by Laura Locke
Conner waved his hand. “No need, Mr. Wellchester, sir. I had anticipated the same and will stay long enough to be sure that all is well before I join you.” With that he tipped his hat toward Ira and turned to lift Melody down from the carriage and retrieve the long, cloth covered down Melody had brought with her.
Melody took a deep breath and pull down the best of her ensemble. “Well, let us see what happens,” she said with determination and started up the walk. Conner sent a short wave to Ira and followed her lead.
Chapter 11
“Very well, at least you were quick about it,” Abigail Rutherford observed from her throne. “Let’s see what you’ve done.”
Melody held her peace for the moment. She wanted the gown to receive Mrs. Rutherford’s attention rather than herself. She considered herself an artist and steeled herself for the disapproval she knew was coming.
Mrs. Rutherford was silent. She stood from her chair and came forward, wielding her monocle like a sword. She handled the fabric and moved around where Melody stood, looking at the workmanship with a critical eye. She lifted the hem and saw small, neat stitches that were practically invisible. The gown was constructed to allow the folds to hang very well, but the true test would come in the fitting.
“Draw the drapes, will you, Conner, on your way out?”
Conner knew the critical moment was at hand but he had given Ira his word he would not abandon Melody just yet. He moved to the windows and set over his shoulder, “I believe I will ask Mrs. Pinkerton to make me a small lunch. I will leave you ladies alone for now and after lunch, I plan to me with Melody’s father.”
“Very well, very well,” Abigail gestured him to vacate the room quickly. “We will have no need of you for at least the next hour.”
Nevertheless, Conner did as he promised and sat quietly with his lunch, observing the rear garden and listening for sounds of conflict from the parlor. There were none to be heard.
Melody helped Mrs. Rutherford out of her down and slid her own creation over the woman’s head. The fabric slid into place in perfect dimension. Melody had chosen a fabric of the soft rose color, knowing that Mrs. Rutherford, as most women her age had, lost some of her youthful vibrancy as her hair had grayed and her manner had become more course. The rose-colored softened her complexion and Melody could already see that Abigail was turning about before the mirror and a girlish fashion, a fact of which Melody was very glad. She had accomplished what she had intended. Mrs. Rutherford felt flattered by the color and the fit, and well she should. Melody could honestly say that Mrs. Rutherford looked almost charming.
“Conner! Come here and tell me what you think.”
Conner looked up at Mrs. Pinkerton in between them, they rolled her eyes as Mrs. Pinkerton turned back to her potato peeling while Conner stood with some reservation and went to face the enemy in her lair. He came around the corner and walked through the archway. He saw his mother standing before him, her arms arched gracefully at her side as she lightly picked at the folds of fabric that cascaded to the floor. He thought he had never seen her more lovely. “Mother, before you say anything, allow me to say that I believe the gown has transformed you into a girl again. The color suit you well and it is apparent that it was designed to flatter an already beautiful woman.”
Abigail’s mouth was open, as though frozen mid first complaint, but after hearing Conner’s words, she snapped it shut and absorbed his compliments with pleasure. “You know, I was thinking much the same thing,” she said as she continued to twirl before the mirror. Finally, she turned toward Melody and indicated to Conner that he should leave. “Help me off with this and give it to Mrs. Pinkerton to take to my room. Then you and I shall begin discussion of the rest of the gowns I would like you to make.”
Conner did not need to hear another word, but disappeared out the front door, closing it firmly behind himself so the ladies knew he was gone. Melody was delighted but she suppressed her happiness lest Mrs. Rutherford feel she had been too glowing in her estimation. It would not do to rob the woman of her reputation.
“Of course, Mrs. Rutherford.” Melody told her as she unfastened the loops that ran up the back of the gown and slid it over the older woman’s head. She laid over the back of the chair and quickly drew Mrs. Rutherford’s afternoon gown she’d been wearing back over the woman’s head and helped her secure it. She then picked up the rose gown and went in search of Mrs. Pinkerton who was nearby, as a matter-of-fact just around the corner of the archway. “Mrs. Rutherford asked…” Melody began when Mrs. Pinkerton shook her head.
