Bees in the Butterfly Garden (30 page)

Soon after, they returned to the parlor for the after-dinner interval. Claire had suggested reading poetry from Elizabeth Browning and Emily Brontë, but Nelson had recommended more general conversation.

Meg took a seat near the window, seeing Ian headed that way. Rather than joining them, Kate took a place in the center of the parlor.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kate said after everyone had gathered. “Do allow me an indulgence, won’t you? I’ve had the most fascinating discussion with Mr. Pemberton, and I must tell everyone how very impressed I am. Now, Mr. Pemberton, I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I simply must tell everyone what you shared with me over dinner. About your new project.”

Nelson’s fair skin went a bit pink in the cheeks, something Meg hadn’t seen in all the weeks she’d lived under the same roof with him. Everyone but Kate and Nelson had taken seats, with Ian in a chair near Meg’s. Nelson remained standing at Kate’s side as she expounded on his virtues and shared about his efforts to improve the lives of immigrants through work and food kitchens, along with attempting to remove a massive elevated railway that went down Third Avenue in the Bowery—a noxious iron roof that on occasion spewed ash or cinders from the trains that ran above.

Meg glanced at Ian. The Bowery—his territory.

She watched Ian’s eyes come to rest on Nelson, his expression somber yet interested. She’d known, of course, that Nelson was involved in myriad good works. She knew, too, his heart for others. If she thought about God more than she allowed herself, she might conclude He’d been wise to entrust a great deal of gold to this family. Something Kate might be trying to prove.

But these were thoughts Meg was training herself to ignore. Surely Ian did the same. He had even more incentive than Meg to carry out this plan; it hadn’t been her who’d been left in an alley on a pile of refuse.

Somehow she must find a way to take him to the library—alone—so she could show him where to find the key to the office. Not easily done while Kate demanded and directed everyone’s attention.

Ian felt Meg’s growing anxiety. Did she sense Kate’s capacity to manipulate the evening?

After a short session of general admiration for the virtues of Nelson Pemberton—something Ian was half-tempted to endorse himself—Kate did not give up playing the hostess.

“Now, darlings, I went to a party recently in Boston and they played the most delightful game. It’s called Composition. Who wants to play?”

At Kate’s bidding, Claire produced enough paper and a mix of decorative metal- and cedar-encased pencils for all who cared to join in. Geoffrey’s parents and Nomi opted to be spectators, the same status Ian himself would have claimed. But he knew enough about parlor games to realize there must be a winner. Perhaps he could do a bit of manipulating himself, with the library as his prize.

“First we must choose fifteen specific words all of us are required to include in our little essays. There is no limit to other words, but to earn the first point, each composition must contain every single one of these fifteen words. Points are deducted if we fail to use all fifteen words, but extra points are earned by a single grammatically correct sentence using the most words from our list. Understood?

“Let me see,” Kate continued. “Since there are seven players and we must choose fifteen words, each of us should suggest at least one word of our choice, and we must agree on the rest. Words like
sacrifice
.” With a glance at Meg, she added, “Or
deception
.”

That was enough for Ian’s suspicions to resurface. Just what was she up to with this game of hers?

Nelson and Claire added more words Kate would no doubt welcome—
trust
,
love
, and
home
. Ian knew he would have less trouble winning if the words were more mundane, and so he suggested
train
 . . . and
library
, to mirror Kate’s maneuver. He needed to stir interest in that room if he was to demand his reward when he won.

Once the remaining words were agreed upon—making one exception for Evie’s choice of
sugared fruit
to be considered a single word—Ian set about the task of winning without delay. He was less concerned about beauty of content than about receiving the highest score, and so when he finished first, he held up his sheet.

“Did you offer an extra point for fastest completion?” He was glad to receive amused laughter from Nomi and the Mason couple.

Kate, who’d been busy at a nearby side table, shook her head. “Rules have been stated, dear. No extra point for that, though I should have stipulated extra points for loveliness of prose. Something that takes more time.”

He cocked his head and grinned at her. “But alas, you said it yourself: rules have already been stated.”

“I for one am relieved about that,” Nelson said. “This isn’t much like writing a legal document.”

When all the participants had finished, Evie was the first to volunteer to read her composition.

The girl stood, apparently without a trace of shyness or awkwardness many children her age might display in adult company. Certainly Ian would have been unsure of himself, as a boy. At her age he’d still possessed a lingering Irish brogue and been spindly of body and brash of mind. It wouldn’t have taken anyone two minutes to show him to the door—not even the Pembertons’ kindness would welcome the kind of youth he’d been. And the Masons? They’d never have let him in.

Evie stood in the center of the room and read, “‘At a
luncheon
in the
garden
the other day, I noticed many
birds
. The
glasses
on the table were not safe from above, nor was my
hat
. When I left for the Bowery, I heard the noise of the
train
and wished to be back
home
, where I am the only
person
who will always
love
to eat
sugared fruit
in the
library
. I’m very glad to
trust
that
God
made a
sacrifice
of His Son because of my bent toward
deception
.’”

