It was more than anyone else had said to me all day, including Clara. I tilted my head and grinned. “It’s a pleasure.”
Julia laughed.
I panicked, my hands clammy with sweat. “Have I done something funny?”
She shook her head. “It’s just, you sound so formal.”
My smile brightened. It was precisely what I had wanted. For all Julia knew, I was a first-rate lady. I leaned closer. “Oh, yes. You’ll have to forgive me. I am not accustomed to introductions.” Pride settled into my chest. Accustomed. It sounded so ladylike.
She looped her arm in mine. “Come, sit with me, Elizabeth. I think we shall get along.”
I nodded. “I do agree.” I do agree? I could have laughed aloud at my words. George Hughes would have. I was an imposter.
We filed to the back and took our seats. Julia leaned over. “Elizabeth, I would be delighted if you would sit with me at lunch.”
Her blue eyes gleamed. She was kind and elegant, and she seemed older than my fourteen years—the perfect candidate for a new best friend.
My heart swelled. “How very kind of you to offer,” I said. “Thank you.”
The boy from the back of my history lesson appeared once more, setting down a file on the desk in front of me. He was handsome. Too handsome. It was impossible not to notice him, even if he was far too old for me.
“Who is that?” I asked.
Julia smiled, the apples of her cheeks pinking. “That, Elizabeth, is only the most dashing man who ever lived—Thomas Allred.”
I tilted my head and leaned forward, urging her for more.
“He is a teacher’s aide and tutor,” she said, giggling.
“A tutor?” I asked, leaning back.
“He takes precautions in screening his students. As you can imagine, the girls were signing up for his tutelage in the dozens.”
I laughed, watching the back of Thomas as he walked down the hall. That kind of reputation was enough to fill any head, and I clicked my tongue in disappointment. A boy with his looks working at an all-girls school—it was a travesty.
Chapter Eleven
I RUBBED MY EYES. THE SUN HADN’T risen above the horizon yet, but birds beckoned morning. I rolled around in a cloud of blankets, but it was futile; I would not fall back asleep. It happened often. My mind was trained to arise early.
Slipping from my bed, I dressed, fastening my corset the best I could. It was much too early to call the maid. Nora promised my posture would improve once I grew accustomed to the corset. Most of the girls my age had worn them since childhood, evident in their walk and the way they sat.
I had worn it religiously the last two weeks, knowing the sooner I acquired some semblance of a lady, the sooner I would fit in with my new schoolmates. The corset was restrictive; it held me back from moving the way I wished to, from doing the things I had always done—precisely the reason I wore it.
My new dress hugged my newfound feminine curves, and my eyes studied my reflection. If looks made a lady, I was partway there. Nora’s sense of style, along with the maid’s work, had brought about a world of difference. I wrapped a white shawl around my shoulders and sighed. I no longer sported chicken-feed underslips or thrice-repaired stockings.
The dictionary on my bed table lay open. I marked my place with a ribbon and clutched the book to my chest.
The house on Wieser Street had been built in 1830. Historical and romantic charm resonated from each floorboard and papered wall. Pictures on the wall, fresh furnishings, and incense only added to the essence. The house was from the pages of a storybook, complete with electricity and plumbing—conveniences not yet spread to much of the valley.
I crept down the staircase, already having memorized each step that creaked, each part of the rail that rattled. The early morning called to me. Though there were no Teton peaks iced in snow or pastures spotted with flowers, I was drawn outdoors.
The house had a large porch, and Aunt Nora had dozens of flowerpots decorating the front. They hung in even intervals around the wrapped porch. Wrought iron gates, typically foreboding and repellent, only added charm to the manicured grass and cobblestone walk. It was a far cry from our farmhouse in the Tetons. There were no cows to milk, no chickens to feed, and no water to haul. There were no chores to dirty my fingernails, no trees to tempt me.
The trees at the house on Wieser Street were not made for climbing, and the iron fence would have been impossible to navigate. No climbing trees and no walking fences equated to no trouble to be had. It was better this way—less temptation to do the unsightly.
