Chapter Five

For everything that's lovely is

But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.

-W.B. Yeats, 1904.

Mother didn't say anything else for the duration of the time I sat beside her. I tried coaxing her again and again, but she was as still as ever. The darkness of the room began to get to me – my eyes were drooping and it took all my will power to stay awake, just in case she became conscious again.

I must have dozed off for a moment though because the next thing I knew, Ethel's hand was on my shoulder, gently nudging me awake.

"Pardon, miss," she said when I'd lifted my head off the bed. I was still sitting in a chair, clutching Mother's hand.

"Oh," I said, embarrassed, "I'm sorry."

"The doctor is here to give her more medicine." I looked toward the door and there he was, case in hand and all. "There is some luncheon downstairs if you would like anything to eat."

I rubbed my eyes, forcing myself awake. "Yes," I said to no one in particular, "that sounds good."

Downstairs, Teddy and Aunt Edith were in the parlor, quietly talking. They quieted down the moment I entered the room.

"How is she?" Teddy asked, standing.

I only shook my head and sat down in a chair I later realized I had never seen before.

"Ethel should be down in a moment with some food for you," Edith said, her face more serious than I had ever seen her.

I covered my eyes with my hands, blocking out the brightness from the Sunday sun exploding through the windows. I could have sat there, in complete and utter silence, for the duration of my life. Not a sound entered into my ear, only the feeling of my chest rising and falling as I breathed and soothed my nerves. However, that was a brief fantasy and if I had learned anything in the last nearly-decade, it was that fantasies existed solely in novels and never in real life.

"I heard him," I said quietly, my eyes still covered. I didn't want to look at them. They knew exactly whom I spoke of.

No one said anything. I could only imagine the expressions on their faces, probably glancing at the other to gauge how they should respond. How could I have not heard him? He was practically screaming up the stairs, breaking my already shattered heart.

It was Teddy who spoke up.

"I'm so sorry, Diana," he said.

I lifted my hands away from my eyes. "I know."

"Here you are, miss," Ethel said, bringing me a small plate of food. I took the plate and she exited the room again, leaving us to our silence.

Shortly after, the doctor came down from upstairs, said his goodbyes, and left the house. We still sat in our long silence, everyone unsure of what to say next.

"How long will you be staying, Diana?" Aunt Edith finally asked.

I looked at Teddy, wanting so bad to tell the truth of the length of my visit but I wasn't even sure anymore of the truth of that anymore. Two weeks was hardly enough time now that I had seen the true state of Mother.

"I'm not sure," I answered. "As long as Lizzie and Teddy will have me, I suppose."

Small smiles lit up both their faces then. I finished the small sandwich and lemonade Ethel had brought me and slowly stood.

"Teddy, if you don't mind, I think I'd like to go back now. I'm quite tired." The voice that came out of me had no emotion whatsoever. It fell flat on all the ears in the room but I didn't care. The house that had once stifled me so much was beginning to do so again.

We left the house and I kept my head low, Elizabeth's had blocking my face from any viewers who might recognize me. I had been foolish before, running to the house. Who knows who else saw me? I wondered briefly if my old friend at the Gamesome Gallant had now gotten news of my arrival. I told myself I would write him a note when I got back to Elizabeth's home to beg him not to write of me in the Monday morning column. I wanted to be invisible for just a while longer.

Back inside the vehicular beast, I wanted to ask Teddy so terribly what Henry had been up to since I had left, but I couldn't bring myself to say the words. I didn't want the answers. Not yet, at least. The ignorant and blissful world I had enveloped myself in for all those years still followed me, clinging to my ribs and clutching my heart. I wanted to stay inside that cage for just a while longer.

I couldn't speak to Elizabeth when I got into the house, nor did she come to me to ask anyways. I didn't know if she was even home. I went straight back to my bedroom. There was a small desk right by the window that faced the street. People walked idly by, not even glancing at the house I was in. I stood there for a while, watching them. I wondered if I knew any of them. Surely I must have met some of them at some party or another, their faces changed after years of absence. Then I wondered if anyone remembered me anymore. Was all my hiding for nothing? Was everyone lying when they said the whole city was talking about my return?

