by Lucy Evanson
The squeak of the ladder was like a chaperone’s cough; she pulled away and smoothed the front of her dress just as Mark’s head popped up through the service door. He was followed shortly by Jake, and the two proceeded to lay waste to the snacks that were laid out on the tables.
“So, did you two track down Miss Kinney?” Carter asked.
Mark swallowed down a finger sandwich whole and nodded. “It took a while, but I found her.”
Jake snorted. “You mean I found her,” he said, his mouth full of half-chewed apple. “You just followed me!”
“You never would have found her if I hadn’t suggested climbing the streetlamp to look around,” Mark said. “It was all my idea.”
Jake’s response was drowned out by a sudden boom that made them all jump. Kate looked up to see a giant red starburst spreading in the sky above them as there was a cheer from the crowd in the street. The boys grew quiet as fireworks flew into the sky one after another and burst to life with chest-thumping reports and fiery blooms. Carter had been right. The view from the roof was absolutely perfect, unlike any other she’d had for such a show. Kate felt as if the bursts were so close she could touch them—in fact, some of the hot ash still glowed as it drifted down to them—but instead of fright she found it thrilling.
As gold sparks glittered down through the air, she reached for Edward’s hand and turned to him. Thank you, she mouthed, and turned her attention back to the sky to enjoy the rest of the show.
When the fireworks were finished, they descended the rickety ladder and found three weary-looking members of Carter’s staff in the hallway below, waiting to clean up after them. Once outside, while they were walking to the carriage, Edward took Kate’s elbow and gently held her back for a moment.
“When can I see you again?” he asked quietly.
“Anytime you like,” she said. “You’re always welcome at our house. And make sure you’re available on the thirteenth. It’s a Sunday.”
“Okay, I will,” he said. “What’s on the thirteenth?”
“Kate, come on,” she heard Mark call. “It’s not getting any lighter out, you know.”
Kate stepped close and kissed Edward on the cheek. “The thirteenth is my birthday,” she said, then gave him a quick hug and hurried to the carriage.
The ride home was even longer than the ride into town had been; now the great flood of people was simply reversed, but uphill and in the dark. Kate wasn’t sure whether it was the long day or whether she was just tired of hearing her brothers bicker about who would drive the carriage better; regardless, by the time they arrived home she felt exhausted.
The three of them found their father still at the dining room table, with his paper spread out and a little coffee undoubtedly cold in the cup at his elbow.
“You boys hungry?” Mary asked as she came into the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Do we have any apple pie left?” Mark asked.
“A bit.”
“Then I’m hungry,” he said.
“Me too!” Jake added, and Mary returned to the kitchen for two slices of pie.
As they ate, the boys resumed their discussion about who deserved Sally Kinney’s attention, tossing back and forth the same points as before and seemingly blind to the fact that Sally appeared to favor neither of them.
Kate and her father listened in good humor, well aware that the argument was not about to end anytime soon. After filling in her father with the details of the parade, she made her way upstairs, where Becky began to help her get undressed.
She had just removed her heavy dress and been released from the corset when she remembered Laura’s letter.
“Becky, will you go get my letter from downstairs? I left it on the table in the parlor, along with my father’s mail.”
The girl’s eyes widened slightly, just for a moment. “Yes, Miss Taylor,” she said. “Which one is it?”
Kate laughed. It was unusual for Becky to joke with her. She’s really coming out of her shell, she thought. “It’s the one addressed to me,” she said, grinning at her.
Becky smiled thinly and left the room, returning shortly with both letters, which she handed to Kate.
“Why’d you bring Papa’s?”
“Oh, sorry,” Becky mumbled. “I thought you said you wanted them both. I’ll start with your hair, then?”
Kate sat down to reread the letter as Becky undid the spire of hair that towered elegantly above her. The letter had seemed oddly unfulfilling when she’d raced through it earlier, and she wanted to go over it more carefully. Laura had supplied all of the news that Kate had been wondering about for the last several weeks: Charity Evans and Robert Wilkinson had broken off their engagement and were already rumored to be involved with other people. Elizabeth Collins had hosted a dinner party for a visiting Irish poet, who was later caught leaving the house with several pieces of her silverware in his pocket. Laura had fired her seamstress for making Nancy Briggs an exact copy of Laura’s latest dress, but in blue. An exact copy, can you imagine?!
Kate sighed and tossed the letter onto the table. It was an unpleasant deception, as if she’d been expecting dinner and only got dessert. It was sweet and fun, but not very substantial, and it also wasn’t very good for you all by itself. Still, that’s the sort of thing we talked about all the time back home. Why does it seem so boring today? She sighed again.
“Something wrong, Miss Taylor?” Becky asked as she tried to delicately remove a hairpin which had become tangled.
“No, I guess not,” she said. “I don’t know what I was expecting from her letter. Something different, I guess.”
“Still, it’s nice that she was thinking of you. Most of my friends I haven’t seen in ages. Or my mom, for that matter.”
“Well, doesn’t your mom write to you?”
Becky snorted. “My mom doesn’t know how to write.”