My heart ached at the memories. A part of me had been carried to this new place, excited for the future and eager for improvement. Yet, I was not blind. Fragments of my heart lay buried in tears beneath my oak in the Tetons.
I pulled a sheet of paper from the dictionary—my list. Each week I wrote down words I heard and did not understand. I would not be teased for being a country bumpkin. I sat at the swing—the one Uncle Johnny had purchased for me when he realized my enthusiasm for the outdoors—and read the words once more.
Conflagration, notabilia, hedonism, cantankerous, ultracrepidarian, perfidious, disconsolate.
It was a shorter list than the previous week, and I smiled, flipping the page to the first word. There was one thing I knew: Pratt girls were not idle, and since my usual activities had been robbed, I replaced them with others. Idleness was not to be borne. Daddy had called it the Pratt curse. Pratts weren’t capable of doing nothing.
I made my way through the list, copying each definition three times until I got to the last word.
Disconsolate: without consolation or comfort; unhappy.
I shut the book.
I did not need to repeat that word; it was already written in every detail of Clara’s character. I worried about her. A month here and I saw little improvement, if any. I tried to speak to Nora about my worries, but she seemed less concerned.
“Your sister is just reserved,” my aunt had said. When I argued the opposite, her eyebrows stitched together, and she shrugged. “The changes in a woman’s body aren’t purely physical, Elizabeth.”
I had my time each month, same as Clara, and each time I felt irrationally emotional, but it always passed, just as the physical symptoms. Clara, on the other hand, seemed irrevocably broken, forever changed. And while my heart ached for my sister, I knew it was not just for her. I was selfish. I missed my friend. I felt alone, and I knew if Clara could pull it together, I would be happier.
I cringed at the thought. It should not be about me, I reminded myself. I stood from the swing and walked around the gardens. I had to find some way to help her. If I did not, no one would. I missed Clara, but I had to make it about her.
Miss Bellamy shuffled the papers on her desk, then straightened her glasses. “You may expect leaner marks after the holiday, but rest assured, ladies, I will give my full attention to detail. No less than satisfactory will entice an A.”
My English instructor was anything but merciful.
I groaned and turned to Julia. “Why do they call it a holiday if all they intend to do is load us up with even more schoolwork?”
Julia shook her head. The same dread filled her eyes, and she leaned in closer. “At least you will have some semblance of a holiday. My parents are away in Europe.”
“Then you will be staying here, at the school?” I asked.
She nodded, squinting one eye. “It is an insufferable bore to be here without you, Elizabeth.”
I grinned, even though she was serious. Her friendship made school bearable. “Come, it will not be that bad. You’ll have free roam of the library,” I said, winking.
“Yes, all the books I could wish for,” she said, arching a brow.
I swallowed laughter and ducked behind my book. “Well, at least you’ll have plenty of time to complete your coursework.”
Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she sneered. “Yes, thank goodness. Heaven forbid I hav
e too much of a holiday to complete my assignments.”
“My, it seems Miss Pratt and Miss Everton think holiday has already begun,” Miss Bellamy said. She rested her hands on her hips and stared down at us.
I gave a remorseful frown. Miss Bellamy was not one to be trifled with. She was a bitter and strange lady—mid-thirties, intolerant, and abrasive. Her left eye drifted to the outer edge, and I never knew which eye to look at when she spoke.
“I expect research papers on my—”
The clock struck twelve, and the school bell muffled her final instructions.
I hurried to grab my books. The lines for lunch were horrid, and if I was not fast, I would have to wait. It was difficult to hurry while still acting the part of a lady, but it was possible, and I intended to perfect the art. I grabbed Julia’s hand, pulling her down the hall and whispering in her ear.
I expected her to tell me a secret in return, but she stopped unexpectedly, jerking me backward.
“Julia!” I said, catching my breath.
With a swift pull of my arm, she leaned closer. “Look.”
