The Underwater Ballroom Society

A Brand New Thing

The ink curved into perfect shapes as Eve expertly wielded the pen, not minding the gathering stains on her finger. The daughter of…

“Eve! What are you doing?”

…Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Winklevoss…

An elegant hand whipped past her face and snatched the invitation off the table. Eve ignored her sister and picked up the next piece of beautiful ecru paper. She smoothed it down to feel the texture across her palm.

“Eve!” Edith yelled, thrusting the invitation before her eyes and pointing at a little drawing Eve had crafted in the corner. “What’s this?”

Their tall mother, as elegantly curved as Eve was awkwardly straight, swept into the drawing room.

Eve ducked her head to see her work better. Her hand felt the exquisite gentle push of the paper against the pen, and she smiled to herself.

“I knew she’d ruin them, Mother!” Edith was yelling, still. “Why did you let her write my invitations?”

Edith’s (and Eve’s) mother took the offending item and peered closely. “Eve, is this… a button?”

“Yes,” Eve said, continuing to write. “A button because we call Edith ‘button.’”

Edith gave a frustrated shout. “No one has used that ridiculous nickname since I was ten years old. How dare… how dare…” Poor Edith was so upset she couldn’t get out the words.

Eve felt her mother’s hand stopping her own. “Eve.”

Looking up, Eve asked, “Yes, Mother?”

“No more buttons.”

Edith grabbed the stack of Eve’s completed work. “She’s done them all that way, Mother.” Eve watched, crestfallen, as Edith tore each one into tiny pieces while their mother wore a dignified frown.

“You didn’t have to utterly destroy them, Edith,” Eve said, staring at the scattering of confetti now on the table. “I would’ve kept them.” She scooped up the bits of paper and let them waterfall through her fingers. “Although the confetti is rather pretty. We should throw it at you and William at the wedding.”

“Mother, why did you let this fool write my invitations? My wedding will be the event of the Season. And you let… you let…”

“You know why, Edith.”

Edith knew why. First, they were saving on expenses, but they couldn’t speak of that. Second, Eve had beautiful handwriting, but they tried not to compliment Eve. Because Eve’s eccentricities outweighed her assets. Their mother hoped by withholding praise they’d encourage Eve to be more normal.

“Eve,” Mrs. Winklevoss said. “Now that you’ve ruined the invitations, you’ll go to the post office and buy more stationery.”

Eve continued to write.

“Eve,” Mrs. Winklevoss said firmly.

“I need to finish this one. I can’t leave it half done.”

“That’s enough, Eve.”

But Eve kept writing until she’d written the very last letter. Her fingers itched to add the button, but she resisted. “I’m done for now.”

Grabbing her novel off the table, feeling comforted by the presence of her friends within its pages, Eve left the drawing room as her sister complained, “Mother, how did you and Father have such a strange bird? Nanny must’ve dropped her on her head when she was a baby and then hid the secret.”

“Edith,” their mother admonished gently.

“I’m filled with gratitude you didn’t make me wait until Eve married because, really, Mother, no one will ever marry her. No one.”

I’m not opposed to marriage, Eve wanted to say, pausing at the foot of the stairs, but young men don’t appear to be interested. The Winklevoss’s declining fortune was an open secret, so there was no money to tempt them.

Edith didn’t bother to lower her voice as she prattled on, “When will you and Father realize she’s mad like Aunt Dorothy and will only be a nuisance? She’s not pretty enough to have men overlook her oddities. And where is Father? Is he hiding again?”

“He’s in his study, of course. He has work to do.”

“Oh, what work does he have to do?”

Eve took the steps quickly, her sister’s words lingering in her mind. She’d heard people say—usually Edith and her friends—that she had funny looks, with her pale skin, wispy blond hair, and eyes a blue so light they looked ethereal. But Eve thought she looked all right.

A lovely thing about people in novels was being able to stop reading if they were too cruel. She wanted to shut the book on Edith today.

Eve left their beautiful house in the front seat of the car driven by their chauffeur—dear, ancient Holden, who’d driven their carriages before he’d driven their cars. The Winklevoss estate wasn’t magnificently large, but it was enough to be acceptable. Quiet. They even had their own sheep. In the back of the car sat Eve’s lady’s maid, prim-faced Glenda, her mouth turned down even more than usual because Eve had insisted on sitting in front with Holden. He looked uncomfortable but was used to Eve’s stubborn nature.

