“Girls, after you deliver the soup, could you please go down to the country club and make sure everything is ready for tonight?”
Cornelia nodded and caught Bunchy’s eye. Her friend was smiling. Planning a glamorous charity event was second nature to them. They had leaned on their well-heeled friends to raise money for dozens of causes in their young lives. Tonight, they would raise money for the war. “Of course we can, Mrs. Vanderbilt,” Bunchy said. “Do you need us to taste the champagne? Make sure all is in order there?”
Edith smiled and squeezed her daughter’s friend’s shoulder. “Why, yes, Rachel. What a help you would be to me.”
“Mother, I have to say,” said Cornelia, “putting the finishing touches on the party sounds a lot more pleasant than standing on the streets in Washington selling flowers.”
“Buy a forget-me-not and save a Belgian baby,” Bunchy chimed in.
“It’s shocking how many more flowers a pair of beautiful teenagers can sell for the food shortage in Belgium than an old mother,” Edith mused.
Cornelia gave her mother a once-over, noting how, even in her uniform, her slim figure was prominent, her strong cheekbones and pronounced nose looking regal and proud underneath the Red Cross hat that seemed to sit almost too jauntily on the top of her head. It reminded Cornelia of Edith’s wedding photos, of the way her beautiful veil with its dainty cap had perched so perfectly atop her lovely, well-proportioned face. But she was far from a bride today. No, Edith was a warrior.
And no one could deny that, here, Edith Vanderbilt was in her element. Cornelia had seen how it had crushed her when the government training camp hadn’t been placed on Biltmore grounds, on the land she had offered for the cause. Edith needed to have purpose; she needed to help. It was what Cornelia admired most about her. And, in charge of a cadre of women who were tending the wounded and nursing the sick, Edith had found her place in the war effort.
Edith winked at Cornelia now. “I’m going to spend the day at the hospital seeing what more we can do there.”
“You’re a wonder, Mother,” Cornelia said, meaning it.
“Mrs. Vanderbilt,” Bunchy said, sincerely this time, “the hospital—and the whole village, really—is a marvel. You would hardly know the flood happened two years ago.”
Edith nodded. “We have already won a few wars of our own, haven’t we, girls?”
Cornelia’s heart swelled with pride as she watched her mother walk away to speak with a group of nurses, ready to plan the day.
As Cornelia and her friend walked out the front door of Biltmore, into a chilly morning that would soon give way to a warm afternoon, she took a deep breath, savoring the feel of the sun on her face, the vibrant leaves molting into a red-gold sea, the color of a fiery sunset. She smiled to see her friend Rose, her first school friend from Asheville, walking up the drive. My, how their lives had diverged. Rose had already married. Cornelia couldn’t imagine being married yet. But, then again, Rose and Andy had always had eyes for each other, even in grade school.
“What are you doing here?” she called to her friend.
“Did you think I was going to let all of Asheville rally for our troops and our sick and simply stay at home on the sidelines?” Rose said, smiling.
Cornelia noticed the glimmer in her friend’s brown eyes. Rose had always had a quiet confidence about her. When Cornelia met her, on the first day of second grade, Rose had been standing by herself on the playground, singing as if no one could hear her. Cornelia wondered at the girl, at her ability to simply be herself. She wanted to know what that would feel like. And so, she went up beside Rose and joined in. “Oh! Susanna, don’t you cry for me!” Rose had smiled at her. She’d smiled back. They had been friends ever since.
Now, Rose stepped between Cornelia and Bunchy and linked arms with them. Three different women from three different upbringings united in the pursuit of a common goal. It was poetry in motion. It was what would make the world a better place. Cornelia felt sure of it.
What would you give your life for? rang through her mind.
And suddenly, that eternal restlessness inside of Cornelia settled. The sum of her life became clear: her father’s legacy, her mother’s spirit, and the preservation of a world with days just like this, full of beauty, filled with purpose and, for the moment, brimming with hope.
JULIA Two Halves of a Whole
One last night with Hayes might not have been the best idea. It felt sadder than I’d imagined. But, in some ways, it also felt right. People spent their whole lives chasing that elusive closure. Now, here we were, getting that very thing. We got to spend an entire dinner together, highlighting all the reasons why we didn’t belong with each other after all.
Sitting at a table under the stars by the beach, I asked, “Do you think something like this should become common practice after a breakup? Everyone should sit down with a bottle of wine and rehash what went wrong?”
Hayes laughed. “Or we could pretend it’s our first date.”
I smiled sadly. “I almost wish we were meeting for the first time so we could have a future, not a past.” But as I looked at this man I’d spent so many years with, I wondered how much we even had in common anymore; if this were a first date, it might also have been the last.
“Do you think my mother will ever forgive me?” I asked. The sound of the waves on the shore was romantic and lovely and, with a belly full of pineapple chicken and a glass of wine in my hand, I had been lulled into relaxation despite the awkwardness. No doubt about it, this would have been a perfect honeymoon—if I had married the guy, of course.
“I’ll talk to her,” Hayes said. “I’ll see if I can make her understand.”
“She has always liked you better than me.”
Hayes grinned at me with that megawatt smile that had been impossible to resist for most of my life. “Sorry, babe. Nothing I can do to turn off my inherent charms.”
“Are you going to date Chrissy Matthews?” I asked, casually, like I didn’t care. But I cared so much. Just because I didn’t want to marry Hayes didn’t mean I wanted someone else to. In fact, I think every girl secretly wishes for a man to pine for her and comforts herself in the knowledge that—maybe forever—he still loves her most.
“I’m not going to date anyone for a long, long time, Jules,” he said, wiping his mouth and setting down his fork. “In fact, I’m going to wait a while to make sure you don’t change your mind.”
“This is a weird breakup,” I said.
“We’ve been best friends for a decade. I can’t just slink off into the night and never see you again. We’re not getting married, but we’re still two halves of the same whole.”
Two halves of a whole. What a beautiful thought.
“My turn,” he said.
I nodded.
“Is it my fault you aren’t an architect?”
I wondered if I looked as surprised as I felt. “I’m the only person whose fault it is that I’m not an architect.” I was the one who hadn’t had the courage to stand up for myself. Hayes had simply been a safe place to run.
“I wish I had pushed you to finish school,” he said. “But it seemed like whatever happened made you change your mind about calling off the engagement, and I was scared that if I pushed you on it, you’d leave me again…”