She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, held Georgie’s gaze, and said, “You go run along now.” To her relief, the girl, after a long moment, pulled her skirt back from her feet and did as she was told.
As Georgie retreated to the house, her long woolen skirt swept over the fallen leaves, making a whooshing sound that was, to Fiona, excruciatingly loud. She would have liked to tell Anders that everything was all right now, but she knew it wasn’t. Her blood was hot and quick and she felt furious with Emmeline for having put him in danger, but mostly with herself for letting herself relax, and enjoy being with Anders, when she should have been ever vigilant.
Emmeline’s plan was dangerous, and this was no time for Fiona to be distracted, to let herself feel at ease. She would have to stay alert, lest they all be burned. After Georgie went back into the house, she made it clear that she was not open to familiar talk, and gestured to Anders that he ought to be quiet, and keep low to the ground, where the wall of plants shielded them from view.
Eleven
Careful of envy in your midst, for though you may not personally suffer from this fever, still you will be scorched by its proximity in the end.
—Beatrice Parnell, Aphorisms for Girlhood, 1868
The evening had picked Emmeline up off her feet, twirled her around, and placed her down in quite a different mood. Upon returning from the Trees’, she felt pleasantly exhausted, and leaned on her father’s arm as they went up the stone steps and into the Dearborn house, which had over the past two years become her home. The carriage proceeded around the house to the stables, and they all said their good nights, and she walked through the rooms a little nostalgically, thinking of the many things that had transpired there.
In the full-length mirror in the front parlor, she caught a glimpse of herself in her impressive gown, which fit her body like a glove, and changed colors when it moved. She thought how she’d always have that vision of herself, at this precise moment: richly dressed, a little flushed in the face, at a very precarious juncture in her life. Midnight had come and gone, and it was now early morning of the day before her supposed wedding day, but all the things she’d assumed over the past two years had been thrown into question. The house was silent, and yet it seemed alive, and she had the sense that she was the only one who was conscious enough to see the fine parquet, the oil paintings and velvet couches and polished mahogany tables and chairs, to gaze at them with the clear sight that can fix images in memory.
Yet, at roughly the same time, Jeremy was helping Malcolm lead the horses from the carriage into their stalls, and happened to glance at the main house, taking in its monumental silhouette against the moonlit sky, and think how he’d always remember the grandeur of the Carters with that picture in his mind. And Miss Lupin, the housekeeper, who had trouble sleeping, had risen and was repairing the edge of the tapestry that hung in the front hall, which had been damaged by a visiting lady’s lapdog. The gold threads and mysterious green trees that it depicted were, to her, quite the most wonderful ever, and as she gazed at them and went about her mending, she found she didn’t mind so much her tired, aching hands. Most wide-eyed of all was Georgie, who had taken Fiona at her word, and gone straight to Miss Carter’s room, where she put down the lantern she had carried across the yard, and gaped at the opulent surroundings where Miss Carter lay her head.
“You go run along now,” she had muttered as she climbed the stairs, repeating in righteous anger the words Fiona Byrne had said to her.
But once she arrived in Miss Carter’s bedroom, she forgot her anger, and moved around, running her fingers along the smooth and polished curve of the headboard, examining the tasseled bedspread, the upholstered stool at the vanity, thinking how she herself could well enjoy a life such as this. She had drifted into the bathroom, and put her nose to the bottle of perfume—which smelled of orange blossoms and musk and transported her to a first-class train in France on the way to a seaside castle—when she heard the door from the hall close.
She went back to the threshold of the main bedroom, and saw the lady of the house crossing the ornate golden carpet, dragging her heaping skirt of darkly shimmering silk behind her, removing a jewelry box from the wardrobe, and placing it on the bed. The arrangement of her hair had begun to unravel in the night and Georgie wondered if drinks had been served at the party. With a wistful and contented gesture, Emmeline unhooked the brilliant necklace that she wore, and placed it in its black velvet nest beside a crown encrusted with rubies and diamonds; an engraved watch on a chain; piles of bracelets, rings, strands of pearls, jeweled pendants.
