What the Lady Wants (24 page)

S
ix weeks later, seventeen-year-old Ethel Field married Arthur Tree. He was a fine young man from a respectable family. Just like Delia's Arthur, Ethel's Arthur was the son of a judge. The Trees were patrons of the arts and Ethel had met Arthur at a gallery opening his parents hosted just three months before.

They had a small wedding, held at noon at the Field mansion. The guest list was quite exclusive; not more than fifty people were in attendance along with a few select members of the press. Ethel wanted something small and private, whereas Nannie had wanted something that would appear on the society pages. Small but lavish was what they settled on.

Delia was certain that if it had been left to Nannie, she and Arthur would have been excluded. But Ethel said her day would not be complete without having Aunt Dell and Uncle Arthur there. Truly it was only because of Ethel and Junior that Delia and Nannie managed to be civil to each other whenever their
paths crossed. And there would soon be another such occasion, as Junior had been courting a lovely young lady, Albertine Huck, for nearly a year. She was twenty-one and startlingly beautiful with a flawless complexion and the features of a china doll. Junior had recently turned twenty-two and told his aunt Dell that he was ready to settle down.

Nannie had decided on an Oriental theme for Ethel's wedding, and when Delia stepped inside the Field mansion, she felt as though she were walking into an Asian garden. Everywhere she turned she saw garlands and flowers, and their blossoms heavily perfumed the air. Delia and Arthur passed by a series of enormous palms flanking the entranceway to the drawing room where the ceremony would take place.

Junior, looking tall and handsome, walked his mother down the aisle. Nannie's dress was stunning—a white velvet gown trimmed in white fur along her train. Her face was nearly as pale as her dress. Over the past several years Nannie had been plagued with more migraines, which always led to more laudanum. It had been months since Delia had seen Nannie and she was shocked by how much she'd aged. But then again, she reminded herself that Nannie was fifty now, fourteen years older than Delia. Marsh was fifty-six, but despite his white hair, to Delia he hadn't aged a bit.

Nannie kept her eyes straight ahead, her chin lifted, as she glided on her son's arm, pausing just long enough for the photographers to take their picture before Junior showed her to a chair in the front row.

Ethel was a beautiful bride in her white tulle gown. It was understated but exquisite. With her brilliant blue gray eyes, she was every bit her father's daughter. Following the ceremony, Nannie hosted an elaborate luncheon in the ballroom. Guests were ushered inside to take their places. Marsh sat at the head
table with the bridal party and immediate family members. He was seated next to his daughter and the empty chair to his right was reserved for Nannie. Everyone else sat at heart-shaped tables, waiting for the luncheon to begin.

Delia and Arthur were with the Eddys, the Palmers and Mr. and Mrs. Paxton Lowry. Arthur was antsy, ready for a drink. Even though he and Paxton were still as close as ever, having recently gone to New York and down to Ottawa together, there was tension between them whenever Penelope was present.

They were all making small talk, but as time passed, the empty chair next to Marsh became too obvious to overlook. A breeze coming through the windows made the curtain sheers swell out into the room while the candles stationed about burned at an accelerated rate. Water glasses were refilled, but people grew bored and started wandering around, speaking to guests at other tables. It had been nearly forty minutes and everyone was whispering, wondering what had happened to the mother of the bride.

Marsh got up from the head table and went to Delia. “I say we start the luncheon without her. Will you tell the staff to start serving? I'm going to go find Nannie.”

But before she could get to the kitchen, Ethel stopped her. “I can't have a wedding luncheon without my mother.” She narrowed her eyes, pulling her brows close together.

“Go on,” said Delia. “Go and be with your guests. I'll take care of this.”

Delia went into the kitchen, where she was met by a burst of steam and dozens of servants scurrying about. The smell of garlic, caramelized onions and other seasonings was overwhelming. The chef was frazzled, worried that her Selle d'Agneau Forestière and Pommes à la Crème would be ruined.

