Every Perfect Gift (11 page)

Gillie took her fan from her reticule and fanned her face. “He says Hickory Ridge can’t afford a free infirmary, even though that is not exactly what Dr. Spencer and I are proposing, and he also thinks it’s a waste of time anyway because the women who need help the most won’t take it. But how does he know?”

Sophie shook her head. “I’m sorry to say this, but he may be right. Remember the woman I met on the mountain? She was clearly sick, but she told me in no uncertain terms to leave her alone. It seems she’d rather be sick than wound her husband’s pride by asking for help. I’m all for your idea, but honestly, I don’t see how having an infirmary will convince people like that to come in when they need help.”

“I know it won’t be easy. But I’m hoping that if the leaders of Hickory Ridge show their support for the infirmary, then those husbands whose pride is standing in the way of their wives’ well-being will be more apt to accept it.” She shrugged. “Maybe we can shame them into seeking help.”

“Maybe.” Sophie chewed her lip. “I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it than pride. Perhaps the men fear having to take on more of the burdens at home if their wives are indisposed.” She watched a wren darting in and out of a nest. “Change comes slowly to small towns. Maybe they’re simply afraid of anything new.”

“Well, it isn’t as if this is a brand-new idea. Infirmaries are opening in Asheville and Knoxville, and just last week Doc told me about a sanatorium opening up on a lake in New York—Adirondack Cottage. It’s for treatment of tuberculosis. He says it’s only one large room, but still, to the patients who need it, it’s a godsend.”

Sophie regarded her friend. “Suppose the town council
approves the infirmary. Where would you put it? There’s not an empty room to be had here at the Verandah or at the inn. Even Mr. Webster’s school is bursting at the seams.”

“I’ve thought of that. The orphanage has been vacant for years. It’s sitting there falling into disrepair. And it’s perfect for my infirmary because it already has lots of rooms where I can set up beds. It has a kitchen and a dining room and an office. And it won’t be too expensive. All it needs is some repairs.” She huffed. “I should think the mayor and the council would rather have it occupied and useful instead of continuing to offend the eye of every visitor who comes to town.”

“Can’t Dr. Spencer plead your case? Or your father? I can’t imagine Mayor Scott would turn a deaf ear to Mr. Gilman.”

“Daddy’s no help. He says this is my project, so it’s up to me to make my case.” Gillie wrinkled her nose. “He thinks it’s good for my character.”

Sophie grinned. More than once Wyatt Caldwell had told her the same thing about her newspaper enterprise. In the end, though, he had advanced her the money to get her business started. Surely Mr. Gilman would do the same for his only daughter.

Gillie sighed and fanned her face. “Dr. Spencer is all for my infirmary. He has spoken to the mayor, but Mayor Scott keeps putting him off too, and Doc’s too busy to fight this battle for me. Why, just last week, Mrs. Sproule came down with consumption. And Mrs. Harper is expecting another baby and having a hard time of it. Poor Doc hardly has time to eat and sleep before he’s called out again. Even with Mrs. Spencer’s help, he can barely keep up.” Gillie frowned. “That’s exactly why we
need
the clinic. So he can spend his time with the serious cases instead of traveling all over the county treating minor illnesses.”

“What about women in town? Surely Mrs. Spencer supports the idea.”

“Oh yes, and Mrs. Rutledge and Mrs. Whiting and some others.” Gillie made a face. “Naturally Mother thinks the whole idea is ridiculous and that I should worry instead about finding a husband. But I don’t care.”

“You don’t want to marry?” Sophie took out her own fan. “I sure do. Someday.”

“Oh, I’m all for finding a good man and settling down, but my Prince Charming is going to have to find me, because I am far too busy to go looking for him.” Gillie leaned over and placed a hand on Sophie’s arm. “Speaking of princes, you’d better get going if you want to be ready when the handsome Mr. Heyward gets here. I didn’t mean to keep you so long. I only wanted to ask if you would write another opinion piece in the paper. Something to persuade the mayor and the council to hear me out.”