Elizabeth didn't want you to feel forgotten, my mind told me.

I thought I had wanted to feel forgotten. I thought I wanted to be invisible. But now, I wasn't so sure. What did it matter? The reason I had wanted to stay under detection was because of Henry. Now that he knew, was there even a point?

Then again, I didn't want to talk to Henry. Not yet, at least. And for that, I needed my movements around the city to go unnoticed. I knew that if anywhere posted my whereabouts, Henry would find a way to get there to talk to me. I didn't know what I would say to him yet, or even if I ever wanted to say anything to him. So for that, I sat down at the desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and began writing.

Dear Mr. Barnard,

It has been some time since I have spoken to you. I believe the last correspondence you and I had was shortly after I had arrived in Paris all those years ago. You spoke highly of La Petite Chaise and requested I order their onion soup and steak tartare. You told me, and I quote, 'You will never taste anything so fine again.' You were right – I never did. I found myself going to that restaurant for months when I had enough money to buy such a meal. I cannot thank you enough.

I am sorry, though, that my writings became less and less until they ceased. Life became complicated – more so than usual. You really were a great friend and confidant through all the time I knew you. I think you were the only person I could really, truly trust. You let me live my dreams, for just a little while, and let me believe the world was much brighter than it really was. Again, I thank you.

You may notice that this letter is coming from somewhat a different address; one you might even recognize. You have probably written many stories by now about my arrival and return that are just waiting for the Monday morning papers. You must have them edited and finalized by now, ready for mass consumption. I must beg you, Davis – please, do not write about me. Not yet. There are things I must tie up before I allow you to publish them. I know I have been a terrible friend these last few years but – please – let me try and make things right. Perhaps we could even collaborate again on a project in the future. You have been on my heart and mind so much. I hope this is not too much of a burden.

Your humble friend,

Diana Holland

I read the letter nearly five times before finally folding it and slipping it inside an envelope. I wrote Davis Barnard's address (which I had hoped hadn't changed) and Elizabeth's in the corner. I stood and exited the bedroom. I bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen where Anna was eagerly preparing supper.

"Anna, could I be so terrible as to ask you for a favor?" I asked.

She turned away from the counter where she was cutting up some carrots, surprised by my entrance. Her face was flush.

"Of course, Miss."

"I know you're busy, but is there any way you could deliver this letter? I know it's Sunday so there is no mail but I really must get this letter out before tomorrow."

She looked reluctant. "Um, well–"

I butted in, "I'll pay you. I'll help with supper. I'll do anything, really. Please, I just need it delivered tonight. The address really isn't far from here. You'll be back within the hour. Oh! And try to be discreet – I would deliver it myself but I don't want all the hubbub about me being back to start flying just yet."

She sighed. "Alright I suppose. But there's no need to pay me, Miss. But if you wanted to finish peeling and dicing these carrots for the soup tonight, that would be a great help." She pointed to the basket she had been pulling from.

I smiled greatly. "Thank you, Anna, so much. You have no idea."

I handed her the letter and she peered at the address. "Davis Barnard?"

"Old friend."

She nodded. "Alright. I'll be back soon." She paused and looked between the carrots and me.

"What?" I asked.

"You… you know how to peel carrots, right? And cut them?"

I smiled, hiding a laugh. "Yes, Anna, I do."

She nodded, trusting me, and left the room out the back door after grabbing her hat.

The carrots took me no time at all. Anna had already finished half of them before I barged in. When I finished, I looked for the recipe she was using to see if I could help with any other tasks but I couldn't find it anywhere. She must have it memorized; maybe it was Teddy or Elizabeth's favorite. I washed my hands and dried them, looking around the kitchen. I realized then how quiet it was. Keller and Evelyn where nowhere to be seen or heard. I left the kitchen and glanced around – still no sound. The house was eerily quiet. I also realized I hadn't properly seen the entire property yet, aside from where I had already been. I took this moment to walk around the house and learn about it.