“I heard her,” she whispered and gave Melody a thumbs up. Melody took a moment to adjust her own dress and taking a deep breath and swearing her shoulders, reentered Mrs. Rutherford’s parlor to begin discussion of an extended wardrobe. Melody made a few salient points, making sure they were flattering to Mrs. Rutherford, all of which only made the woman more pleased. It was nearly two hours later on the mantle clock when Melody heard Conner enter through the front door.
“Ladies?” he greeted them. “Have you completed your business?”
Abigail answered for the both of them. “As a matter of fact, your timing is perfect. I am famished and thirsty so if you will call for Mrs. Pinkerton on your way out, I would be obliged. Melody, I expect I will see you again soon?” There was no word of thanks, there was no mention of payment. All of that paled in the awareness that Mrs. Rutherford was pleased.
Melody bowed her head and followed Conner out the door. There stood the carriage and her father upon his horse waited behind. She gave him a smile and a thumbs up and he nodded with obvious relief. Conner handed her into the carriage and took his place beside her, snapping the reins and soon they were off.
“My mother seemed quite pleased,” he mentioned.
“I truly believe she was, and I will admit I am glad.” Melody gave a nervous laugh.
“You must understand that my mother thinks much of herself and little of others. It was room for her not to ask you to stay to tea, and of course, if you will forward your bill to the house in my name, I will see to it that you are kept up-to-date.”
Melody was a bit puzzled at the formality of his tone. She tried not to take it that she was merely a merchant, but that he was secretly pleased that his mother would cause no trouble. Perhaps he was but cautious in his celebration lest Melody misinterpreted as an act of fondness. She wanted to shrug it off, but perhaps that was too much to ask.
Chapter 12
Abigail Rutherford had become a celebrity in the small village and the credit was due to Melody. Abigail began hosting regular teas, inviting first the women she relied upon to be of quality, such as the reverend’s wife, the banker’s, the mayor’s and so forth. She purposefully left out Mrs. Dillard, for now. Word had gotten back to her that she had competition when it came to being the social leader of the community.
As soon as Melody delivered one gown, another two, or three, were ordered. Sylvia had to deal with all the other customers on her own as Melody sewed from the first breaking light to long into the darkness by candlelight.
“I do not like it,” Ira was defensive. “She’ll ruin her eyes.”
“Oh, now, do not fret. I’ve been doing the same since before I was her age and I can still see your crusty old chin well enough,” she chided him lovingly and kissed him. “Besides, Melody is making a name for herself, apart from me. She is getting orders now from other women in the village and I fear soon, we may need to hire on help.”
“Hmmm…” Ira growled. They were not hurting for money Indeed, he had inherited a good sum of money from an aunt and none of them needed to work unless they wanted to. Ira often said, when asked, “Would not know what to do with myself if I did not work.” He was not looking forward to a house full of women, chattering and sewing. He was beginning to feel the years of the hot and heavy work that farriers endured. He had hoped that once Melody had set off on her life, that he and Sylvia could travel a bit, perhaps even crossing the Atlan
tic to visit Johanna and her husband.
Sylvia could read the disapproval on his face. “Ira, we owe it to Melody to get her life started—just like we did for the others.”
“I know, but the question becomes whether her path is visible to us now,” he said thoughtfully and went outdoors.
Melody appeared in the doorway. “Mother, I am off to the village to deliver these gowns.”
“Let your father know, Melody,” Sylvia said absent-mindedly. “Melody?”
“Yes, Mother?” Melody was fitting a garment bag over several dresses.
“Does your father seem…well…different to you?”
“Different? In what way?”
“I am not sure. I ca not put my finger on it. There’s just something about him lately.”
