The Pursuit of Lucy Banning,A Novel (Avenue of Dreams)

by Newport, Olivia

  8

  Then it’s settled,” Lucy said to her family at luncheon on Saturday. “Everyone plans to be engaged for the afternoon and evening.”

  “Are you sure you and Daniel don’t want to join us at the Glessners’?” her mother asked.

  “I’m afraid Daniel and I have other plans.” Just not together, she did not add aloud.

  Mentally she was leaping at the chance to be alone in the house with access to her father’s library. The truth was Daniel would be busy all day and into the evening, wooing a new investor for the bank.

  “Father, if no one is going to be home, why not give the staff the evening off?” Lucy suggested.

  “I’ll need Elsie when I get home,” Flora protested.

  “And Archie will have to see to the horses,” Oliver added.

  “Yes, but forgoing dinner preparation and serving would relieve the staff of considerable work for a few hours. Why not let them enjoy a half day on their own?” Lucy put her own dinner at risk with this suggestion, since no one would prepare her evening fare, but the midday meal had been filling enough to carry her until the next morning.

  “I suppose there’s no harm in it,” Samuel said. With a glance he authorized Penard to dismiss the staff for a few hours.

  Lucy thought they’d never leave! Now she sat in the brown leather armchair in her father’s study, holding a book of replications of neoclassical paintings of a century ago with their hallmark order and clarity. The book had been on Samuel’s shelf for years. This was Lucy’s chance to study it without evoking questions about a sudden interest in art. She wondered if she dared take it upstairs to her room. Would her father even miss it? Considering that only two days ago he was flustered about a mislaid paperweight—which still hadn’t turned up—Lucy decided it was wise to confine her exploration of the book to the study.

  Lucy stared at an image meant to illustrate the tremendous strides Russian painters had made in technique and style during the Enlightenment, but she couldn’t get Daniel out of her mind. Despite their quarrel at breakfast the day before, Daniel had arrived in an ornate carriage promptly at five-thirty in the afternoon and they took a leisurely ride to the lakefront. Lucy had suggested the outing because the lake was one of Daniel’s favorite places to relax, and apparently the mere anticipation of it had soothed his nerves. He loved the shoreline at Lake Forest, but when it was not possible to go to the lake house, he feasted on the view of the lake in Chicago. By the time he had appeared at the Banning house, it was as if the morning never happened. Rather than badger her about setting a wedding date, he recounted humorous episodes at the bank—and Daniel could tell a good story. Lucy was glad to hear him laugh, and she laughed with him. Rather than disparage her work at the orphanage, he imagined how he would approach painting the October sky hanging over Lake Michigan with its multifaceted gray hues.

  Daniel had a discerning eye for color and brushstrokes, though he had not lifted a paintbrush since before he went off to college. One of his last projects was to illustrate a children’s chapter book as a gift to Lucy. He’d taken apart the binding, added a one-of-a-kind illustration for each chapter, and had the book rebound. She still had the book in the bottom drawer of a dresser in her suite. By the time it dawned on Lucy—still a girl at the time of the gift—that Daniel had given up art, he insisted he was not returning to a hobby of his youth. He was a banker, not a painter, he told Lucy, and he had to stay focused to succeed. Nevertheless, she enjoyed imagining with him on the rare occasion he let his artist self peek out.

  He was Daniel at his finest on Friday evening. Lucy was reminded of all the reasons Daniel could be as appealing as he was to so many people, and how easy it would be to slip into life at his side, on his arm, as his wife.

  But she wouldn’t, of course.

  Lucy turned a page in the art book and tried to refocus with a fresh image.

  She and her brothers were planning a surprise anniversary party for her parents in a few weeks. Daniel and his parents already were wound up with pleasure just thinking about the event. After the party, Christmas would soon be upon them, and the two families always spent the holiday together. And of course the New Year’s festivities would be grand. Daniel would have a list of balls they could choose from, and most likely they would drop in on several of them, saving their favorite for the stroke of midnight.

