May 1888
A butterscotch glow draped everything within ten feet of the little café. With the sky so dark, the world looked as if it were upside down, the café the sun, and the foggy blue an ocean, tossing buildings back and forth. Edmund twisted in his wire chair, his eyes catching every carriage that passed by. A waiter in a white apron paused at Edmund’s table. His eyes glanced down his long nose at the empty chair as he refilled Edmund’s water.
“She’ll be here,” said Edmund. He downed the water in two gulps. The waiter disappeared, stepping into the café and leaving Edmund alone in the still street. The heavy clop of horse hooves sounded from behind. Edmund stood as a carriage door opened and lavender-colored skirts dripped onto the cobbled street. His insides felt as twisted as the wire chair and he suddenly regretted the last two glasses of water. He offered his hand to the lady and she took it. Delicate lace covered her fingers which twined with his, rough and raw from scrubbing. Edmund released his grasp, afraid of tainting the perfect gloves.
“I’m sorry. I know I’m frightfully late,” said Celine. She swept to her chair with glass spun elegance. “I couldn’t tell you how difficult it was to escape.”
“Not at all. The night is still young,” replied Edmund. Her deep green eyes caught the twinkle from the café lights like blades of grass catching fireflies. “Really, Celine, it is such a pleasure to see you again. I thought,” Edmund hesitated, “Well, I thought last time would be our last.”
“I did too.” Celine grasped his hands, rubbing lace on roughness. “Let’s enjoy tonight.” The white aproned waiter placed fragrant bread and steaming soup in front of them. “You look very smart. Have I seen that suit before?” asked Celine. Edmund looked down at the crisp black sleeves. The suit was a stark contrast to his old tweed. Now’s your chance. Tell her.
“This? Yes, I think you’ve seen it.” He drained his glass. Drat. The cravat was so starched he could feel it bounce against his throat with every heartbeat. The corner of Celine’s mouth lifted, setting her blush colored lips into a smirk. It’s no use old boy, she’s too sharp for your act. “Actually, no. It’s brand new.”
“You didn’t buy that just for dinner, did you?” her concern for his finances was, for once, misplaced.
“Oh, but I did.” Edmund’s insides felt as if they were dancing the can-can. “You see, there’s been a development.”
Celine’s expression was unreadable. She had stopped eating, giving him every ounce of her attention. Edmund’s mind was screaming at him to retreat, fall back at the last second, but he pushed on. “I got a job. A real job. Through Charlie’s friend, he told me about it. I didn’t expect it to go anywhere, but it did.”
Celine was still. Her face began to glow a pretty peach tone. Edmund took her hand in his, cupping it as gently as a butterfly. “You see, Celine, this means I can support you. That I’m worthy of you.”
“Edmund,” she began, shaking her head and sending her dark blonde curls into a dance.
“No, my darling, listen. I wouldn’t ask you before, because I couldn’t bear for you to have to live lower because of me. But I’m on the up now.” Her eyes were starting to glitter. Was that bad? “And I want you to be my wife.”
Silence. The late-night breeze sent the leaves on the flowers in the center of the table shivering. Edmund was shivering too. Or shaking. Celine broke her gaze, eyes batting at the tablecloth in disbelief. The clinking of dishes sounded from inside the restaurant. A voice yelled down the street.
“I wasn’t expecting-” she began. Edmund released her hand.
“I should’ve done it properly.” He placed his napkin on the table. Well done. You really charmed her proposing over cold soup. “I don’t even have a ring.” He gave an airy laugh.
“No, no it’s not that.” Celine shook her head; her jaw was sharp and resolute. “It’s my guardian. He w-won’t… approve.” She was struggling to speak. Perhaps she felt as giddy as he did.
Edmund’s chair scraped stone as he moved closer. “Yes, I’ve thought of that. I know Monsieur DeChangy is strict. But we should’ve told him long ago. I will tell him about my job, about our future.”
Celine placed her hand on top of his as a single tear escaped her lashes. She swept it away before it reached her chin. “I’m not sure it will work, Edmund.” Her brows were knit.
“Come now, what’s this?” He tapped the bottom of her chin. “What’s wrong? What has he done?”
“Nothing,” her eyes left his, looking down again, “It’s just- Edmund, perhaps we should wait. We’re so young,”
Ah, so that’s what he’s done. Edmund sat back in his chair, cold metal pressing his back. When he spoke, the tone of his voice surprised him. Jagged but soft, like distant thunder, “DeChagny told you how it would be then, did he? Living in a house with no drawing rooms, married to a man with no servants?”
Celine’s face hardened, seemed to turn to marble in an instant. She fixed him with her glittering eyes. “That’s not fair. Don’t use my status against me. We are different, Edmund, I admit. But has that stopped me from seeing you?” She looked wild when she was angry. Like a runaway mare, impossible to tame.
“No,” he admitted. Then pushing his chair out said, “It’s just stopped you from marrying me.”
“You cannot understand, even a little, my reservation? What are you doing?” Edmund fumbled for his pocketbook. He placed several crumpled bills on the table.
“Paying for dinner. That, at least, was not a disappointment.”
Edmund looked at Celine, her eyes shooting sparks, her hair on fire in the yellow light and he softened. Slipping the pocketbook back into his coat he said, “I will not force you to do something you are not comfortable with, Celine. This is goodbye.” Before her startled face or honeyed voice could stop him, his shoes were splashing puddles in the dips of cobbled stones.
“Eddie, no! Please don’t go!” Celine’s voice sounded distant. The world felt as though it were flooded. There was the sound of rushing water in Edmund’s ears, his legs resisted his every step and everything, everything moved in slow motion. A blurry impression of the world he knew before. The pinpricked stars turned to warbled smears and his heartbeats bled together. As he left the warm breeze and the butterscotch glow behind him, he felt as though he were lost in the upside-down sea of the city, drowning in the smog. And behind him, far behind him, sat the lavender crumpled in her petals at the little café.
Celine watched as Edmund’s black clad figure turned to smoke with the shadows, beyond the reach of the warmth of the café. Her head collapsed into her hands and she took no notice of the waiter clearing dishes. The wind picked up as the golden strip of lights above her went out one by one. Just like that, the magic of the café was gone, as if its soul had left for the night and nothing but a hollow shell remained.
