Late the next week a reply arrived from Amanda. The letter contained sufficient funds to cover the cost of train travel and hotel expenses for the Morrisons, along with an invitation for Fanny to stay at the Broadmoor home for the duration of her visit. Amanda had secured the funds from her mother, and from the tenor of the letter, it seemed Aunt Victoria was eager for Fanny’s visit. She doubted Uncle Jonas would be nearly as pleased. In fact, Fanny wondered if he knew they would be in attendance. Surely her aunt hadn’t extended their invitations without his knowledge. Then again, when Aunt Victoria set her mind to something, she didn’t worry about Uncle Jonas or the possible consequences.
Mrs. Morrison had been feverishly working on her dress, and when Fanny presented her with the funds for the train tickets and hotel accommodations, her eyes welled with tears. “I truly do not think I should be taking this money from you. I’m not certain my husband would approve. Especially for something as frivolous as attending a ball.”
“I believe it will prove to be money well spent. Mr. Morrison agreed we could attend. Please tell him it is my desire to have the money spent to cover the costs. I only hope we will all have an enjoyable evening.”
Fanny didn’t mention her cousin had sent the money; thankfully, Mrs. Morrison didn’t inquire. Mrs. Morrison probably thought the Broadmoors had given her substantial funds before her departure. The older woman tended to believe others possessed her same thoughtful nature. Fanny wished that were true.
The weekend of the ball approached more rapidly than Fanny had expected. Mrs. Morrison had completed the alterations on her gown two days ago. Once pressed, the dress looked as though it had been custom made for the older woman. Mrs. Morrison had added a layer of fine ecru lace to the sleeves and neckline, the final touches that gave the gown a fresh appearance. Fanny doubted that even her cousins would recognize it. However, they were certain to recall the one that she would wear.
The thought evoked a remembrance of Sophie’s complaints throughout the past years—her cousin’s anger when her father hadn’t purchased her a new gown for a special party. Fanny wondered if Uncle Quincy had succumbed to Sophie’s desire this time and if Fanny would be the only one wearing an old frock. She pushed aside the idea. In the future she wouldn’t have need of such finery.
When Michael returned, they would use his gold to purchase their own island and build a home. One for his parents, too, if they should so desire—she hoped they would. And though she might find use for one or two gowns for annual parties held at the New Frontenac, she wouldn’t be distraught if she couldn’t attend. Parties held little appeal. It was Michael and the possibility of living on the islands that filled Fanny with joy.
She had sent a note to Amanda advising they would arrive on the three o’clock train. When the train pulled into the station, she hoped it would be her cousin or Aunt Victoria waiting to greet her and not Uncle Jonas. “Please not Uncle Jonas,” she murmured.
Mrs. Morrison stopped in the middle of the aisle. “What, dear? I couldn’t hear you over the train’s noise.”
“Nothing important,” she said.
As she stepped off the train, Fanny surveyed the waiting crowd for some sign of her cousin or aunt. Moments later she heard Amanda’s voice calling to her and caught sight of her parasol waving in the air. “Over here, Fanny!”
When Amanda finally reached her side, her hat was askew and she was out of breath.
“I am so sorry I’m late. I thought I had more than enough time, but the street was blocked with fire equipment.” She gazed heavenward. “Of all days, there has to be a fire today.”
“Dear me, I do hope nobody was injured.” Mrs. Morrison clasped a hand to her bodice.
Amanda’s cheeks tinged pink. “My remark was rather insensitive, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but we’ll forgive you. Did your mother or father come along?”
“Mother sends her regrets. She wanted be here, but she’s overseeing preparations at the house. You know Mother: she believes everything will fall apart if she isn’t there to supervise.”
Once Mr. Morrison gathered their luggage and joined them, the driver delivered Mr. and Mrs. Morrison to the hotel. Fanny bid them good-bye and said she would await their arrival at the ball. She squeezed Mrs. Morrison’s hand. “I don’t want the two of you to feel alone or out of place when you arrive.”
