Harmony (38 page)

If Edwina ever decided to marry—which was so doubtful the thought really wasn't worth the effort . . . but
if
she did—she wouldn't go into the union penniless. She could never fall victim to helplessness like poor Mrs. Lancaster. That had been awful. Several years had passed since Mrs. Lancaster had moved—
without
Mr. Lancaster, who had stayed only a month after his wife's abandonment before boarding the train himself, never to be heard from or seen again. The shock of the scandal had died down over the years. But Edwina decided the girls should be reminded of its repercussions. The lesson needed to be reinforced.

It had been in the back of her mind when she'd opened the school: instilling financial self-reliance in her students as well as grooming them for husbands. She hadn't been sure they were ready or would be receptive to her views. But now that she'd gotten to know the girls better, she could see they needed this information. That was why she'd ordered the pamphlets several weeks ago. They'd just come in today.

The girls were taking their seats, so Edwina cleared the distant cobwebs from her mind and moved her gaze to her students. She was immediately drawn to Crescencia, who had not removed her hat like the others. Chin up, oval spectacles shining, and fingers folded in front of her, she waited expectantly. As if nothing were out of the ordinary at all.

But her hat wasn't ordinary . . . surely not one to be bypassed without comment.

It was a turban of purple pansies, with a purple bow and a bunch of wheat standing up at one side and a chenille-dotted veil that came just over the tip of her nose. It was very . . . showy. Quite unlike Crescencia's tastes.

Ruth Elward had no problem in saying so, either. “What kind of hat is that you've got on?”

Crescencia straightened with a smile. “Do you like it?” She gave the girl no room to reply, which was a good thing, because Edwina could tell the others weren't taken with the turban. “Mr. Dufresne bought it for me on his trip to Butte. He got it ready-made from a millinery shop. Isn't it too grand?” Her head tilted left and right to give them a good view.

“It looks like—” Johannah began, but Edwina cut her off because she saw a deep wrinkle of distaste on the girl's nose.

“I think Crescencia's hat is lovely because it pleases her,” Edwina said, more to Johannah than the rest. “I'm reminded of one of the maxims we learned the other day; perhaps now would be a good time to refresh ourselves. ‘In private, watch your thoughts; in your family, watch your temper; in society, watch your tongue.' ”

Guiltily, several looked away. Then Camille said, “I think your hat is just peachy, Crescencia.”

Lucy chimed in, her freckles seeming more prominent against her pale winter's complexion. “So do I. And twenty-three skidoo to them who don't.”

Hildegarde nodded her agreement. “It's purple. My mother says purple and blue are fashionable. And that plum is a color that means ‘keep promise.' ”

“I surely like the veiling. It's as sheer as a whisper,” Meg added.

Crescencia tittered behind her hand, and at first her words were so soft, they couldn't be heard. Then she cleared her throat and admitted in a sinful tone, “I've bought a straight-front corset.”

Gasps sounded. Then:

“When?”

“Why aren't you wearing it?”

“Does your father know?”

“Did he give you the money?”

“You were at the mercantile? My mother didn't tell me.”

“What color ribbons?”

Edwina was surprised, too. The corset was quite fashionable. The stays were the straight-front part, giving support but leaving the figure graceful and supple while elegantly narrowing the back. Edwina had been thinking about getting one herself.

Blushing, the pink a flagrant contrast to her hair, Crescencia filled them all in. “Well, Mr. Dufresne took me for a coach ride last Saturday and we went over to Waverly. That's where I bought it.” She hastily went on. “He never knew that was why I went into the store. I'd die if he did. I would have had it a day sooner—I got the courage last Friday—but when I went to your parents' store, Hildegarde, your father was behind the counter. I just couldn't tell him what I wanted. There's a nice lady in Waverly, and she helped me.” Straightening her glasses, she continued. “As I said, I got it Saturday—wrapped in paper so Mr. Dufresne wouldn't know. I told him it was two yards of batting for a quilt I'm making. I'm not wearing it yet because I'm still a little nervous about it. And my father doesn't know. I paid for it with the savings hidden in my Bohemian glass vase bank. And the sateen ribbons are the prettiest pink you'd ever see.”

