by Lynn Steward
“That’s wonderful!” Dana exclaimed. “I’m so happy to hear such an optimistic outlook from the doctors themselves.”
“It’s the best news I’ve heard in the past week. Marsha took yesterday off from hospital duty, and I’m going to do the same tomorrow. We’re no good to Amanda if we’re both run down.”
“I’ve got some pretty amazing news myself,” Dana said.
“The boutique?”
“Yes!” Dana related the details of her meeting with Bob Campbell and how The British Shop represented such a great alternative to Bob’s line-specific measures to boost sales in other departments. He’s going to see the samples tomorrow morning and was very enthusiastic about the whole idea.”
“Great news, Dana. Listen, I know it’s last minute, but are you free for dinner tonight? I miss you and want us to get back on track.”
“I would love to see you tonight,” Dana said. “But why don’t you come here for dinner. I think it would be more relaxing. You could use a change of scenery.”
“You’ve got that right. It’s a date. I’ll see you at seven thirty. Can’t wait.”
“Me, too.”
• • •
She slipped into her new cream and white Diane wrap dress and sling-backs, lit candles and the fire, and placed flowers on the small round dining table in the book corner of the living room. It was going to be a perfect evening—indeed, almost a reunion with her lover.
Mark was buzzed in a few minutes late, wearing a sports coat and dress trousers, looking totally refreshed as opposed to the tired, drawn figure Dana had seen at the hospital on Saturday. He entered the carriage house, and Dana immediately threw her arms around him. He pulled her close and kissed her on the lips, a long and sensuous kiss.
“Why does it seem like an eternity since we’ve done that?” Mark asked.
“Because it has been,” Dana said, kissing him again.
They hugged for several minutes, Mark’s hands caressing Dana’s neck and shoulders.
Mark poured a scotch for himself and sherry for Dana. Sitting in front of the fire, Dana expressed her appreciation for Irwin and Steve’s efforts and how proud she was to present the line to Bob.
“Judging from Bob’s eagerness to see the samples,” Mark said, “The British Shop looks like a done deal.”
Dana served dinner, and their conversation seemed as normal and relaxed as the night they’d had dinner and discussed The Garden of the Finzi-Continis. Mark spoke of his new project at the Met, which had been on hold while he spent night and day at the hospital. He also urged Dana to resume her lessons at Claremont. When they were finished eating, Mark reached across the small table and touched Dana’s arm, noting how the skin of her face glowed in the soft candlelight.
“ Let’s enjoy our wine by the fire,” Mark said as he stood up, taking Dana’s hand.
Dana sat on the sofa, nestled against Mark’s body, her head resting on his shoulder.
“I finally see daylight, Mark,” Dana said, raising her head to look at him. “We’ve been in such a scary, dark place for the past few days.”
“Another reminder of why we have to live each day to the fullest,” Mark said, giving Dana a kiss.
“I think we can do that now, knowing that Amanda is going home to recuperate.”
“And that she’ll be able to walk,” Mark added. “God, what a relief. She can’t wait to see Rex, and Marsha is busy planning for her arrival. She’s redecorating the guest room on the first floor to accommodate Amanda’s bedroom furniture. It’ll be easier for us and Amanda’s friends if we don’t have to run up and down the stairs to see her throughout the day. I was planning on using that room, but Marsha was right. Amanda shouldn’t be cloistered on the second floor. She needs to interact with us as much as possible. In fact, the doctors are more concerned about depression than her spinal injury.”
He took a sip of his wine and squeezed Dana’s shoulder gently.
Dana was quiet for a few minutes, trying to process all she’d just heard.
“Honey, what’s the matter?” Mark asked. “Did you remember something you didn’t do at work? You look worried.”
“I feel awkward asking, Mark,” Dana said as she sat up, reaching for her wine. “How often do you plan to be in Connecticut?”
Mark clasped his hands, resting his elbows on his knees
“We’ve all been so worried about Amanda’s walking again,” Mark began while staring at the rug, “that we didn’t think about how the recuperation was going to affect her mental state.”
“Do the doctors have an idea how long the recuperation period will be?” Dana asked.
Turning to Dana, Mark explained his daughter’s recovery process. “Despite the surgical correction of her spine, bed rest will be crucial for a full recovery. If Amanda resumes activities too quickly, even something as simple as walking, the reconstruction might fail. Unfortunately, there are limited treatment options after a relapse. The doctors are now predicting twelve months of bed rest, although they’ll conduct a six-month follow-up evaluation.”
“And the doctors believe that you can help Amanda’s spirits by returning to Connecticut?” Dana said, feeling she was heading into that dark tunnel.
“Honey, listen,” Mark said, putting his hand on her cheek. “Please look at me. It’s not going to be forever. It’s just that she’s really depressed. She knows she can’t compete in the Classic this summer, but what’s really going to upset her is finding out that she’ll miss her entire sophomore year. We know in the greater scheme of life that this won’t matter, but for a nineteen year old, it seems like an eternity, further delaying her dream of starting veterinary school.”
“I understand,” Dana said, fighting back tears.
