Nobody's Secret (12 page)

Her fingers fumbled at her work,
—
Her needle would not go;
What ailed so smart a little maid
It puzzled me to know

The next day dawned with a rainstorm that turned the dirt roads to a mud that would easily ruin a lady’s shoes. Several of the guests sent their regrets, but Ursula Langston and her mother arrived precisely on time. Both were dressed far more fashionably than the other women.

Mrs. Dickinson was frigidly polite. “Mrs. Langston, what a lovely dress,” she said.

“Why, thank you. My husband had it sent from Paris. At enormous expense.” Mrs. Langston had the same pale blue eyes as her brother, Sam Wentworth, but fashion had altered her into an entirely foreign creature. “It was an extravagance, but I love pretty things.” She looked at Mrs. Dickinson’s plain gown. “But I do admire how the ladies in Amherst don’t worry overmuch about the latest fashions.”

Mrs. Dickinson’s eyes narrowed, but she was too polite to reply in kind. She made the introductions. “I don’t believe you know Mrs. Hitchcock and Mrs. Gilbert.”

Since Mrs. Hitchcock was the wife of the president of Amherst College and Mrs. Gilbert’s husband owned the bank, Mrs. Langston was delighted to make their prestigious acquaintance.

Ursula’s quick glance made it obvious that she didn’t think much of the younger Dickinsons’ dresses. For their part, Emily and Vinnie were unobtrusively sizing up her ensemble. Ursula was only a year older than Emily, but her polka-dotted dress with a daring neckline showed off her shoulders and made her seem at least eighteen. She wore a choker of the same fabric. Her sausage curls cascaded down both sides of her face. Emily conceded that Ursula looked very attractive, but thought the rigid-ity of a corset was too high a price to pay for appearance’s sake.

Mrs. Dickinson led her guests into the parlor, where seven chairs were arranged in a wide circle. The older ladies claimed the seats by the window to take advantage of the limited daylight.

“Your house is lovely, Mrs. Dickinson,” Mrs. Langston said. “The brocade on this chair is so unusual. Was it expensive?

“It was a gift from my father when I married,” Mrs. Dickinson said, her face pink.

“As old as that?” Mrs. Langston rubbed her fingertips on the patterned fabric. “Ah, now I see that it is quite worn. The light in here is not very good, or I would have noticed it earlier.”

For a moment, Mrs. Dickinson’s famed composure deserted her. She took refuge in arranging the work of the sewing circle. “Ladies,” she said, raising her voice. “Our task today is to make baby clothes for the Irish families working in the factory.”

Mrs. Hitchcock said, “Those women. Always too many babies and not enough money.”

“Charity, Mrs. Hitchcock,” Mrs. Dickinson reminded her. “It is our duty to help the less fortunate.”

“We do seem to sew an inordinate number of baby clothes,” murmured Mrs. Gilbert.

Emily, Ursula, and Vinnie hovered by the door as their elders got settled.

“Sit down, Emily,” her mother said.

“May we be excused for a few minutes to show Ursula my herbarium?”

“I’d like to see it,” Ursula said politely.

“Emily, I’m sure your herbarium is very nice,” Mrs. Langston said, “but Miss Phelps said that Ursula’s was the best in the class.”

“Ursula, you and Emily were in Miss Phelps’s botany class together, weren’t you?” Mrs. Dickinson said.

Mrs. Langston turned eagerly to the other ladies. “Ursula received top marks in botany. She’s so clever that she makes almost all our little remedies. We hardly need to visit the pharmacist. She dries peppermint for a tea that takes away my headaches, prepares chamomile for compresses, and recently began making her uncle’s heart medicine from flowers in the garden.”

“How useful,” Mrs. Hitchcock said drily.

Emily had a grin on her face as she led the way upstairs. Ursula’s face was bright red. “I must apologize for my mother,” she said once they reached the bedroom. “To her, a random thought might as well be spoken aloud. And of course, she’s been hoping for an invitation from the mighty Dickinson family since we moved here.”

