Joanna tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Evie thinks I should have accepted his proposal.”
“Is that so?” Ruth murmured. “It’s such a lovely morning. Claire, do you mind opening a window? I do so enjoy when you can smell the sea in the air.”
While not considered a coastal town, Somerville was only a stone’s throw from the ocean, and on a clear day, Joanna could taste the sharp, tangy salt water on her tongue and hear the piercing cry of gulls circling the massive sailing ships docked at Boston Harbor.
“I think Joanna should have at least considered Charles’ offer,” Evie put in. Retreating to the staircase, she sat on the third step and scowled at Joanna, who scowled right back. “Especially considering our current circumstances.”
“And what circumstances are those?” Ruth asked mildly.
“It’s all right.” Having finally managed to wrench the window open, Claire turned around. “I…I know. About everything. You needn’t hide it from me anymore as if I were still a child.”
“No one is hiding anything from you,” Joanna protested even as guilt tickled her conscience, for that was precisely what they’d been doing. “We just didn’t want you to worry.”
“Then you should have given me more money for market,” Claire said, her lips twisting in a wry smile, “and I would have been able to afford the butter.”
“How much was the butter?” Ruth queried.
“Fifteen cents a pound.”
“That much! Mr. Hemphill certainly thinks highly of his cows, doesn’t he?” Their grandmother shook her head. “At that rate, we’d do better to buy a cow and churn the butter ourselves.”
“Which is exactly why Joanna could have said yes to Charles.” Evie’s voluminous skirt, complete with a large silk bustle, rustled loudly as she stood up.
Unlike Joanna and Claire, who had taken to wearing simpler garments now that they no longer entertained at the house (even with just the four of them the parlor/foyer/guest bedroom was noticeably crowded), Evie still insisted on dressing her very best every single day.
Appearance, she insisted, made all the difference between genteel poverty and actual poverty. Never mind that they hardly had two nickels to rub together. If someone saw Evie walking down the street with her hair perfectly pinned beneath a velvet half-bonnet and enough ruffles on her gown to suffocate an elephant, they’d naturally assume she heralded from a wealthy family. Which, of course, was exactly what she wanted them to think.
For her part, Joanna had never much cared for the opinions of others, regardless of whether they were friends or foes. The intricate and ever-changing rules of fashion had always eluded her. She’d much rather spend her time doing than dressing.
Yet another reason why she and Evie rarely saw eye to eye.
“How many times do I have to say I did not love him?” Joanna wondered aloud. “I’m beginning to sound like a parrot.”
Evie crossed her arms. “You act as if love is the most important thing in the world. As if it is something that will pay for itself. But it isn’t, and it won’t. Women have been making strategic marriages to advance themselves both economically and socially for centuries. It is not a foreign concept.”
“And I suppose if one of these women jumped off a bridge, you’d do that as well?” Joanna bit out as she struggled to rein in her temper. She’d had just about enough of Evie’s nonsense, and she was tired of listening to it.
“Might we all try to get along?” Claire asked timidly. “I’m sure if we—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Evie scoffed, glaring at Joanna. “I’d ruin my dress.”
“Your dress. Your dress.” Joanna threw her hands in the air. “Because that’s all you care about, hairstyles and dresses and pretty things.”
“What’s wrong with pretty things?”
“They’re useless!”
“I really think—” Claire began.
“Are you saying I’m useless?” Evie’s eyes flashed a dangerous shade of blue. “Just because we like different things doesn’t mean what I like is any less valuable or unimportant. That’s your problem, you know.”
Anger boiled in Joanna’s blood, hot and thick. No one could rile her up quite like Evie. She almost wished they were children again, so that she might resort to yanking on Evie’s braids. But the last time she’d tried to pull Evie’s hair in the heat of an argument, Ruth had snapped a ruler across Joanna’s knuckles and told her in no uncertain terms that she was too old for such antics and, as a young lady, if she wanted to attack or defend herself she would have to learn how to do it with words.
The issue with words was that they required both thought and discipline. Joanna, on the other hand, had always preferred to act first and consider the potential consequences of those actions later.
“What, exactly, is my problem?” She advanced on Evie until they were nose to nose. Well, almost nose to nose. Joanna was several inches taller than both her sisters. Taller than almost every woman in the village, truth be told. “My string bean” her father had called her with great affection, and while other women might have felt self-conscious about their height being so different from their peers, Joanna had never given it a second thought.
“You think you’re always right just because you’re the eldest.” A storm cloud had gathered between Evie’s brows and lightning shot between them, leaving a groove in the middle of her flawlessly plucked arches. “And because you think you’re always right, you also believe things are just going to magically work out. But they’re not, and your foolish optimism has blinded you to the stark reality of our situation.”
“I’d rather have my optimism than your cynicism!” Joanna retorted.
“Would you rather starve than marry?”
“If it meant marrying someone I didn’t love, then maybe I would!”
“That’s absurd.”
