Empire Girls (17 page)

So I walked a few steps back down the hall and then stomped a bit before knocking.

Nell called for me to come in. She was sitting up in bed, and Cat was reading to her. The way their heads turned toward me at the same time and angle as I entered the room made me recall the ways I’d always noticed Cat and Nell’s similarities. How had their relationship—whatever it was—gone right over my head? Could the little girl in the gardens with young Nell be Cat? Or was that too long ago?

“Good, you’re here. I’ve got to get back to the shop. Hopefully, you and your sister will patch things up soon. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Tell her...”

Cat smiled as she gently shut the door behind her, leaving the room. I was alone with Nell.

“Miss Neville, have you had your tea? I’ll get some for you,” I said.

“You may call me Nell. I know you do when you are not addressing me directly anyway,” she said.

I went to her then and sat on the side of the bed. The memory of the last night I cared for my father was heavy on my mind.

“Tell me, Rose—what is it? What is this all about? Why has Ivy left?”

“Everything will be fine, Nell. You need to rest.”

I was fluffing the pillows up behind her and easing her back into a sitting position.

“That’s lovely, Rose. Honestly, you’ve surprised me these past few weeks. I thought you a cold duck, I did.”

“I behaved like one, Nell. But lately I’ve been wondering about something. Did you ever wonder whether I really was that person, or if I
became
that way because you decided on my constitution before you even met me?”

“The city has given you a sassy tongue, I see.”

“No, just a sense of humor, I think. Are you feeling better?”

“Just a bit of heatstroke. And my legs have been bothering me, arthritis or something. It can’t be your wildest dream, this life, cleaning up after people. I suppose you can’t wait to get your house back. You’ll be where you are most comfortable, alone with your books in the quiet of the country.”

A queer bit of nausea began rumbling in my belly. That didn’t sound like a very interesting life at all. I thought of telling her right there about Ivy’s revelation, only something held me back.

“Did Santino tell you that he’s decided I should marry him?” I asked instead, changing the subject.

Nell’s eyes grew wide, but they weren’t angry...they seemed almost happy.

“Rose, don’t kid an old woman.”

“See?” I said, holding up my hand with the now-limp piece of cotton.

“Well, well...here I was thinking you’d cut yourself. Does this make you happy?”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Nell. But I’m confused. Does my happiness matter to you?”

She turned her head from me and looked toward the door. A tear pooled in her eye.

“When you get to be my age, and you meet someone who reminds you of yourself when you were younger...you begin to care. If that bothers you, I have a hundred more closets for you to clean tomorrow.”

I paused, wanting to know everything—wanting to confront Nell about what I’d overhead. But I knew, instinctively, that I’d have to find my way back into my sister’s heart before I could unravel the rest of the mystery.

“I’ll get your tea, Nell,” I said, and tentatively touched her hand. She did not pull away.

* * *

The next day we were all gathered at the crowded dining room table.

Jimmy came to call. I was delighted to see him, but could not for the life of me figure out why he felt like an old friend.

Perhaps it was because he was so happy to see me. I was beginning to realize what friendship meant.

“Tell me, how’s old Nell?”

“Just fine...a small bit of heatstroke is all,” I said.

As if on cue, Nell entered the dining room and took her seat at the head of the table.

“I don’t feel like being waited on tonight. Tonight, I want everyone to sit and eat together.”

We all took turns looking at one another, but sat down as directed. The hour went by with laughter and companionship, but Nell was quiet. I could tell she had more than her usual complaints on her mind.

“After dessert I’d like to see you in my study, Rose.”

“Is she in trouble?” asked Claudia.

“It’s nothing of the sort,” said Nell. “I swear, I am surrounded by idiots. Now, go fetch dessert, Jimmy. There’s a cake in the icebox.”

“It’s so hot, I can’t think of eating sweets,” I said. “Would anyone mind if I stepped out to the stoop for a bit of air?”

“You’re a free woman,” said Comrade One—whose real name, I’d learned, was Bernadette.

“That I am,” I said, getting up.

“Not for long,” said Santino.

“Why, do you think if I marry you, you’ll own me?” I snapped.

He held his hands up like I was robbing him, then smiled his playful smile.

“If I really thought that, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Here,” said Nell, handing me the carafe of red wine and a glass. “Stoops are lonely without something to drink. But if Sergeant Bridey walks by, remind him who paid for his billy club.”

Santino followed me onto the stoop.

