Chapter 13

As fall turned into winter, Nora and Rina began meeting at a tea shop near the Flatbush trolley stop where Nora was able to

slip her a bit of money while they caught up on the news. Mama never came; she was afraid to leave Louise alone.

Rina was impatient to move away. "It's impossible there. Donner hardly makes an appearance except to eat food Mama has cooked,

complain, and sleep. Louise is either moping in her room or yelling at Mama or bursting into tears for no reason. Mama has

moved the new baby into our room. I've tried to help, but Mama makes me go to school every day, and I do, but I feel bad.

I don't want to be a burden to anyone." Rina hung her head. "But I am."

Nora reached across the tea table to take her hand. "You're not. Who even gave you that idea?"

"Louise. She called me a moocher and an ungrateful—a word Mama said I wasn't allowed to say. I hate Louise. I know I shouldn't. Mama says it's not her fault. She just has the baby dismals. It's something that happens to some women, and we should be patient

with her. But it's hard to do. Louise was mean enough before she had babies. Ugh. I'm never having babies."

Nora laughed, but she was worried. Papa had said they were to take care of Mama, not have Mama take care of them.

She'd been carefully squirreling her money away in the bank—but there was still nowhere enough to get an apartment, much less

support Mama and Rina.

But she was invited for Christmas dinner, and for a moment the memory of Christmas on Perry Street rose in her mind. Maybe Louise would be better by then and they could be a family again.

That would be a blessing, though it would mean dipping into her savings to buy presents for them all.

Fortunately, Higgie took money from petty cash for Nora to buy work boots and long underwear, which she did, gratefully. When

she brought them in along with the receipt, the secretaries insisted she model them before leaving for the site.

They huddled around the washroom door, waiting for Nora's "I'm ready." Then they crammed through the door to see.

Lavinia burst out laughing. "I'll never look at a man the same way again."

"Lavinia," scolded Sadie, then she too broke out laughing, clutching her stomach. "Oh, you make my sides ache."

"Well, I think they're very functional," Higgie said. She fought for a moment, then she gave in and laughed with the others.

Mortified, Nora stood on tiptoe to look at herself in the mirror. Slowly a smile crept over her face. They might be funny-looking,

and she had to admit they were. But they were more. Even more than warm, they were a symbol. She was a serious working architect,

gaining respect in the drafting room as well as the construction site, and she'd wear her union suit with pride.

She spent the next two weeks clomping around the site in her heavy work boots, admired indulgently by Mr.Wojcik, as she learned

firsthand how mechanical drawings turned into actual structures, sometimes working with him and sometimes bent over plans

with George Douglas as they pushed to keep everything on schedule.

"The ladies want to be able to have their first meeting in a year and a half," George said.

Nora blinked. "That's only eighteen months."

"We're in good shape now. It's important to stay that way. Progress in increments. That's how to get to the end in a timely way."

She learned how the circular track was supported and slowly became a convert—not to the idea of rich ladies dressed in bloomers

huffing around in circles, but how a track could be used as indoor rehabilitation for patients and the elderly when the weather

outside was inhospitable. And she began making notes of her own in the back of her construction notebook.

In the basement, the marble swimming pool stood empty. At one end, framing marked the dressing rooms, lounges, hair salons,

even her dog lounge. Pipes denoting steam rooms, lavatories, and something called a hydropathic room appeared like apparitions

in the dark.

On the first and second floors, walls went up; plasterers moved from floor to floor. There were still floors above them to

do, but downstairs was beginning to look like a building.

Time flew by. Nora spent most mornings in the drafting room, drawing details of cornices and alcoves for the Payne Whitney

mansion on Seventy-ninth Street. (Though Nora couldn't imagine who would want to live all the way up there.) After a quick

lunch with the secretaries, she'd don her union suit and boots and take the trolley to work on the Colony Club.

One morning Nora woke up to freshly fallen snow; the bedroom window was surfaced by sheets of ice. Out on the street, swags

of greenery appeared, wrapped around each lamppost.

Christmas was on its way.

A few days later, George assembled the workmen for an announcement. They would be taking Christmas week off; they would begin

laying the fourth and fifth floors first thing in the New Year.

A hooray went up among the men.

But not from Nora. A week without work would mean no pay for her. And she had presents to buy.

Since the day Daisy had visited the building site with Anne and Bessie, she hadn't had much time to worry about the building's

progress. Mr.Douglas had assured them they were on schedule to finish by the fall of 1906, and she took him at his word.

Her mind and attention turned to the holidays. Since they planned to spend Christmas at Uplands, their home in Mount Kisco,

she and MissGleason had been doing double duty scheduling town events and away-events while reserving adequate time for the

most important event of all—shopping.

