Pearl (18 page)

Pearl took a much-needed half hour for a lie-down after she arrived home.

Much too soon Bernadette knocked on her door and entered. ‘‘Your mother suggests you wear the claret silk gown with the fringe on the overskirt.’’ The maid took the dress from the chifforobe and inspected it for any stains before hanging it in sight.

‘‘Thank you.’’ Pearl did know how to choose her own clothing. But she knew she would have chosen something more simple— and not as new.

‘‘Part it in the middle with waves on the sides, no curls in the back,’’ she instructed the maid as she brushed out Pearl’s hair.

Bernadette sighed. ‘‘But your mother said—’’

‘‘I’m wearing the dress, but I don’t want all those pins poking me in the head. I thought a velvet ribbon around either a weave or a coil.’’

Another sigh, this one even more expressive. The French communicated a great deal with a sigh and the fluttering of hands. ‘‘But, Miss Pearl . . .’’

‘‘If anything is said, I will take full responsibility.’’

A tsk or three communicated equally as well as a sigh, if not better.

Feeling more like herself and yet still acceding to parental wishes, Pearl made her way downstairs before the doorbell announced the arrival of their guest.

‘‘Good evening, Miss Hossfuss.’’

‘‘And to you, Mr. Longstreet.’’ She motioned to the parlor. ‘‘Father is serving aperitifs, if you would care for something before supper.’’

‘‘Thank you. May I say you look lovely tonight.’’

If only he would smile more often, why, it quite changes his features
. ‘‘Thank you. This way.’’

‘‘Good evening, Sidney.’’ Jorge Hossfuss waved an expansive hand. ‘‘Have a little cider, for tonight we are celebrating.’’

‘‘Yes, thank you, sir.’’ A bit of color warmed his cheeks.

‘‘And what might we be celebrating?’’ Amalia asked.

‘‘Today I promoted Sidney to Head of Accounting.’’

‘‘Congratulations,’’ Pearl said as he escorted her into the dining room. ‘‘My father seems to have developed a great deal of respect for your abilities.’’

‘‘Only because Mr. Jones moved up to a better position.’’

‘‘Surely he had others he could have promoted.’’
For heaven’s
sake, man, take this as the compliment it is. My father does not promote
men willy-nilly. You always have to prove yourself with him
.

The conversation turned to business, and neither Pearl nor her mother made any effort to change that. Actually Mr. Long-street had a good many things to say. Perhaps he was becoming less shy, as her mother had suggested.

Nevertheless, she had to stifle more than one yawn. Why was it Mr. Longstreet could carry on a business conversation with her father, but when it came to social conversation with her, he could barely squeak out three words?

‘‘I have asked your father’s permission to court you,’’ he said as he was preparing to leave.

Now Pearl could not come up with three words. ‘‘Ah.’’

‘‘And he said yes.’’

‘‘Umm.’’

‘‘I hope you agree.’’

Definitely more than three words, and none of them were to her liking.

‘‘Of course she agrees.’’ Her father stepped into the breach.

His glance at Pearl warned her against dissension.

‘‘Good night, sir.’’ Three words all right, but again not the three she wanted.
Lord, please find him another wife. Who do I know
that might think this a good match? Other than my father
.

As the door closed behind Mr. Longstreet, her father turned to her, his voice gentle, but firm. ‘‘And you will be agreeable.’’

Her mind spun in a thousand directions as she nodded mutely.

Pearl breathed a sigh of relief when she woke to a clear dawn. If rain had spoiled the picnic, the classroom would have been like a disturbed hive of hornets. She dressed in a serviceable wool serge skirt and a white cotton waist sprigged with pink rosebuds, knowing that the embroidery and lace at the cuffs of the long sleeves would make little Esther’s eyes shine in delight. The little one adored lovely things and had taken to embroidering as if born to hold a needle when Pearl taught the needlework class. She had come to life at the beautiful colors of thread.

