5 

Although Lillie had met Serena Cuthbert only a week ago, already she felt she had a best friend. Under the fireworks, she’d overheard Bradley Townsend invite Serena out for Thursday evening and jumped into action herself—inviting Serena to dinner on Wednesday evening. Serena had been coy before accepting Brad’s invitation, acting as if she needed to check her social schedule, but she did not miss a beat in telling Lillie she would be glad to come to dinner.

Lillie sat in the Wagner parlor where she would be sure to hear the doorbell. The room’s furniture was still new and unfamiliar. Frederic Wagner would have been content to move the old furniture from Cincinnati. Edith Wagner, on the other hand, would not concede for a moment that the sofa and chairs would be suitable for a parlor on Prairie Avenue—even if it were lower Prairie Avenue rather than the more prestigious upper end. Lillie had listened to her parents’ polite but emphatic discussions for weeks before her father finally gave in to the expense of new furnishings for much of the Chicago house. Lillie rather missed the old sofa, but with a friend coming for dinner, she was glad her mother had prevailed.

Edith Wagner entered the parlor and raised her eyebrows. “Is your friend the sort who is on time?”

Lillie glanced at the mantel clock she had seen the housekeeper wind only a few hours ago. “I confess I don’t know. She was on time for the picnic.”

“I barely got to meet her,” Edith said. “You whisked her off with Mr. Gunnison and Mr. Townsend before I could extend an appropriate welcome.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. Tonight will make up for it. It’s just the four of us for dinner, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You know your father doesn’t like to come home from his office and face a lot of company in the middle of the week. I persuaded him that one friend should not be taxing.”

“Thank you. I think you’ll both like Serena.”

Before Lillie could sink back in the sofa, Frederic appeared with two long tubes in his arms.

“Are those the drawings?” Edith immediately snatched the tubes from her husband’s grasp.

“I still don’t understand why you insisted on two sets,” Frederic said. “When we bought the house, I agreed to some renovations to make it our own, but you are getting carried away.”

Edith unrolled the first set of drawings on a round ebony pedestal table at one end of the room. “You won’t want to do this again, so we must make the right decision now.”

Lillie rose to inspect the options. Leaning over her mother’s shoulder, she saw an architect’s drawing of their Italianate home, but with a mansard roof to bring it into the Second Empire. The roof in the drawing sloped on all four sides, with a gentler slope to the upper portion of the roof and a steeper slope below. The house looked less like a brick box and more imposing, more solid. Windows all around suggested the mansard was for more than show.

“If we add that roof, does that mean adding rooms underneath it?” Lillie asked.

“We might expand servants’ quarters in that space,” her mother murmured. “But I’m not sure Second Empire is the way to go.” Edith unfurled the second set of drawings.

Lillie gasped. “Whose house is that?”

Frederic groaned. “Edith, I thought we agreed we were not going to build a new home.”

“This is not a new home,” Edith insisted. “It’s a proposed renovation of this house.”

Lillie looked more carefully, and gradually she recognized the main shape of the house but with an addition to one side for a sunny two-story conservatory. The original windows and doors were in all the right places on all three floors, but the drawing suggested a limestone façade be added over the red brick, allowing the design to incorporate pronounced arches over the windows and entrances. A matching arched portico jutted out from the main front entrance.

“It’s Romanesque,” Frederic said, “a complete departure. The Second Empire can be done with a reasonable budget. We’d just be raising the roof. But this—this is too much.”

“Oh, but Second Empire is so passé,” Edith protested. “It will be out of date by the time we finish construction. No one is doing that any longer. I rode past the Glessner house at Eighteenth Street a few days ago and I’m convinced Romanesque is the future.”

“But the house is hardly recognizable,” Frederic said. “Can we even live here during the renovations?”

“I’m sure we’ll work something out.” Edith began rolling the drawings again. “We’ll have to sort this out later. Lillie’s guest will be here any moment.”

