Blackberry Winter

Chapter 7




VERA

C harles.

It took little effort to recall his face, even if it had been four years since I’d taken in those kind eyes, that strong chin, the smile that had charmed me in an instant.

I almost didn’t meet him. I shouldn’t have met him, really. Charles was too good for me. High society. Everyone knew that. Everyone, perhaps, but him. He came from wealth, from privilege, too big a catch for a girl from the poor side of town, the daughter of a fisherman. But Caroline convinced me to join her that night for the opening of the fanciest hotel Seattle had ever seen, and there, beyond the polished double doors, he stood in the hotel’s grand foyer under the crystal chandelier, smoking a cigar as servants bustled, balancing heavy, hors d’oeuvres–filled trays aloft. Plenty of beautiful women fluttered in his sight, primped, curled, and powdered. And, yet, for a reason I still can’t understand, he looked only at me.

“Come on,” Caroline whispered.

I deflected his gaze, feeling foolish.

“Let’s sneak in.”

I frowned. “You know they’ll take one look at us and give us the boot.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “Look at you in that gorgeous dress.” True, we were wearing our finest, and if you squinted, you might mistake our handmade dresses, perfect flapper attire, for a Chanel creation, but upon close inspection, the truth would shine through: two destitute nineteen-year-olds with little more than two pennies to pinch together.

I sighed. “All right,” I finally conceded. “As long as you don’t think we’ll get into any trouble.”

“Of course we won’t,” she said a little too confidently, reaching for my hand and dragging me toward the entrance.

A doorman eyed us suspiciously. “And you are?”

“I’m Miss Ella Wentworth and this is my debutante cousin, Gilda, from Atlanta,” Caroline said.

I batted my eyes, playing along, trying to suppress a laugh. Did she have to use the word debutante?

The man eyed his notebook. “I’m afraid I don’t see you on the list,” he said.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Caroline cooed. “Daddy will be very upset to hear. You do know who my father is, don’t you?”

The man shook his head.

“Alexander Wentworth,” she said. “Of Wentworth Real Estate.” Caroline looked up at the tall building. “He invested so much in this property. It’s a pity the guest list didn’t get sorted out properly.” She sighed, tugging at the gold chain around her neck. “I’ll have to talk to Daddy about that.”

“Wait—wait,” the man stammered. “I’m sure it’s only a misunderstanding. Please, come in, Miss Wentworth. And give our sincerest apologies to your father.”

“I will,” Caroline said, nodding regally, as we passed through the entrance and into the sparkling party. She swiped a flute of punch off a waiter’s tray and handed it to me before taking one for herself. “That,” she said, taking a sip, “is how it’s done.”

“Caroline,” I whispered, “you’re out of your mind.”

She giggled from behind her glass. “Oh come on—have a little fun.”

I shook my head. “I think we should go.”

She looked at me and threw back her head with a laugh. “And miss the best party of the season? I think not.”

I eyed the women around us, their collective finery. I wished I’d sewn an extra piece of fringe around the hem of my dress. It looked so plain next to yards of satin and lace. “We don’t belong here,” I whispered to her.

“Sure we do,” she said, unaffected by my insecurities. “And look over there.” She pointed to two men standing straight ahead, and I saw, again, the man who had made eye contact with me moments before. He gazed at me with a beckoning grin and I turned away quickly. “Should we go talk to them?” she continued, bobbing a curl flirtatiously with her hand.

“Caroline!” I pulled her arm and whisked her into the room to our left, where people hovered around a grand piano. “What has gotten into you?”

She grinned. “Look, let’s just have a little fun. Besides, I rather fancy the idea of spending the evening in the company of rich men.”

I shook my head. “I won’t stand here and—” I paused when I felt a tapping on my shoulder, only to discover the two men from the foyer.

The one in the gray suit smiled. “You won’t stand here and…? Do tell.”

I blushed. “Oh, nothing,” I muttered, sending Caroline a look of panic, but her eyes had already been swallowed up by the man’s friend.

“I’m Charles,” the taller of the two said, holding his hand out to me. I took it dutifully, but found that once our palms touched, I didn’t want to let go. “And you are?”

“Vera,” I said, looking away so as not to be hypnotized by his gaze. “Vera Ray.”

He gestured to a pair of wingback chairs near a crackling fireplace to our right. “Care to sit down?”

I looked at Caroline for approval, but she was too consumed in conversation with Charles’s friend to notice. “Of course,” I said nervously. The only men I’d associated with were of the working-class variety. This man’s suit and unmarred hands told me he was of an entirely different breed. I worried that upon close inspection he’d find me unsuitable. I appreciated the dimly lit room, where the shabbiness of my dress and the scuffs on my shoes weren’t as obvious.

“Some party,” he said, looking around the room.

“Yes, indeed,” I replied, clutching my purse tightly.

He peered at me for an uncomfortably long moment. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. You weren’t at the art museum event last month, were you?”

“No,” I said nervously.

Charles looked satisfied. “Well, you didn’t miss much. It was quite dull.” He leaned in closer to me. “Can you keep a secret?”

I nodded hesitantly.

“I hate these functions. My father insisted that I attend.”

“My friend insisted that I attend,” I said with a smile.

Charles sank his chin in his hand and grinned. “Well, aren’t we a pair?”

My cheeks warmed.

He pushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Truth is, I’d rather be anywhere but here.” He pointed to a man about his age wiping a table in the distance. “I envy him.”

