FRIDAY EVENING: Dinner
Sara stepped hesitantly onto the front porch of John's handsome town house. She took a deep breath and reached for the knocker. She rapped once with little conviction but her second rap resounded smartly against the brass backing. It was less than a minute later that John's valet answered the door.
"Good evening, Miss Howard," He held the door as Sara stepped across the threshold into the large foyer. The house had originally belonged to John's grandfather and was decorated tastefully with a masculine hand. John's grandmother had lived there in her later years but, out of respect for her late husband, chose not to give it her own more feminine touch. When John inherited it upon her death, it was the perfect bachelor quarters with highly polished dark wood paneling and trim. Painted surfaces were covered in dark greens and golds with some rust colors here and there. Sara suspected that, had Violet lived, she would have made changes to the décor but Sara had always loved it exactly as it was.
"Thank you, James," Sara returned as she handed him her wrap and gloves.
She was about to ask after his health when a plump woman in her fifties stepped into the foyer. The flour that dusted her apron left no doubt that she had been working hard in the kitchen.
"Why Miss Sara!" she exclaimed with an Irish brogue. "How good to see you, lass. How have you been, my dear? Mr. John said that you might be stopping by. You look lovely as always. Will you be joining him for dinner?"
"If it's not too much trouble, Emma," Sara answered politely.
"Nonsense! No trouble at all. I wouldn't know how to cook for only one person. There's always plenty to go 'round. Take off your hat if you're staying. James will take care of that for you."
Sara pulled two long hatpins from just above the brim of her hat and removed it. She secured the pins in the brim before handing it to James. "Thank you, James, I'm sorry to be such a bother."
"There, my dear. You look so much more comfortable now. James, once you've put Miss Sara's things away, set another place at the table across from Mr. John's place." Emma barked orders like a drill sergeant and Sara stifled a laugh as a harassed looking James did as his wife told him.
Emma linked her arm in Sara's and leaned in conspiratorially as she led Sara toward the stairs. "I'm glad that you've come. It will do Mr. John good to have dinner with someone. Eating alone every night isn't good for him. He was always such a social man. Enjoyed everyone's company and everyone enjoyed his. But that all changed after the wedding," Emma explained as she tutted quietly. "After that he was off to work in the morning and back home for supper. Tended to Miss Violet constantly. So sad," Emma shook her head. "But I knew from the moment I met her that the poor girl wasn't destined to carry a child. Too skinny! A girl with hips that narrow just isn't made to be breeding stock. Fortunate that the babes were born healthy," she continued barely taking time to breathe. "A little small, both of them, but healthy. And what beauties they are! Mr. John just dotes on them. Nanny thinks they'll be spoiled to death if he doesn't stop but I think it's a thing of beauty to see a man love his children so."
Sara wasn't quite sure what to say, but Emma continued before she had to decide.
"In the three months since Miss Violet passed I don't think Mr. John has had dinner with anyone save for Mr. Hearst," Emma allowed a note of derision to find its way into her voice. "And him I could do without! I know that he's the babes' grandfather and I shouldn't speak ill of him, but he barely acknowledged that poor girl as his daughter while she lived. Now he's wearing a black armband and pouring out his grief to any soul that'll listen! A hypocrite, if you ask me," she sniffed.
Emma's high-speed chatter was making Sara's head spin. The cook and housekeeper, a long-time employee of John's grandmother, had never been shy about expressing her opinion and that obviously hadn't changed in the last eighteen months. Sara was happy when they reached the top of the stairs.
"He'll be in the nursery, dear," Emma told her. "Door's at the end of the hall."
"Thank you, Emma," Sara said as she stepped onto the rich Persian rug that ran the length of the hall and was thick enough to mute her footfalls. She approached the open door and stood silently watching. John knelt on the floor, his starched white shirt open at the collar with the cuffs rolled up. She stared at his open collar. Sara remembered kissing that neck. It was now marked with a scar from Libby Hatch's blade. Still the hard angle of his jaw and the cleanly shaved skin below made her forget the attempted murder and focus on the beautiful night they spent together. She tried to push the thought away but found that she couldn't. John was such a handsome man. Why had she never noticed before? Watching him on the floor, playing with his children, seemed to make him even more attractive and endearing.
