House of Silence

by Sarah Barthel

  If she was going to elope, their move to Montana might actually prove to be positive. With so much distance between Lucy and me, Gregory would have no reason to prevent our friendship. That realization calmed my heart, even as it shamed my pride. Could I really let propriety dictate who our friends were?

  Half listening to Lucy’s designs for her future house, I searched the crowd for Gregory. Locating Uncle Walter’s tall and wide physique was easy, but Gregory no longer stood with that group of men. I frowned and kept looking through the couples, wondering what had caught my fiancé’s attention over such influential gentlemen. Just as I was scowling at Mother’s flirtation with a stranger, I spied him. By the side door, he glanced back and forth as if looking for someone. I rose to my tiptoes and waved to him, hoping he’d find me quickly through the crowd. Instead, his unfocused eyes drifted over me, and before I could make another movement, he slipped out the door and onto the veranda.

  Lucy stepped close beside me and clucked her tongue. “What on earth did he leave the party for? You can still feel the rain’s chill in the air. Surely no one is visiting outside tonight.” As she so often did, Lucy had voiced my thoughts perfectly.

  “Perhaps he’s ill.” I bit my lip anxiously. “I have to make sure something isn’t wrong.”

  Lucy nodded. “Of course you do. We’ll talk later.”

  Skirting the edge of the dance floor, I made my way past the dancing couples and to the side door without anyone stopping me. The windows were fogged with the unusually cold weather. I pulled the door open, shuddered against the wet wind, and slipped outside.

  The veranda was drenched from the afternoon’s rain, but it was deserted. Gregory was not there. Folding my arms around myself, I searched the wraparound porch, but still couldn’t find him. I was about to give him up for lost when I heard voices from behind the tall evergreen bushes. The wind blew and my eye was drawn to the hem of an ivory skirt billowing below the bushes.

  “Gregory?” I called out. I’d no desire to intrude on a couple’s private moment if it wasn’t him. “Where are you?”

  The voices halted. The skirt moved back toward the entrance to the gardens. As she stepped out I was surprised to see it was a woman in servant’s attire. Her hair was tied back in a low braid and her arms were covered with linen to protect her sleeves from stains. She was a washer girl. She bobbed her head to me, grasped her skirt, and rushed back toward the servants’ entrance.

  A moment later another crunch of footsteps gained my attention. I turned my head back toward the lane and saw Gregory adjusting his cuff links as he gaily climbed the steps.

  “Isabelle, what on earth are you doing outside?” He smiled up at me.

  “I could ask you the same question.” I frowned. “Who was that girl?”

  He glanced at the servants’ door and then shrugged at me. “She asked me for a private word. I didn’t see the harm in it. I was worried there was a problem and hoped to solve it without distracting you or your mother. But, alas, she thought I was someone she knew. It was a mistake. I’m so sorry I troubled you.”

  Inhaling sharply, I asked, “Are you sure that was all it was? A . . . misunderstanding?” If it was that simple, why were they hiding in the garden? I wanted to question him harder, but the look on his face stole my confidence.

  Gregory stepped back and glared at me. “Whatever else could it be? We must be missed. Let’s go back inside.” He took my hand, ignoring my obvious distaste of his attitude. When I didn’t move fast enough he gripped me harder and pulled me toward the door. “Let’s not make a scene. No one will think it strange we wanted a moment alone at our engagement party. Nevertheless, it is time to return.”

  When we entered, the orchestra struck up a waltz and I glided in Gregory’s arms the rest of the night. Together, nothing could stop us.

  CHAPTER 2

  With the engagement properly announced, Mother wasted no time planning the wedding. She probably had these appointments arranged for at least a month. The morning after the engagement party I had hoped to spend resting, but instead Mother dragged me from appointment to appointment until I was sure I’d smelled every flower in Illinois. It would have been fun if any of my opinions had been taken into consideration. I held my complaints, for we’d yet to undertake the most important task: the creation of the bridal gown. I could handle having roses instead of lilies and hiring a string quartet instead of a single violinist for the church, but the gown would be my taste.

