Chapter 31

Old Catherine's news left Archer unable to think clearly. Ellen naturally came from Washington when her grandmother called. Her decision to stay was harder to explain. Catherine was almost well again.

Archer knew money did not control Ellen's choice. He knew the exact small amount Count Olenski gave her. It began when they separated.

Without Catherine's help, Ellen could hardly live as a Mingott expected. Medora Manson now shared her home and had lost everything. Ellen's small income could barely feed and dress them both.

Yet Archer knew she did not accept Catherine's offer for money.

Ellen could give money away without thinking. At other times, she spent large amounts in sudden bursts. Such habits came from a life among great wealth. But money itself meant little to her.

She also lived easily without things her family called necessary. Mrs. Lovell Mingott and Mrs. Welland often complained about this. Ellen knew the rich homes of many countries. Still, she did not care about doing things in the approved way.

Catherine stopped Ellen's money several months before. During that time, Ellen made no effort to win back her favor. So some other reason changed her path.

Archer did not need to search far for it.

On the way from the ferry, Ellen said they must stay apart. Yet she spoke with her head against his chest. Her words held no planned game.

She fought her fate as Archer fought his. She held tightly to one decision. They must keep faith with those who trusted them.

Ten days passed after her return to New York. During them, Archer stayed away and said nothing. Perhaps his silence showed her his dangerous purpose.

She may have understood that he planned a final step. Once taken, it could never be taken back. Perhaps she suddenly feared her own weakness.

Then staying with Catherine offered a middle path. People in their position often chose such a hidden agreement. It seemed to offer the least fight.

One hour earlier, Archer rang Catherine's bell with a clear plan. He meant to speak privately with Ellen. If that failed, he would ask Catherine about Ellen's train.

He would learn the day and hour of her return to Washington. Then he would board the same train. He would travel beside her to Washington and beyond.

His dreams carried them as far as Japan. Yet the place did not matter. Wherever Ellen went, he would follow. She would understand that at once.

He also planned to leave May a note. Its words would close every other road.

Archer thought he wanted that deep jump into the unknown. He thought he was ready. But Catherine's news first brought relief.

Now he walked home, and relief slowly became dislike. He saw the life waiting before him. Nothing in it was new.

Before marriage, he knew its rules as a free man. He answered only to himself. He could lie with an easy smile and enjoy the clever game.

The game required hidden meetings, careful excuses, and many false words. Men called this "protecting a woman's honor." Novels taught him every move. Older men also explained it after dinner.

Now that game looked ugly. His own part seemed especially small.

He remembered Mrs. Thorley Rushworth and her trusting husband. Archer once watched her play the same part. She smiled, joked, watched, and lied without rest.

There was a lie by day and another by night. Each touch and each look held a lie. Every kind word and every fight held one too.

The lie entered every spoken word. It also filled every silence.

Society found this part easier for a wife. People expected less truth from women. A wife lived under her husband's power. So she learned the quiet skills of anyone without freedom.

She could also blame her feelings or her weak nerves. People allowed her secret parts of life. Even strict groups usually laughed at the fooled husband.

But Archer's world did not laugh at a fooled wife. It looked down on married men who continued secret love affairs. Young men received one season for wild behavior. Marriage was supposed to end it.

Archer always agreed with that rule. In his heart, he thought Lawrence Lefferts was a low man.

Yet loving Ellen did not make Archer another Lefferts. Ellen was unlike every other woman. Archer told himself that he was unlike every other man.

Therefore, their case matched no other case. Only they could judge it. The idea was terrible, but it also felt powerful.

In ten minutes, however, he would reach his own door. May waited there. So did habit, honor, and all his people's old rules.

At the corner, Archer stopped. Then he passed his street and continued down Fifth Avenue.

A great dark house stood ahead in the winter night. He often saw it full of light. A cloth roof once covered its steps, and a carpet ran to the street.

Carriages waited outside in two long lines. Music and talk once filled every room. Now the Beaufort house stood silent.

Archer remembered its conservatory. There he first kissed May. In its ballroom, a thousand lights once burned above her.

