The Vespertine (15 page)

"I don't practice diplomacy, and you seem incapable of it," I said. I felt as though something wound in me, tighter and tighter, threatening to snap. Fumbling with the clasp on my bag, I finally mastered it and pulled out his glove.

"Please don't," he said. His expression offered the first tantalizing glimpse of vulnerability—the faintest furrow of his brow.

In that moment, I thought to smooth it away. And in that moment, I chose not to because everything I'd said to Zora was still true. He called on me in secret, and no good could come of meeting him secretly.

"I permitted too many liberties. You lacked the grace to refuse them."

Nathaniel took my hand rather than his glove and filled the space between us. A struggle played out on his face, tugging brow and mouth in disparate directions. Finally, as if pained when the words tore from his lips, he said, "I couldn't afford my share of the cab."

"How can that be?" I asked, ignoring the way spring came to my blood, melting my icy resolve in an instant. But I hid it. The wisest thing for both of us would be to close this play. "Aren't you a man of independent means? Don't you do as you please?"

"I paint portraits to pay my rent," he said, his nostrils flaring. Oh, his confidence and pride, how strange to see them shaken. "I take dinners with the vain and superstitious to buy my canvas and oils."

Softening the slightest, I cast my gaze from his light and murmured, "Mr. Witherspoon..."

"So, if by saying I scrabble to have what I have and claw to keep it, then I suppose I do very much do as I please. I beg you look at me." And though he could have, though I'd seen it happen to other girls, Nathaniel didn't shake me. And he didn't force my eyes to meet his. He simply said once more, "I beg you."

"How do you come and go?" I asked. Though I peered yet at the sky, a warm, ornate pattern traced my skin, the traverse of his gaze. "I want a secret of yours. Answer me that."

"In mist," he said, but it was with laughter. "In shadows. As a hawk? What would you have me tell you?"

At that I turned, stumbling into the dark briars of his eyes meeting mine. "The truth."

"I go on foot, as any man." He didn't waver, but he did squeeze my hand and murmur, "And sometimes I send myself to you in the wind, for you come to me in my thoughts."

Starting to shiver, I shook my head. "I haven't. I wouldn't know how."

He raised his hand, a length of black ribbon wrapped around it. A charm dangled from it, an amber sun in silver, radiating with waves of light that came to points. Didn't I know then? On the last rays of daylight, opened to that place where our spirits moved freely when our bodies did not—his charm was my answer.

Without thinking, I touched my throat and turned, but not to leave him. He unfurled the length of ribbon and framed my body between his arms as I leaned back to his chest—the steps of this dance inspired by some outward force.

Slipping the choker round my neck, he took care to fasten it, touching skin and charm to place it perfectly. Then he caught my eye in the window's glass, and how handsome a pair were we.

"You speak into me," he whispered, just behind my ear. "So I come."

My throat went dry. Touching the warming pendant, I looked back, though not directly at him. "Mr. Witherspoon—"

Cutting me off again, he said, "You speak into me, Amelia."

"And so you come..." I parted my lips to offer his name, but he stole my kiss instead.

I
N THE DARK RECESSES
of our bed at Tammany House, I still felt the burn of dancing in my limbs.

My legs skimmed restlessly between the sheets. Stroking the length of velvet around my throat was like running my fingers through a hot bath. It held a secret—if I rubbed against the grain, a hint of Nathaniel's bay rum rose up to spark my heart.

Turning, twisting toward a waltz, I must have sighed aloud, for Zora sat up and slapped the sheets between us.

"Would You lie still?"

"I'm hardly moving," I replied, tugging her back down. "Come talk to me."

Zora rose once more, taking her pillow to punch back into shape. "It's late, Amelia. I'm tired."

"You're in one of your moods," I said—petulantly, I admit. When Nathaniel and I rejoined the ball, her smile never faltered, but a distinct chill inhabited it. That frost hung between us yet, and I didn't care for it.

"It's nearly morning," she replied, tossing her pillow carelessly in place, to fall upon it. She faced me in the dark, brave enough at least to present her cold front directly.

"Thomas was late, too," I said. I pulled the blankets to my chin, my restlessness turned nervousness with confrontation. "Nathaniel explained himself. He apologized."

