All the Blue of Heaven (7 page)

           
“Yes, and she would love some playmates,” Allie grinned.

           
“This week, I’ll send you a note,” she said. Sarah gazed once more at Allie’s
face. “I just cannot believe you’re finally home,” she whispered.

           
“Alberta, honestly,” Mama stood behind her, clutching several fabric samples.
She surveyed the group of young women, Janey and Thomas. The young women
immediately bent their heads and murmured greetings.

           
Mrs. Leeds nodded regally, then said. “Good morning, Thomas. Are you coming to
Sunday dinner? Mrs. Gibson is making your favorite, roast chicken with poached
quail eggs.”

           
He has a favorite dinner? Allie tried to remember if Thomas liking roast
chicken but all she could recall was how he kept a spare apple in his jacket
pocket for the horses.

           
“Thank you, Mrs. Leeds. I must attend a city aldermen’s meeting but I would be
happy to come directly after,” he said, a strange tone in his voice.

           
Satisfied, she turned to Allie. “We will never get anything ordered unless you
come back for your measurements.”

           
“Yes, Mother.” Allie allowed herself to be led away to the fitting rooms, Janey
trailing behind her. A last glance behind her showed Thomas’s dark head bent
near Louise, her face lifted up to him. Allie swallowed back a wave of
jealousy.
He’s not yours anymore
, she scolded herself,
try to
remember that
.

           
As Mrs. Morton tutted and fussed over Allie’s thin frame, Allie’s thoughts
buffeted around her mind. Of course the gossips would be in full swing, but she
never could have guessed at the sheer ludicrousness of their accusations. The
circus? Actresses?

           
When she thought of the ‘lovers in the studio’, her cheeks flamed. There was
one young man, another painter, who had come to call on her several times. He
was so very handsome, and had a deep, easy laugh. But he liked to wage bets on
the card games down at the docks. It was not the way Allie expected a man to
act, especially a husband and father.

           
Mrs. Morton nattered away at Mrs. Leeds, discussing the possibilities for the
upcoming season. Allie struggled to suppress a sigh. Suitors, dances. It was
ridiculous to think she could pick up where she left off. She had never liked
the mid-winter balls, preferring to stay home and work on her
painting.           

           
“And for church, will she need a darker gown, perhaps green velvet?” Mrs.
Morton inquired.

           
Allie started. Church? Of course she would be attending services. She closed
her eyes for a moment, willing away the last time she had seen her beautiful
cathedral. The skeletal spires stood guard over walls that had fissures large
enough to put her arm through. Services were held outside, but she had never
been back.

           
“Yes, or a deep blue. She always looked very nice in midnight blue, it set
off her blond hair.” Allie knew the wiry dark curls were the opposite of what
her mother considered fashionable.

           
“Any color will be fine,” Allie said, laying her hand on Mrs. Morton’s soft
arm. “You always make the most beautiful gowns.”

           
“What a dear you are, and always have been,” Mrs. Morton sighed. “If only all
of our clients were so easily pleased. Just recently I restitched the
underskirt of a gown for the third time. The young lady complained that they
were uneven.” Deep furrows appeared between her small gray eyes. “
My
stitches! Uneven!”

           
Mrs. Leeds shook her head. “She must be mad. Who is this girl? I have ordered
from New York and London. You are quite the best, the very best.”

           
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, no.” Mrs. Morton murmured demurely, twin spots
of pink appeared in her cheeks, a pleased smile on her face.

           
“Auntie,” Janey whispered, “Is it my turn now?”

           
“Mrs. Morton, I was wondering what you would recommend for my niece, Jane
Leeds?” Allie tried her best to give the older woman a clear wink. She held her
breath until Mrs. Morton turned, as if with a start, to see little Janey
standing patiently behind Allie.

           
“Oh, dear! Who is this very lovely young lady? We must measure her at once!”
She bustled around, grabbing her tape and pencil.

           
Allie couldn’t help grinning at the look of rapture on Janey’s face.  They
watched quietly as Mrs. Morton measured Janey carefully, jotting figures on a
small piece of paper. After the last note, she led the ecstatic young girl over
to a rack of finery.

           
“I was thinking of bringing in another servant girl, now that there are four of
us,” Mrs. Leeds said. “Someone who can help with Jane.”

           
Allie felt the smile slip from her face. From the moment her brother had passed
away, she had taken care of Janey. The older couple upstairs would care for her
if she had a sitting, but they were like grandparents. After she’d been
released from the hospital they stood in bread lines together, held each other
close while reading lists of the missing, and made the decision to come here to
Chicago, together.

