All The Blue of Heaven (Colors of Faith)

by Carmichael, Virginia

“Oh, just a new style,” Allie said, blushing. Her gaze flicked to Thomas, standing silent and somber.

  “Well, you always were the first to try anything new,” she laughed. She grasped Allie’s gloved hands and sighed, her eyes gleaming. “I have so much to tell you. But listen to me! I’m sure you have more tales than I can imagine.”

  A soft snort came from behind Sarah and Allie noticed a beautiful young woman barely out of her teens standing there. Her bright blond hair shone against a straw hat trimmed with matching yellow ribbon and her dress was a light yellow silk painted with trailing roses. Allie had never disliked the color yellow so much in her life.

  Sarah frowned, turning. “Allie, this is Louise Lloyd. Her father is John Lloyd, our mayor.”

  Allie nodded and dipped her head politely, but Louise barely tilt her head. Her large, golden brown eyes focused intently on Allie’s face.

  “I see you and our Mr. Bradford are already acquainted?” Her expression was simpering, her nasal tone almost insolent.

  Your Mr. Bradford? Allie opened her mouth to speak but he interjected quickly, “Yes, I fetched them from the train station yesterday.”

  “I see.” Louise sent significant glances toward the two well-dressed young women on either side of her. “These are my friends, Millicent Holliday and Isabelle Landry.” Millicent looked rather timid and her eyes repeatedly sought Louise for approval, while Isabelle seemed to wear a permanent frown. She seemed to catalogue everything about Allie’s appearance, from her strange hair to her old fashioned dress to her heavy gloves.

  “Alberta, where are you?” Mama’s voice carried to her from a few feet away.

  “It was nice to meet you, Miss Holliday and Miss Landry.” Allie nodded again and turned to Sarah.

  “Come to see me, we have so much to talk about. You’re married. Do you have...” her voice trailed off, realizing that most of her old friends could have children by now.

  “Oh, yes!” Sarah laughed, a soft curl slipping loose from her bun as she gripped Allie again. A familiar lilac perfume wafted around them. “He’s just wonderful, and we have two little boys. Quite a handful, but I’m so happy.” She nodded at Janey. “This is Matthew’s little girl? Mrs. Gibson showed me a picture once.”

  “Yes, and she would love some playmates,” Allie grinned.

  “This week, I’ll send you a note,” she said. Sarah gazed once more at Allie’s face. “I just cannot believe you’re finally home,” she whispered.

  “Alberta, honestly,” Mama stood behind her, clutching several fabric samples. She surveyed the group of young women, Janey and Thomas. The young women immediately bent their heads and murmured greetings.

  Mrs. Leeds nodded regally, then said. “Good morning, Thomas. Are you coming to Sunday dinner? Mrs. Gibson is making your favorite, roast chicken with poached quail eggs.”

  He has a favorite dinner? Allie tried to remember if Thomas liking roast chicken but all she could recall was how he kept a spare apple in his jacket pocket for the horses.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Leeds. I must attend a city aldermen’s meeting but I would be happy to come directly after,” he said, a strange tone in his voice.

  Satisfied, she turned to Allie. “We will never get anything ordered unless you come back for your measurements.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Allie allowed herself to be led away to the fitting rooms, Janey trailing behind her. A last glance behind her showed Thomas’s dark head bent near Louise, her face lifted up to him. Allie swallowed back a wave of jealousy. He’s not yours anymore, she scolded herself, try to remember that.

  As Mrs. Morton tutted and fussed over Allie’s thin frame, Allie’s thoughts buffeted around her mind. Of course the gossips would be in full swing, but she never could have guessed at the sheer ludicrousness of their accusations. The circus? Actresses?

  When she thought of the ‘lovers in the studio’, her cheeks flamed. There was one young man, another painter, who had come to call on her several times. He was so very handsome, and had a deep, easy laugh. But he liked to wage bets on the card games down at the docks. It was not the way Allie expected a man to act, especially a husband and father.

  Mrs. Morton nattered away at Mrs. Leeds, discussing the possibilities for the upcoming season. Allie struggled to suppress a sigh. Suitors, dances. It was ridiculous to think she could pick up where she left off. She had never liked the mid-winter balls, preferring to stay home and work on her painting.

