A girl beside me covered her ears, shaking her head back and forth.
Then I performed my own dramatic reenactment, stuttering forward and stumbling to my knees. I clutched my chest, heaving. I then waved the fingers of one hand, mimicking the splatters and drips of blood. I reached the other hand forward, as if clinging to an unearthly being. At last, I rolled my eyes backward and let out a final breath before falling to the floor.
The room fell silent. I did not dare to look up. I had created a new nightmare for my schoolmates.
Three thunderous claps sounded, and familiar laughter emanated from the back of the room.
I hopped to my feet, wiping at my dress.
“Encore, encore!” Uncle Johnny said, striding down the aisle. The bounce of his step marked his amusement, the richness of his laughter his enjoyment. “I declare Miss Pratt fit for the theater.”
Humor replaced looks of horror. Laughter erupted, including that of my own, and I was ushered back to my seat with booming applause.
Mr. Withers reddened. His eyes darkened upon the realization of my tall tale, and the edges of his lips curled downward.
Embarrassment flooded me, but so did pride. I had just commanded the entire room, and I found I quite liked it.
Uncle Johnny came to the front of the room, his presence breaking all the tension of my instructor’s glare. “I hope you’ll forgive my niece, Mr. Withers,” Uncle Johnny said. “She has quite the gall to recite such nonsense here, but I must confess my shock at your gullible ways. Lizzie and Clara, come to the front. Tell the class what the West is really like.”
Clara stood first. She pursed her lips and clasped her hands. She looked anything but impressed by my display. Anger flared behind her light eyes. She lifted her chin. “I won’t deny our valley is primitive in many regards,” she said, refusing to meet my eye. “But what my sister has described could not be further from the truth.”
I did my best to swallow my smirk. It was entirely ridiculous that I found so much entertainment in deceiving my class. Yet, I had enjoyed it.
Mr. Withers asked a few questions, but it was only to please my uncle. If it had not been for Uncle Johnny, I would have been assigned a full report of the history of the western territories. Instead, my punishment was shortened to a murderous glare and a chip on the middle-aged man’s shoulder.
Daddy would have been furious. I could almost hear him now. “That wasn’t why I sent you to school—to become an irreverent and ill-mannered girl.” He would have been disappointed, shocked even.
Perhaps listlessness did not play well with me. I needed something other than spying on Clara and Thomas to occupy myself. I turned to Julia, who was smiling larger than I had ever seen. Her blue eyes were filled with unexpected delight, a newfound admiration beaming back at me.
“My, my, Elizabeth. I do believe the impossible. I like you even more,” she said.
My composure wavered, and I slipped her a smile. Was it possible that my ridiculous display had only endeared me more to my friend?
As if she knew what I was thinking, she nodded. “Yes, it is decided. You are my favorite friend.”
A warmth spread through my chest, and a wave of emotion followed. For the first time since arriving in Virginia, I felt alive. And thankfully, Julia was more my friend than ever.
Uncle Johnny winked at me before he left the room. His shoes clacked against the floor and his arms rubbed against his tailored coat.
The sound of Daddy’s feet against the hardwood floor of the farmhouse had always unnerved me. It was not as much that I was scared of him, but more that it signaled my inability to please him. His steps, heavy and steady, would often play in my mind, over and over like a record. They would come to me at the oddest times, and always, even when it was just in my mind, they unnerved me. They had come after my dramatic performance, accompanied by the words that would have followed.
Yet Uncle Johnny had laughed, had even come to my rescue. His steps, so light and quick, seemed to lift my spirits. He was so different from Daddy—from his lanky build and graying hair to his straight smile and beaming gaze. I adored Uncle Johnny because of his differences. If I could grow and change into the lady I hoped to be, I needed my uncle’s soft steps and warm laughter.
Later that day, when Nora had settled in on the sofa with her stitching and Clara had retreated to her studies, I approached my uncle. I needed to thank him and perhaps ask him a question that plagued me.
He closed the book when he saw me, his gray eyes widening. “Lizzie, do come in,” he said with a flick of his hand.
