Go Away Home

by Carol Bodensteiner

  Mrs. Caither turned her attention back to Liddie. “Thank you for replicating Anna’s dress for her doll. It is truly precious.”

  Before she could say more, the front door opened and a gust of cold air carried another couple into the entry hall.

  Mrs. Tinker steered Liddie into the parlor, which was already filled with guests. “Ah, there’s Francine Goodman. We’ll start there.”

  After introductions, Mrs. Goodman launched into a description of her plans for the annual charity dance, and Liddie surreptitiously scanned the room, surprised to realize she knew more of the women than she’d expected. The men she knew by name and reputation because of their wives. The mayor, the editor of the Sentinel, the owner of the lumberyard. Mrs. Tinker’s shop truly was a gateway to the town’s high society.

  A burst of laughter drew her attention to a room she hadn’t seen when she arrived. The laughter rose from a group of younger people standing near a piano. She scanned the group and her breath caught. At its center was Harley Ellers. A few of the girls Liddie knew because she’d helped make their dresses.

  When she saw Harley in November, it had been such a surprise. Thinking about that encounter afterward, she’d wished she’d handled herself differently. She vacillated between various imagined responses that were courteous but not encouraging and blunt but not rude. Mostly, she felt that he had been too pushy, and that’s what she thought he should know.

  Despite all her imagined comebacks, she really did not want to talk to him, and fortunately, Mrs. Tinker kept her occupied chatting with the older women. People were more than willing to talk, and she could comfortably listen while sipping a cup of eggnog or enjoying a tidbit from the buffet laid out on the dining room table, a repast she wished Minnie could see. She didn’t know what all the dishes were, only that one bite was as delicious as the next. And that the supply was never depleted, as fresh plates continuously materialized. “Canapés,” someone called them. She rolled the new word around on her tongue, a word as delicious as the pastries.

  At the buffet again, she had just picked up a small, flaky pastry filled with liver pâté when she felt someone at her elbow.

  “Did you miss me, Liddie?”

  At the sound of his voice, the hair rose on her arms. She steeled herself and turned to acknowledge him. His friends lounged close enough to hear while filling their plates.

  “Harley!” She opened her eyes wide in surprise. “You’ve been gone?” She paused, then added with studied nonchalance, “The fall has been exceptionally full. I admit I hadn’t noticed.” She popped the pastry into her mouth.

  “Ho! Good one!” One of the boys snickered.

  It was a cut Liddie had not planned, but it seemed to strike home.

  Harley stared at her, then twitched his shoulders. Gathering his confidence, he turned to his pals. “I thought she might like to join us.” He smirked. “I guess she’s too busy.”

  As the other boys drifted out of the dining room, Harley moved closer. “I said I was sorry,” he muttered in a gravelly undertone.

  “You were a boor,” she said.

  He backed away, his face flushed.

  Liddie’s heart raced as he walked away. Until the words came out of her mouth, she hadn’t realized she’d say that. She picked up her eggnog, then took refuge near the bay window. She hadn’t intended to be so bold, but now she felt exhilarated. She hadn’t backed down, though it niggled a bit that Harley had apologized twice and she had not been gracious enough to accept. She wondered if Aunt Kate would approve of what she’d said. She was fairly certain her mother would not.

  From her vantage point, she could view the front foyer, and she was relieved to see Harley and his friends depart. She felt no hurry to rejoin the party, but with him gone, she could relax. Conversations came to her in snatches. Among the men, the war in Europe was a major topic of conversation.

  A portly older gentleman whose sideburns bristled like untamed shaving brushes challenged the newspaper editor. “Do you think it necessary to print an account of the war in every issue? It doesn’t involve us, after all,” he said.

  “Obviously, I do, Mr. Adair,” the editor responded. “Many readers have family there.”

  “Whether we have men in the action or not, the war does affect us,” Ben Caither said. “Chemicals, metals, wheat. All being diverted to the front. We’ll feel it here before long.”

