9 

She came back.

Simon hoped he sufficiently concealed his relief when he looked up to see Sarah Cummings standing in his doorframe for the second Friday in a row.

“I’m glad to see you again, Sarah.” He stood and nervously jingled his keys in one hand. “The girls have been talking about the class all week. We may have one or two more who would like to join.”

Was that a smile that crossed her face? Her glance would not meet his, but she had come back, and for today, that was enough.

“Jane seems to have her eye on something green,” Simon continued. “She’s been practicing her stitches every spare minute.”

“I’ve told her she must master the stitches before she can manage that fabric,” Sarah said. “Crepe snags easily. She must be confident in what she’s doing.”

“She seems quite determined.” Simon gestured that Sarah should walk ahead of him into the hall.

“The fabrics are beautiful,” she said, “but not all of them are suitable for beginners.”

“It will give them something to look forward to,” Simon said. “It was far easier than I imagined to get the donations. Just let me know what you need.” A few notes, a few telephone calls—he would find whatever she asked for.

“Something sturdy,” Sarah said. “Plain colors they could use to make skirts to begin with. Jane may be a little too . . . ambitious just now.”

They walked to her classroom, and he put the key in the door. “I’ve kept everything locked up, just as we discussed.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Sarah stepped past him through the doorway, and Simon inhaled her lingering lilac scent.

“Have you experimented with the machine?” he asked.

“No.” Sarah’s answer was quick, final. But her tone relented. “I suppose I will have to, because the girls will want to learn in time.”

She was planning ahead. She would come again.

“Perhaps you’ll find it more useful than you suppose.” He grasped for something substantial to say but found nothing.

Sarah carried a small bag the same beige shade as her dress. The thought flitted through his mind that the garment lacked the finesse of the ensembles he had seen her in previously, but he did not mind. His eyes fixed on her grace as she laid the bag on the table and glided to the cupboard. Opening it with one hand, she quickly reached in with the other and ran her fingertips down the ribbed stack. She was right, he could see now, about the fabrics. Although she could do wonders with any of them, they were not practical for the girls. Simon made a mental note to procure a wider selection of sensible choices for next week.

Would she have tea with him? he wondered.

She found a length of lightweight gray wool and unfolded it. A shock of hair escaped its pin at her left temple, and reflexively she reached to tuck it back in place.

“Do you have a regular day off?” Casually, he straightened a chair.

“Wednesdays,” she answered, turning again to the cupboard, “as soon as breakfast is cleared, and every other Sunday for half a day.”

Simon nodded. Was it too much to suggest dinner? He could afford a nice teashop with a simple menu. Sarah stooped to pull a basket of threads from the bottom shelf of the cupboard. Even her unadorned beige skirt moved in a graceful arc as she bent, then straightened with the basket in her hands.

“It must be just about time for the girls.” Sarah looked at him, expectant brown eyes wide.

He did find her utterly lovely.

Jane was full of more questions than Sarah cared to answer. What was this fabric called? Why was this one so shiny? Why was this one so thick? Would Sarah show her some fancy stitches? Sarah remembered Jane as a quiet child and was surprised at her inquisitiveness. She was the last girl to leave the room, staying with Sarah until the final swatch of fabric was stored away and all the cupboards secured. Sarah barely heard anything Jane said, and she could not leave the orphanage fast enough.

It was not the girls who disturbed her, though one or two seemed incapable of making two straight stitches in a row. Her mind was full of Bradley Townsend—or more precisely, consumed with the fact that she had not heard from him since he’d dropped her off at the Lexington Hotel last Thursday night. Eight days had passed. She had made herself wait from Thursday until Tuesday before stopping at the hotel desk again, purposefully wearing her maid’s uniform to put as much distance as possible between Kenny’s memory of her and his unvoiced suspicions of the fictitious Serena Cuthbert. She had been planning all day Friday to stop in again. Although she was not wearing her uniform—she refused to wear it to St. Andrew’s—she had selected a dull beige dress with no remarkable features. Anyone would have found it believable that Sarah Cummings owned such a garment.

Throughout the sewing lesson, her mind raced ahead to the Lexington Hotel desk. Finally she pushed open the hotel’s front door and peered behind the glass at the desk. Kenny was there. She strode confidently across the lobby.

“Have you any messages for Miss Cuthbert?” she asked expectantly.

“Hello, Sarah.”

“Hello, Kenny. The messages, please.”

Kenny shook his head. “Not a word. Are you sure this was the hotel Miss Cuthbert meant to use as an address?”

“She was quite specific,” Sarah insisted. “She knows it’s difficult for me to get away from the house and was thoughtful enough to agree to a convenient location.”

Kenny raised his shoulders and let them drop. “No one has been looking for her. When is she due to arrive in Chicago?”

“I told you,” Sarah said, “her plans are indefinite.”

“Then why would anyone be trying to reach her here?”

Sarah set her jaw and growled, “If you persist in this line of questioning, I shall report you to the hotel manager.”

He smiled, unthreatened. “If anything does come in, I could have it sent over to the Banning house and save you the trouble of stopping in for nothing.”

