The Firebrand (23 page)

"Hello, Maggie. Aren't you a fine, big girl?" Miss Lowell asked in a well-modulated voice. Rand felt relieved. She'd come highly recommended by a member of the bank board, whose own daughter had been raised by her. "I'm new here, too. Did you know that? You and I shall get to know this place together, won't we?"

"All right," Maggie said in a tiny voice.

"Let's meet everyone else, shall we?" Miss Lowell said. "You ask a lot of questions," Maggie pointed out.

"I suppose I do, don't I, though it's a bit rude of you to point it out. I ask questions because I'm curious about everything, aren't you?"

"Yes." Maggie's cheeks turned bright red, and Rand felt sorry for her. She clearly didn't understand why Miss Lowell considered her comment rude.

He stepped forward, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Here is Mr. Nichol, who looks after everyone in the house and sees that everything is run properly."

"Hello, Miss Chr—Miss Maggie. Welcome." Chilly and impeccable as always, the butler offered a proper bow.

Rand guided Maggie down the line, introducing the maids, the gardener, the kitchen help and Grandmother's personal companion, Miss Benson. He knew the child would never remember everyone's name, but with time, she would eventually learn. So he was startled when the introductions were over, and she said, "What about the remembering game?"

"Do you think you're ready?"

She planted her hands on her hips. "You
said
I was supposed to remember everyone's name."

"Indeed I did." "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Ask me. Ask me someone's name."

He decided to pick out a few easy names, for he didn't want to embarrass her. "What is the butler's name?"

"Mr. Nichol," she said without hesitation. "And the cook?"

"Mrs. Meeks."

He was impressed by her quickness, and some of the servants began smiling cautiously. "The upstairs maid."

"Miss Fulsom."

He decided to challenge her. "All right, what about the gardener?"

In the end, the little girl was able to name every last member of the staff. "That's quite remarkable," Miss Lowell said. "Isn't it, Mr. Higgins?"

"It certainly is. Maggie, how did you remember everyone so perfectly?"

"My mama taught me a game for remembering people in a hurry." Her face glowed with pride as she explained, "My mama goes to a lot of important meetings and has to meet a lot of people involved in the Cause. She says people respect you if you learn their names right off."

"She's right, isn't she?" Miss Lowell said. "What is the game, then? Can you show us?"

"I just remember a rhyme for everyone."

Even Grandmother shuffled forward in curiosity. "What sort of rhyme, child?"

"A rhyme that matches the person to the name. Like Mr. Nichol." She indicated the butler. "Nose like a pickle. And the cook is Mrs. Meeks, bright red cheeks." She pointed out the maid. "Miss Fulsom, great big bosom."

It wasn't just shock that held all mouths silent. Everyone, furtively, was noticing that Nichol's nose
did
seem to resemble a large, bumpy pickle, and the maid's bosom was indeed prodigious. There was a general clearing of throats and a shuffling of feet.

"Did I do a naughty thing?" Maggie asked, cutting a fearful glance at Miss Lowell.

"No—" Rand began.

"Yes," said the governess, then quickly added, "but you did a good job learning everyone's name, didn't you? Come. We had best show you to your room. Shall we?"

She held out her hand.

Maggie pretended not to see the outstretched hand. "What's through here?" she asked, running down a passageway to a back door. Before anyoiie could stop her, she pulled it open.

In bounded Ivan, all one hundred soaking wet pounds of him. Toenails skittering on the marble floor, he galloped into the foyer and paused to shake

himself vigorously, showering everything in a six-foot radius with rainwater. Then he headed straight for Maggie, knocking her down in his enthusiasm and licking her face while she laughed uproariously. For the second time in as many minutes, everyone simply gaped in surprise, until the cook's helper, a tall girl of about thirteen, started to giggle. The cook scowled and hissed at her, and she struggled to sober herself.

Nichol yelled, "Bad dog," and strode forward, reaching for Ivan's collar. The dog shied away, but Nichol seized him and dragged him back the way he came.

"Can't he stay?" Maggie asked. "I want Ivan to stay!"

"That is an outdoor dog, isn't it, Mr. Higgins?" said Miss Lowell, patting her face with a handkerchief. "It belongs outside, doesn't it?"

"But—" Maggie caught one freezing look from the governess and snapped her mouth shut. She looked crestfallen, a stark contrast to her untrammeled delight a moment earlier.

