When at last they reached the safety of the barn, they had been surprised a second time.
They had burst into the dark space, and were catching their breath, when they heard a low exhalation. A rustling. Emmeline had charged in to see who was hiding, and was greeted by a loud and angry moan that rose to the rafters. She had screamed and bolted, making a mad dash straight for Anders’s chest. Meanwhile, Fiona had struck a match, and they all saw what had really made the noise.
“It’s only a cow,” Anders had said, catching Emmeline in his arms.
“What?” she had gasped.
“Just a cow!”
Emmeline gave a little shriek, and her laughter cascaded uncontrollably. Anders laughed too, and twirled her under his arm, and led her in a galloping dance across the floor. They went back and forth in a half-crazed waltz until they were out of breath again, and Emmeline paused and gazed up into Anders’s face as though it were the sun.
Her hair had fallen loose, and was curling and shining against her pale pink neck. She chewed her bottom lip, but Fiona could plainly see it was really Anders she wanted to eat up. Neither seemed to remember that Fiona was there at all.
As she watched the way her friends moved together, her stomach seized with agony, and she became certain a fever was rising in her body. Emmeline’s and Anders’s hands fluttered and darted, seeking each other’s faces, wanting to touch. Only Fiona’s meddlesome presence prevented them from doing what the butcher and Mrs. Halloran had been doing in the alley.
At that moment, Fiona had had only one wish, which was that she could simply and completely make herself disappear. Instead she had shaken the flame from the match head, so that she would see no more, and pretended the light had gone out by accident.
There was no cow now. No sign of life at all. But Fiona felt just as foolish tonight—it was the natural order of things that Anders belonged to Emmeline. Fiona stepped forward, pulling down a cobweb with her hand. “You should be safe,” she said. “Nobody comes here now, it seems.”
“I suppose I understand why Emmeline had to go to her party tonight,” Anders mused. “But why is it you who took me here? You’d lose your job, if you were discovered. What would she lose?”
His sharp tone made Fiona wince—he didn’t even want her here now, and was only annoyed, as he probably always was, that she was not Emmeline. Well, she could accommodate him—she would see him settled and depart quick as she could. “I can always say that I was at my family’s house,” Fiona replied, standing. “She would have no explanation, and her father would know that she had something planned.”
Anders nodded but seemed unconvinced. “You don’t have to do everything she tells you to, you know.”
“I do, actually.” Her skin prickled with irritation, although she wasn’t sure why. “Ochs Carter pays me money to do exactly what Emmeline tells me, and that’s how I keep my family in house and home.”
In the lantern light, she had a good view of the sideways smile Anders gave her then. “Ah, Fiona Byrne is quite sick of me, and ready to have me gone.”
“No,” Fiona replied more earnestly than she had meant to. “I never want you to leave.”
Anders tilted his head, considering her. “I don’t want to either,” he said slowly. “But it will be best for all of us. Not just because of Gil Bryce. Because of him, sure. But then there’s also . . . Well, there’s the problem of Emmeline, and you, and me . . .” He seemed unsure how to finish, and went silent a time. Fiona’s heart beat fast and she wished she could reach out and grab hold of what he had been about to say. “Do you remember what it was like, before Emmeline moved to the neighborhood?”
Fiona searched Anders’s face for the meaning behind the question, but his expression didn’t reveal much. He waited for her to remember, but she couldn’t. They would have been about seven, she supposed, when Ochs Carter moved from his family farm to be closer to the opportunities of the business district. That was around when her father had his accident, and those were years she had difficulty recalling.
“You don’t remember, do you?” Anders glanced away.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, wishing with her whole body that he would look at her again.
“Don’t be. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters . . . What matters is . . .” He frowned, and shook away some idea. “When we were little, it was like you and Emmeline . . . it was like you were one girl. But we are all too old for that now. I know you don’t think I remember that night. The night I . . .”
“The night you what?”
“It was your idea, you know.”
