Dear Pa,
I went swimming at the river and it was cold and Tommy said I couldn’t dive so I showed him and got wet. Ma wasn’t happy and she whipped me but just once because she’s no good at whipping. When you come I want to show you ten polliwogs I caught but Ma said they’d be frogs by then so I thought I’d write and tell you to hurry and get here. I told Ma to make you a cake and she said maybe. Well I gotta go. Come fast or there will just be frogs.
Johnny
Robert smiled, folded the letter, and put it with the others in his desk drawer. Letter day was definitely the highlight of his week.
Chapter Six
Olivia smoothed down the front of her sage-green silk dress and took a deep breath before entering the chapel. She’d never been this nervous in all her life—not while reciting poetry in school, not while singing in front of her father’s friends, and not while reading Ophelia for the dramatic society. She had no idea why she cared so much—this was, after all, just a tiny country church in a place where she didn’t even really want to be. It hardly mattered if she was a success under these less-than-ideal circumstances. Yet, her hands trembled as she pushed open the doors.
Ten women and four men awaited her in the choir loft, and the organist peeked around the music stand. Their eyes widened a bit at her approach.
“I’m sorry—am I late? Pastor Osbourne said to be here at seven, but you’ve all beaten me.”
“We were eager to meet Mrs. Clasby’s replacement,” one of the women said. She was a plump middle-aged woman with a shock of bright red hair pulled back into a bun. “Welcome to Topeka.”
“Thank you. I’m Olivia Markham, and I work over at the Brody Hotel. I’m from New York, and I’ve never conducted a choir before, but I have participated in several. I’m sure we’ll make this work somehow.” Should she have prepared a better speech? That greeting seemed so insufficient, so unprofessional.
“We’re glad to have you,” the same woman replied. “I’m Hannah Bell, and I’ll let the others introduce themselves as we go around.”
As each person spoke, Olivia was able to match their faces with the list of names she’d been given, and she hoped she’d have them all memorized before long. In the meantime, she was sure an occasional sidelong glance at her list, which was now tucked discreetly in her hymnbook, wouldn’t be noticed.
“Thank you for the introductions. To get started tonight, Pastor Osbourne gave me a list of hymns you’ve performed most recently, and said that we could have an encore performance of them until we’re ready for new material. I think that’s a wise suggestion, so I chose ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd,’ which you sang about a year ago, for our first selection. Let’s run through it a few times and see what you remember from last time.”
They were only a few bars into the piece when Olivia motioned for them to stop. “Sopranos, I think we’re struggling a bit here. Let’s have the organ play just your line at the introduction. Listen to the notes, all right?”
She ran the sopranos through that section four times, but it was no use—they each went flat, but in a different spot, and the effect was painful, to say the least. Finally, she gave up, and they moved through the song line by line.
At the end of the hour, Olivia believed that her eardrums had been punctured by something long and sharp. All she wanted was to go back to the hotel and climb into her own bed. “Thank you, everyone,” she said, forcing a note of brightness into her voice. “I believe we’re ready for Sunday. I’ll see you then.”
The various different choir members thanked her as they filed out of the building, and she took a deep breath of relief. One practice down, and how many more to go? Would she ever be able to teach them to hear the notes, and what of poor Mr. Andrews, who not only went off-key, but was forever singing the wrong words? She believed he made them up as he went along.
She gathered up her things, pinned on her hat, and made her way out of the church. Pastor Osbourne had said he’d be along to lock up the building shortly after practice ended, and that she could pull the door closed behind her as she left. She had just done so when she heard voices coming from around the corner of the building. She wouldn’t have paid them any attention, but she heard her name. Unable to stop herself, she crept closer, trying not to make a sound.
“I think she did an excellent job for her very first time.” A voice she recognized as belonging to Hannah was the loudest.
