Ida sat perched on the edge of her chair Tuesday morning and told the bees in her stomach to hush. She’d faced grisly wounds and battle-hardened generals with less trepidation than she knew now at the prospect of the room of Charleston society ladies currently before her. For all the easy kinship she felt with Leanne, some days the differences in their backgrounds still loomed like an uncrossable gulch.
Ida came from a large, scrambling family up in the mountains of West Virginia. Leanne came from good Southern stock, a comfortable member of Charleston society. When Leanne finally did leave for Washington—which could only be soon—Ida wasn’t sure how she was going to get along with the six ladies Leanne had recruited. Lord, You’re gonna have to pave the way here, Ida prayed. I’m in over my head.
Find the good. That’s how Mama had taught her to deal with any sticky situation. Ida scanned the room and the refined faces for any trace of positivity. The best thing about the room was the abundance of color and texture. Next to the drab decor of the Parker Home for Orphans, Isabelle Hooper’s gaily colored parlor was a breath of fresh air. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Hooper,” Ida ventured to the afternoon’s hostess. “Such wonderful colors.”
Mrs. Hooper warmed instantly to the compliment. “Why, thank you, dear. You call me Isabelle, now. No need to be so formal.”
“I’m Ida,” Ida replied, still feeling out of place but glad for the welcome in the woman’s kind eyes.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ida,” Isabelle said with a smile as warm as her eyes. “I’m always glad to meet a fellow I. And a knitter, too.”
“I?”
“Ida, Isabelle. Short of an Imogene down on Broad Street, you’re the only other I name I know. There aren’t many of us.”
Ida found herself able to laugh and even manage a deep breath. She reached for the glass of sweet tea Isabelle had set before all the women seated around her parlor. “I suppose that’s true. We ought to look out for each other.” Feeling braver, she managed a wink. “All the other vowels are likely to be jealous, us being so exclusive and all.”
Isabelle fanned herself. “Gracious, but you are a clever one. I do believe we’ll get along just fine.”
She was like Mama, Ida thought to herself, just with fancier trimmings. Welcoming, quick to make a friend and fond of a good laugh. A lump of shame settled in Ida’s stomach where the bees had been. Why had she made assumptions just because Isabelle seemed to be exceedingly well off? Rich folks could be as kind as poor ones, just as poor folks could be as mean as those with wealth. Dr. Parker had allowed her to seek these volunteers and donations of yarn, and that meant rubbing elbows with Charleston’s upper tiers. She was going to have to learn to look at these people by their character, not their ledgers. Still, coming from someone whose entire childhood home could fit inside the living room where she currently sat, it was hard not to feel small and fretful.
“Have you been knitting a long time?” Ida made herself ask, picking up one of the myriad balls of colored yarn that sat in baskets at the center of the circle of women.
“My mother and grandmother were talented knitters. Mother with all kinds of needlework.” Isabelle pointed to a set of exquisitely worked pillows lined up on a settee in the corner. “Those are hers.”
“They’re wonderful.” And they were. It was clear from the designs where Isabelle got her love of color. “Mercy, but I think I’d never let anyone sit on those—they’re worth framing.”
Now it was Isabelle’s turn to laugh, leaning in as if to share a secret. “You’re half-right—no one but Chester is allowed to sit over there.”
Ida was just taking a breath to ask what earned this Chester fellow such special privileges when a dainty white poodle the size of a bread box trotted into the room and hopped onto the couch to settle himself in a space she only now realized was left between the groupings of pillows.
“Yes.” Isabelle chuckled as she answered Ida’s unasked question, “That would be Chester. He doesn’t take up much space, so I indulge him.”
