“Clarinda made you a new dress in only two days’ time.” Mary Anne pointed to the wine-colored frock. Its simple lines flattered Winnie’s girlish figure and brought a shine to her cheeks.
“But that’s only one dress, and we’ll be there for days.”
Mary Anne stifled her qualms that Winnie’s worry raised. “Your skating clothes might be the perfect choice for a day at Central Park or at the zoo. You don’t want to wear your best dress when you’re walking between monkeys and lions.”
Winnie rewarded Mary Anne with a giggle. “I suppose not.”
“Add a sweater to your best summer dress, and it will be good for fall.” Mary Anne repeated the same advice she had offered several times throughout the night. If Winnie remained like this all weekend, Mary Anne doubted either one would get any sleep. Was this what she missed by not having any brothers or sisters? Seeing the bright color blooming in the girl’s cheeks, the joy beaming from her eyes, Mary Anne decided she had missed a lot. How much better would it be to have a daughter someday to share exciting events with?
She’d love it.
* * *
After the length of time it took Winnie and Mary Anne to pack for the trip, Wallace feared they would have two trunks and five hat boxes each. Their two valises came as a pleasant surprise. His extra suit, for the visit with his editor, and his manuscript, required a large carpetbag. “What are you thinking about?” Mary Anne’s voice fell like morning dewdrops.
Frowning, he pointed at the floor where his carpetbag rested. “I’m not satisfied with what I’ve written. I’m afraid the editor will reject it.” First he helped Winnie, then Mary Anne, into the Model T.
“You always said that before you handed in a term paper. And you always got As. You can write. Even Aunt Flo says so.” Winnie nodded firmly.
Wallace hid a smile. As the resident academic, Aunt Flo was the expert on everything in Winnie’s eyes. “There’s a difference between writing for school and writing for people you want to buy your book. John James Audubon wasn’t the first person fascinated with birds, but he interested other people as well.”
“Audubon is your hero.” Mary Anne tucked her traveling skirt, a sensible dark blue to hide any grime from the journey, around her legs. “But you shouldn’t worry. I’ve seen some of his sketches. Yours are as good as his—even better, in fact.”
“It doesn’t matter. Ready or not, my editor wants the manuscript now.” They had reached the old bridge, and Wallace stopped before crossing.
As they pulled into the darkness, Mary Anne’s chuckle reached him. “I’ll never forget to stop before entering a covered bridge again.”
“I’m glad we had the accident. If not for that, we might never have met.” Wallace pulled his lips together to keep from saying anything else so revealing.
Mary Anne flicked a surprised look in his direction before staring out the side window. “How far is it until we cross into the state of New York?” She craned her neck, looking at the canopy of leaves dancing against the sky. “There’s a bald eagle overhead.”
She must have driven this part of the road at night when she came to Vermont. If so, she had missed the beautiful countryside except in brief snatches, by headlight. “It’s close to a hundred miles from home. Three hundred miles to New York City.”
A brief pang tapped his heart. If only they could take their time making this trip. After a glance at Mary Anne, he suspected she felt the same way. On the other hand, Winnie couldn’t wait to arrive. If she could have climbed in an airplane and flown instead, she would have been happy.
When his parents were Wallace’s age, they would have laughed at the idea of making a trip to New York in a single day. If the three of them made the trip in a brougham, they would have all the time they could want to enjoy the scenery. Now the world hurled forward in a rush.
But he could, and would, make a short stop for lunch, at the south end of Lake Champlain. He wouldn’t let Mary Anne leave Vermont without seeing the body of water that played a central part in its history.
He turned onto the road leading to Fort Ticonderoga, at the narrows feeding into the south end of the lake. His family had a strong connection to the Fort, one Winnie could tell as well as he could. He couldn’t think of a better place to revisit their past.
Chapter 20
Mary Anne sat at the picnic table outside the ruined fort and wished time could stand still so she could remain here forever.
In such a peaceful spot, with water and trees surrounding them, she was able to see a long distance in all directions. It was hard to imagine that two battles took place at the fort during the Revolutionary War. A sign explained that during the first battle, the Americans won Ticonderoga from the British, but the British won it back during the second.
Back against the table and facing the opposite direction, Wallace sat beside her. Winnie wandered among the ruins. The Tuttle family’s roots went back before the Revolutionary War, all in the same place. Imagine that. That kind of stability must give the Tuttles a sense of identity she’d never had.
The rainclouds which had spilled moisture on Vermont all month had taken a break, allowing her to see the surrounding countryside. Houses and communities dotted the once virgin forest. Even now, this mountaintop was a world removed from the city of her childhood. Which America had her grandparents come in search of—the supposed “streets paved with gold” in New York, or the undeveloped land she had seen today? Her family had added its own flavor to the country’s melting pot. They had left behind everything known for something better.
Winnie wandered back, a handful of wet leaves and rocks in her hands.
“You’re not bringing those in the car,” Wallace said.
Frowning, Winnie dropped them on the ground. Mary Anne bent over and picked up one of the leaves, the gorgeous pointed shape of the maple leaf, in a rich orange-red.
