Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Elizabeth made one last check in the mirror, fingering the satin roses along the neckline of her pink tulle gown.
Sullivan, the Spencers’ long-time butler stood at attention in the front entry hall. “You look fine, Miss Spencer, if I may say so.”
“Oh, Sullivan, you can say anything you want. Since I was a child, you have been my most cherished ally. You never tattled on me when I slid down the banister, you hid me before Mother could take my chocolate cake. When I broke a window throwing a ball, you claimed it was a bird and even produced a dead pigeon. You have always been my dearest friend.”
Sullivan beamed, leaned over and whispered, “That I did. My desire was to run interference and lessen any reprimand. You have always been kind to me, giving me Christmas presents and remembering my birthday. I’ve always enjoyed your growing years.
And now you are a fine young lady. I’m proud to serve you in whatever capacity is needed. ”
“Where are you going this evening, Elizabeth?” snapped her father from behind, his heels clicking across the polished white marble.
Elizabeth twirled. Her father’s sudden appearance caught her off guard. She gripped her wraps that Sullivan had handed over quickly. “I’m the guest of honor at a dinner held by the Fitzgeralds on behalf of my fund raising for the orphanage.”
“Are they including the Irish rabble and the Chink? I don’t understand the Fitzgeralds housing a filthy dirty animal like that.
The Chinese are disease ridden. All foreign birds, chirping in different languages and stinking of whatever strange food they eat.
Immigrants will ruin this country. I do not want my daughter in association with those ruffians. ”
From behind, Sullivan raised his eyebrows.
“Need I remind you the Fitzgeralds are Irish as are several of our servants?”
Her father stopped mid-stride. “You know that is a different circumstance. What about the Chinese? Soon, they will flood the city with their wives and ten children and edible dogs and rats. The whole opium-addicted yellow race should be drowned.”
To get away from her father’s rants, or before her mother descended from the commotion, Elizabeth hurried to the door. Her father was in one of his rare tempers where he’d pick up a vase and throw it at a servant, more likely at Sullivan.
If only her father had met Chen and the Li family and understood their kind nature and value.
Sadly, her father held hate in his heart for he did not know them and refused to know them because he hated them.
“I have no idea who was invited, nor do I want to break etiquette by asking who is to be in attendance. You and Mother have ingrained those social graces in me from birth.”
“Where’s Fiona? Who is escorting you?”
“Mrs. Merriweather. Is she suitable? She’s expecting me outside. How rude of me to make her wait.”
Sullivan rushed to open the door, bowed and winked to her as she stepped out.
Amanda and Shawn Fitzgerald greeted Elizabeth as she entered and escorted her and Mrs. Merriweather to a parlor where they were introduced to the Murphys, owners of several breweries, and the Byrnes, real estate barons.
New money. Her mother, of Knickerbocker roots, abhorred new money and made it her duty to ostracize them.
All of the people Elizabeth was introduced to seemed pleasant except for Mrs. Byrne who put on airs.
Elizabeth glanced around before sitting down and settling her skirts.
She had dressed with care in hope of seeing Zachary.
Her shoulders dropped a bit. No evidence of the frontiersman.
What did she expect? He’d be working at his factory.
“We’re hosting a small informal gathering this evening so we can personally thank you for all you have done,” said Amanda.
A servant intoned that dinner was to be served. Shawn escorted Elizabeth and Amanda to the dining room. The table was lit and set with fresh red and white carnations and roses. Shawn pulled out her chair and Elizabeth took her place. Three seats remained empty.
“We have three guests, but they are delayed and will arrive soon,” Amanda explained, her lips pursed with annoyance.
“We are present,” announced a heavily accented Irish voice from behind. “Sorry for the inconvenience, but we had to get cleaned up before we sup. Ladies, gentlemen,” O’Reilly said as he nodded. He slid into the chair next to Elizabeth. Chen joined them while Shawn finished introductions.
“It is to be an Irish gathering for the most part,” said O’Reilly, dirt and grease embedded beneath his nails despite his attempt to scrub clean. “Chen, I always say, if you’re lucky enough to be Irish, you’re lucky enough.”
Chen, in his normal imperturbable disposition said, “An elephant in the battlefield withstands arrows shot from bows all around.”
