Marry Me (8 page)

“I’m-m n-n-ot m-much of a c-c-onvers-s-ationa-alist.”

Millie squeezed his arm reassuringly. “I don’t mind. I’m happy to listen to you.”

“F-f-for n-n-ow, how ab-b-out I lis-s-sten to y-you?”

“Me?” her heart skipped a beat. Nobody had ever wanted to listen to her before.

“T-t-ell me ab-b-out your dreams. Wh-wh-at do you w-w-ant to d-do the m-most?”

She averred. “Oh, nothing important, really.”

“I d-d-on’t believe that.”

They paused at a street corner until the traffic cleared before crossing. This gave her time to think. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

He crossed his heart.

Millie took a breath. “I want to be a philanthropist.”

“Oh,” Raymond replied, his feet not faltering. “And wh-what w-would you d-do as a philanthrop-p-p-ist?”

“Are you familiar with the work of Mrs. Ida Aletreby?”

He shook his head.

Millie deflated a little. “She champions the poor, especially children. So many young children have to go to work instead of school to help support their families. It’s like nobody cares. Except for Mrs. Aletreby.”

“And y-you.” They’d reached the park, unexpectedly quiet at this time of day.

“She says that the best way out of poverty is a good education.” As they walked through a gate into the park, Millie stroked the iron bars. “But that’s the thing. People listen to Mrs. Aletreby. Nobody listens to me. It’s so frustrating. I’ve got so much to say but nobody wants to hear it. It makes me want to scream at them.”

“Wh-why d-d-on’t you?”

Millie stopped. “What? Scream?”

A few other people meandered about the park, but otherwise they were alone. The last of the sun’s rays tipped the trees of the park. Soon the lamps would be lit.

He shrugged. “Why n-n-ot?”

She looked about her. “What would people think?”

“Wh-why d-does th-that ma-ma-matter?”

She glanced over her shoulder. People were still on the streets, even if they were mostly hurrying home. “It’s important to my reputation that I, that…I…well, my reputation is important.”

“W-Why?”

Good question, well asked. Why was reputation so important? “I want people to think well of me.”

“They’re n-n-not thinking of-f you at all r-right n-now.”

Millie’s feet stopped. Her jaw dropped. Did she hear him right?

Raymond continued. “G-g-ive them-m a reason t-t-o think of-f you.”

“What did you say?” She wasn’t expecting that.

“Ma-make th-them lis-s-s-sten. If y-y-ou have s-s-something t-t-to s-s-s-ay, s-s-say it. Loud if-f-f you have to. Scream if y-you m-m-must.”

Millie felt torn. “I can’t scream.”

He sighed and studied her.

Millie fidgeted. Had she said something wrong? See, this was the problem. When one had something important to say, nobody listened. But say one little thing wrong and that’s all anyone heard.

Raymond reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad. With his pencil stub he scrawled a note. When finished, he tore the sheet out, folded it and blew on it. This he gave to Millie.

When she opened the note, it spoke to her in its soft, papery voice: “Do not let your fears stop you from saying what you must say.”

She let those words sink in. “Raymond, if you have this gift, why don’t you use it more often? Surely you can do more than amuse children.”

He took her hands, folding the note between their palms. “Sh-should I-I s-s-s-stay s-s-s-ilent b-b-ec-c-c-ause m-my voic-ce has a f-f-law?”

“It’s not the same.”

“I-it is.”

He reached into his pocket. “Sa-sa-scream.” Out came a paper bag.

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Y-you mean-n you sh-sh-shouldn’t.” He extracted a candy heart and pencilled something on it. “That’s n-not th-the s-s-s-ame thing.” He exchanged the note in her hand for the candy heart.

“Scream,” the heart declared.

She gave him a wry look but he was pencilling another message on another heart.

“Scream!” the second heart declared.

“I…don’t know.”

He jabbed his pencil hard at the third heart. When he held it up between his fingers, it shouted out as loud as its candy-ness could, so dark were its pencil lines. “SCREAM!”

By gum, why not?

Millie drew in a deep breath and let out an ear-piercing scream, long and loud and full of frustration.

At first Raymond jumped, so mighty was her scream. He didn’t stop her. All he did was listen.

When her breath ran out and her heart pumped hard, only then did she stop. The fire in her belly reignited.