  Could she really stay engaged to Daniel until after New Year’s for the sake of a peaceful holiday season?

  In the silence, Lucy easily heard the horse clip-clop to a stop on the brick outside the house. She lurched from the chair and craned her neck at the window to see Leo and Will stepping out of a carriage. What are they doing here? She couldn’t be found in her father’s study. Lucy slammed the art book shut, shoved it into its spot on the shelf, pushed her textbook under a cushion, and scampered down the hall to the parlor, where she picked up the far less conspicuous Dictionary of Needlework. She saw out the parlor window that the two men were headed for the front entrance.

  Leo threw open the front door and glanced in the direction of the parlor. They all did that, Lucy knew. The family’s first impulse when arriving home was to look and see if anyone else was home—even when no one was supposed to be there. Lucy found herself staring at both Leo and Will.

  “Lucy!” Leo pulled off his calfskin gloves. “I thought you were out with Daniel.”

  “Not at the moment,” Lucy responded.

  “I can see that. Since you have time on your hands, you can entertain Will for a few minutes.”

  Will put his hands up. “Please, don’t let me disturb you.”

  “It’s no disturbance.” Leo spoke for Lucy, a characteristic that had irritated her for as long as she could remember. In this instance, however, he was right.

  “It’s no trouble,” Lucy agreed.

  “I’ll only be a few minutes. I just need to change. Will has never been boating on Lake Michigan, and I intend to rectify that.” With that assurance, Leo took the marble steps two at a time, leaving Lucy and Will to stare at each other.

  Lucy stood up rather belatedly. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. Please do come in and sit down.”

  “Are you quite sure I’m not disturbing you?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “What are you reading?” Will sat stiffly in a side chair.

  Lucy laid the needlework book down on the side table, front cover down. “Nothing, really. Just something I picked up to pass the time.”

  Will glanced around the room. “Your mother has done a remarkable job in here.”

  Lucy chuckled. “Yes, she would like to think so, but as you can probably imagine, she had the help of an expensive decorator. Just like everyone else on Prairie Avenue.”

  “It’s such a curious neighborhood,” Will remarked.

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “Oh, I mean no offense, of course,” Will said quickly. “It’s just that I find the architecture fascinating. So many well-known architectural firms have taken commissions here—Burnham and Root, Treat and Foltz, Cobb and Frost. And one look at the Glessner home tells me that Henry Hobson Richardson was not afraid to distinguish himself, as he always did. He was based in Boston, but his influence is far-reaching, even after his death six years ago.”

  “It seems you’re quite the student of Prairie Avenue,” Lucy observed.

  “No one with aspirations in architecture can ignore Prairie Avenue. One can easily imagine this neighborhood will be an attraction to visitors who come to Chicago for the World’s Columbian Exposition next year.”

  Lucy leaned slightly toward Will. “Between you and me, it does seem a bit much sometimes. Every now and then I calculate how many orphans could be housed in one home on Prairie Avenue—probably without inconvenience to the families who live here.”

  “The orphanage is lucky to have you,” Will said. “I mean that.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” Lucy said. “I have no home of my own, no money
of my own. I have very little control over anything, when you get right down to it. I’m holding out to call time my own and spend it as I choose—with the children who have so little.”

  “Perhaps when you’re married you’ll have other resources at your disposal as well.”

  I doubt it, Lucy thought. Aloud she said, “I’m so sorry not to offer you refreshment. I would ring for a tray, but we’ve given the staff the day off.”

  “No bother. Leo promised this would be a quick stop.”

  “He seems to be welcoming you to Chicago with gusto!”

  “Leo does everything with gusto, but I’m sure you know that.”

  “Yes. As a little girl, I always wanted to be where Leo was, because it was sure to be more exciting than my needlework or lessons.”

  “Then you know well why I enjoy your brother and allow him to whisk me around.”

  Lucy laughed, and just then Leo appeared in the doorway. A straw boater hat topped off the striped blazer and flannel trousers that Leo, like all the young men of Prairie Avenue, wore on boating excursions. He cocked his hat on his head, showing off the silk hatband.