“Oh!” Miss Carter exclaimed when she noticed Georgie. And Georgie in a rush told her all about Fiona and the boy she was trying to hide in the greenhouse, and what a liar and a cheat Emmeline’s lady’s maid really was. For a moment her face became so contorted that Georgie thought Miss Carter angry enough to go and fire Fiona straightaway! But then her expression became calm again, and she thanked Georgie for being such a loyal friend, and said that she would personally see that Fiona was punished for her late-night indiscretions. “I just thought you should know,” Georgie told her as she rose to go, although she would have preferred to linger in the sumptuous regions of the house.
“Thank you,” Emmeline said once again. “I am so grateful to have your friendship, Georgie.”
And so Georgie returned to the servants’ quarters, satisfied with the notion that she was already ascending in the Carter household, and on her way to a position of consequence there.
After Georgie left, Emmeline blinked, for everything looked a little strange now. The rooms on the top floors were warm with the rising air, and the precious metals and gems and the woven bedspread and the polished wood and the flocked pink wallpaper spread out around her. Yet for a few moments none of it seemed as real as the cold, cramped room with the little cot where she had lived with Father when they first came to the old neighborhood. How freezing it was in the morning before Father lit the stove. That was before she became friends with Fiona, and Emmeline found herself wishing that Fiona would appear already, so that she could explain what had happened with Georgie and help her out of her dress.
She did not have to wish very long, for just then Fiona appeared, pushing the door open with her back, and revolving gingerly as she came into the room so as not to upset the tray of tea and late-night sandwiches she carried.
Before Emmeline could say anything, Fiona set down the tray and made her most serious face. “We have to move Anders off the property.”
“But why?” Emmeline’s chest rose and fell, for she did not want Anders to go anywhere.
“Georgie, the kitchen girl—she saw us. Saw him. She knows, and she may tell others.”
“No, no,” Emmeline waved her hand. “I handled her. She thinks we’re friends, and will keep our secret.”
Fiona lowered her eyes and fidgeted with her apron. “He’s in danger, Em. We need to keep him hidden until you leave. If he’s discovered before then, if I’m caught going around at night, if rumors spread among the staff of a fugitive hiding on the property . . .” She trailed off, shook her head. “We can’t just wait around until it’s too late. We need a plan.”
Emmeline smiled and gestured grandly at the jewels that lay on the bed between them. “We’ll sell my collection, and Anders and I can get away from here and live quite safely.”
Fiona’s face became distant with thought. “I’ll sell them. It will have to be tomorrow.”
Emmeline nodded—she hadn’t thought of that, but it was so like Fiona to know the answer to a problem before the problem became obvious. “While I’m having the last dress fitting.”
“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “Exactly. And in the meantime, Anders . . .”
“Yes, Anders.” Emmeline liked saying the name. She tasted it like some new dish of Cook’s, enjoying how the sound played along the edges of her tongue. It brought up all of him—the boy he used to be, and the man she had only had a tiny glimpse of. What was
he thinking now? Was he wondering about her? Had her absence encouraged doubts in his mind? She wanted to go to him, and assure him that she had none. “Do you remember that place? That place we went that summer when the war was bad? On the other side of the river, with the barn.”
All the grown-ups were busy in those years, and nobody cared where they went or what they did. Her father had picked up a few adjoining lots to settle a debt, and like much he acquired in those busy years, he said he’d hold on to them until they were worth something. On that side of the river, the structures were less crowded together, and the people kept animals. “This is all yours,” Father had said proudly, and Emmeline was very impressed, because nobody in their neighborhood owned much of anything. When the noise and the stench of the neighborhood became too much, she told her friends about the place, and they went. Fiona had been doing mending for the tailor—his son was away with the army—and she had some money of her own, and they’d buy all sorts of treats for picnics and cross the bridge to DeKoven Street.
In the barn on DeKoven, it always smelled of hay and sunshine.
