Allie bowed her head and held her own small leather book, a twin to Janey’s. She absently traced her name, inscribed inside the front cover in her own childish hand. During the quake one wall had collapsed, spilling their clothes and bedding out into the street. There were so many looters, people desperate to survive, that by the time they went back, there was nothing to salvage. But a young neighbor also dug through the rubble, salvaging a few of their items he thought would be important.
She closed her eyes, remembering his sadness at not finding more of their belongings. He could not have known that everything important was already gone, burned to ashes in her studio. He handed over the prayer books and Allie was glad that Janey had this memento of her father. For Allie, it mattered next to nothing. She hadn’t opened the book past the first page since the quake.
The crowd stood and Allie realized the service had started. She rose a moment too late and saw her mother glance her way. Hoping it had not looked like weakness, Allie straightened her back and lifted her chin. A familiar hymn rang out over the heads of the congregation and she let her eyes roam the large sanctuary. So many familiar faces, families in their accustomed pews. She was surprised to see small additions to several groups. There was Sarah, on the side a few pews ahead, standing next to a tall blond man. Two small boys with the same colored hair and matching sailor suits stood between them. Allie smiled as the smaller one nudged his brother with an elbow, and was rewarded with a sharp jab.
A profile caught her eye and she almost gasped out loud. Thomas stood a pew behind Sarah, his mother to his right. But of course he would not continue to sit in the very back, now that he was a wealthy member of the city council and an educated man. In San Francisco their church had been fluid in the seating arrangements, with families moving freely from one pew to another on any Sunday. Here at home, where you sat meant so many different things. Where he was seated now told her he was very wealthy and admired. His mother looked much the same, except her clothes were quite fine, all black silk and a large hat trimmed with ostrich feathers. Her eyes busily swept the congregation although her lips moved with the words to the hymn.
Allie remembered the time his mother had found the two of them alone, talking under the oak tree. She had sent Allie home, using a tone one would use for a rebellious puppy. Mrs. Bradford had never approved of their friendship, and had made no secret of it.
She hadn’t meant to be staring at him, but as if he had felt the weight of her gaze, he turned in time to catch her in the act. Allie felt her face burn as they made eye contact. His figure was strong and straight, shoulders powerful beneath the knee length coat he wore. Allie couldn’t help but notice once more how he had changed, at once familiar and strange. He smiled and inclined his head, but there was a question in his eyes. Allie dropped her gaze and focused on Janey, who was singing out in her clear bell of a voice. She was glad the hymn was familiar since Janey couldn’t read yet, although that didn’t keep her from holding open the hymnal in front of her.
The service seemed to last the whole morning. Drops of perspiration trickled down the back of Allie’s neck as she bent her head for the final blessing and dismissal. One more hymn, hopefully a short one, and they would be free to go.
The organist struck the first few chords and the congregation sang out as one. Allie’s heart squeezed with the familiar strains of an ancient Irish tune. It was her favorite, the one she would hum at odd moments when she was painting or day dreaming. Janey flashed a grin at Allie, then tilted her head when she realized she was not singing along.
“Aunt Allie,” she whispered, “Follow along with me.” She held up the heavy hymnal in front of her, little hands straining to keep it steady.
“Thank you, dear,” Allie whispered back, and put out a hand to steady the book.
“Be Thou my battle shield, my sword for the fight,” the congregation sang out.
Allie stared at the old book, emotions warring within her heart. How many times had she sung these words, believing in times of trouble that God would be her shield?
“Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight,” the lilting melody continued.
Where was her dignity now that she was covered in scars? Allie’s heart beat a furious rhythm and she clenched her ruined hands.
“Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise,” the faithful sang and the old sanctuary echoed with the timeless words.
But she did heed riches and man’s empty praise. She’d wanted them enough that she’d left her home against her mother’s wishes. She had worked night and day to earn both, enjoying the wealth and fame that came with being a sought-after artist. How many times had she read and re-read the reviews of her work and welcomed every fawning critic? Instead of putting away the money for Janey or buying a home for them, she had spent it on travel and entertainment. Janey had loved it all, but Allie felt sick realizing that one of those pleasure trips would have fed them for a year in Illinois. She closed her eyes and wished with all her might that the song would end.
“Auntie,” Janey whispered, “You’re not singing.”
She pretended to be reading along, but hummed a few bars, then cleared her throat. Janey glanced up at her, concerned.
“I’ll have to wait a bit longer. My throat is still raw,” she whispered, a reassuring hand on Janey’s shoulder. She glanced up and saw Thomas watching her, his own hymnal neglected in his hand. His dark eyes were narrowed and concern etched on his strong features. Allie raised one gloved hand, a timid wave, hoping to earn a smile but he only nodded and turned back to the front of the church. The minister was finally preparing to recess down the aisle. Allie let go a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and knew the service was almost over.
Their small group exited the pew and worked their way down the aisle. Mrs. Leeds nodded to several women, who looked curiously at Allie and Jane, and passed on. Mrs. Gibson trailed behind them, murmuring to a friend.