Given the twinkle of affection in Isabelle’s eyes, Ida guessed that Chester must live a very indulgent life indeed. “I had a dog once, growing up,” she offered. “They are grand company.” She pictured Spud, the loud and wiry mutt she and her brothers chased growing up. It was hard to categorize Spud and Chester as members of the same species. Still, dogs were indeed great company, which made Ida wonder if the good Dr. Parker would ever consent to something so unpredictable as pets on the Home grounds. She couldn’t see it—the man had been forced to stretch his mind to embrace colored socks, never mind something that ate and barked and required cleaning up after. Still, she could almost picture the delight in the children’s eyes were they to get a visit from well-behaved Chester. How much trouble could an occasional visit from such a small dog be? “If you ever deliver your socks in person to the Home, would you bring Chester?”
The idea raised Isabelle’s gray eyebrows. “Chester?”
“The children have no pets, and I think the chance to play with and pet a dog would be such a treat for them. The girls at least. Some of the boys might be a tad rough for a...” She scrambled for the right word to speak of Chester’s rather dandy nature. “...gentlemen like Chester.”
The older woman pondered the idea, one eye squinted in consideration. “I shall have to consider that. I’ve never been to the Home, you know. Of course we give—everyone does—but I’ve never been active in the cause before now. And visit? Well, I don’t mind saying I fear it would be such a dreary place.”
Everyone does not give, Ida corrected silently, remembering a surprisingly frank lament Daniel had recently given her over dwindling contributions. But I aim to change that, one sock at a time.
At that moment, Leanne stood and gathered her notes to begin the formal portion of the gathering.
“Well,” whispered Ida to Isabelle, “it certainly can be dreary, but I like to think we’re about to change that.”
“Thank you, first of all, to the gracious Isabelle Hooper for opening her home to us this morning. I know so many people have fled the heat to The Islands or farther north, but I am delighted to find y’all here and willing. Ida, I wonder if you would tell the story of baby Meredith’s booties. It would help the ladies understand what we’re up against.”
Ida told the story of poor Meredith’s booties and the confrontation those innocent pink feet had launched. She was a good storyteller, and it pleased her to see compassion or humor or sadness reflected in the eyes of her audience. At the right moment, Ida reached into her pocket and produced a lone, sad white sock. Plain, graying and with a lamentable hole in the heel, it seemed to tell the whole story of the Parker Home for Orphans in a single object.
Then, timing it carefully for full dramatic effect, Ida produced Meredith’s booties. Her heart leaped at the oohs and ahhs that erupted from the women, some of whom even clapped. “It breaks my heart to think of all those girls without a single bright, cheerful thing that someone made with love for them. It’s just socks, I know, but didn’t the war teach us that it’s so much more than just socks? I want each of these girls to know someone cares enough to give them something pretty. The scriptures tell us ‘Happy are the feet of those who bring good news.’ I dearly hope you’ll join me in bringing good news and happy feet to these children.”
“Of course we will,” declared Isabelle in such a voice of enthusiasm that it dared any woman in the room to consider otherwise. “If my own feet were any smaller, I’d march you right up to my armoire and dump out my stocking drawer for you to take back this afternoon.”
The room erupted in laughter, and Ida caught Leanne’s eye. It had begun. Leanne handed out single sheets of paper with the instructions written out. “There are three sizes of patterns, but if you have a pattern you know well and can adapt to a size close to one of these, that will work just fine. It’s variety we’re looking for here, so be as creative as you like. At the bottom of each of your sheets is a list of girls. There are six of you here, so we’ve assigned four girls to each of you. Since there are twenty-six girls total, Ida and I will take the final two girls.”
“Look,” said Ida, pointing to the list that had been given to Isabelle, “another I.” How could she have forgotten there was an Ingrid at the Home? Ida was also pleased to see both Gitch’s and Donna Forley’s names on Isabelle’s list. She was growing especially fond of both girls.
“Another I indeed. Perhaps I will need to pay you all a visit. And bring Chester.”
Of course, Dr. Parker would be aghast at the thought of Chester’s appearance at the Home. Ida knew, however, that it would take only one visit for the children to capture Isabelle Hooper’s heart. And if that required the chaos of a little white dog, well then, it was a tiny price to pay.
* * *
“Socks?” Mother looked as if she found the idea preposterous.
