by K. B. Owen
Concordia grinned and gave her a careful hug so as not to muss her dress. “You look beautiful, dear.”
More than beautiful—radiant, she thought, admiring the short-trained gown of elegant ivory satin overlaid with antique lace. A simple circlet of pearls adorned Sophia’s light hair, and she carried a bouquet of orange blossoms.
With no father living, Sophia had decided to keep the procession simple, with Concordia preceding the bride as the organist played the Wedding March. Concordia was glad she wasn’t the center of attention; it was a bit unnerving to have so many eyes fixed upon her merely in passing. She concentrated on not tripping over her hem.
As they got to the chancel steps, Concordia caught a glimpse of a patchwork-colored tail swishing behind a vase. Oh dear. Eli’s cat had decided to join the wedding party. Wherever Eli was, the cat was sure to follow, Concordia knew. But she had to admit, the creature had been the saving of the boy—and herself—last year. She could only hope it wouldn’t wreak havoc today.
The bride and groom hadn’t noticed. Sophia only had eyes for Capshaw, who stopped shifting his long legs to take in the sight of his bride. Concordia realized she had rarely seen an out-and-out grin on the typically somber-expressioned policeman. She felt as if she had intruded upon a private moment between the two as she stood so close to them.
Her throat prickled with a mix of emotions: joy for her friends, awe at the union between them, and uncertainty for herself. Would she ever feel that way toward a man? She stole a sideways glance at David Bradley, sitting in the front row between Sophia’s stepmother and sister. Or did she already feel that way? If so, was she willing to sacrifice her independence for love?
As if aware of her gaze, David turned to Concordia with softened eyes. Oh, this was trouble. The man was getting ideas.
A loud crash made everyone turn to see Eli’s cat bolting through the debris of flowers, water, and the ceramic shards of what was once a large vase. With a final acrobatic leap, balancing briefly upon the enormous hat of a shrieking lady, it fled through a window.
Several men rushed forward to help as the unflappable minister observed the event with nary an “oh my.” Sophia had a gloved hand to her mouth, doing her best not to laugh. Eli looked aghast, and Capshaw pulled him away from the cleanup.
“No matter, son,” he said, keeping a firm grip on the boy’s shoulder. “Your place is here with me. You’re my best man, remember?” Eli gulped and stood up straighter.
Capshaw really has a way with the child, Concordia thought. She wondered if he and Sophia might adopt him. That was a happy ending she’d dearly love to see.
At last, the mess was cleaned up, the vows were spoken, and the ceremony was over without further incident.
Concordia stood to Sophia’s left in the receiving line as the happy couple greeted their well-wishers.
Soon David Bradley appeared at her elbow, followed by several ladies Concordia recognized from the settlement house. She made the required introductions.
“Are you acquainted with Mr. Bradley? He’s a childhood friend of the bride, and godfather to Sophia’s little sister.”
The women nodded politely.
David gave a courtly bow. “Have you found a replacement for Sophia?”
The ladies exchanged blank looks.
“Now that she’s a married woman,” David added.
“Oh, no, indeed, Mr. Bradley,” one woman huffed. “Sophia is irreplaceable. We would be lost without her.”
David’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “But she has other responsibilities now: a husband, a home to run...later, a family.”
Concordia plucked at the folds of her gown to hide her irritation. Although she understood how impractical it would be—absurd, even—for a married woman to have an independent life outside of the home, it rankled that a lady would be expected to abandon her former life like last year’s worn jacket. Was any endeavor taken up during one’s single years simply a way of marking time until a marriage proposal came along?
“Miss Wells?”
“Hmm?”
“What is your opinion of Sophia working once she’s married?” the head of the settlement house, Martha Newcombe, demanded.
David looked at her expectantly.
Drat.
“We-ell, I’d say it should be decided between the couple,” Concordia said.
David waited for more. Concordia turned away slightly, giving her attention solely to Miss Newcombe.
