Chapter Sixteen
Likewise, Cynthia was beginning to get frustrated with her as well, as Melody had declined her last three invitations.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be with Cynthia and the gang; she simply didn’t have the time.
But, if she were honest, going to the pictures or dancing at the Aragon or the Merry Gardens now paled a little after her extravagant dates with Eustace.
Eustace’s world was a grown-up one filled with elegance and wealth and culture, while the world of the Mundelein gang now seemed frivolous and adolescent.
She should be in her room studying now, Melody mused, as she stared out the window at the city rolling by, but when Elsie had rung up to invite her to tea, she simply had to go.
She desperately longed now to pour out her woes to her old friend, including all the specifics of her relationship with Eustace; though, she supposed, she shouldn’t really regard him as a “woe.”
There had been a shift, however, ever since she had gone to his home and met his uncle.
Eustace constantly referred to them in the future tense now, as if their lives had already been cemented together.
He described in great detail trips they would take to Venice and Paris and Budapest and such places and suggested the clubs to which they might someday belong.
Likewise, he had more than once outlined for her his rather long lineage, which he seemed able to trace back to the Mayflower and beyond, to courtiers in the court of Henry VI and William the Conqueror.
All of this without her having pledged anything to him.
However, she could hardly say “But Eustace, we aren’t engaged!
” without prompting said proposal, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to propose, even if he was by all accounts perfect.
He was handsome, wealthy, cultured, refined, intelligent, and infinitely respectful.
He could have easily taken advantage of her in one of the many rooms of his parents’ empty house, Uncle Alistair safely out of earshot, but he had acted the perfect gentleman.
And while Melody, was impressed by his gallantry, she was starting to think that he was a little bit .
. . well, cold. Shouldn’t he have tried to kiss her at least once by now?
She had tried asking Cynthia for advice, but, as was typical, her friend’s response was rather unhelpful.
Cynthia had encouraged Melody to marry Eustace as soon as possible (but to please not choose blue for the bridesmaids’ dresses as she looked terribly washed-out in blue).
The wedding, Cynthia had further advised, should be at an extremely decadent venue with absolute rivers of champagne, followed by a deliciously extravagant honeymoon to somewhere très exotique.
And then, of course, she could settle down in the lap of luxury!
What was there to decide? She had escaped her dreadful little hometown.
While it was sad, she admitted, that Melody’s father had had to die in order to get her brother to come home and take over, he had, so why should she continue to fret about a little mercantile in some small town in Wisconsin?
Elsie, Melody felt sure, would offer a different perspective.
It did feel odd, however, to be the one seeking counsel from her previously shy, timid friend rather than the one giving it.
In the past, when they had shared a room in Philomena, Melody had been wont to shower poor Elsie with advice, and she was still not a little proud of her role in Elsie and Gunther’s union, as it had been one of her more stupendous successes.
Well, she hadn’t exactly matched them (after all, who would have thought to pair Elsie with the school’s custodian?), but she had had a very big hand in their elopement.
And now, they were happily married (blissfully happy is what Elsie had written to her once in a letter) and living in Palmer Square.
Melody pulled the cord above her, and the bus lumbered to a stop at Armitage and Humboldt.
She alighted and headed north toward Palmer Square, which was not a square at all, she discovered, but a rather long oval-shaped park.
Elsie and Gunther’s home, No. 21, was a large Victorian brownstone, and though it was one of the smaller homes on the block, it was easily twice, if not three times as big as the Willows.
Melody rang the bell and waited a full minute for someone to answer before ringing again. Still nothing. She checked her wristwatch, wondering if she had the wrong time. She was just about to ring again when the door finally opened, albeit slowly. An elderly servant blinked big owlish eyes at her.
“Miss Merriweather, I presume?” His voice was deep and nasally. There was, Melody noticed, a small drip hanging from his left nostril, which he accordingly dabbed with the white handkerchief clenched in his rheumatic hands.
“Yes, I’m here to see Elsie. I mean, Mrs. Stockel.”
“Very good, Miss. Madame is expecting you. This way.” The old butler shuffled her down a short hallway and pushed open a door on the left. “Miss Merriweather,” he announced and stood aside for Melody to pass.
