The Red Coat

by Dolley Carlson

  But as a child, I loved to walk precisely in step with my mother. When her high-heeled feet moved forward, my small feet, in their sensible oxfords, imitated Mummy’s more feminine steps, click-click, not fast, not slow, simply wonderful.

  CHAPTER 32

  He simply went to a place in my heart that was waiting for him.

  KING’S ROW

  HENRY BELLAMANN

  ALONG THE WAY, THERE’D CERTAINLY been suitable young men for Miss Cordelia Parker to date, and she’d enjoyed their company, but no one of any consequence. Then good-looking, friendly Officer Donnelly came along with his attentive greetings, compliments, and inquiries after her well-being or possible need for some assistance. Ashamedly, she’d consider, I find myself somewhat attracted to this married man. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind about his attraction to her, especially the night of a nearby burglary.

  The perpetrator was still at large, and Officer Donnelly knocked on her front door to advise, “Batten down the hatches,” as he braced himself against the cold and rubbed his gloved hands together, “California Here I Come!” His warm, exhaled breath blew a hazy cloud of condensation between them. “That thief has to be an Eskimo. Who else but working stiffs like me would come out on a night like this?”

  “Please, come stand by the fire for a minute,” Cordelia said.

  Officer Donnelly gratefully accepted her invitation and swiftly stepped over the line between outside and in. “Quite a place you have here. Thanks for giving me a chance to defrost.” He removed his hat and calmly toyed with the brim.

  “You’re more than welcome, Officer. Now, may I get you something hot to drink? Tea, coffee, cocoa? Surely a bit of brandy would warm you up, but I’m fairly certain that must be against regulation. Is it, Officer?” She placed a bookmark between the pages of the novel she’d been reading and held it close to her like a schoolbook. “Against regulation to have a quick brandy on a glacial night such as this?”

  Contrary to the presumed innuendoes the hopeful officer was picking up, Cordelia was completely guileless. She would never speak in such vaguely vulgar terms, even if her hospitable intentions had been less than honorable. And besides that, she was a sore sight for good eyes with large horn-rimmed reading glasses perched at the end of her nose, washed hair wrapped up in a towel, baggy, tan slacks, a white turtleneck under a big, loden-green, corduroy shirt her brother left behind, fuzzy socks and tatty brown velvet slippers that kept her feet toasty—hardly the togs of a would-be temptress.

  However, Officer Donnelly did like the clean scent of Cordelia’s Breck Shampoo and found her clothing disarray cozily appealing. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, Miss Parker, that’s some kind of get-up you’re wearing, but on you it looks good.”

  Much to the wily officer’s surprise and disappointment, Cordelia promptly opened the parlor drapes and turned on every lamp in the room, should any nosy neighbor or pedestrian (highly unlikely on such a wickedly cold night) get the wrong impression. But one never knows.

  Officer Donnelly stood in plain sight before the grand fireplace’s roaring flames. Thought I had this single gal pegged.

  Cordelia stayed by the window and inquired again, “Tea, coffee, cocoa?” Good heavens, he’s a handsome man, and one might wonder why a law enforcement officer needs to wear what I detect is aftershave on the job.

  But all of this was before David Miller.

  Cordelia was a changed person and practically everyone in her circle of friends, associates and acquaintances noticed the difference.

  An article in the Boston Evening Transcript had touted: “In the Locke-Ober Café, one beholds the last bulwark of the ancien regime. Here for more than half a century wit and wine have mingled with the finest creations of culinary art and as the pageant of the years has passed Locke-Ober has come to mean more than just another eating-place. It has veritably become a high and holy temple of fine living.”

  Abigail Adams Dubois Chandler: “Cappy, you were beginning to look eerily like our mothers with your chignon. Those come-hither, soft waves do you enormous justice.”

  Hilda: “Miss Cordelia, it’s good to see you gardening again. We’ve been too long without the happiness of tulips and daffodils and irises.”

