Chapter Fifteen #3
“I could, but that seems so . . . so small to me. Too small. I mean, I really hurt him, Charlotte. I insulted him in this . . . this huge way. I hadn’t even understood the magnitude of what I’d said to him before he ended things.
Even then, it was only once I’d relayed mine and Jesse’s conversation to you, word for word as best as I could remember it, that I was able to see how cruel I’d been.
And now I . . .” Arthur shifted in his seat, regret coiling in his stomach as the memories of that terrible night flashed in his mind.
“Dammit, I need to prove to him that I realize how inexcusable my behavior was. I have to prove to him how far I’m willing to take things with him.
I want him to know that he’s welcome here.
In my home. In my life. People may raise eyebrows at our friendship, but I need him to see that it wouldn’t bother me.
Oh, Charlotte, I made it seem as though him coming inside for that meeting, or even coming inside to wait for me in the library, would have been akin to the two of us spitting on the Pope. ”
Charlotte let out a soft, pitying chuckle. Arthur frowned. Dammit, why couldn’t he think of some way to make it up to the man he adored?
“Could you invite him to the party?” Charlotte asked.
Arthur took a pause to consider this.
“I . . . could,” he said slowly. He tilted his head this way and that as he considered her suggestion further.
“But then I’d have to . . . oh, God, I’d have to remind him to wear something that would fit the occasion.
He may not even own something suitable for a party like that.
” Arthur blew out a forceful breath. “No, if I invited him to the party, that would only lead us right back to where we are now, with this imbalance of wealth and status staring us in the face, either because I’d have to purchase an outfit for him or because he’d spend a relative fortune on one himself.
Or else, if he simply showed up in one of his regular suits, nice as they may be, he would look out of place.
He’d look so out of place that other people would talk.
Not that I care about that, exactly, though I’d rather the fair’s organizers like him in the event that I am chosen to exhibit and Jesse still wants to help me with a presentation or two, but .
. .” Arthur’s eyes widened as an idea popped into his mind with as much brilliance as a lightbulb.
“Oh my Lord, Charlotte, I’ve thought of something.
And I know you’re going to tell me that it’s much, much too outlandish, but that’s exactly what makes it perfect.
” He snatched Charlotte’s hands. “We shall tell everyone, right on the invitation, to come to the party in their finest morning clothes!”
Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. “Morning dress?! At eight in the evening?!”
“Yes!”
“To a party?”
“Yes!”
“Arthur, that’s—”
“Precisely the opposite of what everyone will expect and what everyone in our circle has ever done, yes! God, Charlotte, it’s perfect!
Jesse will know how ridiculous it is the moment he reads the invitation.
He’ll know it’s for him. He’ll know it’s my way of telling him that, while I can’t exactly run out onto the terrace and scream about our love to the world, I will make every effort to ensure that he has a place in my life. Always. Exactly the way that he is.”
“It’s incredibly sweet, Arthur, but won’t people talk?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Arthur said with a flippant wave of his hand.
“I’m still doing it.” Taking Charlotte’s hands once more, Arthur rose to his feet, pulling Charlotte up with him.
“Let’s prepare the invitation.” He began walking, tugging her along into the hall.
Charlotte complied with a bemused shake of her head, though she was smiling as though she really was thrilled for him.
Arthur’s chest warmed from the rush of platonic love he felt toward her.
“Emma can help us with the wording. She’s a writer, isn’t she? ”
“Yes, I suppose she is,” Charlotte said with a light laugh.
Arthur let go of her hand and hurried ahead to the staircase, his heart racing and fluttering.
“Emma can propose the wording, and then I’ll find someone to print them. I mean, obviously I can’t ask Jesse to print them. It has to be a surprise.”
“It has to be?” Charlotte teased, following him up the stairs.
“Of course! It’s more romantic this way!” His eyes flew wide as yet another idea popped into his head. “Actually, I’ll print them!”
“You?!”
Arthur whirled around to face her, steadying himself by clutching the banister.
“I know how to work the Jobber. Jesse showed me. I know how to compose a forme, too, though I’ll have to take care to mind my p’s and q’s. I wouldn’t want a repeat of the feather folly.”
Charlotte arched an eyebrow and Arthur chuckled.
“Just a name I came up with in my head to refer to the little blunder that Jesse made when I was helping him prepare a forme for a newspaper.”
“Right . . .”
“Anyway, I’ll print the invitations myself. Oh, there’s no way that Jesse won’t be impressed.”
Arthur resumed climbing the staircase while Charlotte continued to trail behind him.
“How will you make sure he receives the invitation? More importantly, how will you make sure that he reads it?” she asked.
“Believe it or not, I have the most ridiculous idea to help with that.”
Charlotte let out a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a chuckle. “Yes, I believe it.”
Arthur clapped his hands together once more and laughed.
***
At seven o’clock the following morning, Arthur was waiting outside Chicago Iron and Steel in Bridgeport, praying that Mr. Giuseppe Caputo had been scheduled to work that day.
If not, then Arthur would come back tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, either, then he would return the following morning, and so on and so forth.
Giuseppe was the only person Arthur could think of who might stand a chance of convincing Jesse to read the invitation for the party.
The previous evening, Arthur had traveled to Putnam Press himself at half past nine (well, Patrick had taken him, for which he had been rewarded with a very fine tea set) and had then spent the next seven hours printing the invitations by the light of the shop’s oil lamps.
Afterward, Arthur had been so pleased with his own work that he hadn’t managed to sleep a wink for the remainder of the night.