Fiona felt half crazed and wished she could somehow have a written report of everything he thought. “What was?”
“Me and Emmeline. It pleased you, to think we’d be married and Emmeline would always be your friend, and of course I always did what Fiona told me.”
“Oh” was all Fiona had managed to say. She hadn’t known he thought of her that way, as the one who made the rules.
“You knew it would always be interesting as long as Emmeline was around, and thought if she were in love with me, she always would be. So I tried to make her love me, and fell in love with her, too, and by the time I saw how she really was, it was too late to take those feelings back. I had it bad for her, and nothing seemed to matter. But you—you could never see how she really was.”
“How was she . . .” Fiona whispered. “How was she really?”
Anders made a dismissive gesture, turned, and walked toward the loft. “Emmeline Carter loves herself most of all.”
“That’s not true!” Fiona, sick of riddles, exclaimed.
“Oh no? Then why is it you who’s here tonight? Why are you risking your job, why am I risking my life? We’ll never get out of this city together. My only chance is to hop a freight car, and she’s too fine a girl to travel like that. I’ll be trapped here, and she’ll have her fine wedding, and always keep the sweet, sad story of the tragic boy who died of love for her.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Fiona shot back. She wasn’t sure why, for she had thought something similar just that morning. Yet her loyalty to Emmeline was hard to shake, and no matter what had transpired these past days, she couldn’t forget how much her best friend had given her. “Emmeline has a plan for how to get you out of here, and it depends on her acting exactly as though nothing is happening until the moment she leaves.”
“And what, exactly,” Anders, sounding very tired, asked, “is her plan?”
“Tomorrow, Emmeline will have several engagements, including a final fitting for the wedding dress, so it won’t be easy to get away; you must not expect to see her. She’ll be the center of attention, and so much to-do. If I can, I will bring you news. But I shouldn’t be seen doing anything out of the ordinary, either. And that is of course when I will have to take care of the jewelry.”
“The jewelry?”
“We’re going to sell it. So you will have something to live on while you’re away.”
“Sell it?”
“Yes, sell it. Mr. Carter only gives Emmeline a little pocket money. On most days I have more money than she does.” The cruel irony of this had never occurred to Fiona before. “So of course we will have to sell what Emmeline does have.”
“But where?”
“That place they always speak of in the old neighborhood—Gorley’s.”
Anders exhaled sharply. “Have you been there?”
“No, but if it’s so famous, it can’t be hard to find.”
“Gorley the pawn man.” Anders shook his head. “Women don’t go in there. You’d be robbed before you got to the door.”
“It can’t be the first time a lady has had reason to sell her jewels.”
“He’d cheat you. He wouldn’t give you a fair price. . . .”
“He’ll want what we’re selling,” Fiona said.
Anders nodded, but seemed unconvinced. “I’ll go,” he said.
“You can’t,” Fiona broke in. “They’ll
be looking for you. You know they will. If it’s as tough a place as you say, surely Gil Bryce and his men have eyes there.”
“Gorley is his own king. He doesn’t care what Gil Bryce says, he doesn’t talk about who’s come to him.”
“Good.” Fiona made her words firm and insistent. The feelings that had roiled within her subsided, and she saw clearly what she must do. All the broken bits of her that had threatened to come apart drew together instead, solid and steady. “Then he won’t say he has seen me. You forget, we didn’t grow up on the North Side, didn’t grow up with fine manners. We grew up fighting for every scrap we got. I’ll go. I’ll go, and I don’t want to hear of you going again. Emmeline is giving up her whole life and everything she’s worked for to be with you, and you want to risk it with foolish heroics?” Fiona strode toward Anders, making her eyes blaze with determination. The trouble hadn’t left his face, but he didn’t argue. “I know what Emmeline’s pieces are worth—they won’t cheat me.”
His eyes shimmered, sunshine on frozen water. “I don’t think they’d dare,” he said after a pause.
