Chapter Eight

Sorry, we couldn't make it back. It has been a long and tiring day. Grace Episcopal Church, 800 Broadway in Manhattan. 10AM.

-Elizabeth Cutting

I left Mother's room as quietly as I had come in, afraid to disturb anything. My skirts swished around my ankles as I turned down the stairs and into the foyer where Ethel was just answering the door.

Edith was sitting in the parlor, in the chair she always sat in, awaiting the arrival of more visitors. Finally, someone I knew was going to visit.

Instead of waiting in the parlor like was customary, I waited behind Ethel to open the door. When she did, I saw Lina enter in all her newfound glory. The first part of her I saw were her eyes. Lina was always rather plain looking except for her sage green eyes. They captured you and electrified her face, lightening it up and exposing her freckled cheeks.

Her brown hair was swept up into an intricate half bun in the center of the back of her head, with loose tendrils curling around her neck and face. She wore a fantastic deep green satin dress with gold trim that only illuminated her eyes more and a simple gold chain necklace.

"Lina!" I exclaimed, pushing through Ethel and towards my old friend. I embraced her closely.

"Oh my god, Diana!" she said, shocked but happy. "I didn't think the rumors were true, to be honest."

We let go of each other and, with her hand in mine, I led her into the parlor. Edith stood and greeted Lina as she would any other guest and not someone who she had known for over a decade. As forward thinking as Edith was, I could tell she still wasn't a fan of someone being so wealthy – perhaps more wealthy than us – from such meager means.

All of us took our seats. Lina's dress pooled around her, filling the entire chair she was sat on.

"So how are you?" I asked her, knowing full well Edith wouldn't be the first to speak.

Lina had just finished smoothing down her dress before she responded.

"Oh, I'm fantastic. But we aren't here to talk about me. Diana, Ms. Holland," she said, addressing Aunt Edith, "I am so, so deeply sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Aunt Edith said shortly.

"Are you thirsty? Hungry? We simply must catch up," I said, nearly begging her to stay. I would get the chance to finally talk to someone. Not just someone out of the family, but also someone I would actually, genuinely enjoyed the presence of. Lina and I had one fundamental belief in common: that the old New York social class was just that – old. She was a breath of fresh air.

"I do so agree," Lina replied, "but I'm pressed for time as of late. I have so many calls to make. I was going to host a party this Thursday but I've decided to cancel. It doesn't seem right nor appropriate to do so so close to Mrs. Holland's passing."

I could see Aunt Edith's face grow slightly softer as Lina spoke.

"Thank you," Edith murmured again, but this time her tone was more genuine.

Lina gave her a warm smile, her rouged lips drawing back to reveal a pearly smile. Her eyes turned to me, looking full of something. It was as if she had been seeking Aunt Edith's approval and had finally gotten it.

"I do agree though, Diana," she said. "We really must get together when the timing is more appropriate. I have so much to tell you, but I have the feeling you'll have much, much more to share."

"And how is Claire?" I prodded, unwilling to let her go just yet. Whereas decorum strictly forbade guests coming and talking about anything other than condolences, it said nothing of the sort for the hosts.

Lina nodded, smiling further. "She's well, thank you." I distinctly remembered Claire, Lina's older sister and another former maid of ours growing up. Claire had the same awe as Lina did about the higher-class society men and women, but was far too polite to act as Lina did in creating her own fortune after befriending dear old Mr. Longhorn who, in his death, bequeathed a majority of his massive wealth to her.

"Oh, I would love to see her," I said.

"She will be so elated to hear of your return, Diana. Claire was actually the one who informed me of the rumor of your return. She read it in her the paper one day and came dashing into my room one morning, asking if it was true. Of course, I didn't think it was but… here you are!"

"Here I am," I reiterated, less enthusiastically.

"I wish it were under different circumstances, though," Lina sighed. "Again, I am so sorry for your loss."

I think I found my new least favorite saying, I thought to myself. Never again did I want anyone to utter it. But this, I knew, was only the beginning.

"Please don't hesitate to contact me if you need anything. I know how awful it is to lose a parent."

