All the Blue of Heaven (4 page)

           
This is the right decision, the best thing for Janey, she reminded herself.
No
more painting. No more crazy plans. She will be tutored by the best in the city
and I ...
Her eyes popped open of their own accord. The thought of doing
nothing except entertaining suitors filled her with dread.  She shook her
head and closed her eyes firmly.
I will be sociable and will attend parties.
I will show Mama that she was right to let us come home.
Thomas’s face swam
into view and Allie brushed it away, taking a deep breath.
And I will find a
nice husband, maybe a lawyer like Papa.
We will all go live in a house
with enough green grass for Janey to play in, maybe an attic to explore. He
will be kind and raise her as his own. Maybe she will have little brothers and
sisters someday.
  She focused on the image of baby faces with round
pink cheeks and eyes wide with wonder, sweet milk breath and peaceful
breathing. She felt her shoulders begin to relax. When the babies began to have
Thomas’s dark hair and bright eyes, she imagined them as Janey looked, when she
was born. Allie remembered her sweet downy hair and light blue eyes. She
repeated her hopes, over and over in her head until the bath water cooled
enough to rest her hands and feet in the tub.

           
Gently, she rubbed the tender skin at her ankles, hands, and around her throat.
The doctors said the new skin would sunburn easily, and might pucker and scar.
Allie absent-mindedly ran a finger over the thick ropes of scar tissue that
wound around her right thumb. The doctor had been so careful not to frighten
her, as if being scarred would be the worst possible trial. He repeated the
directions for treating the skin with oil and assured her the scars might
improve. Allie said nothing. She  stared at her knees as he talked. There was
no way to explain that her life as she knew it was over, and no amount of new
skin would ever fix what was destroyed.

           
When the last traces of the journey were gone and the water cool, Allie wrapped
herself in a soft gown and went in search of Janey.

           
“Is she already asleep?” she whispered, stepping quietly into the room. The
bedroom had once been her brother’s and the wallpaper was a soothing pale
green. The repeating pattern of ivy vines wrapped around the walls, and yards
of sheer lace hung at the windows. Allie glanced toward the large bureau where
Matthew once pinned her small sketches to the wood around the mirror. Nothing
remained but holes where the pins had been.

           
Mrs. Gibson sat on the edge of the bed, holding Janey’s small hand. The girl
looked tinier than ever in the large four-poster bed, surrounded by feather
pillows. An embroidered coverlet was tucked up to her chin. Her face was
peaceful, her mouth slightly open as she breathed, deep and even.

           
“Oh, she’s been asleep for quite a while,” Mrs. Gibson whispered, smiling. “She
loved the bath but was too tired to try out all the oils, thank goodness.
Brushed her hair and got her right into bed.” She paused, her eyes misted over
with tears. “I just can’t stop looking at her.”

           
Allie sat on the other side of the bed. “Isn’t she perfect?” She brushed
Janey’s honey blond hair from her face. “The older she gets, the more she looks
like Eleanor. When she was really small, she looked just like Matthew, with his
widow’s peak and pointed chin. But now you can see Eleanor’s eyes and her
smile.” Allie paused, remembering her brother and his wife, so full of
adventure and life.

           
“Does she remember them at all?”

           
“A few things; a Christmas carol that Eleanor used to sing and Matthew’s
whiskers,” Allie said, voice pitched low.

           
Mrs. Gibson sighed deeply and patted Janey’s hand. “Poor dear. To have lost so
much, at such a young age.”

           
Allie nodded. But wasn’t it better to lose them now, when she would hardly
remember, than to lose everything as a grown woman? Bitterness rose within her
and she closed her eyes.
Who knows what is in store for Janey? Maybe there
is worse to come
. The thought made her ill. She struggled to stay calm and
reminded herself that she was safe here. She had brought Janey to the one of
the few places where nothing ever happened and nothing changed.

           
“You both get some rest.” Mrs. Gibson rose and came around the side of the bed.
“I’m so glad you’re home, Miss Allie,” she said, and kissed the top of Allie’s
head.

           
“Thank you,” she whispered.

