New Horizons (3 page)

“I hope we don't have to sit near any of those girls who were in line with me today. They seemed very unfriendly. They heard everything Grandmother was saying to the registrar, and when I smiled at them, they wouldn't even smile back,” Mandie told her.

“Then I'd say they are not being properly raised, as your grandmother would define it,” Celia said.

The girls stood before the full-length mirror and straightened their sashes and bows.

“They are probably wealthy, the kind that think etiquette doesn't apply to them,” Mandie said, smoothing her skirt.

Just then Mrs. Taft and Mrs. Hamilton came through the door from their adjoining room.

“I believe everyone is ready now, so let's go down and see what they are serving in the dining room today,” Mrs. Taft said, opening the door to the hall.

“I do hope they have something like ham or pork chops, with lots of green vegetables,” Mandie said.

“I agree with you,” Celia said. “I could eat a big plate of cooked spinach right now.”

“We'll soon find out,” Mrs. Hamilton told her.

When they arrived at the huge double doorway to the dining room, a waiter immediately came to seat them.

“Please put us somewhere away from the sunlight that is coming in all these windows. It is awfully warm today without having to sit in the sun,” Mrs. Taft told the waiter.

“Yes, ma'am, right this way please,” he said, leading them all the way across the room to a corner that had no windows. “Is this satisfactory, ma'am?”

“Yes, this is fine,” Mrs. Taft said.

Mandie looked around and noticed that most of the diners were looking at them. They all seemed to be from the college, with parents or brothers and sisters with them. As Mandie sat in the chair the waiter had pulled out, she realized she was facing the tall, dark-haired girl who had stared at her in the line that morning. The girl was alone and was again staring at Mandie.

Mandie said under her breath to Celia, “Don't look right this minute, but that dark-haired girl from the line this morning is
sitting at the table straight across from us.”

Celia subtly turned to see the girl.

“I see, and she is staring at us right now,” Celia said. And then she quickly added, “Don't look right this minute, but that George Stuart and his friend and two girls are seated at the table beyond her.”

Mandie waited a minute and finally looked where Celia indicated. Both of the young men caught her look and smiled. She felt her face turn red and quickly turned to Celia. “They saw me look,” she whispered.

“I wonder if the girls are their sisters,” Celia said.

“I don't remember seeing the girls at registration this morning. Do you remember seeing them?” Mandie asked.

“Amanda, let's get our food ordered now.” Mrs. Taft once again interrupted their conversation before scanning the menu the waiter had given her.

Mandie and Celia quickly picked up their menus to see what they would like to eat.

“Oh, they do have ham,” Mandie said with a relieved smile.

“And lots of vegetables,” Celia added.

As soon as everyone had ordered, another waiter came along with a cart and placed a glass of cold sweet tea by each plate.

“This is delicious,” Mandie said, sipping the tea. As she set down the glass, she caught the eye of the one who identified himself as George Stuart, and he smiled. She twisted in her chair, trying to avoid the direct view of him and his friend. Turning a little toward Celia, she said, “I do wish I could change my seat.”

“You don't need to. There are two huge men being seated at the table behind your grandmother. They will block your view of the young men,” Celia whispered.

“Thank goodness,” Mandie replied without looking in that direction.

Since Mrs. Taft was in a hurry and everyone was hungry, they soon finished the meal and went into the lobby to wait for Mr. Donovan to return. Mandie saw him pull up in front of the door.

“Mr. Donovan is here now, Grandmother,” she told Mrs. Taft.

“Very prompt, isn't he?” Mrs. Taft said with a smile as they all went outside.

They walked out to the road where Mr. Donovan was waiting. Several other people exited the hotel right then. Since Mr. Donovan's carriage was the only one in the parking space, everyone approached him. Mandie listened as he told all the others that Mrs. Taft had already engaged his carriage, so he was waiting for her. Two young girls in the group glared at Mandie and Celia and then covered their mouths with their gloved hands to whisper between them.

Mandie felt her temper rise. Evidently the girls were ridiculing them, but she couldn't figure out why. She didn't even know the girls, but they were probably from the college. She looked at Celia and frowned.

