Then her aunt said something that had shocked Sophie to the bone.
“Take advantage. Take the resources he is giving you, and start again. You can go anywhere. Back to New Orleans, if you like, to buy back the building where your father’s infirmary was so that you can reopen it.”
Her expression must have been transparent, because Aunt Quinlan squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’m not telling you to go, far from it. I want you as near as I can have you. But you should be thinking about a larger life, Sophie. You stand on a precipice with the world spread out before you.”
“After Switzerland,” Sophie said, her voice catching.
“It’s a terrible price to pay,” her aunt said. “I know.”
LETTERS
SHERMAN HOUSE HOTEL
RANDOLF AND CLARK STREETS
CHICAGO, ILL.
May 2nd, 1883
Dearest Anna,
Here I am in a hotel room half asleep but I’m too busy missing you to go to bed. You’re not here and yet you manage to follow me everywhere. You’ll have to explain to me how you do it.
So now for the bad news first (and it’s not about you or me, or you and me, I know how your mind works, so just put that aside). We should be leaving here on Saturday at the latest but it’s going to be another week or ten days before we can escape the clutches of the CPD. Two of the three Deparacio brothers we are here to extradite are in the hospital nursing broken bones and other injuries, and it will be at least that long until they can travel. The head of detectives tells us that an unfortunate tumble down a set of stairs is to blame, and what a shame, isn’t it, that we’ll have to stay longer than planned. Oscar wondered out loud if this had something to do with the fact that Chicago has a sizable Italian immigrant population but not one detective who speaks Italian. Bjick’s smirk was answer enough. My impulse is to put him into a room alone with the Deparacio boys for a half hour or so.
Oscar sends his best regards and bids me tell you that I am in the sourest of moods, but that he is enjoying the city and has decided that the lakefront in spring almost makes up for the stink of the stockyards.
I miss your bright face and clever mind and the feel of you, but more than missing you I am worried that you will have already talked yourself out of trusting me. You are thinking that we haven’t known each other long enough, when the plain fact is, we knew each other immediately. You must admit it to yourself at least, you looked at me on the Hoboken ferry that morning in March and you saw me. As I saw you.
So I know you, and I would wager good money that you haven’t told even Sophie that you are going to marry me. What you need is a token to remind you, and here you have it, from a Milanese jeweler on Wabash who talked my ear off, but then sold me what he says is the prettiest ring he has ever made. And I think he may be right.
You are stuck with me now, Savard, well and truly. As I am with you, and count myself a fortunate man.
Yours without doubt
Jack
? ? ?
DR. L. M. SAVARD
18 WAVERLY PLACE
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
Sunday, 6 May, evening
Mezzanotte—
A strange confession to start: I cannot address you as dearest. Though I have not written the word, you should imagine it there before your name, because it is appropriate: you are very dear, and your letter was a strategic masterpiece.
It made me realize a number of things. First, that you do understand me very well; second, that you like me because of (rather than despite) my faults; and third, that you know when to appeal to reason, and when reason will hold no sway. And most important, you are able to put into words the things that I find so hard to say, and write.
The ring is lovely, very pretty and elegant in its simplicity. Sophie asks me to congratulate you on your good taste, and Aunt Quinlan says you did very well. I didn’t wear it at the hospital today, which I think you will understand as a practical and professional decision. I admit I did hesitate to put it on once I was home again. People will ask the most intrusive personal questions on the basis of a piece of jewelry, and I’m not sure yet how politely I can handle such inquisitions. Which reminds me. I am sorry that your return will be delayed, but I can be patient, especially given the amount of work to be done both at the hospital, and for Sophie’s wedding.