Chapter 20 Sarafina

CHAPTER 20

SARAFINA

MARCH 27, 1897

As we go through this life, we take memories of people we love with us. They sometimes appear in a phrase we might have heard them say, or in a certain thought they'd shared about an item or place. But you're more than that. With me or not, you're in every word I utter, every thought I have, every breath I take.

—letter from William Day to Sarafina Dove

Sarafina walked back and forth on the bank of the pond, her boots sinking into the damp ground, her skirts swirling around her rapidly moving legs, her hands jammed into the pockets of her short coat. She tried hard not to look at William as she paced, but she couldn't help glancing his way every few seconds.

He was sitting on the log near the bank, a scarf half hiding his face as he read through a sheaf of crinkled, tea-stained pages, the rough draft of an article on the new phone exchange in Asheville that she'd just written. Every once in a while, he'd nod—or frown—and write something with the stubby pencil he always carried in his pocket. His smiles were like gold, but the frowns cut like broken glass.

She grimaced at her own silliness and went to the fishing line she'd set after handing him the article, pretending to check that it was properly in place.

The paper crackled, and she whirled to face him. But all he was doing was smoothing it over his knee. He finished and started reading again.

She stuffed her hands back into her coat pockets and resumed her pacing in an effort to curb her impatience. She was thrilled that Mr. Day now trusted her to take on the most serious assignments. The readers liked her work, too. It was exciting to be at church or in town and hear people she knew discuss her articles, even debating the issues she'd worked so hard to define.

Just having a job had changed her. It had given her a purpose and a place, and she now knew who she was and what she wanted to do, which was a feeling she savored and one her aunt Jane said all women should know. Her aunts had grown even more enthusiastic in their support of her work. When she'd shared that she wanted to become a reporter for a big newspaper in a large city, they hadn't hesitated at all, but instead had applauded the idea.

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by that. In his rare letters, Papa had written more than once that Sarafina was not to listen to her aunts' "radical ideas about women" and instead was to follow the words of their preacher on "the morality and correct behavior of women in general." According to Aunt Jane, his way of thinking was "feudal poppycock."

William turned the page, the paper noisy in the quiet, the scratch of his pencil following. She stared out at the blue water, which had dulled in the grayness of the day. William would finish soon enough. All she had to do was wait.

Sadly, her ability to wait was, according to Aunt Jane, poor on good days and dismal on bad.

She stole a glance at him. As if the sky above knew she'd be looking at that exact moment, a beam of sunshine broke through the clouds and shone on him, outlining his shoulders and making his silky dark hair look blue-black.

Unaware of Sarafina's admiration, he made yet another mark on the page.

So many marks! She tried not to show her impatience but couldn't stop a huge sigh from passing through her lips.

William's mouth quirked into a smile. "I heard that."

She sent him a sheepish look. "Sorry." She dug a hole in the ground with the toe of her boot and morosely eyed her fishing line, which was depressingly still.

"All right." He slipped his pencil back into his pocket.

He's done! She took an eager step toward him. "So?"

"It's good." He patted the log. "Come and see what I've written. I only had a few questions."

Relieved, she pulled her coat close and sat beside him. He returned her papers to her, and she anxiously scanned the comments he'd added to the margins. He was right; there weren't that many. She smiled, blissful. "Thank you for reading this. These are fair comments."

He flashed a smile at her. "I told you so."

She folded the papers in half, then in half again, following the creases from where she'd folded them before, and slipped them back into her coat pocket. "I was hoping you'd love it as much as I did."

His eyes darkened and he reached over and captured her hand, his fingers warm where they laced with hers. "The thing I love isn't the news article, good as it is. It's the author."

Her face heated and, with a pleased smile, she leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. They stayed that way for some time, luxuriating in the simple moment. The leaves rustled overhead, the sun slipping in and out of view, changing the vista from shadowy to bright and then back again. She smiled as she thought about how their relationship had changed over the past few years. They'd started as friends and then gradually, one smile at a time, had become something more.

She hadn't shared this information with her aunts yet, although their opinion of William had improved greatly over the past few months. She knew exactly who she had to thank for that, too—William's uncle, and her editor, Mr. Day.