Finally another carriage pulled up and the other group rushed to get it. Mrs. Taft said, “All right, Mr. Donovan, if you would
please drive us down to Meeting Street, I'd like to show the girls the shopping district.”

Mr. Donovan helped the ladies into the carriage, but Mandie knew she was in no mood to shop. She couldn't stop thinking about the girls from the hotel and why they would have been whispering about her and Celia.

Celia finally brought Mandie out of her thoughts when she said, “I'll be glad when the decision about the carriage is all settled.”

As Mr. Donovan drove the group toward Meeting Street, Mandie and Celia listened to Mrs. Taft and Mrs. Hamilton talk excitedly about the shops they would visit. All Mandie and Celia could see were old buildings.

“There seem to be a lot of antique shops,” Celia commented.

“Yes, and just what would we want to buy in an antique shop?” Mandie questioned, making sure her grandmother sitting on the seat in front of them could not hear the comment.

“Maybe something for our room or to send back home,” Celia replied as the carriage slowed down. “There are lots of art shops. We might find a painting for our room.”

Mr. Donovan pulled the carriage to a stop at a corner. Mrs. Taft turned back to the girls and said, “Let's get out now and walk around awhile.” She stood up as Mr. Donovan came to assist her and Mrs. Hamilton out of the carriage. Mandie and Celia followed quickly.

“Most of the buildings here in Charleston are very, very old,” Mrs. Hamilton explained.

“Even the air here smells old,” Mandie said with a little laugh.

“That's the ocean you smell, dear,” Mrs. Taft said, overhearing her remark.

“And the ocean is old,” Celia added with a slight giggle.

Mrs. Taft crossed the cobblestone street, and the others followed as she stopped at an antique book shop. Very old handwritten books were displayed in the narrow front window.

“Look!” Mandie exclaimed, pressing against the glass to see the books. Turning to Celia she asked, “Can you read that old-fashioned handwriting?”

“Not exactly,” Celia replied, squinting to see.

“Let's go inside,” Mrs. Taft suggested, leading the way through the front door of the shop.

Inside, the room was crammed from floor to ceiling with all kinds of books. An old woman sat behind a tiny counter in the back of the shop. Mandie drew a deep breath. The place was so small and musty she felt there was no air to breathe. As she paused in front of a stack of leather-bound volumes, she saw the woman rise and walk toward the front of the store.

“Good day, ladies. I am Mrs. Heyward. May I help you?”

Mrs. Taft was leaning slightly backward and squinting to read the titles of the books high up on the shelves. She looked at the woman and said, “Thank you, but we are merely showing the young ladies the town today. They will be living at the Charleston Ladies' College, and I am sure they will have need to visit bookstores.” She paused and then added, “I am Mrs. Norman Taft, this is my granddaughter, Amanda Shaw, and this is
Mrs. Jane Hamilton and her daughter, Celia.”

Mrs. Heyward nodded her head, smiled, and said, “Welcome to Charleston. I take it you are not from here.”

“No, ma'am, I live in Asheville, North Carolina, after several years in Washington, D.C., and my granddaughter lives in Franklin, North Carolina. Mrs. Hamilton and her daughter live near Richmond, Virginia. We are quite scattered about, you see.”

Mrs. Heyward frowned thoughtfully and said, “Mrs. Norman Taft, and you lived in Washington. Why, you must be the wife of the late Senator Norman Taft.”

“Yes, ma'am, that's right,” Mrs. Taft quickly replied, and with a sad voice added, “Norman has been gone now for quite a few years.”

“Yes, I remember all the newspapers had stories of his demise and how sad it was—”

Mrs. Taft quickly interrupted. “Please, let's not discuss that.” She turned to the bookshelves and began reading the titles stacked there.

Mandie frowned and squinted her blue eyes as she heard the remark about her grandfather.

“Of course, I apologize, Mrs. Taft,” Mrs. Heyward said. “Now, is there anything you'd like me to get down from the upper shelves for you to look at?”

“No, thank you, not today,” Mrs. Taft replied.

Mandie thought it odd that her grandmother was so short with the bookstore owner. Why did her grandmother not want to discuss the death of her husband? What had happened to him?
Did he not die a normal death? Mandie couldn't remember ever having discussed it with her mother or grandmother.