I hesitated, my nails digging into my palms. “I hoped I could speak to you about today.”
He dipped his chin, urging me to continue. “Of course. How can I help you, dear? What about today has you so worried?”
My brows fell, but I could not stop the smile from rising to my lips. He was so kind. “Nothing so worrisome. I only hoped to speak to you about my display in Mr. Withers’s lecture.”
Uncle Johnny snorted, and he took my hand in his. “Come, why would that worry you? I thought your performance was excellent!”
I sat beside him, noting how the dark, swirling pattern of his upholstered chair was an adequate depiction of my thoughts. I did not know where to begin. I exhaled. “You know why my father sent us here—to become properly educated, to become refined ladies.”
“Yes, that is right.”
“But how I acted today—I know Daddy would never approve. I cannot seem to understand how I fit into all this becoming a lady. I have not enjoyed myself so much since I got here—seeing Mr. Withers’s pride crumble, the attention of the girls.” I stopped, pulling my hand away. “I am ashamed of how much I enjoyed it, and I worry it is unbecoming.”
“Ah,” Uncle Johnny said, placing an arm around the back of my chair. “So you are worried you will fail at all your father wants you to be?” He arched one brow. “It is a common weakness—wanting to live up to expectations—and one I think most children feel. But the truth is, you have to let it go. You cannot go through life allowing your very happiness to depend upon someone else’s opinion of you. It will not work. You will only find disappointment.”
“But—”
“Lizzie, take it from me. My father wanted nothing more than for me to take over his business. I tried. For five years, I tried to run the railroad business alongside my father and your grandfather. But there is no shame in wanting something more or different out of life. I wanted to give back, help educate the rising generation. I do not pretend that I am noble, but it is what I wanted, and it has brought me happiness.”
I wanted to believe him, that it was possible to follow my own wishes instead of my father’s commands. But something tugged at my heart. Pleasing Daddy was like a weight shackled to my shoulders. “I appreciate your words, Uncle Johnny. I do. It is just that I do not know how to do that either.”
“Nonsense! Don’t you know anything about the women of history? Elizabeth Blackwell—the first female physician; Helen Keller—the woman who overcame her lack of sight and hearing; Lady Mary Wortley Montagu—the woman to discover the prevention of small pox; Elizabeth Fry—a lady and a reformer of prison conditions. Why, you should know these women! At the very least, Joan of Arc, Abigail Adams, Susan B. Anthony?”
I shrugged, trying to recall my studies. “I have heard of some of them, but what do they have to do with my becoming a lady?”
He chuckled, but his expression was strained—a mixture of humor and pity twisted together in the arch of his brow and the sadness of his smile. “Lizzie, Lizzie,” Uncle Johnny said, shaking his head. “You are already a little lady. I can see what you mean—the lists of right and wrongs, manners and modesty, refinement and restraint. Yes, those are all very important, and I hope you will take note. But you cannot give up a piece of yourself, hoping to fill the void with manners and rules. It does not work that way, no matter how badly you want it to, or how badly your father wants you to. It is not fair to yo
urself, or to God, who created you. You have to find the balance between creating and keeping control, interest and intellect, humor and modesty. I could go on and on, but what I am trying to say, my darling, is that you cannot lose yourself in the process of refinement. Refinement is not total change. It is improvement. So yes, improve all you can, learn all you can. But do not lose your spunk, your drive, your love of the outdoors. Losing those strengths would be a tragedy, one I could not bear.”
I wiped at my eyes. The pain in my chest had dulled to a slight ache. I sniffled. “That sounds lovely, but how do you do that?”
“Trial and error, I suppose. That is part of growing up. That is refinement.”
I stood, surprisingly comfortable amidst my tears. I cleared my throat. “I suppose you are right.” I attempted to smile, but it only made for a mess of tears and giggles, a sniffle and smirk. “Thank you,” I said before turning to retire to my bedroom.
He said nothing more, but his eyes beamed in adoration. His smile hinted at approval.
