City of God (52 page)

Surely he must be misinterpreting the
I-ching
trigrams that continued to caution against action.

When Dr. Turner requested a meeting, it seemed to Chambers to be the ideal test. He consulted the
I-ching
and was told:
The fool does not see, but the wise man crosses the river with open eyes.

“If you have any doubts about Miss Di’s well-being, Dr. Turner, I think you must speak with her yourself. She is, of course, in mourning for her father, but I’m sure she would receive you for tea. Would you permit me to arrange such a visit?”

“She is living on Forty-eighth Street, Carolina. I am to have tea with her next week.”

And after an hour spent in Mei Lin’s company he reported, “She seems entirely in accord with the idea. They are to be married as soon as her mourning ends.”

“Mourning for Samuel,” Carolina said, a hint of bitterness still evident. “Well, I suppose everyone should have someone to mourn them.” Celinda Devrey had been dead for some years by then. The children Carolina had borne Samuel had not been informed of his death in time to participate in his funeral. There was no question that Zac would have refused, and at fifteen Ceci was too young to make such a decision. Carolina would have refused for her. “Did you see the others? The old servant, and the…the girl’s mother?”

“Mei-hua and Ah Chee, yes, I saw them.”

“And they approve of this marriage?”

“Apparently so. Certainly it seems she will want for nothing. The house is quite splendid.”

“And are they to live there after they are married? Linda and this Mr. Chambers.”

“Next door, in a matching house, the inside of which I did not
see. No other neighbors. It’s quite a rural part of the city, a few blocks north of even the reservoir. But Linda didn’t seem to object to the isolation.”

“No question but that the land’s a good investment,” Carolina said brusquely. “The city is sprawling so. We’ll likely have neighbors as well.”

“Up here?” Nick asked, laughing. “On Seventy-first Street? I don’t think so. Not in our lifetimes at least.”

She smiled and didn’t argue. “Very well. We’ve done what was required. At least you have. Thank you, my dearest.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. Actually, I quite like the child. I mustn’t call her that, must I, now she’s to be married. She can be an appealing young lady. Very serious and reserved, none of Ceci’s sparkle, but not without charm.”

“She’s had a very different life, and…Nick, she’s only sixteen, a year older than Ceci. Can you imagine Ceci getting married?”

“No, I cannot. And I do not wish to. There is, however, another wedding on my mind.”

Carolina smiled. “And on mine. I’ve found someone to officiate, dearest. Here at Sunshine Hill, as we hoped.”

“That’s splendid. I was going to speak to a patient, a judge, but if you’ve a better idea I’m all for it.”

“A minister.” Suddenly a stack of magazines on a nearby table required straightening and Carolina began attending to them. “You may have heard of him. The Reverend Henry Beecher.”

“Heard of him! Carolina, there is no one in the city of New York who has not heard of him. I rather doubt anyone in the entire nation would claim not to know his name. Here, leave that and look at me,” he said, taking both her hands in his and making her turn to face him. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“I am not. Reverend Beecher said he would be delighted to come and marry us. In May, as we planned. I’ve been thinking it should be towards the end of the month, darling. The roses will be starting to bloom and we can have—”

“Carolina, how in the name of all that’s holy did you come to ask the Reverend Henry Beecher to officiate at our marriage? How do you even know him?”

“Business interests, Nick. I know many people in the city. The opportunity presented itself and I asked him and he agreed.”

“And he does not object that this union is to take place here in the home we have shared for eight years? With all our children present, including the three you have borne me out of wedlock?”

Her chin came up in that defiant gesture he loved but sometimes found inordinately exasperating. “He made no such objection to me. Perhaps that’s the point, Nicholas. The Reverend Henry Beecher has sufficient fame of his own.”

“Sufficient notoriety,” he corrected. “Not to mention his sister.”

“Mrs. Stowe’s book is remarkable, Nick. I know you would agree if you’d simply take the time to read it.”

