The Shadow Palace

by Jane Steen

  “Good grief.” I rose and crossed to the window. In the garden below, I could see the red cloud of Sarah’s hair as she darted around, presumably trying to catch the few leaves that were drifting down. “You know, I remember Martin writing to me, before the financial panic in ’73, that there was some shocking behavior going on.”

  “Yes, he’s quite bourgeois at heart, isn’t he?” Elizabeth’s blue eyes were rounded, daring me to defend Martin, but I only smiled.

  “He was strictly brought up. Very well, I will sacrifice Wednesday afternoons to the cause of establishing myself in society—but not really for my own sake.”

  “Agreed.” Elizabeth held out her hand, which I automatically shook.

  “That’s settled, then.” She let go of my hand and circled my waist with her arm. “Mrs. Eleanor Lillington, welcome to Chicago.”

  “Do I have to?”

  Tess’s expression was obstinate. We had said good-bye to Elizabeth, settled Sarah in bed, and ensconced ourselves in the parlor with coffee and some of Mrs. Power’s tiny lemon cakes. It was getting cool enough in the evenings for the fire to be lit, and the red light of the embers cast its halo onto the marble surround. The dark green velvet drapes were drawn, and the room was pleasantly warm. It would be perfect, I reflected, if only Tess were happier.

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” I was determined to be patient with Tess. “But it’s only a few hours on a Wednesday afternoon. All we have to do is receive whomever calls from one to three and pay calls from three to five. It’ll be much more fun if there are two of us.”

  “How do you even make calls?” Tess looked at me over the rim of her spectacles. “Don’t forget, I’ve never done it. I didn’t have your upbringing.”

  I sighed. “You just talk, that’s all. You sit and drink tea, and eat cakes like these, and you just—talk. You like eating and drinking, and you like talking—I don’t see why you should object.”

  “Don’t you?” Tess scowled. “The rich ladies will like you. They won’t like me.”

  “For one thing, you are a rich lady—compared to most people. And for another, of course they’ll like you. When have you ever known somebody who knows you to not like you?”

  “Plenty of people. Mr. Poulton and Mrs. Calderwood—”

  “And look how they turned out to be.”

  “—and Martin’s wife. She didn’t like me, and she was a Chicago society lady.”

  “If any of the ladies we meet behave toward you like those people at the seminary—and as Lucetta did—I won’t have them in my drawing room. It was different at the seminary, Tess. I couldn’t tell any of them to leave. I was a subordinate.” I saw Tess’s brow furrow at the difficult word and hastened to explain. “I didn’t feel I had any power. Here, I do. I’m my own mistress. Even at the store I’m now recognized as a shareholder, and I can tell you that it’s making a difference to the way in which people speak to me.”

  “So you’ll tell them to leave if they’re rude to me?” Tess’s lip was still protruding.

  “I will. You’re more important to me than any lady in Chicago society. And look at the ones you do know—Mrs. Parnell and Elizabeth. Have they ever excluded you from anything?”

  Tess thought for a moment. “I suppose not,” she conceded.

  “In fact, you probably know more ladies socially than I do. Many of those women in Lake Forest have their winter homes in Chicago.”

  Tess shrugged. “They’re still more your sort of person than my sort of person.”

  I felt my shoulders slump. “Tess, I don’t know what your sort of person is. I don’t even know what my sort of person is. Elizabeth, perhaps, and Madame Belvoix.” I frowned. “Women who have some purpose in life, I suppose, other than repeating what they hear from their husbands, fretting about children and servants, and wearing beautiful dresses. Not that I have anything against the wearing of dresses, of course, professionally speaking. I suppose it’s a question of degree.”

  “You see,” Tess wailed. “You have a place in the world already, and I don’t.”

  I left my chair and knelt on the floor beside Tess, putting a hand on hers. “I think you do. I think it’s with me and Sarah.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “But finding your family has thrown all that into doubt and confusion for you, hasn’t it? You’re trying to be loyal to me and to your family, and it’s tearing you in two.”

  Tess said nothing, but a fat tear gathered in the corner of her eye and dropped into the rim of her spectacles.