  Florence Morton: “Miss Parker, I recall when you purchased a diaphanous, periwinkle formal at Stearn’s for a college dance. Whatever you’re using for face cream, it’s as if the clock has been turned back.”

  Eleanor Brewster: “Cordelia, you have the air of a lady in love. Sinclair and I have a wager. If I win, we’ll go to Locke-Ober for dinner. If not, let’s just say, it will be a romantic dinner at home. Intuition tells me we’ll be dining out.”

  Maury Sylvester of Pride & Joy Deli: “Miss, ya’s look terrific. If I was thirty years younger—hope you’re not insulted by that.”

  Cordelia’s change for the best didn’t escape Officer Donnelly’s attention either. “Good morning, Miss Parker. That’s quite a becoming outfit. In my neck of the woods they’d say,” he continued with an Irish brogue, “that striking young woman’s the look of a movie star.”

  There was a time when a relatively forward remark such as this would have offended Cordelia’s sense of propriety. But with the personal losses she’d experienced these last few years, and seemingly inevitable spinsterhood, words such as “the look of a movie star” had the potential to reel her lonely heart in with a slithery bit of flattery.

  Flattery was Officer Donnelly’s forte, although not entirely insincere. He truly enjoyed encouraging others. And when it came to attractive young women, he pulled out all the stops.

  It had happened so fast. There was that “magical shared pot of tea with Mr. Miller,” his missed presence the next morning, and her first note from “David.” At the end of the same day, they literally bumped into each other in the kitchen doorway, one coming, and the other going.

  “I’m so sorry,” David Miller’s hands lightly touched Cordelia Parker’s arms and let go again. “Please, excuse a man who hasn’t had a thing to eat all day. I thought I’d get in an hour or so of study before grabbing a bite somewhere, but hunger got the best of me and I’m afraid you got right in the line of fire.”

  “Don’t give it a second thought.” Cordelia hadn’t remembered his eyes being quite that brown. And they’re kind eyes. He’ll make an excellent physician. “Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Miller.”

  “Thank you, Miss Parker. I’d better be on my way. Got a big exam tomorrow, and I need to get back.”

  Cordelia wasn’t in the kitchen two minutes before the future doctor appeared before her, his topcoat and knit muffler in hand. “Say, you wouldn’t consider joining me, would you?”

  “Whatever for?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Cordelia regretted saying them. “I mean, Mr. Miller,” she began to straighten chairs around the kitchen table, “to what do I owe this impetuous invitation?” And she gave him a shy smile.

  He lined up the chairs on his side of the table, having been responsible for their disorder with his temporary sorting system. Papers rested on every seat, some flew to the floor, and as he came up from collecting them he answered, “I just wanted to thank you for saving me from catching pneumonia last night. All that hot tea drowned out any possibility.”

  “Very well. On that basis, I’m happy to accept.” Oh my, is this wise of you, Cordelia? She once again took notice of David Miller’s cocoa-brown eyes. For heaven’s sake, it’s only a quick supper.

  It was anything but, with Cordelia halfheartedly suggesting a couple of times they’d better leave the restaurant soon so he could get back to his books, and David ardently reassuring her he had a fairly good grasp on his knowledge of the respiratory system. “And I can get by with four hours of sleep. So that still leaves plenty of time to brush up later.”

  However, the waitress was a little huffy about their lingering. “You two gettin’ anythin’ else to eat or are you gonna start payin’ rent on this table?” That’s the way it was with ev
ery server at Durgin Park. Customers came in for the best traditional New England fare in town, knowing that sarcasm, barbs, and impatience were to be expected too. They’d have been disappointed if it were any other way. Those bristly remarks were made in good humor, and the savvy waitress proposed, “Tell you what, order dessert, and the wisecracks stop here. Deal?”

  Harriett Mullins had seen a hundred couples just like them, young—well, these two weren’t as young as some, she’d guess late twenties for her, early thirties for him. First, maybe second date, stars in their eyes at the discovery of a kindred spirit, and before she knew it, people like them were coming back as a Mr. and Mrs. and recalling the last time they’d seen her. Even when she didn’t remember them, Harriett cheekily pretended to. “Maybe you’ll leave me a better tip this time.”