“Well, I found her to be entirely too full of herself,” replied another woman. “Constantly talking about New York, swishing her silk skirts—making us repeat the same lines over and over. She acts as though she owns the place.” Olivia believed this was Arabelle King talking, but she wasn’t quite sure.
“I didn’t find her to be full of herself,” Hannah replied. “She’s confident in her ability to lead us, and I believe that’s exactly what we need. Now come along—I’m sure Harold is wanting his bedtime snack about now.”
The women moved off, and Olivia leaned up against the side of the building. It’s rarely pleasant to overhear others talking about you, and she should have remembered that this is often the fate of eavesdroppers. Had she mentioned New York too frequently? She might have—after all, that’s where she had lived most of her life, so of course it was bound to come up from time to time. And of course she’d made a mistake with the silk dress, but she’d already worn her cotton dress to church the previous Sunday, and she couldn’t wear the same thing twice, and the sage really was the least fancy of all her silks. She had tried—she really had.
It would soon be dark. She gathered up her skirts and made her way down the sidewalk, wondering how she would fix these problems she’d caused, and also wondering if she’d ever learn.
***
“I just don’t fit in here.” Olivia sat down on the edge of her bed and studied her fingernails. They were brittle and chipped, not at all what she was used to. If her mother saw her now, she’d likely pretend to swoon. Her mother did that a lot. It became tiring after a while. “I’m too different. I’m too … New York.”
“Is that necessarily a bad thing?” Rachel asked, sitting down next to her. “I think it’s exciting. I’ve never been back east, and I love hearing you talk about the restaurants and plays and fancy stores. It’s like a whole different world.”
“And I think we could use more of that kind of talk around here.” Abigail sat down on Olivia’s other side. “When the dust is blowing and the customers are rude, it’s nice to think about places where everything’s clean and the people are polite.”
Olivia chuckled. “I must have given you a rose-colored report of the city if that’s how you envision it. New York has its problems, just like every other town. It has its nicer qualities too—the restaurants, like you say, and the opera and the theater and so forth. But there are impolite people everywhere, and dishonesty, and selfishness, and I’m sorry if I’ve made it seem like a sort of Utopia. It’s really not. It’s just more progressive in some ways.”
“What’s this? Are you saying that your precious New York might not be as wonderful as you’ve led us to believe?” Abigail bumped Olivia with her shoulder.
“I admit, I may have glossed over some of the crime and litter and a few other less-than-desirable points,” Olivia said. “But back to the matter at hand. How am I ever going to convince these people that I can lead them? You should have heard them talking about me after practice—it was more the tone in their voices than the actual words they used, but they sounded so condemning, so doubtful.”
“I think the first thing we need to do is make you some new dresses,” Abigail said. “You mentioned the other day that you only have one cotton dress that isn’t for work—you must have absolutely melted wearing silk in this heat.”
“It was a bit uncomfortable. I confess, I always thought cotton was for poor people. It never occurred to me that it might be the best choice in hot weather.”
Abigail shook her head. “You have a lot to learn about practical livi
ng. First thing tomorrow, we’re heading down to the general store to look at their fabrics. You sew, right?”
Olivia looked down at her hands. “Sew?”
“Oh, gracious! You don’t know how to sew?”
“We had a very good seamstress,” Olivia defended. “She was a widow, and Mother didn’t want to put her out of work.”
“I hardly know what to say. Sewing is a necessary skill.” Abigail shook her head again. “Well, we can help you.”
“Not everyone has to know how to sew,” Rachel ventured. “Don’t we all have different skills and talents?”
“We do, but we should all know how to feed and clothe ourselves. But that reminds me—you can’t cook, either, Olivia,” Abigail retorted.
“I’m learning! I’m learning! And I’ll learn how to sew, too, I suppose. How long does it take? Could I have a new dress in time for the picnic on Saturday?”
Abigail blinked. “Saturday? As in, the day after tomorrow? Olivia, it’s Thursday night!”
