The Test of Gold

by Renee Yancy

  “Will there be a funeral for Uncle Kurt?”

  Papa shook his head. “Already taken place. Last Thursday. Emma will be arriving at Wasahana this week. Poor child.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll talk to Henry. Perhaps they’d like to come to New York for Christmas. Meet the rest of the family?” He raised an eyebrow at Mama.

  “Of course, Otto. I’ll send an invitation right away. It’s a good thing we’re returning early. So much to do before the debut. I’ll need every extra minute to be ready.” She glanced at Lindy. “Six weeks until your debut. Are you getting excited?”

  Lindy carefully placed her teacup onto the saucer and didn’t answer immediately. “Mama, I’m not sure how I feel about the debut.”

  Her mother frowned. “How you feel? What on earth do you mean, Evangeline?”

  “I mean, I’m not as excited about it as you are.”

  Mama’s mouth dropped open. Her father lowered his newspaper and peered at her over his spectacles.

  Lindy swallowed hard. “I’m not at all sure I want to be presented to society.”

  “Wh—WHAT?” Mama sputtered. “Are you being impertinent, Miss?” She glared at Lindy.

  Lindy shook her head. “No. But there never seems to be an ideal time to discuss it. I should have spoken sooner.”

  Her father laid the paper on the table. “Then, let’s discuss it now.”

  Mama slammed her hand on the table, and the silver rattled. “What is there to discuss, Otto?” She turned to Lindy, the loose knot on top of her head quivering. “You’re making your debut next month, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Lindy struggled to remain calm. As a child, she had done whatever possible to stay in her mother’s good graces and avoid her formidable temper. But she couldn’t avoid it now. “I’d like to go to college.” There. She’d said it.

  Mama’s eyes bugged open. “College? What put that idea into your head?”

  Mr. Winthrop did, but I can’t say that. “More women are enrolling now.”

  “Not the women in this family.”

  Lindy sighed. How could she make her mother understand?

  Mama turned to her father. “Well, Otto? Do you have anything to say about this?”

  Papa stroked his chin and considered both of them. “It’s possible you could do both.”

  Vera heaved an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes.

  “Hear me out, Vera.” He turned to Lindy. “Your mother has dreamed of your debut for so long. It would be cruel to change the plan now.”

  Mama nodded.

  “Make your debut as planned, and then we can discuss the possibility of college afterward.”

  Her mother’s head swiveled around. “Afterward? Not possible. The London season! I have it all planned.”

  “Well then...” Papa rubbed his chin. “The following year. Would that be acceptable, Vera?”

  Her mother smiled faintly. “Perhaps.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned to Lindy. “Perhaps you’ll meet your prince and fall in love. Then you’ll forget all about college.”

  I’ve already met him.

  Lindy blinked. She had tried so hard to forget Mr. Winthrop this summer, and he popped into her head as if he was next door.

  “What wrong, sweetheart?” Papa laid a gentle hand on her arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Chapter 14

  New York City

  Lindy woke early the morning after the return trip to New York, even though they had arrived home quite late the night before. A herd of escaped cows loitering on the train tracks in Connecticut had resulted in a wait of several hours before the farmers rounded up the stray bovines.

  She pushed the coverlet aside, rang for Claudine, and went into the closet where the day dresses Mama had chosen in Paris sat neatly on the shelves in their muslin bags, the sleeves and skirts stuffed with tissue paper and sandalwood sachets to keep the moths away.

  Not blue. Perhaps the pink? The pink silk faille had narrow sleeves and a deep yoke of lace on the bodice. She pulled the muslin aside on the next dress. Pale lavender and cream stripes peeped out. That might do. She pulled the dress out and went to the cheval mirror to hold it against her when Claudine arrived, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep.

  “Bonjour, chérie. Up early, no?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you so early. Could you help me dress and then go back to bed?”

  “Back to bed?” said Claudine. “Your Maman would have my head.”

  “She won’t be up for hours. I’d dress alone if it weren’t for that infernal corset.”

