A Path Toward Love (17 page)
Mama pulled out a light gray skirt and paired it with an old white shirtwaist in need of bluing, but the best of the lot. “At least it has a few tucks down the front and a row of pearl buttons. With your cameo at the neck, it might be pretty, or at least not as shabby as most of your clothes. I shall see you on the veranda in five minutes.” With that, Mama turned on her heel and left.
Unlike Newport and Bar Harbor, Mama's guests at Birchwood shared a love of nature's rugged beauty and eagerly shed the majority of their pretentions along with their elegant wardrobes. They eschewed silks and satins in favor of lawn and muslin, and took to calling vacations in the Adirondacks “roughing it.” But despite their rustic furniture housed in log cabins and a simple, though spacious, lodge, they maintained their high standards of easeâindoor plumbing, a fleet of boats, and a staff of servants to cater to their every whim.
Katherine changed her clothes, swallowed a small dose of aspirin, and strolled down the walkway leading to the chalet's back veranda. Ladies of various ages gathered on wicker chairs in a semicircle facing the lake. Mrs. Clarke motioned Katherine to the seat beside her. Mama was potting marigolds from the top step of the veranda only a few feet away from the group.
Katherine tried not to squirm as several sets of curious eyes focused upon her. She flashed her most polite smile at each lady and waited for the genteel inquisition to begin. Oddly, they hesitated. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, so she busied her fingers with her half-finished boater. The steady
click-clack
of knitting needles filled the quiet. A bumblebee buzzed around the plain straw hats and the ladies swatted it away.
“It's wonderful to see all of you again. I'm delighted to be home,” Katherine began, unable to bear the silence. “Florida is lovely, but Raquette Lake holds my heart. I've always loved the Adirondacks. They're so wild and primitive.”
Mrs. Porter arched a brow. “I'm not surprised that wild and primitive would appeal to you, Katherine,” she said in a measured voice laced with censure.
She could play Mrs. Porter's cutting little game too, but she'd not embarrass herself, or anyone else. “Perhaps when I was younger, but no longer. My youth has fled and I'm content to live out my days as a widow.”
She gazed down at her hands and then glanced toward Mrs. Clarke, whose face cracked with disbelief. “Katherine will no doubt change her mind about remarriage once she rejoins society,” she explained in her chilliest tone. “And that will take place in the fall, as soon as we return to the city. Isn't that right, Isabelle?”
Mama looked up from her flowers. “Yes, indeed. Everyone misses you, Katherine dear. They'll not allow you to keep to yourself for long. Mark my words.” Mama glanced around for reinforcement.
Katherine peered at Mama in confusion. She'd made it very clear she was only home for the summer. Was this evidence that her mother didn't believe her?
“You're so right, Isabelle. We're all so glad to have you back,” pretty Mrs. Lessman said. “And you mustn't dwell upon the past or you'll make yourself miserable. You're much too young to shut yourself away. Do try to overcome your grief and sadness. You must be strong.”
Mrs. Porter smirked. “If you'll pardon my boldness, Katherine, too much grieving is just plain self-indulgent. Listen to Mrs. Lessman. You mustn't give in to your weakest emotions.”
Katherine's impulse to refute these ladies wobbled on the tip of her tongue.
Lord, help me smile politely and stay in this chair. Don't allow me to throw down my hat and storm off. Please keep me from embarrassing Mama
. “I see your point, Mrs. Porter,” Katherine murmured through clenched teeth.
Mrs. Porter nodded, apparently mollified. “I do hope when you do decide to marry again, you'll favor us with a proper wedding. We were so
deflated
when you eloped with Mr. Osborne and deprived us of a grand celebration.”
“This time will be different, Pamela,” Mama insisted as she shoved her trowel in the clay pot. “When Katherine remarries, her wedding will be a lovely affair, I assure you.”
This time? When Katherine remarries?
Had Mama not heard a word that Katherine had said?
Mrs. Porter persisted, “But why did you run off the first time, Katherine? You knew your mother's dearest wish was to give you a lavish celebration.”
