by Renée Rosen
“He was still conscious when they brought him in. Someone found him on the side of the road. Apparently his horse got spooked and threw him. He was dragged for a quarter mile before he was able to free himself from his stirrups. I should also tell you, Mrs. Caton, that your husband was very intoxicated.”
“How bad are his injuries?”
The doctor consulted his chart. “He has a concussion, a collapsed lung, a ruptured spleen.” He flipped the page over. “He broke his collarbone and both legs.”
“Oh, my God!” She splayed an open hand against her chest. “He must be in terrible pain. Can I see him now?”
“He’s still heavily sedated,” the doctor warned as he gestured toward the sickroom.
Delia nodded, steeling herself for what she’d find. But when she entered the room and saw the oxygen canopy tented over the upper half of his body, she gasped. “Is he going to be okay?”
The doctor adjusted something on the side of Arthur’s bed. “The next forty-eight hours are critical. Let’s just hope he pulls through.”
Delia went light-headed and weak-kneed. She didn’t even hear the doctor as he continued speaking, nor was she aware of him leaving the room. All she could think was, He can’t die. He can’t.
It was still the middle of the night, but she couldn’t face this alone. Marsh was already on a train bound for D.C., so she telephoned Paxton. He rushed to the hospital, and she met him in the waiting room. The two of them sat there, drinking bad coffee, while the doctor examined Arthur again.
“It’s my fault,” said Paxton, his head in his hands. “If Arthur hadn’t been so upset with me, he wouldn’t have gotten so drunk. He wouldn’t have gotten on a horse in that state.”
“You can’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”
“It’s just so damn complicated, Dell.” Paxton leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his knuckles pressed to his eyes as the tears leaked out.
Delia scooted closer to him and put her arm around his shoulder. “He’s going to be okay. He has to be okay.”
She sat with Paxton in the waiting room thinking of all the things she should have told Arthur, or should have told him more often. Did he know he was her best friend? Did he know how much she loved him? Did he trust that she would always keep his secret? Had she ever told him that she would have married him anyway, even knowing the truth about him? Their life together worked. For them both. She realized that she couldn’t be with Marsh and he couldn’t have been with Paxton if it weren’t for their marriage. Given the circumstances, they were a blessing to each other. Did he understand that?
At half past six Paxton left the hospital and Delia stayed alone in Arthur’s sickroom. She was still at his bedside when her in-laws arrived. She had waited until the sun was up before she telephoned them with the news.
When Mrs. Caton saw her son, she let out a cry and buried her face in the judge’s chest. Delia got up from her chair and offered it to her mother-in-law. The judge, stoic as ever, went down the hall to find the doctor.
“How could this have happened?” Mrs. Caton cried. “Arthur’s such an excellent rider.”
“I have no idea.” Delia didn’t say that he’d been drinking all day and had no business getting on a horse in the first place.
The rest of the day passed without any change in Arthur’s condition. Even after the judge and Mrs. Caton left for the night, Delia stayed in the sickroom with Arthur. Occasionally she dozed off in the chair. Her neck and back were stiff, but she didn’t dare complain. She wanted to be there when Arthur woke up. And finally he did. At two in the morning, his eyes fluttered open, groggy and unfocused.
“Oh, my God. Arthur?” Delia was on her feet. She called out for a doctor, not wanting to leave his side. She could tell that he was in enormous pain, wincing each time he breathed. Delia raced into the hallway and called to one of the nurses. “He’s awake. Quick! Get the doctor!”
“Oh Arthur,” she said, running back inside, leaning in as close as she could to the oxygen tent. “Hang on. The doctor’s coming. He’s on his way.”
Arthur blinked and she thought he was trying to say something.
“Don’t try to speak, darling. You’re going to be fine.” Her eyes glazed over. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Paxton was here earlier. So were your parents.”
He closed his eyes and tried to move his lips. He tried to say something. It was a soft murmur. She thought she heard him asking for Marsh.
“Be still, darling. Don’t move.” Tears were streaming down her face. “I love you, Arthur. You’re not alone. You’re our family, you hear me? You, me and Marsh. You have us and you always will.”
Arthur closed his eyes again as a tear leaked out.
The doctor rushed in and Delia stepped aside, crying freely now as she watched him reach inside the oxygen tent, checking Arthur’s pulse, holding his eyelids open with his thumb. He filled a syringe, and before he had even finished administering it, Arthur drifted away.
“What happened?” she asked in a panic. “What’s wrong?”
“I just gave him more morphine for the pain. Sleep is the best thing for him. We’ll see if we can get him breathing on his own later.”
For the next two days Delia stayed by Arthur’s side. Gradually he began to improve and as his pain eased up they lowered the morphine dose. By the end of the week, Arthur’s sisters had come and gone along with the judge and Paxton. Now it was just Delia and her mother-in-law in the sickroom. Delia waited until Arthur fell asleep before she announced that she was going home for the evening. After nearly a week of being at his bedside, she was in desperate need of a good night’s sleep.
“But I’ll be back in the morning.”
“You needn’t come back,” Mrs. Caton said as she rearranged a bouquet of flowers that Abby had dropped off for Arthur earlier.