           
“This is a whole new start. I think there is a fine chance of picking up where
you left off.”

           
“Where― I left off?” Allie frowned.

           
“With Thomas, my dear. He still loves you, I know it.”

           
Allie opened her mouth, but didn’t know where to start. How impossibly naive to
think they could just start fresh. After all that had happened and their
reversals of fortune, they could not just start over. No childhood love, grown
under a shady tree and nurtured with silly dreams, could withstand the cold
reality of the present. Especially when the present included scars and poverty
and bone-chilling doubt.

           
“But first, you have to get your strength back. It just won’t do to be fainting
around Jane like that.”

           
Allie nodded, guilt settling like an icy stone in her stomach. For Janey, she
must be strong. Her beloved housekeeper’s misconceptions about Thomas would
have to wait.

           
Mrs. Gibson tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door open behind her. A few
more minutes of watching Janey sleep and Allie rose from the bed with a soft
groan. As she collapsed into her own bed, she clung to consciousness for a
second longer. She looked at the window, beyond the curtain, to where a branch
of the large oak was visible. She shook away the memory. As she slipped gently
down into sleep, it wrapped itself around her heart: a midnight rendezvous on
that branch in the deep of a star-lit night, gentle but calloused hands and
muffled boyish laughter.

****

           
As soon as Allie trudged upstairs on the arm of Mrs. Gibson, her mother sunk
into the corner of the velvet settee. “She is not well enough to care for
Janey,” Mrs. Leeds stated. Her voice was weary, her gaze fixed on the far wall.

           
Thomas nodded but did not speak. He had seen that she was not well even before
her faint in the hallway. No matter how many times she protested that she was
simply tired, he knew it was not true. He walked to the long, curtained window
and stared out into the dim light of the late August evening, arms wrapped
tight against his chest. How strange that evening approached as if this day had
been like all the others. His lips twitched as he realized he stood in his
favorite spot, gazing out the paned window toward the rose garden. Creatures of
habit, he and the sun, pretending nothing is changed. But everything changed
when Allie stepped off that train. The reality was as if the devastating
California earthquake had reached Chicago.

           
Thomas squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and breathed a silent prayer.
Lord,
help me to help her. Focus my thoughts and my heart. Help me to do Your will,
not mine.

           
“I know she did not wish to come home,” Mrs. Leeds said. The flat statement
hung uncontested in the air between them.

           
“She was concerned that she would not be welcome. I do not believe she resisted
it as much as you might think. It is still a place where she was happy.” Thomas
spoke the words and hoped they were true.

           
Thomas turned to her and was struck by the depth of the pain he saw in her
eyes. The woman had lost two husbands, a son, and her daughter had returned
only after surviving a terrible fire.

           
“I will do my best by her and Janey, you know that,” she said, the muscles
around her mouth tightening.

           
“Yes, I know, but she―” he paused. Allie had always fought to make her
own decisions. She would never allow Mrs. Leeds to dictate the course of her
life. He did not let the words leave his lips. He thought he had known Allie
before and had been wrong. This was their conversation to have, not his. “I
must be getting to the Brewers’. You will send for me if there is anything I
can do.” It was a statement, not a question.

           
Mrs. Leeds reached out a hand and Thomas clasped it in both of his. They had
become friends, over the years. Sunday dinner at Bellevue had evolved into a
long-standing tradition and her quiet support helped his business thrive.
Wordless understanding passed between them in the moment before he took his
leave: an unspoken wish that Allie would find health and peace here.

           
Thomas hoped it would be simple, but something told him that battles would be
fought before true peace would reign in this house.

                                   
            ****

           
“Oh, Mrs. Gibson, I can’t eat another bite,” Allie said as the housekeeper
bustled around the table, moving to put two fried eggs on Allie’s plate.

           
“You’re so thin. That may have been the style out West but here in Illinois we
like a little roundness, don’t we, Mrs. Leeds?” Mrs. Gibson dropped another
fried egg on the thin china plate.

           
“Well, we don’t want her to get too round, either,” Mrs. Leeds said.

           
“Perhaps you’re right,” Mrs. Gibson said and retrieved one of the two eggs.

