by Lynn Austin
“What would be the purpose of such a trip, Rebecca? Especially when there will be so many details to attend to before the wedding? And I believe we’ve already discussed how dangerous and foolhardy it is to travel to that part of the world.”
“You’re telling me I can’t go?”
“As your fiancé, and especially as your husband, I would have to forbid it.” His voice was stern, like a parent correcting a child.
She slipped her hand out of his, and the relief she felt was as if she had lifted a noose from around her neck. “Then I’m sorry, Freddy, but my answer to your proposal has to be no. I can’t marry you.”
His body jerked back in surprise, as if it had never occurred to him that she might refuse. She watched his face and saw his expression transform from shock to anger, and then to panic, as he seemed to realize how much wealth had slipped from his grasp in a few brief moments. Rebecca had to turn away. This glimpse of the true motive behind his proposal brought tears of humiliation to her eyes. There were no declarations of undying love, no pleas that he couldn’t bear to live without her. “I should go,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
“Rebecca, wait.” She turned back, swiping her tears, hating that he saw them. “I didn’t mean my answer to sound so harsh, but you need to understand that I have a duty to protect you. That is . . . I want to protect you, and—”
“I’ve been under my father’s protection all my life, and he has always encouraged me to explore the world and to follow wherever my interests take me.”
“Well . . . perhaps under the right circumstances . . . with the proper chaperones and escorts, something might be arranged for you to travel and—”
“But you have no interest in joining me?”
“I-I . . . It would be a waste of my time.”
“I see.” It would be a waste of his time to be with her, to make her happy. “And once we’re married, would I be free to travel wherever and whenever I wanted to? Because I know from past experience that the urge to travel isn’t something I can get out of my system. Each journey has left me hungry for more. And there are so many places I long to see as I search for my purpose in life.”
“It’s just that . . . it may not be very practical to travel once we’re married, with all of your social obligations as my wife and—”
“To the devil with my social obligations!” she shouted.
“Rebecca!”
“There! I’ve shocked you. You need to know, Freddy Worthington, that the real Rebecca Hawes is outspoken and short-tempered and opinionated. I don’t know why I’ve allowed myself to become molded into this . . . this phony persona your aunt has created of a demure, high-society debutante. But it’s not the real me.” She pulled off her hat as she spoke and tossed it onto the carriage floor, then yanked her fingers from her gloves, tearing the delicate lace in the process. She threw them onto the floor, too. She would have ripped off her petticoats and discarded her scratchy crinolines if it hadn’t been impossible to free herself without her maid’s help. “The life you’re offering me isn’t the life I want, Freddy. It’s as suffocating as this stupid whalebone corset I’m forced to wear!”
“Rebecca . . . please . . .” His face was turning red at her impromptu striptease and the inappropriate mention of her intimate undergarments.
“I hate that my clothes are so complicated that I can’t even undress myself. And that my hair has to be brushed and combed and curled and pinned for me. You can’t imagine how much I long to pull out my hairpins and strip down to my bloomers and run out to our backyard and swing from the parallel bars Father built for us.”
“I’ve heard quite enough.”
“Good. Then you understand that I don’t want anything to do with the wealthy social world that you love so much. I’ve gone along with everything your aunt has forced me to do for my father’s sake. It was what he wanted for me. But I’ve let myself become trapped like a wild bird in a gilded cage, and now it’s time for me to escape and fly free.”
Panic seemed to make Freddy short of breath, as if he saw the life he’d envisioned flying away with her. “Perhaps you need more time to—”
“No. I don’t need more time. You’re a nice man, Freddy, and I’m certain you’ll find the wife you need. One who shares your values and ambitions. But it won’t be me.”
