by Nancy Moser
“Of course. I’d be happy to be of service.”
Their desserts arrived, a lovely frosting to their conversational cake.
“It’s just through that door, to the right,” Mrs. Garmin said.
Lucy had been embarrassed to ask where the necessary was, but after their large meal it had become essential. Sure enough, at the end of the next car was a door with the proper signage. She went inside and was surprised to see a commode and a sink in a setting as sumptuous as the rest of the train. There was even a roll of paper on a holder, something she’d never seen before. How odd that a train would be so modern.
She looked at herself in the mirror and was appalled to see a spot of food had fallen on her blouse. She wished the ladies had said something, yet she knew doing so was a delicate matter.
After cleaning the spot, she exited the necessary and returned to her original seat. Mrs. Garmin was nowhere to be seen, nor was her husband. It was just as well. Lucy could barely keep her eyes open. As the day was far from over, it would be advantageous if she could manage even the smallest of naps.
She removed her hat and placed it in her lap, then leaned her head against the back cushion. The movement of the train rocked her to sleep—and sweet dreams.
Chapter Eleven
The needle broke.
Sofia uttered an epithet, which caused some of the ladies to giggle and Mamma to flash her a look.
“Want to learn some Irish cuss words, Sofia?” Tessie asked.
Mamma answered for her. “She most certainly does not. She’s just a child.”
Mamma’s words repeated themselves in her mind. “She’s just a child, a child, piccolina. . . .”
Without consciously choosing to do so, Sofia pushed her chair back, sending it toppling backward. She faced the room. “I am not a child! I’m a grown woman. Stop treating me like a baby.”
A moment of silence was interrupted by full laughter.
“Baby Sofia.”
“Want some help, little girl?”
Heat rushed into her face, making her feel as if she would burn up if she didn’t get some air. She stormed from the workroom, through the lobby, and onto the street—where she ran into a man pulling a cart.
He grabbed her arms, righting her. “Whoa there, lass. What’s yer hurry?”
Surprised to hear the youth in his voice, she turned toward him, found him nice looking, and took his head in her hands, kissing him fully on the lips.
He pulled away but kept hold of her arms. “Well, now, lassie. What e’er sent you into my arms, I’m thanking God for it.” He started to pull her close again when—
“Sofia!”
Mamma stood in the doorway of the shop, her eyes wide. She pointed at the spot in front of her. “Come here. Now!”
The man let her go, tipped his cap to Mamma, and shrugged. “Sorry, lass. But e’en I ain’t brave enough to go against anyone’s mamma.”
Sofia heard laughter all around and realized she’d gained an audience. Why had she kissed him? She’d never kissed anyone. To have her first kiss be wasted on a stranger—a stranger who reeked of sweat and smoke?
She strode toward Mamma but didn’t stop in the spot indicated. She needed to get off the street. Once inside she would deal with Mamma’s wrath.
Mamma closed the door behind them. Sofia saw the briefest glimpse of heads through the curtain, then saw them disappear into the workroom. She whispered to her mother. “I’m sorry, Mamma. It was a stupid thing to do, but—”
Thankfully Mamma kept her voice low, her breath hot in Sofia’s ear. “I’m sorry if I called you a child, but that’s no reason to hurl yourself onto the street and kiss—”
Shame washed over her, and Sofia flung herself into the comfort of Mamma’s arms.
Mamma shushed her and murmured soft words. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Sofia removed herself from the embrace, shaking her head. She couldn’t say it without sounding exactly like a child.
“Lucy?” Mamma asked.
Sofia looked into her mother’s soft eyes and found safety there. “I’m nothing compared to her.”
Mamma’s eyebrow rose, indicating this wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. She took Sofia’s hands in hers, squeezing hard. “You are not Lucy and she is not you, and that’s the way God meant it to be. Being the oldest forced your sister to find her way, to find her strengths. Perhaps being the youngest has prevented you from your own discovery. Or perhaps you’ve liked letting Lucy be in charge?”
