What the Lady Wants

by Renée Rosen

  Once inside the store Delia shook the sleet from her coat and muff, and stomped the slush off her boots while pretending she didn’t notice Malvina Armour and Annie Swift standing just a few feet behind her.

  “She has some nerve coming down here,” she heard Annie saying.

  “Can you believe she’s still going to participate in the book drive?”

  Delia spotted Marsh right away, standing by a makeshift counter piled high with bloomers. She knew Annie and Malvina were watching her, but she’d come there with news and what she had to tell Marsh was bigger than their petty gossip.

  She went over to his side, tentatively tapping him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Mr. Field? May I have a word with you?”

  As soon as they were alone in his office, he closed his door and pulled her to him, embracing her. He traced the curve of her back with his fingertips as he kissed her slowly, tenderly at first, before letting it build into a fierce passion that she knew would be hard to interrupt. She couldn’t stop herself either. They hadn’t been alone for so long. He didn’t even ask what she’d needed to talk to him about. She took a moment to savor the feel of his arms around her and lost herself in the familiar scent of his aftershave. How she had missed him! As those feelings of love welled inside her, she thought about the wonderful news she’d come to share with him. Taking a deep breath, she took a step back and stared into his eyes.

  “Marsh, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  His expression turned to one of alarm.

  “No, no.” She reached up for his face. “It’s nothing bad. It’s . . . it’s wonderful.” But the words—the actual words—just wouldn’t come. Instead she brought her hand to her stomach and smiled.

  He did a double take, looking down to her belly and then back up into her eyes. He seemed to almost stagger then, and he stepped back to sit in his chair.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, finally.

  “I haven’t been to the doctor yet, but I know. I’m certain of it.”

  He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her full on the mouth. “I can’t believe it—a child. With you.”

  They sat with that for a moment. Delia was letting it all sink in: one astonishing realization that gave way to another. She was going to be a mother. She was right now, at that very moment, carrying Marsh’s child. There was only one downside and she looked at him and asked the inevitable: “Do you think Nannie will suspect it’s yours?”

  “I’m sure she’ll figure it out. I suppose I have to tell her.”

  “And then what?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “There’s no way to predict what she’ll do. But handling delicate situations with grace and dignity is not her forte.” He ran his hand along his jaw, his fingertips brushing up against his whiskers. “Have you told Arthur yet?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to tell you first.”

  He placed his hands on her belly and they stayed like that, Delia sitting in his lap with her head resting on his shoulder. Marsh leaned in and kissed her hair. “Do you want me with you when you tell Arthur?”

  Delia looked up at him and smiled. She wanted Arthur to feel included, to know that this child was his, too, and she couldn’t think of a better way to convey that. “Yes, let’s tell him together tonight.”

  • • •

  The three of them were in the drawing room, waiting for dinner to be served.

  Arthur was in a jovial mood, already on his second cocktail, talking about a polo match that had taken place in Palm Beach. “It was all over the newspapers earlier today. Of all the matches to miss . . .”

  Delia stole a quick glance at Marsh. It was time. She went and joined Arthur on the settee, placing her hand on top of his. “Arthur, darling, Marsh and I have some news.”

  “Oh?” Arthur looked first at Delia and then at Marsh.

  Delia cleared her throat and curled her fingers about his. “Arthur, honey, I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. All of us.”

  “A baby?” Arthur’s expression went blank. It was impossible to read. He shot up off the settee, stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked into the center of the room before he abruptly turned and faced the windows. “A baby,” he said, with his back toward Delia and Marsh. “You’re having a baby.”

  Delia nodded though she knew he couldn’t see her. She stole a glance at Marsh who kept his eyes trained on Arthur’s back. They were waiting, in a standoff, and all Delia could think was that they’d made a terrible mistake. She was holding her breath when Arthur turned back around. He looked at Delia and then at Marsh. Then he raised his fists above his head and laughed. Tears clung to his lashes as he rushed over and hugged them both.

  “We’re having a baby,” he said, his cheeks damp from crying. “Champagne—” He called to Williams. “We need champagne!”

  When the glasses were poured, Arthur raised his first in a toast. “To you,” he said, looking at Delia and then Marsh. “Both of you. And to the baby. Our baby.”

  They finished that bottle of champagne and opened another. The hour was growing later. They were giddy to begin with and now they were getting tipsy.

  “If it’s a boy,” said Arthur, “I say we call him Rufus.”

  “Rufus?” Marsh shook his head and laughed. “That’ll never do. I had an uncle Rufus once. And if you’d known him, you’d understand my objection.”

  “And besides,” said Delia, “what if it’s a girl? I like the name Constance or Ophelia.”

  “Ophelia and Delia. You want your names to rhyme?” Marsh questioned her teasingly.

  “And what do you suggest?” asked Arthur.

  Marsh thought for a moment. “I’ve always liked the name Newton.”

  “Newton Caton?” Delia wrinkled up her nose.

