Enchanting Nicholette

by Dawn Crandall

  “Sylvie, please.”

  She slid a narrow glance my way, tipping her lips into a sly grin. “But you want him, non?”

  I didn’t even bother to answer. It would have been much too difficult without lying. Instead, I said, “Sylvie, I do want to be married again someday, yes. But I don’t know who I should marry at this precise moment.” I looked out the window, hoping she wouldn’t read anything of my thoughts from the blush I felt creeping up my neck. “I’m quite certain Mr. Hawthorne hasn’t had the first thought about me regarding such things.”

  “I would not say so. Mabel says he hasn’t paid mind to any woman in years. At least not the way he did the day he met you.”

  “When did she say this? Have you seen her since that day?”

  “Non! It was while you were talking with Monsieur Hawthorne at the bookshop. I noticed then, he had eyes only for you.”

  “Really, Sylvie, I’m quite certain Mr. Hawthorne doesn’t need your help.”

  “Ooh, yes? Why do you say that? What was said?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That nothing does not sound like a nothing. Tell me. You seemed to have quite a lot to say to one another that day, for just having met.”

  Miss Abernathy pounded the end of her cane on the floor of the carriage, startling the small dog in her lap and waking him. “What are you two whispering about over there?”

  “We were wondering about Mr. Hawthorne,” Sylvie admitted happily.

  Too happily in my opinion. She really needed to learn more about the art of subtleness. But then, I supposed that would have ruined her open, ready manner that everyone seemed to like so much.

  “Ah, Mr. Hawthorne. I had a feeling you two might have an interest in meeting that particular young man.”

  “Oh, not for me,” Sylvie replied. “But perhaps Nicholette will like him well enough.”

  “I’m not…but I’m not….” In the market for a husband, was what I’d wanted to say, but the words lodged in my throat as the lie they were. Not just any husband, no. But I couldn’t deny that I had my hopes about Mr. Cal Hawthorne.

  “And as you should, Nicholette,” Miss Abernathy admonished, ignoring my feeble attempt at turning the conversation somewhere—anywhere—else. Sylvie seemed to have a special knack for bringing up awkward conversations, and she took immense delight in making me participate in them.

  “If I were but forty years younger,” Miss Abernathy sighed. Then she brought her gaze back to me and asked pointedly, “Are you ready for another husband, Nicholette?”

  “I—I hardly know. I never had one in the first place.”

  “How sadly true. But you know what? This time, you don’t have to do what your mother feels is best. This time, I have on good authority from your father that you may marry whomever you like, as long as it’s for love.”

  “Yes, I suppose. Within reason, at least.”

  “Well, I’m quite certain you’ll find Mr. Hawthorne within reason, and quite amiable. His mother has told me he has been a bit of a recluse since he’d been widowed, not paying much mind to the young ladies who, I’m sure, are very interested in gaining his attention.”

  He had seemed like the kind of man who could attract the attention of any woman, no matter her tastes. He was handsome and likable, with a charming personality. I’d never been drawn to someone so completely, as I had been to him.

  “His marriage, you see, was arranged much the same way yours to William had been, dear, put about by his father. But then his wife died shortly afterwards…well, now he seems to have found himself in quite the same place as you have. You’re both in the position to marry whomever you please this time. Isn’t that, well, doesn’t that seem providential?”

  “Quite,” Sylvie supplied for me.

  “And what do you think about all this, Nicholette?”

  “He’s a relatively young widower, you say?” I asked, hoping and praying that my subterfuge wouldn’t be discovered by the end of the afternoon.

  That seemed to be enough encouragement, for Miss Abernathy went on. “Nicholette, I know you’re apt to be shy and that you come across a bit harsh at times because of it…but you must try. No one is going to hand you a husband like William Everstone on a silver platter this time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It was about all I could muster, as I was quite surprised to hear a lecture about allowing myself to fall for a certain Mr. Cal Hawthorne. Little did she know that she could save her breath, because I was already halfway there.

