It was a great relief to Annabelle when her mother announced at breakfast two weeks after the funeral that she wanted to go to the hospital where she did volunteer work. She said she thought it would do her good to think of someone else, and Annabelle agreed.

“Are you sure you’re up to it, Mama?” Annabelle inquired quietly, with a look of concern. She didn’t want her mother getting sick, although it was early May and the temperature was warm.

“I’m fine,” her mother said sadly. As fine as she was going to be for a long time. And that afternoon, both women wore their black dresses, and white hospital aprons, and went to St. Vincent’s Hospital, where Consuelo had worked as a volunteer for years. Annabelle had joined her mother there since she was fifteen. They worked mostly with the indigent, and dealt more with wounds and injuries than infectious diseases. Annabelle had always been fascinated by the work, and had a natural talent for it, and her mother had a gentle manner and a kind heart. But the medical aspect of it was what had always intrigued Annabelle, and whenever possible she read medical books to explain the procedures they saw. She had never been squeamish, unlike Hortie, who had fainted the only time Annabelle had convinced her to join them. The messier a situation got, the more Annabelle liked it. Her mother preferred to serve food on trays, while Annabelle assisted the nurses whenever they let her, changing dressings and cleaning wounds. Patients always said that she had an amazingly gentle touch.

They returned exhausted that night, after a long, tiring afternoon, and went back to the hospital again later that week. If nothing else, it was keeping both Annabelle and her mother distracted from their double loss. Suddenly, the spring that had been meant to be the most exciting time of Annabelle’s life, after her debut, had turned into a time of solitude and mourning. They would accept no invitations for the next year, which worried Consuelo. While Annabelle would remain at home in somber black, all the other young women who had just come out would be getting engaged. She was afraid that the tragedy that had struck them would also now impact her daughter’s future in a most unfortunate way, but there was nothing they could do. Annabelle didn’t seem to think about what she was missing. Appropriately, she was far more distressed about their losses than about her future, or the absence of a social life.

Hortie still came to visit them often, and in mid-May they quietly celebrated Annabelle’s nineteenth birthday. Consuelo was very upset at lunch, and commented that she had married at eighteen, when she came out, and Robert had been born when she was the age that Annabelle was now. Thinking about it reduced her to tears again, and she had left the two girls in the garden, and went upstairs to lie down.

“Your poor mother,” Hortie said sympathetically, and then looked at her friend, “and poor you. I’m so sorry, Belle. This is all so awful.” She felt so badly for her that it took her another two hours to admit that she and James had set the date for their wedding, in November, and plans for an enormous reception were under way. Annabelle said she was thrilled for her, and meant it. “You really don’t care that you can’t go out right now?” Hortie asked her. She would have hated being stuck in the house for a year, but Annabelle accepted it with grace. She was only nineteen, and the next year wasn’t going to be fun for her. But she had already grown up immeasurably in the brief month since her brother and father had died.

“I don’t mind,” Annabelle said quietly. “And as long as Mama is willing to work at the hospital, it gives me something to do when I go with her.”

“Ergh, don’t talk to me about that.” Hortie rolled her eyes. “It makes me sick.” But she knew that her friend loved it. “Will you still go to Newport this year?” The Worthingtons had a beautiful cottage there, in Rhode Island, next door to the Astors.

“Mama says we will. Maybe we can go up early, in June, instead of July, before the season starts. I think it would do her good.” Caring for her mother was Annabelle’s only concern now, unlike Hortie, who had a wedding to plan, a million parties to go to, and a fiancé she was madly in love with. Her life was what Annabelle’s should have been, and no longer was. Her world, as she knew it, had been interrupted, changed forever.

“At least we’ll be together in Newport,” Hortie said happily. They both loved to go swimming, when their mothers would let them. They talked about the wedding plans for a while, and then Hortie left. For Annabelle, it had been a very quiet birthday.

In the weeks following the funerals, Consuelo and Annabelle had several visits, as was expected. Friends of Robert’s came to call, several elderly dowagers came to offer their condolences to Consuelo, two men from Arthur’s bank whom they knew well, and finally, a third one, whom Consuelo had met several times, and liked very much. His name was Josiah Millbank, he was thirty-eight years old, and was much respected at Arthur’s bank. He was a quiet man, with gentle manners, and told Consuelo several stories about Arthur that she’d never heard before, and which made her laugh. She was surprised by how much she enjoyed Josiah’s visit, and he had been there for an hour when Annabelle came in from a ride with Hortie. Annabelle remembered meeting him previously, but didn’t know him well. He was more her father’s generation than her own, and was even fourteen years older than her brother, so although they had seen each other at parties, they had nothing in common. But like her mother, she was impressed by his kindness and good manners, and he was sympathetic to Annabelle as well.

He mentioned that he was going to Newport in July, as he always did. He had a simple, comfortable house there. Josiah was originally from Boston, from a family as respectable as their own, and with even more money. He led a quiet life anyway, and was never showy about it. He promised to come and visit them again in Newport, and Consuelo said she’d like that. After he left, Annabelle noticed that he had brought a large bouquet of white lilacs that had already been put in a vase. Consuelo commented about him after he left.

“He’s really a very nice man,” Consuelo said quietly, admiring the lilac. “Your father liked him a lot, and I can see why. I wonder why he never married.”

