Page 39 of Beyond Montana's Sky
With a lift of an eyebrow, Edith exchanged a rueful glance with her brother, knowing he’d pick up her unspoken message.
Why did we invite them?
He gave her a slight shake of the head and small shrug.We didn’t think they’d come, remember?
Caleb only has to endure them for a week.Edith almost groaned aloud.Ben and I willhave to travel back to Boston with the company.
* * *
That evening, Caleb, Edith, and Ben assembled in the parlor before supper, awaiting the presence of Maggie and the relatives. Usually, this was a comfortable time of day for the family to relax. Unless the weather was hot, the four of them gathered around the large fireplace for conversation; even with the radiator throwing off heat, a fire made the large room cozy.
The parlor was elegant, and Edith hoped the relatives wouldn’t find fault with the décor. Caleb decorated in shades of blue, including an uncomfortable velvet settee that used to sit in front of the fireplace but was moved against the back wall. In its place was a roomy Chesterfield Edith brought from Boston.
On the mantle display shelves between the Chinese oxblood vases rested a photograph Caleb commissioned this past summer. He posed with Maggie, holding the baby on his left and Edith and Ben on his right. Edith had a copy to take with her.
The family had formed a ritual of having Charlotte with them before supper. Then the maid would take the baby upstairs and put her to bed.
Caleb or Ben took turns holding the baby. Other times Maggie set Charlotte on a blanket with toys, and they watched her as if she was the most mesmerizing form of entertainment. Lately, she’d started to scoot a few inches, and Ben made it his goal to coax her into a distance of several feet before they left for Boston.
For comfort’s sake, Edith suggested to the other ladies that they dress informally tonight, so she wore one of her new, high-necked tea gowns in a reddish hue, the sleeves smaller than those of her more formal garments. The silk flowed from the red-and-pink embroidered yoke around the collar straight to the floor instead of fitting tightly at the waist. Matching embroidery also circled the cuffs and ran in a panel down each side.
A few minutes later, the rest of their party assembled with murmured greetings and an exchange of polite inquiries and answers about how the guests had rested.
Dressed in almost the same color as Edith, Hermione eyed her tea gown and scowled. She turned away, obviously pretending to listen to the men’s conversation.
Edith wanted to laugh. Since the two cousins looked good in the same colors, they’d often inadvertently turned up wearing similar shades, something Hermione always hated, acting as if she alone had the right to dress in that hue. On a few memorable occasions, her cousin deliberately ruined Edith’s favorite outfits by spilling a drink on them, and then blaming her for being clumsy. Agatha always took her daughter’s side.
No longer.Still, Edith made a mental note to stand or sit far away from Hermione when her cousin held a beverage.
Out of courtesy’s sake, Edith ended up standing between her aunt and Hermione. Her cousin wore some kind of perfume that made her nose twitch, and Edith wished she could move away, drift over to talk to Atticus.Not attractive at all. No wonder she hasn’t married. She must repel perspective suitors by scent alone.
Aunt Agatha lifted her chin toward the piano in the corner. “I don’t suppose you still play.”
“Why ever would I not? In fact, I think I practice more here and perform for the enjoyment of others.” Edith thought of playing with Cai, how transforming that duet was for him.And for me.She forced herself to continue the conversation. “Unlike our circle in Boston where a piano is common, here, only a few homes have them. So music is valued and can make for a festive occasion.”
Her aunt sniffed.
Maggie was the last to enter, Charlotte in her arms. The baby looked just like her mother, although it was too soon to tell if she’d inherited Maggie’s Slavic high cheekbones. Soft dark hair curled around her head, and her golden-flecked brown eyes were alight with interest. She was a good-natured and intelligent baby, who, unless she was cranky from teething or tiredness, seemed to find people fascinating and readily went to them.
They’d debated allowing Charlotte to even be around the relatives, fearing their judgment of the child. Truly in Boston, visiting adults could go several days without a baby ever making a family appearance, especially since Charlotte wasn’t a Livingston offspring to be shown off to the family.
But that wasn’t the way Caleb and Maggie intended to bring up their daughter. In fact, her brother doted on the baby every chance he got. Charlotte was to be dearly loved and treated as blood.
Seeing Caleb, Charlotte squealed with joy, kicked her legs, and stretched out her arms.
Her brother’s face softened, and he took the baby from Maggie, dropping a kiss on her head. “How’s my darling girl?”
“Da.”
He turned toward the relatives, who gaped at him. “Aunt Agatha, Uncle Atticus, Oscar, Hermione, this is my very-soon-to-be-daughter Charlotte.”
The gaping didn’t last long. After all, the four were trained not to show plebian emotion, and they quickly schooled their expressions.
Aunt Agatha tilted her head and studied Charlotte, her lips pursed.
Everyone seemed to wait with bated breath.
Then, inexplicably, the baby gave the older woman one of her wide, sunny smiles and clapped her hands together.
