31 

It’s nice to have all the fuss of the election behind us,” Flora Banning said at dinner on Thursday evening. “Now we can get on with our lives.”

Sarah calmly removed Flora’s meat plate. Everyone had finished nibbling at the crown pork roast with apple-walnut stuffing. Mrs. Fletcher had prepared two roasts for the weekly family dinner. Glancing around the table, Sarah moved from Flora’s place to her sister, Violet Newcomb. Will and Lucy were there—thankfully without the children—and Oliver and Pamela sat in their usual spots. Leo had brought Christina Hansen to dinner again. This was the fourth time now, Sarah calculated. He must be serious about her.

She used to wonder what it would be like to meet Brad’s family. But she never would. A sigh escaped as she collected the next plate.

“Now we just have to wait for Mr. McKinley to take office,” Samuel Banning said.

“That’s hardly going to solve everything,” Violet said. “The Democrats have a strong presence in Congress. They are sure to make their voice heard on economic questions.”

“Everything will be sorted out,” Oliver said. “Money will start flowing again without getting mixed up in the silver business.”

“I wonder if the ranchers and miners of Colorado would share your sentiment.” Violet Newcomb leaned back in her chair, but kept a firm gaze on Oliver.

“The backbone of the economy is manufacturing and industry,” Oliver countered. “Wouldn’t you agree, Leo?”

“Manufacturing and machinery are changing rapidly,” Leo said. “It’s difficult to predict the implications for the labor force.”

“As long as men like Pullman and Armour can fund their businesses, workers will be employed and the economy will recover.”

Lucy spoke up. “I hesitate to speak unkindly of a neighbor, but Mr. Pullman is not the most popular of employers. Surely you haven’t forgotten the mess caused two years ago when the railroad workers went on strike against Mr. Pullman.”

“He is not immune to the recession. He was just trying to keep his business open and profitable,” Oliver said.

“By cutting the pay of his workers and sending them into squalor while he lives in that never-ending monstrosity across the street?”

“Lucille Eleanor!”

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat at the tone in Mrs. Banning’s voice. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. With two plates still to collect, she reached delicately between Lucy and Will.

“I’m sorry, Mother.” Lucy tempered her voice. “I mean you no disrespect. It seems to me, though, that the bottom line of big business is not the answer to every need. A measure of humanity would go a long way. Every person deserves to be treated with dignity. Is that too much to ask?”

“I do wish Richard would write more often,” Flora said. “Is it so much trouble to send his mother a letter?”

As Sarah carried the plates to the sink in the butler’s pantry and Mr. Penard entered with the vegetables tray, table conversation drifted to family matters.

Sarah swallowed, Lucy’s question suspended in her mind. Was dignity too much to ask from Brad?

Sarah opened the big red door of St. Andrew’s the next afternoon and paced down the hall to the offices. She was not looking forward to facing Simon.

Jane stepped into the hall from Lucy’s office. “He’s not here.”

“Oh. Hello, Jane. Actually, I’m glad to catch you.” The thought of talking to Jane put a lump in Sarah’s stomach, but the relief of not seeing Simon bolstered her. She would face one difficult conversation at a time.

“I’m sure Miss Lucy will open the room for you.” Jane started to turn away.

“I’d like to talk to you first.” Sarah reached for the girl’s shoulder.

“I have papers to put away. I’ll tell Miss Lucy you’re here.”

Jane disappeared before Sarah could protest further. Skirts rustled and feet scuffled within the office, and in a moment, Lucy appeared with a key in her hand. A few minutes later, Sarah stood in the classroom alone. After putting down her tapestry bag and removing her hat, Sarah shifted to the cupboard and began extracting projects the girls had been working on.

The green crepe lay on the third shelf, now in the form of a skirt basted together with one side seam carefully stitched and the other awaiting attention. Pressing her lips together and setting her jaw, Sarah pulled the project out of the cupboard and marched back down the hall to the offices. Lucy sat at her desk, and Jane was sorting papers on a long table.

Lucy looked up. “Did you forget something?”

“I’d like to speak to Jane about her project.” Sarah held out the green fabric.

“I’m busy,” Jane mumbled.

“It’s all right, Jane.” Lucy caught Sarah’s eye. “The work will wait a few minutes. Why don’t you use Mr. Tewell’s office?”

