All the gossip and rumors that Joan McGuire had poured out the night Zane came into my life were exaggerations. Yes, Zane had a progressive education, was sent away to a private school at the age of twelve, having been educated by her parents up to that point. Agatha stated to her impressionable child that women need to fight for their rights—that freedom and liberty were not just given by "tyrants" but are heard-won. I discovered Zane felt she was a huge disappointment to Agatha because she didn't care for standing on street corners passing out incendiary missives and marching in front of men's clubs, insisting they allow female members. As Agatha spent more time away from home and Henry couldn't be with Zane during the day, she was left in the company of the housemaids. That was when the decision was reached to send her to The Salzman School for Girls. The program of study was loosely based on the educational theories of Christian Gotthiff Salzman mainly because Mary Wollstonecraft translated his treatise, "Elements of Morality-For the Use of Children," into English and Agatha worshipped Mary Wollstonecraft—her word was gospel as far as Agatha was concerned—so that was where Zane was sent.
"I was heart-broken," Zane told me one night as I held her in the dark of her bed. "I knew I was sent away because I wasn't…I wasn't a soldier for women's rights. I was a disappointment so I did my best to learn as much as I could. I wanted to be as brilliant as Agatha."
I discovered Zane spoke three languages besides English-French, Italian and German. She said the languages were taught so they could read philosophers in their native tongue. "I told the other girls that I learned the language so quickly so I could have lovers from every country." Zane had laughed but there was a sadness about her so I held her closer. I wanted to protect her. Didn't she know the harm she was doing to herself by allowing the scurrilous rumors about her exist—even encouraging them? I could marry her—take her away from Boston and we could live in New York, I told her. I wasn't wealthy but I could take an additional job to support us. Why Mr. Townes had told me just yesterday that I would soon be getting more than a token salary.
"No, Adam—you don't understand anything." But I thought I did understand. But I was a damn fool and she was right.
Zane wasn't as promiscuous as the gossip had led me to believe despite the fact that she spread her legs the first night we met and later, eagerly took me in her mouth. Part of what Joan McGuire had told me was true-Zane had posed partially nude for art students—"I was Leda, barely covered with a draping, and the swan kept squawking," she said. "They placed him between my thighs and put some grain on my belly in the hopes of keeping him there so they could sketch him but that awful creature nipped at me and I shoved him off—down and feathers flew everywhere! I even found one in my crotch." I had laughed at that. But there had been no orgies in her past, no random copulating and if Zane is to be believed and I believe her—only three men were before me and only one had I met—Morty Otis. So to amuse myself during my off time during the week, I would devise horrible manners of his death—just as a mental exercise.
I was happy with Zane and she was happy with me and we spent as much time together as we could. We attended galas and dances and the opera but she declined as many invitations as she accepted in order to spend our time locked in her room, reveling in carnal delights, luxuriating in the bloom of our love for we were in love and I knew every curve of Zane's body, every warm, moist place that gave her pleasure—and me as well; I had buried my face between her legs and relished the ambrosia of the gods—a new sensation for me and a dizzying one. And Zane thrilled me in kind.
~ 0 ~
I was blissfully happy and I know now that joy is short-lived so relish every moment; if nothing else, take this from my tale.
I was at my drafting table, confirming the dimensions of an office building we were designing, when Avery Norcross walked into the back room where I worked. I was glad to see him.
"I had business here—a deposition—so I thought I'd stop by—can you leave for lunch?
He seemed uneasy. I could leave, I said and told Mr. Sullivan that I would finish up upon my return. Usually, if I left, I was given a half hour but he must have recognized Avery's name for I was told to take my time.
Lunch was awkward and Avery wouldn't meet my eyes, kept looking down or around the rom. "What is it, Avery? What are you trying not to tell me?"
He sighed and put down his fork. "Adam, I…we know that a man can behave a certain way and it doesn't damage his reputation but for women, it's different." He looked at me but I didn't react; I knew it was about Zane and fear crept up the back of my neck. "All right—I'll speak plain. Rumors are flying that you and Zane spent nights locked together in her room. Her father has put an end to it-she's to marry Morty Otis and that…I don't know how to say this, Adam, but it seems that despite Zane's reputation, James Otis and Henry Vandeweghe have reached a settlement—I suppose it would be called a dowry elsewhere—and it seems that the soon-to-be joined families will be a force to be reckoned with."
I sat back s if someone had shoved me-it couldn't be. Zane couldn't marry Morty Otis; he was pale and thin—lifeless, it seemed. Zane, when she had told me that she had lain with Morty Otis hadn't lingered over it, hadn't even implied that she was in love with him—or had any feelings for him at all—it was just a fact. Zane wouldn't marry Otis. She wouldn't. I would go into Boston as usual and pretend I hadn't heard about her and Morty—Avery could be wrong—had to be wrong. Gossip and rumors were just that—unfounded and passed on by envious people. I had to hear it from Zane's lips and I would go to Boston this Saturday evening as if everything between us was the same.
