But Millie wasn’t fooled, Raymond was certain. Yet another reason to love her.
She clung to his hand. This action did not go unnoticed by Elliott.
“I see.” He laid the bracelet back in its box and gave it to Mrs. Moore. “Perhaps this is a gift that would be appreciated later.”
Mrs. Moore received the box with eager hands. She ran her fingers over its velvet surface. “Mildred,” she said, her voice taking on an unnatural coldness. “Take this upstairs.” She forced it onto Millie.
Millie held it by two fingers as if its greasy effects would contaminate her further.
Raymond had to do something. He reached into his pocket. “B-before you g-g-o, M-m-miss Moore, I have a lit-t-tle something f-f-or you as we-we-ell.” On the back of a heart he pencilled a very important message.
Hope lit her eyes as he dropped the heart into her hand. Then without another word, Millie Moore fled the parlor for good.
“Well, sh-sh-e’s n-n-ot c-coming back.” Raymond placed his hat on his head and bade them good day. He left the flowers humming their chorus. Eventually it would fade, but not before it had driven Elliott away. Thus he left the Moore residence.
Before he had taken too many steps along the street he saw an upper window open. Something flew out with great force. It looked like a velvet box. His heart swelled. That’s his girl.
Millie leaned out the window, a scowl on her face. She watched the box fly far away, to disappear in the branches of a tree on the other side of the street.
She looked down and their gazes met. Her countenance changed to one of joy. She held up something small between her fingers—the candy heart—and shouted, “I love you too!” before popping the heart in her mouth. Then she retreated, lest someone catch her shouting something so true from the windows.
He wished she’d shout more often. That declaration lightened his feet, making him dance past stately homes and amused passers-by all the way to the next street corner.
A hand descended to his shoulder and spun him around quite forcefully.
“Hey Wa-Wa-Wilson, what do you think you’re doing?”
Guy Elliott had followed him from the Moores’.
He jabbed a finger at Raymond’s chest. “You trying to steal my girl, Wa-Wa-Wilson?”
A wagon rumbled by, the horses’ hooves ringing loud on the pavement. A few noisy boys darted past.
Really? Elliott chose a public street corner to pick a fight?
Raymond’s fist balled. It would serve Elliott right to be knocked down right here in public. He itched to do so. But that wasn’t the gentleman’s way.
“Can’t s-s-teal what’s n-n-ot-t y-yours.” His annoyance made his words come out even more staccato than usual. No good letting Elliott get the better of him, or he’d have no choice but to speak with his fists.
Elliott had no problems letting his sharp finger speak to Raymond’s chest. “I saw her first.”
Raymond took a deep breath. “So?”
It’s not like she was a seat on the tram, or a nickel on the sidewalk.
Elliott went from chest-poking to lapel-grabbing. “Stay away from her, Wa-Wa-Wilson. She’s mine.”
Oh, this was getting good!
Any minute now Raymond would have the perfect reason for bloodying Elliott’s nose. “N-n-ot what I h-h-eard.” Go on, he taunted in his head. Give him a reason to plant a right hook on Elliott’s phiz.
Elliott snarled in his face. “I mean it. She’s mine.”
His blood pumped. “N-n-ot r-reall-ly.”
Let Elliott take the first strike. Then Raymond was going to grease the sidewalk with him.
Elliott cocked back a fist. Before he could swing it, a gloved hand caught it.
“Here, now!” A blue-uniformed policeman glared at them both. “I’ll not be having you disturbing the public peace.”
Forcefully, Elliott released Raymond’s lapel. “We’re not done, Wa-Wa-Wilson.”
“Na-na-nuts to you.”
Elliott hesitated before departing. Raymond had no intention of hitting first. If Elliott took the first blow, he’d be arrested on the spot. He stalked off, very put out.
Raymond straightened his jacket and shook the hand of a wary policeman. “Tha-thanks.”
Elliott had one thing right; they were not done.
****
The next day Raymond went to work at the office. What good was an education unless you put it to work for the family business? Still, his feet itched all day. When five o’clock came, his uncle told him, “Go!” Even handed him his hat.
