Chapter 1
New York, November 1867
Nina Churchman Larrowe
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.”
– Mark Twain, Innocents Abroad
Nina Larrowe paused at the top of the gangway, anticipating the accolades of jostling reporters as she disembarked from the Quaker City after a five-month voyage. She tugged at the snug waistline of her dress and pulled in her stomach. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and adjusted her hat. But to her disappointment, only a smattering of people waited for the passengers in New York Harbor. Her husband was not among them. She shivered in the November cold. Sixty-five people had been to the Holy Land on a unique excursion of piety and pleasure. Surely they deserved a bit of fanfare upon their return. At least her husband could have been there on time.
Emma Beach and her father, Moses Beach, stood at the bottom of the gangway, having already disembarked from the ship. A few reporters gathered around them. Samuel Clemens sauntered over to the group. Mr. Beach owned the New York Sun, but Mr. Clemens was nothing more than an ambitious reporter from a small California newspaper. Emma was a tiny scrap of a woman with reddish-gold hair. Nina was only five years older, and next to Emma she felt ancient, clumsy, and fat, but she, too, felt Emma’s smile brighten the day.
When they boarded the ship last June, Nina hadn’t known Emma Beach. Two women of a similar age became acquainted rather quickly, though, on a voyage comprised mostly of men with religious connections. Emma had caught the eye of the eminent-in-his-own-mind Mr. Clemens, and his flirting with the young lady during the trip soured Nina’s impression of the man. After all, the trip was intended for pious people to visit the Holy Land. It required decorum. And Mr. Clemens was almost twice Emma’s age. He was a good eight inches taller than the petite Emma, so she always had to look up at him during conversation. The attention of an older man, well-known if not as prestigious as her own father, had clearly turned Emma’s innocent head.
Nina scanned the dock again, still hoping to see Marcus. He had intended to accompany her on the trip, but mere days before they were to embark he’d received a telegram from his brother, announcing the death of their father. Now, Marcus and his brother were all that remained of the Larrowe clan.
She’d missed him. This trip was supposed to be a second honeymoon of sorts, one that would reconnect them after three hectic years of marriage. Nina wanted a strong marriage like that of her parents. Instead, she’d spent their third anniversary alone. No, not alone. She’d dined with Emma, on board the Quaker City, anchored off the shore of Athens where they’d been quarantined by Greek officials due to a fear of cholera. She would rather have dined with Marcus anywhere in the world.
“I must go home,” he’d told her on the eve of the cruise.
“And I should be there for you,” she’d said, trying to keep her voice strong. She’d been looking forward to the cruise. She loved the drama and intrigue of history, and anticipated seeing evidence of civilizations she’d only read about. Still, she’d wanted to share it with Marcus.
He’d taken her hand and said, “No, you must go on this voyage. You’ll be of great service to your aunt and uncle.”
“They will want my help on distant shores,” she’d admitted.
She didn’t know her relatives well even though she referred to them as aunt and uncle. They were distant Lockwood relatives of her mother’s, aging and refusing to admit their frailties.
But it was her duty to support her husband. “Shouldn’t I be there for you?” she’d asked.
“No, I insist. Just be sure you behave properly,” Marcus had admonished her. “One can speak clearly without shouting.”
His words stung. He clearly didn’t value her education in the art of elocution, but she had agreed and sailed without looking back.
Still no sign of Marcus. Descending the gangway and stepping onto the dock, Nina waved a hasty goodbye to her aunt and uncle as they made their way off the ship to catch a train to their home in Norwalk. Three reporters jostled each other as they tried to gain Mr. Beach’s attention. Mr. Clemens stole the limelight with his usual caustic sarcasm that Nina never found funny but Emma always did.
“Your readers will never know what consummate asses they can become, until they go abroad,” he told the reporters. “In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French. We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language.” The reporters laughed.
“What poppycock,” Nina muttered.
Even though Marcus wasn’t here, Nina felt her duty as his wife was to get his name in print. The more people who knew about Marcus Larrowe, the better his new business venture in memory training would do. She stepped up beside Emma and waited for Mr. Clemens to stop talking like a supporting actor in a play.
“I just wanted to say goodbye, Miss Beach. Have a nice ferry ride across the river,” Nina said.
“Oh, Mrs. Larrowe, I’m sorry to see this trip end. I’ve made so many new friends.” Emma spoke in a low voice.
Nina pursed her lips and looked at the reporters. They seemed to be wondering who Nina was. “Mrs. Marcus Larrowe,” Nina said to them, carefully controlling the volume of her voice. “My husband helped Mr. Clemens book his passage on the Quaker City for this cruise.” Her family had known Mr. Clemens in Nevada. When he’d come to New York, Marcus had been glad to assist. “Unfortunately, Mr. Larrowe was unable to join us at the last moment. He was too busy securing his family’s buckwheat farm.” As the veil of disinterest dropped over the reporters’ eyes, she added, “Marcus Larrowe is a Yale graduate who was active in politics out West. He now holds lectures to discuss the science of memory.” She added a nod of the head and wave of the hand to punctuate her words.
Ignoring her, one of the reporters called out to Emma’s father, “Mr. Beach! Is it true your newest daughter isn’t yours?”
Nina had heard the rumors about the affair between Emma’s mother and Reverend Henry Ward Beecher. She didn’t see Mr. Beach’s reaction to the question, but Emma dropped her eyes to the ground.
Mr. Clemens let loose a boisterous laugh that drew attention back to him.
Emma took Nina’s arm and dropped back a step from the men. “I hate all this fuss,” Emma said. “I’d be happy to arrive at home with no one the wiser. Father is a pillar of the community, though, so they won’t leave him alone.”
“At least people know his name. That gives weight to his words, value to his endeavors,” Nina said. Emma didn’t know how fruitless it was to fade into the wallpaper. Connections built prosperity, and no one made important connections sitting home waiting for the world to call on them.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Emma said. “It’s tiresome having people inquire about every aspect of your life. There’s plenty of value in a quiet life well lived.”
Nina just smiled, refraining from an indulgent pat on the younger girl’s arm.
Mr. Beach announced, “I’m sorry, we have no more time. We must board the ferry post haste.”
Emma nodded to Nina as she turned to go.
Nina’s husband had not yet arrived. Whatever was keeping the man? She tried so hard to be supportive of her husband’s career the way her mother had taught her to be. But Nina had never learned how to deal with an abrupt career shift like Marcus’s change from lawyer to lecturer. Sometimes she felt that she no longer knew her husband at all.
She refused to wait any longer. Nina kept her head high as she moved toward the line of carriages for hire, musing on the irony of her husband, a lecturer on memory, forgetting to meet her at the harbor.