Gene and I arrived on the same train, and Frank toured us around the home and property, showing off a wood-framed sun porch decorated with wicker furnishings and African violets. We ended up in a large sitting room on the main floor, admiring a river-rock fireplace and the collection of Egyptian amulets and tomb figurines displayed on its mantel.

"You'll meet the lord and lady at dinner," said Frank. "Come, I'll show you your bedrooms."

We climbed a curving staircase to the second level, pa.s.sing a sitting bench nestled into a window alcove. Frank motioned us to follow her down the second-floor hallway. She swung the second-to-the-last door open. "Here's your room, Gene."

I peeked in. Gene's room sported masculine decor-solid burgundy wallpaper, paintings of fox hunts, and a tall case holding old rifles.

"Why, Frank," said Gene, sidling up to her, "you know me too well."

I had to chuckle. Gene was no sportsman. He only hunted when Paul insisted on it, and all he knew about guns was that the barrel required pointing.

We left Gene, and Frank showed me to the room at the end of the hall, which was decorated in the style of an English country estate, with an antique wall clock, a poster bed covered with embroidered pillows, and paintings of an English-style garden and outdoor tea service. "It's a lovely room," I said, kissing Frank on the cheek. "So welcoming and comfortable."

Over dinner, we had the pleasure of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Shaver.

"I've heard so much about you from Frank." Mrs. Shaver looked to me, then Gene, her sky-blue eyes sparkling against her delicate complexion and the snow-white hair she'd swooped into a chignon.

"And I must thank you," said Gene, between spoonfuls of clam chowder, "for welcoming us to your lovely home."

Mr. Shaver, from whom Frank had apparently inherited her st.u.r.dy frame, turned to me. "I understand you and the Baron are in property investment."

"I wouldn't consider it an ongoing venture. We own residences in Holland and London. I'll soon be selling the Arkansas hotel."

"Yes, well, that sounds like a worthwhile investment."

"And I understand that you, sir, helped design the Westinghouse air brake?"

"Yes, Mr. Westinghouse is a wonderful man to work for. He's built a sound company."

Gene pitched his frame toward Mr. Shaver. "Do you still have occasion to work with Mr. Westinghouse, sir?"

"Oh, yes, the man works longer hours than most anybody else. That's why I have such confidence in the company's stock."

The maid swept in and scooped up our soup bowls.

"Some say Roosevelt's overreaching on the Panama Ca.n.a.l rights." The way Gene hunched over and gazed at Mr. Shaver, one might have thought him a pet.i.tioner for a post. "What do you think, sir?"

"Oh, without question, moving forward on the ca.n.a.l will be a boon to U.S. business."

As we neared the end of our scheduled one-week visit with Frank and her family, I overheard Gene remark to Frank, "Perhaps next week we can tour Fort Pitt." As soon as Gene retreated to his bedroom to dress for dinner, I knocked on his door.

"Yes, come in," said Gene, as casual and relaxed as a seaside vacationer.

I let myself in and closed and leaned against the door. "What's this I hear about you and Frank going on an outing next week?"

Gene undid the top b.u.t.ton of his shirt and circled a finger around the collar to loosen it. "I'm thinking of staying on a little longer."

"And why haven't you mentioned this to me?"

"Frank's my friend, too."

"You've got work to do in Arkansas."

"Another week or two won't matter," said Gene, sitting down on his bed and crossing one leg over the other.

"We need to finish the remodeling. Rudolph expects me home as soon as possible."

"It's practically done. William's got it all in hand."

"Still, I'd prefer that you return with me. We have matters to wrap up."

"Such as?"

"The installation of those lamps for the lobby, and the last of the bills for the workers and materials."

"William can handle all that."

"And the general management? I don't expect the property to sell tomorrow."

"All right, all right. If you let me have one more week of vacation, I'll work every day until it's sold."

I returned to Arkansas by myself and spent the next three weeks overseeing the completion of the remodeling in antic.i.p.ation of putting the hotel up for sale. Thank goodness, William proved to be a competent a.s.sistant, for Gene's stay in Pittsburgh stretched on and on-to a full month. But I could hardly be annoyed with him when he wrote to tell me he'd asked Frank to marry him and she'd accepted. In fact, I was overjoyed: I heartily congratulated him and told Frank it pleased me in the utmost to welcome her to the family. Perhaps their marriage would provide the security Gene-and the whole family-so sorely needed.

FOR RUDOLPH'S FAMILY

NEW YORK TO MEXICO-OCTOBER-NOVEMBER 1902

It had been over a year since I'd absented myself from my husband's side, so I wasn't surprised when Rudolph insisted I return to Holland by Christmas. I left Arkansas in October and relegated oversight of the hotel sale to Gene. For safe measure, I asked Frank to review any doc.u.ments related to sale offers. She was altogether amenable: "You can count on me; it's all in the family now," to which I'd responded, "I can hardly believe we'll soon be sisters-in-law."

