Chapter 17

Chapter 18

 

The first visiting card arrived early next day. Joseph, the colored butler, opened the front door and took it from the waiting coachman gravely. The corner had been turned over neatly. He studied it for a moment. It came from the Governor�s mansion, perhaps the grandest address in the state, and he turned to place it carefully on a silver salver on the hall console.

�I�ll hev to show ma employer.�

The coachman hesitated. �No reply?�

Joseph shook his head. �Not yet, sah.�

He waited for the coachman to descend the marble steps in front of the house, and closed the door softly. The card was a great mark of honor, for the turned down corner signified that the Governor and his wife expected Iris, Evelyn and Stephanie to call at their mansion. Joseph swelled a little with the pride that a devoted servant might rightly feel in the circumstances. He had presided over the buffet at the reception that followed Franny�s funeral, and had been mightily impressed by the respect all the grandest folks had shown Iris. This honor would further increase his standing in every servants� hall in the city.

He carried the silver salver silently into the diningroom where Evelyn and Stephanie were enjoying a leisurely breakfast after having despatched Iris and the three girls for a brisk walk, with the card placed face down.

Stephanie picked it up idly, turning it over in her fingers, and gasped.

Evelyn stared at her.

�It�s the Governor. Governor Smith. He wants us to call on him and Mrs. Smith.�

�Oh, heavens.�

Both women�s minds whirled. Stephanie was already starting to think of what they should wear for the ride down to Annapolis. But Evelyn was doubtful.

�I don�t think we should. Not so soon after burying poor Franny.�

Stephanie�s face fell a little. But then she nodded. �No, you�re right. It wouldn�t really be seemly.� She smiled, with just a hint of wistfulness. �But it is an honor. What do we do?�

�Well, I imagine if he sends his card, then so will everyone else. We shall have to sit down and write a lot of letters, explaining that we feel we can neither call, nor receive.�

�But what if they come to the door in person?�

�Joseph must tell them that Iris and I are in mourning.�

 Stephanie thought of all the opportunities she would miss to be a center of attention at this social gathering and that, and sighed. �I shall have some reply cards printed, and we can sign them. Writing lots of letters sounds most exhausting.�

Iris and the girls returned, their cheeks rosy from the cold fall air. Stephanie remained torn as the six of them sat down to lunch � David was out lunching with the directors of the Chesapeake and Nashville. She thought it how nice it might be for them all to stay in Charles Street: she could arrange for the girls to attend the new Bryn Mawr school for young ladies in Cathedral Street, though Ellen might still be a little too young, and groom Iris up a bit. She would have something to do, as well as managing her business affairs.

But Evelyn looked doubtful, and Iris flatly refused.

�I must go where David goes.� She was carefully slicing into a chicken breast that Hannabel, Joseph�s wife, had cooked in a light cheese sauce, holding her knife and fork with all the careful attention of a young woman who might have been eating in smart surroundings since birth.

�But you could blossom out.�

Iris sniffed. She had enough of her Baptist upbringing in her to feel that she should avoid all trace of frivolity during her mourning, and to consider city lights some way beyond frivolity. She also feared that Baltimore folk might mock her. She knew that they had crowded to the reception after Franny�s funeral to stare at her, much as folk might crowd to stare at a wolf trapped in a cage, and she had no ambition at all to serve as some kind of circus exhibit. She could be comfortable in Coates, and grow up gradually, learning how best to care for David and the girls, and it was all that she wished.

Stephanie sighed. �You must be your own mistress, my dear.�

Evelyn suggested a carriage ride after lunch, to take in some of the sights of Baltimore. But Iris was as doubtful about seeing sights as she had been about being social.

�I think I�d rather walk.� She was busy helping the children into their coats, for the weather was showing every sign of turning chilly . �I�m trying to get my legs back into walking, and I can think about the way things are going to be.�

�Can we go and look at the Washington Monument?� Harriet adopted a particularly sweet expression. She had seen men selling roasted chestnuts and sugared peanuts from little trolley stands the last time she had visited Mount Vernon Square, and she was sure a few chestnuts, and perhaps some sugared peanuts as well, would do her no harm at all.

