There is laughter and excited murmurings. Lucy stands on a street corner her eyes fixed heavenward just like everyone else. They are outside the New York City Subway’s many construction zones and all eyes are on the large crane where a man is suspended in the air, upside down, and wrapped in the thick canvas of a straitjacket. The man must be at least 40 feet above the crowded street, maybe more. Like the crowd of onlookers, Lucy’s breath is stifled and a lump forms in her throat. The excitement is palpable.

Next to her is her friend, her neighbor from 45 Grove Street, Mr. Crane. He too is looking upwards, his eyes blinking rapidly in the breeze and the steam from nearby equipment. The sun is dim and there is a chill in the air despite the season but this does not deter anyone from such a sight. Mr. Crane holds his well-made fur felt hat in his hands and uses it to shade his and Lucy’s eyes from the brightness above. It is a soft grey with black trim and one of Mr. Crane’s favorites.

The anticipation is intoxicating.

World renowned magician Harry Houdini is supposed to escape from the straitjacket while being suspended by his ankles high above the streets of New York. It is exhilarating, the way he wriggles and moves, flinging himself in the air he frees himself and bows at the ecstatic applause and cheers.

There is a whoosh of air as everyone lets out a breath. Mr. Crane laughs and he and Lucy weave their way carefully through the crowd. They walk together in silence for a few blocks before rounding a corner on 3rd Avenue and a little shop call Sig Klein’s comes into view. Lucy has been a seamstress there for some time since her arrival and though it is hard work Mr. Klein the proprietor is a kind man.

“Well it is here that I leave you Miss Bell, as always it has been lovely.” Mr. Crane bows, kisses her hand, and melts into the crowds slowly taking in the shops.

Lucy stands a moment and lets her heart rise just a little. She has been conscience of Mr. Crane for some time now and has been unable to allow even a moment’s rest for it. She suspects he does not see her as a man sees a woman but rather like a dear friend with whom to confide in. Some nights when her restlessness propels her from her small bed she has walked the silent halls in 45 Grove and quite a number of times witnessed, from shadowy corners of the hall near the stairs, her friend Mr. Crane’s door opening, the golden light washing over the carpet just out of her reach, and young men coming and going like silent ghosts. The fact that Mr. Crane may be considered a deviant does not bother her over much but her wilting heart, longing for companionship does. Her whole being is hollowed out. She is just a shell. An almost empty delicate shell.

Mr. Hart Crane has rented a room on the 2nd floor of 45 Grove Street for some time. He alternates between being a copywriter in New York and working in his father’s factory in Cleveland. But in his heart and soul he is a poet. And lately his poems have been set afire. The woman on the 2nd floor is bewildering as she is beautiful. He cannot pretend to feel actual physical attraction to her however her delicacy and the way her eyes seem to be endless enigmatic pools ignites his words. She seems almost a ghost in the way her eyes seem to be otherworldly. Crane has spent some mornings taking tea with her in the lobby of 45 Grove Street but even that took some time. The impromptu walk was truly providence. They’d met on the sidewalk both curious about the large crowd gathered near the half-built subway. Standing with her and watching the smile and childlike wonder as Houdini performed was inspiring. The slow walk to where she spent her days as a seamstress another lucky break though it was a quiet one. The warm anticipation earlier had been quickly replaced by her usually aloof demeanor though she did grace him with a rare smile as they parted. She is like a flower in a frost. 

Next Chapter: Lucy, New York, December 1929