“No!” Sarah recovered her composure. “It’s not necessary to go to that trouble. I’ll stop in again.”

She pivoted, glad her skirt was plain enough for the maneuver, and headed for the door. The Democrats had nominated William Jennings Bryan at their convention, just as Brad had feared. No doubt Brad had politics and business on his mind.

Sarah would just have to change that. In barely five weeks, the Bannings would be home. She stepped back out onto Michigan Avenue, undeterred.

Lillie fanned herself with the evening’s program as the applause faded.

“It is a bit warm in here, isn’t it?” Paul said from his seat next to her.

They sat at the front of the first balcony, toward the center, with a clear view of the stage and the sweeping series of beautifully lit arches that led to it. Even the breadth of the magnificent Auditorium Theatre could not combat the heat. The electric lights came on to signal the intermission.

“I have tickets to the orchestra’s concerts in the fall,” Paul said. “The temperatures are sure to be more comfortable then.”

“That would be lovely.” Lillie dipped her head and smiled. This was only July, and Paul was already thinking of what they might do together in the fall.

“Shall we go out to the lobby for some air?” Paul suggested.

Lillie took the hand he offered and stood. “It’s a good turnout for an off-season amateur theater group,” she said.

“It will be much fuller for the Chicago Orchestra. Theodore Thomas has a strong reputation as a conductor.”

In the lobby a few minutes later, Lillie assessed the mingling concertgoers. Her parents were supposed to attend this event, but Edith had suggested that Paul and Lillie take the tickets instead. Lillie was not sure whom she should expect to see and only hoped she would remember the names of people she had met in recent weeks if she encountered them in this crowded public gathering. The women wore bright gowns and extravagant, colorful hats, and the men escorting them were in uniform black formal wear.

“Is that Miss Cuthbert?” Paul gestured discreetly across the lobby.

Lillie turned in delight and focused on Serena, who stood near a wall, draped in a spectacular silver gown that shimmered with even a slight movement.

“I really must remember to get her dressmaker’s name,” Lillie said.

“Shall we speak to her now?” Paul suggested.

Grateful for the opportunity to see Serena’s gown up close, Lillie nodded. Paul put his hand on the small of her back and guided her across the lobby, stopping several times to greet friends and business associates. Lillie flushed with pleasure each time he introduced her, but she kept Serena in her peripheral vision as they gradually progressed toward her.

“She’s talking with guests we met at the fireworks,” Paul observed.

“From my father’s office,” Lillie said. “How kind of them to remember her.”

“Who could forget Serena Cuthbert?”

Who indeed? They reached her at last.

“Lillie!” Serena exclaimed. “I wondered if I might see you here tonight.”

“Where are your seats? Who are you with?” Lillie asked.

“I’m here with a friend,” Serena said. “Our seats are rather high up, I’m afraid. It was a last-minute decision to come.”

“The theater offers a wonderful view from any angle,” Paul said.

“I quite agree. I’ve never been disappointed in any seat I’ve had here.” Serena scanned the crowd from left to right. “Mr. Townsend mentioned he also had tickets for the evening. I haven’t had an opportunity to greet him yet.”

Lillie glanced around. “We haven’t seen him, either.” She leaned in close to Serena. “I’ve been dying to hear about your evening together. Shall we meet for lunch soon?”

Serena’s eyes brightened. “Yes! Send me a note at the Lexington and we’ll arrange something.”

Lillie nested her hand in the crook of Paul’s arm. “Lunch will be my treat, Serena. I insist. And if you have an extra card from your dressmaker, be sure to bring it.”

Paul glanced at his pocket watch. “We should return to our seats in time for the next act. May we see you back to your seat, Miss Cuthbert?”

Serena shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m sure my friend will turn up momentarily. You go along.”

Sarah had purposefully positioned herself against that wall because the location provided a panoramic view of the lobby. Getting past the ticket gate had been surprisingly easy, and she wondered why she had never attempted the ploy before. She did not actually require a ticket. It was not as if she intended to occupy a seat. She remained outside until she was certain intermission had begun and the lobby had started to fill. While concertgoers stepped outside for fresh air, Sarah slipped inside. When she ran into a couple of people she had met at the Fourth of July party, she smiled and chatted amiably. When she spotted the Kimballs, neighbors on Prairie Avenue, however, she subtly turned and dipped her head until she was sure they had passed. Sarah was becoming adept at hiding her face with the choice of a wider brim.

She was certain Brad held tickets for the evening and was determined to see him, even if just long enough to say hello and remind him of her existence—and even if he were with another woman. Sarah knew just how the silver gown flattered her and had no doubt what its effect would be on any man.

Sarah held vigil during the entire intermission and finally surrendered to defeat when she stood alone in the lobby and sensed an usher was going to ask if she required assistance finding her seat. Brad was not there.

She slipped out a side door. Bradley Townsend was the first man she had ever met who could give her what she wanted. She was not going to give up easily.

Eighteenth and Prairie was not far, but the streets were congested with theater traffic. Sluggish, Sarah aimed her reluctant steps toward the Banning mansion.