He was halfway through his plate of ham, eggs, and mushrooms before the parlor door opened and Fanny entered. The men stood for her arrival, but she’d no sooner stepped over the threshold that she came to a stop and looked over the crowd with wide eyes. “Oh,” she said, looking first at her father and then moving her gaze to Henry, who smiled in response. “I—I did not realize . . .”
“I only learned Henry was in Strasburg last night, after meeting some other Americans at a pub down the street,” Tom explained.
Fanny seemed to realize they were all waiting for her, so she stepped forward and let the door close behind her.
The men returned to their seats, and Tom continued his explanation. “I sent ’round an invitation and here they are.”
“It was a wonderful surprise,” Molly said.
“Yes,” Fanny said in an even tone. “Indeed it is.”
“Let me introduce my traveling companions,” Mr. Longfellow said.
Fanny greeted each woman cordially and then excused herself to the sideboard where she filled her plate.
Henry’s awareness of her movements, though she was behind him, was strange but not unwelcome. Just being in the same room with her made him feel more alive, more keen, more assured. She took a seat at the far side of the table, between Molly and Miss Bryant, and immediately engaged the young woman in conversation. He envied Miss Bryant the attention and realized, somewhat surprisingly, that she and Fanny were near the same age. Fanny seemed so much older, more worldly and self-possessed. Henry watched them without being obvious. He was too far away to speak with her, but a smile from Fanny would be the crowning pleasure of his day.
“Did you arrange passage back to America, then?” Tom asked.
Henry turned his attention from Fanny to her brother, who sat directly across the table. “We did. A ship sails out of Liverpool on October 12.”
“That will not give you much time to spend in Paris.”
“A week or so is all,” Henry said. “Long enough to finalize the arrangements.”
“Would you have time to join us for the opera?” Mr. Appleton asked. “We quite liked Norma the first time we saw it.”
“Thank you for the invitation,” Henry said, trying to keep the regret from his tone, “only we hadn’t planned to take in much entertainment.”
“We’re quite turned out,” Clara cut in, causing Henry to wince. She was a good woman and he was grateful for her insistence that they continue their tour, but her manners were not as they ought to be. In Portland it didn’t matter so much as everyone knew of her illegitimate heritage and forgave her for it. She was wealthy and personable after all, but now and again she showed a lack of refinement that embarrassed Henry and made him too aware of what kept her apart from company the caliber of the Appletons.
“What Clara means,” Henry said, casting her a look he hoped she understood but was not offended by, “is that every minute of our time there will be filled with the details of transatlantic travel. We’ll be sending most of our things—including all my books and papers—on a different ship so we have to determine what we will need with us on the journey.”
“It was less expensive to ship our belongings on a cargo vessel,” Clara said, proving that she had missed Henry’s pointed look. “It also allowed us better accommodations on the passenger ship.”
“A wise decision,” Mrs. Bryant said, though Henry was unsure whether she was trying to rescue them or simply joining the conversation. “I always say that proper rooms aboard a ship are worth every ha’penny it costs.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Tom said. “Though I do not mind sea travel very much.” He looked down the table to Fanny, who was no longer talking with Miss Bryant but seemed rather intent on her plate. “Fanny and I handled the voyage out of Boston like sailors, did we not?”
Fanny glanced ever so quickly at Henry before focusing on her brother. “Indeed,” she said with a nod and a polite smile. “You would think we’d been on deck our whole lives.”
“Not me,” Mrs. Bryant said. “I am already dreading it.”
“Mama spent every day of the trip in her cabin,” Miss Bryant added with a sympathetic frown. “The rest of us felt better after a few days.” She turned to Fanny. “Were you truly not ill at all?”
Fanny smiled at the girl. “Not a bit.”
“Oh, I do envy that,” Mrs. Bryant said. “How about you, Mr. Longfellow? Do you do well with seafaring?”
“It takes me a day or two to get my bearings, but everything else is an adventure. There was a storm on our way here, however, that certainly tested my mettle. Do you remember it, Clara?”
“How could I forget it?” she said with a shake of her head. “Mary and I had to tie ourselves into our berths to keep from falling out at night. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Mary again—that prick of awareness, the momentary flag in conversation as everyone thought of her simultaneously. Henry looked at Fanny, and she gave him a slight smile of sympathy before asking Clara about Germany.
That smile was exactly what he’d hoped for, and he took it as a sign that the hope for his future would have something to do with Miss Fanny Appleton. Not for a while yet—she had a year or more left for her Grand Tour—but Henry knew that when she returned to Boston, she would be a part of his future somehow. He did not fully understand his awareness of this fact, but that it was fact was absolutely certain. By the time she returned to Boston, he planned to be ready to step into that future more fully than he could now.
Ten
Home
Fanny and Molly filed out of Federal Street Church with the other parishioners while chatting with Aunt Sam. Their Uncle Sam’s wife was actually named Mary, but they had somehow fallen into calling her Aunt Sam. A similar thing had happened with Aunt and Uncle William.
