Part II, Chapter IV
April 7, 1902
Philadelphia, PA
"It's Peter's birthday tomorrow," said Mrs. Corwell.
Emma looked up from the dishes. "And?"
"And you should get him a gift."
Emma wanted to place her fist on her hip defiantly and make a face. Instead, she swallowed her defiance and nodded slowly.
"Well, what d'you think I should get him? I hardly know his interests or anything."
"Hardly know? Goodness, you seem to spend so much time together. What do you guys talk about? How could you possibly not know?"
"Because I don't know!" snapped Emma, the dishes colliding together in her hands.
Mrs. Corwell paused and subtly held up her palms as if to say she meant no harm. There was a silence between them that lasted until Emma finished madly scrubbing the dishes in the sink. With an obvious temper, she took off her apron and said she was going to "find that wretched birthday gift."
Philadelphia had a way of angering Emma in a way she never thought a single place could. The people she knew--and at times it felt as if it were the whole city--never seemed to listen to her wants or needs. Nobody asked her how she actually felt about Peter Crenshaw. All they did was tell her how much of a perfect couple they seemed to be. It also didn't help that Mrs. Crenshaw seemed to be planning the wedding already.
"Hey, watch it, lady!" grouched a man she had inadvertently bumped into on the street.
"So sorry…" she replied weakly.
In Brooklyn, she had no problem weaving in and out of the crowds. She walked with her face boldly looking the world in the eye and she was confident in who she was. In Philly, she had no desire to take a look around or get to know anybody. Her eyes followed her footsteps and she had never felt more alone in her life. She used to turn to one, and only one, person whenever she would get into a mood that brought her down--and even so, that wasn't very often, considering the company she had had before now.
The next day, at Peter's birthday dinner, she watched him open her gift with sincere anticipation and gratitude. What had she gotten him? She thought hard but remembered just as Peter pulled open the wrapping paper that it was a book she had faintly recalled he had mentioned recently. She blinked and saw a key necklace in his hands. The shoelace was thin and shredding, the key still wet from snow on the ground…
He smirked. "Think I'd wear jewelry, Em?"
She blinked again. Peter smiled brightly.
"Thank you, Emma. Just the book I wanted," said Peter as he wrapped her into a tight embrace.
Her face burned scarlet. Peter hugged her for an eternity in front of their parents, and she was certain she saw Mrs. Crenshaw dab her eyes across the table. As he let go, he kissed her on the cheek, the bravest move he had ever laid on her.
Coffee and dessert were far more awkward than Emma could have imagined, especially because the rest of the conversation consisted of Emma's cousin who had just gotten engaged. Mrs. Crenshaw, who held no blood link to her cousin, was simply overjoyed.
"Oh! I told Rebecca all about the wedding my parents had…Such a beautiful ceremony, in the church she grew up…Wish I could have been there…" her eyes traveled off as if seeing it in her head.
Emma took a deep breath and brought her coffee to her lips.
"You know, Emma, the more I think about it, the more you resemble my mother when she was your age."
At the very sound of Mrs. Crenshaw's comment, Emma choked on her drink and spilled it all onto her lap. Thankful for the interruption she had mistakenly made for herself, she immediately dismissed herself and scurried into her bedroom. She ripped off her dress without unbuttoning and hurled it across the room. The coffee stain had soaked onto her slip and had started to burn her skin.
In the privacy of her own environment--without anyone telling her what to do or what to feel--she searched for a familiar object, something of importance. Her eyes traveled from wall to wall, to her bed, to her closet, to her nightstand. She found nothing that resonated. It was Philadelphia altogether that didn't sit well with her. She leaned against the wall and stared at the closed window across the room.
"Emma?" said Peter, knocking at the door. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, Peter," she lied. "I'm fine."
He opened the door hesitantly and shut it, apologizing, as soon as he realized she was only in a slip.
"I'm sorry! We'll talk when you're decent."
Emma watched him slam the door shut. She walked over and opened it invitingly, comfortable in her skin and mere slip. Peter looked only in her eyes and she said to him, "It's fine. Come in."
After nervous fumbling, Peter took a seat on the edge of the bed next to Emma. He looked straight ahead and rubbed his palms together in his lap.
"It was so very nice of you to give me the book for my birthday," he said. "So thoughtful."
Emma shrugged and half-smiled.
"Oh! Before I forget, I have something for you as well." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the locket necklace he had given her previously yet had not fit correctly. "I fit it with another chain, so it should be just right now."
Emma closed her eyes and nodded. "Thank you, Peter."
She made to take it from his hand, yet he took his hand away and got up from the bed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, facing her. Emma could practically hear his heart crashing against his rib cage. She tapped her feet against the floor as if trying to calm Peter down before her. Bravely, Peter opened his eyes again and stared into hers.
"Emma," he began. And just as she smiled for him comfortingly, he got down on one knee.
Her feet stopped moving at once, much like her heartbeat. She felt the color drain from her face and she knew there was nothing she could do about it being etched all over her face. Peter grabbed her hands and continued.
"Emma Marie Corwell…you mean so much to me, more than I could possibly say. I knew the moment we were introduced, I was meant to be with you…"
Emma's stomach turned over. The coffee stain seared into her naked, revealed flesh.
"…And my affection for you gets stronger with each passing day. Your smile, your eyes…they fill me with so much love, I never thought it possible to want to be with someone the way I want to be with you. Please, I'd be honored…"
Don't say it, don't say it, thought Emma. For the love of God, do not say it…
"…Will you marry me?"
The words crushed her heart and soul. Her hands trembled within his and she suddenly felt bare, raw, and exposed. Her mind raced furiously, and yet, ironically, she was completely blank.
"Uhm," she squeaked, her throat dry. "Peter…"
He looked at her hopefully, his eyes huge. She smiled in spite of herself and tightened her grip on his hands, shaking them, and she nodded.
"May I get dressed?"
Peter, out of his trance, nodded dotingly and stood up, his hands still grasping hers.
"I'll just, I'll wait outside!"
"O-Okay…"
He awkwardly bent down and kissed her cheek. Her eyes burned into the back of his suit jacket as he left her room.
"Well? What did she say?" she heard Mrs. Crenshaw ask him the moment he stepped foot outside.
The sudden need for air engulfed Emma. She ran to the window, shoving it open with a force. Her mind dizzily flashed images in her mind--Peter Crenshaw, the locket, a key, the Brooklyn Bridge, her parents, the coffee stain, the wedding photograph she had so long dreaded in her mind.
She rifled through her closet suddenly and threw on the first dress she grabbed, for she never felt more exposed than at that particular moment. She choked for air and recognized the lump in her throat that filled her with fear, anxiety, and, for some reason, hurt. She could hardly speak. Her room felt like a prison cell.
A round of knocks came to her door that interrupted the bare silence and emptiness of Emma's bedroom. They sounded again, unanswered.
"Emma?"
