With hurried hands and ruffles of skirts, I was hastened into the dressing room that was off the main bedroom. The door latched behind me, locking me into darkness. My body froze to pacify my breath and contain my shock. He can’t leave us alone, can he? Despite the obscurity, I knew the area well enough to maneuver around the two easy-chairs and settee that crowded the center of the room. I stuttered my movement to the front of the room when murmurs began to sweep under the doorway.
“Hello, darling. You’re home early. Something wrong?”
A grunt, “What is all this?”
I edged closer to the entrance, where a fleck of light illuminated from the door’s keyhole. Meeting the wooden door, I bent down to peep through the opening, my fingers caressing the brass fixture.
Sitting on the bed was Jennie, in the same ivory chemise my fingers had the pleasure of grazing only minutes before. She attempted to suppress her sorrel ringlets; her skin still flushed. Mr. Peter Sage stood in his business suit, with his greasy, black hair parted down in the center; his leather briefcase and top hat were still in hand. I felt my mouth bunch and my teeth grind.
“I was setting for a lovely evening upon your arrival,” she charmingly gestured to the tens of candles that lined the otherwise dark room. “The children are off at Bowling Green with the nannies,” she grinned. “We won’t be expecting them for at least another hour.”
I smirked at her lie; she played this game well. Mr. Sage shortly contemplated her words, his vexation morphing into confusion, and then he smiled down at his wife. For a successful businessman, Peter did not contain a large amount of common sense.
“And this is why I chose you,” I rolled my eyes at his comment. Peter’s father “chose” Jennie because Peter was insufferable to all other suitresses, and Jennie’s middle-class family was more than willing to pawn off their daughter for a higher allowance and status. “My beautiful wife, helping me to relax after a long day of abiding the beggars of the city.”
Mr. Sage hastily left his briefcase and hat on the long chaise, took off his morning coat, and rushed to his wife. Jennie giggled as he repeatedly kissed her neck and forced her upper half down onto the mattress. Peter continued his aggression against her skin while Jennie began to undo his belt. A sob erupted from me, and I quickly modulated the sound with my hand and sank down onto the floor, Jennie’s ‘keep quiet!’ hissing through my mind.
Unable to observe the scene any longer, I forced myself to focus down on the Persian rug that slept on the floor. I ran my fingers over its velvety fibers; the dressing room was too dim to view its crimson and bronze pattern, but it was all too familiar to me. I could picture the ethereal design my feet had the pleasure of gracing throughout my visits in the past months.
Jennie was the lovely Mrs. Peter Sage, the wife of a wealthy banking heir. The Sage family tree stretched back to the original colonies, where greedy sons jumped off the boat onto untamed soil. Before our formal introduction, I had only pondered Mrs. Sage from across the pews at Sunday mass or the greens of Central Park where she was always accessorized with her fleet of other distinguished wives and clusters of servants.
Three months after my William had passed, Mrs. Sage invited me for tea for the first time. I was utterly shocked when she sent it to me. The ladies of the city were gracious with their gossip, and my husband’s sudden death and lack of children were populous topics during these sessions. Mrs. Sage was the first person to be kind to me after the rumors spread.
When I arrived at the Sage’s extravagant Fifth Avenue home for the first time, her servant led me to the parlor where Mrs. Sage sat, porcelain in hand, looking rather bored until she glanced at me fidgeting in the doorway; a smile migrated to her summer-stained lips. Her dark locks were twisted up into a psyche knot and she donned a lavender tea gown. My black mourning dress made me feel like a deathly shadow compared to her sublime aura.
At first, I was off put at having the full attention of Mrs. Sage, or Jennie, as she insisted, I call her, but I soon became accustomed to our sojourns. Bi-weekly, we explored her collection of exotic teas while discussing our poetry readings. Jennie bettered my embroidery skills while I taught her William Hill.
My visits to the Sage residence became routine; Jennie would send word of our meeting to my own residence when Mr. Sage and the children were to be absent from the Sage home. Servants were instructed to bring tea but never to stay for our meetings. I quickly found myself sitting around, waiting for her call.
One visit changed our relationship's structure. Jennie offered me the chance to view the new collection Peter brought in from Paris for her. Jennie again shooed the servants away, insisting we did not require their assistance. After arriving in the dressing room, the generous lace and ruffles immediately captured my attention.
While William left a stable sum in his absence, my allowance could never result in a collection as captivating as Jennie’s. My hand wandered over the material, and I envisioned Jennie wearing the elegant pieces. I was too compelled by the satin fabric to notice Jennie’s presence directly behind me. My attention was not grabbed until her lips delicately brushed the back of my neck.
I shot forward and swiftly spun around in surprise at the action. While Jennie was startled by my quick motions, her expression morphed into an affectionate gaze.
“It’s okay,” she said, reassuring me. I was accustomed to Jennie’s forwardness—she commonly brushed her hand down my arm or sat close during our artisanal lessons—but a kiss was a new element.
I let her slowly approach me and run her hands up the sleeves of my tea gown till they settled on the tops of my shoulders; her hands had a velvet touch but added warmth to the material. Her green eyes dug into mine, searching for permission. Ever so steadily, I felt myself drift in and pressed my lips to hers faintly.
The dressing room hung memories on closet hangers, and I felt their lingering presence start to affect me. However, the sounds of pleasure coming from the bedroom stumbled me out of my memory. My mind fogged over with a crumple of emotions, and suddenly I had to know if she felt the same. Did she breathe his name as she did mine? Did he know she liked to be kissed directly behind her ear? Did she let her head fall to his chest afterward?
I hurried back towards the door and peered through the keyhole; my eyes wandered until they found hers. Jennie’s verdant eyes fixed on mine while she distantly moaned at Peter’s attempts. I felt hot tears bubble at the corner of my eyes as Peter collapsed and threw himself onto the other side of the now messy bed, Jennie’s eyes still holding mine through the keyhole.
Madison Shiner is in her junior year at Commonwealth University, formerly Bloomsburg University where she is studying both creative writing and history. Madison was a presenter at the Council of Liberal Arts Colleges' eastern conference in 2022, has won multiple writing awards through the American Paint Horse Association, and worked as a journalist for Wells College's The Sycamore. If you cannot find her on campus, Madison is most likely at the barn with her horses Buddy and Piper, or practicing with the Bloomsburg University Equestrian Team which she was elected president in the spring of 2023. Madison is also an active member of the English honor society Sigma Tau Delta and Bloomsburg's history club. She currently works at the Bloomsburg Children’s Museum where she gets to express her passion for writing and history by educating and working with children.
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