Glenda reminded Eve of Lucy Honeychurch’s cousin in A Room with a View. She wasn’t exactly like her, but Eve liked to imagine that she was, so she could better imagine herself to be in the novel. Especially when Lucy was kissed in a field of violets. Eve had never been kissed and probably never would be, but when she read the scene she felt it was happening to her exactly as it’d happened to Lucy Honeychurch.

As they bumped along the long driveway to the front gate, Eve’s eyes went to the lake, her special spot.

“You need to stay away from that place,” Glenda warned from the backseat.

Eve wasn’t surprised. Glenda, who’d grown up in the village they were headed to, had voiced her suspicions before.

“Why does a small lake frighten you so?” Eve asked for the hundredth time.

“When I see danger, I know to stay away.”

Holden kept his eyes on the road, but was tension pulling at his mouth?

Eve turned around. “What danger do you see?”

Glenda’s face drew into itself, even tighter. “That dark water traps restless souls.”

“Well, why don’t they just get out?”

“They’re afraid.”

“Of what, swimming?”

Holden’s mouth curled into the tiniest of smiles.

“Of living,” Glenda snapped and then would say no more.

Eve’s family, the Winklevosses, had moved to the estate when Eve was three. Her father was not from money. He’d made his fortune and wanted to play English gentleman. He’d bought an estate that had plenty of acreage but a dilapidated house, and renovated it into something rather grand. But society barely accepted Mr. Winklevoss, especially since his fortunes had turned. Edith had been very fortunate to make her match. But then again, Edith was a beauty, just like their mother.

In a kind moment, Mrs. Winklevoss had told Eve that her skin was like white silk. But then she’d looked at—not into—Eve’s eyes and said, “But your irises are so light they’re almost not even there. Like they don’t exist at all. Just like Aunt Dorothy’s.” Her father’s spinster sister who’d disappeared and never returned. Because that’s what happens, Mrs. Winklevoss claimed, when you do things you’re not supposed to. You disappear.

Eve thought it a tragedy her mother didn’t read. One could have adventures in novels and disappear. Safely.

Mrs. Winklevoss thought Eve’s reading was unhealthy and in some way contributed to her paleness. There really was so much about her daughter she didn’t understand. She’d often remind Eve, although she wouldn’t say it unkindly, of all the talents she lacked. Mrs. Winklevoss recited the list as if it must be said, must be heard. Eve couldn’t sing or dance. She couldn’t play the piano. She didn’t know how to make polite conversation with young men. She didn’t know how to sit quietly like a young lady and be normal.

But Eve’s eyes were still on the lake and her horse chestnut tree beside it. She wished she were lying there reading a book. She could do that.

They rolled into the village, stirring up dust. Eve watched as they passed the blacksmith on the outskirts of town and the humble cottages and then more fashionable homes and the grand new hotel. Even her mother conceded the hotel was quite wonderful, although she said it wasn’t enough to make up for the dreary entrance into town.

After parking in front of the post office, Eve said to both Holden and Glenda, “Don’t get out.”

Holden nodded, but to Eve’s dismay, sour-faced Glenda was out of the car, taking her long strides to the post office, reaching it before Eve could even open her door.

Eve stepped out and slammed her door, then hesitated. Through the open window, she looked in at Holden. “I’m sorry. I was overcome.”

“Understandable,” Holden said with a wink.

Eve glanced at Glenda, gleeful to see her scandalized face at Holden’s impropriety. She and Holden exchanged a conspiratorial smile. Eve turned away but felt compelled to hold onto the door handle for a long count of three. She didn’t know why these rituals had her in their grasp, but there was such compulsion in her she couldn’t fight it.

“Miss Eve,” Glenda said impatiently.

But Glenda shouldn’t have spoken because now Eve had to reach out for the handle one more time.

Her objective met, she whirled around before the urge swept over her again, knocking against someone and losing her balance. A strong grip on her arm steadied her as she saw a skeleton key fall to the ground. She leaned down to scoop it up, throwing her rescuer off balance too, their arms clutching one another as they tried not to fall. She found herself looking into the mesmerizing eyes of a young man.