“I don’t like—”
Mamma’s look stopped her interruption. For hadn’t Sofia enjoyed being the youngest, the little girl to Lucy’s mature woman? Hadn’t she benefited from Lucy’s dependable care?
She began again. “I don’t want to be that little girl anymore.”
“Then grow up.” Mamma kissed her forehead and linked her arm in Sofia’s. “La pratica vale più della grammatica.”
Since Italian was her second language, Sofia wasn’t sure what that meant.
Mamma translated. “Experience is the best teacher.”
Sofia nodded but wasn’t sure how to gain experience.
It all sounded rather frightening.
Lucy lurched forward and awake.
“We’re here,” Mrs. Garmin said.
“We’re at Wickford Junction,” her husband corrected.
Lucy pressed her back against the seat and rubbed her sore neck. After a deep breath in, then out, she asked, “Can you give me instructions as to where I go next to catch the steamer ship?”
“We can do better than that,” Mrs. Garmin said. “Mr. Garmin has insisted you accompany us to our shared destination.”
Lucy noticed Mr. Garmin roll his eyes and knew it had been his wife who’d done the insisting. “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you.”
The next hour was spent transferring to the Newport and Wickford Railroad, which took them to the Wickford harbor, where they boarded a steamer for the seventy-five-minute ride to Aquidneck Island and Newport.
Lucy spent the entire boat ride at the railing, looking over the water of Narragansett Bay. She vaguely remembered standing at the railing as a little girl, crossing the vast Atlantic. That trip had taken days, and this, but a little over an hour. And yet she was making the same sort of journey, leaving one land for another, one known way of life for something completely new.
She took a break from the view of the water and turned around, leaning her waist against the railing. Although Mr. and Mrs. Garmin had gone out of their way to guide her from the train to the steamer, once on board, they’d left her on her own. Perhaps with Newport so close, they’d felt the need to gently withdraw from their association. What could be tolerated amid the close confines of a train car would not be allowed within the circle of Newport society. And so walls had been erected in preparation for their going ashore.
So be it. Lucy had been the one to gain from their friendship—no matter how short-lived. And once in Newport she would gain her own society at the Langdons’.
Lucy saw Mrs. Wilson walking on the deck with her husband. She smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Wilson.”
The woman nodded slightly, then looked away.
“You know that girl?” Lucy heard her husband ask.
“She’s just a seamstress the Langdons have called in.”
“Ah,” he said, as if that explained her entire existence.
Just a seamstress. When the ladies had discussed her talent during dessert, they’d given her the impression she was admired, that she had a talent worthy of merit.
Lucy turned to face the sea, relieved it accepted her without judgment.
The wharf was crowded. Lucy searched the crowd for a friendly face. Surely the Langdons had sent someone to meet her. Surely they would be looking for her. If only Rowena had come . . . After her long day of travel, Lucy longed to see a friendly face.
People bustled around her, all seeming to know where they were going. She spotted the Garmins moving tow
ard a carriage. She wished Mrs. Garmin would look her way. She would have felt ever so much better to have parted with a smile. But the woman entered the carriage, never looking back.
Lucy’s attention was drawn to a young man wearing a short-collar shirt, a brown vest, and a cap. He carried a sign: L. Scarpelli. She resisted the urge to run to him. Instead, she raised a hand. “Sir? Sir?”
Their eyes met and he gave her an appraising look. “Lucy Scarpelli?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He touched the brim of his cap. “Haverty. I’ve been sent to fetch you to the Langdons’.” He took her satchels, led her toward a cart, and helped her into the seat beside him. Watching other ladies from the train get into fine carriages accentuated the gulf of their status.
So be it.
Haverty expertly made his way through the congested harbor and onto a residential street. The homes they passed were pleasing and Lucy said as much.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet. These are but shacks compared to where we’re heading.”
