Where We Belong

by Lynn Austin

  “But don’t you long to meet someone wonderful and fall in love, Becky? Love is the theme of every good story ever written. Think of Romeo and Juliet and—”

  “Leave it to a literature major to point that out.” Rebecca inhaled as her lady’s maid yanked her corset laces tighter. Getting dressed had become an elaborate, drawn-out process thanks to Mrs. Worthington. Gone were the days when Rebecca could easily dress herself for special occasions.

  “The theme of true love is in all of your history books, too,” Flora said. She sat at the dressing table while her maid pinned up her golden hair. “What about Helen of Troy and Anthony and Cleopatra? Men have fought wars for the women they love.”

  Rebecca winced at the mention of Cleopatra and the bitter reminder of her foiled plans to visit Egypt. She lifted her arms as the maid slipped the corded crinoline over her head, then looked at herself in the full-length mirror. The face she saw was square and plain. No matter how many ruffles and flounces and rows of lace the seamstresses sewed onto her gowns, Rebecca wouldn’t be pretty. Her hair might be elaborately coiled and curled and pinned but it was still an uninspiring shade of mud-brown. “Let’s be honest, Flora. The only reason men are going to fight over me is because Father is wealthy.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “You, on the other hand, are not only smart and kindhearted, you’re beautiful.” Rebecca knew her sister couldn’t argue against the pretty, dark-eyed image she saw reflected in the mirror. Her slender body would still look graceful and womanly if she wore nothing but a burlap sack. But what made Flora even more appealing was the fact that she had no idea how lovely she was. There was no pride in her beauty, no arrogance. She shone with an inner loveliness that few beautiful women ever achieved. Her kind heart brought sunlight to every room she entered, from the grim dining room at the county poor house where she volunteered to the stately ballrooms of Chicago’s finest mansions. Rebecca might have been jealous of her sister if she hadn’t loved her so fiercely.

  “We’ll both find someone special, Becky, I know we will. Maybe even tonight.”

  “That’s fine with me. The sooner I find someone, the sooner we can be off on our travels abroad. The man who proposes marriage to me had better be prepared to see the world.”

  “And ready for an adventure, right? What fun is it to travel if nothing exciting happens?”

  “Exactly.” Rebecca bent so the maid could slip her striped silk gown over her head, then stood straight again while she fastened the tiny buttons and tied the bow in back. “I do want to find love and companionship, Flora, but I still don’t know what God wants me to do with my life. I won’t settle for a husband who won’t let me find that purpose. I’m so frustrated because other people get to decide what I do every day, how I must act, and even what I wear. Why can’t I make my own decisions?”

  Flora rose from her seat and pulled Rebecca into her arms, their voluminous skirts and crinolines crushed between them. “I know, I know. But this is only temporary, Becky. We’ll take that trip to Egypt one day, I promise we will.”

  The widow’s newly discharged nephews, Thomas and Frederick, stood waiting to greet Rebecca and Flora in the foyer of the Worthington home, looking lean and fidgety after their years in the army. They reminded Rebecca of thoroughbreds at the starting gate, poised to race to the finish line. It unnerved her to realize that she and Flora were the prizes. She remembered Freddy Worthington from before the war, when he’d been languid and pale, and she had envied his studies at Yale University. She also recalled struggling to find a topic of conversation that would be of interest to both of them.

  They exchanged greetings before Rebecca and Flora excused themselves to shed their wraps and freshen up in the same upstairs cloak room they’d used five years ago—and at many events since. They were better prepared for an elegant dinner party this time and certainly better dressed, thanks to the widow. But Rebecca still felt as uncomfortable as the tabby cat she and Flora used to dress up in doll’s clothing. The reflection she saw in the mirror didn’t resemble her mental image of herself at all.

  “Well, it’s obvious that the widow has arranged for her nephews to be the first ones in line to court us,” Rebecca said as she watched Flora pinch her cheeks to bring color to them. “We could be on our way to Cairo or Athens right now, and I’m quite sure those two would wait for us—and for Father’s piles of money.”