May came toward him that night in shining silver. She looked tall and bright, like the young god Diana. That old image flashed inside the present darkness.

Now the house looked as black as a grave. Only a weak gas light burned below the street. One upstairs window also showed a little light.

The blind there remained open. Archer reached the corner and saw a carriage at the door. It belonged to Mrs. Manson Mingott.

What a rich story this would give Sillerton Jackson. He only needed to pass at the right moment.

Catherine's story about Ellen and Regina moved Archer deeply. Ellen walked toward an unhappy woman when New York turned away. The city's proud goodness now looked empty.

Still, Archer knew what the clubs would say. Drawing rooms would give Ellen's visits the worst meaning.

He stopped and looked at the lighted window. Ellen and Regina must be together in that room. Beaufort probably sought comfort somewhere else.

Some people said he left New York with Fanny Ring. Regina's calm position made that story seem less likely. Still, Beaufort was nowhere in sight.

Archer had almost all of Fifth Avenue to himself. Most people were dressing for dinner indoors. He felt secretly glad. Perhaps no one would see Ellen leave.

At that moment, the Beaufort door opened. Ellen stepped into a weak line of light. She turned and spoke to someone behind her.

Then the door shut. Ellen came down the steps.

"Ellen," Archer said softly when she reached the street.

She stopped with a small movement of surprise. Just then, Archer saw two fashionable young men coming near. Their coats and fine silk scarves looked familiar.

He wondered why such men went to dinner so early. Then he remembered the Reggie Chivers party. They were going to see Adelaide Neilson in Romeo and Juliet.

The two men passed under a street light. Archer knew Lawrence Lefferts and young Chivers at once.

For one second, Archer wanted to hide Ellen's visit. Then she put her warm hand in his. That weak wish disappeared.

"Now I will see you," he said. "We will be together." He hardly knew what he was saying.

"Oh," Ellen answered. "Granny told you?"

Lefferts and Chivers reached the next corner. They quietly crossed Fifth Avenue and moved away. They wished to protect another man's secret.

Archer often offered other men the same silent help. Now it made him sick. Did Ellen truly think they could live this way? If not, what did she imagine?

"I must see you tomorrow," he said. His voice sounded almost angry. "We need a place where we can be alone."

Ellen moved toward the carriage, then stopped. "But I will be at Granny's. At least, I will stay there for now."

Her change of plan clearly needed an answer. Archer did not accept this one.

"We must meet somewhere alone," he repeated.

Ellen gave a weak laugh. Its sound hurt him. "In New York? But there are no churches here and no old monuments."

She looked puzzled when he answered. "There is the Art Museum in the Park. Meet me at the door at half past two."

Ellen gave no answer. She turned and entered the carriage quickly. As it moved away, she leaned toward the window.

Archer thought he saw her hand move in the darkness. He watched the carriage with many opposite feelings.

He seemed to speak like a tired man with a familiar lover. He did not feel like a man facing the only woman he loved. The old, cheap language held him like a prison.

"She will come," he told himself. Even his private voice sounded almost cold.

The next afternoon, they met at the Metropolitan Museum. Its strange building mixed dark iron with bright floor stones. Most visitors entered a room filled with the popular Wolfe pictures.

Ellen and Archer avoided it. They walked down a quiet passage instead. At last, they reached a room that almost nobody visited.

It held the Cesnola collection from Ilium. The room was full of ancient things, broken by time. Dust and loneliness seemed to cover them.

Ellen and Archer sat on a wide bench around the steam heater. Glass cases stood before them in dark wood frames. Inside lay pieces found in the old city of Ilium.

"It is strange," Ellen said. "I never came here before."

"Well, perhaps this will become a great museum one day."

"Yes," she said, but her mind seemed far away.

Ellen rose and crossed the room. Archer stayed on the bench and watched her light steps. Heavy fur covered her, but her movements still looked young.

A long bird feather rose from her fur cap. One dark curl lay beside each ear. Each curl made a flat, turning line like a small plant.

