What the Lady Wants (27 page)

1893

D
elia looked at the invitation, a hand-drawn note from Frances Glessner requesting her presence at a meeting for the women of the Prairie Avenue District. She crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash. It had been years since she'd attended a meeting with these women and she didn't relish the thought of sitting in a room with all of them now. Bertha and Abby had stopped by her house on their way to the meeting, determined to convince her otherwise.

“It's for the world's fair,” Bertha explained. “You have to attend.”

“As if we don't have enough meetings right now,” said Delia, sorting through a stack of mail. “It's March. The fair opens in three months. What could they possibly want to meet about?”

“Dancing lessons,” said Abby with a shrug.

Delia stopped shuffling the mail and looked up. “Dancing lessons?”

Bertha nodded. “The women all agree that if we are to present a regal image of Chicago at the world's fair, our men had best master their dance steps.”

Delia laughed, trying to picture some of the men like Gustavus Swift and Lionel Perkins taking waltzing lessons.

“As a member of the Board of Lady Managers, you have to be there,” said Bertha.

“And don't worry,” added Abby, handing Delia her hat and gloves. “I won't leave your side for a minute.”

Half an hour later Delia felt all eyes on her as the three of them stepped inside Frances Glessner's library. There were fifteen women already there, perched on their chairs, teacups balanced on their laps, necks craned her way. Delia couldn't read their expressions and had a mind to turn around and leave when Frances rose from her seat and walked over. Delia froze in place thinking,
Here it comes.

But a smile spread across Frances's face as she took hold of both Delia's hands, kissing her on either cheek. “I'm so glad you could make it today.”

While Frances greeted Bertha and Abby, Malvina Armour went up to Delia. “It's so wonderful to see you,” she said. “It's been too long.”

Another woman stepped up and introduced herself. “I don't know if you'd remember me,” she said, clasping Delia's hand. Delia had indeed remembered her. She was Thelma Moyer and she had snubbed Delia on several occasions. “I think the work you've done on behalf of the women in this town is outstanding.” She smiled, still holding Delia's hands. “Just outstanding.”

And no sooner had she finished speaking with Thelma than the other women lined up, waiting to pay homage to Delia, thanking her for all her efforts on behalf of the fair. She was especially taken aback when Sybil Perkins invited her to a luncheon
the following week and Annie Swift asked if she would have time to sit on a committee for the Fortnightly Club.

“I don't know,” said Delia. “Am I still a member?”

Annie and Sybil laughed as if Delia's exclusion had never been a possibility. “Of course you're still a member,” said Sybil. “We've all missed you terribly. Haven't we, ladies?”

“Oh, of course,” said Malvina as several others all chimed in, circling around Delia and agreeing emphatically.

“And you know the Chicago Women's Club still meets every Tuesday,” said Harriet Pullman.

“So there you have it,” said Mary Leiter. “Time to let flygones be bygones.”

Delia graciously accepted all their attention and invitations though she knew it was only because she was part of the Board of Lady Managers. Now all the women who had previously spurned her were welcoming her back into their circle.

“Come now, everyone,” said Frances Glessner, calling the meeting to order. “We have a great many items to discuss. . . .”

Delia sat in between Abby and Bertha, listening to the elaborate plans for the opening ball.

At one point Harriet Pullman looked at Delia and frowned. “Oh dear, I'm sorry. I just realized something. We forgot about Arthur's injury. He won't be able to join in on the dancing, will he?”

“Afraid not,” said Delia. “He still relies quite heavily on his cane.”

“Well, we simply must find you a partner,” said Frances.

“Yes. Yes.” The others all agreed.

“There's Mr. Howton,” said Annie Swift.

“He's arthritic,” said Abby, shaking her head.

“What about Mr. Beauregard?” suggested Harriet.

“Mr. Beauregard?” Malvina made a face. “We can't do that to Delia. He'll barely come up to her shoulders.”

“Mr. Fitzsimons?” said Frances.

“Oh no,” said Sybil. “He'll be drunk and passed out in a corner before the orchestra finishes the first waltz.”