Melody came and put her hand on Sylvia’s arm, patting it. “The years do pass by, Mother.”
Sylvia took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s just the years,” she told herself and went back to her sewing room.
“Father?”
Ira came to stand in the opened barn door.
“I am going to the Rutherford’s to deliver these gowns.”
He did not answer right away. “Would you like me to take you?”
“No need, Father. These are light and I will not be long.”
“Very well. Be careful.”
Melody waved as she started down the drive, visions of Conner floating in her head.
“Melody!” Sylvia’s voice broke into her reverie. She turned to see her mother gesturing her to come back. “You forgot the biscuits you made for Mrs. Rutherford,” she shouted.
“Be right there,” Melody hurried and said. In truth, she’d baked them for Conner, but it would not hurt to insinuate to Mrs. Rutherford that tea might be in order to accompany the sweets. Sylvia met her part-way, handing her the plate covered with a clean, linen cloth. “Thank you, Mother.”
Melody shuffled her load as she hurried down the road to the Rutherford house. It was a beautiful day with birds and squirrels cheering her on in her mission. She arrived at the house, nearly exhausted by keeping her arms high overhead to keep the skirts of the gowns from dragging in the dirt.
Mrs. Pinkerton opened the door and admitted Melody, taking one end of the bags of gowns in hand. She announced Melody and helper her lay things out in the parlor while Mrs. Rutherford watched from behind her monocle. “Bring us some tea, Mrs. Pinkerton,” she ordered. Melody smiled inwardly. Her plan had worked.
Conner, it appeared, was not at home. It was no longer necessary to try on new gowns as Melody had managed to precisely capture every nuance of Mrs. Rutherford’s robust shape. Mrs. Pinkerton entered with tea things and suddenly straightened at a knock at the door. She glanced at Mrs. Rutherford who motioned her to answer. A minute later she returned with three ladies who Melody recognized as the wives of the reverend, the mayor and the town doctor. They were tittering and it soon became obvious that Mrs. Rutherford had timed their invitation with Melody’s arrive with her newest gowns. She pointed them toward the gowns as they lay over a settee and the women dutifully admired and commented how beautiful they were. Abigail then nodded at Mrs. Pinkerton, who immediately bundled up the gowns and took them out while the ladies helped themselves to tea and took seats on the settee.
“Melody, dear, you’re looking so well. We’ve been admiring your beautiful work,” commented Catherine Cartwright and the others nodded in agreement.
“Of course, I give her direction and she just follows it,” piped up Mrs. Rutherford. “Otherwise, she’d probably make me nothing but ball gowns!”
The others laughed appropriately, but Melody burned inside. Abigail had managed to take whatever joy Melody could feel at her workmanship. She looked to Mrs. Rutherford and saw the mocking glint of victory in her eyes. It sickened her. Mrs. Rutherford went on to say, “No need for you to linger, Melody, I am sure you have a barn to clean or some such,” she tittered. Melody had to fight the impulse to launch herself at the old hawk and claw her eyes out.
“Of course,” she murmured quietly and rose, her eyes darting to the plate of biscuits she had brought.
“Mrs. Pinkerton! Get a clean plate for those biscuits before we eat them!” shrilled Abigail as the women’s eyes grew large at the rudeness. Mrs. Pinkerton appeared in the archway, a plate in hand and absolute pity for Melody in her eyes. She quietly transferred the biscuits from Melody’s plate to the new one and handed Melody’s back to her. There was nothing to do but lower her burning gaze and exit while the others watched.
As she closed the door behind herself, coal black eyes watched her from the top of the staircase. They were angry; he had overheard every word, every nuance.
Chapter 13
“Melody!” Conner called to her. “Hold up, would you?”
Melody stopped, but did not turn around. She did not want him to see the tears on her face and was trying to subtly wipe them clear without him catching on. She blinked rapidly and then ultimately turn, her gloved finger in her eye. “Some dirt from the road must have blown into my eyes,” she called back and waited.
