by Renée Rosen
• • •
The next morning, after a restless night’s sleep, Delia mustered her courage and had her driver drop her at the corner of Clark and Randolph. The temperature was dropping and it had started to snow. Slush seeped through her soles, but she was too preoccupied to notice.
She had a million scripts running through her head as she entered the hotel, shaking snow off her coat and hat. She rehearsed lines inside her head as she stepped off the elevator and knocked on the penthouse suite door. There was no answer at first and Delia began to fret, thinking that Marsh changed his mind. She was about to turn away when the door swung open and there he was standing on the threshold freshly shaven, a towel slung over his shoulder and his shirtsleeves rolled up. His mouth dropped open as he reached up and pulled the towel from his shoulder, letting it fall to the floor. He looked stunned, as if he hadn’t expected her to show.
Despite how much she’d prepared for this, now that she was face-to-face with him she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
He walked her into the suite and locked the door behind him. Her mind was racing and she felt flushed. What was she doing there? It wasn’t too late to turn around and leave. She stared into the roaring fireplace as the flames lapped the crackling logs.
She kept telling herself she’d made a mistake, she had to leave. And she still hadn’t spoken a word. Neither had he. Instead he reached for her cheek, stroking her skin with the back of his hand. She was trembling. She’d been denying what she’d wanted for so long and now here he was, right in front of her. She stood on the brink, just a step away from the fall that she’d never be able to rise back up from. She was about to become guilty of everything she’d been accused of. Marsh’s face was just inches away from hers. The ache inside her opened wide. She’d never been so vulnerable and she didn’t care.
“Oh, Marsh,” she said finally, “what are we doing?”
And without a word he leaned in and kissed her ever so gently. She’d never been kissed like that before. It filled her whole body, warming her and warming her spirit. As he wrapped his arms around her, she knew that they could never take this moment back. And she knew she’d never want to. His kiss told her everything she needed to know. There was no doubt that he desired her as much as she did him.
They were still kissing as he unfastened her dress and she fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat. She felt only pleasure as he slid the fabric down past her shoulders, her breasts heaving toward him from her corset. He unlaced her with such a seductive touch, as if he were unwrapping a present. She didn’t remember how they had moved into the bedroom, but there they were, working their way through the last traces of their clothing.
When she saw his body in the flickering glow of the bedroom fireplace, the desire that welled up inside her seemed insatiable. At forty-three he was still firm, lean yet muscular, and now he was offering all of himself to her. She was overwhelmed when she felt his skin touching hers, knowing that nothing was between them, separating them any longer. He explored her, slowly, lovingly, even caressing and then kissing a scar along her thigh that Arthur never knew was there. She’d never been touched so gently, so lovingly before and yet, for all his tenderness, she was aware of his power, his intensity. It was immeasurable. That same raw energy and strength that he’d put into building the city and his business, he now poured into her. She felt it in his kisses, in his embrace, in the way he never let his eyes leave hers. She could barely breathe. There was no more holding back. Her body responded in ways it never had before, opening itself up to him, moving with him, lost in this moment they were sharing. She’d never known such pleasure. Her whole being ignited and nothing had ever felt so right. She belonged with this man. The ripples of satisfaction coursing through her body overrode whatever guilt, whatever misgivings, she may have had. This was right. This was where she belonged, and when she shattered in his arms, it was a complete surrender. She had given herself over to him wholly.
Afterward as he kissed her softly on the lips, he confessed, “When Bertha first introduced you to me, I was mesmerized and nervous as a schoolboy. I knew I was in trouble the moment I set eyes on you.”
“I knew right away, too. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I knew it, too.”
She lay on the bed and felt the details of the hotel room coming back to her consciousness. Suddenly she was aware of the coffered ceiling, the wainscot armchair in the corner, the secretary and note cards resting on top along with the inkwell. It all began floating into her line of vision.
So accustomed to Arthur, who always raced back into his bathrobe, she was pleasantly surprised when Marsh circled her in his arms and held her close, kissing the sweat that had formed along her shoulder blades and across the nape of her neck. He held her like that for the next hour and they talked, telling each other things they might not have shared, had they never shared their bodies.
Marsh told her about growing up in the Berkshires. “There were eight of us children, living in a two-story farmhouse. My father sent us to school in the winter and out to work the farm the rest of the year.”
“Is that how you broke your finger? Working on the farm?”
He held out his right hand and studied his crooked finger. “That’s another story, for another day.” A sadness filled his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her middle.
“Well,” she said, hoping to restore the close mood they had been enjoying, “I can’t picture you as a farm boy.”
“Apparently neither could I. When I was sixteen I got a job at a dry goods store. Five years later, I came to Chicago, determined to become a merchant. Nobody thought I could do it because I was so shy and quiet. They started calling me ‘Silent Marsh,’” he chuckled. “My mother was the only one who believed I could make a go of it.”
“Smart woman,” she murmured.
“Yes, she was. I should have listened to her when she told me not to marry Nannie. She told me I’d never be happy with her. Actually, she came this close to telling me Nannie would make me miserable.”