“I believe this is yours,” he said, their fingers touching as they both clutched the key.

“Miss Eve!” Glenda called out.

“No,” Eve said, “it’s not.”

“Do you dance?” he asked.

Startled, she laughed. “I’m no good at it.”

“Miss Eve!” Glenda yelled out again.

“Neither am I,” he said lightheartedly, “but I feel we’re dancing.”

Glenda was now beside her. “Miss Eve, what are you doing?”

The young man tipped his hat and left them, walking down the street. Eve felt compelled to follow him, but Glenda was pulling her away.

Eve looked over her shoulder at the young man and was rewarded with him turning around and giving her a wide smile and a wave. She was still looking at him when Glenda shut the door of the post office. By the time she realized she was still holding the key, he was gone.

Eve delivered the stationery to Mrs. Winklevoss and climbed the stairs. She paused to watch her mother playing with Edith’s hair and heard her say, “How will you adorn your hair for the wedding? It’s so beautiful.”

Edith laughed gaily. “We have the same hair, Mother.”

Arm in arm, they went into the drawing room as Eve tried to imagine squishing into the small space between them. But there was no place for her there. She tried to picture herself on her mother’s other arm at least, but she only saw herself falling behind.

Eve tapped the railing three times before going upstairs.

Eve’s eyelids were drooping. She put down her book—a fantastical tale about a girl finding herself in a land filled with things that shouldn’t be—splayed across her chest… for only a moment, closing her eyes… and then woke to shadows.

A full moon shone through an uncovered window. Most likely, Glenda had found her asleep and shooed the chambermaid away.

Eve thought she heard music. Sleepily she went to the window, greeted by stars so alive and twinkling in the night sky she wondered if they’d been singing. But no, the music was coming from the lake. Her lake. The one she loved, and Glenda feared. Pressing her face to the glass, she saw the water dazzling with light as if the lake had swallowed the stars.

She slipped on her shoes and sneaked down the stairs and across a lawn covered in night dew. With damp shoes and cold feet, she arrived at the large statue of Neptune on his throne, a marble monstrosity that’d been on the estate long before the Winklevosses. Looking up, Eve was slightly disturbed by the lone red robin perched on Neptune’s head. The eyes of the robin, as well as the sea god, watched her as she passed by. Her steps slowed as she neared the lake’s edge.

A fire of light and music rose up. Trumpets and trombones. A saxophone. A lively piano, a jazzy singer’s voice. The lake erupted with life.

Eve hesitated, a pit of fear deep in her stomach. This wasn’t one of her novels. Or was it? She couldn’t just turn the page. Or could she?

She threw off her shoes and her dress. Down to her step-in chemise, she dove into the cold spring water, swimming into the light and music, desperate to find its heart. The lake seemed to stretch on and on. Still she swam, kicking, kicking, and seeing a dome before her. Finally, she was close. Reaching out, her fingers touched glass alive with a vibrancy she’d only imagined.

She grabbed a statuette at the top of the dome to steady herself, blinking at another Neptune on a throne – this one small and metal, but otherwise identical to the one on the grounds.

She peered in at a ballroom. Red gowns and black tuxedos circled around and around a band in the middle of the room, a pinwheel of color and movement.

How did they get in?

Longing twisted inside her.

Swimming alongside the surface, she searched for a window or door, but the dome was sleek and sealed. With bursting lungs, she pushed off the glass and headed for the surface, frightened it would all disappear. Her delight was now a desperate need. With a deep gulp of air, she returned to the magic, desire racing inside of her as she felt time slipping away.

Her hands were frantic against the glass as she searched the faces, trying to catch someone’s eye. If they saw her, they’d let her in. They had to.

And there, amongst the tuxedos, as if emerging from a dream, was the young man from the village. He looked up as if he knew she was there and gestured for her to join them, his eyes bright and welcoming.

Again, she needed air. As she broke the surface, her thoughts swirled around the young man. Who is he? Is he here for me? Did he know I lived here when he saw me in the street?

