LETTER PERFECT
Books by
Cathy Marie Hake
FROM BETHANY HOUSE PUBLISHERS
* * *
Letter Perfect
Bittersweet
Fancy Pants
Forevermore
Whirlwind
That Certain Spark
Serendipity
CATHY MARIE HAKE
Letter Perfect
Copyright © 2006
Cathy Marie Hake
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Cover photography by Mike Habermann
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Ebook edition created 2010
Ebook corrections 04.18.2016 (VBN)
ISBN 978-1-4412-0285-7
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hake, Cathy Marie.
Letter perfect / Cathy Marie Hake.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-7642-0284-7 (alk. paper) — ISBN 0-7642-0165-4 (pbk.)
I. Title.
PS3608.A5454L48 2006
813′.6—dc22 2006013798
* * *
To Tracie Peterson,
a dear friend and a dynamic Christian
whose encouragement and support made this possible.
And Sarah Long,
an editor whose enthusiasm and insights
made all the difference.
To my dear husband, Christopher,
who taught me love is perfect but I don’t have to be.
And most of all,
to the Lord—whose mercy and love abound.
To God be the glory!
CATHY MARIE HAKE is a nurse who specializes in teaching Lamaze, breastfeeding, and baby care. She loves reading, scrapbooking, and writing, and is the author or coauthor of more than twenty books. Cathy makes her home in Anaheim, California, with her husband, daughter, and son.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
Jefferson City, Missouri, 1859
Exactly how much damage can one tiny fish bone do? Ruth Caldwell wondered if she simply ought to swallow the wretched little thing. Knowing my luck, it’ll get stuck and I’ll choke to death.
Just as she decided to lift her napkin and discreetly get rid of the pickery little nuisance, Miss Pettigrew looked at her. Ruth’s blood ran cold, and she plastered a smile on her closed lips.
Well, at least my mouth is shut.
The headmistress of Pettigrew Academy graced Ruth with a chilly nod. After her afternoon debacle, Ruth didn’t expect any better. A mere slip of the tongue and she’d managed to introduce the new pastor to the Garden Society as “Reverend Mark Clumsy” instead of “Reverend Clark Mumsy.” In doing so, she’d embarrassed herself and reflected poorly on the Academy.
Oh, how can I get rid of this bone?
She lifted her napkin. The silver candlesticks teetered precariously, then fell onto Miss Pettigrew’s prized snowy Irish linen tablecloth. It wasn’t until her plate began to tip and girls started squealing that Ruth realized she hadn’t grabbed her napkin—she’d been pulling on the tablecloth!
Whoosh! The artfully spiraled ribbons cascading from the centerpiece caught fire, and the squeals turned to screams. Ruth sloshed water from her goblet onto the flames, then followed it by emptying the contents of the nearest teapot. Three other students followed suit with their glasses. Soon the once-beautiful table became a sodden, sooty wreck.
Ruth patted out the last embers. Deep in her heart she knew even if the tea stains came out of Miss Pettigrew’s cherished tablecloth, the singed spots relegated it to the ragbag.
“Miss Caldwell, come to my office, if you please.” Miss Pettigrew rose, then turned and marched from the dining room.
Ruth knew the “if you please” wasn’t a request. Of course it didn’t please her to follow the headmistress, but an order was an order. She squared her shoulders and pretended not to see the pity on her classmates’ faces.
Once in the hallway, before she turned the corner and entered the office, Ruth slipped the fish bone from her mouth and stuck it in the potted fern.
I’m about to find out exactly how much damage one tiny fish bone can do.
Glancing down, Ruth let out a silent sigh at the sight of her soiled pin-tucked bodice. She quickly brushed off the slivered, fishy-smelling almonds and disposed of them in the fern, too. Unfortunately, her sooty hands left streaks on her best dress. Large wet splotches on it added to the bedraggled effect. The only good thing about her skirts being wet was that they draped lower, hiding her scuffed shoes.
To top the whole disaster off, Ruth felt her hairpins slipping. Miss Pettigrew put great stock in a woman tending her “crown of glory” and wouldn’t understand if Ruth’s hair came unbound. She glanced about and assured herself that no one was in sight, hiked up her skirts, wiped her hands as best she could on her petticoats, and dropped the skirts back in place. That done, she shoved her hairpins in yet again and marched into the dragon’s lair.
“Miss Caldwell,” Miss Pettigrew began, “please shut the door.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As Ruth turned to obey, she couldn’t quell a shudder. She’d been through this at other schools. The humiliation of being dismissed ought to be enough to mortify any decent girl, but Ruth felt the crushing guilt of knowing she’d tried her best here and still failed.
I wanted to make Mama proud, and I’ve botched everything again. She’ll welcome me home and act as if nothing went wrong, but she wants me to become a polished woman and marry well. I keep messing up. Would it be so bad for me to stay home and become a spinster?