Daisy could have easily relegated the task to MissGleason, or had representatives of Bonwit Teller and FAO Schwarz visit

her at home, but she thrived on the energy of the holidays: the bustle of the shoppers, the ringing of the Salvation Army

bells—she always made certain that she had coins at the ready to add to their kettle. And finding the perfect gift for the

people she loved.

Daisy wasn't frivolous, but she did believe in delighting people with special gifts. Like giving MissGleason a paid week

off to visit her family plus a handsome mohair scarf that Daisy hoped she would love.

A pair of cuff links from Gorham's for Bordie as well as a desk set designed specially by Louis C. Tiffany.

A Dorothy Dollhouse for Ethel, who had already received quite more presents than she needed since she had just celebrated

her eighth birthday two weeks before.

MissGleason stayed to see them all off, then closed up the house for the few days they would be gone before departing to

spend Christmas week with her family.

Daisy pulled the carriage robe around Ethel, and the girl snuggled close to her and was soon asleep. Daisy dozed herself to the rocking of the carriage as they made their way out into the countryside. Bordie would come up by train in time for Christmas Eve. Until then, Daisy would enjoy arranging poinsettias and holly on tables and mantels, overseeing the hanging of pine swags over the doors. And cozying up to the fire at night and dreaming of a world where no child would be forced to work fourteen hours a day; where food was pure and not adulterated with bacteria and worse. And every family had a decent home and food upon the table.

She knew the futility of thinking the world would ever become a perfect place. But there was so much that could be done. So

she would sit watching the flames, a glass of hot cider at her elbow and a novel that she meant to read but which lay unopened

on her lap, and dreamed of things she could accomplish, beginning with the club that would give voice to thinking women.

The week before Christmas, Inez got engaged to one of the men from next door and moved out. Nora had barely breathed a sigh

of relief before Connie, who worked with Lucy at Macy's, moved in. Having the third girl was good for Nora's purse, but worse

for daily living since Connie came with several suitcases and was even messier than Inez had been.

Fortunately, Nora was kept busy at work. Then the day before Christmas, the entire firm shut down for the holidays.

She packed up her drawing implements, took her purse from the shelf below her desk, and, after wishing Fergus and a few of

the other men a merry Christmas, she went downstairs to collect her week's pay and give her good wishes to the secretaries.

They were all in a festive mood, excitedly looking forward to spending time with family and friends. And they were all in

a hurry to get away.

Nora hadn't even bought presents for her family yet. She hurried down the street to Madison Square, where she knew vendors

would be selling things cheaper as the night wore on.

The park was crowded; she wasn't the only one to have left presents to the last minute. The sidewalks were lined with carts and tables piled high with everything imaginable. She walked by a rack of picture postcards watched over by a man with a wooden leg; a young girl hawking hot corn as her mother manned the charcoal fire. She paused by a table stacked with embroidered handkerchiefs where an old woman wielded her needle with gnarled fingers as if she was afraid she might run out of wares. She had plenty, but in a moment of pity, Nora bought two and was rewarded with a toothless smile.

Unfortunately, Nora's moment of charity quickly succumbed to the cloud of melancholy she'd been fighting all day. The secretaries

were so excited; Mr.Wojcik was looking forward to the week with his wife and children. Everyone, except Nora, was excited

about the holidays. She hadn't even seen George for the last several days because Mr.White needed him elsewhere. Never had

a chance to wish either of them a merry Christmas. Mr.White had left days before the rest of them.

Everywhere, shoppers searched for bargains, while sellers tried to make a living. The atmosphere was festive and yet a little

desperate. And Nora thought about her dog lounge and just how silly it was when so many people needed so much.

A heady aroma of roasting chestnuts hit her with memories of the past: strolling through Tompkins Square Park on a day much

like this, Mama and Papa and Nora, Jimmy, and little Rina running along on chubby legs trying to see everything at once. Papa

had splurged and they'd shared a bag of chestnuts hot in their mittened hands. But that was before Jimmy had become ill, before

Papa lost his spirit.

Nora kept walking, the aroma drifting away along with her memories.

At the next stall she bought a felt beret for Rina and a shawl for Mama. It was a bit dear, but it was just the color to bring out the rose in Mama's cheeks, something that Nora hadn't seen in the last few years. Farther along, she found a wooden horse on a pull string for Louise's little one, and a crocheted cap for the baby. A chamois tobacco pouch for Donner and a scarf for Louise.

And she still had pennies to spare from the money she had set aside. She was tempted to return to the chestnut seller but

when she got there she couldn't bring herself to stop.

She spent the evening alone, since Lucy and Connie were both out. She ate a roll with some sardines and carefully cleaned

up after herself, not that anyone would notice. And spent the rest of the evening carefully wrapping her packages in brown

paper and string.

The next day she started out early for Brooklyn, her canvas bag filled with gifts. It was cold and overcast and people rushed

down the frigid streets, heads bent and huddled against the wind, intent on getting to where they were going as fast as possible.

