Siri Mitchell

by Unrivaled

  I had thought it rather quaint and quite charming, but apparently I had misjudged his capacity for new traditions. “I suppose it must seem very different.”

  “Indeed.” He ought to have clucked like an old hen. Instead, he rose. Bowing first at Mother and then at me, he said his good-byes and left.

  Sam had gone before Mr. Arthur had taken his leave.

  Drat!

  Mother found me in the front hall, examining my sagging pompadour in the hallstand mirror. She stood behind me and poked at the place where my hair had begun to slide, pulling out a pin and then pushing it back in. “Nobody wants to hear about Europe, Lucy.”

  Then why did she keep bringing it up? “I didn’t know what else to say! Mr. Arthur didn’t provide much scope for conversation, and generally, we celebrate Christmas the same way every year.”

  “I want you to know that I had a word with Mr. Blakely’s son.”

  “With Sam?”

  “Do you insist upon using his Christian name just to spite me?”

  I looked at her from the mirror. “No. I insist upon using it because I grew up with him.” What was it she wanted me to call him?

  “It isn’t decent that you address him so familiarly. He’ll scare away your suitors; they’ll think you’ve let him take advantage.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of your affections.”

  “Sam?”

  “Mr. Blakely.”

  I turned around to face her. “What did you say to him?”

  “I simply told him that his presence was doing you more harm than good, and if he cared at all about you, he would do what he knew was best.”

  Which meant he probably hadn’t had the chance to snoop at all. “So he left?”

  “He did.” Mother raised her chin as if daring me to protest.

  “You’re the one who asked him to escort me to the airfield. I hardly think it’s fair to summon him one moment, then banish him the next.” Though she wouldn’t worry at all if she’d known about that handkerchief he kept in his pocket.

  She simply continued staring at me until her gaze faltered as she sighed. I remembered then why it was she had stayed behind.

  “What did the doctor say?”

  Her mouth stretched tight. “There’s very little change.”

  “So he hasn’t gotten any worse.” I felt my spirits lift.

  Mother shook her head sadly. “He hasn’t gotten any better either.”

  “Can I go see him?”

  She looked at me for a long moment, then sighed. “What could be the harm?” She watched me as I walked up the stairs.

  I tapped on my father’s door.

  “Come in.”

  He smiled when he saw me. “Sit down. Tell me what you’ve been doing. The doctor still won’t let me get up. I feel like the world’s gone on without me.”

  “I went to the air meet today.”

  “Did you see one of those flying machines?”

  I nodded. “I saw the president too. President Roosevelt. He flew in one of them.”

  “He didn’t!”

  I told him all about it. Most of it. Everything except Charlie and holding his hand. And my inane hope that he would kiss me.

  “And what happened after?”

  “After . . . ?”

  “The air meet. I’m not deaf. You spent a good hour down in the parlor talking with someone.”

  Trying to talk to someone. “It was Mr. Arthur. He was waiting for me here when I got home.”

  “Arthur . . . ?”

  “Of the electricity company. Mr. Alfred Arthur. Mother’s determined that I marry. Soon.”

  Papa patted my hand. “You can’t be upset with her for that. She has only your best interests in mind.”

  I smiled. “I’m not upset.” At least not about that.

  “So what is he like?”

  “Who?”

  “The Arthur heir.”

  “He’s pleasant.” Not at all like Charlie Clarke. I kissed Papa on the cheek. “But I’m to let you sleep.”

  “I don’t understand how I can be so tired when I spend all my time doing nothing at all.” He smothered a yawn with his hand as he spoke.

  “The doctor says we’re not to tax you.”

  He smiled, but said nothing in protest. By the time I had reached the door, his breathing had deepened and his head had rolled to his chest.

  Mother met me out in the hall. “We’ve an hour before supper. I’d like you to come help me with the accounts.”

  I was about to protest when I realized it would suit my purposes exactly. I followed her down to her sitting room. I read her the bills as she noted them in her account book. She spent a minute adding up the figures, then turned the book around and passed it across the table to me. “See if I haven’t made a mistake.”

  I checked her figures and then checked them again. Looking up, I saw her biting at her lip as she stared out the window. “This can’t be right.” I went through the bills again and verified that she had written them correctly. I added the column up once again.

  Two hundred dollars.

  That’s all that was left us.

  I turned the book around and passed it to her. “You were right. There was no error.” A coil of fear was twisting in my stomach.

  She looked up at me as if what I’d said was of no importance. “Do you see now why I have to sell the confectionery?”

  “No.” I didn’t. “I think now is the time to try harder. To figure out how to sell more.” To beat that Charlie Clarke and his awful father at their own games.

  Mother glanced down at the book and closed it with a firm hand. “No. Now is the time to face the truth and put an end to all of this while we still have the chance to do it.”

  “But why? Why can’t you just believe, keep fighting like the rest of us?”

  “Because I’m tired, Lucy! I’m tired of living from dream to dream. I’m tired of having to scrape and save. But most of all, it’s because I want to see you do better for yourself than I have. And I can only do that if we sell the company now.”

