CHAPTER 5

JUNE 1898

Melinda sat down at the small desk in the corner of her room and picked up her pen. Every day since her return to Cleveland, she had attempted to write to Evan. But with each attempt she had failed. The words simply wouldn’t come. She prayed and prayed that the Lord would give her the perfect words to fill the pages. Finally, those words had become clear, and now she could only hope that Evan hadn’t lost patience while waiting to hear from her.

She knew her concerns were well founded. When she had first returned to Cleveland, a letter arrived almost every day, but over the past week she’d received only one, and it had been brief. Evan ended the letter with two questions. Is all hope lost? Should I quit writing to you?

She began her letter with an apology for her delayed reply. As she continued to write, the words spilled from her pen as though they’d been bottled up in her head for an eternity. She couldn’t seem to write quickly enough to keep up with her thoughts. Thoughts that were far different from the ones she’d had when she’d left Bridal Veil Island.

First let me give you an absolute NO to your latest questions. All hope is not lost, and I very much want you to continue writing to me. I have now had time to consider my actions and have been seeking God’s guidance as to my response. During this time of thought and prayer, I realized that my actions were foolhardy and selfish. I love you and didn’t want to leave the island. I know from your letters that you shared those same feelings. However, when you didn’t ask me to stay, I felt rejected and unloved.

After reading your first letter, it became clear that your reaction was based upon logical and reasoned thinking, while my desire to remain was based upon my emotions and more impracticable nature. The Lord has shown me that your practicality is an excellent virtue and one needed in any good and strong relationship between a . . .

She hesitated, her pen hovering over the page. She didn’t want to say husband and wife—it seemed too presumptuous in this first letter. After all, Evan had declared his love, but he had never uttered the word marriage. “Man and woman,” she whispered. Yes, that would be a much better choice. Once again she began to write.

. . . man and woman. As I have continued to consider your actions, I am most thankful that you had my welfare and concern at heart. The fact that you deeply cared about my comfort and where I could live speaks volumes to me. I do pray that my delayed response has not caused you too much worry. Please know that though we are separated by distance, my heart remains yours.

Once she’d completed her apology and assured Evan of her love, Melinda continued with the happenings at the Mifflin residence since her return. She didn’t know if he would want to read of her worry over Sally’s loose tongue or Mrs. Mifflin’s tiresome behavior, but in the past he had urged her to tell him the small details of her life. Besides, it gave her a safe place to release some of her frustration, frustration that stemmed from her difficulties with both women.

I must close for now. I hope all my ramblings have not put you to sleep. I will have less to write next time, for I promise I will not wait long before posting another letter. Remember that I love you and eagerly await the time when we can once again be together.

With love and devotion,
Melinda

Mrs. Mifflin was in her glory. There was no other way to explain the woman’s euphoria. Because most members of Cleveland society had been vacationing elsewhere during the winter, word of Mrs. McKinley’s arrival and the tea being hosted at the Mifflin residence didn’t circulate until one week prior to the big event.

Melinda wasn’t certain what pleased her mistress the most. The fact that she was hosting the president’s wife in her home or the fact that she’d been able to keep the secret from leaking out ahead of time. There was no denying that her friends were more than a little impressed—and more than a little envious.

When Mrs. McKinley’s letter arrived saying that she and her two servants would be delighted to stay at the home of the Mifflins rather than take lonely rooms in a hotel, Mrs. Mifflin had shown the letter to all of her acquaintances. “Ida and I have always been very close—like sisters,” she would say while tucking the letter back into its official envelope. When further questions arose, she would respond as if she weekly corresponded with the president’s wife, though Melinda had never seen any such letters. And with Sally checking the mail, Melinda knew she would have heard about regular correspondence from the executive mansion.

Mrs. Mifflin was basking in the attention, accepting every invitation to call on her society friends prior to Mrs. McKinley’s arrival. Today she was to pay a call on Lucy Hollister. As with all of her other visits, she insisted Melinda accompany her.

