Storing Up Trouble, стр. 19

“Then this is where we part ways.” Norman took Beatrix’s hand, surprising her when he brought it to his lips and kissed it. “You’re an unusual woman, Beatrix Waterbury, and even though you’ve annoyed me more than any woman I’ve ever known—and that’s with us only spending a day together—it’s been a very interesting day and one that, oddly enough, was somewhat enjoyable at times.” He caught Beatrix’s eye. “Do try to not unintentionally shoot anyone else while you’re in Chicago.”

“Can’t make any promises,” she said, to which he might have actually smiled before he turned to Aunt Gladys, inclined his head, then turned on his heel and strode down the hallway, disappearing through the front door without another word.

Aunt Gladys moved to stand beside Beatrix. “I must admit that the last person I expected to show up at Hyde Hall with you was Mr. Norman Nesbit, but he’s not nearly as odd in person as I always assumed he’d be. Do you imagine he’ll visit you often while you’re in Chicago?”

“As he mentioned, I frequently annoy him, and he definitely annoys me, which does suggest he’ll not be paying us a call anytime soon, if ever.”

“How disappointing, but enough about Mr. Nesbit for now. We need to discuss the plans I have for you, ones I came up with after your mother asked if I’d be willing to have you come for an extended stay.”

“She said I’m here for an extended stay?”

“Did Annie not tell you that?”

“I’m afraid she didn’t.”

Aunt Gladys took hold of Beatrix’s arm. “I’m afraid you’ve finally pushed poor Annie too far, my dear, what with your propensity for havoc and becoming embroiled in the most unlikely of situations. She must be at her wits’ end to resort to sending you here, which will see you missing the New York Season.”

“I’ve been wondering if Mother might have done me a favor by banishing me for the Season, since word has certainly gotten around about Mr. Thomas Hamersley getting engaged to someone who isn’t me. He’s been shielding me for years from being pursued by other gentlemen, but with him out of the picture . . .” She smiled. “Perhaps it’s good I’m here for an extended stay after all.”

Aunt Gladys returned the smile, looking more terrifying than ever. “It is indeed, and frankly I don’t know how you managed to get through six Seasons when I couldn’t make it through one.” She pulled Beatrix into motion. “My father—your grandfather—moved to New York after my mother died. I was eighteen and decided I wanted nothing to do with living in a big city like New York after having only been there a month. I returned to Chicago even though Father stayed in New York, where he met and married your grandmother, Erma, and they had your mother a year later.”

Aunt Gladys drew Beatrix toward a room where she could hear the tinkling of piano music. “Your grandmother was a lovely woman, but she was firmly of the social set. She invited me back to New York, which I agreed to, but only because I knew my father expected that of me. However, after I made my debut, I knew that that life was not for me. Father then set up an account for me that allowed me to build Hyde Hall, and I’ve not had a reason to regret my decision to stay in Chicago.”

Beatrix stepped with Aunt Gladys into a room where the women covered in red clay were waiting for them.

“Ladies, you’ll be amused to learn that Mr. Norman Nesbit has all but fled from our presence.”

“There’s nothin’ amusing about having a fine-looking gentleman like that get away from us,” a woman wearing a bright purple turban on her head declared. “We don’t get many gentleman callers as it is, and that we’ve apparently caused one of them to flee, well, it’s cause for concern.”

Aunt Gladys leaned closer to Beatrix. “Della used to work for one of the big houses over on Prairie Avenue. She got dismissed because she set a friendly eye on her employer’s twenty-two-year-old son.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little flirting, and me and George were the same age, and . . .” Della released a huff. “It’s not like we would have gotten married or anything, but his mother found out about the flirting and sent me packin’.”

“Della’s now trying to learn how to operate a typewriter, but I’m not certain that’s the best option for her since she does seem to have an eye for the men, and men are usually the ones hiring women proficient in using a typewriter,” Aunt Gladys said before she launched into introductions.

Fifteen minutes later, Beatrix had not only been introduced to Blanche Bell, Mamie Stewart, Della Hayes, Nancy Collins, Arwen Daugherty, Colette Balley, Roberta Shaw, Clara Davis, Susan Morris, and Dorothy Brown, but she’d also been divested of her clothing, given a pair of short trousers and a billowing shirt, and had red clay pressed to her face.

“And now that you’ve met everyone and heard a bit about what they do,” Aunt Gladys said, “tell us something about yourself.”

Not knowing what to say about herself after hearing how all of the women gathered in the room had overcome great odds and horrible circumstances—those being abusive relationships, repugnant bosses, horrible working conditions, and the list went on and on—Beatrix caught her aunt’s eye.

“I’d rather hear how it came to be that you became involved with all these women.”

“Your aunt’s a well-known supporter of the suffragist movement,” Blanche Bell said before Aunt Gladys could speak. “Many of us became acquainted with her while participating in marches and listening to speeches. Then, after she heard our stories, she took it upon herself to assist us when no one else would, even offering us rooms in this house until we got on our feet.”

Beatrix’s brows drew together, a tricky feat since the clay on her face was already beginning to dry. She looked at her aunt. “You’re a suffragist?”

“Been one since 1872—the election year