“I don’t read made-up stories, Carolina, novels. I’ve not the time.”

“But this one is using fiction to illuminate fact. Truly heartrending fact, I might add. And the word is that Harper’s has sold almost a hundred thousand copies after only a couple of months. The entire country is gripped by it. Well, the north at least.”

“Excellent. I am delighted for the authoress and her publisher. And since I think slavery detestable, I’m sure
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
is worthy as well as profitable. How did we get into this discussion? I thought we were talking about our wedding.”

“We are. Mr. Beecher has said he will perform the service here at Sunshine Hill. Are you agreed?”

Nick paused a moment, then took both her hands in his. “My dearest Carolina, if I can make you my wife in the only sense in which you have not been such for eight years, in the eyes of the law, then I do not care if we are to be wed by Attila the Hun. Bring him here and we will make him welcome.”

“You will find Reverend Beecher not at all Attila-like, my love. I promise.”

Mei Lin found that she could come and go exactly as she chose. She could wander the countryside, even command a coachman to bring a carriage and take her wherever she wished. On Sundays she rode into the town and attended Mass. She was nonetheless a prisoner.

Sometimes Mei-hua accompanied her daughter on drives south into the city proper or further north into the countryside. She was always fascinated by what she saw, observing everything, asking questions about what she continually referred to as the Lord Kurt’s kingdom, but she was always most gratified by the return to Forty-eighth Street. They arrived to delicious smells of Ah Chee’s food—the old woman would not join them on their outings because, she said, she must cook not just for the three of them but for Lord Kurt and the men who constantly milled about next door—and Mei-hua would take her little mincing steps into the front hall, throw open the parlor doors, and sigh with satisfaction as she made her way across a rug of woven silk to settle into a red-lacquered chair and put her tiny feet on a silk-covered footstool. “Beautiful kingdom, beautiful. And this is nicest house. Fitting for first
tai-tai
.”

Her mother, Mei Lin understood, had at last found what she’d expected to find when she set out on her extraordinary journey twenty years before. Even if Mei Lin had a safe place to take her and could somehow have got the money to pay for their keep (sometimes she berated herself for not explaining the entire situation to Dr. Turner when he came to see her) she could never reproduce the status and therefore the happiness Mei-hua had at last achieved. “When you are married and live next door,” Mei-hua frequently said, “and I am first
tai-tai
, live here all by myself with just ugly old Ah Chee, promise you don’t forget to go for carriage rides with old mother.”

“I won’t forget.” Then Mei Lin would kneel and unwrap Mei-hua’s golden lilies and rub the horny, calloused skin with the salves and potions Taste Bad sent for her, and keep her head bent so that her mother would not see her tears.

Walks taken on her own were less painful. They did not so much
remind her that she must soon be the wife of a man she felt she barely knew and certainly did not love and who was not a Catholic. As February gave way to March she took to spending a part of most days over by the reservoir. It was a peaceful place: the Colored Orphan Asylum a block away at Forty-third and Fifth Avenue was the only other building in the area, and she would sometimes walk the entire perimeter of the reservoir, noting the smooth, high brick walls and marveling at the skills the construction of such a thing must have required.

She was usually alone on these tours, but sometimes she was aware of a man who seemed to follow her footsteps. She might have been alarmed but that he was obviously more interested in the reservoir than in her. He would stop frequently and step closer, sometimes running his hand along a course of bricks, then writing something in the notebook he always carried. One day she spotted him walking high above the ground along the top of the wall, and she watched, fascinated, knowing that an enormous depth of water waited for a misstep to the right and a deadly plunge to the earth if he stumbled to the left.

She wanted to remain until she saw him safely on the ground again, but it was growing dark and she could not linger. The next afternoon she went back and was disturbed when at first he did not seem to be there. Then she rounded a corner and came face to face with him. “You survived,” she blurted. “I am so glad.”

“I also.” He grinned at her. “But exactly what?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What did I survive?”

