by Jane Steen
“Really happy,” came a voice from behind a blanket nailed across the middle of the room. “Your grammar is terrible, Teddy. And what’s so wonderful about his marriage? Mr. Rutherford lost his wife—his first wife.”
Disapproval flitted across Teddy’s face, but a rueful grin quickly followed. “She’s been through a lot. You must pardon her . . . outspokenness,” he said in an undertone.
He motioned us both into the small room. We only saw one side of it, of course; it contained a simple iron bedstead, a plain wooden chair on which sat a worn Bible, and a washstand. Shelves and hooks took up every available space on the whitewashed walls. A very few possessions, startling in their meagerness, were ranged about the room. The three of us, standing close together, occupied most of the remaining floor space.
“Are you going to come out, Thea?” Teddy spoke with a note of dry authority I hadn’t heard before. “You can’t sit there all day waiting to make an entrance. Your audience is ready.”
“You are quite ridiculous.” But a slim hand pushed aside the blanket, and Thea Lombardi emerged.
Martin had expected a hayseed; we saw a tall and graceful flower. Thea would be fifteen by now, but she could have passed for eighteen or even twenty. In a word, she was beautiful. There was no other way to describe the effect of her large, brilliant hazel eyes, fringed by lashes so long they almost didn’t look real. A cascade of glossy dark auburn hair, falling to her waist in soft waves, set off her perfectly regular features and clear, pale skin.
I heard Martin make a small, quickly stifled noise of appreciation, and I experienced a stab of annoyance—but he was a man, after all. The meager skylight set into the ceiling above Teddy’s bed showed a red sunset sky; the crimson rays seemed to gather in the ringlets that terminated each section of Thea’s hair as if the light itself was enamored of her beauty. She stood taller than her late mother, her figure perfectly modeled, her simple calico dress enhancing her firm breasts and tiny waist and hinting at the length of her legs. In the plain setting of the impoverished room, she shone like a ruby dropped in the dust.
Martin had ended up closest to Thea. He held out his hands to grasp hers.
“I’m so sorry about the loss of your parents and sister.” His voice bore a wealth of sincerity. “You and Teddy have been through more than children—young people—your age should be expected to bear. We’ll do everything we can to help you. We’re hoping you’ll make your home with us here in Chicago.”
Thea had practically ignored Martin in Kansas, devoting most of her admiring looks to Lucetta. Now she smiled graciously at him, and my senses prickled. Her teeth were white, small, and even, like Catherine’s, but where Catherine’s smile had been open, frank, and generous, Thea’s smile seemed that of a woman who already understood that beauty could be transformed into power.
“You’re so very kind.” She gazed intently at Martin’s face. “I was so sorry to learn of your wife’s passing.”
For a second, we all appeared to be frozen into our positions like characters in a tableau, but then Teddy moved, picking up the Bible from the chair and swiping his hand over the seat. “Please take this seat, Mrs. Rutherford. We’re a little cramped at the moment. Still, I’m grateful to have a place to stay.”
“Even if it’s a little too Catholic.” Thea was still looking at Martin. “I’m surprised Teddy hasn’t already lectured the other boarders on the evils of idolatry.”
Teddy’s stern expression made him look even more like his father. “Mrs. Nowak is a good landlady, and I’m beholden to the denomination for arranging accommodation for us at such short notice. A godly woman is a jewel, even if she’s a papist.”
“Don’t try to sound like Pa.” At last, Thea turned away from Martin to scowl at her brother. The expression dissipated the illusion of elegant womanhood, and I glimpsed the hayseed; she was, after all, very young.
“I don’t have a chair on my side of the room, or I’d be happy to offer it to you,” Thea said to Martin in a tone that managed to convey her martyrdom in relinquishing the room’s only seat.
“I’m fine standing.” Martin, his face unreadable, assisted Thea to sit on Teddy’s bed with as much ceremony as if he’d been in a Prairie Avenue drawing room and then took up a position in front of the dividing blanket. Teddy lounged against the doorjamb, his hands in his pockets.
