CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Battle of Central Park

As he and Bert walked toward City Park on Saturday afternoon, Adam tried to map out their strategy.  “Our main goal must be to avoid either of us being trapped alone with any of the Whitney girls,” he urged.

“And how do you propose we manage that?” Bert demanded.  “You know perfectly well each one of them will be working toward the exact opposite goal.”

“That may work to our advantage,” Adam suggested, “since none of them will want the others to succeed.”

“They might work against each other, you mean?”  At Adam’s crisp nod, Bert exhaled heavily.  “Well, I’ll try, but to be honest, they were regularly successful at trapping me . . . until you came.”

“Safety in numbers,” Adam said with a conniving grin.  “As much as possible, we stay with the main party.”

The entire party was waiting for them at the small park dominated by City Hall and currently serving as a campground for new Union recruits.  Tearing herself away from the exhilarating sight of all those men in blue, Rose Whitney jumped up and down excitedly when she spied Adam and Bert and was only restrained from racing toward them by her mother’s decorum-conscious hand.  Mrs. Randolph waved a discreet greeting, and Adam tipped his hat in response.

“You’re late, gentlemen,” Pearl chided sharply.

“Young working men aren’t always in control of their departure time from the office, Miss Pearl,” Mr. Randolph observed with a kindly smile at the two younger men.

Adam nodded his thanks for the defense.  In truth, the fault was his.  That afternoon he had been given his first drawing assignment, the enlargement of some architectural details of a plan, and wanting to receive more of the same, he had taken extra time to make each line perfect.

Pearl dabbed her damp neckline with a lacy handkerchief.  “We’ve been waiting under this hot sun for half an hour past the time you set.”

“My apologies,” Adam said, “but if the heat is bothering you, Miss Pearl, perhaps you might wish to forego the outing.  It won’t be any cooler at Central Park.”

“I’ll manage,” she said tartly.

“Oh, look, there’s the streetcar,” Mrs. Whitney announced.  “I do hope there’ll be room for all of us aboard.”

“I’m sure there will be seats enough for you ladies,” Adam said, extending his arm to her.  He waited for the Randolphs to board first and then followed with Mrs. Whitney, leaving Bert to assist the young ladies, while he moved through the car, finding available seats for them.  He managed to place Mrs. Whitney and Rose together, while another gentleman stood up, so that Pearl and Grace could sit together further back in the car.  Adam and Bert, in common with several other men, stood holding a strap as the transport moved north.  Courtesy required them to stand near the ladies they were escorting, of course, so for the next several minutes their strategy of staying together failed.  Fortunately, none of the ladies used the opportunity for flagrant flirting, although Rose came close to chattering Adam’s ear off.

They debarked at the nearest stop to Central Park, and the two young men again helped everyone to alight.  “Let me take that for you, Miss Grace,” Bert offered, reaching for the large hamper she had brought from home.  “And what might we find in here?” he inquired, the tip of his tongue slipping out to lick his lips before he caught himself.

“Something quite tasty, I assure you,” she promised.

“And is this something quite tasty, as well?” Adam asked as he took a battered carpetbag from Pearl’s hand.

“Scarcely,” she said, “but it may add to our comfort in the likely event that we cannot all find seats.  I will gladly make room on my blanket, should you wish to preserve your trousers from grass stains, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Very kind of you,” Adam mumbled weakly.  Apparently, the ladies had their strategy well planned, too.

They entered the park and strolled down the broad promenade to the Mall, Mrs. Randolph pausing frequently to gaze fondly at some flowering or leafy plant.  “I used to be quite the gardener,” she confided to Adam, “when we had our own place.”

Adam smiled at her, resolving to save a few pennies back from his next paycheck to bring her a small bouquet of the flowers that could be purchased from street venders.  It wasn’t the best time of year for them, but he was certain she’d be pleased with whatever he found.  Pleasing her was becoming more and more important to him.  He’d never known either of his grandmothers, and he liked to think they might have been like this gentle lady.  Then he chuckled to himself.  No, considering what Pa had told him about both his Cartwright and Stoddard forebears, his grandmothers weren’t likely to have been as self-effacing as Mrs. Randolph.