  “I know you don’t enjoy these fancy affairs, Becky, but we’re doing this for Father’s sake, remember? He wants us to be well taken care of.”

  “I’d rather take care of myself, thank you very much.”

  “You need to give love a chance. It can’t walk through a door that’s tightly closed. But it might surprise you and sneak inside if you leave it open a crack.”

  Rebecca frowned. “What novel did that come from?”

  “None. I just made it up!”

  They mingled in the drawing room, making pleasant conversation until the dinner bell rang. Fredrick Worthington offered his arm to Rebecca as he had the first time they’d met, escorting her to the dining room. Freddy’s cousin, Thomas Worthington, had obviously won the luck of the draw or the flip of the coin or however it had been decided, and served as Flora’s escort for the evening.

  “Tell me about the war,” Rebecca said as the first course was served. She reached without hesitation for the proper fork, the rules of etiquette second nature now. “It must have been fascinating to get out of Chicago and travel someplace new, even if it was under difficult circumstances.”

  “I was stationed in Washington for the duration of the war, working in the office of the Quartermaster General.”

  It seemed to Rebecca that a less able-bodied man than Freddy could have handled a desk job, leaving him free for combat, but she refrained from saying so. “How interesting. What did you do there?

  “I procured supplies, negotiated government contracts with manufacturers, arranged for shipping—”

  “Did that include uniforms?”

  “Among other things.”

  “Flora and I visited a factory here in Chicago that made army uniforms. The working conditions were appalling. They had girls as young as eight years old working there, earning a mere four dollars a week.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  Nor did he seem to care. Rebecca waited for the footman to remove her fish plate and for her indignation to cool before speaking again. “Were you able to visit any interesting places in the Washington area while you were there?”

  “I had no desire to, nor could I spare the time.”

  “Well, how about now? Surely you must have plans to travel now that the war is over.”

  “I’m quite happy to be back in Chicago and eager to settle down and resume work in the business world.”

  “Have you ever traveled abroad?”

  “I’ve never cared to. Mind you, if my work took me abroad, I would go. But to travel merely to see the sights is a waste of time and money.”

  Rebecca’s burning cheeks betrayed her rising ire. She battled a fit of impatience at his ignorance. Waste of time indeed! “Travel can also be educational. There’s so much one can learn by visiting foreign lands and observing different cultures. And there are so many great works of art and architecture to see, the visual evidence of the world’s past history. The last time I traveled abroad I gained an entirely new perspective on our own country.” She waited for him to reply and ask her about her experiences, but he didn’t. The conversation had meandered down a road that led nowhere.

  Rebecca had little appetite for the platters of delicacies the footman offered her, caused in part by the pinch of her whalebone corset stays and partly by indignation. She pretended interest in the food to keep from voicing all the insulting comments that came to mind—such as how Freddy might become a less boring person if he got out of his office and traveled someplace new.

  He wasn’t bad-looking—some might call him handsome. But he ha
d a way of lifting his chin and looking down on everybody that annoyed Rebecca. He had dark curly hair, fair skin, and the same greedy look in his deep-set blue eyes as his aunt, Mrs. Worthington. He was close to six feet tall but was already tending toward plumpness beneath his well-tailored evening suit. Freddy had a high-strung nervousness about him that might have been attributed to battle weariness if he had actually gone into combat instead of sitting out the war in Washington. His fingers drummed when he wasn’t holding something in them, and his leg jiggled continuously when he was seated as if he was waiting for someone who was late. How could such a boring man be so fidgety?

  But maybe she wasn’t being fair to Freddy. Instead of talking about her own interests, she should be exploring his. When it was time for a new course to be served, she politely chose a new subject. “Tell me about your work.”

  “I’m in the field of finance and investments. I would hate to bore you with the details. Besides, you probably wouldn’t understand.”