Poor Mrs. Porter didn't know when to retreat. If only she had noticed Mama's red, puckered face. Katherine saw her mother mentally scratching Mrs. Porter off her list of friends to invite back to camp, let alone any future wedding. Echoing Mama's sentiments and opinions was expected, but badgering her daughter was solely Mama's prerogative, not anyone else's.
Katherine expelled a puff of air. “I didn't wish to put Mama to so much trouble.” That was such a lame excuse her cheeks flamed. From the widening of eyes, no one believed a word of it. Hastily she added, “And Charles wanted to get back to Florida as soon as possible. His father was ill. In fact, he passed on about a year later.”
Mumbled condolences followed. They sounded sincere, and she decided to give the ladies the benefit of the doubt.
“Where did you marry?” tiny Mrs. Bruce piped up. “I don't believe I read about it on the society page.”
“In New York. I couldn't travel with a gentleman without being married, now could I?” Katherine coated her voice with a dab of honey. At least she'd done something right.
“No, indeed, you could not.” Mrs. Clarke's steely gaze slid from lady to lady. “Katherine would never do anything improper. She's a woman of impeccable character.”
Flustered, Mrs. Bruce nodded. “Naturally. I'd never imply otherwise, Georgia.”
Birds twittered, leaves rustled, and the sunlight glinted through the branches. The lake gleamed like a silver tray. Everything seemed so normal and so beautiful, except for the turmoil that boiled in Katherine's chest. She tried to focus on the project in her hand and hoped the ladies would change the subject.
After a short pause in the conversation, Mrs. Lessman said, “Your hat is lovely, Katherine. You have quite a knack for decoration.”
Relieved that the topic of marriage was being replaced, Katherine flashed a sunny smile. “Mama's maid taught me how when I was young, and I really enjoy it. I've salvaged several of my hats. They're like new.”
Of course none of these ladies needed to economize by refurbishing anything, so they nodded, eyes vacant.
“It's an enjoyable hobby.” Katherine hesitated for a few seconds, eager to keep the subject off her future relationships.
“I've toyed with turning my hobby into something meaningful and worthwhile. What would you all think of me creating some unique hats for my friends and donating the proceeds to charity?” She held her breath and waited for remarks. Perhaps Papa had been wrong.
But all their eyes widened at once. Mrs. Porter gasped. “You don't mean you'd
sell
your hats, do you?”
Katherine mustered all her courage. “Perhaps, if someone wishes to buy one. As I said, all the funds would go to a good cause. A charity.”
Mama clapped the dirt off her gloved hands and then tore off the dirty gloves and tossed them aside. “Impossible, my dear. Women are not meant to be entrepreneurs. What a ridiculous notion.” Mama's gaze cut her with a sharp warning.
Mrs. Clarke huffed. “You're clever, Katherine, but not practical. Just be satisfied with redoing hats for yourself. All is innocent until one enters the world of commerce, for charity or otherwise. That's a realm best reserved for the men.”
Aunt Letty, who'd just joined the group, spoke up. “I, for one, think it's a brilliant idea, Katherine, and if it tickles your fancy, you ought to pursue it.”
Mama groaned. “Really, Aunt, you mustn't encourage such a silly idea.”
Katherine buried her head in her work so no one would notice how her face was heating up. When would she learn to keep her own counsel like the rest of these ladies and conform to their standards? Yet it seemed impossible to curb her impulses.
Mama piped up. “I hear Rowena Howard is home from England.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The ladies leaned into the circle, obviously eager to hear the latest gossip. “Rumor says she's
divorced
from the earl. How dreadful. Her dear mother is distraught, as you might well imagine.”
“A divorce, not just a separation?” Mrs. Lessman's jaw dropped open. The poor woman was easily scandalized. What would she do if she found out about Charles? “She'll never get away with it. No one will receive her.”