  Claudine’s gaze focused on the day gown in Lindy’s hands. “You’ve chosen your own outfit?” She cocked her head to one side and scrutinized Lindy. “What are you up to so early, chérie? And why the sudden interest in what you wear?”

  “No particular reason.” Lindy turned away. “Let’s begin so you can go back to sleep.”

  Claudine clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Very well.”

  Lindy washed her face and hands, donned a clean chemise and unmentionables, and turned so Claudine could lace the corset.

  When she finished, Lindy measured her waist with her hands. “I think it could be a bit tighter.”

  Claudine’s eyes widened. “Qu'est-ce que ç'est? Tighter? The girl who can’t breathe in her corset suddenly wishes it tighter? What has happened to you overnight?”

  Mr. Winthrop happened. “Perhaps I’m beginning to take more of an interest in my appearance, as Mama wishes. After all, I will soon make my debut.” If only Claudine would stop asking questions.

  “Very true. Well then.” She loosened the laces and pulled tighter.

  “Oof.” Lindy gasped. “Too much.”

  “Non. This is perfect.” She lifted the mass of lavender silk and dropped it over Lindy’s head before she could protest again, then buttoned her into the bodice. “Lovely, chérie. You have quite a neat figure now.”

  Lindy stuck her tongue out, and Claudine laughed. “Come, let me do your hair.” She unplaited the long braid and ran the brush through the mass of waves and ringlets.

  All night Lindy had fought with herself over whether she would go to the library this morning. And then as soon as her eyes opened, she had jumped out of bed and gone to look at the day dresses. I have to see him. The good intentions of the last eight weeks faded away, and the butterfly in her stomach multiplied into a whole brood.

  ***

  When she reached the library, she stopped, took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders before opening the door. No Mr. Winthrop in the leather chair near the fire. She hummed a little tune, thinking he would pop up from the sofa where he sometimes reclined.

  But the only person in the library was a maid dusting the books in the historical section, who murmured a “Good morning, miss” and scurried out.

  Lindy sank into a chair and then hurriedly straightened when the corset edge bit into her hipbone. The walnut bookcases gleamed in the bars of pale sunlight streaming through the leaded windows. Perhaps it was too early? She checked the clock. Seven a.m. Poor Claudine. Lindy hoped she had gone back to bed.

  She jumped up and went to the casement window facing Fifth Avenue. Though early, horse-drawn carriages filled the street, and pedestrians hurried on the sidewalks toward their destinations. Pressing her face against the glass, she examined the pavement for a solitary figure in a frockcoat. But Mr. Winthrop was nowhere to be seen.

  Perhaps classes weren’t held during the summer. She bit her lip. She hadn’t considered that. September was two weeks away. Maybe she should keep her resolution and give up seeing him.

  She gritted her teeth and steeled herself against peering out the window again.

  Honestly, Lindy, have some self-respect.

  She tossed her head and marched to the door, pushing it open with considerably more violence than necessary just as someone pulled it open from the other side. Lindy stumbled and crashed through the doorway, knocking her forehead on the solid oak, barely aw
are of a tall figure that grasped her arms to keep her from falling in a heap.

  “Miss Lindenmayer! Are you hurt?”

  Her vision went white at the corners and then cleared to reveal Mr. Winthrop gazing at her, his brow furrowed. The heat of his hands burned through the thin silk of her sleeves, and her knees buckled. Mr. Winthrop dragged her to the nearest chair and snatched up a magazine lying on the library table to fan her.

  Her head hurt like the dickens. Surely there would be a bruise. How would she explain that to her mother? She groaned, and Mr. Winthrop threw the magazine down.

  “I’ll call for your parents.”

  “No!” She tried to keep the note of panic out of her voice. “No, don’t. I’m fine.”

  He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “Are you quite sure?”

  With an effort, she sat up and tried to appear normal. “Quite sure.” Of all days to ask Claudine to tighten her laces. She could barely breathe for the smothering constriction around her ribs.

  Mr. Winthrop plucked his hat off the floor and sat down, smiling ruefully. “I am so sorry, Miss Lindenmayer.”