“Oh… I see.” A thought grew slowly in Kate’s mind, as if somebody had lit a lamp but only gradually turned up the flame. She brought both letters up here because she didn’t know which one was addressed to me. “Becky, do you know how to read?”
Kate watched in the mirror as the girl’s cheeks grew red. She didn’t have to answer; it was obvious well before she finally, silently shook her head. Kate stood up and faced her.
“But how is that possible? Didn’t you go to school?”
“School? What school?” she asked, and Kate could almost taste the bitterness in the girl’s voice. “Maybe in Boston they have schools on every corner, but I grew up in Wautoma. There weren’t any schools there. There were just fields and farms,” she said. “My school was pretty much just learning to cook, clean and keep house. If my mom hadn’t taught me to sew, I wouldn’t have any skills at all.”
“But you’ve got to know how to read,” Kate said. “Becky, I mean no offense, but if you don’t know how to read and write, then your life must be so much harder than it has to be,” she said. “Once you know how to read, it will open so many doors for you, you won’t believe it.”
Becky stared hard at the floor, and when she spoke it was in a whisper.
“Miss Taylor, I know that you think that’s so, but for some people life just isn’t like that,” she said. “Besides, I’m sixteen years old. I’m almost a grown woman now. It’s too late for me.”
Kate stood up and turned to face her. “Becky, don’t ever say that.”
“But it’s true, Miss Taylor,” she said. “And it’s no use dreaming about something that’s never going to happen. Especially when the one I love wouldn’t have anything to do with a dumb girl like me.” Her eyes filled with tears as she looked away, staring first at the wall, then at the floor, doing everything she could to avoid Kate’s gaze.
Kate stepped close and hugged Becky to her. She could feel the girl’s tears penetrating the fabric on her shoulder. Ever since that first night, when Kate had seen the way Becky was watching Sam as he sat talking to her brothers, she had wondered if anyth
ing was ever going to happen between the two of them.
“Becky, you are not dumb, and I forbid you to speak about yourself like that. And I’m sure he wouldn’t like to hear you talking like that either. Does he know that you like him?”
She felt Becky shake her head. “No, of course not. It wouldn’t be right for me to say anything to him. And he only talks about that Sally Kinney all the time anyway.”
“Sam likes Sally Kinney?” Kate asked. She felt Becky stiffen before stepping back to look Kate in the face.
“What?”
“You said that Sam always talks about Sally?”
“Sam? Miss Taylor, what are you talking about?”
“Wait a minute,” Kate said. “What are you talking about? Who do you like?”
“You really don’t know?” Becky asked, and the tears began to well up again. “I like Jake!” She buried her face against Kate’s shoulder again.
“Jake? My brother Jake?”
Becky could only nod her head. Kate rubbed the girl’s back, trying to soothe her as she took in what she had just heard. After a moment, Becky had calmed down a bit and stepped back, wiping the final tears from her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Miss Taylor,” she said. “I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. I’ll let you get some rest now.”
“Becky, wait,” Kate said. “Sit down with me.” The two moved to the bed and Kate turned to the younger girl. “Now, first of all, I mean what I said before about learning to read and write. I’m going to help you with that.”
Becky opened her mouth to protest, but Kate raised her hand before she could speak. “I don’t want to hear any arguments. As far as I’m concerned, this is now part of your daily duties around here. We’ll start tomorrow.”
“Okay, Miss Taylor.”
“And as for Jake—”
“I’m so sorry,” Becky said quickly. “I know it’s not my place to talk about him like that. Even if Jake liked me, your dad would never let him end up with a girl like me.”
Kate reached over and patted Becky on the wrist. “I can’t speak for Jake,” she said. “But as a matter of fact, I don’t think my father cares one whit about things like that. He just wants us to be happy.”
Becky didn’t look convinced, but put on a lopsided smile anyway as she nodded and rose from the bed. “Well, I’ll let you get to sleep, Miss Taylor,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it,” Kate said. “Good night.”
When she was alone, Kate took one last look at the letter Laura had sent. She couldn’t help laughing and shook her head as she tucked it away in the nightstand drawer. Fired her seamstress, she thought as she dug around for her own stationery. I’ll show her how to write an interesting letter.
Chapter 7
Happy Birthday to me. Kate rolled over in bed and looked out the window; it was another clear, sunny morning and she could see white puffs of cloud skipping across the sky in the distance. Birds were chirping in the trees out back and a warm breeze pushed its way in through the window, caressing her face. It was a singularly beautiful day, and her birthday besides.
She threw aside the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. It was unusually quiet downstairs; she normally heard her brothers arguing about something or other, or laughter, or the sounds of cooking rising up from the kitchen. This morning, there wasn’t a peep.
She got dressed and went downstairs, finding only her father in the dining room, a coffee cup at his elbow and a piece of paper in front of him.
“Kate, I’m glad you’re up,” he said. “I was just writing you a note. I have to run into town for a little while.”
“Where are the boys?”
“They went out for a walk, I believe,” he said. “I can’t blame them; it’s a gorgeous day.” He rose from his seat and kissed her on the cheek as he went out. “So enjoy your breakfast and relax; I’ll see you this afternoon. What time is Edward coming over?”
