1869
That era was a rat race of innovation and development.
The smoke was so thick you could hardly see more than a few feet ahead of you.
I could compare it to a dense morning for, but that might give the impression of beauty, and of that there was little to be found in this haze.
Do you see the silhouettes of several men in the smoky room? The one in the middle…
the one looking in your direction, Master, was the present master of the house.
His name was Jacopo. And though he dressed in such fine attire, I sincerely doubt he understood how splendid the furnishings left in the mansion truly were.
I am a faithful servant of this house, and I would not, for the life of me, dare speak ill of my master.
However, this is a time long past.I imagine God would be so kind as to turn a blind eye to a little bit of honesty.
I was not terribly fond of my master back then.
He had wavy hair the color of over-dried tea leaves, a piercing gaze, an arrogant smile, and he wore a hat that made him look rather haughty.
He put his trust only in money, renown, and rank. He loved only the iron and steel that bad revolutionized so many industries
He had not the slightest bit of love or care for other people.
At the very last, this is what I believed at the time.
Take a look around the room, Master. Jacopo had remodeled it into a recreation area.
A billiards table sat in the center of the room, and the downward-facing lights hanging from the ceiling were special-made.
The lights shone upon the dark green stand like a stage. Cigars and bourbon lined glass cases installed in place of bookshelves.
The cases were always fully stocked, their contents available to partake or readily. At that particular moment, as he had many times before, Jacopo had invited several friends and acquaintances, and they were entertaining themselves.
His wealthy, high-ranking acquaintances had a variety of hair colors: from polished brass to the brown of a baby robin to the color of sunburnt wheat.
There was also much greater variation in skin tone compared to the visitors and residents of previous eras.
But that was hardly any surprise, for the mansion sat upon land inhabited largely by immigrants–the New World.
— What's the matter? What are you lookin' at?—It was one of Jacopo's few acquaintances.
— Nothing. I just thought I heard someone say my name.
— Ain't no one there, 'less you're seein' a ghost.
— I don't believe in such nonsense.
— It's an old house with a long history.— It was another Jacopo's acquaintance.— Wouldn't be surprised if it had a ghost r'two.
— But if the place's gonna be haunted, I'd take a princess over a bloody broad any day.— First acquaintance couldn't not express his thoughts.
— A princess, eh. And when she showed up, you'd have your way with this ghost lady, am I right? Color me impressed, son. You'd jump 'er bones and she don't even got any to jump.
— C'mon now, that's hardly fair. Now much you can even do with a ghost.
— My god, are you men or children?—Jacopo himself broke the conversation of his acquaintances.—This is my house, and I would rather you didn't talk about it like that.
— Just the blatherings of a couple o' drunks. Pretend you didn't hear nothin'.—The first acquaintance tried to find some excuse.
— For the love of god… In any event, what ever happened to that printer you invested in? I haven't heard their name come up in some time.
— Ugh. Can we please avoid that topic? It's been quite the headache for me. I thought it'd pay off, but…—They were not happy with what topic Jacopo was bringing.
— It always sounded sketchy to me. I'd recommend you full out unless you want to find yourself with nothing left but a nice, fat pile of debt.— Jacopo said with a smile.
— You coulda mentioned that beforehand! Uggggh, this is killin' me.
The man's deep voices resonated in the cloudy room.
As they imbibed alcohol and puffed on their cigars, they conversed mostly about business and money.
Jacopo and the rest of the men were a breed known as "investors."
You might also call them tacticians. They survived on information attained before anyone else, by making swift decisions, and having foresight.
Though instead of flesh and bone, their soldiers were made of ink and paper.
To an outsider, this meeting might appear to be a congregation of friends, but in reality, they were observing one another, gathering information and anything else they could use to get ahead.
At times, money and information were exchanged directly. And when they were no longer of financial value to one another, their relationship would pop like a bubble and dissipate into nothing.
— But y'know, Jacopo, ya can;t be sure this railroad you're so passionate about is gonna bear fruit, neither. Ya don't even know if it'll get finished.
— And even if they do connect the tracks, will it really be in any shape for people to ride? It's a pipe dream, this transcontinental railroad of yours.
Jacopo went silent, but I am certain this is what was going through his head:
"You're a bunch of damned imbeciles if you can't see that the entire country's put their weight behind this endeavor. This is why you have so much trouble making even a few thousand."
At the time, a great railway was being built across the breadth of the continent.
Construction was spearheaded by two large rail companies, in competition for both prestige and a bigger share of this massive national enterprise.
The Union Pacific Railroad Company started building from the east, and the Central Pacific Railroad Company from the west.
