The Fifth Avenue Artists Society (32 page)

“I know,” he said, gripping the top of his chair. “You're probably wondering why I care so much—or maybe you're not.” I shrugged, figuring he had his reasons. “It's hard to explain, really, and you may not understand, but I chose not to have a family. As a young
man, I wasn't interested. I was too involved in my work. When I met John, I knew I'd met the man my son would have been if I'd had one.” Harvey's words didn't surprise me. John's kindness and wit had affected so many people. “I know it's silly, but with him gone, it's like I've lost a son, and a writer, and I worry for him.”

Harvey took a deep breath and sat back down in his chair. He yanked at a drawer, withdrew a checkbook, scribbled on it, and handed it to me. “It's only for half of what I promised you, but it's all I can personally afford.”

“I can't take this.” I pushed the check back on his desk. As much as we needed the money, I couldn't.

“You'll take it. I promised publication and failed you.”

“You didn't fail me. It's not your fault.” I fiddled with the ivory ribbon at my waist and concentrated on keeping my breath steady. Even though my greatest dream had been dangled in front of me and taken away, I couldn't blame Mr. Harvey. It was done—at least for now—another casualty of Franklin's misstep, and neither of us could do anything to change it.

“Look at me,” he said. I met his eyes and he smiled. “I know this is a defeat, but this is not the last the world will see of
The Web
. Someone will take the chance on it. I promise you. Just give it time. The world will know your writing, Miss Loftin.” I nodded, appreciative of the words, even if I didn't believe them. So far, he'd been the only one to take an interest in my novel. In three months I had yet to hear anything from G. P. Putnam's Sons or Charles Scribner's Sons.

“Thank you for believing in me.”

“I don't say it to humor you either. It's the truth.” He grunted as he leaned across the desk, snatched the check, and forced it firmly into my hands. “And you
will
take this,” he insisted and then leaned back in his chair and laughed. I looked at him as if
he'd gone mad. “I'm sorry. But it just dawned on me. The saying is right. You know the one—money can't buy happiness. In this case, it can't. Not even close. If it could, I'd clean out my checkbook.” He reached once again into his drawer, and lit a cigar. The sweet smell of charring tobacco drifted through my nostrils.

“If only it could.” I flattened the check onto Mr. Harvey's desk. “It would have been a pleasure to work with you.” Mr. Harvey started to insist that I accept the payment, but I shook my head and left his office.

P
lease don't tell me any of you have forgotten Father at Great-uncle Edmund's funeral.” Mae started laughing and I coughed, choking on the sourdough bread I'd just shoved in my mouth. Even though I'd tried to forget Mr. Holt's rejection and move on—I couldn't do anything about it, after all—I hadn't laughed in weeks, and it felt good. Mother started giggling at the head of the table.

“I don't think there's any way we could,” Alevia said. “We were all shoved into Edmund's little general store on the corner sitting two to a chair around his open casket. The priest—”

“Who just happened to be wearing some unofficial yellow robe on account of the fact that he'd been defrocked,” I interrupted.

“Kept droning on and on about what a good man he was,” Mae continued. “It was so hot in there and suddenly a loud snore rose up next to Mother.”

“He never was one to fake interest in something,” Mother said. She glanced at the portrait of Father over my head.

“I don't think it was a matter of interest. The man couldn't sit down without falling asleep. Mr. Mott always said he'd fall asleep on a break in the middle of the iron plant during peak hours,”
Bessie said. Her lips turned up slightly and she tucked a loose auburn tendril back into the black paste jeweled pin at the side of her head.

“I did try nudging him during the funeral. It
was
rude.” Mother swirled her fork in her mashed potatoes and Alevia giggled.

“But he didn't wake up. He snored through the entire thing and everyone else just pretended they didn't notice,” I said, remembering my father's head tilted back against the chair, mouth gaping open.

“Until the end when—” Bessie stopped abruptly, momentarily forgetting that Franklin was no longer a part of the family. Only six years old at the time, he'd pinched Father after an especially loud snore. Father had jumped in his chair and bellowed “damn it” at the top of his lungs, right into the face of the priest.

