Isaac tried to avoid Ruth, but even from the corner of his eye, he could see her stiff posture and popping eyes. How dare she. He gritted his teeth, appalled but unable to do anything about Ruth until he’d somehow assured himself that Laura was home and safe and away from the crowd.
Laura wavered, staring at his hand before finally taking it. One day, likely tomorrow, he would wish he’d not acted impetuously, but for now, he only felt the warmth from her hand racing from his fingertips straight to his heart. Where only moments before he’d believed himself numb, he now felt very alive. This was the hand that had penned him countless letters, words that had changed his life and endeared her to him.
Laura walked with a clumsy tread as he led her toward the other dancers. He winced whenever she struggled for footing. Ruth, that conniving woman, and her bootlegging uncle had to have been responsible for Laura’s sudden lack of balance.
“I wanted to dance with you.” She stumbled closer, an uncanny boldness in her swaying step. “When we were younger, I thought someday you’d dance with me. I used to dream that we’d grow up and fall in love.” She giggled, and he remembered that this was not a clearheaded Laura. “You were always teasing me, but I didn’t care.”
“That was a long time ago.” He looked past her as he steadied her. Questioning eyes met his, but he gave them no heed. Laura’s unsteady gait worried him. Her normal restraint was gone, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d hurt herself with her words, or worse, do something that would haunt her.
“Why aren’t we dancing? Is it because I’m not as beautiful as Ruth? I tried to be beautiful. I wanted Abel to think I was.” She stared up into his face, an unmistakable yearning in her gaze. His heart pitched. He’d never seen a woman as beautiful as Laura. At the Quarry Garden he’d wanted to take her in his arms, and he’d dreamed of doing so ever since. But not like this, with a crowd and Laura acting against her own consent.
“This dance floor ain’t that big,” someone near them said. “If you’re not dancing, get off and make room.”
It was the nudge Isaac needed. He put one hand on her waist and took one of her hands in his other. She responded. Her free hand went to his shoulder as she stepped closer.
“Listen to me, Laura,” he said, lowering his head near her ear. “We need to get you home. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I do. I’m not stupid. I’m dancing with you,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. He’d never known her to be so changeable. How desperately he wanted to carry her away and hold her close as she fought off the effects of the liquor. Never had he felt the desire to care for another more strongly than he did now, with her in his arms. “You left. Everyone did. You hate me, I know you do, and I’m supposed to hate you too.”
“It wasn’t like that.” He looked away. Her tears threatened to pierce the weak locks that kept him from telling her everything. For her safety, he couldn’t budge. He shouldn’t even be dancing with her. Then again, how could this be wrong when it felt so right? He’d danced before, many times, but no woman had ever felt so perfect in his arms. He took a deep breath—he had to think clearly. “My father wouldn’t let me see you. Something happened between our fathers and we just . . . we were torn apart. Do you know what happened between them?”
She shook her head with more force than necessary. “No. My father wouldn’t tell me anything. Well, he tells me to date Abel and to hate you.” She covered her mouth, briefly aware of her slightly slurred words. “Don’t tell Abel. I want to like him—it’s only that dating him wasn’t my idea. But love can grow . . . It can. Mrs. Guskin even said it could. And then I can get away.”
“I’m sorry,” he said when no other words would come. He’d spent so many years angry with Bradshaw—for reasons he didn’t understand—that he hadn’t thought about what she’d endured. Only when he connected her to the heartfelt letters did he begin to understand that life for Laura had not matched his carefree experience in the years following the company split.
She sniffled, making no attempts at silencing her emotions. “I don’t know why I’m crying so much. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. Her appearance grew more disheveled with each passing moment. Tears streaked her face, loose hairs fell free, and the rose she’d held so dearly had fallen to the ground. “It’s not so bad. I have a bird. He’s awful, but I love him.”
“A bird,” he said, stalling as he looked for the quickest way out of the square. With each circle she grew more awkward on her feet.
“His name’s Tybalt from Shakespeare. Have you read Shakespeare? It’s a tragedy, two people are in love, but their families won’t let them be together.” Her garbled words grew more difficult to decipher. “They both die.”
“It’s only a story.” He pulled her a little closer, knowing this moment would be short lived. All the while, his mind raced. He could tell Abel and Ruth that Laura was sick, that he had to take her home, but that excuse wouldn’t make sense. Why him and not Abel? He looked over his shoulder. Abel and Ruth were talking. Isaac still had time, but not much. He could take her home, then come back and make an excuse. Even if they doubted him, it would be too late for them to intervene.
“Laura, I’m going to take you home.”
“But I like dancing with you.”