After examining several of the millinery concoctions on her shelves, Pearl chose a deep red hat with a feather that she knew would enchant the children. If the day was anything like yesterday, she knew she should choose a hat with a broad brim, for surely her nose would freckle with this one. As if freckles were the bane of a woman’s existence. Her mother, of course, would explain why that was true.

Why did men want women to look as if they were about to expire? Pale of face, tiny waisted, corseted to the point of fainting, unable to eat, let alone take a deep breath. She stopped in front of the mirror and measured her waist with her fingers. No, they didn’t meet in front or back, missing by several inches. Would that her waistline would fend off Mr. Longstreet. But then, he’d seen her mostly in tightened laces, thanks to Bernadette’s insistence.

‘‘If I had my way, no woman would ever again be subjected to such torture. No corsets, no lacing, no veils so thick one can hardly see, no shoes so frail a single rock could bruise right through them, no—’’ She cut off the diatribe. ‘‘You, Pearl Elaine Hossfuss, are a rebel at heart.’’

With that she unpinned the hat and carried it downstairs to pin on just before going out the door. Her satchel waited for her there also.

She took her place at the empty dining room table, even though she much preferred the warmth and comfort of the kitchen.

‘‘Young master will be down shortly,’’ the maid informed her, ‘‘The missus said she will be ready to host your children when they arrive, and she is thankful for the good weather.’’

‘‘As am I.’’ Pearl fluffed her napkin and laid it across her lap. ‘‘I suppose Cook has been preparing since before daylight?’’

‘‘She baked all the cookies yesterday.’’ The maid leaned closer and dropped her voice. ‘‘You’d think we was expecting forty guests rather than twenty.’’ They shared a chuckle at Cook’s expense. Everyone knew that running out of food would be tantamount to a mortal sin.

Half her class greeted her when she arrived at the settlement house, her normal half an hour early.

‘‘We goin’ terday? I been waitin’ and waitin’.’’

‘‘See, the sun is shining and no clouds.’’

‘‘We’ll have the picnic?’’

Their eagerness splashed over her in pure joy.

Little Esther fingered the lace as Pearl knew she would. While she rarely said more than a shy ‘‘h’lo,’’ her blue eyes shouted bursts of joy.

‘‘All of you go play now until the bell rings.’’

‘‘When we goin’ ter leave?’’

‘‘At ten, as I told you yesterday.’’ She knew they only asked for reassurance, but sometimes the repetition made her impatient. Not today though. Today was made for her children.

‘‘Make sure you watch out for your partners,’’ she cautioned later after they walked the blocks and mounted the steps to the cable car. They took their places on the wooden bench seats, eyes round as teacups and giggles hidden behind their hands.

‘‘Do you ride like this ever’day?’’

‘‘No. I’d rather walk unless the weather is bad.’’
Or I use the
family carriage, or the sleigh in winter
.

‘‘I would ride like this all the time.’’

‘‘You can’t. Don’t ya see the sign? Five whole cents, a nickel.

My da says feet was made for walkin’.’’

‘‘You live in a house like that?’’ One child pointed off to a house that Pearl knew to be half the size of her father’s.

‘‘Something like that.’’

‘‘You must be rich.’’

Pearl ignored that comment in favor of reminding the children to stay in their seats instead of dashing from side to side to see all the sights.

‘‘Now, we will get off at the next stop and walk a couple of blocks, so you must all line up in pairs like before.’’ She appointed the two who would be first in line and the pair to bring up the rear, and nodded to the two mothers who had come along at her request.

When they turned in the drive to her home, silence fell on the entire group as they gawked at the brick house at the end of the curved, tree-lined drive of crushed gravel with nary a weed brave enough to poke through.

‘‘We will go around the house to the backyard, where our picnic will be set up. There’s a swing and slide back there and grass to play dodge ball, jump rope, and other games.’’ Pearl walked backward as she spoke so that all the children could hear her. ‘‘If any of you need to use the necessary, I will show you the way.’’

