Swan's Way (8 page)

“Watch your step, Virginia.” Channing’s warning, as she stumbled on an uneven cobble, snapped her thoughts back to the present—or the past, as it were.

“That horse nearly ran me down! We should have crossed with the light, Channing.” The words were barely out of her mouth, before she realized her mistake. To cover her blunder, she changed the subject quickly, before Channing had time to ask questions.

“You said we’re going to Tiffany’s?”

“Yes. That’s Mr. Tiffany’s establishment, that fine looking building with the cast iron facade, there on the left.”

“Won’t a ring from Tiffany’s cost a fortune, Channing?”

“Nothing is too good for the woman I love.”

His words made her heart flutter. Or was she feeling Virginia’s reaction to the man she loved? It didn’t matter. She basked in this feeling of being cherished and adored. No one had ever treated plain old Ginna Jones this way. It felt good!

Channing opened the beautifully etched and gilded door for her. The moment she stepped inside, she was dazzled. Crystal chandeliers sparkled with gaslight, casting a brilliant aura on Mr. Tiffany’s exquisite gems in their glass cases. Charles Lewis Tiffany, a distinguished looking man of about fifty, came toward them with a welcoming smile.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Channing said.

“Mr. McNeal, how good to see you again. And this must be your lady fair.” He reached for Ginna’s hand and touched his lips lightly to her glove. “Welcome, Miss Swan. I have so looked forward to meeting you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tiffany.” She smiled at having her present identity confirmed, once and for all. She was indeed Virginia Swan of Swan’s Quarter, soon to become Mrs. Channing McNeal.

After a brief period of small talk, Tiffany brought out the first offering of rings, then tray after tray of others. Although Ginna would have been thrilled to wear any one of them, her fiancé was not so easily pleased. He was searching for something special, he said, something unique. “Something as lovely as my bride,” he added, with a smile that all but melted her soul.

“Perhaps you might like to see some of my unset stones,” Mr. Tiffany offered. “I returned only recently from a buying trip to Amsterdam and Paris. Some of the gems I brought back were actually worn by European royalty.”

“By all means, sir.” Channing sounded more than eager and cast an excited glance at Ginna.

Tiffany smiled at the two of them. “Come with me to my office in back,” he invited.

Once in the lavishly appointed office, they settled into deep, plush chairs, while Tiffany excused himself to go to the safe. He returned with several velvet-lined trays of radiant diamonds, emeralds, opals, and rubies.

Ginna tugged Channing’s sleeve and whispered when he leaned close, “Chan, any one of these will cost more than a whole plantation. You shouldn’t! I have you. I don’t need an extravagant ring.”

He chuckled and brushed her cheek with his lips. “That’s a lovely sentiment, my darling, but I’m not exactly in the poor house, you know. I
want
to do this. Don’t spoil it by worrying about the cost.”

If there was one thing Ginna Jones
always
worried about, it was the cost of things. She was a coupon-clipper, a sale-shopper, a thriftshop patron. If anyone had ever told her that someday she would find herself in the private office at Tiffany’s, choosing from among the jewels of royalty, she would have told Dr. Kirkwood back at Swan’s Quarter to ready a padded cell for that crazy person. But here she was, big as life, with a fortune in jewels spread before her. She had only to choose her heart’s desire.

Channing leaned forward, examining each stone closely. Finally, he shook his head. “I can’t decide. Which one strikes your fancy, Virginia?”

Still nervous about the cost, in spite of what Channing had said, she pointed to a fiery opal, guessing that it must be the least expensive of the lot. And it was a lovely stone, all brilliant colors and deep gleaming fire.

Channing frowned. “Aren’t opals supposed to bring bad luck?”

“Oh, Channing, you can’t believe that? Why, it’s a beautiful stone! Look how the colors shift and change in the light. I love it!”

He took a closer look, then gave Ginna one of his slow, lazy, bone-melting smiles. “You’re right, darling. The opal matches your eyes—all glowing pastels and silver and gold.”

“You’ve made a fine selection, Miss Swan,” Tiffany said. “This stone has rare fire and warmth.” He nodded solemnly. “And Mr. McNeal is right, it does match your lovely eyes. Now, what about the setting?”

Happy with his fiancée’s choice, yet disappointed that she would never wear one of the flawless diamonds he had hoped to place on her finger, Channing insisted that the opal be set in platinum surrounded by a halo of diamonds.

