Unrivaled (10 page)

The crowning ceremony was performed with quite a lot of fanfare. I did Mr. Mahler proud, bowing low before the Veiled Prophet and standing supremely straight while the previous year’s queen transferred her crown to my head. Once I’d danced the Veiled Prophet lanciers, the ball was officially declared open.

After that first dance, I pulled away from well-wishers and friends just as politely as I could. I saw people at the refreshments table trying my candy and wanted to make my way over, but my progress was blocked by my mother. She had a gentleman in tow. I thought . . . he seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite put a name to his face.

“Look who’s here, Lucy!” She was smiling brightly. “It’s Mr. Alfred Arthur.”

I bit the inside of my lip to keep from giggling. We had always joked, my girlfriends and I, about which of those two names was his first and which was his last. He was a good ten years older than I, and his father owned the city’s electricity company.
Often present at the social events in the city, he seemed to prefer to watch and hang about the fringes rather than participate. He was not unhandsome.
Pleasant
was the word I would have used to describe him, rather than attractive or even stylish.

He nodded at me. “I’d heard of your return, Miss Kendall, and I’m delighted to see you crowned our queen.”

“Thank you.” In spite of his years, I was flattered that he would take the trouble to tell me that himself.

The mother of one of my school friends approached us, clasping my gloved hand in hers and kissing my cheek. As she left, another woman came to take her place, clucking about my father’s illness. As I greeted her, Mr. Alfred . . . Arthur . . . stepped back and disappeared into the crowd.

Walter Minard joined us, boldly taking up my gloved hand and planting a kiss atop it.

I vowed to throw the glove away once I got home.

“I don’t see how they could have chosen anyone else. You’re first in the city. A veritable model of pristine beauty.”

The Alps were pristine; I didn’t see how the word could be applied to a person. But then, he had never been especially bright. Just terrifically loud.

He flashed his large, yellow teeth at me in a grin.

I’d forgotten how obsequious he could be. “You’re too kind, Walter. But you mustn’t say things like that. The rest of the court would consider your compliments a snub.” I struggled to see over his shoulder. If only I could reach Sam! I wanted to know what people were saying.

“A word to the wise.” He stepped close enough that I could smell the stench of his breath. “I’d stay away from the refreshments if I were you. There’s some sort of funny-tasting candy on the tray in the center.”

I felt as if someone had pinched me. Quite hard. My breath
hitched for just a moment. “It’s not nice to tease, Walter. Someone must have gone to a great deal of trouble to make it.”

“Of course.” He flashed those horrid teeth again in a semblance of apology. “Be glad it wasn’t City Confectionery! And please give my regards to your father.” He saluted and moved away.

Funny-tasting? Well! No one had ever accused Walter Minard of having any taste at all. “I need some punch.” I left Mother before she could stop me and pushed through the crowds toward Sam.

Or tried to.

With every step someone stopped to congratulate me. Or welcome me back to the city. Or commiserate about my father. Sam bobbed in and out of view, but he never looked in my direction.

“Lucy!” A woman seized me by the shoulders and embraced me.

Did I know her?

“Don’t you remember me?”

“Of course I do.” I smiled, hoping that I would, and soon, before I embarrassed myself.

“Alice Fulton.”

“Fulton . . . ?” The Alice I knew had been a Bingham. And she’d still been a gangly girl when I left, not a full-figured woman.

“I’m ever so glad you’re back.”

Her voice sounded right. And her eyes were that appealing shade of brown that I remembered. It had to be her . . . didn’t it?

“Look at you! The Queen of Love and Beauty. I might have made the court last year, but I was already married by then.”

“Married?” The Alice Bingham I’d known hadn’t been able to talk to any boy without bursting into giggles.

“Hadn’t you heard? To Peter Fulton.”

A vision of a towheaded boy chasing her down a street with a frog danced in my head.

“You have to come over. Sometime this week. We can—or maybe . . . no. I forgot that Georgie has the colic. Maybe next week. He should be over it by then. I’ll let you know. I’ll send a note.” She kissed me on the cheek and moved away, leaving me standing there watching her.