Mama nodded. “Just because Alva Vanderbilt divorced and survived it, doesn't mean anyone else can. You'd have to be as rich as the Vanderbilts to even try.”
“Or Caroline Astor's daughter, Charlotte Drayton. Remember she ran off to Europe with a
man
,” Mrs. Wyatt purred.
“And to make matters worse, they were both married, but not to each other,” Mrs. Porter agreed.
Katherine bit her lip. Less than two years into her marriage, she'd considered fleeing to New York and back to the arms of her family. But she couldn't dredge up the courage. As much as Mama disliked and distrusted Charles, she'd never countenance a separation, let alone a divorce. Old-fashioned and convinced that divorce violated God's will as well as society's, Mama believed in lifelong commitment. Katherine did too. So she'd waited and prayed for some improvement in her situation. Only it had to arrive through Charles's death.
Before she realized it, Katherine found herself talking. “I, for one, shall welcome Rowena. We were fast friends at school and I'll not desert her.” Katherine lifted her chin, but softened her expression with a slight upturn of her lips. “The Lord requires us to forgive. Not that Rowena's done a thing to any of us. The problems in her marriage are between her and her husband. And the Lord.”
Mrs. Porter looked askance. “My dear Katherine, you're much too tolerant. It's your youth, no doubt. When you grow older and wiser, you'll learn that society's rules are made for good reason. To flaunt them is to invite disaster.”
Mrs. Bruce nodded. “Your elders know best.”
Katherine's fingers flew as she attached silk ribbon to the crown of her hat. Their judgmental attitudes appalled her. How could they relish ostracizing a young woman they'd all known for years? Had they no mercy for someone probably no worse than they? Poor Rowena sinned, but so did everyone. She didn't deserve to be singled out merely because her transgression embarrassed society.
The ladies continued to gossip, but Katherine, head bent over the boater, concentrated on the silk daisies and yellow ribbon and ignored the chatter. Could she ever fit in with this self-righteous group and accept their prejudices and ridiculously strict standards without a whimper of protest? Did she truly want to?
Chastising others for failing to forgive was far easier than extending forgiveness herself. Katherine sighed inwardly. She'd tried to absolve Charles and Harriet, but her grievances still burned deep in her chest like an unquenchable fire.
Lord, please soften my heart. It's as cold and hard as a rock. I have no right to condemn these smug ladies when I also fail to forgive
.
That evening she mulled over her own hypocrisy. Her dinner of venison stew sat like an indigestible lump in her queasy stomach. Under Mama's scrutiny, she smiled and chatted and acted as charming as she possibly could. But she yearned to lie down on her chaise longue and be alone with her thoughts.
“I think I'll retire early.” Katherine leaned into her mother on their way out of the dining hall. “I'm not feeling very well,” she said, touching her stomach.
Mama pursed her lips. “Oh, my dear! I was counting on you to help Randy entertain tonight. He's going to sing and play the mandolin. I thought you might join him in a few duets. Perhaps a bit of ginger ale will settle your stomach?”
Katherine suppressed a sigh, knowing that any argument was futile. And she had promised she'd cooperate with Mama; she ought to at least take a stab at it. “Perhaps ginger ale would do the trick.” She followed her family and Mama's guests into the lounge. Andrew was among them, but he remained curiously apart, choosing a chair in the far corner. She'd hardly seen him over the last dayâpresumably, he'd been hard at work on her father's business. But it was good to see him, even from afar. His eyes met her glance and they both smiled. Unexpectedly, she felt heat sear her cheeks and she quickly looked away before their gazes locked again.
For the next few hours she accompanied Randy on the piano and together they sang several popular songs they both knew well. And her mother had been rightâa glass of ginger ale gradually settled her stomach. As she relaxed, she started to enjoy herself, much to her surprise.
Singing had always brought her joy and peace, and tonight she sang along with Randy with a lighthearted lilt to her voice. Several times she glanced in the direction of her mother and felt glad to see that she smiled and nodded her approval. Finally, somehow, she was doing something right in her mother's eyes.
