by Robyn Carr
Lilly suddenly realized what her mother was trying to say. She was keeping company! And Lilly had to hold back her giggles. She liked Mr. Padgett. He was most entertaining with his stories about the West, and there was no question but that he was an unselfish man. But Emily had always rejected suitors! Better looking and more established suitors than the cowboy.
“That would be so nice for you, Mama. You do actually like Mr. Padgett, don’t you?”
“I do like him, Lilly. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”
Lilly had laughed, causing her mother’s complexion to take on a slightly darker hue. “Oh, Mama, I trust you’ll mind your manners.”
“Yes, Lilly,” she promised, poised and maternal once again, “I’ll mind my manners.”
“Have a fun time,” Lilly said, turning to leave the parlor where their conversation had taken place. “Oh, and Mama,” she said in an afterthought, “don’t ask Patricia if she minds.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, she’ll barely notice you’ve gone. And for another, she minds everything.” Again Emily had smiled. In the end, however, she had told Patricia of her plans. And Lilly was correct--Patricia minded.
“I said to her, ‘My goodness, Mama, you don’t mean to say he interests you!’ “ Patricia reported.
“You didn’t really! Poor Mama finally has something to do besides work, someone to talk to besides Sophia, and what do you do? You discourage her! Shame on you.”
“What if she were to marry him? I would be mortified! He’s so awful looking! And he’s not even from the city!”
“And I suppose Dale Montaine is such a prize by comparison?”
“This has nothing whatever to do with anyone else,” she said.
“Who is handsome and correct for Mama, Patricia?” Lilly asked, and asked sincerely.
Patricia stuttered. She stammered and opened her mouth several times, uttering little sounds but no answer.
“No one,” Lilly said. “Isn’t that right? You don’t think Mama has any right to a beau.”
Patricia’s eyes narrowed. “Papa was right.”
“How do you know? Do you remember him?”
“It doesn’t matter. She loved him and married him. He was the right one, then.”
Lilly looked at her sister with level and solemn eyes. “Who is right for you, Patsy?” she asked quietly.
“I’m not sure yet,” she said, tossing her head in a dismissive fashion. And Lilly suddenly knew that Patricia, for all her flirting, had not yet met anyone she truly liked.
“I would think you’d be very grateful to Mr. Padgett for rescuing you from the party.”
“I thanked him. That doesn’t mean I’m offering up Mama.”
“Patricia, you are too selfish. And if you dare say another word to Mama to discourage her from having a good time, I’m going to tell about Dale being, just by chance, at the theater every Thursday afternoon.”
Patricia had fixed her with a glare that chilled her through and through.
But Emily had her picnic. Lilly, being very interested in watching all of this romance happening right under her own roof, had waited for their return, eager to hear all about it. When she opened her mouth to ask, Sophia had interrupted with chores for her to do and said, “Why don’t you, jes’ this once, mind your own business.”
Lilly noticed at dinner that no one asked, as though they had agreed beforehand. There was a comical strain on all the faces, as if an unfurled peacock sat in the middle of their dinner table but must not be mentioned. They seemed to be ignoring this courtship. Eyes darted about to meet fleetingly, and lips curved in little smiles of knowledge. No one would risk embarrassing or discouraging Emily. Lilly, too, remained silent. Patricia was the only one who had a different reason for not asking about the picnic; she was sullen, disapproving, and possibly jealous. She did not want her mother to be seen with that frightful cowboy. He seemed so odd, even if he did have important friends.
A few days later, late in the evening, Patricia and Lilly were getting ready for bed. Patricia sat before the mirror and brushed her hair. She rarely spoke except to complain. Lilly sat cross-legged on the bed, her pen flying over the pages of her journal.