  Rebecca laid down her fork to keep from stabbing him with it. “Try me,” she challenged. “I’m about to graduate summa cum laude from North Western Female College. My professors assure me that I’m very intelligent for a woman.”

  He gave her a condescending smile, missing the irony in her tone. “My aunt has told me. But I’d rather not spoil her special dinner by discussing my work.”

  Rebecca tried several more avenues of conversation as they worked their way through the five-course meal, but each avenue ended much the same as the others. She heard Flora and Thomas laughing together at the other end of the table and guessed that her sister was better at making conversation than she was. Or else Thomas was less dour than Freddy. Rebecca saw little chance that a spark of attraction might be kindled between them since Freddy was about as interesting as a soggy handkerchief. Yet she had been taught that it was the woman’s task to keep conversation going by raising fascinating topics and asking probing questions—provided they weren’t too personal. As the waiter served the fluffy, strawberry dessert, she decided one last time to inspire his imagination.

  “If you did have the opportunity to travel, what place would you most like to visit?”

  “I have no desire to travel at all.”

  Rebecca had had enough. Against all advice to the contrary, she decided to talk about herself. “Well, I’ve thought about it a lot. I would leave tomorrow, if I had a chance, and visit the lands of the Bible—Egypt, Jerusalem, the Sea of Galilee. I would explore—”

  “I understand those places are very backward and only half-civilized. I doubt they would have any of the amenities we’re accustomed to.”

  “I wouldn’t care about amenities. I would love to walk in the land where Jesus walked and absorb the centuries of history in the Holy Land. One of the missions our family supports is a Protestant church located right in Old Jerusalem, right where Christianity first began. Their missionaries visit here from time to time, to talk about their work in that part of the world. I always find their reports fascinating.”

  Like a carriage without a hand brake, Rebecca was rolling forward on a topic that interested her and she couldn’t stop. “I would also love to visit the part of the world where all the archeological discoveries have been made and see the sites that Layard and Botta have unearthed, places like Khorsabad and the Palace of Sargon.” She glanced at Freddy, who looked as though he had no idea what she was talking about, then continued on, gaining momentum, wondering what his response would be when she finished. He would either admit that he was bored with her and move on to court someone else, or he would prove by his interest in her passions that he would make a suitable husband.

  “What I’ve found so fascinating in my history studies is that no one believed that the people and places mentioned in the Bible were real—people like King Nebuchadnezzar and places like Assyria and Babylon. It was just as the prophet Jeremiah had predicted: Babylon had become a heap of ruins without inhabitants, where owls lived and jackals prowled.” She thought she saw Freddy stifling a yawn and continued just for spite. “But no one can dismiss the Bible as myths and legends anymore because Layard’s discoveries proved that those people and places did exist and that therefore the history in the Bible is indeed based on fact. I would love to travel there and take part in making such astounding discoveries. Wouldn’t you?”

  “No. It isn’t safe to travel anywhere in the Ottoman Empire.” His tone of voice was so cold she nearly shivered. Thankfully, the footman had removed her dinner fork and with it the renewed temptation to stab Freddy with it. She decided she would end his interest in courting her once and for all.

  “I’ve been told by my tutors that I have a gift for languages. I dream of being able to do what Champollion did in interpreting a priceless find like the Rosetta Stone. Imagine the thrill of deciphering hieroglyphics. It would be like unlocking a secret code and opening up an entire world of discoveries to historians—a firsthand look into the past.”

  “But what would be the point, Miss Hawes? How would it improve anyone’s daily life here in Chicago?”

  “There’s a verse in Romans that says everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that we might have encouragement and hope. Isn’t that why we read the Bible? So that we’ll know about the past and learn from it? We can look at the ruins of Babylon and study the reasons why it was ultimately destroyed and learn from them, so we don’t repeat past mistakes. When Flora and I were growing up, the pastor of our church filled his sermons with people and places from the Old Testament: Abraham leaving Ur of the Chaldees to follow God; Moses hearing God’s voice at the burning bush and confronting Pharaoh with his command to ‘Let my people go.’ We heard about the Egyptian army drowning in the Red Sea, the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai, Joshua conquering Jericho. Our pastor applied lessons from these examples that we could use in our daily lives.”

