All the Blue of Heaven (12 page)

           
Her mother paused in the act of buttering a slice of toasted bread. “Well, that
depends on whether all your dresses have been finished,” she said, her look of
concern instantly replaced with one of pleasant interest. “It is only a few
weeks away. If the lace trimmed light blue linen gown is finished, then that
might be your first choice. If not, the perhaps the cream colored silk with the
lilac organza sheer overlay. It’s a bit more formal for a picnic but it is
always better to be more formally attired, than to be found wanting. We have
already had one delivery this morning from Mr. Morton’s. Maggie is bringing
them upstairs.”

           
“And what about the hat? I was thinking the straw with the wide blue ribbon is
too plain.” Allie picked up her spoon and cracked the top of a soft boiled egg
nestled in a hand painted egg cup. She had never liked them, but eating one now
was not the worst of her worries.

           
“Oh, yes, I think we might have to visit the milliner’s today and have Mrs.
Moore make a several more for you. A girl can never have too many fine
bonnets.” Mrs. Leeds beamed with pleasure at Allie’s unexpected desire to
discuss her wardrobe. “I am pleased that you see how important it is to be appropriately
dressed for every occasion. I know that you have spent a considerable amount of
time in painting smocks and stained gloves, but here we must present ourselves
in a way that upholds our station in society.”

           
Allie froze, spoon suspended in midair a bit of gelatinous yolk dangling from
the tip. “I only wore the smock inside the studio. When I went to town or to
church, I made sure that both Janey and myself were well dressed.” She wanted
to say how much money she could have spent on gowns and finery, how her
paintings garnered the very highest prices. But there was nothing to show for
it now.

           
“I’m sure you were acceptably dressed, dear, but what I meant was that you have
different priorities here. Before, you could get by on so much less because the
community had much lower standards. Here, presentation is everything.” Her
mother lifted her chin and fixed Allie with a stern look.

           
Struggling to bite back angry words, Allie forced the bit of egg yolk between
her lips and chewed. How she hated eggs. She hadn’t eaten one since she had
moved to San Francisco and now she seemed to have them every day. “Our community
was very proper. The men wore waistcoats in the finest fabrics from Italy, the
women were elegantly attired in the newest gowns from Paris. Perhaps appearance
was even more important because there were actors and singers around us, and
they always took much more care than others would.”

           
“Actors and singers! Heavenly days!” Mrs. Gibson sucked in a breath and dropped
her tea cup onto the saucer with a clatter. “Don’t tell me that Janey was
exposed to those types of people.”

           
“My favorite singer was Eliza May,” blurted Janey, toast crumbs sprinkling the
top of her pinafore. “She always took off her clothes at the same part in the
song, every time.” This pronouncement was met with horrified expressions on
every face.

           
“Janey! Her wrap, she took off her fur wrap,” Allie hastily explained. “There
was a song she sang about the sunlight and the butterflies and when she got to
the third line, she would slip off her―”

           
“That is quite enough.” Mrs. Leeds looked as if the devil himself had sat down
to breakfast. “Alberta, we will not speak of these things again.” She turned to
Janey, fixing her with a glare. “Jane Leeds, you must forget those people. They
were not good Christian people and you are not to repeat what you saw in that
place.”

           
Janey glanced at Allie, confused. Little bits of jam smeared her upper lip and
Allie leaned over to wipe it off with a napkin.

           
“It’s all right, Janey. We’ll discuss this later.” Allie murmured as she
removed the sticky jam.

           
“No, Alberta, there will be no other discussions. This topic is settled. You
may not raise this child as if you are wandering Gypsies. As long as you live
under my roof, she will be raised as a Christian.” Her mother’s voice rang out,
tone strident with anger. Her lips were a thin, pale line.

           
Allie nodded, trying to find the right words to diffuse the situation. If her
mother believed she was leading Janey astray, she might fight to have her
removed completely from Allie’s influence.

