5. Sarah
Sarah
“You’re running away?” I demanded, pacing my bedroom. Afternoon sun filtered through my half-drawn drapes, striping the floor. If Viola left, I’d be friendless all summer.
She sprawled in the overstuffed chair facing my cold fireplace, twisting a lock of auburn hair. “No, no. Don’t call it running away.”
“What should I call it?”
“Sightseeing. Summer in Seattle is lovely, or so I hear. Aunt Edith invited me, and now is the perfect time to visit.”
“As I said, you’re running away.” George’s empty window stared at me from across the side yard. “Seattle is practically the moon. By all means, abandon me. But not before Saturday. Don’t you dare run away before Mother’s party.”
Viola tossed her legs over the arm of the chair. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’m curious to meet your future husband. What’s his name again? Higgles Herbingo?”
“Henry Higginbotham,” I said, and we both giggled. “And he’s hardly my intended. But he is single.”
“I’m sure your mother believes that’s all it takes to seal the deal.”
“That and my pink dress.”
“Oh no.” She straightened in the chair. “She’s not going to make you sing in that, is she?”
“She is.”
“She knows what that neckline does to your—” Viola waved an elegant hand before her chest. “—when you try to breathe?”
“Why do you think she insists? She says I must showcase my talents.”
“Blast,” Viola said. “You’ll showcase something, my friend.”
I flung myself into the second chair. “The whole neighborhood has seen me bicycling in bloomers, so no one will be scandalized.”
“Bloomers were essential back when we were learning.” Viola tapped her chin. “Maybe I’ll wear mine to your mother’s party. Then no one will blink at your neckline.”
“But then you’d ruin my master plan. I might want Higgles to blink at my neckline.” We snickered. I wasn’t sure anyone had ever blinked at me or my neckline. George would be there. Didn’t matter.
“Since when do you have a master plan?” Viola teased. “Am I inspiring you?”
“If it all goes poorly with Higgles, perhaps I’ll run away with you.”
“I predict Higgles will fall desperately in love and keep you entertained. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“But I thrive on neglect. One compliment and I’d faint dead away. Is George going with you on the train?”
Viola crossed her arms. “Oh no, I’m not telling them. They’d try to stop me. I can arrange it myself.”
“Viola! That. Is. Madness.”
“I’ll bring Greta.”
“You know I adore Greta, but I’m not sure your maid is up to chaperoning you across the country.”
“It’s only two-thirds of the country. And besides, I’m a grown woman. I’ll take our family’s private train car and be snug as you please.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I need you to swear.”
“Pemberley,” I said.
“No, silly. Not in Austen. Swear not to divulge my plan. Not to anyone. Please repeat after me. I, Sarah, am sworn to absolute secrecy and will not tell a soul about Viola’s plan to escape to Seattle.”
“I, Sarah, am?—”
“Wait. You agreed too quickly.” She glanced at my lap, where my hands were buried in my skirts. “Put your hands where I can see them. No finger-crossing.”
Her green eyes, so like George’s, held me fast. I surrendered and swore. Better to keep her trust if I hoped to talk sense into her.
“Want to take a walk?”
She perked up. “I’m curious to see those tulips you mentioned, down by the Granthams.”
I laughed. “Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of the mysterious Higgles. Mother insists he’s handsome.”
Viola’s dimple appeared. “Let’s ride our bicycles.”
The breeze off Lake Michigan was nothing compared to the rush of wind in my hair as I flew down the rise on my bicycle.
I didn’t mean to go so fast, but I hadn’t ridden in months, and the speed steadied me.
The gravel path split to circle the tulip bed.
I looped right, Viola left, and we parked our bicycles on the far side.
Arm in arm, we wandered to the center of the garden and paused beneath the statue of Athena. Viola peered past me at the Granthams’ house.
“Nothing,” she said. “Maybe they aren’t home. Wait. Do the Granthams have a dog?”
A beagle tore toward us from their side yard, huge ears flopping. He cleared the street, bounded over the grass, and turned onto the gravel path.
A deep male voice called, “Bandit, come!” The dog paid no heed. Stones scattered under his paws as he sped toward us.
I raised a finger. “Bandit, sit!” He skidded to a stop and sat.
I crouched and patted his head. “Good boy, Bandit.”
“Sarah,” Viola said.
A man jogged toward us with a satisfied smile, golden curls bouncing as he closed the distance. A few unruly locks hung over his forehead from a widow’s peak.
My hands twisted in my skirt.
“My deepest gratitude for stopping this bandit in his tracks, Miss.”
“Someone needed to lay down the law,” I said, groaning inwardly.
He snorted. “The law indeed.”
All innocence, Viola said, “We haven’t seen you or your dog before.”
“Henry Higginbotham, at your service.” He gestured toward the Granthams. “I’m staying with my aunt and uncle for the summer.”
“Sarah Everson,” I said with a tiny curtsy. “And this is Viola VanMartin.”
She gave a mildly sarcastic curtsy.
“We live down the street,” I added, pointing vaguely toward our houses.
“Everson. Rings a bell.” He tapped a finger to his lips. “Wait, I’m invited to a dinner party at the Eversons. Would that be you?”
“One and the same. I mean—yes. It’s my house… where the party will be.” Why was he looking at me? Men always notice Viola first, never me.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” He scooped up Bandit.
“Come on home, you little outlaw.” When he straightened, he flashed a brilliant grin at me.
Heat rose on my cheeks. “Till Saturday, then, ladies.” He stretched the word ladies to such an absurd length that Viola coughed, and I bit my lip.
He turned and sauntered off without a backward glance, the dog wriggling under his arm.
When he was out of earshot, Viola gasped. “Oh. My. Higgles.” We clutched each other’s arms, laughter rising to the goddess of wisdom on her pedestal. Perhaps summer won’t be lonely after all.