VAYANSE A LA PUCT A QUE LOS PARIO

1. have made a difficult decision.
After four glorious weeks it shall be excruciating to leave, but the time has
come. We plan to continue our correspondence by means of Mary’s dear friend,
Miss Ross, who has agreed to act as messenger for our letters and keep Mary’s
confidence. However, the dubious fate of our courtship remains in the hands of a
tyrant. Worse still, Mr. Harting’s threat may not be so idle.
There is a chap in a charcoal coat. When I try to get a good look at him, he
turns to peer in windows or raises a newspaper. Still, I am certain it is the same
man because his right shoulder droops when he walks. Maybe I am paranoid, but
I could not risk exposing my meetings with Mary. Hoping to thwart any attempts
to follow me, I have crisscrossed the city like a hound on a scent and began
carrying a change of hat. I suppose this is another good reason for me to leave
the city. My absence means Mary is in less danger—at least from the obvious
thugs.
The industrious Mr. Kennard has graced the Harting household no less than
five evenings these past few weeks. I must wonder what else he is stealing. It
seems clear Mr. Harting is grooming Mr. Kennard for a place in the Harting
family, my place to be exact, but his choice is peculiar. Mr. Kennard is of some
importance to the company, but there is nothing obvious about his prime
placement or sticky fingers. I must figure out how to send him away.
My friend, I leave you here. Enjoy Edinburgh and your adoring Scottish fans.
While you prove Yankee hacks can win a game of snooker, I must somehow find
a fitting way to bid farewell to my dear love while dodging the man with the
drooped shoulder, in the charcoal coat.
Regards,
Thomas
September 12, 1888.
DEAR AVERY —
Have you considered wearing a green felt Bollinger to the book signing gala?
They are the trend in Milan and such a distinguished hat would suit your narrow
face. Fashion tips and your attempt to motivate me by dangling another’s success
aside, I have news.
Hayes and his guards were most uncooperative and refused even to throw me
a life preserver after my failed attempt to leap onto his private yacht. I had to
dog-paddle to the dock using my pith helmet as a kickboard. Nevertheless, I am
not heading home empty handed.
My train arrives late tomorrow evening. With me, I bring the nearly final

2. pages of the second book and an idea for my third. You see, Avery, now I am
ahead of schedule.
Thomas
September 14, 1888.
MY LOVE —
My despair is deep and unresolved. Our goodbye this evening was so
awkward and filled with regret that I yearn to turn back the clock and do it again.
Our parting should have been memorable in a way that brings a secret smile,
not this gnawing ache in my stomach. I felt certain that boisterous group of men
would leave but they seemed intent on ruining our private moment outside the
restaurant. Right then I should have taken your hand and led you to a quiet place
but the carriage driver was so impatient. My composure was shaken. I feel like a
buffoon.
Had Cousin Penelope not accosted me as I walked through the door, frantic to
share news of her engagement, I would have rushed to you without concern for
your father’s reaction. Sitting in Penelope’s drawing room as she gushed about
wedding plans was agony. After an hour, I pleaded exhaustion and returned to
my room to write to you.
Although my impulse to rush to your door has softened, my breath is shallow
and I am plagued with the image of your bewildered face when I mumbled
something about a nice visit. A nice visit? Those are the words I shall say to
Penelope when I leave, not what sums up my time with the woman I love.
I do love you, Mary Harting. Our time in California was brief; the smell of the
salty air mixed with honey-glazed scones may have made me giddy, and it could
be said with some conviction I charged forward like a stripling. But now I have
discovered a real woman.
Should a man recite his reasons for love? Of course it would be easy to list
your fine attributes and point to that as reason enough. But what would that
prove? Were a man to skim the surface he would fall in love with a fairytale, an
ideal that would soon enough shatter and scar.
I love you for your zealous opinions and impatience when you want to finish a
task. You make impulsive decisions when provoked, and yet I have watched you
brighten a room with your unguarded compassion and openness to new
experiences. Your passion for kindness inspires, as does your heartfelt love of
your family and good works. Perhaps in my vanity, I also love you because of
your appreciation for my writing. At the hotel I did not even think to give you a
copy of my first book, yet you quote dialogue and long passages from