But the government bonds alone were not enough to finance the massive undertaking.
— By the way, there've been some less-than-pleasant reports about workers dyin' on the job for the company you chose–Central Pacific.
— Ahh, ya mean how they're usin' explosives to blast through the mountains? Makin' quite a bang, they are.
— But if this gets to be much bigger of a fix, they're not gonna be able to continue construction. You shoulda at least put your money in the more sure bet of the two–the Union Pacific.
— It'll cost ya to hire replacement workers, and if they keep kickin' the bucket, you're gonna have trouble findin' more–
— My goods. And here I thought you all had spines.—It was Jacopo's genuine reaction to the words of investors, but then he smiled.— You think we're gonna run out of workers just because a few ate it? Hah. There's so many we don't even know what to do with them all. There's not a chance that well will dry up. And if, by some chance, it does, all we have to do is buy up a shipful of blacks or yellows. You won't get anywhere if you spend your time worrying about a few measly laborers. This is an endeavor backed by the entire nation. Their deaths are honorable, in service of their country. The biggest loss is not of people's lives, but of time. The longer a project takes, the more money it costs, and the less profit we make. What we seek is rapid progress, even if the methods to obtain it are messy–or deadly.
The other men in the room chuckled uncomfortably at Jacopo's distasteful choice of words.
Do you agree with his way of thinking, Master? Perhaps he does have a point, in that great sacrifice is necessary to accomplish great things.
And it is true that tragedy often lies in the shadows of the splendor of times long past.
Furthermore, the way people see the world changes with the times, so I hesitate to criticize him too severely.
Now, as I am sure you have already picked up on, he was an investor who had put money into a railroad company.
He also possessed several crude oil refineries, riding on the world's second wave of industrial development.
The mansion too bustled with life, in a way it never had before.
Dozens of maids–including me–gardeners, chefs, sculptors, artists…
At times, we even had writers coming in and out of the house. There was rarely a moment of silence.
However, I was not terribly fond of the hustle and bustle, personally.
But please do not get me wrong. I am hardly opposed to the mansion being cheerful.
It was just… how should I put it? The splendor of the time seemed… superficial, heartless.
It was as though everyone was being rushed along by some unknown, invisible force.
Part of it was, I expect, caused by the growing divide between those standing at the top and sitting at the bottom.
Or perhaps… the mansion was simply taking after its master.
"There's no time to waste. Everything is resting upon the success of this project. Whatever it takes, I will ensure it happens. I need more money–and more power."
Suddenly, a restrained knock on the door stopped his train of thought.
From beyond the door came a woman's voice, gentle as a soft spring breeze.
— Pardon me… I have made some tea. May I offer anyone a cup?
When the door opened, in it stood a beautiful woman with pure white hair.
It was indeed her. Are you surprised? Or did you anticipate her appearance?
Though she was not the same age and dressed differently, the White-Haired Girl–whom you saw fall into the hands of misfortune in the era of roses and the era of the beast–was also present in this era of innovation.
Furthermore, she was Jacopo's wife.
— …Tea? I don't recall asking for that. When were you asked to make it?
— I wasn't… but I had these leaves with the most wonderful aroma, and I thought you might enjoy–
— Shut your trap and know your place! What do you think we have all these maids for?!
— H-Hey now.—One of the acquaintances tried to intervene.—No need to treat your lady like that. She was just tryin' to be courteous…
— These are my personal affairs. Please keep your comments to yourself.
His friends were unsure how to react, but ultimately, nobody stepped up to stop Jacopo. They merely shrugged, tossing glances at one another.
Jacopo stomped over to the White-Haired Girl. He then grabbed her by the arm and dragged her from the den.
…..
— What the hell do you think you're doing? I've told you time and again to stay away from that room unless absolutely necessary!
— I-I'm sorry… But, um, I made tea, and–
— Shut up about the tea already! You think we're having tea parties in there like a bunch of prissy nobles?!
— I'm sorry…
— If you really feel so bad, don't go in there in the first place! Get the hell back to your room!
— I meant no harm. It's just… I'm your wife… I thought it would be nice if I could do smoothing–
— Like I've told you, that's not your job. Don't show yourself in front of the other men. I have nothing else to say to you! Got it? Now scram. … Sakes alive. First them, now you. It's driving me up the wall. What is it? I told you to get out of here.
— Right, but, um…
— What?
— When will you… spend time with me next? It has been some time since we last went out together… But we don't even have to go out. Just having dinner together would…
— How many times are you gonna make me repeat myself, you worthless tramp? Are those ears only for show? Go back to your goddamn room!
