WHEN IN ROME

By Maria Cannon and Maddy de Vise

The sky looked pale and ghostly as Clara stepped onto the platform from her first-class rail car.
Clara supposed the weather was fitting, considering she was about to meet her mother. Maybe this time it
wouldnt be quite so bad. It had been a whole year, after all, since the last time they had spoken face to
face. Her mothers letters had given no indication that their relationship would be anything less than
strained. Still, Clara figured, there was hope.
Then Claras dear, dear mother marched over, and all hope vanished. So nice of you to come
home, Clara! Its been so long Id quite forgotten what you looked like. You know, I did hope you
mightve spent some of that money we wired over on acquiring some decent clothes. I can see that I
neednt worry about you outshining the bride; your time in the continent has clearly made no significant
impressions on your style, my dear. I do hope youve got something decent for the wedding in all that
luggage.
Lovely to see you too, Mother. Clara reached for the larger of her two cases and began to
mentally prepare herself for the drive back to her familys lakefront home.
Oh, no need for that, dear. The new chauffeur will get it -- hes very good, asserted Mrs. Price.
Youve replaced Johnson, have you? interjected Clara. Whats this new boy called, then?
Mrs. Price paused. Hes called -- Oh, nevermind. Here he comes. Take these cases to the car, boy,
well meet you there. Come, Clara. Lets go.Clara reluctantly followed as her mother sauntered toward
the exit.
Once seated in the car, Mrs. Price readily picked up her steady stream of commentary. Theres
lots of new young people this summer, Clara. I assume you havent found yourself a rich European to
marry. She sighed heavily when Clara remained silent. No, I thought not. Well, never fear. Things will
be taken care of! Claras thoughts wandered to her recent time in Europe.
Despite her mothers assumptions, she had, in fact, found a companion -- a frenchwoman named
Colette, and they had stayed together for almost three months in Rome. Neither of them knew anyone
except for Colettes elderly aunt, so the two sweethearts had gone about Rome unhindered. They had seen
the wonders and wandered the streets completely at peace. Thinking back, Clara could almost feel the
sweet ache in her feet she had felt after a day walking about with Colette. She could smell the coffee-filled
air of their favorite cafe, and she conjured up perfectly the image of the sun setting beyond their shared
balcony. Clara wondered if she would ever feel that freedom again.
Clara! Are you even listening to me? We have lots to do! Oh, and I almost forgot -- Samantha has
a fitting tomorrow, and youll have to go. Do pay attention; youll have to plan a wedding fitting of your
own one day. Hopefully not so far in the future. Ah! Were almost here. Well, you may go see your sister
and rest if you wish, but I expect you in my study at exactly 3 oclock to discuss your dress for the party.
 Party, mother? Clara timidly asked.
Werent you listening at all? The party on Thursday, to celebrate your, er, return? Everyone will
be there! My God! Well, we really are here, now. Ill see you at three. Her mother marched off into the
house, giving Clara momentary peace.

Instead of getting the car and dragging about the driver, Clara walked to Samantha's fitting. Her
mother would greatly disapprove, no doubt, but she needed the air. It was all so new. Clara twisted the ring
round and round on her finger as she considered all that had happened. When she had gone away
Samantha had been as far from marrying as she. She supposed it was the natural order of things, but that
didnt do much to ease Claras mind. What would an engaged Samantha be like?
Clara turned down the gravel path of the large estate belonging to Samantha's family, continuing to
ponder the question. In the big french windows of the ground floor Clara could see that the party had
already begun. The big library was full of color, and as Clara approached, she could hear music from the
victrola drifting towards her. Soon she could hear peals of laughter as well. Clara paused a moment to
straighten her dress before plunging into the merriment.
Clara! called Samantha, who rushed over at once. Darling, how have you been? How was
Paris? And Rome, how was Rome? Ill bet you have dozens of dark Italian men pining after you, now that
youre here. Clara thought back to her long walks with Colette, and their more intimate moments.
Loads. But how have you been? Youre getting married!
Oh, I know! Its wonderful and just the same as its always been. Summers here, winters in the
city. Of course, I started hanging around Alfred more and more, and, well, here we are -- engaged, and
with the wedding only a few weeks away! Weve known each other for ages, Alfred and I, but it suddenly
feels -- oh, doesnt it just feel so thrilling?
The two friends were now seated together on a couch, in strictest of confidences. Soon youll
know what Im talking about, wont you? Samantha gushed on. Clara thought once more about her time
with Colette and doubted that very much. Samantha continued right along without an answer, exclaiming,
Oh, that reminds me -- theres someone just dying to meet you! Come, lets go find him before they bring
all the dresses out. Starting up, Samantha pulled Clara to her feet and made a dash for the open doors.
