Rumors

Ramona scanned the lavish ballroom in search of Stephen. She doubted he would turn up after their row the night before.  He had been less than thrilled with her after their talk and she did not think he would be thrilled to be in her company and though she was furious with him, she still hoped beyond hope that he would turn up. She drummed her gloved fingers on the fine table she sat at and watched the dancers. They spun around in finely dressed clothing, creating a kaleidoscope of color. She longed to be out there, yet it would feel wrong standing up with any other man. A pent up sigh escaped her lips and she continued to watch the dancers, transfixed with their elegant beauty.

“Ramona?!” A high shrill voice rang across the room. That voice could only belong to one person. Squeezing her eyes tight, Ramona turned slowly in her seat to greet the voice’s owner with a ladylike smile.

Theresa Brooks stood before her. Her blond hair styled perfectly in the latest fashion, and a tight evening gown in rose pink clung to her delicate figure.

“Tess?”

“Oh Ramona Ramsey! I never in all my days thought I would see you in New York!” She exclaimed in her singsong voice. “What brings you here?”  

Ramona knew she could never reveal her true reasons for coming to New York, especially to Tess Brooks of all people. Tess was known to be a gossip and she was responsible for turning most of Boston society on its head.

“I am just here visiting with my beau.”

Tess’s high-pitched squeal echoed around the room as she sat next to Ramona.

“I didn’t know you had a beau! I mean there were rumors around Boston before I left, but so soon after that tragedy with William! Goodness Ramona! I never thought…”

“Yes well, he is a lovely man, not at all like William.” Ramona felt the need to defend Stephen, if only to Theresa Brooks. “Where is your husband?” Ramona asked, trying to steer the conversation away from Stephen.

Tess’s face fell a bit. Though she was a braggart, her husband, Edmund Brooks,  was an old bore. Ramona knew Tess had only married him for his vast fortune. But like any lady of society, Tess recovered early. She smiled and with a casual wave of her hand exclaimed “ Oh he is probably at the liquor cart. I am not supposed to be indulging in the stuff of late, as I am in a delicate condition.” She looked at Ramona with eyes that dared her to ask, but Ramona didn’t need to.

“You are with child?” She said, somewhat surprised. She knew Tess well enough to know that this “delicate condition” would not sit well with her. Tess was selfish and vain, not thinking of others before herself. But any new life was a joy to Ramona.

“When is the baby due?”

“Oh not till spring. I am dreading getting fat and ugly, but oh well. Edmund wanted the child so…” Her voice trailed off, and Ramona saw Tess lost in her own world. After a few moments of silence Tess spoke.

“Where is your beau Mona? I would so like to meet this lawyer of yours.”

Ramona raised her brow. “I never mentioned that Stephen was a lawyer. How did you know?”

Tess wove her hand again. “Oh rumors darling rumors.” She said with a giggle.

“Speaking of rumors, have you been in touch with Sarah Turner? I know she was a friend of yours at cotillion.”

Ramona could feel the heat rising up her neck. Tess was never the sort to ask a question without knowing the answer. She decided to be as vague as possible with this woman. The last thing Ramona wanted to do was and fuel to the fire.

“Of course.” She answered simply.

“Well there is talk that she did not conduct herself at all like a lady while at school.”

Ramona clasped her hands in her lap. She could feel her palms sweating under her silk gloves.

“I am not sure what you mean Tess, and besides, I am not one for gossip.” She said looking away.

“Oh yes dear I know. You have always been very prudish and boring that way. As I was saying, there is talk that she left Boston! Her mother went to the police and everything but know one knows where she is. Honestly if I slept with a Scottish lawyer’s son and found myself pregnant, I would leave town too.”

Ramona felt her hear stop at Tess’s words. How on earth could she know that of all things? How could Tess, of all people know Sarah’s darkest secret?

“What on earth are you talking about Tess?” Ramona said in a whisper.

“My goodness Ramona, I thought you of all people would know! All of Boston is talking about it!”

“I have not been home for sometime…” Ramona said, wishing she could become invisible. She was sure she was blushing.

“Tell me dear, have you ever come across an Eric Magathan?”

Ramona gaped at her, surely looking like a fish out of water.

