***
Half a year after Biltmore’s first Christmas was my sixteenth birthday. We generally didn’t fuss over birthdays, but Mrs. Severson thought that it would be good practice for the servants to prepare a birthday cake and plan a birthday party, knowing that soon the house would begin receiving more and more guests. It was good that she had us practice. There had been some turnover in the staff since the Christmas feasts, and Mrs. Hartwell in the kitchen had to bake three cakes before one turned out right.
I played the guest’s part and was led blindfolded out of the house across the lawn. When the blindfold was removed from my eyes, I gasped aloud.
The garden was utterly transformed. It was like a fairy story, the kind where little elves set out a banquet during the mortals’ sleep. The roses were in bloom, a riot of color, almost too perfect. A long table was laid among them, with a white tablecloth and all sorts of lovely silver, and candles for when the sun went down. My chair was decorated with yellow-hearted peach roses. When I took my seat, a wreath of miniature white blossoms was set upon my head. I felt like the Queen of the May.
I cut the cake, listened to the whole host singing, and acted appreciative, as I was asked to. There were games and music. Hours went quickly.
It was a lovely party. I told Mrs. Severson so and added, “Isn’t it a fine day?”
“I have something for you to make it even finer,” she said.
She handed me an envelope, and I slide the single sheet of paper from it.
“From your mother,” she said, and I froze. Because I could see the writing on the fine paper, and although someone had signed my mother’s name to the bottom of the page, I knew it was not her handwriting.
“How?” I asked, but I wasn’t listening to the answer. I was reading:
I could not be happier to hear that my darling daughter is safe with you. It will be a week before I can make the proper arrangements, but I shall arrive the day after her birthday for a visit. I long to see her again and treasure the chance for reunion. You do not know how happy you have made me.
My mother had certainly not written it. I didn’t know for sure what Ray’s writing looked like, but it wasn’t Mother’s and it wasn’t Victor’s, and I knew who had the best reason to be deceitful. The cold shiver this knowledge sent up my spine erased the warm summer day around me, turning it winter.
The housekeeper was saying, “…and I couldn’t help but share it. Though perhaps you would have been happier with a surprise.”
I must have mentioned Jeansville to her or to another servant; all she would need was that and my name, which she had. The town was small, and anyone would know where such a letter should be delivered. Mrs. Severson couldn’t possibly know what she’d done. She thought I’d be happy, but this was the end of everything. So suddenly. My new life, over. My safe place, gone.
“Miss Bates?” she asked.
Quickly I realized I shouldn’t show my anger. “Thank you. There are no words.”
“Tomorrow will be a free day for you. So you can spend it with her.”
“Again, thank you.”
She smiled brightly, an uncommon sight, and I returned the smile as best I could. Tears came to my eyes. I hoped she would think they were happy ones.
Then I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to escape. I turned my back on her, on the whole party, in the gathering dusk. Someone called to her and she didn’t follow me. Instead of striding across the grass back to the house, I ducked into the garden shed.
The shed was musty, and only a bit of light crept in through the slats. The smell of raw earth was overwhelming. I sat down on an overturned bucket, careless of the dirt, and put my head in my hands. The wreath of flowers slipped from my head and fell to the ground. Ray was coming for me. I hadn’t escaped him. He was on his way, and tomorrow he would be here. I was too stunned to cry, but my head was buzzing so loudly with thoughts and fears and panic that I almost didn’t hear the door to the shed creak open and then closed again.
“I wish you a very happy birthday, Miss Bates,” came a familiar voice.
I stood, watching his shape in the half darkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust. I knew that shape.
“Ada?” he said, softer this time, less sure.
“Mr. Garber,” I said. “Thank you for your kind wishes.”
He drew close. “Are you quite all right?”
“I will be,” I said, not believing it.
Then he was nearer, and nearer still, and he lowered his face to mine for a kiss. I had nothing in me to resist. There was something in the familiar smell of his skin and the warmth of his breath that took away the present pain, and I clung to him, lost.
After a few moments, he pulled away and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I wanted to tell you some news.”
I nodded silently, granting permission.
He said, “I’m leaving.”
On another day, he might have shocked me. In the current case, it wasn’t the worst news I had heard that day, or even that hour. “You really are?”
“Yes. I’m going to New York,” he said.
“But you do good work here.”
He said, “I can do more and better in New York. You of all people should know.”
“Me?”
“I’ve seen you dance.”
“Just the once,” I scoffed. “And months ago.”
“No,” he said. I realized what he meant. He’d watched me, some stolen moment, when I didn’t know he was there. It was both terrifying and exciting to know.
Looking down at me, something changed in his face. “My God, those eyes of yours,” he said. “I’ve never seen eyes as beautiful.”
“You haven’t seen enough eyes.”
“Trust me. I’ve seen plenty of eyes.”
I suddenly realized how alone we were, how close we were, how dark the shed was. If we wanted to seek comfort in each other’s bodies, we could. Having him this close brought back all those buried feelings in force. I forced out a question. “Do you have enough money for the train?”
“No,” he said, “but the train isn’t the only way.”
“It’s not?”
“There are ways. There are always ways, if you know them. The cook needs fresh crabs from Washington for Mr. Vanderbilt, and I’ve done enough favors for her that she’ll send me along in the cart, no questions.”
“Washington isn’t New York.”
“Let me finish. From Washington to Baltimore, that’s almost no distance at all. I could even go on foot. I have cousins, my mother’s cousins, who can house me in Baltimore while I work to build up more money. If I have enough money, there are trains and steamships to New York, and if I don’t have enough money, I can stow away.”
“You’ve thought about this.”
“I don’t do anything without a plan.”
My muddled brain clearing at last, I was beginning to develop a plan of my own. Quietly I asked, “When are you leaving?”
“Tonight,” he said.
“I’m coming with you.”
He looked at me in a way I didn’t think anyone had looked at me before. Certainly not in the way Ray had, not like an animal to be subdued or an object he had a right to possess. Almost the way Mrs. Severson did after I managed to repair a crack in a teapot that she had said she didn’t think could be repaired.
He said earnestly, “Do you mean it? You’ll come?”
I drew back. His earnestness made me uncomfortable, and it was too much all at once. He hadn’t forgotten me, as I hadn’t forgotten him, and now we were thinking of the very same thing—escape—each for our own reasons.
“Yes,” I said.
Whatever his plans, the choice was a simple one for me. Stay and be caught by Ray, or leave and be one step ahead. And on my own, I had little chance of making my way much of anywhere, not before the next day’s sunrise. I knew too little of the world. Clyde knew more. That would be valuable.
We nodded at each other like dumb puppets, and he told me where to meet him and when, and I walked back to the house a changed girl once more. Twice during the evening as I was packing my bag, I heard a soft knock on my door, but I knew it must be Mrs. Severson, and I ignored it. I wouldn’t tell her that I was leaving. I would simply go. All unknowing, she had done enough harm with my secrets already.
That night, we climbed up into the cart behind the cook, and when the horses lurched forward, I felt my heart rise up. I was headed into the unknown once more, but at least I wouldn’t be there when Ray arrived. No one would know where I’d gone; no one could give up my secret. I took the feeling as a sign that I was making the right choice after all. That what I was leaving behind would be a fair trade for what was to come. Time would tell, in any case.