by Fedora Amis
But Auntie Dee refused to let mere common sense ruin the cheery nook where she spent her mornings writing letters, giving orders, and making plans. A merry fire—a cozy wood fire—danced under a fireplace mantel of pale-pink marble.
The room took its character from that fireplace. Sky-blue velvet drapes framed three grand windows. White furniture with gilded curlicues and lion-paw legs graced the pink Aubusson carpet. Firelight glinted off blue fretwork painted on white porcelain tiles framing the fireplace.
With an index finger, Jemmy traced the blue lines on one of the tiles—girls in pointed caps skating on canals.
Auntie Dee chuckled. “How many times have I seen you as a little girl touch those tiles with a faraway look in your eyes—dreaming of storybook places and exotic people? And such questions: ‘Auntie Dee, what’s it like to wear wooden shoes? Those windmills look like houses. Do people live in them?’ ” Auntie Dee led Jemmy to a dainty lady’s desk and held up a handsome brochure from the Cunard line.
Jemmy was far from hungry, but she couldn’t resist nibbling a spice cake. She breathed in the fragrance of hot chocolate as she warmed her hands on the cup. “Your dreams are about to come true. Next spring, we set off on a great adventure—a grand tour of Europe. Who knows? You may find a prince charming to whisk you away to his palace.”
How many times had Jemmy told Auntie Dee she longed to see the wonders of the world in person? Her wishes were about to come true, but too late. During her eighteenth year, the last thing she wanted to do was leave St. Louis. She’d staked her job at the Illuminator—her one chance for independence—on success as a journalist.
Once again that old quandary tugged her in two directions. What do I really crave: a life of leisure as a “true woman” in a man’s world, or the exhilarating chance to choose my own path in life?
But what a temptation Auntie Dee offered! A grand tour of Europe—what could be more captivating? How Jemmy had envied the rich girls at Mary Institute as they chatted away about gondolas on the canals of Venice and young lovers kissing on the banks of the Seine. Every one of them expected to make a grand tour—everyone except Jemmy, the pauper girl whose mother ran a boardinghouse.
Auntie Dee gushed about the upcoming trip. “I wish I could telephone my sister Tilly, but a letter will have to do. She’s chaperoning a young girl on her way to join her father in New York City. The girl has been living with her grandmother here in St. Louis and attending Mary Institute. Her mother died in the oddest way. Seems she fell asleep under a sweet gum tree, and a black widow spider crawled in her ear.”
“Spider venom must be a painful way to die.”
“Oh, no, the spider didn’t kill her. The spider was found in her ear—dead. The coroner couldn’t find a bite mark, though.”
“Then what killed her?”
“From various evidence, the coroner concluded that a strange series of events led to the woman’s death. Waking up with a creepy-crawly in her ear set her off in a tizzy. She hopped up and started banging her ear with her hand. Sadly she lost her balance and hit her head on the sweet gum tree and knocked herself out.”
“And that’s what killed her?”
“No. I find it hard to believe, but the judge at the coroner’s inquest swears this is what happened: The woman fell nose first into a little puddle of water held in a girdled root of the sweet gum tree and drowned. Drowned in less than a cup of water.”
“How strange.”
“There’s a moral in that story, which we all must remember.”
“What’s that, Auntie Dee?”
“No matter what the crisis, stay calm. Panic imperils one’s very life.”
“An amazing story.”
“Left her poor little daughter half an orphan. After the mother died, the father moved to New York. Needed a change of scene, I suppose. And we all know the girl’s grandmother was better equipped to rear the child. But the girl fell in with bad company and became quite impossible to deal with.
“At length the grandmother despaired of being the girl’s guardian. Called her the wild child of Borneo. Though, in fact, I’m quite certain the girl had never been to Borneo. I must confess I don’t even know where Borneo is—nor does the grandmother, I’ll warrant you that.
“Even my sister Tilly could not succeed in curbing the girl’s recklessness. Why, the child began pulling out her own hair. The very idea. Bald girls attract few suitors. That you can believe.
