She wondered how long it would take to grow accustomed to riding in a different manner. One thing was certain, she’d do very little wild racing sitting sidesaddle.
As they rode along, Maggie’s mind went back to the conversation at supper about the Pierces’ church. How terrible it would be if Ben convinced her father to attend Brattle Street Church. What would she do then? Would Adelaide and Celia laugh at her and call her a revivalist?
At that very moment, she looked up to see Adelaide strolling with her mother through the formal gardens beside her house. Quickly, Maggie lifted the hood of her cloak and pulled it over her head and far past her face. The last thing she wanted was to be seen riding astride her mount without her hoops.
“Are you getting chilly?” Jacob asked her.
“Yes, quite. Let’s hurry back.”
CHAPTER 5
The Invitation
One Saturday late in October, Maggie and Hannah were busy in the kitchen with the weekly baking. Caleb had been required to carry armloads of wood until the baking oven was piping hot. While Hannah rolled out piecrusts and filled them, Maggie kneaded the bread on the wooden bread tray.
The early morning had been quite cool, but by midday the kitchen was ghastly warm and the back door was left open. Maggie’s sleeves were rolled up, and her forearms were coated with flour.
Having helped get the fires going, Caleb was then sent to the garden to gather the last of the cucumbers. Hannah planned to make pickles after the baking was finished.
Suddenly, an excited Caleb came running in the back door. “There’s a man riding up,” he said, “dressed in fancy green-and-yellow livery.”
“Oh, my,” Maggie said. “That sounds like Adelaide Chilton’s footman. Is he alone?”
“All alone,” Caleb answered.
“Go to the door and see what he wants,” Maggie told him.
“One moment, please,” Hannah said as she trimmed the last bit of crust from the edge of one of her pies. “I’ll go to the door.”
If Adelaide were with the footman, Maggie knew she would die right on the spot.
Caleb was on Hannah’s heels as she left the kitchen to go to the front door, where the knocker was now sounding. Maggie didn’t move. She heard voices; then Caleb came sprinting back into the kitchen. “It is the footman, Maggie! He’s asking for you. He’s asked for Miss Margaret Baldwin. What do you suppose he wants?”
Maggie had no idea. She took a towel and attempted to brush off as much of the flour from her arms and dress as she could. Should she pull her ruffled mobcap off her curls or leave it? Just then, Hannah appeared at the door. “Did Caleb tell you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then what’s detaining you? The gentleman is waiting.”
“Hannah, I look dreadful,” she said. “Simply dreadful.”
“My dear Maggie,” Hannah said gently, “I don’t think it will matter to this gentleman how you look. Come now.”
Giving a sigh, Maggie followed Hannah through the house to the front door. The footman named Johnson stood there with his hat in his hands.
“Good day, Miss Margaret Baldwin,” he said when Maggie had stepped out onto the front steps. “I’ve a message from Miss Adelaide Chilton.”
“Yes?” Maggie said, smoothing the skirt of her day dress.
“Miss Chilton and her mother have retained a dance master who shall be coming to their home on Thursday afternoons precisely at three to give instruction. Both Miss Chilton and Mrs. Chilton request the pleasure of your presence.”
“Oh, my! Hannah, did you hear? Dance lessons at the Chiltons’!”
“I can hear.” Hannah stood in the doorway behind her.
“May I? Oh, please, Hannah?”
“We must ask your father this evening.”
Maggie paused, then turned back to Johnson. “Please tell Miss Chilton and Mrs. Chilton that I thank them for the kind invitation. I’ll ask my father this evening for permission, and I’ll let Miss Chilton know tomorrow at church.” She felt pleased that she’d thought of the answer quickly and said it so confidently, in spite of how she looked.
“Very well.” He replaced his tricorn hat and added, “I shall give her the message. Good day.”
“Good day to you, sir.”
Maggie fell against the door as she closed it. “Oh, Hannah, I can scarcely breathe. I think I’m going to faint dead away.”
“No time for swooning now,” Hannah quipped. “Wait till the bread’s in the oven.”