With a grunt, Jane released her clench on the papers in her hand and laid them on the table. She followed Sarah into Simon’s office. Jane closed the door and crossed her arms.

Sarah moistened her lips and swallowed. This is where Simon had first kissed her—where the confusion began. His scent hung in the air, his presence nearly palpable. She saw the indentations his form had left in the leather desk chair from years of use. A coffee cup still held brown liquid, and he had laid a pen on the desk without putting it away in its holder, as if he would be right back.

“That’s my skirt.” Jane pointed at the green crepe.

“It’s not a skirt yet.” Sarah roused to the moment. “It’s only half-stitched—useless at this stage. But it can still be a skirt if you come back to class.”

“I don’t need it anyway.” Jane pivoted away from Sarah, arms still crossed.

“But you want it, don’t you?” Sarah was betting on the answer to that question.

“I don’t get everything I want,” Jane said. “I’m going to throw away my journal. Burn it!”

“Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for,” Sarah cautioned.

Jane spun around and glared at Sarah. “You’re not even sorry! After everything you’ve done, everything that’s happened, you’re not even sorry!”

Sarah took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t intend to, and it doesn’t mean you have to give up your dreams.”

Jane’s glare persisted.

Sarah smoothed the green crepe. “Your life might not turn out like the journal, but it can be a good life.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t believe that for yourself.” Jane rounded the desk and plopped into Simon’s chair. “If you believed what you say, then you wouldn’t be ashamed of your own name.”

Sarah nodded. Jane’s words stung. “You’re a wise young woman, Jane.” She held out the green crepe. “Forget about me. What do you want from your life? Come back to class and consider the future.”

Jane reached out and snatched the fabric. “I’ll think about it, but I might have learned everything I can from you.”

Sarah took three deep breaths under Jane’s slapping glare. Sarah may have scrambled her own life, and she might never make things right with Simon, but she did not want to be responsible for muddling Jane’s future.

“Am I interrupting?” Lillie stuck her head in Simon’s office and looked from Jane to Sarah, their eyes fixed on each other across the width of the room.

Sarah turned. “Come in, Miss Wagner.”

Lillie stepped tentatively into the office. Something was wrong. “When I didn’t see you in the room, I wondered if everything was all right. Mrs. Edwards said you were in here.”

Jane folded the green crepe over one arm. “I’ll go now.”

Lillie watched the girl slip out of the room, her shoulders drooping unevenly and her step sluggish.

“Is she all right?” Lillie asked.

Sarah moved toward the window. “I tried to talk to her.”

“About the journal? It was hers, wasn’t it?”

Sarah’s response faltered. “About . . . dreams.”

Lillie moved farther into the room. “Yes, I suppose the two of you would have a lot to talk about.” She let a bag slide off her shoulder in a deliberate choice to let that thread of conversation go. She brightened her tone. “I’ve been working on the dresses. I’d like you to look at them and tell me whether they’re good enough to give to Lucy or Mr. Tewell now.”

Sarah turned away from the window and pulled a dress out of the bag. She held it by the shoulders, letting the hem drop. A bit of lace here and there brightened the dark blue broadcloth. Sarah turned the dress inside out and ran a thumb and forefinger over the seams, feeling for knots and gaps. The inspection revealed neat, evenly spaced stitches. She turned the dress right side out again. Lillie’s own heartbeat thudded in her head as she awaited the evaluation.

“It’s beautiful, Lillie,” Sarah said. “You’ve done exquisite work. I can’t even see the hem stitching from the outside.”

“The credit goes to you,” Lillie said, letting out her breath. “Without you I’d still be cross-stitching table linens instead of making something practical.”

“Table linens are practical. You’ll need them when you and Paul have your own home.”

“You know what I mean.” Lillie’s voice wavered. Whatever she thought of Sarah Cummings, Lillie owed her a debt. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lillie.” Sarah riffled through the other dresses in the bag, seven in total. “I have the ones I worked on as well. I’ll get them all together and talk to Mr. Tewell soon about who needs them.”

Lillie hesitated, then said, “There is one more thing, Sarah.” It sounded so odd to use that name. She still was not used to it.

“Yes?” Sarah folded a beige calico dress and picked up a gray-and-green-striped garment.

“I promised I wouldn’t say anything to Brad, and I haven’t.” What Lillie was about to say could shatter the woman before her, whatever her name.

“Thank you,” Sarah said. “I appreciate it more than you know.”

