He would have to help her out of her wet clothes to prevent a case of the chills. The thought aroused her, but she kept her face set like a stone statue, neutral and unyielding.
Beggars reached toward her and asked for money in Spanish; she'd studied enough to understand their words and threw some coins, generous and expansive as she walked toward her future. At one point she stopped a man in uniform and asked for directions to a building. The police officer replied and she thanked him, changing direction and seeing the church steeple, knowing her destination was just around the corner. Soon she spotted the gray stone building, the thick wooden door, all just as James had described in his letter. Lilith walked into the lobby, a feeling of relief and excitement blending at once in her chest.
She asked at the reception desk for James' room. The walk down the hall was unbearably long; her every nerve was alive, her arousal all consuming, and her every pore full of anticipation of a sense of peace after all this time. She knocked, rapping on the door to her real life.
The door slowly inched backward and a gorgeous Latina woman with long, black, wavy hair answered, her skin the color of fine, pale silk, red lips lush with smudged makeup and chafed from activity.
Next she saw her reflection in an enormous mirror edged with color, her eyes wild and mouth twisted in a tortured expression, a chandelier glittering in the backdrop. A small-boned blond woman, with red-rimmed China-blue eyes and a sharp jaw, her wet hat hanging on an unkempt hairdo by a loose pin. Her heart slammed in her chest and she clawed at her collarbone, digging through the fabric of her bodice to find air.
Suddenly she was running back down the street, holding up skirts with her tiny hands and thin wrists, struggling on the cobblestones, running and not caring that she made a scene as onlookers stared. Tears streaked her face and she found a small park bench many blocks away and sat and cried until a small child with a crossed eye placed his filthy hand on her gloved arm, offering her a sweet in his other hand.
Startled to find the light fading and the sun almost set, Lilith took the candy and gave the little boy, no older than ten or eleven, a coin that would buy him a decent dinner. He thanked her profusely and hobbled off on the bent legs of a scurvy patient, waving madly to a small crowd of similarly-filthy street kids. Soon the light would be gone and she would be alone in a city she did not know, fumbling through a language she barely understood. She cursed her years of French and Latin at Dana Hall. How utterly useless they were as she struggled to understand the garbled words of street vendors, shopkeepers, carriage drivers and other public servants.
But for the mistake of birth she could easily be that dirty urchin and not the granddaughter and daughter of industrialists. Her worst meal would be a thousandfold superior to whatever filled the cross-eyed child's belly. A hiccup of guilt bounced through her and she wished she'd given him more.
To the task at hand. Securing her safety and finding her way back to her quarters was more important than musing in this courtyard. Hailing a carriage proved harder than she'd imagined, but finally she found one. By the time she returned to her inn, the moon shone bright in the sky. It would be her only companion tonight, its light a familiar comfort and a constant that James would never be.
“Lilith!” James jumped off the bed, unclothed and half drunk, and burst through the door. Her boots clacked against the unfinished wood flooring and he saw the last of her skirts round a corner. He began pursuit.
“What are you doing? Running into the street naked?” Maria's voice startled him; he'd forgotten she was there. Scrambling back into the room, he searched for his clothes and threw them on, feeling like a caged animal on a sinking ship.
What was Lilith doing here? Think, James. Think. Half drunk, still, and foggy headed, he stumbled and fell against the bed, nearly cracking one knee against the bedpost. She'd rejected him. Rejected him outright, in her perfunctory manner. Reaching for his bedside table, he snatched up the well-worn telegram, the paper that ruined his life.
No. I cannot accept. We are too different and this is