  “And for church, will she need a darker gown, perhaps green velvet?” Mrs. Morton inquired.

  Allie started. Church? Of course she would be attending services. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing away the last time she had seen her beautiful cathedral. The skeletal spires stood guard over walls that had fissures large enough to put her arm through. Services were held outside, but she had never been back.

  “Yes, or a deep blue. She always looked very nice in midnight blue, it set off her blond hair.” Allie knew the wiry dark curls were the opposite of what her mother considered fashionable.

  “Any color will be fine,” Allie said, laying her hand on Mrs. Morton’s soft arm. “You always make the most beautiful gowns.”

  “What a dear you are, and always have been,” Mrs. Morton sighed. “If only all of our clients were so easily pleased. Just recently I restitched the underskirt of a gown for the third time. The young lady complained that they were uneven.” Deep furrows appeared between her small gray eyes. “My stitches! Uneven!”

  Mrs. Leeds shook her head. “She must be mad. Who is this girl? I have ordered from New York and London. You are quite the best, the very best.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, no.” Mrs. Morton murmured demurely, twin spots of pink appeared in her cheeks, a pleased smile on her face.

  “Auntie,” Janey whispered, “Is it my turn now?”

  “Mrs. Morton, I was wondering what you would recommend for my niece, Jane Leeds?” Allie tried her best to give the older woman a clear wink. She held her breath until Mrs. Morton turned, as if with a start, to see little Janey standing patiently behind Allie.

  “Oh, dear! Who is this very lovely young lady? We must measure her at once!” She bustled around, grabbing her tape and pencil.

  Allie couldn’t help grinning at the look of rapture on Janey’s face. They watched quietly as Mrs. Morton measured Janey carefully, jotting figures on a small piece of paper. After the last note, she led the ecstatic young girl over to a rack of finery.

  “I was thinking of bringing in another servant girl, now that there are four of us,” Mrs. Leeds said. “Someone who can help with Jane.”

  Allie felt the smile slip from her face. From the moment her brother had passed away, she had taken care of Janey. The older couple upstairs would care for her if she had a sitting, but they were like grandparents. After she’d been released from the hospital they stood in bread lines together, held each other close while reading lists of the missing, and made the decision to come here to Chicago, together.

  Allie’s fists clenched and she turned to watch Janey examine a miniature pair of softly woven stockings. She thought of the thousands of people still living in shabby camp tents in the park by the river. They would have traded places with her in a heartbeat.

  “She’s not your child, Alberta,” her mother said and her voice held a warning.

  “I know that,” Allie hissed, struggling to keep her temper in check.

  “When Matthew died, I wrote you to bring her home, we would take her,” her mother said, voice pitched low. Janey was enraptured by the array of small gloves and did not seem to hear their whispers.

  “She had never met you, had never seen this city.” A painful throb started near her right eye and Allie rubbed her temple. “It was better for her to stay with me and the people she knew.”

  “Better to stay in that heathen place? Better to be surrounded by artists and dancers and God knows what else, than to be with her own family?” Her mother’s voice had risen in anger and M
rs. Morton paused, looking back at them with a pair of lace gloves in hand.

  “Auntie, do you like these?” Janey held up another pair, eyes shining.

  “Yes, my dear, those are perfect,” Allie pasted a smile to her face and waited for little Janey to return her attention to the finery. “I am her family, too. And those ‘heathens’ were people. Good, bad, all kinds. Just as it is here at home.” A red hot anger boiled up in her chest and she fought to keep her voice under control.

  “Alberta,” her mother gripped her arm with a pincer grasp, “you cannot possibly believe you will find a husband who will take you and Jane.”

  She stood still, her mind numb with shock. “You don’t mean for me to―”

  “That’s exactly what I mean for you to do. You will marry someone who can forgive your past, and Jane will remain with me, where she belongs.” Her mother’s tone softened, as if there was no sense in arguing. “It is the only way. You are not well enough to care for her yourself. You must admit it.”

  Allie stared across the small room at the little figure and realized she would rather die than walk away from the child she considered her own for the past four years. It did not matter what - or who- they offered. But how could she keep her when she was weak and penniless?