Delia sat back, not saying a word, fascinated by everyone's preposterous attempts to pair her off.

Finally Bertha spoke up, cutting through the chatter. “What about Mr. Field? We all know Nannie won't be in town for this.”

The room went quiet and Delia held her breath waiting for the outrage to strike. But it never came. The women grew very still, but no one gasped; no one raised even the slightest protest. After all, they all knew that Arthur couldn't dance and Marsh was separated from Nannie and had no partner of his own.

“It's settled, then,” said Frances. “Delia's partner for the opening ball will be Mr. Field.”

The round of applause that followed took her completely by surprise.

After that meeting at Frances Glessner's, Delia's engagement book was flooded as never before with invitations to dinner parties, luncheons, teas and meetings. How ironic, she thought: the very women who had torn her down now—because of all her work on the fair and the Board of Lady Managers—regarded her as an advocate for women worldwide. Like their queen, Bertha Palmer, Delia Caton was seen as a feminist and as one of the most progressive and influential women in the city.

This was a wondrous time for Delia. She'd never felt stronger or more self-assured. She couldn't tell whether the women had changed toward her because she herself had changed, or whether it was the women who had changed her. All she knew was that with her fortieth birthday fast approaching, she was finally feeling grown-up. She saw the world differently and the world in turn treated her differently.

After that meeting, once a week for the next six weeks Delia
and her neighbors congregated at the Bournique Dance Academy near Prairie Avenue. Before a wall of mirrors, the couples stood in two straight lines facing each other. Delia was directly across from Marsh.

A pianist played various waltzes while Miss Bournique walked around the room, calling out instructions and inspecting their form. “Shoulders back,” she said, tapping George Pullman's arm. “Look at your partner, Mr. Eddy,” she said to Augustus as he turned Abby in a circle.

Delia watched her sister and brother-in-law across the way. They smiled, looking as though they hadn't a care in the world. No one would have guessed that Delia had paid for their clothes, their shoes and even their dancing lessons.

Miss Bournique continued to weave in and out of the couples going, “And one, two, three. One, two, three . . . and twirl to the left. Your other left, Mr. Swift . . .”

Delia gazed over at Arthur, his cane lying flat across his lap. He'd had quite a lot to drink before they'd left the house and she could see that even though his eyes were heavy-lidded and bloodshot, he never once lost sight of Paxton and Penelope Lowry dancing.

•   •   •

F
inally, on Tuesday, May 2, 1893, Delia watched the World's Columbian Exposition open with fireworks, marching bands and parades. A grand pageant of two dozen carriages delivered President Cleveland and the other officials and dignitaries to the fair. Delia and Bertha, representing the Board of Lady Managers, rode together in the procession that was accompanied by Chicago's mounted guard.

Delia glanced out the carriage window at the patriotic bunting and banners hanging from the storefront windows, including $10,000 worth outside the new Marshall Field & Company
building. Crowds of people lined the sidewalks, cheering them on as the cavalry moved alongside the carriages. The air still carried the mossy scent of rain from two consecutive days of downpour. But the clouds were parting and the sun was on their side now.

When they arrived at the Administration Building, where the opening ceremony and dedication took place, Delia was overwhelmed. She and Bertha emerged from their carriage as she took in all the sights. The faux facades of the buildings looked like white marble. No one would guess that they were made mostly of plaster and that they'd been designed as only temporary structures. To see those white gleaming buildings positioned about the grand basin gave Delia a rush of pride. This was her city, on display for the world to see, and there was no place like it on earth.

And the proof was in the grandstands that overflowed with people who had paid twenty-five cents apiece to hear President Cleveland's speech and join in the singing of “My Country 'Tis of Thee.” As the fairgrounds officially opened, more fireworks ignited and fountains throughout the midway sprang to life as electrical lights illuminated every building, thrilling the crowd of people, many of whom had never seen so much as a single lightbulb before. The whole experience was magical.

