“Help,” Alva shouted out, panic rising in the back of her throat. “Somebody, please, come help us!”
But there was no one around. Alva was on her own. She slid closer still toward the drop-off, managing to wedge her foot between two overlapping rocks. Using that as her anchor, Alva got hold of Emily’s other arm. With all her might, Alva drew a deep breath, her limbs aching as inch by inch she dragged Emily back onto a flat rock. The two women collapsed side by side, panting, sweating. Emily was shaking, her face streaked with blood and dirt, her kid gloves shredded. Her dress was torn along the bottom and sides. Blood oozed from the cuts and gashes along her forehead, arms and legs. Alva herself became aware of a salty, metallic taste in her mouth. She must have cut her lip. When she wiped the sweat from her brow, her fingers came away tinged with blood, and the palms of her hands were deeply pitted with gravel and grit.
She had no idea how long they stayed there, breathing hard, unable to move. Though she’d gotten them both this far to safety, she was still expecting someone to help them. It took a moment before she realized the rest was up to her.
After she’d gotten Emily on her feet and made sure nothing was broken, she asked what she’d been doing up there to begin with. “Don’t you know that people have fallen to their deaths on Cliff Walk?”
Emily didn’t answer. Alva didn’t ask again.
Together they slowly inched along from one jagged rock to another with Emily leaning on Alva. Every few steps she had to stop and shift Emily’s weight, pressing into her hip and shoulder. It seemed to take forever before they came to the paved pathway. By then Emily had begun talking—chattering really—going on and on about her mother’s clambake, about James Van Alen and then back to the clambake. Alva paused and looked at her in such a way that made Emily stop, her eyes wide, her mouth open.
“What is it?” asked Emily. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” Alva shook her head, smiling.
“No, tell me. What is it?”
“You.” She pointed, her amusement building.
“Me? What did I do? Tell me. Oh, please tell me. Did I say something funny? Did I do something wrong? Oh, what is it?”
“It’s that—what you’re doing right now!” Alva covered her mouth, laughing out loud. “You’re—you’re babbling.”
Emily looked affronted. “I do not babble.”
“Oh, yes you do,” said Alva, howling. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” she said, trying to catch her breath, “it’s just that I never thought you Astors babbled. It makes you seem almost human.”
Emily pressed her fingertips to her mouth, and Alva was sure she’d offended the prim and proper Miss Astor, when suddenly Emily’s shoulders began to shake as she let out a high-pitched giggle.
“I suppose you hiccup and snore and do all kinds of other graceless things, too.”
With that, Emily burst into a fit of chortling. Both of them were now laughing so hard that Alva was doubled over, unable to speak, holding her midsection while still propping Emily up.
“Oh God, stop,” said Emily, trying to recover, sopping the tears from her eyes. “Oh, it hurts—don’t make me start laughing again.”
When they were both finally able to compose themselves, the pendulum swung the other way and Emily grew serious, somber. “I could have died today, couldn’t I have?”
“But you didn’t.” Alva pushed the words past the lump in her throat.
“You saved my life. And you could have died, too,” she said, as if this just dawned on her. Reaching for Alva’s hands, she said, “I won’t ever forget this. I mean it. Thank you.”
Alva never knew what to do when someone turned soft and emotional. Usually she cracked jokes or changed the subject. Her sisters and Consuelo always accused her of that. So did Willie. This time she said nothing.
In silence, she helped Emily along the pathway, concentrating on not buckling or letting Emily fall. Meanwhile Emily went back to chattering about James and how much she wanted to marry him, how funny Alva was and how she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that.
Alva was only half listening because now something quite splendid was taking root in her mind. About fifty yards back, it had dawned on her that a golden opportunity had just presented itself. This was Alva’s chance to meet Mrs. Astor—and under the most advantageous circumstances. Alva would walk Emily home and return her safely to her mother. Mrs. Astor would be so grateful—so indebted to Alva for rescuing Emily—that her frosty veneer would melt away and she would insist that her daughter’s savior attend the clambake, and welcome her into society.
They’d made it to where Victoria Avenue intersected with Bellevue, when Emily turned to Alva and said, “Thank you. For everything.” She let go of Alva, wincing as she attempted to hobble away.
“Wait—” Alva grabbed Emily just before she stumbled. “You can’t walk on that ankle. I’ll help you the rest of the way.”
“No.” Emily shook her head. “I’m all right. It’s best that I go alone. I can make it.”
“Don’t be silly. You can hardly put any weight on that foot. I’ll help you back home and we’ll explain what happened to your mother and—”
“No!” Emily blurted out. “Mother can’t know I was on Cliff Walk. She’s always forbidden me to go there.”
“But . . .” Alva’s voice trailed off, her mind scrambling, trying to salvage her plan, find another way in. She needed Emily’s help in this. Alva couldn’t just knock on Mrs. Astor’s door later on and say, By the way, I saved your daughter’s life, now invite me to your clambake and let me into society. Alva supposed somewhere down the line she could ask Emily for an introduction, but that wouldn’t be enough. That could be easily dismissed. No, she needed more leverage than a simple how do you do. Alva was still thinking when Emily attempted another step forward and nearly collapsed.
“Come on now.” Alva had hold of her again. “You can’t walk the rest of the way by yourself.”
Emily lowered her eyes and nodded, surrendering to Alva for help. “You just can’t say anything about this to Mother. Please? Promise?” Emily gripped Alva’s free hand. “I’m asking. As a friend.”
A friend? Alva hesitated, her chest growing warm. She was desperately lonely and so in need of a friend. She never would have assumed that Emily considered her a peer. Much to her surprise, Alva did like Emily, and not because she was Mrs. Astor’s daughter. She was different one-on-one, nothing like the times they’d met before. There was a sweetness and an innocence to her that Alva found endearing. And her laughter was infectious.