The Chaperone (11 page)

Mr. Lindquist talked to the minister, who agreed that Cora was being cheated out of her share. He remembered the Kaufmanns had once mentioned that they hoped to formally adopt Cora, and he could testify that they had never thought of her as a servant. They simply hadn’t gotten around to adopting her. And there was good news. The minister had described Cora and her situation to his son, who lived in Wichita, and who happened to know a skilled attorney, who was doing well enough that he was looking for some pro bono work. He wanted to meet with Cora and see if he could help.

Mr. Carlisle,
as Cora called him then, was the first man she had ever seen wearing a waistcoat, a jacket that matched his trousers, and shoes that were perfectly clean. When he first appeared on the Lindquists’ dusty front porch, tipping his hat and saying her name, both of the Lindquists came out to stare at him as well. It was hard for any of them to believe that this man, important enough to have a driver waiting outside with the horse and carriage, would come so far out into the country to help Cora with her case.

“And he’s something to look at, isn’t he?” Mrs. Lindquist whispered as she and Cora set the chipped cups on the flowered saucers and waited for the water to boil. “No wedding ring, and he looks about thirty. The women of Wichita must be stupid or blind.”

Cora looked at the shiny teapot, the distorted reflection of her face. She didn’t care if her lawyer was handsome. She didn’t even care about the case. The real Kaufmann daughter had sent legal papers, and on them, Cora’s name was Cora X. When Cora first saw this X by her name, she’d felt as if the rhythm of her breathing was permanently altered, and she would never again get enough air into her lungs. That feeling had not gone away. If she did get money from the sale of the farm, she would no longer be a burden to the Lindquists. The Kaufmanns would still be gone, though. And she would still be Cora X.

Out in the parlor, Mr. Carlisle, before he even took a sip of tea, read over the legal papers and said the X by her name was ridiculous, and that he would help her with that issue as well. He sat on the edge of the Lindquists’ wooden rocker, not rocking, a pad of paper balanced on his knee. He had a nick on his cheek from shaving. He pointed out that the minister, at least when he spoke with him, had referred to Cora as Cora Kaufmann. Was that what she had been called in school? Cora, sitting next to Mrs. Lindquist on the sofa, nodded, watching him closely. She registered that he was indeed handsome, his hair the color of strong tea, his profile strong. And he clearly meant to help her, to do the best he could.

“I’ll need to ask you questions about your history. Details about your life with the Kaufmanns, how they treated you. And before that.” He looked at his pocket watch and took out a steel-nibbed pen. “It shouldn’t take longer than an hour. Are you up to it?”

She nodded again. Mrs. Lindquist, leaning over the table to pour the tea, gave her an encouraging smile. The Lindquists had been so patient with her, and so helpful, going to the minister to plead her case. And now old Mrs. Lindquist, who usually napped at this hour, had to sit here with them because it wouldn’t be proper for her to leave Cora and the lawyer alone in the parlor. Cora was taking up her time, and the lawyer’s time as well. The least she could do was be compliant.

She spoke with a clear voice, answering every question as best she could. She was never a servant, she said. She did chores like any child, but the Kaufmanns treated her as their own. Mr. Kaufmann had carved toys and dolls for her, and Mother Kaufmann had made them clothes. Yes, she said, Mother Kaufmann. That’s how I addressed her. Whose idea? She couldn’t recall. She told him how the three of them had sat together in church, and how they made her go to school even when she didn’t want to, and how she was grateful for that now. She told him about her little room in the house, with the bed and the dresser, and how the Kaufmanns had first told her she would have her own room before they’d even brought her home from the station.

“The station?” He looked up from his notepad, apologetic.

At that precise moment, Mrs. Lindquist, who Cora thought had just been sitting quietly beside her, started to snore, her mouth open, her head resting on the top of the sofa’s cushioned back. Cora smiled. Her first smile since the accident. The stretch of her lips felt strange.

“And here I thought I was so interesting,” she said.

Mr. Carlisle smiled as well. “Should we wake her?”