“Yesterday. I saw you walking up there on the rim. It looked to be frightfully dangerous.”

“It is not. The walkway is quite broad, though you can’t see that from here. I am sorry not to be the daredevil you thought me, only an apprentice civil engineer. But also I am very glad that finally you have spoken. Often I wanted to, but how I could not think.” He had already removed his hat, now he bowed. “Fritz Heinz, mistress. I am delighted to make your acquaintance. May I know your name?”

“Linda Di.” Mistress was a quaint old-fashioned sort of formality,
and to her accent-tuned ear his English had a foreign tinge. “Miss Linda Di,” she added.

His grin broadened. “Then you are unmarried, that is what Miss means, no?”

“Yes. I am engaged, however. I shall be married soon.” She felt honor bound to say so. Besides, a young lady talking to a strange man in an isolated place like this, whatever the reason…Mother Stevenson would be appalled. Saying she was engaged seemed at least to confirm her respectability. Mr. Heinz, however, looked disappointed. “You are not from New York, are you?” she asked.

“
Nein
, I mean no. From Munich in Bavaria. That is where I attended the polytechnic. Mr. Roebling, my employer, he is from Mühlhausen in Prussia. But he is very pleased to take on apprentice engineers who speak German as well as English.”

“So Mr. Roebling built this magnificent reservoir?”

“No. Many Irishmen, I am told. Only Mr. Roebling is charged with the upkeep. Right now he builds an aqueduct in high New York. So I am left to—”

“High? Oh, you mean upstate. North of New York City.”

He said that was indeed what he meant and that he would be very grateful if whenever she heard him make an error in English she would correct him. “That way soon I will be perfect. That is, if there is enough time before you are married.”

“Who giveth this woman to be wed?”

“I do,” Zac said, and released his mother’s hand, grinning so broadly all the while that it was clear he was quite elated, not just with the fact of the marriage but also his role in it. “With enormous pride and pleasure,” he added. “Truly.”

That was not in the order of service, but no one minded. Nick and Carolina smiled. So did Mr. Beecher. Josh also smiled, betraying two missing front teeth. At seven he was too young to be a legal witness, though he stood in that position beside his father, looking like a miniature
Nicholas, with hair the same fiery red and the same sort of grin and line of jaw. As for Ben Klein, Nick’s official best man, he laughed out loud.

Mr. Beecher cleared his throat. Bella Klein took the sheaf of spring flowers from Carolina’s hands.

You won’t mind awfully, darling, a woman you’ve not yet met to be your matron of honor?
Carolina said she would not. And at the meeting Nick arranged in the Devrey offices for the sake of privacy and discretion the two women had seemed to him to become friends almost at once. For years Nick had told Ben he was sure that would be the case if the ladies could ever meet, though given the irregularities, he understood it was impossible.

When they got to the part about loving and honoring and obeying, Carolina’s voice was strong and true. And when Nick slipped the ring on her finger, she almost could not keep herself from melting there and then into his arms.

There was, however, more in the way of benediction and reminders of obligation, until finally Mr. Beecher said, “I pronounce you man and wife.”

Carolina, dressed in cream-colored lace with pink roses in her hair, had not worn a veil. It had become the custom of late for American brides to do themselves up in white wedding gowns, Queen Victoria had surprised everyone in 1840 when she chose white instead of blue, the color of purity, and naturally after that white became
le dernier cri
for brides.
Godey’s
, however, advised remarrying widows to wear ecru or perhaps rose-beige and said that the veil, the ultimate symbol of maidenhood, was perhaps best dispensed with. Maidenhood, even by implication, was more than absurd, Carolina thought, with her five children in attendance. Her daughters, wearing matching pink frocks and pink ribbons in their hair (Goldie the blonde beaming with delight at being allowed to dress exactly like her adored big sister Ceci the raven-haired beauty), stood either side of baby Simon, each holding tight to one of his hands lest he fling himself at his mama at some inappropriate moment.