United by entertainment

The literary works of Louisa May Alcott are in the public domain, but the literary works of Margaret Mitchell are still owned by the Mitchell estate. The following is a work of fanfiction for pure entertainment purposes only with no claims of ownership or commercial use.

North and South and New York City

In 1868 women all across the newly re-unionized America were busy getting on with their lives, heading west, reporting news, having children, growing crops, counting stars, stitching quilts, lobbying Congress, writing poetry, and much, much more. In these United States, one woman got married for the third time and another woman left home for the first time. 

Both of these actions lead them to New York City.

The proud city of New York had considered itself rather distinct from the war of North and South. Neither righteously Puritanical nor fire-breathing Baptist in its religions leanings, and not prospering exclusively from either field work or factory work, it was a place apart, an equalizing middle that only cared what you had to buy and sell that day, cash on the barrel.

Indeed, the city had tried for a separate secession, in hopes of becoming a proud little city-state, modeled on the tiny countries of Renaissance Italy merchant-princes. It would a neutral space for both sides to use for negotiation and trade. The city fathers had excitedly presented the idea to Washington D.C., sure they had hit on a great idea that would benefit everyone. The now sainted Lincoln had made time in his hectic schedule during the first year of the war to personally visit the city in order to quietly but firmly grind the notion into dust.

So, the city had grudgingly supported the North, loudly grumbling at every shortage, using almost anything as a pretext to riot. Worse, the city had been a hotbed of spies and insurrection – but you’d never know it now, as the city bustled onwards, determined to be respectable, as if all those fires and murders and conspiracies had never happened. The city had been a battlefield, but one that was now being eagerly built over by everyone who had survived. The war was over and the city was free to go back to not even pretending to support any particular side. Business was once again at full steam.  

The woman from Massachusetts discovered, from the moment she got off the train, that her occasional visits to family friends on Beacon Hill had done nothing to prepare her for New York. Boston was practically a seaside village compared to this spiraling metropolis. She tried to look everywhere at once, mentally taking notes.  Having published a few short stories in various ladies magazines, she felt entitled to the label of “authoress” and looked forward to her new job in its exciting location to give her plenty of new ideas to write down and get published. Yes, Miss M- was excited about her stay in New York.

The woman from Georgia discovered, from the moment she got off the train, that New York was faster paced than anything she’d ever seen before, even compared to the rapid rebuilding in Atlanta. She’d braced herself for sneers from passing Yankees, assuming she’d immediately be recognized as a true Southern lady, but, to her consternation, no one gave her a second glance, let alone a jeer or a sneer.  Fiddly-dee, she thought in exasperation. Everyone was in such a hurry they’d no time to even glance at her, even though she was wearing her most elegant new traveling cloak. She was glad this was to be a short stop only, one of many on her honeymoon journey, and once the shopping was done, she could leave. Yes, Mrs. B- was looking forward to leaving New York.

Miss M- made her way to the boarding house where she would be tutoring the landlady’s little daughters, careful to consult directions sent to her so as not to become completely lost.  Everyone brushed past her, intent on getting to their destinations as fast as possible, that she had to be careful to have her back to a wall while re-reading the letter so as not to get trampled. She wanted to explore the prodigious city, but it would be rude to have her new employer worry if she was late on her first day. She intended to be dependable and responsible and excel in her new position, to prove she could thrive outside the cozy but stifling family nest.

Mrs. B- let her new husband take care of directing the porters, hiring a carriage, seeing to their luggage, and giving directions to their hotel. While still waiting in the first class train car, she had directed the George to get her another cup of coffee and busied herself re-reading the latest issue of Harper’s Weekly with all the lovely pictures of those fine European mansions. She ignored the busy traffic and sights as they drove to the hotel, mentally reviewing what she needed to buy. She intended to build herself a house that would be grander than anything else in this country, North or South.

The boarding house was worn with age but still a perfectly respectful place to stay. Miss M-’s new employer, in between the hundred tasks that demanded a landlady’s attention at any given moment, made the time to give her a quick tour, ending with the room that was part of her remuneration, a little closet of a bedroom at the top of the house. Miss B- was charmed by the garret accommodations, later writing home to her family that it was like living in the crow’s nest at the top of a ship.      

The hotel had just been finished and everything had been made to perfection.  Mrs. B- was delighted by how new everything was.  She didn’t dwell on how she now associated the smell of fresh paint and newly sawn wood with the mental state of no longer having to worry about being homeless and starving to death, but she did relish in her grand surroundings.  If she was going to spend time in the uncivilized North, at least it would be in the lap of luxury.

