Chapter 24

Nora spent the rest of the morning at the site, lost in a blur of sadness, confusion accented by shots of the searing pain

of loss. Her mentor was gone. Killed by a madman, defiled by the newspapers, who said awful things about what he had done

to a young woman. It broke her heart to hear him so maligned, someone who created such beauty.

What would happen to all the projects now? What would happen to all the draftsmen? And most importantly, what would happen

to her?

And that was when she finally had to admit that what she was feeling was more than grief, or sadness. It was anger. She was

angry, furious that he'd died. Deserted her. He'd been her promise of a future in architecture. She had no assumptions that

McKim or Mead would keep her on. They didn't want her in the first place.

Later that afternoon, George gave her a key to the site. "I may not be around as much as I have been lately. Someone besides

Mr.Wojcik should have a key. Since you're right next door, would you mind taking charge in case one of the delivery people

needs to get in and Mr.Wojcik is not around? Keep it safe; don't loan it out. And don't let any of the ladies talk you into

letting them take a peek. And make sure to lock up when you leave. Will you do that? We'll all have to be doing double duty

until things calm down."

Nora took the key, wondered where she should keep it, then decided it would be safest in her extra-deep pockets. When she

got back to her office she would pin it with one of the large safety pins they used to hold the samples together.

That night when she finally returned to her room, Lucy and Connie were both sitting on Lucy's bed, a newspaper spread out before them. Their heads snapped up, their expressions curious and much too eager for Nora's liking.

"Isn't this the guy you work for?" Lucy asked, holding up one edge of the paper.

Nora nodded.

"He's a pervert," said Connie.

Nora gritted her teeth. It was futile to try to defend Mr.White. She had read three different newspapers that day, and even

the straitlaced ones like the Times printed enough for her to realize that Mr.White was a very immoral man.

"I just worked there," Nora said, feeling like a traitor.

"Did he ever try it on with you?"

Nora shook her head. She took her toothbrush and towel and went down the hall to get ready for bed. Hopefully they would have

lost interest before she got back.

But even though she took her time, they were still sitting on the bed, poring over the article.

"You know," Lucy began, "a girl can't be too careful with her reputation."

"I know," Nora said.

"Are you going to quit?"

Not your business , thought Nora. "I'm working on a project."

"You should leave."

"I have to finish this project. Besides, he's dead; what harm can he do now?"

She climbed into bed and turned her back to them, squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore their insinuations. She had no

idea what was to come.

Nora's eyes were swollen shut the next morning; she must have been crying in her sleep. And she was bone-tired. She didn't get out of bed until Lucy and Connie left for work. Then she washed and dressed and went to McKim, Mead, and...

She took the Twenty-third Street trolley crosstown to Fifth Avenue, but when she stepped down to the sidewalk, she hesitated.

Which way did she go? Should she walk down the two blocks to the drafting room? She had no reason to go there. She'd moved

most of her things to the club office. They might not even be open for business yet. She missed Higgie, Sadie, and Lavinia,

but she was too tired to make the trip just to find the office deserted.

Instead she turned left and cut through the park to Madison Avenue and the uptown trolley.

It was slightly cooler under the trees, the leaves rustling with an occasional breeze. But Nora wasn't thinking about the

heat or the park; she was thinking of the buildings that surrounded it. The church, not yet completed. She might have gone

in to say a prayer, if she knew what kind of prayer to say. She walked past without slowing down, heading for the northern

corner, drawn like a moth to a flame, to one of his finest buildings—the scene of his death.

When she reached the corner of the square, she didn't cross the street, just looked up at the tower, the arches, the brickwork.

His masterpiece, Madison Square Garden, where there on the flat roof that she couldn't see from where she stood, Harry Thaw

had shot and killed him. It didn't seem real.

Several people were already there gawking, pointing at the roof and accusing him of all sorts of things. She wouldn't believe

the things they were saying about him. He'd made the world more beautiful. She just didn't understand. She stood until the

others moved away and the tears dried on her cheeks, then she crossed the street and took the trolley uptown to the Colony

Club.

George wasn't there, but Mr. Wojcik was, and as soon as he saw her, he pulled her aside. He held his finger up and reached over to an open newspaper, this time the Evening Journal , a gossipy, sordid rag. He shook it out, then folded it over. "Is this you?"