It was while she was back in the kitchen that Delia glimpsed
the train of Nannie's white velvet gown trailing down the back stairwell. A dreadful feeling rose up in her chest as she rushed over and found Nannie slumped on the bottom step, her arm propped up on the banister, her chin resting on her chest.

“Oh, Nannie.” Delia bent down and shook her by the shoulders. “Nannie, please, get up.”

Nannie lifted her head, letting it roll from side to side. “I'll be there right away. Just give me a minute here.”

“Nannie, don't do this. Not now. Not today.”

Delia was still shaking her awake when Marsh appeared behind her.

“Goddammit, Nannie!” Marsh stepped in and yanked her up by her underarms.

Nannie's eyes flashed open with a start as she stumbled on the bottom step. “You're hurting me.”

“I'd like to kill you right now, is what I'd like to do,” Marsh hissed.

“Then go on,” she said with a sudden burst of defiant energy, jutting her face up close to his. “Kill me! Get it over with already, you bastard.” She slapped his chest and then his arm.

Marsh grabbed her by her forearm. “Keep your voice down—you want everyone to hear you?”

“I don't care!” she shouted. “You've already ruined my life, so just go on and kill me. That way you and your precious Delia can finally be together. I'm leaving you, you hear me? I've had it. I'm moving to Europe and this time I'm not coming back. And, no, Delia”—she turned and glared at her—“I won't give him a divorce since I know that's all you care about.” Nannie looked back at Marsh. “I'm done with you.”

Delia sensed someone crowding in behind her and as she turned around, her heart dropped. Ethel was standing there.

“So it's true,” Ethel said, as tears collected in her eyes. “All the rumors. All these years, I didn't believe what people said, but it's true.”

“Of course it's true,” shouted Nannie. “That's why I'm leaving him. I'm leaving your father. And it'll be for good this time.”

Marsh was standing next to Nannie, still holding on to her arm. His cheeks darkened as Delia watched the rage rising up inside of him.

“Ethel,” Delia said, going to her side. “You don't understand. It's so much more complicated than—”

“Oh, Mother!” Ethel turned and sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “This was supposed to be my day. My day!” She tapped her open hand to her chest. “Mother, you promised. You promised me you wouldn't take anything and now look at you. You've ruined my wedding day.” Then she pointed to Delia. “And it's all your fault! Look at her!” Ethel pushed past her mother and ran up the back stairs sobbing, the train of her wedding dress trailing behind her. Marsh let go of Nannie's arm and she stumbled, grasping on to the banister for balance.

“Are you satisfied now?” he said to Nannie.

Delia was speechless. She wanted to go after Ethel, but she knew it wasn't her place to do so. For a moment, all three of them stood frozen. But then Marsh headed back toward the reception and Delia followed him.

“Don't you dare walk away from me!” Nannie shouted.

Delia and Marsh kept walking with Nannie now close behind, still screaming at them. She was out of control. “I'm warning you—Marshall! Come back here, Delia!” Neither one responded, which infuriated her all the more. She shouted after them once more, “You can both go to hell! You hear me! Go. To. Hell.”

When Delia and Marsh reached the ballroom, all the
wedding guests were hovering in the doorway wanting to know what was going on. Arthur was standing right in front, next to Spencer and one of the newspapermen.

Nannie grabbed hold of Marsh's jacket, and when he shrugged her away, she lost her balance and fell, taking down one of the potted palms with her. And that's when the flash lamp went off.

While Delia tried to help Nannie up, Marsh grabbed hold of the photographer. “You were invited into my home as a guest,” he said through gritted teeth. “And if that photograph turns up in your newspaper or anywhere else, you tell your editor he won't see another advertising penny from Marshall Field & Company. Is that understood?”

The photographer went ashen-faced and nodded.

Nannie was on her feet now, sobbing, potting soil crushed into her white velvet dress. Pointing her finger she shouted, “He pushed me. You saw it. You all saw it!”

Delia cringed, instantly recalling the night of the Field & Leiter opening party when Nannie had accused her of assault. Nannie continued hollering at Marsh while their guests quickly made their excuses. Everyone left without one course of the luncheon being served.