As soon as she was settled in, Miss M- asked her employer about bookshops in the area. There were school supplies she needed to buy for her lessons with her new students, and she had especially hoarded some savings to allow her to indulge in some new books of her own. The landlady cheerfully gave her directions to a shop that wasn’t in the neighborhood, but would have everything she was looking for.  A trolley car brought her there faster than she could have walked anywhere back home and, slightly breathless by the speed of the public transportation, she stepped into Appleton’s Bookstore – and promptly lost her breath all over again at the sight of all the books, towering on shelves that seemed to reach to the skies in the cathedral-like shop.

As soon as she was settled in, Mrs. B- demanded from the concierge on where the best shops were located. When he tried to tell her about where ladies in town went for dress fittings, she sneeringly told him she had already bought her trousseau in New Orleans, a city that knew what true fashion was, and that what she needed were shops that could provide the finest in furnishings for the house currently under construction. Not much later, she alighted from her private carriage and walked into Tiffany & Company.  She looked around at the lofty shelves loaded with giant porcelain urns, gleaming silver tea sets, crystal decanters, and more. She gave a little nod, satisfied that this would be a good start.

 Miss. M-, despite her excitement of her new home and job, missed her sisters, and even as she was starting her new position she was already mentally penning a letter home to tell them everything she had seen so far and what being a governess at a boardinghouse was like, and was looking forward to when she would get mail from home.

Mrs. B-, thoroughly enjoying the luxuries of this leg of her honeymoon, didn’t give her sisters a second thought. She’d always done what had to be done, and if her sisters weren’t smart enough to do the same, then they could live with the results, and she didn’t give a fiddly-dee if they were jealous.

Miss. M- was invited that night by other young people at the boarding house to what was being called a ‘political meeting’, though she could tell in a short time that it was no different than her father and his friends talking current events over coffee after dinner, only here the group was younger, louder, and the ladies were not automatically excluded. She spent most of her time merely observing, her eyes wide over the rim of her espresso cup at the intensity of some of the young men’s opinions. She did, however, finally feel compelled to speak to remind one of the young men that women had taken over every task done by men when the men had all gone away to war, and the world had not ended, so why should it be such a shock to the system if women were to vote as well? The young man pouted while the group applauded.

Mrs. B- was invited that night to attend a party by a friend of her new husband. Her husband had so many rich friends, and, even better, rich friends who knew how to have a good time and sensibly leave the past in the past. She had asked her husband what this particular friend did and he had smiled and said he was type of baron. He only laughed when she asked if he was related to any royal families. Still, this perhaps-royal personage lived in one of the newer mansions in the most fashionable district of the city. As she mingled with the crowd, all the ladies as bejeweled as herself, all the men as self-assured as her husband, she sipped her champagne and let her sharp green eyes rove around the parlor walls, taking note of the drapes, paintings, and statuary. This was how to live, surrounded always and only by beautiful things. She did, however, feel compelled to speak up when one of the older men tried to explain to a knot of people how compound interest worked, flawlessly calculating in her head the returns on several examples the amused crowd tossed at her. The old man pouted while the group applauded.

Miss M- had ventured out after her first day teaching, clutching the instructions to reach the section of town with the newest immigrants, assured that the Russians were the best for sewing supplies and good prices on wholesale clothes. But somehow, despite her best efforts, she ended up in the district inhabited by those from the Far East, a place so far off it seemed as exotic as the moon to her. She had never dreamed of traveling so far, and yet, it now occurred to her, these people had traveled that far, only in reverse, in order to come to this bustling, teeming city. She found cloth and sewing supplies at reasonable prices, managing, mostly with gestures, to make her purchase with the old woman who managed a stall of dressmaking supplies. She also indulged in the purchase of a red silken robe embroidered with golden dragons to wear in the privacy of her little garret, the perfect thing to wear while writing.  

Brash as a boy, her purchases tucked under her arm, Miss. M- strode into one of the tearooms in the area, hungry after her day’s expedition. She imagined herself a pirate striding into a tavern in some faraway harbor.  The room was dark and low ceilinged, with so many tables crammed in one could hardly walk forward without bumping into someone. She smiled at the woman who came up to greet her and ordered their version of teatime.  She was brought a small iron pot of the most delicious tea and a wicker basket of dumplings, lighter and more varied than the heavy German-style dumplings the old family cook always served.  The tea was poured into a tiny handless cup and, she and the waiter both laughing at her efforts, the food was eaten with two sticks that looked like knitting needles. Fascinated by the process, she watched the young man handle the sticks as dexterously as she would flash words across the page with her pen.  He explained what to do in flawless English with the local New York twang, and she made a valiant effort, but in the end simply speared the dumplings on the end of one of sticks and popped them into her mouth, delighted with all the exotic flavors.

