Sweeter than Birdsong (11 page)

Fortunately, Mr. Neil’s hospitality would dissuade the Lawrences from the temptation of offering to pay the Hanbys’ way. They had come from Massachusetts, initially, and it was clear there was a family fortune somewhere in their history. That wealth had sent Cornelia to a Paris finishing school and paid for those French dresses that became her so well. Such largesse did not pour from the coffers of Otterbein, for though Mr. Lawrence was president, the college was too new to pay him much for his services.

“What will you play, Cornelia?” Ben asked.

“I will surprise you.” She smiled at him, her face pretty and softly rounded, which kept her continental look from becoming too severe.

The windows of the Lawrences’ home were open to the cool breeze outside, and the sweetness of spring eased some of his disquiet about Kate Winter.

“Those are beautiful geraniums you found for your window box, Ida.” His mother stood and crossed to the window to admire the papery blooms. She and Mrs. Lawrence discussed wildflowers. Ben’s attention wandered, and in his distracted state, he said to Cornelia, “Going to Columbus will help me accomplish another errand as well, so it is a providential journey.”

That was not discreet. He should not tell her what he intended, no matter how friendly the Lawrences were to abolition.

“And what is that?” Cornelia’s delicate brows arched.

“I will surprise you.” He smiled.

He must send a letter to John Parker this very evening, while there were yet a few days before the Columbus trip.

“Cornelia, did you hear?” Mrs. Lawrence turned away from the window box and bustled toward the hall. “We are going to pick some geraniums near the creek, so Mrs. Hanby may have some bouquets of her own. Will you come?” She settled her brown silk bonnet over her up-twisted graying hair and tied its large purple bow under her chin.

“Oh yes, please.” Cornelia rose and walked to the foyer as well to get her own wide-brimmed hat.

“Ben, I don’t suppose you’ll come with us?” His mother touched his arm, her eyes bright. “It’s a fine day for a walk.” Her spontaneous joy made her look almost girlish.

“I regret to decline the pleasure. I have a saddle yet to stitch.”

The women departed, still talking about Columbus, and he followed them out, hat in hand. The song running through his mind was melancholy but fierce.
“Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt land. Tell Old Pharaoh to let my people go.”
With John Parker’s help, Ben intended to go down to Egypt. But the Pharaoh Ben had in mind was not amenable to friendly persuasion.

Hot broth spattered everywhere, a few drops stinging the back of Kate’s hand. Tessie fluttered over to her. “Oh, miss, I haven’t scalded you, have I? I’m so clumsy—I dropped my spoon in the soup.”

“Don’t worry.” Kate resisted the urge to rub her hand. “What has you so nervous?”

“I’ve forgotten to bring in the potatoes for supper. The box is empty. But now I’m making the soup and I don’t want to leave it alone, not with the stove so hot.” Tessie poked around in the bottom of the pot with a long fork, searching for the missing spoon.

“I’ll go out to the root cellar and get some for you.” Kate would not get her bonnet for such a brief errand. The root cellar was behind the house, just short of the tree line. Northwest Street bordered the woods, though if you crossed Alum Creek and walked farther through the trees, the Everett place was only a half mile away.

“Oh, thank you, miss. You’re a dearie.”

Kate walked out the kitchen door and down the steps onto the spring grass. The trees beckoned, shady and inviting in their promise of refuge. She had sought the solace of the grove more than once rather than stay in the house.

She leaned down and grasped the handle of the cellar door, pulling it open with an effort. The root cellar was a wild pig’s paradise, and they would run riot in there unless the door was kept shut.

Steep steps slanted down into the chilly, dim hole in the ground. She descended, minding her head as she passed under the timbered ceiling. The light from the open door was soft, but she distinguished the outline of the potato chest to the right. She raised the lid and rummaged through the sawdust until she had picked out ten cool potatoes to bring back in her basket. The cold bit through her lightweight dress, and she held her arms close to her sides to prevent shivers.

