by Micki Miller
At a quick flash of light, brighter than the last, Penny shot a low glance toward the window. The storm beat against the house on spasmodic gusts of wind. Rain was coming down so hard she couldn’t even see the clouds, just water snaking rivulets down the glass, mimicking the tears on so many of the faces around her. Thunder boomed again, louder, closer. Still, more people arrived.
Snippets of conversation penetrated the bellows of the storm and murmur of low-spoken voices.
“Such a kind man.”
“A lovely man.”
“Active in the community.”
“Charitable.”
Every word was true. Not a single person had anything but praise for her father. He was a good man, pure and simple. The injustice of his death was maddening.
And then, in the quiet of her immediate surroundings, as no one was now speaking to her directly, Penny picked up varying versions of “Whatever will happen to her now?” Some of the voices were sympathetic, cushioned with heartfelt concern. Other comments bore an edge that felt honed.
Subtly, she cocked her head, listening to what she could hear between offers of sympathy and the blows of the storm. What she heard in those hushed conversations, surely not meant to reach her ears, left her equally ashamed and surprised. Did these people who she’d known all of her life really think her so helpless? For that matter, Penny considered after some raw thoughts had their way with her, were they even wrong?
Papa had taken good care of her. That was certainly true. She supposed he also over-indulged her a bit. Well, more than a bit. After her many shopping trips to Kansas City, she had far more clothes than she actually needed. The spare room hosted her bounty. Her collection of bonnets was so grand they required a cabinet all their own. Papa found that amusing, as he did all her extravagances. It never failed to make him smile whenever she flounced downstairs to show off some new item for him.
She’d gone to a wonderful finishing school in Boston. She was the only girl in town afforded such a luxury. Her father’s reasoning was sound. He simply wanted her to learn all of the refined skills of being a lady since she had no mother to teach her. He always worried and fussed about making up for what she didn’t have.
There were times when Pearl made an effort to dissuade her from adding to her collection of frills. Pearl said it showed her in an unfair light, that others might be envious, some downright jealous. But she liked the nice things Papa so enjoyed buying. However, it was possible Pearl’s argument held some validity.
Her papa was good to her, certainly, but he hadn’t disabled her. He never allowed her to behave in an unladylike way. He saw to Penny’s manners and raised her to think of others, made sure she was involved in many of his charitable endeavors. From the bits and pieces Penny picked up every time the storm took a breath, well, they were making it sound as if she couldn’t so much as lift a spoon to her mouth without her father there to assist her.
It was true that anytime she had a problem, he handled it for her. He took care of everything. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do for herself. He just, well, it was so easy to let him handle things, and it made him feel good to do for her. It assuaged the guilt he carried for having raised her without a mother. Their lifestyle worked well for both of them.
Papa hadn’t pushed her too hard to marry, even though most of her friends had already. Clarisse, her closest friend, had given birth to her first child shortly before Christmas. Penny had to admit, when she held Clarisse’s baby girl something tugged her toward adulthood. She glanced to where Clarisse sat across the room holding her tiny daughter while others fussed over the sweet little thing. Maybe someday soon she would be ready.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t have suitors. Every time there was a dance, some young man, if not several, asked her to go. If there was any serious courting, however, she shunned it and them. None of them flared her interest. They didn’t give her a lasting fascination. They weren’t like the heroes in some of the dime novels she liked to read in between the more thought-provoking tomes. Besides, she saw no point in rushing into marriage. Her life was happy and full. For the time being, she was perfectly content spending her days reading books, tending her wardrobe, giving tea parties, living her life just the way it was.
Or rather, the way it had been.
The storm eased up a bit, though the respite lasted less than a minute. It was long enough to give Celia Carter, who along with her husband Jeb ran the mercantile, enough time to reaffirm her reputation as the town busybody. Celia’s voice cut through the brief lull and wedged deep into Penny’s consciousness.
