All The Blue of Heaven (Colors of Faith)

by Carmichael, Virginia

  “I do,” he said, smiling.

  Janey beamed and said, “And I’ve got my mother’s hands. See, her pinkies were crooked just like mine.” She held out each hand for inspection. “And my auntie’s eyes, blue with a little green in the middle. That means I’ll be a painter, too.”

  The silence was so sudden, Allie felt as if the air was sucked from the room.

  She struggled to speak. “Janey, why don’t you sit and have a sugar biscuit?” she said, hurriedly ushering her niece to a chair.

  Her mother made no move to enter further into the room, her hands folded in front of her, eyes narrowed. Thomas cleared his throat and asked, “Is there anything further you might need, Mrs. Leeds? I must visit an ailing mare on Mercyside Street.”

  “No, and thank you, Thomas, for collecting them,” she said.

  “It is a serious situation or I would stay.” He spread his hands apologetically. “Miss Hathaway, is there anything else I might do for you?”

  “No, really, thank you,” she stumbled out. It occurred to her that this might be the last time they would speak for a very long time. She wished there was some way to keep him here, and then hated herself for wishing it.

  “If that is all, I will bid you goodnight.” He grinned the crooked smile that made Allie’s heart skip a beat.

  “Thank you, Thomas. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She leaned over to peck Thomas on the cheek. Allie covered her surprise by arranging Janey’s napkin on the little girl’s lap.

  She kept her head down, but Allie heard her mother move slowly through the living room until she was standing near the windows. She stood, silently, staring out into the night and then said, “I know you do not want to be here. But I am thankful that you are returned to us safely.”

  Allie swallowed a lump in her throat. She couldn’t deny that she would give anything to turn back the clock.

  “It’s good to be home. Thank you... for allowing us to stay.” She fervently wished her mother would turn toward her, so she could see her expression. “I must ask, why did you not tell anyone of the fire? Mr. Bradford was surprised by my hair.”

  Her mother sighed, her silk gown rustling from the slight movement. “You have been through a terrible tragedy. I thought it best if I said as little as possible to everyone here. When I received your letter, I was relieved but knew you had a long recovery.” She turned to face Allie.

  “Would you rather I told everyone all you worked for was destroyed? Everything for which you rejected us is now gone? I thought you would have preferred to avoid the smug glances of your acquaintances.”

  Allie’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in two. Shame rose up in her.

  “Mrs. Gibson is aware of your injuries, but I have told no one else. You may tell them what you wish, but I would advise you to choose wisely. Perhaps if you leave the details vague, there will be less scandal. When you left us, there was so much talk, but many people have forgotten exactly what was said in those last days.”

  Of course her mother was referring to Allie’s announcement at Jennie Anne’s social, that she was leaving to study painting. Just the thought of that hope-filled day made her nauseated .

  Janey tugged Allie’s sleeve and looked toward the cookie platter hopefully. Allie nodded.

  “I can’t regret the years I spent in San Francisco with Matthew and Eleanor. We... They encouraged me. We helped each other. I know you didn’t want him to move there or to marry someone outside our circles, but they were happy.” She felt her eyes fill with hot tears. “Really happy, Mama.”

  Mrs. Leeds’s dark eyes narrowed once more, cold and hard. She crossed both arms over her heart. “Nothing good can come from disobedience, Alberta. How could they hope for long and happy lives when they went against my wishes?”

  Allie sucked in a breath, shocked.

  “I knew your foolish ideas would end in disaster, it couldn’t have been anything else.”

  Chapter Three

  Janey leaned into Allie’s side, and yawned. Allie wrapped one arm around her shoulders, thankful the little girl was more interested in cookies than adult conversation.

  “We need to get the child into a bath, then bed,” Her mother said, voice softer, gentler.

  “I will go ask Maggie to run some water,” Allie said, disentangling herself from Janey’s arms.

  As she stepped into the hallway, Allie took deep breaths to steady herself. She stopped near the kitchen door and rested her head against the wall. Was it true? Had they all been punished for leaving Mama alone? But she had been so sure that leaving for San Francisco had been what God wanted. Either God had changed His mind, or she was deluded, or... The last option was too much to bear. I know that God exists, but does He really care what happens to any of us?

