by Jane Steen
“So your grand estate now has a guest cottage?” Elizabeth said as soon as the door closed behind Tess.
“It’s really not that bad. Come and have luncheon with us soon and I’ll show you the drawings. Martin’s taken to calling it ‘the farmhouse’ because he and his architect have decided upon something that looks a bit like a gentleman’s farm, but it truly is a summer home and not an estate, thank goodness. Definitely not a farm. At least the only thing that’s farm-like is the dairy, but Martin promises me there will only be two or three cows.”
“Cows.” Elizabeth’s fair eyebrows arched up nearly to her hairline.
“Like a tiny model dairy.” I grimaced in answer to her deadpan stare. “Sarah thinks it’s an awfully good idea. Martin says it’s best to know where your milk comes from.”
“Do you drink a lot of milk?”
“We hardly touch it,” I admitted. “And Sarah’s quite lost her taste for it. But there’ll be some permanent staff—a gardener, a manager, and so on—and then, well, Martin’s not the kind of man who gives up hope easily.”
“Ah. More children.” Elizabeth’s expression was sympathetic.
I shrugged. “And you know what a worry milk is in the warm weather. Martin’s been reading periodicals about wells too. He’s having one sunk next month for the new house. Everything modern and safe. A kitchen garden as well, and glasshouses.” I wrinkled my brow. “I think it’ll all be quite interesting. I can’t stop him from wanting to build things, Elizabeth. I can’t stop him from hoping—and I don’t want to. I hope too.”
“My dear, of course you do.” Elizabeth hesitated. “You make me feel ashamed of hoping the opposite. I don’t want another baby again quite so quickly—I’m going to nurse Rosa as long as I can to prevent it. A lot of women swear by that, and David thinks it’s safer for the baby, anyhow. Oh, hello, Mother.”
“I heard you, plotting to deprive me of grandchildren.” Mrs. Parnell’s sharp blue eyes twinkled as she entered the room and ensconced herself in an armchair. “But inconvenient as a nursing regime is, I’ll admit you and the children look well on it. I swear you’re getting prettier with every child, my dear. They say one should strive to be plump, but losing a little off your face, arms, and bosom suits you marvelously. I, of course, have never tended to gain flesh, but you looked at one moment to be perilously close to inheriting your father’s embonpoint.” She smiled at me. “A mother can say such things to her daughter, of course. And all wrapped up in a compliment. My pretty Elizabeth is quite the most attractive of my daughters, although I am proud of all of them.”
“You’d better not say that to Frances,” said Elizabeth, grinning. “You used to tell her she was the prettiest. Don’t try to deny it. Did you know Tess and Donny have set a date for their wedding? September the eighteenth. I do like a fall wedding.”
“Does that mean you won’t be coming to us in the summer?” Mrs. Parnell inquired of me. “You’re always welcome.”
“I couldn’t let a summer go by without a visit.” I grinned. “But it might have to be a short one. The Ogilvies have invited Sarah to stay over the summer, and Martin will no doubt insist I inspect our property so he can show off what’s been done; so I’ll be running up and down to Lake Forest anyway. And there’s to be a winter Rutherford’s Ball as well as the spring one. Madame wanted a winter ball last year but postponed it because of my illness. So we must start planning that by August.”
“As long as you don’t become too tired again.” Mrs. Parnell sniffed. “Of course, I invariably think it’s an excellent thing for a woman to keep busy. I always have, even when the children were young. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of tempting you onto one of my committees when you have a spare moment?”
“Not the slightest possibility.” I laughed. “As soon as I’ve emerged from all the preparations for this month’s ball, I have a very special task for the summer—the invention of a particularly pretty pink wedding dress.”
47
The bride
“It was fitting Elizabeth’s wedding dress that made me late the day I met Donny.”
I took Tess by the shoulders, turning her so she could view her reflection in the cheval glass. The sun was pouring in through the high windows of the fitting room, heating the air, but its rays did not reach down to where we stood. I stepped back to let Tess see the full effect of the pale pink satin bodice with its long central row of pearls as buttons. The skirt was also of satin, falling in a simple, straight line to the floor. It was unadorned as yet; the arms of the dress had already received their sprays of embroidery and small pink pearls, but otherwise the bodice was also still plain.