"Let him stay," Rand ordered. "Dry him off, and he can stay in the house with Maggie."

Miss Lowell was nothing less than a miracle worker. By suppertime that night, she'd transformed Maggie from a hoyden in trousers to a vision in blue silk. Standing formally beside his grandmother in the dining room, Rand heard the old lady gasp with admiration when Maggie and Miss Lowell joined them.

The patched knickers and loose shirt had been replaced by a dress with lace at the collar and cuffs, shiny little shoes peeping out from under the scalloped hem. Maggie's short curls had been crimped, lacquered and anchored in place by steel combs.

But her bright, direct regard had turned guarded and tentative. "And who," Rand asked, "can this enchanting creature be?" She favored him with a brief smile.

"I think it must be an angel from heaven," he said. "Don't you, Grandmother?" "She certainly looks like one," his grandmother agreed.

"It's me," Maggie burst out, spreading her arms. "Maggie! Don't you recognize me, silly?"

Miss Lowell cleared her throat, and Maggie sobered. Like a bird shot from the sky, she sank into a deep curtsey.

"Good evening, Grandmother Grace," she said with a precision of elocution

that hinted at much practice. "Good evening, Mr.—Father."

"And a very good evening to you," he said. He held a chair for his grandmother, then for Miss Lowell, and finally Maggie.

"You should sit down, too, Cora," Maggie said to the maid waiting by the green baize door to the kitchen. "Your foot's bothering you."

Cora flushed scarlet beneath her starched cap. Furtively she drew a battered leather brogan into the shadow of her skirt, but not before Rand saw the livid ulcer near her heel.

He felt a peculiar annoyance—at himself. How long had the poor girl been limping around in pain? Why hadn't anyone noticed, and why hadn't the girl dared to speak up?

"Go home, Cora," he said quietly. "See to that foot." "But, sir, I can work, I swear I can."

He pushed open the double-hinged door. She shrank from him, her fear piercing him like a small dart. "I'm not giving you the sack, Cora. You can come back when you're better," he said. "That's a promise."

"Thank you, sir," the girl said, then ducked out.

"Well," his grandmother said, "I hope Mrs. Meeks can manage on her own." She scowled down at her place setting. "I've mislaid my spectacles again."

"No, you haven't," Maggie said. "They're right here." She jumped up and found the glasses half hidden under a napkin.

"Ah." Grandmother perched the spectacles on her nose, looking as jolly as Rand had ever seen her. "Thank you, my dear."

Maggie sat down and jammed her hand into the bodice of her dress. "You mustn't fidget," Miss Lowell murmured.

"I don't like this corset. It's stiff and it itches."

Rand lifted an eyebrow in inquiry. "You put her in a corset?" "A posture corset, sir. All young ladies must wear one."

The watery distress in Maggie's eyes tore at him. "Only on special occasions," he said, gratified by his daughter's relieved smile.

He put his hands together. "Shall I ask the blessing?" They all inclined their heads. "Thank you for the bounty of thy goodness," he said. "Dear Lord, for the miracle of my beautiful daughter there can be no gratitude deeper than the thanks in my heart. May we be eternally humbled by the glory of this blessing, which you have brought. Amen."

"A-men,"
Maggie said so loudly that Grace jumped. Maggie caught a censorious look from Miss Lowell. "Well," she explained, "Patience always says a prayer ain't finished until you give it a good
&-men."

"A friend of hers," Rand explained. "Patience Gloriana Washington."

"She's a preacher at my church," Maggie said.

"Oh? And what church is that?" Grandmother asked. Everyone important attended First Congregational, the choice of Chicago's Old Settlers.

"It's the Calvary Church."

Miss Lowell lifted her napkin and coughed spasmodically. "The church on Kearns Street?"

"Yes," Maggie said brightly. "That's the very one." "But—that's a Negro church."

"No it isn't, silly," Maggie said with exaggerated patience. "It's a
Baptist

church."

*

"A-men," Maggie said firmly, concluding her bedtime prayer. Kneeling beside the pink-and-white bed, she looked up at Rand. "Did I remember everybody in the blessing?"

"I think so." He held out his hand and drew her to her feet. "I have a lot more people to bless nowadays, don't I?"

"You do, and you remembered every single one. Even Ivan."

