Chapter Text
November 22, 1925
Manhattan, New York City, New York
It was a few years after the Great War’s end when my mother married Jacob Blackwood. They did not meet by chance, and I was not oblivious to them meeting. In fact, I was the one who helped encourage it.
My mother worked at a bakery. She was a thoroughly average woman, and her job was nothing extreme. She’d leave after I began walking to school, and her shift was done early enough for her to be there when I got back. It wasn't the most fulfilling job, but it paid the bills and allowed my mother to have a lively social life. Besides, a woman having any job, even one as a baker, was a revolutionary concept.
The only fault my mother had was her inability to, well, care for me. Yes, she only left the house after I did. Yes, she was always there by the time I got back. But she was so exhausted and worn-out at the end of each day that it was almost as if our roles were switched. Suddenly I was the one helping prepare meals, suddenly I was the one helping her get up in the mornings, suddenly I was the one reminding her about things she needed to do. She was always so blindsided by her own life that the details of mine simply slipped through the cracks.
That was what allowed me to meet Jacob Blackwood.
March 24, 1922
Manhattan. New York City, New York
If you were to look at the months, then winter should be over already. Nevertheless, you could still see your own breath when you breathed out, and snow still accumulated on the ground.
The school day was over and I was on my way to the library. I completed my schoolwork fastest when I was not doing it at home, so I would spend my Fridays at the library, working as hard as I could until they closed. That Friday was just like any other Friday. The streets were bustling with people going this way and that, and the occasional Model T rolled down the street. The cold easily seeped into my bones as I walked in just my school uniform, but it could not be helped. The best coats were rather expensive.
Inside the library was still cool, but much more hospitable than outside. Despite how often I came to the library, I was always in awe of how grand it was. Tall painted ceilings, rows upon rows of wooden bookshelves, and sturdy Greek-like columns. I took my time, making myself at home at one of the tables and laying out my Latin work. Only then did I realise that my assigned reading was not in my bookbag. Upon thinking about it, a vivid image of the book sitting on my homeroom desk came to mind. With much embarrassment, I got up and decided it would be best to try and see if the library had their own copy.
At first I mistakenly went to “Biographies”, because the book detailed the lives of real people, before remembering that the entire thing was not in English. However, on my way to the “Foreign Languages” shelves, something very peculiar happened.
“Young lady! Yes, you there. Might you know where the Fiction shelves are?”
I turned, only to see a man that looked decidedly out of place. Most people who came to the library were dressed nicely, but this man’s type of “nice” indicated he definitely came from the Upper East Side—a neighbourhood that contained unimaginable wealth.
“Sir, I…I don’t work here,” I said quietly, even though I did know where Fiction was.
“Well I can’t seem to find anyone here who does, and you looked very bookish,” he retorted.
Self-consciously, I tucked my hair behind my ear. Did I really? Was it even a bad thing to look “bookish”?
“Oh. Well, in that case, I do believe it’s right over here,” I stated, and tentatively began to lead him. “Everything is sorted alphabetically by the last name of the author, so I hope you know what you’re looking for.”
I stopped beside one of the tall bookcases, my hands clasped in front of me. The man scanned the shelves briefly before smiling and smoothly sliding out a black book with a raven on the cover, and the title written in white. The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe.
“I’ve never read any Poe before,” I admitted. “I heard he’s very morbid.”
“Yes, but his prose is unforgettable,” the man countered. He flipped through the pages before snapping the book shut and tucking it under his arm. “What might your name be, young lady?”
“Goddard,” I blurted out, showing how accustomed I was to providing my last name for school. “Ah, I mean, Liesl.”
“Liesl Goddard,” he repeated, as if he was trying to decide whether it suited me or not. “Well, Liesl, why is a young girl like you all alone at the library? Surely you must have better things to do.”
I did not. If I were to go straight home every Friday then all of my work would remain untouched until Sunday, and I would spend all of the weekend drawing or helping my mother. I shook my head.
“No, sir. Not particularly.”
“Do you want to have something to do? Something fulfilling?”
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t help but say. The conversation was getting away from me, and I still needed to find the library’s copy of Famous Men of Rome.
“I’m sorry, but I really must be going—”
“Nonsense! Look, here.”
The man pulled out a small, rectangular piece of paper. A business card. It read:
My eyes widened as I read the card. They were just words, ink on paper, but those words indicated power that most people could only dream of having.
“Oh, Mister Blackwood, I…” I was at a loss for words, but he just waited for me to continue. “I appreciate the offer, truly I do. But I really don’t think I’m the type of girl you’re looking for.”
I tried to laugh it off. All I wanted was to finish my Latin homework. Besides, I’ve never been very interested in dancing, and I suffer from crippling stage fright.
“Believe me when I say that you are, Miss Goddard. I think that you would be amazing on stage,” Blackwood insisted. He spoke with such sincerity that I immediately second-guessed my own instincts. Was my fear of the stage really as bad as I remembered?
“Well…I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to just consider…” I said, mostly to myself, as I took the business card from him.
“I hope to see you very soon, Miss Goddard,” Blackwood spoke before politely walking away. Stunned, all I could do was stare down at the business card in my hand.
By the time the library closed, most of my schoolwork sat completely untouched.