Anything But Civil (8 page)

“But, Sir Arthur, the girl will be woefully unprepared. What about the rules for everything from which fork to use to which topics of conversations are appropriate? She couldn’t possibly know how to conduct herself at a dinner table. Not to mention her lack of wardrobe. She’ll embarrass you, Sir Arthur.” Mrs. Baines turned on me suddenly and took my hand. “You wouldn’t want to embarrass Sir Arthur, would you, girl?”

I was mortified. Of course I didn’t want to embarrass Sir Arthur, but I also knew that I wouldn’t. I took great strides, and a good portion of my salary, to see that my wardrobe was fashionable, and Mrs. Chaplin’s School for Women didn’t only teach me shorthand and typewriting. I’ve been properly trained in all types of etiquette—just don’t ask me to paint or play the piano.

“No, Mrs. Baines, you do our Hattie an injustice. I can’t think of another woman I’d rather carry on a conversation with at the dinner table.” Mrs. Baines flinched, but Sir Arthur seemed oblivious to the affront he’d made. “Hattie, accept the invitation. It may mean working late afterward, but I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. I removed myself from the library. I had to find Harvey to postpone cutting the Christmas tree down. I had a little shopping of my own to do.

I had mixed emotions about going to the party. The dinner promised to be elegant, with exquisite food and interesting conversation, but Mrs. Baines was right about me not being the typical dinner party guest. And what if, like Mrs. Baines, Captain Starrett objected to my presence? He wasn’t approving of my actions when I rescued his granddaughter. What would he do when I arrived at his house as a dinner guest? And how would Sir Arthur react?

It doesn’t matter,
I thought.
I may as well try to enjoy myself.
Sir Arthur told me to accept the invitation and I would be attending the dinner whether my presence was disruptive or not. For despite the fact that Mrs. Baines was still arguing with Sir Arthur “on my behalf ” as she put it when I left, I knew Sir Arthur enough to know that once he’s made up his mind not even the wiles of a lovely woman could change it. Which proved to be right, for when I returned to my room after talking to Harvey a note from Mrs. Baines was on my bed. It read:

She probably meant well,
I thought.
But then why did she always make me feel bad?

It was with this thought that I opened the Christmas card postmarked St. Louis, the glitter and gold foil sparkling under the light of the gas lamp I’d had to light on this gloomy day. I cringed and dropped the card right side down when I saw the Santa Claus, dressed in a brown robe and hat with flowing white beard and piercing blue eyes. I’d had enough of Captain Henry Starrett resembling Santa Claus. Then I saw the inscription on the back. My heart skipped a beat. It was from Walter:
Spending Christmas with Mother in St. Louis, but wishing I was in Galena with you. Ever your friend, Walter Grice.

I wish you were here too
,
Walter,
I thought.

And the thought was triggered an hour later on Main Street when I espied Enoch Jamison exiting a store. I’d been shopping at the St. Louis Department Store to buy red velvet ribbon for the dining room, a few German glass ornaments for the Christmas tree, and lace for my dress, at Siniger & Siniger’s Drug Store for gold paint, and at Owens Confectionery for ribbon candy. I’d been among a crowd enthralled with an elaborate puppet display in the show window of Barry Bros. Dry Goods when I spotted him. A full papier-mâché moon had shone down on children sleeping in a humble thatch-roof cottage when clouds had parted. Santa Claus, driving his sleigh, laden with gifts and drawn by two reindeer, had appeared from around a mountaintop, blowing his horn.

Toot-toot! Toot-toot!
“Merry Christmas!” Puppet Santa Claus declared.

Everyone clapped and cheered, everyone except Enoch Jamison. He stood, purplish-black bruises circling his eyes, his arm in a sling, glancing about him furtively, as if waiting impatiently for someone.
He’s the antithesis of Walter,
I thought, watching Enoch Jamison, beaten and cheerless, flinch when a man thumped him on the back.

“Merry Christmas, Enoch,” the man said. “We’re on your side. Hope you heal up quick!” Mr. Jamison bobbed his head slightly and mumbled an inaudible reply. The urge to see the strength in Walter’s eyes and the reassurance in his smile overwhelmed me.

Pull yourself together,
I thought, and the moment passed. I brushed my sleeve of snowflakes that had drifted down from the store awning above me and readjusted my hat. Mr. Jamison caught a glimpse of me and frowned; I’d been staring at him.

Why did I feel compelled to spy on this poor man, anyway?
I wondered.

