Newcomer

by Laurie Alice Eakes

“Why are you taking so long?” Ruby asked from around her fingers.

  “She wants to look nice for Uncle Gordon.” Beryl giggled.

  Marigold jammed the hat pin so hard it went through her pile of hair and pricked her scalp. She flinched. It served her right. Of course she was primping for Gordon Chambers, which was the most ridiculous action in the world. She was simply tired of him looking at her as though he didn’t see her.

  And no wonder. In her plain gray dresses, she looked dowdy and unattractive. She looked like what she was supposed to be—a servant. Only in her Sunday dress, one of the two gowns fit for church Father had allowed her to bring with her to Cape May—as part of her lesson in humility—did she deserve any notice. This Sunday she’d chosen the vivid green muslin that spread over her petticoats in rows of ruffles edged with fine, ivory embroidery. Matching green ribbons trailed from her hat brim and down her back.

  “I can’t go to church in my cleaning dresses,” Marigold told the girls in defense of her finery. “I never have before.”

  “But you never changed your hat ribbons before.” Beryl tilted her head to one side. “You look like a Christmas tree.”

  Ruby giggled.

  So did Marigold. “Thank you for keeping me humble, child.”

  “What’s humble?” Ruby asked.

  “Hmm. Not proud.” Marigold tried to think of a better explanation.

  Something she wasn’t, her father would say. Fifteen months in servitude hadn’t changed that, as he’d intended.

  “It means not putting yourself above others,” Marigold concluded.

  “If humble means wearing ugly dresses,” Ruby said, “then I don’t want to be humble.”

  “Humble is in your heart,” Beryl said. “You can be prideful in an ugly dress. Like Miss Marigold.”

  “Maybe I will get taken down a peg or ten,” Marigold grumbled then laughed. “All right, girls, I’m ready for church.”

  But not for the sight of Gordon Chambers in a fine new suit in a cream color that set off his tanned skin and dark hair. His image literally drove the air from her lungs. She gripped the newel post and tried to look past one of his broad shoulders, with a firm reminder that she was supposed to marry another man—someday.

  Not that he’d written in response to her many letters.

  “What a blessed man I am to have all these charming females to accompany me.” Gordon smiled at his nieces and then Marigold.

  Stomach suddenly queasy, Marigold made herself release the banister and glide forward. “We are all ready. Is Mrs. Cromwell coming today?”

  “I’m right here, Marigold.” The older woman stood beside Gordon.

  Yoicks, she’d been there all along.

  “Well, then, let’s be on our way.” Marigold offered a vapid smile all around.

  She took hold of Ruby’s and Beryl’s hands and preceded Gordon and Mrs. Cromwell out the front door. The church stood only a few blocks away, so walking in the morning coolness proved easy and convenient. Others also walked: older husbands and wives arm in arm, mothers and fathers with flocks of small children, a few young people strolling in pairs. They greeted Marigold and the girls and cast curious or surprised glances at Gordon, who followed the younger women with Mrs. Cromwell on his arm.

  He was such a gentleman. Despite a dozen years living in less than genteel locations, he must have learned a great deal as a young man, for Marigold could not fault his manners. He treated his nieces like princesses and Mrs. Cromwell like the loyal family retainer she was—with dignity and respect. For whatever reason he had left home and been reluctant to return, it surely wasn’t because he lacked goodness in his heart.

  Yet something tragic must have driven him away, kept him away, made him reluctant to return or stay. Occasionally, over the past week, she’d caught glimpses of pain on his face as he glanced at a photograph of his brother or parents, a tightening of his mouth at quiet intervals of the day.

  Marigold he avoided, ignored, or simply pretended did not exist. She wasn’t a lady, to him. She wasn’t a relative. She wasn’t a loyal family retainer. She wasn’t a pretty girl. She wasn’t even a girl anymore at twenty-five.

  Papa, you might get your wish after all about me learning humility.

  Especially if silence continued from Lucian and Gordon Chambers persisted in ignoring her. But no, Lucian would come around once she told him she was coming home for good soon, and Gordon should ignore her. She worked for him.