Eve swam to the lake’s edge. Shivering in her wet chemise, she paced back and forth along the grassy bank, searching the ground for a hidden passageway, tapping the statue of Salacia with her seaweed hair three times, then to Venilia the nymph, then back to Salacia. How am I to get in? she asked them. Her pleas moved neither.

Then her eyes went to lonely Neptune, banished away from the water while his twin lived below its surface.

She dashed across the wet grass and crawled up the sleek marble base, standing before Neptune’s throne and startling a robin into flight. Searching by the kind light of the moon, she found a cleverly hidden door with no handle. She ran her fingers along its edges and into a lock.

The skeleton key!

She raced to the house, coming to her senses when she arrived at the door. She looked down at her bare feet and wet chemise. If anyone saw her like this, Mother would be scandalized. She hesitated, and in that hesitation, she felt it slip away.

Pressing her head against the door, she heard nothing and wanted to weep. She returned for her clothes, staring into the black, silent lake.

The next morning at breakfast, Eve stared into her cup.

“Something fascinating in your tea, Eve?” Mr. Winklevoss asked, tapping his reading glasses on his plate.

“Father, please stop,” Edith said.

“Stop what?” he asked, now using his glasses to scratch the top of his bald head.

“Don’t encourage Eve. She’ll be seeing fairies swimming in her cup.”

“Why are you so quiet, Eve?” her father asked, ignoring Edith.

“I had the strangest dream.”

“Heavens!” Edith said, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t be so harsh with your sister.”

“Only the weak-minded dream,” Edith said, throwing her napkin on the table and leaving the room.

Eve returned her father’s apologetic gaze with a sad smile. “It doesn’t matter, Father. Edith only sees what she can see.”

“Have you ever thought, my darling, that you only see what cannot be seen?”

She squeezed his hand, realizing what he did not. That he’d built this estate on a need to belong to a world more imaginary and less accepting than any of hers.

That day, Eve crawled onto the statue of Neptune, frustrated to discover there wasn’t a secret door in his throne. She stood on his marble knees and put her hands on his marble cheeks. Staring into his white eyes, she pleaded, “Open sesame!”

“What are you doing?”

Eve knew the voice. Looking down at her sister, she said, “Never you mind.”

“Never I mind? Never I mind! The servants are watching.”

Eve kept searching. Had the door moved? Under his trident?

“Eve!” Edith yelled.

Eve sat down on Neptune’s lap and looked at her sister.

“You’re getting your dress… look at it. We can see your undergarments. Eve, you’ve got to stop. See Mother and Father back there, afraid to approach you.”

In the distance, her hand shielding the sun, Eve spied her parents standing at the door of the house.

“Maybe they’re only enjoying the morning air,” Eve said.

“Eve, I’m telling you now. You’ll not ruin my wedding.”

“Whyever would I do such a thing?” Eve asked, surprised.

“By being your odd self.” Edith stepped forward, lowering her voice, “I realize I’m quite fortunate that I’ve been selected—.”

“Selected?”

“—when we’re nouveau riche and not even that anymore. If William discovers that my sister is touched in the head, he might call off the whole thing.”

“Why would he care if I am?”

“Because, you ninny, he’d worry his own children would be like you. No one wants children like you. Now get off Neptune and come inside.”

Eve’s feelings were a little hurt by what her sister said, but she also thought that Edith was going to live a very dismal life, worrying about what William thought about things and if their children were like their Aunt Eve.

That night, Eve stared out the window, willing the music to start and the lake to glow. Finally, she went to bed, but dressed in a gold glittering gown of Edith’s, clutching the iron key in her hand.

She woke to music bouncing off the walls of her room. How can no one else hear it?

She jumped into her shoes, scooped up the key, and threw open the door, half-expecting Edith and her parents to be in the hall shocked by the commotion. But the rest of the house was fast asleep. The music was only for her.

Neptune didn’t judge her as she climbed up his statue and shouted out in happiness when she found the door in his throne. She inserted the key and turned. The triumphant click of the lock opened her heart. Pushing on the door, she peered in to find a very dark circular staircase. She’d forgotten her electric torch, but she could see light at the bottom, coming in from the depths of a tunnel.