  “Miss Hathaway?” A timid voice broke into her thoughts.

  Allie shook the disturbing reasoning from her head and forced a smile for Maggie.

  “I’m all right. I was just coming to ask if you could heat some water for baths. It’s been a long journey.”

  “Of course, right away.” Maggie turned to the kitchen, then hesitated. “Miss Hathaway, could I ask you one question?”

  Allie frowned, nodding. Please don’t ask about the fire or the earthquake.

  “Is it very strange, over there in California?” Her eyes were alight with curiosity.

  “Well, it is a bit different. There are a lot of Chinese immigrants, and they have some strange foods.” Allie smiled, thinking of Mr. Chang’s seafood soup. “But it’s not as wild as some might think.”

  Maggie sighed, eyes focused somewhere over Allie’s head. “I think it’s so romantic, the way you just left for California, no husband waiting for you.”

  “Well, my brother lived there and I was studying painting with a famous portraitist, John Hamilton. But it was very exciting, yes,” Allie nodded, struggling to remain pleasant. She really didn’t want to talk about this. All she wanted was to drop her tired body into a warm bath.

  “If I can save up enough for a ticket, I’m going to head to California. My pa says I can’t go, but I’m almost full grown and I have to make my own decisions,” she said fiercely.

  Allie opened her mouth to suggest running away to California was not as ‘romantic’ as Maggie thought, when a voice behind her startled them both. Allie turned to see her mother advancing on them.

  “Thank you, Maggie. That is quite enough,” her mother said, her eyes flashing.

  The young woman scuttled back through the kitchen door, all her bravado gone.

  “I will appreciate it if you refrain from spreading your ideas around here,” she hissed.

  “But I was only– “

  “Maggie has had a hard life and the very best she can hope for is a good position. There is no question of her traipsing off to California. Do you understand what happens to girls like that over there?” Her mother’s face was furious, lips barely moving over her clenched teeth.

  Allie swallowed. She did know. Her friend Susanna ministered to those girls when they ended up in the hospital, or decided to leave their ‘work’. Broken lives and broken hearts, and none of them had ever intended to be what they had become.

  “You’ve had your adventure. But it’s over now and you should be thankful that nothing worse came to pass,” her mother said.

  Her throat squeezed shut as visions of the studio flashed in her mind. The smoke, the searing pain, the sound of screaming from people trapped in the rubble. She swayed where she stood, her vision growing dark at the edges.

  ***

  Thomas turned onto the main thoroughfare and wished he had not told Mr. Brewer he would visit the sick mare that evening. He should be with Allie, helping ease her return. Mrs. Leeds was a Christian woman with deep faith, but she could be somewhat formidable in the best of circumstances. What Allie needed now, from what he could see, was the gentlest of care. She wore a haunted look, the shadows under her eyes were too deep. Of course, she has been un
well, which was also very clear. She moved gingerly and continually adjusted that scarf at her neck. His stomach clenched, imagining what had transpired, besides the loss of her beautiful hair. Eight years ago, he would have demanded to know every detail. Eight years ago, he thought she belonged to him. But she was not his then and was not his now. No matter how concerned he was, or how much he wanted to help, he must respect her privacy.

  His flinched as he remembered her reaction to the hot tea on her hand. Was she angry at him? Did she pull away from his touch because he was repugnant to her? Thomas shook his head and blew out a breath in frustration. She seemed so familiar, and yet a stranger at the same time. Her voice, those beautiful eyes, her sweet lips, all the same. But there was a distance in her gaze that unsettled him.

  When he was young, there were awful moments when Thomas would glance up at his father and see he was not there in the room. His thoughts were on some battlefield in Virginia, watching his comrades fall by the dozens. An expression, a look, lasting less than a second; he’d seen it on Allie’s face tonight. She was mentally and physically fragile, but seemed determined to put on a front of confident strength. She had always been confident to the point of utter, infuriating stubbornness but what he saw tonight was a woman pretending to be in control.