  She shouldn’t think about him. This was a time for worship, for thanking God for all He had done for her, like bringing Gordon to them at last, and for learning how to live her life better.

  She held the girls’ gloved hands more tightly and led them up the steps of the church. The pastor greeted them. Many other little girls spoke to Beryl and Ruby. They were with their parents, who nodded at Marigold, started to speak, then stopped, eyes widening.

  “It’s my uncle Gordon,” Ruby announced to the foyer at large. “He’s come back after a long time, so I think Mommy and Daddy will, too.”

  The foyer fell silent. A handful of women drew handkerchiefs from their pocketbooks and dabbed at their eyes. Men cleared their throats and kept their gazes on a point behind Marigold—Gordon, she presumed.

  He stepped forward and took Ruby’s hand in his. “Your mommy and daddy won’t be coming back here to Cape May like I did, sweetheart, but if you keep trusting in Jesus, you can go to them when it’s your time to do so.”

  A collective sigh nearly slammed the door. Marigold’s own heart felt squeezed. She didn’t blame the females in the room who gazed at Gordon Chambers as though he were the most important man alive. At that moment, in that church entryway, he was.

  “But I want to see them now,” Ruby protested amid a rising wave of murmuring voices.

  “Be quiet.” Beryl cast her little sister a scornful glance. “You sound like a spoiled baby.”

  “And you sound unkind,” Marigold whispered to Beryl. “Let your uncle take care of Ruby.”

  “But she gets all his attention acting so silly.” Beryl stuck out her lower lip.

  “She doesn’t do it on purpose.”

  At least Marigold didn’t think Ruby was playacting to get her uncle’s attention.

  “She’s still sad about your mother and father.”

  “I am, too.” Tears started in Beryl’s eyes. “But I know what dead means and so does she.”

  “I’m not sure she does.” Marigold squeezed Beryl’s hand and tugged her forward, into the throng now surrounding Gordon and Ruby.

  Mrs. Cromwell had slipped away to join her sister and some other older ladies.

  “I’m a lot older than she is, and I don’t know how sad she is,” Marigold added.

  She had grown fond of her employers over the year she lived with them, but they were employers, not friends, not people with whom she socialized, except on those rare occasions when someone who knew her family happened to be in Cape May and invited her, too. It was awkward, but Mr. and Mrs. Chambers were so gracious that they’d never asked her not to accept invitations, though Gerald Chambers had done business with Marigold’s father and agreed to hire his wayward, prideful daughter for a year.

  Though the Chamberses knew Marigold was supposed to remember she came from folks who knew life serving the wealthy, not being served, they encouraged her to go to parties. Marigold wearing the same dresses to every occasion was her humiliation. Katherine Chambers, who had been married at eighteen and a mother by nineteen, had worried about Marigold being in her twenties and barely engaged, had tried to give her gowns. Marigold had refused and accepted the scornful glances of ladies recognizing a dress thrice worn. Marigold did have a fiancé. Lucian proposed to her in March of 1898 and received her father’s permission. Albeit his reluctant, hesitant permission. Marigold had gotten her pride from somewhere, and Father wanted more for her than a glassblower’s apprentice, however talented.

  She wondered if Father hoped the marriage plans would en
d with the year-long separation. He never said so, but perhaps he had asked the Chamberses to find her another beau, see that she married someone more suitable in his eyes. If they held that responsibility, they should have lived so Marigold could be married now, perhaps on her way to being a mother.

  The flash of annoyance took Marigold’s breath away. She hadn’t realized she could be angry with two people who weren’t alive. She hadn’t realized she was angry at all. She loved Ruby and Beryl. She wanted to see them happy and settled before she started her new life with Lucian.

  At the moment, she wanted to see them settled for the service. The swirl of people around Gordon and Ruby seemed likely to make that impossible. With a sinking sensation in her middle, she glanced from Gordon, his head visible above a garden of ladies’ hats, to Beryl then back again.

  “Go join your uncle, Beryl,” Marigold said on a sigh. “I’ll sit somewhere else today. Be sure to say excuse me if you have to go between two people.”

  Beryl gave her a pointed look and slipped away.

