Chapter Ten
Haven Point, Maine
ANNA
William and Julia were on the dock, getting ready for the boat parade, while Elizabeth and Anna sat on a bright red carriage quilt, looking down upon the festivities.
The lawn of the yacht club was like a green sea dotted by blanket islands, with children darting between, accepting treats offered out of large wicker picnic baskets.
George Graham’s reading of the Declaration of Independence had been followed by a few speeches, and now the musical portion of this rather homespun Independence Day celebration was underway.
Some small children were playing horns and harmonicas, and Anna perceived with some amusement that at the moment it might be a touch too homespun.
“I assume it’s a patriotic song?” she whispered to Elizabeth.
“They’re so dear,” Elizabeth whispered back. “But they sound like a flock of geese.”
The children finished to loud applause (in part for their effort, and in part from relief that the performance had concluded).
“By the way, did you see the letter from Father I left on your bureau?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, thank you. Brimming with personal insights and warm sentiment,” she said dryly.
Elizabeth let loose an unladylike snort. Father, his mind benumbed by his years with Clarissa, had adopted the efficiency of writing joint letters to Anna and Elizabeth. They read like telegrams: Clarissa and I went here and there … Clarissa and I saw him and her.
One line at the end of the otherwise uninteresting missive had caught Anna’s eye, however: “We look forward to seeing Julia in Newport in August.” Anna had felt a spasm of anxiety when she read it.
If Julia went to Newport, it would mark the first time Elizabeth had handed her daughter over to a grandmother who had made no secret of her disapproval of the child, or of Elizabeth’s manner of raising her.
Anna was not privy to all of Elizabeth and Lillian’s conversations, but she had heard enough comments over the months to discern that Lillian had grown quite insistent upon the idea of sending Julia off to a convent school. Anna felt certain she was amassing evidence to bring to Jerome.
A month in Newport under her grandmother’s watchful eye would surely add to the dossier of Julia’s sins, but Anna had yet to see a single sign of resistance from Elizabeth.
“I noticed what Father said about Julia. Is she going to Newport?”
“William was her age when he began going,” Elizabeth replied.
“Do you want her to go?” Anna persisted.
“I’d rather Julia be with me, of course, but she might wish to go.”
Though her sister’s evasiveness was both irritating and worrying, Elizabeth’s next question reminded Anna that she, too, was keeping her own counsel about important matters.
“I saw you also got a letter from your friend Sally Bellingham. How are she and Irma?”
“Oh … they’re fine,” Anna said.
Now that Liberty Island was being shipped to booksellers, Anna had longed to tell her sister about it.
She had not forgotten Nora Graham’s wisdom, though: Sometimes it was better not to reveal to someone what might be uncomfortable for them to know.
While each new installment of the serialized version in Young Friends had brought an ever-greater number of readers, they had also garnered a corresponding number of complaints.
According to Sally, the letters came from “rich, bored women,” usually in cities or towns where some crusading figure had successfully stirred up a panic.
Given that Judith Fairchild was Boston’s very own “crusading figure,” and that Lillian had latched on to the issue as another cudgel against Julia, it would put Elizabeth in an uncomfortable position to know that Anna was the author of a book that was likely to gain infamy in moralizing circles.
Ambrose and Serena were entertaining a large house party, and when Anna’s eyes wandered to where they were set up, she thought she recognized a familiar set of broad shoulders and fair hair beneath a hat. She could only see a bit of his profile, though.
“Is that Harley Lockwood with the Lawrences?”
“Yes! He just arrived today.” Elizabeth sounded pleased. Considering that the last time Anna laid eyes on him was at the Athenaeum Library, when he had behaved so condescendingly about her work with Mr. Wimborne, she could not share her sister’s enthusiasm.
Oh, well. At least his sister isn’t here, Anna thought.
“Mr. Lockwood has also persuaded Eugenia to take time off work,” Elizabeth added brightly. “She will be joining him soon.”
Anna refrained from audibly groaning. Eugenia Lockwood’s inevitable questions about the Margaret Fuller biography and her endless yammering about her settlement house would be constant reminders of the Very Important Work others were doing, while Anna frittered her life away writing children’s stories.
She consoled herself with the idea that she need not interact with them much, but minutes after Elizabeth went down to the dock to help with the children’s boat parade, Anna felt a shadow blocking the sun and looked up to see Mr. Lockwood.
“Hello, Miss Bradley. I am pleased to see you,” he said. “May I join you?”