  After standing on the pedestal at the dressmaker’s for nearly two hours, I could hardly remember what design I wanted. Discarded fabric bolts lay in a pile, rejected. Miss Margaret, our seamstress, was pinning the beaded ivory fabric we had chosen for my shift. I tried to remain still, but it was taking so long the excitement was wearing thin. Even so, I did my best to watch Mother, who continually pointed out details to Abigail, our maid. Poor Abigail had been brought along to collect our packages and take them home before we had lunch with the ladies. It wasn’t a part of her duties, but Mother insisted that having her with us would turn people’s heads. In my opinion, we looked pompous, but I could only fight with Mother so often.

  “I dare not lace her any tighter or I’ll crack a rib,” Miss Margaret explained while keeping a protective hand on my back.

  Mother frowned and tapped her finger on her lips. She paced back and forth in front of me and clucked her tongue. “People must remember this wedding. It needs to be the social event of the year. For that to happen, Isabelle must be breathtaking.”

  “But, Mother,” I said between the shallow breaths the lacing permitted. “Need I be breathless in order to be breathtaking? Or perhaps you wish my guests to remember this wedding due to the bride fainting.”

  “Impertinence is not an enjoyable quality,” Mother declared. “And it is certainly not a quality that Gregory will put up with.”

  I glared at her as Miss Margaret filled her mouth with pins for another adjustment. I knew that neither Senator Quincy nor Uncle Walter would be interested in Gregory’s career if he weren’t joining our family. Despite that, Mother’s words set off a warning alarm. Marriage would not gain me independence, but a husband I would be sworn to “love, honor, and obey.”

  I made eye contact with Abigail in the mirror, imploring her to say something. Someone had to be on my side. After a moment she stepped forward and cleared her throat.

  Abigail glanced from Mother to me, and the weight of what I was asking fell upon my shoulders. She couldn’t speak against Mother, not without consequences. Even so, Abigail walked to the far side of the room and flipped through a catalog on the side table.

  “Pardon me, Miss Isabelle,” Abigail said, holding up the book. “But didn’t you ask me to remind you of a design you saw in Godey’s?”

  “Oh my, yes. Thank you, Abigail. I nearly forgot!” Ignoring Miss Margaret, I stepped off the platform and rushed for the book in Abigail’s hand. She’d opened it to the fashion plate in the beginning, and her finger pointed to the center girl. The skirt had countless layers in varying lengths, each finished with a ruffled hem. The effect made the waist look smaller without seeming garish.

  “See, Mother?” I handed her the book. “I thought, perhaps, this kind of skirt would look wonderful. See how the layers give the illusion of a tiny waist?”

  Abigail took a bolt of fabric from Mother’s grasp and placed it back on the rack. Adjusting the book in her hands, Mother examined the gown. Her tongue clicked again and she tilted her head.

  “Very well,” she relented. “However, the bodice on this is all wrong. This high cut is too matronly. Perhaps if we lowered it to here?” She pointed to just above my bosom. “And then layer lace over it to give her the propriety needed.”

  Miss Margaret grabbed a sketchbook and let her hand fly as she drew out the design.

  “Like this?” she asked, holding out the book for us to see.

  I gasped. Without knowing it, I had guided us to my dream gown. The tiered skirt and fitt
ed bodice would be perfect on my frame, and the lower neckline would highlight my femininity without shocking the world.

  Miss Margaret pulled out her measuring tape and went to work taking all new instructions for the dress. I stood with my arms out and blandly stared into the mirror. Abigail stepped to the side and met my eyes. The smile on her face was genuine. She had helped and I was grateful. I’d have to find a way to show it.

  * * *

  Later, Mother and I left Miss Margaret’s shop and walked down Main Street while Abigail trailed behind weighed down with our packages of jewelry, hats, and other trinkets Mother insisted on purchasing. I tried to avoid the puddles and horse droppings as gracefully as possible, but knew I failed by the edging of dirt that congealed at the bottom of my skirt. Mother strode smoothly through it all while twittering on about how lovely the engagement party was and what a success Gregory had been with all the ladies. It was as if I hadn’t been there at all. I hid my disappointment with a smile and pretended to agree with her observations.