Who was Georgie?

A fluttering hand caught my eye. “Yoo-hoo!”

I had no trouble recognizing that wave. Or that voice: Winnie Compton. I grabbed the hand of the woman standing next to me and shook it. “So pleased to see you here tonight.”

Her eyes registered surprise and then her brows drew together in consternation. “Have we . . . met?”

No. We hadn’t met. But talking to a stranger was better than talking to Winnie Compton. I was hoping the woman would feel compelled to say something—anything!—but she only gathered up the skirts of her gown and turned her shoulder to me.

I felt a tap on my arm. “Lucy Kendall. It
is
you, isn’t it?”

What could I say? Of course it was me! Who else would it be? Talking to Winnie always made me feel so irritated. And surly.

“So you’re back.” She was smiling at me. She was always smiling. I used to think that if someone threatened to murder her, the only thing she’d do in reply would be to smile and thank him.

“Yes.”

“And you’re the queen this year.”

Yes. I was.

“We’re the only two from our class that haven’t married yet. Or gone off to the Orient as missionaries. Or gone to college. Or . . .” She leaned closer. “Eloped. I guess it’s just the pair of us.”

I felt a desperate longing to be engaged. “It was so nice talking to you, Winnie, but I really need to go now.”

Her smile wobbled. “Oh. All right, then. That’s fine.” Another
reason I felt like throttling Winnie: She always made me feel as if I’d somehow disappointed her. And she
was
awfully nice. She’d never done anything to anyone except smile. I was a bad person.

“When are your at-home days, Winnie?”

“This week?”

I already regretted the words I was going to say, but I nodded anyway.

“Thursdays. From two o’clock until four.”

“I’ll come for a visit.”

“You will?” Her smile grew even larger, her eyes even wider.

I nodded. “I promise.”

She squealed and kissed me on the cheek, then darted away toward the dance floor.

At last I reached the refreshments. As I surveyed the table, my spirits lifted. There wasn’t one piece of candy left. I clasped my hands to my chest as I looked at Sam. “It’s a success, then? It looks like every piece has been eaten!” As I spoke, a server whisked away one of the empty trays.

“No, Lucy, it’s—”

Mistaking him for a fellow server, the man turned to Sam. “Now that those awful candies are gone, go back into the kitchen and get something else to take their place.”

Had he said . . . ? “Did you say—?”

The server bowed. “Yes, miss. Someone delivered us candies that weren’t worth eating, but we’ve thrown them all away. You’re not to worry.”

“Weren’t worth—? But . . .”

Sam drew me away by the elbow.

“Weren’t worth eating?” I looked up at him. “What was wrong with them?”

“Lucy . . .”

“No one liked them?”

“It wasn’t the candy exactly. It’s just that nobody liked the way they tasted. Maybe if—”

“No one?”
No one had liked my candy? My father had been right. There was no place for me in his business. And it wasn’t because I was a girl. He must have been trying to spare my feelings all this time. The truth of it was that I had no taste. I was just like that awful Walter Minard . . . and that’s what hurt most of all. I took a step back from Sam.

“Lucy, wait—”

I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I turned from him, gathered up my trailing skirt, and ran.

I looked beyond the man who had introduced himself to me. The Queen of Love and Beauty was over by the food tables, talking to one of the servers. I’d been trying to get a good look at her face, but so far, I hadn’t been able to. After I’d come down from the balcony, I’d almost talked myself into going up to her and introducing myself. After all, I’d probably never look more presentable than I did right now. But as I stood there, she put a hand to her mouth and spun away from the server. Then she gathered up her long skirt and ran from the room.

I watched to see who would go after her.

No one did. No one even seemed to notice. It’s as if they’d all been put to sleep by the band’s version of a waltz.

Putting my hand out to the man, an owner of some kind of store or other, I smiled. “It was nice meeting you. Please excuse me.” I could have walked around the edge of the room, but the fastest way to reach the door was across the dance floor. Taking up the rhythm of the waltz, I slid between dancing
couples, ducking once when I saw the girl I was supposed to dance with next.