That following cold Saturday, the snow just beginning to drift down through the early darkness of winter, neither Zane nor the Vandeweghe buggy waited at the station to meet me. I put it down to the snow and the biting wind and the icy cobblestones—I didn't want to consider another reason. I waited for a few minutes but the train pulled out and the platform began to empty. It was too cold to stand and wait so I walked to the Vandeweghe home on the edge of town but I had a bitter taste—like metal- in my throat-I hadn't eaten since breakfast—there had been more work than I had anticipated and I had rushed to make the train. I put it down to that but there was also a seed of fear in the pit of my gut. Avery wouldn't lie to me—I knew what he said was true.
Few people were on the streets. I carried my satchel as I ducked my head against the wind, holding my overcoat tight at the high neck with the other hand, taking step after careful step so as not to slip on the icy walk until I was finally at the huge curved drive. The widows of the house glowed with golden light. I pulled the bell and waited. The door was partially opened as protection from the cold and I could feel the warmth emanate from the inside. It was the housekeeper's face that peeked out.
"Oh, Mr. Cartwright." She looked embarrassed. "Whatever are you doing here?"
"I came to see Zane—Miss Vandeweghe. She's in, isn't she? She's well, I hope."
"Um….please wait just a moment, would you?" She shut the door on me. Less than a minute later, she opened it again and ushered me in but what she said caused my heart to drop. "Mr. Vandeweghe would like to speak with you. You can leave your satchel here." I put it down in the foyer. "Please…this way." The housekeeper led me to the den and motioned for me to go in and then she rushed off in her white, starched apron.
The previous times I had been in the den, Henry Vandeweghe had me sit, gave me expensive brandy or whiskey and a fine Turkish cigar. We discussed the paintings on the paneled walls—scenes of hunts and grand horses-and his many books which he admitted, laughing, he hadn't read; I was familiar with most—had read them. He stated that he was impressed. We also discussed railway companies and the business of the Ponderosa—not as vast as today but large enough to impress. Being a self-made man, I felt Henry had a healthy respect for what my father and I had accomplished. But this time he left me standing while he continued to sit like a king on a throne about to order my decapitation or to be drawn and quartered. I didn't remove my hat.
The room was overly warm; the snow on my hat and shoulders quickly melted; he didn't ask me to remove my coat—obviously I wasn't to stay.
"So you came to see Zane." It wasn't a question but a statement of fact.
"Yes."
"Well, she's gone—with her mother. They are staying at our country estate—I'm sure you know where that is but I hope you have no intention to try to see her." He sighed heavily and took another sip of whiskey. "I'm afraid that Zane has left the dirty work to me—that of sending you off. Unfortunate that, but she is young and fickle. I—and her mother—have always allowed our daughter to rule herself—she usually comes to her senses but this time she has needed guidance from both Agatha and myself—we want what's best for our daughter. No one is young and beautiful forever—there is the future to consider Zane has decided that her past behavior with you has been…inappropriate and…unfortunate. She wishes to sever all ties to you."
"I want to hear it from her lips."
"Well, you can't and you won't. Zane is to be married to Mortimer Otis—they've always been in love and for the past five years, her father and I have talked about an alliance, merging the two families."
"And fortunes, correct? I'm guessing James Otis made some unfortunate investments. Zane would be one of his better, and more profitable, purchases."
"Keep your opinions to yourself, Mr. Cartwright. You are speaking of my daughter and my close friend. Zane is not being sold as you suggest."
I wanted to smash his face-he looked so goddamn smug.
"I was part of a plan, wasn't I?"
"Plan?"
"Yes—plan. You must have had a plan. You're not stupid. You allowed—no-you -encouraged me to spend all those nights with Zane for a reason—I'm just not sure what that is. You are a cold-hearted bastard. You're her father-you knew what we were doing up there. Why didn't you stop us—tell her that her behavior—my behavior was unacceptable in your home? I kept expecting that. Why not? There must have been a reason."
"I don't have to explain anything to you-you've served your purpose." He stood up; I was being dismissed. "Leave my home and don't try to contact Zane. She doesn't want to hear from you and if I must, I'll see you thrown in jail—or meet with an unfortunate accident."
I said nothing. Henry Vandeweghe stood in front of me-I considered knocking him down. He was larger, heavier but I was quicker and defter. I clenched my fists at my sides—I itched to smash in his face, to feel the solid bone give under my knuckles but thought better of it—I didn't want to have to wire my father for bail. And Townes & Sullivan would surely release me and I wanted to stay in the area in case Zane wrote or visited New York. That was my hope, that she would seek me out. Her father be damned.
But Zane never did any of that. I traveled to Boston three more times but it was always the same. I would ring the bell and when no one answered, I would pound on the door but it was never opened to me again—never.