“We know she won’t be living at the settlement house, naturally,” Miss Newcombe was saying, “but Sophia has told me she intends to remain in charge of the kindergarten program, make her usual rounds of the Colt factory workers’ housing, and speak at the occasional suffrage rally.”
Concordia glanced back at David. Judging by his expression, he was either wincing at the thought of suffrage rallies, or he’d caught a pebble in his shoe.
“She certainly has a talent for the work,” Concordia said, smoothing her skirts and looking around.
And with that, David and the ladies moved down the line to congratulate the Capshaws.
Her mother and Mr. Flynn—the man was taller and leaner than Concordia had realized while he was sitting down—came along next.
“Concordia dear, your dress is absolutely lovely,” Letitia Wells said, admiring the duchesse satin of soft myrtle green, adorned with pale green tulle rosettes at the sleeves.
Concordia smiled. “Thank you. Sophia helped me pick it out.” And thank goodness for that. Rarely could Concordia find a shade that suited her green eyes, unfashionable red hair, and pale, freckled complexion. Fortunately, she didn’t have much need of ball gowns and other fripperies at the college.
Her mother nodded in approval. “So much nicer than those plain skirts and horrid shirtwaists you usually put on. And you’ve done your hair differently. You should wear it that way all the time.” She turned to Mr. Flynn and shuddered. “She inevitably has a pencil stuck through a topknot.”
Concordia bit back a retort and said instead, “Mother, why don’t you introduce me to Mr. Flynn before informing him of my customary manner of dress and comportment?”
Mr. Flynn laughed aloud. “Ah, Miss Wells, ’tis grand to make your acquaintance at last. Robert Flynn, at your service.” His voice had a melodic, Hibernian lilt that Concordia found mesmerizing. He took her hand and made a gallant bow over it. “Your ma’s after talking about you so much, I feel I know you already.”
Mrs. Wells flushed. Concordia nodded politely. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Flynn. Have you lived in Hartford very long?”
“So I have, a number o’ years now,” Flynn answered. “‘Tis a fine town, though a shame it is that I didn’t meet this lovely lady all the sooner.” He gazed warmly at Letitia Wells, which made the woman blush more deeply and shake her head.
“You see how Mr. Flynn turns on the Irish charm,” Mrs. Wells said in mock severity. “Don’t encourage him.”
With a nod, Concordia’s mother and Robert Flynn moved on to speak to the Capshaws.
The line had thinned as guests climbed into carriages for the reception.
Mr. Flynn, now on the outside steps conversing with Capshaw, turned his head abruptly toward the far side of the street. Concordia, Sophia, and Capshaw followed his glance.
A woman in her late twenties, standing on the periphery of the crowd, was staring at them.
“Do you know her, Robert?” Mrs. Wells whispered to her companion.
Flynn turned away with a shrug. “I cannot say she looks familiar. I suppose something about her caught my eye.”
Concordia didn’t have to wonder at that. The woman was ordinary enough in appearance, thin and slightly-built, bundled in a shabby gray wool coat against the February chill, but the intensity of her gaze made her stand out. She interacted with no one, a still pebble in a stream of people.
“I don’t recognize her, either,” Capshaw said.
Concordia felt a vague uneasiness as she realized that the wo
man seemed to be staring at Eli in particular. When the lady noticed the group was watching her, however, she quickly turned on her heel and hurried away.
“Does anyone know her?” Sophia asked. She stooped to point her out to Eli, but when they turned back, she was out of sight.
“How odd,” Capshaw said.
CHAPTER FOUR
Week 3, Instructor Calendar
February 1898
Concordia lingered at the Adams’ house as the reception came to an end. After the other guests had left, she went looking for Sophia. She found the new bride in the sitting room. She was slumped upon a chaise, shoes tossed aside and stockinged feet tucked under her. Concordia grinned at the sight.
“Getting a respite at last?”
Sophia grimaced. “You have no idea how my feet hurt. And I am tired of talking. Who knew these functions could be so exhausting? I’d rather address a hostile auditorium of people who think women have the intelligence of dairy cows than chatter on with genteel society over punch bowls and cheese plates.” She closed her eyes.