“Perfect!” Tiffany agreed. “We will have it ready for you in a week’s time.”

Channing’s face fell. “But Miss Swan will be gone by then. I wanted her to have something to wear, to show off to everyone when she gets home.”

“It’s all right, Channing. I don’t mind waiting. You can give me the ring when I come back up for your graduation in May.”

“Well, I promised you something and you
will
have something! That silver locket there, Mr. Tiffany. Could we take a closer look at it?”

The jeweler hesitated before he reached for the box on the shelf behind him. “I’ve only just fashioned this one. It’s a new style I designed myself.”

“Won’t you let me buy it for Virginia, sir?”

Holding the tiny silver heart, Tiffany looked from Channing to Virginia. Her face—Ginna’s face—was absolutely glowing. Neither of the men could know that she recognized the locket. She had been wearing one like it when she was found as a baby. What had become of it, she had no idea.

“I’ll want her name engraved on its face,” Channing said.

Tiffany frowned, measuring the miniscule space with a keen eye. “I’m sorry, Mr. McNeal, but I don’t think we can do that The surface inside the flower edging is quite small. Perhaps Miss Swan’s initials would do?”

“Would there be room to write Ginna?” she asked softly.

“Five letters?” Tiffany was gazing at the heart mentally engraving the piece. At last he nodded. “Yes! The letters will be small, but I’m sure I can do that.
Ginna
it shall be.”

When they left the elegant store a short time later, Ginna was wearing the token of love Channing had chosen for her. She had no idea how or why it would happen, but over a century from now, when she was abandoned by her natural mother, she would again be wearing this heart this token of unselfish and undying love.

“Thank you, Channing,” she whispered, squeezing his arm. “I love my locket and my ring.”

He didn’t reply. Suddenly, Channing McNeal seemed a million miles away.

The minute Virginia suggested to Tiffany that he might engrave “Ginna” on the locket, some small door to Neal Frazier’s memory opened to Channing McNeal. He knew that name, but how? No one had ever called Virginia by a nickname. Yet it seemed so familiar to him. As he tried to force himself to remember, bad feelings came over him. Feelings of guilt and hopelessness. Once the heart was engraved, he dismissed all this, attributing the sensations to the stuffiness of Mr. Tiffany’s office and to the fact that they had yet to eat their noon meal.

Quickly, he paid cash for the locket—a mere trinket actually—then left instructions on where the ring should be sent. He promised to send a bank draught promptly to cover its cost. After thanking Mr. Tiffany and saying goodbye, he ushered Virginia out of the store. The flash of silver at her slender neck, as the sun struck her locket, brought a smile back to his face.

Seeing his reaction, Ginna touched the heart. “It’s really lovely, Channing. I’ll treasure it always.”

“I’m glad you like it, darling, but it must be quite a disappointment, when you thought you would be wearing your engagement ring instead.”

“Not at all! I have this, and I plan to put your picture inside. The tiny one you gave me when you went away to school. I’ll still have my ring to look forward to.”

She shivered suddenly, as a cold gust of wind whipped around the corner. Immediately, Channing hailed a carriage. “I don’t want you to catch a chill,” he explained. “Besides, it’s nearly two. Your parents are probably tapping their toes with worry, already.”

Traffic was unaccountably light and the drive up Broadway to Madison Square and the new Fifth Avenue Hotel took only minutes. As they drew up to a line of carriages, with their passengers waiting to alight at the classical portico of the swank establishment, Channing said, “You know, people called this place ‘Eno’s Folly’ when it was built two years ago, because it was so far uptown. But just look at it now. This is the very center of the city and the hotel itself is the heart and soul of New York’s social and political life.”

Their first glimpse of Virginia’s father, upon entering the hotel’s lobby, corroborated Channing’s words about it being a center of politics. Jedediah Swan was in a heated arguement with some stranger. They stood toe-to-toe, almost nose-to-nose, and, although the two men tried to keep their voices down in such a public place, Ginna heard the words “secession,” “disunionist,” and “damnyankee,” the latter from Swan’s own angrily pursed lips. His gray-blond mustache quivering, his face red with rage, Virginia’s father was obviously “discussing” the possibility of a coming war with an equally outspoken and pugnacious Northerner.

