22 

The black sky collided against itself and cleaved, spilling electricity into the night.

The thunderous smite was immediate. The window of Sarah’s third floor room clattered in feeble resistance. Despite the rain earlier, when she went to bed she had left the window open in the faint hope of a breeze. Now she gasped and sat bolt upright in bed.

The sky split again.

And again.

Sarah felt the spray of rain through the open window. She pushed back the clammy sheet and stepped tentatively across the small room. Outside, rain dropped in a torrent and thrust down the Avenue. Already branches tumbled in the wind and rolled into the street. In the respite between outbursts of the storm, Sarah listened to the slush and splash of water seeking lower ground.

When the sky lit again, she slammed the window shut and jumped back all in one motion. Now she was wide awake.

Her sleep had been fitful anyway, mired in images of Simon and Jane. Simon losing the battle not to stare at her while he sat at the Banning table. Jane’s brown eyes looming on the brink of misery. Simon noticing Sarah’s every movement, even the purely ordinary. Jane’s slight form under a threadbare sheet. Simon at his desk, thoughtful with the end of a pen between his lips in that illuminated instant before he realized she was in the doorway. Jane’s fingers sliding on the green crepe. Simon’s words saying one thing, and his eyes pleading something else.

The storm was almost a relief.

Sarah was not the only one up. Shuffling footsteps and murmuring voices drifted in from the hall. With another crack of lightning came the sensation that Sarah did not like being on the top floor of the house during an electrical storm. She stepped to the door, opened it, and saw Mrs. Fletcher, Mary Catherine, and Elsie huddled.

“So we’re all up,” Mrs. Fletcher said.

“Yes, at three o’clock in the morning!” Mary Catherine wailed.

“We might as well go have some warm milk,” the cook said. “This storm is nowhere near finished. Find a shawl or something, all of you.”

No one argued. The three maids ducked back into their rooms and returned with the robes and summer shawls of modesty. Mrs. Fletcher led the way down to the kitchen with an old kerosene lamp. No one was eager to touch an electric switch.

Sarah lit the gas stove while Mrs. Fletcher poured milk in a pan.

They all jumped at the sound of footsteps in the back hall.

“It’s only Karl.” Sarah let her breath out and lifted the lamp.

“Are the grooms and coachmen all up as well?” Mary Catherine asked.

Karl nodded. “One of the horses spooked and made a racket. We got him soothed, but now everyone’s awake.”

“The whole city is probably awake,” Sarah said.

“There are sure to be fires,” Karl said. “Lightning like that always does damage.”

Thunder roared again, and electricity flashed and sizzled outside the house.

“I’m not sure there’s any point in going back to bed.” Sarah now stirred the warming milk.

“We’ll all be dead on our feet tomorrow,” Mary Catherine moaned. “No one could sleep through that storm. The family must be awake too.”

“Keep your voices down,” Mrs. Fletcher warned. “I don’t want the family getting ideas about pushing annunciator buttons.” She set out mugs for the milk.

The Bannings wandered into the dining room for breakfast slightly later than usual the next morning, but otherwise the pace of the day was as brisk as any Saturday. After breakfast, Sarah cleaned the parlor meticulously and polished the grand piano to a sheen that even Mr. Penard could not fault. The footman, Willard, carried in extra chairs.

Sarah nearly spoke to him, but his eyes gestured over her shoulders just in time. Flora Banning was right behind them.

“I want all the seating positioned to face the piano,” Flora said. “My daughter will be playing for Miss Travers.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the footman said.

“We will move the settee, of course,” Flora said, pointing.

We. Sarah glanced at the footman. What Mrs. Banning meant was that Willard would move the heavy settee.

“Sarah,” Flora said, “make sure to raise the lid of the piano and then stand back to see if you missed any spots.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Willard, see what you can do with the seating and I’ll be back in a few minutes to determine if it’s adequate. We need to seat seventeen.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Flora swept out of the room.

“Seventeen,” Willard muttered. “I didn’t know there were that many people in Chicago who liked opera.”

“Don’t be ignorant.” Sarah gave the piano a final swipe. “The critics say Miss Travers has exceptional talent. I read it in the paper myself. It’s an honor for the Bannings to have her in their home.”

“It’s still opera.” Willard leaned into one end of the settee and shoved.

Sarah wondered what Brad Townsend thought about opera. If he invited Serena Cuthbert to a performance at the Auditorium Theater, she knew just the gown she would wear.

At three-thirty in the afternoon, Miss Travers arrived. Ten minutes later Lucy appeared, and the duo practiced behind closed parlor doors. Sarah laid the elaborate table with the gold-rimmed china and monogrammed white linen napkins. The table was extended to its full length to accommodate the diners.

At four-forty, the doorbell chimed with the first guests. Sarah was putting the finishing touches on the dinner table, a miniature vase with a single yellow rose next to the water goblet at each place setting.

Mr. Penard opened the front door, and Elsie took up her post. Flora Banning floated across the foyer to greet her guests. Sarah could not help but glance toward the front door to see who had arrived. First came the Herricks from two blocks south on Prairie Avenue, and right behind them were the Starkweathers from Calumet Avenue. Elsie took the light shawls the women carried, collected their hats, and politely inquired if they required her attentions. Conversation rapidly moved to the storms that had wakened the Banning staff and been the primary topic of conversation whenever any of the staff had been outside during the day.

“We’re fortunate not to have more damage in our neighborhood,” Mrs. Herrick commented. “The streetcars, telegraph, telephone lines—everything was put out of order in some parts of town.”

“The barns of the Chicago Railway were struck by lightning,” Mr. Herrick added. “A good chunk of the roof plunged down. It fell right through three stories. They lost four cars.”

Mr. Starkweather scratched his temple. “Nine fire alarms in one hour. The property loss is overwhelming.”

“Leo said he went past Chicago Brick today,” Flora said. “The machinery is buried in debris.”

“At least the storm has passed now,” Mrs. Starkweather said with relief, “and fortunately for us Miss Travers was not delayed.”

Flora’s smile grew wide. “Miss Travers is right behind those doors! Penard, will you see our guests in and let Mr. Banning know we’ll be ready to begin soon?”

Penard opened the pocket doors under the arch that led to the parlor and stepped to one side discreetly to usher the Herricks and Starkweathers in. Lucy rose from the piano to welcome the guests. With a clear view from the dining room and across the foyer, Sarah sneaked a peek at the visiting soprano, whose sapphire gown was the most spectacular silk Sarah had ever seen.

The doorbell rang again, and Penard dutifully crossed the foyer to answer it. Flora still stood in the foyer.

“Ah, you’ve come,” Flora said. “I’m so pleased you could visit our home. Lucy, come meet the Wagners!”

Wagners!

Sarah sucked in a deep breath, abandoned the flowers, and stepped to the side of the room, where she would not be seen from the foyer but had an unobstructed view of the assembling guests. Samuel Banning appeared from his study.

“This is my husband, Samuel, and my daughter, Lucy,” Flora said. “These are the Wagners, Frederic and Edith. They’re new to Chicago. I just met Edith last week at a ladies’ luncheon.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Lucy said. “I believe I’ve already met your daughter.”

“Lillie sends her regrets,” Edith Wagner explained. “She was disappointed not to be able to come, but she had a previous engagement for the evening.” Edith chuckled. “In fact, we’re all hoping it will lead to a formal engagement for the rest of her life.”

When the bell rang again, Sarah hastened across the dining room and took refuge in the butler’s pantry.

She put her hands behind her and leaned against the sink, weak in the knees. Sarah had become Serena Cuthbert and passed the test with people she suspected had never looked at her face. But the Wagners had. Serena had been in their home, sat at their table, told stories of a past that did not exist.

Perhaps they would not look at the face of a servant tonight. Why should they?

What if they did?

Even a glance across the room would be enough to make them look twice. She could not risk it.

Sarah took a deep breath and moved through to the kitchen.

“Is the table ready?” Mrs. Fletcher asked.

“Almost,” Sarah answered. “There’s still time. They won’t even begin the concert for a little while.”