  But I couldn’t very well tell her that. I wouldn’t have, even if she’d known about our previous meeting. Instead of trying to deny or explain or make any kind of excuse, I decided then and there that it would be a lovely gesture to let her believe everything I’d already experienced between myself and Mr. Hawthorne came about because of her fervent prayers.

  “I doubt he’ll be there this afternoon, but you’ll meet his mother and his sister. I’ve told them both all about you, and they look forward to this visit. Mabel especially, I think. Her mother is a sweet woman who has become very dear to me in the last year, and I’m sure you two will adore Mabel. She has been a great friend and help to Violet as she’s acclimated to living in Boston. She isn’t fully out yet, like you, Sylvie, but perhaps you will both debut this autumn. Surely your mother has plans regarding that.”

  “Ah, oui. And wouldn’t it be magnifique to involve Miss Hawthorne!”

  At this point in our conversation, the carriage turned onto a small street off Fourth Street, which had taken us all the way to South Boston, and parked on the side of the street, next to a large oak tree.

  “Here they are.” Miss Abernathy motioned toward a newly built side-by-side Federal style townhouse with wood siding, black shutters, and two matching double doors that practically shared a front porch. “Letty and Mabel live in the townhouse to the right, while Mr. Hawthorne lives on his own in the townhouse to the left. But he has his meals with them, of course.”

  It was such a strange setup, and not at all the kind of house I imagined they would live in. Though it was a good neighborhood, and the houses were newly built and nice, I thought…I thought Mr. Hawthorne would live in a bigger, or better situated house. I’d imagined something more like the estates my family and our closest friends owned in Back Bay.

  This was just two adjoined townhouses.

  “I know it doesn’t look like much, dear. But Letty wanted a quiet life here in South Boston, opposed to the way they used to live in Westborough before her husband died. Our young Mr. Hawthorne had attended Harvard, you see, and had already settled here in Boston. Though I think Letty said he and his wife lived near Back Bay for the short time they were married. It made sense, when both her husband and daughter-in-law had passed away, that the family would find a house where they could all live together, but separately.”

  “He went from living near Back Bay to G Street in South Boston…on purpose?” I hoped I didn’t sound as incredulous as I felt.

  “Nicholette, dear, not everyone who happens to have the money to flaunt has the desire to do so. As I said, they like the quiet life. They like to be left alone. Which I suppose is precisely why Letty has it in her head to move to Everston.”

  I’d been to Everston for Estella Everstone’s wedding to Dexter Blakeley. It was a resort in the middle of the sprawling green mountains of central Maine that William’s sister and her husband owned. Perhaps it was the fact that Everston was to be her future that they lived as modestly as they did now. It would cost a fortune to have his mother situated at Everston for the rest of her days.

  Which twisted my thoughts in another direction. “Is the entire family moving to Maine?”

  “No, not the family, and really, I highly doubt anything will come of Letty’s wishful plans. For one, I know her children wouldn’t want her to live apart from them. And secondly, I have it on good authority that Letty and Mabel will likely move to Everthorne to live with Violet and Vance before all is said and done. And Mr. Haw
thorne…well, I guess I never did figure out what his plans were. Hopefully they consist of marrying again and settling down here in Boston.”

  I sucked in my breath a little too quickly as I descended the metal steps onto the sidewalk. I could just imagine.

  “I could see him doing that,” Sylvie said as she climbed out of the carriage behind me.

  “And I’ve been thinking.” Miss Abernathy stood before us, holding her fluffy dog in one arm, and tapping the end of her cane—which I didn’t believe she needed—against an oak tree. “Retiring to a place like Everston, and being near to Estella and Dexter and baby Gracie. Even if Letty wasn’t able to come—which I can’t see her doing—it does all sound quite delightful.”

  “You mean, you would consider retiring to Everston?” I asked. “Whatever would you do with Hilldreth Manor?”

  “Nathan and Amaryllis actually own the house. It was part of her inheritance. But they’re never going to live there. I would be surprised if they came back east for years to come now that they have little ones. It’s much too difficult to get from Washington to Boston with children, even with the private railcar. I suppose they will sell it.”