  “It is difficult to absorb the loss of life.” Another man shook his head. “The numbers you report killed in these battles is difficult to comprehend.”

  “We can only hope the war ends soon. And in the meantime, that it doesn’t pull us in.”

  Liddie could imagine her father in a discussion like this.

  “Should the French and Russians roll over? Wouldn’t you fight?”

  “I wasn’t saying that. The line has to be drawn.”

  “Where’s the line? Will the kaiser be satisfied unless he controls all of Europe?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? President Wilson is determined to keep us out. I support him on that.”

  Some men nodded their agreement; others did not. A chill ran up her back at the idea of Vern or Joe going to war.

  “Gentlemen.” Mrs. Caither stepped into the group and laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “This sounds quite serious for a holiday party. Might I encourage you to visit the buffet?”

  “My wife is right as usual,” Mr. Caither said. “We cannot solve the world’s problems tonight, nor should we try.”

  “It’s quite the party, isn’t it?” A male voice spoke very near to Liddie’s left ear.

  She jerked in surprise. The eggnog sloshed and she thrust the cup away from her, praying nothing would splash on her dress.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The man had been standing not half a foot away, but he stepped back even as he pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

  “No harm. The cup was not full.” Liddie furtively attempted to survey her dress.

  Relieved that she saw no stains, she turned her attention to an attractive man, slightly taller than she. She guessed him to be in his late twenties. Neatly trimmed brown hair framed a handsome face. A faint scar traced a thin line through his left eyebrow. But his eyes, deep brown, almost black, with gold flecks around the irises—that’s where she found herself looking. Into eyes that focused on her so intently she felt herself begin to blush.

  He reached for her cup. “May I get you another drink?”

  “No. Truly. I’ve had enough.” She set her cup on an occasional table and extended her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Liddie Treadway.”

  “Thomas Littmann,” he responded, taking her hand more firmly than she expected. Littmann brought his heels together with a click and executed a formal bow. “My pleasure, Miss Treadway.”

  She had never seen such a bow. “Littmann? Of the photography studio on Main Street?”

  “Yes.” He cocked his head. “I’m surprised you know of me. I’m new to town.”

  “I pass your studio on my way to work. The photographs in your window attracted me. They’re so . . .” She hesitated for fear of saying the wrong thing. “So unexpected.”

  He laughed. “Unexpected?”

  “I hope you don’t take that as an insult, Mr. Littmann.”

  “Not at all, Miss Treadway.” The gold flecks twinkled. “That is a better reaction than many have given. I’d all but decided to take those photographs out of the window.”

  “Oh, I hope not! I would miss them.”

  “You would?” He considered her. “Then I shall leave them there.”

  Was he mocking her? Out of the corner of her eye, Liddie saw Mrs. Tinker approaching, and she exhaled in relief.

  “Liddie,” Mrs. Tinker said. “You have found the one person I have not had the pleasure of
meeting. Will you introduce me?”

  “Of course. Thomas Littmann, this is Mrs. Ernestine Tinker. Mr. Littmann has the photography studio on Main Street. Mrs. Tinker is the leading seamstress in Maquoketa. I am fortunate to work for her.”

  Mr. Littmann took Mrs. Tinker’s hand and executed the same crisp bow he had made for Liddie.

  “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Littmann. Let me add my welcome to the many you’ve no doubt already received,” Mrs. Tinker said. “How have you found our fair city so far?”

  “Everyone has made me feel welcome. Mrs. Caither was most gracious to extend an invitation so late in the season.”

  “I understand you are related to the Marcorts near Andrew?”

  “Somewhat distantly. A cousin twice removed on my mother’s side.”

  Liddie watched this exchange with interest. So Mrs. Tinker knew of the man, even if she had not met him personally.

  “I have passed your studio,” Mrs. Tinker said. “The photographs in your window are refreshing.”