I had almost forgotten that Lina's mother, Marie Broud, who was once Elizabeth's and my nurse – after Delores – had died. Her father died some many years before that. She was an orphan, and now so was I.

"Then again," Lina continued, "I guess you do too."

"Thank you, Lina. Your friendship means so much. The papers will say so in the morning, but the funeral is tomorrow. I hope you and Claire will attend."

Lina reached forward in her chair and placed both her hands gently over mine. "We will be there. Whatever you need."

Edith stiffened again the moment I invited Lina but I ignored her and gave Lina a gracious smile. We all stood and walked Lina to the door where her maid and Ethel stood waiting. In Lina's maid's hands was a full pot holding a stupendous bouquet of white lilies and a rainbow assortment of gladioli throughout.

"These are for you," Lina said, taking the large bouquet and handing it to Ethel.

"They're beautiful," remarked Edith, her voice somewhat flat but still grateful.

"I've found that a dash of something beautiful can make even the saddest of times a little better," Lina said.

I smile weakly, my throat tight at her sentiment. Before tears could form and fall, I took Lina into another embrace. After she and her maid left, Ethel headed to the kitchen to put the flowers down.

"You could have been a little nicer, Aunt Edith," I said as we both walked back into the parlor.

Edith scoffed. "Why did you invite her tomorrow?"

I looked at her, my mouth agape. "What?"

We took out seats and Edith shook her head. "Maybe you truly are ill," she said, bringing up our earlier conversation. "Louisa would never want her at her funeral. Carolina Broud only cares about one thing – Carolina Broud. And that flower arrangement?" She rolled her eyes.

"What about them? They were beautiful," I fought back for my friend.

"What better way to show off her whore money."

"Aunt Edith!" I exclaimed, shocked but her abrasive words. Never in my life would I have thought I would chastise someone for speaking so out of turn, let alone Aunt Edith, seeing as I nearly invented the idea as a child, but this was absurd.

"Well," she said, waving her hands dismissively, "how else do you explain it? Who goes from a maid to a socialite in less than a year? I appreciate a person who works hard to live a comfortable life, but she did not, Diana. There are boundaries even I would not cross."

I shook my head in disbelief. "That's not what happened at all, Aunt Edith."

"Oh?" she said, feigning to be surprised. "What young girl voluntarily and willingly spends such an exorbitant amount of time with a man much too old for her if not to get his fortune when he unsurprisingly dies shortly after their meeting?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing or what she was insinuating.

"Why don't you ask Henry's stepmother Isabella?" I said sharply back. Isabella Schoonmaker, née De Ford, was only five years older than the man that was supposed to be her stepson, yet had managed to marry Henry's father, William. Henry told me that he was surprised and somewhat proud of his old father for marrying her, seeing as she was the girl every young, eligible bachelor enjoyed flirting with. I wondered briefly if she had remarried since William died and feared for a moment that maybe Henry had remarried her. I knew that could never be the case – not only would it be social suicide and therefore his ruin, I knew he never once saw her in that type of way.

Edith was grumbling something unfavorable while I went through my thoughts. She sipped her tea, losing the words into her cup.

"Lina and her sister, along with all of New York, will be there tomorrow to pay their respects," I said with an air of finality.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Many more noticeable figures came after the lunching hour, including Agnes Jones – a rather plump, red-faced girl Elizabeth had embarrassingly gained as a friend when they were both young girls. She was swollen with a child with her husband Percival Coddington trailing behind her. Mother had tried to marry both Elizabeth and me off to him in our younger years, but his disturbing habits of harming small animals and his odd collection of insects deterred both of us from him.

More friends of Mother's visited, too – prominent members of the Astor family stopped by as well as some Vanderbilt cousin or ill-favored son. I had become quite bored after Lina left since I really did not have many friends I cherished or even thought of these last seven years.

Elizabeth and Teddy did not end up returning that day. Only a late letter arrived in Elizabeth's hand giving the brief details of the funeral.