“Welcome home, Miss Hathaway.” The minister greeted them kindly, but Allie felt as if his eyes rested a bit too long on her face, his words of welcome shaded with curiosity. He was only one minister removed from the one she had known growing up. Surely he had heard the gossip. She smiled politely and was grateful for the long line of parishioners waiting to shake his hand. They moved quickly to the side and Allie wished for deep shade. The heat beat off the flagstone path and the air was dead still. Allie looked out toward the horizon and could see, dark clouds becoming ominous, towering thunder heads.
“Aunt Allie, may I?” Janey asked, her face lit up with yearning. She pointed to the elderly man selling roasted peanuts near the corner.
“Here, my dear,” said Mrs. Gibson. Before Allie could answer, she gave Janey a penny and sent her to buy a bag.
“That should keep her occupied for a minute or two,” a low voice murmured behind Allie. Her heart reacted before her mind had processed the words. She turned, already knowing who it was.
“Good morning, Mr. Bradford. Outside our church in San Francisco there was a man who sold little crescent cookies with slips of paper inside that told your fortune,” Allie said, speaking a little too quickly. She wished she could be calmer, cooler, when he was around but it seemed as if she lost ten years every time he got near.
“How very odd,” Mrs. Leeds exclaimed, opening her parasol and moving closer to Allie so that she was shaded beneath it.
Thomas grinned. “Sounds fun.” His eyes crinkled at the corners and Allie couldn’t help noticing how pleasing it was.
“It was entertaining to see how different they could be from your own plans,” Allie continued. “Once I opened mine to find a little slip that read, ‘your feet will touch the soil of many lands’.
“Auntie, taste these,” Janey called, trotting up to their little group.
“Oh, they smell delicious,” Allie said, taking a few of the hot peanuts in her hand. She rubbed the shells between her fingers but the gloves made it difficult to remove the coverings. Allie frowned, rubbing t
he nuts between her palms but the shells stubbornly held together. She closed her hand around them, and turned to Mrs. Gibson.
“Do you still play carpet bowling after services every Sunday?”
“Yes, we do! Your playing marble has been waiting for its master to return. Of course, while you were gone I actually won a game or two. I can say goodbye to that now.” Mrs. Gibson chuckled.
Thomas held out his hand and Allie blinked, confused. He reached over and opened her hand, taking the peanuts. He worked at the shells as he said, “Only a game or two, since I was crowned king in your absence. Not a soul could come as close to the marker, but every now and then I let Mrs. Gibson win so her pride would not suffer. I was afraid her wonderful dinners would turn black and ruined if she was denied the satisfaction for too long.”
Thomas tossed the shells in the bushes and held out the shelled nut meats for Allie. She took them, gratitude welling up. It was such a small thing, but she blinked back unexpected tears. She popped one in her mouth and bit down, the sweet, roasted flavor filled her mouth. A memory flooded in of the times they had roasted peanuts in a small pan in the carriage house while Thomas’s father told them stories of growing up in Ireland.
“Mrs. Leeds, how wonderful to see you here,” a young man approached them from the side, removing his hat. His brown hair was cut very short, almost shaved near the neck and his face was clear of any mustache. A very fine suit was complemented by a gold-topped walking cane. Inquisitive blue eyes traveled over Allie and the little blond girl dancing around her with a bag of peanuts rattling in her hand.
“Mr. Garrett, may I introduce my daughter, Alberta,” Mrs. Leeds said, motioning for Allie to come forward. Allie stepped closer, bright smile pasted to her face. She had to peer up at him He was very tall, even taller than Thomas. “Alberta, this is Ransom Garrett.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, extending a gloved hand. He took it and bowed over it, holding her gaze. There was a mischievous look in his eye that Allie liked instantly. He reminded her of an overgrown school boy.
“I’ve seen your portraits and I’m honored to meet you,” he said, giving her hand a slight squeeze before letting it go.
Allie frowned and for a moment considered letting the comment pass, but instead she said, “And where did you see them?”
“Mr. James Young sat for you in ‘05 and moved his business from San Francisco to Chicago last year. It hangs in the meeting room in The Metropolitan Bank, which he owns. Also, Miss Adelaide Summers, my cousin, traveled to California just to have her portrait done before her wedding a year ago. You captured her red hair and fiery personality perfectly,” he said.
“I remember her,” Janey piped up, spilling peanuts out of the bag as she attempted to shake one into her hand.
Allie turned, surprised. “You do?” She didn’t remember Janey meeting Miss Summers.
“Sure. She had that little dog with the bow in its hair. He barked all the time and she thought he was adorable but he was mean and had bad breath,” she said, focused on removing the shell from her treat.
Thomas made a sound that could have been laughter but when Allie glanced at him, he was looking over her head at the horizon.
“That is indeed Adelaide and Mr. Tubbs,” Mr. Garnett said, laughing.
“How was it that you were in Mr. Young’s bank?” her mother asked, in a tone Allie felt was transparently hopeful.
“I trained at the Metropolitan Bank before I came here and joined Boyer Bank,” he said, turning to Mrs. Leeds, his tall frame stooping a bit in her direction. “I manage the building loans provided by the interstate railway programs.”