“Ramona?”

Ramona looked up to find Stephen towering over her. Ramona breathed a sigh of relief.

“Stephen.” She said, tears brimming her eyes. She was happy beyond words to see him. He took her hand and kissed it, giving her a little squeeze before looking at Tess.

“I believe Ramona has forgotten her manners. I am Stephen.” He said with a slight bow in Tess’s direction.

Tess giggled girlishly. “Yes, she told me about you. I am Theresa Brooks, but please call me Tess. Everyone else does.”

Stephen gave Tess a warm smile. “A pleasure to meet you Tess. Would you mind if I stole Ramona away for a dance?”

“Oh of course not!” Tess exclaimed.

Ramona looked up at Stephen; hopeful he could sense her gratitude. As she rose, she smiled at Tess.

“I shall see you later Tess, it was a pleasure talking with you.”

Tess gave Ramona a cunning grin. “Yes indeed Mona, it has been.”

As Ramona and Stephen turned to leave, Tess called out.

“Stephen!” She exclaimed. “You never mentioned your sir name.”

“Magathan.” He said.

Ramona looked at Tess. There was something in her brown eyes she did not trust. Behind them were the eyes of someone who could cause a great deal of trouble. Tess knew. And how she knew Ramona could only guess, but by God she was going to find out.

Tess smiled up at Stephen. “It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. Magathan. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

At that Stephen bowed his head, and lead Ramona to the dance floor.

             By the time the whiskey and brandy had been drunk, Tess helped her husband into their bed. He was drunk, and smelled like cigars. It made her stomach turn and she could feel the baby move in rejection to the smell. She smiled as she touched her hand to her belly. True she was not happy to be with child, but this child was special. This child held a secret, one she was keen to keep secret. Edmund let out a loud snore. Tess grimaced. She hated this stupid man. Slowly she rose from bed and walked to the writing desk. She had to tell him what she knew, so she began to write.

Dear Eric,

            They are here, please come at your earliest convenience.

All my love,

Tessie  

The Black Umbrella

Cold rain drenched Ramona through her clothing. Her skirt clung to her legs and strands of her red hair whipped her in the face as she ran. Her chest began to feel tight, not from running, but from an overwhelming pain that was gripping at her heart. She could not take the hospital any longer, so she had ran. Ran when the doctor told her the news, ran from her father’s arms, ran from the white walls into the grayness of Boston. She passed men and women, who protected under their umbrellas, made quizzical looks at her. She did not care. All she wanted was to run and never stop. Perhaps the past would stay in the hospital room, perhaps if she ran far enough she could keep it inside her. But as it is with emotions, the ache in her heart overwhelmed her and she collapsed, right down into the mud under a tall oak tree, and let a scream of turmoil and grief escape past her lips. Hot tears streamed down her cold cheeks and her body began to shake with uncontrollable sobs. Ramona raised her gloved hands to her face and rocked back and forth, back and forth.

Her mother was gone. Gone, forever. Never again would she play a song for her mother and see her blue eyes sparkle with delight. Never again would she be called “Mony”. How could she be gone? How could Ramona have let that man near her? How could she have loved him? William, with his lies, William with his rage, William with his lust. He had taken her mother from her. She had been so besought by his dark looks and gentlemanly ways she had never seen what he was capable of. She had been fooled by a very convincing actor. Her heart began to pound and blood of rage rushed through her body as another scream flew out of her before she could stop it. She did not care if she was being looked at, she did not care if all the rules of society were being broken. She had left them behind in that hospital room with her mother’s body.

God why did you let this happen? Why? She screamed in her head. She was so angry with God that she could almost not think straight. She leaned her head against the trunk of the tree and felt the cool rain add relief to her hot and angry face. Ramona was surprised that even in her anger she could hear the Lord say one word. Peace.

Peace. Goodness how she longed for it. Time passed, or did it? Ramona was not sure. She spent the time crying to God and waiting for his answers. Finally the peace she had looked for began to consume her and her sobs began to slow. When her crying stopped all together, she began to finally feel the shivers of cold creep up her spine. Slowly she got to her feet and opened her eyes for the first time, letting a raspy breath creep from her lips. She was freezing. At snails pace, Ramona turned her head to take in her surroundings. She was more than a block from the hospital. The walk back would be grueling in this rain. Her father was probably worried sick. Ramona sighed and began to walk back to the hospital, arms crossed, back hunched no resemblance of a lady of high society left in her appearance.

