The Refrain (The Bridge Series) (28 page)

T
HE
P
RELUDE

Cobble Hill, Brooklyn

“R
EBECCA, YOU HAVE
a gentleman caller. He’s waiting for you in the parlor.” Rebecca’s mother announces as she enters her bedroom.

Earlier today while shopping on Montague Street, Rebecca invited Thomas Parsons to stop by for lemonade – assuming he would never accept such a bold request.

Rebecca sits at her vanity, studying her happy reflection and watching her mother fluff the pillows on her bed. “Thank you, Mother. I promise to keep the meeting brief.”

“He’s quite handsome – but courting is not permitted until your eighteenth birthday, rules are rules.”

“Yes, I know, Mother . . . but all my friends have boyfriends, even cousin Millie!” Rebecca pinches her cheeks in effort to give her face some contrasting color against her pale skin.

Smiling, Rebecca’s mother says, “We can discuss it later with your father – come on, don’t keep the boy waiting.”

Rebecca powders her neck with perfumed talc as her mother leaves her room. She wonders what Thomas is really like – does he like perfume?

Thomas isn’t like the other boys – he’s a thinker. Often found under a large tree in the park reading a book. Thomas also takes care of the family’s horses every afternoon, and on warm summer nights, he sits on his stoop to gaze at the stars. Never immature or impolite, but his quiet disposition can be intimidating.

But not for Rebecca . . . she’s intrigued.

Rebecca fastens another pin in her long curls and then quickly descends the stairs. She patters down the steps, stopping at the landing to calm her nerves. She opens the French doors, takes a deep breath, smoothes her hair, and enters the sitting room with a giddy smile.

Thomas is waiting in the parlor, quietly pecking at the ivory keys of the upright Baldwin piano. He looks dashing in his tailored jacket and knickers, tall and confident. Rebecca watches him as his fingers slide across the keys – the same keys her fingers travel over every afternoon when she perfects her minuets.

“Good afternoon, Thomas,” Rebecca says cheerfully.

“Hello, Rebecca,” he responds. “Lovely piano.”

Rebecca smiles – her stomach tightening in anticipation. “Thank you, Thomas. Would you like some lemonade? We have ice!”

“That would be fine, thank you.”

Rebecca looks to her mother, pretending to knit in the sitting room, and clears her throat. Taking the subtle hint, her mother announces, “I will bring some lemonade and cookies. Enjoy each other’s company.”

Rebecca sits on the velvet sofa, motioning for Thomas to join her. “The weather is nice today,” she says.

Thomas sits, inches from her warm body. “It’s a beautiful day, especially near the water.”

“Oh? Were you by the waterfront?” Rebecca loves the salty smell of the water.

Thomas smiles proudly and nods. “Yes, organizing games for the Patriot’s Bazaar. It should be a fine celebration.”

Rebecca’s eyes gleam with delight. “I love the Fourth of July. Will there be fireworks?”

“Straight from China – the containers were brought in this morning.”

“Really? Fascinating!”

Thomas shifts slightly on the settee and lowers his voice. “Perhaps I could escort you to the bazaar.”

Excited by the idea, a smile expands across her face . . . but then it fades. “I would love to go to the bazaar with you, but I’m not allowed to date.”

Thomas frowns and sighs. “That’s too bad. Will you go with your family?”

“I have an idea! I could go with Millie and . . .”

Rebecca’s mother carries in a silver platter adorned with small cookies and tall glasses of lemonade. “Rebecca, dear, dinner will be an hour. Will your guest be staying?”

Thomas smiles politely as he takes a glass of lemonade. “Oh, no thank you, Mrs. Foster. I will be leaving shortly.”

“Very well.” Rebecca’s mother exits the parlor, adjusts a vase of daisies in the sitting room, and then makes her way to the kitchen.

Rebecca watches as Thomas’ lips hug the rim of the glass. “The lemonade is very good,” he says, licking his lips.

Rebecca, flustered by his handsome face, brings the glass of lemonade quickly to her mouth. She takes a large gulp, coughing from the sweetness. “Ah, refreshing. I love citrus.” She chokes.

They place their glasses on the small table, their pinkies brushing against one another in the process. Thomas leans into Rebecca, his mouth inches from her ear. He discreetly inhales her neck, then whispers, “Meet me by the ring toss at eight o’clock.”

Breathless, she agrees. “I will.”

Rebecca closes her eyes as Thomas’ hand grazes her bare arm. Her body tingles under his touch – the tension, the anticipation . . . the surmounting desire.

“I should go,” Thomas says abruptly.

They stand at the same time, carelessly bumping their shoulders. Rebecca laughs as she smoothes her dress. Aware that her mother is eavesdropping from the kitchen, Rebecca raises her volume for emphasis. “Thank you for calling on me . . . it was a delightful afternoon.”

