First Come, First Serve

Chapter 8

…

John felt the air of change in the morning as he stepped out of the club and into the warm sunlight on the street. He finally had a night of restful sleep because he stayed at his club again after three long nights of staying at the Lowell mansion. Though the twins slept down the hallway in the nursery, he still had heard their wailing and it quickly got on his nerves. Yes, they were fine babies. As fine as babies could be. And Eugene was his new pride and joy. Till now, he still looked like the girl but John was sure he would soon make a good lad. But sharing the house with infants was definitely not for John. He could say at least that he had tried. Cora couldn't berate him now for being distant (because he didn't plan to return for a while). But he wasn't even sure she would. All she had eyes for lately were these mushy infants with their swollen eyes and helpless flailing of the arms. Becoming a mother indeed changed a woman. John couldn't quite determine whether her devotion was exemplary or bordering on the obsessive. He would let her do as she pleased; as long as she didn't spoil Eugene and made him a soft mama's boy. But the children were still young. There was still time.

As soon as John crossed the street in front of the club and entered the shadow on the opposite sidewalk, he was starting to freeze a little more. Without the friendly September sun, the air was already suffused by the autumn's coldness. Luckily, John's way to the office was but a short one.

But the cold really didn't seem to agree with him. He had his shoulders pulled to his ears and his entire body rigid in a subtle shiver but it didn't help to shake off the biting feeling. He quickened his steps but the cold only continued biting into his chest, leaving him with the stabbing sensation of cold needles under his ribs. He muttered a curse under his breath and wished he had just slept at his office. He definitely had to advise Jenkins to pack his winter wardrobe already and have it sent to the club. It was something new that he was so sensitive to the weather.

Still hurrying more, John turned into the street of his office. He stopped short when a group of young boys ran down the sidewalk and nearly collided with him. They passed him with loud laughter and as it was the beginning of the day, John was still in a good enough spirit to be amused by their rough play instead of annoyed. When they disappeared down the street, John finally approached the stately entrance of the building of his office. The wide steps up to the entrance were dipped in sunlight and John anticipated the warmth with a tight smile when he made his way up the steps. At the same time as he reemerged into the sun, a harsh wind blew around the housefront, and John didn't know what it was with him but it startled him more than usual and a sudden sting in his chest paused him in his tracks for a while. He clutched his breast through the light coat and experienced a strange mixture of heat waves and cold sweat. Wicked weather. He wasn't at the age yet to mutter about feeling the change of weather in his bones. But perhaps he had a special sense for it. He pressed his teeth together to carry on through the unpleasant ache in his chest and pushed the front door open. With his palm still pressed to his breast, he sought his office, barely appreciating the friendly greeting of his secretary. A troubled groan escaped his mouth when he fell back into the leather chair behind his desk.

Mabel Reed, the secretary, appeared at the open door, her head peeking around the doorframe with a worried expression.

"Is everything alright, Mr Lowell? Do you need anything?"

He only shortly acknowledged her presence with a glance. "Yes, it's fine, Ms Reed." He tried to seem busy, so he sorted the documents from the left side of his desk to the right. Then he thought again. "Maybe you can look if there is still some cherry cream cake and bring me the rest."

"Very well, Mr Lowell." She gave a nod and went to fulfil his orders.

John immediately felt better at the thought of something fine to eat. Good food was the best medicine and cured every ailment. He leaned back in his chair again and smiled widely when Ms Reed put the plate with nearly half a cream cake in front of him.

"Thank you! And please do close the door!"

She did, and John was alone with his beloved cake. While shovelling the cream into his mouth, John decided he would have duck for dinner. How long was it since he last had a nice helping of duck liver? Too long for sure. One shouldn't go so long without one's favourite dish. As he licked cream and drops of cherry jam from his fork, he thought about the soft feeling of duck liver melting on his tongue. Buttery and hearty and rich. With the help of Cora, he had found the best original French duck liver, foie gras, in New York. It was one of Cora's greatest traits to show such devotion to his dinners. She was actually sweet when she tried to find the best ingredients and make the best meals for him. She had instantly recognised how important it was for him. John remembered very clearly the dinner she had first presented him with the new foie gras. With her large eyes full of expectation, she had waited for his reaction and approval as he tried the duck liver. He never had such good duck liver before. He told her so and she beamed brightly across the table. It was nearly disconcerting how abundant her emotions were. But it only showed how devoted she was to her husband, so it was alright.

