Blackberry Winter: A Novel (15 page)

I looked inside the restaurant at Dominic and I felt a pang of guilt. “I’m having lunch at the Market. With a friend.”

Warren was the grandfather I’d never had. Mine had both passed away before I was born, and when I married into the
Kensington family, Grandpa Warren had welcomed me with open arms. I’d bonded with him the moment we met, in fact. He challenged me to a game of hearts, and I won. “She’s a keeper, this one,” he had said to Ethan. “Any woman who can beat a man at a game of cards is a woman you can spend a lifetime with.” I knew he wasn’t talking about me, not really. His late wife, Ethan’s grandmother, had passed away years before I came into the family. But I didn’t have to meet her to know that she and Warren had shared a deep love. You could see it in the pictures of their life together, but mostly you could see it in his eyes. More than fifteen years after her death, he still got teary talking about her.

“I’ll be over as soon as I can,” I said. “Tell him I’m coming.”

I ran back to the table, reaching for my bag on the chair. “I’m so sorry, Dominic, but there’s been an emergency. My husband’s grandfather is in the hospital. He’s had a heart attack. I need to go.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, standing up. “Can I help?”

“No, no,” I stammered, suddenly feeling the guilt I’d pushed aside earlier. “I’ll just catch a cab from here. I’ll…I’ll call you.” I looked down at my half-eaten lunch before I ran out the door.

Warren managed a weak smile as I walked in the room. His arms lay limp at his side in the gray hospital bed. “Look at you,” I whispered. “You know you can’t go and have a heart attack without giving me some advance warning.” I heard Ethan enter; I didn’t turn around to greet him.

Warren winked. “Sorry, honey; this old ticker has a mind of its own, I guess.”

“Well,” I said, forcing the tears back, “you have many good years left. We need to get you well.”

The old man nodded. “If you say so, dear. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather leave now and go see my sweetheart. I miss her.”

“I know you do, Warren,” I said. “But
we
love you too, don’t forget.”

I felt the warmth of Ethan’s body near. “He needs to rest,” he whispered to me. “Let’s sit down.”

I didn’t like his know-it-all tone, but I agreed that Warren looked tired, so I followed him outside the room, where we sat down on a bench in the hallway. Nurses bustled around us. The air smelled of beef stroganoff and disinfectant.

“They think he’s going to recover,” he said. “For now.”

“That’s a relief,” I replied, rubbing my hands together nervously.

I looked up to see Ethan’s parents, Glenda and Edward, walking toward us.

“How is he this afternoon?” Glenda asked Ethan. She ignored my presence.

Ethan shrugged. “The same. The doctor says his heart’s weak. He’s not going to be able to keep the same schedule he did. We have to help him manage his stress. It’s finally time he slowed down.”

Glenda looked at Edward and then at me. “Claire, darling,” she said.

I gulped. She only addressed me as
darling
when a favor or a directive was imminent.

She gave Ethan a knowing look. “Claire, we think you should probably curtail your weekly visits to Warren for the time being.”

“I’m sorry?” I said, a little stunned. “What do you mean?” I’d been visiting Warren at his home once a week for the past two years. We played hearts, watched old films, or just read together, he with his war novels, and I with my romance novels.

“It’s his heart, dear,” she continued. “You heard Ethan. The
doctor says it’s been weakened. With all of your…well, it’s just that Warren doesn’t need any extra…drama right now.”

“Extra
drama
?” My cheeks burned. “You think my visiting him is bad for his health?” I looked at Ethan for backup.

“Well of course we don’t mean
that
, darling,” Glenda said, patting my back ceremoniously. I hated the patronizing tone in her voice. “We’re just looking out for his best interest, as he makes his recovery—”

“Mom,” Ethan said, holding out his hand in protest. “Grandfather
loves
Claire. She’s one of the few people who make him happy.” He squeezed my hand in solidarity, but I was too shell-shocked to squeeze it back.

I felt Glenda’s stone-cold gaze on my face when I turned to Ethan. Rogue tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t bear to let his parents see them brim over my lids, yet I knew I couldn’t stop them. “Thank you,” I whispered to my husband, before releasing his hand and turning to the elevator.

“Claire, please,” Ethan said, after his parents had walked farther down the hallway. He pulled me close to him and kissed my forehead lightly. “Don’t listen to my mom.”

I nodded as the elevator opened. A nurse in blue scrubs eyed the sign ahead. “Oops, wrong floor,” she said. In a wheelchair near her was a woman in a hospital gown who clutched a tightly swaddled newborn to her breast, his face red and puffy. The new mother smiled, a tired, satisfied smile, as her proud husband hovered over them. Love oozed from their every fingertip. The elevator door closed.

“I’m sorry, Ethan,” I said in a voice that quivered. “I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

I waited for the elevator to open again and then stepped inside. When the doors closed, I buried my face in my hands and wept.

V
ERA

T
he plump female shopkeeper at Frederick and Nelson eyed me disapprovingly before looking up at Lon’s assistant and letting out an annoyed sigh. “Another one?”

Andrew pointed to a rack of formal dresses in the distance. “She’ll need an array of gowns,” he said. “Mr. Edwards prefers red, but throw in some other colors—for variety. And she’ll need
other
garments too.” He gave the woman a knowing look, before checking his watch. “Charge it to Mr. Edwards’s account, as usual.”

“All right,” the woman said, raising an eyebrow. “We have work to do.”

