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By Root 785 0

journalism, art, music, and architecture. But he will include as well a fair mixture of men of business, such as Rufus Philbrick, to ensure that his gatherings are never dull. For a time, Olympia observes her parents, noting with interest that her mother has contrived to wear the faintest shades of aqua in certain panels of her dress and that her pendant earrings are opals with a blue fire; and in this way her mother remains loyal to her nearly obsessive habits. Despite whatever longings or disappointments may trouble them, her parents radiate an air of ease and wealth and considerable respect, which in turn lends the guests a sense of security and comfort. And all of this contributes to form the desirable and necessary notion (if a party is to succeed) that this particular house on this particular evening is the only place in the world to be.

Olympia takes a breath and slowly releases it. She makes her way down the stairs. Her father looks up, and then her mother, and after that, one by one, the other guests in the immediate hallway as well, so that she descends with an audience she might have done without. But she cannot entirely mind, since it is her father’s gala, and he is proud of her; and she knows enough to have the generosity to allow him this paternal pride. She can see the face of Philbrick, who smiles so broadly, one might think Olympia was his daughter, and the faces of several young men she has not met before, young men from Newburyport and Exeter and Boston who have been coming north to Fortune’s Rocks with their families for years, if not for generations. Men who might, in a year or two, be considered appropriate suitors for Olympia. And she is assaulted then, as she approaches the bottom landing, with a sudden ache that nearly stops her: How will I be able to do that?

She has a detailed image of a succession of young men coming to call and pursuing her and perhaps asking for her hand, and her all the while having to ward them off for the secret that is in her. And it is then that she understands that she will not ever marry and will not ever have children, that she has forfeited her future. She puts her hand out to steady herself. She can see that her father is momentarily disconcerted. And then she thinks, in the next instant: I must not think of such things now. I cannot. I cannot. She regains her composure and continues her progress.

When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, her father comes forward and takes her hand. Both of her parents greet her with kisses on her cheek. Her father says so that many can hear, “Olympia, you are a vision.” And her mother, who is less effusive but seemingly no less pleased by the effect of Olympia’s gown and coiffure, smiles at her and smooths a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You make me proud tonight, Olympia dear,” her father says more privately to her. And Olympia can see what might be the imminent swell of tears in her father’s eyes. But in an instant, he draws himself up once again to say hello to Zachariah Cote.

Cote greets her father and then hastily — too hastily, even rudely, Olympia thinks — turns in her direction.

“Miss Biddeford,” the poet says, taking her gloved hand and bowing. Though he lifts his head up, he holds her fingers tightly. She feels herself to be caught in a trap meant for a small animal. She fancies that she can actually smell the oil of Cote’s hair — a cloying, sickening smell that makes her want to gag.

“You look ravishing,” he says, once again forming a smile that does not include his eyes. “Like a young woman on the night of her engagement party, I should think. Or even on her wedding day.”

Appalled that the man’s impertinent thoughts should so closely echo her own of just an hour ago, she snaps her hand away from his fingers, like a fisherman roughly shaking off a slimy creature he has brought up with his catch.

“Oh, surely not,” her mother says beside her, taking up Cote’s hand. “Whatever made you say such a thing, Zachariah? I think the evening’s gaiety has gone to your head. Olympia is only sixteen, as you well know. There