  Perhaps it’s better this way, he thought, heaving a sigh and weaving between a rattling cart and a shiny black automobile. The wind picked up and his hair ruffled in the breeze that leaked through the cracks in the door frame. Perhaps she and her mother will find a way through this crisis together, without any help. The chill wind buffeted the car and Thomas glanced down at the seat, putting out a hand half-way for his hat. It was not there. With a flash, he remembered setting it on the mantel piece in the sitting room.

  Before he reasoned it through, Thomas pulled over to the side of the road. Mr. Brewer could wait. There was plenty of time to see to that mare later in the evening. With a deft movement, Thomas turned the car around and sped back toward Bellevue.

  *******

  “Maggie!” Allie’s mother called, panicked, and caught Allie under the arms as she slid forward.

  “Here, here, Miss Allie,” said Mrs. Gibson from somewhere near her shoulder. Allie fought to remain conscious.

  “Help me get her back to the living room,” her mother gritted out, her hands clutching at Allie’s dress as she slid further down the wall.

  “Stay with us now, you’ve just had a hard trip,” Mrs. Gibson soothed. She was used to carrying baskets of vegetables, not full grown women, and she struggled to keep Allie from the floor.

  “Allie?” A deep voice echoed down the hallway with a note of alarm. Soon, strong arms lifted her as she sagged against the housekeeper.

  “Thomas, I don’t know what happened.” Her mother’s voice followed them as Allie felt herself being carried swiftly into the parlor.

  “Auntie!” Allie desperately tried to raise her head and open her eyes, but she was powerless to respond to Janey’s panicked cry.

  “Maggie, go get the doctor!” he barked. “Is she able to breathe? Do you think we should unbutton her collar?”

  No! Allie fought to raise her hand. Please... I don’t want him to see.

  “Auntie, Auntie,” Janey wept, somewhere very near Allie’s head.

  “Wait,” her mother said, and Allie felt the strong, tender hands withdraw. “I think she’s overtired. Let me get the smelling salts.”

  The powerful sting of ammonia hit her with force. She gasped and her eyes snapped open. Thomas was kneeling beside her, holding one of her gloved hands, his face etched with concern.

  “Please,” she whispered, her throat constricting. “I’m... alright.” She struggled to sit up, but Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Rest, don’t sit up. The doctor is on his way,” he said.

  “No!” Allie blinked, fighting to clear her vision. “I’m fine. Please don’t bother him.” Not another doctor to inspect her injuries and shake his head. She can’t have them believe that Janey would be better off with someone else, someone stronger.

  “Alberta, are you sure? We can send for him this instant,” her mother asked, her voice trembling slightly.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Her vision was clear now and her heart ached at the sight of Janey huddled near Thomas, her little hand gripping his coat. “Janey, I’m fine, just tired...” Her voice trailed off and she attempted a smile.

  “I say we call for the doctor right away. There’s no reason to delay,” Mrs. Gibson bustled about near the table, pouring a glass of water and carrying it to Allie.

  She sat up, took a sip and handed back the glass. “Thank you, Mrs. Gibson. I’m so sorry to have worried you, all of you. I’m just tired, honestly.” She leveled her gaze at Thomas, who still frowned down at her.

  “I thought you had gone to help the mare,” she said, tilting her head.

  “I forgot my hat,” he said, crossing to the mantle. His eyes were tight with worry and he looked to Mrs. Leeds. “I can stay if you would like me to, if there’s a need.”

  “Honestly, I’m fine,” Allie brushed cold, damp tendrils from her forehead. She attempted an expression of calm, hoping she looked better than she felt. To keep Janey, she must be well. And if she couldn’t be well, then she would just have to pretend.

  “I’ve got everything ready upstairs,” Mrs. Gibson bustled forward.

  “Come along, let’s get you both into bed.”

  Allie allowed herself to be helped up the stairs, little Janey on one side and Mrs. Gibson on the other.

  “Do I have to take a bath, Auntie?” she yawned.

  At home, Allie might have said no, but here she knew that following her mother’s wishes would make everybody happier. Keeping the peace was more important, even if falling into bed was Allie’s greatest desire at that moment.