  “Sell Hilldreth Manor?” The thought of Miss Abernathy not living in the Victorian brick mansion on the corner of Commonwealth Avenue and Berkeley Street was appalling. It had been one of those houses I’d practically grown up in, given that Claudine Abernathy was so central to the world of people I knew. It would be like Bram Everstone deciding to sell Everwood, or my parents selling Faircourt. If Miss Claudine Abernathy moved away from Boston, nothing would ever be the same.

  Having such world-altering thoughts stream through my mind as I walked up to the Hawthornes’ very unconventional house was not how I’d pictured presenting myself to Mr. Hawthorne’s mother. Sylvie came up beside me and looped her arm through mine. “Maybe you should buy Hilldreth Manor.”

  “Me? What would I…?” But then the thought of the independence from my parents I’d been robbed of when William was accidentally murdered came to me, and I pictured myself coming and going from Hilldreth Manor whenever I chose, decorating those wonderful high-ceilinged rooms with my favorite pieces of art, my own furniture. Everything I’d never had the chance to do with Fairstone.

  And being married again.

  But this time, really married.

  For love, and for longer than a day.

  Sylvie and I quietly followed Miss Abernathy up the steps to the right side of the shared porch. Before we were even at the door, it swung open to reveal Mabel Hawthorne in the entryway, smiling and literally bouncing with excitement.

  Before anyone could say a thing about meeting already, Miss Abernathy took it upon herself to start the introductions. “Sylvie, Nicholette, this is Miss Mabel Hawthorne, my friend’s daughter. Mabel, this is Mrs. Nicholette Everstone and Miss Sylvie Boutilier.”

  “It’s so gloriously wonderful to finally meet you!” Mabel said, pretending to meet us for the first time. She took Sylvie’s arm, detaching her from my clutch, and propelled her through the wide hall past the tall, straight staircase to our left, and then through the large opening into the parlor.

  The Hawthornes’ maid silently closed the door behind us, then took our things and hung them on the hooks next to a giant mirror on the wall. “Miss Abernathy, Mrs. Hawthorne will be down momentarily.”

  As I walked into the parlor behind everyone, I took note of the excellent embellishments and furnishings, which were clearly put together by a professional. These rooms were what I expected from everything I’d heard about the Hawthornes. But it was strange they would live so extravagantly inside. No one walking by would ever guess the inside of 55 G Street looked as it did.

  We were seated in the parlor. Miss Abernathy, holding Winston, sat in an armchair near one end of the sofa on which Sylvie, Mabel, and I sat. Mrs. Hawthorne came down the staircase, accompanied by her maid.

  When they finally reached the entrance to the parlor, Mrs. Hawthorne said, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t feeling all that well. I was resting, but please do stay. I’ve so looked forward to this visit.” The maid virtually held her in a standing position until she gently guided her to the chair situated at the opposite end of the sofa.

  No one had ever revealed that Mr. Hawthorne’s mother was ill, but it was clear to me without an explanation now. Her face, neck, and hands all had a chalky hue, which looked rather ghastly in comparison to her high-collared black shirtwaist, and her green eyes had a sunken look to them. Although she was probably near the same age as my mother, she seemed much, much older…and frail. She honestly looked as if she might not make it another few years. It was no wonder her children didn’t want her to move to Everston. They likely would never see her again. And why would she want to leave her children?

  Unless she thought they would follow….

  “Letty, let me introduce you to the young ladies I’ve told you all about. Mrs. Nicholette Everstone”—she indicated me—“I’ve known her parents most of her life, and I can tell you, there aren’t better people in the world.”

  Since we were seated, and Mrs. Hawthorne looked completely drained from making her way down the stairs, we did nothing more than nod to one another as introductions were made.

  “And this is Miss Sylvie Boutilier,” Miss Abernathy continued. “She’s Bram Everstone’s new wife’s youngest daughter, and she’s just completed finishing school in Paris in May and come to live with them. The rest of Evangeline’s children from her first marriage are married and still live in France, of course.”