“Um … yes, of course,” Anna said. He lowered himself onto the blanket, wrapped his arms around his knees, and they exchanged civilities.
Anna inquired about the Lawrences’ agenda for their guests, and Mr. Lockwood rattled off some planned amusements, before mentioning what she already knew, which was that his sister would arrive soon.
“Wonderful!” Anna said, then compounded her mendacity by adding, “I look forward to seeing her.”
There was a certain awkwardness in Mr. Lockwood’s manner that made Anna think he had some particular purpose in approaching her. As they waited for the boat parade to begin, he finally revealed it.
“Miss Bradley, I am not sure you remember the last time I saw you, but I do, and with some regret, as I believe I behaved badly.”
“Oh, I remember,” Anna said in a breezy tone, her eyes still on the water.
“I confess I am not … well, fond of Mr. Wimborne, and knowing you were Eugenia’s most intelligent classmate, I suppose I was surprised to see you working with him.
It was none of my affair, of course, and I hope you will accept my apology, both for my behavior and for how long it has taken me to express my remorse. ”
Anna did not like Mr. Wimborne either, of course, though she was not about to give Mr. Lockwood the satisfaction of knowing that. On balance, it seemed best to get it behind them.
“I was a bit miffed, I confess. Women cannot always afford to be particular about their opportunities. But I appreciate and accept the apology.” Anna concluded this with a nod, which she hoped, like a period, would put an end to the conversation.
He thanked her for being gracious, and his shoulders seemed to relax a bit. Fortunately, the boat parade was getting started, which provided a distraction.
“Ambrose tells me they’re thinking of changing the name of this place from Haven Point,” Mr. Lockwood said after a few minutes. “I gather he and his friend Mr. Graham are struggling to reach agreement.”
“Yes. It’s been a years-long debate.”
“Ambrose had a thought earlier.” Mr. Lockwood’s eyes were on the children paddling by in a decorated canoe, but she saw a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh? And what was his latest?”
“‘L’Haute Falaise.’”
Anna stifled a laugh. “Of course, ‘The High Cliff.’ I assume he has not yet presented this to Mr. Graham.”
“Not that I know of.”
“If past is prologue, George will not be enthusiastic. At one point, Ambrose wanted a name that evoked restfulness. When he suggested ‘Locum Pacificum,’ George said, ‘But we’re on the Atlanticum.’”
Mr. Lockwood chuckled. “Perhaps we can help. How does this place see itself, its essence?”
She mirrored his faux earnestness and pretended to give the question careful thought. “It’s not aristocratically standoffish like Newport,” she said.
“Excellent.” Mr. Lockwood nodded his approval.
“But not as democratic as, say, Saratoga.”
“Well, one would not wish to go off completely half-cocked. So, in other words, neither ostentatious nor excessively rustic. Somewhere in between?”
“That is the consensus,” Anna said.
He snapped his fingers. “What about ‘Girondinia,’ after the moderates of the French Revolution?”
“Well, that is very…”
“French!” Mr. Lockwood interposed, eagerly.
“Oh, entirely French. But perhaps an unfortunate association, given that most of the Girondins were executed?”
“I suppose you’re right.” Mr. Lockwood sighed, feigning disappointment.
“‘Girondinia’ does have a nice ring,” Anna said consolingly, then she looked up, thoughtful. “Come to think of it, ‘Guillotine’ rolls right off the tongue, too.”
“Where are you off to, Mr. Lockwood?” he said in an exaggeratedly robust tone, before answering in another. “Why, I’m heading to Guillotine!”
“I hear that is a nice place,” Anna supplied. “On a neck, is it not?”
When Mr. Lockwood laughed heartily, Anna felt a surge of pleasure, followed almost immediately by vexation.
Anna was not accustomed to conversing so comfortably with men, but she could not forget that this was the sort of clever banter that attractive men of Mr. Lockwood’s type were known to have.
(Not that she felt attracted to Mr. Lockwood, of course.
It was merely an observation of fact that his face was a pleasing, squarish shape, his jawline well-defined without being aggressive, and his blue-gray eyes were striking, capable of conveying both earnestness and skepticism.)
Oh, well, she thought. Provided she did not become silly, if he wished to amuse her, she saw no reason not to be amused.
Late the next morning, Elizabeth’s maid Delia knocked on Anna’s bedroom door.
“Miss Bradley, there is a gentleman here to see you. A Mr. Lockwood.”
Harley Lockwood is calling on me?
“I’ll be right down, Delia. Thank you.”