“Of course I’m coming back,” said Delia.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Mrs. Caton looked at Arthur, sleeping. “I think you’ve done enough damage already. You’ve dragged my son and my family’s good name into your disgrace. This entire city knows about you and Marshall Field.”
Delia didn’t even consider denying it. “For your information, I’ve never kept any secrets from Arthur. I’ve never been anything but honest with him from the very beginning. We have an understanding.”
“That’s absurd.” Mrs. Caton scowled, her faint eyebrows knitted together.
“I don’t expect you to understand, but your son and I have a very special love for each other. It may not be the kind of love either of us expected, but it’s genuine and I will be here for him, just as I know he would be here for me.”
“He never should have married you.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t have, but I wouldn’t trade the life we have together for anything.” Delia grabbed her hat and bag. “I’m leaving now, but whether you like it or not, I will be back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Delia never met Marsh in Europe that winter. Instead she stayed in Chicago and looked after Arthur, who by the end of February was recuperating back at home. Since he was unable to manage the stairs, she had the servants convert one of the sitting rooms into a temporary bedroom for him.
Not long after Arthur returned home, she came into his room. “You have a visitor,” she said with a smile, sidestepping around the rickety cane wheelchair just inside the doorway. “Can I show him in?”
“Who is it?”
“Who do you think?”
“Tell him to go away.”
“Oh, Arthur . . . really?”
But Arthur just turned away and stared at the wall.
Delia glanced back to Paxton, who was waiting out in the hallway. She shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she walked him back toward the par
lor.
Paxton frowned. “I guess I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Don’t take it personally,” she said, grabbing hold of his arm. “He’s terribly depressed. He’s in a great deal of pain. He still can’t walk and he loathes that wheelchair.”
“What does he do all day?”
“He drinks,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I can’t blame him for that.”
“And how are you holding up?” he asked.
“Me?” She almost laughed. “I’m fine.”
Fine. That was the answer she gave everyone, but in truth she was far from it. Delia was tired of having to be strong. And it wasn’t just for Arthur’s sake. Lately she felt as though her entire family leaned on her for support.
Her sister was in a state over whether to fund Augustus’s latest business venture, a post office car sorting system for the rail lines. It was a subject that had come up time and time again and Delia was tired of arguing with Abby about it. All she could think was, Thank God Father isn’t here to see this. It would have broken his heart to see his daughter squander away everything that he’d worked so hard for.
And then there was Marsh and his children. Ethel and her husband never returned to Chicago. Instead, immediately after their honeymoon they took up residence in London so Ethel could be closer to her mother. Delia had started to write to Ethel after the wedding fiasco, trying to apologize, hoping to explain. But in the end, she never sent a single letter or telegram, realizing that Ethel was in an impossible position. Any act of kindness or even diplomacy toward Delia would be a slap in the face to Nannie. Though it broke her heart, Delia knew the best thing she could do for Ethel was leave her alone.
Shortly after the wedding Ethel found out she was pregnant. “She’s not even eighteen yet. A child having a child,” Marsh said upon hearing the news. They were in the solarium working in Delia’s indoor garden, planting primrose seeds. Gardening had become a favorite pastime of theirs and reminded Marsh of his childhood days back on his father’s farm. Usually he found it relaxing, but that day Delia could see it was having no soothing effect at all.
“Maybe this is just the thing she needs to make her grow up.”
“Doubtful,” grunted Marsh, lifting the watering can. “And on top of that, Junior told me he’s ready to propose to Albertine and—”
“Marsh, that’s wonderful.” She dropped her shovel and went to hug him, but he went on watering the seeds.
“And—are you ready for this?” He raised one eyebrow. “They’re going to move to London, too. Nannie’s request.” He set the can down hard, sending the water sloshing about. “If he goes to London, he’ll never come back and take over the business.”
“Oh, Marsh, even if he stayed here, do you really think he’d come work for you?”
Marsh removed his gardening gloves and slapped them onto the ledge. “Why can’t he see what’s he’s throwing away? Doesn’t he understand that I’m trying to build something here? The boy is twenty-two and has never worked a day in his life. My father worked me—out in the fields—and you know what that taught me? It taught me how to grow something, from scratch. I always wanted to grow something that would last. Forever.”
“Sounds like you’re seeking immortality, Mr. Field.”
He tilted his head and smiled in a sad way. “I always thought of the store as something that Junior would take over. I was building a business that would stand for generations to come. Junior’s supposed to carry on and then his son will pick up where he leaves off. That’s always been the dream. And now Nannie’s got him turning his back on me and running off to London. Why can’t he see what I’m trying to do here?”
• • •
After the engagement party several weeks later, Junior came by to visit with his uncle Arthur. And unlike the times Paxton came by, Delia knew Arthur would welcome a visit from Junior. The two played chess in the parlor while Delia read in the next room. She couldn’t help but overhear them talking about Marsh.
“He doesn’t listen,” said Junior. “He’s never once asked me what I want. . . .”
