Long Time Gone

Chapter 9

It was raining in New York when we arrived at the train station. The clock tower of the station struck 2am in the morning, and despite illustrating a time past midnight, the city was buzzing with electricity. If I thought Boston was the liveliest city I've ever come across, then I was wrong- for New York was the heart of lights, energy and enthusiasm that was active at all tines.

As I exit the station in the Vanderbilts's awaiting car, I took in the majestic city around me. Towering over me, the skyscrapers stretched upwards towards the midnight sky, the galaxy reflecting on the energized pulse of the city. Lights- lights were everywhere! Lights of different colours glowing and crescendoing all around me- blinding my modest village gaze with their frenzied liveliness. The rain glistened the dark clean road beneath, and as I noticed, it reflected a blurry image of the scene before me. People strolled on every curb and sidewalk, dressed in raincoats and multiple layers. There were huge billboards that stretched from one building to another, advertising products, artists or companies. Somehow, everything and everyone felt so much at liberty. The air around me was fresher than a mint and calmer than a sunny day on a beach.

I allowed myself to roll down the window of the car, letting the wind blow past my hair, caressing my face as if the city was welcoming me in her motherly arms. I heard Mrs Vanderbilt yelp as the cold wind hit her, and I laughed, ignoring her insensitivity as I continued to stick my head out the window and take in the city.

New York felt like a fresh start- a feeling which Boston failed to give me. As we drove for what seemed like an hour, the car took a turn in a more well-off society of the city. This society was not much of a society- but a land that was fully owned by the Vanderbilts.

Our car passed the high iron steel gates of the Vanderbilt land, which opened into a cobblestone driveway- where on its left and right sides stretched a lawn so wide and so green. I gazed at the ever-stretching lawn with my mouth agape, taking in all the plantations the Vanderbilts have worked on. There were all sorts of trees in the lawn- skyhigh palm tress, apple and mango trees, cheery ones too- and a stand alone weeping willow that was decorated with stray ivy and daisies. There were flowery shrubberies and plum bushes, most probably homing numerous butterflies and other insects. The lawn had a cobblestone pathway for idle strolling, and from a distance, I could spot a horse stable as well. Regardless of the hour, the lawn was ignited with post lamps, which gave an eerie glow to the park.

Past the lawn, I took note of the grand mansion; The Vanderbilt House. Oh lord- I've never seen such a beautiful house before!

The mansion was royal blue in colour, its white pillars standing wide and resilient on each corner of it. There were uncountable mahogany windows on the front of the mansion- most of which were closed and a few were opened, their cracks revealing the light inside the house.

Our car stopped just before the grand bronze gates of the mansion, as tall as the iron gates of the lawn. As I stepped out on the cobblestone ground, my eyes scanned the marvellous architecture of the mansion. It resembled the rich English houses of the 1800s, a preference which I highly thought was linked with Mrs Vanderbilt and her English heritage.

The front four marble steps led to the inside of the mansion, where a butler stood waiting for receive his masters. Behind me, Mr and Mrs Vanderbilt got out of the car, and upon noticing my awestruck gaze, Mr Vanderbilt perked up, "She's a beauty, isn't she? I'm afraid I had zero hand in constructing her- all dues go to my wife's old family. They made this mansion back in the 19th century."

I turned to look at him, a wide grin on my face, "That's what I guessed."

"Good guess then! Shall we move on?"

And thus Mr Vanderbilt and his wife welcomed me inside their grand mansion- and oh boy, did the inside look much glamorous than the outside!?

The bronze doors led instantly to the living room. The ceiling was way high above my head, decorated with chandeliers and painted in mandela designs. The living room was spacious, its floor covered with a plush maroon carpet and its furniture- fancy and glamorous it was as the whole house- was colour coded royal blue and bronze to match the surroundings. A great grandfather clock, bigger than I've ever seen, stood robust at the corner of the room, where lounging sofas and a low and wide centre table were placed near the hearth of a fancy looking fireplace. I noticed a white persian cat snoring soundly on the bear skin centre rug of room, looking as majestic as the house.