Chapter Fifteen
LIZZIE, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU doing? You mustn’t take the lead,” Uncle Johnny said, laughing. Tears streaked his face. “For goodness’ sake, at least try to look like you are enjoying yourself!”
I laughed along with him, and I tried not to step on his toes. Dread stabbed at me; nerves pulled at me. I cringed. It had taken me three weeks to learn the dance steps, and still my attempts made Uncle Johnny laugh.
Yet excitement overrode the worry.
Mrs. Everton, hoping to encourage Julia’s future courtship, decided it was high time to put on a proper social. After Julia’s sixteenth birthday, the courthouse was lent (for there was nothing beyond the wealthy Evertons’ reach), and a local orchestra was to provide the music. There would be cakes and punch, fruit and cookies, and handsome young men from wealthy families—everything that a girl of sixteen could dream of.
“I suppose that is enough practicing,” I said. “If I have not learned the steps by now, I do not think five more minutes will do the trick.”
Uncle Johnny dropped his hands from my side. “You are perfectly correct. Just enjoy yourself. The Evertons throw quite the party.”
I smiled, climbing the stairs to my room.
It was the afternoon before the party, and I had spent a substantial amount of time in the lavatory. Nora had worried that I had eaten something foul, and she took no thought but to chastise Cook. I assured her it was only nerves, but she could not understand. “But darling, why should the party distress you? You have been so excited!” she had said.
I had not even tried explaining. I was already mortified Nora was aware of my preoccupation with the toilet and that she had stood outside the door speaking to me, all during my hours of distress. “Oh, please leave,” I had said, restraining a certain amount of desperation that I knew had overcome me.
I reached my room and fell to the bed. Being a lady was exhausting.
“A bath has been drawn,” Nora said from outside my door.
I glanced at my dress and grinned. It would be an evening to remember. It was the first time I would wear my hair in a pompadour. I was only fifteen, but Julia insisted. It was her first grownup lady party.
The lavender calmed me, and the warmth of the water cleared my mind. By the time my dress was cinched—all the tighter for my recent anxiety-induced weight loss—and my hair was curled and pinned, I hardly recognized myself. I looked like a proper lady, not the country child I always felt.
I left the house on Wieser Street hanging on the arm of Uncle Johnny and arrived at the door of the courthouse. I felt much like the girl playing dress-up at the farm—draped in the finest of dresses and jewelry and fitted with my own set of high-helled boots. Only this time, there were no animals to feed and no one to scold me. If Clara twisted an ankle here, it was no fault of mine.
“Nora and John, welcome,” Mr. Everton said. He was a short, slight man who seemed to place too much importance on his stiffly styled hair and golden accessories. The pin on his tie, the rim of his glasses, his rings and watch—they were all gold.
“It is wonderful to see you again,” a woman beside Julia, presumably Mrs. Everton, said. She was wearing an ornate dress of ruffles and laces, greens and beiges, silks and satins. It was the type of dress that was made to be admired, a dress created for the sole purpose of setting the owner apart from everyone else.
My aunt turned toward Clara. “My eldest niece, Clara.”
Mr. Everton bowed, Mrs. Everton leaning in to take Clara’s hand.
Clara smiled, the same forced curve I had come to expect. “How do you do?”
Mrs. Everton turned to me, and I saw Julia’s same blue eyes, a likeness in her cheeks and smile. “And you must be Elizabeth. Julia speaks of you incessantly. It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said, a playfulness in her tone. Her gaze drifted up and down, resting on my face. “My, my, Nora. Your nieces are such beauties.”
It was the kind of thing women like Mrs. Everton were expected to say, but even so, I felt my cheeks burn. My eyes fell to the floor.
Julia took my arm. “Mother, please excuse us. I am dying to show Elizabeth the refreshments.”
Her mother’s eyes widened, her elegant features becoming pointed. “Julia, I need not remind you of your obligation to all of your guests, do I?”
Julia shook her head, producing the most charming smile. “Of course not, Mother. Rest assured, I take that responsibility most seriously.”
