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There is a certain sweetness to something close to home, this much Larry Russell knows.
He had missed it, that lived-in sense of belonging he was once accustomed to when he lived on the 30th street of Manhattan— to feel as though the very ground he lived on had grown him from childhood, and stood unwavering as it watched him turn into a young man. This beat on into the classrooms and manicured lawns of his Harvard years, the familiar sunlight never leaving his company.
So one can imagine his surprise when he first stepped foot into the new Russell mansion of Manhattan’s exclusive 61st street. It was yet to be finished, but he stopped by during his reading break to check up on how construction had been going. Gladys stood beside him staring in awe, and it took all sense of grace within them to stop themselves from running like children through its grand halls. Neither he nor his sister were raised to be so callous, but that day proved to challenge their resolve.
Thus, the red carpet of their home had been rolled out, and reality set in: he had been thrust into a new world with the primary intent of fulfilling his mother’s ambitions. He adored her, and understood her desires, perhaps to some extent sharing them himself, but was in secret terrified of the unfamiliar grasp this new existence had on him. His ground had been shaken, taken an entirely new form, and he hadn’t quite the time to adjust to it. Any onlooker would merely see a bigger house and a longer line of servants, but he knew that there were bigger plans afoot.
Nevermind that, however, as his primary role suddenly became to act well in his family’s name and befriend as many people as was possible— and acceptable. Beyond that, he was to fit into a society that had been so alien to him just a few years before. He figured his life in Harvard and their new home had provided him a newfound confidence, so he deemed with optimism that he would be fine. They all would be.
He had only begun to grasp the sight of the new concrete as he caught the eye of a fair-haired girl across the street, the two of them stopped in their tracks as one spotted the other. His thoughts were of the new beginnings that laid before him, and they hadn’t been changed at the sight of her.
But all of that quieted, however, overtaken by the sound of her shriek as her dog had broken loose from its collar— barreling through 61st street’s dirt path, seemingly running towards a death wish. He hadn’t had the time to think except to run to it in haste, barreling towards what seemed to be his own death wish, and grabbing the poor thing just in time.
“Goodness, that was brave!” She said, panic still in her eyes.
“Anyone would’ve done the same.” He doesn’t think he would have been able to forgive himself if he did nothing, merely watching as someone tragically lost their dog when he could’ve done something.
“I doubt it, or there would be bodies up and down Fifth Avenue.” She says, and he realizes the house she was in front of.
“Are you a Van Rihjn?” He asks.
“Almost. Mrs. Van Rihjn is my aunt. I’m Marian Brook.”
“You’re Oscar Van Rihjn’s cousin!” He said, realization dawning on him.
“Yes!”
“Oh, you’re not as he described you.” He said, surprised as he took note of her features. The blue of her eyes bore a striking clarity in their lightness, and the gentleness of her hands was unlike what Oscar had disdainfully described. She did not look at all unpleasant or stocky, standing in front of him clutching her dog. In fact, quite the opposite. He almost forgot himself, taking in the sight of her, snapping out of the trail of his own thoughts. “I’m Larry Russell.” He introduced himself.
”Oh.” She said, and he almost blushed at what seemed to be her indifference, and tried to keep the conversation going. He hoped to make a good impression. “Well, you’d better tell them to keep him under control in future.” He said, partly in jest. “Nobody can keep Pumpkin under control. Not for very long, anyway.” She said, and he was glad to hear her humor.
”Miss Brook.” He said, bidding her goodbye with a nod of his head.
“Mister Russell.” She responded in kind.
It seemed inappropriate to keep speaking with her for much longer, even though he wished he could stay, if only to make a new friend.
“He saved you.” She whispered. He hadn’t heard it, stepping out into the busy avenue once more, a spring in his step. Of course, he’s excited to be home.
So, that was Miss Marian Brook, cousin of his new acquaintance, Oscar Van Rihjn.
Weeks rolled by and he could only glimpse from windows, watching Marian Brook stroll by in her light blue and yellow hues, the lightness of the colors at home against her skin. He’d see women pass him by with hair bearing a similar shade of blonde and would be reminded of her, but of course their silhouettes never matched hers. He would adjust the cuff of his sleeve and stand taller, deeming his attention towards her as nothing short of normal. She was a friend. He found solace in the fact that he was not the newest of newcomers here, and her presence was comforting. Of course he’d like to see her walk on by, happy to merely be a witness to her going about her day.