With a grin, Raymond departed.
The sun had dropped far enough to create that artificial twilight of New York. The air had a chill in the shadows. As Raymond walked down Millie’s street, he found an unexpected sight on the front steps. There, surrounded by several vases of flowers sat her father, Mr. Moore.
“G-g-ood-d even-n-ing?” Raymond’s footsteps slowed as he removed his hat.
A dejected Mr. Moore looked up, startled. “Oh, uh, good evening, sir.” He looked about the flowers self-consciously. “Could I interest you in some flowers?”
Raymond blinked at him. When he had a closer look at the blooms, he could detect Elliot’s magic. There was no trace of his own, so these must have been more gifts.
“H-have y-y-ou tr-r-ied throw-w-ing them out?”
Mr. Moore sank down even more. “Tried that. Wife kept rescuing them. Garbagemen don’t come until next Tuesday.” He sighed. His gaze returned to Raymond. “I say, we’ve met, haven’t we?”
Raymond nodded. “J-unior R-reg-gatta.”
Mr. Moore nodded. “I remember now. I apologize. I had much on my mind that afternoon.” He looked sideways. “My wife tells me you came to call the other day.”
Yesterday, in fact.
“I c-came to s-s-s-ee M-m-millie.”
Mr. Moore flicked one of the flowers in the vase. “Care for a seat, old boy?” He scooted over on the stoop.
Raymond accepted the offer. The two men settled amid the flowers.
“So, you’re interested in my Mildred, are you?”
Raymond nodded.
Mr. Moore gave him a good look up and down, from his neatly-combed hair and his finely-tailored suit to his shoes of impeccable good taste. “I hear you come from good family.”
“Y-yes.”
“College boy?”
Raymond named his university. “Cum-m laude.”
Mr. Moore nodded his approval. “Do you have a good job?”
Raymond nodded. “F-family business.”
“Good prospects?”
“Th-the b-b-est.”
Mr. Moore considered this. “Shame about that speech impediment. Still, every man has a flaw.” He poked at the flowers and scanned the street for another victim on which to foist the unwanted blossoms. “Tell me, Mr. Wilson. Do you like our Mildred?”
“V-v-ery m-m-much.”
Oh, so very much! Her voice shed warmth on his soul.
That satisfied Mr. Moore. “Then you have my permission to step out with my daughter.”
Raymond couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face.
Mr. Moore pointed a severe fatherly finger at him. “Listen up, boy. Don’t you go breaking my daughter’s heart. She’s the only girl I have left and I want to see her happy.” He reflected on the last of his words. “Yes. I want her happy.”
“M-may I s-s-s-ee her n-n-ow?”
“I’m afraid she’s gone out with her mother to some women’s auxiliary thing. Why don’t you try again tomorrow?”
What? Wait that long?
“F-f-ive-thirty ok-kay?”
“Why so late?”
Raymond shrugged, a small smile playing his lips. “I d-do have a j-j-job you kn-n-ow.”
****
Millie could not focus all day. As five o’clock approached, she paced the parlor, refreshingly empty of flowers, and fretted. She wore her most comfortable shoes, for even though Mr. Wilson—Raymond—wo
uld call here, Millie had no intention of remaining at home. It was not so much she was concerned over her parents’ interference, but rather she had no desire to be caught again should Mr. Elliott come calling.
Why didn’t she just tell him to go away?
She mused on this further. Had she told him to go away, that his suit was unwelcome? That had been her intention when he gave her the bracelet. She flushed with guilt over having thrown such an expensive, albeit cursed, gift out the window.
A thought chilled her; what if Mr. Elliott wanted the bracelet back?
A knock on the front door startled her. When she peeked out the parlor window, it was not Mr. Elliott as she feared, but Mr. Wilson, as she’d expected.
Millie had that front door open before the maid even entered the hallway. She threw herself into Raymond’s arms. “You don’t mind if we go out walking, do you? I have no desire to stay at home on such a lovely evening.”
The evening breeze rippled through the trees, bringing with it the chill that spring had not yet shaken loose. Still, nothing a light jacket couldn’t ward off.