On reaching the Music Stand, Adam made finding seats for the older members of the party his first priority.  After a lengthy search he did find two together for the Randolphs, although they were further back than he would have liked.  “Nonsense, my boy,” Mr. Randolph said when he expressed his regret.  “We’ll be much more comfortable here than closer to those booming horns.”

He continued to look for a place for Mrs. Whitney and whatever companion she chose.  He hoped it wouldn’t be him, but he certainly couldn’t leave a lady alone in such a crowd.  He had given up and had started to tell her that she’d need to share a blanket with one of the younger people when he heard a woman’s voice calling her name.  Turning, he saw an elegantly dressed dowager hurrying forward, bustle bobbing behind her.

“My dear Ophelia,” the woman panted when she reached them.  “I was so surprised to look across the lawn and see you here.”

“What a pleasure to see you, Minerva,” Mrs. Whitney responded cordially, “although I’m beginning to wish I had stayed home.  Such a crowd!  And not a seat to be had.”

“But you must sit with me,” Minerva insisted.  She looked at Adam with an appraising eye.  “Although I don’t have room for your companion, I’m afraid.  In fact, I don’t have even one spare seat, but Henry can give you his.”

Mrs. Whitney tittered.  “Oh, Mr. Cartwright isn’t my companion.  He’s one of my boarders.  The whole household is here this afternoon, and I’m sure Mr. Cartwright will be much happier sitting with the younger folk.”

“Well, then,” Minerva said, taking Mrs. Whitney’s arm.

“Excuse me,” Adam said, “but if Henry would care to share one of our blankets, he would be more than welcome to join us.”

“Oh.”  For a moment the woman seemed to consider the idea.  “No, I think it best my husband remain near us—for protection, you know.”

Adam tipped his hat.  “Then I will take my leave, ladies.  I hope you enjoy the concert.”

“Everyone settled then?” Bert asked as Adam dropped to a blanket between Rose and Pearl.

Never had Adam seen a man look so relieved, just to see him.  “All settled,” Adam assured him.

“All three together?” Pearl inquired with a dubious look.  “Unbelievable in this crowd!  Surely, you didn’t leave any one of them alone.”

“The Randolphs together and your mother with a friend, someone named Minerva,” Adam reported.  “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t actually introduced, so I don’t know her last name.”

“Oh, that would be Mrs. Worthington,” Pearl said casually.  “Mother will be well provided for, then.”

“I suppose we should offer the Randolphs some of our refreshments,” Grace suggested.  “Will you help me carry them, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Of course,” Adam said, giving Bert a sour smile as he rose from the blanket.  Divide and conquer appeared to be the ladies’ strategy as much as staying together was the men’s, and for the moment this lady was winning.  Still, he did want the elderly couple to share the tasty treats in the hamper, and the Randolphs weren’t likely to keep them long.  Nor could Grace do much overt flirting in a crowd like this.

Rose, less constrained by the crowd than either of her sisters, eagerly beckoned Adam toward her as soon as he and Grace returned.  “I picked you out some lovely things,” she said, “as I was afraid there wouldn’t be anything left if I didn’t.”  She oinked several times in Bert’s direction.

Flushing, Bert wiped the incriminating crumbs from his mouth, while Pearl snapped, “If you must behave like a rude child, Rose, perhaps you’d better take your blanket and sit elsewhere.”

Rose pressed a demure hand to her slender throat.  “Without an escort?  Why, Pearl, I’m surprised that you would even suggest such impropriety.”  She smiled up at Adam.  “Unless, of course, you’d like to accompany me, Mr. Cartwright.”

Adam sat down on the blanket beside her and took the plate of cookies and sandwiches she had prepared for him.  “It’s more fun if we all enjoy the music together, don’t you think?”

Rose pouted petulantly as she cozied up to his side.  “Well, if you say so, Adam.  I may call you Adam, may I not?”

