A Silken Thread

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Inside the house, Langdon placed his hat on a shelf. He removed the slicker and Laurel’s cloak from her shoulders and passed both items to one of their house servants, Damaris. Then he shrugged out of his damp suit jacket and flopped it into Damaris’s arms. “I need a dry coat. Select a black one from my wardrobe. My shoes are muddy, so I need a pair of boots as well. I’ll be in the front parlor.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  He kicked off his shoes and left them on a mat beside the door. “Tell Odie I need these shoes cleaned by Monday morning.”

  “Yes, suh, Mistuh Langdon.” The girl scurried off, the ties of her apron fluttering behind her.

  He turned to Laurel and found her staring after Damaris. He touched her back, and she jumped. He held his hand to the hallway. “Shall we go to the parlor? I’m sure Mother and Father are there waiting for us.”

  “Of course.” But she didn’t shift her gaze from the opening of the staircase where Damaris had disappeared.

  He chuckled. “Damaris is very responsible. She’ll see to my needs.”

  Laurel looked up at him, puzzlement pinching her features. “I don’t question that. She seemed very capable. But…”

  Ah, that sweet face of hers turned upward was tempting. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets to prevent drawing her near and tasting her lips. “But what, Miss Millard? What’s troubling you?”

  She gazed intently into his eyes for several seconds, unblinking. Then she sighed. “You were rather harsh with her, don’t you think? And with the—what did you call him?—the footman, too.”

  “How was I harsh?”

  “You didn’t ask if she would fetch you a fresh coat and shoes. You…commanded. And you didn’t thank her or the footman for their service.”

  He might regret it later, but he couldn’t resist blasting a short laugh. “Let me ascertain I understand. You found my treatment harsh because I gave explicit directions and then neglected to express appreciation to those who performed a service for which they are being paid?”

  Laurel’s cheeks flooded with color, but she lifted her pert little chin. “Yes.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “My dear Miss Millard, you are quite”—he shouldn’t call her ignorant, although the description fit—“unfamiliar with the appropriate means of dealing with servants. It’s kind of you to be concerned, but I can assure you, neither Damaris nor Andrew is the least bit offended. One must speak directly to them. It’s all their simple minds understand.”

  She still appeared uncertain. Langdon stifled a sigh. He grazed her cheek with his knuckles, giving her one of his low-lidded smiles. “Please believe me, dear Miss Millard. They accept their positions of servitude, they appreciate the wage they receive, and they willingly perform the duties necessary to earn the wage.” He took hold of her shoulders and gently turned her in the direction of the parlor. “Now, my parents are probably wondering what we’re doing here in the back hall. So let’s go join them, hmm?”

  The pocket doors had been pushed into their casings. Father turned his head at their approach from the hallway, set aside his book, and rose when they entered the guest parlor. Mother remained in her wingback chair near the fireplace. Langdon guided Laurel across the plush carpet to Father. In his peripheral vision, he witnessed Mother giving Laurel a slow head-to-toes examination.

  “Father, may I introduce Miss Laurel Millard. Miss Millard, this is my father, Harrison Rochester.”

  Laurel dipped a pretty curtsy. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir.”

  “And you as well, Miss Millard.” He held his hand to Mother. “Miss Millard, my wife, Marinda.”

  Laurel made a second curtsy. “Hello, Mrs. Rochester. Thank you for inviting me to your home.” Her brown-eyed gaze flitted from the high recessed ceiling to the velvet draperies to the marble fireplace to the grand piano standing proud and silent in the corner and finally back to Mother. “It’s very beautiful.” Wonderment filled her tone and expression.

  Mother swished her hand in a humble gesture. “It’s a mere replica of a grand estate Harrison and I visited when we spent a spring in Paris before Langdon was born. We so enjoyed our time there that we named our son in honor of Langdon Estate.” She gave the room a quick perusal and then pinned a warm smile on Laurel. “Thank you for your kind words.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Mother clicked her tongue on her teeth and frowned at Langdon. “My, so disheveled. Why are you in your stocking feet, and where is your coat?”

