“I’m fully capable.”
“I’m certain you are.”
“I didn’t even bring a maid.”
“I noticed.”
“And I learned to cook and clean and launder in my uncle’s hotel. I can work.”
“All right. You’ve convinced me.” He raised both hands in capitulation. “I retract my offer.”
She realized she was standing with her shoulders square and her chin jutting. She relented with a sheepish smile. “It’s called determination, not stubbornness.”
“No comment.”
She laughed. “I’m very grateful to you, Jovie. School has been a beast that I had no idea how to conquer. Coming alone scared me to death.”
“Then tomorrow,” he said, tugging a lock of her hair, “you and I will slay some dragons together.”
***
Waking up without Lizzie took some getting used to. The girls had spent nearly every day of their lives together. The unfamiliar hotel countered the expectation that her maid might walk into the room at any moment. Still, Emily missed her tremendously. And for all her brave words, she fumbled about like a young child. Though she did manage to dress herself, she felt sloppy and unkempt.
For that reason, Emily had packed only a single trunk containing just two of her plainest dresses. Taking classes and living on a meager income meant she would have to acclimate herself to a simpler lifestyle. It was a price she was willing to pay.
Emily patted her hair with satisfaction. She had managed to tuck most of the strands into a semi-stable chignon. If she used enough pins to secure her hat, perhaps it would hold the entire arrangement together. She grabbed her portfolio and smiled to herself as she left the room to meet Jovie. No word had reached her of any ships captured by Union gunboats the night of the fire. It pleased her to think of Lizzie strolling freely down the streets of Philadelphia that very minute.
The Maryland Institute was located in a long, two-story structure built above the open arches of the city market. It took up a full block and looked something like a ship, with a high square of classrooms forming a bow, another forming the stern, and a clock tower marking each end. The low area in the middle housed the Great Hall—the largest meeting area in Baltimore, the desk clerk told them when they asked for directions. Emily remembered it from the Exhibition she attended with her father as a child.
The sidewalk outside the school bustled with activity. Both men and women pushed through the front doors. Not high-bred socialites, but people dressed in the modest styles of the working class. She and Jovie followed a young man who carried a book in one hand and held the door open for them with the other. He gave them a cheerful smile.
“Do you know where we might find someone to speak with about admission to the design school?” Jovie asked him.
“You’ll want Professor Woodward. His office is up these stairs, second door to the right.”
“Thank you.”
The student nodded and disappeared into the building’s interior.
“After you,” Jovie said, gesturing Emily up the stairs.
Their knock brought a man with a high forehead and heavy eyelids. He smiled and extended a hand. “I’m David Woodward, principal of the Schools of Design. May I help you?”
Emily’s voice dried up in her throat; she was still in awe of her surroundings. But Jovie had no such inhibitions. He grasped the man’s hand firmly. “I believe you’re just the person we came to see. This is Emily Preston, from Charleston, South Carolina. She’s interested in applying to your school and would like some information.” He nudged Emily forward.
She curtsied. “It is an honor, sir.”
“Well now, Miss Preston, it just so happens I have a free hour. Why don’t you step into my office and I’ll see if I can answer your questions.”
He escorted them into a small room with a large wooden desk, a few chairs, an overflowing bookshelf, and scores of photographs on the walls. Emily paused to admire an image of a serene young woman resting her hands on an open book. “Did you take these photographs, sir?”
“I designed the camera.”
Emily blinked amazement.
He laughed. “I head up all the fine arts divisions, but photography is my specialty.” He gestured them into seats and sank onto his own leather-padded chair. “What field of study most interests you, Miss Preston?”
She slid her portfolio onto his desk. “Drawing and painting are the only areas in which I have any experience.”
He opened the folder and hummed to himself as he flipped through several of her sketches. “Mmm-hmm. Very nice. May I ask what you plan to do with your degree after school?”
“I haven’t thought that far into the future. I assumed I would be exposed to more possibilities when I entered the program.”
“True, though it helps to have an idea of what you’d like to accomplish before you plan your courses. We have two programs of study available. Our industrial classes meet in the mornings from nine o’clock until noon and are intended for those who wish to pursue a career. Our fine arts classes meet in the evenings three days a week. While they are open to professionals and amateurs alike, the focus is less driven. Many of the ladies who enroll wish to improve their skills but have no plans for employment following graduation.”
“I definitely fall in the first category.”
“In that case, you’ll begin with courses in basic drawing.” He flipped another page of her portfolio. “After you pass your examinations, you will advance to a more specific field of study such as lithography, wood engraving, or textile design. The length of your enrollment depends on the number of fields in which you choose to obtain a certificate of graduation. Our school year runs from September through July and is broken into consecutive quarters of twelve weeks each. We close in August for a four-week summer holiday.”
He paused to lift a letter from her portfolio. “Who is Mr. Thomas Wilson?”
Emily fidgeted in her seat, scowling at Jovie when he chuckled. “It’s—uh—me, sir.”
“You?” He peered at her in surprise and then glanced from her to Jovie. “I see there’s a story here. Perhaps you’d like to explain.”