“Someday we’ll dance again.” He shouldn’t have said it, but he wanted it to be true. Someday, somehow, he wanted her back in his arms, not because she was drunk but because she wanted to be near him. A dream, that’s all it was, but what was life with no dreams? He loosened his grip on her. “Let’s go quickly. You can tell me about your bird, or whatever you like, while we walk, but we need to go now.”
“I had one friend,” she mumbled as she walked by his side. “He was there for a long time, but he’s gone.”
“One friend?”
With the back of her hand, she wiped at her nose. “You don’t want to hear about him.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a better man than you. He’s not full of hate. He’s a good man.” She nearly stumbled. Her balance was precarious.
“But he’s gone,” Isaac said, wanting to defend himself against . . . himself.
“He didn’t want to go. I know he didn’t want to.” More tears. He quickened their pace—this was more than he could bear. They were in the heart of the square now, weaving through the crowd.
“He wanted to stay,” he said. “I’m sure he did.”
“Isaac—” The color left her face as she stopped their forward motion. She let go of his arm. Her hand went to her stomach. “I’m going to be sick.”
There was no escape. He’d tried to save her, but all he’d done was lead her to the center of the large crowd, where hundreds of eyes could watch as the contents of both her drinks resurfaced. Those dancing near her stopped. And then those just out of view turned, curious about the commotion. Soon the square was filled with silent onlookers. An agonizing groan pierced the air and hurt his heart. If only he could scoop Laura up and carry her away. She teetered backward. He tried to reach for her, but she’d moved too far from him. She went to her knees, hands still on her stomach, and then it was Ruth’s voice he heard, loud enough for all curious ears to hear.
“Is that Laura Bradshaw, drunk in public?” She towered above Laura, the faintest smirk bringing up the corners of her red lips.
“Ruth,” he said, but she ignored him. “Don’t do this.”
Whispers began all around him. A dull murmur filled the square.
“What are you trying to do?” Ruth said, her words not only meant for Laura. “If you can’t control yourself, why even come out? Everyone here came for a good time.” Ruth turned to Isaac and pulled on his arm, but he brushed her off. She stayed by his side, smiling for the crowd as though nothing were amiss between them. Then she leaned closer. He pulled away, but not so far that he couldn’t hear her say, “I know you hate the Bradshaws. This will keep her away from you for a good long time.”
Isaac made no response. He took one step past Ruth, ready to go to Laura’s aid, but stopped in his tracks when he found Laura’s eyes and saw her glaring at him. “Go away. I don’t need help from you. I should have known . . . Go be with Ruth.”
“Let me help you,” he said. She pushed at her hair that had fallen loose, but it only fell askew again.
“No.” She stood on wobbly legs. “Go on.” She waved her hand at the crowd. Tears ran down her face. Her expression was that of a helpless animal, cornered but not ready to give up the fight. “There’s nothing to see here.”
Abel stepped past Isaac, playing the hero. He took her arm and, in his jaunty way, silenced the crowd. “Seems you and I had better call it a night,” he said, earning a hearty laugh from onlookers. “I suppose seeing McCoy up there on the pole could make anyone a bit tipsy. Let’s go.”
Abel turned Laura away from the crowd, and from Isaac.
* * *
Laura stumbled through the front door, eager to toss herself onto her bed, close her eyes, and pretend the entire night away. The details blurred together, giving her hope that it was all a bad dream. Isaac Campbell taking her in his arms, her retching in front of everyone, and Abel bringing her home in near silence—none of it could possibly be real. The toe of her perfectly polished Bradshaw shoe caught the edge of the floral rug, and she landed facedown in a heap. With her pounding head on the floor, she found it much more difficult to deny reality. This night had been no bad dream. It was all wretchedly, horribly, awfully real.
“Laura, is that you?” Mrs. Guskin called from the dining room. “You’re home early.”
Laura pushed herself up off the floor. “I’m home and about to go to my room.”
Mrs. Guskin’s feet shuffled closer. “I thought you’d be out until all hours, dancing and enjoying this fine weather.”
Had the weather been fine? She could hardly remember. In this moment she felt clammy and hot. What she wouldn’t give for a gust of winter weather to blow through and cool her off. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
Mrs. Guskin popped from around the corner. “Oh dear.”
She stepped past Laura to the radio that Laura hadn’t realized was on, turned it off, and then took Laura by the arm. “Let’s get you upstairs before your father sees you like this.”
“I was out with Abel. Father told me to go. It doesn’t matter if he sees me.” She stepped away from Mrs. Guskin’s touch and sat in a wingback chair. “I was where he wanted, and then I got sick. He shouldn’t punish me for being sick . . . That’s mean.”
“Yes, well, you were drinking, and I am certain he will punish you for that.”