I laughed to myself, but the rest of the table sat in silence. I looked around at my family. Merry just moments earlier, their faces had suddenly turned to stone as they stared at their plates. I recalled Mr. Harvey's words dismissing me and clutched my fingers into my palm, willing the fire away. I was tired of it—tired of our anger. I'd lost my brother, a love, the Society, my chance at publication, and still, despite my fury at Franklin, I missed him.

I glanced down at my half-eaten rosemary chicken breast and set my fork down. In the few years since we'd lost Father, we always had a family dinner on his birthday. We laughed about our memories, what he would say about the mischief we'd gotten into over the past year. Franklin had been here last year, sitting at the head of the table across from Mother. I could still see the way Mother had looked at him as he'd told a story, the way her eyes had gleamed with simultaneous hilarity and grief. Franklin had always reminded her of Father. He had his sense of humor, but more than that, he had his heart.

“Ginny?” Mae nudged me, forcing me back to the silence of the dining room. Silverware scraped across china and I had an urge to yank the tablecloth with all of its contents off the table. “I thought you'd fallen asleep like Father.”

“If you'll excuse me.” I stood from the table. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, so I turned at the doorway. “I'm not feeling well,” I said, knowing the tone of my voice had given me away.

“Don't do this, Virginia. Not now. We've been having such a pleasant evening. I've made Father's favorite, Grandmother Loftin's coconut pound cake. Have a seat and celebrate with the rest of us.” Mother's blue eyes were soft with fatigue. For a moment I felt sorry for her—sorry that my father was gone, sorry that she couldn't reconcile the faults of her son—and then the pity flung away as quickly as the drawing of curtains at a play. Did anyone else miss Frank? My hands clutched my silk skirt and I scanned each of their faces, at Bessie then Alevia, who was wiping a drop of mashed potatoes off her brocaded bodice, and finally at Mother. None of them seemed to mind that he'd been removed from our family, that he was gone forever. The front door flew open down the hall and I jumped.

“Hello, Gin.” Charlie smiled at me. His cheeks were rosy with cold and he was covered head to boots in snow. He held a box and turned for a moment to brush the top of it before stepping inside. At once, my fury settled.

“Charlie? Is that you?” Mother called from the table.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. “Give me a moment to dry off and I'll be right in. I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner. I know it's a special day.” Charlie glanced at me, eyes flickering in the candlelight. He set the box down next to him and hooked his black bowler hat on the coatrack. I left the dining room and started down the hall toward him. He stared at me, gray wool coat dripping on the rug. “Wait a moment, I'm soaked,” he said, but I didn't listen. Relieved
at the sight of my oldest friend, I wrapped my arms around him, fully aware of the snow melting down the front of my dress.

“Recently, you seem to appear the moment I need you most,” I whispered into his ear. He leaned back, and planted a kiss on my forehead.

“I'm glad for it,” Charlie said. His eyes dropped to the ground in front of him, but I could see his telltale dimple emerging. “But if you're not going to agree to be my wife, you can't keep doing that to me.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes met mine and his head cocked to the side.

“As if you don't know,” he whispered, glancing down my neck to the saturated pink silk now clinging to my body. “The moment I walk through the door you throw yourself into my arms and press against me. It takes all of my willpower to avoid pulling you down on that couch right there.” His words conjured John, the way he'd pulled me onto his couch the last time, the way he'd kissed me. In spite of the melancholy that seeped in at the memory, my stomach fluttered with desire for Charlie. As much as my heart longed for me to accept him, my mind refused. I didn't know if I could trust him, and until I could be sure, I couldn't consider his offer. I grabbed his hand.

“I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not.” He laughed hoarsely and reached down for the box.

“Did you bring Father a gift?” I asked, and Charlie glanced down at the sagging cardboard under his arm.

“I don't think he needs any gifts where he is. This was on your front porch.” We walked into the dining room and everyone looked up from their plates to smile at Charlie. Mae's eyes met mine, widening as they traveled down my dress.