To Sarafina's delight, Mr. Day had become a part of everyday life at the Dove household. Oddly enough, her aunt Emily Anne was the reason for that new development. At some point, Mr. Day's relationship with her aunt had moved from acquaintance to close friend. Then it had changed yet more, and now Mr. Day was Aunt Em's ardent suitor. Most days when Sarafina returned home she'd find him sitting in the parlor, dressed in his best, and smiling at Aunt Em as if she'd just said something brilliant.

Sarafina was delighted that her aunt seemed to welcome Mr. Day's visits, justifying it by saying that it "behooved them all" to hear directly from Sarafina's editor how she was doing in her career. It had taken Aunt Jane some time to warm up to Emily Anne's beau, but even she was no match for Mr. Day's broad warmth, charm, and seemingly endless admiration for her beloved sister.

His influence in their house was immense. Not only did he bring marvelous gifts, like baskets of flowers and books and chocolates, but he also brought his warm opinion of his nephew, William. And Sarafina couldn't have been more grateful. The timing had been just perfect.

Although she'd longed to do it, Sarafina had been at a loss to find a way to tell her aunts about William. She knew that if she attempted to speak highly of him, they would have instantly been suspicious of her motives. However, it seemed natural that Mr. Day would brag from dawn to dusk about his misunderstood nephew and commiserate about his unfortunate circumstances while also noting his superior work ethic and unbendable determination to do well. Soon, both of Sarafina's aunts were applauding Mr. Day for his kind thoughts regarding his ill-fated nephew, and growing more and more sympathetic to William and his circumstances.

Sarafina was extremely gratified as she watched her aunts' opinions of William improve. And she'd been beyond delighted when, just a few weeks ago, Aunt Jane had ordered Mr. Day to bring his "poor nephew" with him to Sunday dinner. William had arrived with his uncle, dressed in his best, which, although patched here and there, showed his dark, rugged handsomeness to its best advantage. She'd been ecstatic when, later that same evening, after their guests had left, her aunts had praised William's excellent manners and obvious intelligence.

But it wasn't until this morning that she'd begun to wonder if perhaps she'd been the one who'd been manipulated. While helping Sarafina set the breakfast table, Aunt Em had said to no one in particular, "If a woman who has decided to take on a career meets a man whom she hopes to wed, she should remember to be very clear that she expects to continue to work after the wedding. That sort of clarity will benefit both of their lives."

Sarafina had almost dropped the butter knife she was about to place on the table. "I— Pardon me?"

Aunt Em straightened a teacup to a more correct angle. "It's best to set such expectations early on, don't you think?"

Sarafina, not knowing what to say to that, had nodded, although her heart was racing like mad. Was Aunt Em letting Sarafina know that she was aware of her feelings toward William? Sadly, her aunt was so prone to making innocuous, out-of-the-blue statements that Sarafina couldn't be certain.

She would have been left in misery except for Aunt Jane and her blessedly direct way of saying things. Later on, after placing a platter of eggs on the table and taking her seat, Aunt Jane—her cheeks red even though she was doing nothing more exciting than buttering her toast with a bit more force than necessary—had blurted out, "No woman should be required to marry. You know how I feel about that. However, if she meets someone she cares for and he proves he's worthy of that care, then, naturally, one must not be closed-minded. Although marriage is, by law, an archaic institution, one should still be aware of its obvious benefits."

Sarafina had almost dropped her teacup into her lap. They knew. Better yet, they were each, in their own ways, giving her and William their blessings.

Her cheek now resting against William's shoulder, Sarafina gave a ridiculously happy smile. She should tell him. She raised her head, but before she could utter a word, the snapping of twigs announced the arrival of a visitor.

"I knew you two would be here," came a reed-thin voice from the path. Marcus McCleary appeared, a too-loose coat hanging over his narrow shoulders, his blond hair showing beneath the cap pulled low over his face.

Her face hot, Sarafina immediately sprang up from where she'd been leaning against William.

McCleary's amused yet irritated expression told her he'd seen everything.

William cut McCleary a dry look. "I thought you were working."

