Gregory, Lisa (2 page)

Katherine
sighed and settled down to enjoy her tea. But such was not to be her lot, for
Aunt Amelia, summoning her courage, came back into the room to add her mite.

"I
do wish you and Amanda wouldn't fight so—but you're just so much alike."

"Alike!
Please, Auntie, don't be insulting."

"Katherine,
you're stubborn and willful just like her, and that's why you never can see eye
to eye."

The
girl sighed and looked at her aunt. In the past eight years, she had become
fond of her. Heaven knows, she was a silly, fluttery, timid thing, but she was
kind and loving. Lacking the beauty of her sister Alicia and the bulldog
determination of Amanda, she had never married. The Fritham family was very
genteel, but also poor, and so she had become the poor spinster aunt, forced to
live off the charity of her relatives. Katherine, knowing that she might well
have been forced into the same position had she not had her father's money,
felt sorry for Amelia and tried to be patient with her.

"Katherine,
I know I may be speaking out of turn, and I hope you won't dislike it, but I
feel I must agree with Amanda. I know how she aggravates you, but this time, I
think perhaps she's right. It's just not, not—right." Her courage failing,
her voice trailed off.

"Well,
Aunt Amelia, of course I respect your opinion, but I must do what I think is
correct. And I'm just sure I'm doing the right thing. Please, let's not talk
about it anymore, shall we?"

Amelia
sighed, knowing that, as usual, she had failed in her duty. "Of course, if
you don't wish to."

"Good.
Then I think I shall check over the household accounts before dinner. Are we
having anyone to dinner tonight?"

"Mr.
Stephens and his daughter Lillian."

"How
dreadful."

"Katherine,
please, if you would just make a little effort—"

"I
know, I know. I could 'catch' the honorable Mr. Stephens. The only thing is I
have no desire to play stepmother to a girl only six years younger than myself.
And even less desire to play wife to that avaricious old windbag."

"Katherine!"
her aunt gasped.

Katherine
swept out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. There are times, she
thought to herself, when I think that if I hear "Katherine!" one more
time I shall scream. It seemed the only way she had never heard it said was in
love. That thought brought her up short. Never? She cast back in her mind. Her
mother, perhaps; not her father—he was always too busy. Old Charlie Kesey, the
one-eyed sailor who swept out her father's office—yes, he had shown love for
her, whittled toys for her, told her stories of the sea, listened to her
problems. But had any young man ever whispered her name against her ear, his
voice soft and yearning? Oh, there had been one or two who had cast their eyes
upon her and gravely confessed that they wished to marry her. But none had ever
loved her; they had only thought "it would be a good match," that she
"would make a proper wife." Mentally she shook herself; enough of
this nonsense—standing around mooning in the hall. There was work to be done.

Going
over the accounts in the housekeeper's fine, spidery writing soon gave her a
headache. The accounts were, as always, perfectly in order. Rebecca Woods was
an efficient, no-nonsense housekeeper from the top of her tidy iron-gray hair
to the bottom of her practical shoes. She was honest and loyal, kept an eagle
eye on the maids, knew every item in the pantry down to the last cracker, and
moreover, was an excellent cook. Katherine knew she couldn't have asked for
more, but there were times, as now, when she longed for Betsy Carter, the
housekeeper of her childhood, who had retired three years before. Had Betsy
been here, she would have fussed around like a mother hen, admonishing her for
working too hard, and given her a big glass of milk and a batch of sugar
cookies. Katherine drew a long sigh, remembering the many hours of her
childhood spent in that warm kitchen, listening to Betsy and learning how to
cook, to sew, to patch up a cut or a burn. How much more enjoyable it had been
than the hours spent on her formal education—learning to draw, to play the
piano, to make polite conversation, and to write an elegant hand, to embroider,
to cipher, and to read—with every mistake rebuked by a sharp rap across the
knuckles. Possessed of a keen mind, she had excelled at Miss Harrington's School
for Young Ladies. Although she did not learn Greek as she would have had she
been a boy and therefore aiming for Harvard, she was taught Latin and French,
progressed to geometry, and delved into the classics and Shakespeare (properly
edited, of course, for the eyes of the modest young female). It was an
education formidable enough to frighten off more than one timid suitor.

