The Vespertine Page 7

  The chandeliers cast glittered light on the guests, turning them magical. Ebony girls laughed with tawny boys. A russet couple stood beneath a grand bay window, stunning in their aniline silks and velvets. What a glorious place Baltimore was—the whole world in one city! In one parlor, and I had a ticket!

  "Give him your wrap," Zora ordered me, snapping me from my amazement.

  I turned to do just that but stopped short. "I can't go out there in this," I told Zora, pressing both of my hands to my shamefully bare chest. My wonder at the entire world turned to dread.

  "You can," she answered smartly, "and you shall, this very minute."

  Mrs. Stewart and Mlle. Thierry seemed convinced that this damassé silk fit me perfectly. In the shop I had agreed with them. I'd let the amber beading dazzle me. I'd slipped into the thrall of the brocaded satin train, the coppery plush pleats, oh, everything about it!

  But standing in the foyer of a great party, under ample light and so many gazes, I couldn't bear it. With each breath, I felt my bust rise, a great expanse of flesh for taking chills and salacious looks alike.

  I had lost my mind, for in that moment, I wanted my green battle armor back. How I went from stuffy to wanton in the change of a single gown, I can't imagine. My reasoning verged on hysteria, but I couldn't rid myself of it.

  "Amelia!"

  "What will they think of me," I murmured. "What possessed me to wear this?"

  Firmly, Zora took me in hand and dragged me to one side. It was awful; guests had arrived behind us. I'd unwittingly made a scene and made it worse by the moment.

  "If it bothers you, keep your wrap." She spoke through her teeth now, baring a dangerous smile.

  The blush that stung my cheeks burned to the bone. We both threw prettier smiles at an older woman who came through, one Zora sweetly greeted as Mrs. Bonds. As soon as she passed, I turned back. "I haven't got one."

  "Take mine!"

  Startled by her vehemence, I asked, "Am I driving you mad?"

  "I just wish you'd enjoy this," Zora said. "It's a brilliant dress, worlds better than either of us could have afforded. Think of the attention you'll draw."

  Muttering, I said, "I am. That's why I'm troubled."

  "Amelia." Zora stood and shook me—truth be told, a bit harder than she needed to. "This is the only season girls like us get. I order you to savor this! It will all be gone soon enough."

  "That sounds very like resignation."

  "It's realism. What do the farmers say?" Zora asked.

  Though I could tell she was quizzing herself, searching out the answer in her mind, I said, "I haven't the first notion. We Van den Broeks neither plow nor sow."

  Rolling her eyes, Zora said, "Oh, dash you, then."

  I threw my arms around her, enveloping her in a fond embrace. "Dash you right back."

  She was right. We had to savor the moments granted us, for this one summer past childhood and before womanhood. If that meant scandalous gowns and tipping our lashes at boys, then so be it.

  In the satin rustle of our hug, Zora suddenly exclaimed, "Make hay while the sun shines!"

  With all made better, I could tease, "Your agricultural fascination troubles me, Zora."

  ***

  Between the upper and lower music rooms, I lost track of Zora. So many faces swirled around me, so many dancers took to the floor, that I felt quite compressed in all of them.

  The noise and laughter and lights thrilled one moment, then terrified in the next. I took conversation where I found it and fanned myself in earnest when Judge Bonds said near me, though not to me, "My daughter sat for a portrait lately for an artist in town. Witherspoon by name; it's brilliant."

  I interrupted delicately, clearing my throat to make both men turn toward me. How exposed I felt but somehow managed to say in spite of it, "I do love art. Could I see your gallery, sir?"

  Judge Bonds' chestnut cheeks shone when he smiled. "Pride's a sin, and I'm proud as sin of it—take that hall, right at the end."

  Thanking him, I slipped away. The narrow corridor wound a bit, and at first I thought I might be lost. I passed a formal dining room, the kitchen, then finally spilled into an almost-quiet parlor.

  It was tastefully baroque and haunted. Not by spirits, but by Nathaniel Witherspoon's hand. I didn't have to read a single plate to know which painting was his.

  Ethereal, the colors swirled like summer clouds. I reached out to touch, because I thought I might actually dip my fingers into the fountain. That I could rub the silken hem of her dress and smell the geraniums there.

