24 

Tuesday crept by. Sarah mopped and polished and dusted and served dinner as she did every day, but all the while her mind was on Wednesday evening. Brad had never seen the crimson jacquard dress that flattered her so well. She would wear that, with the silver rose pinned at the neckline.

Sarah had promised Lillie they could sew together on Wednesday afternoon, and she was glad to have something to do to pass the time on her day off, while she waited for the hour when Brad would pick her up at the Lexington.

Lillie had been hard at work and had now started a fifth dress. Sarah inspected the handiwork closely and could find little fault with it.

“You must have spent hours on these dresses,” Sarah said. “Where did you get this blue ribbon? It’s a perfect match.”

“I took it off an old dress,” Lillie said. “I’m going to take the whole dress apart. There’s so much yardage in the skirt that we’ll probably be able to make two dresses out of it for the girls. It’s perfectly good, just out of style.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Sarah responded. Lillie would never suspect that the suit her friend was wearing had been taken apart and reassembled in just such a manner.

“Maybe there are sisters who would like matching dresses! Or best friends.”

“I’ll make inquiries,” Sarah said agreeably.

“I can’t wait for my sewing machine to arrive.” Lillie settled into a chair with a pink and green floral project in her lap. “We’ll be able to get so much more done.”

“I suppose it would be faster.”

“Surely your dressmaker uses one,” Lillie said.

Sarah shook her head. “No, I’m certain she prefers to sew by hand. With a machine you can make a mistake before you realize it and ruin the client’s fabric.” Sarah had caused a run in precious fabric once, more than two years ago. That was a mistake she would never make again.

“If you ask me, a machine sounds grand. All the stitches are guaranteed to be even in length and equal in tension,” Lillie said.

Sarah laughed. “You sound like an advertisement.”

“I don’t care.” Lillie tossed her head. “The important thing is getting the work done for the sake of the children. Oh, Serena, I wish you could have been at Lucy Edwards’s luncheon. She’s doing so much, and she wants to do so much more! You just have to meet her.”

“Were there many people?” Sarah asked cautiously.

“Just Lucy, me, and six other young women. And Mr. Tewell, of course. But I suppose you met him when you communicated that we were sewing dresses.”

“Yes, of course.” Sarah turned her face away and reached for a spool of thread. Now Lillie had met Lucy and Simon.

“He mentioned the same sewing class Lucy told me about when I first met her,” Lillie continued. “He invited me to visit. It meets on Friday afternoons. I’d like to go. Why don’t you come with me?”

Sarah shifted. “Wouldn’t it be better to spend the time actually sewing? We’d just be in the way.”

“I believe the invitation is sincere,” Lillie said. “I want to go.”

“I know you want to be personally involved,” Sarah said, her heart racing, “but going to a class someone else is teaching may be a bit much. You should find your own niche.”

“You always say that. But it can’t hurt to observe what someone else is doing. I might get an idea what my niche is.” Lillie groaned. “Oh no! I just remembered Mother arranged for a portrait painter to come on Friday. It’s to be our first sitting. She’ll have a fit if I suggest rescheduling.”

“You should sit for the portrait,” Sarah urged. “It’s important to your mother.”

“I suppose I must this week. But it doesn’t always have to be Friday. Surely we can find another mutually convenient time during the week for the next sitting. I’m determined to visit that class. I do wish you would reconsider and come with me, Serena.”

“Have you got any yellow thread?” Sarah asked. “I’m going to finish this hem, then I have to go. Brad is taking me out.”

“Brad! Serena, why didn’t you say something sooner? Where are you going tonight?”

“Unfortunately, it’s another political affair.” Sarah fiddled with a needle. “He promises that after the election things will be better.”

“At least you get to see him,” Lillie said. “What are you going to wear?”

Sarah breathed relief and let Serena answer the question.

Simon fingered the advertisement for the textile show for the twentieth time. He had never heard from Sarah and had no reason to think her silence meant anything but turning him down. Now it was too late to send a note with a fresh invitation.

He wished he had not let himself hope. When she had not immediately turned down his invitation to the textile show, Simon allowed himself to imagine she might agree to accompany him—out in public, without the cover of two dozen children as an excuse. In truth she had never given him any reason to hope for anything. Yet he had. He just had to wait for her to see in herself what he saw in her—what God saw in her.