“Good,” she said, “it’s settled, then,” and nodded in affirmation, until he nodded back. They might have been fellow soldiers, or wary adversaries, regarding each other over some unspeakable choice. She wanted badly to know what he thought—if he was frightened or hopeful; if he had any advice about how she ought to conduct herself; or if he truly thought she seemed fearsome. But she knew that she couldn’t keep up her tough facade for long. “Well, then,” she said, turning to go. “You have everything you need.”
By himself, in the middle of the dark barn, Anders cut a lonesome figure. The air was full of dust and hay, too murky with darkness and floating particles for her to be sure if his eyes were really searching for hers. “Will I see you again?”
Fiona wasn’t sure if he would, but she couldn’t bear to say so. Instead she watched him as she moved in silence toward the door.
“Goodbye, then,” Anders called after her.
“We’ll say our goodbyes later.” Fiona pulled back the weathered old door. “Now put out the lantern so you won’t draw attention to yourself.”
Although she didn’t mean to, she looked back at him once before leaving the barn. He was gazing at her with an expression that made her think of him as a child of five or six, the boy she had known before Emmeline came to the neighborhood. Was that what he had wanted her to remember? How he had always insisted on knowing Fiona’s opinion about everything, so he could do what pleased her? After Emmeline arrived—already curling her hair and wearing dresses ornamented with lace and shiny buttons—Fiona’s opinion was that they must make the new girl their friend, and Anders had accommodated with all manner of ridiculous strategies. Her heart tore a little at the thought of what might have been, if only she had not told Anders to put the charm on Emmeline all those years ago, if only it had remained just the two of them.
Even now, he did not hesitate to do as Fiona said. He put out the light, and then she had no choice but to go on into the street.
Thirteen
And remember: A woman never reveals her whole self; rather she allows different parts of herself to shine, depending on who is watching.
—Anabelle Carrington, A Lady’s Private Book, O.P. Herring & Sons Publishers, 1869
Emmeline sat alone in her father’s carriage, watching the only city she had ever known pass her by. She was trying to decide on the simple clothes, the few items, she would be taking with her when she left. A shawl, a coat, two pairs of shoes, two pairs of gloves, a set of silk handkerchiefs embroidered with her initials, her bristle brush with the silver handle. They would need to get Anders new clothes too, but she supposed they would have to wait until New York. Tomorrow would come on soon, and tomorrow meant they’d be on the train, and the train meant traveling fast into their bright future. She knew it would be bright, although she still couldn’t quite picture it.
“Miss Emmeline.”
Startled by the sound of Malcolm’s voice, Emmeline came down from the cloud of her thoughts and saw that they were at the busy corner of State and Randolph. Field & Leiter hulked above them, a great marble monument, and horse traffic careened on either side. “Oh, I . . . I was away with the fairies, I guess.”
The rest of her father’s people—the builders and messenger boys, the accountants and advisers, the housekeepers and the decorators—were all kindly and inquisitive when it came to Ochs Carter’s daughter, concerned with her preoccupations, gladdened when they could please her. But Malcolm, big Malcolm with his long, flat face, only offered his arm, neither averting his eyes nor inviting an explanation. As she floated through the busy first floor, as she ascended to the private fitting rooms, she reminded herself that she had not left yet, and that in the hours to come she must be very careful to seem like nothing more or less than a nervous bride. She must seem almost bursting with excitement.
Yesterday, she had disliked the officious and vain Mr. Polk, and thought Miss Fay’s needlework mediocre. But today she was kind to them. She smiled and cooed as they wrapped her in white silk and lace. She murmured enthusiastically and twisted on her little platform to appreciate their handiwork. When they clasped their hands, delighting at Emmeline ensconced in nuptial glory, she let a happy tear escape the corner of her eye. Perhaps that was a bit much, but she thought Anders would have admired her flair.
“What a vision!”
