Time After Time (232 page)

“Land’s sake, child, where have you been? The twins and I have been waiting for you for nearly an hour!”

“I’m sorry I’m late, Mother. I promised Amelia Bloomer I’d join her today.” Ginger decided to leave out the part about the rally and the dash away from the police. “We met Elizabeth Blackwell. Can you imagine? What an inspiration she is for young women — the first female physician in this country! How could I possibly have missed it?”

“That doesn’t explain why your hairpins are missing. And what did you do to your forearm? It’s all red.” Charlotte Fitzpatrick stood up from her chair and moved to her daughter’s side to inspect the injury more closely. “It will probably bruise. We’ll need a lot of Pear’s Almond Bloom to cover it up for the ball tomorrow evening. Whatever did you do?”

“I, uh, I was running back here so I wouldn’t be late and I bumped into a parked carriage, that’s all. It’s just a small bruise, Mother, and it will be mostly covered by my gloves.”

Ginger gazed down at the lower half of her arm, which still ached from the bump she’d received from the black horse. But it was the memory of the horse’s owner that made her stomach flip over. She hadn’t been referring to the black horse when she blurted out her outrageous comment about how handsome he was. She still could not believe she had spoken those words out loud.

“We have so much to do to get you ready for your big night, Ginger. I’ll have no more of your shenanigans,” Charlotte said in despair as she ran her hands lightly over her dark blonde hair. “What was Annie Schemerhorn thinking of when she came up with the idea of a fancy ball to introduce our daughters into society?”

Ginger picked up her needlework and settled into a chair opposite her sisters. Embroidery was yet another accomplishment Ginger needed to perfect in accordance with society’s expectations of how well-bred ladies should spend their afternoons. From the looks of the wretched piece of cloth, her poor mother had an uphill battle on her hands if Ginger was ever to become an accomplished embroiderer. Ginger glanced at her mother in surprise and decided to take advantage of the moment to press home her objection to the ridiculous dance one last time.

“I’d be happy to bow out of the Cotillion, Mother. It’s a stupid concept anyway. I know it’s been a tradition in Europe for years, but this is America and we don’t have any kings to whom we need an introduction! So, if it’s providing a hardship for us, I don’t see why we should bother.”

Charlotte stared at her unruly daughter. “Sitting out the Cotillion is not an option. We both know the only way to ignore an invitation from Annie Schemerhorn is if you are in confinement while expecting a child or mourning the loss of a loved one. This is a huge event for New York society, and we will attend and claim our rightful place.”

The twins, Jasmine and Heather, glanced up from their fine stitches.

Jasmine asked, “How can you not be excited about the Cotillion?”

Heather replied, “Just thinking about meeting my future husband at the ball makes me shiver all over.” She sighed dreamily.

Ginger glanced at her sisters and smiled. “I somehow doubt either of you will be looking for husbands for too long when it’s your turn. You’re both lovely girls.”

Ginger spent a moment comparing the twins’ beauty to her own appearance. Ginger’s light brown hair had these damnable reddish highlights, whereas the girls’ had such rich brunette coloring. Ginger’s eyes were an ordinary green, but the twins had beautiful dark brown eyes. And, curse of curses, Ginger had freckles. She was afraid the twins won hands down in the comparison.

Jasmine glanced at her older sister again. “Did you say you were with Amelia Bloomer today? Isn’t she the one who wears trousers in public? And holds public rallies in the streets?”

“They’re called bloomers. At least they are now, since Amelia Bloomer is such an advocate of them. They are a long undergarment divided into pants and cuffed at the ankle and are usually worn under a short skirt. The feeling of freeing your legs from the layers of petticoats and fabric is absolutely exhilarating.”

Ginger chose to ignore Jasmine’s second question. The less said about public rallies, the better. She continued. “It’s all part of the suffragette movement. Some of us want more from life than to chain ourselves to a man and do nothing more than bear and raise his progeny. We want to be on an equal footing. That’s why my work at the bank is so important.”

“You’ll change your mind when you meet the right man,” Jasmine replied, sure in her knowledge that a husband was the only goal worth achieving. “There must be no better feeling in the world than to know you will be cared for and made to feel safe from everything life throws at you.”

“I won’t say it’s beyond the realm of possibility, but I don’t think just sitting back and having children while my husband produces the income is going to be enough for me. I’m good at making money, and I want nothing more right now than to further my position at the bank.”