Instead, he’d spent hours pacing back and forth in his bedroom and choosing the most imperfect invitation to give to Jesse (with the rationale that upon seeing the unevenness of its ink, Jesse might be more likely to surmise that Arthur had been the one to print it).
Now Arthur was loitering outside of the steel mill, invitation in hand, his body on the brink of breaking, so that he could persuade Giuseppe to present Jesse with the invitation later that very night.
Fifteen minutes passed. Arthur’s muscles were trembling, both from being overly tired and from standing outside in the cold.
He really ought to have asked Patrick to take him so that he could have spent the time waiting inside the carriage, rather than here on the sidewalk.
But Arthur had wanted to let the man sleep late since he’d been such a help with the invitation printing.
Five more minutes went by before Arthur finally decided to return home.
He turned to leave, only to then bump into none other than Mr. Giuseppe Caputo.
“Jesus, watch where you’re—” Giuseppe started to say before realizing who Arthur was and narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “Oh. It’s you.”
“It’s me,” Arthur confirmed sheepishly.
“Why are you here, Mr. Arthur Hughes?” Giuseppe said in a mocking tone as he headed toward the building. “Purchasing another mill to collapse?”
Arthur stiffened, a wave of irritation slamming into him.
He ignored it so that he could follow Giuseppe inside the mill.
When Arthur stepped through the door, he barely suppressed a shiver as the mill’s warm air wrapped around him.
Giuseppe worked fast to remove his coat and then hung it up on the wall.
When Giuseppe turned to take his time card from the Bundy clock, Arthur blocked him.
“Get your facts right, Mr. Caputo. That mill was on the edge of ruin when I bought it,” he said.
Giuseppe bristled. “So what? Don’t tell me you lacked the funds to keep it open for a while longer while we improved our production.”
Arthur clenched his teeth and fought back the urge to spit a bitter retort.
Instead, he took a breath and let himself sit with Giuseppe’s words.
He took them in, and with them, he took in the sight before him as well, finally letting himself truly see the man he was speaking to.
His eyes fell to Giuseppe’s shirt, the fibers of which were worn, some patches on it stained a sooty black, and then he noticed Giuseppe’s suspenders, their color clearly faded from a proper brown to a muted beige.
One of the suspenders was twisted, likely from being slipped on in haste—perhaps not because the man was careless, but instead because he had slept late, requiring every last second of rest to recuperate from his strenuous job here at the mill.
And then Arthur looked at his own clothes, spotless and impeccably kept, only because he rarely ever exerted himself. His own current state of exhaustion was likely nothing compared to what Giuseppe had been contending with every day over the course of his young life. No wonder Giuseppe hated him.
“You’re right, Mr. Caputo,” Arthur said.
“I could have tried harder. Should have tried harder. But, instead, I moved on to trying to support other industries, like printing. Which, of course, then led me to purchasing Putnam Press, where I eventually met your friend Jesse.” He took a step forward.
“I know that I haven’t earned your respect. Or your sympathy—”
“No, you haven’t,” Giuseppe said simply.
“But, even knowing that I haven’t earned either of those things, I still made myself come here to ask for your help.
Help I’m not entitled to, but help that I sorely need.
And I’m praying that, by some miracle, you can find it in your heart to look past my flaws, of which there are many, and to look past my previous mismanagement of the other mill, as well.
Because there’s no one else in the whole world who could help me right now, Mr. Caputo.
Goodness, every penny I have wouldn’t be enough to fix what I’ve broken.
Consequently, your help is worth more than my entire estate.
And I’m prepared to pay whatever price you see fit in exchange for your cooperation. ”
Giuseppe pursed his lips, thinking. After a few seconds, he said, “What do you need?”
Arthur handed the invitation to him. “I need you to give this to Jesse. And I need you to make sure that he reads it.”
Giuseppe turned the folded paper over in his hands. “What is it?”
“It’s an invitation to a party. I’d like for Jesse to come. Assuming that I can still afford to host it once you’ve named your price for handing the paper to him, that is.”
Giuseppe let out a fast breath, close to a scoff. “Mr. Hughes, it’s been weeks since you and Jesse parted ways. Hell, even before you snubbed him, the two of you only knew each other for about as long. Does he really mean that much—”
“Yes,” Arthur said without even the slightest bit of hesitation. “Look, I know I hurt him. I know I insulted him. And I know I have no right to expect—or even hope for—his forgiveness. But I miss him. I miss him so much that I have no choice but to hope.”
Giuseppe hit the envelope against one of his palms several times, seemingly thinking over what Arthur had said.
Seconds passed. One more worker came in.
He and Giuseppe exchanged pleasantries while Arthur stood by, hands hooked behind his back, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he repeated the same prayer over and over in his head.
Please, God, let this work.
After the other man left, Giuseppe looked Arthur square in the eyes and said, “Do you love him?”
“Yes,” Arthur immediately replied, his stomach swooping as he responded. “I haven’t . . . told him that, exactly, but yes, I do.”
Giuseppe heaved a sigh and let out an irritated grunt with it. “Fine. I’ll help you.”
Every ounce of tension that Arthur had been holding left his body at once.
“Thank you, Mr. Caputo.” He pressed his hands together in front of his chest in prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Giuseppe rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
“What would you like in return? Name your price. I’ll pay it, whatever it is.”
“Nothing,” Giuseppe said with a shrug. “I earn my money, Mr. Hughes.”
Arthur had to hold back a laugh. He probably ought to have seen that coming.
Giuseppe shoved the invitation into his back pocket and turned to leave before immediately whirling back around. “Actually, there is one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Treat Jesse with the respect he deserves.”
Arthur nodded. “I will. I promise.”
Giuseppe nodded back curtly and walked away.