THE PARK
John Schuyler Moore strode at a comfortable pace into the park. It was the same park he recalled, not for the first time, where only 18 months earlier Sen͂ora Linares had been stalked by Libby Hatch. The whole episode gave him a chill up his spine every time he thought of it. The warmth of the autumn sun on his back did little to dispel the chill and, as usual, it stirred so many emotions. Eighteen months, he thought. So much has changed. Somewhat ironic that, like Sen͂ora Linares all those months ago, today John was also pushing a pram. He glanced down and smiled. Sleeping peacefully in the double pram were nine month old Anna Violet and John Schuyler Moore, Jr. They were perfect. He marveled at what a miracle they were and how much he loved them.
John stopped the pram under a towering elm with leaves that had turned a stunning shade of gold. He checked that the babies' faces were in the shade before sitting down on a bench next to it with a quiet sigh. He drew an envelope from his waistcoat pocket, opened it and pulled out a folded sheet of linen writing paper that was covered with Laszlo's neat script. John flattened the folds against his leg and began to read but found himself distracted. He tried to force the thoughts out of his mind. Most days he did so successfully, but today, with a letter from Laszlo in hand, his mind wander back to those events 18 months ago and all that had happened since.
Eighteen months earlier he was a cub reporter for The Times scratching and clawing for a worthwhile story. When he wasn't working, he spent his free time eating and drinking in expensive clubs with either Laszlo or his fiancé, Violet Hayward and a cast of high society acquaintances. And he was in love with Sara Howard.
His life was so different today. Now he was one of The Times top reporters. A front page story with a John Schuyler Moore byline sold newspapers. He no longer wrote about society parties. He wrote about crime and corruption and scandal. He was dubbed a muckraker and he loved it. His stories were important. He wasn't just a society dilettante who dabbled in journalism, he was finally a respected journalist.
John looked back at the letter and again tried to read. He and Lazlo had been friends since his Harvard days. What an odd pair they made! The reserved, studious Laszlo Kreizler and the society gad-about John Schuyler Moore who was more likely to be found in a pub or a brothel than in a classroom. He knew when Laszlo left for Vienna to study under Sigmund Freud that he, Laszlo, would probably never come back to live in New York. So far he'd been right. Laszlo was now working alongside Freud. He and Karen Stratten were planning to come back to New York for a couple of months next spring. John was happy for Laszlo, who finally seemed to have found a real place for himself, but that didn't make John miss him any less.
John was brought out of his reverie by a familiar voice. "Hello, John," Sara said warmly.
Surprised, John stood and closed the short distance between them.
"Sara! What a wonderful surprise. You look well. It's so good to see you!" He took her hand and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "What a coincidence that you were in the park, too."
"Not at all. I stopped by your house and your valet said that you were giving the babies some fresh air. He said that you sometimes walked to the park. It's a beautiful day. I decided to take a walk and see if I could find you."
Sara leaned over and peered in at the still sleeping babies. "They're beautiful, John. You must be so proud of them." She continued on in a rush of consciousness, "It sounds so strange to say congratulations and offer my sympathy all in the same breath. I'm so sorry for your loss. Did you get my note? I'm sorry that I couldn't be here for the funeral. I asked Bitsy to offer my condolences. Did she tell you? I was in Boston when it happened. Bitsy sent a telegram but I couldn't get back in time. "
"I got your note. Thank you," John said quietly as he drew Sara to the bench and they both sat down. "I talked to Bitsy. I appreciate your thoughts and your concern. It means a great deal to me."
"How did it happen? How did she die?"
John shook his head slowly as if trying to organize his thoughts. "In the end, it was pneumonia but she hadn't been well since the babies were born. Long before that really… When I told you that day, the last day that I saw you," John stumbled over his words. "When I told you that Violet was in a delicate condition, obviously that was a euphemism. I had no idea how appropriate those words were. She was never really well again.