In the standing mirror, Emmeline saw Ada entering the dressing room. Behind her was Daisy Fleming, and behind Daisy was Cora Russell. The skin at the back of Emmeline’s neck prickled when she saw Cora.
“I see you didn’t bring along your maid for consultation this time,” said Cora as her eyes roamed the room for something to dislike.
Mr. Polk made an awkward, jerking movement, rising so as to keep his back to Emmeline, and Emmeline realized that he had gossiped about her behavior at the first fitting. Her mouth puckered in anger, thinking of him and Cora saying unkind things about that upstart Emmeline Carter. For a moment Emmeline felt very satisfied that she had won Freddy, and that Cora would remain forever envious. But then she reminded herself that after tomorrow she would not have to think about Cora Russell ever again, and relaxed her face.
“No, she didn’t,” Daisy replied with a little snort. “And if you caught on to the way of things as quickly as she picks up the rules of decorum, you might be engaged now instead of attending a wedding by yourself.”
Ada gave a rich laugh and crossed the room, her full-length tartan skirt swaying. She arrived at Emmeline’s side, ushering in a spell of hushed admiration during which Emmeline brightened her eyes to share in Ada’s joy. “Are you almost done, Mr. Polk?” Ada asked presently. “We have a surprise for Emmeline.”
“Yes, Mrs. Garrison,” said the chastened Mr. Polk, and he began the laborious process of removing the dress from Emmeline.
As they descended the grand stairs of the department store, the entourage of stylish and high-born girls surrounded the bride-to-be with an air of giddy protectiveness, and Emmeline couldn’t help whispering in Ada’s ear.
“Why did she come?”
“You mean Cora?” Emmeline nodded. Instead of replying, Ada linked arms with Daisy and walked ahead. “Go on, Miss Russell,” she called over her shoulder.
They had arrived on the second-floor landing, and Emmeline faced Cora warily. But if Cora’s expression were any indication, she was the one with a bad case of nerves. “Miss Carter,” Cora began. Her gaze was fixed upon the marble floor as she pulled at the hem of her jacket. “I’ve been rather unkind to you, and I am . . .” Her words disappeared into a murmur.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh.”
“And I was wondering—”
“Yes?”
“After you’re married, if you could sort of—I don’t know—throw me the bouquet?”
“Oh!”
“Well, you see, because, if a girl catche
s the bouquet, they say it means . . .”
“Yes.” Emmeline gave Cora a reassuring pat, and took her by the arm. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at this sudden turnabout—she was rather charmed by Cora’s request, and almost wished that she would be able to oblige. But she was happy to do the next best thing, and agree to what she asked. “Of course,” she whispered conspiratorially. “You just get as close to me as you can, and I’ll toss it right to you.”
They took the Garrisons’ open-topped barouche downtown. Malcolm was nowhere to be seen, and Ada ushered them onward with authority. Once they were all seated, their skirts overflowed the facing double seats, so that the carriage floor was entirely invisible, and their vehicle proceeded at a slow speed, as though they were taking part in a royal parade. Emmeline did not ask where they were going, but she could see that the other girls knew. They practically hummed with their secret. Their eagerness pleased her, but she felt no need to press for explanations. She had her own secret, after all, and it softened her smile and glazed her eyes. The sky hung above them like a curtain of perfect blue.
As they turned from Van Buren onto Michigan Avenue, she heard the clack and pant of the Illinois Central, and had a presentiment of their destination. They were going to Terrace Row. Her father used to take her this way, when she was a girl, to see the mansions. They had been new then—ten grand houses, a continuous edifice of limestone, stern, and fine—and had caused something of a scandal in the newspapers, on account of their ostentatious expense. But her father had not been scandalized—he had taken her only to assure her that she would one day have a house just as remarkable.
A Terrace Row address was not something he’d managed to acquire, yet there was Father’s polished burgundy phaeton—not at all like the little cart they’d had during the war—and Malcolm standing beside it, with that impassive face of his.
When We Caught Fire Page 11