“Of course, I’m keeping my apartment, which you know I love. I have to be in town for board meetings, and, well … for us.”
Needing to move away from Mark, Dana got up and walked to the mantle. Looking into the fire, her back to Mark, she asked, “What do you mean by ‘us’? I don’t know where I’ll fit into your life as you’ve described the months you’ll be living in your Connecticut home with Amanda and Marsha.”
“My feelings haven’t changed, Dana, and I believe you feel the same. If anything, this situation will bring us closer.”
“Mark,” Dana said as she fought harder not to cry, “I want to believe that I can handle this new arrangement. I desperately want to go on, business as usual. But I know myself too well. I can’t. There are too many people in our relationship, and ‘us’ will become just a nice diversion from Marsha. Our times together would be fun and loving, but that’s not all that life is. I know that, over time, I wouldn’t like myself for seeing you under these conditions.”
Seeming desperate, Mark approached Dana and put his hands on her shoulders, his face inches from hers. “What if I agree to Marsha’s settlement proposal and get a divorce. I’ll give her everything she wants and rent a nearby house while Amanda recovers.”
Dana couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and Mark turned her around to hold her.
“Mark, as much as we care for each other, I can’t let you make that decision to appease me. I don’t want the burden of knowing I was responsible for your giving in to Marsha’s demands, which you’ve already explained are unacceptable.”
“Damn it, that’s my decision to make.”
“It’s too messy.”
“Dana, life is messy. It isn’t the perfect world you want it to be, but we can get through this.”
“Then let’s trust Fate and believe that when you’re divorced and ready for a new phase of your life, we’ll find a way back to each other. I know that I’ll regret what I’m saying the moment you leave, but I also know that I can’t tolerate our relationship as you envision it. It’s better that we part feeling as we do rather than in anger. I want to believe that it may not be forever.”
Mark wrapped his arms around Dana, and they held each other for several minutes without sp
eaking.
“You’re right,” he said at last, his voice low and filled with resignation. “About everything. I can’t expect you to put your life on hold, but I also can’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“You can’t risk losing Amanda,” Dana said quietly.
“I know.”
Mark kissed Dana softly on the lips. “I, uh, think I should be going now,” he said, his voice breaking.
Mark backed away, his hand holding Dana’s until their fingertips slid from each other. He lowered his eyes before turning and walking to the door, looking defeated.
Wills, who had been sleeping on the library landing, came down when he heard the door close. Without thinking, Dana attached his leash, and they went into the dark, warm night for a long walk, ending on the steps of the Morgan Library, where she sat and cried. Looking for comfort, she found it in Father Macaulay’s message to take care of herself. Her heart would heal in its own time. She decided that she would not take her tears back to the coach house, which only last December represented a new life, a good life, and she wasn’t ready to give up on that dream. She knew in her heart that she’d made the right decision, as painful as it was. Because of their deep feelings, she believed that if they were truly destined to be together, they would find each other again.
Entering the coach house, Dana quickly put out the fire, turned off the lights, and left the dishes for the morning. The sooner the day was over, the better. Looking around the living room and recalling her last moments with Mark, she felt disoriented, believing for a split second that their conversation had been just a bad dream. To imagine that he was out of her life was surreal. Despondent, she walked upstairs, stopping in front of the bookcase to find a poem in the collection she’d recently bought in London, and then proceeded to her bedroom.
It was now that she recalled the lines of poetry that her mind had searched for a few days earlier. They were from a poem called “The April Snow-Storm—1858” by Charles Sangster.
Frail type of life thou art:
At first, pure as the snow
We come—abide—depart;
What more, th’ Immortals know …
Spread gently, virgin shower,
Your winding sheet of snow;
My heart has lost its power,
But mock not at its woe.
Fall not so cold and bleak,
Treat not her corse with scorn;
Gently. My heart is weak;
She, too, was April born.
Fall gently, virgin shower;
The heart once strong and brave
Hath lost its wonted power;
’Tis buried in her grave.
Dana’s heart had indeed lost its power. The promise of a life with Mark, born in the spring days in Manhattan—in April—had run its course too briefly. People could be strong and courageous, but each day was a gift that was gone too quickly. We come—abide—depart. Frailty sometimes ruled even the most promising lives and relationships.
Dana was at peace. She knew that God would see her through the painful days ahead. She would get up the following morning and, as always, do what she had to do at work. But tonight? Her heart was broken and weak. Tonight, she wouldn’t pretend to be brave. There was April snow in her heart.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Dana arrived at work the following morning, but her life still seemed surreal. The day before, she’d been in her office, speaking excitedly to Mark over the phone about a celebratory dinner and a romantic evening. Today, she was merely going through the motions. She was accomplishing what needed to be done—paperwork, meetings, calls to manufacturers—but she performed everything with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. By eleven o’clock, she realized that she hadn’t thought of the boutique a single time all morning. It was Helen who abruptly grabbed her attention at ten minutes after eleven.
“Dana!” Helen said, appearing in the doorway of Dana’s office. This in itself was unprecedented. If Helen wished to speak to employees, they were always summoned to her office. Dana knew what kind of verbal assault was coming and steeled her mind for Helen’s stern words.
