A White Room (10 page)

Margaret ignored her son’s protest and dabbed her lips with a napkin. “She is a horrible, wretched woman, a spinster, posing for polite society.”

“Oh, yes,” Ida said. “She’s not just a spinster, either.”

John’s eyebrows slanted and he slumped, clearly uncomfortable. I didn’t want to upset our hostess, but this was not light or pleasant conversation.

“She had a child out of wedlock,” Margaret exclaimed.

Oh, dear God, I thought.

Walter shook his head.

“Uh, I’m sure there are plenty of respectable women, though.”

“Her father was a fool,” Ida said.

Margaret continued. “He left everything to her despite the fact that she refused to marry, and her bastard child was a girl.” She shook her head. “Not even a son to carry on the family name.”

John cleared his throat. “Uh, Walter how did you—”

“Why did she not marry?” I asked without thinking. “I never heard of such a thing.”

“You won’t believe it, Emeline.” Ida widened her eyes. “She refused him.”

“Why would she do that?”

Margaret shook her head. “Stubborn. A stubborn mule of a woman. She willingly brought shame to herself and her family.”

“Perhaps there is another suitor?”

“This was twenty years ago. Her daughter is grown. Fled this town and her family’s shame. Olivia’s in her late forties now. Trust me, she couldn’t tempt any man with half a wit.”

“Oh my.”

John glared at me.

“All right, Mother, that’s enough,” Walter said.

“Her bastard child even considers her mother a wretched woman,” Margaret said. “She doesn’t even speak to her.”

John stared at me for a moment longer and then stood. “Excuse me.”

“Even more—” Margaret continued.

“That’s it.” Walter stood and threw his napkin down.

I felt a sudden urge to stop everything and take it all back. “No, wait.” I put my hand out and accidentally hit my water goblet. “Oh!” I tried to stop it from falling, but then I hit my sherry glass and it smashed into Ida’s goblets, knocking them over and breaking them. Glass shards flew, and red wine spattered all over Ida’s face and bosom. The rest quickly ran off into her expensive, influential lap.

She screamed, jumped up, and raised her hands.

“Emeline!” John shouted.

“I’m sorry!”

“What happened?” Margaret shouted at me as she stood. She rushed to Ida and began blotting at the red streaking down the hostess’ gown.

“Ida, I’m so, so sorry.” I covered my mouth with my hands. “It was an accident.”

She cringed at her gown and then shouted, “This dress is from Paris, France!” She scowled at me for a long moment and then stormed out of the room, red wine trailing her the entire way. Margaret chased after her.

Marcellus snorted a chuckle under his napkin. John and Walter stood speechless. John flushed with humiliation.

“It was an accident,” I pleaded.

John and Walter sat slowly. Marcellus continued to snigger and eat while the rest of us waited without speaking.

Ida and Margaret never returned. Instead, the butler informed us the evening had come to a close. Marcellus didn’t even say “good evening”—he just stood, dropped his napkin onto the table, and sauntered out. Walter stayed behind to wait for his mother, and John and I left surrounded by awkward uncertainty. John didn’t say anything to me all the way back to the house. I wasn’t sure if he was infuriated or just speechless.

It wasn’t until we were undressing for the evening that he dropped onto the bed with his back to me and said, “I can’t imagine anything going any worse.”

I stopped undressing and turned to him. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond.

“I’ll apologize again tomorrow.”

Still he said nothing.

“I’m sure she will understand. It was an accident.”

He went to sleep without saying another word.

Seven

March 1901

T
he next day I called on Margaret, hoping she would tell me Ida wasn’t angry. Margaret seemed to like me, and I hoped she’d understand that it had been an accident. When I entered her parlor, she was dressed for walking, and fussing with her straw brimmed hat and gray-streaked hair.

“Oh, Margaret, I do apologize. I thought you were receiving calls today?”

“Emeline, yes, yes, but I’ve ordered an emergency meeting for the church committee.” She stuffed a wrinkly hand into a leather glove.

“When would be a better time?”

“Dear girl.” She gripped both my wrists. “You must come. What better orientation?” She moved toward the door, one hand still clutching me.

“Um—but—” She released me and I halted. “Um, sure.” I didn’t want to go, but it might give me the chance to apologize to Ida.

“Wonderful. Come along then.”

I trailed her into her carriage. She commanded her driver to make haste. Then she popped her attention toward me. “So, my dear, what will you contribute to the committee?”

I had hardly settled into my seat. “Um—uh—actually, I haven’t given it much thought yet.” I rubbed my gloved hands over my skirt to smooth it. “How can I contribute? A donation or just my time?”

“Both.”

“Oh.” I mentally tallied up the allowance John had allotted me. “I’m sure I could offer more with my time.”

“I agree.”

“I suppose I could spare one Sunday a month.”

“Splendid—to start.”

When the carriage slowed to a stop, we stepped out, and I realized the driver had taken us to the back of the church house. I followed Margaret into a tiny stuffy room where about a dozen bustling women were hard at work quilting and knitting. Margaret motioned for me to follow her, and I obeyed. I eyed three women fussing with some papers and a cash box at the front of the room and realized Ida was among them. Panic fizzed up from my stomach and settled in my throat. “Good day, Ida,” I croaked.

Ida turned and narrowed her eyes. “Emeline.”

I felt like an injured rodent before a bird of prey. “How do you do?”

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

“Emeline! What do you think?” Margaret asked.

“Uh…wonderful turnout for last minute.”

“I disagree,” Ida snarled.

“Excuse me just a moment.” Margaret marched to the front of the room and faced the women, who promptly hushed their conversations. “Ladies, thank you for coming on short notice. You show far more dedication than those not here.” She grimaced. “I assure you, if we work hard, we will have no problem remedying this shortage.” She stepped aside.

