Page 13 of Brian and Cora
Cora rolled her eyes.
“One time, I pointed out that we need warmth during the day when he’s at the office. He merely said that if we attended our housekeeping as we should, we’d be too busy to feel cold, and, if need be, we could wear gloves and shawls indoors.” She scoffed and pulled at the knot on her shawl. “As if we don’t already.” She held up her bare hands and wiggled her fingers closer to the fire. “At least, now, my hands are warm enough.”
“Your father is endangering the health of his family.”
Ivy shrugged. “Are you all packed?” She pointedly changed the subject.
“Everything I’m bringing is with Aunt Rose, and I’m sleeping over there tonight.”
“You said you and Mr. Bellaire have a plan…?”
“He wants us to live with him. And we certainly will have to stay there a few days. He’s been knee-deep in organizing a Harvest Festival to raise funds for a new and bigger church. Of course, he’s already bought the land and had the plans drawn up.” Cora wrinkled her nose. “Too bad we won’t be there in time to attend. But he’s pretty sure that the hotel and rooming houses will still be full when we arrive, thus forcing us to stay at his house.”
“House? I doubt he has a mere house. More likely a mansion.”
“True.” Cora leaned forward. “Ivy, the funniest thing. The day I persuaded Aunt Rose to go with me to Sweetwater Springs,I extolled the charms of Mr. Bellaire a bit too much. Although she didn’t say so, I could tell she thought I would set my cap for him.”
Ivy let out a peal of laughter. “No! She didn’t.”
“And she didn’t like the idea one iota.
“Of course not. He’s entirely too old for you.”
“Not just that. I had a sense Aunt Rose felt…territorial, even if she didn’t quite realize her reaction. So, I played along. I’m hoping she’ll let down her guard with Mr. Bellaire if she thinks I’m romantically interested in him rather than trying to push the two of them together.”
“The couple of times I met Mr. Bellaire, he was so kind. And funny,” Ivy commented wistfully. “You’ll have a wonderful and luxurious, time with his family.”
The two fell silent, the very air between them charged with sadness. The fire popped and flickered. In Ivy’s eyes, Cora saw the quiet desperation she, too, felt. Although they could write, it wouldn’t be the same as confiding in and supporting each other in person. I’m so close to escaping, but I’m leaving her behind. She’ll still be trapped here.
Cora eyed Ivy, as if to fix every detail into her memory, knowing, in spite of their dreams of living near each other, this was likely the last time she’d ever see her friend. They could no longer laugh with each other or sneak out on little adventures. The two sometimes complained to each other about what they disliked about themselves and envied in each other.
The despised freckles on Cora’s nose were, to Ivy, were ‘a sprinkling of angel kisses.’ Cora admired Ivy’s tall figure and narrow waist, several inches smaller than her own, while Ivy bemoaned her lack of bosoms. No matter how hard she tried, which, to be truthful, wasn’t often, Cora couldn’t imitate Ivy’s instinctive grace. Unlike her own ordinary gray eyes, Ivy’s dark-brown-and green-eyes appeared more unique than the mere hazel she decried.
Cora marveled at their long friendship. As young girls attending the same school, they’d been assigned to share a desk and had quickly become fast friends. As adults, the two had differing interests—Cora with her nursing, and Ivy’s love of music and her secret harp lessons. Her friend adored children and yearned to teach, assuaging some of that longing and earning a little money tutoring some neighbor children after school.
From caring for her siblings, Cora had more than enough to do with children and wasn’t entirely sure she wanted any of her own. After all, Florence Nightingale never married or had children. She did, sometimes, volunteer at a foundling home where she used her nursing skills to help the small children.
Ivy was sometimes better dressed than Cora, for her father wanted his daughters to appear in public to his benefit. But her nice outfits were few and saved for church and social occasions. At home, she usually wore a voluminous apron to protect her well-worn clothing.
Pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, Ivy, too, watched Cora as if she wanted to engrave every detail into her mind.
Sadness welled. If they sat any longer in silence she’d start crying. Cora picked up her reticule, loosened the strings, and pulled out a small packet, wrapped in waxed paper to keep the contents dry. “I’ve brought you a parting gift.”
Ivy hurriedly unwrapped the parcel, exposing a long length of tatted lace in forest green. “Oh, this is lovely.” She stretched out the lace, studying the rings and chains of the design.
Cora learned basic tatting from her mother and continued her lessons with one of her mother’s friends who lived down the street. Her mother had possessed a huge amount of thread,which, after she died, Cora kept at her grandfather’s house lest the whole basket be ruined or disappear. She wasn’t nearly as competent as her neighbor, whose fingers flew, entwining the thread and the shuttle, so her inches of lace grew slowly.
Ivy looked up. “You should keep this for yourself.”
“I have but in pink. My new best dress has store-bought ribbon and lace trim. But I have enough tatted lace for the next dress I make. I bought some lovely fabric yesterday, pink flowers sprigged on a blue-gray background.”
Ivy raised her eyebrows, amusement pulling up the corners of her mouth. “Blue-gray?”
“Not like this ugly color, which I’ve foresworn.” Cora plucked at the skirt of her dress.
“I have something for you, too.” Ivy twisted to picked up a brown paper packet tied with a pink ribbon from the table behind. “To remember me by.”
“As if I could forget you,” Cora scoffed, taking the gift. With a lump in her throat, she untied the bow. “This will go nicely with the new fabric.” She unwrapped the paper to see a small photograph of Ivy in a polished wooden frame. Even in black and white, her friend looked beautiful, and, unlike most portraits of stern-faced people, she’d even managed a hint of a smile. Tears blurred her vision, and Cora held the picture to her chest. “I’ll miss you so,” she whispered.