Using the moon’s light, she slipped into Neptune’s throne and grabbed the cold railing. Water dripped and echoed as she used her feet to find the steps and guide her spiral descent. If she could just get down the stairs…

Halfway down, she took one last look up at the open door. What if it shuts? What if I can’t get back out?

The music and the light and her memory of the green of the young man’s eyes beckoned. For protection, she tapped the railing three times and didn’t look back again.

The long concrete arched tunnel was not anything like the underwater ballroom. It was bleak and unwelcoming, lit by dismal electric lamps, making her wonder if this was all a horrible mistake. But she didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t. She pressed toward its end and double crystal doors that were beckoning to her. Beyond them, she spied a crowd of people.

The doors opened, releasing gaiety and music that swept away the doubt and dreariness. Many faces turned toward her, but it was the young man who had her attention.

He was there, smiling. “Dance with me.”

“No,” she said, wondering if he was real.

“But why?” he asked.

“I don’t dance.”

“Why not? It’s great fun.”

She caught the smiles of the dancers. “They do look like they’re enjoying it. But I don’t know how.”

“Is that all?” he asked, offering his hand. “No one does.”

With her nod, he pulled her into the room and wrapped her into his arms and spun her into the dancing and the laughter. Her gold dress flew up, the beads hitting her legs. The music so vibrant the notes seem to take shape and float up to the top of the dome and rattle the crystals in the chandeliers above them. Eve was under the water. She was under the world.

“Would you like champagne?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, please.”

He put a cold glass in her hand. She stared into his green eyes as tiny bubbles of champagne burst on her tongue.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Ezra.”

“Ooh. That’s a name.”

He only laughed.

Two men with beards behind her were shouting at one another about the Industrial Revolution and someone named Engels and the poor.

“Why are they so angry?” she asked.

“They’re having a wonderful time!” Ezra said, with a laugh. “Best of friends!”

The men were now pointing at one another and laughing and she saw Ezra was right.

A table was laid out with strange delicious things to eat. Eve bit into a scrumptious dried fruit that tasted like the conjuring of a magician in Arabian Nights.

In one corner, a group spun dice and threw out money and jokes. In another, a proper lady in a dress from decades ago was sitting in a chair looking straight-ahead talking to no one. Some guests were only eyes behind elaborate masks adorned with bright jewels. One man had feathers in his hair and glitter on his eyelashes. Some ladies wore flirty hats. Some gentlemen too. And one tall, lean man dressed in a long gray cloak watched the crowd with eager eyes under a close-fitting cap.

“Has there been a murder?” Eve asked this Sherlock Holmes look-alike.

“There will be,” he said before disappearing behind a large palm tree in a pot and looking quite ridiculous peering out from behind the leaves.

An acrobat in a red leotard with black fringe twisted her bare legs and arms into odd, wondrous shapes. Eve cocked her head to try to puzzle it out, but Ezra was leaning down blocking her view. “Would you like another champagne?” he asked.

“Another dance, please.”

As he spun her around the ballroom, she watched the blues and greens of the mosaic tile beneath her shoes. She was so dizzy from the spinning and the champagne and the happiness she sank into a velvet-cushioned chair and closed her eyes for only a second. It was only a second. When the music and the voices faded, her eyes flew open.

The young man was gone. The band was gone. The champagne was gone.

Her heart sank. How could it be?

The goldfish watched her as she left the ballroom. She climbed the stairs and crawled through Neptune’s door. The moon was full. Her heart was lost.

The page had turned.

Sunlight was pouring in through her bedroom window when she opened her eyes. She still wore Edith’s gold dress and clutched the skeleton key.

She ran to the lake, staring into the still water. She threw off her clothes and dove in, swimming deeper and deeper. No light. No music. No dome. No Ezra.

She lay down on the edge of the lake.

“Eve.”

The voice was cold, like the chilly breeze across her skin. She didn’t open her eyes. “Go away, Edith.”

“What have you done with my gown? It’s ruined!” Edith shrieked.

“I needed it for the party.”

Edith gave out a little scream. “Will you ever stop? You will get up and come into the house. If William ever knew—”

“William reminds me an awful lot of Mr. Collins.”

“Mr. Collins? Who is Mr. Collins?”

Eve didn’t answer.

“I won’t have you all the time throwing out names I don’t know. Is he another character in your books? Do you think they matter, Eve? They’re not real, you fool!”