Sarah sat alone in a chair on the perimeter of the room. In the hour since they arrived, Brad had spent perhaps twelve minutes at her side. Every time he turned around, someone was whisking him off to meet another visiting Republican dignitary. The first couple of times, he introduced Serena Cuthbert and kept her on his arm. After that he simply begged her indulgence and promised to return as quickly as possible, leaving her to smile at a roomful of strangers.

She took odd comfort in the fact that most of the people did not know anyone either. An inventory of the room from a safe corner convinced Sarah no one present had ever crossed paths with Sarah Cummings. She relaxed into Serena. The crimson jacquard gown had a scooped neckline, and, as she often did, Sarah had lowered it another inch when she fitted it to her own form. A dusty rose silk faille shawl draped off the ends of her shoulders. Sarah recognized a few people from previous outings with Brad and made sure Serena was cordial and greeted them by name. Emma Pearce was there with her husband, just as chatty as she had been every other time she saw Serena. She was harmless, Sarah thought, just too talkative and prone to flit from one conversation to another without ever finishing anything.

With a glass of punch in her hand, Sarah watched Brad from across the large room. She could not help wondering if he had political aspirations himself. He remembered everyone’s name, always had a ready smile, and held an articulate opinion on any subject tossed before him. He charmed the women, who would surely influence their husbands to vote for him even though they could not do so themselves. She could so easily imagine herself at his side, confident she understood more about politics now than she had two months ago. She certainly understood that a beautiful, supporting wife was a requirement. Serena Cuthbert could fill the role.

Sarah wandered out through the French doors leading to a terrace and looked up at the night sky. This was the same sky she had gazed at in quiet midnight moments from the fourth floor of St. Andrew’s Orphanage, the same sky she saw from the courtyard in back of the Banning house, but it was an entirely different view. Under this sky, now, was a city of promise calling her from the future. Serena Cuthbert was ready to answer.

Sarah leaned on a brick ledge and listened to passing carriages, fragments of conversation, the string quartet tuning and getting ready to play.

“Here you are, Serena!”

Sarah turned to find Brad standing between the open French doors, light from inside streaming around his handsome height.

“I just thought I’d take a bit of air,” she said.

He walked toward her. “I had hoped this evening would be more fun for you.”

“It’s fine. I’m having a lovely time. I chatted with Emma Pearce and a few others. But mostly I’m just happy to get to see you.” Sarah’s pulse quickened.

He settled next to her at the ledge, and they turned toward one another. His breath grazed her face in the shadow of an overhang. Sarah dropped her glance, then lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. This could be the moment he kissed her for the first time.

She hoped so.

Brad took her hand and lifted it to his lips—not the kiss she anticipated.

“I must speak with a few more people,” he said. “I’m sure you would enjoy some refreshment with my friend Mr. Curtis. He’s just arrived—late—and he’s here alone. You can relax and enjoy the string quartet while I finish my business.”

Her lip quivered as she stifled the impulse to complain. Sarah would complain. Serena would do whatever it took. Too many other women would line up for the attentions of Bradley Townsend if Serena were anything less than gracious. They walked back inside together and Brad led the way to a man slightly older than Brad who was sitting alone.

“Miss Cuthbert, I’m pleased to introduce you to Mr. Francis Curtis.”

Mr. Curtis stood. “I’ve heard so much about you, but I have not had the pleasure of meeting you. I was beginning to think Miss Cuthbert was a figment of Brad’s imagination.”

Sarah laughed while her stomach took a twist. This man had sat at the lunch table with Leo.

That was weeks ago, she told herself. He would not remember her. After all, Thom Powell had been at the same lunch and danced with Serena Cuthbert with no suspicions.

“It’s almost time!” Edith Wagner announced on Friday at lunch. “Our first mother and daughter portrait sitting.”

Lillie smiled. “Are you sure you’ve found the right artist?” She was not sure why this portrait was so important to her mother, but it seemed harmless enough to sit for it.

“He comes highly recommended. He has references from some of the finest families.”

“Then I’m sure he’ll do a splendid job. I’ll change right after lunch.” Her mother had been explicit about the pale green gown Lillie was to wear for the portrait.

Mrs. Burnett, the housekeeper, entered the dining room with a small silver tray. “A message arrived, madam.”