“To think that was three years ago.” I watched as Tess turned from side to side, my attention on the way the long cuirass panels of the bodice moved. “A chance moment. If Elizabeth hadn’t delayed me, Donny would have been one of thousands of people working in Chicago and you might be marrying someone else.”
Tess shook her head. “If I hadn’t met Donny, I wouldn’t be marrying anybody. Will there be lace here, Nell?” She indicated the area between the deep V of the bodice. “I think there was on the drawing. I’m sure my corset cover’s not supposed to be showing.”
“Of course. We’re merely making doubly certain of how the bodice fits today. The toile was perfect, but I always like to make sure at this stage. There’ll be lots of embroidery on the front and hem panels. We sew those onto the skirt later and add the pleats at the hem last. There’ll be pearls here and there, just like on the arms, and a pearl fringe peeping out from under the bodice and repeating on the front panel. A few pearls on your train, too—larger ones. But we won’t make the dress too heavy or the train too long. I want you to feel at your ease.”
“I didn’t realize you could get pearls in pink. Why didn’t I know that?” Tess mused, fingering the buttons.
“I suppose you don’t see them all that often.” They were a costly item, but Tess didn’t need to know. The dress was my gift to Tess; Martin’s contribution was the wedding feast.
I smiled, remembering the very first dress fitting I had done for Tess at the Poor Farm. It had been my first attempt to sew a dress for someone other than myself. It was a simple spring dress for which I’d managed to cut some panels from a piece of double pink calico I’d found among a pile of scraps. I’d been proud of being able to make a cheap, plain cotton prettier for my new friend. Tess had been, in effect, my very first client.
“Let’s get that off you now.” I began to unbutton the bodice. “That’s the problem of doing a July fitting; my clients perspire, and I always want to get the gown off them as quickly as possible. Now this part is done, you can go to Lake Forest to get away from the heat and smells. We’ll do another fitting at the beginning of September once the dress is complete. All we have left to do today is to visit the shoemaker, and then you can leave your trousseau to me. I can bring the toiles for your other gown to Lake Forest for a fitting easily enough, as well as your new lingerie to show you.”
I was easing the bodice off Tess’s shoulders as I spoke and now hung it on the form that stood in one corner of the room. I unfastened the skirt and put it to the side before untying the very small bustle pad I’d had made to support the weight of the train. I helped Tess out of the narrow hoopskirt and petticoat made specifically for her wedding dress. Freed from her new clothes, she yawned and stretched, displaying the sparse, damp hairs under her arms.
“I wish I could stay in my combinations all day.” Tess regarded the pile of clothing on a nearby chair with distaste. “I can hardly bear the thought of putting my things on again. It’s too hot, Nell.”
“I’ll help you dress.” I sorted through the heap of cotton and muslin to find a petticoat. “Now, do come on. The bride needs shoes to walk in.”
Rutherford’s had its own small shoemaking workshop, as many of our customers preferred a handmade shoe to the ones we had in stock. The Lithuanian master shoemaker was a taciturn man but an e
xcellent artisan. Tess pronounced her wedding shoes—little satin marvels with a row of bows, each surmounted by a pink pearl—a perfect fit.
“You promise to wear them in the house for a few days?” I asked as we walked through the sales floor arm in arm, having arranged for the shoes to be delivered to our residence.
“I will practice till I can dance a polka in them,” Tess declared and giggled. “Except I can’t dance the polka. If only I’d learned it at the Poor Farm, Nell. But they never taught us to dance, except for the Virginia reel.”
“Then we will dance the Virginia reel at your wedding feast.” I grinned at my friend. “And the New York Lancers—I remember learning that one. I’ll teach it to you. And Sarah can tell us what she’s learned when we see her in Lake Forest. Isn’t it nice that the Ogilvies include her in their dancing lessons?”