“The upshot is the grandmother consulted Tilly, who suggested the girl be sent to her father. So, naturally, my dear sister was chosen to accompany her. You must agree no one in the entire United States can equal Turaluralura Snodderly when it comes to perfection in a chaperone.
“Well, a girl needs the influence of a father with a strong hand. Your Uncle Erwin and I are pleased to provide you with that familial care and concern. And we have arrived at the perfect solution to your mother’s problem. Are you not delighted at the prospect of seeing the world next spring?”
Jemmy’s mind raced from one bad idea to the next. She had to stop this nonsense, but nothing came—not even a lie. She offered a feeble nod.
“Too overcome with joy for words. Oh, my sweet niece. Won’t we have the loveliest time?” In a fit of euphoria, Auntie Dee embraced Jemmy, then hustled her to the settee. For the next two hours Auntie described the places they would visit and the pleasures of a sea cruise on a fine steamship.
“How wonderful to return to those splendid cities and romantic countries! My own tour was marred by civil disturbances in some places, but now I hear all is calm on the continent. You needn’t worry about revolutions and such. At last I will be able to enjoy Paris with the leisurely stay I always desired. We had to leave abruptly, you know, or we would have been caught in the Siege of Paris.
“That insane Napoleon the Third! Losing the Franco-Prussian War, which he himself started. Ah well, we shall make up for it all on this magnificent trip.”
Yes, Jemmy longed to go on the grand tour. But leaving for six months or longer would cost her the reporter’s job at the Illuminator—and Hal’s, too. What am I to do?
Over lunch of celery root soup and chopped-chicken-liversmixed-with-mayonnaise sandwiches, she thought of one even more compelling reason not to go. Auntie Dee and Duncan would be exciting traveling companions. However, her own roommate would be the world’s strictest chaperone.
Miss Turaluralura Snodderly, called “Aunt Tilly Lilly” behind her back, would insist on punctilious propriety. With her around, Jemmy would spend more time changing clothes and sitting still than she would enjoying the sights.
Jemmy knew what to expect from personal experience. Aunt Tilly Lilly had been prevailed upon to oversee Jemmy on a trip to Sedalia to interview members of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West and Congress of Rough Riders of the World. Jemmy spent a good deal of time sneaking away or inventing excuses for sneaking away.
Subterfuge in Sedalia had been easy. Aunt Tilly Lilly had been preoccupied with tidying up the errant Koock household and reining in the unruly Koock husband and children. Besides, the Sedalia trip was only for one week.
A six-month trip with herself as the only wayward puppy under the thumb of the Caligula of chaperones sent chills through Jemmy’s frame.
“Are you cold, my dear? I’ll send Katy for a shawl.”
“Don’t bother, Auntie. I’m not cold. Someone walked over my grave, that’s all.”
“I suppose you’re wondering why I invited that peculiar little fellow to escort you to the play, since he has no more property than a scarecrow. I do apologize. Dr. Wangermeier took pity on the poor man. I can see why. He must be so starved for companionship and entertainment, he’d gladly go to the opening of a pickle jar.”
As she speared a sweet gherkin with an ornate pickle fork, Jemmy asked, “Isn’t Cousin Duncan joining us for lunch?”
“No, my dear. These days he’s off early in the morning doing heaven knows what. He rarely returns until past midnight. I scarcely
see him at all since he returned from the war. Tell no one, but that’s the main reason I want to go on this tour. Perhaps if he gets away for a time, he’ll gain perspective and come home to his rightful place and join your uncle in the business he’ll one day inherit.”
Jemmy left the pickle on her plate untouched and tried to lean back in her chair. She couldn’t—not without pain. Her midsection felt like a knockwurst about to burst its casing. Her corset squeezed her middle until she could barely breathe. That’s what comes from eating three breakfasts and a lunch—not to mention hot chocolate and cream cakes.
Jemmy’s head shot up. She was expected for another lunch at one o’clock. With an inward moan, she rose. “Auntie Dee, I hope you can forgive me for rushing away in the middle of your lovely lunch. I was so enjoying our plans, I nearly forgot I have an appointment at one. Please excuse me.”