Concordia remembered the early demands of her sister’s marriage. “You’d better get used to it,” she said mildly.
Sophia opened her eyes briefly and waved toward a chair. “You should sit, too. Your shoes don’t look any more comfortable than mine.”
Concordia didn’t need a second invitation. She set down the plates she’d collected and sank gratefully into a padded chair. Neither spoke for a few moments.
“Have you seen Aaron?” Sophia asked.
“He and Eli are out looking for the cat. The animal hasn’t been seen since it bolted from the church.”
“It’s as good an excuse as any to get some fresh air, I suppose,” Sophia said.
Concordia nodded. Although fresh air in mid-February was bound to be quite bracing, she knew young boys could get restless at public functions. She noted the lengthening shadows outside. “I hope they return soon.”
“I know Eli’s attached to the animal,” Sophia said, “but I’m not looking forward to sharing quarters with it.”
Concordia sat up straighter. “You’ve decided to adopt Eli? How wonderful!”
Sophia smiled. “Once we’re back from New York, we’ll get the process started.”
“The ladies at the settlement house are under the impression that you’ll still be working there,” Concordia said. “Is that true?”
Sophia nodded wearily. “Aaron and I have had several discussions about it. I must continue my work.” This was accompanied by that characteristically-stubborn tilt of her head.
“What did he have to say to that?” Concordia asked.
Sophia sighed. “It took a little persuading, but he understands that my work is just as valuable as his. He gets called out at all hours, investigating cases. Why should I sit at home alone, of little utility, when I’m needed as well?” She gestured toward the darkening windows. “Would you mind drawing the curtains?”
Concordia crossed over to the windows, lost in thought. Capshaw’s willingness to adapt to such an unconventional arrangement was surprising to say the least. In the two years Concordia had known the man, she’d lost track of the number of times he would sigh, shake his head, and claim not to understand the unorthodox ways of “college people.”
“I hope he knows how to cook his own supper,” Concordia said over her shoulder as she tugged at the draperies.
She turned back from the window. “But seriously, Sophie, how will you manage a child, a new marriage, and your settlement work? That seems a formidable challenge.”
“Not that it’s any concern of yours how I run my life,” Sophia answered tartly, “but Eli will have his lessons along with Amelia, here at my stepmother’s house. He can stay here whenever Aaron and I both have to be out. We’ve found a brownstone a few blocks away that we can afford.”
“I see.” Concordia sat down again.
The silence lengthened. The mantel clock sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness.
“I’m sorry,” Sophia said.
“I know, dear.”
Sophia got up and began to pace the room. “It’s all so nerve-wracking. I cannot believe I’m...married. I love him; I couldn’t imagine ever walking away from that. But so many changes…. I should be braver than this.”
“You’re the bravest person I know,” Concordia said firmly, “but you cannot pretend this isn’t going to profoundly affect you. Your life will never be the same.”
Few among us heartily embrace change, Concordia thought, even when we know it’s what we want. We cling to the familiar. Even those like Sophia, who crusade for change. Because when it’s your own life, it’s different.
The parlor door pushed open and Capshaw walked in. He smiled briefly at Concordia, but made a straight line for Sophia, joining her on the chaise and planting a kiss on her forehead.
“I should go,” Concordia said, starting to get up.
Capshaw waved her back into her chair. “I need to speak with you.”
Sophia sat up. “Where’s Eli?”
“At the settlement house. We did find his cat—finally. But it was getting late, so I brought him back there first.”
“Sophia tells me you two are going to adopt Eli,” Concordia said. “Congratulations.”
Capshaw smiled. “He’s a wonderful boy, and deserves a family of his own.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Concordia asked.
“I have a favor to ask you,” Capshaw began, hesitantly. He glanced over at Sophia. “When Eli and I went out, we saw that same stranger—the woman who was staring at us after the ceremony, remember?—lingering near the side gate. When I approached to find out her business, she ran off.”
