Women of Zelda Crowe's age were expected to do two things: stay out of sight and keep quiet. In all of her sixty years, she'd never done either, and Zelda was not intent on starting now.

Leaning over the decadent chocolate chiffon cake delivered straight from the Magnolia Bakery in the West Village, Zelda halfheartedly blew out a few candles while giving a death-stare to her daughter. Standing in the corner across the parlor, Catherine was either oblivious to her mother's displeasure at having a veritable bonfire on top of her birthday cake—which the Crowe family matriarch specifically asked to contain neither chocolate nor candles—or she didn't care.

After thirty-five years' experience of being Catherine's mother, Zelda was confident the explanation could only be the latter. The similarities between the two women ended with their equally statuesque frames, steely-blue eyes and elegant bobs. Physically, only Zelda's silver locks as opposed to Catherine's blonde tresses set them apart. But in terms of temperament and personality, they couldn't have been any more different.

As smoke replaced flame around the night's guest of honor, the visitors inside the Long Island Sound mansion built by her late father-in-law when Grover Cleveland was still president burst into cheers.

"Brava!"

"Huzzah!"

"Hip-hip!"

Finding such jubilation directed at anyone reaching a milestone in life much less at a dignified woman such as herself to be somewhat grotesque—'congratulations on not dying this year' would have certainly been more straightforward—Zelda took a champagne flute off a nearby server's tray and swiftly downed its bubbly contents. The act was not only rebellious in such polite company, but also technically illegal given the recent enaction of the constitutional ban on the consumption of such beverages. Thankfully her husband Ogden had always been a connoisseur of fine wines and spirits, and the cellar beneath their home was well-stocked. Resorting to bootlegging wasn't in their future quite yet, and surely this prohibition nonsense wouldn't last long.

"Who wants cake?" Catherine cooed, nudging another white-gloved servant to the table to do the dirty work as the gaggle of distant family, friends, and even Ogden's business acquaintances who'd somehow ended up on the guest list clamored for a slice.

Pining for solitude, Zelda exchanged her empty glass for a full one and sat in a tufted wingback by the wall. As Cuban Moon began to play on the gramophone, she recalled how they'd danced the foxtrot in front of a roaring fireplace to this very song last Valentine's Day. Now that was a party. How different this evening would have also been if only Ogden were home!

He'd already been gone a few months, and she missed him so, not least of all for his knack of throwing small, intimate gatherings that were galaxies more fun than such impersonal fêtes that Catherine preferred. But the Crowe fortunes couldn't be sustained on the backs of domestic endeavors alone, so dear Ogden had packed his bags and travelled to Shanghai. With an unprecedented deal to finish the rail line to Hangzhou almost secured by the last time he'd written just two weeks earlier, he should now have been close to starting on his return journey.

The bark of her Irish Setter pulled Zelda's attention to the foyer. The outburst went against his usually calm demeanor; in fact, the last time she'd seen him today, the chestnut colored gundog whose ancestors had served her own was peacefully sleeping in a basket near the kitchen.

Zelda stood, making the beading on her floor-length gown rustle, but the path to the door was blocked.

"Pardon me," she muttered, trying to slip past a fellow from the local chamber of commerce, but he grabbed her arm.

"Settle a disagreement we're having, will you, Zelda darling?" he asked as he resumed shoveling chocolate cake into his maw hidden under a bushy mustache. "Randall here thinks that Ogden will surely vote for Cox and Roosevelt on the Democratic ticket in November, while I would wager on him flipping his loyalty along with the rest of the nation and choose the Republicans."

Tempted to kick both men out right then and there for bringing politics to her party, Zelda instead did one better. "I daren't speak for my husband, gentlemen, but I myself am perfectly giddy to exercise my newly acquired right to vote for Mr. Harding and Mr. Coolidge. Now, if you'll excuse me." Not waiting for permission, Zelda escaped mustache's grip and headed to her dog who was still staring at the closed entry door while intermittently barking.

"What is it, Murphy?" she asked, scratching between the setter's ears before he abruptly high-tailed it out of the room.

Zelda shook her head at his antics. With everyone else occupied and sure that she'd find someone waiting outside, she took it upon herself to open the door. But the stoop was empty. Even after sticking her head out and looking around, she found no creature—whether man or beast—who would have caused Murphy's distress.

Not until she looked down, that is. Because there, on the monogrammed doormat, lay a small parcel wrapped in plain, brown kraft paper and tied with string.

After taking the package inside, Zelda turned it around in her hands yet found no markings. No sender no recipient, no postmark and not even a stamp. The only way it could have gotten to her front door was by personal delivery, and it was clear that whoever had just now dropped it off did not want to be seen.

A shiver of both foreboding and excitement ran though her. Pulling at one end of the string, Zelda carefully untied the bow securing the wrapper. Unhindered, the brown paper neatly unfolded from around the box hiding within.

"What do you have there, Mother?" asked Catherine from over her shoulder.

Zelda looked up. She'd not only gotten her daughter's attention, but guests were also spilling into the foyer to see what she was doing.

"It appears to be an unmarked gift," she said, holding up the palm-sized box. "Perhaps the accompanying card had gotten lost."

"Open it. Open it!" urged cousin Harriet enthusiastically.

"Yes! Let us see what's inside," shouted someone from the back of the group.

Not taking to orders lightly, but without another alternative, Zelda lifted the box's lid. Inside, an exquisite piece of jewelry made of gold and decorated with polished stones in green, white and red sat atop a tiny velvet cushion. The design was undoubtedly in the up-and-coming Art Deco style, and the object looked to be—

"A jade lotus?" Catherine guessed out-loud what Zelda had been thinking. "How lovely. Who do you think it's from?"

Looking inside the lid for at least a clue to the jeweler's identity, Zelda was surprised to find something else. "Oh, here's a note!" she exclaimed, pulling out the thick paper. But as she unfolded it and scanned its contents, it immediately became clear that this wasn't simply a birthday gift from one of her old-money neighbors.

"Well?" Catherine prompted, but Zelda acted coy.

"It's from a secret admirer," she said with a wink after palming the note. Keeping a grip on the box, she made a beeline toward the back of the house and away from the dozens of curious eyes. "Pardon me. I need to check on my dog."

Escaping to the kitchen, Zelda's hands shook as she removed the jade lotus and placed it on the table with a clank. She then carefully re-read the note, written in perfect calligraphy using a fine brush and jet black ink.

Mme. Crowe—

You must come to Shanghai at once.

The jade lotus will protect you on your journey.

Return it to its rightful owner in exchange for your husband.

If you fail, he will never go home.

Respectfully,

A friend.

ONC wordcount: 1,285