“Well, I don’t know how any of this works—that’s why I asked. How long does it take to sew a dress?”
“That all depends on how you do it. If we sew it by hand, it will take quite a while,” Rachel answered. “We don’t have a sewing machine here at the hotel, do we?”
“We don’t, but Mrs. Dempsey at the boarding house does,” Abigail said. “I saw it when we were staying there after we first got to town. We can ask her if we can use it.”
Olivia sat up a little straighter. “And if she says yes, will the first dress be ready in time? I could wear the pink one again, I suppose, but I’d rather have something new. Something a little more Kansas.”
“I agree that we need to get you some things that are more appropriate,” Abigail said. “I can’t promise anything, though. We’ve still got to get our work done here, or Miss Hampton will have a fit.”
“I bet she’d help us. I overheard her saying the other day that she used to enjoy sewing a lot when she had more time.” Rachel stood up. “Do you want me to go ask her?”
Olivia waved her hand, motioning for Rachel to sit back down. “I wouldn’t dream of asking my supervisor to help me sew some dresses when I already have so many clothes. It seems ridiculous. We can do it ourselves, can’t we?”
“We’ll need to head down to the store as soon as they open if we’re going to be back before the first train,” Abigail said. “And then every spare minute will need to be spent sewing. How much money do you have, Olivia? You haven’t spent many of your wages, at least from what I’ve noticed.”
“I have most of them. I also have a bit I brought with me.” Olivia had actually brought quite a healthy purse with her from New York, but she knew the other girls had very little, and she didn’t want to flaunt the fact that she had money. She surprised herself by having this thought—she wasn’t accustomed to considering the feelings of others when it came to finances. It had just never entered her mind.
“All right then, we have a plan. We’ll go shopping first thing, stop by and speak with Mrs. Dempsey, and then be back for the first train. We did the linens yesterday, so we’ll have a little time between trains to work on your dress, and then we can work on it more after the second train. We’ll get it finished.” Abigail patted Olivia’s hand. “We’ll make you respectable yet.”
Chapter Seven
Robert was surprised to find Mrs. King on his doorstep bright and early the morning after choir practice. She had been a member for about twelve years, far longer than Robert had even been in the pulpit.
“Good morning, Mrs. King. Please, come in, and I’ll have Mrs. Little make us some tea.”
“No, thank you, Pastor. I find I’m a bit too rattled for tea.”
That was a curious response. “Have a seat, and let’s figure out what has you feeling this way.”
Mrs. King settled into the chair across from his. “I know perfectly well what it is, Pastor, and that’s why I’m here. We need to discuss the new choir director you chose.”
Robert lifted an eyebrow as he sat. “What are your concerns, Mrs. King?”
“Well, for starters, she’s from New York, and she didn’t let us forget it for a minute. And then she made us sing the song over and over again, and she kept stopping us and telling us to do it over again. It’s like she thought we’d never sung it before in our lives.”
“I believe it is a choir director’s job to help you perfect your performance,” Robert said, trying to hide a smile.
“That may be, but I think she’d do well to remember that she’s the newcomer here, and not us.” Then Mrs. King glanced around and leaned forward. “Plus, I feel she may be a little too common,” she said, lowering her voice. “She didn’t seem to be quite refined enough for a church lady, if you catch my meaning.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Robert said, keeping his voice at its regular pitch. His office was perfectly secure, and he saw no need for secrecy anyway.
“Well, when Mr. Andrews was singing the last line, he didn’t get it quite right, and I believe I might have heard Miss Markham curse.” She all but whispered the last word.
“She cursed, did she?” Robert pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. He had heard Mr. Andrews’ creative substitutions, and he could imagine how much that would annoy Miss Markham. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I just feel that you should take this under advisement. You are, after all, the pastor, and we look to you for our spiritual leadership. Examples must be set by everyone who stands before the congregation, whether they’re giving a sermon or conducting the music. It’s the only proper thing to do.” Mrs. King’s voice grew louder as she warmed to her subject. “What do you believe you’ll do about it?”