“We said four o’clock.”
“Four. Perfect. See you later.”
She watched as he hurried out of the house and down the porch steps to the horses and carriage already waiting outside. Kate sat down at the table and pulled the tray of toast close to her. Cold already. She laid her hand alongside the teapot. Cold too.
“Mary?” she called.
The house was stone quiet. She pushed her chair back and opened the door to the kitchen, revealing only the scrubbed wooden floorboards, the hulking iron stove, the sinks and drainboard. Mary was nowhere to be found. How odd. Kate went inside and opened the stove; there were still a few glowing embers, and she coaxed a flame out of them with a scrap of paper and some kindling shreds. After reheating the toast and water for her tea, she returned to the dining room and ate breakfast alone, each bite of the crusty bread echoing in the room.
Some start to my birthday. She was absolutely sure that something was going on. But what could it be? When she had had enough of her twice-toasted breakfast, she went out to the porch and sat down on the swing. The only other signs of life she could see were a pair of hawks, circling high above the corn, waiting for some poor field mouse to make its last wrong move. There was nobody else to be seen.
Good Lord, they’re not setting something up in the barn, are they? It sounded too farfetched to be true, but then again this was her first birthday on the frontier. Perhaps they did things differently—horribly differently—out here.
She got up from the swing and quickly crossed the grass to peer into the gloom of the barn. Much to her relief, it was as devoid of people as it was of cows; the animals were out in the pasture and the stalls remained thankfully undecorated with anything besides droppings.
Kate went back to the house and returned to the swing, pushing herself back and forth, waiting for somebody to appear, but everybody remained stubbornly away. Finally she decided to quit wasting any more time and she returned to the kitchen, coaxing another fire out of the embers and heating a tubful of water so that she could wash up.
As the hours crept by, she became less and less sure that there was anything to get washed up for, however. By one o’clock she had already gotten dressed, decided that she didn’t like what she was wearing, and changed her clothes entirely. By two, she was back out on the porch swing, writing an indignant letter to Laura detailing the shoddy treatment she was receiving on her birthday, and by three, she had fallen asleep on the sofa in the parlor.
The creak of the front door roused her, and in a moment Becky had entered the hall.
“Miss Taylor, let’s get you ready,” she said, already heading up to Kate’s bedroom.
“Ready for what?” Kate grumbled.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Becky said as she climbed the stairs. “You know we’re having a party for you; it just took a while to get things situated. And now we’ve got to hurry a bit; Mr. Carter will be here in less than an hour.”
Kate followed her up and sat in front of the mirror while Becky got to work. As much as she tried to shake loose some information about her party, the younger girl refused to divulge the smallest detail, saying only that Kate would find everything out soon.
When her hair was finished—and after a final change into her sky-blue dress—they returned downstairs to wait for Edward. For a moment Kate had suspected that Becky had taken her upstairs not only to do her hair, but to get her out of the way while her family snuck in to decorate. Nevertheless, the house was as prim, proper and serious as it had been when Becky arrived. There was nary a cake nor candle in the place. Kate sighed as she let herself fall heavily onto the sofa while Becky went to busy herself in the kitchen.
As the clock reached four, she heard the familiar squeaks and creaks of the large wagon as it approached; going to the window, she saw Mark driving down from the hill. He pulled up in front of the house just as Edward’s runabout came into view as well up on the main road.
Kate went out to the porch and watched as Edward slowed to turn onto the long drive that ran down to the house
.
“Hi Katie,” Mark said. “Happy Birthday!”
“Thank you,” she said. “You know, I was beginning to think I’d been abandoned entirely.”
He gave her a broad grin. “Not at all,” he said. “I think you’ll be suitably impressed once you see what we’ve got planned.”
Becky came out onto the porch as Edward carefully guided his carriage into place alongside the wagon. “Afternoon, everybody,” Carter said. “Happy Birthday, Katherine.”
“Thank you, Edward,” she said. “I’m happy you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” He hopped down from his carriage and climbed the porch steps to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Well, looks like we’re ready to go,” Mark said. “All aboard!”
“We’re going somewhere?” Edward asked, his eyebrows arched. “I thought we were having a dinner party for you.”
“Don’t ask me,” Kate said as they climbed onto the wagon. “I don’t know a thing about it.”
Becky leaned forward. “Miss Taylor, one last thing,” she said. “You have to wear this.” She thrust out a large handkerchief, folded over. “You know, so you don’t see things ahead of time.”
Kate turned to Edward. “Did you know anything about this?”
He snorted. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
Kate slipped the handkerchief over her eyes. Becky tied it in back so that it held tight against her face, and the wagon started to roll.
As they started down the drive, Kate suddenly realized where they were going. We must be headed to the Tilton farm, she thought. That explains it. They were over there decorating all day. She sighed and her shoulders slumped. The Tiltons weren’t bad neighbors; in fact, the one time that they’d been over for dinner, they struck Kate as very, very nice people. Boring, but very nice. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts, I guess.
Almost immediately, however, she felt the wagon make a sharp turn and she had to reach out for Edward as she began to slide on the seat. She could feel his thigh against hers, and he grasped her hand.