“Oh, buster, do I want a straight-front corset, too!” Hildegarde wailed. “My mother won't let me. And we have one in the case that's grand. Only it's a number twenty-two and I wear a . . . never mind. But she could order one in my size!”

“I wear a number twenty-two,” Lucy said, musing. “And I've got some birthday money tucked in my underwear drawer. How much is it?”

“Three dollars,” Hildegarde replied.

“Three whole dollars!” Lucy screeched.

Hildegarde defended the corset's value. “It's mercerized brocaded coutil. It's splendid material with a long directoire hip and back.”

“Oh, Hildegarde, quit spouting the catalogue features.” Meg turned in her seat. “We'd buy it if it was made out of burlap, so long as it was straight-fronted.”

Inspiration lit Lucy's pale face. “Why, I'll go to Waverly just like Cressie and buy one there with my own money.”

Ruth interjected, “You'll do no such thing, and you know it. None of us can go against our mothers. Cressie's lucky because she doesn't have one. Huuuhhh!” She clamped her slender hand over her mouth and her eyes bulged. “Oh, Cressie, I didn't mean it. You must miss your mother terribly. . . . I'm sorry. Please forgive me.”

“It's all right, Ruth.” Crescencia gazed downward at her desk, the lenses of her glasses reflecting her folded hands. “She died when I was seven. I'm used to not having a mother.”

The furor over the corset vanished as soon as Johan-nah asked, “Well, that's enough talk about something we're not likely to get. What I want to know is has Mr. Dufresne kissed you yet?”

Edwina stepped in. “Johannah, it isn't polite to ask a lady such a thing.”

Meg raised her hand. “But if Crescencia wants to tell, can she?”

Sighing, Edwina leaned back in her chair. “It's up to her.”

A barrage of questions hit Crescencia all at once.

“Well?”

“Has he?”

“What was it like?”

“Did you kiss him back?”

“Well . . .” Crescencia blushed. “Yes . . . he has.”

“Tell!”

Crescencia put the back of her hand to her forehead—on the dotted veiling, to be precise—and gazed dreamily at them. “I . . . dissolved.”

Hildegarde sat straight and proper, took in a gulp of air, and said in a rush, “My mother says it isn't proper to be kissed unless you're married.”

From the corner, Camille frowned, her lovely blond brows furrowed. “Stuff your mother, Hildegarde. Make up your own mind for a change.”

Lucy seconded her sentiments. “Yes, do. It's always ‘My mother said this and my mother said that.' Poop on your mother.”

“Lucille,” Edwina warned. “That's not acceptable language.”

Her muttered “sorry” was appeasing.

Face red, Hildegarde lashed back. “At least I don't flaunt myself in front of men. I went to Mrs. Kirby's house to borrow a cup of blueing for my mother and when I walked by the feed and seed, I saw you standing with Julius Addison and he was making goo-goo eyes at you. And you were making them back!”

Defiant, Lucy shot back, “So what!”

Edwina stood and tapped the end of a ruler on the top of the desk. “Girls, this is quite enough,” she said sternly. “The conversation has gotten out of hand. While I don't mind our discussing the opposite sex and our feelings toward them, I think you need to remind yourselves that you are young women who have the potential to enrich your lives until you get married. If you get married.” She went around the desk to stand before them. “I think marriage is a wonderful thing for you and that's part of the reason I started the school—so you could learn how to make a home pleasant and be educated in sociable skills.

“While I'm not opposed to your wanting to be courted and to marry, I think you should also think about how you can sufficiently take care of yourselves and learn ways to be independent. I fear with all the other material we've been covering, I've fallen short of my duty to
teach you this. You'll notice the pamphlet on your desk called ‘Women's Vocations: Voices of the New Century.' We'll be studying that today.”

Hildegarde's hand rose, the sleeve cuff of lace softly falling down her wrist. “My mother said independence breeds willfulness.”

