Masquerade (19 page)

She answered the rest of the questions without incident. And then they were through.

Dora slipped her hand through Lottie’s arm. “There,” she said. “It is finished.”

Lottie forced herself to take a deep breath, a new breath in a new country with a new name and a new life. Did she feel different?

She did. For here, now, there was no history to rest upon, no family name to signal her position and status, no relations or friends to offer a constant assurance of who she was in the scheme of living, and no timetable of what to do when, and how, and with whom.

All the familiar constraints and restraints she had accepted, tolerated, and complained about fell from her being like dust particles being swiped from a coat, only to dissipate into the air, invisible until they accumulated on the floor and were trod upon by a thousand footfalls.

Lottie should have felt free and renewed. Yet without the familiar structure of the
known
, she felt complete and utter panic.

What have I done?

“Block the view,” Lottie said.

Dora was confused.

Lottie made a spin-around motion with a hand. “I want to put my new dollars and cents in with my jewelry and don’t want the entire world to watch me do it.”

Ah. Dora turned around so Lottie could fiddle with her jewelry box behind her. She’d let Lottie have all the money Mr. Gleason had given them. Surely the Tremaines would provide for Dora’s needs. The transaction in Castle Garden had gone smoothly, yet almost too much so. With swift motions the money changers had taken Lottie’s pounds and shillings and had handed her American money in return. Dora was pretty certain Lottie had been cheated, yet they were in no position to argue.

“There,” Lottie said when she was finished with the transfer. “You can’t be too careful. Now let’s go claim our luggage.”

Just as passengers had been ferried from the ship to land, so was the luggage. Dozens of sailors and dock workers moved the luggage from barge to dock, until a heap of suitcases, trunks, and parcels were spread before them. Moving around its boundary were dozens of people in all manner of dress and nationality, each with wide eyes searching the mountain for their possessions.

Dora approached an official-looking gentleman. “Excuse me, sir, but is this the luggage from the
Etruria
?”

He looked around the dock. “Not that pile over there, but this one, yes. This is the
Etruria
’s.”

“How do we claim it?”

He tapped a pencil to a pad of paper on a clipboard. “You just points it out and my company will take it anywhere in the city.” He showed her the letterhead of the top page. “ ‘The Castle Garden Express Company.’ That’s me.”

A young man wearing odd shoes made from wood came forward and asked the official,
“Hoe krijg ik mijn bagage?”

“Hey, now,” the official said to the young man. “I’m helping the lady here. Wait yer turn.”

The boy looked at Dora, then seemed to comprehend. He nodded and took a step back. An elderly woman wrapped in a plaid shawl moved to his side. Her hair was completely white and her face as wrinkled as a dried apple, and Dora wondered what had been so horrible in her home country that she would suffer a trip to a new one at her age.

“Here, now,” the man said to Dora. “Do you sees yer luggage yet?”

“I do!” Lottie said. “Those six trunks with the red
X
’s on them, over there, and there.”

“Good job with the
X
’s. Helps the process.” The man began writing. “Now alls I need is an address.”

“Addresses,” Lottie said. She retrieved a paper from her reticule. “The five largest trunks go to the Tremaine residence at Thirty-fourth and Fifth, and the other one—”

“Hold yer horses. Let me get the first one down.”

Dora let Lottie handle the addresses and kept her eye upon the trunks. The throng of humanity was astonishing. She had never known there were people of such diversity. She saw dark-haired people with brightly colored shawls and bundles of goods on their heads, and families of four and six children with matching fur caps pulled down low to their ears. There were others who were stranger still with deep brown skin, and others with odd eyes, and still others wearing clothes that looked to be made from wrapped bedsheets. And the languages … some guttural, some clipped, some fluid … and smells both foul and fruity, spicy and sour. It was as if the population of the entire world had decided New York City was
the
place to be, and had crossed half the globe to get there.

Lottie gave the man a few coins and handed Dora a slip of paper. “Keep this until they’re delivered,” she said. “I certainly hope your cousin is at home to get the delivery of my trunk.”

“I certainly hope she’s here to get the delivery of you,” Dora added. “We’re not entirely sure she’s received the telegram of your coming.”

“I can’t worry about that now,” Lottie said. “I’m here and I don’t plan on stopping until I get to her address—with or without her to accompany me.” She pointed to the left. “There. That’s the way out.”

They walked down the dock and sidestepped the Castle Garden building. A man thrust a piece of paper at them and said, “God’s in America too, ladies. Don’t forget Him!”

Dora looked at the paper and saw some Bible verses there along with the address of a church. She was glad for the man’s reminder. Traveling so far from what she’d known, it
had
seemed as though she’d left God behind, that He somehow lived only in Wiltshire and had yet to catch up with her journey.

“God’s in America too, ladies.”

“Apples? Apples, a penny!”

An old woman sat alongside three bushels of apples. She looked right at them. “Ladies? An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Dora immediately thought of Dr. Greenfield. If an apple would keep him away, she wanted nothing to do— Lottie stepped forward, opened her leather box, and removed two pennies.

“Thank you, ladies. God bless.”

Yes. Please, God. We need your blessings—and your protection. And direction. And mercy. And …

They entered a wide expanse of park with stone walls and benches that were occupied with people waiting. At least it was a beautiful October day. Where would all these people have gone if it were raining?

“What now?” Dora asked.

“Now you walk toward the street and look for the Tremaines. You’ve seen a picture of Conrad. And you know they’ll have a fine carriage waiting for you.”

Dora stopped walking and faced her. “And you?”

She pointed ahead. “There’s an elevated train. If I don’t see anyone holding up a sign with your name on it, I’ll assume your cousin isn’t coming and I’ll ask which is the best way to get to her house.”