  Langdon leaned down and placed a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “It’s still raining and I got wet. Damaris is bringing me fresh items.”

  “Well, I hope she hurries. You can’t enter the dining room like that.”

  Father gestured to the settee. “Please sit down, Miss Millard.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Laurel whisked an uncertain look in Langdon’s direction, but she sat on the edge of the settee where Father had indicated. Langdon sat next to her and stretched his arm across the arched back.

  Father settled into his chair and linked his hands on his stomach. “So tell me, Miss Millard, what does your father do?”

  Langdon cleared his throat. “Miss Millard’s father is deceased. But he was a salesman for a pharmaceutical company, isn’t that right, Miss Millard?”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “Yes. He died in a stagecoach accident when I was very young, so I don’t remember him, but I have my mother and several older brothers and sisters. I’m very fortunate.”

  Langdon glanced at Mother. A sympathetic pout pursed her lips. A good sign. “Mother, Miss Millard is a very talented weaver. She and her mother make fabric and rugs on a loom in their home, and Miss Millard is using her skill to weave fabric from silk at the exposition. It’s a fascinating process. You should visit the Silk Room. There are many displays in the Women’s Building that you might find of interest.”

  “Perhaps I will.”

  Damaris stepped into the wide doorway holding a pair of Langdon’s boots in one hand and a suit jacket by its hanger in the other. “E’scuse me, but I got Mistuh Langdon’s things for him.”

  Langdon rose and crossed the floor. He took the items and examined them. He would have preferred his jacket with the silk lapels, but this one would do. “Where is my damp jacket?”

  “I hung it ovuh the dressin’ chair in yo’ room, Mistuh Langdon. I go move it if you want.”

  “No, that’s fine.” He dropped the boots beside the door and slipped his arms into the jacket.

  “Is they anythin’ else?”

  “No.” Laurel was watching him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He added for her benefit, “Thank you, Damaris.”

  The girl’s eyes widened, and she bobbed a curtsy. “You welcome, suh.” Then she leaned sideways a bit and peeked at Mother. “Cook say dinner’s ready when you wanna eat.”

  “Very well. Tell her fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes’m.” Damaris darted off.

  Mother rose and held her hand to Laurel. “Come along, dear. I’ll give you a quick tour of the main floor while Langdon puts on his shoes.” She guided Laurel to the hallway, sending a half-chastising, half-amused smirk over her shoulder as she passed him. “Langdon informs us you have a fondness for books. I believe you’ll find the library of particular interest.”

  Willie

  First thing Monday morning, Mr. Felton called the guards’ names one by one and slapped a brown pay envelope into their waiting hands.

  Willie accepted his with a thank-you and stepped out of the way for Turner, who nearly knocked other fellows over in his rush. The man waved the pay packet over his head and bellowed, “Woo-hoo!” His voice echoed off the concrete walls, and the others laughed.

  Ted Dunning smacked Turner on the back. “You got big plans for your pay, Simon?”

  “I sure do.” Turner plopped onto the bench in front of the cubbies and st
uck both feet in the air. “Got my grandpa’s boots when he passed, an’ I been wearin’ ’em for the past ten years. I’m gonna buy me some new ones. The right-and-left kind with soles meant to fit a fellow’s feet.”

  Briggs pointed at Turner’s soles and burst out laughing. “Lookit those things! Haven’t seen a pair like that since I was no taller’n a picket fence. I plumb forgot they used to make ’em all the same an’ a man hadda shape ’em to his right or left foot by wearin’ ’em.”

  Turner dropped his worn heels to the floor and shifted his toes back and forth. “Gotta say, though, for bein’ put together so long ago, they’ve held out better’n some you can buy in the store. Still in all, won’t sadden me much to give ’em a toss.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Been lookin’ in the Montgomery Ward catalog an’ picked out a pair of fine-lookin’ boots. They’re called a river driving boot. Dunno what that means, but it sounds pretty fancy to me. A whole four dollars an’ two bits to buy ’em, but”—he waved the packet again—“I can afford it.”

  The others laughed and nudged each other, proclaiming what they planned to buy with the extra money in their packets. Willie had plans for his, too, but he kept them to himself.