  Chapter Five

  Mrs. Gibson met them at the door with her usual bustle and energy. “I’ve just brought out a tray for tea. Come into the sitting room and refresh yourselves,” she insisted, hugging Janey with one arm and waving Allie in with the other.

  “Did you find lots of lovely things, my dear? This hat is new, isn’t it? Oh, and what fine gloves! You look like a perfect princess.” Mrs. Gibson couldn’t have spoken more needed words as Janey grinned from ear to ear.

  Allie watched the little girl settle primly onto a cushion and wait to be served her tea, hands folded delicately in her lap, her tiny chin lifted high. Maybe her mother was right about the lessons since she would have to fit into this world.

  “Mrs. Gibson, if you don’t mind, I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I shall rest before dinner.” Her head pounded so fiercely she could hardly speak but she made an effort to appear simply fatigued.

  “Oh, my! Are you feeling faint? Should we call Dr. Ashley?” Her face creased into tens of extra wrinkles as her concern registered.

  “No, nothing like that. I’m not used to this heat, I suppose. San Francisco is cooler, especially in the morning before the fog lifts.” Allie tried to smile reassuringly at Janey, who had moved to stand next to her with a worried look.

  “Well, a few more weeks and we’ll be right into autumn. It will be a relief to have this summer behind us. Then we’ll be preparing for the Christmas season. What a wonderful time it will be! Full of parties and dinners!” Mrs. Gibson chatted as she took her employer’s hat from her.

  “Go ahead and have some cookies, Janey. Mrs. Gibson makes the best spice biscuits you’ll ever taste.” Janey slowly returned to her spot, clearly torn between following Allie and the promise of fresh cookies.

  Her mother glanced at her but said nothing as Allie turned toward the stairs. Every step seemed to twist a knife into her skull. The long banister was cool to the touch, slipping under her fingers like water. Her bedroom door was open and the bright sunlight streamed through her window. Allie crossed the room and pulled the heavy curtains closed. The room was plunged into dimness, but the air remained thick and humid. As she removed her hat and collapsed onto her bed, Allie’s head throbbed with every heartbeat. The pain reminded her of those early weeks in the hospital, when the bandages were changed under cool, running water. She bit her cheek, willing herself not to moan.

  Maybe she was attempting too much, too soon. Maybe she should have sent Mrs. Gibson to Mr. Morton’s shop. But Allie knew that her headache was from more than the heat and tiredness. The gossips, seeing Thomas with Louise, her mother insisting that she marry and leave Janey- it all sent her mind reeling. Tears of frustration escaped from under her lids.

  Allie turned her tear-streaked cheek into the cool cotton pillowcase and wanted to pray. But she could not for the words. She had not prayed since that early morning so many months ago when God took everything from her and reduced it to ashes.

  As the ache in her chest grew less and less, Allie slipped into a fitful sleep. Dreams plagued her restless mind, terrible dreams of smoke and heat, of Janey lost in aisles of velvet and lace.

  ***

  The morning sun streamed through the large window near her bed. Allie groaned. Perched on the edge of the large mattress, she leaned her forehead against the dark mahogany four poster. She knew they would be expected to attend Sunday services with her mother. She had planned on it, picked out which gloves to wear and how to wear her lace wrap so that her scars would not be so visible. All the same, it seemed as if Sunday arrived too soon.

  Thomas would be coming for dinner. Allie closed her eyes and attempted to take her internal temperature. Was she happy? Nervous? Excited? There were so many emotions swirling inside of her, they seemed to cancel each other out.

  Janey flung open the bedroom door without knocking and skipped to the bed. She twirled in a circle, arms out at her sides in perfect ballerina form. “Isn’t it beautiful, Aunt Allie? Isn’t it the most wonderful dress in the whole world?” She fairly hovered with joy as she modeled the new frock that Mr. Morton’s had delivered yesterday.

  “It’s very pretty, Janey, and you’re even prettier,” Allie said, rising from the edge of her bed and smiling. She wasn’t exaggerating. Mr. Morton had created a confection for her little niece. Light blue silk with a sheer apron would have been pretty enough, but his wife had added tiny details here and there that elevated it to a work of art. It had rosebuds and ribbon trim and tiny pearl buttons along the cuffs of the sleeves. Janey’s hair was perfectly curled and a matching light blue ribbon tied it back from her heart-shaped face.

