Blackberry Winter

Chapter 15




VERA

The morning light streamed inside the window as I opened my eyes. I hated the feel of the silky sheets on my naked skin, hated the feel of Lon’s rough leg on mine even more. I peeled my body away from his hot, moist skin and sat up, wrapping a sheet over my body. He snored so loudly, the pillowcase quivered with each rise and fall of his chest.

My dress and undergarments lay on the floor beside the bed. I’d died a little inside each time Lon removed a piece of clothing. I cringed, remembering the heaviness of his hands, fumbling to unfasten a button, only to resort to ripping it in eager frustration. I had numbed the pain with champagne. Too much champagne. And now my head spun. I closed the bathroom door and vomited into the toilet, purging the contents of my stomach and the memory of last night. I felt a sudden urge to bathe, to wash every breath, every fingerprint of Lon’s from my body. I turned on the faucet and watched as the water fell like raindrops from the steel showerhead, ricocheting off the marble tiles. I’d polished hundreds of showers, maybe even this one, in suites at the hotel, scrubbing the grout with precision. Estella was a stickler about grout.

I lathered my body with soap, but even with every inch of my skin covered in a thick film of bubbles, I still felt filthy. Tainted. I scrubbed harder, until my hand cramped and I dropped the bar of soap. My lip quivered as the tears came. I couldn’t stop them. I prayed that Lon wouldn’t hear my cries. The water rushed over me, and after a while, I couldn’t differentiate between the shower’s stream and my tears.

I closed my eyes and Daniel’s face appeared again, calling to me, comforting me. I remembered why I was there. I turned off the shower with new strength, patting myself dry with a fluffy cotton towel that waited on the rack. I selected a dress from the closet and put it on. As I waited for Lon to wake up, I sat by the window, thinking about Daniel, and his father.

Four Years Prior

Charles kissed my neck, and I smiled, rolling over to face him. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said, tracing my face with his index finger.

I looked away shyly. Was last night a dream? We both looked up when we heard a knock at the bedroom door.

“Breakfast is ready, sir.” The muffled male voice sounded like the steward from last night.

“Thank you,” Charles said, sitting up. He walked to the bathroom and returned with a fluffy white robe. “Will you be comfortable in this?”

I nodded. “As long as we don’t have any breakfast guests.”

“Just us,” he said.

I grinned, slipping into the robe, and followed Charles out to the front room.

“Will you take breakfast on the terrace, sir?”

I looked down at my feet, not wanting to make eye contact with the steward. What does he think of me?

“No,” Charles said. “There’s a breeze this morning. The table will be fine.”

“As you wish,” the man said, distributing the contents of two silver platters onto the table. I eyed the glasses of orange juice. We could get oranges in Seattle, but grapefruit were harder to come by. Last year I’d saved my tip money for a whole week and bought a single grapefruit. It had cost a fortune, but I’d felt very fancy slicing into its thick skin, until I discovered that the flesh inside was rotten.

The steward bowed and let himself out, and I relaxed a little when he did.

“I want to do this every day,” Charles said, smiling at me from across the table.

“Me too,” I said.

I took a sip of orange juice, taking in its tangy sweetness. I wished I could share some with Caroline and the others. I thought about tucking a croissant in my pocket for Georgia. She’d always wanted to try one.

“I was wondering,” Charles said between bites of omelet. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I’m afraid I have to work,” I said.

“Work?”

“Yes. It’s a little thing one does to earn a living,” I said sarcastically.

“Very funny,” he said playfully. He looked at me for a long moment. “What if you didn’t have to work again?”

“What do you mean?”

He placed his hand on mine. “What if—”

The hinge of the door squeaked. Someone was coming into the suite. I felt like sinking my head deeper into the robe and hiding under the table, especially when I saw who it was: Charles’s sister, Josie. A maid followed behind her, carrying a dozen shopping bags.

“Charles?” she said with arched eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” he countered. “I thought you were in Vancouver on a shopping trip with Mother.”

“We came home yesterday,” she said, walking toward us. “I was just picking up some things in town, and I thought I’d stop…” She paused the moment she recognized me. I could see the look of astonishment in her eyes.

“Josie, you remember Vera,” Charles said, as if there was nothing awkward about reacquainting his sister with me, while I was clad in a bathrobe. “Vera Ray.”