“Ha!” Eve exclaimed, opening her eyes. “I just remembered. Mr. Collins is a William too.” Thank goodness her books had shown her the type of person not to chain one’s soul to.

Edith balled her delicate hands into fists and let out another frustrated scream.

Eve didn’t move. She’d discovered if your heart was broken your legs were too.

That afternoon, she was reading her book underneath the horse chestnut beside the quiet lake. At the slightest sound, she’d sit up, looking, looking. But it was only a mole or a rat or a toad or a badger. Never Ezra.

But soon it was her mother.

“Won’t you join me in my little blue boat?” Eve asked.

Her mother studied the blanket on the ground suspiciously. “I only want assurance that you’re keeping on your clothes.”

“As you see.”

“Eve, are you all right?”

“I’m not sure really,” Eve said carefully. “I’ll find myself brokenhearted and then delirious with happiness.”

“What? All in one day?”

“Oh, Mother, sometimes it’s only moments between one and the other.”

Mrs. Winklevoss hesitated. “But why?”

“It’s not an easy thing to explain. Are you certain you won’t join me?” Eve asked hopefully.

“I don’t sit on the ground.”

“But there’s such joy in it.”

Mrs. Winklevoss sighed. “Edith said…” But her voice drifted off as she looked at her youngest daughter worriedly. “Well.”

That night, Ezra was waiting for Eve at the ballroom doors.

“Where did you go?” Eve asked.

He laughed. “I’ve been waiting all night.” He took her hand and Eve began to fall in love. Not only with Ezra. But the saxophone and the hors d’oeuvres and the costumes and the divine confetti that showered them at night.

“Where does it come from?” she asked, laughing, as Ezra pulled bits of ecru paper out of her hair and off her eyelashes.

“I don’t know,” he said.

She asked Mr. Holmes about the confetti. He peered down his long, thin nose at her, saying nothing, as the paper piled up on his cap.

“No murder yet?” she asked.

“There will be.”

“Don’t tease me, Mr. Holmes.”

Again she grew too tired to stand and sank into the chair only to close her eyes for a moment and have everyone disappear.

One night the acrobat taught her how to do a handstand.

One night the men who argued told her who Engels was.

One night a saxophonist stirred her soul.

One night a girl named Zelda with hopes as bright as the sun taught her a dance Eve had only read about in the newspaper.

One night she sat by the woman talking to herself and realized she was reciting an entire novel—a story Eve adored.

And one special wonderful night Ezra took her in his arms and as she looked into his green, green eyes he gave her a tender kiss that made her head spin.

“How long have you been doing this?” Eve asked Ezra.

“Doing what?”

“Coming to the ballroom?”

He laughed. “I don’t know.”

“What were you doing in the village?” Eve asked Ezra.

“What village?”

“Where you gave me the key,” she said.

“What key?”

“What do you do all day?” Eve asked Ezra.

“I don’t know,” he said, letting out a light, hollow laugh that Eve couldn’t quite catch.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Eve asked.

“Will you have more champagne?”

That night, Eve noticed that the two friends were having the same argument over and over again.

And Mr. Holmes was still waiting for a murder that would never happen.

And the lady reciting was at a place in the novel that Eve didn’t like.

Standing before her, Eve ordered, “Don’t say it.” But words kept spilling out of the storyteller’s wide literary mouth.

Eve reached forward and pinched her stubborn lips together. “Don’t say it.”

But the lady, with a quick vigorous flip of her wrist, slapped away Eve’s hand, never pausing in her story.

“But why didn’t Jo love Laurie?” Eve asked, rubbing the sting out of her hand.

Even here, she couldn’t change the story.

She pressed her face to the glass of the dome, peering out into the water, wanting to be Captain Nemo stepping out of his submarine and walking the ocean floor.

“Wake up, please.”

Eve looked up into her mother’s eyes.

“What’s wrong with you, Eve?”

Eve didn’t speak or move. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she might be wearing Edith’s gold dress beneath the covers.

Her mother paced as she talked, her elegant hand gesturing elegantly. “Every day, you are lifeless. Your eyes are red. You’re very pale. You hardly speak. What’s wrong with you, Eve?”