But Hannah’s practicality couldn’t dim Maggie’s ecstasy. She twirled round and round as she followed Hannah down the long hallway.
Caleb, who had run back to the kitchen ahead of them, leaped out at her, singing, “Maggie’s a hoity-toity. Maggie’s a hoity-toity.”
Maggie was both startled and angered at his outburst. “Caleb, how dare you?” she shouted. “Hush this minute.”
“We’ve no time for quarreling,” Hannah said sternly. “There’s too much work to be done. Caleb, if you can’t speak kindly, don’t speak at all. Now get yourself back out to that garden. As for you, Maggie, learning not to raise your voice is more important than learning to dance.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Maggie said meekly. She couldn’t remember the last time Hannah had reprimanded her. She returned to the bread bowl and punched at the soft, swelling dough, pounding it back down. Anger boiled up inside of her at Caleb for spoiling her special moment.
“Dancing,” Hannah said under her breath, shaking her head. She placed three pies on the long-handled paddle, carried it to the oven, and shoved the pies deep into the hot brick cavern. “What’s this world coming to, what with young ladies dancing?”
“It’s quite proper—really it is,” Maggie insisted. “Many families in Boston have a dance master come in.” Suddenly she had a frightening thought. “You won’t talk Father out of letting me go, will you, Hannah?” If Hannah ever did such a thing, Maggie knew she could never quite forgive her.
Hannah was quiet for a moment. “I’ve never told your father how to raise you children. I don’t plan to start now.”
“I’ll talk to him privately in his study after supper.” Turning the dough out onto the breadboard, Maggie took the large butcher knife and swung it down hard—harder than necessary—to cut off a piece of dough to form a loaf. “Far away from Caleb!” she added.
Father was late. That happened sometimes when emergencies arose. Supper without Father was always lonely for Maggie. She wanted to wait for him, but she knew that was silly because they never knew at what time he would arrive.
And besides, Hannah was a stickler for having meals on time.
Caleb had already spoiled her secret by spilling the news to Evan the moment he arrived home. She felt like strangling him. “If you tell Father before I have a chance to speak to him,” she warned, “I’ll—”
“Maggie,” Hannah said sternly. “Empty threats are born in an empty head.”
Maggie wanted to sass back, but she bit her lip. During supper, Evan talked about the goings-on at the shipping yard, all of which was of little interest to Maggie. In her mind, she was rehearsing how she would ask Father about the dance instructions.
Caleb happily munched on the warm slices of brown bread. Maggie marveled that he should have so few problems.
Following supper, Evan said he was going out to the stable to oil the tack. Her brother enjoyed the horses almost as much as their father. As soon as the dishes were cleared away, Maggie hurried out to the stable to be with him.
She found him sitting cross-legged on the floor of the tackroom with a harness draped across his lap, rubbing in the linseed oil. Maggie loved the aroma of leather mingled with rich oil. She sat down and watched him for a time. Just being with him seemed to quiet her insides. Evan was steady and unchanging, while her own emotions were flighty and unpredictable.
“What do you think of the invitation that came for me today?” she asked.
“If it’s what you want, I�
�m very happy for you.”
“Sometimes when I hear a lively tune, my feet almost take a mind of their own. Now I’ll know where to tell them to go.”
She laughed at her own little joke, and Evan smiled. “The minuet, the cotillions, and contradances—I’ll know each and every one.”
Again, Evan was quiet.
“I’m pleased that you’re happy for me,” Maggie went on. “But what do you think of it? Of dancing instruction, I mean?” She knew she was fishing about, but she truly wanted to know.
He adjusted the bridle, causing the metal pieces to jingle, then looked over at her. His eyes were gentle, just like Father’s. Her own green eyes, she’d been told, were like her mother’s. “I guess I’m accustomed to instructions resulting in something more tangible than dance. Don’t forget, Maggie, I’m a businessman.”
Evan truly was becoming a man. It scared her sometimes when she saw how mature he was becoming.
“So you see it as frivolous, perhaps,” she ventured. “But do you see it as wrong?”
