The Dressmaker (49 page)

“To be wholly myself first,” she whispered.

“If we all waited for that, we’d do nothing.”

“I want to try.”

His eyes wavered. He rubbed a hand through his hair as he drained the glass, then stood and stared at the wall. “Well, at least you’re telling me to my face. I tend not to do that in my life. So there’s my character flaw, dear. I’m a coward. But good at chess.”

“Jack, you saved Jim, and I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart. It was a selfless act.”

“That damn Wheaton!”

“I’m glad I know.”

“Well, it wasn’t selfless. I just wanted you, with unencumbered emotions. It was the easiest way to guarantee it. And I suspect Jim has something to do with your change of heart.”

“Yes, he does. But he doesn’t know it.”

“Well, perhaps you should let him know.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

His reply was almost kind. “Perhaps not.”

“In a way, it doesn’t matter.” She could tell that he didn’t understand, so she switched the subject. “Why did you do something so enormously generous?”

“Because I like having the power to get what I want—that’s what it’s about. I enjoy winning. It was just one more thing I could do.”

“I don’t believe it’s only that.”

He sighed. “All right, Tess. I don’t like people like the Duff Gordons who casually ruin other people’s lives, and I’m happy to thwart them. And I don’t like companies like White Star. Lord knows, I’ve made a lot of money off their kind, but that doesn’t mean I believe their delusions. When they get in trouble, they’ll offer up anybody to save themselves. Here’s the joke—companies like White Star end up believing their own boasts. World’s grandest ship, indestructible—that kind of thing. That’s when they get in trouble. And they don’t see it. So they do it again and again. And people like me find ways to profit.”

“That sounds—very American.”

“It is. Look,” he added slowly, “you’re afraid I’ll get restless and move on; that’s what my wives said. You could change that.”

“Not by myself.”

“Maybe that’s what I wanted most. Your faith in me. It’s obviously not there.” He looked at her sadly, tenderly. “You are so fresh and young, my dear. Perhaps I would kill that with my own cynical take on life.”

There was nothing more to say. They stood apart, strangely relieved, without grief. “I wish you well,” she said. “Jack, I’m trying to be the person I believe I am, because if I don’t do that, if I play a role, any role, I’ll end up making us both unhappy.”

“Like the famous Lucile?”

“Perhaps.”

He let out an almost derisive snort. “She certainly proved a powerful role model.”

Tess turned to go. She had done it, snipped her second lifeline in this new country. Yet there was no uncertainty, no anguish, just that same pervasive sadness that had taken her out of Lucile’s loft and brought her here.

“What made up your mind?”

“My mother, in part. Mostly my own common sense.”

He paused, absorbing her words. “And I don’t fit into that.” He raised a hand when she started to reply. “I guess that proves I can’t start making more out of my life by shaping yours.” He moved forward, giving her a gentle, brief embrace. “Goodbye, Tess.”

She hugged him back. “Goodbye, Jack.” She opened the door, then squeezed the knob tightly as she closed it behind her.

The morning was cloudy, with a soft wind blowing, bending the fragile tulips that grew in clusters along the edge of the flower beds at Union Square. Tess, her loose hair blowing in the wind, gazed across the park to the short, nondescript building that held Jim’s woodworking shop. She had no reason to think she would see him, and certainly no intention of approaching him, but somehow she had found herself here, waiting for something to come clear. Perhaps she was just here to say a silent goodbye. She would soon know.

And then she saw him. His lanky figure, slightly hunched forward, his gait loose and springy—a young man hurrying toward his future. She couldn’t make out his features under his cap, but she knew that man, those hands. I know how he feels, she told herself. Everything is open; everything is possible. How can I interfere with that?

As he reached the shop, he turned in her direction. She lifted her arm and waved slowly.

For a few seconds he stood still, poised on the step. Then he lifted his hand and waved back; waved for a long, sweet moment. Then he turned, disappearing into the shop.

So it was, indeed, goodbye.

She made her way toward Washington Square Park, inhaling the sweet smells of spring in the air. Her step was steady. Everything was ahead.

The park was a sea of patriotic color, with flags of red, white, and blue waving amid an array of women dressed in dazzling white. Tess walked through the crowd, amazed at the energy and excitement. Women were pushing wicker prams with swaddled, bored-looking babies in them, while others laughed and shouted to one another, some of them singing songs she had never heard. They all wore hats—silk bonnets, straw boaters—and banners across their chests proclaiming
VOTES FOR WOMEN
. One group was raising a large sign, a sheet inked with the words
WE DEMAND EQUALITY
. How many were here? Pinky’s story had said this morning they expected twenty thousand people, women from the home, the theater, women’s clubs; even Quakers would be on the march.

She looked around, craning her neck to see above the crowd, and spotted a graceful stone arch. This must be what Pinky had been talking about. Getting to it was taking some elbowing. “You going to the tallyho parade, lady?” shouted a man cheerfully as she tried to squeeze by him. “All the way up Fifth Avenue? You ladies have the strength for that?”

It was a carnival. Breathtaking. All this activity for the vote? Young girls in pinafores were running around with canvas newsbags selling suffrage magazines or twirling parasols with
WE WANT THE VOTE
scrawled across their cotton surfaces. Young men stood on the sidelines, poking one another and laughing.