“The Langdons have a large home?”
He laughed. “Larger than large. But the thing is, here in Newport they’re called cottages. Millions of dollars, dozens of rooms, and gold dripping off the walls.” He glanced at her. “You impressed yet?”
“Only if you’re telling me the truth.”
“You can be the judge of that.” He pulled on the reins and yelled at another carriage that had cut him off. “Stupid tourists. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.”
“What’s a tourist?”
“Someone who comes visiting and thinks they own the place. It’s not just the rich who come to Newport in the summer. The town swells up like a boil on a horse’s—” He glanced at Lucy. “You get the picture.”
Lucy held on to the side of their bench seat for her very life. Although she was used to traffic in the city, there was a certain wildness to the traffic here, as if everyone was in a hurry to get their holiday started and didn’t care whom they ran over in the process.
“Do you live here all year round, Mr. Haverty?”
“Just Haverty. Nope. I’m with the Langdons in New York the rest of the time. Come down here a few weeks before the family to get things ready, and’ll go back a few weeks after.”
Since Haverty seemed willing to talk, Lucy decided to ask him more. “Can you tell me about the family? Is Miss Langdon well? Is there anything I should know to help me get along while I’m here?”
“Snoopy little thing, aren’t ya?”
“I prefer to say I’m inquisitive. I’m coming in blind and simply wish to know the lay of things.”
“Knowledge is power; that’s for certain,” he said. “Let’s see if I can get it in a nutshell. Miss Langdon’s gentle as a fawn in the forest, kind to everybody, not demanding at all. She’d lay down her life for a friend, though I can’t say as others would do the same for her.”
“She doesn’t have any good friends?”
“Can’t say as I’ve been too impressed with any of the young ladies she’s forced to hang around with. Just because she’s different . . .”
Oh. That.
He changed the subject. “She has one brother, Hugh, who’s as opposite from Rowena as a wolf to a sheep. Hugh thinks he’s king of the world—a jolly king. He doesn’t take much seriously.” He gave her another look. “If I was you, being a pretty girl and all, I’d stay clear of him best you can.”
Wonderful. Another Bonwitter. “Any other advice?”
“Work hard and stay invisible.”
Lucy didn’t understand. “As I’ll be repairing Miss Langdon’s clothing, I don’t see how that’s possible. Besides, she invited me here.”
“You’ve never been a servant, have you?”
“I’m still not a servant.”
He laughed. “Well, then, you’re going to have a time of it, ain’t you?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’ll see.”
Rowena’s boredom was at an end. Today Lucy was arriving, and yesterday Edward had arrived. Although she was still required to attend numerous social occasions she would have preferred to skip, the attending would be made far easier knowing Edward would be present at most.
Rowena looked across the grass at the other two couples who’d accompanied her and Edward to watch the sailboat regatta. She and Edward had taken their place upon the grassy knoll overlooking Narragansett Bay first, and she expected the others to sit close by.
But they didn’t do that. She watched as Winnie Rutherford pointed to the grass a good twenty feet away, instructing her companion to lay the blanket there. The other couple sat beside them, leaving an awkward patch of green as testament to their rudeness.
And Rowena’s and Edward’s ostracism.
She felt bad for Edward. Since his family was new in Newport, they were suspect. The bastions of society were high and wide, and there was no guarantee of acceptance no matter how much money one made—or displayed. Why, just the other night at Delmonico’s, her friends had talked to Edward as if he were one of them. But today . . . Acceptance into society was fickle. Further proof could be seen in the case of Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt, who had been ostracized since her divorce the previous spring. Such a thing was simply not done, but Rowena had heard her mother say that though they wouldn’t invite Alva to their house, they probably would go to a party Alva was having later this season. The presence of the Duke of Marlborough was the draw. Apparently, Alva was arranging for her daughter, Consuelo, to marry him.