  Menu in hand, David asked Cordelia, “Trust me?” and when she answered, “Yes, of course,” Harriet chimed in. “When you two have completed your marriage vows, I’ll be happy to take your dessert order.”

  Cordelia blushed, and he ordered, “Two home-style apple pies a la mode, please, and two hot teas, milk for the lady’s and honey for mine.”

  “Comin’ right up, Romeo.”

  David told Cordelia all about his family in New York, that he was the youngest of three children, two boys and a girl. The oldest, Michael, was a highly successful manufacturer of women’s clothing, and his sister, Beth, a former schoolteacher, managed her husband’s law practice. His parents and ninety-year-old grandmother still lived in the Brooklyn row house where he’d grown up. Both of his siblings now made their homes in New Rochelle, which his textile-salesman father referred to as “New Rich-chelle.” David went on to say he tried to get home as often as he could because his parents didn’t travel, even to nearby Boston.

  She spoke not of her family but of Chandler’s Linens, with one exception. Cordelia said no female relative of hers had ever had a paying job, choosing instead to give of their time to charitable and cultural endeavors. She was the first. “Frankly, I enjoy working. My employer is an old friend, and due to domestic responsibilities she’s virtually turned the reins over to me. The store feels as though it’s my own. Our staff is extraordinary. We couldn’t ask for better.” Cordelia was animated as she described them and sang praises of each one’s contribution to the success of what was deemed in The Boston Globe as, “the Hub’s best source of fine European linens and gifts with an abundance of French chic and pinch of whimsy.” Chandler’s received glowing reviews throughout the city, much to the annoyance of local competitors, upscale Howell Brothers and Makana, in particular.

  David never anticipated Cordelia would be this chatty. Surely he’d made an accurate observation of her personality: Proper Bostonian, somewhat straight-laced and tight-lipped, social yet private, and extremely attentive to household details, décor, maintenance and parameters for tenants. But here they were, and his expectation that she’d give yes and no answers with one eye on the clock was completely off the mark. Clock? It was apparent neither one of them wanted the evening to end.

  The walk home was brisk because the weather was nippy, but more so because Cordelia never waned in her concern for David’s studies.

  “Now, Mr. Miller, I don’t want to be responsible for you failing that exam. I hope you’re still energetic enough to concentrate.”

  “Definitely. I feel a second wind coming on as we speak. Oh, here we are already.” He reached behind her and unlatched the black iron gate. “After you, Miss Parker.”

  Richard Malmgren heard the pleasant cadence of their conversation outside his window and stealthily pushed the shade aside to see who it could possibly be at this late hour on a weeknight. The sight of Miss Parker and David Miller, together, caught him completely off guard, and try as he may, the introverted dental student couldn’t quite comprehend that his landlady and fellow tenant had connected on a more personal level. Boy, oh boy, I sure didn’t see that coming.

  David took his key out of his pocket to open the door, and Cordelia felt somewhat awkward. This was, after all, her house. It was all so confusing—her house, yet he lived there, and now … What is happening between us?

  Sensing her discomfort, David measured his steps by not getting too close, lest she think he was going to make a pass. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize our new friendship. Who am I kidding? I don’t want to do anything to scare this wonderful girl away. Then, more abruptly than intended, he bid her, “Good night, Miss Parker,” and headed pell-mell for his books and papers strewn across the kitchen table.

  “Oh, Mr. Miller,” she called after him, the color of her cheeks high from the cold of night, giving her the look of a fairy tale maiden, wisps of her ash-blonde locks breaking loose from their pulled back austerity and blue eyes sparkling. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you and Mr. Malmgren wouldn’t mind calling me Cordelia. We are after all not that far apart in age, and Miss Parker does seem a tad formal.”

  The fatigued medical student (he’d stretched the truth about getting by on four or five hours of sleep) felt hopeful. She wants to be called by her first name. He rolled it around in his heart, as he’d done since the day they met: Cordelia.