“Of course, my dear. You must attend to your employment for the time being. You wouldn’t want to leave any job with a stain for unreliability upon your reputation. The end of the year is quite soon enough to resign your post. We’d still have ample time to organize our wardrobes.”
“Thank you for being so understanding.” Jemmy knew she should offer some word of caution. She had no intention of touring Europe with Auntie Dee, but she could not bring herself to offer the slightest hint. After all, Auntie Dee had entered upon a crusade to save Jemmy from herself. No wonder she spent so much time looking at my head. In all likelihood, she was examining it for spots where I’d yanked the hair out by the roots like the wild child of Borneo.
A vision of herself with a dozen silver-dollar-sized bald spots in her auburn hair made Jemmy roll her eyes. Thank heavens in a handbag. My luncheon date with Tom Loker means I can put off for now telling her I’m not going to Europe. I am such a coward.
Jemmy slinked away with Auntie Dee still sipping coffee in the dining room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
November 22, 1898
Three streetcar rides later Jemmy climbed the steps under the limestone clock tower of mammoth Union Station. Less than five years old, the enormous and elegantly grand St. Louis railroad depot boasted luxury service as its standard. Four hundred passenger trains arrived and departed every day at the world’s largest rail terminal. Union Station was just one more reason city boosters called St. Louis “the next greatest city in America.”
At the door of the Terminal Restaurant, Jemmy started to ask for the table of—Then she remembered. She forgot to look up his real name on her theatre program. Luck smiled on her. Tom Loker had been watching and was even now bounding across the restaurant to claim his luncheon guest.
“Miss McBustle, I’m delighted to see you.”
“I apologize for being late. My whole morning has been a rush to catch up with myself.”
“It’s the prerogative of a lovely coquette to keep a man waiting.”
“I assure you, I’m not a coquette, nor would I keep a man waiting had I a choice.”
“I meant no offense. Please don’t be cross with me. I’m looking forward to a pleasant meal in your company.”
Their table sat in a cozy corner under a painting of a Missouri-Kansas-Texas passenger train. Ladies’ heads turned in their direction as they wended their way across the restaurant. Not until then did Jemmy realize the women were gawking at her escort. And why not? He was eye-poppingly handsome.
That day he wore a brown pinstripe suit with a tan silk foulard tie. From his watch fob dangled a golden comedy-tragedy mask. An electric light in a sconce overhead brought out the golden highlights in his warm, brown eyes. His dark-blond hair refused to be corralled by pomade. It swooped in waves that ended in soft curls at forehead and neckline. Tom Loker (whose name she still did not remember) was the living definition of “matinee idol.”
“How wise you are, Miss McBustle, in your choice of apparel. The plain cut of your attire is the perfect choice to show your comely features to best advantage.”
Realizing how much she was envied by every female in the place should have made Jemmy bask in her triumph—or at least feel a little smug. Instead, the attention made her edgy as a mouse with his tail in a trap. What if Handsome Harry and the mystery woman should turn up? Harry would surely notice Legree-Loker and come over to chat with the man who shares his dressing room.
At least she could do one thing—finagle a way to get Tom Loker’s back to the room while she had an open view to scout out newcomers. Naturally, Loker-Legree had taken the wall seat so he could spot Jemmy when she arrived.
“I know it’s an imposition, but would you mind if I took the chair by the wall? The ladies seem so intent upon watching you I fear for their digestion—and mine. I think they’ll be less inclined to stare if you turn your back to them.”
He replied with a dazzling smile and a nod to the server. The reorganization meant extra trouble for the waitress. She had to rearrange the china and silver. Tom Loker didn’t seem upset by Jemmy’s quirks—merely amused. The smile playing around his mouth made him even more winsome.
“Do you flatter all your gentlemen friends so charmingly?”
“I assure you, I never flatter gentlemen. I wouldn’t know how.” Her obvious sincerity flattered him still more. He became even more attentive—and she became more alarmed.
Jemmy’s nervousness created chaos before she even sat down. As she pulled off her gloves, one stuck until she tugged harder. The glove popped off with a snick and smacked her water goblet.