“I suppose I ought to be thankful we don’t live in a climate that requires sweaters.” Daniel’s spine stiffened at the look Mother was giving him. They were sitting on the porch again, discussing the Home. Lately his weekly visits to his mother had become a chore. He loved his mother, and was grateful for all the support she’d given him in taking over the Home when his father died, but lately her staunch support had begun to wane as he began to implement his own views. Consciously or unconsciously, it was becoming clear to Daniel that Amelia Parker had expected him to simply replicate his father’s administration. Any divergence from “the way things have always been done”—such as the one he’d just described in Miss Landway’s little project—was met with a scowl.
It had begun to be “Miss Landway’s Little Project” in his head, although every day it seemed less and less “little.” His industrious new nurse did not deserve the look Mother was giving down her nose at the moment. Daniel surprised himself by stooping to name-dropping to gain her approval. “Leanne Sample Gallows—who happens to be a dear friend of Miss Landway’s, by the way—has gathered some very prominent names to lend a hand.”
“However did she manage that?” Mother inquired as though it were an impossible feat, blotting her forehead. Again Daniel was struck by how sour she appeared of late. “Most families of prominence are out of town this time of year.”
Daniel swallowed the “Well, we are not out of town” that was simmering on his tongue. Mother seemed to try his patience so easily lately. His days of fleeing Charleston’s heat for The Islands farther along the coast or up into the cooler mountains for weeks at a time were long gone, surrendered to the weight of his responsibilities. If he was going to live up to his father’s memory, he couldn’t give the Home less than his full time and attention. Besides, he had little reason to wish himself anywhere other than town. The midsummer temperature was decidedly uncomfortable, but Daniel did not fear malaria and other summer-borne diseases the way other Charlestonians did. As for comfort, Daniel welcomed the idea of migrating the full population of the Home to some cooler summer locale one day. Present circumstances, however, gave no indication that such luxuries could come his way anytime soon. The best he could do these days were the pair of treasured concrete bathhouses the Home had off one of the dormitories. The cool, sheltered swimming “holes” made summers bearable at the Home, and while it had been one of his father’s only amenities to the compound, it was certainly the most appreciated.
He took a sip of his coffee, trying again to ignore his mother’s customary glare of bafflement at his beverage preference. He pressed on in the conversation. “Did you know Isabelle Hooper hosted the lady knitting volunteers for their first meeting yesterday?”
“Well, of course I knew that!” Mother snapped, as if the mere hint that she was not aware of all Charleston’s social events would not be tolerated. “She invited me.”
This was news to Daniel. Miss Landway had been dutifully providing him with project updates, asking his opinion on some issues and even waiting for approval before acting on others. She seemed so energized by the progress that he’d come to enjoy and even anticipate her reports. Just a few days ago, Miss Landway had shown him her current work on Mrs. Smiley’s surprise blue slippers, holding them up with a pride of craftsmanship that made him grin. As a matter of fact, Daniel now found himself hiding an amused smile every time Mrs. Smiley complained about her aching feet. Mrs. Smiley’s grousing producing a smile? That alone served as evidence that Ida Landway was proving to be a great asset to the Home.
“You declined Mrs. Hooper’s invitation?” Daniel felt a pinch of annoyance. Normally, Mother had her hand in everything to do with the Home. He didn’t think she could knit, but according to Miss Landway at least one of the recent volunteers was new to the skill and had received many eager offers from potential teachers, so that proved no impediment. No, he suspected his mother’s decline had little to do with yarn and needles, and that bothered him. Whatever bee she had in her bonnet these days, she shouldn’t be taking it out on a project to benefit the orphans.
Mother puffed herself up at his question. “I had a previous engagement.”
Daniel’s annoyance pinched harder. “I’m sure you could still participate. As a matter of fact, I’m positive that a prior engagement needn’t stop you. Mrs. Gallows will be moving to Washington, DC soon and plans to knit her socks there and ship them to the Home.”