As she climbed up the stairs, the sound of voices drifted from the woods. She craned her neck to see. Laughter rang out, and about thirty feet away, patches of brown and blue silk flashed through the trees. She shouldn’t pry, but the women sounded so merry that they piqued her curiosity. She closed the cellar door and set the basket down on it. At the edge of the tree line, she rested her hand on a birch trunk, looking deeper into the grove. She had the fleeting sensation of standing outside a window, watching a party to which she had not been invited.

Cornelia, dressed in flowing green silk, had removed her bonnet and hung it on a nearby branch. Her rich auburn hair was crowned with a wreath of pinkish-purple blooms, and she held out a half-finished blossom wreath to Mrs. Lawrence. “Do wear a wreath, Mother. I missed the woods here while I was abroad. We did not have such wild beauty in Paris.” Cornelia skipped like a little girl and jumped over a fallen limb.

“Where is our sophisticated Frenchwoman now?” A woman’s voice came from behind another tree. Mrs. Hanby stepped out with her arms full of the same soft blossoms on their green, waxy stems.

“Indeed, Cornelia. A wild changeling has taken your place.” Mrs. Lawrence smiled and leaned down to gently remove a whole geranium plant from the soil under the trees.

Kate might not have another opportunity soon to thank Mrs. Hanby for her intercession in her father’s drunken debacle. She must overcome her shyness this once. “Good afternoon.” Kate’s first greeting was too soft, and they did not hear, so she walked toward them a few steps, wending her way around the ground cover and twigs. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hanby.”

“Why—good afternoon, Miss Winter.” Mrs. Hanby’s surprise was plain. She laid her flowers in the basket by her feet. Cornelia and Mrs. Lawrence still had not turned around.

“I do not mean to interrupt,” Kate said.

“Not at all.” Mrs. Hanby moved a few steps nearer.

Cornelia spotted her over her shoulder. “Kate!” She twisted a stem into place between her hands. “As my mother will not accept a garland, I will give it to you.” She grinned and held out the circlet of flowers. Kate approached hesitantly. Cornelia lifted the wreath and placed it on Kate’s head. The flowers brushed her brow, a sweet scent released by their broken stems.

“There,” Cornelia said. “Now we are a couple of wild changelings together.” She took Kate’s elbow. “Will you walk with us down to the creek? We’re taking the air, as well as stealing nature’s beauty.”

Kate nodded, and the older women picked up their baskets.

She listened to their gay chatter as she walked through the dapples of sunlight on the woodland path. They did not know what had happened after the party last night, the scene that refused to leave Kate’s mind. When they reached the creek’s edge, Cornelia went to show her mother a frog beneath a waterside fern.

Kate turned to Mrs. Hanby. “I want to thank you for your kindness last night.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Hanby said. “I was glad to meet your family.”

Kate blinked and walked to the edge of the creek bank. If only her family were more like these women. The sharpness of the yearning threw her off balance. She sensed Mrs. Hanby behind her, petite but somehow as strong as one of these trees rooted in the riverbank.

“Would you like to accompany me on an excursion to Columbus?” Mrs. Hanby asked.

Kate twisted to face her. “Pardon, ma’am?”

“The three of us are taking a jaunt to the city next week. We will hear Cornelia play at Neil House, and do some shopping and take in the sights. I would like to take you with us. My daughter Amanda does not wish to go, and we will have an extra bed if you wish it.”

She struggled against the wave of unreality. She could go with them, have her lodging for free, and then slip off into the city crowd when they were not watching. But what would happen to Leah and her mother if Kate left Westerville now? Perhaps she could get away, establish herself, and then provide for Leah as well with some honest work. She could send for her sister in secret, and at least the two of them would be safe.

“I don’t know if my mother would permit me to go.” That was the only impediment, and not a minor one.

“Perhaps not, if it were just you and I,” Mrs. Hanby said. “She does not know me well. But Mrs. Lawrence is well known to all the townswomen. I believe her presence might influence your mother.”