“Why don’t you just finish now and be done with it?” Mrs. Fletcher challenged as she tore lettuce into bits. “We have plenty of other things to do.”

“I will,” Sarah promised. Once the music started, none of the guests would dare leave the parlor during the performance. How to avoid clearing between courses was the more frightening question. The doorbell rang again, reminding Sarah of the gathering guests and the too-familiar faces among them.

“Mary Catherine, where are the beets?” Mrs. Fletcher demanded. She looked around, then flicked her gaze upward. “For that matter, where is Mary Catherine? Sarah, would you get the plates down for the staff dinner? We’ll have to eat in shifts to make sure someone is available to attend to the guests at all times. Mary Catherine, the beets! Where is that girl?”

Sarah moved to the cupboard and took down the dishes. “I can go down to the cellar for beets.”

“Mary Catherine has already gone. That’s the problem. The girl doesn’t have a hurry bone in her whole body.”

Footsteps clicked in the hall, but they were not Mary Catherine’s.

“Ah, there’s Charlotte now,” Mrs. Fletcher said, tilting her head toward the back door.

“I didn’t know she was coming.” Sarah glanced at the door just as Charlotte Shepard stepped through.

Mrs. Fletcher put the bowl of lettuce in the icebox. “I asked Charlotte to help in the kitchen tonight. Penard wants Mary Catherine to work in the dining room. It’s too big a group for you to clear all by yourself.”

Charlotte Shepard unpinned her hat and tossed it into the chair under the window. She pushed both sleeves up. “What can I do to help?”

“Check the potatoes on the stove, please, Charlotte.”

Charlotte moved toward the stove.

Sarah pushed open the butler’s pantry door just wide enough to peer through to the foyer. The Wagners still lingered next to the mahogany table with Lucy. The doorbell rang yet again, and Penard opened the front door. Simon stepped through.

Simon. Again?

Lucy made the introductions. Simon extended his hand, and Frederic Wagner shook it. Enthusiastic tidbits of conversation wafted through the fog of Sarah’s mind.

Lillie.

Volunteer.

Grateful.

Eager.

Suddenly Sarah felt far more than a little shaky. Sarah Cummings and Serena Cuthbert were on a collision course.

Breathless, Sarah withdrew to the kitchen and reached for the plates for the staff meals. Mary Catherine appeared with the beets at last, with Karl in her wake.

“Karl Stenberg,” Mrs. Fletcher said, waving a vegetable knife, “if you’ve been distracting my maid, I’ll have your head.”

Sarah was sure Mary Catherine blushed. The kitchen maid quickly busied herself with the beets. Sarah carried the plates to the wide-planked kitchen table and began to set them around, fearing that her own complexion had blanched, rather than blushed. She felt the tremble in her hand, but could not control it before the first plate clattered against the table.

“Sarah, are you all right?” Karl asked.

How should she answer that?

“I don’t feel quite myself,” Sarah flicked her eyes toward Mrs. Fletcher.

“You have a long evening ahead of you,” Karl observed.

“I know.” Sarah set down the next plate with a little less rattle. An idea flashed. “Mrs. Fletcher, I wonder if Charlotte might serve tonight. I could help you in the kitchen instead.”

“You’ve been fine all day,” Mrs. Fletcher said.

Sarah nodded. “I just started to feel shaky a few minutes ago.”

“Are you sure you can’t make it through the evening?”

“I would hate to drop something in the dining room in the middle of dinner.”

That made the cook stop in mid-motion, a wooden stirring spoon in her hand poised above the soup pot. “Penard would have a conniption fit. None of us would hear the end of it for weeks.”

“Please,” Sarah said simply. “Charlotte knows how Mr. Penard likes things done.”

“I don’t mind serving,” Charlotte interjected. “It would be like the old days. But I didn’t come dressed for it.” She gestured to her simple gray striped dress.

“You can wear one of my uniforms,” Sarah said quickly.

“It will have to be something loose to hide the child,” Charlotte said. “Mrs. Banning might not be as understanding as Lucy is.”

“We’ll find something.”

Mrs. Fletcher grunted. “It’s up to Penard.”

“But you’ll speak to him?”

“I’ll speak to him.”