“Excuse me Miss” She heard a soft voice from behind her.

Shocked that someone was addressing her, she spun around to find a tall man with dark hair and green eyes looking at her from under the protection of his black umbrella.

“Are you alright?” He said looking her straight in the eyes. His abruptness took her by surprise and Ramona tilted her head in astonishment that someone would address her in this state. What could she say to this stranger?

“Oh no sir, I am fine. My mother just died at the hand of my fiancé and I just sat for God knows how long in the wet mud.” But instead of this, she made no reply but just looked at him. Hoping that he would find an answer in her eyes and leave her alone.

He looked back at her with a gaze that she had never before encountered, and nodded.

“Here,” he said as he handed her his umbrella. She took it from him not taking her eyes from his.  She began to make a murmur of protest but he held up his hand.

“You need this more than I. Can I walk you somewhere?”

Ramona shook her head, still shocked at this man’s generosity.

“Well then, “ He said (did she detect a small hint of a Scottish accent in his voice?) “You have a blessed day Miss.” And with that he walked away, leaving Ramona sheltered under his umbrella.She tried murmuring a "thank you" but nothing would come. He was already walking out of sight, rain glistening off his dark, curling locks. It wasn’t until she was on the steps of the hospital that she realized she had not even asked him his name. 

Indian Summer

The smell of ink filled Katherine’s head. Every day, in and out she sat at this desk, typing away. Three weeks had past since her last encounter with George. He had left this summer for a holiday with his wife and young son, which meant she had not seen him around the bank. She was happy for this, because there could be no awkward exchanges with him absent. Yet, though she hated to admit it, she missed him with every fiber of her being. How she longed to be wrapped around him in a plush bed in some distant room. Even at the thought of his smile and those hazel eyes she felt her head begging to spin. She needed air. This office was far too stuffy. She walked over to the window that sat just beyond her desk. Boston was becoming far to hot for her taste, even in early September the sun was beating down on the growing city. She forced the window open. Goodness, how long has it been since someone opened it? She looked at the window and saw little blotches of ink smeared on it. Glancing down at her hands she saw that they were covered in ink. She must have gotten it on her while typing the report. Closing her eyes, Katherine leaned against the wall next to the window. Far away, a door opens and closes. A voice makes a greeting to the new arrival. Someone says her name. Slowly she opens her eyes and sees George standing in front of her. The heat of the room begins to over power her. She cannot breathe. The floor seems to be getting closer and closer.

“Katherine?!” “Katie!”

Blank.

One Last Time

Katherine’s hair never stood the way she wanted it to. Her long dark hair hung straight and true, with no bounce or volume to it, not one curl. How she longed for curling hair. Wisps of her hair stuck out here and there, doing everything it could not to look polished. She sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her white skin shone like a china dolls, and her blue eyes sparkled beneath heavily laden eyelashes. She leaned in, close to the mirror to pinch her cheeks to give them a bit of color.  Smiling she turned to leave the powder room for the lobby. She had always loved grand hotels, and this one was no exception. The lobby ceiling was high, and it gave the room a feel of openness. She looked around for the familiar head of curly hair, but could not find it. Disappointed she slumped down in the nearest chair. He had said he would be here. She glanced up at the clock on the lobby mantle, he was half an hour late, just then a deep voice came from behind her.

“Hello Katie May”

Katherine spun around in her chair, and there he stood.

“George” she sighed.

He grinned down at her from beneath his dark mustache and held out his hand to help her out of her chair. She took it, and it was like coming home. She beamed at him as she rose to her feet.

“We don’t have much time,” He whispered in her ear.

She pouted up at him “I know, you are late.” She said with a small hint of bitterness. In truth, she was happy for any time she had with him, regardless of how short.  She looked into his bright hazel eyes and saw the passion that lay beneath them. Her heart began to race. No matter how long they had been together, he still managed to take her breath away. Still holding her hand, George lead her up the stairs, down the hall, and finally to a small bedroom. There was no need to talk, not now. He closed the door behind them and moved to where she stood next to the plump bed.