  “While we’re all here,” Leo said, “let’s sort out this art exhibit business. How about Tuesday evening?”

  “It turns out I must be at the disposal of my employers that evening,” Will said. “Some last-minute business before the fair dedication. How about Monday?”

  “I have a department dinner at the university that night,” Leo said. “It’s sure to be full of boring speeches, but I’m told it’s mandatory. Wednesday will be busy with fair preparations, and Thursday is sure to be crowded with the fair dedication on Friday.” He paused thoughtfully. “Lucy, I know it was your idea to go, so why don’t the two of you go on Monday without me?”

  Lucy and Will spoke at the same time.

  “Oh, I’m not sure—”

  “I don’t think—”

  Leo interrupted them both. “I know. Lucy is an engaged woman, and even if she weren’t, propriety demands you have an escort.”

  “Leo, it’s not . . .” Lucy felt herself blushing against her will.

  “I have the same mother you have,” Leo said. “So here’s what we’ll do. I will escort you from the house on some pretext, and we’ll meet up with Will at the gallery. Then I’ll duck out to my boring dinner and meet up with you a few hours later and bring you home. In the meantime you and Will can gawk and gaze to your heart’s content.”

  “Leo, might that be overly duplicitous?” Lucy’s pulse beat faster at the thought.

  “You could ask Mother to go with you,” Leo teased.

  “Don’t you dare,” Lucy snapped.

  “Or Daniel.” Leo’s green eyes lit.

  “Daniel has a wonderful eye for art,” Lucy said, surprising even herself.

  “He just doesn’t find it practical,” Leo said. “He won’t go without protest. You’ll never get out of the house on your own in the evening. If you genuinely want to look at these paintings, you’re better off with Will.”

  “That’s all true. However, a chaperone would be safer than your shenanigans,” Lucy said. “Perhaps Aunt Violet?”

  “Yes, possibly, if you feel you must have a chaperone. But Will is quite keen to go, you know.”

  “Do I get a vote in these arrangements?” Will asked.

  Leo grinned and raised an eyebrow.

  Will turned to Lucy. “Miss Banning, my friend has asked me to escort his sister and it would be my pleasure to do so. May I see you at seven on Monday evening? We will of course enjoy the company of your aunt.”

  “Good, then it’s all arranged,” Leo said. “I’ll talk to Violet myself. Come on, Will, we have to get moving. The lake can get choppy in the afternoons this time of year.” He tipped his hat to Lucy. “We’re off to the new Columbia Yacht Club. I’m trying to persuade Father to join.”

  And before she could protest further, Lucy was once again alone. With a sigh of surrender, she returned to the study and pulled her book off the shelf to resume her study. As she turned the pages to find her place again, Will’s features mingled in her view of every painting.

  Will Edwards was simply her brother’s friend. Leo had brought many young men home with him over the years, and none of them had ever made Lucy think twice about Daniel Jules. She had known she would marry Daniel as surely as spring gives way to summer. Her future with Daniel Jules was not imperiled because of Will Edwards. Lucy was certain of that. After all, she had met Will only three days ago, and she had been testing her feelings for Daniel for weeks.

  Lucy’s realization of how she felt about Daniel was indistinct. She didn’t have a list of reasons not to marry him. She harbored no ill will toward him and in fact held cherished memories. Clearly he would be a successful banker and offered her a comfortable life. In time she was sure she could broker an agreement that allowed her some involvement with the orphanage. All she had to do was make it seem advantageous to Daniel, which she was confident she could do. Their families would continue flowing in and out of each other’s lives.

  Still, it would not work.

  Lucy sighed again, this time in fatigue. The words and pictures in the book were not sinking in. Maybe a short but brisk walk would help. Lucy reached for the miniature tin hammered box where her father kept his business cards. She wanted one for a bookmark. He fastidiously had kept the box on the same corner of his desk for at least ten years.