“You’ll want to know what happened,” he said to me.
“You don’t have to—” I began, but Thea interrupted me by rising to her feet.
“I’ll go see if Mrs. Nowak has any of those little pastry things she makes. We should offer our guests something.”
She was out of the door in a second, so fast that Teddy had to flatten himself to the wall to get out of her way. Yes, a child, I thought, and one who rather lacked the social graces—what had Catherine been thinking, to neglect that part of her education?
It was growing dark. Teddy lit the small lamp that appeared to be the room’s only source of light. The three of us remained silent; I couldn’t see Martin’s face.
“She doesn’t want to learn about their deathbeds,” Teddy said eventually. “I’ve tried to tell her, but she won’t listen. I wish she would. It’s a comfort to me to know that they faced death with the assurance of God’s nearness, and I’m sure she’d benefit from hearing about their final moments.”
“She’s only fifteen, Teddy.” I experienced a moment of sympathy for the girl who was so clearly afraid to mourn. “Was she not there, then?”
Teddy shook his head. “Mr. McIlvaine—he’s a trader from Wichita who spends most of his time on the trail—came to the mission just after Prudence died. You remember Prudence, who cooked for us? She stayed to nurse Mamma when she—Mamma, I mean—took the diphtheria.”
Dismay flooded my chest. At least it hadn’t been Indians or bandits, but diphtheria, by all accounts, was a terribly hard illness. The image of them all fighting the dread disease to their final defeat, choking and struggling to breathe, made me curl my hands into fists on my lap.
Teddy turned the lamp’s dial so that the flame flared a little brighter, looking away from me. “Mamma was the first to get sick. She probably took it from a half-breed woman and her son who lived in a soddy on the Holmgren homestead, on the run from somebody, as Mamma believed. She didn’t seem so bad at the start. She begged Mr. McIlvaine to take all three of us away, but Lucy and I wouldn’t go.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” I murmured under my breath. And then out loud, as another thought struck me: “So Mr. McIlvaine took Thea? On their own?”
Teddy turned to look at me, and a spark of amusement lit his round gray eyes. “You needn’t worry on that score, ma’am. Old Bill McIlvaine’s sixty-five if he’s a day and lost the bottom part of one leg years ago on account of a cattle stampede. He’s as safe as houses. He took Thea to his sister’s homestead, fifty miles to the northwest. Then I got sick, and Pa a day later, and Lucy the day after that, even though we’d kept her well away from the sick people. Mamma was able to nurse us, ill as she was. The workers started leaving once the news spread around that we were all infected. The last two men disappeared after they buried Prudence.”
“Cowards.” Martin’s comment was voiced almost at a whisper.
“Yes, sir, I guess they were.” Teddy’s mouth twisted. “After all Pa and Mamma did for them. Well, that was us left to ourselves.”
“No doctors? No neighbors?” Martin sounded incredulous. “Surely everyone helps each other out there?”
“They do, sir, but sometimes it’s just in God’s hands.” Teddy sounded so much older than seventeen. “The Holmgrens were our nearest neighbors, but they fell sick too, on account of the half-breed woman. I went there once I was well and found Mr. and Mrs. Holmgren had made it through, but they lost their daughter. The half-breed woman and her son died too. Old Dr. Stanmore died of an apoplexy last year, and Dr. Munro was fifty miles away, tending to a man at one of the mines that’s still working. I didn’t stay s
ick for long. My neck swelled up like a bullfrog, and I thought I’d never eat again, but I could stand and help Mamma once the fever passed.”
“And your father?” I asked. He had been such a strong man.
“Pa didn’t last three days.” Teddy looked down at his boots. “It’s strange how these things go. He went down like a tree under the ax—died in Mamma’s arms.”
“Poor Catherine.” I glanced at Martin, and our ridiculous bickering suddenly made no sense.
“The next day Mamma took a bad turn, and she took to her bed and never got out of it. A good thing too—that way she didn’t see Lucy’s eyes.” For the first time, I sensed from his voice that Teddy was holding back tears, and my own throat tightened. “She’d have been blind if she’d lived.”