  “You sound as if you hate this.”

  “I don’t hate it. I despise it. I despise it for what it took from me. I gave this business all of my money, all of my dreams. And it’s returned to me nothing of value. It’s taken far more than it’s ever given in return . . . even when we still had Standard.”

  “Nothing? You can’t say it’s given us nothing! Why—”

  “You’ve seen the books. The machines themselves are worth more than the money that’s in our account. The sooner we sell, the better the wedding we can give you. If we wait too much longer, you’ll have nothing. That’s why I sent you to Europe. I saved for years to be able to do that, hiding the money from your father.”

  “But I thought—I thought Aunt and Uncle paid—”

  “They offered to, but I wouldn’t let them because I’d wanted to take you myself. I wanted us all to go on the same trip your grandfather had planned for me when I was your age.”

  “Planned? What happened?”

  “I met your father, that’s what happened! I was so blinded by his charm and that ready smile, so taken with his dreams that I gave up my own. And I’ve been giving them up ever since!” She took my hand in hers as tears shimmered in her eyes. “You see, I wanted to be the one to show you Paris and introduce you to the Alps. I wanted to visit Pompeii and Vienna. And if we still had Standard, then maybe I would have. And maybe I would have been able to find you a husband worthy of the Clary name. That’s the real reason I sent you. And that’s why you came home with a trousseau.”

  My mouth fell open as I remembered all the young men my aunt had introduced me to. All the gowns I’d brought home in my trunks. I had traipsed across the Continent admiring churches and paintings, devouring candies, and never once had I given any real thought to why I had been allowed to go. I pulled my hand from hers. “I see.”

  “You hate me now too.”

  “I just wish . .
. did you ever like candy?”

  Something close to a sob came from her mouth. “You’ve always been so single-minded, Lucy. Not everything is about candy. I wish you could see beyond yourself.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, pushed away from the table, and walked from the room.

  20

  Another Thursday evening, another concert. We passed all the grand houses in Portland Place on our way into the city. I wished I could be in one of those brightly lit drawing rooms instead of trapped inside the car, pushed up against the door, sitting beside my father.

  “Who is it this evening, Augusta? The orchestra?” My father asked as if it didn’t really matter.

  She gave him a sidelong glance as she drew the fur collar of her coat tighter about her neck. “The symphony.”

  He chewed on his cigar for a moment. “Don’t see what the difference is. They both use the same instruments.”

  “A symphony orchestra plays symphonies.”

  “Hmph.” He bit down hard enough on his cigar to bite off the end. He spit it into his hand and looked around as if for some place to hide it.

  I offered up my hand.

  He dropped it into my palm without hardly moving. Maybe he was hoping that if he didn’t look at Augusta as he did it, she wouldn’t see him.

  She did.

  He was fumbling with his lighter. “So what are they playing?”

  “Tonight’s is not a symphony concert.”

  “Ah! So they’re pretending to be an orchestra.”

  “They will be playing popular music.” She didn’t sound like she approved.

  “So why don’t they call themselves an orchestra? Just for tonight?” He winked at me as he said it.

  She was staring straight ahead. “Because they’re the symphony orchestra.”

  “Don’t see why it makes such a difference.”

  “Because it does.”

  “Isn’t she something? She keeps track of all these things.” Father took the cigar out of his mouth and smacked a kiss onto her cheek.

  She pushed him away, but in the glow of the streetlights, I saw a blush creep up her cheeks.

  I tried to imagine my mother knowing about things like that, but I failed. Recognizing when a sock could be re-darned and when it should be thrown away; judging when meat could still be boiled and eaten or when it was too far gone; knowing when the rent could safely be put off another month or two. Those were the kind of skills required of a mother trying to raise three children on her own.

  Maybe my father had needed a wife like Augusta in order to become successful at his candy factory. But couldn’t my mother have become that sort of woman if he’d given her half a chance? I snuck a peek at Augusta. I had to admit that she wasn’t a bad sort. Not really. It’s just that she wasn’t my mother.

  The concert was like all the others I’d attended since I’d come to town.

  Long.

  And very loud.

  The first part ended with those big booming drums. I hid a yawn behind my hand and then escorted Augusta to the refreshment area. My father went to the smoking room. I bought Augusta a glass of lemonade and stood by her side as she greeted the people I’d already come to know too well. After a while, I excused myself and wandered over to the concession where candy was being sold.

  I bought two packages of Royal Taffy, since I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to bring my own. I was planning to eat them both, but then I saw Lucy Kendall.

  She was standing at the far side of the lobby, that shiny sash looped over a shoulder. The Queen of Love and Beauty was holding court. And chief among her suitors was that blond man who had covered for my mistake about golf. I owed him a favor. What was his name? Alfred something. Or was it Arthur?

  I walked by the group and caught his eye, giving him a look at the second Royal Taffy I’d bought, raising my brow.

  He nodded at Lucy, excusing himself, and then he came over toward me.

  I handed him the treat.

  “I don’t usually eat candy, but it’s been such a long time. . . .” He tore the wrapper off and bit into it. Chewed for a moment before swallowing. “Thanks. You’re the Clarke son, aren’t you?”

