Empire Girls

Nell Horatio Neville (Proprietor of Empire House)’”

“Not very warm, is it?” I said, misting a cotton nightdress with water.

“It is the city, Rose. I swear, you are so...so...”

“What?” I asked.

“Pedestrian...”

Then she ran off again. She’d been spinning in circles since Father’s funeral. I had, too, only my circles were in my head, while Ivy seemed to be walking on a cloud.

I was worried.

I put the hot iron back onto the stove and sat at my kitchen table folding father’s shirts. I was going to give them to Mr. Lawrence, but I wanted them to be tidy. It was the proper thing to do.

I knew Ivy was devastated by our father’s death. We both were. But when Lawrence gave us the news...the unspeakable news about Asher, Ivy seemed to forget all her sorrow. Part of me was glad that she had a diversion. Glad that her dreams of living in The City were coming true. I knew that eventually she’d fall back into grieving, but her excitement set me free to take care of my own sorrows.

I’d lost my father, my house and my future. It was a quiet loss, one that no one seemed to notice.

I wasn’t going to New York City to throw myself into Asher’s arms. I was going to New York City to find a stranger, make a great deal of money and get him to sign my house back over to me.

I knew the resemblance could make the difference in allowing him to accept us. Ivy didn’t seem to be at all worried that, once found, Asher might not want to have anything to do with us. I feared her romantic, theatrical view of life was clouding her view of reality. Our father had raised us...not him. Was it not fair to assume he might want to avoid being found at all? That he might resent us? I didn’t mention this to my sister. In truth, as Ivy hid from our father’s death inside a bubble of expectation and hope, I hid from it by convincing myself I’d slipped into a new narrative. I couldn’t help but think we’d been thrust into a Dickens or Austen novel almost overnight. It kept me separate...it kept me curious instead of dead inside. When we found him—if we found him—he would not be able to turn his back on me. No good character can walk away from another who could be their very twin. It’s the denouement of all great mysteries.

Father always said that “Everyone has an inner narcissist....” I would be his conscience, and Asher would sign my house over to me. If you understand a bit of human nature, and don’t overestimate people, getting what you want is simple enough. I knew I could get the house back if we found him. The question was, how would we find him?

I picked up one of father’s shirts and held it against my face.

“I don’t want to believe you did any of this on purpose. I want to believe you thought you were protecting us somehow. But from what? Oh, Papa!”

I wanted him so badly at that moment. I wanted him to come into the garden and have tea and toast. I wanted to tell him of the horrible dream I’d had. Nothing seemed real.

It occurred to me that grief is like a tunnel. You enter it without a choice because you must get to the other side. The darkness of it plays tricks on you, and sometimes you can even forget where you are or what your purpose is. I believe that people, now and again, get lost or stuck in that tunnel and never find their way out.

I had no intention of doing that. I’d leave myself notes in my pockets saying, “Father is dead,” if I had to.

I got up from the table quickly, held back my tears and packed the rest of Ivy’s dresses.

* * *

Later, I was sitting on our front porch, reading, when Ivy came and sat at my feet.

“It’s like he left us a present, Rose. Papa gave us one last adventure. I can’t tell you how that comforts me,” she said, a dreamy look in her eye.

“Did you know about him?” I asked.

“Know about who?”

“Did you know about Asher? Did father tell you on one of your trips? I know you two had your own language. Be honest, Ivy. I need to know.”

She stood up, her face red and angry. “No. I didn’t know. Do you think I could have sustained this whole charade? Do you think so little of me that I would have kept so large a secret from you? Honestly, Rose...sometimes I think you don’t know me at all.”

Then she stormed back in the house.

I followed her inside. My whole world was bobbed, like Ivy’s hair, at bold angles. Very little was making sense, so I did the proper thing. I made supper.

* * *

A few foggy days full of packing and planning passed. Ivy flitted around, but I wasn’t surprised. I saw her at breakfast and at dinner. She must have been wandering by the lake, because she’d come home disheveled and muddy. If she’d chosen to grieve alone, it would have been nice to let me know. As it was, I thought she was simply running away again.

I was surprised at how easy it was to empty the house of our personal belongings. Life is much more fleeting and changeable than I’d thought.

I was the one who sheeted the furniture and put the better china in the secret attic space. I was the one who got the locksmith to put dead bolts on the doors. I was the one who rang Mr. Lawrence when we knew the date we were to leave. And it’s a good thing I did, or we would have had to drag our trunks to the station.

The morning Ivy and I left for New York City, Mr. Lawrence came to fetch us.

“How very gallant of you, Lawrence...but I’ll walk. I feel as if the air would do me good,” said Ivy. “Besides, I’ve always had this vision of myself walking down the road without turning back. I’m no Lot’s Wife. Not me.”

“Would you like to make sure you have everything you need, Ivy?” I asked.

“You are the most organized person I’ve ever met, sister. I’m sure I’ll be all set.” Then, with a quick nod to Lawrence, and a “See you on the platform, Rose!” to me, Ivy left for the train station where she would send the telegram to Empire House letting them know what time we’d be arriving, and purchase two one-way tickets to New York City.

“Father babied her, and now I’m going to have to make sure she doesn’t get ruined by New York. She really is impossible,” I said.

“I know it isn’t my place, Rose. But do you think you could learn to trust one another, you and Ivy?”

“Trust her? You must be joking. Have you sat too long in the sun?”

“Would it make a difference if I told you that your father mentioned he wished the two of you were closer?”

“Are you hiding something, Lawrence? Because if you are....”

“Let’s go, Rose. I’d hate for you to miss your train,” he said, saving me from trying to conjure up an empty threat.

As he started his motorcar, I walked through the house one more time. Saying goodbye to it. “I’ll come back to you,” I said. But it didn’t answer me, the house. It felt hollow, and its hollowness hurt my soul.

* * *

I found Ivy sitting on a bench at the very end of the platform.

“Hiya!” she said, getting up to greet me.

“You didn’t even say goodbye to Mr. Lawrence. You can be a very self-centered girl,” I said.

“I don’t like anything drawn out—you know that,” she said, melting back onto the bench, slouched over. I sat next to her as tall as I possibly could.

“I’m afraid your dress may make the wrong impression when we finally meet Nell Neville,” I said. She was wearing a purple satin drop-waist dress with a beaded fringe. The back fell into a deep V and the front exposed more neck than I wanted to look at. Her stockings were showing, and her shoes were black heels with a small strap, showing the top of her foot as well as her ankles. She was as good as naked.

“No, Rose. You are the one who will make a poor impression. I told you to leave those clothes behind. You look like a servant or an old lady. Either way, it’s not good. Plus, you’re going to sweat to death in The City. No lake breeze there, honey.”