Martin shifted his position to place a hand on Teddy’s shoulder, but the young man took a deep breath and gathered his strength. “Mamma kept asking after Lucy, and I’d say she was all right. I reckoned God would forgive me that lie. I didn’t tell her when Lucy died either. By that time, Mamma was raving, and she thought Mr. McIlvaine had taken both girls, so I let it be. Mamma passed in her sleep a few hours later. I thank God I was there to watch the people I loved pass into heavenly bliss.”
A long moment of silence followed Teddy’s words. The young man had his eyes closed, his lips moving in prayer. I closed mine too—but I could summon up no words of prayer. All I pictured in the darkness was Catherine, but the image was mixed up with my own mother’s deathbed. Catherine hadn’t been much older than Mama—forty, perhaps.
I opened my eyes and wiped away a tear as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Martin and Teddy moved to allow Thea to enter the room. There was a black scowl on the young girl’s beautiful face, as if she’d heard Teddy’s last remark, but her features rearranged themselves into a pleasant mask as she offered first me, then Martin, a plate of small pastry squares folded over a filling of apricot jam.
I barely registered that I was eating something, but I had to admit the small ceremony of hospitality helped to dissipate the atmosphere of grief that hung around us. And Teddy was right—there was a strange comfort in knowing the facts, distressing as they had been. My imagination had supplied worse.
“Are you still living in Aldine Square?” Thea put the plate carefully on the bed, there being nowhere else, and smiled at Martin. “Mamma described your house to me from Mrs. Rutherford’s letters. She wanted to come to Chicago, as I’m sure you know, but Pa insisted we hold on just a little longer and not split up the family. He wanted her to wait till they’d found someone to take the mission and given him a new post.” She looked significantly at Teddy, almost accusingly, and I wondered if my offer had caused a rift in the family. I bit my lip.
“Pa didn’t want charity.” Teddy, having eaten the pastry his sister had left, dusted the crumbs off his hands in a way that made Thea narrow her eyes—at his vulgarity, I supposed. “They argued over it—and my parents didn’t argue as a rule. Pa said that with God’s help our family would pull together, and it was part of God’s plan that the denomination would find him a position in Chicago.”
“And Mamma said it wasn’t God’s plan, it was Pa’s plan.” Derision sharpened Thea’s voice. “She said people who talk about God’s plan for their lives are sometimes just covering up their own pride and stubbornness.”
I winced and looked at Martin. His expression was stern, unreadable; he was looking into Thea’s face, which was lifted up toward his as she spoke.
“She shouldn’t have let you hear that.” Teddy’s open, honest countenance flushed. “She only said that because she was mad at Pa. And angry at God, I think. Because of Lucy’s long illness. Our poor little girl suffered so, even before the diphtheria came. I don’t reckon she was ever strong enough for the plains.”
“Lucy. Always Lucy.” Thea looked down at her hands, balled into fists clutching at the cotton of her dress, and carefully straightened them out, folding them primly. Before Teddy could reprimand her—I could see he wanted to—she smiled tremulously at Martin.
“If you let us stay at Aldine Square for a little while, Mr. Rutherford, I’d be grateful. I’m so tired of poverty. Aldine Square sounded so nice the way Mamma told me about it—like Paradise.” She glanced at me from the corner of her eyes, as if I was the snake in that Paradise.
“It’s hardly that.” My ears pricked up at the note of forced joviality in Martin’s voice. “In any case, we’ve moved out of Aldine Square now. We’re staying at the Palmer House while our new home is being built.”
“The Palmer House?” An expression of shock spread over Thea’s face. “Isn’t that the grandest hotel in Chicago?”
I thought it was time I played some part in the conversation. “The Grand Pacific would probably contest that title.” I smiled at Martin, but his eyes didn’t meet mine. “The Palmer House is certainly comfortable.”
Teddy cleared his throat. “If it’s all right with you, ma’am and sir, I’ll decline your kind offer. But I’ll be real happy if you would look after Thea for a while till I find my feet.”
