by Renee Yancy
***
A few hours later, she lapsed into a semi-coma. As her breathing grew more labored, Jack didn’t leave the bedside. He prayed and softly sang her favorite old hymns. His uncle had come in silently and sat in a chair on the other side of the bed. Together they kept watch through the long hours of the night.
The first notes of birdsong in the chestnut tree had begun when she suddenly sat up in bed. “Do you hear them?’ She looked at Jack, her eyes bright, and her pale cheeks flushed a lovely pink. “Oh, it’s so beautiful...” She lay on her pillow, and a smile curved her lips. “They’re singing, Jack. Welcoming me... home...”
She gave a little sigh, and her hand went limp in his grasp.
Jack pressed her hand to his lips. “Goodbye, my dearest mother,” he said.
Chapter 10
After they returned from Paris, Mama decided the time had come to dismiss Lindy’s tutor. Now Miss Kendall’s bags sat in the great marble hall, brought by a footman, and Lindy waited to say goodbye to her tutor. A warm spring rain drummed outside the massive glass and bronze front doors of the mansion, sending showers of pink crab apple blossoms fluttering to the pavement.
Huffing, puffing, and a smothered exclamation announced Miss Kendall. She rounded the corner at the staircase landing, lugging a bulky carpetbag with a violent pattern of pink cabbage roses.
Lindy ran lightly up the stairs. “Miss Kendall, you should have called for assistance.” She took the bag from her teacher. “Oof—!” She shook a finger at Miss Kendall. “This is much too heavy for you.” She dragged the bag down the stairs and dropped it near the others, then went to take her tutor’s arm.
“Well,” wheezed Miss Kendall, “I’ve not had difficulty with these stairs before. Perhaps it’s the notion I’m going into retirement.” She pulled the lapels of her traveling jacket down. “I think I’ve collected everything.” She took a deep breath. “My, Evangeline, how you’ve grown.” Her eyes misted over. “I’m going to miss you.”
Lindy kissed her old teacher on the cheek. “And I, you.” She smiled. “What shall I do without you?” When Miss Kendall had first come to the Lindenmayer chateau, Lindy had been seven years old. Miss Kendall had seemed tall and severe then. And now Lindy towered over her teacher.
“You’ll do fine if your mother has anything to say about it.” Her brown eyes twinkled at Lindy.
Lindy grinned. “And we know she has a lot to say about it, don’t we?”
Percy entered the hall. “Excuse me, Miss Lindy. I’ve called for the carriage. It’s being brought ‘round now.”
Lindy nodded. “Very good. Thank you, Percy.”
The butler bowed and walked away. Miss Kendall glanced about the hall. “Oh, I have so enjoyed living here, Evangeline. But I won’t miss all the stairs, that’s certain.”
“Are your arrangements made satisfactorily?”
“Yes, dear. I’m going to my sister in Hackensack. Her husband died a few years ago, and she’s been lonely. Her children have all moved away. We’ll be two old ladies, sitting in our rocking chairs on the porch, watching the world go by.” She rummaged through her carpetbag and pulled out a brown paper parcel. “I have a small gift for you.” She placed it in Lindy’s hands. “I hope you enjoy it.”
Lindy pulled the paper aside to reveal two books covered in blue Morocco leather and gilt bindings. A pictorial design of elephants stamped in gold adorned the first cover and a gold python the other.
“It’s The Jungle Book, by Rudyard Kipling. I know how much you love your adventure books.” Miss Kendall winked. “I hope you’ll think of me when you read it.”
“I’m sure I will. Thank you.” Lindy threw her arms around the plump figure of her teacher and hugged her. “And I have something for you, too.” She plucked the envelope off the hall table.
“Now, I know my mother settled your account and gave you a small pension for your retirement.” She smiled at her teacher. “However, in my opinion, it was a paltry sum. So, this is from my father at my behest.” She handed the envelope to Miss Kendall. “Please, open it.”
Miss Kendall opened the envelope, removed the check inside, and stared at it. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she clutched her chest. “Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness!” Her free hand groped for Lindy. “Evangeline, I don’t know what to say. How can I ever thank you?”