Clara followed her old friend out onto the lawn, smiling despite her apprehension. She had known
that Samantha would eventually try to set her up with some of Alberts friends, but she hadnt realized it
would be quite so soon. She had only just arrived, after all! Clara caught up to Samantha and they turned
round the corner of the house, their steps in sync.
With their shirt-sleeves rolled up and their hats askew, there was a collection of men playing
croquet on the lawn, roughly the size of the gaggle of ladies inside. When Samantha introduced her to the
happiest looking of the gentlemen present, Clara pretended to remember Albert with warm enthusiasm. He
seemed a nice enough man. Nothing special. Samantha waved a slightly shyer looking man over to join
the trio.
Clara, this is Jim; Jim, this is Clara!
Clara, what an absolute pleasure!
Clara could only stare in disgust at the mans mustache. Aside from that particular growth on his
upper lip, Jim was completely indistinguishable from the other gents.
Right -- I mean -- Hello, the pleasure is all mine, uh, sir! Claras words sounded forced, and they
were.
She stayed silent through all the rest of the short conversation, and soon enough, Samantha and
Clara were making their way back to the party. Clara wondered how many more conversations just like
that one she would partake in, with men remarkably similar to Jim.
Nice man, isnt he? said Samantha, and Clara wondered how many times she would have to
reply Quite to questions such as that.

Clara, are you ready?

Quite. So, nothing had changed, then.
The guests will be arriving shortly. For Gods sake, put on something decent, and do something
with that rats nest of yours.
Clara would not give her the satisfaction of a reply.
Did you hear me, Clara?
Yes, alright? I heard you! Clara carded a hand raggedly through her hair. Her dress was far too
shimmery and dress-like, but it was the only one she owned that her mother hadnt picked out. A small
defiance.
When she descended into the glittering pits of hell, her mother was already greeting someone at the
door. Clara swept quickly into the other room and stacked her palm with lobster canapes. They were the
first to run out, after all.
Clara? Come say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Elliott.
She obliged with a long-suffering sigh.
Hours later, Clara found herself back at the refreshments table. The canapes, as shed predicted,
had long since run out, as had the fruit cocktail and egg sandwiches. Clara leaned an elbow on the table
and stared at the empty platters forlornly, remembering the charming cafes in Rome where Collette used to
take her and where pastries never ran out. Shed felt completely uncaged, limitless, and warm. When
theyd parted ways, Clara found herself missing the freedom of it more than anything.
Excuse me -- Do you know where I can find the toilets?
Clara turned and stared, utterly taken aback by the girl in front of her.
 What? she said.
The girl smiled. The toilets. You live here, dont you? Its a very big house.
Yes, Clara agreed faintly. It is. Whats your name?
My name? Clara nodded. Im Annie. And youre Clara, arent you?
Clara nodded again. Annie looked at her. Oh! Yes, er, follow me.
She walked her the whole way there, entirely aware of every step she took and sound she made,
and then she stood outside the door and waited until Annie stepped out and nearly jumped at the sight of
her.
Oh, she said. Youre still here.
I -- Oh. Yes. I am. I thought Id show you back, is all. You know. Because its a big house.
Annie smiled, and Clara got the distinct impression that she wasnt fooled in the slightest. Right.
So, er, said Clara, and they were walking somewhere, whats your last name? I only ask,
because my parents mayve mentioned you before.
Adler.
Annie Adler, Clara repeated. Have I met you before?
Annie grinned. See if you can remember.
We have? How could I have forgotten you? I dont -- She thought about it. Hold on. Were we
friends as children?
Bingo.
I cant believe it. Annie Adler! I havent seen you in fifteen years, have I?
Oh, fewer than that. Our fathers went golfing together, and if I remember correctly, you and I still
tagged along just into our teenage years.
Clara stared. God, you look different.
Annie shrugged. Maybe you werent looking before.
Yeah. Well, I was blind, apparently.
Annie didnt say anything, but Clara looked, and her cheeks were pink as rouge. We arent headed
back to the ballroom, are we?
Clara shook her head. No, its far too noisy in there. Theres a piano in the drawing room. Can
you still play?
I havent in ages, Annie murmured.
Clara paused. Well, I suppose its time we caught up, anyway.
They sat by the fire and talked for what felt like hours. Annie, Clara was not surprised to learn, was
incredible. The air around them was warmer than before, Clara was sure. Occasionally the odd couple
would wander through on their way to the balcony, but for the most part, Clara and Annie were blessedly
alone.
 Until, of course, Claras mother arrived. With company.
Clara, dear! Wont you come over here? Theres someone Id like you to meet, came the
strangely sing-song voice of Mrs. Price. Clara ignored her mother, but the bubble surrounding her and
Annie had already burst. Annie stood and made to leave.