I’d expected to see the queen out in the hall, but the only people there were drivers, waiting for the ball to end. Where would she have gone? Where would I have gone if I’d wanted to get away from everyone?

I had already circled the balcony once before I found her. She had pressed herself into a corner, back against the wall, far from the reach of the ballroom’s lights. She was crying the way my little sister had the year my mother told her Santa Claus wasn’t coming.

As I walked up, I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket. “Those don’t sound like tears of joy.”

She turned her head from me.

I pressed the handkerchief into her hand. “Take it. I only carry one because that’s what someone told me gentlemen should do.”

She tried to give it back.

“Please, don’t tell me he was lying.”

Though she still wouldn’t look at me, her fingers curled around it, and she lifted it to her cheeks.

I thought . . . if she would just look at me . . . I thought it might be
her
. That girl from Olive Street.

“Most girls would be over the moon, being named queen.”

“I’m not like the others.” She said it fiercely, eyes glaring at me above the handkerchief as if I should know better.

“So . . . if you’re not crying about being queen, then what are you crying about?”

Her chin trembled as she dabbed at an eye. “No one liked my candy.” She’d barely finished speaking before she began to howl as if I’d just declared the sun would never rise again. I probably
shouldn’t have done it, but I put an arm around her shoulder. I knew what it was like to have people disappoint you.

She clung to me, sobbing into my shiny silk lapels, burrowing into my shoulder, and tickling my nose with all the hair she’d piled on top of her head. But I didn’t mind. She smelled delicious, just like caramel. It was a scent that matched the color of her hair. For one sweet moment, she stayed within the curve of my arm, but then she pushed away from me, turning once more, as if to hide her tears.

“
No one
liked it?” Didn’t everyone like candy? What was wrong with the people in St. Louis?

Her chin dipped. “They threw it all away.”

Something wasn’t making any sense. “You mean you made candy and you brought it
here
? To the ball?”

She cupped the handkerchief over her mouth and held it to her nose, nodding.

Making candy seemed like a strange thing for a queen to have to do. “
I
never had the chance to try it. And I consider myself an expert in candy.”

“You do? You like candy?”

“
Like
candy? You could say it’s become my profession.”

“Would you—would you like to try some?” The glow of the ballroom reflected off the tears that had made a path down her cheek. If she would just turn her head a little bit more . . . maybe I would recognize her.

“I would love to try some.”

Her chin tipped up as a trembling smile crept up her face. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and for the first time that evening, she looked up into my eyes.

It was her.

As she looked at me, her eyes widened. “But—I know you, don’t I?”

I flashed her a grin and bowed. “I believe we’ve met before.”

“You’re—you’re the man from the street! The one I bumped into.” Her smile disappeared as she glanced toward the floor. She took a step from the shadows, moving toward the stairs. “And now I’ve inconvenienced you again. You must think me so rude.”

I stepped forward and caught her hand in mine. “Don’t go. Not yet. You promised me a taste of your candy.”

For one long moment, she looked as if she might leave, but then she held up a fancy bag that dangled from her arm and fished inside it. When she brought out her hand, her fist was closed.

I held out my own hand, palm up.

She dropped something into it.

My fingers closed around it, but not fast enough to trap hers. I put it to my mouth and took a bite. Chewed. “Hmm.”

She’d been watching me. At my comment, a silvery tear spilled from the corner of an eye. “You don’t like it either.”

“I didn’t say that. What I said was . . . hmm. It’s just that I’ve never tasted anything like it before.” And I didn’t particularly want to again.

“They’re hazelnuts.”

I nodded.

“And nougat.”

I swallowed the rest whole before I’d have to chew it again. It had a strange, musty taste to it. “Have you ever thought of trying peanuts?”

Her chin trembled. But then it lifted. “Everyone’s tried peanuts. I wanted to do something different.”

She was so pretty with that hair around her forehead and those large blue eyes. “Then I have to say you succeeded.”

