On The Other Side

Chapter Eight: From Riches To Rags

"Oh, little one, the dresses were magical, the fabric like rose petals against the skin, the jewels at my throat, at my ears, catching the light of the crystal chandeliers.” My voice weaves a dream-like haze over Aggie, her eyes a million miles away, her hands clasped to her chest. “The food was divine, there were puddings and pies, frozen lemonades, ice cream.” I sigh in remembrance.

Aggie’s eyes, wide as saucers, says, “I’ve never had ice cream, my tummy wants to try it so bad.” I laugh at her dramatics, such a sweet child she is. “Mr. Declan told me he’s going to try to get some for me to try. I hope it’s strawberry.” Aggie claps her hands in glee, her green eyes twinkling.

Her mama, Claire, laughs at her daughter's antics. “Oh grá, you’ve got Mr. Declan wrapped tight round your finger, haven’t you?” She shakes her head. “You mustn’t ask for so much, Aggie….”

Aggie interrupts her mother, “But mamaí, Dec is my friend, he loves me, he said he would give me lots of candies, but you make him ‘sasperated, he told me that.” She says this very matter of fact, making me laugh out loud. To be around children again is such a joy.

“Aggie,” Claire warns.

“Oh, but deary, you make each other exasperated, I think,” I interject. “He is quite handsome, our Declan.” I eye Claire whilst saying this, gauging her reaction. Just as I thought, her cheeks pinken, she fidgets with her hair, turning away from us.

I smile at that; Dec and Claire would make a pretty couple. If Claire weren’t so stubborn, that is. Her insistence on Declan calling her Ms. Claire is absurd. We’re all friends, what’s the point of formalities nowadays? The world is so different than it used to be.

Aggie turns back to me. “Tell me more,  Ms. Milly. Tell me about all the balls you went to. Did your dresses twirl, did you wear gloves?”

“The balls were the best part of the week, the maids doing my hair up, weaving ribbons in and out of the curls. And yes, the dresses twirled wonderfully, especially when on the dance floor. The dance floor is actually where I met my husband, where we fell in love.” I stop, well, where I fell in love, I think to just myself.

Claire senses my mood change, calling Aggie over to fold clothes with her and Corky. I smile in gratitude, my mind already wandering to a different time, a far different place than this. This tenement housing, this room that my horses are too good for.

My home was lovely, had been in the family for decades. The floors were pristine white marble from Italy, the banisters, carved from mahogany, always polished to a high sheen. My Father ordered crystal and gold chandeliers from Paris, hand-knotted rugs from India. We had indoor plumbing before anyone one else in our neighborhood, we were able to take hot baths whenever we wanted, with just a twist of a knob out came steaming water. A seemingly miraculous feat.

Corky comes wandering over, plunking down in my lap. I press my thinning, papery lips to his cheek. I miss my own children, who left me long ago. Well, fled is the more correct word. They fled their father, and his unloving, unforgiving, tyrannical ways.

I’ll admit when I first met Henry I was awestruck by his loud, assertive personality. He was born to a penniless prostitute, not having any idea who fathered him. Through, I’m sure, unorthodox backroom deals, maybe a deal or two with the devil, he made his way out of the gutters, rising in the ranks of the wealthy.

I first met Henry at Nelly DuVale’s spring ball. I was 18, almost a spinster by most standards. When his chocolate brown eyes connected with mine, I felt a visceral pull. I knew right then I was going to marry him. I was going to become Mrs. Henry Worthington.

Six months later we were married in St. Paul’s Chapel here in New York City.
Looking back, I can’t believe I so willingly gave my wealth, my life to Henry. Once he got ahold of my money, it was never enough, I was never enough, our two sons, James and Charles were never enough. Henry always wanted more, the best of everything. He spent and spent.

My father, George Fairfax, was a shipping tycoon, inheriting the family business from his father. We’re what you would call old money. Wur family wealth being handed down from generation to generation. I wanted our sons to be involved in the business, take over one day, but with Henry’s aggressive, overbearing nature, it pushed both James and Charles to move west, forcing them to leave behind their inheritance.

I never forgave Henry for pushing my sons away, for not caring when they left, for running my family’s company into the ground. I’ll never forgive myself for my silence, for not having the guts to stand up against him.

Now, Henry’s dead. The money gambled away. I bet Henry loved going from rags to riches. But going from riches to rags is something entirely different. It’s quite the eye-opener seeing how the other half lives.

Corky snuggles up closer, popping his tiny thumb into his mouth, his eyes closing. My heart lifts at this, I haven’t been close to another human for years, haven’t felt loving arms hugging me in comfort, or had a child seek comfort from me. I gently brush Corky’s hair off his brow, his face peaceful in sleep.