“That’s very kind of you, Fanny. We’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening. I hope you girls have a lovely visit.”
Once the carriage lurched forward, Amanda leaned closer. “Has it been absolutely terrible for you, Fanny?”
“They are very nice people, but I could never think of Mr. Morrison as my father. I am fond of his wife, though.”
Throughout the remainder of their carriage ride, Amanda pressed for additional details. Fanny answered her questions honestly, but she didn’t elaborate. Somehow she felt a need to protect the privacy of the Morrisons. They’d suffered enough embarrassment. There was no need for every detail of their lives to be scrutinized and dissected by Rochester’s social set.
“Do tell me more about what you’ve been doing. You mentioned several young men in your latest letter to me. It seems your father has redirected his matchmaking efforts. I can honestly say that I don’t miss that aspect of my life.” Fanny giggled. “I hope he hasn’t decided upon any of those young men who were at the island this summer. They were a miserable lot. Not one of them would make you happy.”
“No. He’s found several others, but I’ve told him that I’ve made up my mind to remain single for the time being. He doesn’t believe me, but he’ll soon learn that I’m serious about a career.” She tipped her head close. “I’ve decided I want to begin college and then attend medical school.”
Fanny didn’t say so, but she knew Uncle Jonas would never agree to Amanda’s plan. And if Uncle Jonas didn’t agree, he would simply refuse to pay. Money. As far as Uncle Jonas was concerned, money was the answer to everything.
31
Saturday, October 2, 1897
The guests had come dressed in their finery, the women wearing the latest fashions they’d purchased in Europe or creations their dressmakers in New York City or Rochester had stitched to exacting measurements. The array of colors and fabrics decorated the rooms like a bouquet of spring flowers. The women in those gowns, however, weren’t nearly as sweet as the scent of fragrant blooms. Fanny couldn’t help but hear the murmurs of women hiding their lips behind opened fans while they ridiculed or envied the guests clustered in yet another group. Some things never changed. She didn’t miss the petty gossip fueled by insecurity and jealousy. At every social gathering the women took inventory of one another, each one always fearful she’d be found lacking.
Fanny kept a vigilant watch on the front door, and the moment she saw Mr. and Mrs. Morrison approach, she hurried across the foyer. They were every bit as elegant as any of the other guests. Indeed, Fanny thought Mrs. Morrison outshone most of the women in attendance. A deep flush colored her cheeks, probably from nerves, but it added to the older woman’s natural beauty. Although Mr. Morrison’s cutaway wasn’t new, it was stylish. Together they made a striking couple.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I was becoming concerned.”
Mrs. Morrison handed her wrap to the servant. When her husband stepped away to hand his hat to the butler, she whispered, “Mr. Morrison isn’t feeling well. I wanted to remain at the hotel, but he insisted we couldn’t disappoint you.”
He did appear pale. This party was taking more of a toll on the couple than Fanny had anticipated. They should have remained in Syracuse. Other than permitting Uncle Jonas an opportunity to publicly display that she was no longer a member of the Broadmoor family, this final social appearance served no purpose. She hadn’t given the matter sufficient thought before sending their acceptance.
Fanny touched Mr. Morrison’s arm. “I’m so sorry you’re feeling unwell. There’s no reason to remain. I can have a carriage take you back t
o the hotel, and we can depart first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll not hear of it. We’ve come to attend a ball, and that’s what we’re going to do. My wife looks beautiful, as do you, Fanny. We are going to hold our heads up and act like we belong, even if we don’t.”
The butler edged around them, and with Fanny clasping Mr. Morrison’s right arm and Mrs. Morrison clutching his left, they were announced to the staring throng of guests. “Mr. and Mrs. Harold Morrison and Miss Frances . . .” The butler stopped. He’d known Fanny since she was a tiny girl and appeared confused. He cleared his throat. “And Miss Frances Broadmoor.”
Murmurs filled the vast flower-scented room. The butler hurried away, obviously uncertain if he’d properly announced the threesome. If Uncle Jonas had wanted Fanny introduced as a Morrison, he should have told the servant. And though her uncle seemed anxious to erase her name from the family tree, the court had not yet rendered a decision.
