Rose thought of her brother’s French chef. She had always considered Pierre’s cooking to be a calling and that the talented man was as driven to it as her sister Sophie was to playing the piano. Certainly, when she had dined with Reed and Charlotte, she’d discovered Pierre was not above tossing in an unexpected ingredient that turned an expected dish into something magical.
Perhaps this lady had no such beliefs.
“Do you not think there is an art to it as well?” Rose asked, feeling a little timid with this woman despite the kind eyes that sparkled behind her spectacles. There was something determined and formidable about Fannie Farmer.
The assistant principal had smiled at her. “Of course. Yet you cannot have a Renoir or a Monet or a Harriet Peale, for that matter, until there has been the precision of da Vinci or van Eyck. Do you see what I mean?”
Yes, she certainly did.
“I do.” Rose had enrolled on the spot. The next new course of lessons would begin in a week’s time. She’d gone home immediately to ask their cook if she’d mind Rose using some pots and pans and trying things out at home.
Emily had laughed. “If you want to putter in the kitchen, miss, be my guest.”
“I have quite a few particular ideas about cooking,” Rose told her sister, “and I intend to try them all out when I start taking cooking classes.”
“Mm.” Elise was writing on her small pad. “Then what do you think we should serve with it? Minted peas, perhaps?”
Oh dear.Rose sighed. Elise was not listening, too wrapped up in the planning. If she’d needed a favor, it would have been a good time to ask her and receive an inattentive yes. Or perhaps it was a good time to ask about something that had worried her lately.
“Have you noticed anything odd about Mama?”
Elise looked up and sharply eyed her sister, fully present once more.
“Specifically?”
Rose shrugged. “Being a bit preoccupied for months, especially recently. I wondered if maybe she felt sad over her last child leaving the proverbial nest.”
Elise shook her head. “She would never begrudge you your future or happiness.”
“I know. Still, have you and Reed discussed her being all alone?”
“As a matter of fact, we have.”
“I knew it. I’m so relieved,” Rose told her. “I’m not the only one concerned. What will we do with her?”
“Dowith her?” Elise gave a wry smile. “It was not so much a discussion of such magnitude as it was setting up a casual schedule. If she dines with Reed and Charlotte once a week and with Michael and me once, and perhaps, after you get settled, with you and William, then if we also take turns going over to her house, why she’ll hardly ever be alone for her evening meal.”
“That’s a good idea. Of course, she shall start coming over to dine with William and me immediately after I set up house.”
Her sister nodded. “Back to the party planning.” Then Elise took a quick breath. “Did you say something about cooking classes?”
Rose laughed and explained to Elise her new interest.
In the days that followed, she felt swept along by her sister and Claire and even by her mother and Charlotte. Everyone seemed to be extremely excited by a homegrown love match and upcoming wedding. Sophie’s nuptials had taken place in San Francisco, so they hadn’t had a real Malloy wedding since Reed married Charlotte. Goodness! Was that already seven years past?
***
All of Boston society, every Brahmin, whether bourgeois or aristocratic, was abuzz with wrangling an invitation to either the engagement party, the wedding, the reception supper, or all three. Rose had not felt her heart so full of joy in years. The hum of excitement grew as the date got closer.
“I’m so very pleased you’re here.” Rose said to Sophie the night before the grand engagement party. Her middle sister had arrived the day before from the west coast with her family. “However, I can’t believe this is actually happening.”
Sophie paused in brushing Rose’s hair, something she’d always done when they were growing up. They locked eyes in the mirror over the vanity. “In a good way, you can’t believe it?”
Rose laughed. “Of course. I’m very happy.” And she was, even though, in a dark corner of her mind, she felt a sliver of fear that something would happen to William. In moments of quiet, she would suddenly imagine the devastation to her heart if anything befell him.
If something happened to him, how would she bear it?
“I’m relieved, dearest,” Sophie said, resuming brushing. “He seems wonderful and smart. And clearly, he’s madly in love with you.”