“I w-w-as hop-p-ping you’d-d w-w-want t-t-o g-g-o out.” His face beamed in delight.
Thus, she slipped her arm in his and off they set, westward to the park.
“I’m-m n-n-ot m-much of a c-c-onvers-s-ationa-alist.”
Millie squeezed his arm reassuringly. “I don’t mind. I’m happy to listen to you.”
“F-f-for n-n-ow, how ab-b-out I lis-s-sten to y-you?”
“Me?” her heart skipped a beat. Nobody had ever wanted to listen to her before.
“T-t-ell me ab-b-out your dreams. Wh-wh-at do you w-w-ant to d-do the m-most?”
She averred. “Oh, nothing important, really.”
“I d-d-on’t believe that.”
They paused at a street corner until the traffic cleared before crossing. This gave her time to think. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
He crossed his heart.
Millie took a breath. “I want to be a philanthropist.”
“Oh,” Raymond replied, his feet not faltering. “And wh-what w-would you d-do as a philanthrop-p-p-ist?”
“Are you familiar with the work of Mrs. Ida Aletreby?”
He shook his head.
Millie deflated a little. “She champions the poor, especially children. So many young children have to go to work instead of school to help support their families. It’s like nobody cares. Except for Mrs. Aletreby.”
“And y-you.” They’d reached the park, unexpectedly quiet at this time of day.
“She says that the best way out of poverty is a good education.” As they walked through a gate into the park, Millie stroked the iron bars. “But that’s the thing. People listen to Mrs. Aletreby. Nobody listens to me. It’s so frustrating. I’ve got so much to say but nobody wants to hear it. It makes me want to scream at them.”
“Wh-why d-d-on’t you?”
Millie stopped. “What? Scream?”
A few other people meandered about the park, but otherwise they were alone. The last of the sun’s rays tipped the trees of the park. Soon the lamps would be lit.
He shrugged. “Why n-n-ot?”
She looked about her. “What would people think?”
“Wh-why d-does th-that ma-ma-matter?”
She glanced over her shoulder. People were still on the streets, even if they were mostly hurrying home. “It’s important to my reputation that I, that…I…well, my reputation is important.”
“W-Why?”
Good question, well asked. Why was reputation so important? “I want people to think well of me.”
“They’re n-n-not thinking of-f you at all r-right n-now.”
Millie’s feet stopped. Her jaw dropped. Did she hear him right?
Raymond continued. “G-g-ive them-m a reason t-t-o think of-f you.”
“What did you say?” She wasn’t expecting that.
“Ma-make th-them lis-s-s-sten. If y-y-ou have s-s-something t-t-to s-s-s-ay, s-s-say it. Loud if-f-f you have to. Scream if y-you m-m-must.”
Millie felt torn. “I can’t scream.”
He sighed and studied her.
Millie fidgeted. Had she said something wrong? See, this was the problem. When one had something important to say, nobody listened. But say one little thing wrong and that’s all anyone heard.
Raymond reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad. With his pencil stub he scrawled a note. When finished, he tore the sheet out, folded it and blew on it. This he gave to Millie.
When she opened the note, it spoke to her in its soft, papery voice: “Do not let your fears stop you from saying what you must say.”
She let those words sink in. “Raymond, if you have this gift, why don’t you use it more often? Surely you can do more than amuse children.”
He took her hands, folding the note between their palms. “Sh-should I-I s-s-s-stay s-s-s-ilent b-b-ec-c-c-ause m-my voic-ce has a f-f-law?”
“It’s not the same.”
“I-it is.”
He reached into his pocket. “Sa-sa-scream.” Out came a paper bag.
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Y-you mean-n you sh-sh-shouldn’t.” He extracted a candy heart and pencilled something on it. “That’s n-not th-the s-s-s-ame thing.” He exchanged the note in her hand for the candy heart.
“Scream,” the heart declared.
She gave him a wry look but he was pencilling another message on another heart.
“Scream!” the second heart declared.
“I…don’t know.”
He jabbed his pencil hard at the third heart. When he held it up between his fingers, it shouted out as loud as its candy-ness could, so dark were its pencil lines. “SCREAM!”