Since her arrival the day before, Jonas had done his best to avoid her. He’d excused himself immediately after the evening meal, citing work that needed his attention before morning. Not that Fanny had expected him to welcome her back into the fold, but she had hoped to hear the latest news regarding the court proceedings. When she had asked at supper, her uncle told her that in polite society such topics were not discussed at the dinner table. His gibe that she’d forgotten proper etiquette in such a short time had nearly caused her to come undone. She’d wanted to lash out and tell him that although the Mor-risons might not have money, they had far more refinement than he’d shown since her return. But she’d remained silent. She was, after all, a guest in his home.
The three of them entered the room and clustered in a far corner. Fanny was determined to remain close at hand and keep any of the nosy dowagers at bay. She doubted whether Mrs. Morrison could hold her own against them—especially if they approached in twos or threes.
“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Morrison? A glass of punch or water? Do you think that might help?”
“I think the only thing that would help get me through this would be a stiff shot of whiskey and a determination to match.” He offered a faint smile. “I already have the determination, but I don’t think it would be wise to request the whiskey.” His lack of color was disconcerting.
Mrs. Morrison remained close by his side. “He’s having chest pains again. With rest, they usually subside within a few hours.”
Fanny looked up in time to see her aunt swooping across the room, her gown flowing behind her in a sea of green silk. She descended upon them, her bejeweled neckline shimmering in the pale light cast by the crystal chandelier. “Mr. and Mrs. Morrison, I am so pleased you could join us this evening. I have truly enjoyed having Fanny back with us. I hope you’ll permit her to remain a few extra days to visit with all of the family.”
The stiffness in Mrs. Morrison’s shoulders relaxed. “Whatever Fanny desires will be agreeable with us.”
Her aunt took a step closer to Fanny, but her focus remained fixed upon Mrs. Morrison. “Your gown is quite lovely.” Victoria turned toward Fanny. “I seem to remember you owned a gown of that same shade.” She stared a moment longer. “Or perhaps it was a shade or two lighter. Do you recall the one I’m thinking of?”
Fanny nodded. “I remember. Rather plain. Unlike Mrs. Morrison’s dress, mine lacked embellishment.”
“You’re absolutely correct. I never did think the dressmaker did that gown justice. In any case, I do hope you’re all ready to partake of a fine meal.” She tipped her head as though confiding a deep secret. “We have an utterly marvelous group of musicians for the dancing that will follow.”
Mrs. Morrison responded politely. At the mention of food, Mr. Morrison’s pale complexion turned slightly gray, and Fanny wondered if he’d be able to remain for the entire evening. Fortunately they were soon ushered into the dining room, where they were seated side by side. Fanny was pleasantly surprised to see Amanda and Sophie draw near.
Sophie winked as she led Amanda to the chairs directly opposite Fanny and Mrs. Morrison. She picked up the name card and smiled. “You see? I told you we were seated near Fanny.”
Fanny giggled. “Up to your old tricks, Sophie?”
“Of course. Until people cease their attempts to seat me next to some of their stodgy old guests, I’ll move my place card and sit where I please.”
Amanda nudged her cousin. “That is completely improper behavior, Sophie.”
“In that case I suppose I could return yours from where it came. You’ll be seated beside your father’s old banker, Mr. Snodgrass.” Sophie grinned across the table. “Fanny can tell you how much fun you’ll have.”
Fanny’s curls bobbed. “And he’ll expect to remain your escort and dance partner for the remainder of the evening. You do remember my embarrassment, I assume?”
Amanda turned contrite at the mention of Mr. Snodgrass. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. There are enough guests that Mother won’t remember where we’re supposed to be seated.”
“You’re truly the fortunate one, Fanny,” Sophie said. “Even though you have no money, you’re no longer under Uncle Jonas’s thumb.”
