Florence hastily begins helping Marguerite undress, unbuttoning the bodice of her riding habit. “Frank Wornall will be there. One of Colonel Swope’s nephews, too. Either of them would be a good match for you.”
Marguerite steps out of her skirt and petticoats as Florence rushes to the wardrobe, flinging open the mirrored doors. “You must wear your lowest-cut gown, tonight, Marg. The green one. I’ll corset you as tightly as I can.”
“Flor, stop. Please. We have a plan. Hugh and I are going to Colorado, in the spring. We’re joining a wagon train.”
Florence stands very still. “You can’t. Do you know how dangerous that is? You could die, Marg. Indians. Cholera ... any number of things. I won’t let you do that.”
Marguerite’s jaw clenches. “You won’tletme?”
“Someone has to look out for you. You’ve been very lucky. But everyone’s luck runs out eventually.” Florence pulls a green gown trimmed with gold ribbons from the wardrobe. “Here. This one.”
Marguerite crosses her arms, standing there in her corset and drawers, her face aflame. “I told you, I’m not going to the ball.”
Florence tosses the gown onto the bed, squaring up to Marguerite. “Your stubbornness will be your undoing. This thing between you and Hugh must end. I understand how you feel. GodknowsI do. But you must put your duty to your family first. Before your own happiness.”
“I suppose you know all about that.” Marguerite laughs, shakes her head. She sits on the edge of the bed. “Shall I marry Frank Wornall then, to appease Papa, and keep Hugh as my lover? Will you teach me how to deceive my husband, Flor?”
Florence wilts. “Yes. If that’s what it takes, I will. Right now, you’re blinded by romantic notions. But marriage isn’t about romance. Not at all.”
“It should be. You should marry for love.”
“In a perfect world, yes. Everyone would marry for love. I’d have run away with Weston, if I could have. But I couldn’t. And neither can you, darling. I won’t stand by and let you ruin your life.” Florence gentles her voice. “Now come. Get dressed. You’re going to look ravishing tonight.”
Marguerite rises, reluctantly, and crosses to Florence, who turns her and begins loosening the laces in her corset. “You’re lucky. You can’t see it now, but you are. You’re going to make your husband very happy.”
The sisters fade from view, the darkness closing in around them, the uncomfortable feeling of dread lodging deep in Sadie’s spine.
Chapter 26
September 20, 1925
Harriet returns to work the next day. She hands me a basket of freshly baked bread and strawberry jam when she comes in. I’m so relieved to see her I set the basket on the kitchen table and hug her, catching her off guard. Tears brim in my eyes. All my emotions are too close to the surface these days. Loneliness. Worry. Frustration. Helplessness and fear of the unknown in a constant, unending loop. The dread I felt after witnessing the scene from Marguerite’s past has followed me into the present. Everything feels dire, as if I’m teetering on the edge of disaster.
Harriet pats me on the back awkwardly and pulls away, forehead wrinkling in concern. “What’s this about? Has something happened?”
I nod, wiping my eyes. “Marguerite wandered off again during the storm. She got trapped inside a closet and hit her head. She’s okay ... Dr. Gallagher came to call on her yesterday, but things are getting worse. He says we should begin to prepare for the end.”
“He’s not wrong.” Harriet sighs, pulls off her coat, and hangs it on a peg by the door. “I’ve seen the same progression with other patients. Is she eating?”
“Like a bird,” I say. “I have to remind her constantly.”
Her brown eyes are soft, sympathetic. “Areyoueating? Sleeping?”
“Barely.”
“Well. I’m here now.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You need to get out of this house. Do something fun. There’s a dance at the Crescent tonight. You should go with Beckett. I’ll stay here with Marguerite and spend the night.”
“Really? You’d do that?” The thought of a night out—a night of dancing and pleasure—almost makes me drunk with relief.
“Yes.” She arches a brow, smiling knowingly. “You’re going to have a life, after your aunt is gone, Miss Halloran. Right now, it might seem like this is all there is. Iknowthe kind of fatigue you’re feeling. I cared for my daddy before he passed. But there are thousands of tomorrows yet to come. For you.”
Beckett comes in just then, his eyes flitting to me, to the sudden flood of tears running down my face. “What’s wrong?”
“You just need to take this girl dancing tonight, Mr. Hill,” Harriet says with a sly grin. “Give her a reason to dress up. Get pretty.”
Beckett clears his throat, looking at me shyly. “I’d like that. Would you like that, Sadie?”
“Yes. I would,” I say, laughing through my tears.