  Lindy rose and stood on tiptoe to check her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. A purple lump the size of a walnut had risen on her forehead. She had definitely gotten the worst of it.

  “How will you explain that to your mother?”

  Lindy laughed. “She already believes me to be clumsy. I shall tell her I absentmindedly walked into a wall or something. She says I’m as ‘graceful as a gazelle,’ but of course she means exactly the opposite.”

  Mr. Winthrop fiddled with the band on his hat. “You’re in the library quite early this morning. I didn’t think you were leaving Newport until next month.”

  So, he remembered when she would return from Newport. She sank into her chair. “The hurricane. My mother wanted to come home early.”

  “Oh.” He nodded.

  Now what? Mr. Winthrop sat across from her, but all the scintillating conversation she’d thought to have with him had flown out of her head, along with any semblance of gracefulness.

  Her head hurt. She sighed. Before she saw her mother, she had better get some ice on it. “I must go.”

  He stood when she did. “Please take care of yourself.” He paused. “I look forward to resuming our book discussions.” He smiled. “I have a few new suggestions for you.”

  His eager face raised a lump in her throat. “Mr. Winthrop, I...”

  “Yes?” He took a step closer, and she caught the faint scent of sandalwood.

  “I won’t be able to spend my spare time in the library much longer. My debut is looming in a few weeks, and my social calendar is full.”

  “Oh, I see.” He nodded. “Of course. And afterward?”

  “I’ll be going abroad for the London season. I’m not sure when we’ll return.” She gritted her teeth. Might as well say it now. “And then, if I meet a man my mother approves of...” She broke off. She should never have come to the library this morning. What had she been thinking? There was no chance that she and Mr. Winthrop could ever be together. She should have stayed away and let their affair of the heart die a natural death.

  The smile dropped off Mr. Winthrop’s dear face. He swallowed hard and twisted his hat in his hands.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she shook her head fiercely. I can’t cry now. She clenched her hands so tightly, her nails pierced her palms. “I have so enjoyed your company. But this must be...” She couldn’t say the words.

  He searched her face. “Goodbye?”

  She ducked her head, not trusting herself to look into his eyes.

  “Miss Lindenmayer, it has been my great pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope you will continue to think of me as your friend.”

  She nodded mutely.

  “At a difficult time in my life, you gave me something to hold on to. So, I will leave you with this verse, from Shakespeare.”

  His fingers gently raised her chin then, and the tears overflowed as she looked into his eyes. “‘I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good friends.’”

  He released her chin and put his hat on. “Goodbye, Miss Lindenmayer.” A moment later, he slipped silently out the door.

  “Goodbye, Jack,” she whispered.

  Chapter 15

  Jack strode along the sidewalk, heedless of the foot traffic. She had said goodbye. And she had wept. Was it possible she had feelings for him? He could barely consider it.

  And then, of all the confounded things to do, he left her with the verse from Shakespeare. She must think him a ninny. A fop.

  He should have declared his love for her right then. He halted, turned on his heel, and ran straight into a brawny workman carrying a tin lunch pail, which made crunching contact with Jack’s kneecap.

  “Watch where you’re goin’, fella!”

  The workman straightened his cap and hurried around Jack, who stood irresolute.

  Should he go back now? But she wouldn’t be in the library, would she? She’d have had to attend to the bump on her forehead.

  He’d missed his chance. He probably would never see her again.

  Unless it was in the society pages of The New York Times.

  Chapter 16

  September 1897

  “Come along, Evangeline. They’re here. I saw the carriage pull around the back.”

  Her mother rose and smoothed her skirt. Lindy hid a smile as she realized her mother was tightly laced and rather short of breath as a result. Mama hadn’t inherited the tall athleticism of her German ancestors but possessed a figure more like Kartoffelknoedel, the German potato dumplings she was so fond of. Hortense, her mother’s French maid, must have had a frightful time pulling the corset strings tight enough to suit her mistress.

  “We’ll receive your aunt in my salon.”

  Lindy followed her mother across the marble hall. Yes, her mother had definitely taken pains with her figure this morning. Her waist looked at least two inches smaller. It could only be due to the arrival of Aunt Gertrude.

