This "ladies-only" reading was not the formal event Sam had envisioned. It was hosted at the home of Lily Arnold, a wealthy Baltimore widow who had published some successful poems after the death of her husband. Mrs. Arnold was in her forties, with graying black hair draped neatly over her temples and braided into an elaborate bun under a lace cap. A burgundy afternoon dress swished back and forth as she darted in and out of the room with tea and cakes. There were twelve other women present, and all were writers. Sam soon learned that this was a literary club that Mrs. Arnold hosted monthly, and that Poe was to be this month's special guest. Sam felt out of place as the other women huddled in front of a tall window, tittering about the fine weather and their families. She pretended not to notice and admired the drawing room interior. It was almost as grand as the Harts' home, with its ornate white ceiling and carved mahogany furniture. The curtains and upholstery fabric were in lavish gold and red brocades. Thankfully, Sam did not spot any enslaved workers and she dared not ask. When Mrs. Arnold met eyes with her from across the room, Sam smiled and curtseyed. She approached the host and introduced herself as Arabella Blossom. She bit her bottom lip and tried not to smile as she remembered JB's expression when she'd first come up with the name. She knew he'd hated it, but if given the chance to choose her own name, why choose anything but the best?
"A pleasure, Mrs. Blossom," said Mrs. Arnold, after Sam had thanked her for allowing her to join at such short notice. "Edgar knows I welcome all female writers to my little group, as we are such a rare bunch. I'm delighted to have you."
"I'm not a…" Sam began, but Mrs. Arnold had already swung back around and rejoined the other women by the window. It was probably for the best anyway. It was simpler to let them believe she was a writer too. Besides, she'd dabbled in writing before. During her internship in Victoria, she'd even drafted half of a historical fiction novel, but when Tony vanished, so did her motivation to continue. It was too painful, spending hours inside her own head.
After some tea and a few introductions, Poe entered the room, and the chatter died down. He was a powerful presence, and it was clear everyone in the room admired him. When he read, it was like watching a Shakespearean monologue. Sam remembered that Poe's birth parents were both actors, and he'd evidently inherited their talents. The other ladies seemed just as entranced as she felt. He read a few familiar pieces— "The Raven," "The Bells," and "A Dream Within a Dream," were some of Sam's favorites. But for his final reading, he announced that he had a work-in-progress that he'd never read aloud before, and Sam held her breath as he began: "It was many and many a year ago…"
Yes! In all her life she'd never imagined she would hear her favorite poem read aloud by its author, but here she was in a beautiful house, listening to Edgar Allan Poe recite "Annabel Lee."
It was much cooler outside when she met JB at Mrs. Arnold's front gate. She could feel October creeping into the night air, rustling the crimson treetops in the twilight. The final stanza of the poem still chimed in her memory.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee…
"How was it?" JB asked her. His face was half obscured in shadow, but still handsome as ever.
Sam rested her hand on his forearm and smiled up at him. "It was Incredible. I wish you could have been there."
"That good, was it?"
Sam nodded. "Poe is like a rockstar up there. I can't believe he's supposed to fade from…" She trailed off as Poe himself exited the house and caught her eye.
"Mrs. Blossom," he said. "I do hope you enjoyed yourself."
"You were amazing!" said Sam. "'Annbel Lee' was just spectacular." She knew she was talking too fast, but even as she felt her face redden, she could not stop singing his praise. "I think I've found a new favorite poem."
Poe crossed the front yard and met her and JB at the gate. "Thank you, my dear." He reached for her free hand and lifted it to his lips. Under her other hand, she thought she felt JB's arm tense up for just a second.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Poe, for your kindness towards my wife," said JB. His tone wasn't cold, exactly, but there was an edge to it that Sam couldn't quite place.
Poe did not seem to notice. "It was my pleasure, Sir, I assure you." He extended his right arm, and the two men partook in a terse handshake. "In fact," Poe continued, "I have one more proposition—for you both, this time."
JB raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yes, yes. You see, Mrs. Arnold is hosting a ball tomorrow evening and has invited all of her literary friends and their husbands. I, too, have been invited, and she has asked me to extend an additional invitation to you and your husband, Mrs. Blossom, since you appeared at the reading today."
"We'll be there!" Sam chirped immediately. Then she caught herself and gazed up at JB apologetically. "That is, if Mr. Blossom is in agreement."
JB narrowed his eyes, but Sam spotted a flash of amusement in their midst. "We accept, Mr. Poe."
Though Sam knew JB had every reason to be suspicious—Poe was being unnecessarily friendly—she was nothing but giddy with anticipation.