He pointed to a spot on the paper, a grainy photo of the draftsmen outside the doors of the Fifth Avenue building. And there

in the middle was Nora. She pulled it from his grasp and saw the lede line. "Who is this mystery woman? Another victim of

White's private quarters upstairs? Read all about it on page six."

She tried to open the newspaper but her hands were shaking too badly.

"Don't," Mr.Wojcik said. "It is all..." Lost for words, he spit on the tarp covering the hardwood floor. "But people will

talk. Don't listen to them."

At that moment the door opened and George strode in. He, too, was holding the paper. "Oh," he said, drawing up sharp. "I was

hoping you hadn't seen it yet. Absolute garbage."

"What am I to do?" said Nora. "Can I make them take it back?"

"Best to just sit tight and ignore it. It will pass. No one reads this Hearst rag anyway."

"You and Mr.Wojcik do."

George heaved a sigh. "Some other news will take its place in a day or two and it will be forgotten. But your family..."

Nora gasped. "Donner reads the Journal . My sister's husband. My mother might see this." And Louise would have a fit.

"I need to warn them. But I can't, there's a shipment of bedroom lamps arriving today. Maybe they won't see it."

Neither George nor Mr.Wojcik looked convinced.

"How did this happen?" George asked.

"It was when we were all leaving yesterday morning. Nast pointed me out."

"Collin Nast?" George said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"He's always horrible. I didn't think anything of it. I knew they took a photo but they were taking lots." She sank onto a nearby sawhorse. "Maybe they won't recognize me. What does the article say?"

"A ‘bystander' said you were White's personal assistant and your name was Nora."

Nora covered her face with her hands. "Why would he do that? Why does he hate me? I've never done anything to him."

"You're a woman. That's enough for some pea-brained men. Plus you're better than he is."

"Where is he?" growled Mr.Wojcik. "I will teach him some manners."

"No!" Nora and George cried at once.

"Thank you, Mr.Wojcik, but I'm sure it will blow over, as George said."

"I think it's best if all of us just get back to work," George said. "If there are any repercussions, we'll deal with them

in good time."

"If you're sure," Nora said, trying to feel a little more optimistic.

"You'll see. Now, don't you have a delivery to see to, and the electricians need to start on the wiring of the ballroom sconces.

Before you know it, Miss de Wolfe will be back and ready to arrange the furniture. But for now, I have to get to the Payne

Whitney site."

Nora had been so upset with the murder and her own problems that she hadn't noticed the circles under George's eyes, or the

paleness of his skin. And she realized in a moment of clarity that he'd been working overtime for longer than just the last

day. He'd been picking up the slack for Mr.White for a while now.

"Thank you, both of you," Nora said, trying to shower both men with heartfelt gratitude. They had both been so good to her,

patient with her while she asked a million questions and demanded to be shown the smallest construction event.

She'd selfishly taken advantage of them in order to further her own desires and hadn't thought of anyone else. Hopefully George was right and this blight of a photograph would be forgotten with the next headline. And promising herself she would be more considerate going forward, she walked down the avenue to begin her day.

The day went smoothly; a few ladies who happened to be in town met to play several rubbers of bridge and gossip about the

"terrible news of Stanny's death." They greeted her with a smile. Evidently none of them read the Journal. For which Nora was thankful.

She returned to her room that evening thinking that perhaps George was right; already the evening papers were touting a new

indiscretion by the famous architect.

But her brief respite of hope exploded when she found both roommates once again sitting on Lucy's bed, another newspaper spread

out on the covers before them.

Nora didn't even have to guess what paper it was.

"Nora Bromley, your picture is in the paper," Lucy said.

"I saw. None of it—"

"Were you really his personal assistant?" Connie asked. "How could you?"

"I wasn't. I was just hired—"

"He paid you? I can't believe you would do such a thing."

"I drew architectural plans. I'm Elsie de Wolfe's assistant on a building project. I hardly ever saw him."

"Well, it says here that you were often called away to his private office, where he took young girls to have his way with

them."

"I don't know anything about a private office. The only office I ever saw was in the hallway with everyone else's office."

Their looks said they didn't believe her. They also said they wanted to hear every lascivious detail.

