“I wish I could make you understand. There are things beyond my control. If things could be different—” He groaned in frustration. “But please know that I do not want to disappoint you, Libby. Your approval means more to me than any other.”
My senses were swimming, and I could not think straight with him standing so close. I didn’t want this moment to end—didn’t want him to leave my side again—especially if it meant he was doing something dangerous.
His gaze fell to my lips, and every inch of my body hummed to life at the look in his eyes. I wanted him to kiss me. I leaned against him, hoping he would.
“Libby.” He was breathing hard as he pulled back. “You must trust me.” He took several steps away this time, reaching down to pick up his tricorne. “I must go. If I stay, I fear I will tell you more than you should know. I’m very sorry. Forgive me. For everything.”
Confusion mingled with my longing as he left.
Was he embroiled in the rebellion deeper than I realized? Was his life in danger? What did he know that I didn’t know? What was he afraid to tell me?
A nagging question returned, one I had tried to ignore for years. Why wasn’t his name mentioned among the founding fathers in my other path? If he was working alongside Jefferson and Washington and Patrick Henry, men who would go onto great fame, then why hadn’t I ever heard his name? Was it because he wouldn’t survive the revolution? Was his name lost to history like those of so many others who would die?
Or was it because he was working for the British and wouldn’t become an American hero?
10
NEW YORK CITY
JUNE 19, 1914
I allowed Edith to take her time helping me dress the next day when I woke in my parents’ brownstone mansion. This would be the last time I celebrated my birthday in this path, and the knowledge brought a melancholy I didn’t expect, coupled with the pain from Henry’s parting. As she styled my hair, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, thinking not about 1914, but about 1774.
It had taken me a long time to fall asleep after Henry left. My heart and mind were troubled. Was he spying on his fellow burgesses for the governor? Was he trying to undermine the Patriots’ cause? Was I so blinded by my love and respect for him that I had been a fool? The thought of being deceived and lied to made anger and hurt course through my body.
But what if the opposite was true? What if he was using his position to spy on Governor Dunmore for the Patriots? He would have to betray his father—and his friendship to the governor. It would mean that his passion and zeal for freedom was real, but it would also mean that he was willing to hurt thepeople closest to him for a cause he felt was more important than his own life. The cost of treason was death—an unspeakable reality I didn’t want to think about.
If he was willing to sacrifice his friends and family for freedom’s cause, where did that leave me? Was he sacrificing his own feelings for me so he could give himself fully to the revolution? If that was true, then I loved him all the more, but I was angry that God had put me in a time and place where I could not be with the man I loved.
“Does this style displease you?” Edith’s face was drawn with concern as she studied my reflection in the mirror. “I can change it, if you’d like.”
Her hand came up to remove the pins, but I stopped her. “’Tis beautiful.” She looked at me strangely, and I realized I had responded as I would in Williamsburg. I quickly added, “Don’t change a thing.” I forced myself to smile for her sake, trying to put aside my troubles from 1774.
My hair did look lovely. Edith had styled it full at the sides and back, with a thick, cream-colored ribbon wrapping around the crown of my head. How different it was from the simple style I wore tucked under my cap in Williamsburg.
As she finished, I realized it hardly mattered what I looked like today. With Mother Wells still in bed, there would be no parties to celebrate my birthday. We had turned down all the invitations we’d received since returning to the city. It was the height of the Newport season, yet we could not go there either.
The only thing I could do was volunteer my time. I loved to work at Mrs. Alva Belmont’s suffrage settlement house in Harlem. There, I worked with women and children who had recently immigrated to America. As I helped them integrate into the community, I also taught them the importance of a woman’s right to vote and her role in teaching her children the same.
Though Mrs. Belmont was a leader in society, the mother of Consuelo Vanderbilt, also known as the Duchess of Marlborough,Mother Wells hated the work she was doing and had forbidden me from participating long ago. Of course, I did not obey. Whenever I had the opportunity, I was either at the settlement house or the National American Woman Suffrage Association headquarters less than a mile down Fifth Avenue from our home. It was there that we organized marches and social events not only to educate, but also to recruit the middle and upper classes to our cause.
Today would be a quiet day, as I had no plans but to dine with Father. He planned to work from home in honor of my birthday.
I rose from my vanity and smoothed out my morning gown. With Mother in bed, I was allowed to wear whatever I chose, and today I was wearing a simple cream-colored gown. Perhaps, after breakfast, I would go on a walk in Central Park.
A knock at my door brought my head up. “Come in.”
Gertie, Mother’s maid, gave a quick curtsy, but her eyes were filled with alarm.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Dr. Payne is here again, and he’s asked to speak to you and your father.”
“This early?” We hadn’t even had our breakfast. Dr. Payne didn’t usually arrive until after lunch to check on Mother.
“I called him, miss.” Gertie’s eyes were rimmed in red, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept all night. “I’m worried.”
I hurried out of my room to go to Mother. Father was coming up the stairs as I passed, his own face reflecting his concern.