"She made it through the wedding and honeymoon pretty well. She was tired but generally seemed well enough. She had morning sickness. I'm told that's common for the first few months. But this just didn't go away. Some days she could barely keep anything down. She became weak and exhausted. I feared that the pregnancy would kill her.
"Hearst was beside himself. He brought in the doctors from everywhere. He found one who recommended this new therapy. They put a needle into a vein in her arm and injected fluid. I believe that saved her at the time. The treatments got her through the rest of the pregnancy and she started feeling better. I thought everything would be fine. When the babies were born and we found out that she was carrying twins, I thought that explained everything. The doctor seemed to think so, too.
"The first couple of weeks after they were born she seemed fine. Tired and still a bit weak, of course. She was eating. Not a lot, but then she never did eat much. I was so over-the-moon thrilled with my children that I didn't notice that she hadn't taken much of an interest in them. The nanny pulled me aside one day. She asked me if I thought it was strange that Violet refused to hold the children. I was shocked. I asked her who was feeding them. She laughed and said, 'Society women like Miss Violet don't usually feed their own children. I hired a wet nurse to do that, but they do normally hold the babies and look at them. I don't think Miss Violet has even looked at them.' I was completely dumbfounded. When I thought about it I realized that she was right. Hearst and I were always holding one or the other of the babies but I had never seen Violet hold one of them." John stopped for a moment, his brow creased in thought.
"You needn't go on John. I understand that it's difficult," Sara said as she lay a gloved hand on his arm.
John shook his head and continued, "That day I took one of the babies into Violet's room and sat down on the bed next to her. I noticed that she averted her eyes. When I asked her if she wanted to hold the baby, she said that she was too weak and was afraid of dropping him. Then she burst into tears and said that she was a terrible mother and would always be so. I talked to her doctor. He called it the 'baby blues' and said that it would pass in a couple of weeks. When it didn't, I wrote to Laszlo and asked for his advice. He said that it was true that some women experience a kind of melancholia after child birth and that they usually get over it in a few weeks. But he also said that sometimes it's so severe that the woman tries to hurt herself or her child. In those cases she needs to be taken to a sanitarium.
"Months passed and nothing changed. She wouldn't leave her room. She barely ate. She even refused to see her friends when they came to call on her. I began to wonder if some time at a sanitarium would do some good but Hearst wouldn't hear of it." John closed his eyes for a moment and again, shook his head. "I should have overruled him. She was my wife and it was my decision. Maybe if I had…," the sentence trailed off as John regained his composure. "But you know Hearst. He's a force to be reckoned with. He intimidated me. When New York doctors ran out of ideas, he brought in doctors from Philadelphia and Boston. They said that it was a matter of time and she would improve on her own. I wish Laszlo had been here. He would have known what to do. He would have stood up to Hearst if he needed to.
"By that time, she had stopped eating and grown very weak. Then she caught a chill. It was a mild illness. We all had it, even the babies. I was hardly off my feet for a day. Most of the household servants had little more than some sniffles and a cough. But Violet was so weak that it was fatal. First she caught the chill and a week later it turned into pneumonia. There was simply no cure. All Hearst and I could do was sit next to her and watch her fade away." John looked away, blinking against the bright sun then reached into the pram to adjust the blanket that one of the babies had kicked away. He spoke without looking at her, "I have to tell you, Sara, that I've never felt so guilty in my life."
"John, you have no reason to feel guilty. Violet's death wasn't your fault. Yes, maybe you could have stood up to Hearst but there's no guarantee that it would have made a difference," Sara reasoned. "You can't blame yourself."
"You don't understand, Sara," John started. "Eighteen months ago, when you and Laszlo and I were consumed by the Libby Hatch case and I was engaged to Violet, I realized that as much as I cared for Violet that I could never love her the way I loved you. I knew that I should have broken off the engagement, but I kept putting it off. You see, Sara, I was just being selfish. I didn't want to be left with no one. Yes, I should have broken off the engagement but if I did and you rejected me then I would have been alone. I was tired of being alone, Sara. I wanted to be part of a family again. So I left things the way they were and I led Violet on. I knew how much she wanted to be married and be accepted into society as my wife in the way she never could be accepted as Hearst's bastard daughter. She was terrified that I was going to leave her and, after her death, I found out that she went to Hearst for advice."