            Allie’s fists clenched
and she turned to watch Janey examine a miniature pair of softly woven
stockings. She thought of the thousands of people still living in shabby camp
tents in the park by the river. They would have traded places with her in a
heartbeat.

           
“She’s not your child, Alberta,” her mother said and her voice held a warning.

           
“I know that,” Allie hissed, struggling to keep her temper in check.

           
“When Matthew died, I wrote you to bring her home, we would take her,” her
mother said, voice pitched low. Janey was enraptured by the array of small
gloves and did not seem to hear their whispers.

           
“She had never met you, had never seen this city.” A painful throb started near
her right eye and Allie rubbed her temple. “It was better for her to stay with
me and the people she knew.”

           
“Better to stay in that heathen place? Better to be surrounded by artists and
dancers and God knows what else, than to be with her own family?” Her mother’s
voice had risen in anger and Mrs. Morton paused, looking back at them with a
pair of lace gloves in hand.

           
“Auntie, do you like these?” Janey held up another pair, eyes shining.

           
“Yes, my dear, those are perfect,” Allie pasted a smile to her face and waited
for little Janey to return her attention to the finery. “I am her family, too.
And those ‘heathens’ were people. Good, bad, all kinds. Just as it is here at
home.” A red hot anger boiled up in her chest and she fought to keep her voice
under control.

           
“Alberta,” her mother gripped her arm with a pincer grasp, “you cannot possibly
believe you will find a husband who will take you
and
Jane.”

           
She stood still, her mind numb with shock. “You don’t mean for me to―”

             “That’s exactly what I
mean for you to do. You will marry someone who can forgive your past, and Jane
will remain with me, where she belongs.” Her mother’s tone softened, as if
there was no sense in arguing. “It is the only way. You are not well enough to
care for her yourself. You must admit it.”

           
Allie stared across the small room at the little figure and realized she would
rather die than walk away from the child she considered her own for the past
four years. It did not matter what - or
who
- they offered. But how could
she keep her when she was weak and penniless? 

Chapter
Five

         
Mrs.
Gibson met them at the door with her usual bustle and energy. “I’ve just
brought out a tray for tea. Come into the sitting room and refresh yourselves,”
she insisted, hugging Janey with one arm and waving Allie in with the other.

           
“Did you find lots of lovely things, my dear? This hat is new, isn’t it? Oh,
and what fine gloves! You look like a perfect princess.” Mrs. Gibson couldn’t
have spoken more needed words as Janey grinned from ear to ear.

           
Allie watched the little girl settle primly onto a cushion and wait to be
served her tea, hands folded delicately in her lap, her tiny chin lifted high.
Maybe her mother was right about the lessons since she would have to fit into
this world.

           
“Mrs. Gibson, if you don’t mind, I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I shall rest
before dinner.” Her head pounded so fiercely she could hardly speak but she
made an effort to appear simply fatigued.

           
“Oh, my! Are you feeling faint? Should we call Dr. Ashley?” Her face creased
into tens of extra wrinkles as her concern registered.

           
“No, nothing like that. I’m not used to this heat, I suppose. San Francisco is
cooler, especially in the morning before the fog lifts.” Allie tried to smile
reassuringly at Janey, who had moved to stand next to her with a worried look.

           
“Well, a few more weeks and we’ll be right into autumn. It will be a relief to
have this summer behind us. Then we’ll be preparing for the Christmas season.
What a wonderful time it will be! Full of parties and dinners!” Mrs. Gibson
chatted as she took her employer’s hat from her.

           
“Go ahead and have some cookies, Janey. Mrs. Gibson makes the best spice
biscuits you’ll ever taste.” Janey slowly returned to her spot, clearly torn
between following Allie and the promise of fresh cookies.

           
Her mother glanced at her but said nothing as Allie turned toward the stairs.
Every step seemed to twist a knife into her skull. The long banister was cool
to the touch, slipping under her fingers like water. Her bedroom door was open
and the bright sunlight streamed through her window. Allie crossed the room and
pulled the heavy curtains closed. The room was plunged into dimness, but the
air remained thick and humid. As she removed her hat and collapsed onto her
bed, Allie’s head throbbed with every heartbeat. The pain reminded her of those
early weeks in the hospital, when the bandages were changed under cool, running
water. She bit her cheek, willing herself not to moan.

           
Maybe she was attempting too much, too soon. Maybe she should have sent Mrs.
Gibson to Mr. Morton’s shop. But Allie knew that her headache was from more than
the heat and tiredness. The gossips, seeing Thomas with Louise, her mother
insisting that she marry and leave Janey- it all sent her mind reeling. Tears
of frustration escaped from under her lids.