  Through the Town Hall windows, I could see men sweeping the floor and pulling down the flower arrangements from my party. I paused for a moment. Abigail stopped beside me.

  In a loud voice she declared, “Miss Isabelle, shall we look for your glove?”

  Mother turned to face us. “Your glove?” she asked me.

  I stared at Abigail, unsure of what she referred to, but her big eyes implored me to play along. After her help at the dress shop, I couldn’t embarrass her.

  “Yes,” I concurred. “My glove.”

  Abigail relaxed and filled in the details. “I couldn’t find it after the party. Perhaps one of the girls found it here as they cleaned.”

  Mother, now bored, looked on toward Hotel Horizon with impatience. I knew she was longing for a bowl of their wonderful chowder.

  “Why don’t you go on ahead, Mother?” I suggested. “Abigail and I will inquire after my glove and meet you promptly.”

  “Don’t be too long, dear,” she insisted. “You don’t want to miss lunch.” Before waiting for a reply, she rushed off down the street.

  Once she was out of earshot, I turned to Abigail. “What was all that about?”

  Abigail motioned for me to follow. “I know this is highly improper, Miss Isabelle, but I promised someone an audience with you.”

  Balancing her load in one arm, she ushered me through the side door. In the bright light of midmorning, the hall wasn’t nearly so grand. Instead of glistening with promise, now the flowers wilted and hung oddly from the banister, while huge boxes lay on the floor waiting to be packed up with the serving ware.

  “This way,” Abigail said, walking toward a back room. I followed, wondering whom I was about to meet.

  Abigail pulled another door open, and we entered a small room lined with wooden shelves, where a girl sat at a table shining a tarnished silver platter. The girl’s blond hair was braided down her back over a blue uniform and white apron. She looked up as the floor creaked.

  “Miss Isabelle!” The girl jumped to her feet. “Abigail, how did you manage—never mind, thank you.”

  Abigail gripped the door, obviously uncomfortable. “This is Katerina,” she explained to me. Then to Katerina she said, “I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed. Don’t be too long. Isabelle’s mother is expecting us for lunch.” She gave me an inscrutable look before she left and then closed the door behind us.

  Katerina put down her polish and stared at me as if trying to find words. Her dark blond hair glistened in the light from a small window behind her.

  “You wanted to speak with me?” I asked, hoping to move things along.

  Katerina took a deep breath. “Yes. I apologize for disturbing your day, but I am desperate.”

  “Oh?” I squirmed. Desperate. The word made me want to run.

  “I knew Gregory as a boy and I need him to hear me out.”

  “You knew Gregory as a boy?” I repeated.

  She nodded. “It would be improper of me to say anything further.” She paused and sighed. “I tried at your gala, but he wouldn’t listen. I mean no harm, but I truly need his help.”

  “If he doesn’t wish to see you, there is little I can do.” I shifted my stance. The further we went in politics, the more often we’d deal with such requests. I supposed this was good practice for the future. “What is it you need?”

  Katerina flushed. “I’d rather not bring another into my affairs. Could you just try to have him meet me at this address?” She handed me a folded piece of paper.

  I took it, but paused. This felt wrong. “I can give him your message, but I think it would sound better if I could explain why you wanted to see him.”

  Katerina stiffened. “My mother helped take care of him when he lived in Joliet. She’s gone now and I am alone. Please . . .” She reached forward and took my hand, but I pulled away.

  “Joliet, Illinois?” I clarified.

  “Yes, my mother worked for his family for near two decades.”

  “I’m so sorry, but you are mistaken. My Gregory grew up in Kentucky, not Joliet.” I tried to contain my relief. “You sought out the wrong man.”

  “But . . .” Katerina’s voice drifted off. “Of course, how silly of me. I haven’t seen him since we were young. I’m so sorry to have troubled you.”

  Placing her note back on the table, I offered, “It is a common name. I’m so sorry you wasted your time.”

  Again, Katerina replied, “Yes, so silly of me.” She refused to look at me.

  I backed out of the room and left her with her disappointment.

