My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York

by Barratt, Amanda;

  But everything had its time. Tonight was the time to follow Drew’s advice and speak her mind.

  Not without consequences however. Tony’s face darkened, anger turning his features into a stormy sky of emotion. “You know something, Del? Some people actually think well of me, though I know you’ve never been one of them. I’m not the prodigal wastrel in everyone’s eyes. Just yours. So perhaps, you’re in the wrong. Which, though you often are, you never admit. You’re perfect. Saint Adele. Always the sacrificial martyr. You always know best. Well, you’ll be astonished to know some people actually think I have intelligence and can be trusted.” He spewed the words. Each arrow found its mark and pierced.

  Tony didn’t understand. How could he when he only considered himself? He didn’t even bother to try to look at things from her perspective.

  An unwanted tremble shook through her, both from his vehemence and how much it hurt. She scrambled for something to say. He didn’t deserve to be privy to her pain. “Who are these people?”

  A look came over her brother’s features, full of more than the realization of his own triumph. Half a smile, as if pulled into fond remembrance. A straightening of his posture, as if with pride. Questions clamored in her mind. What person brought this look onto his face? She probably wouldn’t get an answer. She wasn’t his master, that much had been proved. He had no reason to tell her anything.

  “I’ll tell you, since you ask. It’s a woman I met at the Castle. I haven’t been playing cards there, much as you like to peg me a money-spending fool. I went in the first time for that purpose, but that’s all forgotten now. She’s the veriest angel, Del.” He spoke each word with the reverence of a besotted schoolboy. As if this gaming house girl he spoke of was some sort of paragon of feminine virtue. Her stomach churned.

  “Who is she?”

  It was as if their earlier quarrel had never taken place. Tony looked at her as if she were the dearest confidante he’d ever possessed. Most likely, he didn’t really see her, but the woman of his infatuation.

  He opened his mouth to reply.

  A shriek rent the air. Sobbing, so intense and wild there could be no doubt that the heart of whoever wept had been utterly broken.

  Tony’s eyes widened. Adele started.

  “What the deuce was that?” Tony exclaimed.

  Adele didn’t wait to answer him. Lifting her skirt, she hurried from the room in the direction of the sound. Her heart sped up as her slippered feet slapped the floor. In the past weeks at the Osbourne’s, she’d heard fits and tantrums from the two girls, a bout of nervous weeping from her aunt.

  But this tragic sound was brought on by far more than a minor incident.

  The drawing room door stood open. Dorothea leaned one hand on the mantel, a look of utter shock on her pale features. Her parents bent over a form huddled on the settee. Millie. A man stood a pace back, hat in his hands and shoulders stooped. Adele searched her memory. She’d seen his sloping forehead and prominent nose before, at some social gathering. But why was he here and what had he said to reduce her cousin to this prostrate state of grief?

  Uncle Osbourne whispered to his daughter, while her aunt laid a hand on Millie’s back and tried to get her to sit up. Bypassing the unknown man, Adele went to Dorothea’s side. The girl stared at her with glassy eyes, her slim shoulders shaking.

  “What happened?” Though Dorothea looked as if she wanted someone to wrap her in a reassuring hug, Adele needed facts first.

  “It’s Gordon. He was supposed to come for dinner tonight. Millie…Millie spent all afternoon deciding which dress to wear. But he didn’t come and he didn’t come. She was just about to have a note sent ‘round when his friend arrived. Graham Brady, remember? It seems…it seems Gordon is dead. They found his body an hour ago. By the Whirlpool.” Dorothea’s wide brown eyes shone stark with horror.

  “How?” Adele could scarcely hear her reply above the pounding of her own heart. Gordon Kirby, dead? The Gordon who had made Millie smile, charmed the Osbournes with his Harvard education and hotel dynasty inheritance. The Gordon who had flirted madly with the infatuated girl and took her arm to lead her away from the others and closer to the Whirlpool.

  “No one really knows. At least, not yet. Graham says Gordon was bored this morning and wanted an excursion. What happened after that…” Dorothea gulped and Adele pulled the girl into her arms. Let Dorothea’s sobs join with Millie’s, muffled against the silk of Adele’s bodice.