Whenever they met, such details filled Archer's mind. Every small part made Ellen herself. No other woman could have those exact lines.

He stood and joined her at a glass case. Its shelves held many little broken things. Forgotten people once used them at home.

There were cups and small tools of glass or earth. Dark, old metal pieces lay among them. Time changed their colors and hid their purpose.

"It seems cruel," Ellen said. "After enough time, nothing matters. Look at these little things. They were once necessary to forgotten people."

Now workers studied them through special glasses. Small signs could only say, "Use unknown."

"Yes," Archer said. "But while we are alive..."

"Yes. While we are alive."

Ellen wore a long coat of dark fur. Her hands rested inside a small round muff.

Her thin veil came down like a clear mask. It ended at the point of her nose. The small purple flowers Archer brought moved with her quick breath.

The perfect shape and color of her seemed beyond change. How could time ever touch her? The idea felt impossible.

"Now everything matters if it concerns you," Archer said.

Ellen looked at him for a long moment. Then she returned to the bench. He sat beside her and waited.

Far away, one step sounded through the empty rooms. Archer suddenly felt each passing minute.

"What did you want to tell me?" Ellen asked. She seemed to hear the warning too.

"I believe you came to New York because you were afraid."

"Afraid?"

"You feared that I would come to Washington."

Ellen looked down at her muff. Her hidden hands moved inside it.

"Well?" Archer asked.

"Yes," she said.

"You were afraid? You knew what I planned?"

"Yes, I knew."

"Then what?"

"This is better, is it not?" Her breath carried the words like a long question.

"Better?"

"We will hurt other people less. Is that not what you always wanted?"

"You mean I can reach you but never have you. We can meet secretly like this. That is the opposite of what I want."

He reminded her what he asked at the ferry.

"And you still think this is worse?" Ellen asked.

"A thousand times worse. I could easily lie to you. But the truth is that I hate this plan."

"Oh, so do I," Ellen cried. Her deep breath sounded like relief.

Archer stood quickly. "Then tell me what you think is better. In God's name, what can it be?"

Ellen lowered her head. Her hands opened and closed inside the muff. The distant step came nearer.

A guard entered the room. Gold lines crossed his cap and coat. He moved without interest, like a ghost among the ancient dead.

Ellen and Archer both stared at the case across from them. The guard passed between mummies and great stone boxes for dead people. A mummy was a dead body kept whole for many years.

When the guard disappeared, Archer spoke again. "What do you think is better?"

Ellen did not answer directly. "I promised Granny that I would stay. I thought I would be safer here."

"Safer from me?"

She lowered her head but did not look at him.

"Safer from loving me?"

Her face did not move. Then one tear grew on her lashes. It caught in the thin threads of her veil.

"Safer from causing harm that can never be repaired. We must not become like all the others."

"What others? I do not claim to be different from other men. The same needs and wishes burn inside me."

Ellen looked at him with fear. A little color entered her pale cheeks.

Then she spoke in a low, clear voice. "Could I come to you once, and then go home?"

Hot blood rushed into Archer's face. "Dearest," he said, without moving.

His heart seemed full to its edge. He felt that he held it in both hands. One small movement could make it pour over.

Then her last words reached him. His face grew dark.

"Go home? What do you mean?"

"Go home to my husband."

"Do you expect me to agree to that?"

Ellen raised her troubled eyes. "What else can I do? I cannot stay here and lie. These people were good to me."

"That is why I ask you to leave with me."

"Can we destroy their lives after they helped me rebuild mine?"

Archer jumped to his feet. He looked down at her but could not speak.

It would be easy to say yes. He could let her come once. Then her choice would place great power in his hands.

After that, he could make her refuse her husband. He could turn one meeting into a trap.

But Ellen's deep honesty stopped the words. If he let her come, he must let her leave again. He could not imagine doing that.

Then he saw the shadow of her wet lashes. His decision became weak.

"We have lives of our own," he began. "We cannot keep trying to do what no one can do."

He reminded her of the Gorgon. The Gorgon was a monster whose face turned people to stone. Ellen once said she looked at such terrible truths.

