Chapter 5
I dreamed about dark things coming for me: things I couldn’t see, shapes shifting around me in a swirl of forest green and midnight blue until I was plunged into a dark body of water.
I awoke in my bed, the back of my nightgown soaked with sweat, my hair wild around my face.
Julien’s broken body flashed again before my eyes.
So often I had seen it, so omnipresent was the vision of my beloved twin, that it was startling when it was gone.
And yet the next day dawned crisp and bright, as if my dreams had never been.
After a scalding cup of coffee and a hot bath, I pulled on my coat, ready for some fresh air to clear my head. I was restless, needed space to think, but as I reached for the door handle, the telephone rang.
“Is this Miss Elisabeth Beaumont?” A man’s voice came over the line.
“Speaking,” I replied.
“Hello, I’m Bradford Jones with Planters Bank and Trust. I’d like to speak to you about your outstanding balance here at the bank. Do you have a moment?”
My heart leapt into my throat. “I… No, I was just on my way out. Another time, perhaps.”
“I’m afraid it can’t wait, ma’am.”
I slammed down the telephone.
I ripped open the front door and dashed outside, as if Bradford Jones hadn’t been on the telephone but was standing in my front hall and I must flee.
What were we going to do? I had to pressure Evalyn to commit somehow.
At the moment, she and her friends were my best hope of making some initial payments on our debt.
Flustered and anxious, I walked swiftly to the streetcar line and rode it through various neighborhoods and parks as I racked my brain about what to do next, how to entice Evalyn to choose us over the other two jewelers.
Eventually I found myself in front of one of my favorite places in Washington, the National Museum, the main branch of the fast-growing Smithsonian Institution.
The museum had been closed to the public the past two years and used for a makeshift office for the Bureau of War Risk Insurance during the Great War.
It had only recently reopened. Wandering through the museum’s magnificent halls had always put things into perspective for me.
As I read about evolution of the natural world and peered at a huge range of specimens, my problems shrank, and I was reminded that I was but one organism in a vast and complex harmony of life, struggle, and death.
I headed inside and inhaled the smell of clean, cool marble. My neck craned to take in the vaulted dome ceiling that echoed with every footstep, every hushed comment or titter of laughter. It was early, the museum was nearly empty, and I roamed among the variety of exhibits in solitude.
Was he here, I wondered, working in one of the many private workshop rooms where the incoming specimens were cleaned and positioned according to a meticulous plan?
Henry had begun law school like his father before him, only to eschew the plan entirely for his passion: historian and museum curator for the Smithsonian Institution.
I’d admired that in Henry. His courage and the quiet, steady way he moved toward what he wanted.
We’d always seen eye to eye in our passion for the museum, in the way it preserved and displayed the world’s wonders so others might learn about them, too.
Our discussions of history and science were the only time we’d left Julien on the outside of our tightly knit trio.
While my brother was busy helping Father charm potential buyers, Henry and I lost ourselves talking about his latest collection of artifacts and discussing the details of the coming exhibits.
We pontificated about nature’s many miracles and what it must be like as a mineralogist roaming the globe for the next spectacular, undiscovered stone.
Something I’d only been able to dream about from the corner of our little workshop.
Henry had a brilliant mind that was thrilling to watch in action, and at one time, I knew he saw me in the same light.
I wondered what he thought of me now, after shutting him out completely.
A docent spotted me and walked in my direction.
It was Ronnie, a congenial gentleman close to my father’s age who knew the museum’s exhibits as well as the archivists, historians, and scientists.
We’d had a few conversations on the quieter days when I’d found myself in the museum seeking comfort and inspiration, or while I was waiting for Henry.
“How are you, Elisabeth?” Ronnie said. “I read about Julien in the paper. I was sorry to hear it. He was a good man.”
I hated this part, crossing paths with those who’d known my brother and felt it necessary to offer their condolences.
And what did those condolences truly mean anyway?