Nora was excited, too, and yet filled with trepidation of what the day would bring.

The trolley to the bridge was crowded and except for worrying about her packages being crushed, Nora welcomed the human wall

against the wind. Crossing the bridge, she forgot about the cold as her anticipation and anxiety took over. She hadn't seen

her mama or anyone but Rina for the last few months. She had no idea of what to expect. Would she be welcomed? Would Louise

be as sour as ever?

Nora's shoulders slumped; she wondered what Higgie and the secretaries were doing. What George was doing. She missed them.

Christmas week stretched empty before her. She would work on her hospital and the other designs she'd neglected lately.

By the time the third trolley let her off near Louise and Donner's apartment, Nora was shaking with cold and anxiety, making it hard to think merry Christmas thoughts. But she must, for Rina and Mama's sakes. She strode down the street singing "Silent Night" under her breath as if it were a march, not a lullaby.

Rina opened the door before she'd finished knocking. Her dark hair was braided into a coronet on the crown of her head, and

she was wearing a dress that had been let out and made over and refreshed with a red ribbon. Nora was wearing the same dress

she'd worn last Christmas.

"Come in." Rina took Nora's mittened hand and pulled her through the door. Mama appeared from the kitchen at the same moment.

Nora extricated herself from Rina's grip, thrust the bag of presents at her, and ran to throw herself in her mother's outstretched

arms.

"Ach, you are cold," Mama said as she began to unbutton Nora's coat. "Come into the kitchen where it's warm." She trundled

Nora through the doorway and to a chair at the table.

"How are you, Mama? I haven't seen you in so long."

"Too long." Her mother handed her a cup of hot bouillon. "But Louise is a little better now, and soon we can go back to being

a family."

Nora clasped the hot cup with both hands. She'd been feeling sorry for herself for being shunned by her family; she hadn't

thought about how her mother must feel.

"I'll try to be nicer to her today."

"You are always nice, but there is something I want to talk to you about before the others come."

"Yes, Mama?" Nora put down her cup, preparing herself for whatever might come.

"Rina says you've been giving Louise money."

"I've just been giving Rina a little spending money when we meet."

Her mother, tiny like her daughter, turned her steely dark eyes on Nora. "Before that. You have been working while you go to school and giving the money to Louise to support Rina and me. No more of that."

"But I want to help."

"Then attend to your work. And Rina is to attend to her schoolwork. No more talk about running away and working or moving

into the city to live with you." Her mother had been leaning over the table, but she straightened now and turned her gaze

on the doorway. "Rina?"

It took only a few seconds before Rina's head appeared around the jamb followed by the rest of her.

"I'm sorry, Nora. I know I wasn't supposed to tell. But I got so angry one night, my tongue ran away with me."

"Not your fault," Nora assured her and held out her arm for Rina to come stand by her chair. "I shouldn't have told you to

keep such a secret. I'm sorry, Mama. But I wanted Louise and Donner to treat you better than they do."

"You leave your sister and her husband to me," Mama said. "I'm not angry. But there was no need to do that. It was Louise's

promise to your father and she made it of her own free will. Besides, we earn our keep."

Her words were like a slap. That they should have come to this. "I also made a promise. To work really hard and save my money."

She winced when she thought of the meager presents she had carried from Manhattan. "Mama, I'm saving for a home for you, Rina,

and me. A proper home. But it will take a little time."

"Ah, like your brother, rest in peace, dreaming of castles in the air."

"No, Mama, I was thinking maybe an apartment in Chelsea."

It took a moment for her mother to relent, and the smile that transformed her face filled Nora with all the warmth that the

bouillon hadn't managed.

Rina flung her arms around Nora. "I'll study hard. I promise."

"Now, enough of this," said Mama. "You girls set the table, dinner is almost ready. And as soon as Donner comes home..."

"From the pub," Rina finished and received a sharp look from Mama.

When Donner arrived a few minutes later, Louise came in holding Little Don by the hand. There was no sign of the baby.

Mama blessed the food and they all ate, a somber repast, and Nora wondered if they would ever laugh as a family again.

As soon as the pudding was served and their plates were scraped clean, Little Don announced, "Pwesents," and they all—except

Donner—went into the parlor to sit around the little tree that sat atop the bureau and leaned slightly under the weight of

handmade doilies and paper chains.

They passed out presents. Rina exclaimed over her beret. Mama exclaimed over her shawl. Little Don waddled over to Nora's

chair and stood on tiptoe to give her a kiss, then carried his new horse away to the opposite corner where he engaged in a

serious conversation with the wooden toy.

"And this is for you, Louise." Nora held out the parcel. Louise looked at it, and for a moment Nora was afraid she would refuse

to take it.

But at last she did, opening it with excruciating slowness. Looked at the scarf inside while Mama and Rina craned their necks

to see.