We walked, slowly and ladylike, to the refreshments. I endeavored to hold my head high. Just last week, the matron of the school had given us a ten-minute lecture on the importance of gait. “Not too quickly, ladies,” she had said as we circled the room. “Smaller steps, Miss Pratt. It must look effortless, but do not mistake—you must always be aware of your hem and the obstacles that lie along your path.”
“What marvelous gait, Miss Pratt,” Julia said, squinting as Mrs. Shrack was prone to. “Now, if you’ll only hold your head a bit higher.”
My lips pulled to one side. “You mustn’t even try to act like such a goose. You do a poor job of it. You are much too amusing to be convincing.”
Julia started. “Perhaps we should save our impressions for a later time. There is a gentleman across the room who cannot seem to keep his eyes off of you.”
“Julia, you mustn’t tease me.” But then I saw him. A tall and elegant frame, dark eyes, a polished smile, and a handsome face. My pulse quickened. He was staring at me in a most serious way. “That’s outrageous.” My voice was barely more than a whisper and had grown throaty. “He must know I am barely more than a child.”
Julia craned her neck. “You do not look fifteen tonight. With your new dress and pinned-up hair, you look like a proper lady, and he is handsome indeed.”
I turned from his gaze, ashamed at the heat rushing to my cheeks. I was sure the gentleman saw the blush.
Julia continued. “Not to worry, Elizabeth. He will not come near you until he is properly introduced to your aunt and uncle. And even then, you do not have to speak to him.”
I felt faint. Is this what it meant to be a grown-up lady? It was more daunting than climbing the oak in the school’s front garden. With trees, at least I knew where to grip and how to step, even if my arms were weak. This—this was something else entirely. It was insurmountable to think of charming a gentleman. My schooling and attempts at becoming mannered had done nothing to prepare me for a man’s attentions. He had stared at me with such admiration. Forget weak arms; my knees knocked together and threatened to give out.
“Oh, look,” Julia said, tugging at my arm. “He is introducing himself to your aunt and uncle as we speak.”
I could not look. I would not look.
“Elizabeth, he really does have the most elegant stride. He looks to be wealthy.” She paused, craning her neck once more to get a better look. “You cannot afford not to encourage him.”
“Fifteen.” I folded my arms. “Need I remi
nd you I am fifteen?”
Julia pressed her lips together. “Courtships take time, especially if the gentleman has matters to attend to. He looks no older than twenty. He most likely has not even come of age for his inheritance yet.”
My eyes disobediently wandered, meeting the man’s gaze. He shook my uncle’s hand but smiled and dipped his chin in greeting to me.
My mouth went dry. It was absolutely unnerving. How did Clara endure such looks from Thomas? How had she learned to smile back in that teasing way I had witnessed?
“Elizabeth, you must return to your aunt and uncle,” Julia said.
“Surely, you do not mean that I go now.” I glared.
“Suit yourself, but as I assured my mother, I must attend to my other guests.” She left my side and greeted a nearby guest, thanking them for coming and inquiring about their health and family.
I could not remain alone, not when that man continued to speak to Uncle Johnny. My isolation would serve as an invitation for introduction. I could not bear it. I wandered to the powder room. It was cowardly, and I chided myself for it. Had I not wanted attention when I dressed for the evening? Had I not hoped for a man to admire me?
I did not dance that night. I could not, not after the way that man had stared at me. My heart had been stirred, and a curiosity sparked. It was different than what I had felt for dreamy Toby Lowry; Toby was merely a boy.
Elle,
I hear Virginia is beautiful this time of year. Or at least that’s what I hope.
After leaving, I found my way to Denver. There was work to be had, mostly in the factories and sugar beet farms. But I went south to Cripple Creek Gold Mine. Just think of it, your brother as a gold miner!
I’ve got myself a tent, and some days it takes me back to our nights under the stars as children. Do you remember tracing our fingers over the constellations? You never wanted to leave. If Daddy would have let you, you would have fallen asleep under those stars.
I found a gang of boys to keep me sane. I even found myself another farm boy from Utah. He ain’t so silly as the others, and we are both more accustomed to hard work.
Forever Elle (Regency Romance) Page 10