“Of course,” she sneered, staring at me for a moment longer than was comfortable. In the morning light, I noticed a familiar quality I had missed at the dance marathon. Where had I seen her before? “Yes, Vera, from the dance hall.”

“Hello,” I managed. I wished I’d decided to dress before breakfast. The robe was a terrible mistake.

“Well,” Josie huffed. “Clearly I’m interrupting an intimate moment, so I’ll go.” She eyed the envelope of cash on the side table, the one Charles had given me the night before for the widow in my building. What must she think of that? I prayed that Charles would explain, but he ignored his sister’s shocked expression and continued eating.

“See you,” he simply said. The maid followed with Josie’s parcels. The door slammed behind them.



I spent eight more glorious weeks with Charles before the fairy tale came hurtling to an abrupt end. There were gifts—one night at dinner, he slid a sapphire bracelet around my wrist—flowers, trips, phone calls. It was enough to make my roommates green with envy.

Even so, I waited to tell him about the baby. I’d known about the pregnancy for almost two weeks, and I wanted to give it more time to be certain. I knew he’d be overjoyed. We were having a child together. A child conceived in love. And yet, I worried. Everything was perfect, and I feared the news could change that.

And then, one night in the hotel suite, he knelt down and asked me to marry him. I said yes, of course. He might as well have been a boy from the factories; I’d have married him anyway. I had fallen in love with his goodness, his heart, not his money. And when he gazed into my eyes, I almost told him about the baby right then and there, but the nausea had subsided, and I worried I’d miscarried. I couldn’t bear to think of telling him I had lost his child. So I waited.

“It’s about time you meet my family,” he said. “Why don’t you come for dinner at the house tonight?”

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling apprehensive about the previous interactions with Josie.

“They’ll love you.”

I scrunched my nose. “I’m not so sure.”

“You’re worried about Josie, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well, don’t,” he said. “You’re the woman I love, and that’s that.”

I nestled my head into the fold of his shirt, breathing in the comforting scent of pipe tobacco and cologne.

“You make me so happy, Vera.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I do?”

“You do. I love your strength.” He traced my nose with his fingertip. “You’re a force. You can look at me with those eyes and make me question everything I ever believed about the world.” He placed his hand over my heart. “But, here, inside, you have so much love. It beams from you.”

I grinned playfully. “You’re sure your parents wouldn’t rather you marry a society girl?”

“I can assure you, my love,” he said, inching his face closer to mine, “I would rather banish myself to the farthest corner of Alaska than marry a society girl.”

“All right,” I conceded. “I’ll meet your parents. But only if you really believe it’s a good idea.” I tucked my hand in his. He kissed my palm. “Have you told them yet? About our engagement?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I think I’ll surprise them tonight.”



I fussed over what to wear for hours before Charles picked me up that night. Caroline’s red dress seemed too tawdry for a dinner at the home of my future in-laws; besides, it fit too tightly. I wasn’t far along, but Caroline and the other girls had made suspicious comments about the few pounds I’d gained. I eyed my old blue dress critically. Much too drab. I didn’t want to pretend to be anyone I wasn’t, and yet I needed them to accept me. It was a delicate dance. Eventually, I settled on the yellow frock Charles had purchased for me weeks ago. I’d worn it on many of our dates. I hoped he hadn’t tired of it.

I retied the sash a dozen times in the car on the drive to his parents’ home. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the ribbon to hang properly.

“You look fine,” Charles said, sensing my anxiety.

“I just want tonight to go well,” I said, turning to him.

“It will,” he assured me, wrapping a lock of my hair around his finger.

I pulled back. “Careful,” I said. “You’ll ruin my hair.”

He disobediently sank his hands deeper into my scalp.

“You’re incorrigible,” I said.

I’d been so distracted by my dress, and my hair, and my worries that I hadn’t paid attention to where we were, but we’d been driving for several miles, so we must have traveled a ways from downtown. Charles turned the car between two stone pillars—the entrance, according to a placard, to Windermere.

I’d heard of the privileged community, of course. Before her death, my mother had cared for the children of the wealthy inside this very neighborhood. And Georgia looked after the children of a wealthy family who lived within. She caught a ride on the milk truck every morning at five, which deposited her at the home just before the children woke. Her employer, a stern woman who slept until noon each day, complained that the truck soured Georgia’s clothes. The woman made her change into a uniform in the servants’ quarters before entering the main residence.

