13 

When the doorbell rang, Sarah looked up from the sideboard in the dining room, where she was arranging silver serving spoons for lunch. She intended to answer the bell, but across the foyer, Leo emerged from the parlor to welcome his lunch guests himself. Three men of various ages and builds entered, and Leo shook their hands and clapped their backs. Camaraderie swelled in their voices as they lingered in the foyer.

Sarah leaned against the wall, blew out her breath, and peered at them. The guests brought far more noise and enthusiasm into the house than she felt up to coping with. She was dead on her feet as it was. Dawn had nearly arrived before she put the final exquisite touches on the gown. At moments throughout the night, she wished Flora Banning were as generous with jewelry as she was with old dresses. In six hours Sarah had to step aside for Serena Cuthbert and be at the Lexington Hotel looking leisurely and gracious—and with a bare neck. Sarah had only one necklace, and it was glass, so she did not dare wear it to a ballroom full of women who would know the difference at a glance. The dress was perfect, however. She persuaded herself jewelry would have detracted from her precise stitching, the flawless fit, the exactness of the drape of the sleeves brushing off her shoulders.

Leo had confirmed his intention to dine out on Saturday evening, as he usually did. Nothing would keep her from being ready. All she had to do was get through serving lunch and cleaning up. Then Mrs. Fletcher was sure to want to put her own feet up for the evening and have an early night. Sarah could bathe and dress without interference.

The men drifted into the parlor and Sarah roused herself to return to the kitchen.

“Everyone is here?” Mrs. Fletcher asked.

Sarah nodded.

“The table is ready?”

Another nod.

“The artichoke soup has been chilling in the icebox all morning,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “You can announce lunch and serve the soup while I slice the lamb.”

In the butler’s pantry on the way to the dining room, Sarah paused to splash cold water on her face and smooth her skirt.

Six hours.

They were certainly in no hurry. Sarah reprimanded herself for foolishly supposing they might be. It was not the problem of Leo Banning and his guests that the maid had an engagement with a young man. Table conversation settled into commentary on events in the university department in which they all worked. It was clear even to Sarah that if they strayed from shared employment, they had little in common. One seemed to be quick to offer opinions, while the other two were less outgoing. Leo was pleasant to everyone, as he always was. Sarah did not care what they talked about, though, if only they would eat a little faster. Thirty minutes into the meal, and they were still toying with the lamb. Vegetables. Salad. Dessert and coffee. Sarah’s impatience did nothing to speed the service of the meal.

With a stifled sigh, she stepped forward to refill the water goblet of the best-dressed guest. He had already emptied it twice. If he did again, she would have to refill the pitcher as well. No one seemed as interested in what he said as he was himself. Sarah glanced at the other two guests. When one of them caught her eye for a fraction of a second, she turned away immediately. Admonishing words of Mr. Penard, the Banning butler, rang in her ears. Fraternizing with the guests in any way would not be tolerated.

“I appreciate your changing this dinner to lunch,” the thirsty guest said as he cut his lamb.

“It’s no problem, Thom,” Leo assured him. “I know the ball tonight is important to you.”

Ball? Sarah’s boredom rolled away, and she examined the guest more carefully while counting on being a faceless maid to him. In the pink silk gown, Serena Cuthbert would be nothing like Sarah Cummings. Still, she inventoried his features to avoid later if necessary.

“It’s my wife’s father’s event,” Thom said. “Amanda would never forgive me if we did not attend.”

“Is your father-in-law giving the ball?” Leo asked.

Thom nodded. “He’s one of several organizers. My father is in on it as well. Their hope is to rally a strong Republican contingent in the weeks ahead. Fortunately the Palmer House could accommodate them.”

“Ah,” Leo said, “this is a reaction to Mr. Bryan’s nomination by the Democrats.”

“My father-in-law would prefer to say it’s proactive,” Thom said, “a positive step toward making sure William McKinley is the next president. We like to think of it as a gathering of like-minded men.”

I should have known, Sarah thought. Brad was so perturbed when William Jennings Bryan was nominated. This was just the sort of affair he would be involved in. Considering his silence over the last few weeks, she would not have been surprised to learn that the Townsends were one of the other families behind a ball meant to be a political fund-raiser.

Everyone finished their lamb at last, and Sarah approached the table to remove the meat plates. Holding the stack with both hands, she leaned into the door to the butler’s pantry.

“Some important people will be there,” Thom said. “If you would like to attend, I would be happy to introduce you.”

Sarah froze. Even if Leo’s guests overlooked the features of the young woman who served their meal, Leo knew her face.

“Thank you, Thom,” Leo said, “but it’s rather late to change my plans for the evening.”

Sarah breathed relief as she set the plates in the sink in the butler’s pantry, then proceeded to the kitchen for the vegetables tray.