“I believe I’ll consider it and make my decision after I have more information,” Robert said. “I’d like to see how the choir performs on Sunday, and I’ll sit in on the rehearsal next week. In the meantime, Mrs. King, I’d like to remind you that not everyone was made from the same mold, and we have the opportunity to interact with and get to know people who aren’t like us. Wouldn’t it be a shame to miss out on some valuable teaching from Miss Markham simply because she’s different?”
“Be that as it may, there’s different and then there’s inappropriate. I truly hope, Pastor, that this unhurried approach you’re taking doesn’t end up to be a mistake.”
“If it proves to be a mistake, I shall own up to it, but I believe we will be pleasantly surprised by Miss Markham. Remember, Mrs. King, that the Savior associated with everyone, regardless of their perceived social class. We can do no less than to offer others the same chances we’d like for ourselves.”
He offered Mrs. King a few other words of advice, and then said good-bye as she bustled away. Then he sighed. He saw so much good in Miss Markham, so much potential. Was he blinded by his desire to save her? What if he really had done a foolish thing by asking her to lead the choir? He supposed he’d learn the answer on Sunday.
***
Mrs. Dempsey’s boarding house was the girls’ first stop the next morning, and she was more than happy to let them use her sewing machine. “It’s a handy thing to own, but I haven’t had much time to sew as of late, so it’s just sitting there collecting dust,” she said. “Come over anytime, day or night. It’ll be glad to be of use, I’m sure.”
Olivia smiled to herself at the thought of a machine being glad. “Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey. You’re certainly helping me out of a tight spot.”
“Anything I can do for our new choir director.” Mrs. Dempsey offered a grin. “You’ve taken on quite the task. It’s the least I can do to support you in it.”
“I didn’t realize you were a member of the congregation,” Olivia said.
“I usually sit near the back, so I’m probably not very noticeable. I must say, I was very impressed with your lassoing skills last Sunday. You could give a cowboy a run for his money.” She winked.
Olivia felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’ll ke
ep that in mind if I ever need another career. Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey. We’ll be back between trains, if that’s all right.”
“It certainly is.”
Once the girls reached the general store, it was nothing but ooh’s and ahh’s. Olivia’s eye was immediately drawn to the richer colors, but Abigail guided her to the lighter fabrics, and Rachel found the thread and buttons to go with each. They were racing the clock, knowing they had to get back to the hotel and be ready to serve, so Olivia forced herself to make her decisions quickly. When they were done, they had the fabric and notions for three dresses—one yellow, one blue, and one lavender. Olivia decided the lavender one was just right for the picnic. They would use the same pattern for each, and make them different with trim. She put her bundles on her bed and scampered back downstairs just in time to greet the first passengers of the day.
“I explained to Miss Hampton what we’re up to, and she says it’s all right,” Rachel said as she passed Olivia in the kitchen. “As long as we get our work done, she doesn’t care.”
“Thank you.” Olivia grabbed a fresh basket of bread and returned to her table. One way or another, she would have a new dress for that picnic if she had to stay up all night sewing. Or, rather, if she had to make her new friends stay up all night sewing. She was entirely dependent on them for her success.
***
“You push the treadle to make the needle go up and down,” Abigail explained, showing Olivia how the machine worked. “Rachel and I will do the actual sewing for this dress, and you can watch us. Then you’ll be ready to sew the other two yourself.”
“I don’t know about that,” Olivia said, shaking her head. “This looks more complicated than I thought.”
“Nonsense. Once you’ve done it a time or two, it will be a breeze. See, Rachel’s cut out the first two pieces, so we’ll pin them together to hold them in place, and now we’ll sew them.” Abigail’s hands flew while she spoke, and Olivia could barely keep track of what was going on.
A Clean Slate (Kansas Crossroads Book 4) Page 5