Four
Merrie ran to her aunt and threw her arms around the stout, red-haired woman. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her father’s sister. “I’m so glad you’re home. The house is too quiet when you’re away.”
Aunt Isabella kissed her cheek, then put her hands on Merrie’s shoulders and stepped back. Her gaze surveyed her niece’s attire. “You’re dressed like a little wren today. Don’t you have any prettier frocks?”
“Of course I do—you’ve provided several lovely gowns.” Her mind raced for an explanation of her decision to wear her plainest dress. “But it seems a shame to neglect this one just because I have others.”
“Hmm. While I’m home, I’ll send for my dressmaker. If you insist on wearing brown, she can create something with ruffles and flounces.”
“While you’re home? Are you leaving again?”
“Yes, fairly soon.” Aunt Isabella looked up at the coachman. “Please don’t unhitch the team, Peters. You need to go to the station and collect my trunks. The baggage master is holding them.”
He touched his cap. “Yes, ma’am. Right away.” Wheels squeaked as he turned the carriage in the drive and headed in the direction of the Illinois Central Railroad Depot.
She turned to Colin, who stood a few feet away holding his hat at his side. “Mr. Thackery. How unusual to see you someplace other than the music room. You and my niece were out for a buggy ride?” Her tone challenged.
Merrie held her breath, wondering how he’d respond.
“It’s a fine morning, Mrs. Daintree. When Miss Bentley suggested I accompany her, I was happy to oblige.”
“And didn’t we set Thursday afternoon as your appointed lesson time?”
Color rose in his face. “I volunteered to add an extra day when necessary.”
“I see.” She put her fingers to her lips, suppressing a smile. “I’m sure we’ve kept you long enough. You probably have other students waiting.”
Alarmed, Merrie placed her hand on Aunt Isabella’s arm. “Mr. Thackery and I have a few things to discuss before he leaves.” She cast a frantic glance at Colin.
“Nonsense, dear. He’ll return on Thursday. In the meantime, Mrs. Wagner has prepared a lovely tea. I’m eager to hear all about your activities. Please excuse us, Mr. Thackery.”
“Certainly.” He bowed in their direction and strode toward the stables.
Biting her lip, Merrie watched him go. By Thursday, he might forget everything Mr. Kipler had told him.
Aunt Isabella’s return couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time.
Merrie followed her aunt into the drawing room, where an elegantly appointed tea awaited them. A tray laden with frosted cake slices, tiny sandwiches, and a bowl of ruby-red cherries graced the center of the table. A silver teapot, surrounded by delicate china cups, sat to one side.
She recognized the cake as one Mrs. Wagner had planned for their evening supper.
The woman was a marvel. Aunt Isabella hadn’t been home more than a couple of hours, yet the housekeeper had produced a light meal worthy of prestigious guests.
Her aunt settled on one of the chairs and helped herself to generous quantities of everything. While she ate, she regaled Merrie with anecdotes about her meetings with legislators in Springfield.
Merrie’s concerns about Colin and Mr. Kipler stole her appetite. She listened to her aunt while she pushed a half-eaten serving of almond cake around on her plate. Then she lifted her tea cup and sipped the fragrant brew, waiting. Sooner or later, her aunt would get around to asking about her whereabouts that morning.
Aunt Isabella finished the last few crumbs of her cake and leaned back in her chair, arms folded across her ample bosom.
Merrie braced herself.
Her aunt patted her lips with her napkin. “Do you and Mr. Thackery often go riding together?” She voiced the question as though it were a casual comment, but Merrie heard the steel beneath the sweet smile.
“Today was the first time, and probably the last, although he is pleasant company. I didn’t believe you minded how I spent my days, as long as I progressed in musical skills.” She matched her aunt’s tone.
“Music isn’t the only area where your father is hoping to see progress. I’m supposed to introduce you to Chicago society so you can make a suitable match.” A smile lifted a corner of her mouth, making her look younger than her fifty-some years. “Not that I always do what my brother asks, but I feel I should at least make an effort.”
Merrie reached across the table and clasped her aunt’s hand. “You’ve been wonderful to me. It’s a blessing to live in your home rather than moving from pillar to post with my parents.”
“I treasure your affection, but you do need to meet with other young ladies and gentlemen of your station. Have you considered the Hyde Park Literary Club? I mentioned the group to you last spring.”
“I went once.” She swallowed, staring at her lap. “It was . . . painful. You know how shy I am with strangers. Almost no one spoke to me.”