           
Allie turned her tear-streaked cheek into the cool cotton pillowcase and wanted
to pray. But she could not for the words. She had not prayed since that early
morning so many months ago when God took everything from her and reduced it to
ashes.

           
As the ache in her chest grew less and less, Allie slipped into a fitful sleep.
Dreams plagued her restless mind, terrible dreams of smoke and heat, of Janey
lost in aisles of velvet and
lace.                  
  

                                              
***

           
The morning sun streamed through the large window near her bed. Allie groaned.
Perched on the edge of the large mattress, she leaned her forehead against the
dark mahogany four poster. She knew they would be expected to attend Sunday
services with her mother. She had planned on it, picked out which gloves to
wear and how to wear her lace wrap so that her scars would not be so visible.
All the same, it seemed as if Sunday arrived too soon.

           
Thomas would be coming for dinner. Allie closed her eyes and attempted to take
her internal temperature. Was she happy? Nervous? Excited? There were so many
emotions swirling inside of her, they seemed to cancel each other out.

           
Janey flung open the bedroom door without knocking and skipped to the bed. She
twirled in a circle, arms out at her sides in perfect ballerina form. “Isn’t it
beautiful, Aunt Allie? Isn’t it the most wonderful dress in the whole world?”
She fairly hovered with joy as she modeled the new frock that Mr. Morton’s had
delivered yesterday.

           
“It’s very pretty, Janey, and you’re even prettier,” Allie said, rising from
the edge of her bed and smiling.  She wasn’t exaggerating. Mr. Morton had
created a confection for her little niece. Light blue silk with a sheer apron
would have been pretty enough, but his wife had added tiny details here and
there that elevated it to a work of art. It had rosebuds and ribbon trim and
tiny pearl buttons along the cuffs of the sleeves. Janey’s hair was perfectly
curled and a matching light blue ribbon tied it back from her heart-shaped
face.

           
“Let’s go, Auntie, we can’t be late. Remember when we used to walk to church? I
wish we lived closer and could walk today.”

           
Allie nodded. “Yes, I remember. But just think of how your dress would be if we
walked to town in all of this heat and dust.”

           
Janey glanced down at her new boots and summer wool tights. “And I’m sure I
would get a sore spot on each toe for walking.”

           
“Exactly right.” Allie adjusted her scarf for one more moment, glancing in the
large cheval mirror. There were deep circles under her eyes and her hair seemed
to be attempting to escape the pins she used to contain the curls. She wished
there was more color in her cheeks. Shrugging, she pinned on her large black
hat and started for the door.

           
“Aren’t you wearing your new hat, Aunt Allie?,” Janey asked.

           
“No, dear, I like this one better for church. The other is for fancy
occasions.” Allie tried not to be impatient but she was really rather tired of
worrying about her fashion choices. It was enough that two of her own dresses
had arrived and she was currently attired in a light lavender gown that was
much fancier than she was accustomed to. There were far too many ruffles and
bows for church wear, but her mother insisted on putting fashion before comfort.
The S-shaped corset arrived from a small shop in town and was meant to
compliment the new gowns, but Allie suspected it was actually intended to
disguise her thin figure. As a teen she had never trouble looking like a woman,
but the hospital stay robbed her of those curves.

           
They made their way down the grand staircase, Janey chattering away. Allie was
thankful for the little girl’s enthusiasm, as it masked her own gloomy mood.

           
“There you are, I was about to send Maggie up to find you,” Mrs. Leeds said,
adjusting her gloves. “Mr. Johnson will be around with the carriage in a few
moments.” She eyed Allie’s dress, seeming to note the new corset underneath.
“You look very lovely, my dear.”

           
Allie’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Her mother was not one for compliments.
“Thank you,” she said simply.

           
“There are many young men attending this early service. You must be sure to
exit the church slowly. That will give them the opportunity to notice you and
to approach us outside the doors.”

           
Suppressing a sigh, Allie nodded.

           
Mrs. Gibson joined them at the door, tugging at her hat, a slight sheen of
sweat on her face. “Oh, this heat!” she exclaimed. “We have had more humid days
this month than all last summer, I declare. I will dance a jig when the weather
turns cold, even if the chill does make my knees ache.”

           
“Perhaps a thunderstorm will break the heat,” Allie said, peering out the door
at the heavy clouds on the horizon. The top of the oak tree was motionless, not
a leaf stirred in the dead air.

           
“Or even just a breeze,” Mrs. Gibson said, fanning herself energetically.