He shook his head. “I don’t see how I could be the judge of that. You must know that for yourself.” “How do you think I can know?” “Trust your conscience.”
Maggie thought on that for a moment. She wasn’t sure she could agree. Could she really trust her own conscience? “What do you think Father will say?” She picked up a piece of hay straw and twisted it around her fingers.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Why ask me?” She shrugged, but she knew the answer. She wanted Evan to assure her that Father would indeed say yes. Not wanting him to clam up, as he sometimes did, she changed the subject. “Evan, can you trust your conscience?”
“Most of the time, I believe I can.”
“What does your conscience tell you about the revivalists?”
After some thought, he said, “I don’t know enough about the subject to have an opinion.”
“You know as much or more than I do.”
Evan looked up from his work. “Which isn’t much.”
Maggie ignored that remark. “Surely you must feel one way or another about it. Adelaide and Celia say they’re unlearned, ignorant men who don’t even study or write their sermons. They just jump up and speak with no forethought. I think it sounds just terrible. I don’t know why they’re even allowed to enter the city.”
If she was hoping to egg her brother on, she could have saved her breath, for he remained quiet. Presently, there came the sound of Father’s carriage, and Maggie leaped to her feet.
“You’re saved for now,” she told Evan.
He laughed. “There’s never an end to your questions.”
Together they ran out to greet Father. “I must talk to you privately in your study,” Maggie said almost before he could step down. “Just as soon as you’ve eaten.”
“Sounds important,” he said, kissing her cheek.
“I’ll see to the horses, Father,” Evan said. “You look tired.”
“I appreciate that, Evan. The Penlows’ baby is quite ill. I’ve been there most of the evening.” He put his arm about Maggie’s shoulders. “As a matter of fact, I joined the family for supper, so we can have our private conference this very minute if you wish.”
Hannah must have duly warned Caleb against saying a word about Maggie’s news, for he greeted his father at the kitchen door in a gentlemanly fashion. Maggie sighed with relief. After the doctor had hung up his hat and coat, they went right to his study, where Hannah had already lit the lamps.
“This must not be an ominous occasion,” he said as he pulled a chair nearer to his writing desk and waved her toward it. “Your face is cheery, and all the freckles seem to be glowing at one time.”
“It’s certainly not ominous. It’s wonderful!”
“What could be so wonderful?” Dr. Baldwin asked as he sat down at his desk.
Quickly, Maggie explained Johnson’s visit and the message from the Chiltons. “It’s only one afternoon a week. It wouldn’t take much time at all. What do you think, Father? May I go?”
Her father leaned back in his chair and gazed at her. “Dancing instructions. Mmm.” He rubbed at his chin. “What was Hannah’s reaction?”
“Hannah said she never interfered with how you raised us.” Maggie didn’t want to tell him that Hannah seemed quite negative about the whole thing.
“It’s times like these that I wish your mother were here,” he said thoughtfully.
Maggie wished the same thing—many times—but she didn’t want to talk about Mother just now. She sat quietly waiting. It was best not to try to sway him one way or the other.
“Obviously, you’re very pleased about the invitation.”
“Very pleased. I feel honored to be invited.”
At last he said, “I appreciate all the hard work you do alongside Hannah each day. One afternoon a week wouldn’t hurt.” Father stood, came over to her, and took her hand, lifting her to her feet. “I can hardly believe what a lady you’ve become, Margaret. Yes, tell the Chiltons you accept the invitation. Go on and have a little fun!”
She threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, thank you, Father! Thank you.” Her heart felt as though it might explode.
“We have no footman,” he said, grinning. “Pray tell, how will you get the message back to the Chiltons?”
“Oh, silly, I’m to talk with Adelaide at church tomorrow.”
She hurried out to go tell Evan. At that moment, tomorrow seemed years away and the following Thursday even longer.
