JEREMIAH and Camille reached New York the day after Christmas and a blanket of snow covered the ground as the bride leapt from the train clapping her hands with delight. Her eyes sparkled in the cold air, and her face and hands were enveloped in the splendid sables and matching muff Jeremiah had given her for Christmas. She looked like a Russian princess as she stepped down from the train, one tiny gloved hand held in his as he looked at her with pleasure. She adored all the beautiful things he gave her, and frequently thought how lucky she was to have left Atlanta. He was almost as good as one of the princes or dukes her father had promised her for so long. And she could hardly wait to see his home in the Napa Valley, which she assumed was even grander than a plantation. They drove to the Cambridge Hotel on Thirty-third Street. There was no lobby, and Walmsby, the desk clerk, was diligent about keeping the press away, and Jeremiah had always liked that about the place. He liked the privacy he always had there, the exquisite suites, and Walmsby was always full of amusing stories. Camille strode into the suite ahead of Jeremiah as though she had been checking into hotels with him for years, which made him laugh as he swept her off her feet and threw her on the bed with all her finery and sables.
You're a brazen little thing, you are, Camille Thurston. The name still sounded funny to them both, but she did not deny the accusation. And he did not tell her that he'd been startled by her chill manner to his old friend the desk clerk. She had been playing grand lady, and poor Walmsby looked crushed when he preferred a hand and she ignored it.
How rude, she said loudly as she walked past him. Who does he think he is?
My friend, Jeremiah had whispered softly. But once alone in the suite with him, she kissed him so hungrily that he forgot all about Walmsby, and as they were dressing for dinner, he smiled to himself thinking of the house he had built her in San Francisco. He could hardly wait until she saw it. He had hardly mentioned it to her since he'd first arrived in Atlanta, and whenever she inquired about their home, he just brushed her off and told her it was decent, and she might like to make a few changes when she arrived.
But for the moment, she was far more interested in what they were going to do in New York. They went to the theater several times, the opera once, and dinner at Delmonico's on their first night, and The Brunswick on their second, where Jeremiah had ordered a dinner of duck and game hens. The horsey set ate there a lot, and many of the patrons were British. And on the third night, Jeremiah had accepted an invitation from Amelia. He had done so with a feeling of excitement. He was so anxious to introduce Camille to her, and happy to see Amelia again too. The correspondence they'd struck up had totally turned his infatuation to friendship. And Amelia's invitation had been so warm that he had accepted with delight, but on the way to her home with his bride, he began to have misgivings. Camille was being pettish and spoiled, and she had been rude to the maid at the hotel while she was dressing, and it was beginning to annoy him.
They were on their way to Amelia's house on Fifth Avenue in a carriage and Camille was wearing a black velvet cloak and her profusion of sables. The huge diamond ring glittered on her left hand, and the sapphire he had just given her sparkled on her right, and beneath the velvet mantle from Paris she wore a white velvet dress, with little ermine loops at the shoulders and all around the hem. It was an exquisite creation and had cost her father a king's ransom, as he had been only too happy to inform Jeremiah before they left Atlanta.
You look like a little queen, he had said to her before they left the hotel, and he took her little kid-gloved hand in his own now, as he attempted to describe Amelia to her. She's a very special woman ' intelligent ' dignified ' beautiful' . He thought of their harmless flirtation on the train to Atlanta and felt a warm glow as he thought of her. She was a lovely woman and he knew she would be gracious to Camille when she met her.
But Camille was difficult from the moment they entered Amelia's house. It was as though she resented Amelia's obvious breeding, her good taste, her exquisite clothes, even her genteel manner, and it instantly brought out the worst in Camille, much to Jeremiah's embarrassment.
