5 Years Later…
DELLA GATZ
"What's that you have there, Della?"
Interrupted from my reading, I peer at the voice calling out to me. My benefactor, Mr. Carraway kindly gazes at me while he works on projects for his family business. He seemed exhausted, wanting to take a break and found me as the perfect distraction from the world.
I smile at him, showing the cover of my book. "'The Great Expectations,' by Charles Dickens. It's quite a lovely book, despite all the others saying how ghastly and droll it can be."
He chuckles at my speech, making me aware that my way of speaking was too old-fashioned, too formal to fit with this modern society. Embarrassed, I hide my nose behind my book, engrossed with the next few conversations between Magwitch and Pip.
"Look at me, Della." With no excuse to refuse, I did as requested. There was no trace of anger in those eyes. Only sadness and dare I say...affection dwelled in those brown orbs.
He sighs before coming over to my side, wrinkles deepening on his alabaster forehead. Mr. Carraway seems more exhausted more of the late. Work had been hard since his father passed away and the responsibility was placed on him, since he was the heir. If only I had the skills or knowledge to ease his worries. He did so much for me, even though he had to face such hard times alone, especially since the depression was hurting a lot of businesses.
How was he able to even help me out with my education and care?
"Della, it's quite alright. There's no need to worry about your speech," he comforts me. "You have a charm unlike anyone else, there'll be people who appreciate you for you."
I sighed. Of course, in this kind of moment he would behave like a sage. It's been a while since we had a talk like this. After being ushered into Mr. Carraway's home, I was treated as his own sister. He was a good man, giving me home and new clothes.
Although I miss home and the farm, living here wasn't so bad. I was raised by him and his caretaker, so I wasn't really alone here. But educating myself was a bit difficult for a girl who only knew how to cook and do chores. Here, I was limited to only cleaning my room since there was Irene to pick up after me.
"I'm not used to it, I'm sorry, Mr. Carraway."
"It's alright, don't worry. You're doing very well."
A praise. It brought back memories of my father (who is now gone after succumbing to his weakening health) and James. A warm hand would always land atop my head, blocking the light from my vision. But I was never afraid.
Because I knew that it was something soothing. That I did well. A smile crept on my lips as I recalled that day when I figured out how to read the stars. James was shocked and asked me to teach him for sailing. He was the only one who didn't mock my ways. He always listened to me.
And now he's gone.
I keep on smiling, not wanting to worry Mr. Carraway. Perhaps I can do even better and make my brother and father proud.
"Commie monsters."
A woman glares at me while I walk down the streets with Mr. Carraway. We were merely going down to a school in order for me to enroll until we bumped into this hostility.
He merely shielded me while returning the glare at the woman, sending her off with a huff.
"Don't worry about such things, but I'm sorry you had to hear that."
It wasn't too new. I have heard it before whenever I walked with him. Apparently, they thought Mr. Carraway was in kahoots with Wolfshiem and other corrupt people, who caused the depression and were spies in the war. He told me that these people were once connected to my brother, but he refused to tell me what James did.
It got me curious. What did my brother do to get such scrutiny? Father always praised about his self-made worth and success. But why was he hated so?
I shook my head and continued to follow Mr. Carraway down the block, wanting to hurry up.
"Keep up, Della!"
It's hard to believe he was a veteran but when he strides like that, I curse the fact that his stamina is better than my own.
I'll ask him about my brother later.
But I didn't get to have the chance to ask him. After we enrolled me for school, he was dragged back to work. And it's been a while since we last saw each other.
Sighing, I sat myself before the organ. The massive thing intimidated me ever since I was young, but now that I grew, it just seemed like an old, rusted instrument.
A few keys were pressed down, emitting discordant sounds that echoed the halls. Cringing, I decided to play some chords instead, enjoying the softer melody coming out.
Feeling more confidence, I decided to go faster and play a folk tune, reminiscent of the ones from home. I let myself drown in the music until I heard an imposing clap behind me.
Whirling around, before me stood a woman. She was a delicate beauty: bobbed blonde hair, blue bell eyes, and dressed in white. She gave off an ethereal appearance.
"Oh, just how lovely. Absolutely marvelous!" The woman clapped excitably like a child, giddy.
"Thank you...ma'am." I awkwardly cough. "But...w-who are you?"
"Silly me! Why, I'm Daisy Buchanan!"
I recalled the name from Mr. Carraway's stories. She was his cousin, who married richly and had been out of contact these last fourteen years in Paris.
"And you, darling. You have something to go by, yes?"
I couldn't keep her waiting, after all, she was expecting an answer any moment. All the etiquette lessons were now going down the drain as I struggled to answer the murderess before me.
"Dahlia! You're playing?"
The two of us see Mr. Carraway walk into the room, with a slightly panicked look on his face. He rushed in, panting before he greets his cousin. She twirls her fur in her arms, as if trying to entice us into her arms.
"Oh, Nicky dear!" she trills with excitement. "It's been so long!"
"Daisy…what are you doing here?!" Rage and confusion were filled in that voice. Veins seemed to pop on his forehead, his face reddening. I've never seen that expression in that man before. He didn't tell me all the details of the past, but from what I knew, she was someone who well deserved such anger.
The woman lets an exhaustive huff, her body slack with indifference. She seemed relaxed and carefree. "Oh, Paris was lovely, quite lovely. You should've seen the cafes there, and the ladies there are just quaint!"
"Daisy."
