“Do you mind if I run over to Sarah’s for a bit?” asked Pearl.
“Of course. And we’ll have our cake after dinner. You’re a love.” Laura watched as she headed out, noting that the hem of her dress needed to be taken down again. At eleven, she’d sprung up several inches.
Pearl seemed to enjoy living in Greenwich Village, and had made friends with the other children who lived on the alley. If she had any resentments, she didn’t let them out and Laura chose not to pry. When she’d pried in the past, she discovered answers that ruined everything. Maybe later, when Pearl was grown up, she and Laura would be able to speak on the matter, but not yet.
Amelia had been a good friend and partner the past four years, taking over when Laura had her spells and couldn’t get out of bed. Luckily, they were occurring further and further apart these days. Since her own tragedy, the United States had entered and then won a war, and now, after an anxious and precarious time, a sense of optimism finally seemed to be winding its way back into daily life. That same hopefulness had slowly seeped into Laura, and every so often she even experienced short bursts of joy, like the day she deposited her first paycheck into her very own back account.
She was glad she had the financial freedom she’d always hoped for. But she’d never imagined obtaining it this way. The loss of half her family burned into her like a branding iron, a mark that would never fade. The day after Jack’s death, Dr. Anderson had told them they had to leave. She’d stood on the steps of the library, Pearl weeping by her side, holding whatever they could fit into their suitcases. Dr. Anderson had apologized, explaining that he had no choice, and handed her an envelope of money. She’d refused it, but had thanked him for his past kindness. It wasn’t his fault. That day, Laura had vowed to never be financially dependent upon another person again.
As the shock of their changed circumstances wore off, Laura began to see her past life in a new light, one that was slightly less filled with self-loathing. With Amelia, the workload of taking care of Pearl and running a household was shared, which meant Laura had more time to spare. What if she and Jack had shared the work of domestic life, been true equals both inside and outside the home? Then her year at Columbia wouldn’t have been such a shock to their children and Harry might not have been so vulnerable, not fallen into Red Paddy’s clutches. What if, as a rule, husbands helped out more around the house instead of putting their work ahead of family, the way Jack had done?
It wasn’t all her fault, and maybe it wasn’t so terrible that she’d wanted more out of life.
Once she’d had enough time to gather both her thoughts and her courage, she’d marched into Marie Jenney Howe’s parlor, prepared to see a sour expression on the woman’s beautiful features. Marie’s hand rested on the neck of a guitar she’d been playing, and she motioned for Laura to sit.
“I would like to make a proposal.” Laura had run through the speech in her head multiple times, but the compassion in Marie’s eyes stopped her cold. She didn’t want pity.
“What’s that, Mrs. Lyons, and may I say how sorry I am for your loss?”
Laura took a deep breath. “Thank you. I would like to interview a member of the club each week, and write about who they are, what they’re doing.”
“That’s an audacious idea, coming from you.” Marie’s sympathy went only so far.
But after dealing with Professor Wakeman’s resistance, Laura knew how to handle the same from Marie. She owed him thanks for that, at least. “The only way for women to gain equality—true equality, inside and outside of the home—is to showcase the accomplishments of those who are out there changing the world, as a way to inspire others to reach for more as well. I’ve spoken with Max Eastman at The Masses, and he thinks the column is a grand idea. We both know the article that ran in the World was edited by a man, and his perspective warped the interpretation. Mr. Eastman has promised me full editorial control over each essay. This will be our story.”
“Don’t you mean your story?”
“My story is intertwined in everyone else’s, I see that now. I can’t stand apart from the causes that are dear to me as a woman. I failed out of Columbia, and I no longer want to be a reporter. I want to editorialize, convince people that their way of thinking is out of date, and use words as a means to change minds.”
Marie, after speaking with Mr. Eastman, had agreed to allow Laura to interview her and use her as the first source. A test, of sorts. Their conversation had run deep into the night, and the resulting essay had stirred controversy with its candor and passion, which pleased Mr. Eastman—and Marie—to no end.
Much to Laura’s selfish relief, Amelia’s offer to move to London had been suspended as the clouds of war roiled over Europe. For this, she was grateful. At Patchin Place, they loved each other quietly and furtively but without the grand passion as before. This was an arrangement that suited them both, and their natures fit easily together because the relationship was balanced; neither had more power than the other. The members of the Heterodoxy Club had eventually warmed back up to Laura and allowed her to attend meetings, where she came up with more ideas for the column than she could write in a lifetime.
Here she was, living the life she’d dreamed about before everything else fell apart. Living in the Village with the woman she adored more than anyone else in the world, working as a writer, and part of a community that welcomed eccentricity and change.
But she hadn’t wanted it in this way, at the expense of Jack and Harry.
At dinner that evening, Pearl lit and blew out the single candle on Harry’s cake.
“Happy fifteenth birthday, my boy,” said Laura quietly under her breath.
Amelia handed Pearl a knife. “It looks delicious.”
So many bland words. How silly they all looked, having a cake for a boy who wanted nothing to do with them.
“Red Paddy’s gang is back on Fourth Avenue,” said Amelia as Pearl handed her a plate. “I have my inspectors keeping an eye out for you.”
Harry had been spotted several times over the years since Laura had taken to making near daily treks through the Lower East Side in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her son. But he had always disappeared into the crowds or around the corner before she could reach him. Over time, she’d gotten to know his routes, but he’d made it clear that he’d run if she got too close. Her sightings, though sporadic, gave her hope. One of these days, she’d reach him again.
“Thank you,” said Laura. “To think he’s fifteen now.”
“Almost a man.”
Laura didn’t look at Amelia and instead tried a small bite of cake. “It’s lovely, Pearl. Well done.”
“He’s been on his own for four years now, Laura.” Amelia wasn’t going to let up once she got started. “It might be time.”
“I can’t leave.”
“Pearl would like London, wouldn’t you, my girl? We can visit the Tower and Buckingham Palace, now that the war’s over and it’s safe to travel.”
Amelia didn’t have to add that her job offer still stood, and that it would be a boon to her career in public health. Laura couldn’t leave New York when her boy was still wandering its streets, likely still in pain.
“I would like that.” Pearl, always trying to take care of them both. “I could learn to make scones.”
“I’m going out,” said Laura.
She didn’t want to have this discussion, not on this day, and it irritated her to no end that Amelia would bring it up. They’d have a long talk about it later that night, no doubt, and Amelia would apologize and hold her close. But that wouldn’t change anything, not in Laura’s mind.