by Janette Oke
Twenty-One
A New Life
LeSoud’s was not like any shop Belinda had ever seen or imagined. Magnificent draperies and glass chandeliers made it seem like a lovely parlor, not a retail establishment. Ornate ivory brocade chairs were grouped around low tables holding silver dishes of sweets.
Windsor stepped forward and presented Madam Tilley with the lengthy instructions from Mrs. Stafford-Smyth and introduced Miss Belinda to the older woman. From there Madam took charge, indicating which chair Windsor should retire to and that Belinda was to follow her.
They passed through to another room, this one smaller but decorated with the same type of furnishings. Belinda looked around her in some bafflement. She could see no gowns for sale.
Madam seated her and then called to a young woman dressed in a stylish black gown, stark in its simplicity but attractive with its flowing lines. The two conferred softly for a few moments, and then the girl, referred to as Yvonne, left and was soon back with three gowns draped carefully over her arm.
From then on things moved quickly. Belinda was ordered to stand, then sit as they twisted and fitted her until her head was swimming. She had no idea what was being decided on her behalf. The two women were not speaking English. Madam would “tut” and “hmm” and Yvonne would “oh-h” and “ah-h” as Belinda lifted her arms to accept one gown after the other over her head.
Then there were shoes to try on along with gloves and shawls and coats until Belinda felt dizzy with it all. In spite of the sense of commotion and things being out of her control, she did spot a gown that she liked. A soft green voile that seemed to suit her slender build, she noted as she looked into the full-length mirror, and it was attractive without being too fussy. She could tell it was something her mother would have approved of her wearing for church.
But that gown, too, was whisked away. Belinda knew not from whence they came or to whence they were returned. She tried to ask, but her voice was lost in the chatter of Madam and Yvonne.
When Belinda finally had her own gown on and had set her hat back on her head and drawn her gloves on her hands, she looked about her in bewilderment. She had come to buy a gown, and from the note Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had sent, she had feared she might have to argue her way out of numerous other purchases. But now it seemed she was not going to buy even the one dress she had sought. She looked to Madam, hoping for some explanation.
“But the gown . . . the green voile . . . I . . . I liked—”
“You were pleased with it—no?” the woman said happily, her eyes taking on a shine.
“Yes. Yes,” said Belinda. “I . . . was pleased with it.”
“It will be delivered this evening,” responded the woman.
Belinda was relieved. She must have somehow conveyed to the two women that she wished to purchase the green voile dress. It was to be delivered.
Belinda now wished she had been able to purchase a light shawl and perhaps some more stylish shoes than the somewhat sturdy pair she had brought from home. Well, I’ll just have to get them later on, she decided. This shopping trip had garnered the dress she needed. She was thankful for that.
Madam and Yvonne still scurried about the room gathering gowns and shoes and handbags.
Belinda hesitated.
“Was there something more, Miss Belinda?” Madam finally stopped long enough to ask.
Belinda flushed, reaching into her handbag. “The account,” she faltered. “I need to pay you for the purchase.”
Madam looked surprised. “The account is already cared for,” she said quickly, her left eyebrow shooting up. “It is all to go on Madam Stafford-Smyth’s charge.”
“Oh, but there must be some misunderstandin’,” began Belinda. “The . . . the gown is personal . . . for me.”
Madam reached down to pick up the sheet of lengthy instructions Windsor had given her. “It is all right here,” she explained, her shoulders and eyebrows raised expressively. “Madam has ordered specifically that the purchase go on her account, and we at LeSoud’s do not go contrary to Madam.” She finished with a firm shake of her head that invited no argument.
Belinda started to speak again but changed her mind. She didn’t understand the workings of this new world, but perhaps Mrs. Stafford-Smyth felt it would be less complicated to charge the items to her account and for Belinda to simply reimburse her. Still slightly confused, she followed Madam Tilley from the back room to rejoin Windsor.