“Some people don’t,” Annabelle said, looking unconcerned. “Not everyone has to get married, Mama,” she added with a smile. She was beginning to wonder if she was going to be one of those. She couldn’t imagine leaving her mother now, to go off with a man. She wouldn’t want to leave Consuelo alone. And it didn’t seem like a tragedy to her if she didn’t marry. It would have been to Hortie, but not to her. With her father and brother gone, and her mother shaken to her core, Annabelle felt she had more important responsibilities at home, and didn’t resent it for a moment. Caring for her mother gave purpose to her life.

“If you’re telling me you don’t want to get married,” her mother correctly read her mind, as she often did, “you can forget about that right now. We are going to do our year of mourning, as is proper, and then we’re going to find you a husband. That’s what your father would want.”

Annabelle turned to face her seriously then. “Daddy wouldn’t want me to leave you alone,” she said as firmly as any parent.

Consuelo shook her head. “That’s nonsense and you know it. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” But as she said it, her eyes filled with tears again, and her daughter was not convinced.

“We’ll see about that,” Annabelle said firmly, and swept out of the room, to organize a tea tray to be taken up to Consuelo’s room. When she returned, she put her arm around her mother, gently escorted her upstairs for a nap, and settled her on her bed, the bed she had shared with the husband she had loved and who was gone, which broke Consuelo’s heart.

“You’re much too good to me, my love,” she said, looking embarrassed.

“No, I’m not,” Annabelle said brightly. She was the only remaining ray of sunshine in the house. She brought her mother nothing but joy. And each was all the other had left. There were just the two of them now. She pulled a light shawl over Consuelo, and went back downstairs to read in the garden, hoping her mother would feel up to going back to the hospital the next day. It was the only distraction Annabelle had, and gave her something to do that was important to her.

She could hardly wait to go to Newport the following month.

Chapter 3

Annabelle and her mother left for Newport a month earlier than usual, in June. It was beautiful that time of year, and as they always did, the staff had gone ahead to open the house. Usually, the social season in Newport was dazzling, but this year they were planning a very quiet life. People could visit them at the house, but two months after her father and brother’s deaths there was no way that Annabelle and her mother could go out. The now-familiar black ribbons were put on the front door in Newport, to indicate their state of mourning.

There were a number of families in the same situation in Newport that year, including the Astors. Madeleine Astor, who had lost her husband John Jacob on the Titanic, was expecting her baby in August. The tragedy had hit the New York social world hard, since it was the maiden voyage, and so many society types and aristocrats had been on the ship. And continuing news of the ineptitude of the crew getting people off the boat was increasingly disturbing. Almost all the lifeboats had left half empty. Some men had forced their way into them with the women and children. And almost no one from steerage had been saved. There were going to be official hearings about it in time.

Newport was extremely quiet in June, but started to liven up as people from Boston and New York began to arrive and fill their “cottages” in July. For the uninitiated, what people called cottages in Newport were actually mansions of mammoth proportions anywhere else. They were houses with ballrooms, enormous chandeliers, marble floors, priceless antique furniture, and spectacular gardens, bordering on the sea. It was a remarkable community made up of the scions of society from the entire East Coast, a watering hole for the very rich. The Worthingtons were right at home there. Their cottage was one of the largest and loveliest in town.

Annabelle started to have fun once Hortie arrived. They sneaked off to the sea together, went for walks, and Hortie’s fiancé James often joined them for picnics on the lawn. Now and then he brought friends, which was fun for Annabelle, and her mother pretended she didn’t notice. As long as they didn’t go to parties, she had no objection to Annabelle seeing young people. She was such a good person and so devoted to her mother, she deserved it. Consuelo wondered if any of James’s friends, or Robert’s old pals, would spark Annabelle’s interest. She was increasingly worried that the year of mourning would impact Annabelle’s fate forever. Since the Christmas season, when all the girls had come out, six of the young women in Annabelle’s age group had gotten engaged. And Annabelle wasn’t going to meet anyone staying at home with her mother. After the past two months, she already seemed older and more mature than the others. Something like that could frighten young men away. And more than anything, her mother wanted her to get married. Annabelle continued to be unconcerned and was happy to see Hortie and the others, but none of the men was of even the slightest interest to her.

Josiah Millbank came to see them once he arrived in July too. He never failed to bring a gift with him when he visited, flowers in the city, and in Newport, either fruit or candy. He spent hours talking to Consuelo, as they sat together on the wide porch in rocking chairs, and after his third visit, Annabelle teased her about it.

“I think he likes you, Mama,” she said, smiling.

“Don’t be silly.” Consuelo blushed at the suggestion. The last thing she wanted was a suitor. She intended to remain faithful to her husband’s memory forever, and said so to anyone who would listen. She was not one of those widows who was looking for a husband, although she wanted one desperately for Annabelle. “He’s just being kind to us,” Consuelo added firmly, convinced of what she was saying. “He’s younger than I am anyway, and if he’s interested in anyone, it’s you.” Although she had to admit, there was no evidence of it. He seemed to be equally comfortable talking to mother or daughter, and he was never flirtatious, just friendly.

“He’s not interested in me, Mama,” Annabelle confirmed with a broad grin, “and he’s only five years younger than you are. I think he’s a very nice person. And he’s old enough to be my father.”