Although Melinda had requested permission to remain at home, her mistress didn’t relent. “You know I don’t like to pay calls by myself.”

That had been the end of the discussion. Now Melinda dutifully sat beside her mistress as the carriage delivered them to the mansion of Hubert and Lucy Hollister. She supposed she should be grateful for the privilege of attending such affairs. To act as personal maid or companion to a woman of society was a great honor. Scullery maids and mere household servants would never see such moments, except from the serving side. Even so, these events were a painful reminder of the life she’d once had.

“Now, do not forget, if asked, that Ida and I have been the dearest of friends since our youth.” Mrs. Mifflin’s proud bearing mirrored her tone. “You may even let it drop in conversation, should you be addressed, that I’ve been invited to the White House on many occasions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Melinda knew better than to comment further.

Once inside the house, Melinda was directed to a chair in the far corner of the parlor while the two matrons shared tea near the fireplace and Mrs. Mifflin spun stories of her close friendship with the president’s wife.

“My Hubert says the president’s wife suffers from poor health, and he doubts she’ll actually be well enough for a visit to Cleveland next week.”

Surprised when Mrs. Hollister raised her voice enough to be heard in the far corners of the room, Melinda looked up from her stitching. Mrs. Mifflin’s smile disappeared, and her shoulders lifted to a squared angle that would have made a military officer proud. “Her health has been failing for some years now, so I’ve alerted Dr. Braden to be at the ready.” She spoke with such authority that even Melinda had believed her reply—until they returned to the carriage.

“Drive us to Dr. Braden’s office, Matthew,” she said.

Melinda lightly grasped the woman’s arm before they stepped up into the carriage. “Wouldn’t it be easier to telephone the doctor from home? His office is quite some distance from here, and I know there is much you wish to accomplish before Mr. Mifflin returns home for the evening.”

Mrs. Mifflin stiffened at the suggestion. Melinda sighed. Like most of the wealthy women of Cleveland, Mrs. Mifflin had insisted upon having a telephone in their home. However, she and the other women seldom used the device. Word had quickly passed among them that the operators listened in on all of the calls and were quick to repeat everything they heard.

“Calling on that telephone would be no different than telling Sally I was going to Dr. Braden’s office. Everyone in Cleveland would know before I even arrived at his office.” She pressed her hand to her chest as she settled on the carriage seat. “I didn’t realize Ida had succumbed to poor health—she said nothing in her letter. However, I don’t want anything to go awry while she’s staying at our house.” She glanced at Melinda from beneath hooded eyes. “And since I’m going directly to the doctor’s office, my comment to Lucy wasn’t really a falsehood.”

Melinda didn’t respond. If Mrs. Mifflin believed it so, nothing Melinda said would change her mind. Instead, Melinda thought of her own mother, who had been so much more giving and gracious than Mrs. Mifflin or her friends. Yet Melinda’s mother had held just as respectable a position in society. But unlike most of them, her mother had cared about people. Melinda could remember her mother once sitting up all night with their housekeeper when the poor woman had caught influenza. Other times, she remembered her mother’s generosity with the servants—giving them extra food to take home to family members and giving them generous bonuses every holiday.

The memory made Melinda more melancholy than she already was. How she missed her mother and father. The years since their deaths had flown by in many ways; in others it seemed that just yesterday she had been sitting beside her mother in a carriage just like this.

“Remember, Melinda, mercy is always better than pride. People will say and do things with which you will take umbrage, but it is always better to err on the side of mercy. Mercy gives, where pride takes.”

Melinda nodded as if hearing her mother speak the words once again. Life with Mrs. Mifflin had snuffed out a great deal of Melinda’s merciful thoughts. She didn’t like to admit it, but Mrs. Mifflin’s influence had not exactly been good. Melinda knew herself to be judgmental and critical. She thought of Evan. She’d even been critical with him—questioning his love for her—placing expectations on their relationship that she had no right to infer.

She sighed. Lord, help me to be more merciful. Help me to be more like Mother and less like Mrs. Mifflin.