3. Chancellor’s Fate with practiced ease. You are a magnificent woman and my
affection for you is genuine. Regardless of your father’s opposition, we shall
continue our affair and wait with anticipation for the day we reap our reward.
Now that I have released some of my burning emotions I hoped to feel better,
but you should have heard these words whispered from my lips. Cold letters
upon a page are a poor substitute, and you should call me a clod. I am a clod. I
long to shout into the night, scream until my throat burns, but that would not
ease what causes my hands to shake. Our parting must be replayed. I do what
any man in my situation, and with my abilities, must:
Thomas and Mary stepped from the restaurant into the cool evening air.
Though Thomas tried to lighten the mood, their last dinner together was stilted
and Mary looked flushed from the café’s bustle. Thomas watched Mary take a
deep breath as she tied the thick sapphire ribbons on her bonnet. “Better?” he
asked her.
She nodded, looked down, and then shook her head. When she lifted her chin,
her cheeks were ashen. Thomas stepped forward, ready to sweep her into his
arms, when a group of overindulgent young men rounded the street corner.
Thomas took Mary’s elbow and led her away from the commotion.
They strolled along a row of brownstones with scrubbed iron gates and
trimmed potted ferns posed on small front porches. Reminders of the horses
were cleaned so the couple could smell the elm trees mixed with bread from an
open kitchen window.
When Thomas spotted a community courtyard, he led Mary across the street.
The gate was unlocked, so he pushed it open for her. Before she stepped through,
she checked the street for observers.
Thick evergreen shrubs that had grown up the full height of the tall iron fence
surrounded the courtyard. Golden light from the gas lamps gave only a muted
glow, but Thomas could see a small rectangular yard with a lone elm surrounded
by a patch of grass, a gravel path, and a small stone bench. He closed the gate
with a heavy clang then heard Mary whisper his name.
“There’s no one here to gossip about us,” he assured her.
As she removed her bonnet, she turned and looked him in the eye. “Who said I
was worried about gossip? Perhaps I find you too forward for a man on his way
out of town.”
“Perhaps, but I didn’t push you through the gate. I certainly didn’t hear any
desire for a chaperone.”

4. She stiffened and seemed ready to reply when Thomas wrapped his hand
around her waist and pulled her toward him. He leaned forward and kissed her
forehead. Her skin was warm and soft, and as he caressed her face she tilted her
head and closed her eyes.
“Thomas,” she whispered
He kissed her cheek then let his lips slide down to kiss her neck. She smelled
of lilac perfume and smoked meat from the restaurant. He tightened his grip on
her waist, feeling the rigid corset and stiff crinoline pressed against her soft
shape.
“Thomas, we shouldn’t—”
He covered her lips and kissed her. She hesitated, and then they kissed as
lovers in the shadowed light.
Mary broke their union and moved a few steps away. “I’m not sure even my
sister would approve of this.” She took a few quick breaths and sat on the corner
of the stone bench.
Thomas paused, unsure what to say, until Mary turned into the light and he
saw her teasing grin. He wanted to rush to her side and kiss her again.
“What time does your train leave in the morning?” Mary asked as Thomas sat
down beside her.
“Too early for gentlemen, but I’ll be ready by eight,” he said.
“You’ll be ready by seven so you have plenty of time to say goodbye to your
cousin Penelope. You’ll miss her.”
“That’s not all I’ll miss,” Thomas said. He wanted to say more, but his
pending departure hung like a brittle branch.
Mary faced Thomas and tightened her jaw. “So what happens now, once
you…?” She turned away and pulled a handkerchief from her purse.
“Leave?” Thomas put his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged him away.
“I don’t want to need you, Thomas Gadwell, and here I am blubbering over a
man who actually believes Reverend Beecher was innocent of the adultery
charges.”
Thomas chuckled. “Is that the best you have?”
Mary caught her breath. “For now.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She patted her eyes with her cloth. “That’s hardly the point. Thomas, these
past weeks have been unlike any time in my life. I can’t believe I’m actually
going to say this, but what will I do without you? I know that sounds ridiculous.
I’m just going to miss you more than I know how to put into words.”