“I’m not sure I have any influence with them, but of course I’ll do anything I can to help.” Sophie clasped Gillie’s hand. “I think your idea is wonderful, and I personally would love to see the orphanage transformed into something useful.”

Gillie nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It couldn’t have been easy for you there.”

Sophie gazed past her friend’s shoulder, remembering. “It was a pretty dismal place. Only a few of us were taken into permanent homes. And nobody wanted a skinny mutt of a girl who had trouble with handwriting and only wanted to spin stories. Mrs. Lowell refused to let me go to school with the others. It still hurts to think about it. So I try not to.”

Gillie placed a hand on Sophie’s arm. “Maybe it would make you feel better to help turn the building into a place of hope.”

“I’m willing to try. Next week’s edition will be taken up with the Blue Smoke opening, I’m afraid, but after that I’ll work on the mayor and his ilk.”

“I knew I could count on you.” Gillie jumped up and threw
both arms around Sophie just as a carriage rattled down the street. “Oh my lands. Speaking of Blue Smoke, here comes Mr. Heyward.”

Before Sophie could reply, Gillie gave her a gentle shove. “Go on upstairs. I’ll entertain your gentleman while you change.”

“Thanks.” With a backward glance at the approaching carriage, Sophie ran inside.

Lucy Partridge met her at the foot of the stairs. “You’re late.”

“Don’t I know it.” Sophie took out her handkerchief, dabbed at a spot of black ink on her hand, and glanced at her hair in the hallway mirror. “Mercy. I look like something the cat dragged in.”

Lucy laughed. “You could never look that bad. Go on up. I prepared your bath and hung your dress up.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Sophie raced upstairs, undoing her buttons as she went. In her room, she slid into the warm, rose-scented water, wishing for more time to enjoy such an indulgence. But Ethan Heyward was waiting, and besides, she didn’t want to miss a minute of the reception. She scrubbed away the day’s grime, dried off, and ran a brush through her hair before fashioning it into a simple coil at the nape of her neck. She splashed on a bit of rosewater and stepped into the new dress, a whisper of cream silk that showed off her slim waist.

The sound of laughter drew her to the window. Down below, Ethan stood in the yard, his hat tucked into the curve of his arm, one foot resting on the hotel’s bottom step. Beside him, Gillie pointed up the street, and they laughed again.

Sophie felt an unexpected stab of pure old jealousy, then chastised herself. She had no claim on Ethan Heyward. If he wanted to share a joke with Gillie, why should she care?

She opened her velvet-lined jewelry case, a sixteenth-birthday present from Wyatt and Ada, and took out two jeweled combs for her hair. She fastened a pearl choker at her neck, tucked a couple of pencils into her reticule, and buttoned her jacket. With a final glance into the mirror, she picked up her reporter’s notebook and headed for the door.

Lucy grinned when Sophie came downstairs. “My word, you look pretty as a princess.” Lucy parted the front curtain in the parlor and looked out. “That’s some carriage. And Mr. Heyward looks mighty fine too.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll make flapjacks for breakfast, and you can give me a full report,” Lucy said, her eyes full of mischief. “And not just the stuff you plan to print in the paper either. I want the details.”

Sophie gave her a wave and then stepped onto the porch. Ethan looked up, a broad smile lighting his face.

“Mr. Heyward.” She rushed down the steps, her silk skirt swirling about her ankles. “I am six kinds of sorry for making you wait. I’m usually much more prompt.”

“He knows it was my doing,” Gillie said.

Ethan laughed. “It was worth the wait. You look beautiful, Miss Caldwell.” He offered his arm. “Shall we go?”

“Have fun.” Gillie waved as Ethan handed Sophie into the carriage, then stepped in and took the seat opposite her.

The driver executed a wide turn. The carriage rocked along the main road and then began the climb to Blue Smoke. Sophie watched the scenery slipping past—the trees cloaked in late-spring green, patches of birdfoot violets growing near the road, golden sunlight filtering through the thick branches.

“Excited about the reception?” Ethan smiled into her eyes, and she smiled back.

“Oh yes. It isn’t often I have a chance to talk to editors from other newspapers. I like knowing what’s going on in their towns and what their readers are interested in.”

