A Cup of Tea: A Novel of 1917 by Amy Ephron Page B

picture. Philip, in uniform, and a smiling Rosemary Fell in a moss-green hat that Eleanor remembered stitching. Underneath was the caption, “The soon-to-be-Mr.-and-Mrs.-Alsop”.

 
    E leanor feigned a headache and walked the twelve blocks to the waterfront, although she was so pale, it hadn’t required a lot of acting. She stopped on the corner and bought a copy of the paper. She had always known he was betrothed, but somehow seeing it in black-and-white:
    Miss Rosemary Fell and Captain Philip Alsop will be wed, a month earlier than planned…
    She couldn’t imagine that the time they’d spent together had meant nothing to him.
    She saw him standing at the edge of the dock shoutingorders to some shipyard workers who were loading a freighter that had just come in.
    Philip smiled when he saw Eleanor approaching him. “I was hoping I would see you today,” he said.
    “And what about tomorrow?” she said accusingly. “Were you hoping you would see me tomorrow? And what about this?” She waved the newspaper at him. “Were you planning to tell me?”
    He held her shoulders to try to calm her. She realized Rosemary Fell would never cause a scene in public. She responded flatly, almost without emotion, “What?”
    He noticed that the dockworkers were staring at them and pulled Eleanor off to the side of the dock. She was beyond caring. What did she expect him to say? That he loved her. Certainly, she expected him to say that. But what declaration could he make to her? What could he promise? There wasn’t anything he could say to change the way it was. There were too many feelings to account for, too much propriety at stake, too little time.
    He let go of her and shut his eyes. “It’s as if your life is going one way,” he said finally, “and then something happens…Are you supposed to derail your entire life?”
    She finished for him. “Or just not care about the consequences that it, has on others?” He would alwaysremember the way that she looked at him, directly, almost as if it were a challenge. “I’m a big girl,” she said, “I can take care of myself.”
    There was a moment where neither of them spoke. “I know—” she said, “your name is supposed to appear in the papers three times—when you’re born, when you marry, and when you die. And that’s where I’ll get my information about you.”
    She threw the newspaper on the ground where it landed in a puddle, opened to the offending item. The edges of the paper curled slightly as the picture of Philip and Rosemary became submerged in water. He watched her as she walked away from him down the dock.

 
    I t was late, after midnight, when Josie came in from the theater. She was elated from her performance and didn’t feel like going to sleep. The light was on in Eleanor’s room. She knocked softly and Eleanor, still in her street clothes, answered the door.
    “Oh, it is there,” said Josie. Eleanor forced a smile.
    “Well, you are never here anymore. Let me in before we wake the warden.” Without waiting for her to open the door fully, Josie pushed her way in.
    Eleanor’s bedroom was so plain, it was almost austere. Minimally decorated, a dried floral wreath with ribbons hung on the wall, and a cheap paisley shawlhad been thrown over the end table as a covering. There were fresh flowers, lilies, in a vase on the table. Josie threw herself dramatically across the bed and lay on her stomach, her head propped up by her hands and elbows. “You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”
    “You’re the one who works in a restaurant,” said Eleanor.
    “Not anymore. I’ve gotten a part. Not a part exactly. I’m part of the chorus…” She added, laughing, “…And, I’m completely broke.” Eleanor tossed her an apple from the top of the bureau.
    Josie was so intent on herself, she could still hear the applause from the theater, she hadn’t eaten, and it took her a few moments to realize that Eleanor was not her usual self.
    She noticed