  Gordon Kirby might have taken risks. Gone closer to the edge than was safe. There were three kinds of people whom the Falls claimed. Careless ones, like Gordon. The boy with the easy smile and ready laugh couldn’t have fallen into the second category—those who went into the Falls purposely, with the intent to end their lives. Some did of course. Adele had heard someone say the Falls possessed an almost hypnotic quality, teasing, drawing one in, making one lose possession of one’s senses and plummet into the descent. But Gordon was far too earth-bound. To hear Millie talk, his sole interests were money and racing and bringing her chocolates.

  Dorothea sniffled, looked up at Adele with red-rimmed eyes, then fumbled for a handkerchief.

  The third category? The daredevils. They weren’t drawn in, nor was there anything accidental about their preparations. They took on the Falls, gambled, risked.

  Lost. Like Gordon, they could lose.

  Drew’s face flashed in her mind, the tease in his eyes as he joked with her, the love there as he gazed at Hope. The way his words could chase away her worries like a waft of wind come to blow away the scent of refuse. The angle of his smile as he told her hers was pretty. This man’s life was beyond price, precious.

  In a single moment, it could all be lost. All it would take was one misstep, the simple turn of a foot.

  Her throat tightened, not for the loss of Gordon, though that too saddened.

  It could not happen to Drew. For then the girl weeping on the sofa would be Hope. And herself.

  And she would do whatever it took, heedless of consequences, to keep the Falls from luring another victim into its greedy, turbulent depths.

  “That’s everything of note I have to share today. Make sure to arrive at the starting place half an hour beforehand to get all the promised press interviews. And drop by here two days from now for your final costume fitting.” Smoke curling over his head, Conway drummed the fingers of the hand not holding the cigar on the edge of the leather chair he sat in.

  Conway certainly was a queer one. For such a powerful man to be handling minor details struck Drew as odd. Maybe Conway simply enjoyed ordering him about. Certainly seemed like it, based on the satisfied expression on the man’s face.

  “Very good.” Hard to believe it was less than a week until the big day. Less than a week remaining to practice his balance, go out to the Falls, and make sure the guy ropes being assembled were secure. Only one more dinner party to attend, not that it would matter much. They’d already secured enough financial backing. Ticket sales were in full force.

  Less than a week before he would hold the check in his hands. The one promised by Conway that would secure him enough income for his sister to see any doctor from New York City to Boston and beyond, a better apartment, and extra to spare until Drew found another, hopefully better, job. No, not hopefully. He was bound to.

  “I’m going to the Osbourne’s. Care to ride along as far as the corner?” Conway lifted his hundred-dollar-suit-clad frame from the chair, snuffing out the embers of his cigar in the ashtray.

  “No, thanks. I’ll walk.” Drew stood too, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “I always enjoy an afternoon at the Osbourne’s. Such nice people. Particularly Miss Linley.” Conway flicked open his diamond-studded watch, glanced at the time.

  “She is.” Drew swallowed. “A very nice person.”

  Silence fell, weighty as a boulder, hot as putrid breath. The clock ticked. Conway closed his watch.

  “Do you have intentions toward her, sir?�
� The question catapulted from his mouth like a stone from the slingshot he’d played with as a boy, quick as a snap and just as unexpected.

  Conway’s brows lifted, as if surprised that his hired circus act would possess enough brains to ask such a thing. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I do.” His condescending veneer seemed to drop as he added, smirking. “What man wouldn’t want to put a ring on such a delectable creature? Those delicious green eyes and that figure…Now there’s a woman a man could have some fun with after the deal is sealed. My, my, yes indeed. It would be a glorious thing to have free rein with that filly. Don’t you think, Dawson?” He pocketed the watch, that satisfied smirk still pasted on his mustached lips.

  In his pants pocket, Drew’s fingers closed into a fist. One that itched to lash out and punch the man right in the center of his fleshy nose Adele was meant to be cherished, not spoken of as if taking her to his bed was the only thing worth doing with her.