Cora. Cora was really trying to be a good wife. John hoped she wouldn't forget that over her new task of being a mother. Could it be that the children would be more important to her than he? He didn't want to forfeit his excellent dinners just because she had become a mother. But he had to wait and see to tell if his worry was justified. After all, she had been a great wife till now. John's look fell onto the photograph on his desk. It was him and Cora on their wedding day. 'A beautiful couple,' was what he had heard most of all. And he had to agree. They were a beautiful couple. As he looked at the black-and-white image of them, he remembered the other picture that was secretly stuck to the back of the frame. With the fork still in his hand and cream dripping from the corner of his mouth, he reached for the frame and pulled the second picture from the back. He hadn't looked at it for a while. It was the reason why he was married now; married to her.

The portrait of a young Cora had been shown to him by Isidore Levinson on their second or third business meeting. John had been so captivated by the enchanting light-eyed smile and the round cheeks framed by the dark curls that he had asked Mr Levinson to keep the picture with the subtle promise of asking for her hand as soon as they met again. John himself had been surprised by his reaction to a simple picture of a business partner's daughter. But his strong reaction made it clear to him that he had to have her. Miss Cora Levinson had been the most important conquest he wanted to make last year. There had been no doubt he would be successful.

As he looked longer at the photograph now, he was enchanted again. There was something in her smile, and he understood what his father meant when he said it was a dangerous trait in a woman; to have such a beguiling smile. John did not want to believe when his father said that Cora was a dangerous woman, but he understood his father's reasoning. Cora held more power with her appearance and demeanour than a decent woman – a wife – should. Her light eyes in the photo bore into him until he suddenly felt this pang in his chest again. She was bewitching him, he thought. Then it felt like a knife was twisted in his chest. She was cursing him, he began to panic as sweat ran down his brow. It looked like she was winking at him with a saucy smirk. And then – as the sting in his chest grew – he felt the cream changing its direction in his gullet and pouring from his mouth as his chest ache formed into a stomach ache that twisted his entire body. His scream of pain was muffled by the whipped cream filling his mouth.

Cora stood in the foyer like a pillar of salt. John's errand boy had stormed into the house and his entire body was thrown back and forth as his lungs desperately struggled for air.

"Mrs… Mrs Lowell… He's… There were… and then… I immediately came." Cora didn't understand a word of what he was saying.

"My dear. Easy, easy." She was unsure if she should pat his shoulder. Sweat ran from his temples and now the butler came up behind him, throwing Cora an apologising look.

"Benny! Come here! You can't run into here and appear in front of Mrs Lowell like this," Jenkins hissed. But the boy shook off Jenkins's hands and stepped even closer to Cora. His breath was slowly adapting.

"Mrs Lowell." His voice was resolute. "He's dead. Mr Lowell is dead. The doctor, of course, came right away. But he says Mr Lowell is dead. Miss Reed, the secretary, found him like this behind his desk."

Cora froze. No one said a word when Benny finished. Not even Jenkins had something left to say.

Dead. He had just been at home a few days ago, looking in on his baby boy. He had seemed as alive as the screaming, little babies he threw a short look on. No, it was unreal.

"Thank you, Benny," her voice was hollow. Distantly, she registered Jenkins pulling the boy away and pushing him towards the servants' staircase.

"Mrs Lowell, come take a seat." Jenkins tried to usher her into the sitting room.

"It's alright, Jenkins. Please, leave me be, alright?"

So now, she stood alone in the foyer. Unmoving, because she wasn't in command of her body. She was hollow, her mind was blank. What just happened was something she could not comprehend. Somehow, the boy's words didn't seem final enough to her. Out of a child's mouth, she had heard the message of her husband's death, and this wasn't right. A child couldn't hold the truth about her husband's fate; his life or death. She decided to carry on as if John was as vivid and warm as when she last saw him until a professional would bring her the message or she saw the body herself. John couldn't be dead.

The secretary sent her a message later that day. The same content. Additionally, it said that the family lawyer was informed and would arrive the following day probably. Cora waited. Could a lawyer confirm a man's death in a way that Cora's heart believed it? She couldn't help herself but wait for her husband to walk through the door and tell her 'The useless fools have mixed something up; they shouldn't have bothered you with this.' It was not exactly that she missed John. It was that her world order was shaken in its foundation. Nothing was how it should be.

