From This Moment (23 page)

The instant Romulus suspected her level of attraction he’d start holding her at arm’s length, but that didn’t mean she intended to retreat. She would be smarter than the other women who’d tried to reel him in. She could repress the outward show of her growing infatuation, letting the natural affinity between them grow stronger and bloom while his guard was down.

“What are you smiling about in such glee?” Romulus asked.

“It isn’t a smile of glee, but pity,” she said. “I can’t help but mourn the triumphs you might have accomplished had you gone to Cornell instead of the predictable choice of Harvard.”

His laughter was so hearty it was impossible not to join in. “Such bitterness. I’m surprised it doesn’t sour the fruit.” That didn’t stop him from wolfing down the last of the melon, but his mood soon sobered. “I wish I could make this breakfast stretch all morning, but a court case awaits my attention,” he said as he pushed back from the table and stood.

As he left the restaurant, Stella noticed every female in the vicinity, young and old alike, following him out the door with their gaze.

11

R
omulus didn’t know who was behind the campaign to destroy
Scientific World
, but he suspected the battle was far from over, and he refused to supply his opponent with ammunition. The contract governing the distribution of subscription magazines required the publisher to notify subscribers of an interruption in their service within five days of learning of the delay. Typically it would be ridiculous to believe anyone would bring a lawsuit for such a minor violation, but these weren’t normal times.

That meant he needed to get these letters in tomorrow’s mail if he was to stay within the letter of the law. His staff had been addressing envelopes for the past three days. Overflowing bins of bundled envelopes crowded the office, ready to be stuffed as soon as the letters were printed. Roy Tanner had spent the entire morning reconfiguring the linotype machine to print a single-sided letter. Now stacks of letters were being carried up in batches of five thousand.

He couldn’t ask his staff to stay late and stuff envelopes. He and Evelyn would do that on their own. It was going to
be a long night, and Evelyn had gone downstairs to get them something for dinner. They might be here until the sun rose, but these letters would be ready for tomorrow’s post.

He still needed to refute the charges against the magazine, and Clyde had been invaluable on that front. For the past three evenings, Clyde had come up to the office, tired and grubby after a long day of work on the subway. He took a seat at a vacated desk and wrote a point-by-point defense for each article they had published on electricity.

Evelyn had not complained. She didn’t like Clyde’s presence, but they needed him, so she swallowed back whatever remnants of bitterness still lingered in her mind. Evelyn’s memory was a mixed blessing. It kept their office running like a well-oiled clock, but she was a master at storing and cataloging every slight Clyde had dealt her over the past ten years.

The door opened, and Evelyn shouldered her way in, followed by Stella, whose arms were weighed down with baskets of food.

“We have brought sustenance,” Stella said gaily.

“What have you got?” he asked.

“Deep-fried clams, spiced lobster patties, corn bread, and of course, a nice big box of Belgian chocolates.”

“She can stay,” Clyde said, reaching out for the basket brimming with golden, crispy fried clams. Evelyn set out a plate with sliced corn bread and plenty of butter.

Romulus couldn’t tear his eyes off Stella as she sashayed around the office, bearing her baskets of goodies like Lady Bountiful. It wasn’t until she set everything down that he got a good look at her ensemble. Even for Stella, it was a bold choice.

“A Japanese kimono?” he asked in amazement.

Stella grinned. “It’s going to be a late night, and it’s the most comfortable thing I own. I overspent shamelessly on the chocolate, but I think we can all use a little something special tonight.”

He resented the niggling sense of attraction that never left him in peace. He was grateful Stella had volunteered to help with stuffing envelopes, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He wasn’t going to compliment her spectacular silk kimono. He wasn’t going to ask if she’d made progress tracking down the mysterious A.G.—or anything else that might divert him from saving his magazine. All he wanted was to get these envelopes stuffed, sealed, and batched for tomorrow’s mail.