“How long do we have?” She asked, as George began to unlace her dress.

“Long enough” He whispered against her neck. The hairs around the spot where he kissed stood on end, as a sigh escaped her lips.

“Oh George, it is never long enough.”

They lay in the rumpled bed as the afternoon light shone in through the curtains.  George was wrapped in the sheets and Katherine was as curled around him as she could be, her long hair spread out behind her. Her heart was still pounding in her ears. While they were together, everything was bliss. It was only in the short moments after that regret and shame would flood her. A lump was forming in her throat as she lay there with George, she had to shove the tears deep down inside her, and she could not show him how much she hurt.

“I have to go soon.” He said, his Scottish accent filling the room, and striking her to her very core.

“Does your wife know you are gone?”

“I am not sure, but it wont be long before she does. She is starting to ask questions Katie.”

Katherine grimaced. She knew that Mary would ask questions, because Tom was starting to as well.

“Tom is starting to ask questions too…”

She could feel George stiffen next to her. He hated Tom more that Katherine hated Mary. And, in truth he had cause.

George circled a spot on her arm, close to where he lay. It was still a little blue, she had hope he wouldn’t notice, but George always noticed.

“Did he do this to you?” He asked, very seriously.

Katherine looked away, careful not to look into those eyes, eyes that always found the truth.

“He is hurting you again Katherine!”

“No more than you are hurting me George!”

He looked at her in amazement. “I have never… I would never…”

“The wound you have done to my heart is just as bad, if not worse so do not pretend to be the better man.”

“I am a better man!” His accent was growing thicker, and louder. Red color was flooding through his pale skin.  Katherine sat up and got out of the bed, searching for her clothing that was scattered around the room. She could not cope with the overwhelming guilt that was starting to flood her.

“You cannot compare yourself to Tom.”

“Katherine he hits you! He cannot be a good man.”

“Oh? And you are so perfect? You who cheat on your wife?”

The blow had worked, just as she knew it would. George looked as if he had been slapped across the face.

“This is different…”

“This is no different.” She said cutting him off. “Every sin is equal in the eyes of God.”

George still tangled in the sheets, remained in the bed as Katherine dressed herself.

The silence between them was so tense she could scarce draw breath. The words to follow had to come had to be said.

“George, perhaps we are fooling ourselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time we meet we end up having the same argument. I think that- that we cannot do this any more.”

George bolted upright.  “What?” He whispered.

Katherine turned to him, her shoulders angled back. She had to do this; the weight in her chest was too full.

“We are married. I think maybe Tom will leave me alone if he stops suspecting I am unfaithful. I need to protect myself, and my heart cannot take this anymore.” Tears were beginning to fill her eyes, and she turned away.  

“Katie, no. Please. I cannot loose you again.”

“You lost me George Ramsey the moment you married Mary.”

“Katie…”

“This is the last time I will meet with you. Good bye George.” She said, and before he could talk her into staying, she opened the door and ran right out of the hotel.

A Visitor

My Dearest Stephen,

My search for Sarah is not going well. I have been all over New England and still I cannot find one trace of her. I am starting to believe that she told me a lie about her going to Maine. I am also starting to believe that I will never find her, and I am not sure what frightens me more. As of now I am heading to New York, I think this is where she is, something I think I have known all along. Where else could she be so well concealed? My train should arrive at Grand Central sometime this evening. I am planning on staying at the Plaza Hotel; you know the one that opened a few years back? I know back when we said goodbye that I told you I wanted to do this alone, but I fear that I must abandon my pride and say that what I said then no longer applies. I miss you so very much. Please, my love, I need my port in the storm. Please come to me, joining me in New York my dearest friend. I will send you more details upon my arrival. I hope to see you soon.

All my love,

Ramona

Stephen felt a grin stretch across his face. She wanted him to join her! He was happy that she had had the experience of independence that she had needed, yet Stephen had missed Ramona with every breath he had taken since she had left Boston in search of her half-sister. He raced with boy like speed to find his trunk. He dove under his bed, and found it, coated in dust when the bell rang.