The lawyer said a bunch of words Cora didn't understand. She was glad she had been forward-thinking enough to call her father to sit in on her meeting with the family lawyer. Isidore Levinson sat next to his daughter with a stone-cold face and made every sharp query Cora wouldn't have been able to.

A day later, the doctor finally came with the closing results. While Isidore Levinson was back in his office and took care of getting in contact with John's father, managing the inheritance business and stuff Cora didn't want to think about (especially not as long as John was still alive in her mind), Cora got the information she needed from the white-bearded doctor.

"He had a fatty heart."

Images of fat duck's liver – foie gras, his favourite – wandering from the heavy dinner table to his fork and into his greedy mouth flashed before Cora's eyes and she shuddered.

The doctor proceeded. "I heard his grandfather had the same condition."

His incisors had sparkled strangely as saliva ran hungrily towards the new forkful. Banquets of lamprey bordelaise, foie gras, caviar, mayonnaise egg salad were his favourite events to host. There was nothing he had looked forward to as much as digging his teeth into gruesomely prepared creatures. And Cora felt like her hands were the ones of a murderer. She had written his menu wishes down for the cook. She had suggested another big dinner every time she sensed his bad mood. She had brought him another bowl of fried squid from the kitchen when he had a bad day and buried himself in his dark thoughts in the library. With great fright, she realised she had goaded his demise.

Her hands became clammy and cold. They could just as well fall off; they were dissociated this much from her body.

"My condolences, Mrs Lowell," the doctor repeated with a strained expression after his attempt to explain to her how her husband's fatal heart attack came along had been a distant background sound to her terrible thoughts.

Only then did it hit Cora, that she was a widow now. A widow with two young children. And for a tiny second, she felt bad for herself. The sensation vanished quickly. She actually only was sorry for her children; fatherless and a mother who didn't know a thing about how to continue her life as a widow to the heir of a big dynasty and mother to the potential new heir. How could she do these precious children justice entirely on her own? How could she give them the happy life they deserved when the only one left for them was she, forced into black sorrow?

It was her father who brought some sense back into her when he visited her again after the doctor was gone.

"Cora. Listen to me. Hey, look at me!"

She found it hard to focus but her father's voice finally got her attention.

"You have to think about what you want now. Before his family takes control of everything. Do you understand me? Cora, John is gone. You have to fight for the life you want now."

Cora nodded slowly. "How would they take control?"

A grim smile appeared on Isidore's face. "I communicated with Mr Lowell Sr. and tried to find out where we stand with little Eugene. He could be inheriting the Lowell company but Mr Lowell didn't seem too eager about this. Eugene is a baby, and John had a younger brother, so Mr Lowell would prefer for his own son to inherit and not his grandson he hasn't even met. Their lawyer subtly made it clear that they are willed and capable to change the necessary papers and contracts in Richard Lowell's, John's brother's, favour."

"But that's not right! They can't take away what belongs to Gene!"

"I know, I know. But you have to consider, Cora. You don't want to have the Lowells against you. It's only good to have them on your side. And you have to think about the consequences that come with ensuring that Eugene inherits. Mr Lowell would want to have him under his guidance and control. The least would be that you have to move to Boston. But it's very likely that Eugene would have to grow up with his grandparents. Fighting for Eugene's rightful inheritance means being ready to give him up to his family."

Cora's lips trembled. "But I'm his family, father. Helen and I."

Father nodded. He brushed knuckles over her cheek. "I know, princess. I would think it's easiest to give up Eugene's claims of inheritance and stick to your widow's inheritance. It's a great sum. I checked with the lawyer and it will be your dowry and some. You can probably keep the townhouse as well and you wouldn't have to worry about anything. But it's your choice."

They sat in silence for a while.

"What life do you want?" her father repeated after a few minutes.

The name dropped from her lips automatically. There was no conscious thought behind it. When she heard her own voice and realised what she had said, it was like she was injected with a stimulating drug. Its effects spread through her body in seconds.

"I have to give up a telegram."

She left the room and hurried as quickly as her feet would carry. She had no idea if it was long too late or if her speed still counted. She ran as if her life depended on it. It did depend on it.

John's dead. Are you married? – Cora