Gregory, Lisa

Mrs.
James Miller bent her sternest gaze upon her sister, a look calculated to make
that timid woman tremble, and said in dire tones, "Amelia, it is all your
fault."

"Oh,
no, Amanda, truly—you know she never listens to me," Miss Amelia Fritham
protested faintly.

"Precisely,"
Amanda said, nodding her head in emphasis, so that the purple feathers on her
hat bobbed perilously. "That is where your fault lies. You have never
exercised the least control over that child."

"Hardly
a child—twenty-four years old," Amelia murmured.

"From
the day you first set foot in this house, she's run all over you. It is bad
enough that her father spoils her—after all, he's only a man and doesn't know
the first thing about rearing a child—but you give her her head, too!"

"But
Amanda, I tried. The first day I came to live here, I did just as you said and
when she disobeyed me, I told her I would send her to her room and she'd get
only bread and water; and she said—she said . . ." Amelia paused to gulp
back her tears, "she said, 'Auntie, I've been running this household ever
since my mother took ill a year ago. 'Tis I who order the servants and 'tis I
who carry the household keys. I think it's you who best watch out for the bread
and water.' And then she winked at me and laughed."

"You're
such a fool, Sister," Amanda said, dispassionately. "And no
sixteen-year-old chit would have dared to say that to me!"

Leaning
forward, Amanda launched into her major campaign. "But that's all water
under the bridge. Usually Katherine's common sense has kept her from doing
anything disgraceful. But now! The entire city of Boston is talking about her.
Going down to the shipyards to work in Mr. Devereaux's office! It simply isn't
proper." Mrs. Miller agitatedly began to pace the room. Propriety was, in
Mrs. Miller's scheme of things, above cleanliness and perhaps even above
godliness. A widow for several years, she had worn black the requisite number
of years and then donned her magnificent purple half-mourning, from which she
never swerved—not out of respect for the late Mr. Miller (she would be the
first to tell you of his many disagreeable attributes) but because it was the
proper thing to do.

In
amazement, Amelia watched Amanda pace the room; it was most unusual for her
stolid sister to so give way to an attack of nerves. Amelia began to twist her
handkerchief.

Ever
since she came from Amanda's home to this house eight years ago, Amanda had
rebuked her constantly for the way she handled Katherine. She just didn't
understand, Amelia would wail to herself. Their sister Alicia had been
seriously ill for a year before she died. Gradually her fifteen-year-old
daughter Katherine took over the household duties. She ruled the house
efficiently and well and was loved and admired by the servants. She was
stubborn, unafraid, and independent. And though she had welcomed her Aunt
Amelia as a guest, she never thought of looking on her as the new mistress of
the house and her substitute mother. Amelia acquiesced quickly. Her meek nature
infinitely preferred not being in control. Her life was much more pleasant than
it had been at Amanda's, where her older sister had bullied her unmercifully,
and where she had had to put up with the vapid giggles and pouts of Amanda's
daughters. The only real thorn in her side was Amanda's visits to remonstrate
with her over her lax supervision.

Amanda
was offended by her niece's independent attitude. Her worst sin was being a
spinster. It was not that she disapproved of Katherine's icy demeanor—far from
it. In her eyes, Katherine's prim dresses and cool, almost haughty manner were
quite proper. What couldn't be tolerated was the fact that despite her many
faults she had received some eligible proposals and had refused them. The
most
intolerable thing was that Amanda's own son James Eastland Miller IV had
been among the eligible proposals refused.

"Yesterday
Matilda Cranshaw told me that she found Katherine's behavior absolutely
shocking. Well, I was humiliated," Amanda seethed.

"Are
you here bullying Aunt Amelia again, Aunt Amanda?" came a cool voice from
the doorway.

"Katherine!"
Amanda swung around to face her niece, who stood slim and straight in the
doorway.

"Since
I am apparently the source of your anger, why not have it out directly with
me?" she said, advancing briskly into the room and seating herself.
"I'd like some tea, Auntie, if you would please ring for Annie. Would you
care for some refreshment, Aunt Amanda?"

"No,
I would not. Young lady, you are about to bring ruin on your family!"

"Indeed?"
Katherine's brows raised inquiringly.

"Don't
look so cool and innocent, missy." It stoked the fire of her righteous
anger to see Katherine sitting there in her dove-gray dress with its flawlessly
white collar and cuffs and every hair severely in place, her manner calm and
collected. "You know very well that I am speaking of your latest
escapade."

Katherine's
lips twitched slightly, but she said only, "Escapade, Aunt Amanda?"

"Yes,
escapade. Working at your father's shipyards! Katherine, it simply isn't
done."

"Well,
I imagine that dressing up like Indians and dumping tea into the harbor wasn't
quite the proper thing, either, Auntie. I'm simply being patriotic. Because of
the War with the South, nearly all Papa's clerks have gone to the Army. He has
only Teddy Mathias, who's just fourteen years old. Yet the demands on him are
greater than ever because the Navy needs ships. I've proved my efficiency and
business ability running this house. It would be criminal for me not to help
out by keeping Papa's books."

"But
for a well-brought-up young lady..."

"Really,
Aunt Amanda. I'm no longer a girl to sit around being modest and protected and
stupid, waiting for someone to marry me. I am twenty-four years old, and I have
accepted—even if you have not—the fact that I am going to be an old maid. I
need to learn Papa's business; I will have to operate it someday."

"Katherine,
there are lawyers and agents and things to do that. Or better yet, a husband.
Your chances aren't completely over; why, my Jamie still thinks fondly of
you."

"Thinks
fondly of my money, you mean," Katherine snapped. "Oh, let's not
quarrel about that, too. Believe me, there is little chance of my getting
married. I don't intend to entrust my business to strangers, and Papa agrees
with me. There's absolutely nothing wrong with what I do. I walk to the yards
with Papa and my maid comes down to walk back home with me in the afternoon.
The entire day I spend with a young boy and a half-blind old man, and my father
is there the whole time! How could that possibly be improper?"

"It's
simply not proper to work. If you wanted to help the war effort, why not work
with the Ladies' Auxiliary?"

"Oh,
pooh—rolling bandages and knitting socks. Why, I'm helping to build
ships!"

"Yes,
but look at you—ink on your hands. You'll get lines around your eyes from
squinting at numbers. Katherine, a lady simply does not work in an office. Not
to mention those low people you associate with—that young hoodlum and that
crazy old sailor. I despair of you, Katherine!"

"Well,
I'm sorry, but if I can't be a lady and still do something useful with my life,
then I guess you'll just have to continue despairing. Because I intend to
continue working."

"Well!"
In a high dudgeon, Amanda Miller picked up her gloves and parasol and stormed
to the door. Amelia fussed along beside her, wringing her hands and pleading
with her not to be angry. In the doorway, Amanda halted and delivered her
parting shot. "Don't say I didn't warn you."