Evelyn smiled indulgently, for she knew just what her grand-daughter had in mind. Jemma and Ellen waited with interest. Their grandmother always seemed to have a few dimes tucked away in her purse, and perhaps, if they were very good, she might find a quarter apiece.

Stephanie stood up. �I think I will come with you.� She was also sometimes fond of a sugared peanut or two, and thought she might well meet some acquaintance taking the air. Mourning might inhibit calling and being called upon and similar socializing, but it could not prevent her politely acknowledgingpassing greetings.

Evelynalso got to her feet. �We�ll all go. I�m sure the fresh air will do us a power of good.�

It was a cold afternoon, but bright as well, and they met a number of children out walking on their way down Charles Street, though much to Stephanie�s chagrin most were in the charge of nannies or colored servants. But she did manage to exchange a few words here and there, and felt much flattered when a wealthy visiting New Yorker whom she knew slightly, and pinned much hope on knowing better, made his coachman slow down so that he could lower his carriage window and raise his hat to her.

Harriet and her sisters homed in on a chestnut and peanut vendor, and Evelyn duly extracted a couple of quarters. �We shall have big sacks.�

The vendor, a dark-eyed Italian in a tight jacket and puffed-out pantaloons, with a tasseled cap on his head, and small monkey on his shoulder dressed to match, was already busily shoveling steaming chestnuts into a large brown paper bag. He piled the chestnuts high, handing them to Evelyn, and she held out out the bag to each of them in turn as the vendor filled a second big paper bag with sugared peanuts.

Jemma, normally the quietest and most placid of Franny�s girls, was watching the monkey with fascination.

The vendor beamed at her as he handed the bag of sugared peanuts to Stephanie. �You-a like-a to give Marcello a nut, miss?�

Jemma looked at her grandmother for approval. Evelyn pretended to be thinking deeply, and then nodded. �You can each feed him a nut, but be gentle with him.�

She had seen a small girl nipped once for trying to be too smart, holding out a nut in her open palm, and then closing her fingers on it tightly when another monkey had tried to prize his way in. Appetite can make even the best behaved animals greedy.

Jemma held out a doubtful palm, and the monkey scampered down the man�s sleeve to retrieve it, bowing politely as he picked it up. Ellen was now clamoring to be next in line, though Harriet held back a little. She might donate sugared peanuts to monkeys, if pressed, but she was very fond of them herself.

Iris watched in bemusement. She had never seen the likes of such a thing in her whole life. Folk in the hollers kept dogs as guards and for hunting, and sometimes cats as well. But she had never seen an animal performing tricks.

They nibbled nuts, and walked around the monument, their breath hanging in little clouds when they spoke, and walked down past the Peabody Institute, and a host of other fine buildings, and Iris wished she were back in Coates. Life in Tennessee had run like a train, along simple predictable lines. She knew that she did not regret Uriah, but he had been part of her life for the best part of a year. She had accepted that he must be a master, and she must serve; she had cooked for him, and lain under him, and her cooking and her laying had established a routine. Each day would start the same, and run on the same, and pretty much end the same, and predictability had created a shield, a kind of armor. Now she was alone, focus to a storm of awakening emotions.

She was in love. Well, she supposed that it must be love, although it was a sentiment she had never counted into her life before moving to Coates. But she knew she wanted nothing but to be David�s woman, to have his gentleness, and kindness, and affection, all to herself, and to be a big sister to the children he already had, and a mother to his children yet to come. She knew that she also wanted to feel his arms around her, and for him to take the place of all the nights she had given Uriah. But she pushed these thoughts away, for they were all too early. She knew that she wanted him to be proud of her as well, but she needed achievements to anchor his pride, and her mind whirled and swirled, wanting, and fearing, and she wished only to be in a place where the world around would be fixed and unchanging.

She walked on slowly, with Ellen trotting beside her. Evelyn and Stephanie were now some way ahead of them with the two older girls, so that they now walked as two groups, and it was her undoing.

Greg Sherman prided himself on being an aggressive young reporter. Tom Hawkins, the society column editor on the Baltimore News Post, had told him to bring home a good piece, and good piece he planned to have.

