Entangled Heart: A Tale Of Love And Deception

Chapter One

My beginning is the area in which I lack the most knowledge. Because there are so many gorgeous ways to introduce Ethel Rawdon, choosing one is humiliating, which leads me to believe that the real circumstances—while mundane—may be the most appropriate. Certainly, the moments that define our life are rarely welcomed with fanfare or ceremonial; they sneak up on us without warning and start working without giving any indication of their significance.

As a result, Ethel was unaware that she was about to begin a new and significant chapter in her life when she arrived home that evening from a really foolish amusement. Ethel was at that wonderful age when, after the brook and the river had met, she was feeling the first swell of those irresistible tides that would carry her day by day to the haven of all days. Until that point, her life had been of the sweetest and simplest character. The lessons and sports of childhood and girlhood had claimed her nineteen years.

It was Saturday night in January 1900 and getting close to midnight. When she got into her room, she noticed that one of the windows was open. She stood there for a short while to stare out at the kilometres of straight white lights, in whose illuminated shadows hundreds of people were sleeping and pausing their lives.

She said, "It's not even New York; it's some magnificent city I've seen but never walked in. Around six in the morning, it will have vanished, leaving behind only regular streets populated by regular people. Of all, this is just a dream, but having a lovely dream when awake or asleep is what she said as she slowly removed her opera coat and shut the window. In our fantasies, we can have the men and women of our dreams and make the entire world joyful and beautiful.

She wasn't in a rush to feel or move. She had spent several hours in a crowd and was relieved to be completely by herself. It was also very relaxing to gradually remove all the constricting gauds of fashionable clothing. As she leisurely went about these tasks, she had a conversation with her own heart in which she discussed the recent events and came to the conclusion that the week's worry-free days, which were filled with wonderful things, had been as sweet as a cup of fresh milk from beginning to end. Because a woman's heart is quite communicative and may be made to be eloquent on its own with little effort, this is true.

She looked up in the midst of this close friendship and noticed two letters on a table. She stood up and carried them. One was an invitation to a studio reception, which she let flutter aimlessly from her hand. The second, however, was both recognizable and alluring. Only Dora Denning had chosen that odd shade of blue paper, so she immediately started to wonder why Dora had written to her.

"I visited her yesterday afternoon," she remembered, "and she told me everything she had to say—and what does she mean by such a tantalizing message as this?My dear Ethel: I've got the most amazing news. Come to me right away.

Dora.How eerily similar to Dora, she exclaimed. Whether you are in bed or asleep, whether you are ill or in good health, whether it is midnight or high noon, come to me right away. I'm going to bed now, Dora, and tomorrow is Sunday. I never know how my father will feel about Sunday. He might invite me to accompany him to church, or he might not. He may or may not want me to drive in the late afternoon, but because Sunday is Father's Day, Ruth and I make a point of accommodating him. That is one of our family's guiding beliefs, and a girl should have a few self-sacrificing moral standards. I typically agree with Aunt Ruth when she says that "Life cannot stand erect without self-denial," but I do wonder what Dora wants! What extraordinary news has emerged is beyond my comprehension. Though it would be challenging, I must try to meet her tomorrow. She fell asleep quickly after making this satisfying resolution.

She heard church bells ringing as she got up, and she knew her father and aunt would have breakfasted. She was unconcerned about the feet. She had not planned the sleepover; it happened by accident, and things would work out. In any case, she was unafraid of criticism. Ethel never got anyone upset. The prevailing consensus was that anything Ethel did was absolutely correct. She then put on a suit of material that was appropriate for the occasion, put her plumed hat on, and went outside to see what the day had to offer.

"Coffee comes first, followed, if everything goes well, by Dora. I'm not going to look any further forward," she decided.

Her father and aunt completely forgot that she was late and that her breakfast hadn't yet been ordered as soon as she walked into the room and greeted them with a voice that sounded like the birds calling out "Spring!" Her face was beaming with smiles, and her touch on their lips and the clasp of her hand were warm with love and life.

She took the criticism upon herself. I apologize so much, Aunt Ruth. Just a cup of coffee and a roll will do.

You must have a proper breakfast, my dear. disregard the time. Which option do you prefer?

Ruth, you are really talented. A chicken breast with mushrooms, some warm muffins, and some marmalade would make a lovely morning for me. How at ease you appear to be here! You are covered in newspapers, father. Is anyone attending church?



When Ruth placed her order for the requested breakfast, Mr. Rawdon pulled out his watch and said, "Ethel, I'm afraid you delayed us too much this morning."

"Am I to be made the victim? I don't think anyone wanted to go to church, at this point. Ruth had her book, and you had the news. While it is chilly and windy outside, it is warm and comfortable inside. In the event that honesty were the style, I know what confession would be made.

"Well, my little girl, in this household, being honest is in. I think coming to church is important. We should all create a sad mess of life without responsibility because religion is the mother of duty. Ruth, is that not the case?

"Truth itself, Edward; yet, religion is not attending church services and hearing sermons. The people who constructed Europe's ancient cathedrals had no clue that worshiping God involved sitting in plush pews and listening to a man speak. Men and women were supposed to stand or bow before God in such enormous naves. Additionally, there were no elevated or lowered positions for standing or kneeling before Him. The gallery, which transforms a church into a playhouse, and the indolent lounging on cushy pews are both products of our modern Protestantism.

What goal are you pursuing, Ruth?

"I merely intended to add that I would enjoy attending church much more if we went there only to worship God and beg for His mercy. I dislike listening to preachers.

Preaching has a significant role in our social economy, Ruth, my dear. They have a compelling case for our attention when one or two million sermons are delivered annually. Preaching is firm, to use a professional idiom, and I think a moderate tax on it would bring in an amazing amount of money.

"Edward, look at the way you speak of them—almost as if they were a product for sale. "If you valued them"

"I do. I provide them a constant pneumatic pressure in the moral and even religious realms. Ruth, visualize New York without preaching for a moment. The beloved ancient city would tip over with every blow, letting in the waves of immorality and skepticism, like a ship without ballast. Where should we be if we were to remove this pulpit balance from New York City for only one week?

The clergy should therefore provide New York with top-notch sermons, whether they are made domestically or abroad, Ethel said. New York demands the best in everything, and when she receives it, she appreciates it and pays for it with both her heart and her wallet.

The reality is that, Ethel. I had your grandmother Rawdon in mind. Are you going to see her with your hat on?

"I'm visiting Dora Denning. She left me a critical note last night. She implores me to "come to her immediately" and claims to have "extraordinary news." I have no idea what she has to report. On Friday afternoon, I saw her.