Charlotte glanced up from her fashion book. “For now, Ginger, I want no more talk of the bank or Amelia Bloomer. You are to nap, relax, and prepare yourself for the biggest night of your life. I’ll have no more of your wild ways. Tomorrow night will be monumental, and I want nothing to go wrong.”

Chapter Three

The new maid Charlotte Fitzpatrick had employed for the season made a few final adjustments to Ginger’s hair. Each big curl on the top of her head was anchored with a pearl pin and a trio of sausage curls draped softly over her left shoulder.

“Colleen, I love it!” Ginger took the hand mirror and studied her new up-do from a variety of angles. “Who would have ever thought my hair could behave like this? You truly have a gift.”

Colleen beamed at the praise. “You have the most lovely hair to work with, my wee lass, so it’s easy to create a fetching hairstyle. It’s such a rich shade of brown, with these reddish highlights. I love how it gleams in the light of the candles.”

“I do sometimes wish my hair was the same color as yours, though. You have the most striking, gorgeous flame-red locks. I just have a bit of red. It’s like my hair couldn’t make up its mind.”

“’Tis the Irish in me, miss,” Colleen proclaimed proudly, flashing her lively blue eyes as she gave one final touch to Ginger’s hairdo. “But your hair coloring is beautiful. Now that we’re done with the hair, I’ll help you into your dress. Of all nights, you don’t want to be late tonight.”

Jasmine and Heather came flouncing into her room to examine their sister’s hair.

“Oh, Ginger, you look so grown up! Colleen, I want you to attend to me and Heather next year when it’s our season,” Jasmine said with a touch of envy as she ran her hand over her brunette curls.

“Let’s see the dress Mother has been talking about for weeks,” Heather chimed in.

Together, they held their breath until Colleen stripped away the final wrappings and, with a flourish, revealed the white-and-cream gown. Jasmine and Heather sighed.

Ginger smiled at their enthusiasm. “Soon enough, it will be your turn. I’d give anything to trade places with you tonight.”

They stared at her in dismay.

Heather gasped, “You truly don’t want to go to the ball? Oh, Ginger, it should be the most important night of your life!”

Jasmine added. “Don’t you feel like you’re about to step into your adulthood? Just think, you might meet your future husband tonight. I’m so jealous.”

Ginger smiled, ruefully. “It’s just not that big of an event to me, for goodness’ sake. It’s a silly ball, and I have to get elaborately made up for it to please Mother. That’s all. I have no more aspirations of meeting a husband tonight than I do when I walk down the street.” Briefly, she thought again of the tall, handsome stranger who’d helped her on the street the previous afternoon. Shooing away the memory, she said to her sisters, “You’re making much more of the Cotillion than you should.”

“Well, I know that we can barely wait until next year. Just think, Heather, men will be anxious for our attention every night that we’re out. And we will have hordes of invitations to events — not like this year, when we’re not invited anywhere.” Jasmine threw herself on the bed in a show of anguish.

“Hush, now, you two sprites,” Colleen intervened. “Soon enough, it will be your time. Don’t be upsetting Miss Ginger on her special night. You’ve seen the gown, now leave us be so I can finish getting her dressed. You can come back one final time to see her right before she leaves.”

• • •

Charlotte had tears in her eyes as she perused her daughter. “Why, Ginger, you’re lovely.”

“You sound so surprised, Mother.” Ginger smiled at their reflections in the mirror. “With all the money this gown and everything under it cost, I’d better look good!”

Even though her words were a bit sharp, Ginger’s fingers continued to fondle the luscious silk faille of her dress. Unaccustomed as she was to using her body to attract notice, even she could appreciate how much her appearance was enhanced by the quality of the workmanship in this gown. The skirt of her dress had three tiers of flounces, each a shade darker than the one above, ending with a patterned border of light cream silk. The low décolletage allowed a glimpse of her bosom. She had lost count of the numerous crinolines holding the skirt out in a dramatic wide fashion. The petticoats and the silk created a pleasant, gentle noise as she turned to study the back of the dress in the mirror.

Charlotte watched as her daughter preened. “I see the Pear’s Almond Bloom worked well enough in covering your bruise. Don’t forget your gloves, dear. And your fan. Your father has the carriage waiting for us. Come now, stop fussing.”