“What?” I turned, my eyes following her gaze.
But Julia did not have to answer.
Clara. Thomas Allred, the boy with the eye-catching smile and dark hair, was standing much too close to her. It was not his usual expression—his grin was soft, his eyes gentle. He held her books and spoke quietly.
My mouth dropped, and a pit in the bottom of my stomach formed. “If that cad thinks he can flirt with my sister, he has another think coming. He has—”
“Elizabeth,” Julia said, interrupting me, “look at your sister.”
I looked again, this time at Clara. Her lips were parted in a smile and her cheeks were pink. She laughed at something he said, rested her hand on his arm. There was something different about her face.
Then it hit me; she looked happy.
“Elizabeth, whatever is the matter?” Julia asked, tightening her grip on my arm.
I swallowed, and my face twisted in a scowl. I huffed, not sure how to answer, but I feared my face already had. There was something infuriating about that boy. I would even go so far as to say he had kindled a conflagration and an eternal enemy. Anger burned against my neck, a drop of sweat dripping down one temple.
I could not explain it, even to myself. It made no sense why it upset me. But it did. I gave little thought to restraint, and my feet carried me toward them.
“Elizabeth,” my sister said when I reached her side. She glanced up at Thomas, a shy smile on her lips. “Have you met my sister, Elizabeth?”
He leaned in, his charms now aimed at me. “I’m afraid I have not had the privilege until now. Thomas Allred at your service.”
I huffed again. “Yes, I know all about you, Thomas Allred.”
His smile faltered. “Good things I hope,” he said.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Elizabeth!” Clara said, scolding me.
“It is a fair question,” I said, turning back to him.
He took a step backward, lowering his head. “Twenty-two, Miss Pratt.”
I arched a brow. “Twenty-two? You do realize my sister is only seventeen, do you not?”
This time his cheeks pinked. “Of course. I was not—I would never—”
“He is tutoring me, Elizabeth,” Clara said at last. Her face was dark red, but it was anger that brought this color. “Tutoring. Nothing more. I hope you will apologize to Mr. Allred.” When I said nothing, she touched my arm. “Now, Elizabeth.”
My free hand balled into a fist, and I closed my eyes for a moment. Anger melted into sadness. Had Clara really censured me in front of him? He was the one who deserved a set down. He was a man, and even I, only fourteen, could see the way he looked at her. Handsome or not, it was inappropriate. I determined to speak to Uncle Johnny about Thomas’s post at the school, but for the time being I bit my trembling lip. “Certainly. Please accept my apologies for insinuating such a ridiculous thing.”
Thomas smiled, but I thought I saw guilt gleaming in his gaze. “All is forgiven and forgotten, Miss Pratt.”
I turned on my heel, not even ashamed at my disregard for propriety. I ran to Julia, who still stood in the middle of the hall. Her lips pulled down on one side, and I saw the concern etched in her brow. She had heard.
“Let’s go,” Julia said, not even wanting an explanation for the tear rolling down my cheek. “I think I will die of hunger if I stand here another moment.”
I nodded. I did not have to explain. She knew.
Chapter Twelve
MY FINGERS BRUSHED OVER THE LETTER on my desk. I had read it over and over, hoping I had missed something, or at the very least, misunderstood my brother’s words. I picked it up yet again.
Elle,
Each time I read one of your letters, I smile. But I wish I could hear you tell the stories. Letters aren’t the same.
I’m leaving, come September. I haven’t figured out much, and I have even less saved, but I plan to hitch a ride to Salt Lake. I want to see where life takes me, and I hope it’s far from Teton Valley.
Please forgive me, Elle. I know how badly you want me to work it out with Pops. I tried, but it’s more than him. It’s this valley and these people and the expectations that I am to follow in Pops’s footsteps. I don’t want to be a butcher.
I promise to write you when I can. Here’s a dime. Go buy yourself a sweet.
Paul
I did not want to imagine the valley without my brother.