"Mr. Callahan let me off early." McCleary's mouth tightened, and he added in a sullen tone, "He always does that. I've yet to make a full day's pay there."

Although she'd tried, Sarafina had yet to grow fonder of Marcus. She had, however, come to appreciate him. He was rude, and abrupt, and possessed no discernible moral code, but he had a sharp wit and no one could deny that he admired and loved William like a brother.

Marcus leaned against a nearby tree and slipped his hands into his coat pockets. "We need to talk."

William pulled his book from his pocket and rested his elbows on his knees. "So talk."

Marcus removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He slipped one into his mouth, tucked the rest away, and dug out a match. His gaze flicked to Sarafina and then back to William. "She should leave. It's private."

William's gaze narrowed. "She's not going anywhere. Either say what you came to say or leave."

Sarafina wandered over to her fishing pole and pretended to be engaged in seeing if the line was taut.

Marcus moved closer to William and spoke around his unlit cigarette. "We have an opportunity. A big one. One that—" He shot Sarafina a frustrated look.

William's eyebrows rose. "It must not be a good opportunity, or you wouldn't be worried about other people knowing about it."

"It's too good to pass up." Marcus lit his cigarette and flipped the still-smoking match into the woods.

Sarafina watched the arc of his match and wished for the hundredth time that he wouldn't do that. The forest floor was filled with old leaves and bits of broken twigs, perfect kindling for a wildfire.

William's gaze had followed the match, and he watched as it smoldered for a minute, then extinguished itself. He looked back at Marcus. "You can talk in front of Sarafina. You know I'll tell her whatever it is you have to say, anyway."

Sarafina had to turn away for a second to hide her smile.

Marcus swore under his breath before he took a drag on his cigarette. "Sarafina, whatever I say now is private. Got that?"

She shrugged, unwilling to promise more.

He muttered something and went to sit beside William. "We have an incredible opportunity. If things go well—and they should, because we have information from someone in the know—then we'll have made it, William. Made. "

"Who's this ‘we'?"

Marcus leaned closer to William. "It'll be just the three of us. You, me, and Ellis Johnson."

William slanted a hard frown at his friend. "I don't trust that man and neither should you."

"He's not as bad as you think," McCleary said impatiently. "He's smart and has ideas on how to get ahead, ways to beat the system—" A cough suddenly burst from him, the sound harsh in the quiet. Still coughing, he dropped his cigarette to the earth and ground it under his heel even as he reached into his pocket for his handkerchief.

Marcus had never been well and had always had a cough, but it had gotten worse lately. Sarafina had noticed, too, that he was out of breath all the time, even when not coughing. She'd asked William about it, but he'd merely shrugged, although it was obvious from his closed expression that he knew something but wasn't free to share it.

Marcus finally stopped coughing, although he held his handkerchief over his mouth a moment longer.

William, his gaze dark with concern, asked quietly, "Do you need some water? I can—"

"No. I'm fine." Marcus wiped his mouth and stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. Still visibly panting, he returned his gaze to William. "For this to work, we need you. Johnson has great ideas, but he's not good at details. Not the way you are."

"Johnson has ideas on ways to get in trouble and that's it. Whatever stupidity you two are cooking up, I'm not getting involved."

Marcus pushed away from the tree he'd been leaning against, his jaw tight. "You're an idealist, William. And idealists lose in this life. You won't admit that the deck is stacked against poor people like us. If we want something, we have to take it or we'll never get it. The sooner you admit that, the better."

"However unfair life is, you can't go around breaking the law. Johnson is a criminal, and you know it. His version of getting ahead will only land you in jail."

"He may cross the line now and then, sure. But he's been forced to do that." Marcus must have forgotten Sarafina was close, because he was almost shouting now. "Damn it, William, I'm tired of always losing. Of always being broke and always wanting things I'll never have. Aren't you?"

"I'm not losing," William said shortly. "I have a plan. I've told you that. It'll just take time."

