Love Lies Bleeding (13 page)

“Jimmy, you need to stop this talk. I won’t stand for it. Have some respect for Uncle Zeke, even if you have none for Miss Morgan or yourself.”

“Suit yourself, Tommy. But you’re a fool if you haven’t plucked that cherry yet.”

Tom turned his back on his old friend, bade his goodbyes to Hi and the rest of the Gordons, and glared at Jimmy from across the room. He would have stayed in Newfield longer for an extended visit for such a somber occasion, but this time, he pleaded the need to return for work. He hoped that he’d be down to see them again before they had to leave for Buffalo. After saying his goodbyes to the local townspeople, he made a hasty exit. He had to be careful not to throw an axle on the rough road into town.

Before he headed home, he drove to the house on Seneca Street and parked across the broad avenue from the mansion. Gazing at its wide porch and stained glass window above the door, he imagined her inside. As he ran his hand down the dash, he realized he couldn’t wait to show off the flivver to Libbie. He hoped she was not angry that he had been called away. He even thought about finding a tree outside from which he could throw pebbles at her window, but with his bad luck, he’d pick the wrong one and end up finding her sister’s room, or worse, her parents’ room. He decided not to push his luck. Instead, he took his not-so-shiny new Tin Lizzie home where he could admire it some more. For as much as he loved and missed Uncle Zeke, this car was a beaut. With a gorgeous automobile like this and courting an exquisite girl like Libbie, he couldn’t ever imagine things being dull and boring again.

When Libbie arrived at the rooming house that afternoon, she knocked on the door of Tom’s flat. Hearing no answer, she knocked again.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

In the dim light of the hallway bulb, Libbie saw the ample figure of an older woman lumbering toward her in the corridor.

Aha. My nemesis from yesterday
, she thought. “I’m here to visit Mr. Estabrook,” Libbie said.

“Are you now?” the older woman said, sizing up the petite visitor with her hands on her hips, peering at her over a pair of round spectacles. So this was where her prized flowers had gone.
Not a bad pick
, Mrs. Protts thought.
Little out of his league, though. This girl has money
.

Libbie sized her up, too. The old woman had pulled her unflattering brassy gray hair into a tight bun. Her hands were huge, with fingers like Vienna sausages. She was intimidating, no doubt about that.

“He appears to be out, though,” Libbie said. “We were supposed to meet. He was…to…return some books of mine,” she lied.

“Well, that’s a darned shame, dearie. He had to head down to Newfield this afternoon. His uncle died, you see. Found out last night from his kin down there. He left me a little note. A nice boy, young Tom.”

“Oh dear. That’s terrible. I’m so very sorry. I shall have to come back another time. Do you know when he’s returning home?”

“Late, most like. May I take your name to give him a message?”

“I’m Miss Morgan.”

“Aah, Miss Morgan! He left a note for you. I won’t be a minute.” She shuffled off to her rooms and then returned a few moments later, when she handed a small piece of paper to Libbie.

“Miss Morgan. I apologize with my whole heart, but I’ve had a death in the family and had to go to Newfield on very short notice. I hope you can forgive me by letting me take you to the Tioga county fair in Owego this weekend. I hope you are having a wonderful week. Yours, Tom Estabrook”

Libbie smiled as she read, and Mrs. Protts watched with interest, for she had, of course, peeked at the contents of the note. She grinned and waddled away. As she stepped off the front porch, Libbie added Mrs. Protts to the list of people she had charmed.

Chapter Seventeen

Ithaca, New York
June 1916

“O
live, dear…” Libbie said.

The girls were strolling down Green Street after a visit to the bookstore. A Salvation Army band played on the corner, the main character dancing about with cymbals between his knees and the man in back pounding a huge bass drum. The noise was deafening, so they continued walking until they reached Mr. Chambers’ curio shop. Even then Libbie found it a bit difficult to speak to her friend, since at that moment, Olive was distracted by the goodies in the shop window.

“Oh look, Libbie! Look at the cat!” Olive pointed at a small porcelain cat figurine in the window, with tiny blue gems for eyes. “It’s charming. I’m going to check the price.”

“Olive, wait.”

“What is it?”

“I have to ask you a favor. A very large favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

Libbie pulled her friend around the corner of the Clinton block, where they had a bit more privacy to talk. “A very important one.”

Olive was impatient. The last few weeks, Libbie had begun to try her nerves. Her erratic mood shifts and her usual mercurial temper had become even more pronounced. Olive couldn’t begin to wonder what Libbie required of her. If things kept going the way they had been, Olive wondered just how successful their studies at Smith’s would be. There was no way they would allow someone of Libbie’s spoiled temperament anywhere near the injured soldiers. And she was beginning to think that Libbie had no interest in saving people, only in traveling to foreign destinations. Whenever Olive had tried to get her attention to attend nursing lectures, Libbie’s mind had always been elsewhere—not on learning about anatomy and post-surgical care.

