A few moments later, Louise’s cocktail arrives, cleverly disguised in a gilded teacup. The Montpellier Tea Room, as a private establishment, is one of the more discreet speakeasies in town, catering to Kansas City’s elite with its art nouveau decor and French cuisine. Few patrons would dare a daytime tipple. Not Louise. I cattily wonder whether she’s an alcoholic. It does run in the family.
“Have you heard the latest about Aunt Marguerite?” Louise asks between dainty sips.
“No.”
“Mother spoke to her nurse last week. She took a spill on the stairs. She wasn’t hurt badly, just a few bruises, but it’s worrying.”
“I’m glad she’s all right. How terrible,” I say, although I’m selfishly relieved that my great-aunt’s ill health has turned the subject from Ted and me. “Is she still in that enormous house?”
“Yes. She refuses to leave it.”
I last visited Blackberry Grange as a child. Despite the name, the home isn’t attached to a farm or granary. It’s simply an overblown mansion with a rabbit warren of rooms and an abundance of gables, perched precariously on an Arkansas bluff. It was a place of wonder to my childish eyes, but I can only imagine how perilous the winding staircases and uneven floors would be for a frail, elderly woman.
“That can’t be safe.”
“No. She wanders about at night. They’ve placed an ad in the local paper for a round-the-clock companion, but Mother is concerned.” Louise eyes me over her teacup. “The wrong sort of person might take advantage.”
“I agree. It should be someone trustworthy.”
A thought suddenly occurs to me, sitting there in the sunlight streaming through the arched windows—an impulsive one, but intriguing all the same. I’ve met Aunt Marguerite only a handful of times, but she made quite an impression on me. Unlike her older sister, our prim society matron grandmother, Marguerite was spirited. A chimera. An artist who broke rules and paved her own path in life. I’d long admired her from afar and regretted not knowing her better. Perhaps now might be my chance. I’ve nothing keeping me in Kansas City, after all. Not anymore.
“Do you think if someone in the family cared for her, it might be better?” I ask. “What if I did it?”
“Did what?” Louise’s eyes narrow.
“Became Aunt Marg’s companion.”
Louise laughs, a loud, bright pealing that turns heads throughout the room. “Really?You?”
I bristle. “Why not me?”
“You’re hardly the sort, Sadie. You’re too impatient. Toobusy. I can’t see it. I’m sorry.”
“I’m more patient than you realize. And what does ‘busy’ mean?”
“You’re just not suited for that sort of thing.”
“I think I am.” My resentment simmers beneath the surface, as I think of all the ways I’ve never been good enough in my family’s eyes. I’d always been the flighty one. The flapper. The good-time girl. No one ever considered that my “busyness” might be a distraction from my broken heart. From my grief.
“Do you want to do it because of Aunt Marg’s money?” Louise arches her brow. “If so, you can admit it. I understand your predicament, Sadie. I do.”
“No. That isn’t it at all,” I say stiffly. Although I must admit it is. At least in part. I received only a smattering of my mother’s jewelry and a meager monthly stipend as my inheritance. As executor of her estate, my older brother, Felix, took her house and what remained of Da’s investments. If I don’t find a job, and soon, I could very well become destitute. Ted was my insurance policy. I’d been foolish to depend on his empty promises.
“You know,” Louise says, her tone softening, “once you’ve had a chance to lick your wounds, I could set you up with Toby’s friend Alan. The dentist? He’s ready to settle down and won’t mind about your ... situation. Why—”
I rise swiftly, knocking against the edge of the table. The teacups clatter in their saucers, splashing Louise’s mint julep onto the white tablecloth. “I think I’d better go. Before I end up saying something I’ll regret.”
Louise frowns. “Sadie. Really. There’s no need to be angry. I was only—”
“Goodbye, Lou. Enjoy yourtea.”
I sweep from the room, leaving her with the tab. Unlike me, she can afford it. Presumptuous brat.
Outside the tearoom, I hail a cab and climb inside. The summer heat curls around me in the back seat, steaming thick as soup. I crank down the window, trying to catch my breath. “Waddell and Westport, please.”
As the cab merges into traffic, I take out my compact to reapply my lip rouge and powder. I’m still shaking with anger at my cousin’s words. But she’s hardly alone in her opinion. No one in our family believed I would amount to much. No one but Da. And after Da? There was no point in proving them wrong. I reveled in their low opinion of me. In being the rebel.
I laughed in the face of my pain and became fun Sadie—a skinny, scrappy girl with sharp elbows who favored the new fashions and sat somewhere on the pretty side of plain. I wasn’t born a great beauty like Louise, but I learned how to make men laugh. I learned how to please them in bed, too. But despite all the men I’ve charmed, none of them deemed me worthy of marriage. Ted gave me a ring only to string me along. To keep me content. If I were a better person, or smarter, I’d have ended our affair long ago. It’s well past time to grow up and prove to myself, and everyone else, that I can be something besides an aging cigarette girl or a rich man’s mistress.