Lindy patted her hand. “I wanted to be sure you had what you needed. My father said you should contact his lawyer, Roger Stone, who will help you decide where to invest it.”
Miss Kendall retrieved her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “You blessed girl.”
“No, no, Miss Kendall, please. Enjoy your retirement. You’ve certainly earned it!”
Miss Kendall nodded. “Thank you, dear.” She tucked the check into her purse. “Au revoir!”
Miss Kendall opened her umbrella and descended the stairs with a decidedly lighter step. Lindy closed the door and sighed.
Her schoolgirl days had come to an end.
***
With her father in Colorado on business and her mother away for the day on the planning committee for a Patriarch ball, Lindy had the house to herself. A perfect rainy day to spend in the library with a cozy fire and a good book. She headed up the vast marble staircase to the second floor, where she curled up in her favorite nook and opened The Jungle Book.
Sometime later, her stomach growled. The light slanting through the windows told her it was late afternoon. She had read from breakfast to teatime. The adventures of Mowgli had been so exhilarating she’d scarcely noticed the passage of time. Instead of ringing, she took the shortcut on the service stairs to the basement kitchen.
The cook and the maids were having their tea and jumped up when she appeared in the kitchen. “Land a’ mercy,” said the cook, straightening her floury apron. “It’s Miss Evangeline! We didn’t hear you ring, miss, beggin’ your pardon.”
“I felt like a walk, so I didn’t ring. Could you send some tea to the library?”
“Right away, miss.”
“Please don’t hurry. Finish your tea. I’m sorry to have interrupted you.” She went toward the back stairs, rounded the corner, and there stood a wet Mr. Winthrop, water dripping from the brim of his hat, pulled low over his eyes.
“Oh!” She had never expected to see him here, but of course, he would use the service stair at the rear of the house, instead of calling at the front. She hadn’t given any thought about how he arrived at the house. Had her mother ever seen him? The library was tucked away off a hallway, away from the more heavily traveled corridors, almost as an afterthought.
“Why, good afternoon, Miss Lindenmayer.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I ran down to order tea.”
Molly turned around the corner and stopped short. “Excuse me, miss.” She went toward the kitchen after casting one backward glance over her shoulder.
Lindy hesitated a moment. Surely offering him a bit of refreshment couldn’t hurt. “Would you like to join me?”
Mr. Winthrop’s normally ruddy face was pale, and his eyes bloodshot. He sighed. “I wouldn’t be good company for you today. I—” He broke off and bit his lip, turning as if to go.
“I insist,” said Lindy. “Please go up, and I will pop back and have a word with the cook.”
She didn’t wait for an answer but went to the kitchen and stuck her head in the door. “Nan? Would you add some sandwiches and a sweet to the tea tray? And another cup, please.”
Nan raised an eyebrow but only nodded.
Lindy climbed the stairs. Something was wrong. Of all things, it looked as if Mr. Winthrop had been crying.
***
Nan set a kettle to boil. “Did you hear that?”
Molly nodded. “That handsome Mr. Winthrop was in the hall just now. Looked upset. I guess she’s asked him for tea.”
Nan rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing her mother ain’t here. She’d
never have allowed it.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was sweet on her.”
“And her on him.” Nan returned to the wooden table where a mound of proofed dough waited and gave it a punch. “The missus would sure enough have a fit if she knew.” She flipped the dough and sifted flour over it.
“Well, I ain’t goin’ to tell her.” Molly shook her head. “I stay as far away from her as I can get. She’s scary, is what she is.”
***
Mr. Winthrop had poked up the fire when Lindy returned to the library.
“Tea will be here shortly.” She seated herself.
He nodded but didn’t speak, and stood staring into the fire. A few minutes later, Molly entered wheeling a tea cart laden with covered dishes,
“Thank you, Molly.”
The maid bobbed her head and left. Lindy pulled the tea cozy off the silver pot. Steam curled from the spout. “How do you take your tea, Mr. Winthrop?”
He didn’t answer.
“Mr. Winthrop?”