That evening Delia, Arthur and five thousand other prominent guests attended a ball held at the Auditorium Theatre. The Auditorium was the tallest building in the country. It had opened in 1889 and Delia had always enjoyed seeing the Chicago Symphony and the ballet there, as well as other productions. The theater was attached to a hotel and housed a glamorous ballroom with a golden ceiling and crystal chandeliers.

The opening ball was the event of the decade and one where all their dance lessons were put to good use. Dressed in one of the Worth gowns she'd purchased while in Paris, Delia danced with Marsh and then her brother-in-law. She danced with Potter
and George Pullman and even Paxton while Arthur sat at a nearby table, tapping his cane to the beat of the music.

Delia was finishing up her dance with Paxton when she saw Ethel Field go over to Arthur. Her heart began to race. This was the first time she'd seen Ethel since her wedding. During the past week Delia had telephoned and sent cards inviting Ethel to tea and lunch, but all had gone unanswered. Ethel's husband didn't make the crossing with her and Delia knew there were rumors circulating around London that Ethel was having an affair with a Royal Navy officer named David Beatty. Whether or not there was any truth to it, Delia hoped the rumors would have at least made Ethel more compassionate about her father's circumstances.

Junior and Albertine also returned to Chicago for the fair, and while Delia was delighted to visit with them, she still longed to see Ethel and patch things up.

Delia finally excused herself from Paxton and went over to see Ethel, who was still speaking with Arthur.

“Thank goodness you're all right,” Ethel said, hugging her uncle Arthur for the second time. “Will you need that dreadful thing much longer?” she asked, gesturing toward his cane.

“Hopefully not,” he said, reaching for Delia's hand.

“Well,” said Ethel, “I think it's just dreadful that you have to use it at all. . . .”

Delia stood back, holding on to Arthur's hand, while Ethel chattered on, not once acknowledging her presence. When Delia did manage to capture Ethel's attention she went over and gave her cheek a kiss. “It's so good to see you, dear.”

She felt Ethel tensing up, her body going stiff, her eyes narrowing just before she abruptly pulled away. “If you'll excuse me.”

That was it? Not so much as a hello?
Delia was stunned. A sinking feeling settled into her gut as she watched Ethel walk away, the train from her dress disappearing into the crowd.

“Aw, Dell,” said Arthur, “try not to take it personally. You know how stubborn she is.”

“Not take it personally? She wasn't even cordial. What if she never forgives me? What then?”

Delia sat at the table next to Arthur, willing herself not to cry.

It wasn't until Marsh came to get her for the final dance that Delia's spirits began to lift. As they glided about to Valisi's “Waltz-Polka,” twirling this way and that, Delia smiled at Marsh. Gazing into his blue gray eyes, she was savoring this moment. It was a victory for them both on so many levels. He had succeeded in bringing the world's fair to Chicago and by so doing had put the Haymarket hangings behind him. The Women's Pavilion was a success, and Delia had restored her reputation. What's more, here she was dancing in front of the whole world with the man she loved.

1896

T
here was a draft coming in from the library windows even with the drapes drawn. Delia's fingers were cold as she signed her name and set her fountain pen down on her desk blotter. For a moment she thought she heard the jangling of little Flossie's collar, but it was only Abby's bracelets. Poor Flossie. Her old age had finally caught up with her, and though she'd been gone for nearly two years now, Delia still expected her to come circle about her legs before settling down at her feet.

“Are you sure that will be enough?” she asked as she handed Abby the check.

Abby looked at the amount and nodded sheepishly. “Thank you.”

“If you find yourself running short again this month, you have to tell me. I won't have you going without.”

“This should be more than enough. I just hadn't counted on
Spencer needing extra money. I'm trying to get him to live within his means but . . .” She shook her head and let the unfinished thought linger in the air like dust motes.

They both knew she couldn't blame it on Spencer. Yes, it was true that the boy had no sense of money. He was twenty-two and expected his parents would supplement his extravagant whims. He'd been raised on the false assumption that his family was wealthier than they were and Abby never had the heart to tell him otherwise. And it wasn't just Spencer. All the Eddys were living beyond their means.

“Well,” said Delia, closing her ledger book, “if you need more, you just let me know.”