“So you grew up in this neighborhood?” I said, admiring the well-appointed homes, a mansion with a gabled roof to our right, a Victorian estate to our left. I wished Charles would slow the car so I could study each with greater attention. I’d never seen such elaborate dwellings.

“Born and raised, I’m afraid,” he said, as though the revelation marred his record. I admired the carefully tended gardens on either side of the road, not a weed in sight. A row of azaleas, their blooms a symphony of crimson, begged to be noticed, but Charles kept his eyes on the road, oblivious to their beauty. “When I turned eighteen, I couldn’t wait to fly the coop,” he continued.

“Why?” I asked wistfully, intoxicated by the neighborhood’s beauty.

“I guess I just came to despise it all,” he said. “The way everyone pretends to be so perfect.” He looked at me for a moment before turning back to the road. “I can assure you, what goes on inside those homes is far from perfect.”

He didn’t have to tell me that; I already knew. Mother had recounted a story of a disturbed little girl she cared for in this very neighborhood years ago. The child had taken a candlestick to her mother’s dressing room curtains and burned them so badly, she almost set the whole house ablaze.

He turned onto a side street, where the houses appeared even more extravagant, then veered the car down a long driveway. At the very end was a gate, where a man in a black suit stood. “Good evening, Mr. Charles,” he said, tipping his cap and swinging the gate open. Charles proceeded around the gravel-lined circular drive, parked the car, and got out to open my door.

“I want to introduce you to Old Joe,” he said to me. “Joseph!” he shouted to the man at the gate. “Did you miss me?”

The older man with graying hair smiled heartily. “Welcome home, Mr. Charles,” he said, reaching for a rake to resettle the disturbed gravel. I marveled at Charles’s world—a foreign place where servants appeared around every corner, making sure every pebble in your wake was returned to its rightful place.

I looked up at the house—so beautiful, so perfect, it frightened me. “It looks like a…palace,” I said under my breath, entranced by its grandeur.

“Mother saw a château in France she liked and Father had his architect reproduce it,” he said, sounding a little embarrassed by the obvious opulence of his family’s whims.

Twin cypress trees framed the entryway, nearly brushing up against the slate roof, where a massive chimney presided. I surveyed the handsome stonework that made up the residence’s thick, commanding walls, crowned by intricate cornices. A pair of urns bracketed the front door. Each held emerald green boxwoods clipped and trimmed into perfect spirals.

“Charles!” A woman with outstretched arms approached from the front door. Her ivory dress swished as she walked. I immediately noticed her tiny waist, accentuated by a wide blue sash. Her upswept hair struck a regal note.

“Mother,” Charles said, leaning in as she took both of his hands in hers before kissing each of his cheeks. I waited for her gaze to turn to me, and it did.

“Why, Charles,” she said, “who is this?”

“This is Vera,” he said, beaming with pride. “Vera Ray.”

I held out my hand and prayed she wouldn’t notice my chapped, red fingers, raw from the washbasin at the restaurant and nicked by one too many paring knives. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Her skin felt like cool white velvet against mine. I wished I’d taken the time to soak my hands in bacon drippings, the way Caroline had advised. Now I’d pay for it.

“You may call me Opal,” she said, casting a glance at my shoes. The dress may have been couture, thanks to Charles, but the shoes were undeniably shabby. My forehead began to perspire. Is the hole in my right shoe or my left? I took a guess and wedged my right toe behind the heel of my left. I didn’t dare look down at my feet, which would only draw more attention to the offending heels. To think I had saved almost three months’ wages to put a pair of black leather pumps on layaway at Frederick and Nelson. Charles would buy them for me in an instant, of course. But I didn’t ask him for things. It didn’t feel right.

“I’ve been so looking forward to introducing Vera to the family,” Charles said, kissing my hand lightly.

“How…charming,” Opal said, her voice a few octaves higher on the word charming. Her smile quickly disappeared and her eyes narrowed. I felt clumsy in her gaze. “I believe you’ve already met Josephine.”

I recalled the strained circumstances under which I had encountered Josie, Charles’s sister. Twice. “Yes,” I said, certain my cheeks had flushed to a cherry red.

“Well,” Opal continued, “I’m glad you dropped in, son. Will you stay for dinner?”