  He'd captured life in paint. He'd captured life.

  A strange sensation came over me, like embers blown across my skin. It was madness, but I turned. I ran down the hall, my heavy gown hissing on the polished floors, and I clutched a pillar to look out at the crowd.

  They seemed like multitudes, hundreds of eyes, a symphony of laughter, but I looked for only one. He was there; he burned like a tattoo, I only had to find him. I cut between bodies, thoughtless as I skimmed past the backs of stranger gentlemen.

  Pressed against a rail, I caught my breath. All the lights had gone gold. And there danced Zora, lilies on her shoulders, with Thomas Rea. His hand pressed into her waist, wickedly possessive, and I saw her slip closer to him.

  Revelation sizzled on my shoulders—it was the truth. I'd foreseen the truth! Though I'd done nothing but see, I felt wonderfully responsible. As if this moment had come to pass because of me, and I was proud! They were so beautiful together. My fingers fluttered against my throat, and I turned to find someplace quiet. And I wasn't surprised at all when I raised my eyes and looked right into Nathaniel's.

  Offering my hand, I said, "There You are."

  "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

  My dance card dangled from my wrist; he brushed the ribbon aside to kiss me there. Then he drew me to the floor, and the crowd dissolved. They could have danced in London, for as distant as they seemed. Nathaniel took one hand and rested his other on my waist, branding me deliciously.

  We moved, somehow elemental. I felt like fire, the skies poured rain that rattled on the roof, the earth wavered to teach us the steps of this dance, and like air we floated across the floor together. We were all four points on the map, turning and turning like a compass.

  Lifting my chin, I tried to stay safe in the darkness of his gaze. "I saw your painting."

  Nathaniel smiled. "Did You like it?"

  "No," I said, and then when his proud face fell, I hurried to say, "I wanted to step into it."

  Squeezing my hand, he tipped me back and said, "You should see the good ones."

  How naked I felt then, all my neck exposed, my chest too, down to the swell my corset made of my bust. Breath caught in my throat, I straightened and said, "I'm not sure I would survive the good ones."

  The stars could have burned out around us, the moon could have fallen from the sky, and I wouldn't have known it. Not when he leaned indecently close and pressed his cheek against mine to murmur, "Tell me a secret."

  I wanted him to tell me how he stopped time like that. How he read my mind. I wanted to admit I wondered if thoughts of me troubled him when he lay awake at night. But I could make none of that come to my lips. They seemed too much, like I had given myself up to ruination on purpose.

  Instead, still flush with my victory, I whispered back, "I've seen the future."

  He didn't laugh. He didn't mock, not like he had done at Privalovna's performance. In the middle of our waltz, he stopped, nose to nose with me. He uncovered me with a look that somehow bared him, too.

  And his question told me everything—that he stopped time because he needed me, that he read my mind because we were one. That I troubled his nights, indeed, because what he asked revealed all.

  "Am I with you there?"

  ***

  After the dance, Zora and I ran to stand beneath the brick cochère, waiting for a cab to come around.

  The rain had slackened, leaving th
e air cold and clean, and I took great, deep swallows. Nathaniel's cologne clung to my gown, and I selfishly kept it bound beneath my manteau.

  "I will never be so happy again," Zora sang, ducking out to check the sky.

  Playful, I tugged the ribbons of her coat. My dance was a secret, even to her. I shared my giddiness but nothing else. For the moment, it was mine alone. Nathaniel's hand in mine, his future in mine. In a moment, August's bald planning to lift himself up with a suitable marriage of mine had been dashed. Worst, or best, I didn't care at all!

  I had too much joy in me to hide, even if I kept the reason of it to myself. Everything had aligned, and when Zora turned to me, I took her hands and made her dance with me.

  "I say this is only the beginning." I lifted my chin and dared Zora to argue.

  "You mad romantic," she said. "Come on, clumsy! Lead!"

  So I led, and we laughed, dancing into the night. My sunset vision hadn't been a spark—it was a forging. We'd been made new in it. How earnestly I thought magic would carry us through.

  ***

  My name whispered woke me from my dreams.