Evan entered the hunting lodge and removed his hunting boots. Delilah rubbed against his pant leg and greeted him with a purr. “It’s good to see you, too, Delilah.” He reached down and scratched the cat behind her ears.

There had been four men on the hunt today, each an avid sportsman. In truth, the four of them could have done quite well without Evan, but rules were rules, and one of his primary jobs during the season was to lead all of the hunts. For some groups he needed to be an instructor as well as a guide. Today’s group required neither. He’d been pleased, albeit somewhat surprised, that they had embraced him as a fellow hunter rather than an employee.

Of course, he’d worked at Bridal Veil long enough to know that much depended upon the mix of guests on each hunt. Although these men had treated him as an equal today, if one or two of them hunted with different guests in the future, their behavior would likely be less friendly. It was the way of things among the wealthy visitors, and Evan had learned to accept it.

When he’d first arrived, Harland had said, “Always remember that we may all be equal in God’s eyes, but our employers don’t see things that way.” Evan had never forgotten Harland’s words of caution.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps on the front porch and greeted Harland as the older man walked inside.

“Heard you had a good hunt. Mr. Mossman told me the group got their limit of duck and quail. He also said you were an excellent guide and he plans to tell Mr. Morley you are one employee they shouldn’t ever lose.” A wide grin spread across Harland’s face. “That should make up for any comments you’ve had from the come-latelys.”

Evan nodded. “I suppose it does. Thanks for telling me, Harland.” He picked up his hunting boots. “I’m going to take these upstairs and get my work boots. Think I’ll stop at the dining room on my way to the barn and see if the mail’s been dropped off.”

“No need. I’ve already been there.”

Evan’s hopes plummeted. The happiness he’d felt only moments earlier vanished like a morning mist. “In that case, I’ll go get my work boots and go to the barn.”

“You might want to read this first.” Harland reached into his back pants pocket and removed an envelope. “I saw this on the table and took the liberty of picking it up. Didn’t reckon you’d mind.”

Evan stared at the envelope, unable to believe his eyes.

Harland flapped the envelope. “Well, you gonna take it or you want me to open it?”

His heart pounded a new beat as he reached for the cream-colored envelope. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather do it myself.” Happiness that Melinda had finally written flooded him with unbridled joy. He felt like a six-year-old on Christmas morning until he stuck his finger beneath the seal. What if she’d written to tell him she no longer wanted him to write, no longer wanted him? He glanced at Harland.

“Well, go on. Open it. Not looking inside doesn’t change what she’s already written.” The older man knew what Evan had been thinking. “Don’t let worry and fear get the best of you now that you got a letter from her.”

Evan unsealed the envelope before he could give it further thought. He forced his gaze back and forth across the lines before looking up at Harland. “She says she’s sorry she didn’t write sooner, but she was waiting for guidance from the Lord.”

Harland nodded. “That was wise. I think she’s a smart gal. What else?”

“She says she acted foolish and she loves me.” He grinned at Harland. “She also said—”

Harland put his hands up. “That’s enough. You keep the rest private between the two of you. I just wanted to make sure you got good news. Didn’t want you taking off for Cleveland and leaving me here to take care of things on my own this summer.”

“You don’t need to worry about that any longer, Harland. I’m here to stay.”

The day of the tea, as everyone in the Mifflin household had come to refer to June twenty-third, dawned sunny and mild. Quite perfect! At least that’s what Mrs. Mifflin had declared when she descended the stairs for breakfast. Mrs. McKinley had given her speech at Miss Sanford’s commencement exercises two days before, but since then she’d been resting in her rooms and taking her meals there, as well. Her two maids scurried in and out to request anything their mistress required. They were careful to make their needs known only to Melinda or to Mrs. Mifflin. Melinda wasn’t certain if they’d been advised against speaking to any of the other servants, but Sally had taken offense that they were ignoring her.

Melinda was passing through the upstairs hall when Sally approached. “If Mrs. McKinley and her maids think me untrustworthy, maybe I shouldn’t be helping prepare for the tea. Neither of them will so much as acknowledge me.” Sally crossed her arms tight across her chest and tipped her nose toward the ceiling.