Mrs. Hanby was correct—Mrs. Lawrence would be an asset to any discussion. Her reputation was impeccable. Kate’s mother had evinced a desire to impress Ida Lawrence in the past, at charity gatherings and sewing circles. Old money and privilege attracted Ruth Winter’s interest as nothing else could.

“But my question is whether you yourself would like to go.” Mrs. Hanby tilted her head as if to tease out the real truth like a skein of wool from a spinning wheel.

“Oh yes, that would be splendid.” She hoped the other woman could hear her sincerity, even though she could not look her in the eye. It was embarrassing, for she knew Mrs. Hanby pitied her. But Kate could not let this opportunity pass by.

“Then I will have Mrs. Lawrence speak to your mother, perhaps later this afternoon.” Mrs. Hanby smiled and picked up her flower basket.

“Is Kate coming with us?” Cornelia rushed up to them, face glowing from fresh air and her exertions. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”

“I agree.” Mrs. Lawrence huffed a little as she walked up. Her corset was probably binding her breath, what with her round maternal build and the vigorous walk. “It would be more diverting for Cornelia to have another young woman with her.”

“Especially you.” Cornelia took Kate’s hand.

“If I can obtain permission,” Kate said.

Mrs. Lawrence waved her hand as if swatting a fly. “I will speak to Ruth myself. She will agree.”

“Thank you.” Kate remembered the potatoes. “I must be getting back home. Someone is waiting for me.”

“Very well. Prepare to enjoy the city!” Ida Lawrence was jovial, and Mrs. Hanby waved her farewell as Kate retreated toward her house.

Her opportunity had come, like a raised window in a musty room. But now she must plan to make a new home for Leah as well as herself if she left. She would need to do so quickly so Leah would not be left at home for too long. And no one must know where they had gone.

Perhaps her plan was too risky—her father might not ever repeat his violent outburst. But as long as he continued drinking in such quantity, she would not be able to predict his behavior.

She laid her crown of flowers on the cellar door, put the potato basket over her arm, and returned to the kitchen. But even as she handed the potatoes to Tessie, her thoughts flew out the window, southwest toward Columbus.

Eleven

T
HE STAGECOACH BUMPED ALONG THE CITY STREETS,
but the women inside were cushioned by yards of their own skirts, muslin and linen jumbled together like a seamstress’s basket. Kate drank in all the sights through the dots of rain on the coach window. The damp of early evening did not seem to deter the wagons, men in caps, and women with umbrellas who occupied the streets. In and out they went from a dizzying variety of establishments with signs proclaiming the name of the business owner. A milliner’s shop caught her eye—the type of establishment Kate might like to open one day, with its elegant hats on stands in a display window. But she could not stay in Columbus, of course. They would look for her here. Instead, she would go to Cincinnati, close enough to be feasible but far enough to be anonymous.

Such chaos and hubbub would make it easy to slip away from her companions. She glanced at Mrs. Hanby’s unsuspecting face as the older woman pointed out a shop to Mrs. Lawrence. Ben’s mother might take the blame if Kate disappeared. That would not be fair at all. Kate would have to devise a way to avoid tarnishing the reputations of the Hanbys or the Lawrences. How, she did not know. The plan seemed more complicated now that she had come this far.

“High Street!” the driver called from above. The coach slid in the mud and the ladies jostled shoulders.

“I hope Ben is hanging on for dear life up there.” Mrs. Hanby’s tone was light, but she clutched her handbag tighter. Ben was riding with the other men up on top. It would not be seemly for any gentleman to squeeze in among so many ladies.

“There are handles. But he may be damp when he comes down.” Cornelia closed her book. “Aren’t we almost there?”

“Yes, the hotel is near Broad and High.” Mrs. Lawrence retied her bonnet. The carriage shuddered to a stop. “You see?”

Outside, men shouted to one another and thumped the roof as they untied the baggage. The door opened, and Ben Hanby looked in. His face was shadowed in the rainy gloom by the dripping brim of his hat, and his coat clung to his shoulders. He extended a hand to help the ladies out. The older women went first, then Cornelia, who thanked him and stepped down with the grace of a practiced traveler.