As the summer progressed they put on little theatrical productions, and told each other stories, and Anders taught them how to play baseball. Fiona had flinched whenever the ball hurtled toward her, but Emmeline fixed it in her sights, swung, and knocked it into the hayloft. A family of swallows erupted, filling the big space with their beating wings, and the ball was permanently lost.
“Fiona,” Emmeline had said once they gave up searching for it, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I’d like to run a big hotel, eight blocks wide, with hot running water in every room and a staff of hundreds and a restaurant and a dress shop and its own zoological park.” She’d stopped suddenly, self-conscious of her dream. “What about you?”
“I’d lead an exploratory mission into the great Northwest, and collect furs, and make friends with all the inhabitants we encounter, and found a town called Emmelineville, with a view of the Pacific Ocean.”
They both turned toward Anders. He was standing, as usual, a bit apart, and listening to their conversation in his way, as though their girlish talk was a foreign language he did not quite understand. That summer, they were both taller than he was. But he carried himself as though he knew he’d be big and strong soon.
Fiona spoke for both girls—she always did, for Anders had been her friend first—asking: “What would you be?”
“I’d be married to Emmeline,” he said.
They were struck dumb. He’d never said anything remotely romantic before. The silence was sharp—then Fiona giggled and singsonged, “Anders loves Emmeline.”
“I do not,” he said, and broke into a run.
The girls had chased him, out into the wooden walk, past the cottages that lined the street, all the way to the railroad tracks. When he could go no farther, he turned around and said, “All right, I do,” and Emmeline had curtsied and offered her hand like a lady, and he kissed her knuckles. So began the love song of Anders and Emmeline.
Later, when they were older, and it was well established that Anders and Emmeline were destined for each other, there was a day when he had danced her across the floor of that barn. She couldn’t remember why exactly, but she well remembered how it had felt to sway against him, held in his blue gaze, and she was certain—as certain as she’d ever been of anything—that she ought to follow him wherever he went. In fact, now that she thought about it, eloping to New York sounded like a fantastic adventure. Perhaps, in a way, it had been their destiny all along. She couldn’t wait.
The events of the day had come on hurly-burly, tossing her this way and that. But now her eyes shone, and her pulse became calm. “He’d be safe there—in the barn.”
“All right.”
“We’ll take him now.”
Fiona’s gaze shifted over the ceiling moulding, the chandelier. “No,” she replied slowly. “No, I will draw your bath, and you will stay here. It’s a bigger risk if we both go.”
Emmeline’s insides settled. She need not worry while her friend was thinking things through, for everything would go smoothly until the moment of departure, so long as Fiona was in charge. Emmeline tried to show her how grateful she was, but Fiona was occupied with placing the tray on the bedside table, and pouring the steaming amber liquid into a gold-rimmed porcelain cup. “Oh, Fiona,” she gasped. “What will I do without you?”
Fiona put the teapot down. “You’ll be back soon enough.”
“Yes,” Emmeline said, remembering her promise. “But I wish you could be with us in New York. We’d be in trouble so much less if you came, too.”
Fiona glanced up in such a way that Emmeline felt ashamed for speaking lightly of what they had planned. But her shame dissipated as Fiona approached, for there was no judgment in her eyes. “You must avoid trouble,” she said, reaching for Emmeline’s hands. “And take good care of each other. Understand?”
Emmeline nodded. Fiona nodded, as though sealing an agreement, and went to draw Emmeline’s bath.
Sadness washed over Emmeline as she sipped her tea and listened to water falling against marble. The realization that she wouldn’t be able to talk to her best friend for a long time, maybe months, took hold. With it came a nervous anticipation of the many new things she would do and see—things she was accustomed to understanding only after a long discussion with Fiona. With some difficulty, she pulled her engagement ring from her finger, and put it on the black velvet, beside the rope of gold Father had given her. The precious gems and metals were a great weight in her hands, and she wished that they were already sold, that she was no longer burdened by them. So she removed the watch on the long gold chain quickly, and closed the box with the rest of the jewelry inside, leaving it for Fiona to find later.