“Do you count all the pennies?” Janey asked, her eyes wide.
Mr. Garnett chuckled, winked at Allie. “Yes, that’s just what I do.”
Allie felt a flash of irritation and wished he had tried harder to explain his profession. because Janey was clever enough to understand. How did anyone think children would learn if they only gave them silly answers?
“I hope to see you at all the social occasions this winter, Miss Hathaway.”
“She is very much looking forward to it.” Mrs. Leeds fanned herself, looking pleased.
Allie cringed inside and tried to look as if this was as wonderful as it sounded. She glanced at Thomas and was surprised to see him grinning. She didn’t remember him expressing any interest in dances, only activities of the equine variety. But they were just children then, she reminded herself for the tenth time. He is ready to marry and raise a family, to be a father.
Her heart gave a sudden lurch and her breath caught in her throat.
“Miss Hathaway?” Thomas’s voice brought her back to the present. “Are you well?”
Allie cleared her throat, desperately rearranging her features into something more like a young woman on the verge of an exciting social season. “Yes, thank you. It’s a bit warm, isn’t it?” Allie flitted the silk fan near her cheeks.
“And I believe Janey is ready for a rest,” she said, smiling apologetically. Allie’s gaze flicked up to meet Thomas’s quizzical expression and she mustered her brightest smile.
“Janey, come now,” Mrs. Gibson called out as Janey scampered off in another direction. Allie was grateful when Janey came at once.
“Alberta, you must rest when we return to the house,” her mother said quietly.
Allie knew that she had mistaken her emotion for tiredness, the pain on her face as exhaustion. Of course she should explain that she was perfectly well, for Janey’s sake. But as they reached the carriage and she sank gratefully into the cool interior of the carriage, Allie could not think how to begin. Instead, she leaned her head back against the seat and tried to erase the image of Thomas marrying some beautiful young woman.
Chapter Six
Thomas’s mother called out from her place by the fire. “Dear, be sure not to stay too late.” She tilted her elaborately coifed head and gave him the look she reserved for moments of true seriousness.
Thomas swallowed back a response that would have delayed his exit. The sitting room was stuffed with darkly carved furniture, the windows draped with velvet in a rich green hue that complimented the silk patterned wall coverings. It had been redecorated just last month with the latest styles from Paris, but to him, it looked exactly the same as it had the year before, and the year before that. Thomas wished he was not an only child. If any of his sisters had survived infancy, his mother would have had at least one more child on which to shower her attention.
He wanted to ask her why she never worried about his lateness until now. But he knew why. Eight years ago, she had watched Allie break her son’s heart. She had known it would happen, had tried to tell him a hundred times that Allie was not the woman for him, but he refused to listen. Thomas couldn’t really blame her for being wary now. She watched him pick up the pieces of his life and work twice as hard to be happy. But what she didn’t know was that he was determined to keep his heart out of Allie’s way.
“Mother, I will return as soon as dinner is finished. Jeremiah Bascomb will be there as well, so I do not anticipate a particularly pleasant evening.”
Mrs. Bradford nodded and tapped one thimbled finger against the linen she was embroidering. “He is an influential man.”
Of course, his mother was always able to see the best in everyone... or at least, to see the best way to surround herself with influential people. Thomas admired her quiet determination, her ability to rise above her humble beginnings as the daughter of an Irish mill worker. But he was never completely comfortable with her methods. He could not listen to men like Jeremiah Bascomb and nod his head.
“I’ll do my best,” he said, his tone light-hearted as he bent to lay a soft kiss on the top of her head.
One last glance in the hall way mirror and Thomas strode out the door. He hated the way his body hummed in anticipation, hated the drumbeat of his pulse in his throat. It was a Sunday dinner, like so many others. Except for one perso
n.
Thomas steered the sleek car into the lane and wished he had walked instead. It would have given him more time to relax, to prepare for the hours ahead. There was something about driving that made his blood pump faster and that was the last thing he needed tonight. He exhaled slowly and eased up on the gas pedal. The engine throbbed through the seat and Thomas rolled the window down a bit. The cool late summer air buffeted against his face and he stretched his neck, attempting to ease his tense muscles. Ever since this morning at church, he had been unable to erase Allie’s face from his mind. When he had glanced back during the service, there was a look in her eyes that had stopped his heart. It was pain and loss and unbearable sadness.
Lord, hold and strengthen her. Help me speak the words she needs to hear. Thomas turned into the long lane that lead up to Bellevue and felt his heartbeat kick up a notch. He ran a finger around his collar.
And please, Lord, help me to not act like a fool.
****
“Auntie, are you ready to come down?” A small voice filtered into Allie’s tired brain. She sounded very far away― and just for a moment― Allie felt fear lance through her. Memories of smoke and fire threatened to overwhelm her as she struggled to open her eyes. She saw her niece sitting on the edge of the large bed.
“You’re all right,” she whispered.
“Of course, Aunt Allie,” Janey said, patting her on the shoulder. She was already dressed in a light blue linen dress with a starched pinafore. Her blond hair was smoothly braided into elaborate loops, the work of expert hands.
All The Blue of Heaven (Colors of Faith) Page 7