Wallace picked up one as well. “They say each one is different. Each bird is different. Each person.” He brought his leaf next to hers and examined them side by side. “Both are obviously maple leaves. But the veins in this one are a little different from yours.”
His head was so close to hers, his lips so tantalizingly close. She ran her tongue over her lower lip and wondered if he wanted to kiss her. His eyes skittered in Mary Anne’s direction, and she knew he did. Moments like this, she could forget her past. Her future was what mattered—a future with him. Safe. Protected. Cherished. Able to move ahead with all that God had in store for her. The longing she thought she saw in his eyes reflected what was in her heart.
Winnie scuffed the leaves with the toe of her shoe. “We need to leave if we want to get to New York tonight.”
How Mary Anne wished they could linger, to walk the grounds of the fort, to paddle a canoe on the lake. Imagine the birds they would see. But if they didn’t get to New York tonight, they might miss the show tomorrow.
Another time. Wallace mouthed the words where only Mary Anne could see, and pink flashed in his cheeks. To distract attention from his discomfort, she broke the leftover bread into three pieces, one for each of them. The three of them tore it into small pieces, and blue jays swooped down to enjoy the feast. Stuffing the remaining trash in a paper sack, Wallace led them back to the Model T. Next stop, New York City.
* * *
Darkness had fallen by the time they reached the outskirts of New York. Lights illuminated the urban landscape, throwing the view into an eternal gray, revealing and hiding at the same time. Their Model T squeezed through the narrow streets.
“Is this where you lived, Mary Anne?” If it was daytime, Winnie would have stuck her he
ad out the window. So far the sights consisted of homes, stores and not much else.
“No.” Mary Anne didn’t elaborate. The last thing she needed on this trip was a visit to her old home in Brooklyn, where she would run into dozens of people ready to report Marabelle’s reappearance in the neighborhood. Better to stay in Manhattan, where Wallace wouldn’t go anywhere near a speakeasy. “People think of New York as one city, but it’s really five boroughs. There’s the Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn and Staten Island. And Manhattan, of course, where we’re headed.”
“The island the Lenape Indians sold to the Dutch for about a thousand dollars.” Winnie grinned. “We’re studying American history this fall. But we have to go the Bronx to see the zoo, don’t we?”
Wallace nodded. “If we have time.”
“And we want to meet your family, too, Mary Anne.” Winnie patted Mary Anne’s hand.
Wallace drew in his breath but Mary Anne didn’t blame the girl. She had given voice to the question that was uppermost in Wallace’s mind.
“I did think you would want to visit your father’s grave.” Wallace looked at her quickly, then returned his attention to the street. At the next intersection, he turned right.
Daddy. Mary Anne’s mouth went dry. She didn’t even know where he was buried. In her hurry to leave the city, she had asked her pastor to make arrangements in her place. But Wallace offered the opportunity to visit his burial plot, to cry for all that had been and was no more. Her throat clogged.
“Something to think about.” Wallace turned onto another street.
She nodded, grateful that he didn’t press for an answer. As he made more turns, she recognized landmarks. He was heading for the heart of the city. “Where are we staying?”
“The Waldorf-Astoria.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if everyone who visited New York stayed at the premier hotel.
“That’s pretty fancy.”
Wallace shrugged. “Howard already made the reservations, and he figured we might as well take advantage of it.”
Unfortunately, the Waldorf-Astoria was the sort of place her former associates frequented.
* * *
Wallace fingered the tweed of his suit coat, bought for his graduation from college. Recent years had seen some strange fads, like the raccoon coats popularized by the Four Horsemen of Notre Dame. Leather jackets—like the one worn by Charles Lindbergh when he crossed the Atlantic back in May—had even made an appearance in Maple Notch.
Wallace had ignored those styles, but he did like how he looked in a well-fitting suit, even if the new style made his shoulders look as thin as a boy’s.
What would the girls wear tonight? A whistle escaped through his lips, and he moved in front of the mirror to straighten his tie. Tonight they would enjoy the Ziegfield Follies at the New Amsterdam Theatre. He couldn’t tell which prospect excited Winnie more: dressing up, seeing the show or staying up long past her normal bedtime.
Plans for tomorrow were undecided. Winnie might sleep half the day away, or she might bounce out of bed at dawn, ready for more New York adventures.
The grandfather clock pinged, and he rapped on the door between their rooms. Winnie swung the door open, with a smiling Mary Anne behind her. Mary Anne wore a bright blue silk dress with hints of pink, her hair styled with more curls than usual, her tiny feet balanced on high heels. But she was pushing Winnie forward, expecting Wallace to praise his sister’s appearance.
“What have you done with my sister?” Wallace pretended to look behind her. “This can’t be Winnifred Tuttle.”
Winnie giggled, and he relaxed. She wore a simple blue skirt with a sailor’s shirt with red braid, patriotic colors always in style. Her hair was brushed back, rolled around her face but falling in a gentle twist down her back. Due to her excitement, she needed no artificial color on her cheeks. Black, low-heeled pumps graced her feet.