  “Miss Parker, only if you’ll please feel free to call me David.”

  “David it is, and one day I trust Doctor will be in order.”

  David Miller surprised himself when he walked toward her and said, “Let’s shake on it.”

  “Shake on it?” she asked with a slow grin. She met him halfway and gladly extended her hand. “Absolutely.”

  CHAPTER 33

  A young lady is a female child who has just done something dreadful.

  JUDITH MARTIN, A.K.A. MISS MANNERS

  SISTER CATHERINE ALOYSIUS SOUNDED THE wooden clicker twice, signaling an all-stand-at-once command. “Girls in one line, please, boys in the other.” The clicker was a small, pocket-sized device that directed the children to uniform perfection. Click; they stood when an adult entered the room. Click; a curtsey for the girls and bow for the boys. Click; be seated. Click; kneel for prayer. Click-click-click directed their steps and reined in their would-be antics. Sister promptly lined up her charges and pulled a package of Necco Wafers candy from within the soft-pocketed folds of her flowing, black habit.

  The second grade class of seven-year-olds before her would soon practice receiving a Communion wafer with the thin, sugary pastel discs. When Sister Catherine brought out the package, not one of them was thinking of Christ. Ruth Ann Donnelly hoped she’d get a yellow one, while the girl next to her, Barbara McDermott, was wishing for pink. “All right, children, we’ll have another go round. It’s only the four or so weeks away now.”

  The Dublin-born Sister was preparing her students for First Communion and shaking the wrapped candy roll like a pointer. “It’s the body of Christ Himself you’ll be receivin’ when you make your First Holy Communion, and your souls must be free from sin in order to receive the Son of God. Father Mulcahy and Father Ahern will be hearin’ your confessions Saturday noon before the big day.”

  All eyes were fixed on the Necco Wafers.

  What the Very Young Need to

  Know for Their First

  Holy Communion

  by the Most Reverend Louis La

  Ravoire Morrow

  Sister walked closer to the children, and the wooden beads around her waist bumped up against a desk as she leaned toward them. “You can’t keep secrets from Almighty God, boys and girls, and if you ever try to take Communion without having first confessed all your sins, well, let me just say this.” She shook her slightly crooked, arthritic finger. “There once was a girl who tried to do that very thing, and when she opened her mouth to receive the Host,” Sister had their rapt attention, “the priest gasped in horror. Her tongue, like her sinful soul was black!” Sister Catherine stood up straight and the beads bumped again. “I’m sure you don’t want the same thing happening to you, so confess all your sins, say your penance, and never, never go to Commun
ion without having done so.”

  Much to the wide-eyed children’s disappointment, she put the Necco Wafers down on her desk and proceeded to instruct them yet again in how to give a proper confession, beginning with, as the good Sister cautioned, “goin’ to your knees.” A double click, and they all knelt, Sister Catherine as well. Click; thirty-eight right hands made the sign of the cross and prayed aloud, “Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been … since my last confession.” They continued to follow her lead with a measured recitation of the Act of Contrition, after which the watchful Sister imparted one more admonition.

  “Kneel straight up. Don’t have your wee bums resting on your feet in the Protestant way. Remember now, you’re kneeling before the King of Kings.” The children glanced sideways at each other and softly snickered at her use of the word “bums.”

  An Act of Contrition

  O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven, and the pains of hell; but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen

  “We’ve one more thing to tend to before your practice Communion. Now, please return to your seats in an orderly manner.”

  There was a low murmur of disappointment.

  “Open your Catechisms, please. And take five minutes to look it over before I quiz the lot of you.”

  Sister Catherine Aloysius, fresh-faced with an even disposition, the Sister whose students, past and present, called their favorite, couldn’t help but grin at the whole earnest “bunch.” Oh, how she loved the innocence, eagerness, and sweetness of their burgeoning faith. These were the children Jesus talked about. Unless you be as a little child you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. If it was up to her, and presently it was, every one of these little angels would fear the consequences of sin and love the Son of God.