19 

But it’s my half-day off,” Sarah protested.

“The family has just come home,” Mr. Penard replied. “The routine of the household has resumed.”

Sarah stood in the kitchen, dressed in a skirt and blouse and holding her tapestry valise. The day was scheduled to be an every other Sunday half-day off for her. She had served lunch to the Bannings after church and tidied the parlor, and she saw no reason why she should not have her time off.

“I am scheduled for a half-day off,” Sarah repeated, “and I made plans.”

Penard eyed the valise. “Why do you require a bag?”

Sarah stared him down. It was none of his business.

“All right.” The butler relented. “But we expect you back by nine.”

“I’ll be here.” Sarah scooted into the hall and out the female servants’ entrance before Penard could think of another reason to delay her.

Her ultimate destination lay ten blocks to the south, but Sarah headed west to Michigan Avenue and turned north for a few blocks. Outside the Illinois Central’s Twelfth Street Station, she paused to catch her breath. All day long, every day, trains thundered in and out of the enormous train shed, taking people far away and bringing them home again. Sarah had never been on a train that went anywhere but another Chicago neighborhood. But someday. For the moment, the train station was the easiest place to find a room where women could refresh themselves. She needed only a few minutes to change her blouse, add a wide belt to the top of the skirt, arrange her hair in a less taut manner, and put on a hat sure to impress Lillie Wagner. The ordinary blouse and hat soon were scrunched at the bottom of the bag beneath assorted lengths of fabric Sarah judged to be sufficient for girls’ dresses.

Southbound streetcars were abundant outside the station.

“Thank you, Mrs. Davis.”

Simon took the scratched tray and set it on the table. His quarters—a bedroom and a shadowy sitting room at the rear of the first floor of St. Andrew’s—were modest, even lacking, but he never thought to complain. He enjoyed his privacy when he needed it, and Mrs. Davis not only oversaw the housekeeping regimen of the entire orphanage, but also she kept his rooms tidy and made sure he ate. She had been with St. Andrew’s since the day the doors opened.

“Don’t you have something better to do than hide out in your rooms on a Sunday afternoon?” Mrs. Davis pushed the drapes open wider.

Simon glanced at his head housekeeper, reached for a sugar cube, and dropped it in the coffee she had brought him. “I have matters on my mind.”

“Some fresh air would do you good.”

“I think better in here. Thank you for the coffee.”

“Just ring if you need something before supper.”

When she had gone, Simon smoothed the page against the scarred table and read the letter again. Dozens of orphanages cared for thousands of children in Chicago, but the difficult economic times had taken their toll. An orphanage on the city’s far south side was forced to close its doors. Charitable contributions simply were not keeping up with expenses, and if the institution tried to stay open more than another few weeks, the children would be reduced to squalor. The director had surrendered to the inevitable and now was trying to find placements for the orphans. The letter asked Simon to take in an additional forty-eight children.

Simon did not see how he could. Every bed in St. Andrew’s was full, and he barely had floor space for the beds he had. Contributions swung up and down, giving the orphanage good months and bad months. Feeding and clothing another four dozen children would stretch his budget past the point of ever hoping it would balance. Out of habit, Simon turned and looked out his window. He lived on the ground floor, and so did Mrs. Davis and the handful of other staff who did not leave every day for their own homes. But the children were all housed on upper floors, and only one side of the building had fire escapes. The first floor had been electrified, but gas lines still ran through the rest of the building. The thought of what could happen in a fire already terrified him. Extra children crowding the rooms would magnify a horrific scenario.

Then there was the other letter. Simon reached into his coat pocket and pulled it out. He had been carrying it around for more than two weeks. When he came to Chicago, his intention was to return to Philadelphia eventually, but after settling into the director’s job at St. Andrew’s he thought about his home city with decreasing frequency. Now he had an offer of employment—with a firm whose purpose was to make money. Simon had not been looking for a new job. When a college friend contacted him, he thought it must have been a mistake and very nearly wrote to decline immediately.

Then he began to think. Such a position might change the way Sarah Cummings looked at him. He was no fool. He knew she wanted to shed her past, and he was part of the past. But if he could take her out of Chicago, she might have a fresh perspective. She might be willing to take a chance on Philadelphia. And him.