"It's lovely," Mama enthused.

Louise looked up; for a moment her eyes held Nora's. "Thank you." Her hands closed around the package and she burst into tears.

She sprang from her chair and ran into her bedroom.

They all stared at the closed door.

"She hated it," Nora said. "I thought..."

"No, no. It isn't your fault. She's just stuck in the dismals and can't rouse herself. She's getting better. It just takes

her unexpected sometimes."

"Maybe she's sorry for being so mean to Nora and then getting such a nice present from her."

"Rina," Nora and Mama said together.

"Well, she should be."

After that, they retired to Mama and Rina's bedroom, which now also contained a crib and Louise's new baby. Nora gritted her

teeth. The baby was sleeping and Nora leaned over to put the cap she'd bought on the blanket. "She's very quiet," Nora said.

"Except when you're trying to sleep," Rina said, and Mama pinched her cheek.

Nora left an hour later, armed with leftover meat, a loaf of Mama's Christmas bread, and a new split skirt that Mama had recut

and sewn together in a matter of minutes while they talked in low tones and sang, "lully lula, thou little tiny child," in

small quiet voices. Even the baby, waking briefly, cooed before closing her eyes again.

People were still about and the trolley was crowded. It hadn't been a bad Christmas Day. Maybe by next year Louise would be

free of her dismals and they could be happy again.

Elsie watched from the door as Bessie was helped into Anne's carriage, which would take them to the train station. The two

were off to Boston for a week of festivities. Elsie was glad they were going even though it was lowering to know that while

she was here performing in the least-successful play of the season, they would be wining and dining and having a wonderful

time.

She tried not to begrudge their interest in each other. It was Christmas, after all. A time for comfort and joy. The festive

mood was everywhere—except in the Criterion Theatre. The Wife Without a Smile had been a huge hit in London. How could it be failing so singularly in Manhattan?

God, she was doomed. Elsie shut the door and went back inside to fetch her coat and face another humiliating evening at the theater.

And to make matters worse, after all the advance notices, she'd been entirely ignored in the reviews. Or course, her part

was totally ignorable. She should be at the pinnacle of her career. She was not meant for a predictable career in theater. She

was made for a meteoric rise and untrammeled success.

Elsie de Wolfe refused to be merely competent.

But first she had to face another night, another five nights, actually—rumor had it that the play would close New Year's Eve.

Good riddance , she thought, but she was afraid even that wouldn't save her from this looming darkness.

She swooped into the theater like she did every night, dressed in her designer gown, bravely hiding behind a facade of graciousness

and success, just to change into her designer costume that she'd ordered and paid for herself. Parts and plays and fading

careers aside, there was no reason she should appear in any way a frump.

She carefully applied makeup, cleared her mind of superfluous thoughts, and concentrated on her character. Kept in character

while Clovis pinned her tiara of cloth roses to her hair. Then spent a moment regarding herself in the makeup mirror.

She wasn't that old; besides, she and Bessie had each decided to shave off several years at the beginning of the season.

The call boy knocked. "Five minutes, Miss de Wolfe."

She took a deep breath, rose to the occasion, and hurried to the stage.

And hurried off again almost three hours later. But no matter how quickly she walked, the memory of the lackluster applause

followed her down the hall. The applause that had died before the final curtain finished closing.

One down, four more to go. Was this to be her swan song? An ignominious end in a tepid play by a great playwright?

She needed a plan. Perhaps a new direction altogether. Her interior designing had received good reviews. Sarah Hewitt had been ecstatic with the changes Elsie had made to her sitting room. But one couldn't exactly make a living from giving a friend good advice. And she couldn't go on depending on Bessie, financially or emotionally, for the times when she was between plays, especially not when J. P. Morgan's daughter was always just a stretch of Bessie's fingertips away.

It was time to act, just perhaps not on the stage. Elsie refused to play supporting actress or second fiddle to Anne or anyone

else.

By closing night she was beside herself with agitation. She felt the future closing in and she still didn't have a plan.

She was almost glad when the final, final curtain dropped on that albatross, and she exclaimed dramatically, "It can go to

the pigs," her voice cracking to punctuate her delivery and to keep her moans of disappointment from escaping. Everyone expected

Elsie to be dramatic, and she didn't let them down on closing night. But she wasn't acting. Tonight she meant it. Those were

the last words she would ever speak in the theater.

Her life and career had reached their nadirs. Only a deep dark abyss of her denied dreams lay ahead.

She changed into her latest Paris creation. Wrapped a fur stole about her shoulders and swept out of the theater. An automobile

awaited her. The chauffeur opened the door and she slid inside. She was headed to Rector's, where she would laugh and celebrate

and drink champagne to welcome the new year, while she tried to figure out a way to live through this, the darkest period

of her life.