Ashamed of myself, I abandoned the puppet show but stopped when Mr. Jamison grew agitated and approached another coming toward him. It was the man with
O.C.K.
in India ink on his hand. The two put their heads together and spoke furtively but indistinctly. I couldn’t understand a word. Who was this other man? He had left the G.A.R. meeting disgusted by Henry Starrett’s arguments. Was he too a “copperhead” from days gone by? But then why attend a Grand Army of the Republic meeting? Still in conference, they navigated through the now-dispersing crowd of window-shoppers and disappeared around the bend. What were they talking about? All I could do was wonder as I made my way back to Prospect Street and an afternoon of finding the perfect Christmas tree with Harvey and making cornucopias, garland, and a mess in the kitchen with Mrs. Monday and Ida. I vowed to write Walter tonight.

“M
ein Gott!”
When I descended the back stairs, Ida almost dropped the bucket she was carrying. “
Sehr schön,
very beautiful. Mrs. Monday come see Hattie,
ja?
”

Mrs. Monday, in her usual highly starched, spotless white apron, strolled into the hallway, wiping her hands on a towel. Despite the heat and demands of the kitchen, not even a single strand of gray hair was displaced from her bun. She grinned. “My, my, don’t you look handsome.”

I looked down to admire my emerald green brocade evening gown. I’d bought it two years ago and only had a chance to wear it once. The lace I’d bought and sewn on the scooped neckline and sleeves this morning was the added touch it needed to make it feel new.

“Thank you,” I said, beaming.

“It matches the color of your eyes,
ja?
” Ida said.

“What on earth are you doing in the servants’ hall?” Rachel Baines, dressed in what must have been the latest fashion from Paris, a royal blue velvet gown, with a belt of satin and a bertha collar of antique lace veiling the sleeves and draped in front with an exquisite rose gold, amethyst, and pearl brooch, was stalking down the hallway. She shooed Ida and Mrs. Monday with her hand. “Stay away. Do you want to soil the girl’s gown?”

Mrs. Monday bowed her head and sulked back to the kitchen with Ida, lugging a pail of soapy water, on her heels. “If you’re going to be treated like a lady, even for one night, you’d better act like one,” Rachel Baines said.

This wasn’t the way it should’ve been. It hurt to see Ida and Mrs. Monday treated so. If the entire evening was going to be like this, Mrs. Baines was right; I never should’ve been invited in the first place.

“I was concerned that you’d dress above your station or show too much skin,” she said, appraising my dress, shoes, and hair, “but you managed to look tasteful. Thank goodness you won’t stand out,” she said, escorting me into the front foyer where the men were waiting.

Sir Arthur was looking at his watch. When he saw us arrive, he nodded. “Good, we’ll leave in precisely three minutes.”

Lieutenant Triggs whistled. “Ladies! I had no idea we would be graced by such beauty tonight!” he exclaimed, taking Rachel Baines’s hand and kissing it. “Which one are you, dear lady, Aphrodite or Helen of Troy?”

“Aphrodite,” John Baines answered. His wife giggled with delight.

Lieutenant Triggs turned to me. “Then you must be Helen of Troy.” I blushed from the scrutiny I was getting from every pair of eyes in the hall. “I heard you were joining us, Hattie. I’m thrilled, absolutely thrilled.”

“You do look smashing, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said. “New dress?” He looked at his watch again. “Where’s your wife, Lieutenant?”

“I must apologize, Sir Arthur,” he said, glancing at the hall clock. “She’ll be down soon, I’m sure.”

“Is she unwell?” Sir Arthur couldn’t imagine any other excuse for tardy behavior.

“More of a malaise, I’d say,” Lieutenant Triggs said. “Difficult time of year for her, you know, but she’ll be fine. Dinner should cheer her up.”

“Good, glad to hear it,” Sir Arthur said, checking his watch again.

“How do you like my new dress, Sir Arthur?” Rachel Baines said.

“It’s lovely, Mrs. Baines.”

“Why did you need a new dress?” John Baines asked, his eye twitching.

“Aren’t I worth a new dress?” she said, taking his arm. “Don’t I look nice in it?” Her husband wrapped his arm around her tightly.

“You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.” Rachel Baines beamed while her husband blushed, realizing he had forgotten himself in front of an audience.

“Priscilla,” Lieutenant Triggs said, in obvious relief. Priscilla Triggs descended the staircase and joined us. She was dressed in a brown heavy brocade gown accented with a white ribbon sash about her waist, black lace and white bows about the neckline and shoulders. She looked very elegant, except her eyes were puffy and red, as if she’d been crying. She smiled weakly when her husband offered her his arm. “Shall we, darling lady?”

“I must have a glass of water before I go,” Priscilla said. Sir Arthur looked at his watch.