Sloshing water, the glass stood on the very brink of crashing over on its side. Fortunately, Tom was just as quick with his hands as he was with his compliments. He steadied the glass with his right hand and seated Jemmy with his left at the same time. His manual and mental dexterity seemed effortless—as though he expected to juggle stemware and ladies at every meal.
He motioned to the waitress and said, “The water mussed your sleeve, Miss McBustle.”
“Please don’t bother. After wading through a half a foot of snow, I’m used to a little damp.”
The waitress laid a folded napkin over the wet spot on the tablecloth and offered a second to Jemmy.
As she dabbed at her sleeve, Jemmy’s elbow caught the tines of a fork and popped it into an airborne cartwheel. With a graceful swoop, Loker-Legree caught the wayward utensil by the handle before it hit the floor and returned it to its proper place without even looking at the fickle fork.
“That’s twice you’ve rescued me from myself in as many minutes.”
“Rescuing you is both pleasure and honor, Miss McBustle. May I say how gratified I am you came to our engagement, despite inclement weather.”
For the rest of the meal Jemmy managed to keep up her end of the conversation even though her mind was elsewhere. Her absent-mindedness revealed itself in physical ways. Her menu brushed the half-full water glass. It would have flopped over yet again if Tom had not saved it from flooding the table a second time.
Jemmy seemed to be all angles and elbows. When the waitress brought the potato soup, Jemmy’s fist shot out as if drawn to it by magnets. Before her hand could reach the tray, Tom caught Jemmy’s wrist and lowered it to the table while the waitress swayed her tray until the soup stopped splashing.
Jemmy tried to make a joke of her bumbling manners. “Clever of you to order cream soup. Not a drop spilled.” When she tipped her plate of roast chicken, it would surely have landed in her lap if his hand had not shot forward to hold it down.
“You must think me clumsier than a camel on ice skates.”
“I find you quite beguiling, Miss McBustle. If I may say so, everything you do surprises and delights me.”
“Even my inability to successfully negotiate a spoonful of soup or a sip of water?”
“I believe your current difficulties are nothing more than the product of excitement. Since I consider myself the reason for the excitement, how could I be anything but disarmed and enchanted?”
Jemmy didn’t know what to say to that, so she took anothe
r mouthful of chicken and found herself in considerable discomfort.
“Is something wrong, Miss McBustle?”
“I find myself unable to eat this lovely luncheon. My stomach seems to have soured.” In fact, Jemmy was feeling the effects of three breakfasts, two lunches and morning cocoa with cream cakes. Her excess of food strained so against her corset that she could barely breathe. Indeed, she was sliding into a faint when the unthinkable happened. Her corset blew up.
Well, it didn’t exactly blow up; it blew out. A lace must have broken. Jemmy could breathe again. But at what cost? That corset had kept her waist a good four inches smaller than her actual waist size—the wasp-waist size her seamstress used to fit her wardrobe. She could feel her flesh pushing against the seams of her blouse. It would only be a matter of time before the seams burst. Her jacket would follow suit. If Jemmy didn’t make speedy repairs, she’d soon look like a pillow shredded by cats.
“Please excuse me. I must attend to my—Oh.” Jemmy bent forward as one seam gave way with a loud rrrrippppp.
Tom was on his feet pulling out her chair, supporting her by the arm and extricating her foot from the edge of the tablecloth before it yanked the entire meal off the table.
“No, you mustn’t come with me. Perhaps if you’d get the waitress . . .”
“I quite understand.” He handed Jemmy over to the waitress with the words, “Return to me as soon as you’ve . . . as soon as you’re feeling better.”
The server escorted Jemmy to the ladies’ lounge and turned her over to the attendant, a roly-poly gnome of a woman in black dress and white pinafore. She had ruddy cheeks and a nose to match. In red velvet she would have looked the perfect Mrs. Santa Claus.
The jolly woman kept up a steady stream of comforting talk as she helped Jemmy out of her jacket and blouse. “Don’t think a thing about it, dearie. Young ladies in over-tight corsets are two-a-penny. At least three come to me for help every day.”