As they traversed the route back to the Stafford-Smyth mansion, Belinda thought again about her purchase. She was pleased about the green voile. It would be becoming and appropriate for Sunday and maybe afternoon tea, a tradition to which she had been introduced in the Stafford-Smyth household. She eventually wanted to buy a second dress—one a bit more “frilly” for such occasions as the coming dinner party. But she had been unable to get that message across to the Madam. Belinda sighed. She guessed the voile would have to do for the dinner, as well.
“How did you make out at LeSoud’s?” asked Mrs. Stafford-Smyth at tea that afternoon.
“Oh my,” answered Belinda, looking up from her teacup. “I’ve never seen so many lovely things. It was most difficult to make up my mind. I did find a dress, though. It is to be delivered this evening.” Belinda put down her cup to look directly at her employer. “But I owe you for it. They . . . they wouldn’t let me pay at the store. I . . . I don’t even know how much it cost. I couldn’t find a price tag on a single thing.”
“No,” said Mrs. Stafford-Smyth simply, “they do not publicly price their items at LeSoud’s.”
Belinda thought that strange, but she did not say so. There were many things done in unfamiliar ways in the city, she had concluded.
“And about the cost,” went on Mrs. Stafford-Smyth simply, “the wardrobe comes with the position. There will be no need for reimbursement.”
“But—” argued Belinda.
“No ‘buts,’” the lady interrupted, raising a hand to hush Belinda. “You must realize you have a unique station in my home. You are not just my nurse in the same fashion that Pottah is my housekeeper. No, you are also my companion—and as such I expect you to accompany me into society, to sit at my table, and welcome my guests. Because of that, your wardrobe needs to be more . . . more extensive than you would have need of in the past. I would not ask you to pay such costs yourself. That would be unfai-ah. Do you understand, my deah?”
Belinda thought she did, but it still didn’t seem quite right.
“Could I have another cup of tea, deah?” the good lady asked, closing the subject and passing Belinda her cup.
The voile dress arrived that evening. And along with it came boxes and boxes. Belinda held her breath and let it out slowly when a brief check proved they held a multitude of gowns and accessories. This can’t be! she thought frantically. She must talk with Mrs. Stafford-Smyth quickly, before the delivery boy had a chance to return to the store. Most of what lay stacked about her room had to be returned with him.
Belinda was about to run to the suite next door when she nearly bumped into Mrs. Stafford-Smyth coming toward her rooms.
“They did arrive,” she said with some excitement. “I thought I heard some commotion.”
“Oh yes . . . yes. But, my . . . there’s been a mistake . . . an awful mistake. I do have the green voile, but . . . but it looks like they must have sent most everything they had me try on.”
Belinda, concerned that Mrs. Stafford-Smyth might think she’d had the audacity to take advantage of the charge account, had her hands clasped in front of her, and her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure the woman could hear it, too.
“I love looking at new things . . . don’t you, deah?” Mrs. Stafford-Smyth smiled in a most relaxed fashion. “Do you mind terribly if we open all the boxes together?”
“But you don’t understand,” insisted Belinda. “They . . . they have sent things I didn’t order.”
“I ordered them,” Mrs. Stafford-Smyth explained
matter-of-factly.
“But . . . but . . .” began Belinda.
“My deah, I thought I already clarified the situation for you,” the lady said now a bit impatiently. “I wish to take you about with me—as soon as I am able to be about, that is—and I want you to look the part. You are more—much more—than my nurse. You are my companion.” Her tone said that this should fully put the matter to rest.
For the first time, Belinda really understood, not just about the wardrobe but about the woman’s expectations for her. She had never stopped to look at herself through Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s eyes. Certainly her own worn and serviceable gowns were not in keeping with the elegance of the other woman’s clothing. Belinda let her eyes fall to the dress she was wearing. Her best. And yet it was so inferior to the gown of the grand lady who stood before her. And this lady who had everything money could buy was looking for a friend.
