“My mother’s so pleased to think I’ll be growing in the social graces,” Celia put in.
“Isn’t it terribly expensive?” Maggie asked. Then she wished she hadn’t mentioned money.
“No matter,” Adelaide said as though the brush of her fan eliminated the problem. “My mother plans to see to it that quaint old Boston grows in the ways of proper ‘societal interchanges’ as she calls it. Even if she must do it single-handedly and pay to do it.”
Maggie glanced over at Mrs. Chilton, who was talking and laughing with those in the churchyard. Maggie could easily imagine the lady doing almost anything she put her mind to.
“The Thursday instructions may begin with just the three of us, but eventually Mother expects it to grow. One day there may be evening classes with young men in attendance.” Adelaide leaned nearer to Maggie. “Perchance, Evan may even want to attend.”
Maggie doubted very much that Evan would ever attend dance instruction, but she didn’t want to say so. “You can always invite him and see,” she said.
Adelaide giggled. “I might just do that,” she said.
“Your new hair fashion is stunning,” Celia told Adelaide. “I must talk to Mother about our having wigs, as well.”
Adelaide touched one of the curls that hung over her shoulder. “This is how ladies are wearing their hair in all the courts of London. My aunt sends Mother sketches—we receive new ideas with nearly every ship arriving from England.”
Being with these girls meant that Maggie would be up on all the latest fashions. The very thought made her heart pound in excitement.
Just then, Caleb came running up. “Father’s looking for you, Maggie. It’s time to go.”
Quickly, she bid her friends farewell and joined her family at her father’s carriage. As usual, two or three young widows had converged on Father. Different ones continually sought him out to gain his attention. Maggie was secretly pleased that he ignored them all. She wasn’t interested in having a stepmother.
As was their custom each Sunday, they drove to Uncle Reuben and Aunt Lucille’s home for dinner. The Souders lived just up the hill from the Baldwins in the house where Maggie’s father had grown up. Father said the house didn’t look much different back then, except for all the unique artifacts Uncle Reuben collected from around the world—lush rugs from the Orient, a delicate tea service from India, pink conch shells from the West Indies, and, of course, the best pieces of furniture from London. In spite of all the clutter, the house seemed hollow and empty to Maggie.
Since Hannah felt she must make her contribution toward the dinner, Father made a stop at their house. Caleb and Evan ran inside and brought out several pies to take along.
“‘Twould be ever so much simpler if they would come and eat with us every week,” Hannah said as they were on their way once again.
“I believe we’ve discussed this before,” Father said in his quiet voice.
He was right. Hannah said the same thing nearly every Sunday. Maggie agreed with Hannah. She’d much rather have the Souders come to the Baldwins’ bright, noisy, airy house than to go to their sad, dark, dreary one.
While the Souders could afford to hire several servants, they retained only a lady named Freegrace, who’d been with the family for years. Actually, a number of servants had come and gone in years past, but Aunt Lucille, who was sometimes difficult to please, was never happy with any of them. She trusted only dear, sweet Freegrace.
As the carriage drew to a halt in the front dooryard, Freegrace hurried out to greet them and to help carry in the pies.
In spite of the awful scars on her face and arms from a childhood accident, Freegrace always had a smile. She seemed to shine with an inner peace and beauty.
“The Souders arrived home just ahead of you,” Freegrace told them, “and Mr. Reuben is putting his horses away. Mrs. Lucille went to lie down for a time.”
Maggie clucked her tongue. “She’s still feeling poorly? It’s been nearly six months. Do you think she’ll recover?”
“Her body would recover were it not being taken down by a sad spirit,” Freegrace said as she held open the front door. “She grieved deeply for the loss of the third child. The loss of the fourth was more than she could bear.”
“Evan and I will take the carriage around to the stable,” Father said. “You ladies go on.”
“I want to come with you,” Caleb protested.
“Help the ladies with the pies and then come on out,” his father suggested.