Rebecca climbed from the carriage, trampling on her gloves and crushing her hat, leaving them behind. She strode through the front door of her home, kicked off her delicate shoes at the foot of the stairs and skipped up to her bedroom, feeling enormous relief. The weight that had pressed down on her for so long was gone. Rebecca pulled out her hairpins and shook her head to free her hair. Maybe she would have her hair cut short. Maybe she would cut it short herself. Tomorrow she would tell her seamstress to create some simple dresses from ordinary fabric, dresses that didn’t require crinolines or corsets or an entourage of servants to help her button them. And from now on, Rebecca Hawes would not allow herself to become imprisoned in a cage of etiquette and social obligations, especially with a man who didn’t know her. Or love her.
When Flora returned home from the widow’s birthday party, Rebecca told her about Freddy’s proposal. And her refusal. “I’ll probably never marry—and that’s fine with me. If I can’t find a husband who loves me the way I am, then I’ll look for a university somewhere that will allow me to study and learn. I don’t need a husband in order to make something of my life. I can do it on my own.”
“Are you sure about this, Becky? It seems like a very drastic decision.”
“Very sure. Ever since Mrs. Worthington came into our lives, I’ve been going along with her coaching, letting her turn me into someone I’m not—and hating it! Now that I’ve finally come to my senses, I can get on with my life the way I was meant to live it.”
“I can’t imagine what Father will say.”
Rebecca’s bubble of euphoria popped. “I know. He’ll be so disappointed. I dread telling him. He can still hire Freddy to manage my inheritance if he wants to, but I can’t marry him.”
Flora took Rebecca’s hands in hers. “Maybe it will soften the blow for Father when I tell him my news.”
“Oh, Flora, you didn’t . . .”
“Please don’t think less of me,” she said, squeezing her hands tightly. “But I’ve accepted Thomas’ marriage proposal.”
Rebecca closed her eyes for a moment. “Does he make you happy?” she asked when she opened them again.
“Yes,” Flora said.
But Rebecca glimpsed tears in her eyes before Flora enveloped her in an embrace. She hoped they were tears of joy. “Then I’m happy for you, too,” she said.
At least one of the caged birds had escaped.
Chapter 10
Rebecca was dressing for breakfast the next morning when she heard Griffin, their butler, receiving a caller in the front hall. She finished buttoning her shirtwaist and went down in her bare feet to see who it was. Going without shoes and stockings was a delicious luxury that would appall Mrs. Worthington, who probably would dress in crinolines if she was dying of the plague. The foyer was empty except for Griffin, who stood holding the silver tray containing their caller’s engraved name card. “Who was at the door?” Rebecca asked.
“Mrs. Worthington, miss. She’s waiting for you and Mr. Hawes in the library.”
“I’ve been summoned to court?”
“Apparently.” A wry smile flickered on the butler’s face. He wasn’t fond of the widow either, or the uppity “improvements” she’d demanded from him and the other servants.
Rebecca hurried upstairs to fetch her shoes and to warn Flora, who was getting ready for school, of the coming confrontation. “Mrs. Worthington is here,” she said after knocking on Flora’s door. “I’m guessing she heard that I refused Freddy’s proposal.”
“Oh dear.”
“I’ve been summoned to the library. Come with me, Flora. I need your support.”
Father had been eating
his breakfast in bed and going to work late for the past few weeks, but he came downstairs in his robe and slippers—the first time Rebecca could ever recall him doing so—and sat down behind the desk in his library, facing Mrs. Worthington. Rebecca was too nervous to sit and let Flora take the chair beside the widow’s.
“Did Rebecca tell you what she did, Edward?” Mrs. Worthington asked without preamble.
“I haven’t had a chance to—” Rebecca began.
“She turned down Freddy’s proposal last night.”
Father looked surprised. He frowned at Rebecca as he waited for her explanation. “It’s true, I did turn him down. I had to refuse him because . . .” She stopped. It was too early in the morning, and she was much too relieved to be free of Freddy to launch into all the reasons why. Nor did she wish to start a war with Mrs. Worthington by enumerating Freddy’s faults. She exhaled and said, “Because I don’t love him. I tried, but I just don’t. And he doesn’t love me. I believe love is important in a marriage, don’t you?”