“Rose!” Grace sputtered.  “You are much too forward.”

“We’re all friends here,” Adam said suavely, “and where I come from, friends are always on a first-name basis.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any high society where you come from, is there, Mr.—Adam?” Pearl sighed.

Adam’s eyebrow twitched wickedly.  “Well, no, except for Princess Sara, of course.”

All three ladies’ mouths gaped indecorously for a moment before they snapped shut.  “A princess?” Rose squealed.  “You never said you knew a princess, Adam.”

“He doesn’t,” Grace scoffed from her spot beyond Bert.  “He’s making sport of us.  For shame, Adam!”

Adam laughed.  “But I do know Princess Sara, Miss Grace, although I generally call her Thocmetony, the name she gave me when we first met.  It means Shell Flower.”

“An Indian?” Pearl gasped.

Adam nodded.  “A Paiute princess, as I said, daughter of Chief Winnemucca.  She took the name Sara when she lived among the white men.  She’s a lovely girl, as interested in learning as you, Miss Pearl.  I know because I was her first teacher.”

“How very commendable,” Grace said.  “You must have more of the missionary spirit than you have demonstrated to us thus far.”

Adam shook his head.  “I was just being a friend.  She wanted to learn to read; I taught her—simple as that.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me to read,” Rose whined.  When everyone stared at her as if she were addled, she explained hastily, “French, that is.”

“Oh . . . yes.”  Adam felt the less said on that topic the better.  He consulted his watch and informed the group that the concert was slated to start in five minutes.  Thank goodness, he thought.

The older girls at least tried to listen intently to the music, as the band played a quick march by Bartholomaus and the Aria Polanaise by Fessy, but Rose kept plying Adam—and when he proved unresponsive, Bert—with cookies.  By the third song, a polka, the girl clearly could sit still no longer.  Jumping to her feet, she pulled Adam’s hand.  “Dance with me,” she ordered.

“Rose!” Pearl sputtered.  “Only children dance about the lawn.”

“Let’s be children, then,” Rose insisted, continuing to pull Adam until he gave in and jumped up beside her.

“All right, then,” he said.  “Let’s see how well you can polka, little Miss Rose.”

With a squeal of delight, she led him to the edge of the crowd and began to cavort in time to the music.  “Oh, this is splendid!” she cried.  “You dance so well, Adam.”

Oblivious to their being the only older couple dancing, he laughed as he spun her around.  “As do you, young lady.  You would give Princess Sara a run for her money at Dutch Nick’s dances.”  When the music stopped, he made her a deep bow and started to lead her back to the blankets.

“Oh, let’s dance some more,” she pleaded.

Grinning, Adam shook his head.  “We are not dancing to the Anvil Chorus, which is the next number.  Sit down and savor a bit of opera music, Miss Rose.”

“Opera is so boring,” Rose sniffed, but since Adam was intractable, she had no choice but to follow him back.

“That was disgraceful,” Pearl chided.

Adam shrugged.  “Dances are meant to be danced, aren’t they?”

“I didn’t mean you,” the oldest sister said sharply.  “Men are permitted all sorts of social vagaries.  Ladies must be more circumspect.”

“Well, Rose isn’t really a lady yet, is she?” Adam argued.  And as if to prove it, Rose thrust her tongue at her sister, who shuddered in disgust.

Following the Anvil Chorus, there was a break in the program.  Bert used the opportunity to again delve into the hamper, while Rose snuggled up to Adam’s side and purred, “Who’s Miss Allen?”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat.  “What?” he asked ominously.

“Miss Allen,” she repeated.

“You’ve been prying into my mail?” Adam all but snarled.

Rose drew back.  “Of course not!  Only sorting . . . and sniffing.”  She tilted her head coyly.  “It was most fragrant, Adam.”  When he flushed deep crimson, she tittered.  “Someone special, is she?  A maiden aunt, perhaps?  Not a sweetheart, I hope.  My heart would absolutely break!”

The other two girls were now leaning close, their faces crafty with the same hope.