“Something wonderfully secret is happening in our house and it has to do with love. I’ve never known Mama to be unhappy--I’ve never seen her cry, not once--but she is showing a new, glowing brightness. Her steps are light, her voice is gentler than ever before, and when she looks at our cowboy-boarder, her eyes are filled with affection. Things that once threw Mama into a fit bother her hardly at all. For the first time she does not do so many evening chores, but sits on the porch swing night after night, talking with Mr. Padgett. When I remarked that we usually beat the rugs on Saturdays, she said it could wait a week, and Mama has never before gone off her schedule. She is in love with our boarder, and he with her. There will be a wedding.”
Lilly was charmed by their exchanged glances, but Patricia was appalled. But then Patricia was hard to please, and it was doubtful that any man would quite do for Mama. Still, even Patricia seemed to cheer some when Mr. Padgett announced after dinner that he had a surprise for the entire household. His business was with the Centennial Exhibition, and he brought passes for everyone. Both the admission and the ferry tokens were passed around, but for Emily, Patricia, and Lilly there was an even greater gift; he wished to escort them, treat them to dinner at a foreign restaurant on the grounds, and buy them souvenirs. Lilly had to physically struggle to keep her seat, her excitement was so great. And Patricia actually smiled. So plans were made for the next Saturday.
“What are you going to wear to the Exhibition, Patsy?” Lilly asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied absently.
“I’m thinking of my yellow chintz with the Chambery lace. We’ll carry parasols, won’t we? Do you suppose we should suggest packing a lunch? He’s spending a frightful lot, isn’t he? Do you suppose he’s very rich?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t care.”
“But he was at the senator’s party--and wearing a formal suit. Don’t you like him, Patsy? At all?”
Patricia sighed and put down her hair brush. “I think,” she said carefully, “that he’s an atrocity.”
“But what if he’s rich?” Lilly said, smiling, trying to tempt Patricia.
“Then he’s a rich atrocity.”
Lilly’s smile disappeared, and she stared at her sister in disapproval before looking back to her journal, filling her pen, scratching on the page.
“I’m going to ask Mama something. I’ll be right back,” Patricia said. She took a robe from the armoire; she and Lilly shared one, and so the cut was generous. She was forced to lift it to go down the steps.
A lamp was lit in the parlor, and the smell of John’s tobacco still hung in the air, although it had been some time since she’d heard John and Sophia depart. She heard voices, but the parlor was empty, and she grimaced as she imagined that her mother and Mr. Padgett were still on the porch. Night after night! Had her mother stopped caring what he neighbors or boarders thought? Their obvious courtship rankled Patricia. She lived in dread fear that they might actually marry.
She stopped short when she heard what was definitely her mother’s giggle! Patricia felt her cheeks grow hot. Not really, she thought. Could that really be her strict and fussy Mama, giggling with a man? She listened more closely.
“I don’t know that Mrs. Fairchild can manage the fair, but it was good of you. Nor Annie--she’s well along now. The baby will come in another month, and she’s had problems in the past.”
“They have wheelchairs and carts for rent,” he said. “But I aim to be with you. They’ll have to find their own folks to push them around.”
“You gave me no warning at all,” she said softly. “I never imagined such a wonderful gift. And for them all!”
“For you,” he said, his voice low. And she laughed lightly, again!
Patricia pushed through the scree
n door in a wide swirl of her nightgown and robe. She startled Emily, who jumped slightly. Patricia glowered at them, angry and ashamed. They were both on the porch swing, a change of venue. And his arm was around Emily’s back, not quite embracing her, but it was behind her shoulders. They might have been kissing! Patricia wanted to slap her mother.
“Patsy?” Emily asked. “I thought you were in bed.”
“Not just yet,” she replied flatly.
“Do you need me for something?”
She is not even embarrassed, Patricia thought, glaring at her mother.
“I want to ask you something.”
“All right.”
Patricia shifted from foot to foot, letting outrage show all over her face. Emily should extract herself, go inside, and let Patricia ask her question privately. But it was obvious that Emily had no intention of moving.
“The lectures are finished,” Patricia said. “But I need some kind of outing. May I go to the lending library on Thursday?”
“With Lilly?” Emily asked.