“You’ve never taken a train alone,” Dora said. “Do you know how to buy a ticket? Perhaps I should stay with you until—”

“I need to do things on my own now, Dora. Go on. Don’t worry about me.”

But Dora did worry about her—
would
worry about her. Lottie had never had to plan anything beyond how to spend a free hour or what to wear.

And yet … they’d come this far. Perhaps the excitement of this new beginning had awakened something in Lottie that had never been allowed to blossom. It was a hopeful thought.

Suddenly, through a break in the crowd, Dora spotted a carriage that outshone the other lesser hacks. A coachman stood at its side, holding a sign that said
MISS CHARLOTTE GLEASON
.

Her heart jumped the full length of her body before landing in its proper place. “They’re here,” she whispered. She pointed.

Lottie gently moved her hand downward. “It’s not polite to point.”

The litany of the do’s and don’ts of polite society ran through Dora’s mind.
Don’t tink the edge of your teacup with your spoon. As a guest don’t touch the piano or handle ornaments or furniture in the room unless invited to do so. Never wear gloves at the dining table. Always wear gloves when you dance. Address a boy under age fifteen by his Christian name, but do not call an older man by his Christian name until he tells you it’s all right to do so. Do not—

“It’s time, Charlotte.”

It was the first time Dora had been addressed by her new name. She liked the sound of it, and yet … she felt a bit wistful leaving “Dora Connors” behind.
Good-bye, Ma. Good-bye, Barney.

“The Tremaines are waiting for you.”

Yes, yes. She had to move forward. “Do I look all right?” She felt both tailored and feminine in her navy blue walking suit with its zouavestyle cape and wood buttons. She appreciated Lottie’s taste in adding a red feather to her bonnet.

“You look ready to greet the world.”

If only she owned this outer confidence within.

“Come, now,” Lottie said. “We must say our good-byes. You mustn’t keep the Tremaines waiting.”

Lottie extended her free arm, and Dora returned the awkward embrace. “I’ll miss you, Lottie. We’ve known each other for so many—”

“I’ll miss you too.” Lottie pushed away and Dora saw tears in her eyes. “Now go,” she said. “And wear the Gleason name with pride.”

“Write to me?” Dora asked. “Send word that you’ve reached my cousin’s, that you’re safe and well.”

“I won’t be there long.”

“Then send word of your whereabouts, wherever they may be.”

“I will.”

“I’ll pray for you, Lottie.”

“And I for both of us.”

And so Dora—Charlotte—walked toward the carriage.
Don’t look back. It will only make it harder for both of us.

She focused on the carriage and saw two people inside. Was this her future husband? Her future sister-in-law? If only they would look toward her and smile.
That
would be a proper memory of this first meeting.

Instead the coachman took a step forward and tipped his top hat. “Miss Gleason?”

“Yes.”

“Where is your luggage?”

Had she done something wrong? “I had it sent to the house.”

“Hmm. Are there not two of you?”

Two!

He continued. “Did you not bring a companion with you?”

Lottie is gone. We’re not together. What if she needs me? What if I need her?

“Miss?”

Charlotte remembered their agreed-upon answer to such an inquiry. “My friend has decided to go her own way.” She left it at that, and though the coachman looked as though he wished to ask more, he did not. It wasn’t his place. Instead, he stepped toward the carriage door and rapped upon it with a gloved knuckle before opening it. Conrad stopped his conversation and looked up.

At her.

For a moment he looked surprised. Did he notice a visible variation from the Charlotte he’d come to know by her photograph?

She forgot to breathe.

But then his sister swatted his arm and said, “Come on, brother. Find your senses. Invite the girl inside.”

He gathered himself and held out a hand. Charlotte found her own hands full with the apple and her skirts, so she handed him the fruit.

“Oh look,” the sister said. “She’s brought an apple for the teacher.”

Charlotte had no idea what she was talking about but felt foolish just the same. She lifted her skirts enough to traverse the carriage steps and took a seat across from the siblings. She was afraid to meet their gaze. As the carriage pulled away from the curb she was lurched forward; her hand instinctively reached for balance and she touched Conrad on the knee.

“Oh. So sorry. Pardon me.”

She saw him blush. The sister rolled her eyes. It was not a good beginning.

Charlotte was surprised when the sister spoke first. “As you probably surmised, I am Beatrice and this is my older—but not wiser— brother, Conrad.”

Conrad’s blush deepened. “It’s very nice to finally meet you, Miss Gleason. Was your journey enjoyable?”

Charlotte thought back to the broken goblet, meeting Dr. Greenfield, being the belle of the ball, and suffering seasickness.
Enjoyable
was not a good summary. “My journey was an adventure.”

“Oooh,” Beatrice said with her eyes sparkling. “Do tell.”

“Leave her alone, Beatrice. You’ve not given her time to breathe.”

“Well, then. If you won’t allow her to talk, I’ll do the talking for all of us. Look out the window, dear, and I’ll give you a tour of the city as we ride along. We’re traveling north on Broadway, and if you think the traffic horrific here, you will see worse.”

Charlotte was thankful for Beatrice’s banter, although she didn’t pay much attention to the sights. What she really wished to do was to look upon the Tremaines.

She knew Beatrice to be a few years older than herself, yet with a pinch to her facial features, Beatrice looked even older than that. If Charlotte hadn’t known she was a lady of society, she would have guessed by her countenance that Beatrice was a headmistress in a very strict school. Her eyes were small and darting, but not in the way of someone who wished to observe the world, but rather of someone who wished to catch it at fault. Whether she wished to do so to condemn or ridicule was hard to tell, yet Charlotte had trouble imagining Beatrice with a full smile. Her looks were not beautiful, nor pretty, nor even particularly amiable. If pressed, Charlotte would have said—to be kind—that she was a handsome woman.