“Do cease such talk, Sally. No one except Mrs. Mifflin has spoken to Mrs. McKinley. Besides, communication with Mrs. McKinley and her staff has nothing to do with your duties downstairs.” Worried the conversation might be overheard by the Mifflins’ prestigious houseguest, Melinda guided the maid toward the stairs. “Let’s continue this conversation elsewhere.”

Once they entered the kitchen, Melinda directed Sally to a far corner where they wouldn’t be heard by the other staff—all of them busy preparing the delicate tea sandwiches and various pastries that would be served later in the day. “Right now you are needed here in the kitchen to keep the staff working in a timely manner. Later you’ll be needed to see that the service goes as planned. Your ability to make this a wonderful event is of utmost importance to Mrs. Mifflin.”

Sally’s shoulders relaxed. “I suppose you’re right. And if I do my best work with the tea, I’m sure the president’s wife will thank me.”

Melinda wasn’t certain Mrs. McKinley would go so far as to thank the staff for performing their duties, but she didn’t express that thought to Sally.

After one final assessment of the parlor, dining room, and kitchen, Melinda ascended the stairs. With only two hours until the guests would begin to arrive, Mrs. Mifflin would expect a detailed report when Melinda entered to help her dress for the tea. Thankfully, she could honestly state that everything was in order.

With her thoughts centered upon how she would fashion Mrs. Mifflin’s hair, Melinda hurried down the hallway. She would like to try a different style that would flatter the older woman’s sharp features and narrow face, but that likely wouldn’t happen today.

Holding the rail as she took the final step into the upper hallway, Melinda turned when the door to Mrs. McKinley’s rooms clicked and her lady’s maid appeared. “My mistress wishes to speak to you.”

“Me?”

The only answer was a slight nod. “Please, don’t keep her waiting.” The words rang with an air of urgency that caused Melinda to hasten forward without further question. “In here,” the maid said, leading Melinda through the sitting room and across the threshold into the bedroom.

Melinda stared across the room and attempted to hide her alarm. She’d captured only a fleeting glance of the tiny woman when she’d arrived, and there had been no introductions. Jean, her lady’s maid, had been clear that her mistress needed to rest.

“How may I be of service to you, Mrs. McKinley?” Melinda thought she should curtsy or somehow acknowledge the status of the president’s wife, but she didn’t know the protocol for this particular circumstance, so she remained as stiff as a board just inside the doorway.

“Do step closer,” Mrs. McKinley said.

When the president’s wife struggled to gain a more upright position in the bed, Jean rushed forward and tucked another pillow behind her. Her dark brown hair splayed across the pillow like unruly feathers.

Melinda attempted to hide her concern as she did the woman’s bidding. To see Mrs. McKinley abed when there remained only two hours to dress and prepare for the tea caused a knot to settle in the pit of her stomach. The woman’s pale complexion only served to deepen Melinda’s concern. “Do you continue to feel weary, Mrs. McKinley?”

“I have not fully recovered from the rigors of my travel. I fear it will be impossible for me to be in attendance at the tea this afternoon. I know Dorothea will be terribly disappointed. I also know that in her younger years she was prone to fainting or painful headaches when she received distressing news.” Mrs. McKinley reached for Melinda’s hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’m relying upon you to deliver this news in the most delicate manner possible. Will you do that for me?”

Melinda swallowed the knot that had risen from her stomach to her throat. “I’ll do my best.” She could manage no more than a whisper. “Mrs. Mifflin is going to be very disappointed.”

“I know she is. That’s why I’m depending upon you. I thought it best you speak with her rather than have one of my maids deliver the news.” Mrs. McKinley released her hold on Melinda’s hand. “Poor Dorothea has gone to so much trouble that it truly pains me to let her down.”