Frederic shook his head. “What you propose is going to require selling unprecedented amounts of candy.”

Ten blocks. That was the distance from the Banning house to the Wagner home. The evening was already dimming, and though it was warm—July in Chicago never was cool—at least the day’s heat was past its peak. Sarah paced herself so the walk did not make her perspire noticeably.

Almost at Twenty-eighth Street, she stood in front of the Wagner house for a moment. The home was not as ostentatious as the cluster of homes around Eighteenth and Prairie Avenue, but like all the homes on the lower stretch it still suggested wealth the ordinary person would never know.

But Serena Cuthbert was not ordinary.

If Sarah had come straight to the Wagner home when she left St. Andrew’s three years ago, she might have fumbled her way through the dreamlike setting. As it was, though, she had plenty of experience in the Banning house and knew where the boundaries were in a home such as the Wagners’.

Only this time Serena would be on the other side of those boundaries. Sarah invited Serena to take the next step up the walk and slipped to the background.

She rang the bell. The housekeeper showed her into the parlor, where Serena chatted with Lillie and her parents until the housekeeper returned to announce that dinner was served.

Sarah had only known a household staff headed by a butler, but clearly here Mrs. Burnett was in charge, and she was not the cook or the parlor maid. Sarah smiled graciously as Edith Wagner led the way to the dining room. A round table awaited them, draped in a rich green damask tablecloth and laid with gold-rimmed white china. Each piece bore an intricate monogrammed W. Sarah’s eyes soaked up the fresh variety of dishes, cutlery, and crystal—patterns she had never seen at the Bannings’ or when she’d helped serve at one of the Pullmans’ parties.

“What lovely stemware.” Serena paused for Frederic Wagner to pull her chair out for her. Once seated, she arranged the yellow chiffon skirt of her gown around her knees, then touched the draping neckline discreetly to be sure it was not askew.

“It was my mother’s.” Edith lifted a goblet and turned it in the candlelight. “Not one piece was ever broken, not even during the war.”

When the footman served the turnip soup, Sarah knew precisely how many turnips had been cleaned and peeled to produce it. Serena, though, nodded in pleasure and complimented Mrs. Wagner on what was sure to be a delicious menu. Sarah disliked fish in general because she hated to clean them, but when the trout was served, Serena inquired whether the scrumptious tarragon flavor had been Mrs. Wagner’s suggestion.

“It was, actually.” Edith Wagner’s green eyes glowed. “I prefer to go over the menus with Cook in some detail.”

“You seem to know a lot about food,” Lillie observed from her place across the round table from Sarah. “I’m afraid I don’t know my way around the kitchen very well.”

“Nor I,” Sarah said quickly. “Of course that would be unseemly. But the one servant I have with me this summer is an adventurous cook, and occasionally I’m curious enough to inquire about the seasonings.”

“Lillie tells us your parents have gone off to Europe and left you on your own,” Edith said. “Do you have any regrets about not going with them?”

“None at all.” Serena responded before Sarah gave the question any thought. “I’m finding I quite enjoy being on my own for a time.”

“What does your father do that takes him to Europe for such an extended stay?” Frederic asked.

“Dry goods,” came the answer. “His firm is looking for fresh European suppliers for textiles. They prefer not to depend only on what comes through New York but to commission their own designs.”

The roast lamb was tender beyond belief, and the vegetables platter colorfully presented. Sarah pictured the sharpened knives that must have been used to slice the peppers and beetroot at expert angles.

Serena made a pleasant inquiry about Mr. Wagner’s business.

The salad boasted the best of what was in season at the greengrocer’s shop. Sarah knew which bins the items came from.

Serena asked what Mrs. Wagner was finding to enjoy in Chicago.

“I hope you’ll introduce me to your mother when she returns,” Edith said.

“I’m sure she’ll love to meet you.” Serena gave her best smile. “I’ve already written about becoming friends with Lillie.”

“How often do you hear from your mother?” Lillie asked.

