Placing her hand at the base of her neck, she willed the cool tips of her fingers to soften the shards of glass within as she forced herself to slowly inhale through her nostrils and breathe out through her mouth.
Joanna had always experienced her emotions more keenly than those around her. Or at least, that was how it often seemed. Most likely, because she was incapable of disguising how she felt. If she was sad, she cried. If she was happy, she laughed. If she was angry, she threw shoes. Nobody ever had to guess what Joanna was feeling, because, for better or for worse, it was always right there on her face.
At the moment, the same could be said for Evie.
“I can only assume from the murderous look Evelyn is giving you from across the room—careful, dear, you don’t want your mouth to fix like that—you’ve left another broken heart in your wake?” Ruth asked Joanna as she set the basket of carrots aside and wiped her hands clean on the apron she wore over a faded green and white gingham dress.
“Charles’ heart was far from broken.” Tucking her grief aside, Joanna gave a snort. “I believe he was more upset about almost getting a grass stain on his pants.”
Ruth sat down in her favorite chair, a wooden rocker that had belonged tohergrandmother, and drew a blanket across her lap. “As long as you were kind in your refusal, I see no reason to make a fuss.” She gave a pointed glance at Evie, who pursed her lips and looked away. “When you find the man you are meant to be with, he won’t let you go as easily as that.”
Joanna tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Evie thinks I should have accepted his proposal.”
“Is that so?” Ruth murmured. “It’s such a lovely morning. Claire, do you mind opening a window? I do so enjoy when you can smell the sea in the air.”
While not considered a coastal town, Somerville was only a stone’s throw from the ocean, and on a clear day, Joanna could taste the sharp, tangy salt water on her tongue and hear the piercing cry of gulls circling the massive sailing ships docked at Boston Harbor.
“I think Joanna should have at leastconsideredCharles’ offer,” Evie put in. Retreating to the staircase, she sat on the third step and scowled at Joanna, who scowled right back. “Especially considering our current circumstances.”
“And what circumstances are those?” Ruth asked mildly.
“It’s all right.” Having finally managed to wrench the window open, Claire turned around. “I…I know. About everything. You needn’t hide it from me anymore as if I were still a child.”
“No one is hiding anything from you,” Joanna protested even as guilt tickled her conscience, for that waspreciselywhat they’d been doing. “We just didn’t want you to worry.”
“Then you should have given me more money for market,” Claire said, her lips twisting in a wry smile, “and I would have been able to afford the butter.”
“How much was the butter?” Ruth queried.
“Fifteen cents a pound.”
“That much! Mr. Hemphill certainly thinks highly of his cows, doesn’t he?” Their grandmother shook her head. “At that rate, we’d do better to buy a cow and churn the butter ourselves.”
“Which isexactlywhy Joanna could have said yes to Charles.” Evie’s voluminous skirt, complete with a large silk bustle, rustled loudly as she stood up.
Unlike Joanna and Claire, who had taken to wearing simpler garments now that they no longer entertained at the house (even with just the four of them the parlor/foyer/guest bedroom was noticeably crowded), Evie still insisted on dressing her very best every single day.
Appearance, she insisted, made all the difference between genteel poverty and actual poverty. Never mind that they hardly had two nickels to rub together. If someone saw Evie walking down the street with her hair perfectly pinned beneath a velvet half-bonnet and enough ruffles on her gown to suffocate an elephant, they’d naturally assume she heralded from a wealthy family. Which, of course, was exactly what she wanted them to think.
For her part, Joanna had never much cared for the opinions of others, regardless of whether they were friends or foes. The intricate and ever-changing rules of fashion had always eluded her. She’d much rather spend her timedoingthan dressing.
Yet another reason why she and Evie rarely saw eye to eye.
“How many times do I have to say I did not love him?” Joanna wondered aloud. “I’m beginning to sound like a parrot.”
Evie crossed her arms. “You act as if love is the most important thing in the world. As if it is something that will pay for itself. But it isn’t, and itwon’t.Women have been making strategic marriages to advance themselves both economically and socially for centuries. It is not a foreign concept.”
“And I suppose if one of these women jumped off a bridge, you’d do that as well?” Joanna bit out as she struggled to rein in her temper. She’d had just aboutenoughof Evie’s nonsense, and she was tired of listening to it.
“Might we all try to get along?” Claire asked timidly. “I’m sure if we—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Evie scoffed, glaring at Joanna. “I’d ruin my dress.”
“Your dress. Yourdress.” Joanna threw her hands in the air. “Because that’s all you care about, hairstyles and dresses and pretty things.”
“What’s wrong with pretty things?”
“They’re useless!”