“Perhaps, but no more absurd than trading my freedom for a fancy house high on a hill.” She gave a willful toss of her head. “I will not marry for any reason other than love. You cannot convince me otherwise.”
“And you call me dramatic?” Evie said. “What freedoms would you be giving up by marrying Charles Gaines? The freedom to live in this tiny little shack while everyone mocks us in the village? The freedom to not be able to afford butter or new clothes or wood for the winter? The freedom to not send Claire to finishing school?”
“I’d be giving up the freedom to be myself! Charles and all the other suitors preceding him would see me suffocated in beautiful gowns and tea parties and luncheons. They’d parade me about as if I were some fine show horse before they gave me a carrot and put me away while they went to smoke cigars and give themselves pats on the back for how well-behaved their wives are.”
Evie looked genuinely puzzled. “And what’s wrong with that?”
“It’s not for me. If I could find a wealthy man who had all the traits I desired, and who loved me for who I am now instead of who he wants to mold me into, then I would marry him in a second!” Joanna cried passionately. “But if such a man exists, he isn’t here in Somerville. Trust me.” Her mouth flattened. “I’ve searched.”
“Well you’d best keep searching, because we’ve no other way to keep the creditors at bay.”
“I—I could find someone to marry,” Claire interceded hesitantly.
“No,” Joanna and Evie said in unison.
Claire frowned. “But the butcher’s son, Eric, has been slipping two extra slices of bacon into our order.” Her face was overcome by a rosy blush. “I think…I think he might be sweet on me.”
Joanna shook her head. “Free bacon does not a marriage make.”
“But—”
“Joanna will be the first to marry,” Ruth announced, finally breaking her silence as she set her blanket aside and stood up from the rocking chair. “I’ve few rules in this house, but that is one which you all will abide by. Furthermore, I’m weary of all this squabbling. You two,”—she pointed at Joanna and Evie—
“have worn my nerves to the bone with your constant bickering. If your father could see you now, he’d be most disappointed in how you are treating each other.”
Shame burned the back of Joanna’s neck.
There was not a crueler thing that Ruth could have said.
But she was right.
If Father could see them now, he would be disappointed.
He’d always been so proud of how his daughters had gotten along. Oh, they’d had their occasional disagreements. Three girls under a single roof, how could they not? But they’d never fought like this. And never over things of such a personal nature.
The uncertainty of the war, the death of their father, and the loss of their home and the life they knew had combined to create the perfect storm of emotions that neither Joanna nor Evie knew how to navigate. The sad truth, Joanna assumed, was that they’d grown so accustomed to pointing out each other’s differences that they’d forgotten how to celebrate their similarities.
On a hard swallow, she met Evie’s gaze.
Her sister’s eyes were wide, wider than normal, and there was a suspicious glint in them even though Evie refused to let herself cry (she was convinced that tears caused wrinkles).
“I never liked the way Charles always used his salad fork for the main course,” Evie said with a sniff. “You couldn’t possibly marry someone who did not use their silverware in the correct order. What would people say?”
It wasn’t a perfect apology. It wasn’t even really an apology at all. But the intent was there, and that was all that mattered.
“Not to mention his choice in fashion,” Joanna said.
Evie blinked. “Are you referring to his salmon trousers?”
“Are they salmon? I thought they were pink.”
“Salmon,” Evie confirmed. “And imported straight from Paris.”
“You don’t say.”
“Have we managed to reach a compromise?” Ruth asked with a cool, measured stare at her oldest granddaughters.
Joanna glanced at Evie, who gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod.
“Yes,” she said, “I believe we have.”
“Good,” said Ruth matter-of-factly. “I realize all of you girls are concerned, and you’ve every right to be. The truth of the matter is that our situation is precarious. But no one is going to marry someone they do not want to. Nor will they be pressured into doing so by any member of this family. Is that understood?”
“Then what would you have us do?” Claire asked softly.
Ruth hesitated. She seemed to be battling back and forth with something, before she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You can sell the ring.”
All three sisters gave an audible gasp and looked at each other.
After a moment of stunned silence, Joanna was the first to speak.
“You mean…Mother’s ring?” she said disbelievingly.
Ruth lifted an eyebrow. “Is there another priceless ruby ring I am unaware of in your possession?”
“No,” said Evie. “It’s just that…”
“It’s Mother’s ring,” Claire finished.
Found in a box in the attic seven weeks after their father passed when they were packing up their belongings, the ring in question was an enormous heart-shaped ruby with glittering diamonds on either side. They knew it had belonged to their mother because her name had been inscribed on the inside of the gold band.
Anne, my love ~ JW
The identity of “JW”, where the ring had come from, and why it had been hidden all these years…well, that remained a mystery.
When Joanna had first discovered the ring, tucked away with a lock of their mother’s hair (red, just like her own), she and her sisters had discussed selling it. But still reeling from the loss of their father, they hadn’t been able to part with something that had belonged to their mother.
Even if it was something they knew nothing about.