“You didn’t act shy with Mr. Thackery.” Her aunt’s eyes held a mischievous glint.
“He’s not a stranger anymore. When he first began my lessons, I could hardly lift my eyes from the keyboard. But he’s very kind and patient—sometimes he even displays a sense of humor. I’m glad you hired him.” As she said the words, she realized how true they were. Aside from moments she could steal to spend writing, Colin’s visits were the high points of her weeks.
Aunt Isabella folded her napkin and laid it beside her empty plate. “Nevertheless, I believe we should pay a call on another of my friends, Mrs. Bunting. Her husband is in the Social Register, and they have an unmarried son a few years older than you are. Elliott, I believe his name is. He recently returned from a trip abroad.”
Merrie blinked back tears. She hated being paraded in front of eligible bachelors as though she were merchandise on display. Even worse, she sensed bachelors disliked the practice as much as she did. If she could be left alone to write, with weekly visits from Colin, her life would be perfect.
Colin rode toward the parsonage. As he left Merrie’s aunt’s home on Ashland Avenue, the houses became noticeably less pretentious until he reached his own neighborhood, where they were downright humble. He led his horse to the stable behind the simple frame house near his father’s church.
The contrast between his home and the estate where Merrie lived seemed sharper today than usual. A girl with her advantages could never be interested in someone like him.
After watering his horse and seeing to it the animal had fresh hay, he walked along the side of the house to the kitchen entrance, screened from the street by a vine-covered lattice. As soon as he stepped inside, his father called a greeting from the parlor.
Colin winced. He’d hoped to have a few quiet moments to write down Mr. Kipler’s instructions. Merrie was depending on him—not that she needed to worry. He had an excellent memory.
“I wonder if you have some free time to accompany me on a house call,” Jeremiah Thackery asked as he entered the kitchen with his coat over one arm. “One of my widowed parishioners is in need of counsel. Or so she says. It’s the third time this month she’s sent her servant to summon me.” His brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I think she’s more interested in finding a husband than receiving advice.”
He studied his father. With his tall, slender build and the distinguished gray streaks in his dark hair, he could see why widows in his congregation had been after him since Colin’s mother died several years ago. So far, none had caught his interest.
“Could this wait for an hour or so? I need to write some notes.”
“Her housemaid came by right after you left this morning. Best if we go now and get it over with.”
He grinned at his father. “Why don’t you marry one of these ladies? That way the rest of them could settle down and pay attention to your sermons instead of your manly good looks.”
“Hmm. Never thought of that. Do you think it might hurt attendance if I’m off the market?” He chuckled and rested his hand on Colin’s shoulder. “In the meantime, are you coming with me or not?”
“Good. While we walk, you can tell me why you went to see the bashful Miss Bentley on a Monday.”
“She was bashful only at first. Once she got to know me, she relaxed.”
His father raised an eyebrow. “No need to be defensive. I meant no disrespect toward the young lady.” His voice gentled. “It won’t do for you to forget your station. You’re her music teacher, not her suitor.”
The reminder stung. For a few moments that morning, he’d come close to imagining there were no such barriers between them.
Merrie sat at the writing desk in her room, where she’d taken her papers following her aunt’s return. She stared at a blank sheet, wishing she knew what Mr. Kipler had told Colin. The blank sheet stared back, but instead of seeing ivory-colored paper, she saw the tender expression on Colin’s face as he’d escorted her from Mr. Kipler’s office. What a good actor. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he cared for her.
Sighing, she pushed to her feet. He’d be here Thursday with his notes on the meeting. With that cheering thought in mind, she stepped to her wardrobe to select a dress for this afternoon’s call on Mrs. Bunting and her son, Elliott.
Aunt Isabella tapped on the doorframe and poked her head into the room. “Peters will have the coach at the door in ten minutes.” She surveyed Merrie’s simple muslin frock. “Surely you’re not wearing that?”
“No.” She draped a white muslin day dress sprigged with pink and green flowers over her arm. “I’ll be dressed in a moment.”
Her aunt nodded approval. “That garment enhances the coppery tints in your hair. You’re sure to make a good impression on the Buntings.”
Merrie’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed a stone. The last thing she wanted was to be on display before yet another bachelor, but she’d keep her objections to herself. As soon as the women’s rights movement beckoned, Aunt Isabella would be off again, and Merrie could resume her peaceful routine of music lessons and writing. Much as she loved her aunt, she could hardly wait for her to leave.