�She�s young, she looks good, she�s a widow, and her husband was mixed up in that Joe Shambush thing out in Tennessee.� Hawkins was seated at his desk, with a shade across his eyes and his cuffs pushed back. �You go out there, young man, and bring home the bacon.�

Sherman winced. But he understood what Hawkins was saying. He scouted the Kingman funeral, but there were too many people. He shook hands with David Kingman at the reception, but he was just one member of a line shuffling along, and the girl was just a slim figure with a dense black veil hanging down from a wide-brimmed hat.

He had posted himself across the street from the house in Charles Street, more from habit than in the belief any plums might be about to fall into his palm. Reporters staked out houses, it was the professional thing to do, come fair weather, come rain. He chose a fur coat and a good Homburg hat, a newspaper man�s hat, and solid galoshes. He had hot coffee in a flask, and Mel Kaufmann, his photographer, replenished it from time to time.

Mel wanted to go home. �We�re wasting our time, Greg.� His voice whined � he was cold and hungry, his coat was not fur, and he knew he would only capture a picture if the girl stood still for at least thirty seconds.

�We�re earning our living.� Sherman bit the words out. He had been watching a stream of callers turn up at the front door of the house, only to leave again straight away. Nobody going in, nobody coming out. It looked like no story, and he hated to be beaten.

Then the door opened, and three small girls emerged, followed by a young woman and two older women. All three women were in mourning, but they had rolled their veils back up onto the brims of their hats. He tensed, pointing like a gundog.

�Jesus, it�s her.�

The photographer stared, calculating distances. �She�s too far away for a clear shot.�

�Nix.� Sherman was already starting along the sidewalk. �We go after them. Mebbe you create a diversion of some kind. Block her way, something like that.� He was thinking on his feet. �Push one of the kids in front of a carriage. She�ll stop and squall. I�ll come to her rescue.�

Kaufmann swore under his breath. Mebbe he should push Greg instead, and then he would be able to go home. Momma Kaufmann kept a pot of chicken soup permanently on the stove during cold weather. Maybe knishes, even.

They stalked the three women and the children down Charles Street and around the Washington Monument. Kaufmann salivated as the little girls held sugared peanuts out to the Italian nutseller�s monkey. A picture to crown a thousand society columns. But there were too many people.

Then the youngest woman began to lag behind, and Sherman struck, moving quickly past her to stand in the middle of the sidewalk, Kaufmann at his side, so that they created a blockage.

�Give the girl a shove, fix your camera, and take her.� He hissed the words at his companion, and Kaufmann swung the bulky camera and its tripod from his shoulder. It might be possible. It was worth a try. He would use an acetylene bomb for lighting. He felt his mouth dry out as he swung the tripod into place, placing the camera securely. Reporters and photographers are hunters, pursuing a prey. Clean captures, kills, are best, but any picture is better than no picture at all.

Iris stopped as the two men blocked the sidewalk in front of her. One seemed to building something on a stand of some kind. He jumped at Ellen, and she bent to catch Franny�s youngest daughter up into her arms. The thing in front of the man flashed blindingly at her, and Ellen began screaming in terror.

�I�m Greg Sherman, from the News Post, ma�am.� The second man was now standing in front of her, holding a notebook and pencil. �Ain�t you the young woman whose husband shot and killed a deputy, only to die in a rail crash?�

Iris clutched Ellen closer. She felt fear freeze her.

�Now they say you�re going to marry into one of the best families in Baltimore. How did you swing that?�

Iris closed her eyes as the thing in front of her flashed again. She was shaking her head at this nightmare � it was almost as though Capitola had come out of the afternoon to attack her again, but this time in the guise of a man.

�I guess you gotta lot of what it takes, huh?�

Suddenly the man was pushed aside, and the thing on the stand sent flying. Iris heard Evelyn and Stephanie both shouting at the men, and a great of general commotion. She opened her eyes. A policeman had seized the man with the notebook, and a second constable was holding his companion.

Evelyn folded her in her arms, and Stephanie took Ellen. The two other children both clung to Stephanie�s long coat. Iris fainted.