“We write faithfully twice a week.” Serena’s answer was emphatic. “And I’m sure my aunt is reporting what she finds when she visits me.”

Edith chuckled. “If your mother is anything like me, she has spies all over the city watching her little girl. Are you an only child?”

“Yes, I am. Lillie and I have that experience in common.”

Lillie beamed from across the table. “We’re sure to become sisters now.”

“I hope you’ll come to dinner again,” Edith said. “We can invite Mr. Gunnison and Mr. Townsend as well. The four of you seemed to get on quite well the other day.”

“I would be delighted.” The yellow gown swished with Serena’s graceful movement. “And I have a feeling Mr. Gunnison is smitten with Lillie and will easily oblige your request.”

Lillie blushed.

The cheesecake arrived a few minutes later, rimmed with fresh raspberries. Sarah knew the stain the berries must have left on the cook’s fingertips.

Serena savored the tart flavor as it melded into the sweet cheesecake in her mouth.

By the time the evening was over, Sarah Cummings knew a great deal about Serena Cuthbert. Serena had been tutored privately at home and attended a finishing school in Geneva, Switzerland, before touring the Continent two years ago. She liked the novels of Charles Dickens and the poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Serena’s favorite pastime at the lake house was sitting in a chair at the end of the pier and listening to Lake Michigan lap below her, and she found the Arts and Crafts movement in decorating a refreshing change, especially the work of William Morris. She saw no reason an item could not be both useful and exquisite at the same time. Despite her mother’s repeated attempts, Serena had never mastered playing the piano, and her father tended to spend far too many hours absorbed with business, much to her mother’s aggravation. Serena was woefully behind in embroidering napkins and tablecloths for her own trousseau, but since she did not have a steady gentleman caller, the task had not seemed urgent. She thought it would be a grand adventure to ride a train to Denver, Colorado, and see what life was like in a newer part of the country. Friends reported that hotels were more than adequate.

Sarah did not think twice about anything she said during the evening’s conversation. Every question, every remark, provoked an automatic answer that lurked until it was time to spring forth fully formed.

Serena Cuthbert flushed with pleasure.

Sarah’s heart beat wildly as she raced north on Prairie Avenue. What had she just done? She could never backtrack from the stories she told that night. She had barely escaped Mr. Wagner’s insistence that he would have his coachman take her home by countering with the assurance that her own coach was waiting for her one short block west, on Indiana Avenue, and the evening was mild enough that she would enjoy the walk.

The State Street trolley line that ran for a stretch on Indiana Avenue rumbled out of her grasp just as she thought she might catch it. The hour was far too late and dark for her to be standing on the corner waiting for another, so she lifted her skirts and accelerated her step. She passed Twenty-seventh, then Twenty-sixth. The lots became smaller and less prestigious, but Sarah focused on the line of light the streetlamps created. When she sensed a carriage slowing on the street beside her, she broke into a run.

“Sarah!” a voice called. “Is that you?”

Sarah let out her breath and slowed down, turning to see Karl sitting atop the Bannings’ open carriage. He pulled the carriage to the curb and reined in the horse.

“What are you doing out?” Sarah asked.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Karl said. “Get in. You shouldn’t be out alone at eleven o’clock at night.”

“I don’t suppose you brought a house key.” Sarah climbed with relief into the carriage. “I’m sure Mrs. Fletcher has locked the doors and gone to bed by now.”

“I know it’s your day off,” Karl said as he clicked his tongue for the horse, “but you don’t usually stay out so late. Where were you that required you to be gussied up like that?”

“Were you out looking for me?” Realization dawned in Sarah.

“What if I were?” Karl retorted.

Sarah turned her head and stared at the home at Prairie and Twenty-second that marked the beginning of upper Prairie Avenue and more familiar territory. Grateful as she was for Karl’s appearance, she could not tell him where she had been.

“Are you planning to make a habit of this?” Karl asked.