“I dance at a ball every night, Mother. It’s exhausting.”

“Really, Eve. And does Holden drive you to the ball?”

“No, it’s under the lake.”

“Can you be serious, Eve? Your sister’s getting married.”

“What will I do, Mother?”

“Do? What do you mean?”

“After Edith marries.”

“You’ll be here with your father and me, of course. What else would you do?”

“I’ll have my books,” Eve said to herself, but for the first time she wondered if they were enough. “Why did Aunt Dorothy leave, Mother?”

Her mother put her hands on her hips. “She should’ve gone out of shame. She embarrassed the entire family, especially your grandmother.”

“How?”

“She wasn’t conventional, Eve. You’ll do to learn from her example.”

“But why wasn’t she?”

“She had thoughts. Very bizarre thoughts.”

“Where did she go?”

“Last your father heard she was in Italy,” her mother murmured, now looking out the window.

“Italy!” Eve exclaimed, sitting up. “Why, that’s just like Lucy Honeychurch.” Looking down, she saw that she was indeed wearing Edith’s golden gown.

“Who is this Lucy Honeychurch?” her mother asked, turning. “Is she invited to the wedding?”

Eve dropped back onto the pillow as she whipped up the covers. “Mother, have you ever been kissed in a field of violets?”

“What?” Mrs. Winklevoss asked as if she hadn’t heard. “Eve, do get out of bed.”

“Do you think a girl feels the same when she reads about being kissed and when she’s actually kissed?”

“Oh, Eve. We may need to take away your books.”

Eve’s heart stopped beating for one, two, three long seconds, before it started up again. “That would never be the answer.”

That night, Eve was weary as she danced at the bottom of the lake.

Ezra was talking to Zelda, who had pearls in her red-gold hair. He turned back to Eve and put his hand on her cheek. “I might kiss you later,” he whispered.

“Your kisses are paper thin, Ezra.”

His eyes clouded. “Does that feel nice?”

“I’m not certain.”

His brow creased. “Aren’t you having fun?”

She took another sip of champagne. “I’m not sure.”

“Then let’s dance.”

“No,” she said, setting down her glass. “I have to go.”

“Go?”

Mr. Holmes popped out behind palm leaves. The acrobat fell out of her pose. The musicians dropped their instruments. The dancers stopped spinning. The two friends gasped. And finally the storyteller was mute.

“Eve,” Ezra said insistently. He gripped her arm as she spied a familiar face in the crowd of dancers. She leaned forward, trying to remember who it was.

But Ezra pulled her closer, his eyes on hers. “Where will you go, Eve?”

She smiled. “You’re as lovely as I imagined,” she said, her hand on his cheek. “Well, almost.”

As she left the stilled ballroom, he called out, “I might kiss you later.”

She shut Neptune’s door, realizing with a surprised gasp, it had been Dorothy among the dancers. Eve was almost sure.

Eve hung up her dress. She pulled out her bag and packed it with her favorite things, which included five books. Finding they wouldn’t all fit, she removed three, holding each one tenderly before putting it aside. She took out all the money she had in the world. She tiptoed into Edith’s room and left the skeleton key beside her bed. She took the back stairs into the dark kitchen the dawn hadn’t yet touched. The servants were all on their feet in a panic when they saw her.

“What’s wrong, Miss Eve?”

“Holden, I need you to take me to the train station.”

Glenda’s lips pressed tightly together. “I’ll wake your mother.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Eve said firmly.

Taken up short, Glenda said, “I’ll come with you then.”

“You’ll not.”

“I’ll get the car, miss,” Holden said.

Eve sat in the front seat. She didn’t look back as they took the long driveway.

“Thank you,” she said to the lake.

“For what, miss?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Holden.”

He nodded.

“But thank you for driving me.”

“Of course, miss.”

The village was awake when they arrived.

“Miss,” Holden asked, as he put the bag in her hand, “do you know what you’re doing?”

She laughed and turned back to tap the handle of the car. She longed to touch it, but she pulled her fingers back and stepped away.

Holden watched her but said nothing. She shook her head and gave a small wave as she went through the door. “Goodbye, Holden.”