He nodded. “Last time I was back in Baltimore, all the interest was about the new Equal Rights Party. I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

She raised a brow. “Truly? It seems to me that any democracy
should welcome the full participation of all its citizens. You don’t agree?”

He blushed. “Well, when you put it that way, of course. And I recognize time won’t stand still.” He peered out the window. “Our world is changing faster than I ever thought possible. Who would have thought we’d have a Negro playing baseball for the major leagues? But it’s happened in Ohio.”

“Yes. Moses Walker gave an interview shortly after he joined the Toledo team. Several of the Texas papers reprinted it.” Sophie braided her fingers and watched for some clue as to what he thought of Mr. Walker’s achievement, but Ethan’s face remained impassive. “I personally think it’s a sign of progress.”

“No doubt. But don’t you think our society will become more complicated when the natural lines between the races, or between a man’s world and a woman’s for that matter, become blurred?”

“Is that a diplomatic way of telling me you don’t approve of my owning the newspaper?”

“Not at all. I think it’s fine for now. But surely you’ll want a family someday?”

She fingered the cover of her notebook and swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat. He didn’t know his question had touched the deepest recesses of her heart. Having grown up without a family, she couldn’t imagine a more precious gift.

“Begging your pardon,” Ethan said, his voice soft. “I’ve upset you, and I didn’t intend to.”

She took a long breath and smiled into his eyes. “I’m perfectly fine, Mr. Heyward.”

“And that’s another thing I’ve been meaning to mention. Do you think you can call me Ethan? ‘Mr. Heyward’ makes me feel old.”

She relaxed, happy to have the conversation back on more neutral ground. “You don’t look old.”

He laughed and she smiled, enjoying the sound of it. “I’m
thirty-one. Old enough to know better than to peer too closely into a woman’s feelings. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Your future plans are none of my business.”

“You’re forgiven. And of course I’m honored to call you Ethan, if you will call me Sophie.”

“Done.” He peered out the carriage window. “The view of the sunset tonight from the terrace will be spectacular. We must remind the photographers to have their cameras at the ready. Did I tell you the
Boston Globe
sent two writers and an illustrator?”

“That’s wonderful. Is anyone from the Atlanta papers coming? I should think Blue Smoke will draw lots of visitors from there—from all over Georgia, really. And since you’re a native son, there must be tremendous interest in—”

His handsome face darkened. “They weren’t invited.”

“I see. But why?”

He shook his head. “Never mind, Sophie. We’re here.”

NINE

A distinguished-looking man in a blue, brass-buttoned uniform stepped forward and held the carriage door open for Sophie. “Good evening, miss.”

“Good evening.” Sophie gathered her skirts and stepped from the carriage. A row of rigs and carriages lined the road and overflowed onto the soft grass. Pots of bright pink and yellow blooms nodded in the cool mountain breeze that wafted through the covered portico. On either side of the massive entrance, twin fountains burbled softly, reflecting the sunlight that painted the distant hills and turned the trees to gold.

Ethan followed her from the carriage and nodded to the doorman. “Thank you, John. Tell Silas I’ll need the carriage later to see Miss Caldwell home.”

“Yes, sir. Enjoy your evening.” The doorman motioned to the driver and the carriage pulled away, the horses’ hooves making a hollow sound on the road.

Ethan offered his arm. “Shall we?”

He led Sophie through the reception hall and up a short staircase to the main ballroom. Two more uniformed servants smiled a greeting and opened the door. Inside, Sophie stood transfixed. Holy cats. No wonder folks called these present years the “gilded
age.” Like the mansions she’d read about—the Carnegies’ palatial home in New York, the Palmers’ castle-like mansion in Chicago—Blue Smoke was awash in gold. Thin golden ropes adorned three massive, gas-lit crystal chandeliers that spilled soft light into the room. Tables dressed with heavy white linens held stacks of gleaming china rimmed in gold. Goblets and wineglasses, flatware and serving platters glittered in the light.

“Well?” Ethan smiled down at her, and she was acutely aware of his nearness—the clean scent of his skin, the tiny wrinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes.