20 

We need two more place settings,” Mr. Penard announced at the staff supper Thursday evening of the following week. “Mr. Leo invited a guest, and Miss Lucy has as well.”

Mrs. Fletcher ticked off the evening’s diners on her fingers. “That’s eleven. Twelve if Lucy brings Benny.”

Penard nodded. “Surely you planned for extra food.”

Mrs. Fletcher scowled and passed a basket of bread. “I’ve been cooking dinner for this family for close to twenty years. Nothing catches me by surprise.”

“Why an odd number?” Sarah asked. “Mrs. Banning usually tries to even things out. Who’s coming?” She pushed boiled potatoes to the edge of her plate, wondering why the staff were not having the stuffed baked potatoes Mrs. Fletcher had made for the family.

“I did not inquire,” Mr. Penard said. “It makes no difference to the quality of our service.”

“I was just curious,” Sarah muttered.

“I’ll set the extra places,” Mary Catherine offered.

Mrs. Fletcher shook her head. “Let Sarah do it. I need you in the kitchen. The cake still needs frosting.”

“Leo has been seeing a young woman, you know,” Karl said. “I’ve driven them together several times. A Miss Christina Hansen.”

“It’s about time.” Mrs. Fletcher raised her napkin to wipe her chin.

“Is she pretty?” Mary Catherine leaned toward Karl, eyes wide.

“Stop gossiping,” Mr. Penard said. “We all have work to do. Finish eating and do it.”

Sarah tapped a foot under the hem of her dress. In her estimation, Penard treated the staff like a bunch of children. She never understood why everyone put up with it. No one said much more. Instead the room filled with the sounds of scraping forks and chinking knives. Sarah finished her meal, dutifully carried her plate to the sink, and went into the butler’s pantry to take from the shelves the elements of two more formal place settings. The china hand-painted with blue flowers was her favorite of the three sets of china Flora Banning kept. In the dining room, the white damask tablecloth was flawlessly starched beneath a long, narrow arrangement of summer flowers, and the blue in the napkins perfectly matched the blue in the china.

Sarah paused to put her hand in the pocket of her dress, under her apron. The note from Brad had come yesterday after a week of silence. It looked like more silence lay ahead. Brad’s note said only that he expected to be occupied for some time with political and business engagements. He promised to think of Serena often and begged her not to doubt his affection during this busy time. Under her apron, Sarah wore the silver rose fastened to the front of her dress.

Affection. Sarah smiled involuntarily when she thought of Brad Townsend using that word. She just had to be patient. The board of trade would sort out their problems, and the election would be over in a couple of months. Then Brad would turn his attentions back to what mattered.

Affection. Then why hadn’t he tried to kiss her yet?

Sarah stood at the sideboard in the dining room. Mr. Penard had just passed through looking as if he were tied to a plank in his evening tails. He would say simply, “Dinner is served,” and the family and their guests would interrupt their polite conversation, rise from their seats in the parlor, and proceed to the dining room. The scene played out every Thursday evening, when the Bannings assembled for a family dinner with no absences.

Flora and Samuel Banning led the pageantry, followed closely by their son Oliver and his wife, Pamela. Behind them was young Richard, looking grown-up with his Aunt Violet on his arm. In another couple of weeks, he would be in New Jersey, where he could choose to escort any young woman he liked.

Leo did in fact have an attractive young woman beside him, the rumored Christina Hansen. She looked nervous to Sarah, and perhaps that was a sign that she and Leo were considering a serious relationship. Why else would she be uncertain about having dinner with his parents for the first time?

Sarah patted her pocket again. She knew nothing about Brad’s parents. How long would it be before he invited Serena Cuthbert to dinner with his family?

Lagging at the rear of the procession were Will and Lucy Edwards. Sarah was glad to see they had opted to leave the children with Charlotte for the evening—but instead they were with Simon Tewell! They strode across the foyer three abreast in somber conversation. No doubt they were talking about the orphanage.

So Simon was the eleventh person, the unattached gentleman.

Flora and Samuel Banning had long ago made their peace with their daughter’s proclivity to test the unwritten rules of Prairie Avenue. Sarah had not realized, however, that their indulgence had stretched to the point of welcoming the orphanage director to their table.

Sarah supposed Lucy had not even asked her parents about Simon. What could they say once he arrived? She also suspected that the suit Simon wore had once belonged to Will Edwards. It did not fit quite right in the shoulders. Simon drew a salary for his work, but certainly not on a Prairie Avenue scale.

Simon caught her eye as he entered the dining room. Sarah looked away.

Samuel Banning intoned a prayer of formal gratitude for God’s provision. Sarah suffered through it, wondering why, if God was in the business of providing, he did not spread it around a little more evenly. What was there to keep the Bannings from being grateful, after all? After “amens” were murmured around the table, the footman stepped forward to swirl butternut squash soup into the waiting bowls. Without even glancing at the butler, Sarah knew Mr. Penard’s eyes watched every move the young man made.

And she felt Simon’s eyes on her.

As she cleared the soup bowls a few minutes later.

As Penard served the curry lobster, something Sarah was certain Simon had never eaten before.

As she removed the fish plates.

While Simon politely inquired about Richard’s plans, his eyes flickered toward Sarah. In the middle of Leo’s story of where he had first met Christina, Simon’s eyes—and a vague smile—wafted toward the place at the sideboard where Sarah waited to deftly reach between the diners and make the remains of the roast goose with stuffing and red cabbage disappear.

Sarah did her best not to look at Simon, hoping fervently that he knew better than to speak to a servant during the meal.

When she carried the meat plates into the butler’s pantry and quietly set them in the sink, Penard noiselessly followed her. He stood beside her and spoke almost inaudibly.

“You will stop making eyes at Mr. Tewell.”

“But I’m not!” Sarah whispered back.

“Whatever your relationship is with this man, it is not appropriate to flaunt it at the Bannings’ dinner table.”

“We have no relationship!”

“The look on his face would suggest otherwise. Anyone can see how he regards you. And the blush in your face is unconvincing of your protests.”

Penard pivoted and returned to the dining room to present a platter laden with stuffed baked potatoes, Brussels sprouts, green beans, and cauliflower.

Sarah put a hand to her cheek, willing the blush to subside.

Simon breathed in her hanging scent when she took his vegetable plate. Even serving a meal and clearing dishes, Sarah was captivating. As hard as he tried to keep his eyes on one of his many dinner companions, inevitably they wavered and drifted, even if only for a split second at a time. He simply could not pretend she was not in the room.

“I wanted Simon to be here for a reason,” Lucy finally said when Penard placed a hefty slice of red velvet cake in front of her. “I have an idea for which I would like your support.”

“Something to do with the orphanage, I suppose,” Samuel said.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I have arranged to hold a luncheon and invite the young women of Prairie Avenue,” Lucy said. “Just recently I had the pleasure of conversing with the daughter of one of the newer families. She’s keen to do something practical for the children, to be personally involved. I find myself wondering if others might feel the same way. A luncheon will give us opportunity to discuss the matter. It’s all arranged for Tuesday.”

Samuel Banning cleared his throat. “If I may be direct, Mr. Tewell, what sort of condition is the orphanage in?”

“Of course the difficult economic times have had some effect,” Simon answered—though as he looked around the Banning house he could not help but wonder if the recession had touched them at all. “The number of children who need help continues to climb. They’re not all orphans, strictly speaking. More and more parents simply cannot care for their children. For now our financial picture is satisfactory—barely—but if the need continues to grow at the current rate, we will face uncertainty.”

Simon gave this talk often in his fund-raising efforts, though not usually in the opulence of a Prairie Avenue dining room.

Richard spoke up. “I’ve read in the newspaper that Jane Addams believes the orphanages should be done away with. Children should go into foster care—placed with families rather than be herded into institutions. She likens them to warehouses for children.”

Simon nodded. “I like to think that description is rather severe for what we’re trying to do at St. Andrew’s. One can certainly make a compelling argument for foster care and even adoption. Such arrangements take time, however. The system cannot be changed overnight. The children must be cared for in the meantime.”

“Mr. Tewell,” Flora Banning said, “what is your opinion of the orphan trains? Children from New York and Boston are riding them. Many children even end up here in Illinois, as I understand it.”

“You understand correctly,” Simon answered. “Institutions in the East are sending children to the farms of southern Illinois, along with other destinations farther west. One might think that clearly it is better for a child to be placed with a family, but we must remember that many of the families are merely looking for help with the labor of running a farm.”

“Even still, the children are housed and fed, are they not?”

“It’s difficult to say,” Simon replied. “I have heard stories of children being malnourished and mistreated, but I would like to believe that for many, it is a better life than what they left behind.”