Mrs. Fletcher looked up from the counter where she was arranging the beets and cauliflower. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s nothing,” Sarah muttered. “Are the vegetables ready?”

“I hope you’re not showing that face to the guests,” Mrs. Fletcher cautioned.

Sarah would have been glad not to be showing any face to the guests.

“I’m fine. I’ll take the next course.” Sarah picked up the vegetables tray and turned her back on the cook.

In the dining room again, Sarah moved smoothly to the table to continue serving.

“That Mr. Bryan gives a good speech,” Leo commented. “Out of curiosity, I was there the night he gave the Cross of Gold speech.”

Thom huffed. “One speech. The man gave one good speech.”

“It was electrifying,” Leo said, “whether or not you agree with him. When he pulled down that imaginary crown of thorns to his temples, you could have heard a pin drop. He’ll give the Republicans a run for their money.”

“You sound as if you think he has a chance.”

“He might.” Leo nodded for an extra serving of vegetables on his plate. “He’s courting the working class and succeeding. They like the sound of more widespread prosperity. That’s a lot of popular votes.”

Sarah held the tray firmly, willing it not to shake in her hands as she served another guest.

“They don’t understand the issues,” Thom insisted. “The Democrats are promising a better economy, but they’ll never be able to deliver if they introduce silver as a monetary standard.”

“The so-called ‘Silver Republicans’ would disagree with you,” Leo pointed out, “and plenty of Democrats would argue to adhere to the gold standard. It’s a mixed bag across the country.”

“Mr. Bryan is quite clear on where he stands, and he’s the official candidate,” Thom said. “The Democrats adopted his platform. That’s what we have to fight against.”

Leo waved a hand. “Well, gentlemen, that is not the problem we gathered here to solve. Why don’t we get down to business?”

Sarah stepped to the sideboard and put the vegetables tray down. Gold standard, silver standard—what did it matter? If she married someone like Bradley Townsend, she would not have need to wonder about it, and if she did not marry someone like Brad, she would be so busy working she would never have time to wonder about it.

The conversation turned to industrial uses for the field of mechanical engineering and the particular technical dilemma Leo had gathered the group to discuss. Sarah made no attempt to follow the train of thought, instead letting her mind drift to the evening ahead. She cared not one whit about the politics that apparently inspired the occasion. Her challenge was to be utterly captivating, irresistibly beautiful—to be Serena Cuthbert.

It was past three-thirty by the time Leo suggested the group take their coffee and dessert in the parlor to continue their conversation. Sarah pushed the tea cart across the foyer and into the parlor as efficiently as she could and dispensed the apple pie. Back in the kitchen a few minutes later, she filled the sink with water and began to scrub dishes.

“Don’t be so rough,” Mrs. Fletcher cautioned. “Those are china plates, not tin cans. If Mr. Penard comes back from the lake to discover you’ve chipped something, he’ll chip your head.”

Sarah pursed her lips. It was true the Bannings’ butler could give a serious dressing down. But she needed every minute she could scrape up to be ready for the night.

Mary Catherine should have been there washing dishes, she thought. This was not even her job anymore.

Sarah knew better than to speak such a sentiment aloud. She slowed her pace just enough to placate Mrs. Fletcher’s caution. She washed, dried, stacked, and put away far more dishes than it seemed to her four people ought to need. As she did, she imagined her hair put up with a twist on the side. The cool, sleek silk of the dress. The turning heads as she entered the grand ballroom at the Palmer House on the arm of Bradley Townsend.

Mrs. Fletcher fractured Sarah’s reverie at ten minutes to five.

“I have some things that need mending.” The cook stood with table linens draped over one arm. “I thought you could do them tonight.”

Sarah blanched. “Must they be done tonight?”

“It’s still very early,” Mrs. Fletcher countered, hanging the linens on the back of a chair. “You can rest a bit first if you like.”

“Monday would be soon enough, wouldn’t it?” Sarah said.

Mrs. Fletcher halted her progress across the kitchen and pivoted to examine Sarah. “Did you think you were going out again tonight?”

“A friend invited me out. I did not see any reason not to accept.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Mrs. Fletcher said.

Must Mrs. Fletcher know all her business? “I rather imagined you would want to relax this evening.”

“You should not presume,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “You’re drawing a full salary while the family is away. You should expect to put in a full day’s work a little more often. I’m beginning to think you’re taking advantage of the family’s absence.”

“It’s only the mending,” Sarah pointed out calmly.

“The mending is not the issue, as you well know. I’m no fool.” Mrs. Fletcher turned toward the stairs again. “I suppose it can wait a day or two, but don’t let your imagination get the best of you. You’ve still got a job to do.”