Aunt and Uncle Sam had no children and so she doted on her nieces and nephews, something that had only added to the sweetness of being home again for Fanny and Molly.
It was their first Sunday back in Boston, and Fanny found the congregation as comfortable as ever. The tour of Europe had been wonderful, beyond what she could have imagined. She would always cherish the memories, but it was good to be home. She and Molly stopped to converse with several acquaintances intent on taking turns to share an embrace and welcome the family. The August heat was stifling, but the sisters did not want to be rude to their friends by begging off after their two-year absence.
After several minutes, Aunt Sam excused herself with the reminder that they would be joining her for tea that afternoon. It would be the third visit they’d had with their aunt and uncle since their return, but if the audience was willing to listen—which Aunt and Uncle Sam seemed to be—Fanny and Molly were eager to continue chattering on about all they had seen and done on their tour.
Fanny and Molly began walking toward home but were delayed by yet another neighbor.
“You shall have to come to dinner,” Mrs. Wilton said after welcoming both Appleton women back to “the fold of the Lord.” “We look forward to hearing about your trip, and my nephew, Phillip, is staying with me. I would so like to introduce you now that your adventure is past.” She dropped her head and said in a conspiring tone, “I imagine your futures are looming rather heavy before you these days, are they not?”
Fanny kept her smile polite, but her shoulders tightened along with her grip on the handle of her parasol. “I believe our futures are as bright and welcoming as ever, do you not agree, Molly?”
“Certainly,” Molly said, also smiling politely at Mrs. Wilton. They had known her all their lives and did not dislike her, even if she was a bit of a busybody. “We would love to come to dinner. Please send us ’round an invitation. Does Phillip speak French, by chance? Both Fanny and I are quite desperate to parler en français again.”
Fanny pressed her lips together to hold back her smile while Mrs. Wilton tried to keep her own smile in place. “I shall send an invitation,” she said, though she was not n
early as excited as she had been. “All the best as you get settled in.” Mrs. Wilton hurried after her husband, who waited on the corner and seemed eager to get home and out of the humid heat of the New England summer.
“How do you know Phillip doesn’t speak French?” Fanny asked Molly as they continued toward home. Father was talking with some friends under the shade of a yew tree, and Tom had left as soon as services were over—the political and financial tensions of the United States had quickly drawn the men’s attention upon the family’s return. The women were used to finding their own way home, however, and glad to avoid political talk if they could.
“According to Mr. Longfellow, no one speaks French even if they know the language.” Molly gave a single shrug and a satisfied half-smile. “And Phillip did not even go to Harvard.”
“You certainly can wield a sword when you choose to, can’t you, Molly?”
“C’est la vie,” Molly said, looping her hand through the air. “Father had wanted French to be a useful skill, and if it keeps unworthy gentlemen off our doorstep then I say it has fulfilled its purpose. Besides, Phillip is twenty-one years old. Too young to be hunting for a wife unless he is looking to line his pockets.”
Molly had no sooner finished her explanation than an old family friend, John Peterton, was bowing before them. “Is it not the Appleton ladies returned from their travels abroad,” he said with a wide grin that both women responded to in kind. John was Tom’s age and had been a playmate of his when Tom and Molly were young. Their families still dined together, though John had lately been in New York learning the banking business from an uncle. “Might I walk you ladies home?”
“It would be a pleasure,” Molly said, stepping to the side so he could move between them. He put an arm out for both sisters, and they all fell in step together. He asked after their voyage and then listened as they shared the highlights of their tour. He had been to Europe some years earlier, but had visited only London and Paris.
When they reached 39 Beacon Street, John—Fanny could not think of him as Mr. Peterton though she knew she should—brought them to the door and bowed over their hands. First Fanny’s, then Molly’s, which he lingered over. Fanny caught the subtle cue and excused herself, leaving John and Molly alone on the doorstep, though she waited just inside until Molly came in. When she did, her cheeks were flushed in a way that spoke of more than the summer heat.
Fanny raised her eyebrows, and Molly took hold of her arm, hurrying her into the parlor as though someone might overhear them. The butler should have greeted them upon their entry, but they had returned home from Europe to find that he had run off weeks earlier. Fanny and Molly had not yet had time to interview a replacement. There were all manner of things regarding the household that needed to be set to rights, but they would have to wait. It was the Sabbath after all.
“He’s invited me for a stroll on the Commons tomorrow evening,” Molly said, her eyes wide with excitement. “Only the two of us.”
“Indeed,” Fanny said with a grin. “And did you accept?”
“Of course,” Molly said. “He has grown into a very handsome man, and his family is well respected.”
“My, my,” Fanny said. “You are excited.”
Molly shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed as she walked to the window, perhaps to catch a glimpse of John’s retreating form. “I am almost twenty-four years old,” she said, her voice suddenly serious. “I would be a fool to not be flattered by the attention of a man like Johnny. I would not want Mrs. Wilton to know it, but now that we are returned, I am eager to secure my future.”
“A man like Johnny?” Fanny repeated, raising her eyebrows at the familiarity of her sister’s address. Even though Fanny called him John in her mind, she would never address him as such, much less an even more familiar version of his name.