"We've come back because we felt like we missed the New York scenery here. Paris was lovely, no doubt, but it was too…French for my taste." Her nose crinkled at the last sentence.
If I recall, France wasn't doing so well after the war, being under siege and taken over by the Axis Powers. How Mrs. Buchanan and her family were able to survive, I'm not too sure. But, from what I heard of her from Mr. Carraway's stories, probably throwing away money to just survive.
Mr. Carraway seemed to have the same thought as well. We just decided to keep our mouths shut.
He clears his throat, giving her a suspicious glance. "Well, it doesn't really explain how you knew to find us here, cousin."
"Well!" she echoes his voice. The woman circles the hallway, her heels clacking on the tile floor. "Just as we arrived in town, we heard that Nicky here was back and with a companion! I wanted to check if it was dear Jordan, since well, the last time I was here, you were on good terms!"
Mr. Carraway's stiffening stance and frown suggested otherwise. I wonder what did happen between the two. He didn't mention anything about a beau. Probably well suited, since I didn't want to get involved in something so crude.
But still, he looked really uncomfortable. What happened to them fourteen years ago?
"Well, as you can see, it's not her," he manages to choke out, his owl-eyed glasses shaking. "This is my ward, Dahlia Scott. She's a close friend of mine from back in Minnesota."
His eyes seemed to convey a secret message. Don't say anything about your real identity. I didn't quite understand the point of it, but I did so anyway. Mr. Carraway didn't do things with no reason, after all.
The white woman stops her circling, halting her flower-like body in front of me. That intense stare almost made my body shake with fear, sweat starting to roll from my arms. How long must I be under this heron's scrutiny?
Those blue flames seem to want to burn me, get the truth out of my mouth. It seemed to want to test me: whether I was a fraud or a friend. The words couldn't stumble out of my mouth, no matter how much I tried.
Then I remembered something my brother James once told me. It was when he was practicing sailing, and he was already well-versed in the technicalities and such. He allowed me to sit with him, observing the peaceful scenery before us: blue beyond the horizon.
His eyes were already far off as he sailed, somewhat saddened. James always had that face, like something was taken from him. But regardless, he turned to me and told me about his dreams. How he wanted so much more from this simple life; how even though he loved his family, he didn't like the way we carried on this mundane way.
"I don't want to be James Gatz, half-pint. I need to be greater than that," he sorrowfully spat. "I'll do anything to get there, even if I get scared. Because the world is cruel, I need to show that I'm not bothered by it and push through. Smile and carry on, like nothing can penetrate my mind."
Those haunting words were the last words he uttered to me personally. We never saw each other again after that.
Is this what he felt when he met people like Mrs. Buchanan? How did he manage? My poor brother.
But I can try, what my brother did since he was strong till the end.
I take a ragged deep breath before a congenial smile lifts my face. "So nice to meet you, Mrs. Buchanan. I apologize for not recognizing you right away. And the rumors did little to describe your beauty: you're like a calla lily rather than a daisy."
The suspicion washed away once she saw the transformation in my attitude, taken aback. The mouse turned out to be lion cub. Mrs. Buchanan shakes away her stupor and reciprocates my sunny attitude. "What a delightful little darling! Isn't she just the sweetest! She's like a rose, an absolute rose, don't you agree, Nicky?"
"Yes, indeed." He seemed more relaxed after she grows chattier, talking more about the most materialistic conquest she encountered.
"That's right, Dahlia dear!" She turns her attention back to me, somewhat frightening me as her face was up close. Now that we were much closer, I could smell gardenias with a hint of something foul. It wasn't strong, since the perfume overpowered it, but you could still detect it.
"I'd like for you to meet my family one day, I have a daughter your age, Pamela. She's a sweetheart and I'm sure you'll get along with each other."
Someone who looks so young has a grown-up daughter? That's interesting.
"We'll be available next week, I do hope you'll let her come Nicky! I have to be off, Pammy is expecting me for her party! Tata darlings!"
Just as she came, she was gone like the breeze.
And then it was quiet once more. Mr. Carraway rushes to my side, inspecting me for anything. I wasn't hurt though. "Are you alright? I'm sorry I came a little late."
"It's alright, sir." I offered him a relieved smile, my muscles still sore from the dazzling visage I showed to Mrs. Buchanan. But I didn't need to overdo it with him. I trusted him.
"But why did you lie about my name, sir?"
The man rests at a chair, wiping his glasses clean. "If she knew who you were, I'd doubt she would have even invited us to join her family. So, I lied."
Why?
He clamps his hand protectively over mine, his eyes begging. "I know it's wrong, but I put that name down for you at school. It's too dangerous if anyone knew your true name. Promise me, you have to keep your name to yourself. No one can know."
"Will you ever tell me why, sir?"
I threaded my fingers with his, trying to calm him. He usually had some panic attacks, even though he had improved with Irene's help. His breathing was somewhat shallow but steadied as I guided him.
It was only for a minute, but he managed to relax once more, sighing in relief. Mr. Carraway lifts his face at me, giving me a fatherly stare. It was a warm, protective glance.
"If I tell you…I wonder if you'll still remain the Della that your father and brother protected so much?"
I glare at him. I'm no longer a child anymore.
"I'll handle the consequences. Just tell me."
His face crumbles, letting out another heavy puff of air. His other hand runs through his hair, mussing up that gray and brown hair of his. Mr. Carraway was a little stressed until he gave up and looked deep into me, like that advertisement of Doctor Eckleberg.
"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since…"