What could they change? I didn’t want them, couldn’t stomach the mostly sincere but insufficient words and gestures.
Still, I knew Ronnie meant to be kind, so I forced words around the instant lump in my throat.
“Thanks, Ronnie. I was just going to visit the Hall of Gems.”
“Ah yes, of course.” He offered a faint smile. “If you need company, I’ll be at my post on the first floor by the front booth.” His astute ability to gauge when to come to someone’s aid and when to let them be was my favorite thing about Ronnie.
“Thank you.” I hesitated. “Is he here?”
“Mr. Cooper?”
“Henry, yes.”
He shook his head. “Not today. He’s probably in the field.”
In the field was code for assessing a recent donation or acquisition.
Henry spent a good deal of his time assessing new potential exhibits.
The Smithsonian’s Board of Regents and its patrons were encouraging an expansion in their collection, and it seemed there were more specimens and materials arriving all the time.
Though I’d avoided Henry for months, I felt oddly disappointed he wasn’t there.
Silly, really, when I could stop by his house at any time.
Silly, too, when I’d turned him away only days before.
“Would you like me to leave a message for you?” Ronnie asked.
I shook my head. “No, thank you. I’ll see him another time.”
As I made my way through the Hall of Gems, I browsed crystal formations that looked as if they were from alien planets, stones with layer upon layer of ancient sands, mud, and compressed animal remains, shattuckite formed from secondary minerals in the vast rocky soils of Arizona, and magnificent Australian black opals.
I imagined the adventure in searching for the minerals, the challenges with bringing them to display, and felt a surge of envy.
I moved on, perusing the emerald and ruby diadems that had once belonged to monarchs, the garnet and sapphire brooches and rings, and the range of other jewelry pieces that had once graced the collections of the world’s wealthiest people.
I thought of Evalyn and her collection and wondered what she would do with it when she eventually passed.
I assumed her children would inherit it, Hope Diamond included.
My mind turned to Father, to the business he’d planned to leave to his son, who would, in turn, take care of his sister.
But that was all gone now, and Father was in free fall.
So, too, was my future. Suddenly, I felt the urge to have a hand in what came next for me.
I left the museum at once and returned home. The moment I arrived, I dialed the operator to connect me to the McLeans’ residence, and within moments, Evalyn’s voice came over the line.
“Mrs. Mc—Evalyn, hello,” I corrected myself, knowing I might irritate her if I were too formal. “This is Elisabeth Beaumont. I wanted to thank you for your kindness yesterday, for looking after me and sending me home in your car. I’m feeling much better.”
“Think nothing of it. Carrie and I were just talking about how you must feel.”
I didn’t like the idea of them speaking about me without me there, but at least they were being kind.
Evalyn continued. “Lizzie, I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time. I was just leaving, and I really must be going.”
Panic rippled through me. I couldn’t squander the last opportunity to encourage her to hire me.
“Of course. I’ll come right to the point.
I called because I have a gift for you,” I said.
“It’s small, but I made it myself as a thank-you for being so understanding about my father and”—I forced out the words—“my brother.”
“Well, that isn’t necessary, but who can resist a gift?”
“May I drop by tomorrow to deliver it?”
“Come at eleven.”
I hung up the telephone, lightheaded with relief.
I’d guessed right. Evalyn was precisely the kind of woman who could never own or experience too much of a good thing, gifts included.
And this time, I’d make sure she knew my services were a good thing, too.
The kind of service she couldn’t live without.
* * *
After I’d worked for several hours on a set of hair combs for Evalyn, my eyes began to fatigue and my legs grew stiff.
As I stood to stretch, I decided I could use another walk.
It was a lovely late afternoon, the perfect time to stroll along the mall or through one of the parks that were cropping up all over Washington.
I thought of Father, how he’d always made time for an afternoon walk—to give his creations breathing room, he’d say, and to get the blood flowing in his limbs.
But that was during happier times, when he still took care of himself.
Perhaps he might again, should I invite him?