  “And I can’t decide for you,” I said. “But if there’s anything I can do to help you decide—”

  “There is.” Tess cut across my words, but her tone was less angry than before. “Mary wrote to say I should spend a month or two with her now that I’m done spending time with the fine folk. She says I should be with the family, where I belong.”

  I lifted her small hand, kissing the short, stubby fingers I’d grown to love so much. “Do you want to do that?”

  Tess let go of my hand to pull off her spectacles, fumbling in her skirts for the hidden pocket that held her handkerchief. “I guess I do.”

  I scrambled to my feet. “Then you must go, with no hard feelings on my side. But we’ll miss you terribly.”

  38

  Fight

  I did miss her. I had my work, of course. I'd arranged my hours so that Sarah would have plenty of time with me in the late afternoon to chatter about everything she’d learned during her day spent with Miss Baker. And yet the hours stretched ahead of me after Sarah had gone to bed, with nobody to talk to. I took to retiring early so that I didn’t have to face the empty parlor. Then, once I was in bed, thoughts of Martin invaded my mind and impeded my sleep.

  So I was all the more delighted when Tess’s brother Billy visited me just as the first month of Tess’s absence was drawing to its end. The young man had recently secured a new job in the Palmer House as a junior clerk in the accounting office, and his Sunday best reflected the elevation in his status. His soft felt hat was of good quality and fairly new; his boots were of a finer leather than before, and there was a smartness about his suit that suggested that if it hadn’t been tailored, it had at least been altered to fit him better.

  Billy assured me that Tess was well, and we chatted for a few minutes about his new position. He shared Tess’s love for columns of figures and explained that he wrote a neat hand, having always applied himself at what little schooling he’d had. “And knowing I was always of a serious disposition and never one for the drink or the larking about, they were willing to give me a chance.” His grin lit up his plain, snub-nosed face. “No more dormitories for me. I’ve taken a room with my friend Charlie down Pilsen way, in a good teetotal boardinghouse run by a German lady who knows a bit about cooking.” He patted his stomach appreciatively.

  “Is there room for promotion in this office?” I asked, passing him the coffee I had just poured.

  His grin widened as he dropped sugar into his cup. “Plenty. It’s a good step up for me, and I’m putting a little by every week. It’s a pleasure to sit in a warm, dry room and think of the day when I’ll have enough saved to make something of myself and can look for a sweet little woman to marry. No broken back like Da’s, only inky fingers.” He spread his blunt-ended fingers wide in illustration. He had clearly scrubbed them well, but the marks of his profession could be seen like ghosts on his right hand.

  “You’re coming up in the world. Your parents must be so proud of you.”

  “Aye, they are.” Billy nodded at the far end of the parlor where Sarah had made herself a nest of cushions under the windowsill and sat cross-legged, absorbed in her geography book. “There’s another one who’ll go far, if I’m not mistaken,” he said, his voice low. “A tiny mite like that so keen on the learning—why, she’s half the age of Mary’s eldest, and I’ve never seen him stare at a book for the fun of it.”

  “I never did either at that age,” I agreed, “
unless it was one of Grandmama’s fashion-plate journals. I’m glad you don’t think it’s unsuitable for her, being a girl.”

  Billy gave a dismissive shrug. “And aren’t there a whole handful of colleges for women out east already? Believe you me, Mrs. Lillington, my sons and daughters will get as much learning as I can pay for. It’s ignorance that leads to vice—Charlie says so. He goes to night school, and he thinks I should go too.”

  Sarah uncurled herself from her corner, tucked her book under her arm, and came to stand close to us. “When is Tess coming back?” she asked Billy.

  “She asks me that every day,” I said, looking apologetically at him. In truth, Sarah had asked the question I most wanted to hear answered. It was my besetting fear that Tess wouldn’t return at all, and I couldn’t imagine having to explain such a disastrous development to Sarah.

  Billy rested a hand on Sarah’s springy curls, a soft light in his eyes. “She’ll be back when she’s ready, darlin’. In fact, that’s why I came to see your Ma—to encourage her, like, to try to persuade Tessie to return where she belongs.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “I’m happy that you, at least, think she belongs here.”