Evie clearly enjoyed her reading, perhaps more than anyone else in the room, and when the others clapped and congratulated her on successfully using each of the prescribed fifteen words, she curtsied as if she’d just pleased an audience in any of the Bowery theaters.

“I have seven points; is that correct, Lady Kate?” Evie asked as she handed her page to be counted. “I used six of the fifteen words in one sentence and one more point for using all the words. No deductions.”

Luckily for Evie, Kate did not consider content flow, since her essay jumped from one topic to another with nearly every sentence.

The young Mason stood next, and Ian settled back in his chair. The man did not take the spot Evie had vacated; rather he stood before Meg as if he’d designated her the only one worthy to be in the audience.

“‘I fell in
love
with a
person
I met in the
garden
belonging to the
home
next door. Songs of
birds
around us were as sweet to the ear as
sugared fruit
is to the tongue. I removed my
hat
, then asked the lady to
trust
my absence of
deception
and willingness to make great
sacrifice
for her. I hoped we might share a
luncheon
or at least two
glasses
of lemonade, but she was otherwise engaged reading a book from the
library
, and so I implored
God
to
train
her heart to accept mine.’”

The Mason family clapped and sighed, and even Kate, Ian noticed, complimented the man’s prose. Ian only smirked. No extra points for that.

Meg followed, and Ian was relieved to hear she did not return any of the sentiment young Geoffrey had been so eager to reveal to one and all. Rather hers contained some of what Ian expected, a reference to the
library
as her favorite room and a statement that stories of
sacrifice
—and
deception
—were as sweet to her as
sugared fruit
.

After Meg finished, Nelson invited his sister to go next. Claire read quietly that only the
love
of
God
was without
deception
, something Ian found curious. Did that mean she viewed human love as deceptive? But he had little time to contemplate the question, because Nelson began his reading.

His prose contained no hint of the legal tones he’d admitted to struggling with. Ian listened politely, all the while wishing he could find something to detest in the man. Reminding himself Nelson had played a part in having the bank bonds declared worthless did little to expel a growing respect for him. There was something about him, something Ian could describe only as “soulish,” that Ian wished he could better understand.

Nelson’s composition extolled
God
for His
love
and
sacrifice
, claiming His Book to be the most precious in the
library
. After a description of heaven, Nelson ended his prose with a promise to wait patiently because even on earth the
glasses
on his table overflowed with blessing.

Ian volunteered to go next, hoping to forestall Kate altogether. If each composition was to reveal something about its author, might she take a chance and reveal something he had no desire to let be known? He prepared to read his essay without flourish but with confidence, knowing he’d followed the rules and so far had accumulated the highest number of points.

“‘I’ve heard it said that
deception
does not come from
God
, that we should
trust
in His
love
and
sacrifice
. But a
person
without a
home
must live with the
birds
; he hasn’t even a
hat
and possesses nothing more than dreams of a
luncheon
with
sugared fruit
or a
train
ride to a
garden
where he will read many books from the
library
while enjoying several
glasses
of wine.’” He looked up, letting his gaze challenge Kate’s. “I believe that’s eleven points, Lady Kate. The winning total.”

“But we haven’t heard from Lady Kate!” Nelson reminded him. He approached Kate, gently taking her paper and holding it up. “We’re all good for the forfeit if you’re the winner, Mr. Vandermey. But I for one would like to hear what Lady Kate composed, whether or not it earned a winning score.”

“Thank you ever so much, Mr. Pemberton,” Kate said. She smiled Ian’s way, one brow slightly raised as she scrutinized his sheet to verify the points. “And I’m not entirely certain you deserve all those points, with such a cumbersome sentence and your use of a semicolon.”

“Prohibition of a semicolon was not previously stipulated,” he countered, “therefore permissible.”

“Then I shall read mine anyway. If you don’t mind, my dear?”

Ian stepped aside, returning to his chair. He waited, more fearful than ever that Kate was about to do something he would regret. It was one thing to have Meg ousted from the Pemberton home before she encountered any real trouble, quite another to have all of them found out for the frauds they were.

“‘
Deception
,’” Kate read in her perfectly faked British accent, “‘like
sugared fruit
, is something a
person
can
train
himself to
love
, proving
God
alone is worthy of our
trust
. Each day at breakfast,
luncheon
, and supper, I lift up a
sacrifice
of prayer that flies faster than
birds
up to heaven. I cannot keep the truth under my
hat
much longer because even without eye
glasses
, I see more clearly than others. I know this: a
home
belongs to those who live in it, whether or not it has a
library
or a
garden
.’”

Amid everyone’s praise, Ian stepped forward again to examine her paper. He must not allow anyone time to dwell on her words of secret warning. “Like some of the other compositions, it’s fortunate for you that no points were deducted over lack of subject continuity. Or for the questionable use of the word
glasses
. Wouldn’t
eyeglasses
be one word? I won’t even count your use of a colon, as you did with my semicolon.”

“Yes, we have a few things in common, don’t you agree? Using words to win something?”

He wouldn’t allow such banter any more time. “True enough, although I remain the winner.”

“And what sort of forfeit would you like us to pay?” Nelson asked congenially. “For us to identify an item of your choosing, blindfolded? Or perhaps sing the entire score of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’?”