Hyacinth (Suitors of Seattle) (6 page)

"I know you can.  Humor me.  I like to spend every moment I can in your company."

Hyacinth sighed, telling herself to remember his words.  They would sound wonderful coming from the hero of her book.  "I'll see you in the morning then."

*****

It was warm enough the following day that Hyacinth didn't bother with her gloves.  When her hands grew cold, she simply slipped them into her pockets, and as the day progressed, her hands itched more and more.  She couldn't imagine what was wrong with her.  Finally, as she was taking her coat off in the evening after Lawrence had left her for the day, she realized what was wrong as a single leaf fell out of her right coat pocket. 

Poison ivy!  Who would put poison ivy in her pocket?  If Jasmine had still lived at home, there would have been no doubt in her mind, but Jasmine didn't live there.  So who could it have been? 

She checked the other pocket, and sure enough, there was another of the leaves there.  Obviously whoever had done it, had done it deliberately and maliciously.  But who had access to her coat?

She took both leaves and threw them into the bin in the kitchen before turning to the family cook, who also dealt with small maladies.  "I think I have poison ivy," she told the older woman, knowing she sounded pitiful.  Her hands had grown itchier and itchier by the minute all day long.

The cook clucked over her hands, immediately turning to the spices she kept to one side of the basin.  She took a powdery white substance and quickly mixed it with water, slathering the paste she formed all over Hyacinth's hands.  She then took a towel, wrapping it around the paste to keep it close to her skin.  "This baking soda paste is just the thing.  You be careful not to touch anyone or anything.   We'll keep an eye on your hands for the next day or so.  Anyone could catch it from you, so be careful." 

"Yes, ma'am," Hyacinth answered dutifully, hating the idea of not being able to do anything. 

She quickly went to her mother and explained about the poison ivy, asking her to write a note for Lawrence explaining that she had poison ivy and wouldn't be at the library for a few days.  Once the note was written, one of the servants took the note to Lawrence.  An hour later, her mother knocked on her door.  "You have a reply.  Would you like me to read it to you?"

Hyacinth shook her head.  "No, but would you open it for me, so I can read it myself?"

Mary raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else.  She understood the courting couple wouldn't want her to read their correspondence. Hyacinth was always so secretive. She wished she could get her daughter to speak freely with her.  She opened the letter and propped it on the bed beside Hyacinth so she could read it. 

Hyacinth was thrilled to have something to do.  She'd tried to read
a book for a minute, but turning the pages with her nose had proven too difficult.  Unless someone was there to turn pages for her, there was no point in trying.

"Dear Hyacinth, I'm so sorry to hear about the poison ivy.  I hope it heals quickly.  I shall miss you while you are forced to stay home.  Your mother's note said that you would be better by Monday at the latest, so maybe I could take you out for dinner on Monday evening?  I'll miss you and will think of nothing but your sweet lips on mine in the meantime.  Truly nothing is worse than being away from the girl I adore.  Yours, Lawrence."

Hyacinth read the note repeatedly, smiling at the sweet words contained in it.  He was such a good man.  She was thinking that she could marry more and more.  All her life, she'd been certain she'd be an old maid, but now?  A life with Lawrence was almost more important to her than the words she needed to write.  Almost, of course, because nothing could be more important than the stories in her head that had to come out.

Chapter Four

Women appreciate it when you do things that make you uncomfortable for them.  If you're a good singer, then write her a poem.  If your forte is writing, serenade her.  Make her feel like she's the most special woman you've ever met.  Take your time and learn a new skill.  Spread your wings.  I promise, she will appreciate your efforts.  William Livingston, Advice Column to Lonely Men published in The Seattle Times, December twenty-second, 1896.

Lawrence read the words of his mentor, William Livingston, twice before he set the newspaper down.  Really, how could he be expected to comply with this?  He was a writer, and that meant he needed to serenade his sweet Hyacinth?  He was the worst singer in all of the world, he was certain.  He had once joked with Amaryllis that they could become rich by having people pay them
not
to sing. 

He sighed.  He would just have to do it, though.  He cared for her a great deal, and what better way to show her than to embarrass himself?  He would do it.  But when and where?

He thought long and hard about the question and finally came up with a solution that pleased him.  He'd do it outside her window at night, singing to her in a loud, clear voice.  What he lacked in talent could be made up for in volume and enthusiasm, right?

*****

Hyacinth was lying in bed, her hands having healed from their ordeal nicely after the cook had put the poultice on her hands.  It was just three days before Christmas, and she looked forward to the day.  She had been making some money, but no one knew about it, so she would be able to surprise her loved ones with special gifts this year.

She smiled into her pillow thinking about the surprised look her mother would have when she gave her a small bottle of her favorite perfume.  Or the look on Lawrence's face when she presented him with a fountain pen with his name
engraved in the side.  Yes, she had wonderful gifts planned, and she would enjoy giving each and every one of them.