“Oh yes, ma’am,” she replied quite sarcastically. “I will be properly chaperoned.”
Emily frowned slightly, but didn’t budge from the porch swing. In fact it appeared that she settled in more solidly, as if there were a contest of sorts. “Very well,” she finally said, but by the sound of her voice she was displeased with Patricia.
Patricia didn’t say anything else. She turned away as dramatically as she had arrived, letting her nightgown and robe swirl wide, storming into the house, although she was very careful not to let the door slam. She let her feet strike the stairs much harder going up than she had coming down, and she wasn’t nearly so careful with her bedroom door.
“Good grief,” Lilly said, looking up when the door shut hard.
“They were kissing,” Patricia hissed, her eyes sparkling with rage.
“For heaven’s sake,” Lilly said. “Do you feel that Mama isn’t old enough? What is the matter with you?”
“How dare she tell me how to live my life when she’s found kissing on the porch swing in full view of the neighborhood every evening!”
Lilly glanced toward the window. It was completely dark. This was hardly full view. But she said nothing. She did not, however, understand Patricia’s intense anger.
They had attended the lectures together for six weeks, every Thursday afternoon. Every time Patricia talked quietly with Dale Montaine while Lilly read the bills at the theater. Lilly was not confused by Patricia’s desire to go to the lending library at precisely that time of day.
“I don’t suppose Mr. Montaine will be waiting outside the theater?” Lilly asked Patricia as they walked across Rittenhouse Square.
“If that were any of your business, I would reply.”
Lilly stopped walking. She touched Patricia’s arm to halt her. Lilly’s voice was low. “Patricia, please. Please tell me why you’re so angry. Please tell me what you want and why you’re so unhappy.”
“It would be silly of me to try to talk to either you or Mama. Don’t even pretend you understand me. I know you don’t! It is perfectly all right for you to go where you like and do as you please and even skip school, but I am confined for the whole summer because I went to a very important social event! Mama can sit on the porch swing kissing, but I am punished because Mama thinks I am too flirtatious. Do you think that’s fair, Lilly? Do you?”
“Patsy, it’s not the same thing at all! It’s very diff--”
Lilly was unable to finish because Patricia gave her head a furious toss, a groan coming through clenched teeth. She turned and stomped across the square. Lilly lagged behind, watching her sister’s dainty but purposeful step, her narrow but rigid back.
They all think themselves so much smarter than I, Patricia thought angrily. They are so much smarter, so much more proper! She slowed her step and allowed a smile to replace her grimace as she recognized Dale, standing at the edge of the square. It was a smile she didn’t feel inside. She let her eyes fill with him; no, she did not consider him appealing. He was handsome, confident. But she surveyed him in a way that might mislead him into thinking she found him desirable. She looked over his gray lined pants, narrowly fitted, his silk shirt, his shiny and narrow patent-leather shoe, his stickpin, his gray flannel hat. His clothing on this very afternoon cost more than all the full armoires in their house! They thought her a fool, did they?
When she reached him, she let her ungloved hand rest lightly on his forearm. She leaned close enough to whisper, “Saturday.”
Chapter Seven
Amanda, Lady Nesbitt, sat behind the huge mahogany desk in her late husband’s study. It had been only two weeks since she buried her third husband, William. Most of the household goods were packed, and she planned to stay in an inn until her ship left the Port of London. She held a letter from her granddaughter in her hand; she had read it twenty or thirty times.
The door creaked open, and Amanda looked up at Bertie, short for Beatrice, her maid of thirty years. “What is it now?” she sighed.
Bertie straightened indignantly. Amanda was in a mood that was wearing down everyone’s patience. “The coach is here, unless you’d like to walk off some of your huff and puff.”
“Well, is Fletcher here?”
“Downstairs. Waiting. Like everyone else.”
“Well, call him up here. I’ve decided to take the desk.”
Bertie rolled her eyes. “That now. Do you plan to leave a stick of furniture in the place?”
“I might need it.”