“Yes, of course,” Charles said. “Is Father here?”

“He’s in his study,” she said. “I’ll have Greta ring him.”

Ring him. I marveled at the way they regarded one another with such formality. Can’t she just dash down the hall to the study and call him up?

We followed Opal inside. The instant Charles held out his outerwear, a housekeeper stepped forward to retrieve the garment as it fell from his fingertips.

“Greta will take your wrap, Ms. Ray,” Opal said. She spoke to me slowly, as if to a child.

I nodded, letting the green shawl slip from my shoulders. I’d made it myself from scrap linen Caroline had brought home from the factory. At the time, I’d thought it rivaled any of the fine wraps I’d seen in shop windows. But inside Charles’s family home, it seemed more suitable as a dust rag. I nervously handed it to the housekeeper, who looked at me curiously. “Thank you,” I said, awed by the home’s interior. We passed through a long hallway lined with oil paintings. Their subjects depicted a comfortable life, in which pampered terriers lounged on sofas, country houses nestled among rolling hills, and women socialized beneath parasols. The hallway wended toward a large room with a grand piano and windows overlooking an enormous lawn outstretched to a lake.

I sat down on a green velvet sofa next to Charles, unable to take my eyes off the breathtaking body of water, soft like the gray velvet wingback chairs in the lobby of the Olympic Hotel.

“You look as if you’ve never seen water before, Miss Ray.”

“Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen Lake Washington, ma’am,” I said, before considering the implication.

Opal held a hand to her mouth. Laughter escaped. “Why, that’s like saying you’ve never seen the moon.”

“Mother,” Charles said protectively, “Vera lives in the city.”

“Why, of course, dear,” Opal said quickly. She offered me a cup of tea, and when I lifted my arm to take it, my limbs felt leaden. Why am I so stiff, so awkward in this place?

Opal set her cup on the saucer and held up her index finger. “I know,” she said. “You could take her out for a boat ride, Charles.”

He looked skeptical. “I don’t know, Mother. It’s awfully windy today. It might not be the best time for—”

“Nonsense,” Opal countered. “The young lady says she’s never seen the lake. You must show it to her.”

“But isn’t it almost time for supper?”

“I’ll tell the cook to hold off for a half hour,” she said. “That should give you enough time to take her around.”

Charles turned to me. “What do you think?”

The gray clouds overhead loomed, and the wind shook the tree branches outside the window with such force, I could only imagine what it would do to my hair. But not wanting to disappoint Opal, I obliged. “It sounds grand,” I said, hiding my apprehension.

“It’s settled, then,” Charles said, standing up.

I followed him out to the back deck, and together we descended the stairs that led to the lawn. I had been too captivated by the lake to notice the spectacular sight below the house, a veritable zoo of animals clipped out of hedges. Rabbits. Dogs. A turtle. A mare and her foal. I stopped to admire a hedge carved into the unmistakable shape of an elephant.

“These are remarkable,” I said, running my hand along the elephant’s scratchy trunk. “The precision, it’s uncanny.”

“Joseph has a gift with boxwood,” he said. “Father would rather have them all cut down. But Mother loves them. She spends a great deal of time out here. They bring her comfort.”

I imagined Opal petting the boxwood giraffe to my right in her extravagant way. “I don’t think your mother fancies me much,” I said. A cool breeze rolled off the lake, and I wished I hadn’t relinquished my shawl.

“Of course she fancies you,” Charles said, pulling me toward him. “How could she not? You’re lovely in every way. Just be yourself, and they’ll see the woman I love so.” He kissed my cheek lightly. “And she’s going to love you even more when I announce our news tonight.”

I stiffened. “Do you really think we should tell them tonight?”

Charles nodded. “I can’t bear to keep it a secret any longer.”

“But,” I said, fumbling, “I worry they’ll think it’s so sudden. I mean, won’t it be jarring to hear we’re getting married moments after meeting me?”

Charles shrugged. “Vera, don’t you see?” He pointed up toward the house. “That’s my past, and you”—he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear—“are my future. Telling them is inconsequential. There’s nothing to fear.”

I exhaled. “All right,” I conceded.

I followed him onto the dock, where two boats lay overturned. “Now,” he said, examining both, “which one has the hole?”

My eyes widened. “Hole?”

“The last time I was here, Joseph mentioned that one needed repair.” He ran his hand along the hull of one. “Aha, here it is. Found the hole.”