She was just falling off to sleep when she heard a voice
booming from beneath her window.  It sounded like...well, she couldn't really call it singing, but something?  It only took moments before every dog and cat in the neighborhood had joined in the loud horrible song, the cat's yowling and the dogs howling.

She heard Mr. Simpson from next door open his window and yell, "Will you shut up?  I'm trying to sleep!"

Then she heard Iris let out a loud laugh.  "It's Lawrence!  He's serenading Hyacinth."

Her eyes grew wide with dread.  "Oh, dear God, no.  What is he thinking?  By all that's holy, please let that not be Lawrence."  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and went to the window, peering out, but carefully hiding behind the curtain.  She didn't want Lawrence to see her in her nightgown.

Sure enough, it was him.  He was standing in the cold shivering, accompanying himself on a small banjo.  She knew he must have taken up playing just that afternoon, because his playing was almost as bad as his singing, and his singing was horrible.  She'd never heard anything like it.  Well, maybe Amaryllis, but no one could be quite as bad as Lawrence. 

She stood frozen in shock, wondering what she should do.  Would he keep singing if she didn't pop her head out the window?  Would he keep singing if she did? 

Mr. Simpson opened his window again and yelled, "I said be quiet!" 

Hyacinth hurried to her door, pulling her dressing gown on over her nightgown as she ran.  She was afraid Mr. Simpson would get violent with Lawrence if he continued.  She rushed down to where he was standing between her parents' house and Mr. Simpson's.  "Lawrence."

Lawrence turned at the sound of her voice, thrilled that the ordeal was over.  He trusted Mr. Livingston to give him the best advice, but he felt like an idiot, knowing his voice was worse than your average bullfrog's.  He stopped singing, smiling at the vision before him.  Hyacinth was so beautiful in her nightclothes.  She hadn't even bothered to put on shoes when she'd rushed down to see him.  "Did you like my surprise?" he asked.

Hyacinth nodded slowly.  "It was very sweet of you."  What else could she say?  That he was terrible, and she'd only rushed down because she was afraid all the neighbors would start throwing rocks at him if he didn't quit?

Lawrence smiled.  It was hard to believe she'd liked it, but at least she cared enough for him to spare his feelings and not tell him so.  "I don't sing much."

Hyacinth mumbled something under her breath that sounded like, "That's probably a good thing," but he knew that couldn't have been what she said.  "Really?  I'm surprised to hear that," she said aloud.

He smiled at her words.  "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

She thought over what she'd said to him, and was pleased when she realized that she hadn't said anything about enjoying it.  She didn't want to lie to him after all.  "Would you like to come inside for some hot cocoa?" she asked.

He gave a brief nod, hurrying toward the house with her, half afraid that the man who had been yelling at him would appear with a rock at any moment.   Once they were inside, they both breathed a sigh of relief.  He looked at her, wondering if she knew he was as terrible as he really was and was just acting like he was good.  He wasn't certain he'd ever know.  She kept a straight face as she went into the kitchen with him.

She immediately added a bit more coal to the dying embers in the stove, getting some milk out to warm for the cocoa.  She didn't know how to do much in the kitchen, but she could certainly fix some hot chocolate for him.

She poured some milk into a pan and worked on heating it up while he sat at the kitchen table, watching her every move.  "Do you make cocoa for yourself in the middle of the night a lot?"

She chuckled. "Only when men wake me up by singing under my window."

"Is that what he was doing?" Violet asked, standing in the doorway to the kitchen in her dressing gown.  "I couldn't tell for certain."

Hyacinth turned to her sister with a frown.  "Don't be rude, Vi."

"Sometimes it's just necessary, Hy."  Violet nodded to the pot on the stove. "I'll take a cup."  She took a seat at the table across from Lawrence.  She picked up a cookie from the plate in the middle of the table and offered one to Lawrence. 

"Thanks."  He bit into it, liking the flavor immensely.  "I love sugar cookies."

"Me too.  Especially with hot chocolate."  Violet looked at Hyacinth.  "How much longer before we get the chocolate?"

"Longer than it would have been if you hadn't come down, because I had to add more milk."  Hyacinth looked into the pot.  She knew that when cook made hot chocolate, she added vanilla and sugar, but she wasn't certain how much to add, so she reached up to the top of the shelf over the stove and took down three of the chocolate bars cook always kept there.  She carefully broke them up into tiny pieces and added them once the milk was hot. 
She stirred in the pieces, hoping it would taste right when she was done. 

She listened to Violet and Lawrence chatting with half an ear.  She liked that he included her younger sisters in conversations.  She had never felt like any of her sisters wanted her around while they were courting, but she knew that Violet knew she was welcome.

She poured the chocolate into three cups and carried them to the table.  "Now, I hope this came out right."  She bit her lip, worried, as Lawrence took a sip. 

