church.”
“It’s Edward DeWitt, I tell you.” He pushed back his chair. “I’ll go ask them to join us.”
Sofia reached across the table. “No!”
Other diners looked in their direction, and Hugh took his seat. “Why not? You’re not ashamed of me, are you?”
“Of course not, but . . .”
The list of buts was lengthy and complicated.
Luckily, Molly brought them their dinner, balancing three plates heaped with exotic foods.
“Here now. Let’s eat.”
Rowena paced in front of her fireplace. It was time for Morrie to have his next dose of medicine, yet she was having trouble finding the courage to go see him.
“But I promised the doctor I’d look after him,” she said as she paced toward her bedroom door.
“But he’ll want to talk about us,” she countered as she paced back toward the window.
A solution came to her and spurred her out to the hallway. She went to Hugh’s bedroom door and knocked. And knocked. “Hugh? Answer. I need you to do me a favor.”
Sadie came down the hall carrying fresh linens. “Pardon me, miss, but Mr. Hugh isn’t here.”
Of course he wasn’t.
There was no way around it. Rowena had to go see Morrie.
As she crossed the lawn she rehearsed different ways in which to curtail his talk of love, or their being together. “It’s not the time or place to talk of this, Morrie. You have to focus on getting well and—”
As she entered the stables she kept her monologue to herself. But at the entrance to Morrie’s room she found a crowd of three stableboys. She heard them talk about repairs to a bridle and saddle.
She took advantage of their presence and paused in the doorway until they turned. Caps were removed and conversation stopped.
“Outta here, boys. My nurse has arrived.”
But as the boys started to leave, Rowena slid by them and made a beeline for the medicine. “No need to go. Let me give the patient his dose and I’ll leave you to your business.”
“But—”
She poured out the medicine and virtually shoved it in Morrie’s mouth. “There, now,” she said. “I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.”
“But—”
Rowena nodded to the boys and escaped into the stables. She heard Morrie say, “Thanks a lot, fellas.”
She felt bad for being so cowardly, but also felt greatly relieved that she had a respite before she’d see him alone again.
A horse whinnied nearby, drawing Rowena toward the rows of stalls. She found the vocal mare and stroked the horse’s nose. “There, there. Has everyone neglected you?”
The horse flicked its head, as if nodding. The smells of the horses and the stables were pungent, yet brought back wonderful memories of hours spent with Morrie, helping him tend the horses and even muck out the straw in the stalls. Looking down at her fancy dress with its elaborate trimmings, it seemed ridiculous to think she’d ever gotten dirty through such hard work.
Yet she’d loved every minute of it and had rushed to the stables each day for more.
She walked down the center aisle with horse stalls on either side. Most of these horses were new and unfamiliar to her, but there, in the last stall on the right, was Bessie, the horse who’d been hers.
“Here, girl,” Rowena said, clicking her tongue and holding out her hand.
Bessie came to her, limping a bit.
How ironic.
“You limp too, girl? It appears we’re two of a kind.”
Bessie nuzzled her nose into Rowena’s hand, and Rowena leaned her head against her mane. “I miss riding you. Have you missed me?”
I can’t ride anymore.
Yes you can.
Could she? Since the accident she’d given up riding horses. And sailing. And dancing. And doing much of anything that brought her joy.
She heard voices coming toward her. The boys were done talking to Morrie.
She should go talk to him and give him a proper good-night.
Instead, she walked out the other end of the barn, her streak of cowardice intact.
Sofia slipped into the bedroom she shared with Lucy and was glad to find it empty. She didn’t want to talk to her sister tonight for fear that questions would be asked about how Sofia had spent her evening—and how Lucy had spent hers.
Sofia knew her talent for hiding her true feelings was limited. If Lucy saw her, she’d know something was wrong and Sofia would have to lie, or even worse, confront Lucy with the truth—that Dante was actually Edward DeWitt.
She couldn’t fathom such a confrontation, nor the question that would surely arise as to how Sofia knew such a thing. Sofia couldn’t let on she was spending time with Hugh Langdon. Lucy had warned her about him, and though her warnings appeared to be unfounded, Lucy would still not approve.
Though how could Lucy talk? She was being romanced by a rich man herself.
But surely she didn’t know Dante’s true identity. Sofia couldn’t imagine Lucy would ever betray Rowena like that.
It was all too complicated to deal with tonight. And so Sofia quickly got undressed, put out the lamp, and got in bed before Lucy got home.
She closed her eyes and prayed for guidance. For clarity.
And for a miracle.
Chapter Nineteen
Le ore del mattino hanno l’oro in bocca.
The morning hours are the most precious of the day.
How many times had her father said those words?
Lucy sat on the stone wall, facing the sea, waiting . . . waiting . . .
There it was! The sun.
It began as a sliver of red, like a ball of fire trying to rise out of the sea. As it rose, the sea diluted its fire from red to orange to a white too bright to hold her gaze.
Quick! Before it’s fully risen. Say what you’ve come to say.
“I . . .” It was odd to hear her voice aloud and she checked left, then right, to make sure she was alone before she continued. “I am in love.”
It was a simple statement that surprised her with its power.
She repeated it. “I am in love and am loved. We want to get married, and yet . . .”
And yet . . .
Lucy leaned her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands, looking down at the rocky path.
Rocky path. That’s what would come with her marrying Dante, a man of higher birth. What would his parents say? What would society say? What would Mamma say?
Mamma and Sofia would be going home soon. The ball was tonight, meaning their reason for being in Newport would come to an end. They would have to go back to their apartment above the dress shop.
But if I marry Dante . . .
Lucy would be living with him. Then what about Mamma and Sofia? She couldn’t expect Dante to take on that responsibility—even though he had said, “They can learn to depend on me.” Without Lucy’s income, Mamma and Sofia wouldn’t be able to stay in the apartment. Where would they go?
“I feel so selfish. Oh, God, what should I do?”
God? She’d been talking to the sunrise. How had God come into this?
But as she watched the sun move the clouds out of the way, as she listened to the waves wash over the rocks, teasing them with cool relief only to withdraw to tease again, she acknowledged what she’d already known, that God controlled the sunrise and the waves and the shore. With the flip of His will He could stop them all and move heaven and earth: Smuovere mare e monti.
So why would you listen to my prayers? I’ve always stubbornly insisted I could do things myself.
At that moment the sun sprang free from the clouds, making Lucy laugh aloud.
“Fine,” she said. “You’re listening. So help me do what’s right for all of us. Help me . . .” She remembered yet another piece of wisdom from her father. Ciò che Dio vuole, io voglio: What God wills, I will.
I need to let Him choose? It was totally against her character. And yet . . .
Lucy looked out to sea and let the sound of the waves accompany her while she waited for His answer.
Where was Lucy?
Sofia awakened early and found her sister gone. Thinking of Lucy’s practical nature, her first thought was that her sister was in the workroom, making sure the costumes were ready for the ball tonight.
But then she remembered seeing Lucy walking with Dante—Edward DeWitt. The look on her sister’s face, the way she leaned her head against his arm . . . Lucy was in love.