Emily could feel color stealing into her cheeks. “My father is strongly opposed to the idea of higher education for women. So I applied secretly to a correspondence course through the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. I used the name Thomas Wilson—so my father wouldn’t find out and to ensure that my work would be given a fair showing.”
His eyebrows lifted. “I see.”
“I thought it rather like a pen name. I had to determine whether my talent held merit before I burned any bridges to pursue it.”
“You received high marks,” he said, indicating the letter.
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Woodward folded his hands on the desk and regarded her steadily. “Has your father changed his mind and agreed to let you attend the Institute?”
“Not exactly.”
He pursed his lips and tapped on the portfolio thoughtfully. “While your methods have been unconventional, I do admire such a level of commitment in a student. I’d like to help you as much as I am able.” He met her eyes. “We do our best to keep tuition affordable. We’re subsidized primarily by private donations and by the proceeds of our annual Exhibition. Your cost is only $6.50 per quarter. But without your father’s blessing, I assume this might still prove to be something of an obstacle. Am I correct?”
“I’m determined to return as a student next fall, whatever it takes.”
“Very well.” He pulled a catalog from his bottom drawer and set it on the desktop. “Then I think you’ll find this most helpful. It includes all the degrees we offer as well as course listings and fees. And,” he added, scrawling something on a piece of paper, “while you’re in the city, I think you should visit Mrs. Edith Calkins, who runs a boardinghouse within walking distance of the school. She’s a lovely widow woman who charges affordable rates. Several of our young women ha
ve resided with her.”
Emily accepted the address gratefully. “Thank you, sir.”
“My pleasure.” Mr. Woodward rose. “While you’re here, would you like to see the facilities?”
“Very much! Thank you.”
Half an hour later, after touring the building, hearing anecdotes about several of the instructors, and learning many of the opportunities the school provided, Emily felt absolutely certain that her choice was the right one. Into this moment of resolution, however, Jovie inserted one quiet caution. “What can you tell us about the state of hostilities in the city, Mr. Woodward?”
The principal sighed. “I assume you’re referring to last spring’s riot.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened?” Emily demanded.
Mr. Woodward peered at her sorrowfully, his heavy eyelids giving the impression of weariness. “There was an altercation between Union soldiers and Confederate sympathizers. Sixteen died. And skirmishes with police continued for several weeks. It prompted a general call for Secession, but Lincoln suspended the writ of habeas corpus. Most of the fellows who oppose him—as well as half the state legislature—are now sitting in jail, and Maryland remains in the Union.”
Emily’s eyebrows lifted. She knew a few military confrontations had erupted last summer and autumn, but coming from the birthplace of Secession, she had underestimated the tensions elsewhere.
Jovie looked at her soberly. “Maryland’s a border state and fairly split in its loyalties. I just wanted you to be aware. And to be careful. Baltimore is much closer to the battlefield than Charleston.”
She swallowed hard and nodded, but the information in no way shifted her decision.
Mr. Woodward led the way to the top of the stairs. “I intend to do all I can to keep the school open during our present conflict. I hope to see you in the fall, Miss Preston. If you have any questions, you can write to me at this address.” He pointed out the information on the first page of the catalog.
“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Woodward.” Emily could feel Jovie’s hand at her back. It boosted the confidence already flooding through her. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“My pleasure. Enjoy your Christmas holiday.”
***
They stopped at Mrs. Calkins’ boardinghouse next. It was a modest saltbox with neatly pruned bushes and a wide front porch. A gray-haired woman, as prim as the front yard, answered their knock. “Hello.” She smiled. “May I help you?”
“I’m looking for a Mrs. Calkins at this address,” Emily said. “Mr. Woodward from the Maryland Institute sent me.”
“You’ve found her.” Mrs. Calkins opened the door wider. “Won’t you please come in?”
She ushered them into a dining area painted daffodil yellow, with creamy curtains at the window. “I prefer this room to the parlor,” she explained. “It’s less solemn. Would you care for tea? The kettle is always hot.”
“Yes, thank you very much.”
“Sit down. I’ll be back momentarily.”
Jovie pulled out a chair for Emily. “I like her,” he whispered, settling beside her. “She seems a regular grandmother. Like your Aunt Margaret only…”
“Not as rough around the edges?”
Jovie laughed. “That’s it.”
Mrs. Calkins returned with a tea service and a plate of cookies and poured them each a cup. Then she sat down across from them and smiled. “I assume you’re a prospective student looking for lodging?”
“I am,” Emily confirmed, “but not for the upcoming term. I’ll be starting in the fall.”
“Well now, that’s just fine. I have four rooms I let out. The smaller two are single occupancy and rent for one dollar a week. The larger two go for a dollar fifty, but that can be split between two people. Meals are an additional fifty cents per person. Laundry service is not included, but my residents are free to use my washtub at their convenience, provided it doesn’t interfere with meal preparations.”
Emily glanced at Jovie. “That sounds more than fair.”
Mrs. Calkins beamed. “Let me go over rules. And when we’re done with our tea, I’ll give you a tour.”
