An Unlikely Suitor (16 page)

Mamma bowed her head, placed it in her clasped hands, and began to pray in Italian. Sofia clasped her own hands beneath her chin and closed her eyes, letting her mother’s prayers take care of Lucy’s safe journey. But since the door to heaven was open, Sofia added a few prayers of her own, a few longer prayers.

Help me not be jealous. Help me be a better person. Change me. . . .

The last prayer made her open her eyes. Could God change her?

And more than that . . . did she really want Him to?

M
r. Standish helped Lucy out of the carriage. “Watch your step.”

She was immensely glad he’d offered to take her to the station to make sure she found the right train. She’d heard stories hailing the busyness of Grand Central Depot. Three distinct railroads shared the same station, but each had their own waiting room, ticketing area, and baggage handling. To add to the confusion, they all held very similar names: the New York Central and Hudson River Railroad, the New York and Harlem Railroad, and the New York and New Haven Railroad.

Mr. Standish led Lucy across busy 42
^nd
Street, and stood before the entrance of the massive four-story structure. “Now, then. Let me see the note from the Langdons one more time.”

Lucy removed it from her reticule. Mr. Standish read it again. “I do wish she would have indicated which line it was. But I assume the New Haven will get you to Newport.”

He assumed? He didn’t know?

“Will you ask someone?” she said.

He offered her a reassuring smile. “Never fear, Miss Scarpelli. I
will
get you to the right train, on time.” He picked up her two bags, putting one under his arm, and held the door for her to enter. He immediately sought a man wearing a uniform with a flat cap, and asked the needed questions. Lucy saw the man point. Mr. Standish thanked him and rejoined her. “Over there. He says the New Haven line
will
be the one to get you to Wickford Junction, where you will go to the landing and get a steamer to Newport.”

“A boat?” The last boat Lucy had been on was the huge ship that had brought them from Italy to America.

“Newport is on an island, you know.”

She was shocked. “I didn’t know that.”

He laughed. “I think there will be many things about Newport that will shock and surprise you. Now, come. First off, we need to pick up your ticket.”

They moved through the station past hundreds, if not thousands, of people who all seemed to know where they were going.

Mr. Standish talked to a man sitting in a booth that had wrought-iron rails dividing his space from the public. He procured a ticket and was all smiles as he brought it to her. “My, my, are you going to have an adventure,” he said. “The Langdons purchased you a first-class ticket. You will be traveling in high style.”

First class? Lucy shook her head. “But I don’t want to travel with society people. Can’t I just travel with those of my own class?”

“I suppose you could, but . . .”

She was causing him distress.
And
she was being ungrateful. “I’m sorry. It’s just unexpected. I’m not one of
them
. I don’t know how to act. What if they question my being there and want to kick me out?”

“You simply show them your ticket. A conductor will ask to see it after you’re on the train, and once he’s approved your place, no one can argue. Your seat has been paid for. You deserve to be there.” At her continued distress he added, “Enjoy it, Lucy. Enjoy all the advantages that come because of your association with the Langdons. I’m sure this train ride is but the first of many amazements.”

His words frightened more than excited her. When she’d come to America she’d been too young to understand the immensity of the voyage, but now, she felt as if traveling to Newport, traveling among the rich and powerful, was as daunting and life-changing as traveling to a new country. For the wealthy
had
created a kingdom for themselves, one with its own rules, rulers, and boundaries. One that was wary of all outsiders, invited or not.

“Come, now,” Mr. Standish said. “This way.”

They passed through a vast waiting room lined with tall oak benches that extended a full foot above any seated person’s head. Perched on each end were globed light fixtures that rose from the top of the benches the height of a man. The ceiling climbed to at least thirty feet, and the walls were decorated with half-columns and arched doorways. There was an echo in the room which accentuated the movement and conversations swirling about her.

Lucy and Mr. Standish didn’t pause to sit down but continued through an archway to a vast exterior area of tracks and trains. It was open on the sides, but covered from the elements by a metal roof. The air was heavy with thick vapor from the steam engines, and the sound of trains coming and going was deafening: clacking and squeaking and the alarming sound of the trains’ whistles announcing themselves. As if anyone could ignore them. It was all rather frightening and Lucy immediately understood why people waited inside until it was time to board.

Which it was.

“There it is,” Mr. Standish said, taking her to a track nearby. “This is your train.” He sounded confident, but she noticed that he asked a train employee, just to be sure.

Seeing the ticket, the man was suddenly attentive, and took the two bags from Mr. Standish. But when he saw Lucy, he looked confused. Obviously, she didn’t fit the image of a first-class passenger. Lucy knew what such traveling attire should look like, and though she was dressed in her new skirt and blouse sewn by the ladies, she was far from fashionable. To be so she needed a matching suit, heavy with soutache trim, gloves, and a hat with an abundance of ribbons and feathers, and probably a veil.

Mr. Standish said a few words to the man, and he nodded.

The steward was waiting for her. It was time to say good-bye.

“Mr. Standish,” she said with a sigh. “Once again you’ve saved me, once again I’m in your debt.”

“You have saved yourself, Lucy. Your tenaciousness, creativity, and work ethic will serve you well in Newport.” He took her hand and held it between his two. “Be confident and be yourself.”

“I’ll try.”

He reached a hand into his pocket and pressed some coins into her hands. “For food and gratuities along the way.”

Gratuities? She’d never thought about that.

Then he stepped back and tipped his hat. “Safe journey, Miss Scarpelli. Don’t worry a moment about anything here. I’ll watch over your mother and sister as if they were my own.”