Edith retired early to her room, while I still felt wide awake. I went through the kitchen and out the delivery door to the old carriage house. Will Keller, Elizabeth's first husband and father of her son, used to live out in the stables. Where there were once half a dozen horses, now there were only two. I smiled politely to the new stable hand but he scurried off somewhere. The familiar sweet smell of the hay and horses greeted me. Above me was the loft Will had lived in and, as I found out much later, where Elizabeth would spend secret nights with him. No one lived up there anymore – since there were fewer horses to care for, the new stable hand had another job at someone else's stables and instead slept there. Maybe that's where he ran off to the moment I stepped inside.

I climbed the ladder up to the loft and sat on the edge, letting my ankles hang down below. In my pocket, I could feel the letter poking me in the thigh with a corner. It had been burning a hole in there all evening since I first read it. My hand reached inside now to finally pull it out again. It had crumpled a bit from my sitting and standing all day, but my name was as clear as day on the front.

Diana.

No last name. No address. Though, I guess it really wasn't needed since he hand-delivered it himself.

My fingers traced my name again, but this time it was more difficult to distinguish between the indent of the pen and the creases from my dress. I was slightly disappointed.

I looked around me then. Nothing was really in the loft anymore, just random tools and an old saddle or two. The black carriage sat below, empty. Any remnants of Will were gone. I tried to imagine it – Liz sneaking off in the middle of the night to meet him here and do quite grown-up things that only married couples were allowed to do. I was no innocent party of course, but imagining a perfect society girl like Elizabeth doing that was quite shocking.

I had never really known Will, nor paid much attention to him. His hooked nose, dark hair and deep blue eyes barely rang a bell in my mind until Elizabeth returned from out West where they had run off to be together. I saw those features in their shared son, though he had the classic Holland chin and round lips. Elizabeth had faked her own death just to escape society to be with him. When I had learned of the fact, I couldn't be more proud of my sister. Never before had I seen her act like a heroine in a novel, setting out to make her own destiny instead of following the one that was assigned to her at birth.

It was when Elizabeth returned from out West with Will that she secretly got married and, for the briefest of moments, he was my brother-in-law. At least, until Snowden Cairns had him gunned down at the train station when Will and Elizabeth were going back out West, as a true husband and wife. But Mr. Cairns told the police Will was obsessed with Elizabeth and had kidnapped her.

I shook my head to relieve the dark thoughts.

The world was so quiet, I realized, in that loft. It was no wonder that Elizabeth and Will chose to meet here every night, besides the fact that it was where he lived.

I opened Henry's letter in my hand and read it again and again until I had memorized it. My eyes lingered on the words, true bride. I shook my head in disbelief. He still loved me. Even after all this time and distance, he still loved me.

One of the horses below me huffed and kicked a hoof against the stall, knocking me away from the letter. It had gotten late and the moon's bright light was shining into the carriage house, illuminating the dark corners.

I took the ladder back down and out of the loft. I turned the corner, seeing two dark horses in their stalls. One was a dark tan color with a white stripe running down the middle of its face and leading to its gray lips. The other horse, barely even visible in its dark corner stall, was magnificently black. The only part of it I could easily distinguish was its white feet and hooves.

I quickly pet the brown horse, letting my hand rest on its warm cheek. It stood there staring at me.

"We're all stuck in a cage, I guess," I said, speaking softly to it.

I turned then and left the carriage house. Since I had nowhere else to go, I went back into the house the same way I had come and went up the old, carpeted stairs to my room. Each step still made each familiar noise.

I almost yelped in surprise when I saw Ethel sitting in the chair in the corner of my room. She was asleep, with her mouth open, emitting a soft snore. When I gasped in surprise at seeing her, she immediately woke up.

"Oh, Miss Diana," he said blinking rapidly and wiping the side of her mouth. She stood quickly. "I'm so sorry."

I was clutching my chest and shook my head, letting my hand fall. "No, no, it's alright."

"I helped your Aunt Edith to bed and thought I would wait here for your return to help you. I really didn't mean to fall asleep," she apologized profusely.

Had I been Mother or Elizabeth years ago, I would have heavily chastised her. But seeing as I was neither, I waved my hand dismissively.

"Honestly, Ethel, it's quite alright," I said, seeing her face softening. "I wouldn't mind some help to get out of this dress, though."