“Well? What is it? Just tell me, for goodness’ sake.”

“You remember the boys we met at Birdie’s? Tom and Hiram?”

“Yes,” Olive said. “What about them?”

“I need you to tell a slight fib if anyone asks you where I am tomorrow afternoon.”

“What?”

“I know it sounds terrible, but you’re my best friend. Everyone will know that if I’m out with you, everything is fine.”

“But Libbie, you won’t be with me. Are you telling me you’re going to be with that Tom person? Are you out of your mind?” Olive fanned herself with a flyer for a church social that she had picked up from the bookstore, more than a little frightened for her friend.

Libbie looked down and giggled.

“Libbie, this isn’t funny! What could be so important that you need me to lie for you while you’re with this person?” She paused for a moment. “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”

“Olive, you know Stephen LaBarr. He’s a pill. He came for a visit and dinner the other night, and I thought I would be bored silly. He’s just like my father. All he wants to talk about is law. Law books, law papers….we have nothing in common. And I’m going to end up married to him.”

Olive looked at Libbie, her harsh expression tempered by sympathy for her friend. While it was true LaBarr was rich and handsome, she had to admit that he was the stodgiest fellow she’d ever met.

“I like Tom. He’s sweet. He’s a gentleman. And although he’s not well-educated, he enjoys some of the books I like. He makes me laugh. You saw how handsome he is. I just want to have a little fun before I marry. That’s all,” Libbie said.

“How much fun?” Olive demanded.

“How could you ask me that?”

“Libbie, come on. You’re the worst flirt in our class. I saw the way you were looking at him the other day—like he was a wonderful piece of beef tenderloin you’d just discovered at the butchers’ shop. I’d never seen you so intense before. I’m just worried about you.”

“Why? We want to spend a little time together, that’s all. We want to go to the county fair, and we don’t want the whole world to know. It’s innocent.” Libbie paused before delivering her coup de grace. “Remember when we had to read that horrible
Silas Marner
? Remember when I let you copy my answers for the test on it?”

“Oh, Libbie please. Don’t do this.”

“I need this. I want to see him, and I need your help,” Libbie said between clenched teeth.

Olive realized it was a lost cause. You couldn’t argue with Libbie. She always won.

Owego, New York
June 1916

Under the sign with the large, expressive eye, they’d opened the flap on the fortuneteller’s tent. When the wind gusted through the tent entrance, the candles flickered and almost went out.

“You vant me to tell your future?” the old woman asked in an indistinguishable Eastern European accent. She wore a black ruffled blouse and dark floral skirt, with a maroon flowered shawl and crimson scarf over her graying head. Fastening the neck of her garment was a brooch of gold filigree with a deep rose engraving in it. Ten strings of beads of various sizes and colors hung around her neck.

Libbie approached the table with the milky globe on it. She would have been much less enthusiastic about having her palm read had she known that the diviner’s real name was Esther Rabinowitz, and that instead of Moldova, she hailed from Brooklyn.

“Cross my palm vith silver and I vill predict your life, dear,” she said, as Libbie seated herself at the table. Madame Sonia spread her spidery fingers for an offering.

Libbie reached into her bag and pulled out several coins, which she placed in the woman’s hand.

“And you may vait outside,” Madame Sonia instructed Tom with a shooing motion.

After he retreated to the other side of the tent flap, Madame Sonia grasped Libbie’s hand, pressing the fingers open and gazing at the mysteries she saw revealed there.

“You are a passionate person,” she said without hesitation. “Full of love and great emotion.”

Libbie leaned forward to absorb every word.

“This is your love line,” Madame Sonia said, pointing with a deep red fingernail, the numerous beads roped around her neck rattling with the movement. “Very strong, with much affection.” Her accent was slipping in and out, but Libbie was so intent, she didn’t notice.

“Und zis here…” she continued. “Zis iss…” Her eyes grew wide, and she drew back a bit, as if she’d been burned.

Libbie looked up, wondering what was wrong. “What is it?” she said.

“Nothing,” Madame Sonia said, attempting to feign normalcy.

“What do you see?” Libbie asked, her voice frightened.

“A long life. A long life, vit a handsome man, and many babies,” she lied.

Libbie’s eyes narrowed. “I just gave you fifty cents. I want the truth.”

“Vhy, it is the truth, my dear. I vhas surprised by the interesting configurations of lines in your palm. That is all.” The ersatz gypsy pointed at the lines in Libbie’s hand. She did not mention that the lifeline made an abrupt stop not even halfway across the girl’s palm. It was one of the most frightening portents she’d ever seen.

As Libbie retreated out the flap of the tent, the old woman reached behind her to a large bottle of schnapps and poured out a huge glass. Only God knew what was in store for that girl. And very soon. She tried not to think of it.

