by Renée Rosen
Delia did her best to avoid socializing with Nannie and Marsh, but every now and again, the four of them turned up at the same party. One night, at the Glessners’ charity ball they were even seated at the same table along with Abby and Augustus. Delia felt woozy as she unfolded her napkin, smoothing it across her lap. Nannie chattered on innocently, obliviously, even complimenting Delia on her gown and her necklace—a Carlo Giuliano—that had been a gift from Marsh for her twenty-third birthday. She remembered that Nannie had been stowed away in a sanitarium the day he walked into her bedroom, the box hidden behind his back. She’d been seated at her dressing table and saw him through the mirror. He bent down and kissed her on the neck, setting the box on the vanity before her.
“We’d love for you to join us at the theater next week to see The Black Pearl,” said Nannie.
“How lovely,” said Delia. A stab of guilt grabbed hold of her as it did each time Nannie extended a kindness her way. She looked quickly at Marsh, her eyes begging for a way out.
“It’s short notice,” said Marsh. “They may have other plans.”
“Oh, nonsense. Cancel them whatever they are.” Nannie laughed. “We insist you come and be our guests, don’t we, Marshall? We won’t take no for an answer.” Nannie raised her wineglass and took a delicate sip.
Delia could scarcely look at her. Poor Nannie. She was the one left in the dark, the only one unaware of what was really going on. They were all betraying her, even Arthur.
As the first course of melon and consommé royale was served, Augustus asked Marsh about his business. “I hear talk that Lord & Taylor and a few other outfits from New York are thinking of coming to Chicago.”
“If the competition comes to town,” said Marsh, “we’ll be ready for them.”
Delia offered a half smile, as she tried not to appear overly interested in Marsh, and yet not too indifferent, either. It was a delicate balance. She found the evening exhausting and painful. All she could hope for was that Nannie would get well enough soon so Marsh could tell her the truth.
• • •
It stormed the night of the play. Rain pelted against the windows in Delia’s room while Therese finished helping her dress. She had selected a magnolia satin Morin-Blossier gown with a beaded train and a series of bouffant folds cascading from her waist.
“Are you almost ready, Dell?” Arthur asked, standing in the doorway of her bedroom. He was handsomely dressed in a silk waistcoat and red ascot, his walking stick in hand. “You look beautiful,” he told her.
“I’m dreading this evening,” she said, turning while Therese snapped the clasp on her diamond necklace.
“It’s one night,” he said, extending his arm to her. “We’ll get through it.”
The heavy downpour continued as they left, riding to McVicker’s Theatre with Marsh and Nannie in their coach. The streets were a sloppy mess with carriages stuck everywhere, the horses unable to pull free from the mud.
Despite the weather, there was a full house at that evening’s performance. Delia always adored McVicker’s. She felt as if she were in Greece each time she passed by the marble pillars in the mezzanine and the enormous murals of Greek gods and goddesses running floor to ceiling.
They entered the theater and took their seats in the Fields’ gilt-trimmed box. As soon as the play began, Nannie and Delia peered at the stage through their gem-encrusted lorgnettes. When Delia wasn’t watching the actors, she stole glimpses at Marsh, sitting one seat over. She studied his strong profile, his firm jaw and aquiline nose, his full white mustache. It was a face she loved like none other. She was still staring at him when Nannie caught her, holding Delia’s gaze long enough to make her flush. She didn’t dare look at Marsh for the rest of the performance.
After the play, they were about to go for a late supper at Rector’s on Clark and Monroe when Marsh’s office boy came running into the theater. He was soaking wet, panting hard as droplets of rain fell from the tips of his hair.
“I’m sorry,” said the boy, wheezing as he spoke, “but there’s trouble down at the store. A fire’s broken out on the top floor.”
Delia watched Marsh’s face go chalk white. They were all thinking the same thing. Not again. Nannie fisted up her hands, hunched her shoulders close to her ears and began pacing in the mezzanine.
“Is anyone hurt?” Marsh asked.