  “I suppose there would be some validity to those stories in the context of a sermon. But your clergyman made his point without the risk of traveling to Egypt, didn’t he?”

  Rebecca released her frustration in an unladylike sigh. “Don’t you find history interesting for its own sake? I do.”

  “Frankly, I’m more interested in looking toward the future than in gazing behind me at the past. Now that the war is over, this country will grow and change very rapidly. The new cross-country railroad has joined east with west, and Chicago sits right in the middle of our nation. I want to work with brilliant men like your father and learn how to invest in America’s future.”

  There it was. Freddy had finally revealed his motive for courting her, whether he had intended to or not. She rested her folded hands on her lap to keep from pointing an accusing finger at him and shouting, Aha! When she was calm again, she said, “If you spend any time at all working with my father, you’ll find he is every bit as fascinated with the study of history as I am. His library is filled with volumes on the subject. I suppose that’s where my interest originates.” Rebecca realized her mistake too late. Freddy might feign an interest in history merely to win Father’s favor.

  She found she had nothing more to say. When the excruciating dinner came to an end, she moved with a sense of relief to the drawing room, which had been cleared for dancing. Rebecca was much better prepared to waltz this time, thanks to the widow’s lessons, and she felt lithe and graceful compared to Freddy, who danced as if standing at attention at dress parade. Across the room, Flora and Thomas seemed made for each other, waltzing and whirling as if gliding on ice. Her sister was so vibrant, so pretty. Rebecca hoped Thomas Worthington was worthy of her.

  By the time the evening ended, Freddy had bored Rebecca into a stupor—and she had likely bored him, too. After tonight, he would move on to court someone else’s wealthy daughter, which was fine with her. But as he stood in the foyer to help her with her wrap, he surprised her by saying, “Would you be kind enough to accompany me to my regimental dinner next week?”

  Why? she nearly blurted o
ut. We have nothing in common. But then she saw her father watching them. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. He looked as pallid as when he’d suffered from seasickness. Rebecca wanted to help him get well by pleasing him. He was an excellent judge of character and must see something good in Freddy. She turned to him. “I would be delighted to,” she lied.

  Chapter 9

  Rebecca attended one event after the other with Freddy Worthington that spring, each time hoping that he would reveal an interest in what she was thinking, what her hopes and dreams were, or who she really was at heart. He didn’t. But she continued to play her part for her father’s sake, a well-mannered mannequin who was there to be seen but not heard. Occasionally Freddy revealed a charming side, such as when he showed up with a bouquet of flowers, or when he presented her with an elegant gold bracelet engraved with her initials to celebrate her college graduation. “I enjoy your company, Rebecca,” he told her. “You’re not as giddy as most women I know.” If only he had a sense of humor, Rebecca thought with a sigh. Or even a tiny pinch of curiosity. She would much rather he asked about her history dissertation than bring her flowers.

  She longed to tell Father that she wanted to court someone else, but each time she gathered up her nerve, she would see him and Freddy talking together and would realize two things: how happy Freddy seemed to make her father, and how very ill Father seemed to be. The summer of 1865 arrived and once again, Rebecca’s travel plans remained in her dresser drawer along with a scrapbook filled with news clippings about Egypt. The Prince of Wales had made a tour down the Nile three years ago, and she had filled the pages with weekly reports of his travels, along with articles detailing the progress being made on digging the Suez Canal. Egypt had become an exotic destination for Europe’s wealthiest tourists, and it frustrated Rebecca that they were viewing the pyramids and she wasn’t. If Father’s health would improve, Rebecca felt certain Flora would agree to travel with her even if he didn’t care to go. Yet she felt callous for fussing about his illness simply because she wanted to be free to travel.