"Sorry to disappoint, but you'll have to look elsewhere for your fallen woman."

"Hmph," said Connie. "Where there's smoke, there's fire."

Nora didn't deign to answer. Just grabbed her toothbrush and towel. Announced that she was taking a bath, though it was really too early for bed, and hurried down the hall to the bathroom. She took her time and there was more than one knock on the door asking if she was about done.

When she at last came back to the room, Lucy and Connie were gone. But they'd left the paper open to the same page they had

been reading.

Nora hadn't been able to take a good look at the photograph, before Mr.Wojcik had taken the paper away and carried it with

him when he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

She'd been afraid to stop at a newsstand on her way home, in case she was recognized.

She listened for any sounds of footsteps in the hallway, then went over to take a look. It was an ordinary photo, people leaving

a workplace. Except that she was the only female in a sea of men. And she was in the center of the picture and her expression

showed all the shock and sadness that she was feeling.

Only the prurient mind of a reporter could make it any more than it was. And he did. Beyond his "Who is this mystery woman?"

he managed to cast aspersions on her reason for being there, whether she had been upstairs all night... even though Mr.White

hadn't been. That should have stopped his pen right there. But he was just getting started. At first calling her petite and

plainly dressed, hardly more than a child, he finished off with "just the kind of innocent the hedonistic White would love

to spoil."

Nora's cheeks burned; so did her stomach. It made her sound stupid as well as immoral. "What did he teach her? Certainly not

architecture." Why ask a stupid question if he was just going to answer it in the most malicious way? To sell papers, of course.

People loved smut, didn't care if it was true or not. But she never thought she would ever be the subject of such evil intent.

She'd never even had a sweetheart. She'd been too busy fulfilling her promise to her family. What must George and Mr.Wojcik

and all the others think of her? Even if they didn't believe it, just to have read those words... She'd never be able to

look them in the eye again.

Please, please let this be the only paper to print such lies. And please let it be over by tomorrow.

The next morning, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw photos of Evelyn Nesbit, the actress whose husband had shot Mr.White,

plastered across all the front pages. Wondering if they'd said the same awful things about her, Nora bought a copy of the

Journal and one of the Tribune .

The news seller didn't even look at her twice. That was a good sign.

She took the trolley to the Colony Club office. Locked the door behind her and opened the Journal . It wasn't over after all. She'd merely been moved to the second page, her face cut out of the group photo and set in a line

with several other potential "companions" of Stanford White, most of whom were chorus girls or artists' models.

She picked up the Tribune . Took a minute to look at the poor girl who was today's headlines. Evelyn Nesbit. Small, with dark hair and a pale complexion, she didn't look much older than Nora. But she did look a bit like her.

For a second Nora could only stare. The similarities were too close to be comfortable. But Evelyn was beautiful; Nora wasn't.

Only her mother ever told her she was. Still, people might think—Well, she couldn't help what people might think. She quickly

folded the paper, folded it again, and crushed it into a ball before throwing it in the wastepaper basket. Took it out again

and tore it into strips until there was nothing recognizable about it.

She knew it wouldn't change anything. She could tear every paper printed into strips and it wouldn't erase the disgust she felt. Since her first day at McKim, Mead, and White, she'd refused to listen to the comments the men had said about her or even about Mr. White. Now she was learning they might be true about him, but not about her, though not everyone would believe her. Where there's smoke, there's fire.

Well, she didn't care what everyone thought. She would just keep working and not let it bother her. Hadn't George said it

would blow over when another scandal took its place? But it would still be there, just below the surface, ready to erupt.

People would judge her, no matter what she said or did.

And her friends?

Did she have any? Certainly not her roommates; they had already decided.

Sadie, Lavinia, and Higgie? If she did have friends, it was the three secretaries. But she hadn't seen them since before Mr.White

had been killed. What were they thinking? She couldn't even find out. They were friends at the office, but they never talked

about their home lives much, and she didn't know where any of them lived.

The ladies of the club? They would never be her friends, but they had always been congenial, friendly. They would reject her

now, even though none of it was true. It wouldn't matter whether they believed it or not. It would hurt their reputation to

be associated with anyone associated with Stanford White. Reputation was everything for most of them. It hadn't taken long

for Nora to figure that out.