  “Refreshing. And Miss Treadway termed them unexpected.” Mr. Littmann beamed. “I hope others will find them so.”

  “Miss Treadway has a good eye.”

  “So I am discovering.” He looked at Liddie, holding her gaze until she felt obliged to look away.

  “I must steal Miss Treadway to meet some other guests.” Mrs. Tinker excused them with a gracious smile. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Littmann. I trust we will see you again.”

  “I sincerely hope so.” He bowed slightly to both women.

  As Mrs. Tinker steered Liddie away, she whispered, “It does not do to spend too much time talking to any one person, particularly a man.” Mrs. Tinker nodded pleasantly to a cluster of women gathered around the piano. “Some like to talk.”

  “But we were just talking.”

  “Yes. But we don’t really know Mr. Littmann, and a woman cannot be too careful.”

  They joined a group Liddie had met earlier in the evening. Obviously, the excuse Mrs. Tinker gave the photographer was a ruse. After a respectable amount of time with them, Liddie moved on.

  Later, she was drawn into a discussion with several boys and girls more her age. She’d worked on the dresses two of the girls wore, yet they acted as though they’d not met her before that night.

  “That’s a pretty cameo,” one of the girls said.

  “Thank you,” Liddie responded, her fingers going automatically to the brooch at her throat.

  “My mother has one much like it,” the girl said. “I was so excited to get these pearls.” She fingered a long strand. “Everyone’s wearing them.” She looked pointedly at her friend.

  “Almost everyone,” her friend replied. They both laughed.

  Liddie flushed. She had noticed that virtually all the young women were wearing long ropes of pearls. She tilted her chin up and smiled evenly. “You look very nice in them. They have a wonderful slimming effect,” she said.

  As far as the boys were concerned, they appeared no more interested in her than she in them. At least she’d met enough seemingly eligible young men to satisfy Minnie’s curiosity. And it would not be necessary even to mention Harley.

  From time to time, she glanced up and found Mr. Littmann studying her, even as he engaged in conversation with others. Truthfully, she was observing him, too. He might be older than she’d first thought. His thick brown hair had begun to gray at the temples. He was one of those men—like her father—who stood out in a crowd. Well-fitting clothes, well built, easy to interact with. He had a charismatic air about him.

  Each time their eyes met, he made a small gesture of acknowledgment, a barely perceptible dip of his head, a scarcely visible smile. Each time, she found herself wanting to turn again in his direction.

  By the time she and Mrs. Tinker said their good-byes and stepped out into the brisk December night, Liddie had to admit that she hoped to see one particular man again.

  December 29, 1914

  Dear Joe,

  We had a nice Christmas at home. Mama was cheerful because Aunt Kate came for a long visit. Kate was enthusiastic about a suffrage amendment on the ballot in Ohio in November. It was defeated, but she is not deterred.

  Another bright spot—Minnie also spent the holiday with us. She is so merry, and she plays the piano as Amelia used to. She is smitten with Vern!

  The holiday party I attended was so wonderful it is hard to describe. Mrs. Caither had maids to serve the food. I did not think anyone did that. Not in Iowa. All the leading businessmen and their wives were there. And I talked to them as though I were one of them!

  Did you find friends to celebrate Christmas with? I enjoy your stories about the people you deliver goods to from the train. Running a dray seems the perfect way to avoid the winter isolation.

  It has been a year of change for all of us. My wish for you is that you receive everything you hope for in the new year.

  Your friend, Liddie

  Liddie thought to write about Mr. Littmann but found herself conflicted and a little embarrassed. How could she admit she was so taken with someone she’d just met, especially when she did not want to be taken with anyone at all?

  January 23, 1915

  Dear Amelia,

  Happy New Year! We missed you at Christmas, but from your letter I could see your celebration as if I had been there. The tree Fred cut sounds perfect. The two of you stringing popcorn and cranberries sounds so homey. Next year, Hope can help.