Delia’s mood began to sink at the mention of his wife. How could she ever face Nannie again after this?
He sighed and nuzzled his cheek close to hers. “My mother would have liked you, though,” he said, kissing her neck, making her forget about Nannie again.
“You think so?”
She could feel him nodding. She ran her hands over his forearms and smiled, content to stay there like that with him forever. And then, just like that, he released his embrace and sat up, stretching his arms overhead. Delia reached for a blanket heaped at the foot of the bed. The fire had died down and she was suddenly aware of the chill in the room.
“And now what?” she said, pulling the blanket onto her shoulders. “Where do we go from here?”
“You mean in terms of Arthur and Nannie?”
She nodded.
“We tell them.”
Delia closed her eyes. Even though he had betrayed her in his own way, she dreaded what this would do to Arthur. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“I don’t want to hurt Arthur, either. Or Nannie. But we have to tell them,” he said. “I won’t cheapen this by sneaking around and I won’t lie about you. We need to tell them.”
Delia nodded. She knew he was right, but then what? “Do you think Nannie will grant you a divorce? I know Arthur never would. We both know there’s a reason why he married me in the first place.”
“I don’t expect Arthur to divorce you, but my marriage is over,” he said. “It has been for years. I’m tired of pretending. I just want out. I’ll go back to being a bachelor. I practically am one now as it is. I just can’t stay married to Nannie anymore. I’m telling her as soon as she gets back from Kentucky.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next day, Delia went into Arthur’s room and sat on the bed that she’d never been invited into.
“We nee
d to talk.” She reached for his hand. “Please, come sit with me. It’s important.”
“Are you unwell? What’s wrong?”
She bit down on her lip, hard enough to make it hurt, as if she wanted to punish herself for what she was about to say.
He studied her face while deep lines sank into his brow. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s about us.” She sighed. “I know you love me. And I love you, Arthur. But I can’t go on pretending that everything is fine between us.”
“Is this about the horse farm?”
“No.” She could have laughed had the worry in his voice not been so heart wrenching.
“Is it about having a baby?”
“Oh, Arthur, let’s not kid ourselves. How can we have a baby when you don’t want to try?”
“That’s not so. I do.”
“When? Once a month? Once every six weeks? And it’s always me begging you. And when you do want to, you’re too drunk.” She reached over and stroked his hair. “Oh, Arthur, you try—I know you try—but I don’t want a husband who has to try. I want a man who wants me.”
“But I do want you.”
“Not enough. You don’t want me enough. You don’t want me in the right way. And I’m sorry, but Marsh does. He does want me.”
He pulled away from her. The color drained from his face.
“I’m sorry but I can’t pretend anymore. I’m in love with him.” Hearing the words aloud for the first time both thrilled and terrified her. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it has and I can’t help the way I feel.”
“He’s my friend. He’s taking you away from me and you’re taking him away from me, too.” Arthur stood up and went to the other side of the room and dropped into a chair.
She went and knelt by his side. “No one’s taking anyone away from you. I love you, Arthur, but what we have here in this marriage—this just isn’t enough for me.” She rested her cheek on his knee. “I never meant to hurt you. Marsh and I . . .” She couldn’t finish her thought because he had started to cry.
His shoulders shuddered and he hung his head, fisting up his hands. “You can’t leave me.” He looked up as the tears streaked down his cheeks. “You can’t disgrace me like this. I can’t have a divorce in my family. My parents will disown me. My father is a judge. He’d never understand.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat, unable to speak.
“Do as you please with Marsh,” he said. “I’ll look the other way. I’ll do whatever you ask, but please don’t divorce me. Don’t shame me like that. All I ask is that you let me have my dignity. Please, Dell, I beg of you—don’t leave me.”
“Oh, Arthur, I’m not going to leave you. I don’t want to leave you. But I can’t lie to you, either. I can’t sneak around behind your back.”
“What are people going to say? You’ll ruin yourself in this town, you realize that, don’t you? Your reputation will be destroyed. Along with mine.” He shook his head. “My God, you’re going to make me a laughingstock.”
“No, you won’t be. I promise. I won’t lie to you or Nannie, but no one else needs to know. I’ll be discreet, you know I will. This is our business. I’ll keep your secret and you’ll keep mine.”
• • •
The next morning Arthur walked into the dining room with a packed valise in his hand. He set his bag down next to the sideboard and sat beside her at the table. “I’m going down to Ottawa for a few days.”
Delia nearly missed the saucer when she put her coffee cup down. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “I just need to be alone right now.” He stroked her face with a tenderness that she now understood to be a gesture of kindness and friendship, nothing more.
She wrapped a shawl over her shoulders and walked him outside where his coach was waiting. Both of them had tears in their eyes as they embraced.
“It’s cold out here,” he said, running his fingers over the fringe on her shawl. “You shouldn’t be outside without a coat.”
“Don’t stay away too long,” she said, gripping onto him.
“Take care of Marsh while I’m gone.” There wasn’t a trace of resentment in his voice.