“Now, let’s see what you have here,” said the older woman, her voice again filled with eagerness.
Belinda turned back to the boxes. It was going to take a while for her to come to grips with this new way of living and thinking. In the meantime, she would try to match Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s enthusiasm.
There were many pretty things in the boxes. Belinda could not help but appreciate their beauty. She ran a caressing hand over the silks, the satins, the voiles. They were beautiful. But won’t I always feel I’m in a borrowed dress? she wondered.
There were hats and shawls, a long coat of fine blue wool, parasols, gloves, handbags, and delicate undergarments and sleepwear. Belinda had never in her life seen so much finery. She would have thrilled at it all had it been really hers.
Over and over she tried to articulate her thanks to Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, and the woman, obviously not noticing Belinda’s discomfort, glowed with the excitement of all the new clothing.
“You will be the prettiest young lady in Boston,” she informed Belinda, while Belinda wondered what that had to do with being a companion to the woman.
When the last box had been opened and the last item was carefully put away in the wardrobe or bureau, Mrs. Stafford-Smyth turned to Belinda with a merry twinkle in her eyes.
“You will wear the blue silk on Wednesday evening,” she said. “And do up your hai-ah a bit loosah—Ella will help you. She’s very good with hai-ah.”
Belinda just nodded. Now she was being told how to dress—she who had often made decisions on her own that could mean life or death for a patient.
She looked at the older lady and nodded dumbly.
The next morning Windsor escorted Belinda to church. She had looked forward all week to this chance to meet with God’s people on Sunday. Certainly she met with God every day of the week—but Sunday always seemed to her to be a special time. There was something so uplifting about the service, with singing hymns together and hearing God’s Word read and preached. Belinda thought of her family as they would gather back home, and for a few moments she felt homesickness wash over her.
But the Boston church was nothing like the little country church Belinda had been used to. Huge and made of stone, its spires seemed to reach almost to the clouds. Belinda gazed in awe, wishing she could just stand and take it all in. But Windsor was gently nudging her forward.
Inside, the building seemed even more massive. The people moving to take their places in the polished wooden pews looked small and insignificant in comparison.
There was not just a minister, but several men on the raised platform, all gowned in deep colors that rippled and flowed as they moved about. Belinda smiled to herself. And the congregation gathering in the pews were outfitted in the latest styles, the ladies in all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. And I feared my green voile might be too colorful, she commented wryly to herself.
As the worshipers entered the building, strains of a giant organ rose and fell, wafting up in lovely ecstasy and then bringing the listeners back down to gentle peace again. Belinda turned her face to find the source and saw the front of the church was filled with brass pipes of various sizes and lengths. She had never seen a pipe organ before, but recognized that she was seeing and hearing one now.
Her eyes traveled the rest of the way around the interior, appreciating each glass window. The morning sun caught the brilliant colors, making the artwork of the Good Shepherd reaching for a lamb, the dying Savior on the cross, the gentle Teacher cradling a child, all look warm and alive to Belinda.
Her heart throbbed within her. The beauty and majesty of the place! Oh, how easy it must be to worship God in such a setting! How easy it must be for the city dwellers who met each Sunday in such magnificent buildings to feel close to the Lord!
Belinda could feel her heart swell and lift in sheer praise and gratitude to God for all His goodness. How she wished she could share this wonderful experience with her pa, her ma—with Luke. She looked about her at the congregation. The pews were far from filled, and among the ones gathered there, Belinda could see no shining eyes. Stiff-looking, well-dressed individuals with blank faces and fixed stares sat in cultured rows. Belinda was shocked that they didn’t seem one bit excited about being in such a glorious place of worship. She felt a chill pass through her and made a conscious effort to reclaim her excitement of a few moments before. She turned her eyes eagerly to the platform. The robed men were so far away she could scarcely see the expressions on their faces. She listened to voices that seemed to reach her only as an echo, and concentrated hard on what was being read from the large open Bible.