Until his mother threw an ill-attended ball, and all hell broke loose in the silence that enraptured the house that night. For all its glitz and glamor, the mansion was empty, desperate for company it could not seem to keep. So when Church announced that familiar name, he found peace at the sound of it. Here came friendship, here came safety. Here came the embodiment of the promise he made himself. He would be fine. They all would be.
“Let us be friends, in spite of everything. Contra mundum.” He said. In his mother’s empty room, Marian Brook’s presence was an anchor. He was determined not to lose it.
And even if there were nothing to spite, he knew that he would never need a reason to desire her friendship.
-
Marian Brook always came as a surprise, albeit a pleasant one every time. He remembers her determined march towards him on the morning of Gladys’s ball, envelopes in hand, the dark burgundy of her coat swirling swiftly behind every step she took.
He thought of the haste in which she came and went, and his chest filled with warmth at the thought of her trust. He knew her aunt’s disdain for him, no doubt probably besmirching him and his family, as was obvious in her face every time she saw him. Knowing that, he was flattered that of all the people she could entrust on a mission, she chose him.
So when she hurriedly came into her aunt’s drawing room later that afternoon, out of breath and in haste once more, he was determined not to let such a precious thing go to waste.
“Am I too late?” He was confused. What?
She shook her head lightly at him, and at least that he understood.
“How was your day?” Her Aunt Ada asked.
“Not all it could have been.” What did she mean by that? Although, it might have been none of his business. Still, he was confused, and admittedly curious.
“Mr. Russell, how kind of you to come by.” Oh. He was meant to act casual.
“I’m sure Mr. Russell went out to catch the evening post and thought he’d look in to see how you are. Isn’t that so, Mr. Russell?” Yes. Very casual.
“Absolutely.” He was determined to do right by her, when she needed him to.
“But now it’s clear you’re both as well as I could hope, so I’ll be on my way.” He said, hoping to give nothing away.
The truth is, she need not ask.
”Are you coming to Gladys’s ball?” He asked, letting the shock of the circumstance mere moments ago be merely in jest.
“I might regret it, but I suppose I am.” She said, a sigh brewing beneath her voice.
“Then I claim a waltz as my payment.” He responded.
He couldn’t quite help himself. He was always a man of instinct, and was eager to earn her friendship. Eager to make light of what seemed to be a strange situation, the letters once in his hand now back in hers. He wondered what they contained as her head leaned against the wood of her door frame, her cheeks colored in the afternoon heat. Her eyes gleaned tired in spite of her smiles, but he couldn’t quite make out why.
So when he came up to her later that night and said, “Ms. Brook, you promised me a waltz.” It was because he was raised to be a gentleman, honoring an agreement. When he followed with, “I saw you talking to Mr. Raikes.” It was because he had taught himself to be kind. He simply connected the dots and wanted to see a friend out of dire strain, and felt himself disturbed at the thought of the source of her pain being so nearby. He saw her forlorn stare at the man in front of her moments ago, shoulders defeated and eyes nearly bursting to tears. He must have been the subject of those envelopes, although to what extent he did not know.
He decided that he hated it. He decided to put on his gloves, and began sifting through the crowd.
Now, he watches as Marian Brook proclaims Tom Raikes as someone she merely used to know, and feels a wave of relief wash over him. Understanding why was beyond him— aside from seeing that she was already somewhat above the situation at hand.
Taking her outstretched hand in his, there was a lightness in partaking in her heartbreak. He knew she would never need him, and could refuse his attempts at friendship whenever she pleased.
But she never did, and it made her friendship all the more precious to him.
Precious was all he thought as he watched her face, in awe at her strength, walking towards the ballroom floor. He didn’t need the bare skin of her hand to feel the warmth of candlelight take hold of him.
Before long, he noticed the despair in her eyes as her head tilted slowly upwards, her shoulders seemingly struggling to keep herself up as they danced.
Her distracted gaze caught his eye immediately— had he just been staring at her? Nevermind that, she had been looking every which way, and he knew exactly what she was trying to see.
“Are you alright, Ms. Brook?”
“I suppose I’m alright, I’ve just never danced at a ball so grand…”
“Is that all?”
He knew better, could see through her non-truths, and hoped she trusted him enough to open herself to him.
“Only… his proximity is so near that I—”
Her trust in him felt like a familiar shade of warmth, but he was losing her again, her gaze wandering.
“For now, the only person you have to look at is me.”
Her head snapped up, surprised. Had he been too forward?
“If… that is what you require.”
He only hoped he could offer her some comfort with that. She should never have been put in such a vulnerable position, to be lifted off the earth and then shattered so recklessly. From now on, he would be determined to keep offering an anchor if she so desired to take it— anything she needed to keep herself afloat, just as much as her mere presence had already done for him. He surmises there must be a reason for such an unwavering kinship, and he was determined to protect it.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m not the best waltz partner for tonight.” She said, partly joking.
