“Face the other way, Mrs.Beaumont.Rest is what you need, not conversation.”
Constanza rolled toward the wall and smiled.‘Thou shalt be saved, and thy house.’Not only would confessing free her, but Eleonora and Marcellus would be saved from the consequences of her folly.Excitement thrummed through her, warming her from the chest out.Finally, she had an answer to all her guilt.There would be no need for her to stay here longer than the priest deemed.She’d be absolved, her family restored, and she could join Eleonora in seeking a new life on the stage.All she needed was to appeal to Dr.Chalfant for a priest to visit her.It was so simple she should have thought of it herself.Soon all would be set to rights.Soon she’d be free.
Chapter Thirteen
ALTHOUGHNORA HAD HOPED FORmore than a single Friday night as their original Guardian group, a messenger for Theresa’s grand-father arrived to summon Theresa only an hour after sunrise.Apparently there was a project emergency at the printshop.Of course the Guardians hadn’t gone to bed yet, so poor Theresa would have to make repairs with gritty eyes and blurry vision.
“I’m so sorry we never went to bed.”Nora hugged Theresa.“I can’t imagine being tired will help you fix whatever engraving mishap awaits you.”
“Every bit of lost sleep was worth it.We need to do this again soon.”Theresa pulled back from the embrace and glared at Lydia.“Although maybe next timesomeonecan inform their fiancé that we are capable of a night together without his need to check on us.”
Lydia grinned.“But it’s so sweet that he cares.Besides, what if something had happened to us?At least we wouldn’t have had to wait until morning for someone to notice.”
Maybe if that voice Nora heard had been real, they would all be glad of his visit.But it wasn’t, and this wasn’t the first time Abraham had found an excuse to check on them during a Guardians-only night.
Flossie huffed.“We don’t need a man to get us out of scrapes.We’re the Guardians.”
“WellthisGuardian is off to get her grandfather out of a scrape.”Theresa made a sour face.“Good night—I mean, morning—everyone.”
After breakfast and a few hours of conversation mostly about Abraham, wedding details, and who Lydia’s children would take after, Lydia said her goodbyes.“I promised Abraham I’d bring him lunch.I’ll see you at church tomorrow.”
Once Lydia was gone, Flossie flopped across the couch while Nora reclaimed her favorite chair.
“I suppose it’s only proper a betrothed couple should prefer each other’s company over anyone else’s.Otherwise, why get married?”Flossie’s words relieved some of the sting of Lydia’s early departure.
“If Father has his way, I think I shall always prefer the company of the Guardians over my husband.”
“What, you mean you don’t want to marry a musicless dolt who doesn’t see that you are happiest when you can freely sing and play?”
“I don’t want to marry at all.”
“At all?”Flossie sat up.“That’s quite the change from what you’ve said in the past.It’s not because we teased you about Mr.Beaumont, is it?We mean no harm by it.It’s just that you so rarely have a love interest.”Flossie winced.“I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”
“Oh, I know.If I wanted revenge, I’d tease you about Mortimer Stephens.Actually, howisgood ol’ Morty doing?”The mention of Flossie’s childhood infatuation was meant to distract from further questions about marriage.
Last night’s panic and hearing of voices had ruined those dreams.Nora loved Mum, but the struggles of anticipating her moods and fears and managing them before they turned into hysterics were not struggles Nora would wish upon anyone.If uncontrollable paranoia was taking root in her life, she would save her future family by never marrying.
“I wouldn’t know.Morty goes out of his way to avoid me these days, and when he must interact with me, I’m alwaysMiss Gibsoninstead of Flossie or even Florence.You’d think he hadn’t grown up with me as practically another sibling.”
“Maybe he calls you Miss Gibson to hide his secret tendre for you.”
Flossie’s laugh barked.“If that’s his problem, his opportunity has already passed.Do you know he cautioned Father against Mother and me running a commercial pottery without a ‘trustworthy man to help’ us?I can’t wait to get our pottery up and profitable so I can rub it in his male chauvinistic face.”
“Morty has never struck me as a male chauvinist.Are you certain it isn’t his way of supporting you?He did go to university for business, after all.”
“Which makes him better than me?I may not have gone to college, but I know how to organize and run a pottery.”
Anyone who’d seen Flossie’s room had reason to question that statement.
“Speaking of running a pottery, I’m afraid I too must leave.Mother and I are touring a potential location to purchase.Do pray it works out.If the grounds are suitable, its proximity to the railroad would be ideal.”
Flossie scurried off, leaving Nora to face the rest of her day alone.Even Lily wouldn’t be back until Monday, thanks to a birthday celebration she’d requested to attend.She might as well take advantage of the rare occurrence and spend some time reveling in the past when madness didn’t taint every future dream.
She dragged Mum’s old opera trunk from the drafty attic, nearly causing herself injury when she missed a step and skidded down the remaining ones with the trunk following after.A self-examination revealed no broken bones or sprained muscles, but she would have some nasty bruises tomorrow.She finished dragging the trunk to the bedroom and knelt before the only remnant of a life when all her family’s worldly possessions fit in four traveling trunks.Until they’d come to Cincinnati, she’d never slept in the same place for more than two weeks or owned more than one doll, a set of jackstraws, or a book.Having her own bedroom with a shelf of books and a corner full of toys had been strange at first.What would it be like to live out of a trunk again?Would she miss the accumulation of memorabilia?The unfettered time with friends?Or would her heart be sorefreshed each time she poured it into whatever role she played that those things became trivialities of a past life?
She ran her hands over the travel-worn wood.“Hello, old friend.It’s been a while.Shall we revisit better times?”
She unfastened the cracking leather straps, then lifted the heavy lid.The hinges groaned from lack of use, but the spicy aroma of the herbal sachets used to keep the moths away from Mum’s half dozen costumes was still potent from the last application.Carefully, Nora removed each extravagant costume and spread them over her bed.She fingered the black silky hooped mourning dress of Donna Anna and smirked.What would Mr.Beaumont say to her dressing as Donna Anna after all his insistence he was Don Ottavio?Maybe he’d break out into “Dalla sua pace” regardless of his ability to sing it.He certainly seemed the type.As tempting as the thought was, it was the deep purple gown of Queen of the Night that always won her over.