“Penny might be well off to go live in a convent,” Celia said. “It would do her good to learn to live without so many luxuries.” Jeb, more aware of the sudden quiet than his wife, shushed her with words the storm rose up to cover.
Lifting her gaze, Penny took a furtive scan of the room. Everyone was dressed in black. The parlor looked like a room full of rainclouds. It had begun to feel that way, too. Did they all think like Celia, she wondered.
Just because she liked nice things, because she hadn’t taken a husband and made a home for herself, well, that didn’t mean she couldn’t. It didn’t mean she was unable to manage the running of the household and her life without her father handling every little problem.
Her mind flashed on her father, sitting at his desk in the study one room over, signing papers after carefully reading every word. Maybe Celia wasn’t so very wrong. The dismal truth grayed as her new reality flashed behind her eyes, vivid as the sparks of lightning outside. What were all those papers? She hadn’t a clue what kind of household business was contained in the pages that sat there right now, or what she was to do about it.
Penny suddenly realized she didn’t even know how much money they had. She knew her papa had savings and investments. What were they? What should she do with them now? How would she even learn about such things now that he was gone?
Coleen O’Conner, the Irish widow who ran a boarding house, sat down beside her and interrupted the growing jumble in her mind. Coleen, a woman well into her forties had a full face that seemed a necessity so she could express all the kindness she held within her stout body. The tan she got from working her vegetable garden all spring, summer, and fall never faded much during the winter. She was a robust, healthy woman who had smiles aplenty and was never too busy to share them. Her husband had been gone for nearly ten years now, dying suddenly when his heart gave out. That was when she started renting rooms to make ends meet.
Coleen took Penny’s chilly hands in her warm, plump ones. “I know, along with the grief comes the worry. I can see it on your face. Things seem bleak now. Believe me, I understand. After my Benjamin died, I had to learn a whole new life. I didn’t think I could. For a while there, I just didn’t know what would become of me. I suppose you’re feeling a bit of that now, aren’t you, girl.”
Penny nodded, liking, as she always did, Coleen’s foreign accent. The lilt of her speech made everything she said sound magical. It did surprise her, though, hearing such a confession. Coleen was a paragon of strength and perseverance. As far as Penny could remember, she always had been.
“We women are stronger than we’re led to believe,” Coleen said with a firm nod of her head, making her graying red curls bounce. “That includes you, Penny dear.”
Coleen squeezed Penny’s hands and gave them a little pump. “My Aunt Claire used to say a woman is like a fine bag of tea. Put us in hot water, and you’ll see just how strong we really are.”
Penny smiled at that; shocked she was able to do so, and hopeful, too.
“I’m going to go help Pearl in the kitchen. We’d better start putting some of that food out for people to eat,” Coleen said, before giving Penny a mighty hug. Then she spoke into Penny’s ear. “You’ll do fine, love, now that it’s required of you. You’ll see.” Then she leaned back a little and took Penny’s wan face in her hands. “You come by and visit with me when you’re feeling up to it. I’ll make a
pot of tea, and we’ll have us a good long talk.”
Before Penny could give an answer, Coleen was already making her way through the crowd toward the back of the house. At the thought of an afternoon with Coleen, a pinprick of light shone through her gloom. Yes, she would indeed go for a visit, and soon. They had much to discuss.
The front door opened on a rain-spattered gust, drawing Penny’s attention. Bentley, the man who had been beside her when her father was murdered, hurried in from the storm. With him was his mother, Wilhelmina. She was a tall, broad woman, at least a head above her son, which always made him look like a child when they walked next to each other. Wilhelmina patted her coffee-colored hair, wrapped up into a bun so severe it caused her eyes to slant. Pearl took their coats and umbrellas. Bentley found Penny in short order and sat down beside her, a tad too close, with his thigh resting against hers.
“Penelope, how are you faring?”
“I…I’m doing better, Bentley. Thank you.” She leaned back a little. The pomade slicking down his mousy-brown hair caused her empty stomach to roil.