“Yes, sir.” He took two of the pies and sped into the house ahead of all of them.
The windows of the Souder home were cloaked in heavy damask draperies, leaving the house dark and cheerless. Maggie hurried through the hallways to the bright kitchen in the back, where Freegrace would not allow curtains at the windows.
A fat black kettle of brown beans hung over the fire in the massive kitchen fireplace. The rich aroma coming from the bubbling kettle filled the entire house.
Without being told, Maggie went to the parlor closet, took down the pewter plates, and set the table. Presently, Aunt Lucille came out from the front room bedchamber.
“Hello, Maggie. How kind of you to help. Where is everyone?”
“Good afternoon, Aunt Lucille. Father and the boys are at the stable, and Hannah is in the kitchen with Freegrace.”
“My, my, I really must lend a hand. I can’t expect all of you to do my work.” Aunt Lucille’s mourning dress hung loosely on her thin frame, and her small face seemed even paler against the harshness of the black.
“No one minds helping, Aunt Lucille,” Maggie said gently. “I don’t believe there’s much left to do.”
Aunt Lucille gave a weak smile and moved slowly to the kitchen. It had never occurred to Maggie before that a person’s spirit could be sick inside. But then, she’d heard her father speak of some people who had a will to live and others who did not.
Maggie could remember her aunt in happier days. What an alive, vibrant lady she’d been. How could she be so excited over dance instructions when her aunt was in such deep misery? Surely there must be something someone could do to help poor Aunt Lucille.
CHAPTER 7
The Mystery Girl
The dance master, Mr. Helver, was tall and thin with a hook nose and shaggy brows. His long feet seemed far too big for his body. When Maggie arrived at the Chilton home and saw him for the first time, she nearly laughed out loud. How could she take seriously a man who looked so funny? She soon learned, however, that Mr. Helver was great fun. If there was anything he could do better than dance, it was make jokes about himself.
“If I can learn how to steer these big boat-feet,” he’d say with a chuckle, “surely I can teach you girls where to put your dainty little slippered feet.”
Pert Chilton—she encouraged the girls to call her by her first name—played the spinet with a touch as light and cheerful as she herself was. Unlike the cluttered Souder home, the Chilton parlor was set about with the perfect number of appointments and a logical arrangement of furniture pieces. The soft colors were in good taste, lending to the brightness of the large room. The rug had been rolled up and moved out of the way, and the place bubbled with music and laughter.
Maggie was sure someone had sprinkled her feet with magic dust. Like a frisky lamb skipping about the meadow, she bobbed and bounced and flounced about, with the music coursing through her. She found herself wishing it would never end.
At half past the hour, Mr. Helver called for a rest period. “You lovely young ladies need no rest, I’m sure,” he said, as he caught his breath, “but most assuredly, I do.” He seated himself in the overstuffed chair by the bay windows, fanning his face with his white handkerchief.
Laughing, the girls collapsed onto the nearby sofa. “I need a rest, too,” Adelaide said. “I seem to be quite weak from lack of practice. Mother,” she said, turning to Pert, “we may have to have dances every week so I can build up my strength.”
Pert laughed
. “Every week would be a terrible strain on the servants. They’ll need much more training before we hold our first dance.”
Hayley came into the room with a tray full of glasses of water for everyone. Maggie found her throat was quite dry.
Pert rose from where she sat at the spinet and pulled a smaller chair close to the sofa.
“Would the servants be prepared by Christmastime?” Adelaide asked.
Maggie watched Pert’s hands as she reached for a glass of water. They were fine-boned, smooth as ivory, with tapered fingers that seemed especially created for playing music on the spinet. These hands had never been plunged into a tub of wash-water and lye soap; that was certain.
Pert took a sip of the water, then thought a moment. “By Christmas? Possibly.”
“Then might we hold a Christmas ball?” Adelaide asked.
Her mother’s face lit up. “Why, Adelaide, what a perfectly splendid notion. Why, yes, Christmas would be perfect. We could schedule it shortly after Clark and Oliver return from school for their holiday.”