1891

“I
need your advice,” said Abby.

It was a cold January afternoon and the sisters were in the sitting room, warming themselves by the fire while sipping tea from the Wedgwood gilt-rimmed cups that had belonged to their mother.

Abby crossed her ankles and leaned forward. “I've been thinking about my inheritance, and I'm contemplating giving it to Augustus to invest.”

“Invest?” Delia gave her a questioning look. “But it's already been invested for us. And quite wisely. It's nearly a million dollars that Father left you. And me. And forgive me, but Augustus hasn't proven himself very astute when it comes to investing. He's already lost a great deal of his own money. Why would you even think of giving him access to yours?”

Abby looked away and began fiddling with the buttons running along her dress.

Delia became suspicious. “What's this really all about?”

Abby twisted a button so hard, it fell off and rolled onto the floor. Flossie, who had been lounging on the sofa next to Delia, got up to investigate.

“Abby?” Delia leaned forward and reached for her sister's twitching fingers. “What on earth is going on?”

“Augustus has a wonderful opportunity and—”

Delia let go of Abby's hand, sat back and folded her arms. “And he's asking for the money.”

“Not all of it.”

“Why does he need you to provide the funds? He has a new position now.” Delia couldn't understand. Yes, it was true that Augustus had made some poor financial decisions in the past and yes, they were still living in her parents' home. But they lived well, even by Delia's standards.

“It's just going to take more capital than what he can pull together on his own right now,” Abby explained.

Delia reminded Abby about one of Augustus's previous business ventures involving food service on railcars. “Don't you remember I arranged for Augustus to speak with Marsh about it? Marsh came right out and said, ‘The problem isn't the business plan. It's the proprietor. Augustus, you're not a businessman.' Marsh was very clear when he said he didn't think Augustus was cut out to be a proprietor.”

“But that's only one man's opinion,” said Abby.

“One man who happens to be the most successful businessman in this city.”

“You know Augustus respects Marshall's opinion,” said Abby. “And he appreciated you arranging to have them speak. But Augustus isn't like him. He couldn't run a business the way Marsh does. He doesn't have that killer instinct.” Abby lowered her eyes and chewed on her lower lip. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded.”

Delia knew she was referring to the Haymarket executions. Never mind all that he had done for State Street and the rest of Chicago, she worried that in the end, the Haymarket Affair was all people would remember about Marshall Field.

“He's my husband, Dell. How can I say no?”

“You just have to, Abby. Don't do it. Promise me you won't give him access to your inheritance.”

Abby squeezed Delia's hand and nodded. “I know you're right. I know it.”

“Promise me.”

Abby nodded. “All right. I promise—I won't do it.”

•   •   •

“W
here's Penelope tonight?” Delia asked as she entered the drawing room where Arthur and Paxton sat across from each other, both with a fresh drink in their hands. Flossie ran to Paxton's side, rising up on her hind legs, her tail thrashing back and forth.

“I'm afraid she's under the weather,” said Paxton, reaching down to pet Flossie's head. “She's been in bed all afternoon.”

“Poor thing,” said Delia. “I hope it's nothing serious.”

“She'll be fine,” said Paxton. “She just needs some rest.”

“You're looking rather natty tonight,” said Arthur, raising his glass to her. “Give Marsh my best.”

Delia bid them both adieu and went over to the Field mansion. Now that Nannie had moved to London, Delia spent more and more time there with Marsh.

That evening when she arrived, he met her in the drawing room with a glass of champagne.

“What's the occasion?” she asked, setting Flossie down and accepting the glass from him.

“We're celebrating. I received some excellent news today. I just found out that we won the bid for the Columbian Exposition.
Chicago is going to host the world's fair.” He raised his glass and kissed it to the rim of hers.

“Oh, Marsh, that's wonderful.” She leaned over and hugged him. She was pleased but not surprised. Once again her Merchant Prince had accomplished something so grand, so beyond what any ordinary man could do. She truly had come to see him as someone with mythical powers. He was the most influential force in the city, and now that he was bringing the world's fair to Chicago, maybe people would stop thinking of him as a monster for letting them hang those men for the Haymarket Affair.