Emily and Vinnie exchanged glances. “Don’t apologize,” Emily said. “You
are
very talented in botany. In fact, I have a plant I can’t identify, and I was hoping you could help me.”

“If I can,” Ursula said.

Ursula and Vinnie sat on the bed while Emily fetched the heavy herbarium. They turned the pages. Emily had begun well, pasting in a variety of plants and labeling them with their Latin names and origins. As she got toward the end of the pages, the plants were shoved in haphazardly—some not even secured to the page.

Ursula leafed through, saying very little. Emily remem-bered how there had been an unspoken competition between them during the class. Miss Phelps had praised Emily’s herbarium, and suddenly Ursula had worked furiously to make her book twice as nice as Emily’s.

“Where is this unknown plant?” Ursula asked.

Emily removed her notebook from her bodice, opened it to the last page, and pulled out the flower. “This is my mystery flower,” she said in a casual voice.

Ursula took it and laid it on an empty page in the herbarium, studying it intently. “Where did you find it?” She finally looked up, a small smile on her lips.

“I can’t recall,” Emily lied. “It’s pretty, but I can’t quite place it. The petals have an odd soft texture, and the stem is more wood than plant. What kind of flower is it?”

“It’s not a flower at all!” Ursula said triumphantly. “It’s an Indian pipe, and it’s a fungus.”

“I remember now,” Emily nodded. “I’d never seen one, but Miss Phelps described them.”

“Miss Phelps took me on special walks. Just the two of us.” Ursula shot a triumphant glance at Emily. “Once we went to a place called Amethyst Brook. There were dozens of Indian pipes there under the dead trees. They feast on the decay of other plants.”

Vinnie shivered. “How unnatural!” But Emily could see that she was just as fascinated as Emily.

“Amethyst Brook,” Emily repeated. “I’ve never been there, but I’ll have to visit.”

“Emily! Vinnie!” It was their mother, grown impatient downstairs.

“Coming, Mother!” The girls returned to the sewing circle.

“Ursula, sit with me,” Emily said as she settled on a sofa next to the fireplace. She pulled out a plain baby gown from her sewing basket and fastened an embroidery hoop around the front of the garment. “I haven’t seen you since term ended. How have you been keeping yourself?”

Ursula looked bored. “Mother took me to New York to buy some new gowns.”

“New dresses!” Vinnie sighed with longing. “Mother insists that we cut our own patterns. The dressmaker comes in two weeks to sew the dresses for us.”

From across the circle, Mrs. Dickinson called out. “Remember, Lavinia, to make your own clothes is a virtuous use of your time. And if our circumstances should ever change, you would know how to economize.”

“Is Mr. Dickinson’s law practice so precarious?” Mrs. Langston asked, oblivious to the raised eyebrows of the other ladies.

“Of course not,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “But I believe my girls should be trained for any eventuality.”

“
The Frugal Housewife
again,” Vinnie said.

Ursula looked puzzled. “Who is that?

“It’s not a person, it’s Mother’s second bible.” Emily explained. “The first is Scripture, the second is
Mrs. Child’s
The Frugal Housewife.
”

“And you shouldn’t make just your clothes,” Vinnie said. “Soap, cheese, anything that would be more convenient to purchase,
The Frugal Housewife
would have you make yourself.”

Ursula looked horrified. “It sounds deadly.”

Emily laughed. “Remember the passage about young women? It seems we should not waste our time with education, because that only prepares us for a life of idleness. A diligent mother would school us in the domestic arts.”

“And to think I always envied you!” Ursula laughed. “Mother would rather die than have me wear homemade clothes.”

Emily and Vinnie exchanged amused looks.

Mrs. Hitchcock spoke loudly, as if to change the subject. “Has everyone seen,” she paused dramatically, “the Body?