“Good thing,” I said. “I don’t swim.”

“I can swim for both of us,” he said with a smile, kneeling down on the splintered, sun-bleached planks of the dock to untie the rope that secured the second small boat to a rusted cleat. When Opal had mentioned a boat ride, I had pictured something a little more substantial. The small craft hardly passed as a dinghy, not unlike the ones my father had taken me out in as a child on the Puget Sound. We’d capsized in one, and I’d almost drowned. I hadn’t been in a boat since.

“There,” he said, reaching for my hand.

“I don’t know,” I said, suddenly feeling unsure.

“Come on, don’t be scared. You’ll love being out on the lake. There’s nothing more peaceful.”

“All right,” I said, taking his hand. He steadied me as I stepped inside and sat down with a thud on the wooden bench, narrowly missing a bird dropping. Charles sat down in front of me, tucking each oar into the appropriate slot.

“Now, don’t you worry,” he said, securing the oars into position. “I was a lifeguard at the club every summer during college.”

He rowed out a few hundred feet. I watched in awe as the boat carved its way through the lake, slicing through the water like a knife through soft butter. A heron, startled by our presence, squawked in disapproval. It dragged its feet along the water, disrupting a colony of pale green lily pads before becoming airborne.

“It’s beautiful out here,” I said. “How lucky you were to grow up with this in your backyard.”

“I’m not any happier for it,” he said.

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“People think that wealth buys happiness,” he replied, pointing back up toward the lawn. “Spend a night in that house, and you’ll see otherwise.”

I gave him a confused look.

“Mother is always in a mood,” he explained. “Father locks himself in his study, and when he’s not there he’s at the hotel. And Josie is, well, Josie. She’s always been troubled. When she was five, she nearly burned the house down.”

My heart began to beat faster. Could she have been the child my own mother took care of? I sat up straighter. “What do you mean, she almost burned the house down?”

“I was in school then,” he said, shaking his head as though the memory came with disturbing baggage. “Josie was cared for by a governess. One day when Mother was in town Josie managed to light the curtains on fire with a candlestick. She almost burned the house to ashes. Mother dismissed the woman on the spot, of course. But it wasn’t her fault. Josie’s always been devious like that.”

“Oh,” I said, reeling. So my own mother took care of Josephine! I shook my head, remembering the way Mother had complained about the little girl in Windermere. I’d grown to resent the girl who occupied my mother’s time and attention, and when she’d lost her job with the family, I was glad, even though it meant we might not eat.

“What is it, Vera?” Charles asked, sensing my distant stare.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said, trying to purge the memories. Does Josephine know who I am?

“Anyway,” he continued, “you can see why I wanted to spend as much time out here as possible. As a boy, I was always out on the lake, or following Joseph around. Father was much too busy with his business endeavors.”

Charles pulled up the oars and we glided for a few moments. I held out my hand, letting it skim the water. A white lily tickled my palm and, on a whim, I lifted it a few inches from its watery home.

“Look,” I said, indicating the stunning blossom.

“Careful,” he said, gently tugging my hand back. “They’re fragile, these lilies.”

I smiled at him curiously. “You’re the only man I’ve ever met who cares for flowers.”

Charles shrugged. “I suppose it was Joseph’s influence.” He turned his eyes back to the lake. “Lilies are special. They haven’t always been around these parts, you know. I found the first one right over there when I was a boy. Just one. Joseph showed me. Each year there were more. And now…” He waved his hand toward a point in the distance, where scores of white flowers the size of my hand bobbed on the water. “Well, just look at them.”

“They’re breathtaking,” I said, grinning at the sight before us.

“They’re picky about where they’ll grow,” he said. “Too much or too little sun and pft, they perish. They’re shy, lilies. Shy and prideful.”

I smiled.

“Delicate, too,” he said. “They won’t hold up if you pick them. Josie used to come out here with her friends and gather them by the armful, just for the heck of it. An hour later they’d shrivel on the dock.” He paused, clearly disturbed by the memory. “I hated to see them die that way. For nothing.”

I glanced back at the lake. The ripples on the water jostled the lilies up and down, like schoolchildren playing in the surf.

“They’re happy out there,” he said. “When you take them out of their home, they suffocate.”