Conner was already bounding toward her, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her. “Here, see if this helps,” he said, looking away to salvage her dignity. They both knew she had been crying but good manners prevented calling attention to it.
Melody dabbed at her eyes and then handed back the handkerchief. “Please, keep it,” Conner said, shaking his head. “Just in case more dirt blows into your eyes on your way home.” Melody nodded and slid it into her pocket.
Breaking out into a smile she did her best. “I am sorry I did not miss you entirely.”
“Mother never mentioned you were coming. Was it planned?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes, she knew for two days I was expected for tea…” she snapped her mouth shut. She had rightfully been invited for tea, although Mrs. Rutherford evidently found it more convenient to uninvite her once the others arrived.
“I heard…all of it. Melody, I just do not know what to say. Mother can be controlling, to the point of being cruel. I’ve seen her do it before. I’ll speak to her.”
“No!” The word flew out before she could think. “That is… no reason to cause a fuss. I would prefer to stay on her good side, if you get my meaning.”
“Then you are as ambitious as you are beautiful,” Conner lavished upon her and suddenly, Melody felt all was again right with the world. “Look, would you allow me to accompany you home? It is a fine day and I would enjoy the exercise, and of course, your company.”
“I would be delighted,” Melody answered, blushing again. The tears were gone.
He put out his arm and she took it with her gloved hand. They walk a bit before either said anything. Melody was thinking it was perhaps the most delightful walk from the village she had ever experienced.
“I have been meaning to have a conversation with you,” Conner began. Melody steeled herself.
“Oh?”
“I know we spoke of this before, on the day you delivered my mother’s first gown and we rode in the carriage. Do you remember?”
“Are you referring to the fact that you wish to join his Majesty’s Naval service?”
“Exactly,” Conner said as he nodded. They both looked straight ahead; somehow that was easier.
“Should I assume that you are about to do this?”
“Yes, I am.”
Melody bit the inside of her lip to keep from tearing up again and she chose her words carefully. “Conner, I am certain you will be a fine seaman and represent your family well. Of course, I wish you smooth seas and beautiful places to visit.”
“That’s it?”
“Should there be more?” she asked, puzzled.
“It’s just that I… Well, I suppose I should just say it outright. Even though I mentioned my future plans, I must say that I have gotten the feeling that you and I had become quite good friends. I know t
hat I hold a good deal of admiration for you… warm admiration.”
Melody held her breath.
“Are you offended if I speak bluntly?” Conner had stopped in the lane, coming around so that he faced her. It was that sort of conversation.
“No, not at all. I would prefer you would be blunt. It makes things so much simpler.”
“Very well. Melody, if I were to venture into anything else that would keep me close to home, I would very much like to explore getting to know you better. Much better, in fact. But, it is much as I will be primarily very far away, and have no idea how long I may be gone, it would be extremely unfair of me to give you any idea that might course you to not explore another suitor, should one appear. In short, I have nothing to offer you at the moment, other than my mother’s money and my own good name. I want more than that. Far more than that. This seems to be the best way for that and although it pains me to leave you behind, there seems to be no better solution.”
“Conner, I am not sure what you are trying to say. Let me say at this point that I feel the same way about you. Surely, it has been obvious. I’ve caught myself many times leaning toward assumptions that were not mine to make. It has proven embarrassing but at the same time I have so enjoyed your company that I would be very disappointed if our paths were never to cross again.”
Conner reached forward and took Melody’s hand in his own. “This is not a financial decision, just so you understand. There is no concern with that. This is more about my making something of myself; something other than Abigail’s son. One day, Abigail will be gone and then who shall I be? Also, to be quite honest, I have grown tired of catering to her whims. As you know, she can be very demanding and it may teach her some humility if she is in a position to fend for herself. Naturally, there is a barrister she can reach out to, but I guarantee you, he will not move in with her nor will he sit like a fop on the end of her parlor chair as she enriches the world with her opinions.”