  “She does belong here,” Sarah said in a decided fashion. “She’s Mama’s best friend and my best Tess. We should fetch her back, Mama,” she continued, her eyes on me.

  “It’s not as easy as that,” I said. “We have to let her make her own decision—and that takes time.”

  “Begging your pardon,” said Billy, “but if you’re letting her make her own decision, you’re the only one as is. There she is with Mary and Aileen and Ma talking, talking, and talking at her as to how she belongs with her family. And the priest besides, telling her to turn back to the faith. Not that he’s having much luck.” A mischievous grin lightened his homely face. “She’s a marvel, our Tess. She has a verse from the Bible to answer everything they say to her.”

  I smiled. “Yes, she knows the Good Book almost by heart—I’ve even heard her quote a verse from Numbers. She’s never been able to understand why I can’t memorize verses. Yes, Sarah, you may have one—just one.” This last to my daughter, whose hand had been creeping, in a hopeful fashion, nearer to the bowl of sugar lumps.

  “Thank you, Mama,” said Sarah prettily, claiming her prize. “May I go show Zofia the map of Africa? I know she’s home because I heard her come in.”

  “You may, but no wheedling slice after slice of cake out of her.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Sarah crunched her sugar with glee and skipped out of the room with cake, I had absolutely no doubt, firmly on her mind. She was an obedient child, up to a point.

  “She’s a sweet little poppet,” proclaimed Billy once Sarah had left the room. “Tess has sung her praises to me more than once, although she won’t do so in Mary’s hearing. Those boys are little demons when they’re shut indoors. Any comparison wouldn’t be in their favor.”

  “Tess isn’t getting too tired, is she?” I asked. “I’m anxious for her.”

  “She looks after herself.” Billy looked sympathetic. “She tells that poor overworked maid of Mary’s to mind the children when she’s had enough and falls asleep in the chair.” He leaned forward. “Tell me, Mrs. Lillington, do you want her back?”

  “With all my heart.” I could feel my voice catch on the lump in my throat. “I’ve never had a sister, but I couldn’t love one more than I love Tess.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I thought. Well, why don’t you just go and ask her to return to you?”

  I frowned. “Because, as I told Sarah, it needs to be her decision.”

  “And to make a proper decision, she needs to hear both sides of the story. You’re not too proud to tell her you need her, are you?”

  “Of course not.” I knew I sounded indignant. “I’ve just been trying not to bother Tess with my own selfish needs.”

  “But that’s exactly what she does want to hear.” Billy thumped the arm of his chair. “She wants to know that you need her. She needs you to fight for her.”

  Billy’s advice warred with my own good intentions that entire week, and by Sunday had entirely beaten them down. Once church was over and a hasty Sunday lunch eaten, I bundled Sarah into her new coat—it was almost Thanksgiving, and cold—and we set off for the Back of the Yards.

  Mary’s house was, of course, modest compared to Aldine Square, but it looked roomier than its neighbors. It was on a more respectable-looking street than most. Now that the sharp, frosty air had robbed the stockyard smell of much of its power, I could almost have imagined myself in a small, prosperous town.

  Mary herself answered my knock on the door, hastily removing her apron. “I’ll tan that girl’s hide,” she said by way of excusing herself. “She’s supposed to answer the door.”

  “That’s quite all right.” I proffered my hand. “How are you, Mrs. Sheehan?” For such was Mary’s married name.

  “As well as can be expected.” She bent to chuck Sarah on the chin. “Look at this one, grown a whole inch since I last saw her, I swear to heaven. Would you like to play with the boys, Miss Sarah? The two youngest, at least—their brothers are at church.”

  “Please, may I see Tess first?” asked Sarah. “I’d love to play, but I miss Tess so much.”

  Mary nodded. “Of course you do, darlin’. The boys will still be there when you’re ready. They’re quiet for once, without their big brothers.” She gave me a half smile. “Just go upstairs—the door straight in front of you when you reach the top of the first flight. Then you’ll take a cup of tea with me, I hope.”

