Ruth peered at them over her shoulder. Her gaze was sharp, and uncharacteristically calculating. “Evie, you could purchase that beautiful silk shawl you’ve swooned over every time we’ve gone into the village. Joanna, you could go on that trip with your friend. And Claire, you could start up your singing lessons again.” Her gaze softened as she looked at her youngest granddaughter. “You’ve a rare talent, my dear, and I should like to see you pursue it.”
The praise brought a blush to Claire’s cheeks. “Thank you, Grandmother.”
“I suppose…” Joanna hesitated. Here, at last, was the opportunity she’d been hoping for. The chance to fill their pockets and alleviate their financial burdens without having to marry a man like Charles. Still, it didn’t seem right. To sell something that had never belonged to them. To sell something their mother had taken such pains to keep secret. But then, what other choice did they have? “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take the ring to Boston and see how much it is actually worth. After that, we can decide whether we’d like to sell it or not.”
“I agree,” said Evie.
“But it’s the last thing we have of hers,” Claire protested. “Except for her lock of hair, and the painting.”
Joanna’s gaze automatically went to the brick fireplace on the other side of the room. There, propped on top of the old wooden mantel, was the only painting they had of their mother. The commissioned artwork had been a wedding gift. It depicted Anne and Jacob Thorncroft on the day of their marriage. Their mother, stunning in white with her auburn hair hidden beneath a veil, was looking directly at the artist while their father, handsome in a black suit, gazed adoringly at his bride. Both of them were glowing with happiness, the love and devotion they felt towards each other all but radiating off the canvas.
Since she was a little girl, Joanna couldn’t remember a day that had gone by where she hadn’t paused whatever she was doing to admire the painting. She’d memorized every brush stroke, from the slight curve of her mother’s mouth to the sparkle in her father’s eyes. It was a beautiful piece of artwork. But more than that, it was a glimpse into the past. A glimpse at a mother she could hardly remember. A glimpse at what awaited Joanna if she could find her own true love.
“Mother would never want us to marry someone we didn’t love.” Of this, Joanna was absolutely certain. “For that reason, I believeshewould approve of us selling the ring.”
Claire bit her lip. “How could you possibly know that?”
Joanna gestured at the painting. “Because I can see how much Mother loved Father. And the last thing she’d want is for us to commit ourselves to a husband out of obligation or necessity. That’s not to say wewillpart with the ring. But if we did, I don’t think she would look poorly upon us for it.”
“You’re right,” said Evie.
Joanna nearly fell over. “I’m sorry, what?”
Evie rolled her eyes. “You needn’t look shocked.”
“Iamshocked.” She pressed the back of her hand to Evie’s temple. “How are you feeling? Any hot or cold flashes? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Very amusing,” Evie said before she swatted Joanna’s arm away.
“Then you’ll go to Boston?” Ruth asked.
Joanna and Evie nodded.
After a long pause, Claire did the same.
For once, all three Thorncroft sisters were in agreement.
If only they knew how much that unity was going to change all of their lives…forever.
Chapter Three
Like most ofthe country, Boston was undergoing a massive restoration. There was a new university, a new children’s hospital, and even a new association dedicated solely to the women’s suffrage movement.
Everywhere Joanna looked, there were horses pulling carts piled high with bricks and oxen dragging enormous wooden beams. Well-dressed women sauntered by on the arms of equally well-dressed men, while young boys darted through the streets hawking newspapers and young girls sold roses. A governess steered her charges past a new building that was only halfway assembled as a crew of burly men worked on demolishing the one next to it. There was a memorial dedicated to Massachusetts Fifty-fourth Regiment being constructed in the middle of Boston Common, and an entire housing development being built on Black Bay, a portion of land that had once been part of the river before it was filled in.
Composed of an eclectic mixture of Americans, many of whom had recently fled the devastated south, Irish immigrants, and French Canadians, the city was a loud, disorganized jumble of different people seeking a new life in a revitalized city.
And Joanna loved every bit of it.
“Do you see that?” she exclaimed, pointing her finger at a chimney sweep casually walking across the top of a steeply pitched roof. “And that! Andthat!”
“It’s deafening,” Claire winced, clapping her hands over her ears.
“And dirty,” Evie complained, lifting her skirts out of the mud.
“It’sexciting,” Joanna corrected. Pulling a crinkled piece of paper out of her purse, she squinted at her own messy handwriting. Their grandmother had given them directions to a very old and very highly regarded jeweler on the corner of Bridge Street and…
“Is that a J or a T?” she asked, shoving the paper underneath Evie’s nose.