Cora shook her head. She was already thinking about the train, and how she had felt as a child, riding through those dark nights without knowing what was in store—very much how she felt now. But she went on speaking clearly, telling him of the day she met the Kaufmanns and how they had asked her to be their little girl. She told him about the train, and all the stops it made before she was chosen, and how she and the other children had been taught to sing “Jesus Loves Me” on stages and the front steps of city halls and churches. When you didn’t get picked, you got back on the train. There was a jar of water at the front of the car, she remembered, and a ladle, and if you got thirsty you could make your way to the front and take a drink.

At some point, he stopped writing and rested his chin in his hand, his elbow propped on the rocking chair’s arm.

“Oh my,” Cora said. “I hope I won’t put you to sleep as well.”

“Not at all.” He held her gaze before looking back at his notepad. “Did you have a family in New York?”

She blinked at the flowered edge of her teacup. Her only memory might not even be real. But she could still see the woman clearly, too clearly to have dreamed her. She could see the frayed edges of the red shawl.

“I’m sorry. I can see this is difficult for you.” He put down his pen, took a white handkerchief out of his pocket and started to offer it to her, and then, seeing she would not cry, put the handkerchief back in his pocket.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just haven’t thought about that in a long time. That sounds strange, perhaps.” She looked back up at him, waiting. She really didn’t know.

He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. I grew up with my parents and my sister in Wichita. No one put me on a train when I was six.”

Mrs. Lindquist snored on.

Cora smiled again, her gaze resting on his hands. His fingernails were clean and neatly trimmed. “I don’t know that I can explain. Coming out here, it was like becoming a new person. I think we all understood that, even though we were young. We knew, or at least I knew, we would have to be good, which meant we would have to become whatever they wanted us to be. In my case, it was their daughter, which was lucky. But even then, I couldn’t hold on to who I was. Or maybe I just started to think that, by and by.” She looked away and shook her head. “I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

“It does.”

She was surprised by the conviction in his voice. He was looking at her so intently. She brushed her hand across her face, wondering if something was there. But no. And really, that wasn’t the kind of look he was giving her. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“I appreciate you helping me like this,” she said. “I wish I could pay you. I’m sorry I didn’t say that from the start. I’m not myself right now.”

“Of course not.” Finally, he looked away. “And I’m honored to represent you. It seems to me you’re a very decent young woman who has had a difficult time. And borne it well, I should add. You don’t seem bitter in any way.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Even with Mrs. Lindquist’s snoring, she could hear the ticking of his pocket watch. Hadn’t he said he would only stay for an hour? She didn’t know the time, but surely they’d been talking for longer than that.

“Would you like more tea?”

He shook his head, and still, he made no move to leave. She didn’t know why not, what should happen now. She’d already told him she couldn’t pay.

“It must be very exciting to live in a city.” It was all that she could think of.

“It is.” He smiled warmly. “So much to do. We have a soda shop now, with mirrored walls, and electric fans in the ceiling.” He gestured up to the Lindquists’ bare ceiling, twirling his hand. “You can get penny candy, all different kinds, and malted milk shakes.”

It made no sense to Cora, how he was looking at her, how long he was staying, the focus of his kind gaze. Mother Kaufmann had told her she had a strong face, an interesting face, and that it was beautiful in a unique way. Cora believed this when she was young, but as she got older, she suspected Mother Kaufmann of flattery. She had observed the behavior of the boys at school, the way they acted around certain girls, and she knew real beauty would have trumped everything, even her sketchy origins. Yet even after she was the champion of graces, the boys at school were polite to her at best. And yet—yes, it was true—this very handsome lawyer had been sitting in the Lindquists’ parlor for longer than he had to, staring back at her as if she really were something to behold.

“That sounds wonderful,” she said, her voice perhaps too full of breath, too loud. Mrs. Lindquist woke with a cough. Cora and the lawyer fell silent, both of them looking away to give her time to compose herself. When they looked back, Mrs. Lindquist was sitting up straight. She smiled at Cora, sipping her tea as if it was still hot to her lips, and no time had passed at all.