Evelyn cleared space at a desk and passed out plates, and the four of them started tearing through the food. He was so hungry the first lobster cake was down his throat while he was still slathering butter across warm corn bread.

“This reminds me of old times,” Evelyn said. “Except back in the early days when we addressed the magazines, the only thing we could afford was pretzels.”

“I loved those pretzels,” Clyde said.

Romulus held his breath. Dredging up old memories was always a risky sport for these two, but despite all the heartache, there had been good times, too. It seemed Evelyn was in a fond mood, smiling back at the memory of those pretzels.

They devoured the food quickly. Stella cleared the mess while he hefted the first bin of envelopes to the workspace. Each letter was folded into thirds, then inserted into an envelope. He’d paid extra for pre-gummed envelopes, and as he and Evelyn stuffed the envelopes, they passed them to Stella, who swiped a damp sponge over the flap to seal it closed. It took only a few minutes for them to sink into a routine, the work progressing quickly, but after an hour they’d stuffed only five thousand envelopes.

“I can help,” Clyde offered, finally having completed the written defense for the last of their electricity articles. “Although a man of my brilliance being reduced to stuffing envelopes seems a painful waste.”

“A man fired by Thomas Edison?” Romulus quipped, but Clyde was having none of it.

“So was Tesla! So was Westinghouse! All the great electrical engineers have run afoul of Edison. It’s a badge of distinction.”

Once Clyde joined Stella in sealing envelopes, their productivity picked up. The next hour saw almost ten thousand letters sealed, and at this rate, they ought to finish by morning.

“Do you remember the summer of the hummingbirds?” Evelyn asked.

How could any of them forget? It was the summer Clyde had come into their lives, showing up at Evelyn’s house with the tools to electrify their greenhouse in order to create the right conditions to keep hummingbirds alive.

“The summer of the hummingbirds?” Stella asked. “It sounds like a play by Oscar Wilde.”

Evelyn laughed. “It was about as improbable. His senior year of college, Romulus captured some hummingbirds just to prove he could do it. He set them free in our greenhouse, and we intended to enjoy them for only a few days . . . but by the time we got ready to release them, a pair had laid eggs, so we had to create a suitable environment in which they could hatch.”

Stella seemed enraptured as Evelyn spoke. “You must tell me everything!”

“Only so long as you keep gluing those envelopes,” Romulus said.

Stella nodded and went back to sweeping the sponge across the gummed flaps. “Continue,” she prompted.

It was a little painful, listening to Evelyn resurrect that long-ago summer of dreams and halcyon days. They added a fountain to the greenhouse to ensure proper humidity for the hummingbirds. They stocked the greenhouse with flowering plants to provide an endless supply of nectar. Romulus, Evelyn,
and Clyde then spent countless hours building a microcosm of paradise, ostensibly for the hummingbirds, but really just for the sheer love of the challenge.

“I would love a chance to study hummingbirds,” Stella said, her voice saturated with the same kind of wistful longing he’d always felt when overcome by a surge of inspiration. “I’ve seen them a couple of times, but they always fly away before I can get a good look at them.”

“Hummingbirds are the spoiled darlings of the avian kingdom,” Romulus said dismissively. “When they grow bored of New England, they fly to the Caribbean in search of greener fields. Very fickle.”

Evelyn apparently felt compelled to defend the hummingbirds’ character, referencing the stamina contained in their tiny bodies. By the time darkness fell, they had forty thousand envelopes stuffed, and Clyde opened the window. Somewhere in the distance, the Boston Symphony was playing one of their outdoor promenade concerts. Whenever they performed outdoors, they played lighter, popular selections, and it was always a treat to open the window to listen.

“Brahms by moonlight,” Clyde murmured. In the distance, the violins and cellos rolled through a concerto laden with longing and reverence. “When my last hour on earth arrives, I hope to be listening to Johannes Brahms,” Clyde said softly.