5. “Darling, I promise we’ll be together again soon. Your father just needs to
give me a chance. It’s strange; most people have to know me better before they
object to my liberal politics and boyish charm.”
“I can believe that.” She smirked then shook her head. “It’s really unlike my
father to act secretive and so blame …” She slapped her hand over her mouth.
Thomas laughed at her wide eyes. “You won’t go to hell for saying ‘blame.’ ”
“Or for sitting alone in a dark courtyard with a handsome man?”
“You think I’m handsome?”
“I think you missed my point,” she said.
“So you say.”
“I say,” Mary snickered. “You really are silly sometimes.”
“True. And you really are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. I’m in
love with you, Mary Harting, completely in love with you.”
Her laughter stopped, and Thomas swallowed against a lump in his throat.
Though he had written it many times, hearing the words aloud made it more real.
His voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else—someone cleverer and
deserving of loving such a woman.
She was silent, and he worried she did not want his declarations of love. He
was leaving, putting down his sword and walking away. She had asked him to,
but he wondered if it was too late to stay and fight. Thomas was ready to suggest
just that, when Mary lifted her head. Fresh tears streamed down her face.
“I love you too, Thomas. I love you more than I ever thought it possible to
love anyone.”
She collapsed into his arms, and he felt her silent sobs against his chest.
“Everything will be all right. I promise.”
Her tears turned to deep shuddered breaths, and when she lifted her head,
Mary stared at him for a few moments. “You know your mother’s right. You do
have the mischievous eyes of an attorney.”
“And what do you know about lawyers? Should I worry?”
She shook her head. “The only lawyers I know are old men with sagging
bellies.”
“Not handsome like me.”
Mary tilted her head. “Who said you were handsome?”
He moved closer. “I believe a certain young lady mentioned my fine looks not
minutes ago.”
“Well, now you’re just bragging,” she said.
“Am I? So if I kissed you right now you wouldn’t fall under the influence of

6. my gifted appearance?” He leaned toward her, “And my wild charms?”
“Now I’m certain there was no mention of wild charms.”
“Poetic license,” he whispered.
They embraced in the quiet courtyard until Thomas noted the late hour. While
Thomas checked the street, Mary replaced loose hairs that had escaped her
chignon and put on her bonnet.
They went through the gate and stepped onto the sidewalk. The pavement felt
callous and the air cooler than in the shelter of the thick shrubs. Unsure what to
say, they walked together in silence.
The restaurant and street were quiet so Thomas was disappointed when a
hackney-coach appeared and stopped at his signal. He helped Mary into the
carriage and shut the door.
“Mary, I know he’ll change his mind. He just needs more time to accept the
situation,” Thomas said.
“I hate not knowing when I’ll see you again. I don’t like the unknown.”
“Then you’re missing the adventure, my love. Living is what we do between
the expected and the mundane.”
“A quote from your novel?”
“Not mine, but it’s true just the same. I know it will all turn out as it should.”
Mary sighed. “Sometimes your optimism is maddening. Aren’t you even a
little bit afraid we’ll never see each other again?”
Thomas shook his head with confidence. “We’ll have a lifetime of courtyards,
my love. I give you my word.”
Mary nodded, but her lower lip quivered and fresh tears pooled in her eyes.
Thomas winked and tapped the side of the buggy. He waved until the carriage
disappeared around the corner.
The power of imagination is most curious, my love. If we replay this scenario
again and again it will become as real as any memory. I intend to do just that.
Mary, we must endure and wait for your father’s blessing. Until then, I will
make a quick visit to Boston then head to Newport to start my third novel while
your gracious friend, Miss Ross, delivers our words of life and love. Keep busy
with your family and volunteer work. And above all else, my dearest, be careful.
With all my heart,
Thomas
September 17, 1888.
AVERY —