“A friend,” Adam babbled, preferring to say as little as possible about Elizabeth to these snoops.

“A fragrant friend,” Rose reiterated, with a knowing nod at her sisters.

“Where is it?” Adam hissed.

“Where is what?” she asked with a maddening smile.

“My letter,” he growled.

“At home, of course,” she said, turning her back to him with an offended air.

“We don’t provide delivery service,” Pearl inserted haughtily.

“If we had known you were so anxious to hear from Miss Allen, of course,” Grace put in with a leading note to her voice.

“No, no, of course not,” Adam grunted.  “Tonight will do just as well.”  As if he’d have read Elizabeth’s sweet thoughts in the presence of these simpering scavengers!

“Well, then,” Pearl said with a satisfied smile.  “Let’s enjoy the music.  I believe it’s starting again.”

The music swept over them, loud and energetic, but Adam scarcely seemed to hear it.  All he could hear was the beat of his own heart as it echoed the news that a letter from Elizabeth was waiting at the boardinghouse.  Although he had written to her several times, this was her first letter to him.  He had a feeling that she’d been giving him a taste of the medicine he’d inflicted on her during his last vacation.  Like most medicine, it had a bitter taste, but just when he’d begun to despair of her ever relenting, a letter was finally here.  To have to endure another hour or two in the park was an exercise in patience that also went down like bitter medicine.

When the concert concluded with the playing of “The National Medley,” Adam was all for packing up and heading home.  The girls had other ideas.  “May we not, at least, walk down to the lake and see the swans?” Grace asked with cloying sweetness, and Adam felt unable to say no.  He did insist on first ascertaining whether the older members of the party were too weary to remain, but they all urged him to go ahead.  When Mrs. Randolph timidly asked if she could come with them, Adam’s attitude changed entirely.  “It would be my privilege to escort you,” he said, offering his arm and helping her down the broad steps with special care.

“Oh, aren’t they elegant?” the elderly lady cried as she caught sight of the graceful white birds gliding over the water.

“Beautiful,” Adam agreed, taking more pleasure from the rapture in her eyes than from his own refreshing sight of the regal birds donated to the park by the people of Hamburg.  For a long while they stood at the rail, watching, his arm about her waist, neither of them thinking the gesture overly familiar, although their acquaintance was such a short one.

Finally, Mrs. Randolph sighed and said, “I suppose we should be going.”

“We can stay as long as you like,” he said gently.

She reached up to stroke his cheek tenderly.  “You’re a dear, thoughtful boy,” she said, “but it has been a long afternoon.  I’m ready to go.  Thank you for including me in this wonderful adventure, Adam.”

“Your company is what makes it wonderful,” he insisted.

She laughed, though obviously flattered.  “I can’t hold a candle to those fresh young faces.”  She nodded toward the three Whitney girls, each trying to attach herself to some part of Bert’s anatomy.

Adam shook his head.  “It’s exactly the opposite: they can’t hold a candle to you.”

She giggled like a little girl and smiled all the way back to her husband, who had remained with Mrs. Whitney on a bench before the Music Stand.

Bert and the Whitney girls finally rejoined them, and they all headed out of the park.  Bert shot Adam a reproachful look, and Adam nodded with a chagrinned wince.  He had left his friend to fend for himself at the lake and deserved the rebuke.  So much for safety in numbers, he admitted.   The Battle of Central Park might well be deemed a victory for the women, but he and Bert had survived to fight another day.

As soon as they returned home, Adam snared his letter from the pile on the entry table and excused himself to his room, a trio of teasing titters following him up the stairs.  Once safely shut behind his own door, he dropped onto the bed and held the letter to his nose.  It was fragrant, as Rose had said, and he lay back for a moment, savoring the scent and the delicious anticipation of the precious words within the envelope.  Then, slowly, carefully, he broke the seal and drew out two lilac-scented and scallop-edged sheets.  The letter was as long and loving as he could have hoped, and it spurred him to an immediate answer, telling Elizabeth how much it meant to hear from her and how much he hoped that he would enjoy that exquisite pleasure again soon.