Parlor Games (41 page)

I snuggled my chilled hands under the blanket, though the day’s bright sun had actually warmed the compartment to a balmy thirty degrees or so. “It’s done me a world of good. Just relaxing with you.”

“What’ll you do now?”

“I’ll wire Rudolph from New York. Tell him what ship I’m leaving on so he knows I mean it.”

“You sure you want to go back to him?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Will you let me know how it comes out?”

“Yes. And you, what about you and Gene?”

Frank stared at her hands. “Didn’t like what I heard in his last letter.”

“But all he said is he’ll see you in Chicago after visiting Maman and Paul.”

Frank swung her gaze back to me. “Uh-huh, that’s all he said.”

Confused, I shot her a quizzical look. “What did you expect?”

“He was supposed to go to Chicago and look for work.”

“You can’t blame him for visiting his family. You know Maman missed him.”

“He promised me he’d head straight for Chicago.”

“You aren’t going to hold that little thing against him, are you?”

“I’ve already written him. The engagement’s off.”

My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “And you’re only now telling me?”

“Thought he should know first. I mailed the letter last week.”

“You’re not going to marry him because he’s visiting his mother instead of looking for a job?”

“It’s not such a little thing—a man constantly borrowing money from a woman and turning lax about repaying it.”

“Does he owe you anything right now?”

“No. I decided after the last go-round that he wouldn’t get another penny from my pocketbook.”

“Don’t you love him? I know he cares for you.”

“Love’s not everything, is it?”

“No,” I said, twisting my fingers together under the blanket. “But it’s the most important thing.”

“Then why are you going to London instead of Mexico?”

“I told you—it’s complicated. There could be problems with Philip’s business deal.”

“You don’t fool me. You’re sly enough to work around things like that.”

“Oh, no, I can’t go up against the Mexican government and a business deal worth tens of thousands. Not little old me.”

“Fine, just don’t expect me to take on a husband that’s good for nothing.”

“Good for nothing?”

“You heard right.”

“Frank, you’re talking about my brother.”

“Maybe that’s why you can’t see him for what he is.”

“Gene’s the most fun-loving young man I know. You could do worse.”

Frank set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need a husband. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then you’re more blind than I thought—or were you just keeping me warm for your brother?”

“That? That was nothing.”

“You say that now.”

I threw the blanket off my heated-up hands. “And I would have said it then. I love you as a friend.”

“I refuse to be taken in by your worthless brother.”

“You want to remain friends with me and cast my brother aside?”

“Are you asking me to marry him for your sake?”

“No, for his sake.”

Frank placed her hand atop mine. “It’s not your brother I want.”

I pulled my hand away and turned, staring blankly at the passing scenery. To respond to her thinly veiled suggestion would only have encouraged a conversation I refused to broach. Frank had made it altogether clear that the engagement was over. I’d looked forward to having her as a dear sister-in-law, but apparently that wasn’t enough for her. Our farewell at the train station was decidedly cool and stiff. Neither of us mentioned writing or seeing each other. And I considered it best left at that.

ANOTHER LETTER FROM FRANK
MENOMINEE—JANUARY 27, 1917

O
n Saturday evening, after the first week of the trial, I received another letter from Frank.

Dear May
,

Damn, you’re a stubborn one. All I wanted was to meet you for a drink. The least you could have done was give the message boy a time that would’ve worked for you. Are you afraid to talk to your Frank? What do you have to fear from me? You sure as hell aren’t following lawyer’s orders! That line won’t work on me. Remember the story you told me about besting the Mexican government back in ’03? That’s the real May
.

You’ve got a birthday coming up in May, don’t you? Number 48. Face it, May, you’re no spring chicken anymore. You’ve been living off your looks and charms for an awful lot of years. Charm may never desert you, but 48 isn’t so young, is it? When you were 20, 30, even 40, you could reel them in one right after another. But how many men are going to fall all over themselves for a woman pushing 50? It’s about time you looked in the mirror. Men want delicate little flowers, and the bloom’s off your rose, my dear
.

When we women reach our mature years we can’t just think about the next adventure. We need to consider our security, how we’re going to live our years out comfortably. And an awful lot of women end up living those years without a man. They die off on us, or they hang around in a wheelchair and expect us to wipe their drool and warm up the bed for them
.

Have you known anybody who stuck with you as many years as your Frank? We both know you go through people like whiskey through a sieve. But I’ve always been there for you, whenever you needed someone to keep you company between your barons and tycoons
.