“Don’t speak of it, dear,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “I’ve forbidden the girls to even think of it.”

“Our maid discovered it!” Vinnie said.

Mrs. Hitchcock leaned forward, her mouth half-open. “Of course! He was found on your property, wasn’t he?” She playfully tapped Mrs. Dickinson’s arm with her embroidery hoop. “The whole town is talking of it. I went to have a peek, but I had never seen the poor man before.”

In a high-pitched voice, Mrs. Langston said, “Oh, was a body found? I hadn’t heard anything about it.”

“If you want to see, you had better hurry,” Mrs. Gilbert said. “He’ll have to be buried soon. I made my husband bring me—I was afraid I would swoon. But the poor boy looked very natural. And so good-looking.”

Emily felt a sickness in her stomach.

Mrs. Dickinson shook her head sharply. “Please, not in front of the children. They are already fascinated with death. I recall last year when Emily’s friend Sophia died—she insisted on staying at her deathbed for days. Emily’s health suffered for months afterward.”

There was silence in the room as the ladies contemplated Emily, who blushed to the roots of her red hair, seething that her mother would bring up poor Sophia.

Mrs. Hitchcock broke the silence after a few moments and asked Mrs. Langston, “Are you enjoying your stay in Amherst?

Mrs. Langston’s cheeks were flushed, but she seemed to welcome the change of subject. “It’s quite wet, isn’t it? I daresay it rained in Boston, but I don’t recall there ever being so much mud in Beacon Hill.”

“You lived in Beacon Hill?” Mrs. Dickinson asked.

With a nostalgic sigh, Mrs. Langston nodded. “Our house was so convenient and our neighbors were quite famous.” She waited, and when no question came, she added, “Of course, it would be unladylike to tell you their names.”

Emily bit her lip and settled back to watch her mother deal with her guest’s unusual manners.

“Beacon Street is such a desirable address,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “Charles Street has lovely shops.”

“You’ve been there?” Mrs. Langston asked, looking slightly alarmed.

“You may not know, but my husband used to be the representative for Amherst to the Massachusetts Legislature. Did you live near the State House?”

“No. We don’t care overmuch for politicians. My husband says they are all thieves and liars.” She laughed. “He says they aren’t to be trusted.”

Emily nearly stabbed her mouth with her sewing needle when she covered her lips to prevent a laugh from escaping. Vinnie’s giggle was audible, while Ursula, mortified, stared fixedly at her embroidery.

Mrs. Dickinson blinked. Finally, she asked, “What brought you to Amherst?

“We didn’t have much choice,” Ursula muttered.

“Hush, Ursula!” Mrs. Langston snapped.

Emily glanced from mother to daughter.

“My brother lives here,” Mrs. Langston said. “We had lost touch, and I thought it important to spend some time with him.”

Emily carefully fixed her needle to the fabric and leaned forward. “Do you have a large family? Any other brothers?

Mrs. Langston glared at Emily. “Not any longer,” she said sharply.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t realize it was a sensitive subject.” By now all the ladies were staring at Mrs. Langston.

Shifting her weight in her seat, Mrs. Langston said, “I had another brother, Jeremiah, but he passed away recently.”

“How terribly sad,” Emily said. “How did he die?

Mrs. Dickinson inhaled sharply. “Emily, enough of these personal questions. Where are your manners?”

“He was killed while prospecting in the Dakotas,” Mrs. Langston said.

“Did he have any children?” Emily probed.

“No, unfortunately his only son died young.” Mrs. Langston pursed her lips and glared at Emily. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather discuss something less upsetting.”

“Emily, enough,” Mrs. Dickinson agreed. “I declare you are becoming quite morbid.”

Emily could have screamed with frustration. How was she going to discover anything if her mother kept cutting the conversation short? She jabbed her needle hard through the fabric and inadvertently stabbed the fleshy part of her thumb. She stared as a drop of red blood dripped onto the white fabric and spread like a plague across her careful stitches.