Tonight, Larry decides that he enjoys protecting his friends.
“Not at all.”
After a beat, “He can’t reach you now. I won’t let him.”
In her presence, he could never help himself. It was strange, finding that he had never felt more at ease making a promise.
Tonight, he will file such sentiments as being under a desire for friendship— merely a wish to provide comfort. For tonight, his only desire will be to dance with a friend.
He was determined for his smile to reach her eyes, determined for it to be her only focus, determined to use it to make her hands stop trembling. He was never successful for long, but he somehow found joy in trying. Perhaps this is what his father felt, every time his mother had been visibly upset: the endeavor of relieving another’s burden, and the labor of offering delight in every way he knew how.
Larry Russell had always been a man of instinct, and for all his fears of the future, he knew he would not forsake this moment for any other. So in the gleam of the lamplight, he realizes: he was grateful he never got to hand those letters, whatever realities they must have contained. It had all run its course now, lost forever to the afternoon.
He was grateful that his mother had won this battle, proud that the Astors and the Fanes and most importantly, the Van Rijhns had come. He felt proud to be watched like this. To be seen with his friend, whose strength and independence he’d come to admire. His hand on her back, her hand safely in his. He liked seeing her on steady ground. He enjoyed seeing her out of harm’s way. She could do it on her own, this much he knew, but he liked to bear witness all the same.
The party could not have ended later. It was the grandest of successes, and for all his mother’s scheming he was overjoyed that his sister was celebrated in such esteem. Although, he thought he could go on for longer. While he had always been energetic, tonight possessed a new air of excitement, the very ground he walked on abuzz with limitless opportunity. He hoped she would soon feel the same.
They gravitated towards each other once more, come sunrise.
“Shall we say goodbye here?” She asked, and he didn’t quite like the proposition, although any reasons why were lost to the task he had in mind.
“I think I must be allowed to see you safely to your front door… especially after tonight’s bruising.”
He found that he could not be done with her, somehow. His concern for her wellbeing stretching on from her telling her story to now. He hoped it wouldn’t be improper, although he didn’t care much for such things, that he danced with her all night and was now offering to escort her home. But there was no one watching them now, so he let himself ask.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Of course you should.”
There would be no need for secrets between them, he determined. He could make himself her trusted confidant, if she so wished, if she required.
“How do you feel… about Mr. Raikes?” He asked. He only wanted to check up on her, as he noticed her head hung low, her eyes wandering once more in the early morning light.
“I’m not sure… rather numb, really.”
“Numb is good. Just look after yourself when it wears off.”
He hoped her heart would keep itself open, as there was so much of the world that would open itself up to her in return. So much to be shared that didn’t have to be hidden in the dark, and carried out in desperate haste. There were many more who would honor her in broad daylight, in any busy street, and in any crowded ballroom. Tom Raikes seems to have failed her at every turn, spinning her world counter-clockwise in seemingly every place he could, and he shivered at the thought. For the man to break her heart at his own home seemed unforgivable, and he was unable to hide his slacked jaw at her story of their broken elopement, the shock in his eyes causing her to blush.
An elopement, at her obvious disadvantage? His eyes narrowed as she explained Mr. Raikes’s reasons— excuses, for not honoring his word. It was obvious in hindsight, but he understood how his seemingly unwavering faith bolstered her on. It was striking, then, how her capacity for love and her capability to honor it seemed limitless. He admired her for it, and thanked the divine that such an arrangement was destroyed on its own accord.
“You are too good for him, Miss Brook. This is not what you deserve.” He said, and he meant it.
“You’re too kind, Larry.”
“Not nearly enough.”
Perhaps she would take her time now, would bring herself back to the balance of a mind at ease. That was all he ever wanted for her, to be able to imagine his friend as overjoyed.
So she bid him goodbye, and walked up the stairs of her house, the back of her greeting him. All at once, the distance between them was unfamiliar. Here, with Miss Marian Brook, his awareness of his belonging was clear. For the first time since he arrived on 61st street, the ground felt as though it wrapped its roots around him, and took him as its own.
Is it possible to miss someone’s company as they stood in such close proximity? Is it possible because he could only do so much to keep her from moving farther away?
It’s only right, He thinks. I would hate to leave a friend when they’re heartbroken.
The door is opened for her, and she walks through.
Suddenly, he wonders what her hair would look like down.
He blames it on his tired eyes.
The light of her open door, seared into his memory.