“That’s certainly disturbing,” Concordia said. “What do you want me to do?”
“We leave by the nine o’clock train tomorrow morning, and don’t return until next Saturday,” Capshaw said. “I’m uneasy about Eli during that time. My impression is that the woman is interested in him in particular. It will be difficult to reach us in a timely way. Since Sophia’s family will be gone this week as well, I told Martha at the settlement house to contact you if there’s a problem.” He gave her a small smile. “You’re the only family we’ll have nearby.”
Concordia was touched. “I’d be happy to help. Did you tell Martha about the woman?”
Capshaw shook his head. “I didn’t want to alarm her unnecessarily. I merely asked her to keep an eye on Eli. He may feel lonely with us gone. And I told the boy to stay close to the settlement house in the meantime, and not wander off.”
Sophia’s brow creased. “Should we cancel our trip?”
“I’ve asked the district patrolman to keep an eye on the settlement house,” Capshaw said, “and I’ll send a note to Sergeant Maloney before we leave, to see if he can find out more about this woman.” Capshaw patted Sophia’s hand. “Eli will be fine.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
To start my quiet.
Othello, I.i
Week 3, Instructor Calendar
February 1898
Concordia was enjoying a rare opportunity for quiet reading in her quarters at Willow Cottage. The girls were off at their various pursuits, with Literature Club, basketball, and ice skating being the most popular at the moment.
She relished the peace—no thumping over her head, no illegal cooking, no screeches. Just silence. Even Ruby was out shopping. The steam heat radiators and the bedside clock were the only background sounds; so soothing....
She was startled awake by a banging on the front door. Mercy, how long had she been asleep? She sheepishly smoothed her skirts and adjusted her hairpins as she hurried to the front door.
“May I help you?” Concordia asked the short, stocky man on the porch.
“Ahm lookin’ fer Ruby,” he said, sucking at a toothpick between his teeth.
“Who are you?” Concordia couldn’t imagine Ruby having dealings
with such a man. He was decidedly unkempt, his barrel chest straining the buttons of his grimy pea-coat, his bushy gray beard untrimmed and harboring the remnants of his last meal. Concordia felt a twinge of sympathy for him, though, noting the deep scars across his balding head and the missing left ear lobe. Thank goodness the students weren’t around to see. Why hadn’t Clyde stopped him at the gate?
“Ne’er ye mind who I am, li’l miss,” he sneered down at her. Concordia’s eyes watered at the stink of cheap liquor on his breath. He waved a scrap of newspaper under her nose. “Jes’ tell the famous Mrs. Hitchcock that I’s come back. She’ll know.”
Concordia couldn’t imagine how the man had gotten past the usually-vigilant gatekeeper, but she couldn’t allow him to run around loose on campus.
She had an idea. “Are you hungry? We’re serving dinner shortly, in the dining hall.”
The man wobbled a bit, but grinned. “Lead the way, li’l lady.”
Concordia grabbed a shawl from the coat rack and wrapped herself in it. The air was bone-chilling cold, but with any luck, she wouldn’t be out long. After latching the door, she took him back over the paths, but instead of the dining hall, she led him to the gatekeeper’s cottage.
“Hey! Wot’s this?” the man demanded as Concordia knocked on Clyde’s door.
Clyde stepped out. “Yes, miss?” His look swept over the drunkard in alarm. “How’d ya get in here? I told ya to get lost!”
“Can you please show this...gentleman...out, and make sure he stays out?” Concordia asked.
Clyde showed a gleam of gaping teeth beneath his bristled mustache, and put one burly arm around the man’s neck, twisting his wrist behind his back with the other. “Let me show ya where the trolley is, my good sir.”
As the stranger was being marched toward the gate, he glared over his shoulder at Concordia. “This ain’t over,” he growled. “I’ll remember yer conniving ways. I ain’t gonna be bested by a bitty thing like you.”