What if they fired her? Would she still be paid for her work there?

Bile rose in her throat; she swallowed it. She wasn't hungry but she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. She would

go by the office on her way home. If the girls were there, she could at least try to explain.

The last delivery arrived just after six. She checked the con tents. Two heavy rolls of Oriental carpets. Too late to send them to the warehouse, and the back room was filled to capacity. So she left them leaning against the office wall, crowding the space with several other bolts of fabric too delicate for the warehouse.

Nora couldn't help but take it as a bad omen, as if she was gradually being pushed out of her last refuge.

She'd deliberated all day about going out to Brooklyn immediately to stave off any bad news, or to wait until Sunday dinner

and hope that it had "blown over," as George said it would. Or that they had never seen the photo at all.

But if they had... she needed to explain it right away before Louise blew it out of proportion and added it to her bag

of complaints about Nora.

As soon as she finished work, she knew she couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. Her trip to see the secretaries would

have to wait. She took the trolley to Brooklyn.

It was the longest trip of her life, jostled and shoved by riders all anxious to get home. The ride seemed interminable and

yet Nora found herself standing on the stoop of Louise's apartment building way too soon. She should have stopped, had a cool

drink. Her blouse was wet with perspiration.

She passed her hand over her face and down her neck, then wiped it on the back of her skirt, straightened her collar, and

knocked on the door to the apartment. Stepped back when the door opened.

"Nora!" Rina broke into a smile. Then her eyes widened and her face fell.

They had seen the photo.

"Rina! Who is that?"

Louise.

Rina just stood there as if Louise's voice had turned her to stone.

Nora swallowed. Better to get it over with. She eased past Rina. And stepped inside.

She was barely through the door before Louise started screaming, "How dare you come here!"

"I guess you saw the newspaper," Nora said, trying to stay calm. She could feel Rina slip in behind her and close the door.

"Seen it? Everyone's seen it. I can't even face the neighbors."

Nora didn't know she ever bothered to go out, but she bit her tongue to hold in the temptation to strike back.

Louise turned away, grabbed a folded newspaper off the nearest table, and shook it in Nora's face.

Not only had she seen it, she'd kept it at hand, probably waiting for this occasion. Nora was half aware of Mama in the bedroom

doorway, Little Don clinging to her dark skirts.

"Louise, stay calm, please, none of it is true."

"How do we know that? You, who would do anything to help yourself. The company you surround yourself with. Ach. Your precious

boss murdered by a jealous husband. He was a pervert, everybody says so. And there you are, next to him every day. You've

shamed our family."

"Louise, no," Mama said feebly from the doorway. Why wouldn't she come closer?

"You're not listening," said Nora. "I didn't do anything but work in a room with a hundred other people; none of them were

Mr.White." She wouldn't tell Louise that all of them were men.

"Don't mention that name! I don't want you in my house! Get out. And don't come back."

Rina sprang forward. Nora managed to grab her as she passed.

Rina struggled beneath her grasp. "That's not fair!"

"Louise, she's your sister," Mama implored, easing herself and the boy into the room, but Louise paid no attention. Mama started

to cry, silently, as if her tears might disturb them.

"You contaminate my children just by walking in the door. Rina would have been better off working at a factory than going out in the world you inhabit!"

Nora swayed. Had Louise lost her mind with the last pregnancy?

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Rina screamed. "You've always hated us. Well, I hate you more!"

"Rina!" Nora warned, but Rina pulled away and rushed into the bedroom, knocking against Little Don, who started wailing.

"See what you've done!" Louise grabbed the boy and swung him to her hip.

"I'll go. I won't come here again. You and your children are safe from my bad influences." And my money , she added to herself. She turned to her mother, who said nothing but stumbled forward and grasped Nora with frail, trembling

arms.

"I love you, Mama. None of this is true. I'm not evil; I didn't know about any of this. I didn't do anything but work hard

to become an architect. Like I promised. Tell Rina... Just tell her."

She slipped from her mother's grip and ran out into the sultry evening. She was shaking, too overwhelmed with despair to think

where she was or where she was going. She ran past the trolley stop, down the hill, past the neighborhood stores. She was

at the bridge before she realized it had begun to rain.