“I'm leaving for D.C. late tonight with Potter. We need to finalize everything with Washington and then we'll go straight on to Europe to meet with the heads of state from France, England and Italy.”

“You're leaving? Tonight?” She felt a stab of disappointment.

“On the eleven-thirty train.”

“How long will you be gone for?” She cringed, hating how pathetic she sounded.

“Hard to say right now. At least six weeks, I suspect.”

“Oh.” Delia turned away, afraid she wouldn't be able to hide her disappointment. Instead she busied herself with Flossie's ruby barrette, straightening it between her ears.

“Of course,” Marsh continued in a blasé fashion, “Selfridge is ecstatic that I'll be gone for so long. I told John Shedd he's in charge and he'd better keep a close eye on Harry.” He walked over to her and smiled. “Now why are you looking so sad?”

Delia shook her head, afraid she'd start to blubber if she dared speak.

“Hmmm.” He started to laugh. “I suppose you're thinking six weeks is too long to be away.”

“Now you're just making fun of me.”

“Not at all.” He went over and sat on the settee, and gave Flossie's chin a scratch. “I'm just wondering what it would take to get you to come meet me in Europe.”

Delia looked at him, her eyes growing as wide as her smile. She rushed onto his lap and wrapped her arms around him. “Why, Mr. Field, I thought you'd never ask.”

•   •   •

W
hen Delia returned home that night she was excited, already starting to plan what outfits she would pack for Europe. After Williams removed Flossie's leash, the dog went scampering through the hallway and into the drawing room. Delia followed and found Arthur and Paxton right where she'd left them earlier that night. Arthur was still sitting on the sofa and Paxton was in the chair across from him. Neither one of them spoke. They both had drinks in their hands. Paxton's was nearly full. Arthur's was just about empty. Flossie took turns going back and forth between the two men, who hadn't blinked, hadn't taken their eyes off each other.

“Hello?” Delia bent slightly trying to catch Arthur's eye and then did the same to Paxton. “Should I leave and come back?” she asked, halfheartedly.

“No need,” said Paxton as he finally broke his pose and reached for his hat. “I was just leaving anyway. I'm late as it is.” He came over and squeezed Delia's shoulders, kissing her on the cheek.

“Is everything all right?” she asked. “I didn't mean to intrude.”

“No. We're done here.” Paxton adjusted his hat, and without so much as a glance back at Arthur, he walked out of the room.

She went and sat next to Arthur. “What happened with you
two?” She tried to brush his hair out of his eyes, but Arthur shrugged her away. “Please tell me what's wrong.”

“Nothing.” Arthur drained his drink and shook the melted ice in his glass before he got up and fixed himself another one.

“Obviously something just happened.”

“If you must know, Penelope's pregnant. All right?”

“Oh, I see.” Delia sat back and took this in. “And Paxton's the father?”

“Of course he's the father,” Arthur snapped as he slumped back down in his chair, nearly spilling his drink. “Not everyone's wife takes a lover, you know.”

“Okay, all right. Calm down.” She drew a deep breath and smoothed down the front of her dress. “Surely you knew this was a possibility when he married her.”

“That's not the point. The point is that it's happened. She's pregnant.”

“But that doesn't have to change things—”

“Oh, come now, Delia. It changes
everything
.” He stood up and nearly tumbled over as he headed for the doorway.

“Where are you going?”

“What do you care?” He stormed out of the drawing room and a moment later she heard the front door slam behind him.

•   •   •

“M
rs. Caton—”

Delia woke with a start. Therese was standing over her bed, shaking her awake. “What is it? What time is it?” It was still dark in her bedroom as her sleepy eyes registered the grave expression on Therese's face. She sat up abruptly. “What's wrong? Tell me. What is it?”

