We continue to be nothing more than good friends.”
“Ah, but that’s one of the most important aspects in a successful marriage, dear,” she said gently. “You’d be surprised at the number of couples who can barely tolerate being in the same room with each other, much less behave as if they’re friends.”
“I know, Mama.” I reached out and squeezed her hand, realizing she only wished to see me happy. Remaining a spinster by choice was incomprehensible to her, consequently she couldn’t imagine such a life could bring contentment and satisfaction.
“I’m exceedingly fond of Pierce,” I went on, remembering the suave, handsome, and, yes, I admit, exciting man who had very nearly swept me off my feet. “But our lives are so dissimilar, I don’t see how a union between us could survive. He’s always sailing off to one exotic place after another, while I’m forever burying my nose in law tomes.”
Mama shook her head and sighed. “You truly are hopeless, Sarah. You have so much to offer a husband: beauty, intelligence, sensitivity, a sense of humor. Ah, well, perhaps if you meet the right man one day, you’ll change your mind.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed. The prospect was exceedingly unlikely, but I loved my mother too much to take away all her hope of seeing me settled and raising a family. With time, I prayed she would be able to accept, if not understand, the path I had chosen.
Leaning down, she kissed my cheek, then picked up the swaths of material she had spread out on the chairs. “I’d better find Celia,if I’m to place the order for these drapes tomorrow. I’d like to have them up in time for the holidays.”
M onday morning an unusual September fog billowed in through the Golden Gate. The gray mist crossed the Embarcadero, then slithered up the hills in snakelike tendrils until it was finally dissipated by the sun.
I departed for my Sutter Street office before the fog had given up its hold on the city, and the streets were damp and colder than usual. I did not feel the chill. All weekend I had been formulating plans on how best to serve the first genuine client to find her way into my office. The weeks of doubt and worry about my increasingly dire financial situation were, like the fog, beginning to dissolve, leaving me energized and eager to commence work for Mrs. Sechrest.
Since Friday, I had spent hours sequestered in my father’s library, searching California law books for appellate opinions and legislation pertaining to marriage and divorce. The information I found confirmed what I already suspected: Obtaining a divorce from Mrs. Sechrest’s abusive husband would be relatively simple; gaining custody of her two young sons promised to be a great deal more difficult.
My downstairs neighbor, Fanny Goodman, was just opening the front door to her millinery shop when I arrived at my place of business. As was her custom, she asked me inside for a cup of coffee before I commenced work. Over the past two months I’d made it a habit of accepting these invitations and always found Fanny’s company enjoyable and stimulating. This morning, however, I declined, pleading that I had only come by my office to pick up one or two necessary items before journeying to the Department of Records to conduct further research concerning the Sechrest case.
“Good for you, dear,” she said, beaming when I told her of my new client. “I never doubted for one moment that you’d make asuccess of your practice. Mark my words, news will spread and soon you’ll have more clients than you know what to do with.”
It was impossible not to be cheered by Fanny’s enthusiasm, although I knew it was overly optimistic. Yet how nice it felt to have such a steadfast ally.
As it turned out, my plan to leave posthaste for the Department of Records was delayed by the arrival of two unexpected visitors. I had been in my office for only a few minutes when, to my considerable surprise, I found Madame Karpova and
“Ah, but that’s one of the most important aspects in a successful marriage, dear,” she said gently. “You’d be surprised at the number of couples who can barely tolerate being in the same room with each other, much less behave as if they’re friends.”
“I know, Mama.” I reached out and squeezed her hand, realizing she only wished to see me happy. Remaining a spinster by choice was incomprehensible to her, consequently she couldn’t imagine such a life could bring contentment and satisfaction.
“I’m exceedingly fond of Pierce,” I went on, remembering the suave, handsome, and, yes, I admit, exciting man who had very nearly swept me off my feet. “But our lives are so dissimilar, I don’t see how a union between us could survive. He’s always sailing off to one exotic place after another, while I’m forever burying my nose in law tomes.”
Mama shook her head and sighed. “You truly are hopeless, Sarah. You have so much to offer a husband: beauty, intelligence, sensitivity, a sense of humor. Ah, well, perhaps if you meet the right man one day, you’ll change your mind.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed. The prospect was exceedingly unlikely, but I loved my mother too much to take away all her hope of seeing me settled and raising a family. With time, I prayed she would be able to accept, if not understand, the path I had chosen.
Leaning down, she kissed my cheek, then picked up the swaths of material she had spread out on the chairs. “I’d better find Celia,if I’m to place the order for these drapes tomorrow. I’d like to have them up in time for the holidays.”
M onday morning an unusual September fog billowed in through the Golden Gate. The gray mist crossed the Embarcadero, then slithered up the hills in snakelike tendrils until it was finally dissipated by the sun.
I departed for my Sutter Street office before the fog had given up its hold on the city, and the streets were damp and colder than usual. I did not feel the chill. All weekend I had been formulating plans on how best to serve the first genuine client to find her way into my office. The weeks of doubt and worry about my increasingly dire financial situation were, like the fog, beginning to dissolve, leaving me energized and eager to commence work for Mrs. Sechrest.
Since Friday, I had spent hours sequestered in my father’s library, searching California law books for appellate opinions and legislation pertaining to marriage and divorce. The information I found confirmed what I already suspected: Obtaining a divorce from Mrs. Sechrest’s abusive husband would be relatively simple; gaining custody of her two young sons promised to be a great deal more difficult.
My downstairs neighbor, Fanny Goodman, was just opening the front door to her millinery shop when I arrived at my place of business. As was her custom, she asked me inside for a cup of coffee before I commenced work. Over the past two months I’d made it a habit of accepting these invitations and always found Fanny’s company enjoyable and stimulating. This morning, however, I declined, pleading that I had only come by my office to pick up one or two necessary items before journeying to the Department of Records to conduct further research concerning the Sechrest case.
“Good for you, dear,” she said, beaming when I told her of my new client. “I never doubted for one moment that you’d make asuccess of your practice. Mark my words, news will spread and soon you’ll have more clients than you know what to do with.”
It was impossible not to be cheered by Fanny’s enthusiasm, although I knew it was overly optimistic. Yet how nice it felt to have such a steadfast ally.
As it turned out, my plan to leave posthaste for the Department of Records was delayed by the arrival of two unexpected visitors. I had been in my office for only a few minutes when, to my considerable surprise, I found Madame Karpova and
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