  “Let’s go, Auntie, we can’t be late. Remember when we used to walk to church? I wish we lived closer and could walk today.”

  Allie nodded. “Yes, I remember. But just think of how your dress would be if we walked to town in all of this heat and dust.”

  Janey glanced down at her new boots and summer wool tights. “And I’m sure I would get a sore spot on each toe for walking.”

  “Exactly right.” Allie adjusted her scarf for one more moment, glancing in the large cheval mirror. There were deep circles under her eyes and her hair seemed to be attempting to escape the pins she used to contain the curls. She wished there was more color in her cheeks. Shrugging, she pinned on her large black hat and started for the door.

  “Aren’t you wearing your new hat, Aunt Allie?,” Janey asked.

  “No, dear, I like this one better for church. The other is for fancy occasions.” Allie tried not to be impatient but she was really rather tired of worrying about her fashion choices. It was enough that two of her own dresses had arrived and she was currently attired in a light lavender gown that was much fancier than she was accustomed to. There were far too many ruffles and bows for church wear, but her mother insisted on putting fashion before comfort. The S-shaped corset arrived from a small shop in town and was meant to compliment the new gowns, but Allie suspected it was actually intended to disguise her thin figure. As a teen she had never trouble looking like a woman, but the hospital stay robbed her of those curves.

  They made their way down the grand staircase, Janey chattering away. Allie was thankful for the little girl’s enthusiasm, as it masked her own gloomy mood.

  “There you are, I was about to send Maggie up to find you,” Mrs. Leeds said, adjusting her gloves. “Mr. Johnson will be around with the carriage in a few moments.” She eyed Allie’s dress, seeming to note the new corset underneath. “You look very lovely, my dear.”

  Allie’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Her mother was not one for compliments. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  “There are many young men attending this early service. You must be sure to exit the c
hurch slowly. That will give them the opportunity to notice you and to approach us outside the doors.”

  Suppressing a sigh, Allie nodded.

  Mrs. Gibson joined them at the door, tugging at her hat, a slight sheen of sweat on her face. “Oh, this heat!” she exclaimed. “We have had more humid days this month than all last summer, I declare. I will dance a jig when the weather turns cold, even if the chill does make my knees ache.”

  “Perhaps a thunderstorm will break the heat,” Allie said, peering out the door at the heavy clouds on the horizon. The top of the oak tree was motionless, not a leaf stirred in the dead air.

  “Or even just a breeze,” Mrs. Gibson said, fanning herself energetically.

  The carriage pulled in front of the door and the driver jumped down. He was middle aged and carried a somber demeanor. Bowing to the ladies he hurried to open the glass topped door, the brass trim gleaming in the sunlight. The large inner compartment would have held six people, comfortably. The team of horses hitched to the front were all a deep chestnut color, perfectly matched for height.

  “Is this new?” Allie asked her mother, ogling the fine carriage.

  “Last year around spring I decided we needed to try one of the new carriages out of Boston,” she replied, accepting the hand of the driver and settling inside.

  Allie helped Janey inside and settled herself on the leather, cushioned seat.

  “What about a motorcar, like Mr. Bradford?” asked Janey with a hopeful tone.

  Mrs. Leeds fanned herself. “I will never. But it is a fine idea for Thomas to procure those items, it will show he is able to afford them. He will be married before this year is ended, I declare.”

  Allie stared out the carriage window at the passing houses and said nothing. How will it be to attend his wedding? To watch him raise his children? She felt her stomach twist and tried to shake the unsettling thoughts from her head.

  Their entrance into the centuries-old church was quiet, but heads turned and Allie heard whispers echo as they passed. Her mother led them to the fourth pew on the right hand side, where their family had been seated for generations. The sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, spattering the congregation like splashes of watercolor. Janey folded her hands into her lap and rested her little prayer book on her knees. It was worn, black leather, with a frayed red ribbon to mark the pages. It was Matthew’s childhood prayer book and Janey treasured it above most any other possession.