She started to mouth at me, hand drifting down the front of her white shirtwaist in illustration. I crossed my arms over my soaked bodice, hoping to block the manner in which it clung to my every curve.

“Did you bring a gift, Charlie? How kind,” Mother said, standing up from her seat to hug him. Charlie set the box down on the buffet.

“That's what Ginny just asked. No, it was on the front porch. I thought I would bring it in.”

“Oh, I'd forgotten. Cassie said she was going to send a few ribbons over to the girls. She bought more than she needed in France.” My aunt Cassie had never married, lived with her older sister and her sister's husband in Newport, and pretty much went about her life as she wished, beholden to no one.

“Perfect. Then I won't have to buy more next week for Catherine Vander—I mean LaFitte's hat.” Bessie started to move toward the box, no doubt more thrilled than ever about the possibility of what she could make for Cornelius's newlywed daughter.

“After cake,” Mother said, motioning for her to sit down.

“It seems that I've arrived just in time,” Charlie said, taking a seat between Bessie and Henry. Alevia leaned across Bess to squeeze Charlie's hand.

“I'm glad you're back,” she said.

“What is it that you tell your wife when you come here?” Bessie asked, refusing to look at him. She glanced at me instead, eyebrows rising at my indecent appearance.

“That I'm going to visit my dearest friends and my mother,” Charlie said calmly. He plucked Henry's fork from his plate, swiveled to his other side, and shoveled a sizable amount of Bessie's mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Those are delicious, Mrs. Loftin,” Charlie said through a full mouth. He set the fork down
and grinned at Mae beside me who was laughing under her breath at his complete disregard for Bessie's question.

“And she believes you?” Bessie persisted. Her neck began to flame in blotches from the black lace neckline of her dress. In her eyes, the love of my life had come back to me—even though that wasn't the case—but Tom hadn't even allowed her the kindness of a word. In spite of the way she was questioning Charlie, I felt for her. She'd gone down to the Blaines after her appointment at the Vanderbilts this afternoon, only to be turned away again. “She doesn't mind that you're . . . that you're embarrassingly in love with my sister?”

“That's enough,” Mother snapped from the doorway. She'd gone to get the cake and stopped to narrow her eyes at Bessie, cake tray balanced in her hands.

“It's all right,” Charlie said. His face paled for a moment, but then he lifted his eyes to me and shrugged. “They're fair questions considering I
am
married.” My heart began to pound. “She knows about all of you. She knows what you're going through and she knows how much I care for this family, so yes, she believes me.” He kept his eyes on me as he spoke.

“We know, Charlie. You're like a b-brother to us.” Alevia stumbled on the word, no doubt finding it difficult given the fact that she'd disowned the one given to her by blood. “We're glad you're here. You don't have to answer Bessie.”

“And as for understanding how deeply I love Ginny, she couldn't possibly. No one can,” he said, disregarding Alevia. My face burned, but as uncomfortable as I was, I understood why he hadn't ignored Bess's question. My family was as close as his. When he'd hurt me, he'd hurt them, and he was trying to make things right. Charlie cleared his throat. “I'm sure Rachel minds, but I've never been dishonest with her about it. She asked me once, right
after we were married, if I'd ever loved anyone else, particularly Ginny. I told her that I had and always would.” Mae gripped my leg under the table. I hadn't known he'd ever spoken of me to her. The weight of the shame I'd felt for loving him suddenly lightened.

“I went to find Gin at the Society that night. I was feeling tremendously guilty that I didn't love my wife and prayed that when I saw Ginny, I'd feel either homesick for Rachel or nothing at all. Instead, I burned for her more intensely than I ever had. I was disgusted with myself.” I blinked at him, instantly recalling the way he'd avoided my eyes that night, leaving me standing alone on Fifth Avenue. “All of you know that I've loved her since I was a boy. My marrying someone else was a tragic mistake . . . one for which I'll have to pay for the rest of my life. But, embarrassing or not, Bessie, I can't stop loving your sister. As wrong as it is, I can't.” Bess's eyes blurred with tears and she stood from the table with a clatter.