“I wonder if they taught the men at the Poor Farm the Virginia reel?” Tess looked up at me, frowning. “I hadn’t thought about dancing at our wedding.”
“It’s just going to be family and our closest friends, Tess.” I hugged her arm tight to my side. “We’ll have a fiddler and a piano player, and if we all trip over each other’s feet and fall in a heap, nobody will mind.”
We were still laughing when we reached the elevators. Tess did not care for climbing stairs, and I cheerfully broke the rule about staff using the elevators during business hours when I had a customer with me. We had just stepped in when the operator, who had been about to pull the grille across, opened it again with a smile.
“It’s good to find the two of you looking so cheerful.” Martin removed his silk hat and whisked a pristine handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. “Especially in weather like this. Is the dress perfect?”
“It’s the most beautiful and unusual wedding dress that ever saw the light of day.” Tess raised her chin proudly. “Or at least it’s going to be. Perhaps Nell will start a new fashion for pink wedding dresses.”
“Perhaps we should all wear pink,” Martin suggested. “And invite the newspapermen.”
“Don’t you dare,” I said. “It was bad enough that all the details of the spring ball gown demonstration got into the newspapers. Madame thought it made the event less exclusive. No doubt one of our high-society ladies earns pin money by sending them information.”
“It’s not a bad thing at all to get a little free publicity. All of Chicago society will want to come to the next one. The Rutherford’s Ball will become a Chicago institution.”
Martin’s tone was lighthearted, but once we stepped out into the fourth-floor corridor, his expression sobered.
“Look, I need to tell you something. Come to my office.” He held me lightly by my upper arm. “You too, Tess.”
48
Inevitable
“I saw Thea,” Martin said without preamble after he’d held our chairs while we seated ourselves.
“Saw her? Where?” I asked.
“On Michigan Avenue, this morning. And she saw me looking at her.” Martin ran a hand through his hair, which was limp from being under his hat on such a hot day. “I’m sure she recognized me—and I’m sure she knew I recognized her. I was on Gentleman, of course, and she’d recognize my horse. She was getting into a pretty smart little carriage—not a hired one.”
I had been merely puzzled at first, disoriented by the mere idea of “seeing Thea,” but at the picture Martin’s words painted, my heart began skipping beats. I closed my eyes, the sensation that my worst imaginings were coming true swooping down over me like huge, dark wings.
It was Tess who voiced the question that was no doubt in all of our minds. “Nice carriages cost a lot of money. How did Thea get the money for a carriage? Do you suppose she’s done something sinful?”
A list of sinful ways in which a young girl could acquire wealth immediately formed in my imagination. I squeezed my eyes tighter shut to banish my thoughts. When I opened them again, Martin was watching me.
“When I spotted her, I admit I felt a sense of inevitability rather than surprise,” he said. “She turned eighteen last month, didn’t she? And Teddy has gone. Would you have stayed in Wisconsin?”
“I would not,” I conceded. “Even after nearly a year. Not if I considered I had been wronged. It’s quite possible Teddy was misled by the Galloways to imagine Thea had settled down there when she hadn’t.”
“Or that Teddy deceived us.” Martin’s eyes challenged me.
“But Teddy wouldn’t lie to you,” Tess said slowly. And then, in a far more doubtful tone, “Would he?”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to work my way through the maze of conflicting emotions. “Whatever Thea has done, and whatever part Teddy may have played in this—and I far prefer to think he imagined Thea happy in Jefferson—I believe our only option is to be quick to forgive and offer assistance if Thea needs it. She’s so young.” My gaze sought Martin, and I heard a beseeching note creeping into my voice. “She may have spent all the money she has to make a good impression on arriving in Chicago. It may not be too late to help her.” I took a deep breath. “And if she has . . . fallen . . . in some way, I will not turn my back on her.”
“The Prairie Avenue ladies will gossip about that,” said Tess.