Oh that felt good!

“I say,” called out an alarmed voice.

Millie and Raymond turned to see another couple dashing toward them.

“Are you all right?” the man asked. His lady friend clung to his arm, her hat somewhat askew.

Millie huffed a deeper breath. “I,” she hesitated until she saw Raymond’s warm green eyes as he popped a candy heart into his mouth. “I’m fine.” She stood her ground. “Justice demands an end to poverty.” If she had their attention, she would tell them what she wanted them to hear. “The poor need our help.”

The couple hesitated. The woman still looked worried. “If you’re all right…”

Millie felt Raymond’s reassuring squeeze on her arm. “I am. I need to be heard.” She smiled at Raymond, who returned the sentiment. “You’re right. I need to do that more often.”

Millie spread her arms and let her newfound freedom spread through her limbs. “Education for women!” she shouted. “Votes for women!” she added.

The man stiffened. He dragged his companion away with, “Nothing to see here.”

As Millie watched them retreat, the lady looked over her shoulder, giving Mille a cautious, shy smile. Someone had listened.

“D-do you f-f-f-eel better?”

Millie did. “Will I be heard even if I don’t scream?”

“I-I’ll l-lis-s-ten.”

A playful smile teased her lips. “No matter how softly I speak”

He nodded.

“May I have a heart and your pencil?”

He gave them to her. On the back of the heart she pencilled a brief note. A she pressed the heart into Raymond’s hand, she whispered, “That.” Then she held a finger over her lips.

When he opened his hand and read the message on the heart, he beamed and put a hand over his heart.

It said, simply, “I love you”.

****

On Saturday night Millie dressed in her finest evening gown, an off-the-shoulder pink satin with a delightfully light overdress of blue mousseline that shifted and shimmered as she moved. An array of silk roses garnished her bosom. Her hair had been pouffed up so big Gibson would be proud.

The Chandlers had arrived promptly at six o’clock in a most splendid landau carriage with driver. Millie watched in delight as Raymond Wilson, resplendent in a fine tuxedo, knocked on the front door.

Her mother, disgruntled at Millie’s choice of escort, nevertheless insisted everything be done properly. Millie was not allowed to answer the door, but had to wait for the maid.

“I wish you had worn Mr. Elliott’s bracelet. I haven’t seen you wear it once,” Mrs. Moore murmured in Millie’s ear.

Millie whispered, “Nor will I. I have no intention of accepting Mr. Elliott’s suit. To wear his bracelet would be to give him false hope.” She blushed deeply. The proper thing would be to give the bracelet back.

Oops.

“If you’d just wait five more minutes…”

Millie looked to her mother. “Wait? For what?”

Mrs. Moore fidgeted. “Maybe Mr. Elliott would like to escort you to the gala.”

She blinked. “Mr. Elliott is not a member of the club.” In fact, Millie doubted very much Mr. Elliott had gone to university. “Why would he go?”

The maid stepped into the parlor. “Mr. Wilson is come to take Miss Moore.”

Her mother said nothing and looked away.

Her heart lifted as Raymond lifted his hat. “You l-l-look s-so l-l-lovely.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.” She accepted his proffered arm. Never had she been so grateful to be getting away from her mother.

****

On the ride to 44
th
Street Mr. Chandler entertained Millie and bored his wife with stories of his adventures at university. Raymond and Mr. Chandler may have been several years apart, but they had attended the same alma mater.

“Really, Charles. I doubt Miss Moore wants to hear about the cricket wickets on the soccer lawn. I’ve heard them so many times.”

“I don’t mind,” replied Millie. “It’s the first time for me.”

That was all the permission Charles Chandler needed. Millie found herself thoroughly entertained. As she laughed in genuine amusement, a corner of her heart warmed to the Chandler family.

The clubhouse on 44
th
was a stately new building decked out with banners in celebration of the gala. Here educated men rubbed shoulders as they shared drinks and jokes while their wives bent their bouffant heads together. The floors were covered in exquisite mosaic and the walnut-panelled walls bore portraits of distinguished men. Ferns and other greenery filled out the corners while the club guests filled out the floors. So many elegant people!

Lively music wafted down a double staircase infecting Millie’s feet with a desire to dance.