Amelia had a rare grace and gentle charm that made everyone who saw her want to embrace her. And Jeremiah himself had forgotten how really lovely she was, with the translucence and sparkling clarity of a very fine diamond, her brilliant eyes, her delicately carved features, the way she moved, the discreet elegance of her very fine jewelry, the ravishing gowns made in Paris. He had never seen her really at her best, but only on the train to Atlanta, and yet this friendship had been born there, a friendship he knew he would never relinquish, as he watched her seem to float through the halls of the splendid house Bernard Goodheart had left her. There were liveried footmen everywhere, and the candlelight danced in the most beautiful chandeliers Jeremiah had ever seen, over intricately laid marble floors, patterned in the shapes of flowers scattered from one end of the hall to the other. The decor of each room was unmistakably French, except for the dining room and main library, which were impeccably English, and the entire house had the beauty of a museum, and within it danced this gem of a woman. And now, it was obvious that Camille was devoured by jealousy as she observed Amelia's gracious manner. It was as though she couldn't bear anything the older woman did. She resented her every word, every smile, every movement.
Camille, behave yourself! Jeremiah urged her in a whisper, as Amelia left the room for a moment to see about selecting another bottle of champagne for them after dinner. What's wrong with you tonight, aren't you well?
She's a whore! she hurled at Jeremiah in a stage whisper. And she's after you, and you're blind if you don't see it! Her Southern accent seemed thicker than ever, and he would have been touched by her attack of possessive devotion if she hadn't been so rude to his friend, but she was truly unbearable as the evening wore on, making rude remarks in response to almost everything Amelia said. And still Amelia treated her with the determined calm of an extremely able mother, accustomed to handling difficult children. But Camille was no longer a child, and Jeremiah was furious with her as they rode back to the Cambridge.
How could you behave like that? It was a disgrace. I was mortified! He chided her as he would have an errant child, and he wanted to shake her as she stormed out of the carriage into the hotel, and slammed the door of their suite hard enough to wake all the guests. What's gotten into you, Camille? She was like a madwoman tonight, and she had been rude to various people for days. He had never seen her behave that way before, but he had never seen a great deal of her anyway. He wondered if this was some aspect of her behavior he had overlooked, but if so he was going to correct it.
I'll behave any way I damn please, Jeremiah! She was shouting at him now and he was shocked.
You most certainly will not. And you will apologize to my friend Mrs. Goodheart You will write her a letter tonight, which I will have delivered in the morning. Do you understand?
I understand that you're crazy, Jeremiah Thurston! I'll do no such a thing. He startled her then by grabbing her arm and forcing her into a chair with one quick, sharp gesture.
I'm not sure you understand me, Camille. I expect you to write a letter of apology to Amelia.
Why? Is she your mistress?
What? He looked at her as though she were crazy. Amelia was far too respectable to be anyone's mistress. And he had almost asked her to marry him once. He almost told Camille as much, but decided that that would only make matters worse. Camille, you've been rude, and you are my wife now. You are not some spoiled child who does as she pleases. Is that clear?
She stood to her full height then and stared at her husband. '7 am Mrs. Jeremiah Thurston of San Francisco and my husband is one of the richest men in the state of California, hell ' in the country ' She looked at him with an expression that horrified him, and I can do anything I damn please. Is that clear? It was like watching a transformation take place before his eyes, and Jeremiah was determined to stop her.
That kind of behavior, Camille, will win you the utmo
st contempt and hatred everywhere you go. And may I suggest to you now that you become extremely humble before you reach California. I live in a simple house in the Napa Valley, I grow grapes, and I am a miner. That is all I am. And you are my wife. And if you feel that that is reason to be rude to our friends, or our neighbors, or the people who work for us, then you're sorely mistaken.
She suddenly laughed and grabbed a handful of her sables. She had what she wanted now. She loved him, but she also loved what he had and what he represented. And now she represented it too. And no one was going to look down on her for what her daddy was anymore. If her aristocratic mother hadn't been enough to cancel out her father's humble beginnings, then she had done them all one better. She had married right out of their leagues, and married the richest man in the state of California. And no one was going to look down on her again. Now she had the position to go with the money, and more money than she'd ever had before, or even dreamed of in Atlanta. She heard the people whispering everywhere they went, she knew what they said. Her daddy had told her. Jeremiah was one of the most powerful, most important men in the country. Don't tell me you're just a miner,' Jeremiah Thurston. That's garbage and you and I both know it. You're a lot more than that, and so am I. It was hard to believe she was just eighteen. She seemed a great deal older as she stood there.