“How very dedicated of Mrs. Gallows, bless her heart.” When he grunted his disapproval at the snide tone, Mother squared her shoulders. “I fail to see how such an odd form of support is at all useful. Whyever do the children need colored socks?”
He’d had the same initial reaction, of course, but Miss Landway’s persistent arguments had turned his opinion. He had the uneasy feeling that the nurse would be shifting his opinion on many topics in days to come. Looking at his mother, currently mired in her mental monuments of “how it is done,” Daniel reminded himself that new ideas were worth exploring. The day he couldn’t entertain a new idea that acted for the children’s benefit should be the day he handed over administration of the Home to someone else.
“I don’t think this is about necessity, Mother,” Daniel countered, keeping his voice more pleasant than his current mood. “I’ve come to agree with Miss Landway’s fresh assessment that while the children’s garments are plain and practical, they are without any cheer whatsoever.” He poured himself more coffee, noticing the many colors in his mother’s good china. Was it in fact more pleasant to drink coffee from this cup and saucer than from their more utilitarian Home counterparts? Perhaps. “No one is saying that we don’t meet the children’s physical and educational needs,” he went on, “but Miss Landway believes the Home ought to be a visually joyful place. Happy to look at. Cheerful to be inside. She contends that the environment can sway the children’s mood and outlook. I must say, I’m coming to see her point. We are serving the children in many important ways, but I am open to the idea that we could be more creative in boosting their spirits.”
“Boosting their spirits?” Mother found this as inappropriate as colored socks, evidently.
Daniel leaned in, a little shocked at his own urge to defend a scheme he’d found absurd a mere week ago. “I’m surprised at your reaction, Mother. Do not orphans deserve to be happy? I wouldn’t divert funds from their food or education for this, yes, but if pretty socks give them some pleasure and their creation brings new friends to the Home, I don’t see how I could possibly object.”
When Mother looked as if she might be formulating a list of how he could object, Daniel pressed on. “It serves no useful purpose for you to buy a new hat, but it makes you happy. It is human nature to want beautiful things around us.”
“I am not an orphan.” Her mouth drew into a sour little bow. “I am not surviving on the kindness of others.”
She’d just inadvertently made his point. Daniel did not want the children to merely survive. He wanted them to thrive, to grow into full and healthy adults who contributed great things to the world despite the poor hand war and poverty had dealt them. How had Mother come to lose sight of that goal he knew she once shared with his father?
Daniel put down his coffee. “Mother, you are among the most charitable women I know. I admit, this is unconventional, but we are living in a new age and perhaps new methods are called for. I find I can’t understand your objection.” It was the closest he’d come to an outright challenge of his powerful mother’s position in many months, and he didn’t regret it. Yes, Amelia Parker had once moved philanthropic mountains in Charleston. Still, Daniel couldn’t dispute that in her short time at the Home, Ida Landway had done more for it than his mother had all year. Hadn’t his father once told him, “When God shows you the path, start walking”? It was time Daniel Parker stepped out onto his path.
“I don’t object,” Mother balked, startled by his challenging tone. “I just find it...frivolous.”
“Come to the Home the day the socks are delivered,” Daniel challenged. “I think you will find the children do not agree with you.”
Mother waved him away. “Goodness.” It was her stock reply for when she did not have a reply, and Daniel’s cue that he had won this particular battle. For now.
Walking back from his visit an hour later, Daniel passed by the hardware store to pick up a few things MacNeil had requested. He stopped in front of the window, taken aback by the display. “Montgomery Ward’s Coverall House Paint—the Best Paint for Your Money” the arrangement boasted, showcasing a pyramid of paint cans in two dozen or so colors. The style of painting homes in an array of colors had indeed caught on in recent years, a fashion completely ignored by the Parker Home for Orphans. With amusement, Daniel noted that the paint came in fifty-gallon drums at a considerable discount. With a piercing shame, he noted that the color closest to the Home’s current walls was named #36: Deep Drab. When God shows you the path, start walking.
Daniel walked inside the store.