Celia also heard the shortness Mrs. Taft had for the bookstore owner, and she came to stand beside Mandie, who was pretending to read the titles on the stacked books. Mandie looked at her with a puzzled frown.

“I think we need to be moving on up the street to see the other shops,” Mrs. Taft told Mrs. Hamilton.

“Yes, we don't have a lot of time before the sun goes down and we have to return to the hotel for supper,” Mrs. Hamilton reminded the others.

Mrs. Taft turned to Mrs. Heyward and said, “Good day, madam. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She motioned for Mandie to go ahead out of the shop, and she turned to follow.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Taft,” Mrs. Heyward replied.

Outside, Mrs. Taft spotted an art shop a few doors down the street on the other side. “Let's see what those artists have for sale. We might find something suitable to hang in your room.” She led the way across the street.

The artist was a beautiful young woman whose name was Victoria. She was busily painting when they entered the shop, and even as she talked to them she kept right on. Mandie and Celia watched her in fascination.

As the painting took on a life of its own, Mandie exclaimed, “You are painting a white cat, just like Snowball, my cat back home!”

The girl paused to look at Mandie, and with a sorrowful face,
she said, “You are correct. This is going to be a portrait of a cat I owned several years ago, who died one day while chasing a dog.”

“Oh, I am so sorry.” Mandie offered the artist her sympathies.

“Will that painting be for sale?” Mrs. Taft asked as the artist continued her work.

“No, madam, this is for myself,” the artist replied.

“Do you suppose, then, that you could make another painting of a white cat? It really does look just like my granddaughter's,” Mrs. Taft explained.

The artist stopped painting again, looked at her with a half smile, and replied, “I would be happy to. I can have it ready in two weeks.”

“Oh, thank you!” Mandie exclaimed.

“Now we must look at what you have for sale today and see if the girls would like any of those for their room at the college,” Mrs. Taft told Victoria.

Victoria waved her hand toward the other side of the shop and said, “Anything you find over there is for sale today.” Then she continued painting.

Mrs. Taft crossed to the other side of the shop, and the others followed. Victoria had paintings of many different subjects covering the wall and some standing down on the floor.

“Celia, you get to choose because I am getting the cat,” Mandie told her.

“Here is a horse,” Celia said, indicating one sitting on the
floor. Turning to her mother she said, “Doesn't that remind you of our Frisky back home?”

“Yes, it does. It is the same kind of horse,” Jane Hamilton agreed. “Would you like that one, dear?”

“Yes, ma'am, please,” Celia said, smiling at her mother. “It would look nice hanging over one of those big chairs in our room, don't you think?”

“Yes, I believe so,” her mother replied.

Mrs. Hamilton bought the painting for Celia, and they took it with them. Mrs. Taft promised the artist that Mandie would be back in two weeks to pick up the cat painting.

Mr. Donovan saw the ladies coming out of the shop with the painting, and he hurried to take it from Mrs. Taft to carry it to the carriage for them. The ladies looked through a few more shops, and then Mrs. Taft decided it was time to go back to the hotel and get ready for the evening meal.

“Time certainly does fly,” Mrs. Taft remarked as they stood on the road by Mr. Donovan's carriage. Turning to the driver, she asked, “Are you quite sure that you will not sell me your carriage, Mr. Donovan?”

“I regret, madam, that I cannot part with it,” Mr. Donovan told her.

“Then I suppose we must stay over a day or two longer, Jane, and go down to the carriage factory and buy one,” Mrs. Taft said to Mrs. Hamilton.

“If that's what you really wish to do,” Mrs. Hamilton replied.

Mrs. Taft turned to the girls and said, “You girls only have to
report for assignments tomorrow morning and will be free in the afternoon, so we will go then and see what the carriage factory has to offer. Mrs. Hamilton and I will stay as long as necessary to get this problem solved.”

Mandie had been hoping her grandmother would go home the next day so she and Celia could be on their own and do whatever they wished. But she knew her grandmother would never leave until she had the carriage problem solved, so she might as well go along with everything and not protest. “Yes, Grandmother,” Mandie replied.