  “Nicholette, Sylvie, this my dearest friend, Mrs. Letty Hawthorne, of Westborough, Massachusetts.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hawthorne,” I said. “I’ve heard much about your family since coming home from Europe last month.”

  “Yes, and I’ve heard about your family for well over a year now. Your old friends have been quite eager for your return. I suppose your mourning period is recently ended?”

  “Yes, at the beginning of June.”

  “I fear my own mourning will never end,” she said, not really looking at any of us.

  “Now, Letty, you have a good many things to focus on without thinking only of your Robert. Your son and daughter, I can say with all confidence, are two of the most accomplished and amiable young people I’ve ever met…and they love you.”

  “Yes, I know. I should think of them, and not him….”

  Sylvie had yet to say much but only sat quietly beside me. Was she as surprised as I to find this half-stricken woman to be vibrant Miss Abernathy’s best friend?

  Mrs. Hawthorne smiled, in a pained sort of way. “I’m sorry, I must apologize…perhaps I shouldn’t have come out of my room.” Another little dog, which matched Miss Abernathy’s Winston to perfection, came running into the parlor from the hall, filling the room with chirpy barking. “Oh, Snowflake, do hush.”

  The dog went over to Miss Abernathy and continued to yap at Winston, which fortunately didn’t feel the need to reciprocate.

  Miss Abernathy pushed Winston off her lap and stood. “Well, then let’s get you back to bed. There’s no sense in our tiring you out if you feel you can’t abide it.” Her words seemed harsh, but as she went over to the bell pull to summon the maid and then helped Mrs. Hawthorne up from her seat—without her cane, I noticed—she did so with the utmost gentleness.

  “I’m sorry I don’t feel well, but you young ladies…please do stay and visit with my Mabel. Stay as long as you like. Please, don’t mind me.”

  Once Miss Abernathy, Mrs. Hawthorne, and the maid were on their way up the stairs with the two tiny dogs following, Sylvie and I looked at one another, not knowing what to say or expect.

  There could be no mother and daughter more opposite than Mrs. Hawthorne and Mabel.

  And Mr. Hawthorne…where did he fit into the dynamic?

  I wished I could have seen him with his mother; I would have loved to see how he reacted to his mother’s frailty. I had a feeling
he would’ve been more mindful of her than his younger sister. Mabel hadn’t seemed to mind at all. She had seemed quite all right letting Miss Abernathy take care of her mother, instead of helping her herself.

  But she was young. And perhaps, with such differing personalities, she just didn’t know what to do. I could hardly blame her. I wasn’t certain what I would have done in her situation.

  Mabel leaned over a tad and said lowly, looking straight at me with a crooked grin, “Well, now we can get on with the real visit.”

  4

  The Passage

  “I won’t say she was silly, but I think one of us was silly,

  and it was not me.”

  —Elizabeth Gaskell, Wives and Daughters

  This is great fun, isn’t it?” Mabel asked. “Knowing one another already a bit, but everyone thinking we’re new acquaintances? Well, except for Cal, of course, but he’s not here.”

  “I was glad to keep it a secret,” Sylvie admitted. “A fun secret, just between the four of us. And do tell, Mabel, why is your brother not here today? Did he not know we were to come?”

  “He’s extremely busy. It was rare enough he had time to go with me to Brittle Brattle Books that day, to tell the truth.”

  “How providential.” Sylvie smirked at me, using Miss Abernathy’s preferred word for the situation I’d found myself in.

  “I wish a gentleman would catch me from falling off a ladder in a bookshop.” Mabel sighed. “That was so romantic, I almost wanted to faint.”

  Sylvie sighed as well. “Nicholette should have pretended to faint in his arms, then he wouldn’t have put her down so quickly.”

  I blushed at the thought of Mr. Hawthorne’s arms around me. Had he also thought of that moment a thousand times since?

  Mabel turned to peek into the hall, took a long moment to listen to the footsteps still ascending, and then stood. “This is the most perfect opportunity…”