His coffee went cold.

“But it’s Sunday afternoon,” Edith Wagner remarked. “You girls should be receiving callers or visiting in the parlor.”

“Mother,” Lillie said, “it’s already been decided. Serena and I are going to start on the dresses today.”

“What if Mr. Gunnison calls for you?”

Warmth oozed over Lillie’s face. “We’re just going upstairs to the guest suite, not across an ocean to Europe.”

“It doesn’t seem like a proper Sabbath observance.”

“We’re trying to take care of orphans,” Lillie said. “If that is not God’s work, then I don’t know what is.” She turned to her friend. “Come on, Serena. I have everything set up.”

Lillie led the way up to the second floor and down the wide hall to a spacious suite. The furniture had been pushed to the walls to make room for a long narrow table.

“Will this work?” Lillie asked.

Her guest nodded, set her bag on one end of the table, then paced around it. “It looks perfect for cutting. I brought a few lengths of fabric.”

“I have some too,” Lillie said brightly. “Mother said I could use whatever I liked.” She strode to a chair at the end of the room where the fabric was folded and stacked.

“I made a simple pattern.” Serena pulled sheets of thin paper from her bag. “Just a round neckline, and the dress falls loosely from there. We should be able to adjust for several sizes without too much trouble. The girls can always add a belt or a ribbon around the waist.”

“I can’t wait to get started. Let’s see what you brought.” Lillie reached into her friend’s bag with both hands and pulled out a pile of fabric. From within the folds, a book shook loose and tumbled to the floor. Reflexively, Lillie stooped to pick it up. “What’s this?” She turned the brown leather book with a red stripe on the cover in her hands. “There’s no title.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize that was in the bag.” Serena reached for the book.

Instead of surrendering it, Lillie opened the book and rifled through a few pages. “It’s a journal!”

“It must have been caught up in the fabric my dressmaker gave me.” Serena pressed a piece of a pattern flat on the table. “Just drop it back in the bag. I’ll make sure to return it.”

“Remind me to get your dressmaker’s name before you leave today,” Lillie muttered as she settled on a page to read. “This looks like a girl’s diary.”

“Perhaps we should just put it away.”

But Lillie was caught up in what she was reading. “Listen to this. ‘Today was my birthday and Mother arranged the most spectacular party with a Japanese theme. No expense was spared. The music, the food, and the costumes were authentic in every detail. It was one of the happiest days of my life.’”

Serena took two lengths of fabric from Lillie’s pile. “Which material would you like to start with?”

How her friend could be so disinterested in the journal baffled Lillie. “Serena, does your dressmaker have a daughter?”

“I don’t believe so. The diary must belong to someone else. A client’s daughter, perhaps. I’ll take care of returning it.”

Lillie turned away slightly, keeping the book out of her friend’s reach. She scanned and flipped several pages. “Here’s something more. ‘I’m so lucky my family never has to worry about anything. Today Mother let me choose the menu and said Cook would go out and buy anything I wanted. I asked for scallops and artichoke.’” Lillie turned a few more pages. “‘I’ll go to my first ball soon. Father’s friends from New York will be visiting, and he’s giving a party in their honor.’ Serena, the pages are full of descriptions like this.”

“Obviously the girl leads a busy life. I brought some extra scissors. I wasn’t sure what you had.”

Lillie still turned pages. “This is not realistic. It doesn’t sound like someone’s actual life.”

“Everyone likes to dream.”

Lillie looked up at last. “Every entry is about wonderful parties and trips and exotic food. There’s never a sad thought. Even a girl of privilege would know life is not trouble-free.”

“It’s harmless imagination.” Serena held out her hand. “Let’s just put it away and get on with the dresses.”

Lillie finally surrendered the book to her friend’s grasp. “I’m sure whoever wrote it thought it was private. I shouldn’t have read it. You’re right. Let’s get to work.”