“However, I did not promise not to tell you if I heard something.” Lillie hated to think of the pain her words might cause.

Sarah looked at Lillie expectantly as she laid one dress on top of another and took a third from the bag.

“It may just be a rumor.” Lillie began to pace around the office. “I have no business repeating it.”

“Lillie, just spit it out,” Sarah said. “Surely we’re past the point of pretenses with each other.”

“Yes, we are.” Lillie stopped pacing, leaned on the credenza with her hands behind her, and looked squarely at Sarah. “In spite of what has happened between us, I can’t stand the idea of your being hurt.”

“Thank you, Lillie.” Sarah’s motions had slowed. “What do you need to tell me?”

“The rumor is that Bradley Townsend has been courting a woman in Lockport. Occasionally she comes into the city, but more often he goes out there. He goes on the train. It’s someone he has known for a long time, so he stays overnight with her family when he visits.”

Lillie watched the color seep out of Sarah’s face and into her neck. Her impulse was to move toward Sarah, but she resisted.

“I don’t know for sure,” Lillie said. “I have no proof, not even a name, but I think he may be there right now.”

“He did say he had to go out of town,” Sarah mumbled. Lillie could barely hear her.

“I don’t know what’s between you and Brad right now,” Lillie said quietly, “but I thought you should know. From what I have heard, it is a serious relationship that their parents approve of.”

Sarah licked her lips. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I don’t want you . . . just . . . don’t do something foolish.”

Sarah picked up the stack of dresses with an overly deliberate gesture. “I should get back to the classroom. The girls will be coming soon.”

“I want to see how the sewing machine works today.” Melissa burst through the classroom door. Several other girls arrived in Melissa’s wake.

Sarah put a smile on her face. “I figured it out last week.” She was glad to have something specific to focus on after hearing Lillie’s news.

It should not have surprised her. What Lillie reported certainly explained events in recent weeks.

“Can I learn, too?” Mary Margaret asked.

“You can all learn.” Sarah moved toward the machine. “I’ll show you how to thread it. If you don’t get that right, it will just be a big mess.”

Sarah glanced toward the door, hoping for a flash of green crepe. She sat in the chair at the sewing machine while four of the older girls gathered around her. “You have to be careful,” she said. “You can put a needle through your finger faster than you can blink.” Two more girls straggled in.

She demonstrated how to thread the machine, then pulled the thread out and let Melissa try. Each of the four girls took a turn trying out the treadle while younger girls found their projects and arranged threads and scissors on the work table.

Sarah had just about given up when Jane stood in the doorway at last, the green crepe draped over one arm.

Sarah slung the tapestry bag over her shoulder. It was fuller now with Lillie’s dresses. She had briefly considered just setting them in a cabinet but decided to take them home and combine them with the ones she had worked on herself. She could present the entire batch as a peace offering to Simon.

Sarah knew she should go straight home, but her steps hesitated at the streetcar stop as it rumbled toward the intersection. If she boarded now, she could catch a smooth transfer to the elevated train. The streetcar heaved to the curb with its bulk and noise, and Sarah got on.

A few minutes later she again stood outside the building, this time with a key in her hand. She felt its shape impressed on her skin inside her fist. And then the allure of the building was too strong, the tug to go up in the elevator irresistible.

The key turned easily in the lock, and she entered apartment 3E. The sparse furnishings were as she had left them three days earlier, but in her mind’s eye, colorful chairs and tablecloths sprang up around them, throw pillows bounced around the room, lamps lit the shadowy corners, floor-length velvet drapes framed the symmetrical windows.

She had wanted everything she imagined now. The maid’s uniform would be a thing of the past as she chose the fabrics and furnishings of her own home.

But she had wanted Brad’s name as well. And he was not offering it. She wanted a ring, and he would not give one. Sarah backed up against a bare wall to quash the shudder that ran from head to toe. As the first tears rolled down her cheeks, she slid to the floor. Surely she had not sunk so low that she would consider what he proposed.

For the proposal—the arrangement—was clear.

Expelling her breath, Sarah recomposed herself and stood up, the key to 3E still in her clammy hand. She thought about simply laying it on one of the tables. She would stop going to the Lexington, just tell Kenny to throw away any more notes for Serena Cuthbert.

“No,” she said aloud to the empty room. “If he is going to shame me, I will tell him to his face.”