  Her mother’s Pomeranian greeted them when they entered the salon. Mama perched on the edge of a straight-backed chair instead of reclining on her usual place on the chaise lounge, and the confused lap dog ran in circles, yapping at her feet. Her mother pushed a tendril of hair off her face. “Is it hot in here, Evangeline?”

  “Not really, Mama. Here.” Lindy retrieved a magazine from the chaise lounge and fanned her flushed mother. “Better?”

  “Yes. I think so.” The Pomeranian jumped at her skirts, whining. “Not now, Lily.” Mama pushed the dog away with the tip of her shoe. “Go lie down.” Whimpering, the Pomeranian slunk away to its satin pillow by the window.

  Doors slammed outside the salon. Mama slowly got to her feet and straightened her figure, elongating her neck and thrusting her shoulders back.

  Papa opened the door for Aunt Gertrude, who strode in, cloaked in black Persian lamb with a matching toque. “Vera, how lovely to see you again.”

  The two exchanged kisses before Gertrude turned to Lindy. “My goodness, Lindy dear, you’re all grown up.” She held Lindy’s hands out to the side and examined her with a merry smile. “She’s enchanting, Vera. She’ll be the belle of the ball. What a lovely family, Otto. You’ve done well for yourself.”

  “Please, Trudy, sit down.” Papa urged her into a comfortable chair.

  “I’ve sent for tea,” said Mama. “How was your journey?”

  “Lovely. Beautiful weather, coming from Buffalo, and all the trees in their glorious colors.”

  A gentle knock sounded at the door, and Mary Ann rolled the teacart in.

  “Thank you, Mary Ann.” Mama dismissed the maid with a nod and began to serve.

  Lindy sipped her tea and studied her aunt. Ruddy-cheeked, with the same deep-set brown eyes and silver hair as her brother. Rather a long nose for a woman, but it seemed to suit her. A pair of silver-rimmed pince-nez perched at the end of it, and she had strong ey
ebrows and a decided chin. All in all, not beautiful, but striking. You would certainly notice her in a crowded room.

  She shed the Persian lamb coat and hat, revealing a sleek traveling suit of silver-gray tweed. Lindy nearly choked on her tea. Aunt Gertrude wasn’t wearing a corset. The tiniest bulge of middle-aged fat rolled at her middle in the loose traveling suit, and she had no waist to speak of. At least, not the tiny hourglass waists seen in New York society, on young women and old alike. Mama’s lips pressed together primly. Obviously, she’d noticed the same thing.

  “Have a cookie, Aunt Gertrude.” Lindy picked up the plate and passed them to Aunt Gertrude, trying not to meet her mother’s gaze.

  “Oh no, thank you, dear.” Aunt Gertrude set her cup down. “I think I’d like to get settled in my room, and then I’m going to take a long walk. Would you like to join me?”

  “You can’t be serious, Gertrude,” Mama protested. “No fashionable woman walks in New York. You can take my carriage. I’ve a lovely new pair of matched fillies.”

  “No, no, no. I’ve been sitting all morning on the train.” Gertrude stood up. “I need some fresh air. Lindy?”

  Lindy didn’t dare look at her mother. “Certainly, Aunt Gertrude.”

  “Very well, then.” She looked at her watch. “Three-quarters of an hour ought to be enough to get settled.”

  “I’ll come to your room then.”

  “Perfect!” She glanced at Lindy’s feet. “Mind you wear something sensible to walk in, dear.”

  Mama rose, her head held high. “Allow me to show you to your room. I’ve put you in the Michelangelo suite.”

  They left the salon. Papa looked at Lindy, and his silver mustache quivered. “It’s going to be an interesting visit.”

  ***

  Lindy rang for Claudine. Of all the numerous ball gowns, tea gowns, and afternoon dresses her mother had ordered in Paris, several walking suits had been among them, meant for the season in London. And suitable shoes. She went into the dressing room and searched the rows of silver dancing slippers, velvet bedroom mules, leather boots, and ankle half-boots. There they were, on the bottom rack. A two-tone, flat-heeled pair of leather shoes.