Sarah had not read any of Jane’s diary. The girl had missed Friday’s sewing class for the second time, and Sarah had not had time to go hunting for her to return the book. Now she realized what the boys at the ball game were smirking about. Jane was devastated at losing what was probably her only personal belonging, and no doubt she was horrified to think someone had read it. Haunted by the excerpts Lillie had voiced, Sarah tucked the book in the bottom of her bag. She would have to find Jane. What she would say, she had no idea, but at least she could give Jane the book.

“You’ll have to tell me what to do,” Lillie said. “I’ve never cut out a dress before.”

“It’s simple enough,” Sarah said. “Just lay the pattern along the grain on top of the fabric and cut around the edges.”

“Where did you learn so much about making dresses?”

“My mother always thought I should understand where things come from, including dresses.” Sarah spoke the truth. Her mother had sewn her girlhood dresses not because she had to but because she loved to. Sarah unfolded blue calico fabric.

“I stopped by St. Andrew’s this week,” Lillie said, watching carefully what Sarah was doing.

Sarah smoothed the fabric, turning her face away from Lillie. “Oh? What prompted you to do that? I thought we were going to make some dresses first.”

“I know. I just couldn’t wait. I was passing by between calls, and curiosity got the best of me. The director was not there, but I was able to meet Mrs. Edwards.”

“Oh?” Sarah pressed a pattern across the calico fabric. “And what is your impression?”

“I admire her. She seems to have taken things in hand. She even has an office of her own.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that.”

“She mentioned that a woman comes in and gives a sewing class. She thought I might like to help with that.”

“Would you like to try cutting?” Sarah handed scissors to Lillie.

Lillie took the scissors, but they hung limply from her fingers. “I know many of the Prairie Avenue families donate to St. Andrew’s, but I think I’d like to get involved in a more personal way. Mrs. Edwards’s example is inspiring.”

“We shouldn’t make a nuisance of ourselves,” Sarah said. “People do that, you know. They say they want to help, but in the end they cause more work for the director because he has to organize something they actually can do for an hour or two a week instead of things that really need to be done every day.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Lillie said. “I didn’t get that sense from Mrs. Edwards.”

“Of course not. They are not in the habit of discouraging people of means. I spoke to the director, after all, so he knows we want to help. I do think it would be better to wait until we have some dresses made.”

“Well, all right,” Lillie conceded, “but I am going to sew for a while every day. I don’t want to just talk about helping. I want to do something.”

Sarah asked Lillie about Paul Gunnison, what Lillie’s favorite part of Chicago was, what she missed about Cincinnati, her most treasured memories—anything to turn the conversation away from St. Andrew’s. They cut out ten dresses in various sizes, and Sarah made sure Lillie understood how to put the pieces together. Lillie said nothing more about visiting St. Andrew’s.

As the formal dining hour approached, Sarah excused herself, assured Lillie she would find a cab easily enough, and headed over to Michigan Avenue to hop a streetcar. She got off at the Lexington. Kenny was at the desk and shook his head when he saw her.

“Nothing? Are you sure?” Sarah asked.

Kenny raised both eyebrows and shrugged.

“Well, it’s only been four days,” Sarah said.

“Who is this man?” Kenny asked. “You hardly even let him get his head in the door here.”

“Surely you appreciate my circumstance.” A thin, neat pile of paper on the desk caught Sara’s eye. “Kenny, I’d like to borrow some of this stationery. Are there matching envelopes?”

“That stationery is for guests of the Lexington,” Kenny said.

“I’ve informed you that Miss Serena Cuthbert intends to be a guest at the Lexington.” Sarah planted her elbows on the desk and leaned toward Kenny.

“You’re stretching it, Sarah.”

“Just a few sheets, and a few envelopes.” Her fingers pulled a few sheets loose from the stack.

Kenny looked around. Sarah followed his glance across the lobby, which was unusually empty. The only guests were an older couple looking at newspapers and a young woman—probably a nanny—buckling a child’s shoe. No other employees of the hotel were in sight.

“I suppose it wouldn’t cause any harm,” Kenny finally said.

Sarah flashed a grin. Stationery imprinted with the Lexington’s name would be perfect. Serena Cuthbert owed Bradley Townsend a proper thank-you for the lovely times they had shared.