The words were good. They were familiar. It was God’s Word and it lifted her spirit. But the beautiful large stone church still seemed cold and distant—the people masked and aloof. There were no welcoming smiles or gentle nods. Belinda wondered what was wrong with her and glanced anxiously down at her voile dress. But it really was not that much different from the gowns of the other women there.
No, thought Belinda, I don’t think it’s the dress. It must be me. They must know—without me even saying anything—that I come from the western plains. And Belinda felt alone and isolated among the Sunday churchgoers.
Twenty-Two
The Unexpected
In spite of the wonderful library, Belinda had more free time than she could reasonably fill. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, now that she was back in her own home with Windsor, the housekeeper Mrs. Potter, Cook, and the two housemaids, seemed quite able to manage for herself. Belinda inwardly chafed, feeling guilty about doing so little to earn her keep and that she really was not needed. About the only duty she performed daily was to pour Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s tea, and she was sure just about anyone should be able to do that small chore.
So Belinda tried to find ways to occupy her days. She did read for a good portion of each day, but she had discovered that even reading has its limits. Belinda felt she must have some exercise, so she spoke with Mrs. Stafford-Smyth about it.
“Of course, my deah,” said the woman. “An energetic young woman like you needs to get out. I should have thought of it myself. Just because I’m content to sit and stagnate does not mean that you are. Would you like to ride? I understand there is a good club with horses—”
But Belinda shook her head. She couldn’t imagine going off to ride horseback in some society club. She thought of Copper back home with a bit of a pang, then almost smiled to think of him sedately marching round and round a horse ring.
“Tennis? We do have good courts at the back—but of course one can hardly play tennis on one’s own.”
“Jest—just walk, I think,” responded Belinda. She had noticed some differences in the speech patterns out here in the East, and she was trying to adapt her own pronunciations accordingly.
“Oh my,” said Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. “You may walk about all you like. The streets belong to everyone and are quite safe, really.”
So on Wednesday morning Belinda took to the rather quiet streets. It seemed that those who moved about did so by carriage. She had intended to walk briskly for a half hour or so,
but there was so much to see she kept finding herself loitering as she gazed at the sights about her.
She returned to the house invigorated and ready for the luncheon that Cook had prepared. She freshened up and joined Mrs. Stafford-Smyth in the drawing room.
“Did you enjoy your walk?” the lady began and then quickly added, “Yes, I can see that you did. Your cheeks are quite flushed, your eyes glowing.”
“It was lovely!” exclaimed Belinda. “A shame that you’re unable to join me.”
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth chuckled. “There was a day when I might have fretted at being left behind—but no more,” she said companionably.
The two chatted about many things over their luncheon plates, and Mrs. Stafford-Smyth was again reminded of why she had cajoled and pressed for Belinda to return to Boston with her. The girl was so vitally alive that just being with her was uplifting to one’s spirit. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth truly loved her home, she loved Boston, and she would miss it all terribly if anything should happen to change things for her. She was comfortable at home—with maids fussing about and Cook and Housekeeper and dear old Windsor hovering to answer her every whim. But it was lonely in the big house. A staff of servants was not the same as having friends. And, surprisingly, Mrs. Stafford-Smyth thought of Belinda as a friend.
She knew that Potter, with her rigid rules of what was right and proper, did not approve of the special status that was given the girl. Employees had no right to be served tea with the gentry, according to Mrs. Potter. There had been a time, even only a short time ago, that Mrs. Stafford-Smyth would have heartily agreed. But that was before she had met Belinda—before Belinda had tenderly and efficiently nursed her back to health.
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had learned a new set of rules in the crude little prairie town. The rule of survival. There seemed to be no social status there, no class distinctions, and Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had discovered in Belinda an open, friendly, clear-thinking girl who would share her thoughts, her feelings, and her humor. To the older lady’s surprise she had enjoyed such exchanges. And now, back in Boston, she was not willing to give up what she had learned to appreciate.