“Yes, I know. Right here, my darling,” Lieutenant Triggs said, pointing to a hall table with a pitcher of water and a single glass set on a silver tray.

“Well, I never,” Rachel Baines said, watching as Priscilla drained the glass and set the glass on the tray, averting her eyes from the questioning stares.

“I’m ready now,” Priscilla Triggs said.

All six of us arrived together at the Reynard/Starrett house exactly fifteen minutes before the hour named on the invitation, partially from Sir Arthur’s fanatical revulsion of tardiness and Frederick Reynard’s kind offer to complement Sir Arthur’s sleigh with his own horse and sleigh. Ned and Gertie, dressed in their finery, threw open the door and ran out to greet us.

“Mother, they’re here. They’re here!” Ned yelled as Gertie threw her arms around my legs. She seemed to have made a speedy and full recovery. Priscilla Triggs reached out and touched Gertie on the head. I picked Gertie up in my arms.

“Are you all better now, Gertie?” I asked. She nodded shyly. “And you’re not going to go near that river again, are you?” She shook her head. “Good girl.” Gertie beamed.

“Hattie!” Rachel Baines exclaimed. “Put that child down. She has wet feet. You do want to be presentable to our hostess, don’t you?” She shook her head in disbelief as I set Gertie down. “I’ll have to watch you closer than I thought.”

“Come on, everybody,” Ned called, waving his arm and running back toward the house.

“Charming lad,” Lieutenant Triggs said, chuckling. “He’ll make a fine officer.”

“The boy does have spirit,” John Baines said.

Gertie grabbed my hand and then Priscilla Triggs’s, whose face lit up and who, for the first time since I’d met her, smiled broadly. Gertie led us into the warmth and light of the house, where the sweet aroma of pine announced the arrival of Christmas here as well. The chandelier, the banister, the doorways were all draped in ropes of evergreen. The household staff had been industrious since I’d been here. Gertie dropped our hands, then disappeared with her brother into one of the parlors. Adella Reynard, dressed in a rich silk gown of burgundy with collar and cuffs of fine lace, was in the hall welcoming everyone while the butler, the black man who had helped me down by the river, was taking everyone’s cloaks.

“Miss?” he said, extending his arm. As I let him help me off with my cloak, I said, “Ambrose, is it?” He nodded. “I never got to thank you for helping me yesterday, Ambrose. I’m Hattie, by the way.”

“You’re sure welcome, Miss Hattie. I was glad to hear the missus invited you. That was a brave thing you did.”

“Not so brave,” I said. “You would’ve done the same if you’d been near.”

“Nice of you to say so, miss. Well, enjoy yourself.” He looked around and, seeing the other guests following Adella into the front parlor, said conspiratorially, “And don’t forget to stop by the kitchen before you leave. I hear Mrs. Cassidy set some of the truffle desserts aside for you, for later.” I laughed, already looking forward to the sweet confections, and joined the rest of the party. Rachel Baines was speaking when I entered.

“. . . lovely home. I know I speak for everyone when I say I’m delighted to be here.” She continued on for some time before Adella had a chance to introduce the guests whom we hadn’t met yet.

“I’d like you all to meet our dear friends Mrs. Powers and Mrs. Kaplan.”

Mrs. Powers was a small woman in her late fifties with a disproportionately large nose. She wore all black, which matched the color of her hair, and seemed in a somber mood, given the festive occasion.

“Mrs. Powers’s late husband,” Adella explained, “was one of Frederick’s partners at the factory.” Priscilla Triggs gravitated toward her almost immediately and the two struck up a conversation.

“Mrs. Kaplan is the widow of an old friend of Papa’s,” Adella said. Mrs. Kaplan was an elderly woman with a humped back and a shock of white, frizzy hair. She held a sturdy wooden cane, with a sterling silver cap, in her hands. She and General Starrett sat next to each other, exchanging observations that inevitably made the other laugh. She too wore black.

“Mrs. Powers, Mrs. Kaplan, and oh, Mrs. Holbrook,” Adella said to Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook’s wife, a plump, stately elderly lady in a charcoal gray evening gown who had arrived with her husband moments earlier. “I’d like to introduce Sir Arthur Windom-Greene, who is visiting Galena from England via Richmond. He’s writing a book about Papa.”

Sir Arthur nodded his head, mumbling, “Charmed, ladies,” before quickly returning to his conversation with Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook, who had joined the cluster of men by the fireplace the moment he stepped into the room.

“And I wouldn’t want to forget Sir Arthur’s guests for the holidays,” Adella Reynard said, “Lieutenant Triggs and his wife and Mr. Baines and his wife.”