Sarafina knew his plan, as it was hers as well. They were both saving every penny they could, and when the time came, they'd leave Dove Pond for New York. There, armed with copies of her articles and a recommendation letter from Mr. Day, she'd get a job as a journalist, while William would open a photography studio using the old camera his uncle had given him in return for his help in the studio. Whenever William talked about their plan, he always included Marcus. He was to work as William's assistant until he found another, better-paying job. Or that was what William had proposed, anyway.

"Time," Marcus said bitterly. He pulled out another cigarette and lit it, flicking the match in the general direction of the first. "That's the one thing I don't have."

William closed his book. "You don't know that. Not for sure, anyway."

"Yeah, well, I know it better than most." He took several long drags on his cigarette and then dropped it by his feet and left it smoldering there. "I have to do this. It could be my last chance to—" He broke out into another fit of coughing, this one longer and more intense. He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket again and covered his mouth, as if hoping that might stop it.

It didn't work. He coughed harder now, his pale face flushed.

Sarafina turned back toward the pond and bit her lip. As much as she disliked how often William ended up in harm's way because of Marcus, she couldn't help but worry about him. For some reason, much like William, she felt increasingly responsible for Marcus. He was a weak man, wildly impulsive, always outraged, and deeply desperate for a one-hit-solves-all answer to life. He lacked all the qualities that made her believe that William would eventually achieve everything he wanted—a willingness to make things work, calm acceptance of the things he couldn't change, and the patience to develop answers to the problems he faced.

Marcus's coughing spell finally eased and, panting heavily, he leaned against the tree and tucked his handkerchief away, but not before Sarafina caught a glimpse of blood on it.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen that. Sighing, Sarafina quietly pulled her fishing line from the water.

William's gaze was still on his friend. "Come and sit."

"No, I—" Panting slightly, Marcus pressed a hand to his chest as he struggled to breathe. "I'm fine. William, please reconsider. If this plan works—"

"Stop it. Whatever you two are planning, don't do it. It'll end up badly, and you know it."

"My life is going to end badly now, so what's the difference?" Marcus said bitterly. "At least Johnson is giving me a chance for things to get better while they can."

"There's also a chance things could get worse. A lot worse."

Marcus slumped against a tree and cursed. "You won't even listen, will you?"

Sarafina stashed her fishing rod back in its place and then went to rinse her hands in the pond. As she dried her hands on some moss, she cast a worried glance at William. There was an expression on his face that she'd never seen before—a cross between worry and, for the first time, fear. He doesn't think he can stop Marcus from doing this, and he's afraid.

A blue jay landed on the branch overhead and began scolding.

She glanced up at it and caught it staring at her. Aunt Em wants me to go home. Frowning, she looked at the sun and decided that, for once, her aunt might be right. There wasn't anything more for her to do here. Maybe, if she left, Marcus would be more willing to listen to William. They would be able to discuss the details of this "opportunity" more freely so that William could calmly point out its inconsistencies and put a stop to it.

She cleared her throat. "I should be going. It's getting late."

William stood. "I'll walk you to the creek."

Marcus, who was watching with red-rimmed eyes, said in a bitter tone, "She doesn't need anyone to walk her home. She knows the way better than you do."

William cut a hard look at his friend. "Wait here. I'll be back."

Sarafina smiled up at William. "Stay here. Marcus is right: I know the way. Besides, it sounds as if you two have a lot to talk about." She met William's gaze and gave him a meaningful look.

He understood, as he always did. A flash of irritation flickered through his eyes, but after a second, he nodded. "Be careful."

"Of course. See you tomorrow." As she passed Marcus, she gave him a polite goodbye nod.

He returned the nod, but as he did so, she caught a glimpse of his expression. He wore a look of such despair that she almost stopped to speak to him, to tell him that she understood his frustration with the world. That no matter how difficult life seemed, he needed to find a better answer, something safer.

But although she sympathized with his difficult situation, she also recognized the mulish set of his mouth. So instead, she kept going, leaving the two of them to continue their conversation.

It wouldn't be until the next week, when all three of their lives shattered into a thousand pieces, that she'd wish with all her heart that she'd followed her instincts and talked to him. She might not have been able to change Marcus's mind, but it might have relieved her of the deep, painful regret she would experience from that day on.