  “Yes, dearie, let’s get bathed and then we can go straight to bed,” she said, fighting against her own yawn.

  The staircase seemed to go on until Allie was sure it would never end. At the top, Allie was pleased to see the paintings along the walls had not changed. Her father painted those landscapes when he was young, before he entered law practice. As they passed down the hall, she reached out to touch the gilded frame of her favorite and a smile touched her lips.

  “You will stay in your old bed chamber,” Mrs. Gibson said, opening the door to the large, airy room. The gas lamps shone softly at the bedside and in the wall sconces. Allie ran a hand over the embroidered satin bedcover, her eyes lingering on the high armoire in the corner. How many hours had she spent staring at the familiar rose patterned wallpaper, praying for a way to escape? She never thought she would sleep in this room again.

  Mrs. Gibson opened the bathroom door. “The old tub was leaking so we got a brand new claw foot,” she said proudly. A large pink porcelain tub stood where the old copper bathing unit had been.

  “That’s lovely,” she said. “At home we only had a metal tub. It sure was cold in the winter.”

  The housekeeper frowned. “At home? Oh, you mean out West. But this is your home , Miss Allie. And we can order anything you want from the Sears catalogue. No reason to do without now, is there?” She refolded the large bath sheet next to the tub and pointed out the tiny vials of bath oil. “Mrs. Winston gave me some of these for Christmas and as soon as I knew you were coming home, I went right over and asked her where she found them. I had to order the lavender all the way from St. Louis, but the rose came from―”

  She stopped, and shook her head. “Listen to me. You poor dears have had a terribly long trip. You get in the bath, leave your things right there to be washed. Your trunk is by the bed. I’ll take Janey next door and get her bathed.”

  Allie looked to Janey and half-expected her to refuse. They had been constant companions before the quake. While Allie was in the hospital, Janey stayed with their elderly neighbors, and visited every day. Since then, they had been inseparable. Janey took Mrs. Gibson’s hand and yawned.
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  “Is it hot water? Do I get bath oils, too?” she mumbled on the way out.

  Allie stood for a moment, then added liberal drops of rose scent, stripped off her clothes and slipped into the hot water. All the aches and pains of the long trip ceased to clamor for her attention. But just as quickly, she realized the water was too warm for the tender new skin that had grown to cover the burns at her ankles and hands. She lifted her hands out of the bath and sat up, keeping her neck clear. Frowning, she wondered if she could get her feet out on the edge of the tub, and propped both legs on the sides. She giggled, glad no one was present to witness her strange behavior and closed her eyes as a feeling of bliss washed over her.

  This is the right decision, the best thing for Janey, she reminded herself. No more painting. No more crazy plans. She will be tutored by the best in the city and I ... Her eyes popped open of their own accord. The thought of doing nothing except entertaining suitors filled her with dread. She shook her head and closed her eyes firmly. I will be sociable and will attend parties. I will show Mama that she was right to let us come home. Thomas’s face swam into view and Allie brushed it away, taking a deep breath. And I will find a nice husband, maybe a lawyer like Papa. We will all go live in a house with enough green grass for Janey to play in, maybe an attic to explore. He will be kind and raise her as his own. Maybe she will have little brothers and sisters someday. She focused on the image of baby faces with round pink cheeks and eyes wide with wonder, sweet milk breath and peaceful breathing. She felt her shoulders begin to relax. When the babies began to have Thomas’s dark hair and bright eyes, she imagined them as Janey looked, when she was born. Allie remembered her sweet downy hair and light blue eyes. She repeated her hopes, over and over in her head until the bath water cooled enough to rest her hands and feet in the tub.

  Gently, she rubbed the tender skin at her ankles, hands, and around her throat. The doctors said the new skin would sunburn easily, and might pucker and scar. Allie absent-mindedly ran a finger over the thick ropes of scar tissue that wound around her right thumb. The doctor had been so careful not to frighten her, as if being scarred would be the worst possible trial. He repeated the directions for treating the skin with oil and assured her the scars might improve. Allie said nothing. She stared at her knees as he talked. There was no way to explain that her life as she knew it was over, and no amount of new skin would ever fix what was destroyed.