What She Left Behind Read Online Free PDF Page B

tie, her stomach fluttering. Trying to act calm so he wouldn’t be nervous, she told him to take a deep breath, reminded him to shake her father’s hand, then led him through the foyer and down the hallway to the parlor. He gaped at the lily-globed chandeliers and framed paintings, no doubt surprised that she lived in such an extravagant home. She had told Bruno that her father was in banking, worried the truth would scare him away. Henry Cartwright was half owner of Swift Bank, the largest bank in Manhattan, with branches in all New York boroughs and several upstate communities. And her mother, Ruth, was the lone heiress of the Bridge Bros. Clothing Emporium.
    Clara opened the ivory doors leading into the parlor and motioned Bruno inside. Her parents were taking tea before dinner, her mother sitting next to the fireplace, her father resting one arm on the marble mantel. Henry looked up when Bruno and Clara entered the room, then grunted and checked his pocket watch. At first, Ruth stood, a bright smile on her face. But when she saw Bruno’s ill-fitting jacket and scuffed shoes, she sat back down.
    Clara clenched her jaw and led Bruno toward her father, hoping he would be impressed by Bruno’s story about coming to America alone, to build a new life in the land of the free. After all, Henry’s father had done the same thing in 1871, bringing his new bride from England to the USA. But instead of shaking Bruno’s outstretched hand, her father checked his pocket watch again, declaring it was time for dinner. Ruth stood and held her delicate fingers in the air, as if allowing Bruno to touch her hand. Bruno shook her hand and nodded.
    “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cartwright,” he said.
    Ruth gave him a thin smile, then took her husband’s arm and sauntered into the dining room. Clara patted Bruno’s arm and followed, nodding toward her parents and rolling her eyes. Bruno frowned at her, doubt lining his forehead. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She mouthed, “I love you,” and kissed his cheek. He finally smiled. Without a word, they found their places at the table, her parents on each end, she and Bruno across from each other. To see Bruno, she had to look around one of the ridiculously large vases of flowers her mother insisted on displaying everywhere in the house.
    Clara always wondered if the display on the dining table was so Ruth wouldn’t have to look at Henry during dinner, no doubt irritated when he slurped his soup or chewed too fast. Henry ate with gusto and greed, shoving in more food before he was finished chewing, talking with his mouth full, taking the last serving of fish or chicken before others had barely started eating. Henry was always the first one finished, and it annoyed Ruth to no end. Clara found her father’s bad manners typical of the way he lived, taking what he wanted without consideration or awareness of those around him, plowing forward as if he had every right. Now, Clara stood, lifted the flowers off the table, carried them across the room, and placed them on the buffet. Ruth watched without a word, her mouth hanging open.
    While the maid ladled soup into their bowls, Ruth kept her eyes on the dish in front of her. Henry stared at Bruno and Clara, forehead furrowed as he sized up the situation. Clara shifted in her seat, waiting for him to start the conversation. When she caught her father’s eye, he looked down, suddenly interested in positioning his napkin in his lap. Normally, Ruth had to remind him to use it.
    Clara gripped the edge of the tablecloth and sat up straight. “Father,” she said, trying to sound chipper. “Bruno has only been working down on the docks for six months and he’s already been promoted to foreman.”
    Henry grunted, picked up his spoon, and took a mouthful of soup.
    “Thank you for inviting me into your home,” Bruno said. “It’s very kind of you to open your doors to your daughter’s friends.”
    Clara looked at her mother, waiting