Molly blushed again. “I suppose I can’t call him that any longer, can I? It was what I called him when we were young.”
“Perhaps he will give you leave to be so familiar soon enough.”
Molly flashed her sister another grin and then headed for the stairs. “I should like to change my dress before we go to Aunt Sam’s. Are you coming up?”
“I shall be there shortly,” Fanny said.
Only after Molly disappeared through the doorway did Fanny let her smile fall. Any man would be lucky to have Molly for a wife. She had an easy nature and a genuine goodness that would only benefit the man who asked for her hand. But for all of Fanny’s appreciation for Molly’s virtues, she was not ignorant of the areas of charm in which her sister was lacking.
Unfortunately for both sisters, they were not great beauties. Fanny had come to accept it for herself, especially as her appreciation of more intellectual matters had increased. Molly, on the other hand, often regretted her plain features. She did all she could with her hair and even a bit of rouge now and again to soften her features, which Fanny felt only seemed to draw more attention to the beauty she did not possess.
John Peterton, on the other hand, cut a very fine figure. He was tall with broad shoulders, bright eyes, and a fine face. He was also charming and never lacking for female attention. Why would his interest suddenly spring up toward Molly after all these years? He had never given her such notice before their trip; rather, it was Tom’s company he sought out back then.
Fanny had come to realize during their travels how very wealthy her father was and through him, his children. Now that she was an adult, Father had explained to her the investments he had made in her name—money that belonged only to her. Her father would control her money until she married or reached the age of thirty, of course, but she was officially an heiress in addition to the significant dowry set aside for when she married. With the knowledge of her financial security also came the understanding that her money would be an attractive feature for young men.
Molly was similarly situated, and with the growing economic concerns of the time, Fanny wondered if she too felt rather conspicuous. Did she not know she might catch a man with a silver hook she did not mean to put in the water? Just this afternoon she had expressed suspicion of that very thing regarding Mrs. Wilton’s nephew.
Fanny hated feeling suspicion toward John, however, and doubting Molly’s potential to make a good match based on her excellent character made Fanny feel like a very bad sister. While Fanny questioned her own desire to marry—she had been increasingly vocal about such things since learning of her inheritance—Molly wanted nothing more from life than a husband and children. While Fanny felt the need to protect her heart, which still ached with the loss of those she’d loved, Molly’s heart remained hopeful and optimistic.
“Do not look for ghosts,” Fanny told herself, repeating a phrase her mother would often say when they were exaggerating an insult or looking for someone to blame for a foul mood.
Molly and John had known each other their entire lives, and it was certainly possible he had missed her during her absence and come to better appreciate her virtues. Fanny would not look for ghosts in John’s motivations. He was as good a man as the family had ever known, and if he were to make an offer to Molly, Fanny would be the first to congratulate her sister on a very good match.
Having given herself a good talking-to, Fanny made her way to her bedchamber, thinking of the people she had seen for the first time in two years and allowing the comfort of being home again to truly seep into her bones. She loved Boston—the richness of its history, the breadth of its opportunity, and the quality of its people.
In remembering friends she was eager to see again, she included Mr. Longfellow. There had been plenty of time to ponder on their time together once they were apart—it had been almost exactly a year since they had seen one another in Strasburg—and she was convinced of her full recovery from any foolish fancy she may have imagined between them. Her only expectation was that of friendship and intellectual discussions.
Fanny had seen Europe differently after having met Mr. Longfellow, searching for the influence
and the beauty within the cultures they saw. She had looked at herself differently, too, and realized the fulfillment of study and learning she had taken for granted before. It was also because of him that she had applied herself so intently to her French lessons. She was eager to show him what she had learned, eager to see the pride in his eyes, confirmation that she had met his expectation—an expectation no one else seemed to hold for her.
At some point, Mr. Longfellow would be invited to Beacon Street. She looked forward to such a meeting but did not allow herself to look forward to it too much. Too much attention toward a reunion might tempt her to wonder if there was a deeper connection between them, and she had already made her decision about that.
Fanny forced herself to think of other friends she had not yet seen—Emmeline Austin, for instance, who had grown up just one street away but who was visiting family in Pennsylvania until next week. And Susan Benjamin, who would love to hear of all the fine art Fanny had seen. And of course there was Fanny’s dear friend Robert Apthorp, who had written Fanny faithfully throughout the entire two-year trip. So many people to see, so much history to share. And there would be dances and dinner parties and afternoon teas. Fanny had not lost her appetite for fashion and entertainment, and she yearned for the energetic company of her young friends. Learning had not deadened all her other interests.
Her maid was waiting for her in her bedchamber. Molly must have sent her; she was such a good sister. Fanny turned so the servant could undo the buttons of her dress, glad for the comforts of home all over again. Yes, it was very good to be home. Very good indeed.
Eleven
Renewed Acquaintance
Henry stood in the parlor of Craigie House—a stately Georgian mansion on Brattle Street where he’d lodged for nearly four months—and watched the front walk, waiting for Tom Appleton to appear.
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