The policeman holding Sherman took his notebook and ripped out the pages, balling them up in a great meaty fist. �You�re gonna spend a cold night for this, brother.�

Sherman scowled. �I�m a reporter. I�m just doing my job.�

A passing cab ferried Iris, Evelyn, Stephanie and the three girls back to the house in Charles Street, and Joseph carried Iris up to her bed. Evelyn sat at her bedside, holding her hand, but Iris remained in a deep swoon.

She was still unconscious when David returned to the house. He listened to Stephanie describe what had happened, and then took the stairs two at a time. Evelyn put her forefinger to her lips as he pushed open the door, and he crossed the room on light feet, to stand looking down at the girl on the bed. Somehow she had something of an angel about her. He bent over her, and felt something in him stronger than all convention, all politeness, or anything else that society might dictate, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

Iris opened her eyes, her lashes fluttering as she struggled to place herself. Then she smiled weakly. �David?�

David Kingman bent again, and this time he kissed her lips.

Iris reached up her hand, touching his cheek. �Hold on to me, David. I had such a scare. Please take me back to Coates.�

�We will leave in the morning.� He sat himself carefully on the side of the bed, holding both her hands in his. �Will you be able to travel?�

Iris was silent for a moment, as though digesting his words. Then she smiled again, and it was plain that she was already regaining her courage. �I�m a strong girl.� She looked at Evelyn. �Will you come as well, and help me learn to be a good wife?�

Evelyn nodded emphatically, because her eyes were too full for her to speak.

David patted her hand. �I�ll buy you a farm, to keep you busy.�

�With a cow, and hens, and a cabbage patch?�

He nodded.

�I will love you, with all my heart.�

�And I will love you.�

Iris smiled, and closed her eyes, and slept.

She slept for perhaps two hours, and Evelyn dozed in a chair at the side of her bed. Stephanie eased her nerves by playing the piano in the library. She felt it might not really be very suitable just a day after Franny�s funeral, but she needed some way to dispel the clouds that had shadowed the day, and played some of her favorite hymns, singing softly as she played. For a good hymn is a strength, and a consolation, and a kind of prayer, and prayers are generally answered, when they do not ask for too much.

After a while she realised that she was no longer singing by herself, and glanced over her shoulder.

Evelyn, Iris, David and the girls had gathered in the hall outside the library door to sing softly to her music.

Stephanie stopped playing, lifting her hands from the piano keyboard. �I think we might all sing and pray together.� She stood up, beckoning them into the library, and pulled at a long tassel hanging beside the high Dutch stove in a corner of the room. �Joseph and Hannabel and Eulalia can join us, and we will put what has been out of our minds.�

They joined in their singing, and they were united. Joseph brought in more chairs from the drawingroom, and they sat in a semicircle around Stephanie, with the three servants standing, and each took it in turn to read a passage from the Good Book, and then sing a hymn of their own choosing. Stephanie herself chose �Onward Christian Soldiers�, because she knew the melody well, and was determined to exact some kind of revenge from the News Post. But she hesitated when Iris said she would sing �Fill my way with love�, because she imagined it a Baptist hymn, and it was certainly a title she had never heard. So Iris stood, and sang without accompaniment, and her voice was sweet, and strong, and clear, and she sang with her eyes fixed on David, and the hymn was an act of devotion both to her Maker, and to her husband to be. But David could not shake the feelings he had experienced on kissing her out of his mind. The touch of her lips against his had fired him up in a way he had not felt for quite a while, because he had not lived with Franny as man and wife in the last weeks of her life.

He knew that he wanted to kiss Iris again and again, even if kissing her led him towards temptation, and he wished in his heart that time would pass quickly, so that they might soon be legitimately united in marriage, and joy each in the other. He was already picturing a comfortable homestead close to Nashville, because the C&NR directors had asked him to join them on the railroad�s board, with a view to developing business towards the Mississippi and the Great Plains, and Nashville offered more business development potential. Turner Evered could take over his post at Coates, and he would marry Iris in Nashville�s Episcopalian Cathedral.

But the touch of her lips against his returned, and it was a touch that over-rode all his other thoughts. For a moment an errant thought in his mind pictured Iris lying under him, with her arms around his neck pulling him down on her, and kissing him again and again as they moved together. But he pushed the image quickly away. They would join together when the time was right, and until then he would wait.

 

Chapter 19