And what happens if we lose it, if the mines fail, if I lose it all, Camille? What happens then? Who are you if you've hitched all your importance to all that? You're no one.
You're not going to lose a damn thing.
Camille, when I was a little boy in New York we barely had enough to eat, and then my Papa struck gold in California. It was everyone's dream back then, still is, I suppose. And I was lucky too. But that's all it is. Luck. Good fortune. Some hard work. But it can go just as easily as it comes, and you have to stay who you are no matter what happens. I married a wonderful little girl from Atlanta, and I love you ' now don't suddenly turn into someone else because you married me. That's not fair. Most of all it's not fair to yourself. You don't need to do that.
Why not? People have been doing it to me for long enough. Even my Mama did it. There were suddenly tears in her eyes as she said it, and she sounded like a defiant child as she told him. She always acted as though I wasn't good enough, because I was part of my Daddy ' as though he was trash ' well, she married him, and even if he was trash, he made good, and he was good enough for her, and rich enough for her, after her father shot himself. But people have been looking down at me and Hubert all our lives. Hubert doesn't give a damn, but I do, and I'm not going to take it anymore, Jeremiah. And Amelia was just like the rest of them, so damned aristocratic and fancy. I know them. I've seen that type all over the South, they're charming as hell and then they let you have it.
He looked shocked. What an undeserved attack on Amelia, and yet he suddenly understood some of Camille's pain. He had never been aware of it before, and yet now he knew, and he felt for the many slights she must have suffered as she grew up. Now he understood what Orville had meant, when he said he wanted to get her out of the South. It mattered to her a great deal, and it mattered to Orville. But Amelia didn't say anything to you, darling.
She would have! There were tears running down Camille's cheeks now, and Jeremiah came and took her in his arms.
I would never, ever let anyone do that to you, my love. No one will ever slight you like that. He was suddenly glad he had built the house for her in San Francisco. Perhaps it would give her the self-confidence she apparently needed. I promise you, no one is going to treat you badly in California. And I know Amelia wouldn't have either. You should have given her a chance. He held her close as he would a frightened child. Perhaps next time. He took her to bed then, and held her tight as though to console her, and when morning came, she didn't write the letter that he wanted, and he didn't want to upset her by insisting. Instead he sent Amelia an enormous arrangement of white lilac, almost unheard of in the dead of winter, and he knew that she would love it, and understand.
And Jeremiah and Camille spent the rest of their stay shopping and buying pretty baubles for Camille, paintings for their new house, a rope of black pearls, a diamond and emerald necklace that she insisted she couldn't live without, and trunks and trunks and trunks of fabrics and feathers and laces, in case I can't find what I like in California.
It's not Africa, for heaven's sake. It's California. But he was amused by what she bought and let her buy it all, and when they entered their private railroad car to return to California, it was more than half filled with Camille's trunks and boxes with all her treasures. Do you suppose we bought enough, my love? He looked amused as he lit a cigar and they rolled out of Grand Central Station. He had managed to speak to Amelia once before they left, and she insisted that he shouldn't be upset by Camille's behavior. She's young, give her a chance to adjust to being your wife, Jeremiah. And he had every intention of doing just that. They spent most of their time making love on the trip to California. And for a girl with what he assumed was a very straitlaced Southern upbringing, she had a wonderful sort of abandon about her when they made love. He had never been happier in his life, and she was growing rapidly adept at the ways that pleased him most. She was an extraordinarily exotic young lover.