John put down the stuffed bunny that he was holding for his daughter and picked up a wooden toy train engine. The twins crawled at top speed across the nursery floor chasing after their father who was animatedly adding a soundtrack of choo choo sounds, train whistles and conductor calls as he pushed the train across the rug. He slowed down to give his son a chance to take the toy.
"You got it, my man!" John said as he ruffled the boy's hair and watched him pick up the train to play with the wheels. As John sat back on the floor, Anna crawled into his lap. "Do you want to snuggle, my princess?" he asked as he scooped the little girl into his arms and then rolled back so that he was lying on his back on the floor tenderly snuggling the baby to his chest. "You're such a beauty, Anna!"
"You're a natural father, John Moore," Sara said as she walked into the nursery.
John looked up in surprise. He stood quickly with Anna clinging to his neck.
"Sara," John said with a smile. "I didn't think you'd come." He reached for his pocket watch and checked the time. "You're early. I'm sure that Nanny will be back from dinner in a few minutes. I'll ask Emma to watch the children until she gets back."
"No, don't do that. I intentionally came early so that I'd get a chance to see the children. They were sleeping at the park and I didn't really get to see them. We haven't even been properly introduced," Sara said as she crouched down and picked up little John who had abandoned the train and crawled over. "Come here, young man," she said. "What is your name?"
John smiled proudly. "That is John Schuyler Moore, Jr., but he allows his friends to call him Jack."
"It's nice to meet you," Sara cooed. "I hope I can count myself among those who call you Jack."
"I think he'll be fine with that," John said warmly. "And this lovely lady is my princess Anna Violet. She likes to be called Annie."
"How do you do, Miss Annie?" Sara asked as she stroked the baby's pink cheek. "They're simply amazing, John!"
John closed his eyes lightly as he kissed Annie's forehead. "They've brought me an incredible amount of joy." He sighed, "I have such mixed emotions. Despite the guilt I feel over Violet's death, I can't regret their birth. They've become my entire world."
Jack began squirming in Sara's arms. He had abandoned his train on the floor when Sara picked him up and he quite clearly wanted to get back to it. Sara knelt down with him and set him on the floor. He reached for the train and then gave it to Sara. John watched in amusement as she sat down and bent her knees to create a mountain for the train to climb. Jack was delighted and clambered into her lap to play.
John and Annie sat next to them. "I thought you said that you weren't good with children."
Sara looked curiously as John. "I believe that you're misquoting me. I said that some women weren't meant to be mothers."
"Isn't it the same thing?" John queried.
Sara was spared from answering when a tall, attractive woman that Sara judged to be several years younger than herself strode purposefully into the room. "Eight o'clock," she announced, pleasantly. "That's bedtime for little ones."
John introduced Amelia, the children's nanny, to Sara and then he proceeded to smother the children's faces with good night kisses. "Amelia, I know that I usually read to them before they go to bed, but if you could do it tonight, I'd appreciate it. They settle down so much better that way. I'll read to them tomorrow night."
"Of course, Mr. Moore. You and Miss Howard go and enjoy your dinner." Sara watched the young woman deftly take one child in each arm and retreat to the attached room singing as she went.
"She's very young but seems quite capable," Sara commented casually. She hoped that her tone hid the jealousy that had crept up her spine. She didn't know where that emotion had come from or why it was there but it bothered her that the girl was so comfortable in John's house, caring for his children. Was she intimidated by the fact that the girl simply knew how to do something that seemed so foreign to her or was she concerned that this lovely, young woman might eventually catch John's attention?
John was oblivious to the battle going on inside of Sara. "She's wonderful. She's the oldest child in a family of nine. She's been taking care of little ones since she was little more than a babe herself. By now I think it's just part of her nature." He turned toward the stairs and indicated for Sara to step in front of him. "Let's go down to the dining room. I'm sure that Emma is waiting for us." As they descended the stairs Sara became acutely aware of John's hand resting on the small of her back. Its warmth penetrated her dress and seemed to be absorbed into her skin.
"Ah, there you are!" Emma exclaimed. "Are the twins off to bed?"
"Nanny's putting them down now," John said as he surveyed the dinner table and sideboard. "It looks wonderful, Emma. Is that butternut squash soup that I smell?"
"Your favorite, Mr. John. With fresh rosemary rolls," she responded glowingly. She took an obvious pride in her cooking. "After the soup, you'll have lamb chops, roasted potatoes and string beans. Be seated now," she directed them. "Ring for me when you've finished the soup and I'll bring in the rest."