  “Something wrong, Dawson?”

  “No sir.” Drew emphasized the last word, hoping the man would remember their difference in class and keep his despicable commentary to himself. This wasn’t a saloon, where this kind of talk was commonplace.

  And this was the man Adele intended to marry? To put the rest of her life into his hands? Did she know his true character, or did she just see the chivalrous veneer he donned for the benefit of society?

  “You’re not ill, are you? It would be unfortunate, so close to the big day.” Conway’s expression was one of mild concern, the way a man might look if he heard his favorite hunting horse had a stone in its shoe.

  “Never felt better.” Nor more eager to test out his boxing skills.

  “Excellent. You may go now.” The man even had the nerve to give his fingers a quick snap. As if Drew were not only a servant but also some sort of dog who needed an extra push to trot away from his master’s presence.

  Without so much as a nod, Drew strode past Conway, out the library doors, and through the hall and foyer. One of Conway’s footmen opened the front door.

  A cool breeze blew, ruffled Drew’s hair, though it did little to staunch the flame of his disgust as he headed in the direction of Canal Street. He didn’t know much about his employer. Next to nothing about his background, save that he’d single handedly acquired a vast fortune through investing schemes and now owned a large portion of the New York railroad. But had Conway possessed all the diamond mines of the world, he wouldn’t make a fit husband for Adele. Not when her looks ranked foremost on his list of her best qualities, no doubt followed by her position as a British landowner’s daughter, one that would give Conway an extra boost up the social ladder.

  Adele needed to be warned.

  But did Drew have the right? Would Adele even believe him? Though her needs differed from his, they were equally pressing. She too needed money to secure her family’s welfare. Though her family consisted of a good-for-nothing brother and a mother in England, she still cared about them as he did Hope. If she heeded him and quit encouraging Conway, she’d have to start all over in her quest for a husband.

  What was better? To be financially secure with a man of less than sterling quality or to face the potential loss of her home as a free woman? Which would Adele choose, if given the option?

  It didn’t matter which. He couldn’t let it matter. But he needed to at least tell her the truth. They’d promised that to each other, hadn’t they?

  He’d wait though. After his successful trip across the Falls, he’d be in a better frame of mind, less troubled by other matters. He might even be able to offer help, though probably still not of a financial nature.

  Yes. He’d tell her.

  Then the choice was hers.

  Are you busy?”

  Adele looked up from the book lying in her lap. Uncle Osbourne stood at the threshold of the library.

  “No. Please, do come in.” She laid aside the volume of Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Though it was one of her favorites, she hadn’t been perusing the book of verse. Rather, using it as a shield, something to feign occupation with while a tumult of thoughts churned in her mind.

  He settled himself in a chair across from her, leaning both arms on the leather rests. Silence stretched for several seconds. Adele twined her hand in the folds of her plum-colored afternoon dress. Her uncle shifted his bulk in the chair, as if discomfited. Was something amiss? Had he come to relax in the library, or did he have something to say to her that gave him hesitation in doing it?

  He cleared his throat, the ahem filling in the room like the dinner gong at Linley Park. “We’ve been very happy to have you here, my dear.”

  “And I’ve been happy to be here.” She smiled. “You and Aunt Osbourne have shown me such kindness during my stay.”

  “Yes. Well. And we’re happy to do it. But your aunt…that is to say, we…are more than a little disturbed about a certain matter…er, person.” He reached one hand to rub his bristly silver mustache.

  Tony. As was she. With the passage of days, the further her brother slipped into the patterns of old—coming home at all hours of the night, bleary eyed and brandy sated. Such goings on had become commonplace at Linley Park. But here, at the home of her aunt and uncle, with two unmarried daughters in the house, of course it would cause consternation.

  Sympathy for her uncle overrode her own feelings. “My brother.”

  “Exactly. People are…well, talking, you know.” More mustache rubbing. At that moment, her uncle probably would have gladly hopped into the chair of a drilling dentist rather than continue this conversation.

  But gossiping? About Tony and surely herself? What were they saying? Did Mr. Conway hear such rumors? Would he believe them?