Ignoring that, Zora said, "You wrote Thomas in for the schottische and never appeared for it."

"You should have danced it with him!" It was my turn to sit up, for arguing in recline only made my stomach churn.

"He asked you!"

"For Your sake, not mine!"

As there were truths in all the things we said, we fell silent. Wrapping my arms around myself, I fixed my gaze on the brocade curtains.

Fish leaped, again and again, an endless pattern that ceased only at the sewn edge of their ocean. I didn't want to stay at odds with Zora. And she didn't either—we proved our affection when we spoke at the same time.

"No, you," I murmured, daring to look in her direction.

"I don't want to give Mama a victory," Zora said. She clasped her toes through the covers and sighed. "But she could have been right, you know. About keeping us from boys who ignore all rules of courtship."

Stung, I drew back. "What an easy conclusion to make when your sweetheart
can
court you."

"Would You want yours to?"

"Of course," I said, but I wondered at myself. I wondered if I lied.

Once, I had compared Thomas' sweetness to Nathaniel's shamelessness and found the former entirely lacking. No fire burned hot without constant stirring. How ordinary a banked flame could seem. Even the tragedy of realizing I could have been Nathaniel's fool—but wasn't—made his lips on mine that much more intoxicating. Every time I worried about wanting to be a proper lady, he came along to remind me that I didn't care for duty and goodness.

Tenderly, Zora touched my brow and my cheek. "You know it's not disapproval. I like him well enough."

I twisted myself around, curling up and laying my head on her lap. "He says I speak into him."

"Well, he
should
say pretty things," Zora replied.

"It's more than that," I said. "I call out, and he appears. Like I'm the only firefly in the dark for him."

Zora smoothed my hair. Her touch was so gentle, I might not have realized it, if the scent of her rose water hadn't washed away Nathaniel's bay rum. "Well, I have a solution, I suppose."

I asked, "Have You?"

"Look into the sunset, and see if the answer is writ there."

How simple an answer, and yet one that now terrified me. What if I should see him cloaked for his wedding day to some other? What if I should see him broken and dying?

And yet the molten gold of Sarah's fate had not been set because I saw it. Hardly so! She would have been so much worse off if I'd never looked. So many thoughts swirled around me, I found it hard to settle on just one. I turned to confidences instead.

"Before we danced, he met me alone on the balcony."

"Amelia!" Zora blinked at me, equal parts scandalized and delighted. She answered in a whisper of her own, as if wicked secrets carried more readily than ordinary conversation. "What happened?"

I pressed my fingers to the setting sun at my throat, quiet for a long moment. Then, at last, I said, "Everything."

***

"Chase me," Agnes shouted at a fat little puppy who wanted nothing but a nap in Mattie's skirts.

We had spread out on the lawn to enjoy a late picnic, and it was pleasant enough except for Agnes' constant interruptions. Mattie coddled her the best, but even
she
resorted to chattering about her geometry lessons. Agnes couldn't abide figures, so that ran her off neatly—for a while.

"Come on, Sullivan!" Rounding back toward our blanket, Agnes whistled and clapped her hands. "Come on!"

Under her breath, Sarah urged Mattie, "For all that's holy, give him up.
Please.
"

Mattie sighed, then set the white puffed pup on his feet. With a firm nudge, she sent him staggering onto the lawn, where Agnes finally caught his attention with a little stick.

"He was perfectly happy," Mattie said.

Sarah shrugged, not at all apologetic. "He was the only one."

Laughing, I wished I could lounge back on my elbows like the boys did. Perhaps, for that moment, I wished I could kick off my shoes and play barefoot on the grass and fly along the brook in the distance without a care. If there were some way to do all of that and keep my new walking dress, too, I should have been blessed, indeed.

Fortunately, the violet embroidered checks on my polonaise so delighted me that I could satisfy myself by running bare fingers across them. It was rather like strumming a tiny picket fence, a childish amusement, perhaps. But amuse me, it did.

"Where have you got to?" Sarah asked, leaning across our empty basket to wave fingers in my face.

"Oh, she's in love," Zora said. "Haven't you heard?"

Sarah stopped picking at her lemon cake. "Are you? With Mr. Witherspoon?"

"Rich man, poor man, whom shall I wed?" Mattie sang, clasping her hands together and turning her face to the sky—play-acting at my expense.

