they saw her, thank God. They merely nodded politely, murmured their good mornings, and moved around her to begin assembling flatware and china for the dining room table, including the thin porcelain coffee cups Margot swore held only three thimblefuls of coffee.
Before she left the kitchen, Margot stepped close to Hattie to speak in an undertone. “Hattie, have you noticed whether Cousin Allison’s appetite is everything it should be?”
Hattie’s eyes came up to hers, a swift flash of whites and a gleam of dark iris, then back to the eggs she was whisking. “You ask me, Miss Allison doesn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive,” Hattie said. “Looks it, too.”
“I don’t remember her being so thin when she was here for her party last year.”
“I’m cookin’ Mrs. Edith’s favorites all the time, tryin’ to get her to eat a bite now and then. Maybe Miss Allison doesn’t like what I’m fixing.”
“It’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Margot settled her hat on her head and pulled on her gloves. “I should be home for dinner.”
“You have you a fine day, Miss Margot,” Hattie said. “You go and make that poor soul all well who has the operation, and then you have you a fine day.”
“You, too, Hattie.” Margot turned toward the front hall, then thought better of it, and walked back through the kitchen to use the door onto the back porch. Just as she put her hand on the knob, Hattie called after her, “And don’t you go making that bed up there, either. You don’t need to fuss over chores like that. Leave it for Loena.”
Margot, bemused, said, “Yes, Hattie,” and made her escape into the gray morning before Hattie could think of something else to chide her for.
She would write all about this conversation to Frank, she decided. He was always entertained by Hattie, and he understood why Margot and all the Benedicts were so fond of her. It would make something safe, and might fill a whole letter. She wouldn’t be tempted to tell him Margaret Sanger was coming to Seattle. If he stayed in California for another two weeks, he would miss Mrs. Sanger’s visit entirely, and they wouldn’t have to argue about whether Margot should be seen with her.
C HAPTER 7
Allison heard the porch door open and close, and went to her window to watch Cousin Margot walk around the back of the house and out to the street. She worked awfully hard, Allison thought. She left early almost every morning, and seemed to work late as well. She must be important at the hospital.
Of course, Margot knew she was important. You could see it in the way she walked, that quick, decisive stride, the way she carried her head. The way she spoke to people, looking right at them and acting like she expected an answer every time she asked a question. She was the opposite of all the women Allison knew, women who simpered and spoke in soft voices, who minced when they walked and deferred to men—all men. Cousin Margot certainly didn’t behave that way. What an ego she must have! She spoke to Cousin Dick and Uncle Dickson as if she were also a man, and no one seemed to find that strange.
A surprising stab of emotion shot through Allison’s breast. Was that jealousy? It couldn’t be. It was only her temper. It had to be temper. She was furious with Cousin Margot, after all. At least, she was trying to be.
She pulled the comforter from her bed and wrapped it around herself. It was so cold in Seattle, colder and damper even than it was in San Francisco. She shivered with goose bumps half the time, here in this rain-soaked city. Her very bones seemed to ache, as if the chill could reach right inside.
Ruby gave a timid knock on the door, opened it, and put her head in. “Miss Allison? Are you ready to dress?”
Allison turned away from the window. “Yes. I suppose I’d better.”
Ruby came in, already neatly attired in her skirt and shirtwaist and apron. She went to the wardrobe and opened the doors. “What about the plaid frock?
Before she left the kitchen, Margot stepped close to Hattie to speak in an undertone. “Hattie, have you noticed whether Cousin Allison’s appetite is everything it should be?”
Hattie’s eyes came up to hers, a swift flash of whites and a gleam of dark iris, then back to the eggs she was whisking. “You ask me, Miss Allison doesn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive,” Hattie said. “Looks it, too.”
“I don’t remember her being so thin when she was here for her party last year.”
“I’m cookin’ Mrs. Edith’s favorites all the time, tryin’ to get her to eat a bite now and then. Maybe Miss Allison doesn’t like what I’m fixing.”
“It’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Margot settled her hat on her head and pulled on her gloves. “I should be home for dinner.”
“You have you a fine day, Miss Margot,” Hattie said. “You go and make that poor soul all well who has the operation, and then you have you a fine day.”
“You, too, Hattie.” Margot turned toward the front hall, then thought better of it, and walked back through the kitchen to use the door onto the back porch. Just as she put her hand on the knob, Hattie called after her, “And don’t you go making that bed up there, either. You don’t need to fuss over chores like that. Leave it for Loena.”
Margot, bemused, said, “Yes, Hattie,” and made her escape into the gray morning before Hattie could think of something else to chide her for.
She would write all about this conversation to Frank, she decided. He was always entertained by Hattie, and he understood why Margot and all the Benedicts were so fond of her. It would make something safe, and might fill a whole letter. She wouldn’t be tempted to tell him Margaret Sanger was coming to Seattle. If he stayed in California for another two weeks, he would miss Mrs. Sanger’s visit entirely, and they wouldn’t have to argue about whether Margot should be seen with her.
C HAPTER 7
Allison heard the porch door open and close, and went to her window to watch Cousin Margot walk around the back of the house and out to the street. She worked awfully hard, Allison thought. She left early almost every morning, and seemed to work late as well. She must be important at the hospital.
Of course, Margot knew she was important. You could see it in the way she walked, that quick, decisive stride, the way she carried her head. The way she spoke to people, looking right at them and acting like she expected an answer every time she asked a question. She was the opposite of all the women Allison knew, women who simpered and spoke in soft voices, who minced when they walked and deferred to men—all men. Cousin Margot certainly didn’t behave that way. What an ego she must have! She spoke to Cousin Dick and Uncle Dickson as if she were also a man, and no one seemed to find that strange.
A surprising stab of emotion shot through Allison’s breast. Was that jealousy? It couldn’t be. It was only her temper. It had to be temper. She was furious with Cousin Margot, after all. At least, she was trying to be.
She pulled the comforter from her bed and wrapped it around herself. It was so cold in Seattle, colder and damper even than it was in San Francisco. She shivered with goose bumps half the time, here in this rain-soaked city. Her very bones seemed to ache, as if the chill could reach right inside.
Ruby gave a timid knock on the door, opened it, and put her head in. “Miss Allison? Are you ready to dress?”
Allison turned away from the window. “Yes. I suppose I’d better.”
Ruby came in, already neatly attired in her skirt and shirtwaist and apron. She went to the wardrobe and opened the doors. “What about the plaid frock?
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