After leaving the kitchen, there was a large dining room complete with a table big enough to fit half of New York. A crystal chandelier dripped from the ceiling, casting rainbows around the room from the large window that let in the Sunday afternoon light. The window, like mine in my bedroom, faced the street. People were still busy walking by, making their Sunday visits before suppertime. To my right was a passageway that led to the main entrance of the home. That's where the stairs were to the upstairs bedrooms. Instead of going up, though, I continued straight through another passageway and into the parlor room. Worn (but ornate, possibly secondhand) furniture lined the room, all centered on the fireplace that was probably lit everyday during the winter months. Above the mantle, a portrait of the Cutting family hung. It must have been commissioned a few years ago because little Evie was a newborn in the portrait. At first I couldn't pinpoint what had made me feel so different toward the painting than any other portrait I had seen before until I realized what it was – it was something so small, so minute, that had I not been staring intently at it, I would have missed it.

Elizabeth and Teddy were smiling.

People in portraits never smiled. They had to hold a position for so long that, really, smiling was just too much of a hassle. But for some reason, both Lizzie and Teddy were smiling. And the artist captured hers perfectly. I raised my hand and touched her cheek lightly. It had been so long since I had seen that smile – not even one of happiness, just of pure contentedness. I hadn't seen that side of Lizzie for years.

Other portraits hung around the room – one of Evie around the same time as the other portrait, her chubby, rosy cheeks a defining feature. Another of Keller when he was younger, too. Elizabeth must have somehow managed to convince Mother to have the portrait of her and Father as well, because it hung on the wall close to the entrance of the room. It was the same one that had hung for my entire life back at Gramercy in Father's library. The year he died, I spent every day in the room locked away with his books. When I wasn't reading, though, I stared intently at that painting, trying to remember him as young as he looked in the picture.

I kept walking through the room. There was a door along the wall next to the fireplace. It was a thick, dark wood that looked important with a crystal doorknob. I twisted it open and almost yelped in surprise.

"Oh! Teddy, I didn't know anyone was here," I said, catching my breath.

He looked up from his desk with a smile. "You gave me a bit of a fright too. I thought you were tired? I had assumed you went up to bed for a rest before supper." He took the glasses that balanced on the edge of his nose off and placed them on the desk.

"I had to write a letter," I told him.

"And you came down here to…?"

I noticed he had papers scattered around and judging by the red marks on either side of his nose from his glasses, he was doing something important.

"Oh!" I said again, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. Please, go back to work." I began stepping out of his office but he waved me back in.

"Nonsense, Diana. Please, come in. This isn't work; I was just going over some financial papers from the oil site. Nothing too important."

"Are you sure?"

He smiled again at me. "Yes, positive."

I tentatively stepped back into the office and closed the door behind me. I glanced around the room.

Though his office wasn't as filled as Father's, books still lined the walls. The cabinets under them probably held many important papers. I walked around the room, reading the many titles on books. I didn't recognize any, mostly because they were about finances or oil engineering.

"Diana?" Teddy asked eventually.

I spun around. "Yes?" I realized he had been looking at me for the entire time.

"Can I help you with something?"

"What?"

"I mean, did you come in here for something?"

"Oh," I said, stepping away from the books. "No, sorry. I was just… I hadn't looked around the house much. I just wanted to see everything. Where is Elizabeth? And the kids?"

He sat back down in his chair and said, "Well, Lizzie thought that such a beautiful day ought not to go to waste, so she took Delores and the kids to the park. She'll be back in time for supper."

"It gets quiet here."

He chuckled. "Yes, it does. Almost peaceful. But then I remember how lonely silence can be. The moment they walk through that door…" He shook his head. "It's the best part of my day."

I smiled at him, wondering how such a lovely man could exist in this world marred by pain and suffering.

"Whom did you write to?" he asked.