The wind had picked up, and it was whipping my hair into a matted mess. I replaced a fallen clip just as a raindrop hit my cheek. “Oh, no,” I said, feeling another on my arm.

Charles reached for the oars. “We’d better get back.”

By the time we reached the dock, the sky opened up and unleashed its fury, rendering any attempt I made to preserve my hair futile. Still, I tried, in vain, to reshape my limp curls. My waterlogged dress clung to my body. I tugged at the fabric self-consciously, hoping it didn’t accentuate the increasing roundness of my stomach, even if I was the only one who could tell.

“Look at us,” Charles said after tying the boat down. “A couple of drowned lake rats.”

He took my hand and we ran together across the lawn toward the house. I hated to think of how I looked. A glance into the gold-rimmed mirror ahead confirmed my horror. Rouge streamed down my cheeks like pale pink watercolor. My hair hung, flattened, in soggy tufts.

“Oh, dear,” Opal said. “Greta!” she barked. “Find Miss Ray some dry clothing in the guest quarters.”

“Come with me, Miss Ray,” the housekeeper said. I followed her down the hallway, conscious of every drip falling from my dress onto the hardwood floors, buffed to shining. We turned a corner and Greta opened a door on the west wing of the house. “There should be an extra dress in here,” she said. “The family has frequent weekend visitors. They keep the wardrobe well stocked.”

It seemed odd to think of people coming to stay without packing bags, but perhaps this wasn’t a concern for the well-to-do. Wherever they landed, things were simply provided.

Greta held out a cream-colored dress with a low neckline. “This looks to be your size,” she said, holding it up to me. “I hope it fits.”

I would have wished for a more elegant garment. The dress looked lumpy and large at the waist. I worried how I’d appear when I met Charles’s father. Greta peeled my wet clothes from my body. I avoided her eyes when she unfastened my corset, torn under the left arm and dingy from being washed so many times in salvaged wash water. Laundry soap was a luxury my roommates and I could not do without, but we pooled our resources and stretched every ounce. She dresses the ladies of the house in their French silk lingerie, so what will she think of me, wearing such rags?

Whatever her thoughts, however, she kept them private, dutifully handing me a fluffy white towel. I wrapped it around my body. Its thick, soft fibers blunted the chill in the air, halting my shivers. Greta produced a set of spare undergarments from the nearby dresser. “I’ll hang these”—she ducked to pick up the pile of soggy rags—“out to dry. That is, if you do want to keep them?”

I nodded meekly, embarrassed by the exchange. She stepped out to the balcony, and I sat down on the bed. What a strange world Charles comes from. I felt like the lilies on the lake—out of my element, frightened, gasping for breath in these new surroundings.

Greta returned and helped me slip into the corset, a size too small; it squeezed my breasts together uncomfortably. I worried I looked like one of the call girls who frequented the saloons on Fifth.

“Are you sure there isn’t another corset in the drawer?”

Greta shook her head. “It’s the only one.”

I stepped into the dress, and after she fastened the buttons, I took a long look at myself in the full-length mirror near the bed. My breasts bulged out of the low-cut bodice. The fabric didn’t taper down like the yellow dress I’d arrived in. Instead it hung from me like a paper sack. How can I go out there looking like this?

Greta didn’t seem to sense my concern, and if she did, she didn’t let on. “Here,” she said, handing me a hairbrush and a washcloth in her practiced way.

“Thank you,” I said, running the brush through my tangled locks, setting the clip in place as best as I could. I took another look at myself and sighed.

Greta’s eyes met mine, and for the first time, I detected a glimmer of compassion. “Don’t be ashamed of where you come from, Miss Ray,” she said softly.

I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant, and her words warmed me.

“Now,” she said, “shall I take you back?”

I wanted to scream, No, don’t make me go back in there! I can’t face them looking like this! But I nodded, held my head up high, and followed her out the door. In the hallway, when I thought no one was looking, I tried in vain to pull the dress higher on my chest.

“There you are!” Charles called from behind the piano. “Come sing along with us.” Josie sat beside him, mouth gaping as I approached. Whatever she knew or didn’t know about me, I decided not to care. Instead, I remembered what Greta had said and held my composure.

“Hello, Josie,” I said as sweetly as I could muster. She wore a mauve dress with a fashionable drop waist. Diamond earrings dangled from her lobes.