— My apologies…
Looking utterly downtrodden, the White-Haired Girl made her departure. Such a piteous sight she was.
As he watched her go, Jacopo merely snorted.
Just thinking about the way he behaved then angers me. I have little fondness for men who do not treat their spouses with respect.
So as you can see, the White-Haired Girl was in hardly a joyous situation.
She was devoted to Jacopo and tried to do whatever she could for him, but he not only brushed her aside, he did so in an insulting, deliberately hurtful manner.
They were far from picturesque partners.
Do you wonder then, Master, why she married him?
The answer to that question will come to light in time. For now, let us follow her…
Looking down dejectedly at the undrunken tea, the White-Haired Girl walked alone down the corridor.
Though its calming scent filled the air, there was nobody around to have their heart warmed by it.
Nor was there anyone to alleviate her loneliness.
Despite being the master's wife, the maids who crossed her path in the halls said nary a word to her.
As a matter of fact–
— Oh dear. I beg your pardon, Madam.
— Ah… it's fine…
–one even bumped into her, stifling a laugh as she trotted off.
In all likelihood, she had done it intentionally. The poor White-Haired Girl, who had fallen to the floor, stared helplessly at the broken cups.
The tea she had made for her husband was forming a stain in the carpet.
The maids' behavior toward the mistress of the house was absolutely unacceptable.
Nonetheless, it was commonplace–all because of the way Jacopo treated her.
The more the man of the house acted cruel to her, the less weight her position as his wife held to the servants.
Day in and day out, the maids worked busily–offered little opportunity for leisure–so they would naturally have accumulated quite a bit of stress.
And she became the target for them to let off this steam.
No directly, but through a more subdued kind of harassment from the shadows.
She must have felt quite miserable. I imagine she would have been better off as one of the maids.
On the surface, and in front of others, they showed respect for her as Jacopo's bride. But behind closed doors, they acted very much the opposite.
The disparity between the treatment she received around others–the treatment she was supposed to receive at all times–and the way she was actually treated made the abuse that much worse.
And furthermore, as you have seen through the other doors, Master, she was a very reserved young woman.
She could neither raise her voice in reprimand nor raise her hand in retaliation.
— I have to get this cleaned up…
She extended her spindly fingers toward the shards of shattered porcelain.
But even the broken cup seemed to have no concern to spare for her. Its shattered edge cut her fingertip when she made to pick it up.
A trickle of warm, red blood ran across her unearthly white skin. As painful a sight as it was, it had a sort of… taboo beauty to it.
The blood spilling from her finger showed no signs of slowing down. She clenched her hand into a fist, let out a sigh, and went back to collecting the shards of porcelain.
But when she did–
— Madam! Madam! What's the matter?! Ahhh, Madam, you're bleeding!
While all the other maids ignored her, one came running over, shouting, to the White-Haired Girl's side.
— We need to get that cleaned and bandaged up… Oh, you don't need to pick that up! That's not your job, Madam!
— It's all right, Maria… There's not much to pick up.
— It is not! At all! All right! And the rest of you! Why are you just standing there?! Your boss's wife is on her hands and knees, and you're not even lifting a finger to help her?! You disgust me!
— M-Maria… It's fine, really…
— Oh, Madam… If you weren't so timid, this wouldn't happen. You're allowed to yell at them, you know.
— It's all right, really. I'm, um, it's my fault.
— Anyway! We should get that finger taken care of. Let's get you back to your room, 'kay?
— Ah, but the broken cups, and the spill…
— As I said, that's the maids' work. Now c'mon, let's go!
— O-Okay…
— And the rest of you! Get this mess cleaned up!
She roared like the wind in a thunderstorm. The other maids stood there dumbfounded, watching as she and the White-Haired Girl disappeared down the hall.
But they were soon frowning and grumbling to one another.
— She thinks she can act all high-and-mighty just because the master is fond of her.
The woman's name was Maria; she was one of the maids.
And she was the one person in the mansion the White-Haired Girl could think of as an ally.
Though her husband paid her no mind and the maids made her life miserable…
just one person–Maria–treated her with respect and kindness.
And I am sure you can readily imagine just how much of a lifesaver that was for her.
I too found myself somewhat relieved that Maria was there for her.
Being a servant of this house, I was also one of the maids working there at that time.
However, I was unable to involve myself to any great degree in her fate.
This meant that there was little I could do to assist her, even in times of pain and unpleasantness.
The best I could do was pray that Maria would continue to lend the White-Haired Girl her hand.