Father leaned back in his chair. “I’m disappointed in your decision, of course, but—”
“Flora, on the other hand, very graciously accepted Thomas’ proposal,” the widow interrupted. She looked pleased with herself, as if she had won at least one victory.
“I was going to tell you the news this morning, Father,” Flora said.
He looked from one of them to the other, and Rebecca held her breath as she waited for his reply. “Well, you’re both bright, sensible girls,” he finally said, “which is why I’ve always allowed you to make your own decisions. That’s especially true when it’s something as important as marriage. Perhaps there will be someone else for you, Rebecca.”
She felt relieved—but only for a moment. The widow wanted the final word. “But don’t you see how selfish Rebecca was to lead Freddy along, all this time?” She presented the perfect picture of genteel anger, sitting with absolute composure, refusing to raise her voice, even though Rebecca could tell she was furious. “You’ve wasted his precious time, Rebecca. He is quite downhearted.”
“Is he downhearted because he loves me or because he’ll never inherit my money?”
Father cleared his throat. “Rebecca . . .”
But she wasn’t finished with the widow yet. “Didn’t you promise Flora and me that dozens of eligible suitors would line up to court us? Where are they?”
“Well, it’s too late now. Everyone assumes you and Freddy are a couple.”
“You can inform them that we’re not. And while you’re here, Mrs. Worthington, you can cross off all the social events from my calendar for the rest of the month. In fact, for the rest of the year. If I’m going to court my future husband, I don’t want it to be at some stiff, dull affair where I have to get trussed up in corsets and petticoats. I would like to meet someone who enjoys walking along the lakeshore with me, strolling through the park on a Sunday afternoon, or taking a train ride out to see the countryside. Most of all, I would like to meet someone who longs to travel abroad as much as I do.”
“I can’t help you with that,” the widow said coldly. “Not if you’re going to insult our way of life.”
“Please, don’t fight,” Flora said, ever the peacemaker. “Let’s talk about this again after our tempers have cooled. Have you eaten breakfast, Mrs. Worthington? Would you like to join us?”
“No, thank you,” she said, rising to her feet. “I must be on my way. I just wanted to make sure that you knew what your daughter has done, Edward.”
“It’s not as if I murdered Freddy in cold blood. . . .” Rebecca mumbled, and Flora covered her mouth to hide a smile.
Rebecca enjoyed her freedom for two months. Then her world fell apart on a sunny day in May, and finding a husband no longer seemed important. Two weeks before Flora graduated from college and a month before Widow Worthington would become their stepmother, Father’s law clerk found him lying dead on his office floor. Rebecca and Flora were inconsolable.
“It’s too soon,” Rebecca wept as she clung to Flora. “We were supposed to enjoy many more years together.”
“He was supposed to walk me down the aisle when I marry Thomas,” Flora said.
“I feel so guilty for disappointing him. He wanted so much to know we would be taken care of after he was gone.”
“But he didn’t want you to marry someone you didn’t love.”
“I don’t know, Flora . . . I just feel so bad that he passed away before this was resolved.”
Father had left written instructions for his funeral and burial, which was a good thing since neither Rebecca nor Flora was able to think past her grief. Rebecca had to close the door to his library at home, unable to look inside and see his vacant desk or catch the scent of his cigars and books. She heard the servants weeping for him and knew they had loved him, too. Rufus was still wiping his eyes as he drove everyone to Father’s funeral at the overflowing church. Rebecca barely heard the eloquent eulogies from Chicago’s leading citizens. She didn’t need other people to tell her what a fine Christian man her father was. Etiquette dictated that she remain in control and save her tears for private moments as Mrs. Worthington was doing, but Rebecca didn’t care. She wept throughout the funeral and graveside service, barely noticing the lilacs blooming in the cemetery as they buried their father beside their mother.
