Today would be her first venture outside the house in the American Costume. It was a beautiful late September morning, sunny, almost warm but not quite. It would be a pleasant walk several miles to the center of town to order her fall canning supplies and pick up the mail. She started down Edinburgh Street, then she strode along past the Church of the Immaculate Conception, and then around the curve of the oval Plymouth Park. She headed up Plymouth Avenue. The air was soft, the light shimmering and clear.
Sun-drenched golden and red leaves blazed overhead. The best thing she had discovered so far about the costume was climbing the stairs at home with both hands free. She could carry a basket of laundry under one arm and tote a pitcher of water in her other. A buggy clipping along in her direction, four girls tucked in seats around their mother, slipped ahead of her. All four girls twisted around to watch her strut along. Izzie laughed, remembering the bloomer counting game she played with Clara. Izzie didn’t know then she’d be wearing something similar; that she would learn so quickly to hate the whalebone hoop once she had one.
She and Clara had both longed for a hoop, not just to be grown up and fashionable, but to have freedom from the burden of all the underskirts, to let the light frame hold up the mountains and mountains of fabric.
At the corner of Main Street, she turned right. The traffic was heavy as usual, the aroma of horse dung pungent but at least the river breezes were blowing today. Two young men, leaning against the stone wall of a building, stared at her as she approached. Here come the gaping and the whistling, she thought. She cringed, preparing. Their eyes followed her closely, then one of them, cap shoved back on his head, jabbed the other’s arm and said something, his gaze still on her.
Averting her eyes, she ignored them the best she could and continued on toward the Reynolds’ Arcade where she would get mail for the Upper Falls Water-Cure Institute and Mac and herself as well. She hadn’t heard from Clara and the others in a month. There had to be something soon.
Inside the Arcade, light streamed in bright shafts from long glass skylights four stories above, warming and illuminating the cavernous hall. Dozens of well-dressed men and women milled about in pairs and small clusters. They were exchanging the news and gossip of the day, collecting their mail, sending telegraphs, visiting the many businesses both downstairs and up. A few of them noticed her reform dress, but no one bothered her about it.
After waiting in line a few moments at the post office, she received a handful of letters and a journal from the postal clerk. She stepped away from the window and began to shuffle through the letters. There was Clara’s hand. She felt a smile burst onto her face. At last. “Mrs. Robert MacAdams” in Clara’s dear hand.
She maneuvered through a dozen or so people to a spot near a shop where she was away from the stream of people. She tore open the letter. It was two weeks old already.
Dear Izzie,
Forgive me for not writing more often. I thought I might be better at writing you, but I’m not. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any good news. Life is awful without you here with us. There are many things I haven’t written to you about before.
Not long after you left in the early summer, Isaac Camp found out about how Papa collected information about him and everyone else for the séances. Camp got fired up and told the whole town we were hoaxes. Then the seekers started disappearing. Money has been scarce and Papa has been unhappy and indulging in his liquoring ways. The sheriff came and asked some questions a while ago. Euphora and I were scared, but it didn’t lead to anything. The worst of it is Papa hit Billy in the face last month. It took two weeks for the swelling to go down. Papa made Billy keep it a secret that he hit him so Billy made up a story about it. Of course, I knew he was lying. Billy told me he might have to run away to save his own life. Do you think a fourteen-year-old boy could survive on his own out in Kansas Territory with those John Brown men? That’s where he says he’ll go. How far away is that?
Papa thinks there’s only one way to hurt somebody and that’s to bring blows, but there’s other ways to hurt someone. Don’t you think so? I think making someone lie is a way to hurt them. It makes one a sort of prisoner like that Rapunzel in the tower.
I try to please Papa and help him, but I don’t think I can do enough to keep him from being mean to Billy or slowing down his drinking. Mrs. Purcell says the Temperance people are right about liquor habits. I do wish you would come home and stand up to Papa the way you used to. He might listen to you.
Besides, we are all very lonely for you and I feel your absence most of all. Your husband can surely do without you for a few days. Please, please visit.
The only good thing I have to tell you is that Euphora is becoming a fine cook all on her own and sometimes will prepare most of the supper. Of course, Mrs. Purcell keeps a close watch over her in the kitchen, but you would be proud of her, Iz.
Your sister,
Clara
“
Damn Bastard. Damn Bastard,” Izzie said aloud.
She slammed the rest of the mail against the glass shop window where she was leaning. Blood surging into her neck and head, she slapped the mail again and again. People nearby turned to watch her.
A young man approached her and asked if he could help. She refused his kindness and looked away from him until he left her alone.
“
Coward. Only cowards hit their sons,” she said. He wouldn’t have dared hit Billy like that if she had been there. She’d go and visit at once. The poor dears. Billy, Clara, Euphora putting up with drunken Papa. How could he? How could he be so terrible? And making Billy lie.
When she finally calmed to the point where she felt she could continue with her errands, she glanced around. People had returned to their conversations and business. Jaw clamped, she tucked the mail under her arm and strode through the crowd and out through the wide entrance to Main Street. She’d talk to Mac tonight about going down to Geneva. She had to see how the children were for herself.
As she marched along Main toward the grocers, she kept thinking about Billy’s face and what it must have looked like swollen and wounded.
“
Men wear trousers, not ladies. Haven’t you noticed?”
It was one of the young fellows who had whispered about her to his friend on her way to the Arcade. Izzie felt her pulse surge again. She’d better ignore him, she decided, and stepped sideways to navigate around him.
