The Gilded Hour (29 page)

Anna said, “You know how I dislike coming in on the middle, so start again please. At the beginning. What are we arguing about?”

“We aren’t arguing,” Aunt Quinlan said in a tone that said just the opposite.

“This isn’t about a corset for Rosa, is it?”

Somehow it was the right thing to say, because Aunt Quinlan and Sophie both gave a startled laugh. Margaret continued to frown into her soup bowl.

“No,” Sophie said. “It’s not about that at all.” She drew in a deep breath. “I saw Cap today. We’re going to Switzerland.”

Anna got up, went to Sophie, and hugged her hard enough to make her protest. She picked up her cousin’s hand and looked at the ring.

“You must really love the man if you’re willing to wear this ring. It’s awful.”

“I know,” Sophie said, grinning.

“Agreement on all points?”

“With some very small concessions, on both sides. Anna, you’ll break my ribs.”

“Does his family know?”

“The announcement will be in tomorrow’s paper, but Cap’s aunts and cousins will already have received word by messenger before that point.”

“This is no surprise to you,” Margaret said to Anna, her brow pulled down in displeasure.

“Of course not.” Anna hugged Sophie again and returned to her place, where she fell into her chair with an unladylike plop. She couldn’t stop smiling. She smiled through the kisses and hugs and tears; she smiled especially when Mr. Lee came into the dining room—something he almost never did, despite many invitations—and took Sophie’s hand between his own two hands and wished her every good thing.

“We must have wine to toast the happy couple,” said her aunt. “All of us.”

“This is hardly something to celebrate without reservation,” Margaret said irritably.

“Margaret,” Aunt Quinlan said. “Two young people who love each other are getting married. That
is
something to celebrate.”

Margaret waited until Mr. Lee had left the room, shifting uneasily. Anna thought of suggesting to her that her corset was too tightly cinched, a childish impulse that made her want to laugh anyway.

Before Margaret could get started with her questions, Anna asked what seemed to her the crucial question. “Margaret, why should you object?”

Aunt Quinlan answered for her stepdaughter. “Margaret is upset because Sophie is the only Catholic among us, and she thinks the Catholic Church won’t let the little girls stay if she leaves.”

“Margaret is upset,” Margaret said, “because it is unfair. We should never have allowed the girls to stay if we weren’t all prepared to stay with them. Just last week the Catholic Church took a baby away from a Protestant couple. It was in the paper, if you don’t believe me.”

“There’s more to that story,” Aunt Quinlan said. “The mother left a note with the boy asking that he be raised Catholic.”

“According to the nuns,” Margaret muttered.

“Are you suggesting that Sophie send Cap off to Switzerland alone?” Anna was careful not to inject anything dismissive in her tone, but Margaret was determined to be insulted.

“Cap is a grown man, able to fend for himself,” she said.

There was a small but fraught silence while Anna tried to reconcile what she was hearing with the Margaret she had always known. Not the
most effective or consistent of mothers to her two boys but deeply devoted. Stubborn, yes. A martyr to social convention, but not willfully cruel. Anna looked closely at Aunt Quinlan’s stepdaughter and wondered if she was unwell.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lee are members of this household,” Aunt Quinlan was saying. “They are Catholic, and in case you’ve misremembered, they’ve taken the girls to church with them every Sunday.”

“Yes. And they are also—” Margaret lowered her voice and then was unable to go on.

“Colored,” Sophie finished for her.

“Well, yes,” Margaret said.

“And so am I.”

“But you’re different,” Margaret said, growing more flustered.

Aunt Quinlan closed her eyes for the span of three heartbeats. It was a rare thing to see her lose her temper, but Margaret had managed to bring her to that point.

“Margaret,” she said with misleading calm. “I believe you had a letter from your sons today.”

Margaret started. “I did. But—”

“I take it they’ve decided to stay in Europe for another year. You miss them very much, I understand. Maybe it’s time you joined them.”

The color drained from Margaret’s face. “But the girls—”

“You needn’t worry about the girls.”

“But—”

“I raised five daughters,” Aunt Quinlan said, more sharply. “And a granddaughter, and two nieces. I think I can be trusted with two more.” She turned to Sophie. “Have you and Cap decided on a date?”