“I should be on my way.” Mr. Carlisle lifted his briefcase, opened it, and put the notepad inside. “Thank you, Mrs. Lindquist. Thank you, Miss Kaufmann.” He looked at Cora meaningfully and stood. She stood, too, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. She realized, only now, that for at least an hour, she’d had a short recess from her squeezing grief.

Mrs. Lindquist stood beside her. “Dear? Are you all right?”

She nodded. At that moment, unbelievably, she was.

He helped,
and he helped quickly. There wasn’t even a trial. By the start of the new year, the Kaufmann daughter and her brothers had agreed to a settlement. Cora wouldn’t get a full fourth of the profit from the farm, but she would get enough to pay the Lindquists something, and, when she did move out, to afford her board and security until she married or found a vocation. The money did make her feel better, more hopeful for the future. But it was her new legal name that truly raised her spirits. She was officially Cora Kaufmann now, as recognized by the State of Kansas.

She sent a letter to Mr. Carlisle’s office in Wichita, letting him know what she planned to do with the money the following autumn: she would go to Wichita herself, to Fairmount College, and train to be a teacher. She thanked him for his kindness. She wrote how much his compassion and charity had meant to her, and she signed the letter “with gratitude and deep respect,” which wasn’t nearly what she felt. In truth, she had replayed those hours with him in the Lindquists’ parlor many times, letting herself imagine that she would somehow see him again, after she moved to Wichita. It wasn’t that large of a city—surely they would bump into each other. And perhaps he really wasn’t married yet. But in her more somber moments, which were frequent, she understood these imaginings as fantasy, not likely to actually happen. If Cora ever did see him in Wichita, she would be lucky if he remembered her at all. In so many ways, they weren’t on the same level. He had just helped her because he was kind.

But a week after she sent the letter, he was back at the Lindquists’ door, this time holding a bouquet of red carnations and seeming more nervous than before.

His courtship
made perfect sense to Mrs. Lindquist—and yes, she said, it was clearly a courtship; she knew a man with intentions when she saw one. And she had to say, she wasn’t surprised at all—Cora was a lovely young woman, pure of heart and pure of virtue, and what man wouldn’t want just that in a wife? Mrs. Lindquist imagined many men, even wealthy, sophisticated men, would prefer an unsullied country girl to a hardened woman of the city. The legal situation had simply given Mr. Carlisle a chance to get to know her. True, he was older and more educated, but wasn’t that often the case for a husband and wife? He didn’t seem to lord anything over her. He was as smitten as she was. It was clear to anyone with eyes.

It was clear even to Cora. Alan—
Alan
, she called him now—brightened at the sight of her. He wanted to be with her all the time, this handsome, considerate man. It was unsettling for her, this giddiness, this excitement, this thrilling at the touch of his hand on her arm, so soon after the misery of the previous fall and winter. Mrs. Lindquist said she shouldn’t feel guilty. The Kaufmanns would want this happiness for her. They would agree that she deserved it.

“And I did some checking for you,” she added, her voice lowered, though Mr. Lindquist was out with the pigs and they were alone in the house. “His family is very respectable. I have cousins in Wichita, and they talked to the mother once. They said you could tell she had good schooling, she spoke so nicely.”

The next day, Cora walked to the schoolhouse and begged her old teacher for any book she could study that might help her with her grammar. The teacher told her she already spoke just fine, better than most of her other students; but Cora persisted, and the teacher eventually lent her
Lessons in Language
by Horace Sumner Tarbell. The preface assured her that self-confidence was the key to success with any art, and that regular study would provide her self-confidence, though the book’s subsequent warnings made her anxious. (
Caution: Be careful not to say don’t for doesn’t. Caution: Never say ain’t, hain’t, ’tain’t, or mayn’t.
) At night, after the Lindquists had gone to bed, she stayed up with the book and a candle, going over subject-verb agreement and proper use of adverbs and the error of the split infinitive. Some of the rules she knew from school, but not all of them. She did the exercises. She learned when to say “lie” and when to say “lay,” when to say “me” and when to say “I,” and to never say “irregardless,” and though she was most urgently concerned about her speech, she read and studied the sections on punctuation and capitalization and proper salutations, just in case the time came when she would have to write Alan’s well-spoken mother a note.