“I think she winked at you,” he said.

“Did she?”

“You seem to have won the old broad over.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

“I love watching the city go by, don’t you?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

I hadn’t told Santino about Adams House, either. I didn’t want him to worry that I’d leave him, or worry that I’d ask him to up and leave his life in The City. I needed to know more about my own intentions before I told him. Holding back that information helped me to understand, on a deeper level, his inability to tell me everything he knew about Asher. It wasn’t only about keeping a promise. It was about protecting himself and protecting me, as well.

“How about we make this an evening ritual? Jimmy says Ivy talks about wiling away your youth on that big front porch the two of you grew up on.”

Ivy? Thinking fond thoughts about our childhood? It made me want to cry.

“In my memory, it feels like it was always summer,” I said, pouring a glass of wine. “Want a sip?”

He smiled and brought a flask out of the inside of his jacket pocket. I clinked my glass against his.

“Cheers, Poet.”

* * *

Nell’s study was always dark, but that evening, with the midsummer night closing in, it felt darker than ever. One lamp with a green glass shade pooled light out onto Nell’s tidy desk.

“If this is about the album...” I began.

Nell didn’t notice my slip. I was beginning to learn she could be deaf when she had her own agenda. Much like the girl I used to be.

“Your Mr. Lawrence has phoned with news. He tells me that he had to rent Adams House.”

“He’s not
my
Mr. Lawrence,” I said, trying to catch my breath.
Strangers? In my house?

“Sarcasm at a time like this? You surprise me, Rose. I thought I was finally seeing the young woman you were born to be.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been one shock after another recently. Is it just a rent? Or are they wanting to buy it?” I asked, sitting up a little higher.

“Just a rent as far as I know. He needs your approval. I have to phone him back by the morning. I know this is difficult, Rose.”

“Well, I’m not happy with the news, but not sad, either.” I took a deep breath, ready to finally put words to Ivy’s confession. “You see I’ve just recently discovered that the house actually belongs to me. And I’ll be honest with you, Nell—I’m trying to digest the information at the same time as I’m trying to figure out why I’m not deliriously happy. Even this news of the rent. It seems to me that the money accrued from the lease would buy me more time to earn the taxes due on Adams house, and once that is done, I could go back to Forest Grove. And yet...”

“And yet you aren’t convinced that is what you want to do at all,” said Nell.

“Why is it so hard to let go of things?”

“Welcome to real life, my dear. Nothing we expect is ever how we expected it. And the unexpected is frequently just as disappointing,” she replied, rising from her chair to rest a gentle hand on my shoulder.

* * *

By the second week of living in Empire House without Ivy, I hadn’t even peeked at the photo album. It felt wrong to discover anything new without Ivy. I hadn’t confronted Nell about her relationship to Cat and my growing suspicions about their relationship to Asher, either. More importantly, I had lost my journal. I spent days searching the entire building for the private words I’d kept there.

I asked Maude and Viv, but they didn’t even come up with a funny response, so I knew they didn’t know, or care where it was. Claudia was helping me look, thrilled that I hadn’t blamed her first. “Thanks for trustin’ me, Rosie,” she’d said.

“You only take things that people leave behind. That’s not technically stealing, honey,” I said.

Santino scoured the streets all around Washington Square, where I sometimes went to write, and even Nell was going through her bookshelves. I bit my nails waiting for her to discover her photo album was missing. But all the searching was to no avail. My journal was gone.

Losing that journal started to smudge the ink from the lovely pages my mind had created. Poked holes in the peaceful life I’d been pretending to live. Because I knew that the only person who would understand how terrible it felt for me to lose anything else that close to me would be the other person in my family who experienced the same losses. Ivy.

I fell on the parlor couch in misery as a summer storm loomed. The clouds forced themselves angrily together, and I remembered what it was like sleeping next to my sister. Little girls face-to-face, breath like cold milk, waiting out long nights together. We’d cowered under the blankets, Ivy and I, whenever a storm approached. How safe I’d felt with her.

Nothin’s safe, miss...

Clever Ivy always knew how far away a storm would be.

“Who will count the minutes between the thunder, Ivy?” I’d asked when she carried her dolls from our room to her new one.

“You need to learn how to do it yourself, Rose,” she’d said.

I’d pretended to be brave and responsible for her. Not for me or our mother before she died or our father, either. I’d been looking for Ivy to notice me and say, “How brave you are,” or “How beautiful,” or even “I’m proud to be your sister.”