There were others who kept tabs on who was in and who was out: Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish, Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt II, Mrs. Hermann Oelrichs, Mrs. William Backhouse Astor, Jr. . . . These ladies were an unofficial but recognized panel of judges who gave—or withheld—their favor at will. And whim.
Of course, Rowena’s position was not exactly solid. Her family was accepted because they’d been in Newport before the patriarch of all the Vanderbilt clan—the Commodore—had even thought about running a railroad, much less climbing any ladder other than the one in a train car’s berth. But Rowena knew her infirmity, along with her brother’s frivolous nature, tested their position.
If only she and Edward could have come here alone. But such private outings were not allowed at this point in their relationship, so she’d let her mother arrange the outing with the other couples. In truth, she disliked them as much as they tolerated her. But for them to be so blatant about it . . .
Rowena pretended to be preoccupied with her parasol, even though she knew it would open if she really tried. And oddly, as Edward stretched his legs out beside her, she noticed scuffs on his buff-colored shoes. But instead of thinking He should polish them, the shoes made her think of Morrie. Morrie’s shoes were never polished and often displayed a disturbing amount of dirt and grass. Yet she wouldn’t have it any other way. For by his shoes, Morrie always revealed a refreshing evidence of fully living. Being all staid and polished only revealed that a person was idle and had servants to help showcase that idleness. Living was a coveted trophy most of her set would never win. Caught in her memory, she moved the blanket aside so she could feel the grass.
“Would you like me to smooth the blanket?” Edward asked.
She smoothed it back herself. “I like the grass, the feel of it.”
“I’m more a city boy.” He took a deep breath but shook his head. “This fresh air . . . my lungs don’t know what to do with it.”
His comment was disappointing. Who could not like the soft musk of the grass, the rainbow of colors in Newport’s gardens, the sea air, the waves, the endless sky?
Unable to delay any longer, Rowena finally let her parasol open and looked absently at the other couples. It gladdened her heart that Winnie’s hair was frizzing in the humidity. So much for perfection. And there was a distinct amount of sweat on her companion’s brow, sweat that he tried in vain to eradicate by fanning himself with his straw hat.
Rowena felt her own trick
le of perspiration course down her spine between skin and corset. Yet its presence gave her no distress. She loved the outdoors, and if she could have rid herself of this ridiculous corset, dress, and petticoats, along with the veil, hat, and parasol, she would have played the child, skipping over the knoll in her bare feet like she used to do with Morrie before convention, age, and injury ruined their fun.
The other couples talked amongst themselves, often behind upraised hands. Again, the utter rudeness astounded but did not surprise her. Rowena was glad the breeze took their words out to sea.
Odd that the upper crust saw no need for subtlety. When they wished to discuss a person, they did so with little or no attempt at hiding the act. As now. When Rowena looked in their direction, she usually found them with their heads together, talking in low tones, their eyes fixed on Edward and herself. It was very disconcerting.
On one such occasion, Edward noticed it too. “Are we entertaining enough for you, ladies? Or would you like me to dance a jig?”
Not waiting for their reply, he stood and did a funny little dance.
He received laughter from the others and gratitude from Rowena. When he returned to his seat on the grass, he said, “There. At least now I’ve chosen their attention.”
She was touched by his willingness to play the fool to gain her comfort. “Be assured they are not chattering to disparage you but to mock me, or rather what they consider the absurd idea of me with you. Or is it you with me?”
“Why are they so cruel? Haven’t they known you your whole life? Being from Boston, being new to New York and Newport, I should think I would be the subject of their rudeness,” he asserted. “I’ve heard my mother and father talk of the bolted doors of society and how difficult it is to pry them open.”
“But you are a handsome, eligible man, and charming besides. Those traits are very advantageous when it comes to being accepted by the younger set here. See the way Mary Grant is smiling at you? With one smile in return she could be yours forever.”
He turned toward Mary and waggled his hands beside his ears. Alarmed, she looked away.