“No. The store was closed. The alarm bells were sounded and the fire trucks just got there. Mr. Leiter’s been told and he’s on his way down there, too. We’ve got a few clerks trying to save the merchandise, but we’re going to need more help.”
Everything happened so quickly then. They hurried toward State and Washington in the Fields’ carriage. It was still pouring and the main roads were turning into mud-packed creeks. When their carriage approached the store, the four of them looked up at the flames shooting twenty feet into the sky, defying the downpour of rain. A fire engine, drawn by three white horses, pulled up in front of the building with its bells clanking as steam belched from the boiler beneath the water tank in the truck. One of the horses shook its head, rattling its bridle, sending off a spray of rain in all directions.
The alarm bells rang out again while the fire raged on. The air filled with a choking smoke and the stench that Chicagoans knew all too well. Dragging their hoses along, the firemen entered the building while onlookers stood beneath awnings and umbrellas.
Levi Leiter came outside with his sleeves rolled up and hair matted down with sweat. Two clerks followed him, carrying crates stuffed with carpets and lamps, bolts of fabric, lace and other merchandise.
Leiter saw Marsh and shouted, “I’ve got men on the third floor. The fourth and fifth floors are already gone. So are the elevator shafts. We’re trying to haul everything down to the first floor.”
Marsh called over to his office boy and a handful of clerks who were there to help salvage the merchandise. “We need horses, wagons, drivers—get anyone willing to help us. Find some old barns or empty buildings where we can house everything once we get it out of here. Otherwise the rain will ruin it just as surely as the flames.”
As Marsh started for the doorway, Delia reached for his arm. “Oh, Marsh—”
Nannie let out a shrill cry and Delia’s pulse jumped. She had forgotten her place, forgotten that she was just the neighbor, the friend. But Nannie hadn’t noticed the inappropriate gesture. “Marshall,” she cried out again, “I can’t breathe!” She was clawing at her neck. “I’m burning! It’s my hair—my hair’s on fire!”
Marsh went over and grabbed Nannie by the shoulders, shaking her firmly. “You’re fine, you hear me. You’re not on fire. Go wait in the carriage.” Marsh turned back to Delia. “It’s because of what happened to her sister.”
“I’ll watch her for you.”
He nodded. “I’m going down to the basement to see if the boilers and pumps are working.”
This time Delia blatantly reached for his arm. “Be careful.”
“Noooo!” Nannie cried as Marsh rushed into the store with Arthur following behind him.
Delia couldn’t watch. She needed to distract herself and helped Nannie back inside the carriage. When she returned to the front of the building, she gripped onto her umbrella, feeling the cold mud seeping through the soles of her shoes as she looked for signs of Marsh and Arthur. Her heart lurched each time someone came outside. More firemen appeared with extinguishers and axes in hand. As they all headed for the upper floors, Delia tried not to think about Marsh and Arthur putting themselves in danger. There were no flames on the first floor yet, but she could see them torching the sky from the upper floors.
Meanwhile a group of young men hefted up crates of merchandise and hauled them outside where two drivers jumped in to relieve them and loaded the crates into the backs of drays. It went on like this, the filling up of crates, dragging them out to the wagons and going back insid
e for more. Delia had no idea what time it was when she saw Marsh appear in the doorway. He looked haggard, his white hair covered in soot, ashes perched on his shoulders and sleeves, streaks of black across his chin and forehead.
“Are you all right?” She rushed over to his side. “Where’s Arthur? Is he safe?”
Marsh nodded and coughed. “He’s okay—he’s with Levi. But it’s bad in there.” He dragged his arm across his forehead. “We’ve lost the top floors, the third is almost gone. There’s nothing left.” He hung his head and started to cough.
It was still raining. Big quarter-size drops pelted everything. Marsh leaned over, hands planted on his knees, hacking while Delia rubbed circles over his back, urging him to breathe.
“Just rest for a minute.” She had her arm around him when he straightened up and that’s when Delia noticed a newspaperman standing in front of them, pencil poised above his notepad.