“Hello,” she said icily. “Charles and I were just singing the song of our alma mater. Would you like to join us? On second thought, perhaps we should sing yours. Where did you go to high school?”

I looked at my feet as they stared at me expectantly. “I, I…”

I felt Charles’s comforting hand on the small of my back.

“I didn’t attend,” I said meekly. Greta’s words rang in my ears. Don’t be ashamed of where you come from. “I had to drop out to go to work. My father died, and Mother passed shortly after.”

Josie feigned concern. “Oh, you lost both your parents?”

“Enough music for now,” Charles said, salvaging the moment. “I’m starved.”

“Your father will be here in a few minutes, darlings,” Opal crooned, looking at me with an amused expression. She took a final swig from her goblet, stopping at the bar to fill it again. I watched as an amber-colored liquid flowed from a crystal decanter. “Let’s make our way to the dining room.”

The table, clad in white linen, gleamed with polished silver and crystal. I sat down in a chair next to Charles. He squeezed my leg under the table. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.

I patted my hair, still damp from the boat trip, as Charles’s father walked into the room. “Opal!” he barked. “I don’t know why you insist on taking dinner at seven thirty every night when the rest of the world dines at six.” I stared straight ahead, trying to remain inconspicuous, as someone hovered behind me, ladling soup in a shade of mint green into my bowl.

“William, this is Charles’s friend Miss Ray,” Opal said, gesturing to me.

Charles’s father sat in a chair at the head of the table and tucked a napkin into his collar. “You didn’t say you were bringing a dinner guest, son,” he said. But when he turned to face me, he smiled. “And such a pretty one.”

“You’re too kind,” I said, feeling the urge to cover my chest with the napkin on my lap.

“I’ve been wanting you to meet her for a while now,” Charles said, reaching for my hand. “I—”

“Mother,” Josie said, interrupting, “do you think the cook put a bit too much salt in the soup?”

Opal nodded. “I ought to fire her. Everything that comes out of that kitchen tastes like brine.”

“Oh, Mother,” Charles said. “It’s not that bad. I rather like it. And besides, isn’t Mrs. Meriwether the breadwinner for her family? I believe Joseph said she’s a widow.”

William cleared his throat. “You’ve taken a liking to widows these days, my boy,” he said, turning to Opal. “Just last week he suggested that I offer free room and board to a woman from the city and her five children.”

I remembered Laura from my building and gave Charles a knowing look.

“Next, you’ll be asking me for tuition money for her children to attend Yale.”

Josie laughed.

“Your brother has a heart of gold,” he continued. “If he had his way, he’d give a handout to every commoner in this city.”

William turned his gaze to me again. “Miss Ray,” he said, “I don’t recognize your name. Who are your parents?”

Josie glared at me, but I refused to make eye contact with her.

“They’re both deceased, sir,” I said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” William replied.

Opal snapped her fingers and a young woman in a white dress and black apron scurried from the kitchen. She held her head low as Charles’s mother instructed her to clear the plates. “Yes, ma’am,” she said quickly.

She piled the soup bowls onto her tray, and stopped suddenly when our eyes met across the table. “Vera?”

It took a moment before I recognized her in the maid’s uniform, but the familiar face of a childhood friend shone through.

“Sylvie,” I said self-consciously, immediately wondering what Charles’s family would think of the exchange.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“I’m…” I felt all eyes in the room burrowing into me. My cheeks burned.

“She’s here with me,” Charles said, filling the awkward silence.

“Well, would you look at that,” Josie sneered. “Two friends reunited. Vera, tell us, is she a friend from the dance hall?”

Charles’s parents stared at me disapprovingly as I set my napkin on my plate and stood up. How could I ever think I’d fit into this world?

Tears blurred my vision. No, I would not let them see me cry. I lifted the hem of my skirt and ran, down the hallway and out to the foyer, where I let myself out the front door. I sat down on a stone bench on the porch, contemplating my next move. Moments later, I heard the creak of the hinge behind me. Expecting to see Charles, I turned, and was disheartened to find Josie standing beside me with a satisfied smile.

“He’s in there explaining to my parents that he’s proposed to you,” she said, shaking her head at what she obviously believed was a laughable idea. “You should see Mother. She’s devastated.” She looked back to the house and smirked. “I know who you are, Vera Ray,” she continued. “I knew your mother, too. I assume you’re a thief like her. Like mother, like daughter, right?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“So your mother didn’t tell you about all the things she stole from our family? The jewelry? The coins from father’s study?”