  Marigold followed the crowd into the sanctuary, as she must today and every Sunday Gordon Chambers remained in Cape May. Marigold couldn’t sit with him and the children. It wouldn’t look right. When Mr. and Mrs. Chambers had been alive, Marigold had joined the family. That was expected. She was there to see to the children’s needs. But a single female and single man could not share a pew without arousing gossip, harmful gossip with Marigold living in the house, however good a job Mrs. Cromwell performed as a chaperone.

  Longing to be home with her family and friends, Marigold slipped into a pew near the back. She must remember that this was a time of worship, not socializing. She didn’t need to have loved ones around her to pray and sing hymns and listen to the sermon. In an hour and a half, she would rejoin the girls for the walk home, for their Sunday dinner, for quiet activity reading or playing the piano.

  Presently she felt lost in a church she’d attended for over a year. No one was unfriendly. They simply weren’t cordial beyond an initial nod and acknowledgment of her presence. She was a nursemaid, a temporary fixture, as was more than half the congregation. Most of them remained in Cape May for no more than the hot summer months.

  She’d worn her second prettiest dress and gone to the trouble of changing the ribbons on her hat for nothing. God didn’t care what she looked like.

  Hot in the layers of ruffles, Marigold nearly fell asleep during the sermon. Although she managed to stay awake, she couldn’t keep her mind on the thread of the pastor’s subject. She heard her father instead, reminding her of vanity, of pride, her overabundance of both.

  When the service ended, she made herself remain seated, her hands clasped in her lap, until nearly everyone else had filed out. Gordon and the girls passed by early in the recessional. Ruby waved, but Beryl pulled her along; two attractive young women in pastel gowns and blond curls followed so closely behind that Marigold couldn’t have stepped out of her pew if she’d been standing.

  Gordon Chambers, the Pied Piper of Cape May.

  Smiling, Marigold slipped into the aisle and exited the church.

  “Miss McCorkle?”

  Marigold turned at the sound of her name. “Mr. Tripp?”

  She knew the man as a regular attendee of the church, but he’d never approached her before.

  He gave her a courtly bow then stepped closer than strictly necessary for polite conversation. “I apologize for waylaying you, but I am concerned about the Chambers Excursion and Sailing Company. I approached Mr. Chambers, but he hasn’t heeded my warning.”

  “Warning?” Marigold looked into the man’s gentle gray eyes and frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “I warned him about Mr. Randall claiming he’s repairing the boats but not doing it. When I approached him about it, he dismissed me.”

  “I see.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. I’m not a disgruntled employee seeking revenge. I care about people’s lives.”

  He looked sincere—and worried.

  “I don’t have any influence over Mr. Chambers. I’m nothing more than an employee myself.”

  And not a highly regarded one.

  “But I’ll try to see if he’s doing anything, Mr. Tripp.”

  “Thank you.” His smile lit his haggard face.

  Insides uneasy, Marigold scanned the crowd for the family. Because of his height, she spotted Gordon straightaway. He stood on the front walk talking with a middle-aged couple Marigold recognized with an uplifting of her heart and a hastening of her steps.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Morris!” The cry left her lips before she could stop herself.

  They, Gordon, and too many congregants turned to stare at her.

  Her cheeks heated. “I beg your pardon.” She skidded to a halt a yard from the group. “I was just so happy to see you. . . .”

  “No pardon necessary.” Paul Morris took Marigold’s hands in his and squeezed them between his strong fingers.

  His wife kissed Marigold on the cheek. “You look lovely, child. We’re staying only three houses from the Chambers’ place, so you must come visit.”

  “I will, if I can.” Marigold glanced at Gordon.

  “I believe you’re entitled to time off.” He looked half amused and half bemused.

  “Then come down whenever you can. We’ll catch you up on all the news of home. But now we must rush off.” Mrs. Morris, petite and with more silver in her hair than gilt, turned back to Gordon and the girls. “We’ll expect you next Saturday night then, Mr. Chambers. And when my great-nieces and nephews come to visit next week,” she added to the girls, “you all must come down to play. There are quite a lot of them, you know, so you ought to find one of them you like.” She squeezed Marigold’s hand. “I’ll talk to you later, my dear.”