           
“Yes, mother,” she whispered, her throat closing around the words. The
unfairness of the idea that Janey had not been raised as a Christian made her
want to scream. But she reminded herself how much was at stake. Their very
future together hung in the balance. Arguing over breakfast wouldn’t do an
ounce of good.

           
Janey looked from her aunt to her grandmother, blue eyes misting over with
tears, her small lower lip trembled slightly. Allie recognized the signs of an
impending meltdown, and rushed to reassure her. “It’s all right, Janey.
Everything is fine.” She wanted to glare at her mother, to stare her down and
make her admit that her mothering skills were not lacking. But she knew this
was not the time, or the place.

           
“Now, now,” said Mrs. Gibson, her soft hand patted Allie’s. “You did the best
you could and look at that beautiful face. She’s a testament to your tender
heart. So sweet, so gentle.”

           
Allie took a deep breath and nodded, thankful for Mrs. Gibson’s kind words.
“Thank you. It was so hard after Matthew and Eleanor passed away. Two older
women from our church came to help me, in the beginning. They were patient, and
gave me guidance.”

           
“You could have come home, you knew that,” Mrs. Leeds interjected, her eyes
rock hard once more.

           
“I know, it was just...” Allie glanced at Janey, who had returned to her toast
and was eyeing the jam bowl. “We were already settled, and I hated to disrupt
her any more than I had to at the time.” She paused, reflecting. “To be honest,
I did not want to come home because I was learning from a very great painter, a
master. I would not have had another chance.” She said this last very softly,
almost speaking to herself.

           
“Then you should have sent her alone.” Mrs. Leeds ignored the conflicted
feelings so apparent in her daughter’s tone.

           
Allie shook her head. “I was selfish, I admit that. I wanted her to stay with
me.” She glanced at Janey and wondered how much the little girl understood of
the conversation. She seemed so intent on convincing Mrs. Gibson to give her
liberal amounts of jam.

           
“Well, this picnic will begin the work of repairing your respectability. We
must focus on renewing connections and making new friends.” With a decisive
nod, Mrs. Leeds folded her napkin beside her plate and rang for Maggie.

           
Allie bit her tongue, wanting to point out that her mother was making decisions
without any of her input, down to when breakfast was finished.

           
“Miss Bertram will arrive today at noon for Janey’s first lesson on the piano,”
Mrs. Leeds declared as Maggie appeared with an ornate bowl of grapes.

           
Janey gasped, eyes alight. “Piano? Lessons for me? Oh, Grandmother Leeds, thank
you!”

           
“You’re very welcome, child. Every young girl needs to learn an instrument.
Your aunt played piano for many years.”

           
“She did? She never said.” Janey frowned in Allie’s direction.

           
Mrs. Gibson chuckled. Allie threw her a glance and said, “Yes, well, I was
never very good so as soon as I could get away with it, I stopped.”

           
“But why, Auntie? Just think how you could have played and sung in the big
concert hall in San Francisco! I will practice and practice every day, I
promise. I wonder what name I should choose when I am famous...” Janey’s
innocent face was full of imaging a future as a concert hall star. “ I will
wear furs and jewels, my hair down my back, and black kohl around my eyes for
effect.”

            Her mother sucked in a
breath and her face twisted with shock. A sound emerged from her mouth that was
sure to be the beginning of a tirade, but it was cut off mid-syllable. Mrs.
Gibson had laid a soft hand on her sleeve, faded blue eyes full of warning.

           
“Oh, Janey,” Allie shook her head, trying not to burst out laughing. Her first
lessons and all she could think of was becoming a famous singer.

           
“We will play for our own enjoyment, my dear. I think nothing ends an evening
so well as a beautiful hymn,” said Mrs. Gibson.

           
Allie nodded, remembering how she and the Stellers, the elderly couple from
upstairs, had sung hymns in the evenings. When they had brought Janey to visit
her in the hospital, they had sung to her then, too. That first week, when she
was in so much pain, they had knelt down beside her bed and prayed. Allie
closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how she had turned her head and
pretended that her throat was too raw to join them.