Suddenly the children reappeared, racing into the room.

“Children, you’re supposed to be in the nursery,” Adella said.

“Do you want to see what my granddaddy gave me?” Gertie said, running up to me. I looked to Adella for instruction. She nodded her approval.

“Yes, please,” I said. The little girl pulled a small lacquered wooden box from behind her back and opened it. It contained an exquisite violet hand-painted fan with mother-of-pearl ribs and white lace. Gertie waved the fan around in the air a few times and then folded it up again. Just as I thought she would put it away, she used it to whack her brother on the head.

“Now, Gertrude, nice young ladies don’t hit their brothers,” Adella said as Ned stuck his tongue out at his sister.

“May I see?” Priscilla Triggs, who hadn’t said a word to us since we’d arrived, reached for the fan. Gertie moved closer so that the woman could get a closer look. Mrs. Powers leaned closer too.

“Granddaddy said it’s special, like me,” Gertie said proudly.

“My daughter had something similar when she was your age,” Mrs. Powers said. “Hers was blue.”

“It is special. Thank you for showing us,” Priscilla Triggs said. Gertie then stuck her tongue out at her brother.

“Yeah, well, my present’s better.” Ned, who had climbed up and was standing on a chair, jumped down and ran over to a corner table. He ran back with his prize in his hand, pointing it at me. Someone screamed. I fell out of my chair scrambling to get out of its line of fire as the other women all ducked their heads. It wasn’t a toy; it was a gun.

“Ned!” his mother cried. “I told you to put that away.” She snatched it from her unwilling son’s hands and set it on top of a bookcase, out of the boy’s reach. Still trembling, I slowly retook my seat. The men roared with laughter, finding sport in my distress.

“What quick reflexes on your girl, Sir Arthur,” Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook guffawed. “Could’ve used her at Gideon’s Bluff!”

“I knew your boy would make a good soldier,” Lieutenant Triggs said, slapping Frederick Reynard on the back, “but who would’ve known about Miss Davish!”

I could ignore the old colonel, but Lieutenant Triggs’s comment stung.
“Un, deux, trois . . . ,”
I counted under my breath. I avoided eye contact with any of the men, especially Sir Arthur. He wouldn’t have approved of the expression on my face.

The elderly Mrs. Kaplan leaned over and gave my leg a pat. Her countenance was less comforting than amused. I flashed a feeble smile at her, took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, all the while wondering what type of man gives a ten-year-old boy a pistol?

“But Mother, Granddaddy gave it to me.”

“Yes, I know, but it isn’t a toy. You can have it back when your father has time to teach you how to use it. Not until then.”

“But it doesn’t have any bullets in it. Granddaddy kept those.”

“Don’t argue, Edward. It’s still dangerous.” Gertie triumphantly stuck out her tongue at her brother again. “Now to bed with you both,” their mother said.

“Ah,” Ned said, kicking the leg of a table while Gertie entertained herself by winking and making funny faces at me and the other women.

“Now,” Frederick Reynard said, crossing the room toward us. Without another word, the children tore out of the room, scrambling and pushing each other for the chance to get through the door first.

“And who’s this lovely girl in green?” Mrs. Kaplan said when Adella had seemed to forget to introduce me.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Kaplan,” Adella said, blushing. “This is Miss Hattie Davish, Sir Arthur’s secretary. She’s taking Papa’s dictation for Sir Arthur’s book.”

“A secretary?” Mrs. Holbrook said.

“I know it’s unusual,” Mrs. Baines said, feeling the need to apologize for my presence, “but I think Mrs. Reynard invited Hattie to have an equal number of men and women. It’s obvious she’s a thoughtful hostess.”

“Actually,” Frederick Reynard said, wearing another variegated amaryllis on his lapel. He stood close to his wife, their shoulders almost touching. “Miss Davish was invited in honor of the debt of gratitude this family owes her. She’s quite remarkable, really.”

“Indeed?” Mrs. Kaplan said. “And tell me, Frederick, what has this young lady done to deserve such high praise?”

“Be foolhardy,” Captain Starrett said loudly, cutting off the buzz of conversation as he entered the parlor for the first time. He had seemed out of sorts ever since I overheard his conversation with the man he called Mott. Was it a coincidence he was directing his anger at me? “Girl shouldn’t have gone out on that ice. I’m not calling your judgment into question, Sir Arthur, but that secretary of yours is a silly, thoughtless girl.”

“Father!” Adella exclaimed, seeing her dinner party unravel before her eyes.

Priscilla Triggs too seemed shocked. She came to stand beside me and put a protective hand on my shoulder.