“Fiona,” she said, coming into the bathroom and putting the watch into Fiona’s palm. “I want you to have this.”
Fiona stared at the gold circle engraved with a simple, handsome design. “I can’t take this,” she whispered. “It was your mother’s.”
“Please don’t argue with me. I don’t have another way to thank you for all you’ve done. Anyway, it suits you, don’t you think? It’s beautiful in a classic way, just like you, no need for anything extra or fancy.”
It was not in Fiona’s nature to take compliments, although it was plain on her face she agreed. Even so, she shook her head. “If anyone notices that I have it—”
“Then keep it with your personal things for later. You ought to have something, anyway. Something of value. Just in case . . .”
Emmeline trailed off, afraid Fiona would make her finish the sentence.
“Thank you,” Fiona said, and put her arms around Emmeline. They stood that way for a while, as the tub filled.
“Come now.” Emmeline drew back, afraid they might both begin to cry. “Tomorrow is too important. We can’t get mushy.”
Fiona managed a smile, closed the faucet, and took up the lantern that Georgie had left beside the chaise longue. Off she went to take Anders to safety, leaving Emmeline to step into the scalding bath by herself.
Twelve
Fire that’s closest kept burns most of all.
—Book of Shakespearean Quotations, 1867
Collection of Ochs Carter
That night they walked a long way, an hour or more, crossing to the west at the Kinzie Street Bridge and proceeding through unfamiliar streets. Neither Fiona nor Anders spoke much, only the occasional word to agree on their route. He had said he should go by himself, but Fiona would not allow this. Her own future was now entirely based on her ability to ensure the safe passage of her friends from the city, and anyway she knew she would not sleep if she had sent Anders to make the journey alone. She clutched the lantern that Georgie had waved when she found them in the greenhouse, and Anders carried a canvas bag with supplies: a blanket, a jug of water, a loaf of bread, and a can of sardines.
Not so long ago, they used to walk together every
week, in easy quiet, looking at the city at night. There had been something he had wanted to tell her in those days, and she had not permitted him to say it. She had hoped then, and not allowed herself to know how much she hoped, that the thing he wanted to tell her was that he longed for her as much as she longed for him. But that hadn’t been it at all. He had only wanted to tell her that he was leaving the city, and that the reason was Emmeline. Because it was Emmeline he had always loved and always would. It was some comfort that this revelation came at the same time as so many other catastrophes, so that Fiona was too numb to feel the weight of her disappointment, and her mind was kept busy with other terrors.
As they passed block after block she thought how every shadow might obscure a lurking figure, how the alleys were full of men who might mean them harm—not only Gil Bryce and his people, though they were the ones she feared most. When the fear crept up her throat, she pictured the place with the barn, the afternoons they had spent there, and she found she had some courage, after all.
But when they arrived on DeKoven and entered the barn, she realized that she had remembered it wrong. Fiona had at first felt relieved by Emmeline’s suggestion, imagining a return to a place they had gone as children, where they had all been equal in friendship. A place she frequented in that long ago time before she permitted herself the ruinous notion that she loved Anders Magnuson. But now—having stepped across the threshold, inhaling the crushed hay and distant smell of animal—she was met by a different memory of the place.
The last time they were here it was the summer before the Carters made their move, and Fiona and Anders and Emmeline had been running around at night, jumping between rooftops and peeking into the church on Clark to hear the midnight choir. Returning to the old neighborhood, they had stumbled upon Samuel the butcher passionately pressing Mrs. Halloran, the grocer’s wife, against the wall of the alley behind his shop. Her skirt was pushed up, and her naked thigh looked long and white in the darkness. For a moment they had all been so shocked that they stood frozen with their mouths agape. Then Samuel had noticed them, and given chase. They never ran so fast as they did that night—they lost him in a crowd on Van Buren, but did not stop running until they were on the West Side.
When We Caught Fire Page 10