  I agreed willingly, and, leaving our outer clothing on a chair occupying an odd angle of the wall, we climbed the stairs and I knocked at the door.

  “Tess?”

  I opened the door slowly and peered around it. The bedroom was tiny, barely more than a cupboard, and mostly taken up by a short, narrow bed—which was mostly taken up by Tess. She had fallen asleep with her cheek pillowed on her hand and was snoring gently. Her spectacles sat on a chair squeezed in beside her bed, which also held her Bible and a candle in a dish. A chest of drawers made it impossible to move into the room without climbing over the bed, and it must have been impossible to open the lower drawers. Tess’s dresses hung from various hooks high on the wall. Still, I reflected, it was a room of her own—and it wasn’t Mary’s fault that they couldn’t afford bigger.

  “Mama, look at the sweet room! It’s like a little nest.”

  I inwardly blessed Sarah for the remark, she who’d spent the summer at the Parnells’ sprawling mansion, where the guest quarters were bigger than this house. At her voice, Tess stirred and half opened her eyes, making an interrogative noise. Sarah needed no further encouragement.

  “Tess, Tess, Tess, Tess, Tess, Tess!” Sarah’s voice rose to a squeal as she launched herself onto the bed, which made an alarming creaking noise. “We miss you so much. Are you well? Do your spectacles need cleaning? Don’t you love having all your dresses hanging on the wall? Mama, may I please hang my dresses on the wall?” Not waiting for an answer or giving Tess a chance to sit up, she burrowed into her arms and rained kisses wherever she could, which was mostly on Tess’s neck.

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Give Tess a moment to wake up, Sarah.” I insinuated myself into the corner of the room that wasn’t taken up by furniture and put out my hands to help Tess assume a sitting position.

  “She’s right though—we miss you so much.” I handed Tess her spectacles and, once she’d put them on, leaned down to hug her hard. Tess returned the hug with equal ferocity but scowled at me when I straightened myself.

  “If you missed me, why didn’t you come and see me?”

  “Oh, Tess, that’s not fair. I’ve written to you every week, and you know how bad I am about writing.”

  Tess shuffled along the bed so that she was at the end nearest the door. Behind her, Sarah curled up into the place Tess had just vacated, staring up at the walls hung with dresses.


  “And it wouldn’t have been fair to keep coming to see you,” I continued. “You wanted to make a decision about where to live, and I didn’t want to put undue pressure on you. There’s no point in my vaunting my ideas about my own independence if I can’t leave you yours.”

  “Hmph,” said Tess, but then a smile broke onto her face like the sun shining through clouds. “You’re funny, Nell. You’re always trying to make things work for everyone.”

  I had to grin at that. “It’s the curse of a practical mind. Anyway, it was Billy who said I should come here. He said that if I really want you to come home to us, I should fight for you.”

  Tess looked alarmed. “I think Mary’s stronger than you.”

  “Not fisticuffs, silly.” I made a gesture for Tess to move along and seated myself gingerly on the end of the bed, from which an ominous creak emerged. “Can this bed hold all three of us?”

  “Bert says it’ll break if the boys bounce on it, so don’t bounce.”

  I fixed Sarah with a stern eye to make sure she’d heard. She only nodded, her eyes dreamy.

  I wrapped an arm around Tess’s shoulders, loving the warm, round, sleepy feel of her. “Billy just meant that I should come and tell you, quite plainly, that I think you belong with us. And I do. You’re my sister of the heart—you have been since that first day in Prairie Haven, do you remember? You made me welcome.”

  “And you taught me how to sew.” Tess leaned her head against my bosom, her fine hair tickling my nose.

  “Do you really want to live with Mary?” I asked, laying my cheek on the top of her head. “You don’t have to be my housekeeper if you don’t want to. I’ll do anything you want me to. I’ll even stop working at Rutherford’s—or I’ll get you a job there, if you want.”

  “You will not.” Tess looked up at me, but there was a mischievous gleam in her eye. “There’s much too much running up and down stairs at Rutherford’s. And all that hard work.”