Nicole came back to the Valley of Ashes on Thursday and Friday, working tirelessly on her painting.
George Wilson was friendly with everyone and didn't have a mean bone in his body, and she was surprised at the number of people who came by to see her work. She was thrilled.
Now Wilson did seem a bit toppled by his wife not coming home that first night, but his worries were soon squashed. She called to tell him that she was staying with her sister in the city. Nicole overheard, but she didn't overstep. She couldn't deny that she had a lousy feeling in her belly over it. His wife seemed a real bearcat from their meeting the couple of days before. Aside from that first day, she had not seen Myrtle.
"What do you make of it, Miss Carraway?" He had asked, and Nicky startled herself.
Did he know something was amiss?
"M-make of what?" She paused, turning away from her canvas and back to him.
Wilson was busy cleaning parts, but wasn't paying much attention. The part was practically shining, but he toiled away, distractedly looking out the window.
"What do you make of the valley?" He asked further, and Nicky smiled out a breath of relief. He wasn't talking about his wife. She looked around, watching the bustle of the street.
"Can I speak plainly?" She asked, and Wilson smiled hesitantly with a nod.
"It seems a hard place to stay hopeful, Mr. Wilson." Nicole offered him a sad smile. "People toil and are hungry and it hardly seems like a healthy place to make a living." She looked down for a minute, embarrassed she had said so much.
She was passionate, sure, but Nicky had seen so much poverty in such a small span of time and was beginning to feel like an outsider.
She was within and without. Nicole definitely did not fit in with her cousin and the lavish life that they lived, nor did she fit in down in the valley. Everyone knew she was here, but she wasn't always welcome. They knew she was an outsider. She had her own home and her own life, and yet she kept coming back to the rubble.
Children were chasing after squirrels and rabbits for food, and the adults were working themselves to the point of breaking at the railroad. Construction workers were getting hurt left and right, and the place was a trap for disease. She couldn't believe how people could live in such a place. But what could she do?
Mr. Wilson stood from his seat. He set aside his work and called out to his wife that he would be back soon before turning to Nicole.
"Can I show you something, miss?"
Nicole stood quickly, setting aside her work. With a curious nod she followed Mr. Wilson across the main road and down to a few houses on the outskirts of the valley. The dirt and dust had kicked up, making the sky look even more dreary.
What on earth could George have to show her?
They passed over the train tracks ankling their way to a hole in the fence nearby. He held his hand out to her to help her through and Nicole's curiosity was turning into caution. Maybe it was some desolate, terrifying part of the valley. It would confirm her suspicions of how dangerous it was. Should she continue?
"Are you sure this is safe, Mr. Wilson?" Her voice was shaky.
"Yes miss. That's a promise."
There was no hesitation in his voice. Wilson nodded for her to continue, and Nicole held up the hem of her dress to avoid getting snagged on the broken fence links. She had no reason not to trust him. The fear in her belly grew, but once she was through she was blindsided.
She couldn't have been more wrong.
There was a garden. There was a hidden garden in the middle of the Valley of Ashes.
Nicole couldn't imagine anything growing, but there were stems and leaves and blooms. It was thriving. She spotted turnips and potatoes and other root plants, and George led the way through the garden.
Nicole could make out singing on the other side, and looking across the way she saw the man that she helped the other day. It was Lenny singing with a young woman, and they were watering the plants carefully. It was a beautiful, soulful hymn that calmed Nicole's prior fears. She was at a loss for words.
"This is unbelievable." And she meant it.
"It's nice to see you, ma'am." Lenny approached slowly, making himself known.
He looked to Mr. Wilson with concern. They must not have been expecting company.
"I'm sorry to intrude." Nicole spoke up urgently. She really didn't mean to startle him.
"Wilson?" He asked. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Wilson shook his head, wringing his hands together.
"No no. Sorry for the short notice sir, but Miss Caraway is painting a picture of the valley." Wilson introduced, directing his attention to Nicole. "And sometimes a change of scenery is nice."
Lenny nodded. "The valley is a beast of its own."
They stood there for a moment, observing the plants. The greenery was a stark contrast to the haze and the dirt. It was a hidden gem.
"This is our lot in life, miss." Lenny added humbly, setting down the watering can. "It's not a lot, but it's our life."
"It's this or the poor house, or the big house for some of us." Wilson explained, pinching some of the dirt between his fingers.
Nicole didn't know what to say. To the rest of New York knew the valley as a drive by area. A terrible in-between the city and the bay. But Mr. Wilson was showing her something that these folks could look forward to, even in their drear situation.
"I ain't poetic, miss Nicole." Wilson grabbed her attention, and he was playing with the leaves on one of the plants. "But it takes a lot of work to survive out here. If the plants is surviving, so can we."
She took a moment to digest what he was saying, but Nicole knew what Wilson was getting at. They had grit. They knew their onions. The people in the valley weren't weak, but the opposite. They could find a way to sustain themselves, even in the middle of what she saw as contrition.
The young lady came over to join Lenny, standing behind him curiously. She was probably no older than seventeen.