The
truth of the matter, though Katherine didn't realize it, was that she herself
was simply too formidable for most men. Her looks were quite striking; she was
rather tall, with a ripe figure hidden by her high-collared, hoop-skirted
dresses. Her face was sculptured, with high, wide cheekbones, a straight nose,
strong jaw, and a firm, wide mouth. Her eyes were large and a strange, almost
golden color, like rich, dark honey. Her thick curling hair, which she pulled
back into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, was tawny, almost the color of
her eyes. Her looks were too exotic for Victorian Boston, and she was judged
not to be a beauty. Moreover, her demeanor stopped any romantic young man. She
seemed icy, indifferent, and overly intelligent. It was no wonder that most
young men shied away from her. And as the years passed, she grew more
independent, more reserved, and even began to adopt the dull colors of
spinsterhood—dark blues, grays, browns. The only men who courted her were dull,
unromantic types who thought that she, like they, looked on marriage as a
no-nonsense business deal.

Unfortunately
for them, Katherine, with an inner warmth that few suspected, had no intention
of forming such a marriage. She had almost come to the conclusion that she must
be incapable of love, but even so she certainly wasn't going to marry to form
an alliance. Which is why, she thought savagely to herself, frowning fiercely,
I won't have Mr. Henry Stephens, either!

"Miss
Devereaux, is there something amiss with the books?"

"What?"
Katherine looked up blankly at her housekeeper. "Oh. No, no. Just fine, as
always. I must compliment you, Mrs. Woods."

"Thank
you, miss."

Katherine
went up the back stairs from the kitchen to her room and rang for her maid, a
saucy, redheaded Irish immigrant named Pegeen Shaughnessy. "I must dress
for dinner, Pegeen. Mr. Stephens is to be our guest."

"Faugh!
That one," Pegeen said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Exactly.
And his daughter, too. I have developed a headache, and I think I would like to
have my hair brushed out."

"Sure,
and we'll fix you right up," the girl said, deftly unpinning the heavy
mass of her hair and brushing it out in long, deep strokes.

Under
her expert hands, Katherine relaxed and the painful throbbing in her head
eased. "Now," Pegeen said, "we'll just bathe your temples in a
little rose water and loosen your stays. You lie down and take a little rest
while I iron your dress for this evening."

Katherine
smiled faintly. "You're an angel, Peggy."

"Which
dress is it you'll be planning to wear tonight? The deep blue one?"

"No.
Something more—more—"

"Something
uglier. You're right. The deep blue is too pretty for the likes of him."

Katherine,
snuggling into her pillow, smiled drowsily.

The
evening turned out to be everything she had feared it would be. Dressed in a
pearl-gray evening gown with a modest white lace bertha—chosen by Pegeen as
being the most unbecoming she had—Katherine had greeted her guests stiffly. Mr.
Stephens, a portly, graying gentleman, bent gallantly over her hand and
murmured that her beauty overwhelmed him. She quickly snatched her fingers from
his grasp and turned to his daughter, whose amused look affirmed Pegeen's proud
statement, "There, now, Miss Kate, you look as drab as I can make
you." Lillian Stephens was the Victorian beauty Katherine was not. Her
hair was a mass of soft golden curls, her eyes wide and blue, her mouth a
pretty little pout, her complexion the pink and white of a china doll. She was
eighteen years old and had just recently made her debut; therefore her
wide-skirted dress was a demure white.

"So
pleased to see you, Miss Devereaux," she murmured in a soft, maidenly
voice, but Katherine could see the pure venom in the girl's blue eyes.

Katherine
led the party to the dining room, pondering on the girl's hatred. "She
must dislike me because she thinks I'm angling to become her stepmama,"
she thought and almost laughed aloud. "If only she knew how little I
desire that position."