Eve settled by the window in an empty compartment. The door slid open and the young man walked in. He smiled at her. “It’s you.”

She squinted. “Ezra?”

“How do you know my name?”

“You… you gave me the key.”

He sat across from her, his brow furrowed. “Oh, the key you dropped?”

“I didn’t drop it. I thought it was yours.”

“Not mine.”

She leaned toward him. “Your eyes aren’t green.”

His smile was delightful. “No, they’re not.”

“How did I get that wrong?” she asked, back against her seat. “Do you dance?”

“What?” he asked. “No. I mean, yes, but not very well.”

“I don’t either.”

“Oh,” he said slowly, looking as if he were trying to catch up. “You’re asking because of when I saw you.”

“In the ballroom?”

“What? Have we met at a ball?”

“When did you mean?” Eve asked.

“In the street. When you dropped your key. And I said we were—”

“Dancing. Yes, I remember now. Do you ever get off this train?”

Ezra laughed. “Well, I don’t live on it.”

“Do you live in the village?”

“My family does.” He paused. “And you live in the big house.”

“How did you know?”

“My mother told me. You’re Eve, the nice sister.”

Eve gave a little gasp. “Is that what she called me?”

“I shouldn’t have said.”

“No, it’s all right. Where do you go? On the train.”

“To London. I’m a clerk for an insurance company.”

“Ooh,” she said, shaking her head. “That sounds dreadful.”

He laughed again, his eyes dancing and watching her with pleasure. He had a genuine laugh, deep and infectious, and it occurred to Eve his kisses might not be paper-thin. That instead there would be passion and depth and promise. She blushed at the thought, but it wouldn’t go away.

“But it’s clever at the same time,” she said, wanting to touch him to see if he was real.

“Where are you traveling to?”

Eve looked out the window at the almost-empty platform. “Wherever it is, it’ll be the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

She turned back. “Oh… stepping outside the pages.”

“The pages? Are you a character in a book?”

“No, but I’ve been living very closely with them.”

He nodded slowly. “I think I know what you mean.”

“You do?” she asked, wondering if that could be true.

“I’m a reader as well,” he said with a knowing look.

Eve smiled then while looking into his eyes. And they had a moment of her looking at him and him looking at her and her seeing his smile and him seeing hers and something was inside of her like an unopened present not to be opened quite yet.

“Do you mind if I join you on the first part of your journey?” he asked.

“Hold out your hand.”

“Anything you want,” he said, sending a thrill through her.

Simultaneously, they scooted forward in their seats, toward one another. She took his offered hand. It feels very real, she thought. She ran her fingers along the lines of his palm, and then flipped his hand over and studied both the strength and fineness of it. One finger was stained with ink. Her eyes rose to his.

As he looked back, a whistle blew.

Eve leaned closer. “Do you happen—?”

“Yes?” Ezra asked quickly, as if her words were valuable things.

“Do you like violets?” she asked eagerly.

“I don’t have a particular affection for them.”

She hesitated. “Roses?”

“I do like roses.”

“We could get scratched.”

“By the thorns? We’d be careful of them.”

“In a field?”

“A field of roses?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

“Where are you going, Eve?”

Her eyes grew bright as an exquisite joy came over her, a yearning in her heart like when she swam toward the dome. But tasting like champagne bubbles bursting on her tongue.

“To start,” she said, glimpsing the guard wave the green flag.

“Yes?”

Sounding like the saxophone that stirred her soul.

“I want to be here,” she said. “Just right here. With you.”

Taking her in like Ezra’s eyes.

“I like here, too,” he said.

“I’m still holding your hand.”

“I’m acutely aware.”

This was quite unlike anything that had come before. “A brand new thing,” she whispered as the train began to move, “and all my very own.”

About Jenny Moss

Once upon a time, Jenny Moss was a NASA engineer. She now writes for children and teens in a multitude of genres. She’s the author of the young adult fantasy SHADOW (Scholastic Press) and the historical novels WINNIE’S WAR and TAKING OFF (initially published by Bloomsbury/Walker). She’s released one gothic novel under her birth name, Jennifer McKissack (SANCTUARY, Scholastic Press). Recently, she decided to stick with writing in one genre only, but has found herself working on another fantasy, another gothic, and another historical novel.