“What is the meaning of this?” He directed his question to Bert, not me. “I heard her screaming from my office. The guests are horrified.”
“She had a fright is all,” Bert said, dropping his touch. “Heard one too many stories about Sallie, I suppose.”
“Nonsense.” Mr. Sylvan turned to address the room in general. “My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. The lady is unwell, but let’s not allow her to spoil your evening. Please, Bert here would love for you each to have a glass of champagne. On the house.” His small hand surreptitiously gripped my upper arm, and he gave me the slightest yank as he hissed into my ear, “I will see you up to your room.”
“No.” I hated the whimper of that word. “I can’t. I won’t go up there.”
“To the street then.” His voice too soft to be heard beyond my shoulder. “Because in this state, there is no other place for you.”
“I can’t—” As if to prove my unwilling spirit, my body gave way, my legs liquefying beneath me, causing Mr. Sylvan to hold me up—a task for which he was ill-equipped.
“Please,” Bert interrupted, having made no move to distribute the free champagne. “Let me take her.”
“Take her?” Mr. Sylvan said, trying not to struggle beneath my weight.
“To her room. With you. She looks faint, sir.”
At that, accompanied by a gasp from the crowd, I felt the entirety of my weight fall against Mr. Sylvan, who grunted as if handed a log.
“Here.” In a moment unprecedented in my life, I was swept off my feet, Bert cradling me against himself as if I weighed no more than the phantom who chased me here. There were women in the bar that night sharing a Valentine’s Day drink with their beaux, and I could hear the falsetto of their approval of the gesture. Bert’s voice rumbled against me as he instructed one of the waiters, off duty after a long night, to get behind the bar and pour the drinks. Then it rumbled again, saying, “Just this one time, and never again,” before assuming final authority to bid Mr. Sylvan to follow him upstairs.
I kept my eyes closed, my face pressed into his neck. My body recognized every step. I knew when we were in the lobby, passing the desk, the clock. I felt the lift of his legs as he took one stairstep after another. My corridor and, finally, my door, where I felt a hitch in Bert’s breath and his whispered, “God above, what happened here?”
Mr. Sylvan uttered the same words, but with a distinctly different tone, and I lifted my head.
“Can you stand?” Bert asked.
I nodded, and he lowered me but stayed close enough to catch me if I were to fall. The three of us crowded in the doorway, surveying what had been my sweet, cozy room. All that I loved was obscured by a swath of disaster, as if a wind had blown through to destroy my peace. My plate and cup were broken on the ground, the carafe knocked over on my bedside table. The curtains were half tugged from their rings, the bedclothes tossed into a pile. My books—my precious little library—had been knocked from their stack, torn pages strewn around the room. I realized the scent of my perfume was so strong because the bottle had been opened and left on its side, the pricey amber contents dripping on the carpet.
“Oh, Hedda,” Bert said, forgetting decorum. Even Mr. Sylvan cleared his throat in sympathy.
I took it all in with a single, sweeping glance. Strength restored, I carefully picked my steps across the room, mindful of the broken dishes, and crept up to my trunk. Lid open, as I’d left it, but the contents pulled and tossed with frantic abandon. Gowns, undergarments, hats. I dug through layers of silk and cotton, my mind fixated on a single target: the little brown box kept safely at the bottom, my entire past and future within. A great relief washed over me when I saw the intricately carved piece, but when I lifted it, I knew.
“No.” Again, that word. As if it could reverse the events of the evening.
I set the box upon the bed and said something close to a prayer before lifting its lid. The sweet smell of cedar, the tufting of velvet, and nothing else. All of my treasure, every gift and token, every bit of gold, every gem, anything that would adorn my neck, my wrist, my breast, my