“Penny…” Bentley started. Pain drew in his face and he dipped his head.
“It’s all right, Bentley. No words are necessary.”
He covered Penny’s small hand with his. The chill of the storm crawled like an icy current from Bentley’s skin, nipping a shiver all the way up her arm. He squeezed a little too hard, and his bones made an indentation in the back of her hand. Penny looked into his small eyes, close-set to a pinky-thin nose, as if to match his face, though the golden hazel color softened the harshness of his features. He pressed his lips together until they were a mere slash above the shallow quiver of his jaw. Her heart ached for Bentley. He was hurting, too.
Bentley had shown an interest in Penny, even escorted her to a dance once. She didn’t share in his attraction. He was a soft-spoken man of twenty-six with a good future in banking, but Penny always sensed an inner sharpness to him, as if the creases in the neat press of his clothing were a form-fitted cosmetic to his character.
Her father thought Bentley was a nice young man, and she was just making yet another excuse to avoid a second date. Her papa had probably been right. After all, she did conjure reasons for every other suitor who’d come to call. And Bentley was ever the gentleman. Still, an attraction to him simply wasn’t there.
“But, Penelope…” Bentley started again.
This time his mother cut off his words. Wilhelmina stood before them so tall she looked to be standing on a crate, which gave the illusion of her looking down her nose at Penny. Or maybe it wasn’t an illusion. Wilhelmina had always been polite to her, but never kind. It was as if she worried over her son’s attraction because she thought Penny unworthy. Though, considering the rein she held over her son, she probably wouldn’t approve of any woman.
Wilhelmina tipped her head toward Bentley and spoke loud enough for the others to hear her over the storm. She was, in reality, making a speech to the crowd of mourners.
“Bentley, my brave, brave boy. When I think of what might have happened to you! You’re so very heroic.”
Bentley colored before replying in a lower voice, “Now, mother, I only did what anyone in my position would have done.”
“You could have been murdered!” Bentley’s mother trilled, and then shifted a quarter turn toward the quieting assembly while lifting her reticule as if to offer proof of her next statement. “I’ve taken to carrying smelling salts!” She then turned toward Penny and looked down without tipping her head. “Penelope, I hope you appreciate how fortunate you are. My Bentley laid down his life for you!”
Bentley looked ready to crawl under the sofa and in that moment, Penny felt sympathy for him. He’d lost his father to a riding accident almost two years ago, not long after he began working at the bank. Since then, his mother made him her entire world. Or, rather, she had taken over his world. Penny suspected his mother was the reason he gave up courting her. Not that she minded, since she didn’t share feelings with Bentley, but she was sorry for him just the same.
“I hope,” Wilhelmina continued. “You properly thanked my son for risking his life in order to protect you.”
Had she thanked Bentley? She couldn’t remember. Likely not, though. Turning to him now, Penny said, “Your mother is right, Bentley. You put yourself between that killer and me. It was a very brave and gallant thing for you to do. Thank you.”
Bentley sat up straighter, clearly bolstered by her praise. “I would give my life to protect you. I only wish I could have protected your father.”
“Oh, Bentley, there was nothing you could have done. I was there. I know.”
Bentley’s head dropped a bit as he sighed, nodding slightly. He then looked back to her. “You’re still wearing that damp dress. You really should go and change before you catch a chill.”
“I’m near enough to the fire, so it’s beginning to dry.”
Bentley appeared concerned, but he let it go. Having nothing more to say to each other, they just sat, wedged in a silence that offered no easy exit. Pearl called everyone into the dining room where she and Coleen had laid out all of the dishes. A line formed at the end of the table, and in minutes the mourners were sitting wherever they could, though most had to stand, eating from filled plates.
At Penny’s insistence, Bentley left her to get a plate for himself. She politely declined his offer to return with one for her. Pearl handed her a plate, though, urging her to eat. Penny choked down a couple bites of jam-covered bread, but mostly she shuffled the food around with her fork so it would look like she’d eaten.