“We’re talking about real children,” Flora’s sister Violet said. “Mr. Tewell has informed us that many of them are not truly orphans. Their parents are just unable to care for them. Surely there is a better answer than loading them into boxcars like cattle and shipping them to unknown circumstances.”

“Thank you, Aunt Violet,” Lucy said. “That’s precisely my point.”

“And that brings us back to the orphanages,” Leo said. “Simon, if you could do one thing for St. Andrew’s right now, what would it be?”

“Fire escapes.” The answer came quickly. “We only have them on one side of the building, and we’re at maximum capacity. I hate to think what would happen in a fire.”

“Lucy was born in the middle of the Great Fire,” Flora said.

“Yes, Mother,” Lucy said, “but our home was not burning at the time.”

“Do you have fire drills?” Violet asked.

“Of course we could institute fire drills,” Simon said. “The children are routinely reminded where to assemble if they need to leave the building in an emergency. However, without fire escapes, we’re avoiding the true issue.”

“Isn’t it true that very few large institutional buildings have fire escapes?” Leo asked.

Simon nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s true. Nevertheless, I would love to see St. Andrew’s equipped.”

“Fire is a constant danger,” Lucy said. “Just look at what happened to the world’s fair buildings. So many of them burned, either during the fair or right after.”

“But that was a problem with tramps,” Samuel said. “They were squatting in the empty structures and building fires where they had no business being.”

“They were just trying to keep warm,” Lucy countered. “They had no place else to go.”

“Fires are in the headlines on a regular basis,” Leo acknowledged.

“Let’s return to my idea to host a luncheon and get people involved,” Lucy said. “I don’t think the young ladies of Prairie Avenue can build a fire escape, but they can raise money for one. It will help if they know their parents approve.” Lucy turned from one parent to the other. “That’s where you can help.”

“We’ve been contributing to the orphanage for years,” Samuel Banning pointed out.

“And we’re deeply grateful,” Simon said quickly.

“We can do more,” Lucy said, “help in different ways. Use your personal influence.”

Simon nodded his head toward Sarah. “Sarah is doing a wonderful job with the sewing class. The girls are working on their skirts and dreaming of blouses.”

“Yes, thank you, Sarah,” Lucy said enthusiastically. “That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. Doing something practical. Something personal. Giving these children something to dream about. Sarah is setting an example many others should follow.”

Sarah wished a crack in the polished floor would open wide enough to swallow her. Lucy Edwards pressed her mother to promise she would speak to other Prairie Avenue women and help stir up interest to do something personally. Simon clarified that financial contributions were still needed as well. Will Edwards, an architect, offered to draw sketches of how a network of fire escapes could be constructed around the orphanage. Simon, thankfully, had the good sense not to look at Sarah again.

Finally the dinner party agreed to retire to the parlor, where Lucy would play the piano for them. Everyone stood up and began to drift across the foyer.

Simon hung back. “May I have a word, Sarah?”

She glanced around. Simon was the last guest to leave the dining room, but almost certainly Mr. Penard was within earshot.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Simon said. “I suppose I have become accustomed to Lucy’s manner of being direct about orphanage concerns. I know the Bannings can be influential with other families. But I can see I disturbed you by drawing attention to you.”

“It’s all right, Simon.” Sarah picked up a stack of dessert plates. “Let’s just forget it.”

“I am so pleased at what you’re doing. You deserve recognition.”

Sarah saw the door to the butler’s pantry open and Mr. Penard’s head peek out. She added to her stack of dishes. “Perhaps you should join the others.”

Simon nodded and left, to Sarah’s relief. To her consternation, however, Penard emerged from the pantry.

“I have warned you about this behavior. You should know better than to fraternize with a dinner guest, even someone you see in his own setting.”

“He approached me,” Sarah said. “I did nothing to encourage him.”

“You will prepare the cart with coffee and serve in the parlor,” Mr. Penard admonished. “Don’t fool yourself, though. I will be watching. Send Mary Catherine in to finish clearing.”

He moved away from her dismissively and busied himself with the serving dishes at the sideboard.

Sarah pressed her lips together and blew air out her nose. The Bannings’ butler did not think a maid was worthy even of the attentions of a man who directed the orphanage she grew up in. Someday she would disappear to marry a man who had a seat on the board of trade, and Penard would be left mumbling to himself.