Charlotte ran a gentle hand over Ginger’s gleaming hair. “Colleen did a wonderful job tonight. I’ve never seen your hair lovelier.”

She reached for her daughter’s hands. “Thank you, Ginger, for doing this. I know how much you’ve despised the idea of this Cotillion and the high season to come. I truly appreciate the way you have carried yourself without so much as a whimper during all the shopping trips and fittings you’ve been made to endure.”

Ginger rested her head lightly on her mother’s shoulder. “Although most of it was more tedious than I had ever imagined, I didn’t really mind, because I was spending time with you. Have you heard yet from Basil? Has he made it home from St. Louis in time to attend tonight’s ball?”

“Yes, he sent word yesterday afternoon that he and his friend have arrived, and will meet us tonight at the ball.”

“Why on Earth did he not come over last night?” Ginger asked.

“I asked him not to disturb you until this evening. I didn’t want you to get terribly excited yesterday. Basil is here now, and will be in attendance at your special night. You’ll see him soon enough. Besides, it’s only right for your father and eldest brother to lead you down the staircase tonight at the Cotillion.”

“And into the horde of men who will want to jockey for a position on my dance card.”

“Oh, Ginger, don’t consider it as a foot race. These young men are only interested in getting to know you better. Most of them have their mothers to blame, too, for participating in the ball. I bet they are every bit as nervous as you are.”

Ginger bristled at the comment. “I am not nervous, Mother. I am merely anxious to get this over with, so I can put it behind me and move to St. Louis as Papa promised. If I could, I would fill up my dance card with the males in my family. Then, there would be no time for any of the other men at the ball.”

Unless maybe I could have the good fortune of dancing with the marvelous, tall man who helped me escape the police yesterday afternoon
, Ginger thought.

She glanced in the mirror one final time and smoothed her dress again, placing her fingers lightly on her stomach. Well, all right. She could admit to herself, if not to her mother, she was maybe a little nervous. Taking a deep breath, she finally exited the room.

Her anxiety mounted when her father helped her into the carriage and her mother straightened her gown. When they pulled up in front of the beautiful Metropolitan Hotel, Ginger caught sight of her best friend Elizabeth Martin and several other friends alighting from their carriages in their gorgeous gowns. Excitement finally overtook her nervousness and she began to look forward to the night ahead.

Chapter Four

Ginger watched as her father helped Halwyn straighten his white cravat, and then correct his own. He flattened the tails at the back of his long formal tailcoat and then turned back to his son.

“We resemble a couple of matching bookends with Ginger in between us.” George’s laughter helped dispel some of their collective nervousness before he turned to his daughter and offered her his arm.

“Are you ready?” He smiled at Ginger as she fiddled with her skirt.

“Yes, let’s get this over with,” she grinned up at him. “Then I can mark it off the list, and I’ll be one day closer to St. Louis.”

“There’s my girl. Or should I say, young lady? When did you grow up anyway, Ginger?”

“It’s the dress, Papa.”

“No, it’s you. My little girl is all grown up and ready for a husband.”

“Oh, my, not you too? Mother keeps telling me the same thing. I can find my own way in this world without dancing attendance on a husband.”

“You’ll change your mind when the right man comes along, believe me. But speaking of dancing, you are next in line to go down the stairs. Come along, Halwyn. Let’s take our places.”

Charlotte had struggled for two months to impart years of essential etiquette into a compressed amount of time. Ginger now knew how to perform a deep curtsy, how to embroider, albeit not well, and the proper way to delicately pour a cup of tea. She had a difficult time seeing the relevance of these accomplishments and she often expressed her discontent to her father, who calmly listened to her complaints. But in the end she learned what was expected of her.

They arranged themselves at the top of the staircase. Ginger took a deep breath, threw her shoulders back, and held her head high. When her name was called and she moved forward to be introduced to New York’s wealthiest families, Halwyn and her father stepped back. She bowed her head and sank into the deep curtsy she had been practicing for months. Quite unexpectedly, tears formed in her eyes as she stared out over the crowd who clapped for her. The soft light of a thousand candles made her eyes sparkle. She blinked the sudden tears away, rose from her curtsy, and stood proudly as Halwyn and George Fitzpatrick resumed their places on either side of her. As one, they descended the wide marble stairs of the grand ballroom.