           
Allie shook her head and fought back a laugh. She hated being force fed but she
hated fried eggs even more. “That hospital food was just ghastly. And I think I
may have to put on another layer of warmth to survive the winter here.”

           
“No, no, we’ll get you a thick coat. Too many layers and there won’t be any
gentleman callers.” Mrs. Gibson shook her finger, bright blue eyes twinkling
amid the wrinkles.       

           
Janey giggled, her small face bearing the traces of the blackberry jam.

           
“Now, Mrs. Gibson, let’s not look too far ahead,” Allie warned.

           
“She’s perfectly right, Alberta. You need to be thinking of the callers who
will be sure to visit. You were always very popular,” her mother said. Her rose
colored silk dress was perfectly pressed. As she spread butter on the toasted
bread, she carefully swept a few crumbs into her napkin.

           
Allie poked the solitary fried egg with her fork.

           
“When you get married, can I be in your wedding, Auntie?” Janey asked.

           
“When I–  oh, Janey,” Allie laughed. “You would have me married off
already.”

           
“I think you should marry Mr. Bradford,” Janey said.

           
Allie and tried to laugh lightly. Mrs. Gibson winked at her, a smile playing
about her lips. “And why Mr. Bradford? Because he has a motorcar?”

           
“No.” Janey took a sip of milk from her little cup and said, “Because Mr.
Bradford is nice. And then we can all go live in the carriage house and take
care of the horses.”

           
Mrs. Leeds made a sharp noise in the back of her throat, her eyes narrowed.

           
“All of that is a long ways away. Let’s think about today, shall we?” Allie
asked brightly.

           
“We will go in to town today and order new dresses,” Mrs. Gibson said, eyeing
Allie’s plain gown.

           
All was still tired from the journey. She certainly did not want to spend the
morning wandering from store to store, but she didn’t argue. Allie knew that
she couldn’t wear the same lace scarf forever without someone asking about it.
“Wonderful idea,” she said. “We can find Janey some warm boots. We never had to
worry about snow in California and she doesn’t have a single thing for winter.”

           
“Will I get a fur coat?” Janey asked, hopefully.

           
Mrs. Gibson chuckled, her round figure shaking with laughter, and patted the
little girl on her soft curls. “No, dearie, no furs for you. But perhaps, a
soft wool coat and some pretty gloves. We will see what Morton’s Fine Clothing
has to recommend.”

           
Allie felt a pang of remorse for the expense of outfitting them both. Her
mother was wealthy, the money was not an issue, but Allie wished she could
contribute something, anything. If only she had stored her money in banks,
instead of paintings. If only she had purchased bonds, instead of showering her
friends with trips and jewels and light-filled apartments.

           
“And more pencils. All of mine are buried in Aunt Allie’s studio,” Janey said,
looking hopefully at Allie.

           
“Yes, more pencils,” agreed Mrs. Leeds. “And in a few days we’ll have Mrs.
Monahan over to meet you, Jane. She tutored the Young’s little girl in
etiquette.” She looked Janey’s little hand clutching her fork. “What lessons
has she had?”

           
“Some practice with letters and numbers,” Allie said guardedly, then glanced at
the clock. “I think I will go upstairs to find another pair of gloves before we
go.”            In her
room, Allie sank onto the bed and buried her face in her hands. Pencils. Janey meant
charcoal pencils, the kind that Allie had used to sketch and had taught Janey
to use during their art lessons. Mama will never stand for her to spend time
sketching. Art had brought nothing but pain to her family.

           
Allie lifted her face and straightened her shoulders. She would just have to
explain to her niece that artistic pursuits were only for California. Their
Bohemian community in San Francisco had spoiled them with the culture of
artistic freedom. In Illinois it was about gentleman callers and etiquette
lessons. The days of all night painting sessions were over. She had lived an
amazing adventure for eight long years and had been very happy. Wasn’t that
more than anyone could hope for? But the morning her studio was buried under
tons of stone Allie began to question everything she thought she knew. She had thought
it was God’s will that she go to San Francisco, but He made it clear that all
her work was worth less than nothing when He let it burn to ashes.