She burst into the artist’s studio.
The studio where Theodore had found her somewhere to live.
Paid for many of her meals.
Held her while she cried about Walt.
Bought her a typewriter.
Saved her brother.
Lillie might know where Theodore Parker lived, but she wasn’t there. So Grace began to tear through the studio, looking for any scrap that might tell her his address.
There were letters in the desk, and she riffled through them with great haste.
Finally, she found a return address from Theodore’s father scrawled at the top of one of the envelopes.
7120 Meadow Place.
She dressed in her favorite gown—the one she had worn the first night of the fair. She pulled it tight around her waist, admiring the way the skirt fell.
Then she hailed a cab.
“7120 Meadow Place,” she said.
The carriage wound through the cobblestone streets as the lots grew larger and the houses grander.
This was a neighborhood even Aunt Clove would aspire to.
The cabbie let out a low whistle as they pulled to a stop.
“That’s a pretty pile of bricks right there,” the cabbie said. “Is it yours?”
“No,” Grace said, faintly touching her collarbone. “I’ve never seen it before in my life.”
The house was made of a stunning pink-hued granite and fronted by carved arches. Chimneys rose from the slate roof and sprays of alyssum spilled over from the balcony’s banisters. The grounds were lush with grass, manicured tulip beds, and towering elm trees lined in columns. Grace composed herself and took a breath before she walked up the front stairs.
“Good afternoon,” the butler said when she rang the bell.
“Hello. Is Mr. Parker home?” she asked.
The butler let her inside, where a chandelier glittered from the vaulted marble foyer. There was a massive fireplace in the entryway set below intricate plaster rosettes that looked like they had been sculpted from cream.
Theodore came down the staircase.
“Grace?” he asked, astonished. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk,” she said. “There’s something I must know.”
His jaw twitched.
“Tea, please, Doyle,” he said to the butler. “We’ll have it on the veranda.”
He led her through the brightly lit hallways to the back gardens. There were shocks of pink tulips and irises hedged by dwarf boxwoods and an elegant fountain. He gestured to a wrought iron table, where they sat.
“Meet Sesame,” he said as an energetic black pup bounded toward them to lick Grace’s wrist. She pulled him into her lap, despite her gown.
He licked her face.