“I'm afraid there's been an accident. Mr. Caton took a bad fall on his horse. He's in the hospital. They just telephoned. They said it's best if you get down there right away.”

It was half past two when Delia arrived at the hospital. Arthur had just come out of surgery. The doctor met her outside his room and told her what little he knew about the accident.

“He was still conscious when they brought him in. Someone found him on the side of the road. Apparently his horse got spooked and threw him. He was dragged for a quarter mile before he was able to free himself from his stirrups. I should also tell you, Mrs. Caton, that your husband was very intoxicated.”

“How bad are his injuries?”

The doctor consulted his chart. “He has a concussion, a collapsed lung, a ruptured spleen.” He flipped the page over. “He broke his collarbone and both legs.”

“Oh, my God!” She splayed an open hand against her chest. “He must be in terrible pain. Can I see him now?”

“He's still heavily sedated,” the doctor warned as he gestured toward the sickroom.

Delia nodded, steeling herself for what she'd find. But when she entered the room and saw the oxygen canopy tented over the upper half of his body, she gasped. “Is he going to be okay?”

The doctor adjusted something on the side of Arthur's bed. “The next forty-eight hours are critical. Let's just hope he pulls through.”

Delia went light-headed and weak-kneed. She didn't even hear the doctor as he continued speaking, nor was she aware of him leaving the room. All she could think was,
He can't die. He can't.

It was still the middle of the night, but she couldn't face this alone. Marsh was already on a train bound for D.C., so she telephoned Paxton. He rushed to the hospital, and she met him in the waiting room. The two of them sat there, drinking bad coffee, while the doctor examined Arthur again.

“It's my fault,” said Paxton, his head in his hands. “If Arthur hadn't been so upset with me, he wouldn't have gotten so drunk. He wouldn't have gotten on a horse in that state.”

“You can't blame yourself. It was an accident.”

“It's just so damn complicated, Dell.” Paxton leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his knuckles pressed to his eyes as the tears leaked out.

Delia scooted closer to him and put her arm around his shoulder. “He's going to be okay. He has to be okay.”

She sat with Paxton in the waiting room thinking of all the things she should have told Arthur, or should have told him more often. Did he know he was her best friend? Did he know how much she loved him? Did he trust that she would always keep his secret? Had she ever told him that she would have married him anyway, even knowing the truth about him? Their life together worked. For them both. She realized that she couldn't be with Marsh and he couldn't have been with Paxton if it weren't for their marriage. Given the circumstances, they were a blessing to each other. Did he understand that?

At half past six Paxton left the hospital and Delia stayed alone in Arthur's sickroom. She was still at his bedside when her in-laws arrived. She had waited until the sun was up before she telephoned them with the news.

When Mrs. Caton saw her son, she let out a cry and buried her face in the judge's chest. Delia got up from her chair and offered it to her mother-in-law. The judge, stoic as ever, went down the hall to find the doctor.

“How could this have happened?” Mrs. Caton cried. “Arthur's such an excellent rider.”

“I have no idea.” Delia didn't say that he'd been drinking all day and had no business getting on a horse in the first place.

The rest of the day passed without any change in Arthur's
condition. Even after the judge and Mrs. Caton left for the night, Delia stayed in the sickroom with Arthur. Occasionally she dozed off in the chair. Her neck and back were stiff, but she didn't dare complain. She wanted to be there when Arthur woke up. And finally he did. At two in the morning, his eyes fluttered open, groggy and unfocused.

“Oh, my God. Arthur?” Delia was on her feet. She called out for a doctor, not wanting to leave his side. She could tell that he was in enormous pain, wincing each time he breathed. Delia raced into the hallway and called to one of the nurses. “He's awake. Quick! Get the doctor!”

“Oh Arthur,” she said, running back inside, leaning in as close as she could to the oxygen tent. “Hang on. The doctor's coming. He's on his way.”

Arthur blinked and she thought he was trying to say something.

“Don't try to speak, darling. You're going to be fine.” Her eyes glazed over. “Don't you worry about a thing. Paxton was here earlier. So were your parents.”