31. Sarah
Sarah
“Mr. Higginbotham is back,” Mother said. “All is not lost.” She stood by like a warden while Gloria smoothed my hair into a stylish twist and patted powders beneath my eyes to hide the dark circles. She chose a green dress, insisting it brought out my hazel eyes.
I thought it highlighted my toxic disposition. At least it had a pocket for my seven pennies. On the way back from seeing Greta, I’d found six more pennies lying in the dirt—heads up for luck. I needed every bit.
We joined Henry in the stifling heat of the parlor. He rose. I said nothing. Mother glared at me. “Perhaps some lemonade on the veranda would be a pleasant diversion. Come, Mipsy. Let’s call for refreshments.” She waved toward the French doors and I took the arm he offered.
“I admit I am disappointed by this suffocating weather.” He nudged me with his elbow. “I have been eagerly anticipating our next walk in the park.”
We moved into the shadow cast by the house and settled onto a pair of well-cushioned chairs facing the lake. I said, “I believe all of Chicago is disappointed by this heat.”
He nodded, gaze fixed across the street. “All of Wisconsin.”
“Technically,” I said, “Chicago is in Illinois.”
“Yes, well, all the world is disappointed by the weather as far as I can tell.” His eyes followed a brunette strolling in the park. Tessa Milton.
“Here we are.” Mother directed Gloria to place the tray on the small table between us. Three tall glasses filled with ice and lemonade sat beside a plate of cookies. Condensation dripped onto my dress, but the lemonade was refreshing. Mother settled into another chair with a panting Mipsy.
Henry took several gulps. “A truly inspired idea, Mrs. Everson.”
“Yes, Mother. Lemonade on the hottest day of the year. You are a genius.”
Mother ignored me. She broke off a piece of her cookie for the pup. “Poor darling with your fur coat.”
Henry reached for a second cookie. “Did you train Mipsy yourself, Mrs. Everson?”
“She only listens to me. Isn’t that right, Mipsy?”
“I’ve been working on obedience training with my beagle, Bandit. I’m honing my skills and do not think it would be an exaggeration to say I’m becoming quite the expert. The secret is to get inside the dog’s head—to forge a mental bond.”
My lips twitched, and I covered my mouth with my glass. “Like sharing the same brain.”
“Exactly. Well, thank you for the refreshments.” Henry stood and brushed cookie crumbs from his trousers. “I must be off. An excellent day to you both.” He strode off the veranda and struck out for the park without a backward glance.
Mother said, “Well, Mipsy. What do you think about that?”
On Sunday afternoon, I opened the French doors in the parlor.
With the doors shut, there hadn’t been room for both me and my guilt.
A warm June breeze from over Lake Michigan wandered inside, carrying birdsong and the buzz of insects.
It stirred the gauzy window hangings. Mother had gone calling so the house was quiet.
I curled up in my favorite chair with Emma unopened on my lap.
But I couldn’t bring myself to read my favorite book.
The light shifted across the room as I stroked the pennies in my pocket and counted to seven. Over and over.
A soft knock sounded, and our butler stepped into the parlor. “Message for you, Miss.” He withdrew as soon as I lifted the folded paper from his tray.
It was a telegram. My heart climbed to my throat as I unfolded the paper with trembling fingers.
I found her in Minnesota. She is safe. —George