He hopped in front of her. “I asked, haven’t you noticed who wears what?” Glancing quickly around at his friend, his gray eyes like slate, like Papa’s, he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.
She took a longer side step this time, but he was speedy as a little sheep dog, and blocked her once again.
“
Let me pass.”
“
Let me pass,” his voice mimicked in a high child-like whine.
Jaw clenched hard, Izzie looked around at the busy street full or carriages, men, women, children. It was the middle of the morning. There wasn’t anything really harmful the boy could do. She took a deep breath and again, tried to get around him. Again, he jumped in front of her. Still by the wall, the friend guffawed. She clenched both fists.
“
I wouldn’t hit a gentleman but I’d hit a misbehaving impolite boy.”
His clean-shaven face fell serious for a moment, then he smiled wide, as wide as he could, revealing a mouthful of yellow and brown teeth.
“
Hit? Freddie, I told you she wasn’t a lady.” Gloating, he yanked down the brim of his cap.
She hauled back her right arm and thrust her fist under his ribs. He buckled.
What had she done? They’d maul her now. She scooted by the boy before he recovered. In a short distance, she turned back to face him. “I am a lady and don’t you ever forget what a lady can do when she has to!”
Two older men, dressed for business, paused to observe. The bully lunged one step toward Izzie but noticed the men staring at him and stopped. He hesitated, then returned to his friend by the wall. He kept his back to Izzie and the bystanders.
“
Is everything all right, Miss? Are these ruffians bothering you?”
“
No, they are not bothering me. They wouldn’t know how to bother me.” She made her voice sound calm, but the muscles inside her neck were quivering.
The man tipped his stovepipe hat, but didn’t leave. Stroking his walrus mustache, he spoke to his companion in muffled tones, meanwhile eyeing the younger men.
“
Good morning, Miss.” He tipped his hat again, then gestured in the direction Izzie had been walking, signaling her to go on.
She unclenched her fists. “Good morning, sir.” She turned and walked along the stone sidewalk. After four or five paces, she looked back. The fancy men were still in conversation standing near the ruffians. She walked another ten or twelve paces and turned one more time. The ruffians were shuffling away.
The gentleman touched his hat one last time. She thought he winked but it was too far away to tell. She straightened her collar, tugged down at the cuffs of the green jacket, and went on to the grocers.
<><><>
AT THEIR SHAKER DINING TABLE, Izzie sat with Mac in the soft lamplight.
Mac wiped his mouth and mustache with the napkin. “I don’t miss eating flesh. Do you?”
Roast pork. Leg of lamb. Corned Beef. Izzie salivated as she looked down at the squash and corn stew she had invented. It was tasty but it wasn’t ham. “A little.”
“
Are you keeping up with your four times per day water douche?”
She gritted her teeth and nodded. It was irritating how often he asked about this. It made her feel like a child. Did you wash your hands before supper? Did you?
“
Mac, I received a letter from Clara today.”
“
Magnificent. You’ve been impatient to hear from her.” Grinning, he leaned back in his chair. “I had a brilliant idea today. I want you to start working with me at Upper Falls now that the seamstress work is done. I think you can help me with the bookkeeping and advertising.”
Izzie dropped her forkful of orange and yellow mush. “You want me to help in the business?”
“
Yes. Why not? Look at Harriet Austen at Our Home in Dansville and Martha French at Mount Prospect in Binghamton. Women are very important in those institutions. Why shouldn’t you be in mine?” He took a sip of water and set his glass down with a thunk. “Women patients like to know a woman is part of the institution.”
“
I don’t know a thing about keeping accounts or advertising.”
“
You’ll learn.”
This was thrilling. She would learn about business. She would learn something besides her duties in the home.
“
You really want me to be part of Upper Falls?”
“
Yes. That is what I am telling you. I want you to be in charge of the kitchen there as well. Your vegetarian recipes are perfect.”
“
You are going to hire a cook too, though.”
“
We have to get the patients coming first. Perhaps by next summer. We’ll be ready to move there just before opening in March. The design for our quarters on the third floor is complete. The Upper Falls kitchen will be our kitchen. You won’t have to manage this home anymore.”
“
Oh, Mac, I’d love to work side by side with you.” She pushed her chair back, stood, and throwing her arms around his shoulders, kissed his long wiry sideburn. “I’d better go visit Clara before I am too busy with everything. Papa is making the children miserable. I must go.”
Mac took a moment to finish chewing and swallowing a bite of the stew, then dabbed his mouth delicately with his napkin. “You can’t go now.”
She withdrew her arms from his shoulders and fell back into her chair. “But there is nothing of importance happening now. You told me the funds from your investor had still not come in. It is perfect to go now.” She straightened up. “When I get back, the funds will be in your hands and I can get to work on the pantries and kitchen.”
“
Fox Holland sent word to me this morning. The funds are to be deposited tomorrow. I’ll go to the bank in the morning and get drafts for the merchants.”
“
Holland’s been saying that for three weeks. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.” She crossed her arms tight across her waist.
“
There were technical snags, legal matters. It’s all done now. Our credit will be good again so you can start ordering what we need for the kitchen and dining room.”
“
I could go to Geneva in the morning. These past three weeks, I could have gone and returned and you would never have missed me.”
“
I am sorry about that, really I am, but now we have lost precious time and every minute is crucial to our deadline.”