He looked away, unable to meet Sara's eye, "To put it bluntly and possibly a bit crudely, Hearst told her to seduce me. He told he that if she were to become pregnant with my child that I would never reject her. He told her that I was 'too much of a gentleman' and that I would 'fulfil my responsibilities.' And that's what she did. Late in the evening at our engagement party after I'd had more than enough to drink, she coaxed me into one of the upstairs rooms and seduced me. I was shocked. Violet had never so much as opened a button at her neckline in front of me. All of the sudden she was taking of her clothes and unbuttoning my shirt. I didn't object. You know the rest. A month later she showed up at my office and told me that she was with child. I did exactly what Hearst predicted. I married her without any regard to my feelings for you."
As John returned his gaze to Sara, she realized that his eyes were full of tears. His next words were barely audible. "I was a coward! If I had done the right thing and ended our engagement, Violet never would have become pregnant and she would still be alive. I have to live with that."
Sara stared at him incredulously. Her voice was quiet but angry. "What Hearst did is unforgivable! Advising Violet to trap you into a marriage that you weren't sure you wanted…" she stammered and shook her head as if unable to comprehend. "That's unconscionable! They conspired against you and now you blame yourself. I'm going to say this one more time, John. You are not to blame for Violet's death. It is unfortunate but it isn't your fault."
John pulled a handkerchief from a breast pocket and wiped tears from his face. Sara reached for his hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I came here to console you and I've upset you. I didn't come here to make you sad, John. I should never have come."
John gave her a sad smile, "Don't say that. I was sad before you got here. You didn't make me sad. On the contrary, you gave me the chance to unburden myself. Sara, you're one of the few people to whom I can be honest. I've not told this story to anyone else. It feels so good to get it off of my chest. Let's talk about something else. Bitsy told me that you were in Boston opening a branch office for your detective agency. How is that going?"
Sara beamed as she told John about spending three months in Boston starting up her first branch office. She would have continued if Anna hadn't begun to stir in the pram. John immediately began to rock the pram lightly to lull her back to sleep, but it was his cue that the babies needed to get home soon for their next feeding.
"Sara, it was wonderful seeing you," John told her as he kissed her cheek. "Do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight."
Sara immediately shook her head. "John you're newly widowed. You can't be seen in public with a woman."
"I know that," he answered. "Come to my house. I have light dinner around 8. That gives me some time to play with the twins before they go to bed."
"I can't. I have to get to work early tomorrow. I know that Bitsy took good care of the business while I was gone, but I'm sure there will be a great deal of work on my desk when I get there tomorrow."
"Then how about Friday night. You're not working on Saturday, are you?"
"I…I don't know, John," Sara said reluctantly. "I'll have to think about it."
"Please, Sara, for me. Just as friends."
Sara smiled sadly and shook her head, "We've crossed that bridge, John. We can never again be just friends."
They stood looking at each other, a few feet apart, neither speaking. A fussy cry from the pram drew John's attention. "Yes, little man," he cooed to his son. "It's time to go home. Papa will take you home."
Without another word John circled the pram around the bench and turned for home. He took one last look at Sara before going and saw that she was wiping tears from her eyes. He cleared the emotion from his throat and, as he walked, began to whistle to distract his fussy son.
Thanks for reading! I considered stopping here and letting the reader decide what would happen to John and Sara. After thinking about it for a while, I've decided to continue. I hope you'll stay tuned and watch for the update. Also, please note, I love to write dialogue but have never written it from this particular time point in history. I tried to portray the formal, almost stilted, dialogue that was used in the series and hope that it did not come off too melodramatic. Thanks again for taking your valuable time to read my musings. I hope that you found it time well spent.