He turned then. “I’m sorry. Just a bit of cream and a lump of sugar. Thank you.” He dropped into the chair and reached for the cup. His hands shook so badly the cup clattered against the plate.
“Dear Mr. Winthrop, what is wrong?”
He swallowed hard and turned slightly away. “I don’t think I can speak of it.” He set the teacup onto the cart. “Perhaps I should go before—” He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his eyes.
“Perhaps it would do you some good,” she said gently. “What is it one of the poets said? ‘Shared joy is double joy; sorrow shared is half sorrow?’”
He looked her then, with such a world of pain in his brown eyes that she had a sudden urge to take his hand. “My mother died this week.” He caught his breath and swallowed hard.
Lindy set her cup down. “I am so sorry, Mr. Winthrop.” She touched his sleeve softly. “So very sorry.”
“It wasn’t unexpected. She had been ill for months now. But I didn’t realize, even knowing death approached, how hard it would be when it actually happened.” He twisted the handkerchief between his fingers. “I wasn’t prepared.”
How did one prepare for something like that? She had never experienced the death of a loved one. She cast about in her mind for something comforting to say and couldn’t find anything.
But he didn’t notice she hadn’t spoken again. “The funeral is tomorrow. I wouldn’t be here except I have an exam on Friday and I must study.”
“Surely they would allow you to take it at another time?”
“I didn’t ask. Mother wouldn’t have wanted me to. She was thrilled when my uncle made it possible for me to undertake my studies.” He paused. “Thank you, Miss Lindenmayer.” He smiled faintly. “I do think the pain has eased a bit, speaking with you. It just... feels so odd.”
“What does?”
“Knowing I have no parents now. They’re both gone.” He sighed. “I hadn’t realized what an empty place that would leave in my heart.”
Her own heart twisted in her chest. “I hope the happy memories you have will see you through this time.”
“Thank you, Miss Lindenmayer, for your understanding.”
“Have you eaten today?”
He blinked. “I haven’t, actually.”
“Well then,” she said, refreshing his tea. “You cannot let these go to waste.” She piled cold chicken sandwiches and a biscuit with plum jam on his plate. For a few minutes, they ate in companionable silence while the fire crackled. Then Lindy cut the gooseberry tart and gave him a generous slice.
After he finished the tart, he put his napkin down and sighed. “That was delicious. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” He stood up. “I’ll find the book and be on my way. My uncle and I are finalizing the arrangements tonight.”
“When will the service be?”
“Friday morning at ten o’clock.”
“At St. Thomas?”
“Yes.” He searched her face. “You’ve been so kind, Miss Lindenmayer.”
“I’ve tried to do what any friend would do.”
“Yes.” He smiled then, faintly. “I’m glad we’re friends.” He turned and headed off toward the east bookcase where the religious texts were kept. “Good day then.”
She smiled and nodded. “Oh wait—”
He poked his head around the bookcase. “Yes?”
“Did your mother have a favorite flower?”
He smiled then, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Daisies,” he said. “She always loved daisies.”
Chapter 11
June 1897
The dreaded social calls had begun. Lindy and her mother were at home today, ensconced in her mother’s gold and white salon. They had already received four ladies. And now the butler entered with yet another card on the silver tray and presented it to Mama. She glanced at the name. “Show them in, Percy.”
The butler nodded, and a few moments later, Mrs. Charles Goulet, her mother’s best friend, swept into the room on a wave of perfume, followed by her daughter, Madeleine. Mama and Mrs. Goulet exchanged air kisses on the cheek and sank onto the same overstuffed sofa.
Her mother waved a hand at Lindy. “Darling, why don’t you take Madeleine to your room? The trunks from Paris came this morning. I’ve sent Claudine up to unpack them.”
“Ooh!” Madeleine jumped up, clapping her hands. “I can’t wait to see them.”
Lindy allowed her friend to take her hand and tow her out of the salon. Laughing, hand in hand, they climbed the marble staircase and went along the hall leading to Lindy’s bedroom on the west side of the house, their feet noiseless on the thick Persian carpet.