"Sorry?"

"You said you had to write a letter. Whom did you write to?"

"Oh, I have a friend that writes for the Gallant. I just asked him not to write anything about me yet."

"Why?"

I wondered to myself that same question again. Instead I brushed it off by saying, "Our family has lived in harmony in this city for the past 7 years. The last thing I want is for us to go under the bridge again because of me."

"Di…"

I shook my head. "My leaving this city caused our family irreparable harm. I couldn't do it again."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Henry, would it?" he asked quietly.

My heart stopped for a moment when his name was said. "Teddy, I really don't want to talk about it if you don't mind."

Teddy sighed and sat back in his chair. "Fine, we don't have to. But let me at least say this – he was never the same after you left. He still isn't."

A small part of me was satisfied with him saying that. Henry had always seemed like this untouchable god that I could forever lust after but never actually have. To know I was the one who left a lasting impact on him felt incredible. But a larger part of me broke at those words. I wanted him to have a life after me, even if it broke me to see him with another woman. I wanted him to find his pure happiness in the world. But almost ironically, I was the one that took that all away from him.

I was quiet for a long time. I had turned back to the books to keep Teddy from reading my face. He was always good at that. For once, I didn't want him to analyze me or try to make me feel better.

"He wants to talk to you," Teddy added.

"Please," I begged, my voice just barely above a whisper, "don't."

"Di…"

I quickly left the room before I could hear him say anything else.

I turned to the left after re-entering the parlor, where it went into a small room. Two walls were covered with windows, letting in the bright Sunday afternoon light. I could see the shed where Teddy parked his automobile and their vast yard expanding outward until it hit a tree line. The floor of the room was littered with children's toys. It still stunned me that Elizabeth had – not one – but two children, and she was only two years older. Since I felt I was intruding on the children's room, I quickly excused myself the same way I had come in. Once the entirety of the downstairs was explored, I returned upstairs and got myself out of Elizabeth's dress. I was able to breathe once more. I changed back into my plain clothing that I felt much more at ease in.

The moment I was fully dressed, a knock came at my door.

"Come in." I turned towards the door to see Anna.

"Hi Miss," she said. "I delivered your letter. Mr. Barnard answered the door and I gave it to him. I made sure it as him before I did."

I smiled politely. "Thank you, Anna. I'm sorry to keep you from your work."

"He's quite charming, isn't he?" she said. "Mr. Barnard?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Oh, I know."

She was about to turn out when she stopped. "Oh! Someone on the street asked about you."

"What? Who?"

My heart sank – who else saw me today? Who else knew I was here?

Anna shrugged. "I don't know. I asked for their name but they walked away without giving it."

"What did they want?" I asked urgently. "What did you say?'

"They simply wondered if it was true if you were home. I told them I had no idea what they were talking about."

I sighed in relief. "Thank you, Anna. Again. I'm sorry to have put you in that position."

"It's no problem, Miss."

"Anna?"

"Yes?"

"One last thing – was it a man or woman who stopped you?"

"A man."

I nodded. "Thank you. You may go back to the kitchen now."

She turned and left the room and I stumbled back and sat on the edge of the neatly made bed. I put my cold fingers to my forehead to soothe my thoughts. Henry was still looking for me – I should really see him sooner rather than later. Or at the very least write to him. But what would I say? "I'm sorry"? Somehow, that didn't seem to convey what I wanted, because I really wasn't sorry. I thought back to that day every day for seven years, wondering if I made the right choice and each time I do, I know I would have made the same decision. Nothing would have made me stay here.

You're back now, I reminded myself, that has to mean something.

But I wasn't back for him, I told myself. I was back for Mother.

The sound of doors opening and children laughing and screaming below interrupted my thoughts then. I stood from the bed, happy to have the distraction. I left the room and went downstairs where I saw Teddy and Elizabeth exchange a light kiss in greeting. Delores was shuffling the kids through the kitchen and into the side hallway, where I now knew their play room was situated. I paused inside the dining room, peering into the kitchen where Elizabeth and Teddy where still closely embracing, talking quietly to each other with bright smiles on their faces. Finally, Elizabeth saw me over Teddy's shoulder.

