Martin Dressler: The Tale of an American Dreamer

18. The Blue Velvet Box

TWO NIGHTS LATER WHEN CAROLINE ROSE from her chair in the parlor and Margaret rose after her, Emmeline said that she had some business to discuss with Martin and would be along in just a few minutes.

Her mother looked at her doubtfully. “Don’t be too long, dear. You know you need your rest, what with this job of yours that makes you get up in the middle of the night like a — like a rooster.”

“I’ll be along directly,” Emmeline said.

She and Martin sat silently across from each other as they watched Caroline and Margaret walk from the parlor. They remained silent as they listened to the sound of the closing elevator door.

Martin leaned forward. “You’ve spoken to her?”

“I have.”

“And she’s — receptive?”

“She’s not unreceptive. With Caroline it isn’t always possible to be definite. So much depends on how she’s slept the night before.”

“Still, you feel—”

“I do.”

Martin reached into the pocket of his coat and removed a small blue velvet box, which he placed on the table. He watched Emmeline look at the box.

“Here,” Martin said. “Let me show you.”

He bent over and quickly pulled up the lid, which was attached to the box by a hinge on one side. Emmeline leaned forward, resting one palm on the arm of her chair.

“Oh, she’ll like that,” Emmeline said, and leaned back.

“Good. The real question is whether she’ll accept it. You say it all depends on how well she sleeps?”

“Not entirely, of course. I was exaggerating. Caroline does what she wants to: always. But there are worse times and better times at which to speak to her.”

“It’s asking a great deal of you, I know.”

“I can promise only one thing: to find the most propitious time.”

“But that one thing is everything. I can’t thank you enough. But would you mind”—he bent over the box—“for just a moment? I’d like to see—”

“If it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Just for one half second. Here. Let me do it for you.”

Martin rose quickly from his chair and bent over Emmeline, who held out her hand stiffly.

Martin straightened up and walked behind her chair, where he stood looking down at her hand. The hand turned slightly in one direction, then in the other. On the table the inside of the blue velvet box was violent black. The fingers contracted into a loose fist and slowly spread out again.

Martin began walking around the circle of armchairs to his seat, watching Emmeline’s hand as he went.

As he sank back into his chair he said, “I can’t begin to tell you—”

“Don’t,” Emmeline said.