This trial does more damage to you every day. It’s not just the Menominee papers carrying the story. People all the way to New York City are reading about you. If you let this trial play out to its ugly end, you’re going to end up a ruined woman. Think about all those prospective catches out there. How many New York businessmen are going to line up to be seduced by May de Vries after she’s found liable for swindling a friend out of $100,000?

Let’s call it off right now. I know you can come up with the money. And once you do, I’ll invest it so that it’ll last us a long time. Then we can get back to living again, and you can trust that your Frank will always be there for you
.

Your faithful friend
,

Frank

THE WAX AND WANE OF HOPE
NEW YORK—MARCH–MAY 1903

W
hat had I to show for my life? Enough money from Rudolph’s last allotment and the Arkansas hotel sale to see me through a good many years. But no one to enjoy it with.

More than anything, I wished to return to Alonso. But I dared not. Dougherty would certainly follow through on his threat to expose my marital status, as well as the ploy I’d used to win the mining contract—if Alonso’s father hadn’t already done so. And if Alonso learned all this, he might assume I never really loved him. Even if I returned to convince him otherwise, Secretary Elvira Pérez and Dougherty would no doubt do everything in their power to force my departure. And with a divorce looming, I could not depend on the Baron’s protection, which might embolden them to jail me. No, that path was foreclosed.

I was inclined to determine whether Rudolph would take me back. But first I needed to settle the battle raging in me over our marriage. I’d been of mixed feelings for years, but I couldn’t deny the appeal of the life I’d built with him: a respectable life in which I’d mingled with the landed and royal classes in Holland and England; attended the finest theater and opera London had to offer; and, as a baroness, commanded respect and admiration everywhere I traveled.

If I simply accepted the divorce, I’d never know whether I might reclaim some measure of happiness with Rudolph. At the least, I could try to reconcile with him and give us a second chance. Once I’d finally decided on this course, my hopes soared. I sent him a cablegram from New York:
PLEASE HALT DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS STOP
BOARDING SS CEDRIC FOR LIVERPOOL IN TWO DAYS AND TRAVELING TO LONDON TO SEE YOU STOP
.

Within hours I received his reply:
NO NEED TO TRAVEL HERE STOP DIVORCE TERMS CAN BE MANAGED THROUGH CORRESPONDENCE STOP
.

Was he serious? Could he be dissuaded? Although he sounded determined, perhaps I could devise some strategy that would instill doubt or reawaken his love for me. I could forgo groveling and let him think I was willing to proceed with the divorce, albeit throwing up plenty of hurdles, and see if that gave him pause. At this point it behooved me to seek legal counsel. I refused to turn to Frank. As far as I was concerned, she had no place in my life.

I invited my friend Hanna Harrington in from Southampton to luncheon at the Waldorf-Astoria. She recommended a Mr. Oliver Biltwell, who happened to specialize in divorce cases for New York’s wealthiest. And she invited me to the annual Easter dinner she hosted for her closest friends. Under the circumstances it was especially gratifying to be welcomed back into my own circle of New York acquaintances.

Once Rudolph’s solicitor made his terms known, I secured the services of Mr. Biltwell and countered Rudolph’s ungenerous offer with my own proposal: a financial settlement four times the size of his offer, about $380,000, the London home, and the right to my baroness title in perpetuity.

I decided to settle in New York for the time being: What other place, outside of London, offered so much entertainment, high society, and cachet? I checked out of the Waldorf-Astoria and moved to the Gilsey House, which offered more amenities for a long-term stay. As I went about renewing my New York acquaintances, I called on Daisy to come stay with me there (just like old times) and serve as my assistant.

She arrived at my room as arranged, at noon on March 28. When I opened the door, she swept in and embraced me. “May, it’s been far too long.”

I hugged her and grasped her hands. “My dear Daisy, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished you were at my side.”

“Your letters were a delight.” She raised her eyebrows in a show of mischievous camaraderie. “I’ve missed some high adventure.”

“Ah, yes,” I said, chuckling, and led her to the couch in my suite. Then I noticed: “But you’ve not brought a suitcase.”

That dampened her—and my—spirits. She perched beside me on the couch and clasped her hands primly on her lap. “I must speak with you about Mother. I thought it best to talk in person.”

“Is something wrong?”

“She’s got the rheumatism. Quite bad. I’ve taken to doing all the cooking and cleaning and chores.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. And Dicky, how is he?”

“He drives his own coach now. We don’t see much of him.”

“He doesn’t help with your mother at all?”

“Every now and then he brings around a tin of cookies.”

“Ah, off on his own, then.”

“Like father, like son.”

I figured I might as well come out and ask, since Daisy seemed to be pussyfooting around. “So you’ll not be able to stay with me?”