“Miss Caldwell.”
Miss Pettigrew’s voice cut through her thoughts. Ruth turned to face her fate.
The headmistress wilted artfully into the seat behind her desk. “I’ve tried to do my best by you.”
“I’m sure you have,” Ruth agreed sincerely. Indeed, she’d been here for almost six months—twice as long as she’d lasted anywhere else.
“Everyone deserves a chance, and the Bible instructs us to be longsuffering. However, Ruth, dear, I’m afraid I’ve suffered long enough.”
Ruth stood in respectful silence. At least that way, she figured, she wouldn’t open her mouth and make matters worse.
“Pettigrew’s Academy for F
ine Young Ladies cannot weather the storms you bring. Reputation is all,” the headmistress intoned. “Yes, I’ve tried to impress upon you that reputation is all. Once besmirched, it cannot be recovered. I fear for your reputation, my dear; but even more, I fear for my school and all of the other students. All it takes is for one of you to indulge in hoydenish escapades to make the whole community frown upon the entire institution.
“Dignity. Comportment. Grace. A woman must cultivate these qualities. You, on the other hand, entertain wild, headstrong notions and follow your impulses. This can only lead to ruin.”
Ruth fought the impulse to balance on one leg and scratch her calf with the toe of her boot. Miss Pettigrew was warming to her subject, and Ruth figured the woman had a right to a final tirade.
“I forgave you for stealing the cook’s best roasting pan since your intention to save those little robin hatchlings showed compassion.”
“Two of the three survived,” Ruth remembered.
“Yes, but you brought worms into the room to feed them.” Miss Pettigrew shuddered. “And it was only the beginning of inappropriate things you carried through my doors. While I’m thinking of it …” She stood, unlocked a drawer from a cabinet, and withdrew an item. Pinching the suffrage sash between her forefinger and thumb as if the satin might otherwise soil her, Miss Pettigrew extended it toward Ruth. “Here. Take this. I wouldn’t have it said I’m a thief.”
“Thank you.” Ruth accepted her sash. Having slipped out of school that day to participate in the march was transgression enough, but to return wearing the scandalous sash nearly sent Miss Pettigrew into a fit of the vapors. Her reaction would have convinced a stranger that Ruth had stormed into Mr. Buchanan’s White House and used the sash to swing from his elegant chandeliers. Miss Pettigrew had promptly confiscated the red satin piece and locked it away, as if doing so would contain the “outrageous” notion that women ought ever be free-thinking enough to vote.
“A young woman of your vivacity and intellect should be an asset to the community.” Miss Pettigrew went back to her desk, only this time she sat ramrod straight. The resolve on her pinched face warned Ruth that the softer portion of the exit speech had ended. “In the twenty-seven years I’ve run my school, I’ve never seen a young woman I couldn’t coax into being finer, better, more polished.” She paused significantly, then tacked on, “Until you.
“I’ve examined my heart and am certain the fault does not lie with me. Why, I am a descendant of King Henry VIII.”
Why does she think that’s such a fine thing to claim? He was a mean, fat, old man who killed off several wives and wreaked havoc in the church just to satisfy his own needs!
“Each Pettigrew girl develops into a royal swan who glides through life with all of the essential social graces. You, Ruth, paddle mud into the pond and ruffle everyone’s feathers.”
Which makes me the clumsy, ugly duckling.
“Simply put, you’re a misfit.”
Ruth’s chin jerked up. The abrupt action caused her hairpins to shift. Misfit. That description hurt. From the day she arrived, Ruth strove to fit in. She’d tamped down her impulsive nature and assiduously prayed for self-control to make this work—not because she wanted to be properly finished, but because she wanted to please her mother.
“The truth is far from flattering, Miss Caldwell, but you cannot deny it.”
As if on cue, Ruth’s hair broke free and splayed out around her shoulders.
Either unaware or uncaring of the pain her words inflicted, Miss Pettigrew made a disgusted sound, then continued. “For the sake of the others and my school’s reputation, I’m sending you home.”
St. Louis, Missouri
“Home sweet home,” Ruth singsonged under her breath up in her bedchamber. Truly, she belonged here, felt happy here. On the journey home she’d determined to convince Mama to abandon any hope of her marrying at all, let alone well. Within the comforting walls of their home, Ruth knew she would be happy.
She loved her room. The yellow-and-white striped wallpaper gave it a cheerful air, and the deep green counterpane never showed marks from her feet when she’d forget to remove her shoes and sit cross-legged as a heathen on the bed.
Bernadette bustled into the room with a vase full of daisies. “Your mama will wake up in about an hour. I asked Hadley to bring up your trunks. I’ll help you unpack them.”