“Would you care to make a comment, Mr. Field?” asked the reporter.
“Why don’t you put your pencil down, for God’s sake, and help!” Delia snapped. She kept her arm about Marsh’s waist and the two of them walked away while the reporter shouted out more questions.
While Marsh went back inside to get what could be salvaged, Delia went to check on Nannie and found her passed out inside the carriage. An empty bottle of laudanum lay on the seat next to her. Delia was shocked. She thought that Nannie was done with all that and doubted that Marsh even knew she still carried laudanum with her.
Meanwhile the race to save the merchandise continued and Delia went back to the front of the building. Men came outside to cough and catch their breath. One of them told Delia that half of the second floor was already engulfed in flames. A thick, choking smoke was everywhere. Clerks soaked their handkerchiefs in rainwater and covered their noses and mouths so they could keep pulling out merchandise. The flames on the second floor forced Arthur, Marsh and the others down to the first floor. The smoke turned from gray to black. Arthur finally came out to get some air. Delia could see Marsh from the doorway, still filling a crate with shirt collars, neckties, perfumes, atomizers.
“Enough, Marsh,” Delia called to him from the doorway. “It’s too dangerous in there. Come outside.”
He didn’t respond.
The smoke was getting to her even though she was outside. Each breath felt like a blast of fire on her lungs. She saw the red and orange flames licking at the corners of the ceiling, working their way down the back wall.
“You have to get him out of there,” she said to Arthur, a sob escaping from her. “Please, get him out of there.”
“Come on now, Marsh,” Arthur shouted, his hands cupped about his mouth. “Leave it be.”
But Marsh kept going.
“I mean it, Marsh,” said Arthur. “Get out of there now!”
When he still didn’t respond, Arthur darted inside. Delia watched Marsh twisting out of Arthur’s hold when someone screamed, “Look out!”
Delia froze. She couldn’t move. She was certain they were both going to die.
Arthur yanked Marsh to the side just as a flaming wooden beam came crashing down through the ceiling, missing Marsh’s leg by inches. Both Marsh and Arthur stared at it in shock. Arthur pulled at Marsh’s arm again and finally they both stumbled out of the store.
Marsh leaned up against Arthur’s shoulder, panting, trying to catch his breath. Branches of lightning lit up the sky and through a curtain of rain Delia saw something in Marsh’s face that she’d never seen before: fear. He was genuinely afraid as if he’d just realized what a close call it had been. Arthur continued to hold on to him, saying, “It’s okay, Marsh. You’re okay now.”
Marsh nodded and looked at the building burning and turned back around. “Thank you. Thank you for pulling me out of there.”
• • •
It was going on two in the morning when the firemen finally put out the last of the flames. Ambulances took those who had breathed in too much smoke off to the hospital. Delia had wanted Arthur and Marsh to go to the hospital, too, but they’d both refused. It was cold and damp, and people stood outside in clusters shivering. Someone brought over pots of hot coffee to pass around. Nannie was still in the carriage, passed out, oblivious.
Marsh looked exhausted and Delia was concerned for him. “Marsh,” she said, handing him a cup of coffee, “why don’t you let us take you home. There’s nothing more you can do here now.”
He brushed the coffee aside with the back of his hand. “I need to stay. I need to see the damage in the daylight. I want to be here when the insurance adjusters arrive.”
But Delia knew it was more than that. She knew how his mind worked and he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
“I’ll stay with you, then,” she said, as Arthur came up behind her.
“Dell”—Arthur gently tugged at her arm—“it’s time to go. We need to get Nannie home and you need your rest.”
Delia looked at Arthur and then back at Marsh, who simply nodded, indicating that Arthur was right. It was time for her to go. She reached out and squeezed Marsh’s hand while Arthur tugged at her arm again, a bit more emphatically.
Nannie was still woozy on the ride home, her head lolling from side to side as she murmured, “What’s burning now? Don’t let me catch fire. Don’t, don’t . . .” More incoherent chattering followed.