  Mr. Felton held up his hands. “All right, all right, enough horsin’ around. Put your envelopes in your cubbies an’ head out. Earn that pay.”

  Still chuckling and whacking each other on the shoulders, the men jammed their envelopes under their clothes in their cubbies and filed out. Willie started to put his envelope in his cubby, but he remembered he owed Miss Millard ten cents. There wasn’t time to dig through his envelope in search of a dime now, but if he kept the envelope with him, he could do it during his break. He opened one button, slid the packet inside his shirt, then buttoned up again.

  Mr. Felton watched him. “You plannin’ to carry that with you all day?”

  Willie nodded.

  The man whistled through his teeth. “Well, you watch yourself. After that break-in at the Women’s Buildin’, I’ve decided anything could happen. So be extra cautious. Carryin’ a wad o’ money is an open invitation for somebody to try an’ take it from you.”

  Willie swallowed a grin. The man looked so serious. But who would even know he had a wad of money under his shirt? “I’ll be cautious, sir. Thanks for the warnin’.”

  He climbed the narrow concrete stairs leading to the outside entrance and stepped from the building into full sunshine. He squinted as he strode across the square, but he wouldn’t begrudge the sun shining down. The clouds had finally run out of wet yesterday afternoon, and now the sun had some work to do drying everything out.

  Would folks mostly stay home since the ground was all muddy and the air made a person feel like he was fighting through a wet wool blanket? The rainy days had sure stretched long with so few visitors to the grounds. He couldn’t help worrying that if folks didn’t come, the organizers might decide to shut things down early. That’d mean no extra pay.

  He patted the thick envelope resting against his rib cage. It’d feel good to repay Preacher Hines for the money collected by the church for Pa’s care. He’d sort through the envelope tonight and make his pay stacks for rent, food, and coal oil, like he always did. Only this time it’d be different because there’d be a fourth stack—for Pa.

  Thank You, God, for this job. Thank You, God, that Pa’s gettin’ better. He’d prayed that thank-you prayer about Pa at least ten times since his visit to the hospital yesterday afternoon. Seemed like Pa’s right hand was getting better every day, and he had more sounds now, too. Pa’d greeted him with his name—Wiii-eee—when he came through the door, and it’d brought tears to his eyes. Brought ’em again now, thinking about it.

  He stopped and cleared his eyes with the heels of his hands. It wouldn’t do for the ladies in the Silk Room to see him all teary eyed. He sniffed hard, swiped his palms down his pant legs, and set off again. The patter of footsteps came from behind him, and Mr. Felton’s warning rang in his mind. He whirled around, prepared to defend himself against an assault, but it was only Miss Millard, swinging her lunch pail in one hand and holding her skirts above her toes with the other. Her feet were moving fast, though, almost running.

  The sight tickled him. She was generally so ladylike. But here she came, as reckless as a schoolkid let out for recess. He grinned when she came to a halt next to him. Little dots of perspiration decorated her forehead, and her cheeks glowed bright red. He chuckled. “Did you run the whole way from the Administration Buildin’?”

  She nodded, her breath coming in puffs. “I don’t want to arrive late to the Silk Room. Especially not on payday. But Eugene was late coming to get me. He said the muddy roads slowed the carriage.”

  He scratched his temple. “Doesn’t your driver live right close by on your grounds?”

  She gawked at him, open mouthed, for a few seconds, and then she laughed. “I don’t have grounds. And Eugene isn’t my driver. He’s my brother.”

  Now Willie gawked. “Your brother? But…I thought…” He shook his head hard enough to rattle his brain. “Ain’t you rich?”

  Her laughter spilled again, so merry he couldn’t take offense. “Mama would say we are rich in love and blessings, but no, we’re not rich in money.” She crinkled her nose. “You really thought I was rich?”

  He shrugged, embarrassed. “The carriage, the way you talk…”

  “The carriage belongs to my brother’s employer, Mr. Salisbury, who kindly shares it with our family. As for my speech, Mama and I read together every day.” She touched his sleeve. “I’m sorry if I misled you. It wasn’t intentional.”