“Not me,” Stella said. “I’d want to be listening to Puccini. I think
La Bohème
is the most sublime piece of music ever written. I’ll never tire of listening to it.”

“It would be nice to see the concert in person,” Evelyn said as she folded another letter. “I’d like to simply sit on the lawn, close my eyes, and let the music wash over me.”

“Not me,” Clyde said. “This room is exactly where I want to be. We are at the heart of scientific creation. We are a mega
phone for launching news of discovery and innovation out to the world, distilling it into articles that inform and inspire. There is no place on earth I’d rather be.”

Evelyn gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow. “You sound as flamboyant as Romulus.”

Other people might take that as an insult, but Clyde and Evelyn both knew the magazine’s success had been built on Romulus’s grandiose celebration of scientific wonder. And Clyde was right: There was magic in this room tonight. They were trapped in the most mind-numbing task imaginable, and yet the evening was transcendent. It contained a perfect combination of energy, intellect, and comradery. Evelyn was the rock, the sensible foundation that kept them all grounded. Clyde was the academic and intellectual engine. And Stella? Annoyed as he was with her, she fit into this group perfectly. She brought the artistic flare to capture abstract ideas and translate them into images the rest of the world could understand.

Were he the type to analyze or dissect what made this evening so perfect, he would try to break it down to its component parts. He’d credit part of it to the captivating music of Brahms, part to his happiness at seeing Clyde and Evelyn behaving kindly to one another, and part to the smile he couldn’t repress whenever he admired Stella’s daring fuchsia kimono. But in large part, the magic of this evening came from a higher power that occasionally provided glimpses of pure, unrefined joy to those who were open to the message. Happiness was not an abundance of riches or amusements, it was evenings such as these, when people were engaged in a worthy pursuit and surrounded by kindred spirits.

It was four o’clock in the morning when the last envelope was sealed. His hands were so cracked and dry, it was a wonder he had even been able to keep folding the pages. He was
bleary-eyed, hungry, and tired, but he had the satisfaction of a job well done.

“I’ll walk you both home,” Clyde said to Evelyn and Stella.

“We’ll be okay,” Evelyn replied.

Already, Romulus could sense Evelyn’s invisible shields erecting as she retreated behind them. She was able to let down her guard here in the office, but stepping out into the real world alongside Clyde would be another matter.

“Don’t be foolish,” Clyde said. “It’s on the way to my hotel, and Boston can be a dubious place at this hour.”

“He’s right,” Stella said.

Romulus hoped Evelyn would concede; otherwise he would feel compelled to accompany them the three miles to her home, and his hotel was right next door to the office.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Evelyn nodded.

It was almost dawn, and Evelyn ought to be exhausted, but every nerve in her body was disturbingly alive because Clyde was so close on the narrow sidewalk that their hands were in continual danger of bumping against each other.

How unsettling to feel so stiff beside a man she was once married to. She battled the instinctive impulse to clasp hands with him, for although he knew her better than any man on the planet, it was essential that she keep her distance from him. In the eyes of the law, they were still married, but they had a formal separation agreement outlining the exact terms of their rights and obligations to each other.

Which was essentially nothing. They owed each other nothing anymore.

“Here we are,” Evelyn said as she mounted the steps to the townhouse and fumbled with the key.

“I’ll see you inside,” Clyde said as he mounted the steps behind her.

“There’s no need. Stella and I will be perfectly fine.”

He didn’t listen to her. Of course, he didn’t listen. Why should she expect Clyde to change his stripes now?

Stella made her excuses and headed up the darkened staircase to the guest bedroom, leaving her alone with Clyde in the parlor. She didn’t want to be brusque, but Clyde rarely responded to subtlety. It had taken her years to consign him to her past, and he’d broken his word by returning to Boston. She was under no obligation to extend hospitality or even be polite to him. “Thank you for walking us home. I’m sure you can find your own way back to your hotel.”