Tess’s eye was caught by one small knot of women, looking quite grim, waving a banner that read
YOU DISHONOR OUR BRAVE MEN
. A woman in a gray serge coat was shouting at a stout suffragist in white. As Tess moved closer, she saw that the woman in white was Mrs. Brown.

“How could you betray us by supporting these people?” yelled
the woman in gray. “You were with us on that ship! What was wrong with saving women and children first?” Her voice spiraled into the wail that was so familiar to Tess; remembering it made her shiver.

“Honey, it cuts both ways,” Mrs. Brown replied in a firm voice. “We had good men and some rotten ones. Same for women—don’t get your bloomers in such a frenzy.”

That only provoked more shouting. Another woman in white thrust her face full at the woman in gray. “Accepting male chivalry just weakens us,” she said urgently. “Don’t you understand?”

Mrs. Brown spotted Tess and gave her a hug. “Well, dearie, now you’re seeing how we do things in America,” she said. “I kind of wish my suffrage friends had left this particular argument for equality off the books. It’s cutting down on the numbers today.” With a wave, she began to drift back into the crowd.

“Tess! Tess!”

Pinky had spotted her, and was jumping up and down to get her attention. “You came!” She elbowed through the crowd and grabbed Tess’s hand. “Isn’t this incredible?” she said. “Everybody is here—mothers and housewives, milliners, librarians, social workers, laundry workers. Tess, everybody is for it; we’re going to get the vote!”

“I’ve never seen so many different kinds of women in one place,” Tess said. She briefly wondered how they had all been able to get permission to leave their jobs for the march.

“We’ve got Chinese women here. Their feet are bound when they’re babies and they can barely hobble around, so they will ride in a carriage. But
they
can vote in their country—what do you think of that?” Pinky pointed in the direction of a carriage covered in flowers. “Our oldest suffragist is ninety-four; she’ll ride in that. And we’ve got thousands of men joining us. Isn’t that something?”

Tess nodded, not trying to talk above the din.

“We’re organizing now. Come over here—I want to show you the white horse. I get my chance to ride it before we start; it’ll be a good picture for the
Times
.”

“Who rides it in the parade?”

“A woman lawyer, believe it or not.”

Pinky was greeted exuberantly as she joined the crowd around the horse. “Your turn, Pinky!” someone shouted.

Tess reached out to stroke the animal’s nose. It was a beautiful mare, tall and strong, with intelligent eyes, as dazzlingly white as the dresses on the women gathering for the march. Its gaze seemed to rest on her, offering pride. She liked that.

“Up you go!”

Pinky, helped by two other women, swung herself up into the saddle. She felt filled with excitement, and it wasn’t just because of her chance to play this little part in history. Last night she had feared that Tess was about to vanish, but something had changed even as they talked. She had felt it then; she knew it now.

She clutched the saddle horn, feeling strong and powerful. She could see everything from up here. “This is wonderful!” she shouted, scanning the crowds fanning out throughout the square.

“Be sure to hold on,” Tess said.

“Hold on? I want to gallop around the park!” She glanced down at Tess. “Come on, you’ve got to get up here.” She slid her way down the flank of the horse and jumped to the ground. She grabbed Tess and put the reins in her hands. “Climb on!”

“Why not?” Tess said, laughing. And up she went, swinging her leg over the back of the magnificent animal, pulling herself tall.

The view was breathtaking. Her gaze swept out across the splendid, exciting square. Yes, she could see the horizon, the view so much more sweeping than she had expected. She saw now what Jim had seen, what had been there all the time. So much to do and know, and yes, she could do this.

And then she saw something else. A familiar figure, cap pushed back, walking toward her. She saw him moving closer, saw those clear, blue eyes. She heard a laugh—whose? Her own. And it was all right. She could be right or wrong, but her vow to herself was clear now. She would be strong and not always too careful, not settle for a smaller life, and face what was true.

What was true? Perhaps it was here, staring her in the face.

“May I help you down?” Jim said. He was standing beneath her now, his hands on the bridle, looking up, his eyes alight.

Palms up, arms stretched out, she reached toward him.

“Yes,” she said.

Much of the testimony in this book is taken directly from the transcripts of the U.S. Senate hearings in the aftermath of the sinking of the
Titanic
.

The basic bones of the story are true: Lady Duff Gordon, a world-famous designer, escaped with her husband and secretary in a lifeboat that, according to various reports, could have held between forty and fifty people instead of only twelve. She adamantly opposed going back for survivors. Cosmo Duff Gordon did offer the crewmen money—whether as a bribe to obey his wife’s demands or as an act of gratitude, no one really knows.

Cosmo and Lucile were vilified in the press on both sides of the Atlantic. Although in my story Lucile testifies in the United States, she and Cosmo actually escaped that ordeal. However, they drew heavy attacks when they were forced to testify in England.

The public scorn and ridicule took a toll.

In the aftermath of the hearings, the House of Lucile—yes, she did give romantic names to her gowns—began its long decline, and Sir Cosmo and Lady Duff Gordon eventually separated.

Senator William Alden Smith delivered his final, emotional report on the U.S.
Titanic
hearings in a crowded Senate chamber on May 18, 1912. At the heart of the disaster, he said, was a reckless “indifference to danger” at several key points.

He listed them: The
Titanic
was moving too fast through an iceberg
field. The crew was inexperienced. There were no binoculars on board. Wireless communication was inadequate. There had been no lifeboat drills, and there were not enough lifeboats for all the people on the
Titanic
.