“Thank you for inviting me, Rebecca.” Thomas smiles.

Rebecca grins and leans in to whisper, “Eight o’clock.”

M
ILLICENT AND
R
EBECCA
run along Henry Street, holding hands and giggling. Jack Porter, Millicent’s boyfriend, follows behind him them with a boyish grin. They have just enough time to play a few games and enjoy some homemade desserts before the fireworks explode above the harbor.

When they reach the bazaar, Jack pulls Millicent aside, planting a big kiss on her cheek. “Are you my girl, Millie?”

Millicent blushes and then returns his kiss. “Are the stars always present?”

“Yes,” Jack answers.

“Then I’ll always be you girl, Jack!”

Rebecca grabs Millicent’s hand, shaking it to gain her attention. “Millie, there he is – isn’t he handsome?”

Just ahead, Thomas is leaning rakishly against the ring toss booth. He smiles upon first sight of Rebecca – the beginning stage of innocent affection.

Thomas walks toward her, stopping inches in front of her body. “Hello, Rebecca.”

“Good evening, Thomas,” she replies.

Jack places his arm around Millicent’s shoulder and suggests, “Let’s get some apple pie.”

The four meander through the crowded park, laughing contentedly and enjoying a carefree evening as teenagers. Jack tries his hand at the balloon darts – winning a paper pinwheel and a tiny flag. Thomas opts for the baseball game, knocking down all the milk bottles with a single pitch. He wins a tiny kazoo and places it in the palm of Rebecca’s hand.

Thomas leaves his hand clasped around Rebecca’s and says, “You look beautiful tonight – your eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen.”

“C’mon, the booth is closing,” Jack shouts.

They run to the dessert booth, each taking a large slice of apple pie and a glass of punch. Jack pays the nickel for the refreshments and then leads them to a spot under a tree for a small picnic. Rebecca and Millicent carefully sit on the grass, mindful of their intruding corsets.

“Do you like New York, Rebecca?” Thomas asks.

Rebecca’s family is from Boston, and only recently moved to Brooklyn. Her father’s employer requested an additional office be stationed in Manhattan – and with his brother living in Park Slope, the quaint neighborhood of Cobble Hill was a wonderful transition.

“I love Manhattan, but I miss the trees. Back in Boston, I had a backyard full of trees – even a swing.”

Thomas smiles coyly, unaware of the changing narrative. “I love the trees as well,” he agrees.

Rebecca studies his stoic expression and asks, “Do you like music, Thomas?”

“Oh, Becca, you and your music – Thomas, you should hear her play the piano sometime,” Millicent declares.

Thomas holds Rebecca’s gaze and then smiles. “I would like that. My father recently bought a phonograph in London – we have all the classics. Do you like Beethoven, Rebecca?”

“I do, but it’s not quite dancing music, is it?” Rebecca laughs as she imitates a waltz formation.

Jack moves behind Millicent and pulls her into his lap. She rests her head on his chest, staring up at the sky. “Could life be any smaller? Look how tiny we are in comparison to the dark sky,” Millicent says.

As soon as they gaze up at the sky, the fireworks burst into dancing flames of blue and white – echoing through the park and lighting up the world around them. Rebecca gasps, grabbing Thomas’ hand in excitement. “It’s beautiful! Oh, Thomas – do you love it?”

Thomas brings their joined hands to his mouth, kissing her delicate skin against the backdrop of thunderous booms. “Always,” he replies.

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
Rebecca is awakened by the sound of doors slamming and her father shouting. The noise continues out the front door and onto the street. She quickly jumps from the bed and puts on her dressing gown. Rebecca races to the small circular window in her room that overlooks the cobbled street and the row of brownstones.

There, in the blazing eastern sun, is Thomas – shirtless and determined. He’s digging a hole where the sidewalk meets the street and forcing the morning strollers to find an alternate path. Rebecca’s father approaches Thomas with a stern finger shake, but Thomas just smiles and continues his task.

Rebecca puts on her slippers and scurries down the two flights of stairs to be met with her father, fuming mad, at the front door.

Her father purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “Rebecca?”

“Daddy, he’s just a friend!” she pleads.

“Your friend is planting a tree – on my property.”

“Alfred,” her mother insists. “He’s a nice boy doing something very romantic – you remember what that’s like, right?” Rebecca’s parents smile at each other – reminiscing about some romantic part of their past.

Rebecca’s father places his hand on her shoulder and says, “Well, Rebecca? Go get dressed and hurry him along. I won’t have the boy creating a spectacle in front of the neighbors.”

Rebecca claps her hands as she runs up the stairs to get dressed. In her room, she puts on a yellow dress with an orange belt and braids her hair. Occasionally, she peeks at Thomas through her window, watching him hunker over, pause upright, wipe his brow and then repeat the process. He’s so strong and muscular – rugged yet refined.