By gum, why not?
Millie drew in a deep breath and let out an ear-piercing scream, long and loud and full of frustration.
At first Raymond jumped, so mighty was her scream. He didn’t stop her. All he did was listen.
When her breath ran out and her heart pumped hard, only then did she stop. The fire in her belly reignited.
Oh that felt good!
“I say,” called out an alarmed voice.
Millie and Raymond turned to see another couple dashing toward them.
“Are you all right?” the man asked. His lady friend clung to his arm, her hat somewhat askew.
Millie huffed a deeper breath. “I,” she hesitated until she saw Raymond’s warm green eyes as he popped a candy heart into his mouth. “I’m fine.” She stood her ground. “Justice demands an end to poverty.” If she had their attention, she would tell them what she wanted them to hear. “The poor need our help.”
The couple hesitated. The woman still looked worried. “If you’re all right…”
Millie felt Raymond’s reassuring squeeze on her arm. “I am. I need to be heard.” She smiled at Raymond, who returned the sentiment. “You’re right. I need to do that more often.”
Millie spread her arms and let her newfound freedom spread through her limbs. “Education for women!” she shouted. “Votes for women!” she added.
The man stiffened. He dragged his companion away with, “Nothing to see here.”
As Millie watched them retreat, the lady looked over her shoulder, giving Mille a cautious, shy smile. Someone had listened.
“D-do you f-f-f-eel better?”
Millie did. “Will I be heard even if I don’t scream?”
“I-I’ll l-lis-s-ten.”
A playful smile teased her lips. “No matter how softly I speak”
He nodded.
“May I have a heart and your pencil?”
He gave them to her. On the back of the heart she pencilled a brief note. A she pressed the heart into Raymond’s hand, she whispered, “That.” Then she held a finger over her lips.
When he opened his hand and read the message on the heart, he beamed and put a hand over his heart.
It said, simply, “I love you”.
<
br /> ****
On Saturday night Millie dressed in her finest evening gown, an off-the-shoulder pink satin with a delightfully light overdress of blue mousseline that shifted and shimmered as she moved. An array of silk roses garnished her bosom. Her hair had been pouffed up so big Gibson would be proud.
The Chandlers had arrived promptly at six o’clock in a most splendid landau carriage with driver. Millie watched in delight as Raymond Wilson, resplendent in a fine tuxedo, knocked on the front door.
Her mother, disgruntled at Millie’s choice of escort, nevertheless insisted everything be done properly. Millie was not allowed to answer the door, but had to wait for the maid.
“I wish you had worn Mr. Elliott’s bracelet. I haven’t seen you wear it once,” Mrs. Moore murmured in Millie’s ear.
Millie whispered, “Nor will I. I have no intention of accepting Mr. Elliott’s suit. To wear his bracelet would be to give him false hope.” She blushed deeply. The proper thing would be to give the bracelet back.
Oops.
“If you’d just wait five more minutes…”
Millie looked to her mother. “Wait? For what?”
Mrs. Moore fidgeted. “Maybe Mr. Elliott would like to escort you to the gala.”
She blinked. “Mr. Elliott is not a member of the club.” In fact, Millie doubted very much Mr. Elliott had gone to university. “Why would he go?”
The maid stepped into the parlor. “Mr. Wilson is come to take Miss Moore.”
Her mother said nothing and looked away.
Her heart lifted as Raymond lifted his hat. “You l-l-look s-so l-l-lovely.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.” She accepted his proffered arm. Never had she been so grateful to be getting away from her mother.
****
On the ride to 44th Street Mr. Chandler entertained Millie and bored his wife with stories of his adventures at university. Raymond and Mr. Chandler may have been several years apart, but they had attended the same alma mater.
“Really, Charles. I doubt Miss Moore wants to hear about the cricket wickets on the soccer lawn. I’ve heard them so many times.”
“I don’t mind,” replied Millie. “It’s the first time for me.”
That was all the permission Charles Chandler needed. Millie found herself thoroughly entertained. As she laughed in genuine amusement, a corner of her heart warmed to the Chandler family.
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