The
dinner conversation, as always these days, centered on the War. Mr. Stephens's
pet concern was the inadequacy of the Navy to stop the Southern sea raiders.
"Why, look at that rascal Read last summer, sailed all the way up the
coast to Portland, wreaking havoc all the way, burning a federal revenue
cutter, all with nothing but a little stolen bark that had one six-pounder and
a few Quaker guns."

"Whatever
are Quaker guns? I get so lost in this military conversation, don't you, Miss
Devereaux?"

Katherine,
who had taken an interest in the lively chase at the time it happened, said,
"They were fakes, Miss Stephens; wooden spars painted and mounted to look
like cannon."

"But
could the Navy catch them? No! Let him slip through their fingers. Why, it was
citizens from Portland finally caught him. And then was he hanged? Hell, no—
excuse me, Miss Devereaux. They just locked him up in Fort Warren is all, just
like that blockade runner Hampton. A pirate, that's all he is, and he should be
hanged for it."

Katherine,
nettled as always by Stephens, said, "But it is a war, isn't it, Mr.
Stephens?"

"Rebellion,
Miss Devereaux." He forced his face into a smile. "Of course, I don't
expect a pretty lady like you to understand the difference."

"I
understand the difference perfectly, Mr. Stephens, but what to us is treason is
to them a war for independence, and I can't help but think that no doubt the
British looked upon John Paul Jones as a pirate."

"Katherine
Devereaux!" her father said, his voice shocked but his eyes twinkling.
"That's the first pro-Rebel statement I think I've ever heard you
make."

"It's
not at all pro-Rebel, Papa; you know me better than that. But I think this
political argument about whether a state can legally secede from the Union is
mainly a coverup on both sides of what the real issues are."

"And
what are the real issues?" Stephens asked, his voice amusedly tolerant.
Mr. Devereaux, who knew his daughter better, hid a smile, knowing that
Stephens' attitude—meant to convey that he found Katherine a bright, amusing
child—was swiftly killing what little chance he had with her.

"The
issues are (1) slavery and (2) which section of the country is to be the
dominant one."

"What
a cynical remark, Katherine."

"Just
realistic, Papa. People don't go to war over legal questions. And though I'm
quite an abolitionist, I don't think it's solely over slavery. It seems to me
that ever since we started this country, the North and South have been on
divergent courses, growing more and more apart every year in economics, modes
of life, philosophy, and politics. They have become so opposed that they aren't
reconcilable, so one must dominate. The South saw their power slipping when Mr.
Lincoln was elected; so they seceded to prove their power. And we must defeat
them, in order to show ours.

"And
I find it silly to pretend that it's not a full-fledged war but only a
treasonous rebellion, just so we can call sailors pirates and hang them for
piracy, when they've done no more than what is always done in war."

"Bravo!"
Lillian laughed delightedly and clapped her delicate white hands. "Miss
Devereaux, you are as smart as a man," she cried and shot her a look of
triumph—her father would think twice about marrying such a bluestocking as
that.

Mr.
Devereaux just sighed a little. He was a hard-headed businessman who had
greatly wanted a son and never paid much attention to his daughter. But when
his wife died and Katherine had taken over so efficiently, he had begun to
admire her. And his admiration grew as the years went by; she was a good
companion, able to converse intelligently, and quite interested in what he had
to say. She soaked up the information he imparted about his business, and he
found himself listening to her opinions. The past few months he had been
pleased by her performance in his office, and he found in her the son he'd
never had. But while he had come to respect her for her qualities, because he
loved her he was distressed at the way these qualities were keeping her from
happiness. He wanted to see her happily married, with a home of her own and
children. But she intimidated men who were not confident of themselves and
pricked the balloons of overconfident ones like Stephens. And she was in fact
becoming a spinster. Not that he particularly wanted Stephens for a
son-in-law—God knows, Katherine had better taste than that.