“But you must, madam.” Jean’s words were heavy with worry, and she lifted her head to look directly into Melinda’s eyes. “My mistress attempted to get up and dress for the tea, but she hasn’t the strength. Please report that any further activity will only prolong Mrs. McKinley’s poor condition.”

Condition? Since their arrival, neither Mrs. McKinley nor her maids had mentioned any sort of condition. A condition suggested long-term illness, yet they had spoken only of weariness from their travels. Perhaps Mrs. McKinley needed a doctor. What if Mrs. Hollister was correct about the president’s wife suffering from ill health? What if she died? Though ridiculous, the thought sent a shiver scurrying down Melinda’s spine. “I would be pleased to send for Mrs. Mifflin’s family physician. She has already alerted him that you would be visiting. He agreed to make himself available should you become ill during your visit.”

“Thank you, but there’s no need for a physician. Rest is the answer. By tomorrow I should be much better.” She glanced at the porcelain clock on the mahogany dressing table. “You’d better go to Dorothea. I’m sure she is waiting for you to assist her.”

Melinda wanted to remain and further encourage a visit from the doctor, but time wouldn’t permit. “I’ll do my best to deliver your news with care, but Mrs. Mifflin may want to come and speak to you privately.”

“I would be pleased to receive her, but if she could wait for several hours. I need to sleep.”

Jean hurried to the side of the bed and gently removed the extra pillow from the bed. “Of course you do, mistress. I’ll pull the drapes and see that you’re not disturbed.” The maid sent a warning look in Melinda’s direction.

“I’ll advise Mrs. Mifflin that you’ll be resting.” Melinda turned and hurried from the room.

She raced down the hallway as though her skirts were on fire. Mrs. Mifflin would be prepared to scold her soundly. The moment she opened the door, Mrs. Mifflin strode toward her with anger flashing in her eyes. “There you are! Of all days to keep me waiting, how could you be late today? Ida will think me a horrid hostess.”

“She won’t think any such thing; she is your dear friend. Why don’t you sit down at your dressing table and I’ll fashion your hair. We have more than enough time.” Melinda waited until the woman was seated. She picked up the brush and slowly drew it through the older woman’s hair. “I am late because Mrs. McKinley requested a short visit with me.”

“Whatever for? Did you see her gown? What color is she wearing?” Mrs. Mifflin met Melinda’s eyes in the mirror.

“She asked that I tell you she isn’t feeling well enough to attend the tea.” Melinda waited a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Her complexion is very pale, and her attempt to dress for the afternoon festivities proved impossible.” Melinda continued to brush, hoping the motion would calm her mistress. “I inquired if she needed the care of a physician, but she refused.” Mrs. Mifflin remained surprisingly calm while Melinda parted her hair in the center and brushed her dark locks. “Do you prefer loose curls around your temples?”

Her mistress gave only a curt nod. Mrs. Mifflin was trying to mask her feelings, but she wasn’t doing a very good job.

Melinda felt sorry for the woman and decided to do her best to offer encouragement and perhaps a little mercy. “Mrs. McKinley knew that you would be terribly disappointed. She cares very much for your well-being and hopes sincerely that her bad news won’t cause you too much despair. She said you might visit her later . . . in a few hours . . . after she’s had a rest.”

Using a deft hand, Melinda finished styling Mrs. Mifflin’s hair in quick time. She was amazed that the older woman had remained calm. In fact, she didn’t utter a word as Melinda assisted her into her corset and layer of petticoats. When she’d finished adjusting the gown, Mrs. Mifflin turned to gaze in the mirror.

“I’ll need my jewels.” She sat down in front of the dressing table and waited while Melinda removed them from the case.

Perhaps this was going to go better than anticipated. She had expected Mrs. Mifflin to show some kind of emotion. In fact, she’d expected Mrs. Mifflin to take to her own bed rather than face the women who would soon be arriving.

Melinda arranged the gold necklace encrusted with small emeralds around Mrs. Mifflin’s neck. “Perfect. You look absolutely lovely.”

Mrs. Mifflin gave a slight nod, pushed up from the dressing table, and immediately fainted.