She immediately stepped forward to begin untying me out of the heavy, constricting contraption. After the dress was taken off over my head, the crinoline hoop was dropped and my corset was finally released. I breathed in a long, deep sigh, happy to be able to breathe again. My nightgown was slipped over my head. Anna must have delivered it sometime while I was in the carriage house. My small luggage of meager clothing was sitting in the corner of the room, opened and emptied presumably by Ethel.

She took the many pins out of my hair and I watched as it tumbled down my face and over my shoulders in a messy, curled heap. When I was younger and in the exact same position I was now, my hair had always been and untamable mess. Either age or lack of daily washing must have changed something because now it had only a slight, soft wave to it. I distinctly remembered cutting it short to run off to find Henry when he foolishly joined the army after Teddy did as well. Now, it had long since grown out so much so that it nearly touched the back of my elbows.

Ethel brushed my hair softly, getting all the days' kinks out of it.

"Did you like my mother?" I asked her.

She lifted her eyes to meet mine in the mirror. Her deep, ocean blue eyes looked into my plain brown ones with a slightly confused expression.

She answered, "Of course I did."

I pursed my lips. "Did you? I know she must have been difficult. She had always been very particular."

Ethel went back to focusing on my hair. "She was always kind to me. I only started working for the Mrs. Holland last year. I had heard before how very strict she could be, but she never really was – at least, not to me."

I coughed out a short laugh. "Strict" was putting it lightly.

"Really?" I said, trying to keep back my incredulous smile. Ethel must be lying, I thought. Perhaps she didn't want to speak ill of the dead or my mother. "You can tell me the truth. I'm sure she's told you how often she and I butted heads."

She set down the brush and began to separate my hair to braid it. She politely smiled without looking at me.

"She really didn't say much about you, only that you were living in Europe," she said.

Well, that was disappointing. I had always pictured Mother ranting about my existence and cursing the day I left – or celebrating that day.

"She really was not terrible to work for. She was a kind woman," Ethel had continued.

I pursed my lips further, unsure where to go from there. Never once had I heard someone call Louisa Adora Holland a "kind woman." Strong, proud, fearsome – sure; never "kind" though.

"Well, except–" Ethel began but stopped herself. She shook her head.

"What?"

"There was one time when she grew quite angry with me."

"When? What had happened?"

Ethel shook her head again. "It's really not my place, Miss," she said as if begging me to stop pushing her.

"I won't tell," I said slyly, letting the right side of my lips curl into a seductive smile. I always did it to win someone over and it nearly almost always worked.

With a deep sigh, Ethel said, "It was my fault, really. She had told me certain areas of the house were off limits."

I pushed my eyebrows together. Mother had never marked any rooms as off limits. There were only rooms that had simply fallen into disuse – like the second parlor. Mother had called it the "lesser parlor" only for the fact that our lesser paintings and furnishings were in that room. It had changed a lot recently, though. When our family first fell into financial ruin shortly before Elizabeth eloped with Will, Mother had sold nearly everything in there. It was once our ballroom but we stopped having balls when Father died and converted it into a parlor. Other than that, every room was open.

"What rooms?" I asked, perplexed.

"The library and this one, Miss." The way she said it made it seem like I was dumb for not knowing.

"My room?" I gasped. "And the library? Why?"

Ethel finished the long braid and took a step back. "It wasn't my place to ask. But on one of my first days, I had forgotten and came in here to do some cleaning. Mrs. Holland was coming upstairs and saw me. The way she was yelling… I thought I was fired, for sure."

I chuckled. "Oh, I recognize that rage. She never said why those rooms were off limits?"

She shook her head. "Needless to say, I never forgot after that. Sometimes I would see her go into here or the library and she would stay in there for hours a day."

It was after she said that that it clicked.

"Oh."

When Father first died, she acted as if the library – where he had spent the majority of his time when he was home – was sacred ground. Our poor staff at the time was only allowed to clean in there under her strict supervision. A vein would very nearly burst in her neck if she caught Elizabeth or me in the library at all. Months after Father's death and while Elizabeth had been touring Europe for the spring and summer, was when Mother began to loosen her grip of the room.