  But the box was not there. Not on the desk. Not on the credenza. Not on a bookshelf. Not in a drawer. Lucy was sure she had seen it on Thursday.

  Was it possible Samuel Banning was not as forgetful as the family chided him for being? Or perhaps far more forgetful than any of them imagined?

  Lucy put the book back on the shelf without a bookmark, picked up her textbook, walked down the hall to the foyer, and started up the steps for a cape to wear outside.

  That’s when she heard it. It stopped almost as soon as it started, a soft mewing, faint but earnest. Lucy froze on the stairs and cocked her head to listen. Nothing. Richard had been nagging to get a kitten, and Lucy wouldn’t put it past him to sneak one into the house. Her skirts swished as she began to move again.

  There it was. She stilled her skirts and held her breath.

  And it came again.

  It was no kitten. With countless hours at the orphanage, Lucy knew the cry of a newborn when she heard it. Deftly she moved through the dining room toward the sound, and once again it suddenly silenced.

  By now she was sure the sound had come from the kitchen, beyond the butler’s pantry that linked the dining room and kitchen. The staff was supposed to be out. No one should be in the kitchen. As a child, Lucy had not been allowed in the kitchen. Once, when she was eight and wandered into the butler’s pantry out of curiosity about the smells wafting into the dining room, Penard had pounced on her, turned her around, and marched her out. Her mother sternly admonished her to stay out of the kitchen. Lucy hadn’t been through those doors in years. In reality, she still was not allowed in there.

  But that sound!

  She would only know for sure if she did the unthinkable.

  9

  Lucy stood at the door to the butler’s pantry, one hand clutching her textbook and the other tentatively raised to push the door open. She stood perfectly still, lest the rustle of her skirts mask the slightest noise from within those mysterious walls. But the sound had stopped and several minutes passed—long enough for her to think perhaps it was nothing after all. Lucy shifted the book, using both arms now to press it against her chest as she held her breath. No baby’s cry reached her ears, but the more she listened, the more Lucy believed someone was in the kitchen. Mrs. Fletcher would make no effort to silence ordinary sounds, nor would Penard or Archie or Bessie or Elsie.

  Charlotte.

  The new maid was the unknown factor.

  Muffled shuffling made Lucy lean into the door with one shoulder. Quickly she crossed the pantry and ducked through the shorter,
broader door to the kitchen. She peered in—and gasped.

  “Charlotte!” Lucy couldn’t believe what she saw.

  Charlotte sucked in her breath and clutched her bundle closer. She sprang out of her chair at the table where the servants ate. “Miss Lucy! Please, miss, I can explain—”

  “You have a baby!” Disbelief and intrigue fused in Lucy’s hushed voice. She moved toward the quilt in Charlotte’s arms. The baby cooed.

  Charlotte exhaled and offered no further resistance. Lucy saw the tear eking its way out of Charlotte’s left eye. Charlotte could have been any number of young women who appeared at the orphanage, stricken, bereft of any option but to place their children in care because men had run off or died or never been husbands in the first place. Every week, Lucy saw them arrive, terrified and agonized at having reached their last option. She took their names and whatever false address or employment information they might leave and opened files on their offspring. The children might be newborns or toddlers or nearly ready for school.

  The art book slithered out of Lucy’s hands to the table as she reached out to fold back a quilt corner. “He’s so young!” she marveled. The baby’s startled blue eyes stared at her out of a serious plump face topped with brown feathery fuzz. “But how are you possibly managing a baby? Penard would never have taken you on if he knew.”

  “I know, miss. I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t. And Henry is so little trouble.”

  “Where have you kept him?”

  “In a carpetbag in my closet.”

  “Charlotte, you must know you can’t possibly keep him here.”

  “Yes, miss.” Charlotte swallowed hard. “I had to start working before I can board him.”

  “You have no money?”

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “Have you arranged a place to board him?” Lucy probed.

  “No, miss. I can hardly bring myself to think of it.” Charlotte leaned forward and kissed the top of Henry’s head.