“I only had two of the fancy drinks they had there. Prohibition drinks—that’s what they called them.” Why wouldn’t her head stop pounding? She closed her eyes, trying to block out the electric lights that seemed to be making matters worse. “I saw Isaac Campbell. He was there with a woman in a red dress. I don’t think I like red dresses.”
“Did he do this to you?”
“We danced, and then I vomited.” She leaned forward and, with her elbows on her knees, buried her head in her hands. “I don’t know what I said to him. He’s probably dancing with the girl in the red dress right now.” She moaned. Her pounding head and thoughts of Isaac with the girl in red were enough to make her nauseated again. He’d gotten through their family feud unscathed. He’d come out dashing and with women eager for his arm. It wasn’t fair.
“Come on.” Mrs. Guskin pulled on her arm. “Let’s clean you up. You can tell me all about it while we get you ready for bed. No dallying in here, moaning about life. There will be time for that later.”
“I wasn’t moaning. I don’t care if he’s with her, or if he’s kissing her. I don’t care at all.” Laura stumbled to her feet.
“I had no idea you harbored such feelings for Isaac Campbell.”
“I don’t. I hate him, just like I’m supposed to.”
“Uh-huh.”
Why didn’t Mrs. Guskin sound convinced? Laura wanted to ask, but the stairs were in front of her, and there were so many. With Mrs. Guskin beside her, she managed to make her way up. At the top of the stairs, she went right for her room and her bed, only to have Mrs. Guskin stop her. “Sit down. I’ll help you wash up. And while I’m doing it, I want you to tell me everything you remember from the night.”
As best she could, Laura recounted the evening, sparing only the details she could no longer remember. Mrs. Guskin gasped several times but did not interrupt.
“I don’t know what happened to the flower Abel gave me. I must have left it. And he hardly said a word on the way home. He was so somber, and when he said goodbye, he didn’t even try to kiss me. I was sure he would because he nearly did earlier, only mean old Isaac interrupted us. It’s his fault I didn’t get kissed tonight.”
“Can’t blame the man for not wanting to kiss you on the way home. You certainly aren’t smelling your best.” Mrs. Guskin rubbed her hands on her brown skirt. “You’re saying you drank what everyone else did, but then later you were accused of being intoxicated?”
“The woman in red, Ruth or something like that, was with Isaac, and she brought me my drinks. I can’t remember the names of them, but one was maple and the other was . . . they said it was citrus, but it tasted different. And then when I was sick, Ruth said I was drunk. The way she looked at me . . . and Isaac, he was there. He must have been behind it all. They came to the square together.” She ran her hand back and forth on the arm of the chair. “Is this what it feels like to be drunk?”
“I can’t rightly say.”
“What do I do now?”
“Your father needs to know this was not your fault, but Campbell’s, and he needs to learn about it here first. The papers and gossips won’t get the story right.”
The thought of telling her father made Laura’s already sick stomach twist into a tighter knot. She left her chair and made her way to the bed, tucking her pillow under her head and curling up on her side. “I can’t believe Isaac would trick me like this. He used to be funny, but he was never mean.” She buried her face in her pillow. “It’s so embarrassing. More people were looking at me than were looking at the man on the pole.”
Mrs. Guskin came to the bed and rubbed Laura’s back. “People will forget. Don’t you worry. And by morning you’ll feel like yourself again. It’ll be easier to make sense of all this then.”
“What if Abel doesn’t want me anymore? Father told me to be what he wanted. No one wants what I was tonight. And then I’ll be stuck here forever, and I won’t even have the books.”
“Let’s worry about that later.” Mrs. Guskin’s soft, motherly touch soothed some of Laura’s worry. “Rest up. Tomorrow you can decide what to say to Abel and make a plan to get back at Isaac, if that’s what you wish.”
“I thought you hated the feud as much as I did,” Laura said into her pillow.
“I do hate it, but I won’t stand for someone sabotaging you like that.” She kissed Laura on the cheek. “In the morning I’ll bring you a hearty breakfast that will chase off whatever headache you have.”
“And Father?”
“I’ll talk to him in the morning for you. Now get some rest.” Mrs. Guskin stood and stepped away from Laura, leaving her to sleep. But sleep did not come easily. Her head wouldn’t stop throbbing, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself in the middle of the crowd, and the sour taste of bile returned. The voices, the murmurs, and the laughter—like demons, they tormented her.
Silently, she pleaded that somehow tomorrow would be a better day. Then, when sleep still evaded her, she went to her desk and wrote. She didn’t care that she’d already said goodbye. Tonight, she needed a friend. So she ran back to the man who had left her at the Quarry Garden and chose to believe he still cared.
Dear Friend,
I stood in a crowd tonight, and I felt completely alone . . .