  “That’s me. Charles Clarke.”

  “Alfred Arthur.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “I’d been meaning to catch you again. Say—why don’t you join me at the club next Thursday night for the candidates’ reception?”

  Candidates . . . for what? I had no idea what he was talking about, but if it meant I could skip a concert, I guessed I should be delighted. That’s what all these rich fellows said. I’d be delighted. “Sure. Thanks.”

  “Splendid. I’ll see you there, then. Around seven?” He tipped the Royal Taffy toward me by way of leaving.

  I tipped my own right back.

  “What were you saying to him?” The words came in a hiss from behind me.

  I couldn’t help smiling as I turned. “Miss Kendall. What a pleasure.” I bowed. I was starting to get the hang of all this fancy talk and polite manners.

  She didn’t smile back. In fact her eyes were shooting sparks at me. And her attention seemed to be caught by my hand, which still held the Royal Taffy. “I meant it, what I said at the air meet. I had no idea who you were. And I never planned to take anything from you.” Except for a kiss. I had wanted one of those.

  “It doesn’t matter what you intended. What matters is . . . what is. You are a Clarke, and I am a Kendall.”

  What matters is what is. She was probably right. Greater than the difference between Clarkes and Kendalls was the difference between her upbringing and mine. If she were angry with me now, she’d never speak to me again if she ever found out the kind of man I’d been in Chicago. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For everything.” For every hope, for every wish, for every dream I’d dreamed at night. Why did she have to be so pretty? And why did she have to be so easy to talk to . . . back before she knew who I was?

  She looked pointedly at the candy I held in my hand. “Taffy is for children.”

  Hadn’t I been trying to be nice? That was just plain mean. “I seem to remember that you liked it well enough. You said it was your favorite.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. And I’ve come to tell you to leave Mr. Alfred alone.”

  I raised a brow. “Mr. Alfred? Don’t you mean Mr. Arthur?”

  “I meant Alfred. Mr. Arthur. He asked me to call him Alfred. I was quite flattered.”

  “If you say so. But isn’t he a little old for you?”

  “I’ve always considered age an advantage. It brings maturity of both body and mind. Which are things I doubt you’ll ever possess.”

  Behind her shoulder, I saw the woman I assumed to be her mother looking around the lobby. “You’d better . . .” I inclined my head in that direction.

  “Just stop talking to him. And stay away from me.”

  “I would, if you weren’t so set on finding me.”

  She sent me an icy glare before sailing off in the other direction.

  I couldn’t help smiling as I finished off my Royal Taffy. She sure had spirit. And I couldn’t much blame her for being mad at me. She was right, in a way. Though I had nothing against her family’s company, my father sure seemed to. And she was more right than she knew when she’d warned me to stay away. But I wished . . . I wished that we could talk again. The way we had back at the ball. But a man like me wouldn’t be good for her. And besides, a fellow couldn’t hope to keep any secrets hidden when a girl like her looked at him as if she could see down into his soul. But Mr. Arthur . . . Alfred . . . Lucy might be just the girl for him. Maybe she could loosen him up a little.

  “I’ve changed my mind.” My father made the pronouncement as we were walking up the front steps into the house later that evening. He drew me off into the parlor. “I’ve just had a—” he ran a hand through his hair— “a brilliant idea! About City Confectionery.”

  “You’ve changed your mind?” Maybe I could tell Lucy she didn’t have to hat
e me after all.

  “Well . . . not completely. I’ve decided that City Confectionery would be just the thing for you. Something manageable, something small for you to start off with.”

  “I—? I don’t understand.”

  “We’ll stick with what we planned. I’ll buy them out and we can be a father-and-son company. How do you like the sound of that?”

  “I don’t know if—”

  “I’ll give it to you.” He took a big puff on his cigar. “It’ll be all yours. What do you think?”

  “You’re going to give it to me?” He was going to give me Lucy’s company?

  “Why not? To make up for all those birthdays I missed. And besides, Christmas will be here soon, won’t it?” He patted me on the arm as he walked out of the room.

  I followed in a daze. Father and son. In spite of how much I’d always sworn I hated him, he’d just offered me the gift I’d always longed for. He’d offered me even more than I had hoped for: He actually seemed to want to make up for lost time. He was ready to buy me the company just as soon as I could destroy it. Maybe I should have been grateful, but the only thing I could think of was Lucy. How I was being offered her dream . . . and how she’d murder me if she ever found out.

  21

  “We need more money.” As much as I’d thought about the company in the past few weeks, that’s what I couldn’t get around and always had to come back to. We didn’t have enough money.

  Mother looked up from her table with a sigh. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. That’s why we need to sell the company.”

  “I wonder . . . could we just borrow some?”

  “Your father tried that very thing. That’s how we came to be in this position in the first place. He didn’t seem to understand that eventually you have to pay it all back. Now we have no Royal Taffy and we’re burdened with a pile of debt. If only he’d had some sense. I’ll never understand why he couldn’t just leave the business!”

  “But have you tried borrowing any money lately?”