“Damn!” He swore as his head collided with the bed bottom. Emerging from beneath his bed, and covered in dust, Stephen nursed his bumped head. He heard the Butler answer the door below, but could not hear who was being greeted. Stephen lugged his trunk to the top of his bed, and began to hastily pile clothes into it. So emerged in his packing he did not hear the door to his room open, and was taken by surprise when out of the corner of his eye he saw a shape in the doorway. He jumped, making a yell of surprise and amazement when he saw his brother, Eric standing in his room.  Eric looked very much like Stephen. His hair was lighter, and he had gray eyes, but he was still sturdy and strong like all Scots men. He was dressed in travel clothes, and had his hands in his pockets.

“Eric?” He said, sounding more confused than jubilant. His last encounter with his brother had not gone well. Eric had stormed out of the house after an argument they had had about his studies and money. He had not seen his younger brother in months, nor had he any idea he was coming home to Boston, for they did not keep a correspondence.

“Hello Steve” Eric said, a tone of cockiness in his voice that Stephen loathed. He supposed the tone was due to the fact that Stephen, covered in dust and shirt un-tucked, looked a mess. Stephen squared his shoulders, and straightened up.

“What are you doing here, Eric?” He asked, bitterness clinging to every word. The euphoria that had held him captive with the reading of Ramona’s letter was evaporated, now all he felt was the pent up resentment towards his brother that had held him captive before he had met Ramona. Eric gave him a coy smile, and walked farther into the room.

“Mother wrote to me, and I have business with a… a friend of mine.”

Stephen took that to mean that Eric had some rendezvous with a woman he had met in college, that or worse.

“You know you are not welcome in this house.”

Eric smirked at him in response. “Mother told me to come, and this is her home.”

Anger boiled through Stephen’s veins. “You know as well as I that this is my home now, Father left it to me in the will.” Stephen saw Eric’s brows crinkle at this retort. He hated being the younger brother, and Stephen, always playing the role of the elder brother played off this hatred like a game. He knew it was childish to play off his brother’s childhood resentment, but at this moment he did not care. The minute Eric had taken his inheritance and abandoned his family; Stephen had all but counted his brother as dead.  It was taking every fiber of his being from beating Eric to a pulp where he stood.

“Where are you going?” Eric asked, looking at the trunk, overflowing with clothes.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but I have business in New York.”

“Oh?” said Eric, sounding amused. His tone perturbed Stephen to no end. He turned his back on his brother, attempting to continue packing.

“Out of curiosity Steve, would this “business” happen to include a Miss Ramona Ramsey and a Miss Sarah Turner?”

Ice flooded Stephen’s veins, as he quickly took control of his fear. He was a lawyer after all. He would put his education to use. Slowly he turned to look at Eric.

“What do you mean?”

Eric’s smirk reemerged on his face. “You know exactly what I mean. And there is no use in pretending you don’t know. You see I have had a letter from darling Sarah.”

And the cool disposition Stephen was trying to exude escaped him.

“You … you know Sarah?” He stammered. But how? When? None of this made any sense.  Eric walked over to Stephen’s dresser and picked up a baseball that had been sitting there. They had played catch with it years ago. Now his brother tossed it up and down, as if the ball was Stephen himself. “How do you know Sarah?” Stephen asked, trying to sound as assertive as possible.

 “In the biblical sense.” Eric replied, chuckling as he continued to toss the ball up and down. Stephen’s heart began to pound when it dawned on him what his brother meant. Stephen looked into Eric’s cool calculating gray eyes.  Regardless of how Eric knew Sarah, one thing concerned him above all else.

“How do you know about Ramona?”

Eric stopped tossing the baseball, and looked at his brother.  A grin as cold as his eyes spreading across his face.

“Oh Stephen, the question is not how I know what I know, but how much I do know. And more importantly, what information I have that can reunite you with your darling little ginger girl.”

“It seems we have much to discuss.” Stephen said through clenched teeth.

“It seems we do,” said Eric. And with that he placed the ball back on the dresser and exited the room. Stephen looked at his trunk, then at the ball, and finally at the door. Sighing and saying a silent prayer for strength, he followed 

Known and Unknown

The white stone seemed to shine in the grime of the city. Putting her shoulders back, just as her mother taught her, Ramona climbed the marble steps, hoping and praying she would find her sister within these doors.  