And at last when they arrived, Jeremiah could barely contain his excitement anymore. He was dying to show her the house ' their house ' Thurston House ' in all its splendor, and he was still playing it down for her. No, it's not terribly big, but it'll do for us, and the first baby. The first ten babies, he laughed to himself' wait till she saw it! He helped her down from the car they'd ridden in for seven days, and guided her toward the carriage that had come to meet them. It was brand-new, brown with black trim, drawn by four perfectly matched jet black horses. It was a pretty little setup and he had bought it especially for Camille just before he went to Atlanta for their wedding.
What a pretty rig, Jeremiah! She seemed impressed as she laughed and clapped her hands, and she looked down at him adoringly as he lifted her inside. There was a second coach for their trunks, and both carriages bore a scrollwork with his initials. JAT. Jeremiah Arbuckle Thurston. Is the house far from here? She looked around the station with a faint degree of concern, and Jeremiah laughed.
Far enough, little one. Were you worried that I'd set up house for you down here? She laughed at herself, and he hopped in beside her for the drive north across San Francisco. He pointed out landmarks to her as they went, the Palace Hotel where he had so often stayed before he built the new house, St. Patrick's Church, Trinity Church, Union Square, the Mint, and Twin Peaks in the distance. And then as they finally began to climb Nob Hill, he showed her Marie Hopkins' home, the Tobin residence, the Crocker house, and the Huntington Colton house, all of which they passed on the way to Thurston House. But she was particularly impressed with the Crocker and Flood houses. They were finer even than anything she had seen in Atlanta and Savannah.
Finer even than New York! She clapped her hands. San Francisco wasn't so bad after all, she hadn't been so sure at first, and now she was even more excited to see their house, but he had warned her that it would be small, and they were driving into a little park now. They had passed through an enormous set of gates, and the horses picked up speed as they drove around a maze of trees and hedges. Is the house in here? She looked confused. She saw only trees and no house, but perhaps he was giving her a little tour before taking her to their house, and then she saw the largest house of all, a spectacular edifice with four turrets and a sort of cupola on top. Whose house is this? She was fascinated. It was the grandest house she'd ever seen. It looks like a hotel, or a museum.
It's neither one. Jeremiah looked very serious as the carriage stopped, and she didn't know him well enough to read the mischief in his eyes. It's probably the largest house in the city. I wanted you to see it before we went home.
Whose house is it, Jeremiah? She spoke in a whisper of awe. It was larger than some/of the churches they'd passed.
They must be very rich. She said it in awed tones, and he laughed.
Would you like to see the inside?
Do you suppose we should? She was hesitant but curious at the same time. I'm not really dressed to pay a call. She was wearing a tweed suit, and a fur cape, with one of the pretty hats he'd bought her in New York.
You look fine to me. This is San Francisco after all, not New York. In fact, I think you look very elegant. And then, before she could say more, he walked her right up to the front door and struck the large brass knocker, and almost instantly a liveried servant swung open the door, and stared at Jeremiah. Everyone had been warned about their arrival, and that if the master behaved strangely, they were to take no notice. He strolled right past the footman now, as Camille gasped, having explained nothing at all, and he pulled Camille in beside him. Together, they stood beneath the enormous stained-glass dome, and she gasped again. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and she stared at it in fascination as it cast lights and patterns on the marble floor beneath.
Oh, Jeremiah ' it's so lovely. ' She stared up at it with her enormous eyes, and he smiled down happily at her. This was what he had wanted.
Do you want to see the rest?
Shouldn't you let them know we're here? She looked worried. People couldn't be that informal in San Francisco. It was certainly different from the South. Her parents would have been horrified to find people wandering around their home, even friends, but on the other hand they didn't live in a palace like this. She didn't know anyone who did. Even Jeremiah's woman friend in New York had a house that was less grand than this, and Camille was suddenly glad. Whoever these people were, they had outdone her. Jeremiah ' The footmen didn't seem to be taking any notice of him, and he pulled her slowly up the grand staircase.
Thurston House (1983) Page 13