“Independence and willfulness are not the same.” Edwina set the ruler down behind her and rested her backside on the desktop's edge. “The latter refers to a lack of compromise. The former refers to not being dependent on others. I don't think they are interwoven, unless the person chooses them to be.” She gazed at the faces intently fixed upon her. “Has any one of you ever thought about ways you could earn your own money?”

Horrified brows rose and most shook their heads. It was a given that until they left their parents' houses and the responsibility of supporting them fell onto their husbands, they would be taken care of completely, without having to lift a finger.

Only two of the students raised their hands.

“Meg?” Edwina called.

The girl's coppery hair had been done up high with gold barrettes on the sides, and when she talked, her head moved and the gold flashed in the pulled-back strands. “I've always thought I could run my parents' hotel. I think I have a knack for people. I can talk to most anyone about most anything. I've even, on occasion, checked salesmen into the register.”

“You told me your father let you hand them the pen,” Hildegarde pointed out.

Meg glared at her. “Well, it should still count. I did give them the means by which to sign in.” Her full lips pouted. “It's all so unfair, Miss Edwina. He's let my brother take over the entire operation before. And now that Wayne is in college, I don't see why I can't. Why, if given the chance”—she pointed a tapered fingernail thoughtfully in the air—“I could run that hotel with my eyes closed, and I'll bet I'd increase the room reservations by serving tea and scones in the lobby at four
o'clock and offering free cigars to the gentlemen to smoke while they read the newspaper.”

“That's an outstanding idea, Meg,” Edwina said with enthusiasm. “I think you should propose it to your father.”

“Little good it would do. My parents are going on a twenty-fifth anniversary trip this spring, and they don't trust
me
enough to keep the hotel running. They're having my grandmother come in to take over. It's as if my parents think I'm an infant and need watching. I'll be twenty next week and I'm still being treated like a child.”

Not wanting Meg to see her reaction, Edwina kept a grim smile to herself. She'd had this very same argument with her own mother at Meg's age. All she could offer was knowing advice. “Keep trying, Meg. Your father may come around to your side eventually. If not, I've found mothers have softer spots in their hearts. After all, they were once girls your age, too.” Edwina pushed away from the desk and walked in front of the crooked rows where the girls sat watching her with attention. “Camille, you raised your hand. What is it you'd like to do?”

With her blond good looks, Camille Kennison could very well be married to any man for which she set her cap. Edwina thought it admirable the girl had set her sights beyond that. “It may sound silly, really, but I want to be a part of something and know I changed its outcome. I can't define what it is I want . . . perhaps a project. A charity. A way to add fulfillment to my life. A larger-than-life something . . . I don't know.” She shook her head in frustration. “I'm not making any sense.”

“I think you are, dear.” Edwina paused and pressed her palms together in front of her. “There's something out there for you that's calling to your ingenuity and spirit. You'll know it when it comes along. Keep looking. In the meantime, is there anything else you can do?”

“I've been thinking about enrolling in a music school
to take voice lessons. I can sing passably well, and I thought the experience would be good for me.”

“I quite agree. If you need character references, I'd be happy to supply them for you.” With a clasp of her hands at her waist, she continued. “Before we return to our deportment books, I'd like to tell you the story of Mrs. Lancaster. I know you all have heard it before—actually, we all lived it with Mrs. Lancaster. But it bears repeating. If you recall, she'd wanted a parlor addition to her house. Mr. Lancaster was opposed and voiced his displeasure by telling her a parlor would cost too much money. So Mrs. Lancaster began taking orders for hats and making them morning, noon, and night so that she could get the money to pay for the parlor herself. If you recall, she rented space from Mr. Knightly. She worked her fingers to the bone, never seeing any of the money—it went toward her rent. You might not have been aware of it, but Mr. Knightly set up an account for her so that she could charge her supplies through his store. Everything she bought and sold was tallied on Mr. Knightly's books. When her calculations told her she finally had enough to engage a carpenter for the parlor, she went to collect her due from Mr. Knightly. She found out she didn't have a cent. The money had gone to pay off Mr. Lancaster's debts to Mr. Knightly. Mrs. Lancaster had toiled entirely for her husband and not a cent went to her.”