Ceremony of the Innocent by Taylor Caldwell

nation’s pride in itself and its love for its heroes.
    So Ellen had gone hungry until half past eleven yesterday. She prayed that Mrs. Jardin would be in a good humor today. Fortunately, she was. She even baked a fresh pancake for the girl and heated up the cool coffee. Ellen’s gratitude made her swell with her own magnanimity. “After all, you’re still growing,” she said. “You’ll end up being bigger than a house. Your dad must have been a giant, or something.” She paused. Her little eyes narrowed craftily. “What was your dad like, anyways?”
    “I don’t remember him,” said Ellen, licking her fork. “But Aunt May once said he was very handsome, and dark.”
    “How come you got the same name’s your aunt—Watson?”
    Ellen was surprised. “Didn’t Aunt May tell you? She was married to Daddy’s cousin, a very poor cousin. He and Daddy got typhoid fever the same time, in Erie, and they both died. It was very sad.”
    As this was the same version May Watson had given herself, Mrs. Jardin was disappointed. She was convinced that Ellen was not only ugly but stupid, and she had anticipated drawing some heinous information from her which would refute May’s silly “lies,” and expose the scandalous background of the young girl to the amusement of Mrs. Jardin. It would also give her a spicy tidbit to tell her friends. “Better clean up them dishes,” she said, sourly. “You’re never ready to get down to work.”
    There was an air of holiday in this house and in spite of her dejection Ellen felt it. Mr. Francis had been exceptionally kind to her this morning; he had even touched her hand gently when she offered him fresh sausages and had looked up, smiling sweetly, into her eyes. She had felt such an urgent affection for him that she blushed and almost dropped the sausages and had been scolded by Mrs. Jardin for her carelessness. “Really, you are not progressing well in the girl’s training,” Mrs. Porter had rebuked her cook. “She is still very clumsy.” Mrs. Jardin had wanted to hit Ellen right there and then but she saw Francis regarding her coldly and with full knowledge. Still, she let Ellen eat the scraps, and felt very generous and forgiving, and, above all, Christian.
    It was a very hot blue and gold day and flags were waving from the courthouse staffs and smaller flags were planted before all the houses on Bedford Street, and even in some of the poor sections. Fireworks were cracking everywhere, accompanied by the shouts of children and their screams of excitement. Even the horses apparently felt the mood of holiday and their hoofs rang smartly on the cobblestones and those in the carriages exchanged hearty and laughing greetings with friends whom they passed. Somewhere someone was exuberantly playing “Hail, Columbia!” on a piano. Trees, luminous with light, sang merrily in the dusty wind. There was a scent of acrid punk and gunpowder in the sparkling air, and warm roses and freshly cut grass. The sky was a shining violet and seemed to pulse with heat. Ellen’s dejection lessened. She thought of the books in the library, and quiet, and no Mrs. Jardin for long hours.
    But Francis was gloomy. He could not offend his aunt and his uncle by pleading to be left behind. This was the Mayor’s Day. He would be the speaker on the steps of the courthouse after the picnic. It was his occasion of open glory. He had written and rewritten his speech many times, sweating over it laboriously. He had ambitions, which he had not as yet told anyone, not even his wife. He hoped to be a State Senator, and he knew that several politicians from Philadelphia—potent men—would be here today, for Preston’s sawmills were prosperous and were owned by Preston’s few rich inhabitants. Preston might boast only a few thousand resident souls, but they were proudly of the Mayor’s party and admired and liked him, for he had a genial way with him and an easy fashion of speaking—“democratic”—which