"No need, Emma," John instructed her. "Bring the main course in and set it on the sideboard. Miss Howard and I can serve ourselves. It's getting late. You and James and retire for the evening."
Sara suppressed a smile. She knew that this wouldn't sit well with Emma who was enough of a busybody to want to keep an eye on her boss and his guest. She also knew that she and John couldn't have any kind of private conversation if Emma was buzzing in and out of the room with plates and platters like a bee going from blossom to blossom.
"Why Mr. John, you can't invite a lady to dinner and expect her to serve herself!" Emma exclaimed.
"Mr. Moore is right, Emma. I've imposed upon your hospitality too much already. I expected a light dinner – cold sandwiches at most. You've put together a feast! The least I can do is serve it and carry the dishes to the kitchen."
Emma obviously couldn't think of an appropriate reply. She stumbled over a few words for a moment before returning to the kitchen. Moments later, she and James entered the dining room with a serving cart stacked with various platters and dishes.
"Thank you," John said with a polite nod. "Miss Howard and I can take it from here."
Emma wrung her hands on her apron. Sara knew that she was desperately looking for a way to make her presence necessary. "Let me refill your wine glasses," she said as she reached for the decanter.
Neither John nor Sara had taken even a sip from the glasses but demurred in order to avoid hurting Emma's feelings.
James exchanged an understanding glance with John. "I'll leave the serving cart, sir," he said. "You can stack the used dishes on it. Leave it here and we'll take care of it in the morning." James turned to his wife who was currently fussing over the position of the draperies. "Let us bid good evening, Emma."
"Just fixing the curtain," she said. "The gas lamp outside is shining right in Miss Sara's eyes." She gave the curtain another slight tug. "There. That's better, isn't it dear?" She scanned the room looking for anything else that might be amiss but James put his hand on her shoulder and steered her out of the room.
John kept his eyes diverted toward the still-swinging door to the kitchen until it stopped moving entirely. He continued to watch for another long moment before he exhaled slowly. "I think she's gone," he said smiling. "Thank goodness for James. I need to give him a raise," John said quietly, as if still concerned that Emma might be listening at the door.
"That was almost cruel, John!" Sara laughed. She, too, kept her voice and laugh soft fearing that John's concern was warranted. "You've ruined Emma's evening. She was dying to figure out why I'm here," she said as she reached for a soup spoon. "This soup is delicious, by the way," Sara noted with barely a pause following her previous comment. After a long moment she realized that John was silent, holding a spoon in his hand but not eating.
"Why are you here, Sara?" John asked pointedly.
Sara met his gaze and dropped her eyes. "You invited me for dinner." Belatedly she added, "As friends."
An uncomfortable silence followed her words. Sara noticed that the warmth in John's eyes cooled as he drained his wine glass.
"Do you hear anything from Laszlo?" she asked in order to diffuse the tension.
Mention of his best friend seemed to rekindle the warmth in John's eyes. The journalist in him spent the next 15 minutes reporting on Laszlo and regaling her with tales of his adventure in Vienna. "He and Karen are to be married next month. They plan to honeymoon in Egypt and work on an archaeological dig. Always the scholars, both of them."
"It sounds perfect for them. I'm so happy that they've found each other."
"What about you, Sara? Have you found anyone?"
"I've not looked. I've been busy with my work. As you know, I find great satisfaction in it." Her voice was less than convincing and John noticed immediately but said nothing. "Opening the branch office in Boston was a proud moment. If pride is a deadly sin, then I shall be damned. I can't help but be proud of my agency."
"Pride in your work isn't a sin, Sara, but devoting your life to nothing but work may turn out to be a lonely proposition."
Sara knew that she needed to change the course of the conversation. "Did I tell you that before I left for Boston I was volunteering at the Kreizler Center?"
John shook his head and Sara continued. "Before he left, Laszlo asked me to look in on Clara, Libby Hatch's daughter. She was such a disturbed child and he felt that she needed more attention than the staff could provide. At first I just stopped by to see her every couple of days but then I realized that most of the other children rarely got any visitors and when I would arrive they would flock around me like hungry birds. It broke my heart. I told my staff at the detective agency and some of them started coming with me. The others kept it up while I was in Boston."