Late at night, with nothing else to fill her mind, Joanna had closed her eyes and wondered…but she’d never allowed, nor wanted, her mind to travel down a road where her mother had been given a piece of jewelry worth a large fortune from a man whose initials did not match her husband’s.
Thus the ring’s very existence had been largely—and purposefully—ignored.
Until now.
“The ring is worth an immense amount. I’ve never seen a stone of its equal in all my years.” Ruth walked to the window. “You would need to take it to a jeweler in Boston. I have one I can recommend. No merchant here in Somerville would be able to give you even half its value. But if you went into the city, and held out for a higher price, the money earned would be more than enough to see us comfortably through the next few years.”
An unpleasant feeling pooled in Joanna’s belly. Not quite guilt, not quite excitement, but an uncomfortable combination of the two that tasted sour on the back of her tongue. Like the time she’d bitten into a blackberry that wasn’t yet ripe.
“I’m not sure…” she said with a glance at Evie, who appeared equally uneasy.
Ruth peered at them over her shoulder. Her gaze was sharp, and uncharacteristically calculating. “Evie, you could purchase that beautiful silk shawl you’ve swooned over every time we’ve gone into the village. Joanna, you could go on that trip with your friend. And Claire, you could start up your singing lessons again.” Her gaze softened as she looked at her youngest granddaughter. “You’ve a rare talent, my dear, and I should like to see you pursue it.”
The praise brought a blush to Claire’s cheeks. “Thank you, Grandmother.”
“I suppose…” Joanna hesitated. Here, at last, was the opportunity she’d been hoping for. The chance to fill their pockets and alleviate their financial burdens without having to marry a man like Charles. Still, it didn’t seem right. To sell something that had never belonged to them. To sell something their mother had taken such pains to keep secret. But then, what other choice did they have? “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take the ring to Boston and see how much it is actually worth. After that, we can decide whether we’d like to sell it or not.”
“I agree,” said Evie.
“But it’s the last thing we have of hers,” Claire protested. “Except for her lock of hair, and the painting.”
Joanna’s gaze automatically went to the brick fireplace on the other side of the room. There, propped on top of the old wooden mantel, was the only painting they had of their mother. The commissioned artwork had been a wedding gift. It depicted Anne and Jacob Thorncroft on the day of their marriage. Their mother, stunning in white with her auburn hair hidden beneath a veil, was looking directly at the artist while their father, handsome in a black suit, gazed adoringly at his bride. Both of them were glowing with happiness, the love and devotion they felt towards each other all but radiating off the canvas.
Since she was a little girl, Joanna couldn’t remember a day that had gone by where she hadn’t paused whatever she was doing to admire the painting. She’d memorized every brush stroke, from the slight curve of her mother’s mouth to the sparkle in her father’s eyes. It was a beautiful piece of artwork. But more than that, it was a glimpse into the past. A glimpse at a mother she could hardly remember. A glimpse at what awaited Joanna if she could find her own true love.
“Mother would never want us to marry someone we didn’t love.” Of this, Joanna was absolutely certain. “For that reason, I believe she would approve of us selling the ring.”
Claire bit her lip. “How could you possibly know that?”
Joanna gestured at the painting. “Because I can see how much Mother loved Father. And the last thing she’d want is for us to commit ourselves to a husband out of obligation or necessity. That’s not to say we will part with the ring. But if we did, I don’t think she would look poorly upon us for it.”
“You’re right,” said Evie.
Joanna nearly fell over. “I’m sorry, what?”
Evie rolled her eyes. “You needn’t look shocked.”
“I am shocked.” She pressed the back of her hand to Evie’s temple. “How are you feeling? Any hot or cold flashes? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Very amusing,” Evie said before she swatted Joanna’s arm away.
“Then you’ll go to Boston?” Ruth asked.
Joanna and Evie nodded.
After a long pause, Claire did the same.
For once, all three Thorncroft sisters were in agreement.
If only they knew how much that unity was going to change all of their lives…forever.
Chapter Three
Like most of the country, Boston was undergoing a massive restoration. There was a new university, a new children’s hospital, and even a new association dedicated solely to the women’s suffrage movement.
Everywhere Joanna looked, there were horses pulling carts piled high with bricks and oxen dragging enormous wooden beams. Well-dressed women sauntered by on the arms of equally well-dressed men, while young boys darted through the streets hawking newspapers and young girls sold roses. A governess steered her charges past a new building that was only halfway assembled as a crew of burly men worked on demolishing the one next to it. There was a memorial dedicated to Massachusetts Fifty-fourth Regiment being constructed in the middle of Boston Common, and an entire housing development being built on Black Bay, a portion of land that had once been part of the river before it was filled in.
Composed of an eclectic mixture of Americans, many of whom had recently fled the devastated south, Irish immigrants, and French Canadians, the city was a loud, disorganized jumble of different people seeking a new life in a revitalized city.
And Joanna loved every bit of it.
“Do you see that?” she exclaimed, pointing her finger at a chimney sweep casually walking across the top of a steeply pitched roof. “And that! And that!”
Bewitched by the Bluestocking Page 4