When they pulled up to the Field mansion, it had stopped raining. Nannie was slumped down in the seat, her head pressed to the window, her breath fogging up the glass each time she exhaled. Arthur hoisted her in his arms and carried her into the house.
Delia followed behind, explaining the night’s events to the butler. “Please have Mrs. Field’s maid put her to bed. She’s had a very emotional evening. I wouldn’t expect Mr. Field back any time soon. He’s still down at the store.”
“Don’t worry about Marsh,” Arthur said when they finally made it home. “He’s been through far worse than this.” He climbed the stairs, heading up to bed. He could barely keep his eyes open.
Delia had Therese draw a hot bath for her, and afterward she dressed for the day and went back downstairs. She couldn’t sleep, unable to turn off her mind. Her lungs still ached each time she took a deep breath. To think Marsh could have died had Arthur not saved him. How ironic. She’d never thought of Arthur as the brave, fearless type, but that night he had been a hero and she would never forget the way Marsh looked at him, his eyes filled with new respect and gratitude.
Over several cups of tea she worried how Marsh would bounce back from the devastation of a fire for a second time. Even a man as strong as Marshall Field had his limits.
She was still awake when Williams brought in the morning papers. When she turned to the society page of the Daily News, she nearly spilled her tea. There was the headline: “Mrs. Arthur Caton Consoles Marshall Field as Fire Destroys State Street Store.” Delia’s eyes skimmed the article as the knot in her stomach twisted with each sentence. How was she going to explain this?
Mrs. Arthur Caton appeared to be the only personal friend of Mr. Field’s at the store when the fire broke out. . . . When asked where Mrs. Field was, there was no comment. . . . Mrs. Caton and Mr. Field rushed away, refusing to answer any additional questions. . . .
Delia reread the article. Her gut felt like she’d swallowed a fist. She could only guess what Nannie would think when she saw it. Nannie and everyone else. And poor Marsh, a scandal was the last thing he needed right now. And what about Arthur? How would he feel about seeing something like this?
When Arthur stumbled downstairs Delia went to him with the paper in hand. “You might as well see this now,” she said, pushing the newspaper toward him.
“I haven’t even had my coffee—” He stopped once he saw the headline. Delia watched his eyes grow wide and his mouth drop open as he read. “They printed this about you!” He slapped the newspaper a
gainst the table. “As if there wasn’t enough talk about the two of you already.”
“Oh, Arthur, I don’t know what to say. I’m sick over it, too.”
“They’re already laughing at me. Now this.”
Delia couldn’t think of anything to say. She was overwhelmed with guilt.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood up and shook his head. “I’m exhausted. I’m going back upstairs to lie down.”
Delia waited anxiously for the afternoon editions to arrive. The Daily News led with another story of the fire. An estimated $1,200,000 in merchandise was lost. She knew Marsh had a $1,000,000 insurance policy, something he had taken out after the fire of 1871. She hoped it would be enough for him to rebuild the store.
Delia skimmed the entire article, grateful that her name did not appear.
Then she moved on to the Chicago Tribune:
The Destruction of St. Peter’s at Rome could hardly have aroused an apparently deeper interest than the destruction of this palatial dry goods establishment. It is questionable whether the death of the Pope or the burning up of the Vatican could have excited such a keen local interest. . . . This was the place of worship of thousands of our female fellow-citizens. It was the only shrine at which they paid their devotions.
Delia folded the newspaper and clutched it to her chest. She felt a surge of pride for Marsh. This was the only article that should have appeared. This one said it all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The day after the fire Marsh stopped by to see Arthur and Delia. He looked exhausted and probably hadn’t slept at all. Had Williams not been standing there waiting to take Marsh’s overcoat and hat, Delia would have run and thrown her arms around him.
“Is Arthur here?” he asked. “I want to apologize to him about all this business in the newspaper.”
Delia motioned to Williams, and after he’d gone to get him, she led Marsh into the parlor and closed the doors. “What did Nannie say about the newspaper article?”