She knew that no one understood his predicament better than his uncle Arthur. Perhaps that’s what made the two of them so close. Arthur saw himself in Junior, and he had always seen a bit of the judge in Marsh. In fact, she’d long suspected that Arthur had initially sought out Marsh’s friendship because of his longing for a relationship with the judge.
Arthur still tired easily in those days and he needed to lie down after their first game of chess. After helping Arthur back to bed, Junior joined Delia out in the solarium.
“He’s getting better each time I see him,” said Junior.
“We’re hoping that he’ll be able to graduate to crutches soon. Getting out of that wheelchair would certainly cheer him up.”
“He doesn’t like that chair, that’s for sure.”
“Can you blame him? It’s been two and a half months.”
“I’m sorry you and Uncle Arthur won’t be able to come aboard for the wedding. I told Albertine we should just get married here, but her family wants the wedding in Europe.”
“We’re disappointed, too. But he can’t make the crossing and I won’t leave him here alone.” She smiled and gave Flossie a few strokes on her head. “I’m going to miss you, though,” said Delia. “I selfishly wish you and Albertine were staying in Chicago.”
“Mother asked us to come there. I couldn’t bring myself to say no. It’s no secret that she’s not well,” he said. “And Albertine is quite fond of Mother, as you know.” Junior opened his silver cigarette case and propped a Duke’s Best between his lips.
Delia remembered the days when it would have been a lollipop. Smoking was one of his latest eccentricities. He said he preferred Duke’s Best to other popular cigarette brands or cigars. My goodness, she thought, how had he grown up so quickly?
“You’ll come visit, though, won’t you, Aunt Dell? And of course, we’ll be back for the fair.” He lit his cigarette and waved the smoke away from Delia’s face. “I think it’s for the best that I go. I need to get out from under my father’s shadow.”
“Is that the real reason you’re leaving?”
Junior fiddled with his cigarette case. “I won’t lie, it’s a big part of it.” He gazed up at Delia and she saw the sadness in his eyes. “Do you have any idea what it’s like being his son? His only son? Let’s face it, no matter what I do, I’m never going to accomplish even half of what my father has. Everyone’s watching, waiting to see what I’m going to do. And no matter what, it’s never going to be enough. Father’s set the bar too high. It’s too much pressure for me.”
Delia didn’t know what to say. She’d known that Junior was intimidated by his father since he was a young boy, but she’d never heard him articulate it before. It touched her deeply that he was willing to confide in her. He was telling her the very things he needed to but could never say to his father.
Junior raised his cigarette to his lips and paused before taking a puff. “I’d rather get as far away from his business as I can than try to live up to his standards and end up failing. And I would fail. I’m not like him. I know Father doesn’t want to hear it, but even if I wanted to become a merchant, don’t you see, he’s ruined it for me. I know I’ve been a huge disappointment to him but—”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Oh, Aunt Dell”—he flicked his ash and laughed—“you’re a terrible liar. I know he’s disappointed. He’s told me so from the time I was twelve and didn’t want to be a cashboy. And then when I turned sixteen and didn’t want to be a clerk. Or a buyer. Or a manager and so on and so on . . .”
Delia recalled an argument she’d witnessed between Marsh and Junior just a few weeks before on that very subject. Marsh had an assistant’s position open at the store and offered it to his son. Junior had politely turned him down, which sent Marsh into
a rage.
“And why? Because you’re lazy, that’s why. Just once I’d like to see you get off your duff and do something worthwhile.”
Delia wanted to disappear as soon as Marsh raised his voice, but his temper had exploded without warning and there was no place to hide. She watched Junior slouch deeper and deeper into his chair.
“You’re spoiled. That’s what the problem is. You and your sister—both of you are spoiled rotten.”
Junior’s expression suddenly changed. “And whose fault is that?”
It was the first time Delia had ever heard Junior talk back to his father and it would be the last, too. Marsh stormed over to his chair and clutched Junior by the collar, thrusting his knuckles into his throat. Junior’s eyes were bulging from his sockets in panic. It was Delia who had finally pulled Marsh off him. Junior was in tears and Marsh had nearly put his fist through the wall.
The smoke from Junior’s cigarette drifted Delia’s way and brought her back to the moment. “So what will you do now?” she asked.
“I want to travel and take my time thinking about my future. Besides, I’m going to inherit a fortune. I’m rich. I figure I don’t need the money, so why should I work?”
Delia shook her head. “Oh, Junior, look at your uncle Arthur. Do you want to end up like him? His father’s reputation and the easy fortune he made as a young man have crippled him more than that accident. Don’t make the same mistake. You don’t have to go work for your father, but find something you can make your own. Don’t waste your future. I beg of you.”
A tight expression registered on his face. “Well,” he said, checking his pocket watch, changing the subject, “I should get going. I have dinner tonight with Albertine’s family.” He reached over and gave Flossie’s head a pat and then leaned in and kissed Delia on the cheek. “Oh, and Aunt Dell?” He straightened up, buttoning his jacket. “Take care of Father after we’re gone. I know you will, but I had to say it just the same.”
“You have my word.” She gave him a smile. It was clear to her that Junior had confessed to her knowing that she would find a way to explain to Marsh why Junior was turning his back and walking away from the family business.