           
“And Alberta, Mr. Bascomb will be here at eleven to take you for a carriage
ride,” said Mrs. Leeds.

           
Allie’s eyes flew open. “What if I do not feel like taking a carriage ride with
Mr. Bascomb?” she bit out, struggling to contain her anger.

           
“Don’t be difficult,” her mother sighed. “You agreed that you would be social.
He offered and I accepted for you.” She took a sip of her tea, as if accepting
invitations for a grown woman was perfectly normal.

           
“Mother, I am twenty five years old. I can decide for myself whether I want to
parade around town with an arrogant, self-absorbed, uncharitable―”

           
“Alberta, that is unkind,” her mother interrupted angrily. She thumped her palm
against the table cloth. “Mr. Bascomb will be here at eleven and you will be
dressed for a carriage ride. Mrs. Larson has invited you both to tea.”

           
Allie’s eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. Furious words battled in her
throat but she shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She must think of
Janey, of how they would survive in this new situation.

           
“I understand,” she said simply, and rose from her chair in one smooth motion.

           
“Alberta, where are you going?” her mother called after her.

           
Allie paused, one hand on the handle of the French door to the hallway. “To
change, mother. If I’m going for a carriage ride, I should be properly
attired.”

                                    
*** 

           
Twenty minutes past the hour and Mr. Bascomb had finally appeared. His suit was
a fashionable pin stripe, but as usual it seemed as if he had stolen it from a
much larger man. His hat sat far down his sallow brow and he peered out from
under the brim, blinking rapidly like he was unused to the sunlight. Allie
settled on the hard leather seat.  She had chosen the plainer of the two
new dresses that were delivered that morning. It was still very striking with
its tiny buttons and lace accents. The pale green complemented a deeper forest
green velvet ribbon trim at the waist and sleeves. Allie smoothed the fine
fabric over her lap and thought of the people still camping in parks in San
Francisco. They had nowhere to bathe, no cooking areas. Soon, winter would come
and the tents would be even more miserable than they already were.

           
“I was tempted to bring out the closed carriage. I understand how women do not
enjoy the feel of the wind against their faces, especially a woman used to
warmer climates, like yourself,” Mr. Bascomb said.  Allie wondered how
much hotter he thought San Francisco was. The Chicago sun was beating down on
them relentlessly.

           
“But then I remembered how important it is for a woman to be seen and to see.
The open top, although less luxurious,  will allow you to show yourself to
best advantage.” He said this last as he closed the low door and rapped the
side with his knuckles. The driver, perched at the front of the carriage,
clucked his tongue and twitched the reigns.

           
Allie adjusted her skirts again and bit back the acid words that threatened to
spill from her mouth. Being seen with Mr. Bascomb was the at the bottom of her
list of desired activities. She snapped open her parasol and took a deep
breath. Maybe an outing was a good thing and she would enjoy getting out of the
house for a bit. She would do her best to ignore his comments and enjoy
herself.

           
Mr. Bascomb struck an oddly stiff posture and began to describe his plans for
the next city council meeting. “We must move very quickly on our plans for the
new railway line,” he began.

           
Allie nodded every now and then, and he accepted that as proof of her rapt interest.
She wished that her mother would have let her stay while Janey had her lesson
but she was fairly certain that the carriage ride coincided with the lesson for
a reason.

           
The carriage wheels rolled smoothly along the lengthy dirt road from the house.
The city had grown by leaps and bounds while she was gone. She had always
thought of Bellevue as isolated but just beyond the acres of woodland, bustling
neighborhoods swarmed with people.

           
 Allie realized she had not seen the woods during the daylight since her
return. The trees were thick and healthy, birch and aspen growing close
together.  She could hear the birds’ call over the carriage wheels and she
grinned. How many hours had she and Thomas spent trying to imitate the Gold
Finch? Matthew once told them that if they could fool a Gold Finch, it would
roost on their shoulders and lay a golden egg. As a ten-year-old child, Allie 
was sure that treasure would be hers. Thomas was the first to suspect they’d
been tricked, but Allie refused to give up for weeks.