A woman dressed in a fashionable gown of coppery colored bombazine hurried toward them, her exquisite face filled with torment and the red tinge of embarrassment. “Channing, do something!” she begged. “Colonel Swan has obviously lost his wits. The next we know, he’ll be rolling on the Turkish carpet, exchanging blows with this total stranger. Why, I’m tempted to summon a policeman and have them both thrown into jail!”

“No, Mother!” Ginna exclaimed.

Mother?
It was the first time in Ginna’s life that she had ever addressed anyone in that manner. The word felt warm and sweet on her tongue. Once again, she realized that Virginia Swan had something Ginna had always longed for.

“Oh, I wouldn’t really, dear,” Melora said, “but don’t think I’m not tempted. Lately it seems I can’t take him anywhere. It’s all this war talk. It gets him so riled up. When that fellow started handing out broadsides around the lobby, extolling the cause of abolition, Colonel Swan simply lost his head. They’ll be duelling in the middle of Fifth Avenue, if you don’t stop them, Channing.”

Channing pressed his future mother-in-law’s hand. “You ladies go into the tea room and wait, Mrs. Swan. I’ll take care of this.”

“Thank you, dear,” she murmured, ushering Ginna toward a doorway across the lobby.

Ginna felt Melora Swan’s hand trembling on her arm, as the men’s angry whispers grew almost to shouts.

“It will be all right, Mother. Channing can handle Father.”

“We really shouldn’t have come North at this time. I’m worried to death about your father, Virginia. He has always been so quick of temper. With feelings for and against secession running so high all through the South, I should have known your father wouldn’t be able to control himself up here. All that unrest at West Point didn’t help any.”

“Unrest?” Ginna asked. “What do you mean?”

Melora gave a short, humorless laugh and patted Ginna’s hand. “Blind with love, that’s what you are, my girl. How else could you have missed the undercurrents at the Academy? Goodness sake, your father was about to burst his buttons when that row broke out during the Washington’s Birthday celebration.”

“I never noticed.”

“Of course, you didn’t. How could you, with Channing McNeal filling your love-struck eyes? No one could blame you, though. He is a darling young man. He’ll make you the best husband any woman ever had.” Suddenly, she gripped Ginna’s hands and squeezed tightly. Tears pooled in her lovely blue eyes.

“What’s wrong, Mother?”

Melora brushed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Oh, don’t mind me, dear. I’m just the sentimental sort, but I do wish the wedding were sooner.”

“Channing can’t marry until after graduation. It’s not allowed.”

“I know. I know.” Melora shook her head and worried her damp handkerchief. “Everything will be fine. It’s just that I had so hoped for my only daughter’s life to be
perfect.”

“And it will be, Mother. I love Channing. I couldn’t be happier. There’s nothing to worry about.” Even as Ginna tried to reassure Virginia’s mother, a niggling worm of doubt surfaced in her own heart. This was March of 1861. Her wedding to Channing was set for June first. She concentrated hard, trying to remember historical dates. It seemed that something very important would happen soon—something that would change all their lives.

Suddenly, from out of Ginna’s past, a stern voice spoke to her, the voice of Miss Hemphill, her fifth grade teacher, the terror of Stonewall Elementary. “Ginna, you know the answer. Think, girl! Think! When was Fort Sumter surrendered to the Confederacy? When did the War of Northern Aggression begin?”

April 12, 1861
. The answer came to Ginna so suddenly that she almost said it aloud. Relief at her not shouting it to Melora Swan vanished with the realization that accompanied that date. The country would be at war
before
Channing’s graduation from West Point …
before
he came home to her …
before
they could be wed.

If Ginna knew little of Virginia Swan’s past, she suddenly realized that she knew even less of her future—a future left hanging in uncertainty by the inevitable dates of history. Ginna’s heart sank. She was only just beginning to accept her new life as Virginia Swan, and what a glorious life it had seemed. But thinking ahead to what the coming months and years would bring to the innocent Miss Swan, even Ginna Jones’s drab life began to look enticing by comparison.

“Your locket is exquisite, dear.” Melora’s voice broke into her grim thoughts. “A gift from Channing?”

Ginna could only nod in response. She wanted desperately to warn this woman she had called “Mother” of the pain and sorrow ahead. But how could she? How would she explain her uncanny knowledge of events to come?