Hesitantly Sophie said, “Cap has legal matters to settle first. We would hope to sail at the end of May, and marry that same morning. Cap’s uncle Conrad has offered to give me away.”

Conrad Belmont approved then, which was a relief. Some part of the family would be opposed and vocal, but the support of the eldest living Belmont would go a long way.

“Just a small ceremony,” Sophie said. “For my side, just family and Mary and Abraham Jacobi. If they will come.”

“Of course they will,” Anna said. “They have always been your champions.”

“Anna. For someone so relentlessly logical and clear-thinking you can be oblivious,” Margaret said, pushing back her chair to stand up. “It doesn’t matter if every physician in the city attends or if the president himself gives Sophie away, it is still the color of her skin that will be the sticking point.”

“For whom, exactly?” Aunt Quinlan asked, her voice very low and calm. “Who exactly are you worried about? Do you think you’ll be cut in public because a niece of mine has married a Belmont?”

Margaret did an admirable job of gathering her emotions and calming her voice. She folded her napkin and stood.

“My mother was born in this house. I was born here and so was my brother. The law may say that the house belongs to you as my father’s widow, but in your heart you know that it’s wrong to put me out because I insist on speaking truths you would rather ignore.”

“This is getting out of hand,” Anna said. “Margaret, this is your home if you’re away for a day or a year. No one is putting you out. No one is sending you away. Aunt Quinlan was making a suggestion. Badly timed—” She glanced at her aunt and frowned. “But nothing more than a suggestion for you to take or leave.”

Margaret’s throat worked, but she said nothing.

After a moment Aunt Quinlan said, “I spoke more sharply than I should have, Margaret. I apologize. You must decide what you want to do for yourself, but you can’t decide anything for Sophie. And as a family we will support her in her marriage and we will find a way to keep the girls with us without sacrificing Cap’s medical treatment.”

The silence drew out for a long moment, and then Margaret turned and left them.

•   •   •

T
HE
TRAFFIC
LANES
that fed onto the bridge from either side were still blocked off, and more than that, the terminal doors were closed. A sour-faced patrolman stood at the top of the stairs scanning the street as if he expected an invasion, but Jack never hesitated; he tipped his chin up at the patrolman—it seemed that this was the way police officers of all kinds acknowledged each other—and then he opened the door for Anna and they walked past him and into the terminal to the sound of hammers and saws.

Even on a Saturday after seven in the evening there were carpenters
and painters and electricians working in the waning light. None of them took note of two strangers walking through the terminal, but two roundsmen called out to Jack, gesturing him over. Anna supposed it was inevitable; he couldn’t simply walk past a colleague without at least a short conversation. But she was so eager to be on the bridge that she found herself bouncing on the balls of her feet like a schoolgirl.

The conversation had to do with boxing. She tried to fix her face in a politely uninterested way, and realized that she was failing when Jack took her hand and tucked it into his coat pocket, where he squeezed it twice.
Be patient
, was the message. She pinched him, hard.

One of the roundsmen was looking at her. A grandfatherly type with a great waterfall of gray mustache and a complexion so weather-roughened it looked more like tweed than skin. But he had a kind smile.

“You are looking forward to the bridge?”

He had a German accent which followed from the fact that Jack had called him Franz, but his shield bore the name Hannigan. It was not out of the ordinary in New York to have one Irish and one German parent or two parents from opposite sides of the world, for that matter.

Anna smiled back at him. “Very much.”

“
Lua,
” murmured his partner.
“Wie die Grüable kriagt wenns lachat. Was globst, Franz, git’s da n Ehering undr a Handshua?”
And he winked at Jack, who spoke no German. Or better said, Swiss, because that was what they were speaking, oddly enough. She looked at Jack and was relieved to see him looking back at her, waiting for a translation.

Before Anna could tell the man that there was not, in fact, a wedding ring under her glove, Officer Hannigan put the question to Jack in a more subtle way.

“And is this young lady a relative?”

Jack raised a brow and shot her a grin. “Not yet.”