Before sailing for Liverpool, I decided to stop a few days at the home of Rudolph's uncle and his wife, who lived in New York City. I'd had occasion to get acquainted with Philip and Saskia during their visits to Dalfsen in the early years of my marriage. Six years ago, they had relocated to New York and taken a home on West Fifty-eighth Street.

Philip and Saskia had decorated their brownstone in the latest style, Art Nouveau, with elegant swan-neck lamps gracing side tables and finely crafted furniture of curvaceous design in every room. My first evening in New York, we dined in their cozy dining room and afterward retreated to the parlor for Cognac. As I relaxed in an armchair with legs as arced and branching as deer antlers, I asked, "Are you settling permanently in New York?"

Saskia, a large-proportioned woman with the grace of a ballerina, smiled at this. "We rather enjoy the city's offerings. Especially the Metropolitan Opera. It's surprisingly good."

"I've never been." Knowing that Saskia had performed some mezzo opera roles in Holland, I said, "But your appraisal makes me want to go."

Saskia's wide-set green eyes brightened. "Really? I could get orchestra seats for us. Why don't you stay on for a while?"

"I shouldn't. I've finally put the hotel up for sale, and Rudolph is expecting me."

But within two days I had relented. The truth is, I'd fallen a little in love with the couple: with Saskia's flair for Art Nouveau decor, infectious love of opera, and generous, unpretentious manner; as well as with Philip's sad-looking face, unfailing chivalry, and charming habit of chastely kissing Saskia's cheek at the slightest excuse.

Then, the day I planned to secure my ticket for the crossing, Saskia insisted we have a serious chat and asked the maid to prepare tea service for the three of us.

We sat in our customary places in the parlor. The usually suave Philip cleared his throat, as if to summon courage. He set his high brow and narrow jaw into solemn thoughtfulness. "There's something we'd like to discuss with you, May. A rather sensitive matter."

"We're family," I said, inching to the edge of my seat and perching there. "You can speak openly with me."

"I've bid on an iron-mining interest in Mexico. A very large contract."

"Has the bidding closed?"

"It should have, but I've learned the time's been extended. We don't really know how these things work over here."

"You're worried about how it's being handled?"

"Yes. I submitted a rather handsome bid, thinking that would settle the matter."

"And the contract is obviously important to you."

He clamped his hands together. "My business may not survive without it."

I knew Philip's business manufactured cast metal items-cooking vessels mostly. "Your business is struggling?"

"It's hard to compete with all the new U.S. companies."

"I see." I eased my cup and saucer onto the side table. All this time, Saskia had held herself statue-still, shifting her gaze only enough to track the measured volley of our exchange.

Philip gripped the arm of the settee, leaned to the side, and crossed one leg over the other. The corner of his mouth twitched. "I need this contract to sell in the American market. And I know you've managed business deals in j.a.pan and the U.S."

They needed-and trusted-me. How could I not help such darlings? Turning to Philip, I said, "If there's anything at all I can do, I will be glad to help."

The next morning, Philip arranged our travel to Mexico City and wrote Rudolph a long letter explaining the circ.u.mstances. I spent the day bustling about: purchasing clothes suitable for the conduct of business, as well as books on Mexico and the Spanish language; requesting that Frank submit a bid to the Mexican government on behalf of Iron Mountain Mining (a company I invented to serve the purpose of the trip); and unpacking my steamer trunk and packing two suitcases for what could be a stay of a few weeks in Mexico. Still, I managed to dash a cablegram off to Rudolph: DARLING MUST a.s.sIST PHILIP ON BUSINESS IN MEXICO STOP MORE TO FOLLOW FROM HIM STOP LOVE MAY STOP.

One of Philip's business a.s.sociates had wisely cultivated a contact in the Mexican government. During the train journey, Philip briefed me on his findings: the names of parties submitting compet.i.tive bids; transaction dates; and offices and ent.i.ties involved. I made a record of the information for future reference and secreted it away in the bottom compartment of my traveling case. Philip wired for a reservation for himself and Saskia at the Gran Hotel Ciudad de Mexico, a luxurious establishment near the National Palace. I later made my own reservation at the same hotel.

When our train arrived in Mexico City, we took separate carriages to the hotel. As much as I enjoyed their company, I had a job to do, and it required the utmost discretion. I used my rudimentary Spanish to request transport to the Gran Hotel, and my driver embarked on a winding journey through a maze of streets: past a mix of buildings, some in smooth adobe, others with Spanish-style towers and arches; among donkeys and the occasional horse, their heads dipping and rising as they pulled their carts and wagons; and along a broad avenue with a line of electric cars. Mexico City was unlike any other city I'd ever visited: set in a bowl-shaped valley and surrounded by mountains; its streets teeming with men in broad-brimmed hats and women in bright-colored dresses; the air thin and dusty; but everywhere people, great hordes of people, as if they'd decided en ma.s.se to throng the late-afternoon streets.