  “She’s right,” said Arthur, laughing, “too many tons for one name.”

  Marsh started laughing, too, slapping Arthur on the back.

  Delia held out her glass for more champagne. As she watched Marsh and Arthur sitting side by side, laughing, she got a warm feeling, right where their baby was. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that this was the right thing for them—all three of them.

  The next morning Delia had a slight headache from all the champagne. Therese brought her a tray with her morning coffee and the newspaper. As Delia lay back in bed, she turned to the society page, and read about all the Christmas parties and balls from the night before that she hadn’t been invited to. And honestly, she didn’t care. Her body felt alive and magical. It was making a baby! Marsh’s baby!

  After breakfast, she bathed and dressed and went down to State Street to finish up her Christmas shopping. All the stores had put up their Christmas decorations and she walked by garlands in the windows, wreaths on the front doors. Normally the Field & Leiter windows were the most spectacular of all with golden trumpets and a Nativity scene resting upon blankets of snow. Shoppers would stand on the sidewalk, four and five rows deep, just to get a look at their Christmas windows. But this year, the Exposition Hall was only modestly decorated; it didn’t have the type of windows that allowed for Christmas displays.

  She moved on, going in and out of stores, looking for last-minute gifts. She had just purchased a velocipede cycle for her nephew, Spencer, and Shiebler silver hair combs for Abby. Thankfully she had already gotten presents for her parents and all of Arthur’s family, too. Now she was shopping for her other family, for Marsh and his children. She even looked at the baby sections of several stores in anticipation of buying bassinets, rattles and buggies. With a smile on her face all she could think was that the three of them, Arthur, Marsh and her, were getting what they wanted for Christmas.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  1878

  Delia awoke one morning feeling tired and queasy. She was entering her fourth month and soon she’d be showing and would need to wear a maternity corset. An i
cy chill swept across the floorboards as she forced herself to ring for Therese. It was time to get dressed. After all, it was cataloging day for the book drive and Delia wasn’t about to shirk her responsibilities.

  She planned to meet Bertha and Abby and some of the other women—the few members who were still speaking to her—at the community center to sort through the book donations. Typically, cataloging day was a big event for the Chicago Women’s Club, but because of the recent surge of gossip about her, she knew better than to expect much of a turnout that year. If it weren’t for Bertha and Abby, she feared she might end up there by herself.

  It was snowing hard that day, the middle of January. Looking out the carriage window, Delia took in the scenery. Calumet Avenue was a stretch of endless white with fresh carriage tracks running down the center of the street. The community center on Dearborn was even prettier: a majestic limestone building with a splendid cupola and six massive pillars all perched upon a steep flight of snow-covered steps.

  As she alighted from her carriage Delia noticed a woman standing near the doorway, pacing back and forth. She wondered if perhaps the front doors were locked and continued on, carefully navigating the slick steps covered with snow and patches of ice. She was almost to the top when the woman turned around. Delia took one look and almost slipped. It was Nannie. Nannie! Delia never thought she’d show up that day. Despite the cold weather she felt a rush of heat filling up her body. Delia hadn’t seen her in over two months, not since the night of the fire. Since then Nannie had ignored all of Delia’s calling cards.

  “Nannie,” she said, teetering on the top step. “I didn’t expect you here today.”

  “I’m on this committee, too. In case you’ve forgotten.” Nannie was standing right in front of her, blocking her way from stepping up to the landing.

  “No. No, I haven’t forgotten.” Delia cleared her throat, gripping onto the railing. “Actually, it’s a good thing that you’re here. I think maybe it’s time the two of us talked about a few things.”

  “As if I’d believe anything you have to say. I asked a long time ago if you were having an affair with my husband and you flat-out denied it. You’re a liar. You’ve been sneaking around behind my back for God knows how long. And you call yourself a friend.”

  Delia’s cheeks burned hot as she squeezed the banister harder. She wanted to set Nannie straight. She wanted to remind her that she was not the cause of Nannie’s troubled marriage. The problems were there long before Delia had come along.

  Before Delia could respond, Nannie narrowed her eyes and said, “And now I hear you’re with child.”

  Delia went light-headed as she searched Nannie’s eyes. How did she know? Had she overheard them talking? She was certain that Marsh hadn’t said anything to her yet.

  “Just understand one thing—” Nannie leaned forward with daggers in her eyes. “I can and will ruin you in this town.”

  Delia didn’t doubt it. Her nerves unraveled. She was still on the step and Nannie was staring down at her. Delia was shaking and hoped that Nannie would think it was from the cold.

  “Well, then,” said Delia, “shall we go organize the books?” She started to sidestep around Nannie when she felt a jolt from behind that took her off-balance. Her heel slipped out from under her and she felt her body reeling backward as if in slow motion. She heard herself scream as her arms flailed and she began to tumble. A flash of white stars blinded her each time she struck a step. Her body spiraled down the stairs, going faster and faster until she stopped with a deafening thud.