Adelaide leaped to her feet and spun about. “How sublime. A ball! We’ll have a Christmas ball.” She turned to Maggie and Celia. “Of course you’re all invited—and your families, too.”
“Come, ladies,” Mr. Helver said, leaping to his feet like a jack-in-the-box. “If you’re to be ready for a Christmas ball, we mustn’t waste my valuable time. You’re not paying me to sit idly about.”
There were several cotillions that Mr. Helver introduced, and at first the sequences were somewhat confusing. It helped that Pert had already taught Adelaide several of the steps. After hearing the news of an upcoming ball, Maggie could hardly keep her mind on the instructions. Instead, she envisioned herself dancing about the floor at a real ball. Now she would have to have a new dress.
By the time the hour of instruction was completed, Maggie felt she had conquered most of the steps. Adelaide’s mother even commented on how quickly she had learned. “You seem to be a natural at dancing, Maggie. How pleased I am that you could come and be with us.”
Her words and her friendly smile gave Maggie a warm glow inside.
After Mr. Helver left, Pert sent the girls to the nursery, where they enjoyed a grand tea party. This made the day doubly pleasurable.
Later, Maggie couldn’t remember how their conversation had turned to the revivalists, but as they were eating sweetcakes and sipping tea, they were once again laughing at the wild antics of these strange people.
“I heard of a mob in New York City,” Celia said, “who followed their preacher through the streets, dancing and shouting and singing. They wave their hands in the air like this.” Setting down her teacup, she demonstrated by closing her eyes and waving her arms back and forth above her head while the other two snickered.
“It’s as though they think no one else is a Christian since we don’t believe as they do,” Adelaide was saying.
Maggie wanted to ask just what the revivalists did believe, but she didn’t want them to know how ignorant she was about the matter.
“They call themselves the ‘New Light,’” Celia said with a little sniff. “I suppose that makes us the ‘Old Light.’ How dare they? I don’t think conversion is necessary, do you?”
Thankfully, Adelaide answered. “Of course not. I was baptized as a baby, and I’ve been in church all my life. I don’t need anyone to tell me whether or not I’m a Christian—I already know.”
Maggie agreed with that fact. No one had better try to tell her she wasn’t a Christian.
By the time Father stopped by in his carriage to fetch her, she had a much better idea of what the revivalists were all about. And she didn’t like them one bit.
A cold wind had whipped up while she was enjoying the warmth and laughter of the Chilton home. Stepping outside,
she pulled her cloak tightly about her and put up the hood before allowing Father to assist her into the carriage.
“Your cheeks are pink,” he said, “and I don’t believe it’s from the cold. I trust you had an enjoyable afternoon.”
“The afternoon was sublime,” she said, echoing Adelaide’s expression.
“Sublime, was it? That’s good to hear. And did you learn to dance?” He clucked at the team and the harnesses gave a delicate jingle as the horses stepped out.
“I did learn and very well, too. Pert said so.”
“You mean Mrs. Chilton?”
“She wants us to call her by her first name. It’s not improper when the adult requests it, is it?” “I suppose not.”
Dusk was beginning to gather. A tiny smattering of stars had appeared. The air was clear and sharp, which meant there was sure to be a hard freeze. Maggie found herself wondering if Hannah had been able to bring in all the pumpkins and squash and the last turnips. Her conscience was smitten that she’d not been there to help.
The afternoon, however, had been too wonderful to have to think about an old garden. “You should have seen the dance master,” she told her father. Her description of Mr. Helver’s lanky frame and large feet and the manner in which he told silly jests brought a smile to Father’s face.
“Seems to be a jolly fellow,” he commented absently.
“Perhaps you’ll meet him.”
“Not likely. Dancing’s not one of my finer talents.”
“But if there were a dance—say it was a grand ball—and you were invited, you’d come, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?”
Father looked over at Maggie. “Something tells me this is not an empty question.”