  True to her word, Abigail remained right outside. Before she could say anything, I pulled the door closed swiftly behind me.

  * * *

  Hotel Horizon was filled with small tables of women, their heads bent together in conversation. The restaurant was a sea of pastel hats and gowns as everyone showed off their afternoon best. I pursed my lips at my own choice in gown, an olive green day dress. Despite the flattering color, I wished I’d chosen a lighter shade. I felt like a weed in their garden of finery.

  “Isabelle.” Mother stood to gain my attention. “I hope your errand went well.” Sitting at her table were Mrs. Quincy and Mrs. Abrams. I would hear about my delay this evening.

  “Yes, thank you,” I replied and took a seat. I prayed Mother hadn’t mentioned the missing glove story. Such carelessness was something only tolerated in young children.

  The women returned to their discussion of the latest style of boot as I demurely sipped from my teacup. Perhaps my presence was good for future connections, but footwear was something to be worn, not discussed.

  Despite Katerina’s misidentifying Gregory, the girl’s plight weighed on my mind. I didn’t doubt her need, nor the fact that she was mistaken. And yet, she and Gregory had been in the middle of a heated argument when I discovered them. Shouldn’t it have been resolved then? I added two sugar cubes to my tea, nodded to Mother about the impropriety of loosely laced boots, and tried to decipher my dilemma.

  As if answering my thoughts, Gregory walked into the restaurant. He handed his hat to the waiter and scanned the room for someone he knew. When his eyes met mine, a smile lit up his face, and after saying a few words to the maître d’, he walked over to our table.

  “Isabelle, you look radiant,” Gregory said, leaning over and kissing my hand. “The color of that gown makes your eyes a deep mystery I’d like to unravel.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making me laugh.

  “Please join us, Gregory,” Mother said, gesturing to the empty chair in between us.

  Instantly Mrs. Quincy and Mrs. Abrams gushed greetings to him. After kissing their hands, he took the seat beside me. His cologne filled my senses and my heart sped faster. He was in his element and more attractive because of it. Mother took Gregory’s arrival as a chance to steer the conversation to us and began an elaborate description of the wedding flowers.

  I leaned over and whispered to Gregory, “Is everything all right?�
�

  “Why shouldn’t it be?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  I put my teacup down and turned toward him. Keeping my voice low, I explained, “That girl you argued with at the party, Katerina. She sought me out.”

  Gregory’s face paled. He took a sip of tea. “What could she want from you?”

  “She thought you were someone she knew growing up, but was mistaken.” I paused to examine Gregory’s face, but it didn’t betray any emotion. “I feel bad for her. She seemed truly distraught.”

  “She does seem to be in some trouble. I tried to explain I wasn’t who she thought I was, but she was insistent.” He shook his head. “She shouldn’t have brought you into her troubles.”

  I shrugged. “It’s in the past.”

  “How did you uncover her mistake?”

  “Oh, she said she knew you from Joliet and I knew she had the wrong Gallagher.”

  Mrs. Quincy interrupted us. “Oh, to be so young and have such secrets. I don’t know when I’ve seen a more handsome couple.” She stirred her tea and smiled at us.

  Gregory tipped his head in her direction. “Come now, don’t be modest! I saw you and Senator Quincy dancing about the hall like newlyweds yourselves. Yours is a beauty to treasure.”

  “You flatter me, Mr. Gallagher,” Mrs. Quincy scolded, but her pink cheeks told a different story.

  Our waiter arrived with a tray of desserts and placed them on the table. Mother glanced at the lot and then sighed. Before she could say anything, I took a bite-sized lemon torte and took a bite. Mother insisted on watching our figures for the wedding, but I refused to give up all sweets.

  Mother was expressionless, but I knew she was annoyed. “I believe the time has come for Isabelle and me to return home,” she said, folding her napkin and placing it on the table. “Thank you for a lovely luncheon, ladies. It was a pleasure seeing you, Gregory.”

  Gregory took my hand and pressed his lips to it again. He lingered a moment too long. Behind me, the ladies swooned. He nodded his head to Mother and returned to his seat, offering the tray of sweets to Mrs. Abrams.