“I just spoke with Bob after discovering a rack of separates in his conference room,” Helen said. “He told me that you’d brought in samples for—what’s the lovely name you’ve chosen—The British Shop, I believe.”
“Bob asked me to bring them in,” Dana explained.
“And he made this request based on what? Is he a seer, a prophet? How did he know that any samples existed in the first place? Let’s be candid, Dana. Bob told me that you’ve enlisted the aid of a menswear manufacturer in Brooklyn to produce an exclusive line of clothes for B. Altman.”
“It cost the store nothing,” Dana retorted, “and I did it all on my own time.”
“That’s not the point, and you damn well know it.”
Dana had witnessed Helen’s anger before, whether directed at herself or at others, but this morning she was filled with outright wrath. Her words were venomous.
“I told you that there would be no B. Altman line and no boutique, which I ordered to be dismantled. We had that discussion more than once, and I was unequivocal. You’ve deliberately defied my directives, Dana. Who do you think you are? Dawn’s replacement? Do you think you have carte blanche to do whatever you please even when your superiors have expressly forbidden you to explore your wild concepts?”
“Bob doesn’t think they’re so wild,” Dana said, holding her ground. “He believes that my idea could be a game-changer for the store. There would no longer be a need to tap into every department to choose a price-sensitive line to tout for the holidays. I’m talking profit and sales, not wild concepts.”
Helen folded her arms, tapped her right foot impatiently, and exhaled as she looked down at the floor, unable to comprehend the aggressive challenge Dana was making to her authority.
“You didn’t tell me about this, Dana!”
“I did, Helen. Many times, in fact. But you weren’t interested. When Bob gave us a directive for holiday selling, I simply followed his orders. Just doing my job.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed as she breathed even harder. “I told you, there is a pecking order around here and you’re expected to stay in line like the other buyers in this division. It’s my job to take recommendations to Bob, not yours. It’s protocol, Dana. I don’t come here every day to simply fill a vacant chair. And going to a manufacturer, a menswear manufacturer no less, to have clothing made for a women’s department is … well, it’s unthinkable.”
“Irwin Bauer is a friend of mine and he was overstocked with beautiful woolen fabrics. Did you feel them? You can’t find more luscious gray flannel or camel hair in any of the women’s lines throughout the store. He made samples based on my own British wardrobe. I don’t think that’s anybody’s business but mine.”
“We’re talking in circles, Dana. Have Irwin Bauer make all the samples you want! Knock yourself out. Just don’t bring them to Bob and then pitch your boutique when I’ve already passed on the idea.”
Dana sighed. She hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning—her appetite had faded after her decision to stop seeing Mark—and her head was now pounding.
“I understand your position, Helen. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would hurt if Bob looked at my samples. The matter is out of my hands now.”
“No, Dana. It’s a moot issue. The space is no longer available, and I reiterated that to Bob a few minutes ago. This British boutique of yours isn’t going to happen, so you’d better get used to the idea.” Helen paused. “You’re still an accessories buyer, Dana, not the fashion director. I suggest you act like one or I’ll recommend this very week that you be replaced with someone who can bring team spirit to our family here at B. Altman. I’m not interested in having a maverick constantly second-guessing all of my decisions. I climbed the ranks to get where I am, and in the process I did what I was told. In fact, I suggest that you consider whether or not you’re suited to work here at B. Altman any lo
nger. If you wish to make executive decisions, then you should apply to stores with openings in upper-level management.”
Helen turned on her heels and left without waiting for a response.
Dana briefly thought of Johnny and the House of Cirone—-independence, creativity, and travel. This was the one day that she had no stomach for store politics and drama. If Bob wasn’t going to overrule Helen and go with what he knew to be right, then it was time to move on.
Maybe, but Dana summoned her strength and recalled her conversation with Bob Campbell the day before. The British Shop wasn’t dead yet. She wasn’t going to give Helen the satisfaction of submitting her resignation until she’d heard back from Bob personally. She’d come too far to let Helen’s dressing-down stop her from doing everything in her power to turn her dream into a reality.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Dana sat across the table from Andrew at the Charleston Garden restaurant, Andrew having persuaded Dana to accompany him when he’d seen how despondent she looked after stopping by her office at one o’clock.
“Is everything all right with Amanda?” Andrew asked, looking concerned. “She hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, has she?”
“No, thank goodness,” Dana answered.
“Something’s wrong,” Andrew said, “and I’m guessing that either you and Mark are having trouble or else the boutique isn’t panning out.”
“The boutique is on life support,” Dana said, her head lowered as she stared lethargically at a cup of tea. “Helen blew a fuse when she saw the rack of separates in Bob’s conference room. She suggested I consider resigning from B. Altman.”
“Resign? Wow. That’s tough even by Helen’s standards. And Mark?”
Dana looked up at Andrew, wiping moisture from the corner of her left eye. “I’ve called it off. He has to move in with his wife at their Connecticut home when Amanda is discharged from the hospital. His time would be so—”