They had reached the end of the main course. "That was wonderful." Sara dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Give Emma my compliments. That is, if she's still speaking to you!" she said with a laugh.
John rose and went to the sideboard to examine the dessert that Emma had left. "Apple strudel. Warm from the oven," he said. "Let's take it into the salon." He picked up the silver tray holding the dessert and coffee service. The china cups jingled merrily as they bumped lightly against each other when John walked.
Sara followed after transferring the dishes from the table to the serving cart.
"After dinner drink?" John asked as he set the tray down in the gentlemen's salon.
Sara loved this room. It was sparsely furnished in the finest furniture. It smelled of buttery leather chairs, cigar smoke and brandy. A small fire crackled in the grate. It was the perfect after dinner retreat for a gentleman and his companions. Normally those companions would be men. Rarely would a lady grace this room. Sara knew why he had brought her here instead of into the more formal parlor. Taking a woman to the parlor would indicate that he was courting her. She had made it clear that her work was her life and that courting was out of the question. That thought stung and she wasn't sure why. She tried to push the thought away. No, sitting in the parlor had nothing to do with courting. John was recently widowed. The parlor might still be draped in black crepe. Surely that was why John chose the gentlemen's salon for dessert. Her thoughts were spinning wildly. Suddenly the impropriety of the entire evening struck her. Here she stood, a single woman in the home of a newly widowed man. Their only chaperones were the nanny, valet and maid, all of whom were quartered elsewhere in the house.
"Brandy, if you have it," Sara said in a slightly strangled voice.
John looked over with concern and watched as Sara sat down on a loveseat, the worn leather creaking as it yielded. She took a cup of coffee and added cream. She stirred it much too long.
John said nothing. He poured a generous portion of brandy into a crystal snifter. He cradled the glass in his palm and swirled lightly for several seconds to warm the drink. "What's wrong, Sara," he barely whispered.
"I shouldn't have come here tonight. Alone. I fear that I have endangered your reputation as a gentleman."
John laughed a harsh laugh. "My reputation? When have I given a whit about that? I was a walking scandal for most of my adult life. I suspect that few consider me a gentleman. I drank to the point of public drunkenness and frequented most of the brothels in this borough and the next. My wife gave birth less than seven months after we married. I have no reputation to speak of, Sara. It is your reputation that is in danger. If you are concerned, I assure you that my servants won't talk. James and Emma are unfailingly loyal and Amelia needs her job. She knows that if she speaks of this that Emma will fire her on the spot and she can't afford that."
"My reputation is not of concern. I am a woman who owns her own business. If it weren't for my father's name I wouldn't be welcomed into polite society. Indeed, even his name shields me only slightly given his manner of death." She took a long draw from the brandy.
"Then what is wrong," he asked again gently as he sat in the chair across from her and sipped at a glass of whiskey. "I'm sorry if asking you for dinner has offended your sense of propriety. I didn't mean to do that. I had no intention of sending Emma and James away until we sat down for dinner and I realized that I didn't want to share your company with anyone, including my staff." He swallowed the remainder of the whiskey and stood to refill his glass. Sara remained silent.
"I will not hide my feelings for you, Sara. I love you today as much as I did on the day eighteen months ago that I said goodbye. When I invited you to dinner, I meant for it to be just that: dinner. There were no strings attached. I just wanted to see you again. When you came here tonight and sat on the nursery floor and played with my children, you rekindled a fire in my heart that has been dead for too long.
"It pains me to say it, but I never loved Violet. You know that. I regret her death, but during our short marriage, I ached to truly love someone. I missed you more than I thought possible."
He turned away from Sara as he poured more whiskey into his glass. He thought that he could feel her stare boring into him. Without turning back toward her, John again drained his whiskey glass and set it down solidly. He finally turned and began to pace in front of the fireplace. Sara remained silent but her eyes never left him.
"During dinner, I came to a realization. I can't live without you in my life. I need you, Sara. I'll let you make the decision as to what form our relationship takes. I'll accept whatever you decide."
"John, what exactly are you asking of me?"
He again turned away, this time staring into the fire. It was as if he was unable to think clearly while facing her. He looked toward the whiskey decanter for a moment wanting another drink but knowing that it was a bad idea. He needed a clear head. This moment could shape his entire future. He couldn't make a mistake now. He'd made so many mistakes in the past. John swallowed hard, turned and moved slowly but purposefully toward Sara. He knew instantly what he was going to say. He only hoped that it was the right thing. Sitting next to her on the loveseat, John took both of her hands in his. Sara didn't object but tensed slightly.