“I’ll translate,” said O’Reilly ready to have the last word.
“For many years, my friend imbibed on wisdom from the monks. Chen is talking about strength.” O’Reilly raised Chen’s arm and flexed it.
“See, the size of sugar almonds.” O’Reilly grinned like a Cheshire cat, dropped Chen’s arm and flexed his own massive arms. “Feel that! My biceps are the size of melons, like tempered steel, the same as Grant’s sword. That’s from not eating rice but beef.”
O’Reilly gave a military salute as Zachary moved into the room.
Elizabeth jerked her gaze to him. His strong jaw, clean-shaven, and dressed in formal attire with collar and cuffs looking like recently ironed communion wafers.
How could one man be so handsome and dashing?
The way his eyes ran over her, the way he made her feel like a woman, vanishing the girl. Why the lethal frown?
“Sorry I’m late.” In slow purposeful strides, he rounded the table and clenched O’Reilly’s shoulders in a vise-like grip. The Irishman remained immovable.
“Relocate or breathe your last,” Zachary whispered hotly in his ear.
“Good to see you, Mr. Rourke. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming this evening. For days, you’ve been looking like a cockroach stuffed in a sackcloth.”
O’Reilly’s abrasive and careless manner amused the guests, yet his plea fell to Mrs. Merriweather across the table. “From threat of death, I am encouraged to move. Should I?”
Mrs. Merriweather’s lips twitched. “If you don’t move, I have a feeling you will be fitted for a wooden coffin.”
Elizabeth laughed. Not accustomed to frank discussion, she found the dialogue freeing.
O’Reilly commandeered the conversation rich in outrageous and humorous anecdotes bantered back and forth between the room’s occupants.
Nothing tedious and boring. The camaraderie rose infectious, tingling her fingers and toes.
Was this not how the pulse of daily living should be?
Suddenly, the scorn of her mother’s face heaved in front of her. Elizabeth’s path was a fog that she pushed through each day. She waited for sunlight from her family. She felt still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully in the center of her mother’s gatherings.
Zachary’s clean scent of lemon and bergamot soap drifted over her. The warmth of his arm brushed hers as he slid in the chair next to her, lingered as a caress, and hauling her back to a quiet blooming in her soul.
Safe. Serene. Comfortable. She belonged.
Elizabeth cut through an oyster wrapped in bacon and dabbed it in the champagne-laced white sauce.
Everything was lit by candles and oil lamps for the festivities.
In the dim, watery illumination of the evening, glass shaded Tiffany lamps threw scarlet warmth across the table.
She dared a glance to her dinner companion.
Zachary sat in a triangle of vermillion light.
O’Reilly waved his fork to the Chinaman. “I heard you snoring last night, Chen.”
“I don’t snore.”
“It must have been a train going by. Or the neighbor has a pet lion.”
“Mr. Chen,” Mrs. Merriweather said. “I have much improved thanks to your medicine. I’m so delighted to have you as my new doctor.
” The matron chatted on and on about Chen’s fantastical medical prowess, making his talents known to the rest of the inhabitants of the table, and to the growing chagrin of the Chinaman.
“I can’t tell you enough how wonderful he is. ”
O’Reilly lifted his glass in a toast. “May your troubles be as few and as far apart as my grandmother’s teeth.”
“Mr. O’Reilly,” the widowed matron began, “how long were you with your work on the railroads?”
The Irishman scratched his head. “How long was I. About six foot, one inch.”
The old woman could not hide her mirth. “Mr. O’Reilly, in reference to the Irish gathering, I must say I’m proud of my English origin. Your conversation I find extreme, but I’m a lonely old widow and need such unconventional banter like the desert thirsts for rain.”
“I’ll allow a bit of English flaw for you out of sentimentality. I find the English like to invade countries, but they get upset if they are followed home.”
Zachary sat back in his chair. “O’Reilly has a fascination with the morbid and a great dose of absurdity.”
O’Reilly spanned his hands. “It’s not that the Irish are cynical, it’s rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everyone and everything.”
Elizabeth turned to Zachary, caught him absently brushing his thumb back and forth over his chiseled jaw. He was troubled. “Mr. Rourke, have you finished any of your product? Are things working for you?”
“You know the answer to that.”