I returned my attention to Ida and the women at the cash box glowering at me. Ida’s back was to me. “Ida?” She didn’t move, so I said it louder. “Pardon me, Ida?”

The glowering women didn’t inform her of my attempts. I wanted to skulk away, but their glares entrapped me. I reached out and tapped Ida’s shoulder like a child. “Pardon me, Ida?”

She slowly rotated.

I timidly looked away before forcing myself to meet her eyes. “I—I really would like to apologize again for last night. I hope I can make it up to you.”

“I doubt it.”

One of the other women smirked.

“It truly was an accident. I can speak to my husband about replacing your dress.”

“You couldn’t afford it.” She turned back around.

My heart dropped. What else could I do? Was she going to turn all of Labellum against me? Would John be angry with me? I closed my eyes and willed myself not to cry. I opened my eyes and saw Margaret waving me over. Happy for a reason to flee, I accompanied her as she circled the room, occasionally stopping to scrutinize a stitch. “How are you and Mr. Dorr settling in?”

“Uh…it’s coming along.”

“How is Mr. Dorr after last night?”

I hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

“I’m happy Mr. Coddington acquired someone as polite and professional as your husband. My husband and son were hesitant to accept new counsel.”

I lowered my gaze for a second. “Margaret? I don’t know what to do.” I looked up and saw she had moved on without me. I shuffled to catch up. “Margaret?”

A plump woman entered and everyone looked at her.

“Mrs. Colt! How nice of you to join us.” Margaret eyed her as she scuttled to a seat and quickly picked up a patch for one of the quilts. “I was beginning to think you had no sympathy for this committee.” She turned back to me. “What was that, dear?”

“Um.” I stared blankly for a moment. “Oh—uh, you said there was some hesitancy about my husband?”

She continued to circle the room. “My husband doubted such a young man could represent him or our son as effectively as Mr. Coddington. Of course, Mr. Coddington could have sent Mr. Dorr to any of his offices, but he brought him here specifically to handle
these
cases. My husband just needed some extra persuasion, and I think your husband’s recent success with our son has done it.”

“Oh.” I tried to hide my confusion. John told me nothing of his cases. I had no idea why physicians required so much attention from a law firm. Then I remembered what I needed to ask Margaret. “Is there anything I can do about Ida?”

She stopped. “Well, Mrs. Swift, I’ve seen you work faster than that. Perhaps if you stopped yapping.”

The woman complied, almost cowering.

I couldn’t believe Margaret’s disappointment. The women in St. Louis would never stand for it. Actually, women in St. Louis wouldn’t join a profit-oriented quilting bee in the first place. Quilting bees were for socialization, comfort, and friendship. Church committees were for charity. Margaret and Ida obviously held power in this town, but why so much?

“What were you saying?” Margaret moved on.

I scrambled to keep up. The room seemed to grow stuffier with my effort. “Ida is furious with me. I tried to apologize.”

She stopped and stood with her arms crossed, staring out at the sea of quilters. “I really don’t know what to tell you, Emeline.” She wasn’t looking at me but at the volunteers.

“What is the emergency?” I asked.

“We didn’t have enough material for the Saturday sale.” She put her hands on her hips.

I scanned the room. “How many were you short by?”

Margaret leaned in close and whispered, “Emeline, I’ll tell you a secret. We aren’t short.”

“Pardon?”

“We weren’t short.”

“You weren’t?”

Her lips drew up and into a leer. “We only have this quilt sale once a year, and Ida and I wanted the most out of it.”

I paused a moment. “How many events will it sponsor?”

“Not really sponsor, more like silent donation. It’s all for the spring ball, a lavish event for the couples of the highest station.”

“It’s not a town event?”

“No, no. But Ida does allow the volunteers, so you and Mr. Dorr will be welcome.”

“Do you ever raise money for…charity?”

“We are giving back to the community.”

“Oh—of course.”

She stood stiff, with her arms still crossed, and shook her head. “I cannot believe they all didn’t show up.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

It still seemed to be an impressive turnout to me.

“Don’t be fooled—” She paused and squinted at something across the room. “Excuse me.” She stomped over and snatched a few pieces of material from a table and then marched to another woman. “Mrs. Doyle, did I not tell you to make sure all the expensive material went on the same quilts? If it is all mixed together, we can’t charge more for the nicer ones.”

Mrs. Doyle, a pretty woman with shiny chocolate hair, did not respond to Margaret the way the others did. She sat very still and gnawed at her cheek.

“Mrs. Doyle!” Margaret leaned forward and all took notice. “Have you gone deaf?”

The entire room slid into silence.

Mrs. Doyle faced Margaret. “No.”

“Don’t let it happen again.” Margaret tossed the scraps on top of what Mrs. Doyle was working on.

Mrs. Doyle blinked but did not move. I closed my mouth, and the women in the room resumed their chatter.

Margaret returned. “Now that you are a member of this committee, I’m sending you on your first chore.”

“Oh—um—”

“I’m going to have you call upon Mrs. Grace and a Mrs. Williams. They are two members who didn’t show today.”

“But I haven’t been introduced—”

“They always accept new callers.”

“I really don’t feel that would be appropriate.”

Margaret’s smile faded. “You know you’re in a bit of a mess with Ida.”

“I apologized and even offered to pay for her dress.”

“Oh, you couldn’t pay for that dress.”

I looked down.

“If you contribute, I might be able to convince her to give you a chance. I’m sure your husband would want you to make it up to Ida after that scene last night.”

I glanced at Ida and swallowed. “Where do I go?”