It’s a strange creature, the beast called pride. I’d wanted to hear those words from Ivy, and when she never said them to me, I felt hurt and ashamed.

But lying there in the parlor of Empire House, I realized I’d never said those words to her, either, even though I believed, with all my heart, that she was the bravest, most beautiful sister in the world, and that I held my head a little higher for knowing her.

“You know something, Rosie?” Santino asked, sitting next to me and gathering me up in his strong arms. “When you birds came here, I knew a little about why you’d come. But right from the start, I never thought about it as the two of you reclaiming your brother...I always assumed that given the time, the two of you could reclaim each other.”

His words rang with truth in my ears. “I miss my sister,” I said.

Santino clasped my hand. “I know, Rosie. And I promise...when she’s ready, she’ll come back. And in the meantime, you could try writing to her?”

So I did.

CHAPTER 16

Ivy

I HAD ABSOLUTELY
no idea where to go when I left Empire House, but I knew I couldn’t go back. There was no room for me there, and scared as I was, I couldn’t live like an unwanted houseguest. Apparently, it was Rose’s home now, not mine. And if my cheek didn’t still sting from where she’d slapped me, I’d give her a begrudging compliment. She’d managed what I’d failed to do.

After wandering around Washington Square Park, I hopped the A train, riding it up and down until dusk brought out the men who looked me over like I was a steak dinner on a platter. When one put a rough hand on my knee I hightailed it to safer ground and found myself down the block from Cat’s shop.

“I’ll need to dock your pay,” Cat said, frowning, after I told her of my predicament. “It’s in your best interest to go back to your sister.”

“I don’t think anyone else sees it that way,” I said.

“This is temporary, Ivy.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Though Cat didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms, she also didn’t ask a lot of questions, and for that I was grateful. She set me up in yet another small room behind the bar, one that housed an ancient feather bed in a heavy wood frame and a plain bureau, into which I stuffed my dresses and underthings. That first day, I halfheartedly made the bed with the fresh linens Cat provided and crawled under the coverlet, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I woke up, I spent considerable time staring at the ceiling, content to stay in the cocoon I’d made for myself. Rose had recently become such a center of activity, and it was exhausting. I don’t have to
move
much, I thought. If I took my meals at the bar, I could stay in the speakeasy indefinitely, forgetting there was a city above me. I could be in Atlantis, or purgatory or twenty thousand leagues under the sea. I could be anywhere. And when I did eventually surface, perhaps the world would be mine again.

“You’re gonna get rickets if you don’t let the sun hit your face,” Bessie said on my third day underground. We were polishing glasses, which by then I’d realized was what we did to look busy when there was little else to do. Maude hovered but remained silent. When she discovered my hiding place she tried to talk me into returning to Empire House, but I’d held my hand up every time she opened her mouth and said, “Give me time.” Isn’t that what people said when they really meant, “Scram!”?

“You’re being greedy with time,” Maude said. “It ain’t all yours. You’ve got to give some back soon.” After that, she’d stayed quiet.

Viv didn’t say much, either, just watched me with cool eyes. Every so often she’d crowd my tray with too many drinks, sending me out into the crowd with buckling knees. I didn’t complain, just gritted my teeth and minded my business.

Until Jimmy caught me alone. He came in with a large group—a blur of navy blue suits and fedoras—but they disappeared into one of the endless rooms behind the bar, their deals made in the dark, even in a place where vice was brazenly courted.

Around two the place cleared out. A few lost souls hung their heads over glasses of gin, but otherwise the bar looked as bleak and desolate as I felt. Onstage, the drummer seemed not to have noticed the rest of the band had called it a night. He hit at the snare with a fan brush, the noise sending shivers down my spine.

“Pour me one, Beauty.”

Jimmy slowly lowered himself onto a bar stool. His eyes looked made of glass.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“I wouldn’t have asked for one if I did.”

I fixed him a drink using the good crystal and slid it in front of him, along with a bowl of peanuts. “You should eat something.”

“So now you’re taking care of me?” Jimmy said. He tossed his drink back, downing half of it in one shot. “Pour one for yourself.”

“Cat doesn’t like it.”

“That day I picked you up from the station, you didn’t strike me as a girl who liked being told what to do.”

I couldn’t remember what that girl had been like, but I couldn’t explain that to Jimmy. I didn’t want to disappoint him. “I need this job.”