At the sound of his name, the big dog thumped his tail against the expensive new carpet.

"I'm glad you're letting him sleep in my room," Maggie said. "Silky always sleeps right next to me on the bed." She cast her eyes down. "She used to, anyway."

"When I was a boy, I slept by myself, but I would have liked a cat." "Did your mama read you stories every night?"

His stomach clenched. He hadn't prepared himself for this, either, but he should have realized she'd be curious about his background. When it came to questions about his mother, he could think of no answer Maggie would understand. How could he explain to a child that everything he was, all of his convictions, had been formed by the fact that his mother had walked away from him? A young boy's heartbreak and yearning had gradually hardened into the man he had become.

"I don't remember much about my mother," he said.

"I remember every single-ingle thing about my mama," she declared.

He was relieved that she'd changed the subject. "Of course you do. She's right across town, and she's coming to see you on Saturday."

She bounced up and down on the bed. "How many days until Saturday?" "Seven."

She counted the days off on her fingers. Her lower lip quivered. "Can I write her a letter?"

"Of course. We'll post it by special delivery." "Can I send her a wire?"

"She'd probably like that."

"I want to send her a wire." The lip quivered ominously again. "I want to ask her why she gave me away."

"Ah, Maggie." He picked her up and held her close. "Remember how I said I used to walk with you until you fell asleep?"

"Uh-huh." She yawned and leaned her cheek on his shoulder. "I didn't really walk," he whispered.

"You didn't?"

"I danced. I hummed the Emperor's Waltz." "Show me," she said. "Do it again."

He cradled her head in one hand, moved in a slow, rhythmic circle and hummed the old, familiar tune. He danced for a long time, until the last of twilight disappeared and the only light in the room was the faint glow of the lamp. At some point he felt her shudder into sleep, slumping heavily against him. His arms and shoulders strained and went numb with the weight of her, but he welcomed the burden with his whole heart. "We were happy together once," he whispered, though he knew she didn't hear, "and we will be again."

Then, with painstaking care, he laid her on the bed and covered her up. "Maggie," he whispered. "My Maggie. Your mother didn't give you away. She gave you to
me."

Each day, Rand left the bank early and hurried home to see Maggie. He usually found her in her suite of rooms, diligently bent over a practice book while Miss Lowell supervised, occasionally reaching down to correct her posture or adjust her grip on the pen. Maggie accepted instruction with admirable aplomb. In all that she did, her bright spirit shone through. Even when a wave of longing for Lucy swept over her, she would struggle through the moment with dogged determination, no doubt clinging to thoughts of Saturday.

One afternoon Rand stood watching her from the doorway, telling himself she would be fine. She needed more time to adjust to the enormous changes in her life. He'd done his best to create the life he'd always envisioned for his daughter. She had servants and a governess to attend to all her needs and an ambitious schedule of special lessons in music, fancywork and deportment. Thus far, she seemed to regard her new life with curiosity and a good bit of humor.

Her room, flounced and fringed in pink and white, was filled with toys—a miniature house furnished with fragile figurines, an army of dolls, their porcelain faces staring out from a glass-fronted display shelf, a little pram for pushing them around.

Ivan sprawled on a braided rug with pink fringe, looking as out of place as a bull in a china shop. When Rand walked in, he lifted his big head in friendly expectancy.

"Am 1 interrupting?" Rand asked.

"Hello, there—oh." Crestfallen, Maggie looked down at her paper. "I've blotted it again."

"Then you shall have to do it over, shan't you?" Miss Lowell said gently.

Rand picked up the copybook. "It's not a bad blot. The clerks at my bank often do much worse."

"They do?" Maggie brightened.

"Your father's only trying to be polite, isn't he?" Miss Lowell said.

"No, this is very good work." He held up the book and read, '"An obedient child is a joy to her sire.' See? I can read this just fine." He grinned down at Maggie. "But I don't know what 'obedient' means. It's a big word." Turning back a page or two, he found a sketch of a boat on the lake, then a drawing of Silky the cat. On the page before that, he found the start of a letter: Dear Mama, Pleas come—

Maggie saw what he was looking at, and her eyes grew bright with tears. She blinked fast and hard, as stoic as Lucy when it came to holding them back. Miss Lowell took the copybook and set it aside. "I'm sure we'll do better next time, won't we?"