  Leaving the girls and Marigold smiling, the Morrises bade good day and headed down the sidewalk.

  “They’re nice,” Ruby announced around her fingers.

  “Their great-nieces are all Ruby’s age. The only person my age is a boy.” Beryl swept toward the sidewalk with the air of a grande dame wearing a ball gown.

  Gordon met Marigold’s eyes, and they shared a smile that made a butterfly take off in her belly.

  “How long before she changes her mind about that?” he asked.

  “Four or five years?”

  Marigold wasn’t about to admit she never went through a time when she didn’t think boys were great companions. She’d been nearly as good at baseball as any of the Morris or Grassick boys.

  “How do you know the Morrises?” Gordon asked Marigold as he steered Ruby after Beryl. “Do they come to Cape May every year?”

  “Yes, but I grew up knowing them. That is. . .” Marigold took a risky plunge. “My great-grandmother worked for Paul Morris’s parents.”

  It was strictly the truth, just not all of the truth.

  “Interesting.” The look Gordon Chambers gave her, his dark brows arched over those deep eyes, told Marigold he knew she wasn’t telling him everything.

  But he was looking at her.

  “Is it all right if I call on them?” she asked.

  “Of course. Whenever you like. Mrs. Cromwell can watch after the girls some, too.”

  “Or you could.”

  “I already do.” His voice turned dry. “And speaking of Mrs. Cromwell, where is she?”

  “She always goes to her sister’s house on Sunday afternoons. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “No. Um, what do we do for dinner?”

  “I cook.” Marigold laughed at the shock on his face. “I was teasing about the bread and eggs. I’m rather good at it, I’ll have you know.”

  “Not in that, I hope.” Though the look he gave her barely touched on her hat, then face, then gown, a tingling warmth in her tummy warned her to watch her step.

  She hovered close to the edge of being disloyal to Lucian.

  As soon as they reached home, she changed back into one of her gray gowns. The girls pulle
d pinafores over their good dresses and went into the garden to sit beneath the trees, Beryl with a book and Ruby with her slate and colored chalks. Where Gordon slunk off to Marigold neither knew nor cared—or so she told herself. She needed to cook.

  She knew how to make exactly two meals well, besides bread and eggs, which he would learn if he were around many more Sundays. Today it would be roast beef with carrots, potatoes, and onions. She also made passable biscuits. Fresh blueberries would serve for dessert.

  By the time the girls and their uncle seated themselves at the dining table, Marigold was hot and perspiring, with her hair either in tight corkscrews or as fuzzy as mohair. But the vegetables were tender, the meat juicy, and the biscuits flaky.

  “Enjoy yourselves.” She set the dishes on the table in front of Gordon. “I’ll start washing up.”

  “You aren’t going to eat?” Gordon asked.

  He apparently wouldn’t dream of inviting her to join them, and she wouldn’t invite herself and risk being rebuffed.

  She smiled. “When I finish cooking, I have no interest in eating. I’ll make a sandwich out of the leftover meat.”

  “What if we eat it all?” Ruby giggled.

  “We can’t eat that much.” Beryl gave the roast a disdainful glance.

  “We’ll try not to.” Gordon reached out his hands to the girls. “Shall we bless this meal?”

  Dismissed without the words, Marigold retreated to the kitchen then continued to the relative coolness on the back porch. A few minutes in the shade and breeze wouldn’t hurt anyone. She flopped onto the steps and fanned herself with the hem of her apron. She must talk to Gordon about Dennis Tripp’s admonition concerning the boats. It was likely nothing. Gerald Chambers had trusted Lawrence Randall, his manager, implicitly, allowing him the primary operation of the business. In fact, the late Mr. Chambers had rarely gone to the company’s office. He didn’t seem to like it much.

  So Mr. Tripp could be right. Gordon, of course, wouldn’t want anything to do with it, if he wanted to move on as fast as he could. . . .

  Well, he just couldn’t move on, whatever his reasons. She would stop him somehow. Leaving the girls without family was wrong and—