"You think overmuch about proposals," I said.

"Isn't that where it all leads?"

Zora groaned. "Surrender! We surrender! You marriage-sick wretch! Let us have our romances first!"

"I shall get married one day," Agnes announced, pressing her hands to her chest. "My husband will be a sea captain. And he will sail to extraordinary places! And return to me with untold riches."

"There You go," I told Mattie, and didn't even try to hide my laughter. "You've found your kindred in Agnes."

Taking that for an invitation, Agnes abandoned Sullivan and threw herself onto the blanket. Still too young for a corset, she had the freedom to wallow in the tightest of spaces, and, to our delight, the space she chose was the crook of Sarah's arm. "Who will you marry?"

Sarah glowered at us but answered once more, "Someone who works for a living."

"Oh." Agnes had not the guile developed to hide her disdain. "Well, I won't."

"A sea captain," Mattie repeated, daring to goad Sarah with a most innocent expression. Pride swelled in my breast for her, for taking the shot when it presented itself. I wondered if I worried overmuch about Mattie's ability to fend for herself.

Agnes fingered the lace hem of her skirt, thoughtful. "And we will have nothing but sons. Four of them. I've dreamed it, you know."

"A premonition in a dream, really?" Sarah drawled—and, oh, at once, I saw the retribution in her eyes. She slipped an arm around Agnes' shoulder and pointed to me. "Amelia can see the future."

I waved at the suggestion. "Only at twilight. And only for grown ladies, I'm afraid."

"You're not grown," Agnes pointed out. How I loathed the crow-like rasping of her voice.

"In any case, you've dreamed your future," I said. "I'm sure my sendings would agree. Sea captain for a husband, four handsome sons."

"They're not handsome," Agnes said. She corrected me as she stood. "They're babies."

Reclaiming Sullivan when he nosed in for a taste of cake, Mattie wrapped her arms around the puppy and smiled at Agnes. "Babies do grow up."

"Mine don't," Agnes told her. "They all die."

With that, she skipped off across the lawn. Throwing her arms out, she seemed to embrace the sky, spinning and tumbling across it like the puff of a dandelion set free. We watched her in quiet for a moment, suspended by her terrible dream. Zora broke first.

"That child is strange," she said, gathering dishes to take inside.

"You should look," Mattie told me.

I cast a wary glance to the west. The blue sky had darkened with clouds, waiting to swallow the sun. I wondered if I really did need the light to see. Then I shuddered to think of seeking out something so awful as Agnes' dream babies.

"I don't want to, Mattie. I don't just see; I live it. Like I'm in the moment."

"Ohhh," she breathed. Then, rubbing her cheek against the pup's, she asked, "What would happen if you foretold someone's death, I wonder?"

I chilled. "I wouldn't know."

As if this had all been a mental exercise, like a game of I Spy gone philosophical, Mattie offered a smile and a new subject to discuss. "Do You think we'll have had many callers in our absence?"

"We can hope," I said, forcing false cheer. "And hope alone. Some things are better left to the mysteries of time."

***

The glory of Baltimore had dimmed not at all during our time in Annapolis. It seemed more real to me, more honest with its brick-faced row houses standing as soldiers and its parlors tight and cozy.

Good, sweet scents greeted us when we came through the door. Good, sweet Mrs. Stewart, softened by our days away, greeted us with cinnamon-dusted embraces.

"Back here," she said, hustling us toward the kitchen. "Let's hear all of it."

"We behaved," Zora said, dropping into a chair by the back door.

Holding a bowl of brandied raisins out, Mrs. Stewart waited for me to take one, then offered the bowl to Zora. "I know that; you're good girls. Did you fill your dance cards?"

"Nearly," I said, rolling the plump fruit between my fingers. "My corset's stained with punch."

Zora nodded. "It is. We rubbed it with vinegar, and now it smells like pickled limes."

Mrs. Stewart busied herself at the oven, leaning over to peer at her bread. "I don't think your brother sent enough for a new corset, Amelia, but we can see."

"Since I'm the only one sniffing it, I imagine I'll survive the insult," I said.

"Thrift," Mrs. Stewart said, letting the iron door clang closed again. "It's a good quality to have."