Clara!
Clara sighed. Coming, mother!
She turned away to go to her mother, but the formidable woman was already making her way over.
At her heels was none other than the forgettable Jim. And the man was, truly, forgettable. Although she
had recognized the figure as Jim, Clara doubted that she would be able to recall him if, say, someone had
asked her if she knew a Jim. The odd duo made their way across the room, the short, imposing woman
followed closely by the lanky, unremarkable fellow. Both in their finest garb, it was a study in contrasts, as
Mrs. Price swished through the crowd, bestowing firm smiles on only a lucky few, while Jim merely
trailed behind, making friendly but insincere eye contact with just about everyone.
The pair reached Clara and Annie, both rooted to the spot.
Ahem. Clara, this is Jim Winchester, a very good friend of you fathers, and very available.
Weve met. Clara smiled politely and took a sip of her drink, avoiding eye contact.
Jim straightened his collar and tried to look expectantly at Clara, but his gaze was successfully
evaded. Mrs. Price coughed.
Jim, why dont you dance with --
I think I need some air. Ill be back in a bit, yelped Clara suddenly. See you later, Annie.
No Clara, I dont think you will. said Mrs. Price, before Clara could make her hasty exit. Clara
watched from the corner of her eye as Annie escaped to the hall. No, I think you will stay here, and have
your first dance with Jim, because -- well, because I say so. Claras eyes were wide. Jim extended a
nervous hand and stepped closer to Clara.
We might as well, he said. Well have to dance an awful lot together in the future, after all. Jim
faltered and frowned. Clara had donned an expression of utter disbelief.
Dont look so surprised -- you knew this was coming. Youre not stupid. And close your mouth,
you dont want to start a scene, hissed Claras mother.
Claras eyes stung. You wicked woman! How long have you been planning this? Jesus Christ, Ive
been back for three days! Three days! And already, here we are. Do I have no say in my own future? This
is just how its going to be? Youve just decided for me? I dont know him! I dont want to marry him! I
wont!
Oh, yes you will! You had your fun -- you were gone an entire year! You have to face the facts.
You will have a lovely dance with this man, and then your father will announce that the two of you are
engaged, and then you will marry him, and that will be all! whispered Mrs. Price ferociously. Jim took a
few steps back and glanced around. Clara looked down, masking her tears, and no one said a thing. Mrs.
Price softened, and reached out a hand to stroke Claras back, but before her hand reached her daughter,
there came a resounding, No! Mrs. Price quickly withdrew her hand.
Whats that?
I said, No. I will not dance with this man. I will not enter into any engagement with him. And
after the wedding, Im leaving, and I am never coming back. You wont ever even have the privilege of
knowing if Im alive or dead ever again. Do you hear me? Because I dont care about you, or your parties,
or your stupid husbands, or any of it! Clara felt the heat on her back, and she saw that faces were
beginning to blur and her other lesser thoughts distorted till every part of her mind was focused on the
rage. Party-goers stares were easily deflected off the pent up anger that now formed her armor.
Here. Take your precious necklaces and your jewels and your dainty shoes. Ill have nothing to do
with it. The trimmings that once adorned her person lay in a triumphant pile on the ballroom floor. I hate
you! I hate you!
Clara! Clara, come back here this moment! her mother shrieked desperately.
But Clara was already gone.
Shed started running at some point. Everything in her head was a convoluted mess of what it
meant to be happy, because shed been eight once and a boy had been chasing her, and shed ran until her
feet slapped hot and aching and she felt like she could fly if she didnt stop. Clarad never looked back;
she hadnt seen him behind her. She could see the house like an enormous cat. Its eyes were flashing
yellow through the hedge. Maybe shed trip and itd stop following her.
Shed learned her way to the tracks by sight when she was twelve, and by feel at seventeen. She
couldnt see anything. Her mother had taught her: take the road, make a right, smile at the whiskey men
and tilt your nose like there is something to smell.
She used to cut through the trees, sometimes, when Mother hadnt been there to drag her on a
leash. They were always scabbed and tall as strangers. They couldnt see her, or her troubles. They just
stood by, neither offering or taking anything from her as she ran. The rain hit the ground in curtains.
She was humming a tune shed learned in England. If she was much younger, this wouldve all
been okay, and she couldve ran as far as shed wanted to. Time wouldve slowed, and a million eyes
would have turned away from her. The sky was completely opaque. She heard Annie land in a puddle
beside her.
Clara?
She was here. Frizz twirling and illuminated gold around her face, skin yellow in the lamplight.
Annie looked like shed run the whole way, and Clara realized she probably had.
Did you follow me?
They were quiet.