“There’s a rumor going ‘round that they build desks in Philadelphia--”
“I think they’re in trouble,” Amanda said, holding up the letter. “I can feel it. Lilly has told me things about their poverty that Emily never mentioned. And how they’ve gotten by! Cooking, cleaning houses, taking in boarders, and sewing! Lord above! And the older girl, Patricia, is determined to get herself a rich husband.”
“Now there you go, thinking so much. Who could understand the girl better than you? How many rich husbands have you had?”
“I loved them all. Well, I didn’t love John as much as the others, and not William so much as Richard, but-- Oh hush up, this is quite different. The girl needs advice, and Emily…Do you think…? Ah, she might not speak when I see her again.”
“You worry too much. She’ll speak. She’s long past foolishness by now; she has her own silly girls to raise.”
“I’ve missed her,” Amanda said quietly. “So have you, though you don’t say so. I can’t imagine how they’ve lived, what they’ve gone through.”
“Come along then, and you’ll ask them soon enough. It’s good she wrote to you, the girl. That should make it easier.”
“Have you packed my ledger books?”
“Yes, yes.”
“And you supervised the kitchen? And the contents of my fur armoire?”
“All of it. I’ll tell Mr. Drake about the desk. Now let’s leave before you think of something else you can’t part with.”
“I want to go by the cemetery and say a proper good-bye to William.”
“And a thank you, if you please,” Bertie said.
“I’m through with marrying,” Amanda said. “I don’t know if I have the worst luck, or the best. Three husbands in forty years--all good enough men, but I would have settled for one.”
“The coach is here, as I’ve said.”
Amanda stood, but she was weary. Her joints were stiffening up. Fifty-eight was not such an atrocious age, considering that with hair coloring she could pass for fifty or less. But she was feeling it.
“Are you up to this?” she asked Bertie, who was ten years her senior.
“No, I’m not up to spending a voyage with you, if you please. But then, what else am I to do? I never did like this country--cold and damp as a tomb. It’s time we got home to Miss Emily.” Bertie sighed heavily. “That ship doesn’t appeal much; it won’t be any warmer than this old house.”
“Well, pack
your pipe and brandy. I have the playing cards.”
Bertie smiled at her oldest friend and employer. “You’re not deep enough in debt to me, eh? Well, I’ll prosper on the way over then.”
“At least William left me money when he died. At least--” She stopped when she saw Fletcher Drake, her personal solicitor, appear behind Bertie. Fletcher had worked for her for fifteen years; his legal expertise and financial acumen had helped her to more than replace what Richard had lost. Fletcher was completely devoted to her, and she was completely dependent on him to supply her with investment information and the advice she needed.
“Lady Nesbitt, the coach--”
“I’ve decided to take the desk, Fletcher,” she interrupted. “Take care of it for me, will you please? And have my bed shipped. I’ve decided I need it after all.”
He smiled indulgently and nodded. “Perhaps we can float the house over?”
“I never liked this house much. Cold and damp, like everything else here. You’ll like Philadelphia, Fletcher. It’s warmer in summer. There’s a lot of money there.”
“Yes, so I hear. The coach, Lady Nesbitt.”
But what if she’s not happy to see me? Amanda wondered. What if she hasn’t warmed at all, but is angrier than ever? She had decided it was best not to write to Emily or Lilly. She would surprise them. She hoped it would be a pleasant surprise. “Very well, let’s go. It’s time I got home to my granddaughters. Are you sure? Both of you? You’re going with me?”
“Try to leave us,” Fletcher challenged.
“Oh, Patsy, no.”
Patricia moaned and rolled over, her hair a tangled mess from sleeping. “There isn’t anything I can do about it,” she complained.
Emily, who had been summoned, came into the bedroom. It was still very early. They were rising at dawn for the most important day of the summer. Lilly had only just awakened, and Emily, the earliest riser in the house, still wore her wrapper. “Patsy?” she questioned. She put a cool hand on her daughter’s forehead.