Edith picked up the envelope and opened it. She read the note and threw her hands up. “He has fallen ill!”

“Who?”

“The artist, of course. He has been unwell all week and sends his regrets. We will have to reschedule.”

“I’m so sorry, Mother. I know how much you were looking forward to beginning.” Lillie squelched a smile. Friday afternoon yawned open for something she was far more interested in.

Sarah unfurled the green crepe on the table. Jane’s eyes widened and her lips hinted at a smile. They were alone in the classroom.

“Are you sure I can catch up?” Jane asked. “Everyone else is nearly finished.”

“Some of the girls are working faster than others,” Sarah said. “You learned the stitches when we began and you did a beautiful job. I’m sure you can make a skirt every girl will admire.”

“I’ve never had anything like this before.” Jane stroked the fabric. “So smooth, so cool. Are you sure it’s practical?”

“Won’t it be enough that it’s pretty?” Sarah asked.

“Around here everything is supposed to be practical and sturdy.”

Jane was right. The crepe was not practical. She had said so herself the day Simon first showed her the donated fabrics. But giving it to Jane was worth the delight in the girl’s eyes.

“You deserve it,” Sarah said.

She heard footsteps slow in the hall, and the swish of a skirt, but she turned to the cupboard. “Let’s find some thread for you to use. I think I saw a spool that is a very close match.”

As she pulled the basket of threads from the cupboard and handed it to Jane, she heard more swishing. She looked up this time.

Lillie.

She was supposed to be sitting for a portrait. Sarah was supposed to have another week to distract Lillie from visiting the class.

The two women stared at each other. Sarah’s heart battered against her chest, and words failed.

“Sarah, I don’t see any green thread,” Jane said. “Is there another basket?”

“I . . . sorry,” Lillie said, “I am. . . .”

Sarah burned under her friend’s inspection. She wore a simple broadcloth skirt and blouse, nothing to suggest Serena Cuthbert, and the confusion in Lillie’s eyes was unmistakable. Sarah licked lips suddenly gone dry.

“I remember you,” Jane said. “You’re Miss Wagner.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Lillie answered. “You’re Jane.”

Sarah busied herself rearranging fabric in the cupboard.

“Are you here for our class?” Jane asked.

“I thought I might observe. I wanted to meet your teacher.”

“She’s right here,” Jane said. “Miss Sarah Cummings.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Miss Cummings,” Lillie said.

Sarah heard the edge in Lillie’s voice scrape the sheen off friendship. She swallowed and turned to face Lillie. “Welcome, Miss Wagner.” She nudged Jane’s elbow. “Jane, would you please let the other girls know we might be starting a few minutes late while Miss Wagner and I talk?”

“What about cutting out my skirt?”

“We’ll still do it,” Sarah said. “Just give me a few minutes, please.”

Jane looked from Sarah to Lillie with a puzzled expression, but she straggled out of the room.

“Sarah Cummings?” Lillie’s jaw set firm. “You look remarkably like my good friend Serena Cuthbert.”

Sarah opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Have you taken on a second identity to teach this class?” Lillie demanded. “Are the orphans not good enough for Serena Cuthbert?”

“That’s not exactly the way it happened.” Sarah gripped the back of a chair.

Realization dawned on Lillie. “You really are Sarah Cummings. You’re the girl Lucy Edwards talked about at lunch on Tuesday.”

Sarah said nothing.

“Do you work here?” Lillie asked.

Sarah shook her head. “I just come in to teach this class.”

“I don’t understand.”

Sarah moistened her lips, considering her options. Her chest ached for breath. “I’m the parlor maid for the Bannings. I only come here on Friday afternoons.”

“The parlor maid! Then who is Serena Cuthbert?” Lillie asked.

“I am,” Sarah answered swiftly.

“But you can’t be both.”

“Why not? Serena is as real to me as she is to you.”

“Apparently she’s not nearly as real as I believed.”

“Lillie, please, I can explain. Try to understand.”

“What I understand is that I came here expecting to meet a talented young sewing teacher, and I discover my best friend is someone I don’t know the first thing about.”

“The girls will be here any minute,” Sarah said. “Let’s talk later.”

“I don’t see that we have anything to discuss.” Lillie swished her skirts out of the room as the girls’ voices wafted and giggled in the hall.