 Annie sat. I didnt know where you went.
Then howd you find me?
Oh, well -- Well, I suppose I did know. In some manner.
The world went quiet and patient. When Annie let her shoulder press against Claras, and the rain
was completely patient, it was easy to believe that Clara was in Europe again.
Clara, what happened?
She was looking at a spot in the dark when she responded. Nothing of importance. Thanks for
finding me.
Annie waited. Clara, she said, so softly she thought shed imagined it, You dont have to lie to
me.
Clara looked at her. My mothers married me off, she said slowly.
Her face changed. Oh. Im sorry.
Me, too. Clara could feel her mouth twisting. A Winchester. I dont know what that is, but she
was -- positively salivating. She likes that kind of thing, you know. Status and names. She cares about it.
Annie was silent for a moment. I dont know what to say.
She leaned her head back. You dont have to say anything. Its just -- you know. I really, really
hate my mother sometimes.
Dont we all?
Clara smiled ruefully. Hes repulsive. Boring as a clam, and with this hideous growth of hair
above his lip, like some kind of animals nesting there.
Oh, my goodness, said Annie, a sweet burst of laughter tumbling from her lips. She pushed a
hand on Claras shoulder to steady herself. Claras eyes were wet. You must realize, Annie said, that
youve only one solution.
And whats that?
Well, youve got to run away.
Run away. Clara was going to cry. Havent I done that already?
Well, dont stop now. Keep going. Go as far as you can without stopping.
Clara looked at her some more. Annies eyes were heavy with earnesty.
Clara, she said, theres a train scheduled to arrive at half past, and Im taking it to Michigan.
Come with me.
She wanted to. So badly. Michigan?
Id be going, anyway. To Michigan. I just bought a home there, right on the lake. Id meant it as a
retreat, but, she shrugs, things change.
Youd take me with you?
Annie smiled, almost laughing. Yes. I would. I like you, Clara. She looked at her lap.
 God. I just want to run away.
Well, she said, heres your chance.

Clara was looking at a wall, the bricks fiercely white until she stared long enough. Windows were
open upon her insistence, heavy stripes of light and cold air offering a sort of reassurance. She hummed
under her breath.
The more she thought about the wedding to come, the heavier her skull felt. Mother had developed
a habit of breaking Claras own nervous ticks -- swatting her raw, stubby fingers from her teeth, kicking
her in the shin when her leg wouldnt stop shaking. She wasnt here, though. Not now. She was
somewhere in the other room, sticking combs in her hair and fretting over floral arrangements. Shed
handed Clara a fistful of violet and hyssop at the door. She couldnt find it now.
Itll be alright, you know.
Clara leaned into her touch at the crown of her head, Annies nimble hands threading her hair into
some complicated knot. Clara had never liked weddings -- churches smelled like ice and hesitation, and
something about the music gave her a terrible headache. She thought it was really to do with the people.
Maybe if her upbringing had been smaller and kinder she would feel differently. If shed lived in Europe,
or something.
Women with big, ugly hats fluttered past the open door. Clara knew a few of them, but she
assumed the majority were the paper doll friends of her parents. She wondered if they felt as itchy in their
dresses as she did.
Annie leaned a wrist on her shoulder, and she remembered why she was here.
All finished. She handed her a mirror.
Its perfect, Annie. Thank you. Clara didnt know what shed done to her hair, but it didnt look
normal, and she loved it. She could see Annie smiling in the reflection.
How do you feel?
Better. She thought about it. I wish I werent here, but Im happy youre with me. Youre the
only reason Ive agreed to this, you know.
She smiled and tucked something imaginary behind Claras ear. I know.
How much longer do I have? Clara asked her.
She fell silent, but she heard her. Annie waited like this, sometimes, before speaking, so she could
flesh out her words and the tone of her voice. She had never been one to think aloud. Im not sure, she
said finally. Ill go ask someone. Dont wander off anywhere.
Wouldnt dream of it.
Clara watched her leave.
Annie returned bearing news and tiny sandwiches from a platter in the hall.
 The wedding proceeded stiffly -- everything was as expected, according to plan. Not quite
beautiful. She knew her mother would wipe away a single tear at the exchanging of vows. She knew not
whether it was real or carefully rehearsed, but it didnt seem to matter anymore. Jims eyes were blue as a
swelling vein. Annies eyes were grey and intense, but she was looking at the flowers in her lap.
Heliotrope.
Clara didnt have a problem with Jim, and she looked at him when she said her vows. He knew she
could never love him. A sweet insistence in her head, Annies eyes expectant from across the room. She
thought about her promise for the spring. Well be together again, thought Clara.
And do you, Clara Elizabeth Price, take Jim William Winchester as your lawfully wedded
husband?
I do.