When I walked into the lobby of the Gran Hotel, wonder tinged with disappointment washed over me. If only I could have shared the moment with Philip and Saskia. Standing in the middle of the Art Nouveau lobby, I hardly knew where to look first: at the canopy of turquoise, yellow, and red-orange stained gla.s.s arching high above; at the open-cage elevator of coal-dark metal flourished with golden k.n.o.bs; or at the curving layers of wrought-iron rails lining the upper floors opening onto the lobby. Perhaps later, once we had managed the business deal, the three of us could enjoy it together. But for now our communications would be restricted to behind-closed-door meetings in our hotel rooms.

The next morning, I set out on my mission. I ordered a carriage and asked to be driven to the Palacio Nacional. The ride took me only three blocks from the hotel. If I had known the way well enough, I would have simply strolled the distance. November's weather, crisp but dry and sunny, certainly presented no impediment. Henceforth, I resolved, I would walk and enjoy the avenue's tall, open-branched trees and gardens of exotic plants, some with leaves as large as fans and others with thick, pointed shoots.

The National Palace's fortress-strong front stretched the length of a New York City block. Atop the tower at the building's midpoint, the Mexican flag's green, white, and red bands sagged in uneven parallels. In order to open the palace's bulky doors of carved concentric geometries, I had to grip the handle firmly and shift the whole of my weight backward. Along the first level's wide corridor, people stood in lines before service counters staffed by men in olive-green shirts. I walked to the end of this corridor and found another of the same length, this one with closed doors that probably housed workaday administrators.

The palace's air smelled of grimy chalk, as if its surfaces had absorbed the oils and perspiration of thousands. On the walls, rich-colored paintings depicted Mexican history: warriors of an ancient civilization gathering beneath a stone temple; a landscape of the fledgling Mexico City against a background of misty mountain peaks; a military battle against Spaniards in the city streets; and Mayans harvesting corn and honoring the sun. I strolled the whole rectangle of the building, acclimating myself to the business-like clip of men in light-colored suits, their furtive glances, and the droop of their swarthy mustaches.

The high-level officials, I reasoned, must occupy the second floor. Mounting the stairs, I reached a hallway of inlaid marble floors with high ceilings supported by arched b.u.t.tresses. Reddish-brown wood doors separated broad expanses of the halls, suggesting that large or multichambered offices lay behind them. At the end of one of the corridors, four guards stood at attention in front of an unmarked door, perhaps that of President Porfirio Diaz himself. I surveyed the complete rectangle of this floor. Fewer persons walked these halls, and those I did pa.s.s studied me with open curiosity. I saw not a single woman on this level. Maybe that would work in my favor-if I could convey the authoritative tone of one who grasped government business dealings, as well as the diplomacy and tact they required.

I closed the loop of my walk before the door labeled "Secretaria de Recursos Jose Elvira Perez." Spreading my shoulders square and high, I opened the door. A young man in a suit too wide for his sloping shoulders looked up at me, raising his caterpillar-thick eyebrows. The nameplate on his desk read "Cesar Lopez alvarez." He leaned forward in his seat, his left hand spread over a doc.u.ment, his right hand gripping a pen. Open wood boxes on the side of his desk brimmed with papers. I a.s.sumed the closed door at the rear of the twenty-by-thirty-foot waiting area led to the inner sanctum of the Secretary of Resources.

"Buenos dias, senor, " I said, striding to his desk.

Mr. Lopez alvarez smiled and nodded. "Buenos dias, senorita."

"Usted habla ingles?"

"Yes, a little."

Ah, I thought, one tiny problem solved. "I would like to make an appointment to see Secretary Elvira Perez."

"What is your business, senorita?"

"The iron-mining contract. I'm Florence Walker, from the United States. A representative of Iron Mountain Mining." I'd removed my wedding ring and donned a business-style suit for my new ident.i.ty.

He reached for a worn notebook and flipped it open. "He is very busy until next week."

It was only Tuesday. I doubted I could afford to put this off until the following week. "Not even ten minutes someday this week?"

"No, senorita." He hunched a shoulder as if to ease the bad news and tapped the page of the notebook. "He can see you next Tuesday. At noon."

"Please do schedule me." I touched my fingertips to the edge of his desk. "And can you tell me, senor, the best museums to visit in Mexico City?"

After a perfunctory exchange of pleasantries with Mr. Lopez alvarez, I hiked back to the hotel. But the alt.i.tude left me winded, and I was unable to strike a fast pace or take much delight in the brisk air or cloudless azure sky.

Once the hallway outside Philip and Saskia's room emptied, I knocked on their door. No answer. I scribbled a note and pushed it under the door. They can't have gone far, I thought: They know I was to visit the National Palace this morning. For over an hour, I waited in my room. Although hunger gnawed at me, I dared not leave for fear of missing them. Finally, they rapped on my door.

I ushered them in, and we settled around the coffee table.

Saskia, uncharacteristically subdued, patted Philip's thigh.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

Philip moistened his lips, and his mouth clucked with dryness. "The winner will be made public this Friday. I've been outbid."

ONE LAST BID.

MEXICO CITY-NOVEMBER 1902