I gave him a disbelieving look. “Why?”

“Because he’s free,” he said simply.

“And you’re not?”

Charles tugged on the collar of his crisply pressed shirt as if it were a manacle. “Not really. I’m expected to play a role.”

“Well,” I said, “with all due respect, a lot of people would kill to be in your position.”

“And they’d soon realize it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” He sighed. “I’d rather be a farmer.”

“You? A farmer?”

His eyes brightened. “I’d grow corn, so I could get lost in it. Did you know that in California they grow corn mazes—big stalks as tall as me spread out as far as the eye can see?”

I shook my head.

“Well, that’s what I’d do, anyway,” he said, “if I could choose another life. And you?” His eyes sparkled with sincerity. “Are you happy?”

I smoothed my dress self-consciously. Can he see through me? Does he know I don’t belong here? “Why wouldn’t I be?” I said a little more defensively that I’d intended.

A band began playing soft music, and a few couples rose from their chairs and began walking to the dance floor. He looked at me shyly. “Let’s dance.”

My heart raced. Dance? Me? I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh,” Charles replied, injured. “I promise, I won’t bite.”

I looked away, trying to think of an excuse. “No, no, it’s just that, well…”

“Tell me,” he said tenderly. “What are you afraid of? No, let me guess. You’re engaged to be married?” He placed his hand on his heart dramatically, as if Cupid had just shot an arrow right through the lapel of his suit jacket.

“No,” I said, smiling despite myself. “It’s just that I…can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t dance,” I whispered.

Charles looked amused. “Oh, is that all?” He reached for my hand. “Come on. I’ll teach you.”

My heart raced as he led me to the freshly waxed parquet floor. I looked around at the couples moving graciously, elegantly around us. I could jitterbug, but this? I was out of my element.

Charles placed my left hand on his shoulder and took my right hand in his, positioning my body so close to his that I felt the warmth radiating from his suit jacket. “This is a waltz,” he said. “It’s easy. Just follow me.”

In minutes, I caught on, and I followed Charles’s lead around the dance floor. He guided me with such precision, he made up for my lack of dancing prowess.

“You’re a natural,” he said, smiling at me with his warm green eyes.

I grinned, looking away. “Well, I have you to thank for that.”

He eyed me curiously, determined to continue the conversation. “Tell me, Miss Ray, who are your family? I don’t recognize the Ray name. Is your father in real estate?”

I freed my hand from his and suddenly stopped dancing. “I really must go.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I say something wrong?”

I glanced over to where I thought Caroline was, but couldn’t see her in the dim, smoky air. What am I doing here? This isn’t a place for me. “I’m very sorry,” I said, turning toward the door. “Good night.”

I ran through the throng of people, pushing my way into the foyer, frantically looking for Caroline. Perhaps she could mingle with the rich without batting an eye, but I couldn’t pretend. It wasn’t in me.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, pushing past a group of men smoking cigars. I took a step farther and collided with a hotel maid I recognized instantly. “Gwen?”

She looked at me with confusion. “Vera? What are you doing here?”

I shook my head. “Caroline talked the doorman into letting us in.”

Gwen raised one eyebrow. “She could talk a mink into giving up its fur, that one.”

I sighed. “This is beautiful and all, but…I just can’t pretend to be”—I looked back toward the party—“one of them. I don’t belong here.”

“Maybe not,” Gwen said, “but you seem to have an admirer.”

I turned around to see Charles approaching. “Quick,” I said, “help me hide.”

Gwen shrugged and led me down a hallway, where we both jumped inside a maid’s closet. I pushed a mop aside to make more room. “All right,” she said once the door was safely closed behind us. “Why is it that you’re hiding from Seattle’s most eligible bachelor?”

“Charles?”

“Yes, dummy,” she said with a sigh. “His father owns half of Seattle. This hotel, too.”

“Well,” I said, “then I’ll save him the disappointment when he finds out I’m not a society girl.”

“Honey,” Gwen snorted, “I’m sorry to put it so bluntly—I’m sure he already knows you’re not a society girl.”

The unforgiving light in the closet did nothing to conceal the hole beginning to form on the toe of my right shoe. “Oh.”

“He clearly doesn’t care,” she continued. “Maybe he likes you for…you.”

“Gwen,” I said, “you’re very sweet, but I think you’re out of your mind.” I squeezed her hand. “I’m going home. Is there a back entrance I can use?”

“Yes,” she said, opening the door and pointing down the hall. “Right that way.”

“Thanks. And if you see Caroline, can you let her know? Discreetly?”

“I will,” she replied. “I’ll pass her a note in the caviar.” She snickered.

I walked down the hallway and opened the door, which deposited me in the alley. I took two steps, then jumped when I heard shuffling behind me. I turned around to see Charles leaning against the building with a shy smile.

“There you are,” he said. “I thought you were running away from me.”

“I was,” I said honestly.

He took a step closer. “I have to know,” he said. “What did I say that has you so spooked? Did I do something to upset you?”

“Listen,” I replied, “you have the wrong idea about me. I’m not a debutante. I didn’t go to finishing school. And I wasn’t even invited to this event.”

Charles shrugged. “And you think I care about all that?”

I paused, studying his face—honest, kind. “You don’t?”

“I can’t stand those kinds of girls,” he said, gesturing toward the party. “They’re all the same. If you’ll let me, I’d love to get to know you. Can we start over?”

I smiled, extending my hand. “I’m Vera Ray; so nice to meet you.”