Was it a sign? Vivien wondered. A sign that the man in Denver was indeed David? She knew what Lotte would say. There are no signs or omens. A moon is just the moon. Practical Lotte. Did she ever stand outside barefoot in the rain and stare at the moon? Probably not, Vivien thought, smiling at the idea. Even as girls together Lotte had been the one to worry about danger, the one to take care of them both. She wouldn’t have followed David into that restaurant that day, or agreed to go to the Majestic Hotel with him for the night.
Vivien went back inside, catching a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror as she passed. Yes, her hair had wound into moist curls, as she expected. Rubbing it dry with a tea towel, words from Shakespeare’s The Tempest came to her: We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Oh, Vivien thought, letting the towel fall as she walked quickly back to the desk and picked up her pen. That was perfect for little Hazel.
The rain fell harder as she wrote about the dreams Benjamin and Jane had for Hazel. She wrote the story that Benjamin had told her about how they each wrote a hope they had for their child on a slip of paper every morning, and then sent the papers into the wind when Jane’s labor began. Where are those hopes and dreams now? Vivien wrote. The quote from The Tempest followed this story naturally. Vivien read the obituary over again. It was a good one. An obituary that honored Hazel and her parents.
The next morning, Vivien dressed in her good navy blue suit. She pinned the cameo David had bought her in Italy to the collar and wore her short-brimmed straw hat with the navy velvet band around it. This was an outfit for taking charge, for going to the train station and buying a ticket to Denver.
Walking down Main Street, the sun hot on her cheeks, Vivien felt alive. The air smelled of dust and horses and sweet flowers. All around her, people moved through their day, oblivious to her. Yet she seemed to belong among them, a feeling she did not usually have. When she heard someone call her name, Vivien turned expectantly and found Lotte hurrying toward her with Pamela by the hand.
It was so unusual to see Lotte and Pamela off the ranch that for an instant, Vivien didn’t respond. But when they reached her, and Pamela wrapped her thin arms around Vivien’s knees, Vivien brought her friend into a hug.
“What a surprise,” she said. “You should have let me know you were coming.”
“Well, if you ever get a telephone, I might just do that,” Lotte said.
Although she was smiling, she had small worry lines around her eyes and mouth.
“Vivvie,” Pamela said, her voice hoarse, “can we come to your house? And have a tea party?”
Pamela loved sipping tea out of one of Vivien’s china teacups, and eating tiny cucumber sandwiches with lots of butter and the special lavender shortbread Vivien made just for her.
“No tea parties for you today,” Lotte said to Pamela.
“Next time, darling,” Vivien told her.
“Where are you going?” Lotte asked. “All dressed up like that.”
Without answering, Vivien unclasped her purse and handed Lotte the telegram.
“I have to go to Denver,” Vivien said. “Surely you see that.”
Lotte shook her head. “It reeks of a wild-goose chase. A key. Blue eyes.”
“And six feet one,” Vivien said, pointing to the telegram. “With a scar on his head.”
“Gray hair,” Lotte said.
“It’s been a dozen years!” Vivien said, unable to hide her frustration.
“I know, Viv. I am sorry but—”
“But the key,” Vivien said softly.
“Mama,” Pamela said, leaning into her mother. “I’m getting so tired.”
Vivien frowned. “You haven’t even told me what you two are doing in town.”
“The doctor,” Lotte said, twisting a strand of Pamela’s fine hair in her fingers. “This one has had a fever and a terrible cough—”
As if on cue, Pamela gave a phlegmy cough.
“Almost a week now,” Lotte added.
“I shouldn’t keep you then,” Vivien said. “You need to get her home into bed with a good eucalyptus oil rubdown.”
Lotte gave a little laugh. “I suppose I should hang an onion by her bed too?”
“Don’t tease me,” Vivien said, pretending to be wounded.
“Do you know what I heard?” Lotte said. She lifted Pamela up and held her, the girl’s head on her shoulders.
Vivien saw that Pamela had dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks did look gaunt.
“Poor Pammy,” Vivien murmured.
“I’ve heard that there’s a blue mold in Europe that might someday cure all kinds of diseases.”
“Blue mold?” Vivien said, laughing.
“You laugh,” Lotte said, “but I believe scientists are capable of taking anything, even mold, and figuring out a scientific use for it.”
While Vivien had lost herself in novels and poetry, Lotte had spent her time gazing under microscopes and doing scientific experiments.
Pamela gave a little moan, and Lotte’s face grew worried.
“I think we will head back,” Lotte said.
The two women hugged, and Vivien could feel a new heat emanating from Pamela.
“Go now,” Vivien said.
Lotte hesitated, as if she wanted to say something more.
“Let me know if you do go to Denver,” she said finally.
“I wish you could come with me,” Vivien admitted.