The Address(96)

The woman was feverish, maybe.

“You’re not feeling well; you must lie down and rest.”

Mrs. Camden sat up straight. “No, the weakness has passed. I am recovered, according to my doctor. The illness was unrelated to my prior one. I am weak, yes, but it’s from the realization that this is what I wanted all along.

“It’s better for you to be with Theo. He’s all yours.”



A month after Sara’s conversation with Mrs. Camden, the arrangement had settled into a routine: Theo slept up in Sara’s flat each night and had dinner there with her when he didn’t have a business event to attend. Sara visited the children on Saturdays when Mrs. Camden was out making calls, and if they passed in the courtyard, they nodded at each other and continued walking.

Theo, meanwhile, was a madman at the office, juggling multiple commissions, overwhelmed. There were no more outings after the harbor cruise, neither with the children nor just the two of them. She’d suggested they bicycle in the park one Saturday, but he either didn’t hear her or pretended not to.

She comforted herself with the thought that it was only until the business was on its feet. By next year, Theo would be able to slow down and enjoy himself. She couldn’t help but wonder if Mrs. Camden knew exactly what she was doing when she abdicated her role to Sara.

One night, when she knew Mrs. Camden had taken the train to the country for the weekend to visit friends, Sara slipped down to read the children a good-night story. To them, Sara was a special friend, not a rival, and she appreciated that Mrs. Camden had done nothing to taint that relationship.

Theo sat in a club-back chair in the study, smoking a pipe and reading the newspaper.

“Well, aren’t you the very picture of a successful, satisfied man?”

He grunted. “That damn Albany project will be the death of me. They want more revisions on the drawings. On top of it, McKim, Mead have been asked to design the Goelet Building. We won’t have any success if they keep on yanking out projects from right under our nose.”

“You yourself said it was a long shot. They have over ten years’ start on us.” She walked over to him and leaned down to give him a quick kiss.

He clasped her hand. “I do realize I brought all this on myself.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He kissed the inside of her wrist before guiding her onto his lap. But she tripped over the chair leg, almost falling to the floor, before he grabbed her arm and caught her.

“Ouch. Be gentle, kind sir.” She rubbed her arm, which was already turning red.

“Sorry, my love.” He lifted up her arm and kissed the spot. “I’m turning into a beast these days. There I was complaining about not getting enough work, and now there’s too much.”

“Once we hire the new draftsmen and another junior architect, you’ll have less to worry about.”

“You’re right, as usual. Off you go, say good night to the children, and then join me in a sherry.”

The children were sleepy already. Christopher gave her a bubbly smile when she leaned over his crib. Luther cuddled close when Sara sat on the side of his bed.

“You have an ouch here.” The boy pointed to the inside of Sara’s elbow, at what was going to be a bruise tomorrow.

“I certainly do.”

“Now we match.”

Luther rolled up the sleeve of his nightdress to show a purple circle on his upper arm.

The boy’s arm was no bigger in circumference than a cucumber, and as fragile. “Did Miss Honeycutt do this?”

“No.” Luther looked over at Emily, as if for permission to speak.

“He’s fine,” said his older sister. “He was playing in the library, among Papa’s things. Papa doesn’t like that.”

“Your father grabbed you?”

A flash from the day of the boat parade crossed her mind. When they’d descended from the brougham, Luther had flinched when Theo had held out his hand to help him down. It had only been a moment, a second.

Emily rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. “Lula and Luther are always getting into trouble.”

Although she was tempted to bring up the subject over sherry with Theo, she didn’t. But later, upstairs in her sitting room, Sara mulled over Emily’s statement. The sewing machine sat in one corner. She hadn’t had the energy or time to make anything new since the children’s outfits. The outing in New York Harbor seemed like years ago.

That day, the day of the boat parade, Theo had said something strange. Like the boy’s flinch, she’d not examined it closely.

A mistake.

On the yacht, Theo had said, “What a mistake that would have been” if he’d lost her. An odd choice of words. Whose mistake?

She had been mistakenly sent away. Then Daisy had been found guilty of a similar crime. Daisy, with her romantic aspirations and helpful nature.

What if Daisy had been railroaded, just as Sara had, and was now sitting in prison for a crime she did not commit?

Sara sighed. She was overtired, overthinking things. Theo had lost his temper, as many men do, and taken it out on his child. It was a bruise, nothing else, and he probably regretted it the moment after.

But that night she dreamed of Daisy calling to her. Showing her the bruises on her pale arm.

And crying out for help.