Why could she not face their own case? Perhaps she did not think he was worth the cost.

Ellen stood too. Her mouth became a hard line, and anger crossed her face.

"Call it that, then. I must go." She took a little watch from her dress.

She turned away. Archer followed and caught her wrist.

"Then come to me once," he said. The fear of losing her changed him. For several seconds, they looked almost like enemies.

"When?" he asked. "Tomorrow?"

Ellen waited. "The day after tomorrow."

"Dearest," he said again.

She pulled her wrist free. Still, their eyes held each other. Her face became very pale, yet a deep light filled it.

Archer watched with wonder and fear. For the first time, he saw love become visible.

"I will be late. Goodbye," Ellen cried. "Do not come farther."

She hurried through the long room. Perhaps the same light in Archer's eyes frightened her. At the door, she turned and quickly waved.

Archer walked home alone. Darkness fell before he entered his house. He looked at every familiar thing in the hall.

They seemed to stand on the other side of the grave. He felt like a dead man looking back at life.

The parlor maid heard him and ran upstairs. She lit the gas above the landing.

"Is Mrs. Archer home?" he asked.

"No, sir. She went out in the carriage after lunch. She has not returned."

Relief passed through him. He entered the library and dropped into his chair.

The maid followed with the green reading lamp. She added black coal to the weak fire, then left. Archer did not move.

He rested his arms on his knees. His chin lay on his joined hands. He stared into the red fire.

Time passed without touching him. He had no clear thoughts. A deep and serious wonder seemed to stop his life.

"This was what must happen," he kept telling himself. "This was what must happen."

He felt caught in the hand of fate. Yet his dreams looked nothing like this. A deadly cold lived inside his joy.

The door opened, and May entered.

"I am terribly late. You did not worry, did you?" She placed one hand on his shoulder. She rarely touched him that way.

Archer looked up in surprise. "Is it late?"

"It is after seven. I think you were asleep." May laughed.

She pulled the pins from her hat. Then she threw the soft dark hat onto the sofa. Her face looked paler than usual.

Yet a strange, bright life shone in it.

"I went to see Granny," she said. "Ellen returned from a walk as I was leaving. So I stayed for a long talk."

It was a very long time since they spoke so openly. May sat in her usual chair across from Archer. She ran her fingers through her untidy hair.

Archer thought she waited for him to speak.

"It was a truly good talk," May continued. Her bright smile did not look natural. "Ellen was so dear, just like the old Ellen."

May feared she was unfair to Ellen lately. Sometimes, she began to explain, she thought certain things.

Archer stood and leaned against the fireplace. The lamp's green circle did not reach him.

"Yes? What did you think?" he asked when she stopped.

"Perhaps I did not judge her fairly," May said. "She is so different, at least on the outside. She chooses such strange people."

Ellen also seemed to enjoy making people notice her. May blamed her fast European society. New York probably seemed very dull after that life.

"But I do not want to judge her unfairly," May finished.

The long speech left her a little breathless. Her lips remained slightly open. Deep red color filled her cheeks.

Archer remembered her face in the Mission garden at St. Augustine. The same hidden effort shone there. May reached toward something beyond the limits of her sight.

She hates Ellen, he thought. Now she is trying to defeat that hate. She wants my help.

Her effort moved him. For one moment, he almost broke their long silence. He almost placed himself under her kindness.

Then May continued. "You understand why the family sometimes became angry, do you not? We all tried to help Ellen at first."

But Ellen never seemed to understand them. Now she visited Mrs. Beaufort in Granny's carriage. May feared she also lost the van der Luydens' support.

"Oh," Archer said with a short, angry laugh.

The open door between them closed again.

"We are dining out tonight," he said. "It is time to dress."

May rose but remained near the fire. Archer started to pass her. She suddenly reached forward as if she wanted to stop him.

Their eyes met. Her eyes held the same swimming blue light from Jersey City.

May threw both arms around his neck. She pressed her cheek against his.

"You have not kissed me today," she whispered.

He felt her whole body shake inside his arms.