As people drifted out, Penny stood by the door and thanked them for coming. Everyone was kind, offering help if she needed it, promising to stop by and check on her. Coleen folded her into her mighty arms again and repeated her invitation for tea. Penny promised she would be by soon, and she meant it. She was interested in hearing some more of Aunt Claire’s wisdom.
The storm had dwindled to a light rain, but the air was damp and infused with a portentous chill. All Penny wanted to do was to slip out of her soiled mourning clothes, crawl into her bed, and burrow beneath every blanket she could gather. She closed the door, partially glad they were gone so she could grieve in private, and yet she dreaded turning around to face an empty house. Not completely empty, she realized with a small degree of comfort, cocking an ear toward the kitchen. The wonderfully mundane sounds of Pearl washing the dishes drifted back. Once finished, though, Pearl would go to her own home, and then Penny would truly be alone.
Her hand slipped from the door. Penny hoped to be asleep by then.
“Penny.”
His voice startled her, and she spun around in a rustle of black crape to see Bentley standing only a few feet away.
“Bentley. I thought you and your mother had gone.”
He gestured toward the parlor, and Penny took a few steps to peer into the room. Wilhelmina slouched in a tall-backed chair, head tipped to the side, slack mouth drawing in deep breaths.
“Is she all right?” Penny asked.
“Oh yes, just napping. I’ll wake her in a few minutes. I’d hoped to speak to you alone first.”
“Oh, Bentley, I’m very tired. Couldn’t it wait?”
“It could,” he said with a businesslike tug on his vest. “But I think it best to settle a thing or two right away.”
Penny nodded and allowed Bentley to lead her back into the parlor and seat her on the same sofa where she spent most of the afternoon.
“I want you to know I’m not going to abandon you, Penelope. I’m here to take care of you. There are details aplenty, and I promise I’ll tend to all of them. Your father made arrangements for you in the event of his passing.” He paused a moment.
The statement surprised Penny, but she said nothing.
He continued. “I thought you should know about it all as soon as possible, so you’d know you’d be cared for. I have all of the details right here.” He dipped his hand into the inner poc
ket of his jacket and removed an envelope. From that, he slid out a thin sheaf of neatly folded papers.
“I appreciate all of your help, Bentley, truly I do. But I just can’t think about business right now. I’ll come down to the bank tomorrow, and you can explain it all to me then. I promise.” When he looked about to persist she said, “Please, I’d really like to go and lie down now.”
Frustration skittered across his face, here and gone so fast Penny couldn’t swear it had been there at all.
Bentley nodded. “Of course. I understand.” He tucked the papers back into his pocket. “I’ll just collect mother, and we’ll be off.”
Waking his mother took several minutes and one good snort before her eyes popped open. Instead of being embarrassed, Wilhelmina appeared indignant at having been caught sleeping. With hasty goodbyes, they were gone.
Pearl walked in from the kitchen then, and sympathy washed over Penny. And it was overdue. It seemed she had been thinking only of herself. Heavy half-circles beneath Pearl’s red eyes marred her pale skin. Her shoulders were drooped. It even appeared to Penny since just yesterday she’d lost weight. So caught up in her misery, it hadn’t occurred to her until just then that Pearl had lost a dear, long-time friend.
“I could stay the night, if you like,” Pearl said. “Or you could come back to my house and be with us. Kenny would love to have you stay for a while.”
Pearl’s two boys were grown up and off on their own. She lived with her husband Kenny in a modest house only a short distance away. The offer was kind and generous, as was Pearl, but Penny didn’t want to keep Pearl from her home, and she didn’t want to wake up tomorrow in a strange bed.
“Thank you, Pearl. That’s very kind of you, but I want to stay here. I’ll be fine by myself. It’s best I start getting used to such things right away, don’t you think?”
Pearl looked uncertain. Then making her decision, she turned toward the stairs and said, “I’m going to stay here tonight. I’ll just go make sure your room is warm enough. And then…”