CHAPTER 6
Aunt Lucille’s Problem
Maggie was grateful that her father was Reuben Souder’s stepbrother. That relationship meant the Baldwins sat in the Souder pew at North Church. The spacious church with its grand tiers of galleries was the only church she’d ever known. She had warm memories of being snuggled on her mother’s lap in church. Somehow, sitting in their special pew on Sunday mornings made her feel closer to Mother.
This particular Sunday, as her family entered the church, Maggie’s mind was on other things. Carefully, she adjusted her hoops to maneuver down the aisle toward the front. Hannah had Caleb in tow, seeing to it that he behaved. Evan always sat on one side of Father and Maggie on the other.
Maggie craned around to see if the Chiltons had arrived, but their pew was still empty, as was the Winthrops’. Gently, she lifted her skirts, arranging the hoops in order to sit down and prevent them from flying up. Uncle Reuben and Aunt Lucille came in just then and sat toward the aisle. Aunt Lucille was still wearing her black mourning garb because of the death of her last baby.
Next came the Winthrops with Celia in the lead. She caught Maggie’s eyes, gave a little wave with her fan, and smiled. Maggie nodded and smiled back. Eleanor Winthrop was carrying the baby, who was fussing and complaining loudly.
As the bells pealed for the last time, calling to all the latecomers, the Chiltons arrived. Maggie turned to give a little wave and was astonished at what she saw. Pert Chilton and Adelaide both wore powdered wigs, the curls of which were piled to a nice height. At the neck in the back hung several loose curls, some of which hung over Adelaide’s shoulder. Soft tiny feather plumes were arranged fanlike at the crown of curls on top. Their full-skirted satin overdresses swished as they came down the aisle.
Maggie had never seen such luxuriant hair fashion. She was almost too shocked to wave. It was obvious everyone in church was staring at them, but Adelaide and Pert seemed to enjoy the attention. From what Hannah had told Maggie, Pert and Lucas Chilton had been titled people in England and were accustomed to being the center of attention.
Suddenly, Maggie felt overwhelmed. She marveled that Adelaide would even want to be friends with her. Maggie had one church dress, which she wore every Sunday. She would, in fact, have only one dress to wear to the Thursday dance instructions. Maybe she should ask Father if she might purchase fabric to make a new dress. But no, that would never do. She was already planning to ask him for a new saddle. There simply wasn’t enough money in
the Baldwin household for extravagances.
The congregation brought out their psalters as they sang psalms together in lovely harmony. Following the singing, the Reverend Joshua Gee, dressed in flowing robes, ascended the stairs to the pulpit loft. Maggie fidgeted and toyed with her fan, unable to concentrate on the message as her worries gnawed away inside her.
Difficult though it may be, her only choice was to refuse the invitation for the dance instruction. By the time the Reverend Gee had turned the hourglass over several times, Maggie had made her decision. Better not to go at all than to go and make a fool of herself.
For the congregation of North Church, gathering in the churchyard after service was as much a social event as was launching a ship or serving high tea. Clusters of people gathered beneath the sprawling trees to visit about the week’s events. As soon as Maggie was out the door and down the steps, she was grabbed by both Adelaide and Celia. Giggling, they drew her away from the crowd and toward the Chiltons’ carriage.
“I was so eager all during service to hear your answer about the dance instruction,” Adelaide said, laughing, “I could barely sit still. It occurred to me to use one of my brothers’ slingshots and ping that hourglass, breaking it all to tiny pieces.”
“Can’t you just see the look on the reverend’s face if you did that,” Celia joined in, “with the sand flowing all down the pulpit into little piles.”
In spite of herself, Maggie laughed along with them. How silly to think that breaking the hourglass would change the time or quicken the sermon. Her thoughts of refusing the invitation fled. The girls didn’t seem to care what Maggie was wearing. They just wanted her to be a friend.
“Father gave his approval,” Maggie told them. “I may attend the dance instructions.”
Before the words were out, Adelaide and Celia gave excited squeals.
“You’ll be quite impressed with our dance master,” Adelaide confided when they’d quieted down. “He’s just arrived from England and is greatly in demand.” She spread her fan and whispered behind it. “But since Mother and Father knew him in London, we have first claim on his time.”
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