"Are surviving, sir." She whispered to Wilson. "If the plants are surviving, so can we." She corrected, and he nodded quickly, almost bashfully. Was she trying to help him with his grammar? Nicole suppressed a smile at the thought.
"This is my granddaughter, Tilda." Lenny introduced, and Tilda bowed slightly. "She helps me tend the garden."
"It's amazing, truly." Nicky complemented. "Do you think the rest of the valley could grow crops like this?" She was hopeful, taking another look at the potatoes growing quietly beside them.
They sat down for a little while and Lenny explained that not a lot of people knew about their secret garden. The smoke could likely kill off plants if they were too close to the tracks. Many men were selfish and greedy, and would take it away from him without a second glance. Or worse, someone could come in and destroy all of their hard work.
He wanted peace in the valley, but the will of men is a beast and is stronger than anything he had seen. They had talked about the hunger and sickness that came in like waves on a beach. It made the people riot, and they couldn't think straight. He didn't expect the rest of the valley to share his hopes or dreams.
Nicole had an idea. She suddenly knew what to do.
"I'll keep your secret." She thanked Lenny, Tilda, and Wilson before heading back home for the afternoon. "It's a promise."
*****
She finished the painting that night.
She was tired and her hand was cramped, but she finished it. It was close to ten at night by the time she was done. With a cheerful laugh she spun around the house. It was going to be the perfect depiction for the journal.
That next morning Nicole sat on her porch with a cup of tea, watching the trees blow and the birds sing. She felt accomplished.
Now she would just have to wait for it to dry before she could bring the painting into the city, and she was a full week ahead of where she thought she would be with it. The peace was broken by the number of cars that drove past her home to get to her neighbors. She couldn't believe it was Saturday already.
Nicole decided it was time for her to return Mr. Gatsby's coat.
She changed quickly into a mossy green frock and pulled her hair back into a braid, placing it over her right shoulder. This would simply have to do. She grabbed the coat with vigor and headed down her steps towards her neighbors house. She smiled and waved at the cars passing by, and by the time she made it to the gate she was beyond words.
His front yard was twice as big as her home. Maybe three times! The lawn was immaculate, and there were large water fountains and perfectly trimmed bushes and beautiful flowers were blooming everywhere. Where on earth was she going to find Mr. Gatsby at a place like this?
"Can I help you mum?" Turning, Nicole was met with the same gentleman who had originally come by her home to drop off the invitation. She smiled with relief. At least she recognized somebody.
"Actually, maybe you can." She smiled again, looking around the lawn. "Do you know if Mr. Gatsby is in?" Nicole asked, and she suddenly felt a pensive nervousness take over.
She noticed that the string of cars was never ending. Maybe he was too busy for visitors today. Instead of answering the gentleman looked over her shoulder briefly, then nodded faithfully.
"I do believe so, miss." He bowed slightly, looking back over her shoulder.
"Thank you, Carmichael."
It was him.
It was Mr. Gatsby. Nicole practically jumped out of her boots at his voice. Could he read her mind? Did he know that she would be here? She shot a fleeting glance at the other gentleman before turning around.
Mr. Gatsby looked pristine. He was in a baby blue suit, a small pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes.
"Good morning, Miss Carraway." He bowed lightly, a subtle grin hidden in his cheeks.
"Good morning." She repeated back to him, taking in the way his hair was slicked back and how his cufflinks were gold, shining against the blue of his jacket.
It was robbing her of her senses. She cleared her throat, shifting her gaze back down to the jacket. She needed to compose herself.
"Are you sure this is the right house?" She jested lightly, looking back over the property.
She couldn't wrap her head around it. It was a castle he lived in.
"Do you think you could have gotten lost?" He jested back, and she smiled over her shoulder at him.
"It's hard to say." She concluded. They both knew that there was no way that she could have gotten lost. She held the jacket out to him carefully. "I have terrible news to report." She changed her tone quickly to one of great urgency. It made Mr. Gatsby's shoulders square up.
"Go on."
Nicole blinked, exhaling a breath. His tone had turned serious. "I've been painting again and cannot risk your jacket getting in the middle of the crossfire. It's too high of a risk." She stated her argument, and noticed how his sharp composure changed again to one of ease.
He let out a laugh, a hearty and sincere laugh.
"That is terrible news." He agreed. "I suppose I have no choice but to take it back now." The jacket was draped over her arm and she held it out to him like it was made of gold. He tucked his own arm underneath the material, his arm dragging across hers to take her place. It was innocent, of course, but Nicole was surprised at how much she liked the closeness.
He smelled like sandalwood and tobacco. She slowly retracted her own arm, the jacket being successfully returned to its rightful place.
Oh goodness, maybe she did need to find herself a husband. Her thoughts were certainly wandering.
"You've been painting?" He asked her, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"Oh, yes." She almost cheered, coming back to her senses. "It's for the Journal."
He tilted his head with a smirk. Was he surprised? Impressed?
"That does sound like a lot of work." He mused. An idea flashed in her head that made her eyes light up, and before she knew it the words were tumbling off her lips.
"Would you like to see it?"