“Oh, I forgot,” he said, his voice flat. “You ran away from home.”

“This is home now.”

“This ain’t no home for anyone,” he grumbled. “You need to find something better.”

“You offering?”

Jimmy picked up a handful of peanuts and pelted me with one.

“What was that for?”

“You set small fires and then run away. That’s what a child does, so I’m treating you like one.”

“Are you any better? Running around with lipstick on your collar, smelling of perfume?”

“I’m living, Beauty. I’ve seen enough of death. I don’t plan on ever sitting still long enough for it to catch up with me.” He drained the rest of his glass and pushed it toward me. I poured him another, and after a moment’s hesitation, drank it down myself.

Jimmy smiled. “That’s my girl.”

“I’m not your girl.”

“Now that’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said in a week.”

My hand itched, and for a moment I understood the impetus behind a slap. The urge ran hot and swift like lightning, an electrical shock of the pure need to cause pain. Its strength stole the words from my tongue. Was that what I’d done to Rose when I’d pushed her to this point? Robbed her of everything but base impulse? I thought of the journal hidden in my rucksack and felt a wave of guilt so strong I grew dizzy. I’d taken all her words, the whole kit and kaboodle. But she’d hurt me just the same, hadn’t she? She sat in the Republic Theater, quietly watching as I stumbled through the loss of my dream. She sat there, an impassive witness to failure.

I turned away from Jimmy, unable to go back and forth with him any longer. I knew he wasn’t done with me, but it was still a surprise when he leaned over the bar and brushed his lips against the nape of my neck. “Fight, Beauty,” he murmured in my ear. “With me, not Rose. Let’s have a little fun. That’s all this is, isn’t it? A little fun to pass the time away.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” I whispered.

“Are you done with me, then?” he asked, his voice gone cold.

“I’m just done.”

“Well, if you’re done fighting then get your arse back to Empire House and take care of your sister.”

Why would she need my care? When I turned to ask him what he meant, Jimmy was already weaving up the stairs leading to the alley. When he stepped outside I could see a beguiling sliver of the New York night, but then the door slammed shut, leaving the ghosts of twinkling lights spotting my vision.

Exhausted, I closed up the bar and returned to my room, slipping under the covers fully clothed. I lay there in the darkness, but my brain would not slow and my eyes stayed open. There are few things worse than being wide-awake during the precious stillness of the wee morning hours, that wonderful time when we truly give ourselves over to our dreams. I gave sleep a final, sporting chance, and then, irritated, threw off the covers and reached for my rucksack. I tore a sheet of paper from Rose’s journal and retrieved a pencil from behind the bar.

July 2, 1925

Dear John the Wonder,

How well did you know my father? Lately, I feel I barely knew him at all. I think about the secrets he kept, and the reasons he kept them. Papa was an unusual man, but not a cruel one—did he hope sending Rose and I on this little excursion would draw us closer? Then he was an innocent, as well, and misjudged his daughters’ true natures.

Turns out I’m the scaredy cat, not my sister. I am enchanted by this city, but I’m terrified of it, too. There are so many open doors here, but the thought of crossing all those thresholds breaks a cold sweat on my brow. My father bravely chose an eccentric life. Rose allowed the city to seep into her soul. Our brother, Asher, remains a mystery, though we do know he’s a survivor of the horrible onslaught in the Argonne, and it appears he’s still battling his memories. He’s lost just as I am, but for some reason I’m not as worried for him. He is my father’s son surely as Rose is his daughter. Turns out I’m the one hiding in the corner, the odd (wo)man out. I was fearless when there was nothing to lose, and that isn’t fearlessness at all.

You’re a good listener, John the Wonder. Is that why my father chose you? Perhaps you are one of his final gifts, as well?

Sincerely,

Ivy

PS: Take note of the return address. I no longer reside at Empire House.

After finding a stamp, I left to post the letter. The city was oddly still in the predawn hours, and I breathed in sea air that felt fresh and new. The milkman tipped his hat to me, and some newspaper boys whistled as I walked by. “Watch your manners,” I quipped with a wink and a smile, and their laughter followed me back into Cat’s.

I still wasn’t sleepy, but I crawled into bed, dragging the lamp off the bureau onto the floor next to me. Rose’s journal still lay on my coverlet. I drew it to me, opened to the first page, and began to read.

* * *

I spent the next few days getting to know my sister. Was it a lousy thing to do, reading her innermost thoughts? Maybe. Was it cheating since I didn’t have to deal with the flesh and blood? Definitely. But it was all I had of her, and a true introduction would be difficult in the chaos of Empire House.