“I can do it. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Aw, now. I want to hear about everything.” Bernadette flashed her an affectionate smile. “Sure as shouting, something happened to bring you back home. You do manage to have a time of it, Ruth. Shameful as it is for me to confess, your stories tickle me.”
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Old Hadley wheezed and grunted his way into the room under the weight of Ruth’s smaller trunk. “Where d’you want this?”
“By the wardrobe, please.” Ruth fought the temptation to offer him help with her other, heavier trunk. Mr. Hadley might be old, but he had his pride.
“Put it down gently,” Bernadette ordered her husband. “No marking up the floor.”
“Since when did I ever scratch up your floors?” he grumbled. For all his grouchy tone, he still set down the trunk with care. Shrugging and stretching, he gave Ruth a woeful shake of his head. “They must’ve made you sew your fingers to the bone at that place. Your trunk wasn’t half that full when you left.”
“I did considerable sewing,” Ruth agreed. She withheld the fact that more often than not, her sewing consisted of mending hems she tore, buttons she popped off, and holes in her stockings that needed darning.
“Humph. Place like that ain’t right for you.”
“That goes without saying,” Bernadette scolded. “She’s back here with us, isn’t she, old man? Stop your yammering and go get the other trunk.”
Ruth waited until Hadley was out of earshot before she indulged her need to giggle. When Bernadette’s brows rose in silent inquiry, Ruth whispered, “Miss Pettigrew would swoon if she ever heard a woman tell her husband to stop yammering.”
Bernadette grinned. “That’s why you’re back home. You didn’t belong with that pretentious old bat. What does she know about husbands? She never caught herself one.”
Hadley chugged back into the room. “Want this by the bureau? Decide quickly, woman. My back’s breaking under the load.”
“Yes, the bureau,” Bernadette helped him set the trunk on end. “You’re a strong man, Hadley. Why don’t you go swipe a piece of cake to keep your strength up? Just be sure to leave enough for the ladies to enjoy with their tea once the missus wakes up.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He pinched his wife’s cheek. “Nobody makes better pound cake than you.”
Ruth marveled at the couple who had helped Mama all her life. Whenever guests came over, Bernadette and Hadley acted like the penultimate servants; when alone with Ruth, they behaved like opinionated, loving relatives. Other than Grandmother and Grandfather, Ruth hadn’t seen another husband and wife who actually knew each other well and shared a genuine affection. Most marriages she observed were odd relationships, fraught with polite distance. It made her wonder why the Miss Pettigrews of the world put so much stock in marriage.
Oh, there were the financial issues to be considered. After all, few women could support themselves well by working at an acceptable trade. Men earned more and could own property. But if suffrage passed and women voted to improve their own lot, then marriage would be unnecessary unless a couple truly cared for each other and wished to have children.
Ruth stopped hanging her dresses in the wardrobe and tilted her head toward her mother’s bedchamber. “Mama’s coughing. When did her cough come back?”
“Truth is, she never got rid of it.” Bernadette turned away and put an armful of clothes in the top drawer of the bureau.
“Bernadette! I’ve been away for six months—don’t tell me Mama’s been sick that whole time. She’s been writing cheerful letters, telling me things ar
e fine.”
“Things ain’t been fine for a while, child. If you ask me, it’s a good thing you’ve come home.”
Ruth dropped the dress she’d just taken out of the trunk and wheeled to run to Mama’s room.
The housekeeper flung her arms around Ruth and held her fast. “Now, now. No use you barging in and waking her. She needs her rest. No being tearful or dreary, either. We made an agreement to bear this with courage. Don’t you dash in there and shred your mother’s dignity.”
“I would have come home—”
“Which is what your mother didn’t want.” Bernadette’s hold eased. “She tried to protect you.”
Guilt washed over Ruth. “All these months, I could have been here and helped.”
“Nothing you could do that we didn’t already have in hand.” The old housekeeper patted Ruth’s cheek. “Your mama loves you and tried hard to make sure you’d be able to go on when she can’t be there for you.”
“She should have called me home. I would rather have been here.”
“If you dare chide her, I’ll have Hadley break out the hickory switch, and I’ll use it on you myself.”
“You’ve never used a hickory switch in your life.”
Bernadette shook her finger at Ruth. “And you’ve never seen one. It’s likely that’s why you’ve been sent back home. If anyone ever bothered to apply the rod of discipline to your backside, you probably wouldn’t be so impossible to deal with.”
Ruth wrapped her arms around the old woman and squeezed. “I love you, too.”
“I’m so glad to have you home,” Bernadette whispered to her. “Your mother wouldn’t let me send word to you. I’m sure God is tired of hearing me plead for you to be naughty so He could bring you back home where you belong.”
Ruth gaped. “You asked God to make me naughty, when I’ve been praying so hard to fit in and be good?”
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