After guiding the entire group through the house to the ‘‘privy,’’ as one called it, she realized that might be the highlight of their day. By the time each one flushed the toilet, washed hands, dried them on the towel, and oohed over the tub, she wished she could show them the entire house, but that might be asking for trouble. The bathroom they used was the one off the kitchen for the servants and not the main upstairs one.

‘‘I’m so glad you brought them here,’’ Amalia said after she had greeted each of their guests. ‘‘Poor little dears.’’

‘‘Thank you for agreeing.’’

As Pearl watched the children play, her mind skipped to the next school year. Would she still be teaching at the settlement house, or would she be in a one-room schoolhouse in the wilds of Dakotah Territory, of which she knew so little? So often children from the years before would come back to see her. How she would miss them.

Even though everyone ate until they were stuffed and a few had cookies in their pockets for brothers or sisters at home, there was still food left.

‘‘How about I fix a packet for each one, some cookies and cheese maybe?’’ Inga stood behind the table watching the children playing tag among the trees.

‘‘If you would like.’’ Pearl thought a moment. ‘‘We could put them in a basket or two and give them out once we are back at school.’’

When the baskets were fixed, Pearl called the children, as it was nearing time to leave. But when they lined up and she counted heads, there were only nineteen.

‘‘Everyone, stand still please.’’ She counted again. Nineteen. Who was missing and how long had the child been gone?

She clicked down the list of faces. Esther. Little Esther was missing. ‘‘All right children, please make a circle and all sit down so we can play another game. Mrs. Guffrey will lead you in button, button while I—’’ ‘‘Go look for Esther?’’ one of the children asked.

‘‘Yes, do you know where she is?’’

‘‘No, Miss Hossfuss. I just knowed she was gone.’’

‘‘Why didn’t you tell me?’’ She knelt to be on eye level.

‘‘Thought she went to pee and be right back.’’

‘‘How long ago was that?’’

A shrug was her only answer.

‘‘All right, you go join the circle and help Mrs. Guffrey. I’ll go look for her.’’
Please, God, let her be in the house
.

She and two of the servants started on the ground floor and checked every closet and place a small child could hide. Behind the furniture, under the stairs, in the linen press. No freckle-faced Esther.

On the second floor, they did the same—looked under the beds, in the bathrooms, the chifforobes, behind screens. They checked the master bedroom, and much to Pearl’s relief, she wasn’t there. If her father learned some urchin had been in his things, he would have an apoplectic fit.

Pearl found the sleeping child curled up in the middle of her own bed, her cheek cushioned on one of Anna’s rag dolls and a scarf with embroidered red roses wrapped around one hand.

‘‘Ah, the poor mite. Let’s just hope she don’t have nits to share,’’ one of the maids said quietly.

Pearl agreed. If only she could keep this one here for a bath, they could wash her hair, dress her in some of Anna’s outgrown clothing, and let her keep that doll. How had she known this was Teacher’s room? Or had that mattered?

Pearl sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the hair back from the angel’s face. ‘‘Esther, you need to wake up now. It’s time to go back to school.’’

Esther’s eyelashes fluttered open, and a smile lit her entire face. ‘‘Teacher, I dreamed I went to heaven. ’Twas so nice and pretty there.’’ She raised her arms, and Pearl leaned forward to both hug her and pick her up.

‘‘Now we must hurry, or we’ll be late.’’

She breathed a sigh of relief when she had all the children back on the train. Now if the servants got everything put back in order, all would be well. On the one hand she knew she should have asked Father, but on the other, he always said she should do what she could to help the poor. That was the Christian way.

Once everyone had received their packet and left the schoolroom, she tidied up and, picking up the now empty baskets, closed the door. How appealing the thought of a long soak in the upstairs tub, larger by far than the one the children admired.

‘‘It went well, I take it?’’ the headmistress said when they met in the hall.

‘‘Yes. I believe so.’’ She started to tell of the lost child, then caught herself. No sense admitting to being less than perfect.

‘‘They’ll be talking of this for a long time.’’

‘‘The cable car was a huge success.’’