The Vespertine (24 page)

"Distractible," Mattie said. She leaned over her cup to implore me. "My silver toilette's gone all ragged at the hems. I wanted to wear it to the Sugarcane Ball, and now I can't. "

"How distressing," I said as I ran my finger along the paper. Passing inquiries for nurses and teachers and clerks, I skipped to the bottom of the page and lit up when I finally found my particular heading:

SITUATIONS OFFERED

Slowly, I sank into my seat, reading through the listings. Miners and land grabbers and cattlemen—they'd traveled west to find their fortunes but had to write back east to find their wives. So many asked for a cooing dove, a docile lamb, a darling kitten, that I wondered if I'd stumbled on inquiries for a zoo.

Mattie raised her cup. "Are you going to come?"

"Where?" I asked.

"The Sugarcane Ball," Mattie said. She gave a suffering sigh. "Are you paying attention at all?"

"I hardly am, I admit."

Victoria laughed under her breath, then closed her paper with a flourish. Propping elbows on the table, she shrugged. "It's all miners in this one."

"That won't do," I said.

"Why not?" Mattie opened her fan. She hid all but her eyes behind it, flapping it lazily. Then, with a snap, she closed it again. It was all practice for the ball, though she didn't need it. Her startling blue eyes needed no frame to improve them.

"Miners are dirty," Victoria said. She hesitated, then reached for the next paper. "And poor."

"They're
gold
miners, realize."

"It's gambling, realize."

"If it means a lovely house with running water upstairs and down,
and
a water closet,
and
a girl to come in every day, I have no philosophical objection to gambling," Mattie replied. She moved to snap her wrist, and I caught it. The rattle of fan bones had driven me to distraction.

"Just as like to end up in a shanty," I told her. "I'm looking for someone settled."

"Find someone here, at the
ball,
" Mattie said. She turned her eyes up at me, making no move to reclaim her hand. Distinctly doll-like, she slid to the edge of her chair to plead. "Everyone's leaving me. Can't you stay?"

A scold flew to my lips. Our dear friends hadn't
left
us. Thomas and Sarah weren't traveling on holiday; Amelia and Nathaniel weren't simply
away.
These separations couldn't be cured with cards and reunions—they were dead. All dead: Thomas bled and Sarah poisoned; Nathaniel burned and Amelia fevered.

It was the last that broke me irreparably. Attending funeral upon funeral, and Caleb's disappearance before trial, was more than I wanted to bear. But bear it I did, thinking Mama would soon relent and bring Amelia back home to Baltimore. Instead came a letter.

Three spare lines in an unfamiliar hand informed us that Amelia had taken a fever on returning to Maine and expired forthwith. Her brother sent no memento; I had nothing but memories and despair. Thus, I commended myself to madness.

Our sixteenth summer lay buried—how could Mattie be so frivolous? Honestly, how could I? My mood's delicate bubble burst. I turned to the papers still spread on the table.

"What good is any of this, I wonder?" I asked.

A sudden wind filled the room, cool and almost wet with its freshness. But it was no balm; I panicked when I felt it. My mother's errands hadn't lasted nearly as long as I expected.

"Hurry," I said, scrambling to hide my papers and catalogs. "Put the cups and pot back on the table!"

"God save us from sailors! The harbor's teeming with them. Can't hardly go a step without..." Fingers poised at her temples, smoothing back loose curls, Mama narrowed her eyes at us. "This seems too precious by half."

I lifted my teacup, sipping at cold, sugared dregs. "You sent them my card, Mama. Of course, I invited them in."

Gliding into the parlor, Mama eyed the table, then smiled at Mattie. "How do you do, dear?"

"Very well, thank you," Mattie said, folding her hands neatly as doves in her lap. "It's been a lovely tea. I've even convinced Zora to come to the Sugarcane Ball."

Through gritted teeth, I said, "We had only considered it, Mattie."

Mama ignored the tone of my voice, refusing to see the hard cut of my eyes and how stiffly I sat. She heard what she wished to hear: I'd be a good girl again, worried about dresses and dances, the darkness of last summer finally put aside.

"Oh, Zora," Mama said, engulfing me in a powdery hug, "I couldn't be happier!"

Over Mama's shoulder, I caught a glimpse of my oldest but least dear friend. Mattie shone with a silvery, pristine smile. She'd gotten her way. I'd come out of mourning at the Sugarcane Ball—that she'd forced me meant nothing.

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