  “What are they saying?” She tried to keep her tone steady, as if this were nothing more than a cozy chat between uncle and niece. When in reality, the person who had spearheaded this discussion was not in the room at all. Her uncle wouldn’t have come to her had he not been goaded by his wife. And her fear of society’s displeasure.

  Her uncle colored, the tips of his pronounced ears turning deep red. “I…well…I’d rather not say, my dear. But the fact remains that they are. And it’s beginning to fray Mrs. Osbourne’s delicate nerves. Not that it bothers me all that much. But she feels that such rumors in connection with our family—”

  “Might prove disastrous to Dorothea’s and Millie’s future” She finished the sentence for him, saving him the trouble. Of course, her aunt was right. Millie and Dorothea were at the age when making a good marriage was imperative, if a girl hoped to do it at all. Especially now that Millie seemed to have forgotten such matters. Gordon’s death had drained her of life, almost as surely as it had him. Rarely leaving her room during the day, her sobs echoed through the house night after night, their cadence a chilling reminder of the damage death’s hand could inflict.

  And a constant reminder to Adele of her duty to Hope.

  To keep Drew safe, at all costs. Of course he didn’t want her to, would rather believe in the will of a too-absent God. But Drew was too precious to leave things to a distant “someone” up in the sky who might or might not decide to act.

  “You seem to understand the situation very well, my dear.” Her uncle’s words pulled her back to the problem at hand.

  More than he would ever know. She not only understood, she’d lived it. It would be wrong to begrudge her uncle, since this confrontation obviously hadn’t been at his directive. But she did, if only a little. What right did a man have to the title if he could not control his own wife? Still, none of this could be said aloud.

  “Of course I do. And I’m sorry for it. For all you and Aunt Osbourne are suffering on my account. Please convey my apologies to her as well. Along with my promise that we will not burden you with our company for much longer. I trust you can remain patient until such time that I can see the way to our return to England.” Princess Alexandra could not have spoken the words better. Each one gentle and measured, with not an
ounce of reproach. Each syllable evidence of the lady she’d become in the years following her father’s death and the one she still was. She laced her hands together in her lap, sitting straight on the leather armchair.

  “By all means. Take all the time you need. I’m sure your aunt will think that sufficient.” He stood with the alacrity of the dentist’s patient, eager to flee the discomfort of the situation and the room it had taken place in.

  “I do appreciate your kindness, Uncle Osbourne. You have been most generous and I wish I had more to offer than my thanks.” Again, more words dredged up from her well of platitudes.

  Her uncle nodded and left, or rather fled, the room.

  Pressing one hand against her forehead, Adele leaned back in the chair. She’d come to the library to ponder over her first problem and now had another to add to it. No, not add. It had been there before, resurfacing now like a branch caught in the Whirlpool’s eddy.

  And she’d toss the branch back in again, hoping it wouldn’t bob to the surface for a few more days. Right now, Drew remained the problem foremost in her mind. Reasoning with him again wouldn’t work. Not a man as focused as he. Nor would pleading with Mr. Conway to cancel the stunt.

  So she must try for measures more desperate and hope for success. There was a time when she’d have added prayer to the equation of solving her problems. Not anymore. Prayer hadn’t served her well back then, and she hadn’t tried it since arriving in America. Her arsenal included common sense, work, and determination. Those were the weapons she’d use to take on this new battlefield.

  If Drew wouldn’t cancel, how could he be made to do so? Squeezing her eyes shut, she envisioned him atop the high wire, balancing above the roaring Falls. Strength in each step, every movement a battle for life.

  Nausea rose in her throat. For as surely as Drew crossed the swaying rope inside her mind, another man balanced and crossed there too. A gray stone balustrade had been his gangplank, a bottle of brandy clutched in one hand as he flailed. Fell. Looking up at him from the avenue below, he’d seemed as tiny as one of her childhood toys and the space of seconds before his body met ground had felt more like a lifetime. One where she’d been helpless to save her father from a death that came too early, relegating any chance he might have had at becoming a better man, a better father, to the annals of over and done with.