  He stared at her slender hand resting on his jacket sleeve. He swallowed. “No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I got confused, that’s all.” He lowered his arm, and her hand slipped away. He gestured to the clock on the Chimes Tower. “An’ all that runnin’ put you in good stead. The clock won’t chime eight for another three minutes.”

  “Whew!” She patted her forehead and grinned at him. “Then I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  Funny how it made his chest go light, walking with Miss Millard. He had to shorten up his stride some to match hers, and even that gave him pleasure. Knowing she wasn’t rich seemed to crumble a barricade between them, and he gave the admiration he’d felt from the first time he’d seen her in the bank hallway the freedom to come out of hiding.

  They reached the Women’s Building at the same time as Miss Hill and Miss Collinwood. The other girls swooped in on either side of Miss Millard like vultures on a dead possum, bumping him out of the way. The three moved up the steps side by side, and he trailed them.

  Miss Hill curled her arm around Miss Millard’s waist. “Was his house beautiful?”

  Miss Collinwood leaned close. “What did you eat for supper, somethin’ exotic like duck à l’orange or steak tartare?”

  Miss Millard giggled.

  Willie darted around the girls and opened the door for them. They entered the building without so much as a glance at him. All the way to the Silk Room, they peppered Miss Millard with questions about her visit to the Rochester estate. He followed, listening close so he’d hear Miss Millard’s answers. If she ever answered. So far all she’d done was giggle.

  Miss Warner stood up from her desk and frowned when they burst through the Silk Room door and put their lunch pails behind the counter. “Gracious, girls, you’re as noisy as a pack of baying hounds.”

  Miss Hill hunched her shoulders. “But, Miss Warner, me an’ Berta haven’t ever visited a fancy estate. An’ Laurel isn’t telling us anything. Don’t you think she ought to, seein’ as how she told us she’d be goin’ to the Rochester estate with Langdon Rochester?”

  Miss Warner sat on the edge of her desk and folded her arms. “A lady does not divulge the details of her courtship.”

  Willie blinked twice. Courtship? Was Miss Millard in a courtship with Mr. Rochester’s
son? A rock seemed to fall on his stomach.

  Miss Collinwood huffed. “Laurel’s hardly a lady. She’s still a girl, like us. An’ bein’ asked to dinner one time doesn’t mean she’s bein’ courted.”

  Miss Millard hung her head and pressed her lips into a thin line.

  “If one of us got invited to the Rochester estate, we’d sure tell her all about it.”

  Miss Hill bumped Miss Millard with her elbow. “Please, Laurel? You don’t have to tell us if he kissed you—”

  Miss Millard’s face turned bright red.

  “—but at least tell us about the house an’ what you ate an’…an’ everything else.”

  Miss Millard lifted her head and peeked at Miss Warner. She didn’t say anything, but her expression asked permission.

  Miss Warner sighed. “It’s your decision, Laurel, if you care to tell about the evening or keep the details to yourself.”

  Miss Millard twirled a strand of her hair, her brown eyes shifting back and forth from Miss Collinwood to Miss Hill. Finally she threw her arms wide. “All right. I’ll tell you about the carriage that came for me, the house, and what we ate for dinner, but…” Her forehead pinched into a frown.

  Miss Hill stamped her foot. “But what?”

  To Willie’s surprise, Miss Millard turned to him. “Officer Sharp, would you please join our conversation? I have some questions…about the way the Rochesters think…and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I believe you’ll be able to help.”

  Laurel

  Laurel waited for Officer Sharp to decide. He stood quietly, his shoulders stiff and his hand on his stomach. She hoped she hadn’t broken a rule of etiquette by inviting him to take part in what her friends would call a girls-only talk, but his lifelong friendship with Quincy Tate gave him experience neither she nor the other women possessed.

  He gave a little jerk, as if someone had pricked him with a pin, and took one step toward them. “I…reckon I can listen. If there’s somethin’ I can say that’ll help, I’m willin’, but…” He chuckled and scratched his head. “I don’t know much about courtship, Miss Millard.”