Read Online The Gilded Cage by Susannah Bamford - Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t stop saying it.
    He walked to where his hat and stick lay on the front windowsill. He picked them up and went back to her. He kissed her forehead while she shook underneath his lips from her sobs.
    â€œI’ll always be there for you, Columbine. Come to me if you need me.”
    â€œNed—”
    â€œGoodbye, my love.” Ned walked out of the parlor, taking his hat and stick, but leaving his heart behind.

Four
    C OLUMBINE SPENT A sleepless night trying to convince herself that Ned would change his mind. She could not imagine life without Ned. Every time he had said he could not go on, he’d relented the next morning. But he had never spoken those words the way he had said them the night before, and in her heart she knew he meant it. It was proof of the folly of the heart that she was surprised to see no flowers, no note, when she came down the next morning. Instead, she saw the smiling face of Lawrence Birch.
    He did not mention her pale face or the dark smudges underneath her eyes, and Columbine was grateful. He merely reminded her of her promise to take him downtown.
    â€œOf course, Mr. Birch, I’d be happy to,” Columbine answered distractedly. “Would you mind making a stop with me first?”
    He bowed. “I am at your service, Mrs. Nash.”
    After breakfast, they left the house together and walked to the Ninth Avenue El. On the jolting train downtown, Lawrence was caught up in the sights around him, and didn’t speak except to ask an occasional question. Columbine turned her mind to the meeting ahead. In preparation, she’d dressed carefully. A plain gray merino dress with her three-quarter length coat of black wool trimmed with gray chenille and silver cord. Perhaps the coat was a bit too smart, but aside from her fur-trimmed cloak it was her warmest coat, and it was blustery today.
    When they reached their stop in Greenwich Village, Lawrence looked around him curiously. This far west was primarily an Irish section, with tenements and crowded conditions prevailing. Garbage was piled high on corners, and many of the windows were stuffed with rags or cardboard to keep out the cold. A group of children in tattered coats played a silent and obscure game near a dead horse lying in the street. Between the garbage and the horse, one had to be grateful it was a cold day.
    Columbine looked at Lawrence, but he made no comment. She liked the keenness of his gaze, the sense that he was taking everything in, missing nothing.
    â€œWhen I see this,” he said finally, “I wonder why every person doesn’t rise up.”
    â€œWhen I see this,” Columbine said quietly, “I wonder why every person doesn’t lie down and give up.”
    He looked at her, startled. “I think you just might need an infusion of hope, Mrs. Nash,” he said lightly.
    â€œAnd will you provide it, Mr. Birch?”
    â€œOh, absolutely.”
    â€œAh,” Columbine said with a smile, “there is no one more romantic than an anarchist.”
    â€œRomantic?” He looked startled at the word.
    â€œDon’t you believe that after the state is demolished, all its citizens will equitably divide its resources, that all will take only what they need? That scarcities will be rationed, and all will obey this rationing with generous spirits?”
    â€œYes, of course. But that is human nature, Mrs. Nash. Someday it will be reality, not romance. It’s the state that accounts for the depravity in human nature. Once man is liberated, his true soul will have a chance to emerge.”
    Columbine was struck with how fervent his gaze was. She felt a pang; was he right, did she need an infusion of hope?
    Lawrence glanced down a side street. “The docks look as dangerous in this city as in any other,” he observed.
    â€œI suppose. But during the day, it’s quite pleasant to be near the river. At least on a fine day, not today with this wind. We’re