Raymond gave Millie’s hand an extra squeeze. “L-l-let m-m-me get-t you a-a drink.” He and Mr. Chandler left her in the capable hands of Mrs. Chandler.

Mrs. Chandler looked resplendent in a green and gold evening gown that complemented her honey hair. She smiled and waved to various acquaintances. “When the men return, I shall have to introduce you around.” She skipped the shallow small talk. “My brother speaks well of you.”

Millie blushed and ducked her head. “Thank you.”

“How did you meet?”

A hand gripped Millie’s upper arm and pulled her away from Mrs. Chandler. She gasped in surprise.

Guy Elliott.

“Excuse us,” he proffered to a very surprised Mrs. Chandler. To Millie he said, “You can chat with your friends later.” And he hauled her away.

Millie struggled against his grip. “What are you doing here?”

Mr. Elliott leaned in close. “We’d agreed that I would escort you to the gala.”

She blinked at him. “We agreed no such thing. Why are you even here?” He wasn’t a member. Raymond had told her that.

He tucked her arm in his and pulled her along, his grip keeping her painfully by his side. “Your mother told me—”

“My mother?”

He sighed and gave her a pointed look. “She’s only concerned about you. You’re not exactly young any more. After all, if you can get in here unescorted—”

“I’m not unescorted.” Why couldn’t she get free? And what had her mother been saying to Mr. Elliott?

He pushed past a laughing group of men. As they passed, he tilted his face away from them. “They wouldn’t have let you in if they thought you too young.”

Millie’s jaw dropped. “Oh!”

He patted her trapped hand. “It’s all right. I don’t mind that you’re all but on the shelf. I’m happy to take you, even if no one else wants you.”

He steered them toward the door. Millie dug in her heels. She looked about. Where was Raymond?

No Raymond. Mrs. Chandler?

No. Even she was gone.

Millie was on her own. Alone, she was not strong enough to resist Mr. Elliott’s persistent motion to the door. Was he kidnapping her?

A light blossomed in her mind. Mr. Elliott might not be listening to her, but that didn’t mean everyone else wouldn’t.

She drew in a deep breath and did not hesitate. From the top of her lungs, Millie Moore screamed.

Mr. Elliott started and let her go. Several other women in the crowd cried out in alarm. As one, everyone surged back from her.

Millie kicked Mr. Elliott in the shins before retreating. She’d hoped for the safety of the crowd, but they backed away from her, leaving her in a circle alone with Mr. Elliott.

She had to stand on her own. She fought her nerves. Why did everyone have to look at her?

But wasn’t this what she wanted? To be noticed, to be heard?

Time to say what she wanted to say, nice and loud.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you and I are not together.” She looked about her audience. A few of them whispered together, but otherwise, all eyes were on her. “We never have been.”

Mr. Elliott was also very conscious of the crowd. He gave a nervous chuckle. “What are you talking about?” He approached her. She stepped back. The crowd moved accordingly. Seemed they didn’t want to succor the mad woman who screamed in public.

Millie held up her hand. “You might have fooled my mother, but you cannot fool me. I’m on to your tricks.” Time to set him straight. “I am here with Mr. Raymond Wilson, a far better man than you.”

At this the crowd rumbled and a few even chuckled.

That stuck in Mr. Elliott’s craw. “What? That loser? You can’t throw me over for him. Haven’t you noticed he’s got a pra-pra-problem?”

Millie balled her hands. “Oh, you did not just say that.” She advanced on him. Wouldn’t it feel good to plant her fists into his face? “He is one of the most honorable men I have ever met.”

“Hear, hear,” cried someone from the crowd.

Millie wasn’t finished. “He is far more honorable than you. He actually cares what I have to say. I’d much rather marry him than have anything to do with you, you greasy lout!” There. She’d called him a name and in public, too.

A rumble rolled through the crowd. Millie looked about. Quite a fine assembly surrounded her in all their evening splendor, bending close to murmur in each other’s ears and to point. Oh, they kept it as discreet as possible, but the flicker of fingers in her direction was unmistakeable. The light-hearted music from upstairs drifted down, mocking the gravity of the situation.

The quiet comments of the spectators washed over her, but one in particular caught her attention.

“Raymond,” said Mrs. Chandler. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Millie turned around. There were the Chandlers, conversing closely. Next to his sister stood Raymond, two glasses of champagne in his hand and a surprised look on his face.