           
The carriage pulled in front of the door and the driver jumped down. He was
middle aged and carried a somber demeanor. Bowing to the ladies he hurried to
open the glass topped door, the brass trim gleaming in the sunlight. The large
inner compartment would have held six people, comfortably. The team of horses
hitched to the front were all a deep chestnut color, perfectly matched for
height.

           
“Is this new?” Allie asked her mother, ogling the fine carriage.

           
“Last year around spring I decided we needed to try one of the new carriages
out of Boston,” she replied, accepting the hand of the driver and settling
inside.

           
Allie helped Janey inside and settled herself on the leather, cushioned seat.

           
“What about a motorcar, like Mr. Bradford?” asked Janey with a hopeful tone.

           
Mrs. Leeds fanned herself.  “I will never. But it is a fine idea for
Thomas to procure those items, it will show he is able to afford them. He will
be married before this year is ended, I declare.”

           
Allie stared out the carriage window at the passing houses and said nothing.
How will it be to attend his wedding? To watch him raise his children? She felt
her stomach twist and tried to shake the unsettling thoughts from her head.

           
Their entrance into the centuries-old church was quiet, but heads turned and
Allie heard whispers echo as they passed. Her mother led them to the fourth pew
on the right hand side, where their family had been seated for generations. The
sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, spattering the
congregation like splashes of watercolor. Janey folded her hands into her lap
and rested her little prayer book on her knees. It was worn, black leather,
with a frayed red ribbon to mark the pages. It was Matthew’s childhood prayer book
and Janey treasured it above most any other possession.

           
Allie bowed her head and held her own small leather book, a twin to Janey’s.
She absently traced her name, inscribed inside the front cover in her own
childish hand. During the quake one wall had collapsed, spilling their clothes
and bedding out into the street. There were so many looters, people desperate
to survive, that by the time they went back, there was nothing to salvage. But
a young neighbor also dug through the rubble, salvaging a few of their items he
thought would be important.

           
She closed her eyes, remembering his sadness at not finding more of their
belongings. He could not have known that everything important was already gone,
burned to ashes in her studio. He handed over the prayer books and Allie was
glad that Janey had this memento of her father. For Allie, it mattered next to
nothing. She hadn’t opened the book past the first page since the quake.

           
The crowd stood and Allie realized the service had started. She rose a moment
too late and saw her mother glance her way. Hoping it had not looked like
weakness, Allie straightened her back and lifted her chin. A familiar hymn rang
out over the heads of the congregation and she let her eyes roam the large
sanctuary. So many familiar faces, families in their accustomed pews. She was
surprised to see small additions to several groups. There was Sarah, on the
side a few pews ahead, standing next to a tall blond man. Two small boys with
the same colored hair and matching sailor suits stood between them. Allie
smiled as the smaller one nudged his brother with an elbow, and was rewarded
with a sharp jab.

           
A profile caught her eye and she almost gasped out loud. Thomas stood a pew
behind Sarah, his mother to his right. But of course he would not continue to
sit in the very back, now that he was a wealthy member of the city council and
an educated man. In San Francisco their church had been fluid in the seating
arrangements, with families moving freely from one pew to another on any
Sunday. Here at home, where you sat meant so many different things. Where he
was seated now told her he was very wealthy and admired. His mother looked much
the same, except her clothes were quite fine, all black silk and a large hat
trimmed with ostrich feathers. Her eyes busily swept the congregation although
her lips moved with the words to the hymn.

           
Allie remembered the time his mother had found the two of them alone, talking
under the oak tree. She had sent Allie home, using a tone one would use for a
rebellious puppy. Mrs. Bradford had never approved of their friendship, and had
made no secret of it.

           
She hadn’t meant to be staring at him, but as if he had felt the weight of her
gaze, he turned in time to catch her in the act. Allie felt her face burn as
they made eye contact. His figure was strong and straight, shoulders powerful
beneath the knee length coat he wore. Allie couldn’t help but notice once more
how he had changed, at once familiar and strange. He smiled and inclined his
head, but there was a question in his eyes. Allie dropped her gaze and focused
on Janey, who was singing out in her clear bell of a voice. She was glad the
hymn was familiar since Janey couldn’t read yet, although that didn’t keep her
from holding open the hymnal in front of her.

           
The service seemed to last the whole morning. Drops of perspiration trickled
down the back of Allie’s neck as she bent her head for the final blessing and
dismissal. One more hymn, hopefully a short one, and they would be free to go.

           
The organist struck the first few chords and the congregation sang out as one.
Allie’s heart squeezed with the familiar strains of an ancient Irish tune. It
was her favorite, the one she would hum at odd moments when she was painting or
day dreaming. Janey flashed a grin at Allie, then tilted her head when she
realized she was not singing along.