Elsie was at the far end of the drawing room, arranging a bouquet.
“Melody!” she called, quickly popping the last stems into the vase. “Thank you for coming!” She embraced her friend. “It’s so good to see you!”
“Oh, Elsie!” Melody exclaimed, pulling back and taking Elsie’s hands. “It’s good to see you, too. Look at you! Lady of the manor!”
Melody gave the room an appreciative once-over.
The walls were papered with a pattern of pink cabbage roses and in front of the fireplace was an oriental rug in green and maroon.
The rosewood furniture was arranged invitingly, with sumptuous cushions and pillows.
Small treasures were artfully displayed on little tables and shelves, and a tall bookcase in one corner overflowed with books.
It was just the cozy sort of room Melody adored, though, upon second thought, she knew that Eustace would have declared it très gauche.
“What a beautiful home. Did you decorate it? It has the look of you.”
Elsie smiled. “Well, in a way. Grandfather said I could furnish the house as I’d like, but I didn’t wish to waste his money.
” She cast her eyes around the room. “But I did move things around a bit. And there were ever so many pieces tucked away in the attic! I do think I’ve put some of them to good use.
Here,” she said gesturing at the maroon sofa.
“Let’s sit down, and I’ll ring for tea.”
As Melody took a seat on the sofa, Elsie gave the servant cord hanging beside the fireplace a quick tug.
Then she sat next to her friend and took her hand.
“Now, you must tell me everything!” she declared with a confidence that Melody almost didn’t recognize in her friend and which Melody desperately wished she currently possessed.
Marriage obviously agreed with Elsie—a point, Melody conceded, for Eustace.
“Oh, I hardly know where to begin!” Melody exclaimed but nonetheless promptly dove into all of the details of her relationship with Eustace, her woes over her failing schoolwork or even her worries about Fred and the Merc and everyone at home taking a far back seat.
Elsie listened with rapt attention and gentle accompanying murmurs.
Only twice were they interrupted. Once when the servant returned with the tea tray, slowly shuffling across the room and seeming in such distress that Elsie got up and helped him.
The second time was when a little girl silently appeared and came to Elsie, holding out her arms to be held.
Melody thought that the girl was perhaps too old to sit on laps, but Elsie scooped her up nonetheless.
“Anna,” Elsie remonstrated gently as put her arms around the girl.
“Why aren’t you up in the nursery with Nanny?
” The girl laid her head against Elsie’s chest and plopped her fingers into her mouth and stared at Melody.
Elsie kissed her on the head and gently tapped the girl’s fingers from her mouth.
“Can you say hello to my friend, Miss Merriweather?”
The girl stared at her for a long time before finally murmuring, “Hello.”
“Hello.” Melody smiled, guessing her to be the child Gunther had brought with him from Germany and whom he and Elsie had adopted once they finally uncovered the tragic death of the girl’s mother.
“There you are!” called a plump servant waddling into the room.
“I’m sorry, Miss.” She gave Elsie a slight curtsey.
“I turned my back for a moment, and she just bolted. I do beg your pardon for disturbin’ you.
” She threw a nervous glance at Melody. “Come on, Miss Anna. You’ve got to go back upstairs with me. ”
The girl buried her face in Elsie’s chest and gripped her dress.
“Anna,” Elsie whispered, “go with Nanny; that’s a good girl. Papa will read you a story tonight if you’re a good girl and do your lessons. Go on, now. Doris and Donny will be worried.” Elsie planted another kiss on her head. “Go on. You’re a big girl now.”
“Come on, Miss Anna,” Nanny urged. “I was just about to bring a plate of cookies upstairs. Why don’t you help me pick them out?”
The little girl raised her head warily.
“Come on,” Nanny urged with a smile, holding out her hand.
After just a few more seconds of hesitation, Anna slid off Elsie’s lap and took Nanny’s hand.
Elsie waited for them to exit and then apologized to Melody.
“I’m sorry. She’s still very traumatized.
She’s beginning to speak now, though, so we are quite encouraged that she might be getting better. But please go on.”