“Good,” Andrew said. “Please see to it that she arrives at the hairdresser by four. Mr. Edwards will be meeting her for dinner at five, and not a minute later.” I felt like goods on a delivery truck.

I followed her into a changing room and stood numbly in front of a mirror as she pried off my clothing. My dress fell to the floor in disgrace, a crumpled pile of dark blue frayed fabric.

Another woman walked in the room, this one younger.

“Melinda!” the older woman barked. “Get rid of this dress. She won’t be needing it anymore.”

I felt a surge of sadness as I watched the sales assistant pick up the dress and carry it away. The pocket was torn and the hem ragged. And yet, I had worn it the last time I’d cradled Daniel in my arms. It felt, in some way, as if I were discarding a part of him. A part of us.

“Please,” I begged. “May I keep it?”

The woman let out a dry cackle. “That old rag?”

I stared at my bare feet, trying with all my might to keep the tears from coming.

“Fortunately for you, Mr. Edwards has taken a liking to you,” the woman continued. “You can wear nicer things now.”

I closed my eyes tightly as she tugged at my undergarments. I half-listened as she measured my bust. “He typically prefers a rounder figure,” she said, staring at my breasts with a scrutinizing expression. “It would do you good to eat more.”

I grimaced as she unhooked my corset, exposing my body completely. The cold air felt cruel against my bare skin. The mirror’s reflection revealed a stomach that sagged at its center, where I’d carried Daniel just three years prior. I had birthed him at home, alone. Caroline had been there at the end; she’d patted my face with a cool cloth and sung to me. Labor had been long and painful. But when I’d held him in my arms, none of that had mattered. I’d have done it all over again for him.
My Daniel.
I felt the tears welling up again.
I will not cry. I will not let this woman see me cry.

“I see you’ve had children,” the woman said disapprovingly, strapping a beige corset around my ribs.

I nodded. “Yes,” I said quietly. “Just one. A wonderful little boy who—”

“It’s good you gave him up,” she said. “No sense raising a bastard child.”

“How dare you?” I said, taking a step back.

The woman shrugged. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said, perhaps more worried about losing the commission from Lon’s account than hurting my feelings. “I only meant that it’s hard to raise a child these days in any circumstance, let alone
out of wedlock
.”

She stepped closer and pulled a white silk slip over my head, inching it snugly over my body. She folded her arms as she gave me the once-over. “You do know what happened to the last one, don’t you?”

I shook my head. “The last what?”

“Mr. Edwards’s last girl.”

I shook my head, remembering Susie, the former maid.

“She got pregnant,” she said. “The little fool. He was forced to let her go.”

I didn’t want to share Lon’s bed any more than I wanted to share his dinner table. But I would do anything to find my son. Lon was well connected. Gwen had seen him lunching with a senator. If anyone could get the police to search for Daniel, he could.

“Pull in your stomach,” the woman said. “This corset needs tightening if we’re going to get you into a gown tonight. Mr. Edwards will want you to look stunning on the dance floor.”

I took a deep breath and sucked in my stomach. I closed my eyes and thought of the last time I’d gone dancing. With Charles. I let the memory comfort me like a warm blanket.

Four Years Prior

A horn sounded outside. Caroline squealed. “
Charles
is here!”

I smoothed my hair before running to the window of the
apartment I shared with three friends. I looked out to the street, where he sat in the front seat of his shiny gray Buick, dark hair slicked back, a quiet smile on his face. Dashing. It had been a month and a half since we’d met at the hotel. He’d walked me home that night and promised to call after his holiday in Europe. I thought about him often, despite my attempts to purge his memory from my mind—and my heart. He was wonderful, yes, but he belonged with the type of women I’d seen at the hotel—refined, dripping in jewels—not with someone who had a hole in her shoe and nary a nickel to her name. And yet when he phoned the apartment the week before, I couldn’t help but wonder, despite what he’d said at the Olympic Hotel, could a man from privilege really love a woman from poverty?

Georgia folded her arms. “It’s not fair,” she whined. “Does he have a brother?”

“Don’t distract her, Georgia,” Caroline snapped. “She has to get ready!”

I looked down at my dress, hardly what you’d call fancy, with its simple pleats and a hem I’d mended only that morning. I hoped the cobalt blue thread I’d used—the only I had—didn’t look glaringly obvious against the light blue of the dress. “Do I look all right?”

Caroline frowned. “Honey, you want to impress him, don’t you?”

I nodded.

Caroline began unfastening the buttons on my dress. “Of course you do, which is why you’re going to wear my red dress.”

“Caroline, I couldn’t,” I said. “It’s so…”

“Low cut?”

I nodded.

“Well, yes, my dear, that’s rather the point. We’re going to get you out of this potato sack.”

After Caroline had the final button undone, my dress fell to
the floor, where it rested around my ankles. She walked to her closet and returned with the red dress. She held it up proudly. “He’ll love you in this.” Caroline had spent a month’s wages on it after seeing it in the window at a boutique in Pioneer Square. “Here,” she said, inching the frock over my head. It clung to my body like a tight bandage, and I tugged at the bodice self-consciously.

“There,” she said, taking a step back to gaze at me. “Stunning.”

“I don’t know, Caroline,” I said hesitantly. “Do you think it’s really
me
?”

“It’s you tonight,” she said, holding a beaded necklace against the nape of my neck. “They’re not real pearls, but no one will know.” I felt a shiver along my spine as she fastened the clasp.

“Perfect,” she said, stepping back again to take a final look at me. “Go on; you’ll be late.” She shooed me toward the door. “You look beautiful.”