“Thank you, Dell,” said Abby as she carefully folded the check, slipping it inside the pocket of her satchel. “I don't know what we'd do without—”

Delia stopped her with a raised hand. “I'm glad I can help.”

After Abby left, Delia went into the drawing room and visited with Arthur, who had started in on his second cocktail for the day.

“Sure you won't join me?” he asked, gesturing with his empty glass.

“Not tonight. I'm afraid I don't have time.”

“Well, then, do give Marsh my best.”

She kissed him on the cheek and retreated to the hallway, where Williams helped her on with her coat.

She felt the shock of the freezing cold on her cheeks the instant she stepped outside. A fine but heavy snow fell in thick flakes, making it hard to see even just a few feet ahead. The only images she could make out were the streetlamps glowing in the distance. By the time she'd made her way down Calumet and over to Prairie Avenue, she could barely feel her fingers or toes.

The Fields' butler seemed especially somber as he helped Delia off with her things.

“Is everything all right?” she asked as he led her into the library.

“Pity,” was what he said with a shake of his head as he stood in the doorway and announced her.

Marsh was sitting on the sofa, a telegram in his hand. The sight of it gave her a chill. It was just a sheet of paper, yet she knew how a single telegram could change the course of people's lives.

She ran to his side. “What's going on? Marsh? What's happened?”

He handed the telegram to her.

She read it over, each word sinking in, filling her with a sense of sadness and, at the same time, relief. Nannie was dead. At the age of fifty-six she overdosed on laudanum while vacationing in the south of France. She passed earlier that day, February 23, 1896. Delia closed her eyes trying to picture Nannie's face, trying to comprehend that that face no longer existed.

“I shouldn't be surprised. We knew something like this would happen sooner or later.”

She looked up at him. “Oh, Marsh. How are the children?”

“Ethel's devastated. Junior's holding her together.” Marsh looked at Delia and said, “I couldn't stand the sight of her in the end. Couldn't tolerate the sound of her voice. I keep asking myself how I ever could have loved her. The anger I've felt toward her filled up so much of my life for so long—and now she's gone, but the anger's still here. Shouldn't she have taken it with her?”

“You know Nannie would never let you off the hook that easily. She always did love to make you suffer.”

While Marsh got up and fixed them drinks she glanced
about the library. She'd been in the Field mansion thousands of times before, but now that Nannie was gone, it seemed haunted. She swore she felt the ghostly touch of a hand on her shoulder as she sat on Nannie's sofa, drinking from Nannie's glasses. She even thought she detected a sudden burst of Nannie's perfume.

At one point Marsh leaned over to kiss her and the desk lamp flickered. Delia nearly dropped her glass. The lamp had never done that before. She immediately took it as a sign that Nannie was watching. It sent a chill through her.

She took a sip of the scotch to calm herself. It was strong and burned her throat as the heat spread throughout her chest.

She didn't say a word to Marsh. He didn't believe in anything or anyone other than things he could see and touch; he'd scoff at her. She knew he would call her fears foolish, but Delia couldn't shake them.

She sat beside Marsh, hardly speaking, lost in her own thoughts. Nannie's passing was making her think about death in a whole new way. She suddenly found herself questioning what would become of Nannie's soul. Would she be reunited with God or turned away for her addictions and weaknesses and for all the wrongdoings she'd caused? Nannie lived with demons—did that mean those demons would follow her in death?

Delia had never shared Arthur and Paxton's curiosity with séances, but now she had to wonder if the dead might actually be all-powerful in some way. What if Nannie now had the final say over Delia and Marsh's fate? What if she could bestow blessings and punishments on them? Delia no longer felt in control of her destiny. She felt doomed and subject to the ruling hand of Nannie Field.

Later that night, after they'd picked through dinner, they retired to the parlor, where a roaring fire threw shadows about the room and warmed them in its glow. Delia sank into Marsh's
arms and nuzzled her head against his shoulder. With the moonlight peeking through the parting of the drapes, Delia began to relax and even felt a bit foolish. There was no such thing as ghosts. She was sure of it. And as crass as it sounded, she was glad Nannie was gone.