  She realized she must have passed out for a minute. When she opened her eyes, the whiteness of the snow was blinding. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and she couldn’t feel her lips or teeth. Her head throbbed; her eyes stung with tears as splintering pain shot through her back and limbs. Her carriage driver raced over, asking if she was okay. Delia could hardly speak. She tried to move and that’s when she felt the flood of hot wetness between her legs, soaking through her drawers and petticoat. She looked down and saw that the snow beneath her was turning crimson.

  The last thing she remembered before she lost consciousness was Nannie, standing at the top of the steps, glaring down at her with a stone-cold look on her face.

  • • •

  When she came to, Delia was in the hospital. Her eyes landed on a pitcher and basin on a table next to her bed. Each time she tried to move the metal bed frame squeaked and just a turn of her head sent the room whirling. Even blinking made her skull throb. Every breath made her feel as if her body would crack in two. She still had the taste of blood in her mouth and her lips were swollen. She ran her tongue along her teeth, checking to see if they were all there.

  She hadn’t noticed the doctor in the room, but now he spoke and with his words, he came into focus. He was tall and stocky and stood at the foot of her bed looking over her chart.

  “You’re very lucky,” he said. “It’s a miracle you didn’t break any bones.” He set her chart back down. “There was some internal damage, however.”

  Delia then became aware of the warm liquid oozing from between her legs. “My baby?” she asked, or maybe she only thought she did. Either way, she already knew the answer. She already knew it was too late.

  “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s unlikely that you would be able to conceive again.”

  Delia burst into tears. It felt like a pane of glass shattered inside her chest. The sobs rumbled up from deep within her and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

  “Your husband was here all day,” said the doctor. “I finally sent him home to get some rest.”

  He was still speaking, warning her about something, saying she had a rough time ahead of her, but Delia was too distraught to comprehend anything other than the fact that she’d lost her baby and probably wouldn’t be able to have another one.

  The nurse came in and gave her something for the pain, but later that night, the medicine wore off and the cramps began. In the following hours the pain was piercing and the blood seemed endless. The nurse changed the rag bag towels every ten minutes because they were soaked through. But worse than that were the contractions. Spasms and convulsions racked her body. She cried out in panic realizing that she was actually going into labor. She was going to have to deliver a baby that was already dead. Tears streamed down her face as more contractions came with searing bands of pain that made her scream in agony.

  While the nurse was giving her a sponge bath, Delia turned her head and gasped at what she saw. Nannie was standing in the doorway. And that’s when the horror came rushing back to her and she remembered the feel of Nannie’s hand on her back and the sudden jolt just before her foot slipped out from under her. She wanted to scream, to cry for help—but she was too drained.

  “What’s with all the fussing, dear? You’re fine. I’m right here.” The nurse turned around, and when Delia looked again, Nannie was gone. “You’re just having fever dreams,” she said, patting a cool cloth down Delia’s arm.

  Another contraction was coming on. Stronger this time. Delia closed her eyes and moaned through gritted teeth and to her horror, she felt it—she felt her baby slip out of her womb.

  After the doctor examined her, Delia turned her head toward the pillow and sobbed. She’d barely gotten used to the idea of having the child and now it was over. She wanted Marsh there with her. She wanted Arthur, too. She needed them both. The doctor said Arthur was in the waiting room but that she needed her rest before he’d let her see him. But Delia couldn’t rest. She was so upset that the doctor eventually had to give her something to quiet her down. She fought the sedative for nearly an hour before it finally conquered her, sending her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  When she awoke, it was dark inside the hospital room. She was still groggy, and as her eyes began to focus, she became aware of Arthur sitting alongside her bed.

  �
��The doctor said you’re going to be all right.” He reached for her hand and gently squeezed it. “He said you’re very lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

  She swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry.

  “The doctor told me about the baby.” His voice cracked. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. “I’m so sorry, Dell.”

  Delia felt the tears building up behind her eyes. “Oh, Arthur, I’ve let you down and . . .”

  “Shhh.” He shook his head to silence her and squeezed her hand. “It’s no one’s fault.”

  “But, Arthur, it is. It was—”

  “Shhh. These things happen. It was an accident. There’s no one to blame for—”

  “Nannie,” she said.

  “What?”

  “It was Nannie. She pushed me. She knew about the baby and she pushed me down those stairs.”

  “Oh, Dell—you don’t know what you’re saying. You poor thing. You’re exhausted. Delirious.”

  “But—”

  “Even Nannie would never do something like that. Your imagination is running wild. I know you want someone to blame, but you have no proof. You need to rest now. You can’t afford to get yourself worked up.”

  Was he right? Was she delirious? Just looking for someone to blame? She knew it was a terrible accusation, but why would she imagine that Nannie pushed her? Why could she feel the ghost of Nannie’s hand on her back? She rolled over and faced the wall, fighting to keep her eyes open. She was so drained that she honestly didn’t know what was real anymore.