Trunks reinforced with wood slates, brass hardware, and leather edging lay scattered about the bedroom. All stamped with the gold Louis Vuitton monogram, LV.
Claudine greeted them. “Bonjour, mademoiselles.”
“Bonjour.”
“So exciting, is it not? All the way from Paris.”
Madeleine surveyed the bedroom. “I’m always amazed at how Spartan your bedroom is, compared to the rest of the mansion, Lindy.”
Actually, none of her family’s bedrooms were highly decorated. Except for her mother’s, of course. A riot of lacy pink silk and carved cherubs lavished every corner of Vera’s immense bedroom.
Lindy nodded. “I know. But I like my room. It’s a haven from the rest of this monstrosity my mother has built.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, pretend I didn’t say that.”
Madeleine giggled. “But I like flourishes and furbelows.”
“I know you do.” Silken flounces covered Maddie’s dress, and she wore a huge taffeta bow on her blond ringlets. “You look like a bonbon from the bakery. All spun sugar and ribbons.”
To some eyes, Lindy’s room might be plain and ordinary, but the cream silk wallpaper and the simple lines of the furniture suited her fine. No painted boiserie here, no marble columns, no tapestries, and definitely no cherubs. Just one simple, restful painting—Capriccio Padovano by Bernardo Belloto. Watered silk draperies covering the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a banquette seat upholstered in bottle green velvet built into the window gable. “It suits me perfectly.”
Claudine gestured to the trunks. “Where would you like to start, chérie?”
Lindy shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Anywhere.”
“Oh, the ball gowns first, Claudine!” Madeleine hugged herself. “Mine should arrive any day now.
Claudine opened the nearest trunk, carefully lifting the domed lid to disclose a heap of tissue paper. Claudine untied the silk ribbons holding everything in place and lifted out the cherry-pink gown with black sable trim.
Madeleine gasped. “Oh, it’s beautiful.” She fingered the fur. “So soft.”
“I hate it.” Lindy wrinkled her nose. “But, I suppose it will keep my ankles warm.”
“Oh, you. It’s the latest style, darling.”
“I don’t care. I think it’s
awful.”
The hem had a swatch of the silk basted to it, to match the color for dancing slippers. Claudine carried the gown away, and Madeline opened another trunk to reveal a mass of silver-spangled white tulle. A white satin sash set off the bodice, trimmed with roses and pink hearts.
“Oh,” breathed Madeline. “You’ll be a vision in this, Lindy.”
“Perhaps, but a vision of what? A valentine?”
Madeleine giggled. “Very droll. A vision of loveliness, of course!” She lifted the lid of the next trunk, untied the ribbons, and rooted around under the tissue for the next gown. Yellow satin appeared.
Lindy groaned. “See what you think, Maddie.” Out came the gown with the huge, apricot gigot sleeves.
“It’s quite chic, Lindy.”
Lindy shrugged. “There’s enough material in those sleeves to make another dress. Honestly. I’ll be lucky to fit through the door sideways.”
“Oh, Lindy, you are too much.”
Claudine opened another trunk. “Oh là là! C’est charmant.” She lifted out folds of celadon silk.
“That’s the only ball gown I chose for myself.” Lindy took the dress from Claudine and turned to the mirror, holding it against her. The silver embroidery at the hem sparkled in the sunlight.
Maddie sighed. “It’s perfectly dreamy.” Then she spied a smaller trunk off under the window seat emblazoned Madame Suzy. “Oh, I adore Madame Suzy!” The first hatbox revealed a cerise silk velvet bonnet with trailing ribbons and black lace butterflies on the crown. “Oh my, it’s gorgeous. A perfect color for you, with all that glossy dark hair. May I try it on?”
Without waiting for an answer, Madeleine placed the hat on her curls and went to the cheval mirror in the corner, turning her head this way and that.
“Maddie.”
“Yes?”
“Do you ever have questions about this life we lead?”
Madeleine raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” She turned to the mirror, admiring her reflection.
“I mean this.” Lindy waved her hand over the trunks spilling their multi-hued riches. “One of these dresses cost more than a score of men earn their whole lives.”