“Oh, Father,” she said, unable to contain her excitement, “the Chiltons are planning a Christmas ball, and we’re all invited. All our families, Adelaide said. Celia’s family, as well. Governor Shirley will no doubt be there, too. But,” she concluded, dropping her folded hands into her lap, “I would have to have a new frock.”
“I see no reason you couldn’t make a new frock—you and Hannah together.”
“But I also wanted to ask you for a sidesaddle for my birthday, and it all seems so very much to ask for. Is it terribly wrong to want two things at the same time?”
At this outburst, Father laughed out loud. She wasn’t sure why he was laughing, but it sounded glorious in the still night air.
“My dear Margaret, slow down and back up. You’re much too fast for this weary old doctor. What’s all this about a sidesaddle? You’ve said nothing about it before. I had no idea you wanted to ride sidesaddle.”
“I didn’t when I was still a little girl, Father. But all ladies ride sidesaddle, and well …”
“Ah yes, we’re back to this subject of your growing up, and I keep forgetting. Tell me, does your sidesaddle have to be a shiny new one right off a ship from London?”
“Oh, no.” She gave a little laugh at the thought of the Baldwins ordering much of anything from London except for her father’s medical equipment. “You know me better than that.”
“If not, then I believe I can barter for a rather nice sidesaddle. Boston is probably full of them. In fact, I’ll start with Uncle
Reuben. How will that be?”
Suddenly she felt warm, safe, and snug beside her father. She really loved him very much. “That would be …”
“Sublime?”
They laughed together. “Sublime,” she echoed. “And then I can have the new dress?”
“You can have the new dress.” “And you’ll come to the ball?”
“Now, now, let’s not get carried away. For the present, let me think about it.”
Just as Father turned the team to take the carriage up Hanover Street from Tremont Avenue, a man came running toward them, waving his arms. “Dr. Baldwin,” he called out. “Dr. Baldwin, please come! My sister’s dying! Please come!”
“Jump in,” Father told him. “Show me the way.” Turning to Maggie, he said, “Looks like you’ll have to come along.”
Father had never forced any of his children to work at his apothecary shop nor to accompany him on calls. He respec
ted their wishes in their choice of vocation. Evan had ridden along a few times, but Maggie never had. She couldn’t bear to see someone sick and suffering.
The man who jumped into the back of the carriage was of the beggarly type. As he gave directions, Father drove the carriage south of Long Wharf into an area where the buildings were crowded together. The carriage lamps cast eerie shadows on the walls of the old buildings. Here there were no rolling pastures, no leafy shade trees, no elegant flower gardens. Seldom, if ever, had Maggie been down these streets.
Presently, the man instructed Father to turn into a narrow alleyway because, as the man said, “Me sister lives in a room in the rear.” Midway through the alleyway, he directed Father to stop. “This here’s it. Please wait, and I’ll let her know I fetched you.”
The man jumped to the ground and tapped at the wooden door. Slowly the door opened, and there stood a little girl. Maggie looked and then looked again. She could hardly believe it. It was the little girl she’d seen on the dock the day of the launch!
CHAPTER 8
Maggie’s Best Birthday
As soon as Maggie recognized the girl, she remembered what Adelaide had said about her … how Maggie had been warned not to even touch her.
“Maggie, I can’t let you stay out here. You understand, don’t you?” her father was saying as he stepped down.
Under other circumstances, wild horses couldn’t have dragged her into that tiny room that fronted on the filthy alleyway, but her father’s expression gave her no choice.
The little girl stared as Maggie followed her father into the cramped, smelly room. In the far corner, lying on a cot with a dirty straw tick, was a woman whose ashen face told Maggie she might be nearly dead.
Father turned to the little girl and asked a few questions. Her name, she said, was Ann Cradock. The ill woman was her mother, Sarah. The mother had had little to eat since the previous day, and there was no food in the house. The doctor turned around to say something to Sarah’s brother, who had directed them there, but he was gone.
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