After a startled silence that seemed to last an hour, Anna pulled away from him. “
Na ja,
” she said to the roundsmen in a voice nothing like her own.
“Das werden wir mal sehen.”
We’ll just see about that.

•   •   •

A
SHORT
FLIGHT
of stairs led down to the pedestrian walkway that stretched out before them, still cluttered with machinery, piles of wooden planks, wheels of wiring, and a dozen other things Anna couldn’t put a
name to. The first lampposts had been installed, but Anna could see that it would be a good while before the bridge could be lit at night.

Below them laborers were still busy on the train and omnibus tracks, but on the promenade they were alone in a cathedral of cables aligned with such precision that Anna was reminded of the inner workings of a piano. She looked up at the pointed arches of the nearer tower and thought again of climbing it. She could see the ladder bolted to the stonework from where they stood.

“So,” Jack said. “What did they say?”

“Who?”

He made a face at her.

Irritated, she sidestepped again. “Said about what?”

“They said something about you in German.”

“No, they didn’t. They were speaking Swiss.”

“So you didn’t understand.”

“They liked my dimples,” Anna said.

Jack made a sound in his throat. “I’m sure there was something more to it than that. And what did you say to make them laugh like that?”

Anna shrugged, both unable and unwilling to open up the conversation. Instead she ran ahead, pulling off her hat to feel the breeze on her face and neck. And she needed a moment to think.

Not yet.

Jack teased; it was his nature. He enjoyed seeing her flustered, but he was never cruel or thoughtless. Or had never been.
Not yet.

She stopped suddenly and turned to watch him walking toward her in long strides. He had left his hat in the terminal and the wind ruffled his hair. For that moment he looked more like a boy of twenty than a man of thirty-five.

As he got closer she said, “I don’t want to talk about what you said to them. Not until I’ve told you some things you should know. You might well change your mind about me. And,” she added briskly, “I haven’t made up my mind about you.”

He stopped so close to her that their shoes touched, and smiled down at her. “Liar.”

But she would persist, and this accusation delivered with a grin could not make her forget what was at stake.

The river was teeming with paddleboats and ferries, colliers, canal boats, barges and steamers and sailboats, all against the backdrop of the town of Brooklyn. She had never thought of Brooklyn as a particularly pretty place, its shoreline crowded with factories and warehouses and wharves. But from here the highlands were a small sea of oak and maple and cedar trees interspersed with blossoming cherry and crab apple, all punctuated by steeples and chimneys.

She said, “I don’t know what I’m looking at,” and Jack came up behind her. He ducked down to follow her line of sight and with his hands on her shoulders, turned her a bit.

“Wallabout Bay and the Navy Yard.” As they turned steadily and he put names to ferry landings and landmarks. One arm dropped to circle her waist. “Fort Columbus. Governor’s Island.” He pointed and said, “You can just see Bedloe, where they’re going to put up that statue from France, once they’ve got the money together. Meant to welcome immigrants to the city.” This was the cynic in Jack talking, a tone that she didn’t often hear from him.

A large steam liner was just passing the fort, headed for England or Greece or on its way to round the horn. Anna hesitated and then said what was on her mind.

“Sophie and Cap will be getting married next month and then they’re going to Switzerland, to the clinic I told you about.”

He didn’t seem surprised. “Is that what she really wants?”

Anna thought for a long moment. “What she really wants is a cure, but this is as much as she can ask for.” She shook her head, determined to put Margaret out of her mind for the moment at least. Instead she put her cheek against Jack’s shoulder and, leaning into him, turned to follow the Manhattan shoreline.

It was disquieting to realize that beyond Castle Garden and the spire of Trinity Church there was almost nothing she recognized, as if she were looking at a city she had never visited before. Behind docks and wharves and warehouses there were buildings of all sizes crowded together like grubby blocks a child had poured out of a bag for no other reason than to see how they fell. All along the river shore to the right the seventh district tenements leaned together like so many rotting teeth, but even there poles
were going up as electricity wove its way through the city streets, wires crisscrossing over every intersection. Smokestacks belched far above the buildings they topped. In the distance the gas works looked like a cluster of tin cans. There were patches of green here and there, but for the most part it was a city of redbrick and cast iron and warped wood held together by grime and persistence.