Currents (23 page)

M
r. Eaton barely looked up when Mary Margaret reported for work again the next day. She immediately saw why. There were at least twice as many shoes and boots as usual waiting to be repaired and cleaned.

“I've left three dozen pair out there for you. You'll have your work cut out for you this morning,” Mr. Eaton said. “Seems with the holidays that everyone wants to look their best.”

The scent of cinnamon lingered in the air, and she spied two empty teacups on a tray by the stairs.
Looks like there's going to be a new Mrs. Eaton
, she thought gleefully as she disappeared behind the red drapes.

They each worked in silence for the next hour, knowing that at noontime, the customers would come flocking in on their lunch break looking for their footwear.

An hour and a half into their work, the bell above the front door tinkled. Mary Margaret heard a customer enter and let out a sob.

“Miss Cummings!” Mr. Eaton jumped up from his bench, wiping his hands. Mary Margaret stopped ironing and stood quietly peering out from the small opening where the curtains met.

“Oh, Mr. Eaton.” She heard the lady's voice breaking. “I had nowhere else to go. No one else to go to. I'm sorry.”

“Sit down, sit down,” he said. “Is it your mother? Has she taken a turn?”

“No, no. It's, it's . . .” Daphne, looking pale and weak, leaned on a dainty white cane in one hand and clutched a handkerchief in the other.

“Tell me,” he urged. “And here, please sit down. Now, there, there. Tell me, what is it?”

“Well, Mother has needed more and more medicine to keep her comfortable in these final months,” Daphne explained between sobs.

“Of course.” Mr. Eaton patted her hands. Mary Margaret could see that she was a tiny woman, with little birdlike features and pale brown hair twisted up in a bun. A bright red hat with a jutting feather was fastened at a slight angle on top of her head. She had a pleasant if rather unremarkable face, except for very large dark brown eyes.

“And because she is bedridden, she is cold all the time. So sometimes I have purchased extra coal for the fires,” Daphne whimpered.

“Naturally.” Mr. Eaton nodded sympathetically.

“Between the medicine and the coal and the doctor's bills . . . oh dear. I'm so ashamed. The rent is two months past due, and I do not have the money to pay the landlord. He's threatened to throw Mother and me out on the street!”

“Daphne, Daphne. Is that all?” He sat back and visibly relaxed. “I thought there was a problem we couldn't fix. We can take care of this.”

Mr. Eaton took a key from a chipped cup on the desk against the side wall and opened the bottom drawer. He lifted out a metal box, opened it, and pulled out a small stack of bills.

“What do you need to bring your accounts up-to-date?” he asked firmly.

“Elton, I will pay you back—I give you my word. It might take me a month or two, but you'll get back every cent.” She swiped at her tears with her gloves, and he handed her a fresh handkerchief.

“I know you will,” Mr. Eaton said.

Mary Margaret couldn't make out the amount Daphne asked for, since the poor woman was still weeping, but she saw Mr. Eaton peel off several bills from the stack and watched as the lady tucked them neatly in the reticule she carried.

“Dry your eyes and go take care of your obligations, my dear. I will see you tonight.” He stood up, passed her the cane, and helped her to the door.

After she left, Mr. Eaton pulled the red drape open and looked down at Mary Margaret. “I ask you,” he said, “to please not repeat what you just heard here.”

She nodded gravely. “I promise, Mr. Eaton. I won't say a word.”

M
ary Margaret struggled to keep up with Louisa as she rushed down the street and up the steps of the Boston Girls' School. Her feet had grown that fall, and her shoes pinched her toes. There was no use complaining, as she already knew there would be no money for new boots or shoes until next year. Louisa's hands were tucked inside her fur muff to keep them warm, so Mary Margaret pulled back the brass knocker and rapped several times. The door swung open, and Mrs. Lowe stood looking down at the two of them. She was dressed in a stiff blue dress with a skirt shaped like a church bell, and the mourning broach she'd worn since her husband's death was pinned tightly at her collar.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Mrs. Lowe,” Louisa said breathlessly, pulling a hand from her muff. She held up the letter her mother had asked her to deliver. “This letter was mistakenly delivered to our house instead of yours. Mother says it looks like it's from California and that I was to bring it directly to you.”

The older woman's face took on a light that Mary Margaret hadn't expected from Mrs. Lowe. It touched her heart. Mrs. Lowe took the letter and opened the door wide.

“Come in Louisa, dear. You, too.” She nodded at Mary Margaret. “You'll freeze out here. Hyacinth!” she called out. A young woman appeared from around the corner. “Please give the girls some tea or hot chocolate and show them around. Then deliver them to my classroom to wait for me.” She spun on her heel, carefully opening the letter as she disappeared into her office.