It was August. The Grand was still covered in snow, but the valley would be green now, the tree above my strawberry patch full for shade. Mama would be trekking to the mountainside for huckleberries soon.
Huckleberries. The thought made my mouth water. Those berries were so small, and it took more than an hour to fill a few cups. But it was worth every minute, every dark-purple stain on my fingertips and sleeves.
I felt a stab in my chest, the ache for home bleeding out. Without Paul there, that pain would only grow. I stood, walking to the mirror above my dressing table. My new dresses made me look older, more proper. I swallowed, choking back tears. This, I reminded myself, was only a phase. I would grow stronger, and I would return home a lady.
I descended the stairs to find Uncle Johnny in his chair, the paper spread across his arms.
“Lizzie,” he said, winking. He had taken to the nickname, and it did not bother me when Johnny said it. “Good morning.”
I kissed his forehead and smiled. “Good morning, Uncle.”
He creased the paper and rolled it in one hand. “I get the sneaking suspicion you intend to make a request. You know I cannot say no.”
I stifled a laugh. “I am almost fifteen, you see.”
“Mm-hmm,” he said, lifting his chin.
“And Miss Everton is all alone at the school for holiday.”
“Ah,” he said, his features relaxing. “You wish to invite her here for the remaining weeks?”
I nodded. “She could stay in my room, and I promise she would not be a burden. I—I would make sure she—”
He stopped me, holding out a hand. “Lizzie, please. You needn’t rehearse such explanations. Of course she may come, if it would please you. Miss Everton is an exemplary young lady—the perfect companion for you. I’ll send the carriage and Mr. Clemens to collect her this afternoon.”
The perfect companion. The ache returned. Clara and Paul were my perfect companions, or at least they used to be. Paul was leaving me and the valley behind, and Clara preferred the company of a handsome tutor over me. I pushed the thoughts from my mind. At least I had Julia.
“So, she may come? I shall write her directly,” I said, squeezing his hand.
Uncle Johnny resumed his attention of the paper. “Yes, dear, she may come, but no need to write. Mr. Clemens will see to it.”
“Just a short letter for him to take to her?”
Uncle Johnny smiled. “Why not?”
My shoul
ders relaxed, the unrealized tension flooding away. Daddy would have never agreed to such a thing.
I concealed my excited screams as I bounded up the steps. A lady never squeals. I realized too late, however, once I had already reached the landing, that a lady never bounds. I laughed, adding them to my ever-growing list.
RULES FOR A LADY:
No climbing trees.
No childish games.
Treat adversaries with respect.
Keep dresses in repair and never stand by a trough.
Never gulp tea.
Practice restraint.
Never squeal.
Do not bound.
I tucked the list back into my journal and composed my letter to Julia, signing my name in my best script. I sighed, setting the pencil against the desk.
My eyes floated to the letter from Paul once more. I had received it the week before, but I still had not replied. I lifted it, rereading the lines I already knew by heart. Tears pricked my eyes. It was done. Paul had made his choice. I threw the paper down and took up Julia’s instead. It was my holiday, and I refused to let thoughts of Paul or anything else for that matter—Clara, huckleberries, or snowcapped peaks—ruin it.
The bark was rugged beneath my touch. I clung tighter to the trunk and pushed myself higher. The need to climb pulsed through my veins. Twigs snapped and branches cracked, but I did not stop until I lost my footing and fell to the knotted ground.
My world went black. I gasped for breath. A hand reached for mine and pulled me to my feet.
“George,” I said. My voice caught in my throat.
George still held my hand. He dusted off my sleeve with his other hand. “Are you all right?”
“Always,” I said, pulling away.
His green eyes bore into me, and the scene morphed into the morning I had left the valley. George remained by my side. The sun glowed across the horizon, the sky fading from pink to purple. The beauty took my breath away. How could I have forgotten?
“You’re slipping away, Elle.” He winced as if in physical pain. “Come home.”
Forever Elle (Regency Romance) Page 8