Her eyes darkened for a moment, but then she broke into a smile. That dazzling, breathtaking smile. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

I smiled back. “The texture’s very . . . different.”

“I know! The chewiness of the nuts and the creaminess of the nougat. I tried something like it once before and I wanted to see if I could match it.”

“And did you?”

She seemed to give my question some thought. Then she looked me right in the eye. “I think—I
had
thought—that mine was even better.”

“Then does it really matter if no one else liked it?”

“That was the whole point. The
only
point. To make something I thought everyone else would like.” The corners of her mouth had dipped again.

“Do you do this often? Just . . . make things up?” Usually people seemed so set on doing the same things the same way they always had.

“All the time! When my father was still . . .” A shadow seemed to pass over her face. Something about her glow dimmed. “I used to do it all the time when my father was well. Back when I was a child.”

“I don’t have the first idea about how to make candy.” At least not without a factory and an army of workers. “But I do like to eat it.”

The beginnings of a smile pulled at her lips. “Then you’re my favorite kind of person.”

“You really like it, don’t you? Making candy?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do: help my father make candy.”

“Then it would be a shame if everyone down there talked you out of doing it.”

Her shoulders sagged. “But why should I even try anymore if I’m not good at it?”

“Aren’t you? Even the best candymakers must sometimes make mistakes.”

She smiled again, but this time it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “You’re very kind.” She handed my handkerchief back. And then she glanced around the balcony. “Did you . . . follow me up here?”

I shrugged. “Someone had to. Besides, I don’t belong down there, with all those fancy folks.”

She gave me a look, from the tips of my bow tie to the tops of my shoes. “Why not?”

“I’m not like them. Not really. You can pretend to be anyone if you wear the right clothes.” I turned back toward the railing and looked out at the people who were dancing down in the ballroom.

She put a hand to my arm.

I wanted to take it up and press a kiss to it, but I didn’t. It was something I was sure Charles would never do.

“You should go back. They need you down there.
I
need you down there. You’re different.”

I flashed her a smile. I knew all about being different. “Different isn’t always better.”

“You’re the only one tonight who truly saw me. I meant it, what I said before. You’re very kind.”

That’s the second time she’d said it. And tonight was the only time anyone had ever accused me of that. Except for my mother. But mothers didn’t count. They were always saying things like that.

She squeezed my arm, then drew her hand away before I could reach over to grab it. “Besides, who cares what they think? Isn’t that what you just told me?”

I straightened and looked at her. “Easy for you to say. I’ll bet you grew up here with all of them.”

“I did.” She looked away. “But everything’s different now. I don’t really belong either.”

Then that made two of us.

I glanced over at her. She wasn’t crying anymore. And soon, someone was bound to notice their queen was missing. Even old Charlie knew enough to understand that Charles couldn’t be the man she was found alone with in a dark balcony. I held an arm out toward the door, where a pale light shone from the staircase. “Shall we?”

I let her leave first, then I waited a few minutes before I followed. I knew what happened to girls who ruined their reputations. Though I didn’t know how those things were handled in polite society, I couldn’t imagine anyone looking on them more kindly than folks from the South Side would have.

Unfortunately, my father met me at the bottom step. “I’m not sure what’s considered proper in Chicago, but here in St. Louis, the only kind of girl you’d be alone with in the dark is a whore. Or your fiancée.” He frowned. “The rules are different here, and I’m taking a lot of risks trying to make sure you’re accepted. You need to act like a gentleman as long as you’re here in the city with me.”

“I wasn’t—”

He waved off my protests with the hand that held his cigar. “And stay away from that girl, in particular.”

“But—”

“Here’s something I’ve learned since I’ve been here: A gentleman is as a gentleman does. All these people here are happy to treat you like one just as long as you don’t give them any reason not to. This city can give you a second chance at life, just the way it gave me one. You can be anything you want here.”

“And I appreciate that, but I was only—”

He leaned close. “I know what I’m talking about. I’ve left the past behind. Finished and done. You can do it, too, just as long as you don’t mess up.” He turned and walked back into the hall, leaving a cloud of pungent smoke hanging in the air behind him.