“I don’t need looking after.” Thea’s eyes narrowed.
Teddy ignored her. “I found work today at the horsecar stables. I guess with Thea gone for a while, I could get another man to share this room. Then I’ll save up till I can afford better.”
“You’re included in our offer of help.” Martin nodded approvingly at Teddy. “But I applaud you for wanting to stand on your own two feet. Perhaps you’ll allow me to make you a gift of clothing, in your parents’ memory—and some books if you want to study in the evenings. Do you still want to be a pastor?”
“More than anything in the world.” Teddy looked wistful. “I want to work with the poor, like Pa did. I can’t see anything more noble than doing God’s work.”
“Then when the time comes, you must apply to me for a loan to help you.” He held up a hand to forestall Teddy’s protests. “I’m an investor, and I know a good risk when I see one. We will put any help you need on a business footing.”
He turned again to Thea, reaching out to take her small hand into his large one. “As for you, Miss Thea, consider yourself our guest at the Palmer House. I’ll arrange for us to move into a larger suite tomorrow so you have your own room, as a young lady should, and you can come to us in the afternoon.”
11
Responsibility
“That went well.” Martin settled himself into his accustomed position in the rockaway.
“Do you think so?” I leaned back wearily. We hadn’t stayed much longer; it was dark, and neither of us liked leaving the rockaway outside for too long. Mr. Nutt, who had benefited from Mrs. Nowak’s hospitality, shut the door with vigor. We felt the carriage sway as he hoisted himself up into the driver’s seat.
“They’re both safe, and Teddy even has a job. Aren’t you pleased?” Martin reached over me to pull down the blind on my side and then did the same on his side.
“I suppose I ought to be.” I closed my eyes, trying to will away the headache building in the middle of my skull. We would have to talk to the hotel manager when we arrived, and the next morning would be all bustle and chaos as we moved to new apartments. Why had Martin asked Thea to come to us so soon?
“And yet you’re not happy, are you?” Martin’s voice sounded from the dark of the carriage.
I waited a few seconds before replying. “Not entirely.”
“I suspected your enthusiasm for taking Catherine’s place had waned rather suddenly. When you saw Thea, wasn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t call it enthusiasm. Determination is nearer the mark.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m just—well, now that I’ve seen her, I’m daunted by the sheer responsibility of looking after her.”
“As she pointed out, she doesn’t need looking after. Consider her a guest—a temporary guest.”
“That’s not what I—oh well.” I slumped in my seat, the constant jolting of the carriage annoying me more than usual
. “It won’t help if she’s going to flirt with every male personage in her vicinity.”
Martin had been burrowing himself into the seat corner to give himself as much room as possible for his long legs, but now he sat up straight.
“You mean me?”
“Who else?”
“Well, of all the—” In the darkness, I almost detected the heat from the flush that would no doubt be decorating Martin’s cheekbones. “I hope you’re not implying that I was—I am not that sort of man, Nellie. She’s a child.”
“Who can do an excellent imitation of a remarkably beautiful woman.”
The frozen tone returned to Martin’s voice. “If you are harboring any shred of belief that you can’t trust me with her, you had better say so at once.”
“Oh, I’m not implying any such thing.” I fumbled for Martin’s arm in the darkness, squeezing it hard. “In fact, I’m hoping she was batting her eyelashes at you because she considers you a safe target. And she was probably wishing she would rile me up into the bargain—which she did. That remark about the loss of your wife stung.”
To my further annoyance, Martin chuckled. “Yes, that was a well-placed shot if I ever saw one. But listen, Nellie, aren’t you extrapolating a rather elaborate theory based on very little evidence? She might be correctly behaved in wider society—and if she is a flirt, we will just have to curb her.”
“Hmph.”
“Does your startlingly lucid insight into Miss Thea’s behavior stem from your own experience?” I sensed Martin shift in his seat and turn toward me. “I remember a young lady who was a consummate flirt at that age. Never with me, oddly enough.”
I ignored that last remark. “That’s precisely what worries me the most,” I admitted as realization dawned. “Look what happened to me.”