The Chaperone by Laura Moriarty Page B

because the curly hair was so pretty in her opinion. Cora made herself use a comb. She felt bad for looking so terrible when she was taking up space in their home. The Lindquists had only thought she would be with them for a few days, maybe a week. But now she had nowhere to go.
    Mr. Lindquist talked to the minister, who agreed that Cora was being cheated out of her share. He remembered the Kaufmanns had once mentioned that they hoped to formally adopt Cora, and he could testify that they had never thought of her as a servant. They simply hadn’t gotten around to adopting her. And there was good news. The minister had described Cora and her situation to his son, who lived in Wichita, and who happened to know a skilled attorney, who was doing well enough that he was looking for some pro bono work. He wanted to meet with Cora and see if he could help.
    Mr. Carlisle, as Cora called him then, was the first man she had ever seen wearing a waistcoat, a jacket that matched his trousers, and shoes that were perfectly clean. When he first appeared on the Lindquists’ dusty front porch, tipping his hat and saying her name, both of the Lindquists came out to stare at him as well. It was hard for any of them to believe that this man, important enough to have a driver waiting outside with the horse and carriage, would come so far out into the country to help Cora with her case.
    “And he’s something to look at, isn’t he?” Mrs. Lindquist whispered as she and Cora set the chipped cups on the flowered saucers and waited for the water to boil. “No wedding ring, and he looks about thirty. The women of Wichita must be stupid or blind.”
    Cora looked at the shiny teapot, the distorted reflection of her face. She didn’t care if her lawyer was handsome. She didn’t even care about the case. The real Kaufmann daughter had sent legal papers, and on them, Cora’s name was Cora X. When Cora first saw this X by her name, she’d felt as if the rhythm of her breathing was permanently altered, and she would never again get enough air into her lungs. That feeling had not gone away. If she did get money from the sale of the farm, she would no longer be a burden to the Lindquists. The Kaufmanns would still be gone, though. And she would still be Cora X.
    Out in the parlor, Mr. Carlisle, before he even took a sip of tea, read over the legal papers and said the X by her name was ridiculous, and that he would help her with that issue as well. He sat on the edge of the Lindquists’ wooden rocker, not rocking, a pad of paper balanced on his knee. He had a nick on his cheek from shaving. He pointed out that the minister, at least when he spoke with him, had referred to Cora as Cora Kaufmann. Was that what she had been called in school? Cora, sitting next to Mrs. Lindquist on the sofa, nodded, watching him closely. She registered that he was indeed handsome, his hair the color of strong tea, his profile strong. And he clearly meant to help her, to do the best he could.
    “I’ll need to ask you questions about your history. Details about your life with the Kaufmanns, how they treated you. And before that.” He looked at his pocket watch and took out a steel-nibbed pen. “It shouldn’t take longer than an hour. Are you up to it?”
    She nodded again. Mrs. Lindquist, leaning over the table to pour the tea, gave her an encouraging smile. The Lindquists had been so patient with her, and so helpful, going to the minister to plead her case. And now old Mrs. Lindquist, who usually napped at this hour, had to sit here with them because it wouldn’t be proper for her to leave Cora and the lawyer alone in the parlor. Cora was taking up her time, and the lawyer’s time as well. The least she could do was be compliant.
    She spoke with a clear voice, answering every question as best she could. She was never a servant, she said. She did chores like any child, but the Kaufmanns treated her as their own. Mr. Kaufmann had carved toys and dolls for her, and