  I felt pulled on strings, my body lifted up before my mind thought to command it. Smoothing my hands across the coverlet, I nudged Zora. She sighed, tugging tighter into herself. A cool touch shimmered across my throat and then another, and that's what truly woke me.

  Turning toward the cold, I found the window open. Not entirely, just an inch. Enough to let dangerous night air creep in. Covers thrown aside, I padded to the window to close it. Just as I reached for the sash, a shadow crossed the yard.

  Indistinct of form and shape, it moved so fast that at first I doubted I had seen anything at all. I pulled the window shut, leaning as close to the glass as I could manage without fogging it.

  I watched. I waited.

  Then it came again, quick and black as a raven, but ever so much bigger that I thrilled to see it. It passed above the ground, but well below my window, a specter in reverse shades. Beneath my skin, I felt a familiar turning—the heat of being watched unawares.

  Slipping into my robe, I hurried downstairs. I heard Mrs. Stewart working in the kitchen, but I didn't slow on my way to the back door. If she heard it open, she'd think only that I meant to use the privy. Certainly, I intended to walk that way.

  "Is anyone there?" I asked, shuddering when I stepped into the rain-scrubbed dark. It struck me then that I'd taken a fool's errand to come out on whim alone. My wrap could scarcely protect me from the gripping wind. Wet, frigid earth poured cold into my bones, my punishment for forgetting my slippers.

  Yellow lights flickered into the alley. When I stopped, I heard people talking. Laughing. Their voices echoed into the alley, spilling out of houses indeterminate. Their lives turned in motion, they spoke freely, entirely unaware of my presence.

  If I wanted to, I could eat my fill of their secrets—banal secrets, though. A woman to the left wondered aloud where her iron was. A man to the right exclaimed that the gas taps poisoned us all in our sleep.

  Amelia, the wind breathed, fingering through my hair and slipping into my robe. Night turned almost physical around me, taking liberties, murmuring confidences, binding me in dark and starry arms. When I leaned into it, the spice of Nathaniel's bay rum swirled around me.

  He whispered into me, rich and real: Amelia, Amelia.

  "Amelia!"

  Mrs. Stewart broke my reverie with a sharp call. The cold slapped my hot cheeks. Bad enough that I kept giving myself over to fantasy; I'd come to imagine dark suitors where none were. Shamelessly put myself in his arms again, no regard to propriety—my mind ran wicked and headlong before me, oh!

  How long had I been out in the dark? How long had I pressed myself against the alley fence? Snatching two sticks of wood from the pile by the privy, I hurried back to the house. I ran on the golden carpet laid by light spilling from the door.

  "I took a fright," I told her, dumping tinder in the firebox just inside.

  "You'll take your death," Mrs. Stewart replied, and closed the night outside, where it belonged.

  Nine

  ALL ENCHANTMENT HAD TO FADE, and for us it faded by morning light. Sunday was worship, and come Monday morning we returned to our chilly classroom. Thomas made no appearance at all, which distracted Zora entirely. And my mind strayed far from reciting, off to a row house in Mount Vernon Place—a destination I could only imagine.

  Twice I had to offer my knuckles for rapping, which delighted the littlest students beyond all telling of it. My pleasure in taking classes dimmed considerably. When Miss Burnside released us to our lunch pails, Zora and I shivered in a corner of the school'syard. A lattice arch stood in the middle, quite handsome in summer, no doubt.

  The old vines of climbing flowers clung to the sides, and its bench seat swayed alluringly. But it was not yet summer—in cool, gusty spring, the arch wobbled and threatened, and we hurried to stay as far from it as we could.

  "You're armored," Zora teased. "Protect me from it."

  I made a face at her and stole the apple from her lunch pail. That was all the answer she deserved.

  Edwina Polk minced toward us. It wasn't an unkindness to describe her this way—she was a tiny thing, no bigger than my thumb, it seemed. And all her gowns cut close to her ankles. She had no choice but to take hobbled steps, which made her seem both fashionable and pitiable at once.

  "Did you just adore the petit fours at Judge Bonds' dance?" she asked. "I wasn't invited, but I heard everything was delicious."

  Zora said, "I don't think I had a single one, to tell the truth."