“Would you like to have a tour of the school?” Hyacinth asked.

“Oh, yes. I go to the Young Ladies' School on Beacon Street, and I've heard of this school. A friend of mine is a student here,” Louisa explained. “She says it's awfully hard, and she must study even on weekends. I'm not sure that would suit me.”

The blue and purple multipaned glass windows poured light like a rainbow on tall rows of bookcases that lined the walls. There were three large, sunny teaching rooms on the second floor, and Mrs. Lowe's and Hyacinth's offices were on the first floor. One classroom had twelve desks lined up neatly in three rows of four. The other rooms had chairs placed evenly around a long oak table. A box in the center of each table held several freshly sharpened pencils.

“Do you study needlepoint here?” Louisa asked.

“No,” Hyacinth said. “Our girls study the classics, mathematics, science, history, and some study the French language.”

“I would love to study all those things,” Mary Margaret said.

“My father says that young ladies need to be educated so they can make fine wives and mothers,” Louisa said. “I don't see how mathematics and science can help with that.”

“Sit here, ladies, and I'll bring in cups of hot chocolate,” the teacher said over her shoulder as she disappeared below stairs to the cellar kitchen.

Mrs. Lowe appeared at the same time as the hot chocolate, and Mary Margaret thought she looked as though she had been crying.

“Is everything all right with Lucas, Mrs. Lowe?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Yes.” She smiled. “He should be home by Christmas. Oh my goodness, what a sight for sore eyes he will be.”

“What else does he say, Mrs. Lowe?” Louisa asked. “Has he discovered gold?”

“Well, he doesn't say, so I'm not sure. But he's having fascinating experiences.” She thought for a moment. “Would you be interested in hearing his letter?”

“Oh, yes!” Mary Margaret cried, forgetting herself.

“Please, oh yes, please,” Louisa agreed.

Mrs. Lowe took a deep breath and began to read slowly:

T
ogether they scanned every detail of Lucas in the photograph he'd enclosed. He did look thinner. His hair and sideburns were a little scruffy.

“The barber down in Pemberton Square will tidy him up.” Mrs. Lowe kissed the tip of her finger and touched it to the picture. “If he really makes it home before Christmas, we'll go to church together, and then I'll roast a wonderful goose for dinner.”

“Oh, Mrs. Lowe. I can't wait to see him,” Mary Margaret spoke up.

Mrs. Lowe tucked the letter tenderly in her skirt pocket. “He's been in California all this time, so it will take a while for his blood to thicken up and get used to our New England winter. I've almost finished knitting a pair of mittens for him. Red with thirty-one white stars around the cuffs—fifteen on one mitten, sixteen on the other. Lucas will know right away they represent the thirty-one states in the union, and thus the stars on the American flag. We Lowes are nothing if we're not patriots!” she finished proudly.

“Does he still have the drawings that Mary Margaret and I did for him before he left?” Louisa asked.

“Why, yes, Louisa,” she laughed. “And I haven't changed a thing in his room, except to tidy it up after he left. His bookcase still holds his books—
Aesop's Fables
, biographies of great men the likes of Marcus Aurelius, and another favorite,
The Journal of Lewis and Clark to the Mouth of the Columbia River
by Meriwether Lewis. I guess those stories of adventurers inspired him and fired his imagination.

“And your drawings are hanging above his dresser. The one you drew, Louisa, of skating on the Frog Pond. And the other, Mary Margaret, of all three of you flying down Boston Common on a red sled.

“Your drawings and his favorite quote from the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius are the only things he hung up.”

“I remember him quoting that to me,” Mary Margaret said.

“He wrote it out and framed it,” Mrs. Lowe said. “I've looked at it so many times that I know it by heart.” She clasped her hands on her chest and recited: “‘Do not act as if you had ten thousand years to throw away. Death stands at your elbow. Be good for something, while you live and it is in your power.'”

It was more than either girl had ever heard Mrs. Lowe talk about anything, and they both fell silent, not wanting her to stop.

“Oh my, where are my manners?” Mrs. Lowe suddenly said. “I'm just going on and on. Did you enjoy the tour of the school?”

“Very much, ma'am. I am wondering, do you teach the girls here to write stories?” Mary Margaret asked, unable to hide her enthusiasm.

“Why, yes, we do. Aren't you clever to ask? We teach history and math in the morning. After lunch the girls pull out their required journals and share their writings. When you see me sitting in my window by the lamp at night, I am often correcting their journals for them. I hope to produce some talented writers from our little school. We finish up the afternoon with science, spelling, and penmanship. Once a week we study geography and current events.”