After a long pause, John finally spoke. "Maybe I'm over-simplifying this. Laszlo always says that I tend to do that," he sighed quietly, a vague smile on his lips. "I've already told you that I need you in my life. Watching all through dinner makes me very sure that, whether you want to admit it or not, you feel the same way," he paused hoping that Sara might confirm his statement. She averted her eyes and John knew that he was right. Now he had the courage to continue. When he spoke again, his eyes were warm and his tone was tender and full of love.
"As I see it at this moment, we have three options, my dear Sara. We can simply remain friends. If that's what you want, I will agree to it but I want to know that we'll see each other often and spend time together. I have to tell you that if you choose this option, I can't promise you that I won't remarry. There may come a time when I feel that my children need a mother. You will always be my first choice for a wife, but if you reject that, you can't be jealous of the woman that fills that role and I'll want you to remain my dearest friend. Conversely, if I were to remarry, my wife would have to understand our friendship and know that it won't end simply because I've said, 'I do.'" John paused to again gather his thoughts.
Sara interrupted them. Her gaze was intense and her tone almost businesslike. John knew that was part of her defense. "What is the second option?"
"You can become my lover," he stated matter of factly.
"John! I will not be any man's mistress! I will not be a kept woman!" Sara pulled her hands away angrily and stood backing away from him, her back straight and head high.
John, too, stood and took two steps toward her. He gently placed a hand on each of her upper arms. "I'm not trying to insult you. Please sit down and hear me out." They sat down again but this time Sara took a chair so that John couldn't sit beside her. Instead, he sat on the edge of the coffee table and leaned toward her. He wanted to hold her hands again but she had folded her arms across her chest to prevent that.
"You know full well that a man of my station usually has a mistress and that the woman is not excluded from any but the top echelon of society. It would not be out of the question for me to take you as a mistress. I don't believe that your reputation will be hurt by that or I would never suggest it. You can continue to run the detective agency and live your own life. You do a good job at making a living. You don't need a man to 'keep' you. I would never presume to do so. If such an arrangement would result in children, I will recognize them as my offspring and I will love and support them. Not like Hearst, who referred to Violet in public as his 'goddaughter'. Our children would have my full affection and be part of my life even if they live with you."
John paused again waiting for Sara's reaction. She said nothing but he could see her relax a bit. She was considering his words and that was all he could ask for at the moment. He decided that it was time to go on. He stood from his perch at the edge of the coffee table. His heart was pounding as he moved the table back about a foot to give himself some extra room. Sara watched him, unsure of what he was doing. As she watched, John dropped to one knee on the floor in front of her. He reached for her hands that now sat curled in her lap.
"The third and final option," John began tentatively, "is that you become my wife. I didn't plan this ahead of time, so I don't have a ring to give you, but my grandmother's ring is upstairs. It has a small diamond and isn't fancy. My grandfather hadn't amassed his fortune yet when he proposed. He bought what he could afford at the time. I didn't give the ring to Violet because I knew that she wanted something larger and more fashionable that would show others her place in society. To me, the small ring that my grandfather originally used to propose to my grandmother says far more about commitment and love. With that ring, my grandmother agreed to take a chance on someone with a dream. She didn't know if he would make a fortune or end up losing everything but she was willing to take a chance. She wore that ring until the day she died. That is the ring that I have always wanted you to have. I'm asking you, Sara, to take a chance. I won't ask you to give up the detective agency and become a society maven. I want you to make of your life everything that you dream it can be but I want you to do that with me by your side. I want Annie to know that women can be strong and make their own way. I want Jack to see that women aren't window dressing and playthings. They're human beings that are smart and capable and deserve respect. Sara Howard, please do me the honor of marrying me."
Author's note: Again, I thought of ending the story here and letting you, the reader, decide the fates of John and Sara for yourself. You can still do that if you wish, but I plan to post one more chapter in case you care what I think will happen. So if you want to write your own ending and don't plan to read further, thanks for joining me up to this point. If you want to join me for a final chapter, I hope to have it posted in the next couple of weeks. Many thanks for reading and please, consider reviewing.