Rose’s words were alive, just like the city that had opened her like a flower. I read her poems again and again, learning Rose’s interior language, the one I never thought I could speak. I read before work, on my breaks and before bed, her poems becoming the prayers I’d never bothered to say before. On Independence Day, after night had fallen and the sharp crack of fireworks rumbled through the speakeasy, I sat reading on my bed during a break from the speak, when Cat walked in.

I shoved Rose’s journal under my pillow.

“I hope you didn’t waste your money on one of those dime-store novels,” Cat said. She stood in the doorway, her deep crimson dress made celebratory by a blue-and-white striped sash at the waist. She held an envelope in her hand. “If you’re looking for a little sauce just walk back into the speakeasy and open your eyes. People love to neck in the corners. Why is that? I’d think it would be uncomfortable.”

“I don’t think they care,” I said.

She didn’t say anything after that, just studied me with an odd expression on her face. The band started up a jazzy number, their new singer laying into “Somebody Loves Me” with too much juice, hitting at the notes like a punch-drunk boxer. When I asked Stan if I could sing again, he said I “wasn’t seasoned enough.”

“What is she, a roast chicken?” Maude said in my defense, and I loved her for it.

Cat tossed the envelope my way, bringing my attention back to her. “Jimmy dropped this off.”

I couldn’t imagine Jimmy sitting still long enough to put pen to paper. Curious, I ripped it open, but it wasn’t from Jimmy. It was from Rose.

Cat perched awkwardly on the bed next to me. For the first time since I’d known her, she seemed unsure of herself. “Do you mind if I stay while you read?” she said, and I wondered if she had an inkling of what it contained.

“You’re already sitting down, aren’t ya?”

July 4th, 1925

Dear Ivy,

I look for you everywhere. I peer down the streets hoping to see a flash of beads. I listen for your laughter. I keep expecting that you’ll return, slamming the doors and everything will go back to the way it was. Only it can’t...because we are not the sisters we used to be.

I think I’ve realized why our argument became a silent war. You may correct me if I’m mistaken, but I feel as if we both had urgent matters of our own hearts that had to be addressed. What could we have said to each other after that night? We’d experienced so much change in such a short span of time, we—or at least, I—didn’t have the vocabulary to clearly express my thoughts. It’s odd, this new language. Words I said before hold no meaning for me now. Words like “No,” and “Ninnie,” and “Disgusting.” Harsh words that serve no other purpose than to sting and slash. Saying I’m sorry for the things I said to you, for slapping your sweet face, for all our years growing up, means nothing now. Because, you see, I realize that we cannot go back to the past. We can’t return to who we used to be, and we can’t undo the things already done.

Those first few days after you left, I was a muddled mess, then an angry tiger, then a fragile cup teetering on the edge of a high table. For so long I thought that you and I fit so tidily in the perceptions that our parents, without meaning to do harm, built around us.

Rose: the eldest child. Responsible and plain. A cold streak running through her for defense, because Papa thought I’d never marry, and would live with him, taking care of him forever. My, how the hidden urgencies of family can demolish those they love.

And Ivy: the youngest child, wild and free. An exotic girl meant for greatness.

First Mother, then Papa, locked us inside those boxes, Ivy, and though the fragrance of those traits may have scented our baby hair, it’s a shame they didn’t notice how they mingled. How when we held our little girl hands tight against the world, we were infinitely stronger.

When and if you decide you are ready to see me again, I want you to know in your heart two very important things. First, I forgive you for not telling me Lawrence’s confession about the house being mine all this time. If I’d known when you found out, I may never have opened my heart to Santino. So thank you. And second, I have found the most amazing clue to finding Asher. I’ve been so patient with myself, for I refuse to peruse it until you and I are together again. I was a thief, you know! Took a photo album from Nell’s study. I’m sure it holds many answers to the myriad of questions we still have.

We’ll find him, Ivy, but only if we work together. For the first time in our lives, we must be the pair we were always meant to be.

How about it, doll?

All my love, from yesterday, today and tomorrow,

Rosie

I thought the first time my sister touched me with any real emotion it was the slap, but that was just frustration. This letter was her heart meeting mine. I began to cry. Cat didn’t pat my back or murmur soothing words as most women would have done, but she placed her hand on my arm, and for some reason that was better consolation.