  "She was too busy waltzing with Thomas." I crunched my purloined apple, savoring the tart sweetness across my tongue.

  "Which," Zora announced loftily, "Amelia entirely predicted."

  Shock clasped me tight; I couldn't believe she'd said it so plainly. Before I could protest or perhaps pull my bosom friend's ear until she came to her senses, Edwina leaned in breathlessly.

  She bumped my hip with hers, shoving me down forcibly so she could share our bench. "A prediction? Really?"

  "No—" I started.

  "Yes!" Zora lit from the inside—a color besides chapping cold in her cheeks. "It's brilliant, actually. Amelia's so modest, I hate to embarrass her. But her very first night in Baltimore, she had a vision of me dancing with Thomas Rea in a new dress, and Saturday night it came true."

  My throat tightened, and I managed to squeak, "It was more a daydream..."

  "Do you think you could tell my fortune?" Edwina asked.

  "It's a very private thing," Zora said.

  No, I should say she prevaricated entirely. I had not the first idea where she got these notions or how she came to say them with such authority, but she continued on apace. "Of course, she'd love to do it, but it's so taxing—we really can't risk it for diversion's sake. You understand."

  Disappointment furrowed Edwina's ginger brow. Strumming her fingers on the curve of her lunch pail, she summoned a nearly perfect look of dissatisfied agreement. "Of course." Then, struggling to find another entrance to conversation, she asked, "Have you seen the Mysterious Privalovna yet?"

  Patting her hand, I murmured, "Yes. She's a bit of a fraud, I'm afraid."

  "Ugh," Edwina said. She dropped her pail at her feet and turned to us. "Why is everything interesting just out of our reach?"

  Zora cast off her playfulness, leaning past me to ask, "Edwina, what's the matter with you?"

  For a moment, Edwina swore there was nothing the matter. After all, the weather was turning, and she would have a new lawn promenade gown soon. With brown velvet ribbon, even, the screaming height of design. But Zora plucked at her, until Edwina cast her eyes down and offered a soft confession.

  "I'm entirely restless lately," she said. I let her take a bite of my apple and watched her face transform as she chose her words. "I've never been anywhere, did you know that? I've never done anything daring. I've never misbehaved."

  A warm rush of fa
miliarity filled me. She could be describing my life, up until the very moment I set foot on the docks in the distance. Though I knew in my heart I should be spending my city time learning to be a proper lady who would be an admirable and gentle wife, I couldn't quite bring myself to recommend it. "So let's misbehave a bit. I'm a bit of an expert in getting sent home from school. Would you like to start there?"

  "Oh, no," Edwina said, leaning away from me. "I couldn't."

  "You just said you wanted to," Zora pointed out.

  "My father would—"

  Dismissing him with a wave, Zora said, "Dash your father."

  Suddenly, Edwina went quite scarlet. "Zora Stewart, honestly!"

  "You don't have to be a paragon yet," I suggested, but I already knew that Zora's filthy mouth had ended this conversation.

  Sniffing, Edwina gathered her lunch pail. "But I should try, at least!"

  We watched her totter away, and when she was out of earshot, I turned to Zora. "You're the most maddening puzzle. Half the time I want to be good like you, and half the time you're so wicked, I don't know what to do."

  "That's easy." Zora tugged one of my hair ribbons loose and hopped up to bid me chase. "Be like me all the time, half-good and half-wicked! It will save you ever so much trouble."

  I chased her—of course I did. She was bright as any star, and no matter what I was meant to do in Baltimore, I, instead, found myself plotting a course between Zora and Nathaniel, duty abandoned for destiny—setting free the little wildness that grew in my heart. We laughed at the cold and daringly ducked the lattice, playing as the children in short skirts and unbound hair did. As if we had no care in the world.

  And I suppose at that moment, we didn't.

  ***

  "So he said, 'Add me to your card.'" Zora tipped the china pot to refresh her cup of tea.

  "And Zora said," I cut in, reaching for the milk, "'My reels are spoken for.'"

  A mindful hostess, Zora turned to refresh my cup, too, which had the advantage of offering a dramatic pause before she finished the story again. "Then he looked at me just so and replied, 'I'm asking for the waltzes. All of them.'"