I understood why, of course; she missed Father. She had wanted to preserve things just as he had left them as if he would come back at any moment.

Tears welled in my eyes. I looked down at my palms in my lap so Ethel wouldn't see.

Mother missed me. She made my room sacred ground, just as she had the library years ago, only even more so. Her pride was holding her back from writing or reaching out to me all these years. It was my pride as well. I wanted to prove to her that I didn't need her or the Holland family money to make it anywhere.

The library was another question in my mind. Why there, too? The only answer I could think of was because I had adopted it as mine after Father. I went in there nearly every day to read different books, or later to write stories for Davis Barnard and his "Gamesome Gallant" column.

Only this time, she really was waiting for me to return. Her grip never loosened like it did for the library when she associated it with Father. These last seven years, no one had stepped into the library or my room, except for her.

"Are you alright, Miss Diana?" Ethel asked, placing a soft, warm hand on my back.

"Yes," I answered, not lifting my head, "just tired. We all need some sleep. Thank you for helping me tonight, Ethel."

I quickly stood and went straight to my bed. I pulled the covers over me and turned my back to her. She shuffled out of the room, blowing out the candles and turning off the electric lights with a switch near the door. I was left in silence to sleep.

It was raining. The sound of the water hitting the stain glass windows of the church was the only sound of the filled room. Masses of people filled the pews, but I saw none I recognized. Despite the crowds of people, no one was speaking a word. Next to me, Elizabeth and Aunt Edith were staring blankly ahead as if listening to Reverend Needlehouse speak but no one was at the podium. Elizabeth and Edith were in their black mourning dresses, each with a veil of black tulle covering their faces.

Suddenly, someone was next to me, standing in the aisle and bending down to breathe into my ear, "It's your turn."

I glanced up at them and was saw Henry's handsome face looking at me. He hadn't changed a bit.

"My turn?" I asked, my voice impossibly loud, echoing against the walls and high ceiling.

Henry extended a hand to me. Without further question, I took his familiar, smooth hand. Still, no one spoke. Elizabeth and Edith kept their eyes forward.

Henry, his hand still in mine, led me down the aisle toward Mother's coffin. The top, which exposed her from her head to her waist, was open. The lower portion was closed and had a large flower display made of lilies and gladioli just like the bouquet of flowers Lina had given earlier.

My heart was pounding deep in my chest, afraid to see the gaunt, sickly image of Mother again. Henry let go of my hand and I walked up the two steps that led to the coffin without him.

Inside the mahogany coffin, Mother's hands were laid over her stomach and she wore a powder blue dress. What shocked me the most was the fact that she looked nothing like the Mother I had seen just a few days ago. Instead, she had a healthy weight on her and her cheeks were flushed as if blood still pumped through them. She looked… normal, like she had before I left. Not sick, just sleeping. In her hands, she clutched one single deep red rose. I touched it and a thorn pricked me. I bounced back, taking in a sharp breath of pain. I looked at my finger where a drop of blood was beginning to pool.

Suddenly, a singular laugh erupted from someone behind me. I spun around, outraged at who it was who would ever laugh at a funeral.

In a sea of black mourning outfits, one person in a pew was wearing a white dress. A wedding dress. When I saw her, my blood began to boil. Her dark hair was ornately done with pearls and what appeared to be diamonds. Her cold, steel blue eyes glared at me and her full, red lips were pulled back into a venomous smile.

Penelope.

"You were never going to have him," she spat. No one in the crowd said anything. It was like I was the only one who heard her. Not even Henry, who I couldn't find anywhere.

"What?" I asked her, looking for anyone else to scold her for her outburst.

"You think you can just come back to New York and win him over? It's too late." She pointed one long, ivory finger to the coffin behind me.

Confused, I turned and screamed.

Henry was lying there now, not Mother. He was lying in the same position she had been, only the vivid, red rose she had held was now dried and wilting in his. He had the sickly, dead face Mother had, with dried blood on his nose and mouth.

I turned again and Penelope was standing right before me, laughing loudly.

I sprung awake in bed, covered in sweat, still hearing Penelope's laugh ringing in my mind.