"Di!" she said, as if still surprised by my presence. She took a small step away from her husband. "How was Mother?"

I shook my head. "Horrible," I said, my voice wavering.

Elizabeth's face suddenly went serious. She glanced at Teddy before saying, "Dear, would you excuse us? I'm sure Anna could use some help with supper."

He nodded and Elizabeth took my elbow and escorted me to their parlor room. We each took a seat facing the empty fireplace. The sun was dipping below the horizon now, and the summer insects were buzzing outside.

"So tell me – was it what you were expecting?" Elizabeth asked, finally breaking the silence.

I shook my head, bewildered. "No. Nothing like I was expecting. Elizabeth, why didn't you tell me how bad it was?"

"I told you earlier – we were waiting to see how bad it was. She really wasn't in this sort of state when I last sent a letter. She's just… gone down since then. Very rapidly."

I looked away from her, to my hands folded in my lap. I took the time to look at each cheap stitch in my skirt to distract me.

"It was terrible, Liz. It's like she's… like she's…" I couldn't bring myself to say the words. Elizabeth reached out immediately and covered my hands with hers. "She did say my name."

"What?"

I looked up again. "Mother said my name. When I got there I told her whom I was. She was asleep so I wasn't sure if she heard me – but she did. At least I think so. It was so quite I thought I imagined it at first, but then she said it again."

"She was awake?" Elizabeth asked.

I shook my head. "No, I don't think so. Or if she was, she wasn't fully."

"That's good, Di!" Liz said encouragingly.

"Do you think she knows?" I asked. "That I'm here, I mean."

Elizabeth took her hands back and snorted. "She hasn't spoken your name in seven years. If she said it, she knows."

"How long has she been… sleeping?"

Elizabeth sighed, thinking. "About a week or so. She was having a lot of difficulty breathing, from what Edith told me. The doctor said this was the best course of action now – just making her comfortable. I was going to write you yesterday, actually, to tell you the truth."

"And she hasn't spoken at all during that time?"

She shook her head. "Not aside from the occasional cough or moan."

"So," I said, sitting closer to the edge of my chair, "do you think this means she's getting better? Now that she's said my name?"

Liz looked disappointed then. "Diana, I really don't think you should be getting your hopes–"

"I mean, it has to mean something right?"

"Diana, stop," Elizabeth said abruptly. My lips sealed shut, knowing I wouldn't want to know the next words she said. "Mother isn't going to get better. She will probably never be awake again."

My eyes stung with tears. "You can't say that for certain."

"We can."

I shook my head. "No. No, that's not… that's not possible. She – she just spoke! Today! She said my name."

"I know," Elizabeth said in a calming tone. I could see her using it on one of her children when they were upset as well. She was treating me like an infant. "I know."

"I have so much I want to tell her…" My voice cracked and a tear slipped down my cheek. "I need to apologize. For everything."

"She already knows everything you have wanted to say."

"What?"

"Aunt Edith and I read her your letters. Granted, we left some of the more… exciting… bits out. But she knew. She knows."

I remembered the countless times I apologized to them both for leaving so suddenly, and the numerous times I told them how much I wished Mother would forgive me as well. To know that they managed to forward that to Mother meant the world.

"She forgave you, a long time ago," she said.

"Why didn't she write me then?"

"Oh," she said with a wave of her hand, "you know Mother. Stubborn to the last. Perhaps she thought the guilt would eventually drive you home."

I couldn't tell if she was lying or telling the truth, but I didn't want to find out. If she was lying, I was happy.

"Liz? Di?" Teddy said, peering into the room. "Supper's ready."

Liz patted my hand one last time. "Shall we?"

I wiped under my eye and nodded. "Let's."

She took my hand in hers and clutched it tightly while we walked to the dining room and took our seats.