She stood on the walkway, waving long after his four-in-hand turned the corner. Seeing him ride off like that left her feeling lost, ungrounded. All she wanted then was to run to Marsh, the only place where she belonged now. Knowing that Nannie was still in Kentucky, Delia clutched her shawl about her shoulders and hurried off for the Field mansion.
Marsh was in the sitting room with a stack of Sunday morning newspapers piled on the table next to his wingback chair. As soon as the butler brought her in, he stood and waited for his butler to disappear. When they were alone he embraced her, filling Delia with a clash of relief, remorse and guilt.
“I told him,” she said, clinging to Marsh, speaking into his shoulder.
“How did he take it?”
She felt his hand pressed against the back of her hair. Delia shook her head. “I don’t envy you having to tell Nannie.”
Marsh didn’t say anything. He released her from his embrace and backed away, refusing to look at her and instead gazed at a shelf of books.
Her blood quickened. “Marsh?”
He ran his finger along the ledge as if inspecting for dust.
“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”
“I can’t tell her yet.”
“What?” Delia’s stomach roiled.
“I received a cable this morning from Nannie’s cousins in Kentucky. She’s unwell. It appears as though she’s had some sort of a nervous breakdown. They’re worried for the children. I’m leaving on the six o’clock train tonight to get her. There’s a sanitarium in Rochester—”
“A sanitarium?”
“I’ve decided to take her there for a while. Her cousin is bringing the children back here in a few days.”
Delia was speechless. She heard Nannie’s cockatiels sqawking in the parlor next door.
“I knew she was headed for trouble,” he said. “The woman’s been a wreck ever since Paris. Every time I turn around she’s taking more laudanum.”
Delia dropped her eyes to the floor. “Oh, Marsh . . .” She looked up, tangled in a million emotions. Their plan had just taken a detour and then another concern struck her. Delia pressed her fingertips to her mouth. “We did this to her, didn’t we?” She said this as if thinking aloud. “We’ve destroyed Arthur and now Nannie. We’re bad people. Something bad is going to happen to us.”
“Don’t talk like that. We’ve fallen in love. That’s not a crime.”
“Yes it is. It is when you’re married to other people. Maybe we should stop this. Stop it right now.”
He reached for her wrists. “Don’t. You’ve told Arthur. You’ve done the right thing, and as soon as Nannie is well, I’ll tell her.”
“But she was fine until Paris.”
“She was never fine. Don’t take that on.” Marsh went and stood over by the windows and rubbed his eyes. “Nannie has been unwell for a very long time. Who knows what set her off this time. They tell me this sanitarium is the best place for her. I need to take her away from Chicago. Let the gossips here assume she’s back in France vacationing. The fewer people who know the truth, the better.”
Delia thought she detected a slight mist collecting in his eyes and she didn’t know whether to be touched or jealous. She’d never before seen Marsh show any genuine feelings or tenderness toward Nannie.
“I have to figure out what I’m going to do with the children once they get back to Chicago,” he said. “Their governess will take care of them while I’m in Rochester with Nannie, but I don’t like the idea of leaving them at a time like this. I don’t know what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard. I don’t even know what they’ve been told about their mother.”
“I’ll look in on them,” she said. “I’ll check in on them every day if you want. Arthur will, too, when he gets back in town.”
He pressed his lips together, his mustache covering his mouth completely. “Thank you for that.”
“Of course.” She stroked his face with the tips of her fingers, letting them slide down his jaw and land in her lap. “Of course.”
Delia stayed with him, the two sitting quietly side by side, their fingers laced together, her head on his shoulder. It was not romantic. It was real. She knew she had just complicated her life exponentially and yet she felt it was right to be with him. She belonged with this man and had never felt closer to anyone, not even her sister. She and Marsh were lovers now. They were connected, sharing everything, both good and bad. She wanted him to know that his problems were now hers. They didn’t speak then. They didn’t have to. He knew what she was thinking. Certain things were understood.
Several hours later, knowing she couldn’t see him off at the station, she said good-bye to Marsh at his house. He gave her a quick kiss rather than a long, passionate one intended to sustain them during their separation, and this, too, she understood. It was easier for him to leave her that way.
As he left for the depot, she went around the corner, back to Calumet Avenue. When she walked back into the house, she was acutely aware of being alone. All that warmth and belonging that Marsh had cocooned around her was gone. Now she was exposed to the raw consequences of her actions. She felt Arthur’s absence as never before. The kitchen maid fixed her a cup of tea and Williams brought it into the drawing room, where Delia sat before the fireplace. She saw faces in the flames, like drama masks flickering, both laughing and crying. It was exactly how she felt. So happy to have Marsh, so guilt-ridden by what it took to have him. She couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur. And Nannie. And those children. How many lives were they disrupting and what right did they have to do so? She knew Marsh thought her superstitions were silly, but she worried that there would be retribution. There had to be. Without Marsh there to quell her fears, she was certain that they’d just invited trouble into their lives.