  The last Christmas in your first home together. I expect living closer to town will be nice since Fred will be away some nights. Does he work for just one rancher or for several? Will you be close enough to still see your friend Gertie, who has helped you learn to live in the Wild West?

  I met an interesting man at the holiday party I told you about. He’s the new photographer in town. Judging from the way he looked at me, I think he thought I was interesting, too.

  Did Mama tell you about Vern? He’s sweet on my friend Minnie. She had a mountain to climb when she set her eye on him, but she just may make it!

  We all send our love.

  Liddie

  Chapter 15

  Ever since Vern had invited them to go skating, Minnie had been praying for cold weather and a clear day. Those prayers were answered. Bright sunlight reflected off mounds of snow pushed to the banks of the river north of town.

  Minnie and Vern had already taken to the ice. Meanwhile, Liddie dawdled with her laces, sitting on a log at the river’s edge. She’d skated only a handful of times in her life when they’d visited cousins who lived near ponds. Back then, she’d struggled with skates several sizes too large, and her ankles had wobbled so precariously she could barely stand, let alone accomplish a smooth glide. She’d always been grateful when their mothers called them in for hot chocolate.

  Skaters crowded the ice this morning. A young couple easily pulled a sled holding a bundled-up toddler, and two older women, linked arm in arm, moved in slow, sweeping curves, chatting leisurely. Others were as inexperienced and graceless as she knew herself to be, which gave her some comfort.

  “Come on. Give it a go!” Minnie called from several yards away.

  “In a minute. I almost have my laces done,” Liddie replied, waving them off. “You two go on.”

  “All right, but don’t sit too long. You’ll get chilled.”

  Minnie held tight to Vern’s hand as they skated farther out. Liddie could hardly comprehend the changes in her brother since he’d met Minnie. He smiled from time to time for no apparent reason. He talked more. Well, at least he talked some. Because of Minnie, Liddie was seeing a side of her brother she hadn’t known existed.

  She remained seated, marveling at how the relationship between her brother and friend had developed. From her first visit to the farm, Minnie had fit in as if she’d lived there her whole life. The hens see
med no more inclined to peck at Minnie than they had Joe, and Minnie had endeared herself to Margretta when she donned an apron and asked to learn how to make gravy.

  Liddie held her hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun as Vern and Minnie circled back and slid to a stop in front of her. She clapped. “You’re an expert, Vern.”

  “I have a good teacher.” He tipped his hat to Minnie.

  “Enough.” Minnie spoke sternly. “You’ll freeze if you sit there longer.”

  “C’mon, Liddie.” Vern took her hand and pulled her up. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “If you say so.” Liddie remained doubtful.

  With Minnie and Vern on either side, Liddie felt stable through her first tentative sliding moves. She was surprised at how much steadier she was with a well-fitting pair of skates. After a complete turn across the river and back, Minnie released her hand. Liddie wavered, her lips pinched in a tight line, her eyes never leaving the ice.

  “I’ll let you two skate a round, and then I’ll show you a couple of turns,” Minnie said. She was gone before either of them could object.

  “It’s not so hard when you get the hang of it,” Vern said.

  “Minnie’s happy you asked her out. But ice skating? I could barely believe it when she told me.”

  “She likes to skate. I figured I could try.”

  Afraid to take her eyes off the ice for too long, Liddie hazarded a glance at Vern. He wore an uncharacteristic smile. “You’re doing fine,” she said. “Better than fine. I can tell Minnie thinks so, too.”

  “I’ll never keep up with her.” Vern motioned to Minnie, who was spinning on one skate at the center of the ice. “Have you seen anything like that?”

  “She can certainly skate,” Liddie agreed, though she didn’t look up. Her breath came in short puffs. Her legs ached from the tension. “She was taken with the note you wrote.”

  “Did she show it to you?” Vern asked, his tone registering alarm.