foot on top of a potato, rolling it beneath her shoe. "I think you know."
Picking up the thread I'd stitched, Zora asked, "Was he on business, Mama?"
"You might say."
One by one, Mrs. Stewart snatched potatoes off the floor; our displays of cheek no longer amused her.
As the mood in the kitchen darkened considerably, Zora and I rededicated ourselves to our chore. Never had anyone found rubbing the eyes from potatoes so arduous and exacting work, the way we did while waiting for Mrs. Stewart to speak.
She passed my chair to retrieve hers. When she did, I saw an envelope in her hand—paper of the finest sort, closed with a seal of verdigris green. Would that I could see through parchment!
Mrs. Stewart sat, stiff and formal. "Let it not be said that I came into this agreement to keep you, Amelia, with blinders. I expected a measure of frivolity. I was young once. I anticipated the delights you'd both find in taking license."
My hands stilled.
"Convention may stifle, but it protects young women from their foolish whims."
"Mama," Zora dared, then shut up on receipt of a hard look.
Fanning herself in the heat of the kitchen, Mrs. Stewart became mortal again as she sighed. "You have good natures, and it's man's nature to take advantage of that. There's no boy who ever walked this earth with only selfless intention."
"What about the Lord?" Zora mumbled.
Mrs. Stewart squinted at her. "Do You really wish me to nip your bud, Zora Pauline?"
For me, I wished that this dreadful conversation would fade away. It was clear. The postmaster had mentioned my visit. Or Thomas himself felt honor-bound to report how closely I had danced with Nathaniel. God save me, perhaps both. I swallowed back a sour taste and trembled.
"Against my best judgment," Mrs. Stewart said, producing the letter, "this shall be the first, and only, time I acknowledge attentions made toward either of you out of turn."
Zora swelled in anticipation of taking it. Surprise plucked her brows when Mrs. Stewart instead delivered it to me.
"Wills is a fine boy who knows better," Mrs. Stewart said, reaching for the basin and her knife again. "I bade Thomas tell him he would carry no more entreaties. He can leave his card of a morning, the same as any other caller."
Confusion broke the tensioned air. I hadn't been found out, and apparently I had been called out for a total mystery. Why would Wills go to such trouble for me? We had barely met, and all that stirred me was his fine taste in papers.
Disappointed, Zora tossed a potato in the basin and reached for another. "What's that great auk have to say for himself?" She stared pointedly until I unfolded the letter.
"'Dear Miss van den Broek, forgive me for being so bold, but I've never enjoyed a dance so much as I did the one at Judge Bonds','" I read, a blush starting to light on my skin. "'If it pleases you and Miss Stewart, Mr. Rea and I shall number ourselves among those attending the public ball held by the Sons of Apollo in Annapolis, date and time listed below. The cause is the arts, and I appeal to the philanthropic nature so inborn in ladies of your stature, to humbly beg your kind consideration, should there be none other engagement of previous obligation on this occasion.'"
Mrs. Stewart said to no one in particular, "Fancy that. Who knew Wills could pen such a pretty letter?"
I shuffled the pages, and a sharp breath caught in my chest when I found not a closing, but an epigraph, written in a fine hand in the middle of the page. At once, the richness of bay rum cologne rushed up to torment me, stirred into the ink.
"And he signs his name, that's all," I lied, stuffing them into my polonaise. The letter needed no signature for me to understand. Thomas would no doubt attend the Sons of Apollo ball, but I would not find Wills there in search of me.
"Please, Mama," Zora said, already begging.
Whatever Mrs. Stewart's answer, I didn't hear it. Her voice drifted away from me—Zora's, too. I heard nothing
Picking up the thread I'd stitched, Zora asked, "Was he on business, Mama?"
"You might say."
One by one, Mrs. Stewart snatched potatoes off the floor; our displays of cheek no longer amused her.
As the mood in the kitchen darkened considerably, Zora and I rededicated ourselves to our chore. Never had anyone found rubbing the eyes from potatoes so arduous and exacting work, the way we did while waiting for Mrs. Stewart to speak.
She passed my chair to retrieve hers. When she did, I saw an envelope in her hand—paper of the finest sort, closed with a seal of verdigris green. Would that I could see through parchment!
Mrs. Stewart sat, stiff and formal. "Let it not be said that I came into this agreement to keep you, Amelia, with blinders. I expected a measure of frivolity. I was young once. I anticipated the delights you'd both find in taking license."
My hands stilled.
"Convention may stifle, but it protects young women from their foolish whims."
"Mama," Zora dared, then shut up on receipt of a hard look.
Fanning herself in the heat of the kitchen, Mrs. Stewart became mortal again as she sighed. "You have good natures, and it's man's nature to take advantage of that. There's no boy who ever walked this earth with only selfless intention."
"What about the Lord?" Zora mumbled.
Mrs. Stewart squinted at her. "Do You really wish me to nip your bud, Zora Pauline?"
For me, I wished that this dreadful conversation would fade away. It was clear. The postmaster had mentioned my visit. Or Thomas himself felt honor-bound to report how closely I had danced with Nathaniel. God save me, perhaps both. I swallowed back a sour taste and trembled.
"Against my best judgment," Mrs. Stewart said, producing the letter, "this shall be the first, and only, time I acknowledge attentions made toward either of you out of turn."
Zora swelled in anticipation of taking it. Surprise plucked her brows when Mrs. Stewart instead delivered it to me.
"Wills is a fine boy who knows better," Mrs. Stewart said, reaching for the basin and her knife again. "I bade Thomas tell him he would carry no more entreaties. He can leave his card of a morning, the same as any other caller."
Confusion broke the tensioned air. I hadn't been found out, and apparently I had been called out for a total mystery. Why would Wills go to such trouble for me? We had barely met, and all that stirred me was his fine taste in papers.
Disappointed, Zora tossed a potato in the basin and reached for another. "What's that great auk have to say for himself?" She stared pointedly until I unfolded the letter.
"'Dear Miss van den Broek, forgive me for being so bold, but I've never enjoyed a dance so much as I did the one at Judge Bonds','" I read, a blush starting to light on my skin. "'If it pleases you and Miss Stewart, Mr. Rea and I shall number ourselves among those attending the public ball held by the Sons of Apollo in Annapolis, date and time listed below. The cause is the arts, and I appeal to the philanthropic nature so inborn in ladies of your stature, to humbly beg your kind consideration, should there be none other engagement of previous obligation on this occasion.'"
Mrs. Stewart said to no one in particular, "Fancy that. Who knew Wills could pen such a pretty letter?"
I shuffled the pages, and a sharp breath caught in my chest when I found not a closing, but an epigraph, written in a fine hand in the middle of the page. At once, the richness of bay rum cologne rushed up to torment me, stirred into the ink.
"And he signs his name, that's all," I lied, stuffing them into my polonaise. The letter needed no signature for me to understand. Thomas would no doubt attend the Sons of Apollo ball, but I would not find Wills there in search of me.
"Please, Mama," Zora said, already begging.
Whatever Mrs. Stewart's answer, I didn't hear it. Her voice drifted away from me—Zora's, too. I heard nothing
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