Reaching the top of the steps, Ramona was stretching her gloved hand towards the brass knob on the door when she heard her name.

“Ramona! Ramona!” Shivers bolted up her spine. Only one voice in the world could say her name like that. She spun around and there he stood.

“Stephen!?” She exclaimed with amazement. Tears filled her eyes and before she knew it she was running to him. She flung herself into his arms and held him tight. He was so solid and firm. Real. She inhaled his smell and looked up, searching for the familiar green gaze, and she found it. His eyes were sparkling and she noticed they were also a little damp from tears, yet a smile was spreading across his face.

“I have missed you so much!” She said her voice full of breathless delight.

He chuckled in response “And I you my love.” My love. Oh! He still loved her! It had been more than a month since she had last seen him. Since she had last been in his arms. Ramona had almost forgotten the warmth and safety that she had come to know there. She looked up into his green eyes again. She had expected him to come when she had asked in her last letter, but one thing puzzled her. New York had hundreds, goodness thousands, of people how did he find her here?

“How?” She asked, “How did you find me?”

Stephen bit his lip. It was a nervous habit of his. “It is a long story Mona. I would much rather tell it to you at your hotel.” She looked up at him with even more bewilderment. Stephen answered her look at once.

 “I know where Sarah is.” 

A Man's World

"Jim_MEY!"
"Damn!"  She had jumped so hard that her finger had slipped and now three "f's" resided in the center of her perfect typed copy."
"Best run, word has it that good ole' Charlies on the warpath and all the junior editors are in an extra pissy because of it."  She nodded and reminded herself not to simper- it had taken a good month for her to remember not to try to flirt her way out of trouble here.  She still had to pinch herself to remember to answer to "Jimmy;" on her very first day she had almost given herself away when she hadn't reacted with enough gusto to the questionable pictures of showgirls that one of the copy editors had provided.  Sighing she pulled the cover over her Underwood No. 5, her pride and joy and her only possession of any value.  When she had first moved to the city she had paid for it dearly; ruefully running her hand over her slowly returning brown locks she wondered what her friends and family would think if they could see her now.
The editors office was never a safe place for an aspiring reporter, you were twice as likely to get fired as you were to get words of praise.  Steeling herself she pushed in the door.
"About time, Mullen.  Sit."  She did, reminding herself to keep her legs spread wide and not cross her ankles as her cotillion teachers had once so forcefully instructed. 
"Now, I've read your latest article."  She kept her eyes on her knees, barely letting herself breath.
"And It's horse shit.  Mullen, you've got a good brain for prose but no one cares about this nonsense.  People want a REAL headline, Bobby Millers been writing up a piece on prizefighting and I'm fixing to run it on the front page."
"I'm sorry sir, I just thought-"
"Stop thinking!  I don't pay you to think, I pay you to write."  She sighed, inwardly.
"Yes sir."
"Now, I have an assignment for you, something that people really do want to read about.  Some society lady from Boston is in town and she's throwing a charity ball down at the Metropolitan Art Museum, go see if you can chat her up, get her story.  Shouldn't be too hard of a job, pretty ladies, plenty to eat-after the shit you send me I shouldn't be rewarding you like this."  She nodded, rising and brushing her trouser legs off as she did.
"Saturday night, nine pm.  Oh, and Jimmy?  Don't give me any more of this shit."  He slapped her article into her chest and she turned, letting the door close behind her.
Back at her desk she slid the rejected article into her bag.  "Hundreds of Women Assaulted by British Police in Brutal Attack against Peaceful Protesters."  Her British brethren would have to wait.  Silently she cursed whatever Bostonian aristocrat was making her leave her impassioned writing for a night of silly talk and town gossip.  Reaching her hand into her pocket she let her fingers graze the black velvet box that she had taken to carrying with her.  Timothy no doubt had given up the ring for lost, along with his would be betrothed- but somehow by holding the ring she felt closer to him and closer to home. 
Though she hated to admit it, Sarah was just a little bit homesick.