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“It’s criminal that we have such a beautiful ballroom and never use it.” Looking at his blank face I realize I need to appeal to his business sense, so I add, “And the sooner the meeting is held, the sooner the mill can be built and that’s good for business, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but...” Father absently stuffs a piece of toast into his mouth and chews slowly. He’s still standing by the sideboard, plate in hand. When he swallows he looks thoughtful. “It’s not a terrible idea.”
I steal a sidelong look at Catherine who is staring listlessly off into space. “And afterward there could be refreshments and maybe even dancing.”
Mother stares at me, mouth ajar as the egg slides off her knife. Catherine looks up sharply to see if I’m joking. I plunge on.
“Isn’t that the way these country functions usually go? There’s always cider and entertainment afterward. All the townspeople will come to hear what you have to say if they know there will be dancing. Besides, it will give us something to look forward to.”
This last point is a lie. I will dread this meeting and all the small talk and dancing and smiling faces that go along with it, but I know that Catherine will not, and I owe it to her to at least try to be a good sister; otherwise, I have no one to blame but myself for our relationship. It won’t be as formal as a ball, but it will be a compromise, something Mother can handle, and, God willing, me as well.
Emeline’s gaze darts between Father, Mother and me, her eyes shining with hope. At the very least, I can take comfort in the fact that I’ll be making Emeline happy.
Father turns to Mother. “What do you say, Martha? Do you think you can shine up the ballroom and act the hostess?”
“Yes, of course,” she says without enthusiasm. “We should hold the meeting here.”
“Excellent.” Father licks some jam off his finger and gathers up his newspaper. “I’ll leave you ladies to the planning then.”
By now, Catherine is sitting up straight, face bright and eyes shining. “I’ll plan it all,” she quickly offers. “You won’t need to lift a finger, Mother. We’ll have to invite Mr. Pierce. And of course Mr. Barrett will be coming,” she adds, catching my eye.
My body tightens. Of course Mr. Barrett will come. I hadn’t even considered that when I was hatching my plan to make amends with Catherine. Just his name makes my heart pump harder. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of the way our hands touched at the pond at least several times a day, the jolt of warmth we shared playing over and over again in my mind. But what could I possibly say to him?
Emeline is practically vibrating out of her seat. “A ball! Here!” she squeals as she pushes her chair from the table, too excited to sit a moment longer.
I give her a weak smile, my thoughts racing. And what about Cyrus? In a small town like this, he’s bound to catch wind of the meeting and invite himself. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. What was I thinking?
“Are you all right?” Catherine stands up, pushing in her chair. “You went as pale as a sheet.”
“Yes,” I say, with forced cheeriness. I muster up a smile for her, but she’s already tripping out of the room, humming a little tune under her breath.
11
“MOTHER, WHAT ONearth are you doing?”
I find her in the ballroom on hands and knees, scrubbing away at the shiny hardwood floor. Despite Catherine’s pledge to take care of all the preparations, the past two weeks have seen Mother in a flurry of activity, doing everything from beating out already clean carpets to polishing silver while Ada helplessly looks on.
She doesn’t look up. “We can’t have a filthy house when everyone arrives tonight. Everything must be clean.”
The ballroom is pristine. I crouch beside Mother, putting a light hand on her shoulder. She gives me a quick, anxious glance, but doesn’t stop what she’s doing. With a sigh, I stand back up. “Where’s Catherine?”
Mother’s face darkens. “In her room, trying on gowns.”
I watch her narrow back, stretching and shrinking as she throws herself into the long, jerking motion of the rag. What happened to my rosy mother who used to sing while she floated around the house, always so quick to smile, so generous with her kisses?
“Please don’t strain yourself,” I say uselessly to her back.
My footsteps and Mother’s scrubbing fill the echoing space. I try to imagine it filled instead with dancing, sweaty bodies tonight and my stomach plummets at the thought. Devoid of any furniture save the pianoforte and some chairs, I’ve rarely found reason to come up to this room before. Mother occasionally uses it for a large quilting project, and more than once we’ve had to make Emeline stop playing boisterous games of chase with Snip. Other than that it’s a sad room. I can’t imagine it ever being one of grandeur.
I’m turning to leave when Mother’s voice stops me. “We’re expecting nearly forty guests,” she says without pausing in her scrubbing. “I don’t want Emeline getting underfoot or causing a scene like...” She trails off, but I know she’s thinking of the night in the parlor with the slamming doors. “Besides, the dancing won’t start ’til well after her bedtime.”
“But she’s been looking forward to this for weeks,” I tell her. “She’ll be crestfallen.”
“She can watch the guests arrive, but then it’s into bed for her.”
I’m ready to argue with her, but she’s wound tight as a coil, and with Mr. Barrett and even maybe even Cyrus coming, perhaps it is for the best if Emeline isn’t there.
With a sigh, I leave Mother to her cleaning, hoping that she’ll stop before exhaustion takes over. I make sure I knock extra loudly on Catherine’s door before entering.