She felt her eyes grow misty, for she knew him to be a man of his word. Then she turned toward the steward and weighed her decision: she could act as if she belonged or cower in a corner. Making her choice, she walked toward the steward, trying to hold her chin erect, trying to look confident.

The steward offered her a hand to climb the steps to the train car. “Now to the right, miss.”

She entered a car that had to be as sumptuous as a Vanderbilt mansion. There was a carpeted center aisle with benches on either side, just wide enough to seat two. Benches faced each other, enabling intimate conversation between two couples. The seating was upholstered in a patterned velvet of navy, red, and green, with the upper portion of the back tufted and buttoned in a rich green to match. There were spaces above the seats that pulled down for small storage, and these—and the ceiling of the car—were painted with intricate patterns and scenes edged in gilt filigree.

Her stomach clenched as she walked past other travelers, decked out in their finest traveling ensembles. At a glance she knew firsthand the quality and cost of their clothing.

As they knew hers.

She kept her head down and quickly found a seat facing the end wall. Hopefully no one would sit across from her. She hugged the armrest closest to the window. The steward stood in the aisle with her bags. “Are you comfortable here, miss?”

“Very,” she said.

“Then I’ll put your bags up here. Just ask for assistance if you need to get at them,” he said.

She remembered the money in her hand and procured a coin for him. “Thank you.”

He shook his head and said softly. “The gentleman took care of that, miss. And he asked that I take special care of you.” Then he tipped his hat and offered her a wink. “Relax and enjoy the trip, miss. If you need anything, anything at all, my name is Ralph.”

Once again, Mr. Standish had gone above and beyond. She looked outside for him, but he was gone. A tinge of fear fell upon her, but she quickly shoved it away. She was safely on the train. Ralph had been assigned to help her. There was nothing to worry—

A couple moved into the bench seat across from her. She panicked and wanted to move away, yet knew that would be rude. Maybe if she kept her gaze focused out the window . . . If only she’d brought along a book to read. That would have provided an excuse to avoid eye contact.

“Hello,” the woman said.

Suddenly, the words of Mr. Standish returned to her:
“Be confident and be yourself.”

Lucy gathered a breath, smiled, and answered. “Hello.” She purposely looked both the woman and then the man in the eye. “It’s a lovely day to be traveling,” she said. As if she traveled much. At all.

“What is your final destination?” the man asked.

“Newport.”

“Really,” he said.

Lucy’s confidence faltered until the woman said, “How wonderful. We’re traveling to Newport too.” She settled her small beaded purse into the space between herself and her husband, then put her gloved hands in her lap. “Since we are traveling companions, we should introduce ourselves. I am Mrs. Garmin, and this is my husband.”

With a hint of reluctance, he tipped his hat, then looked away.

“I’m Lucy Scarpelli. Very nice to meet you.”

“Scarpelli,” the woman repeated. “What a lovely name.”

Her husband raised an eyebrow and Lucy wondered if he was thinking of something derogatory. I-tie. Ginzo. Dago. Guinea. Tony. She’d heard them all.

The conductor came through and asked to see their tickets. Although Lucy knew her ticket proved she belonged there, she was still nervous until he moved on.

The train whistle blew and Lucy felt the car jerk into motion. She gripped the armrest.

“Is this your first trip on the New Haven?” Mrs. Garmin asked.

“This is my first trip on any train, anywhere.” With the words freshly spoken, Lucy wondered if she’d made a mistake being so honest.

Then Mr. Garmin startled her by calling out across the railcar, “Joseph! You old goat.” He excused himself to talk to his friend.

Mrs. Garmin edged toward the center of her bench. Lucy hoped her disapproving husband would spend the trip seated elsewhere.

“There, that’s better,” she said. She was looking toward the far end of the car. Lucy turned around to see Mr. Garmin sitting with two other men. Mrs. Garmin went on to explain. “My husband comes out with me at the beginning of the season to see that the house is opened properly, but then he commutes back to New York during the week, and then to Newport for the weekend.” She smiled confidentially. “We would take a steamer from Long Island for the shorter trip, but I have never liked being on the sea for any length of time. The rocking of the train is tolerable, the rocking of the ocean is not.”

“It’s nice he’s traveling with you,” Lucy said.

Mrs. Garmin leaned forward as if sharing a confidence. “But it’s also very nice when he goes back to New York. You see, Newport is a very female environ. We let the men visit so we have proper dance and dinner partners, but for the most part, we are not particularly saddened by their absence.” She hastened to add, “I speak only for myself, of course.”

“Of course.” But Lucy imagined Mrs. Garmin spoke for many wealthy women. What a life they had. As their husbands worked hard to pay for their lavish habits, all the women had to do was sit back and enjoy the benefits.

Mrs. Garmin pointed at Lucy’s grip. “We are at full speed now, my dear. You can let go. We are perfectly safe.”

Lucy relinquished her grip and found the feeling of speed was not as frightening as she’d imagined.

“Over thirty miles in an hour,” Mrs. Garmin said. “We are indeed lucky to live in such a modern age. What would take days by carriage can be accomplished in six hours.”

“We’ll be in Newport in six hours?”

“Oh no, my dear. We’ll be in Wickford Junction. There we catch the steamer to travel the bay to Newport. But by later this evening you should be safely ensconced in your . . . Do you have family in Newport?”

“No . . . I . . .” Lucy hesitated. Yet since Mrs. Garmin had shown a generosity of spirit in spite of Lucy’s obvious lesser status . . .

The woman reached across the space between them and let her fingers touch Lucy’s knee. “It’s all right, dear. I’d love to hear your story. We all have a story, you know. Very few of us end up where we started.”

Lucy was overcome by a swell of gratitude.

And so she began . . . “Have you ever heard of Madame Moreau’s Fashion Emporium?”