Mrs. Morrison unfolded her napkin and placed it across her lap. “I believe Fanny misses all of you very much. She’s such a well-mannered young lady that I doubt she ever had difficulty following her uncle’s rules.”
Fanny shot an annoyed look at Sophie. Once in a while Sophie needed to think before she said whatever popped into her mind. At least she seemed to realize she had caused Mr. and Mrs. Morrison discomfort with her offhand remark and said little throughout the meal. As their apricot pudding was served, Fanny inquired how Paul Medford was adjusting to his career at the Home for the Friendless.
“I don’t know how he has sufficient time to perform his duties. He’s too busy attempting to intervene in my life.” Sophie dipped her spoon into her creamy dessert. “He says Father is preoccupied and doesn’t realize I need supervision. What do you think of that, Mrs. Morrison?”
Mrs. Morrison sipped her coffee. “Perhaps your father has granted this young man permission to act as a surrogate parent during his absences.”
“Ha!” Sophie pointed her spoon in Paul’s direction. “Do you see that young man sitting beside Amanda’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“That’s Paul Medford. He’s not that much older than me, so I don’t think he’s capable of acting as a parent, surrogate or otherwise.”
Mrs. Morrison leaned to see around her husband. “Rather a nice-looking young man. Have you considered that he may be romantically interested and that’s why he’s attempting to look after your best interests?”
Sophie jerked to attention. “Paul? Interested in me? I think not! We’re as different as day and night. Never in a thousand years would I be interested in someone like Paul.”
“Opposites can sometimes be a good thing. You each bring different strengths to the marriage,” Mrs. Morrison said.
“That might be true for some people, but Paul and I can’t move beyond our disagreements.” Sophie looked down toward the other end of the table. “And I don’t see why everyone says he is nice appearing. I find him rather plain.”
Mr. Morrison laughed. “If he were the most handsome man in the room, I believe you’d find him unappealing, for he represents authority. And I would surmise that is something you dislike.”
“You’re correct. I detest authority. However, I control my life—not Paul Medford. I merely want him to take heed of that fact.”
The sound of the musicians tuning their instruments signaled the end of the meal, and soon the guests were all gathered in the ballroom adjacent to the dining room on the third floor. No one seemed to think of the hardship these parties placed on the staff. Truth be told, it wasn’t until Fanny saw the work Mrs. Atwell performed at Broadmoor Island that she’d realized the life of a servant was far removed from those they served. When she and Michael were married, they would be mo
re cognizant of such inequities.
Sophie pulled on Fanny’s hand. “Come along. Let’s see if there are some eligible men looking for dance partners.”
Fanny withdrew her hand. “I promised my first dance to Mr. Morrison. I’ll join you later.”
Sophie nodded. “I’m spending the night here at the house with you and Amanda, so we shall have plenty of time to discuss the men tonight.”
Fanny watched Sophie weave through the crowd with grace and agility. No doubt she was making her way toward a cluster of young men at the south end of the hall. Fanny stifled a giggle when she saw Paul following after her. He’d likely attempt to curtail her fun.
The musicians struck their first chords, and Fanny insisted Mr. and Mrs. Morrison dance the first dance of the evening together. “I promise to wait and dance the next waltz with you, Mr. Morrison.” She watched as they took to the floor. They made a lovely couple, and there was little doubt of their devotion to each other. Still, Fanny saw no resemblance between herself and the man who was circling the floor with his gentle wife. Sad that they’d never had any children of their own. She thought they would have been excellent parents. Given the opportunity, she thought Michael would be a wonderful father.
She hoped one day she could give him a child.
“Daydreaming?”
Fanny turned at the sound of her uncle’s voice. “Thinking how sad it is that I didn’t discover my lineage before Michael departed for the Yukon. We could have been married and . . .” She hesitated.
“And what, Fanny? Live on Broadmoor Island as a servant? Your lineage aside, if Michael is the man you choose to marry, I’ve done you a service. If he returns a wealthy man, you’ll have a life of ease and prosperity rather than a life of menial work. Either way, you should thank me.”
A Daughter's Inheritance Page 30