Mrs. B- ventured out from her fashionable hotel to the most fashionable shopping district, willing to at least peruse the fashions the North had to offer, although she was rather skeptical there would be anything worth her time.  She did find a fashion house with the latest from Paris, and was able to add to her growing hat collection, but turned up her nose at everything else she saw.  However, she did find an excellent shop for draperies, and arranged to have the long, rich red curtains she bought to be shipped to Atlanta to decorate the foyer of her future home.  

Mrs. B- then decided to revive herself from her exhausting afternoon with a lunch at the hotel’s tearoom, an elegant room of white marble, high ceilings, chandeliers, tall windows, and charming little tables spaced out like snow covered islands, the tablecloths laid out with all manner of china and silver cutlery. The white waiters with their harsh accents were a sharp reminder that she was in the barbarian North, but the food was so delicious it was worth it. A large white pot of tea was brought to her table along with two brass tiered towers of food, both towers four levels tall. One proffered delicate wedges of sandwiches – ham, cucumber, curried chicken, watercress, and egg salad – all on white bread as soft as clouds. The second tower was heaped with cream filled eclairs, ruby red jam tarts, heavy little cheesecake slices, brightly frosted petit fours, and dainty macaroons. Mrs. B- was satisfied that at least they could bake properly up here.

Miss M- stayed up late into the night, working on her latest story of sensation.  She wrote what the magazines were willing to buy, which consisted mostly of a beautiful young woman in need of rescue by a handsome man from some dastardly villain. She did her best to try and slip something more into the stories, occasionally getting away with a woman who took action herself instead of waiting for a man to save her, but it was rare that those stories would actually sell. But the important thing was she was actually selling some of her work, and she was a true author, even if she had to use a pen name.

Mrs. B- luxuriated in bed late the next morning, reading her magazines.  She had read every article on the latest houses and fashions of the wealthy and would have to wait impatiently for the next issue for more ideas for her new home, so she turned to the sensational magazines for some light entertainment. She opened The Daily Volcano and thoroughly enjoyed one story in particular, ‘Pauline’s Passion and Punishment’ wherein the lady revenged herself on a false lover, which Mrs. B- thought only fitting. This A.M. Barnard wrote quite well.

That evening Miss M- was able to go to the theater with a group from the boarding house.  One of the group had a nasty cold and gave her his ticket.  They were only the cheapest back seats, practically in the rafters, but she was still delighted to be able to go to an actual New York theater.

Mrs. B- was excited to accompany her husband to the theater where they had been invited to attend with one his friends in their private box. She would be able to show off one of her new dresses from New Orleans and show these New York women what real fashion was, as well as showing them how to properly flirt back if some new adorer asked if he could get her a glass of champagne.

Intermission came and Miss M- and Mrs. B- both found themselves needing to leave their seats to use the delicately labeled ‘retiring room’. Both were delighted to be able to use the theater’s modern plumbing, both having grown up having to use an outhouse more often than not.    

“Oh excuse me!” said Miss M-, bumping into Mrs. B- in the crush of full skirted women all trying to go in and out of the entrance at once.

“What a lot of busy people ‘round here!” quoted Mrs. B- from Act One, in a good enough mood not to be annoyed.

Miss M- laughed. “I know!” she agreed. “Isn’t this play delightful?”

“Quite amusing,” said Mrs. B-. “Do enjoy your evening,” she added quellingly, meant to end the conversation and make clear who was of the higher station.

“Oh I shall, and you as well!” said Miss M- sincerely, oblivious she was being put down. She smiled broadly, and, as the lights flickered to show intermission was almost over, dashed back in the direction of the stairs to the backrow with a wave of the hand.

Both women sat back down in their respective seats to enjoy the second half, united in their enjoyment of the actors’ performance. For a brief space of time, they weren’t in New York, or America, or even in their own heads, as they watched the frothy comedy play out in front of them. All too soon it was over and the audience spilled out onto the streets to scatter back to all sorts of places and positions, but all left chattering with amusement at the entertainment. 

Mrs. B- was happy to leave the city in order to get started on making the most magnificent home in all Atlanta. New York had offered a gratifying amount of shopping as well as many ideas about how she would decorate, but it was past time to head back South. She had gotten all this city that it had to offer.

Miss. M- soon happily settled into a routine of teaching and writing. She hoped to go back North in a few months to see her family, but for now she was happy to continue living the adventure of living on her own and exploring the city of New York, which never failed to offer something new.

The End