To spend proper time together outside the house might be precisely what he needed. What we both needed.
I bounded up the stairs, intent on rousing him from bed. After rapping on his bedroom door, I pushed it open to peek inside. He was propped up against his pillows, reading a book. It was the first time I’d seen him read since he’d taken to bed. Something resembling relief flickered in my chest.
“It’s beautiful outside,” I said, opening the door wide.
“Warm and sunny, breezy. Would you like to go for a walk with me?” He gazed at me vacantly, and my brief moment of levity began to deflate.
I wouldn’t be able to convince him if he didn’t want to go, but I had to try.
I decided to take a different tack with a much firmer hand, something I’d never done before with him.
“Father, you’re becoming a frail old man, and that will affect your mind, too, if you don’t take care of yourself.
Besides, this will be a nice distraction.
You haven’t left the house in months. Come, I’ll put out some clothes for you.
And why don’t you comb your hair and clean your teeth while you’re at it. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
His brow shot up in surprise. “Are you telling me what to do, young lady? The world must be upside down.”
Surprised by his attempt at humor, I felt my shoulders relax. “Someone has to, or you’ll rot away in here.” I sorted through his wardrobe, pulled out a pair of clean, pressed trousers and a shirt, and laid them across the foot of the bed. “Fifteen minutes, all right? I’ll see you downstairs.”
I retrieved my jacket and handbag and waited for him in the front hall. When I didn’t hear the creak of his old mattress or his footsteps on the floor, my heart sank. Even with a direct, stern approach, he’d ignore me, ignore what he needed most? I didn’t know what else to do.
I sighed heavily as I watched the clock, more and more convinced he wouldn’t be joining me. When twenty minutes had passed, I reached for the door—just as I heard his footfall on the stairs.
My heart skipped a beat. “Father? Are you coming?”
As he rounded the corner and descended the final flight of stairs, he called back, “I am, you stubborn girl.”
My relief left me lightheaded and a little giddy. I hadn’t spent any real time with him in far too long.
Rather than walk our neighborhood streets, we took the tram to downtown and strolled along the National Mall, past the east-west canal that was so still, it reflected puffs of cheerful clouds that scudded across the sky with the breeze.
We walked slowly and silently for a while, lost in our own thoughts, but I knew the best thing to draw him out of his shell would be for us to talk, about anything.
Perhaps it might help him—help me—feel a little more normal again.
“What was your favorite museum in Paris?” I said as we walked around a pond where a family of ducks skimmed across the surface toward the cover of a large weeping willow tree at the water’s edge. In the distance, the redbrick turret of the original Smithsonian Castle soared toward the sky.
“The Louvre, of course,” he said, patting the seat of a bench beside him so he might rest a while.
“It’s magnificent. Over a mile of art in one place.
Did you know it was once the palace of medieval kings?
” He went on without waiting for me to answer.
“And I also like the Musée d’Ethnographie for its tribal art, which I’ve always found fascinating.
There weren’t as many museums back then as there are now.
If you wanted to see art, you attended the art salons, where the best and the brightest artists had to apply to have their work shown.
” He regaled me with tale after tale of his childhood in Paris, and I knew I’d asked precisely the right question, giving him the chance to revisit his happy past.
When the edges of the clouds were tipped in pink and gold, he said, “Chérie, I think it’s time we returned home. It was a short walk, but my feet are aching, and I need a nap. I can’t believe how much work all this walking has become for me.” He shook his head. “It has been too long.”
“It has,” I agreed. “But it won’t be work for long if you do your daily walks again.”
“Perhaps.” He gazed off into the distance.
I slipped my hand into the crook of his arm and squeezed affectionately. “I’ll make us something to eat, and you can rest.”
He didn’t argue, and we headed home. I was grateful for the time with him, even if we avoided the topics we most needed to discuss: our loss, our future.
But those could wait for now. I’d missed my father, had needed him more than I realized.
I prayed this was the beginning of bringing him back to life.