His face lit up, and he nodded.  "It's good.  Really good!"

Hyacinth breathed a sigh of relief as she took a spot between Violet and Lawrence at the round table.  She took a careful sip and smiled.  "It
is
good!"

"Did you think I'd lie to you?"  He looked offended at the very thought.

"I never know what you'll do.  You were just singing outside my window at an hour when most people are in their nightclothes." Hyacinth shook her head at him, obviously not sure what he was up to.

He blushed slightly.  "I wanted you to know I was willing to be embarrassed for you."
  He liked it that she found him unpredictable though, because he'd always been the one who did exactly what was expected of him.

Hyacinth reached over and covered his hand with hers where it rested on the table.  She'd never touched him with other people watching before, but she knew he needed it.  "You don't ever have to embarrass yourself for me."

He brought her fingers to his mouth, brushing them softly with his lips. "Thank you."

Violet watched them with wide eyes.  "Does Amaryllis know you and Lawrence are courting?"

Lawrence looked at Violet with surprise.  "Amaryllis is married.  Why would she care that I'm courting Hyacinth?"

"Well, she did see you first."

"What does that have to do with anything?  My mother saw me before anyone else did, and she has no romantic claims over me."  He drank the last of his hot chocolate in one long gulp and stood up.  "Will you walk me to the door?" he asked Hyacinth.

She nodded and got to her feet.  "Please put the dishes in the sink, Vi.  I cooked so you can clean up."

Lawrence took her hand and pulled her toward the front door.  When they got to the entryway, which was empty of people, he turned to her.  Apparently no one else had been woken by his caterwauling.  "You don't worry about how Amaryllis will feel about us courting, do you?"

Hyacinth shrugged.  "A little sometimes.  I need to talk to her about it, but she's always so busy at the library, and she hasn't been around much."
  Not that she'd ever had a great rapport with Amaryllis.  She liked her, of course, but she was enough older that they'd never been excessively close.

"You should go talk to her and put your mind at ease.  She won't care at all.  I honestly think she'd like me for a brother, because she's never thought of me as anything but a brother
ly-type."

"I'l
l try."  Honestly, she was half-afraid to broach the subject with her older sister.  Amaryllis intimidated her a lot and always had.  Amaryllis had always seemed so much older, smarter, and more confident than she felt.  Deep down Hyacinth knew that Amaryllis loved her as much as all of her other sisters, but she really didn't feel like she was as good as the others most of the time.

Lawrence smiled at her with a brief nod.  Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned down and brushed his lips softly against hers.  "Good night, sweetheart.  I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Hyacinth leaned against the door and touched her fingers to her lips after he'd left.  He hadn't taken to kissing her every time he saw her, so it was still a pleasant surprise every time the tingling sensation spread through her belly.

Violet stepped into the foyer with a wide smile.
"He kissed you, didn't he?"

Hyacinth blushed but didn't respond to her sister.  She stood up straight and started up the stairs.  "You need to get to bed. You have school tomorrow."

Violet sighed.  "Who cares about school?  I'm going to spend my life painting, so I don't really need school."

"I disagree.  I think you need an education to be able to do anything well.  Yes, art school would have been more helpful for you, but you need to be able to do arithmetic and read well.  How else will you
be able to get the best deal for your paintings and send Mama letters while you're off in New York or wherever you end up?"

"I guess.  I'm just glad this is my last year."  Violet followed Hyacinth into her bedroom collapsing on her bed.  "What's it like to kiss a man?"

Hyacinth blushed again.  "I can't talk to you about that, Vi.  Mama would kill me."

"I wonder how she'd react to you having him in the house late at night when no one else was up.  I'll have to ask her how she feels about that."

"Are you trying to blackmail me?"

Violet nodded emphatically.  "I absolutely am.  Is it working?"

Hyacinth sighed.  "I'll explain to Mama what happened.  She'll understand."

"She will?  Why was he in the house anyway?"

Hyacinth grinned.  "I was afraid Mr. Simpson was going to start using his head for target practice."

Violet threw back her head and laughed, the sound filling the small bedroom.  "His singing wasn't...pleasant."

"I don't know what got into him.  I swear six days out of the week, he seems like such a normal levelheaded man.  But the seventh day, he turns into a raving lunatic.  I don't have any clue what to expect on that seventh day every week."

Violet frowned.  "It happens on the same day every week?"

Hyacinth nodded.  "Odd isn't it?"

"What day?"

"Tuesdays.  He's always odd on Tuesdays."

Violet tilted her head to the side and thought about her sister's words.  "Maybe you should start staying in on Tuesdays."

"I already do!  That's my day to spend the day with Mama and we shop or spend time at home, whatever she wants to do.  He always seems to do something odd anyway."

Violet frowned.   "Well, what did he do last Tuesday?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary for a change."

"The Tuesday before that?" Violet needed examples to really understand what her sister was talking about.