Wallace wanted to hug his sister like the little girl she always would be in his eyes, but he settled for blowing a kiss in her direction. “I will be the envy of every gentleman at the show tonight, with two such fine ladies on my arms.”
With that, he slipped his arms underneath Mary Anne’s right elbow and Winnie’s left and headed out the door. Thanks to his calling ahead, a Checker cab was waiting for them at the front door.
The New Amsterdam Theatre was a short ride from the hotel. They walked through the painted arch, and he stared in amazement at the intricate friezes on the walls.
“How will we ever find our seats?” Winnie’s eyes swept from side to side of the large building.
Wallace had never been in a theater this big before, but he knew how seating worked. “Let’s get our coats checked first.”
In this sparkling environment, Wallace could pretend he and Mary Anne were an ordinary couple enjoying a special night together. If this was their Cinderella moment, he prayed midnight would never arrive.
After pocketing the coat check stubs, he approached an usher and showed him their tickets.
“Come this way, please.” The usher led them quickly to their seats, about halfway up the center section. No need for opera glasses from this spot.
Wallace sat between the girls. What would Mary Anne think if he gave in to his wish to slip his arm around her shoulders? No, if he did that, she might think he wanted to take advantage of her.
Seeking to keep his mind off the woman next to him, he studied the program. Soon he was caught up in the history of the theater. Built around 1902 in the art nouveau style, it was the largest theater in New York. The orchestra began the opening number, and he put the program aside.
The evening sped by. Eddie Cantor headlined a group of performers which also included Cliff Edwards and Claire Luce. The Ziegfield Girls came and left the stage so quickly Wallace didn’t know how they found time to change their elaborate costumes between sets.
As much fun as Wallace had watching the stage, watching Mary Anne was even better. He had feared she might find the performance boring, something she had seen several times. She had seen The Mikado on Broadway, after all. But although she controlled her reactions better than Winnie—all enthusiasm, laughter and applause—the same delight shone from her eyes.
They laughed, they cried, they cheered until their voices were hoarse and clapped until their hands turned red. Howard had made a good plan, wanting to bring Clarinda to New York for an unforgettable holiday. Wallace hoped to make it up to them in the future.
At long last the magical evening ended. Wallace had no idea how they were going to find a cab in the crowd of seventeen hundred people all trying to exit the theater at once. He found an empty spot on a bench near the coat check.
“Let’s wait here.” Winnie plopped down, fatigue showing in her face while her eyes glazed over.
Mary Anne stayed on her feet, seemingly no more eager than Wallace for the evening to end. “Oh, that was wonderful. Thank you so much for bringing me.”
Knots of people made their way out the theater doors. Beside Wallace, Mary Anne tensed before slipping into the space between him and the wall.
Following the direction of her gaze, he spotted two flappers, one with raven hair and one with blond. He much preferred Mary Anne’s brand of beauty.
The raven-haired woman looked their way and raised a hand in greeting. “If it isn’t Marabelle Lamont, returned from the dead.”
Chapter 21
Mary Anne knew Wallace had heard Eva’s greeting. His entire body stiffened, making his lovely suit sit on his shoulders awkwardly.
He relaxed so quickly that she had to be paying close attention to notice his reaction. The way Winnie was studying the friezes on the wall, she might not have noticed a fire engine if it plowed into the room.
Wallace shifted position, so that Mary Anne was largely hidden from sight. “If you don’t react, she might d
ecide she made a mistake. Unless you want to speak to her?”
Mary Anne shook her head, but her heart pounded. Eva wasn’t a bad sort, one of the first to accept “Marabelle” into her group. That was the problem. A woman who rarely met a person she didn’t like, Eva would report the reappearance of Marabelle to any who would stand still long enough to listen.
Wallace kept a smile on his face. “The crowd has thinned enough for us to leave by the side exit. Tie your scarf over your hair and I’ll help you into your coat. We can make a quiet departure.”
He touched Winnie as if to ask if she was ready to go. She jumped to her feet, and Mary Anne was blocked from view on two sides. The crack of light visible between Wallace’s side and the wall revealed that Eva was still in the lobby. Confusion reigned on her face as she swiveled around.
Mary Anne didn’t stand yet. With her high heels, she was several inches taller than Winnie, and she made a snap decision and slipped the shoes off. The theater had seen worse things than shoeless feet. Wallace raised his eyebrows but tucked the shoes into the enormous pockets on the inside of his coat.
“What are you—” Winnie asked.
Wallace brought his finger to his lips. “We’re making a quiet exit. I’ll explain later.” He waited until a large group pushed through the theater doors, hiding them from Eva’s view. He nodded and Mary Anne headed for the door. Winnie trotted behind them quietly.
They found themselves at the corner of 8th Avenue and 42nd Street, in the heart of the city’s theater district. If they dared go to Broadway, they’d find their pick of cabs. But that was the most likely direction that Eva would take.
“There’s a cab.” Relief flooded Wallace’s voice. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”
“Do we have to?” Winnie held back. “I spotted a coffee shop across the street.”
Hidden Dreams Page 13