When Tom rejoined Libbie outside the tent, he noticed again how pretty she looked in her afternoon frock of cerulean blue with a lace overblouse. The straw hat covering her curls was tied beneath her chin with a ribbon of the same color, and tiny tendrils of black hair trickled out. The hat had come in handy on the drive down from Ithaca. Even the goggles hadn’t detracted from her beauty. She’d been thrilled to see the car and to know that he now had transportation to any number of interesting places. Very private ones.

After a visit to the fortuneteller, Tom brought Libbie up on the Ferris wheel in a not-so-sneaky plan for getting her alone, at least for several minutes.

A quick whoosh, and the car lifted them up into the air. The balmy afternoon was perfect for a Ferris wheel ride. They’d already ridden the merry-go-round, and they’d seen the fire-eater, the fakir, the sword swallower, and “Leona Longlocks,” the fair’s claim to Bearded Lady fame.

As the Ferris wheel climbed higher and higher, Libbie took his hand. He reassured her by giving her hand a squeeze. When he couldn’t stand the temptation any longer, she leaned up close and gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek. Surprised, Tom reclined against the seat, then kissed her back. As they approached Earth again, they both relaxed, appearing innocent to the fair-going public once more. Somehow, Tom sensed that their relationship had irrevocably changed.

As they stood in his room after the fair, he gave her a soft kiss, rejoicing at the taste of her. He was so afraid that the beautiful vision might vanish in a flash.

He fingered a silky strand of her hair, then his hand moved to her face. He caressed her cheek as he gazed at her, and she leaned into it, guiding his hand to her neck. She pulled him closer, her lips still tantalizing him, taunting him to take more. He did, almost losing control. They found themselves pressed against the wall, unaware of anything but the need for physical contact and release after the decorum of the outside world. All he could sense was her softness and the succulent earthy lilac scent of her.

She tried guiding him to the bed, but he pulled back, knowing that as much as he wanted her, he would not be able to stop himself if they ended up there now. She pulled away from him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, pouting.

“Miss Morgan, I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. You’re about the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. But I’ve just begun to court you… I…I know your Mother does not approve of me. We cannot do this in good conscience.”

“If you think I’m so beautiful, then why don’t you want to make love to me?” She sat down on the bed, her face haughty and annoyed, and looked up at him. He moved closer, ready to reason with her, when she grabbed the front of his pants and roughly tried unbuttoning them.

He groaned as she caressed him through the front of his trousers, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist her, murmuring, “No, no…Libbie, please no…”

Then he stopped caring and pushed her down on the blanket. Fumbling with her skirts, he lifted her slip and let his hand travel down the filmy silk-stockinged legs to her shoes, which he let drop to the floor. He started his quest between her legs. She gasped in contentment. Just as she began panting in earnest, a sharp rap came on the door.

Tom swallowed hard, trying to retain his composure while placing a gentle hand over Libbie’s mouth so the sound of her heavy breathing was less pronounced.

“Mr. Estabrook! Oh, Mr. Estabrook!” came the voice of Mrs. Protts. “I’m sorry to disturb you again, young Tom, but I’m wondering if I could obtain your assistance in carrying a flour sack out of the basement? It’s a heavy bugger. I don’t think I can lift it!” So intent had they been on their need for release, they had not even noticed her ponderous approach.

Taking a deep breath, he announced, “I won’t be a moment, Mrs. Protts! Why don’t you head back to the kitchen and I’ll be there presently.”

Satisfied when they heard the tread of her footsteps in the hallway retreating to the summer kitchen, Libbie and Tom pulled themselves up as the mattress gave a weary squeak. They were still breathless and disheveled.

“I’m sorry, Miss Morgan,” he said, shaking his head. “I was ready to deflower you with no thought for your honor. It was very crass of me. Please forgive me.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, Tom. Call me Libbie, would you please! We were almost intimate,” she declared with irritation. She straightened her skirts and leaned down to slip her shoes on.

“There is nothing in the world I want more than to make love to you. To romance you and whisper sweet words. But we can’t yet. I am a poor man right now. As you said, poor men can make their way in the world these days, and that is what I want—to be able to support a wife in grand style. I want to be a respectable husband. I would love to give you babies and a home and grandchildren…our whole lives together. That’s what I want. I want to make you happy.”

“My parents would never allow it.”

“Then we shall run away together. It will all be very romantic and adventurous.” Flirting, he flicked his eyebrows at her, embracing her as she swept her hair back up, placed her hat back on, and pinned it in place.

“We’ll see,” was all she would say, kissing him on the cheek.

They made plans to meet in his room the next day. He told her to come in the back door to the corridor, where there was less chance of her being seen. The neighbors might talk otherwise, and her reputation could be damaged. They parted in the hallway, as he went to go help his landlady. Libbie headed back to the streetcar, feeling exhilarated yet unfulfilled.