***
At dinner that evening, Jovie presented Emily with a plain white envelope. “What’s this?” she asked, dabbing her mouth with her napkin.
“Two tickets to see The Robbers tonight at the Holliday Street Theater.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open. “When did you do this? I was with you all day.”
He smirked. “Except for a brief moment after returning from Mrs. Calkins’ illustrious boardinghouse.”
Emily laughed. The modest rooms were hardly distinguished. “Be nice,” she scolded. “Mrs. Calkins was very sweet.”
He chuckled and dropped his lofty manner. “While you were freshening up, I inquired at the desk about entertainment venues this evening, since we’re leaving tomorrow. The clerk informed me that the Booth family is here in town performing in a play called The Robbers. I sent someone to purchase tickets immediately.”
Emily gasped. “The Booths? You mean Edwin and John?”
“The very same.”
She clasped her hands in delight. “Sophia saw them once in Charleston. She said John is positively…” She paused. Beautiful might be the wrong word to describe the famous actor to Jovie.
“Yes, I’m quite aware of my sister’s infatuation,” he said dryly. “Nevertheless, I was at the same production and the brothers were both very entertaining. I am eager for tonight’s show. Would you care to join me?”
“Need you ask? Oh Jovie, thank you!”
Emily prepared for the outing with anticipation. In return for all Jovie had done, she would be the perfect companion and enjoy their last night in Baltimore to the fullest. Floating down the stairs, she took his arm with a radiant smile, and they strolled the few blocks to the theater.
Jovie gave the tickets to an usher, and they were led up the stairs to the theater’s second level. “You paid for a private box?” she whispered.
“We’re celebrating your soon-to-be college career, aren’t we?”
Emily flushed with pleasure. Even with her simple dress and precarious hair, she felt elegant as the usher opened the door of the tiny room. They settled on a cushioned settee with an unobstructed view of the stage.
The curtain rose and the performance began, and Emily quickly lost herself in the story. John Wilkes Booth was just as delightful as Jovie promised—and every bit as handsome as Sophia intimated. Emily had no problem believing him the defrauded count-turned-criminal, Karl De Moor.
At the end of the three-hour performance, Emily rose pensively, sorry their magical holiday must come to an end. Tomorrow would see them back on the train—she on her way to Charleston’s burned-out ruins and Jovie en route to the front. The two days in Baltimore had been a single, perfect jewel in the ash heap of war.
They stepped out into the darkness. The night was chilly—Maryland in December was far colder than home. Sharp air nipped under Emily’s wraps and seeped into her skin, but it also chased away the weariness that had begun to drag at her eyelids by the end of the long performance.
Jovie, too, seemed reluctant to bring the evening to a close. “Shall we stroll for a block or two and see more of the city before we return to our rooms?”
She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. “I’d love to.”
He set off on an alternate route than the one that brought them to the theater, and conversation swirled thickly between them. “Did you enjoy the play?” he asked.
“Very much, though I prefer a happier ending.”
“Which did you like better, Karl or his brother Franz?”
“Karl, most certainly. The poor man. Swindled out of everything and forced to become an outlaw. I felt sorry for him.”
“He wasn’t forced into it. He chose to become a robber and a murderer.”
“Only after his father rejected him,” she objected. “And then he did it with
pure motives, to help the poor and fight injustice. Like Robin Hood.”
“I thought he was something of a chump, actually.”
“You didn’t like the play?” she asked in surprise.
“I enjoyed it immensely. But if I begged my father for forgiveness and received a reply so out of character, and written in my brother’s hand, I’d certainly return home and look into the matter before throwing away my future in a fit of temper.”
“But he was so dashing and gallant. It was hard not to love him.”
“Are you speaking of Karl or Mr. Booth?” Jovie teased.
She blushed. “Karl, of course.”
“So,” he pressed, “the moral of the story is, be dashing and gallant because your sins will be more readily forgiven than those of a conniving sneak.”
“Oh, you’ve twisted the whole thing!”
He laughed. “Not me. It is a skilled playwright who can command his audience’s affections in such a way.”
Emily shivered and clutched her cloak more tightly around herself. They looped around the downtown area, fascinated by the scenery through which they passed and exclaiming over the architecture lit up by the city’s many gaslights. Baltimore was larger than Charleston, exotic and fanciful. Emily was drawn by its unfamiliarity. It seemed a fresh, welcoming world that she could step into with assurance. Before she was ready to relinquish her fantasy, the hotel came into view.
Jovie opened the door, and a mantle of warmth encased them. They passed through the lobby and up the stairs where Emily paused to face him outside the door to her room. “This has been such a fairy tale trip. I feel as though I could be a princess right out of a book.” She sighed wistfully. “I don’t want to go home to face the ruins, or my aunt, or my parents. I wish now that I had packed everything I own and moved here permanently.”
“You could stay.” Jovie’s face was ruddy from the cold wind, and his coat still carried the scent of fresh air. He lifted a lock of hair off her shoulder, and she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “Mrs. Calkins had an open room. I could loan you some money until you found work.”
Blood Moon (Ella Wood, 2) Page 4