“Josie,” I stammered, “you—you must be mistaken. My mother would never—”

“I watched her take a diamond bracelet from Mother’s jewelry box,” she said.

“I don’t believe it!” I cried. “How dare you speak of my mother that way? She was a good woman. She did her best to take care of you, Josie. But you tormented her.”

Her icy stare frightened me. “I know your angle,” she said. “Just like your mother, you see my family as your meal ticket.”

I shook my head, wiping a tear from my cheek. “You have it all wrong.”

“Well,” she said, “if you expect me to stand back while my brother is duped by a common whore, then, my dear, you’re mistaken.”

The words stung. “A common…?”

I couldn’t let the vulgar word cross my lips. “What makes you think that I…?” Then I remembered the envelope in the suite. The money Charles had set aside for the poor widow. Josie had seen it. She’d thought it was for me.

“No, no,” I continued. “You have it all wrong. That money was for—”

Josie shook her head. “And now you’re having his child.”

I placed my hand on my belly.

“How long did you think you were going to keep that a secret?”

I gasped. How does she know? I hadn’t told anyone. Not even Charles.

“You didn’t have to tell me,” she said. “It’s obvious.”

“But I—”

“How much?” she said.

I searched her face. “I don’t understand.”

“How much do I have to pay you to get out of our lives, to get out of Charles’s life?”

I shook my head. “Why would you do this?”

“Because he can’t be permitted to end up with a woman like you,” she said. “It would destroy Mother. And Father would write him out of”—she gestured to the house and gardens—“all of this. Do you think he would love you then? Well, Miss Ray, I know my brother better than you, and I can tell you the answer is no.”

I loved him with every inch of my heart, but would my love be enough to make him happy, without…the privileged life he was accustomed to?

I knew it then. I couldn’t fit into Charles’s world any more than he could fit into mine.

“So how much do I need to give you?” she asked again. “How much to get you out of here?”

I held up my hand. “Nothing,” I said, rising to my feet. “I understand.”

I walked up the gravel path and to the road. Charles’s voice rang out in the distance, calling to me like a lighthouse to a lost ship, and yet I kept walking. The charade had to end. Josie may have been cruel, but she was right. It would never work, Charles and me.

“Vera!” he shouted, catching up to me. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Please wait. I’m so sorry about the way they treated you in there. Let’s go. Let’s leave together.”

I blinked back tears. “I can’t, Charles,” I said. “This is what I have feared all along, but today, it just confirmed everything for me. I love you. So much. But I can’t marry you.”

I hated to see my words wound him so deeply.

“Why not?”

“Don’t you see?” I ran my hand along his face. “We could never make it work. We’re from two different worlds.”

“But that doesn’t matter,” he pleaded. “It doesn’t have to.”

“But it does,” I said. “I’m sorry, Charles. I’m not the woman for you.” He would have given up everything for me, but I loved him enough that I wouldn’t let him do it.

He stood dumfounded as I ran past the clipped boxwood hedge, pushing open the iron gate. I walked along the road, unsure of how I’d get home, miles away from the city. When I heard the sound of Charles’s car approaching and his voice calling my name out the window, I ducked behind a tree. “Vera!” he screamed. “Vera!” His desperate tone broke my heart. I wanted to shout, Here I am, Charles! Let’s run away together. Let’s start a new life on our own terms. But in my heart, I knew that Josie was right. I crouched lower until the Buick was out of sight.

On the main road, cars barreled past, splashing mud onto my dress. What does it matter? I held out my hand, trying unsuccessfully to flag down a car, and then another. Finally, a truck pulled over. White, with a rusted hood and piles of tile stacked in the back. A man waved to me from the front seat. “Where to, miss?” He spoke in a thick foreign accent that reminded me of the Russian families who lived in my building.

“I’m trying to get back to the city,” I said, wiping away a tear. “Can you take me?”

“That’s where I’m headed,” he said.

I climbed inside the truck and closed the heavy door with all my might. It smelled of must and gasoline. As he revved the engine and turned in to traffic, I cast a backward glance on the entrance to Windermere.

“The name’s Ivanoff,” the man said, casting a sideways glance at me. “Sven Ivanoff.”