Rebecca longed to finish mourning in private with her sister, but the Worthingtons and all the other mourners returned home with her for the funeral luncheon that the servants had prepared. It was part of the grieving process to play the role of a hostess and accept condolences, but all she really wanted to do was run outside to the garden and weep. Rebecca fell into bed that night, exhausted with grief. What would she do with the rest of her life now that she’d finished college and had no prospects for marriage?
A week after the funeral, she and Flora went to Father’s law office for the reading of his will. “What are they doing here?” she asked the executor of the estate when she saw Thomas and Mrs. Worthington also arriving.
“Your father wanted them here,” the lawyer replied. “Thomas Worthington is engaged to Miss Flora, and Mrs. Worthington is mentioned in the will.” At least Freddy hadn’t come. Rebecca had no choice but to sit down with them in Father’s office as the clerk read the distributions from his sizable estate.
Generous portions went to Father’s church and several other charitable institutions. He had died before marrying Mrs. Worthington, but he rewarded her years of patient waiting with a handsome annuity. The vast remainder of his estate would be divided equally between his two daughters—with Thomas Worthington to inherit all of Flora’s portion once they married. As the clerk read the long lists of bank figures and investment holdings, Rebecca was astounded to discover how very wealthy she and Flora were. If only she knew what she was supposed to do with all that wealth.
Afterward, she hurried outside to be alone while Flora spoke with Mrs. Worthington and Thomas. Rebecca feared she would lose control if she saw something other than grief in their expressions. She removed her hat and mourning veil as she stood beside the carriage and let the warm breeze ruffle her hair. As she watched Flora embrace the Worthingtons before saying good-bye, Rebecca worried that with so much wealth at stake, they would pressure Flora to marry Thomas quickly. The moment her sister reached the carriage, Rebecca said, “Promise me you won’t set a date for your wedding until after our mourning period ends.”
Flora gripped her hat as a gust of wind threatened to carry it away. “But Thomas wants to—”
“Never mind what he wants. I’m begging you to wait, for my sake. Please?”
Flora lifted the black mourning veil from her face and her expression turned soft with love. “Yes, of course I’ll wait, Becky.”
Rufus opened the carriage door, and Flora ducked inside. Rebecca mounted the step, but when she looked inside the black-draped enclosure, she felt as though she were suffocating. She stepped down again. “I think I’ll walk home.”
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“But it’s such a long way.”
“I don’t mind. I need time to think.”
“Would you like me to come with you?”
Rebecca looked at Flora’s dainty shoes and shook her head. “No, thanks. I want to be alone.” Her own shoes weren’t much sturdier than her sister’s, thanks to Mrs. Worthington’s meddling, but Rebecca set off down the avenue, not caring how many blisters she got. Weekday traffic rushed past as Chicagoans went about their business, unaware of Rebecca’s loss. She grieved not only for her father but for the emptiness that threatened to fill her life in the days ahead. She longed to find meaning in it all.
A train whistle warbled in the distance as it approached the station. It seemed to beckon to Rebecca, a siren-song that offered hope. Her longing increased as she strode down Michigan Avenue and found herself in front of Cunard’s shipping office, the same one she and Flora had visited as schoolgirls. She opened the door and went inside. Rebecca emerged an hour later with two steamship tickets from New York City to France and strolled the rest of the way home, a tiny spark of hope rekindled.
That evening, she and Flora sat side-by-side in the dining room, trying not to stare at their father’s empty chair. Rebecca forced herself to eat three times a day while she mourned—not because she had an appetite, but because the servants insisted. And because Flora said they shouldn’t let Maria Elena’s hard work go to waste. Rebecca waited until Griffin set the dishes of food on the table, then pulled out the steamship tickets and laid them in front of her sister.
“What is this, Becky?” Flora asked.
“Read it.” She gave her sister a moment to peruse the tiny print, then said, “Staying in Chicago while we mourn for Father won’t bring him back. I’ve decided that I’m finally going on our long-planned trip to Egypt. Maybe I’ll add the Holy Land, too. And Greece. You once dreamed of seeing all those places, remember? I would love for you to come with me.”