“Then let them. If you’d turned your backs on me—Tess, if you’d refused to be my friend because I was unwed and with child when I arrived at the Poor Farm, if Mama had shut her door to me, if you hadn’t taken me under your protection, darling,” I smiled at Martin, seeing the answering light in his eyes with a tiny prick of joy, “where would Sarah and I be now? Mama said there are worse things than disgrace, and she was right. Being friendless is the worst thing.”
My voice caught, and I had to swallow and blink hard to conquer the tears that wanted to come at the memory of Mama. Her gracious kindness toward her disgraced child and illegitimate granddaughter had taught me all I needed to learn about love. I cleared my throat.
“I just want to write her a note offering whatever she’s ready to accept from me. If she wants nothing from us, then so be it. At least I will have tried.” I frowned. “But first we must find out where she is, mustn’t we? How do we do that? The Pinkertons?”
“No need.” Martin snorted. “Hired detectives aren’t the only ones who can follow a carriage on horseback. I wouldn’t tell you she was here without making sure first. I’ll admit I was praying she’d be on her way to the station to get on a train.” He made a grimace to show his disappointment. “No such luck though. She’s staying at the Sherman House.”
“Oh, but that’s such a nice hotel!” Tess exclaimed. “I like the shops there.”
“Are you sure?” I asked Martin.
“I waited a few minutes after Thea went inside, then inquired after her at the desk. She is staying there under her own name,” Martin said. “That might be a sign that she has done nothing wrong.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” I bit my lip. “I will write her a note—the same as I’d do for any female acquaintance whose arrival in Chicago had been announced in the society columns—and ask if I can call on her. She may not respond, of course.”
I was wrong.
“I hope you’re not here to offer me a job.” Thea’s beautiful face wore a half smile as she turned away from me to lead me into her parlor. It was as opulently furnished as one would expect from the Sherman House Hotel. The anonymity of its plushes and satins was enhanced by the absence of personal touches.
It would seem you already have one, was the uncharitable thought that pushed its way into my mind, but I shoved it back out and smiled at Thea as she indicated a chair.
“I didn’t come to say a thing to you.” I sat down, observing Thea closely as she took her own seat. Now that I had a chance to stare, I realized there was something different about her. She was perhaps a little leaner, harder-looking, more like Catherine in the latter years. Her dress was good—sewn for her rather than bought ready-made—and if my knowledge of Chicago’s stores was
sound, it had probably come from Field & Leiter’s within the past month.
“There’s not much you can say, is there?” Thea smirked. “You can hardly throw stones from that glass house of yours. So is this a neighborly visit?”
“In a sense, yes. Although I like to consider it a meeting between family members.”
“You’re not my family. I’m sure I made that clear.” Thea’s tone was pleasant, but her face was quite immobile.
“Thea.” I kept my voice soft. “My love for your mother binds me to you, even if you push me away. I simply wanted to see you, to find out how you came to be here, and to offer you my friendship—or anything else you might need.”
“Money?” Thea raised her fine eyebrows, her hazel eyes almost iridescent in the sunlight filtering in through the gauzy curtains. Her pink lips were curved, as if she were listening intently to an amusing anecdote.
“Of course. How much do you want?”
Her smile faded. “If you imagine I would ask you for anything, you don’t understand me at all. I will not be beholden to you for one cent. Nobody will ever have me in their keeping, ever again.”
I couldn’t help glancing around the expensive hotel suite. A cynical twist appeared on Thea’s lips as she noticed.
“This is mine, whether or not I choose to pay for it. As it happens, I’m happy to pay. I may as well tell you because you’ll find out sooner or later. I’m Vic Canavan’s mistress now.”
Poor, poor Catherine. As I absorbed Thea’s words, I remembered her mother and father, who had done everything they could to teach their children the godly principles they upheld. I pictured Thea as a happy little girl, giving out small gifts and tracts she had copied out herself to the inmates at the Poor Farm. I thought of her mother and father smiling as they watched their children; I remembered the dignified yet loving Nonna who had ensured the young Lombardis always had the love and care of family, even when their mother was working. I schooled my face not to reflect the pity and sadness that was in my heart.