Lily George - Once More A Family

Was Texas responsible for Aunt Pearl’s roughened character?

Would Ada be the same way in twenty years?

What an appalling thought.

Jack offered Ada his arm and, with a final wave to Aunt Pearl, Ada followed him down the platform and to their waiting car. Then he helped her make her way up the steps. The pressure of his arm was both familiar and strangely exhilarating. She must be more nervous than she thought. She certainly wasn’t developing any kind of silly, girlish feelings for Jack Burnett, for that would never do. She was a strong and sensible suffragist.

As she entered the car, Ada looked around in awe. Not that she hadn’t seen grand living spaces before, but a private train car so luxuriously appointed rather took her breath away. The ceiling was padded with sky-blue satin, and heavy velvet draperies shut out the blazing morning sun. Brass and crystal lamps glowed invitingly on graceful mahogany tables.

She sank onto a leather armchair and placed her feet up on a deep blue hassock. “This is lovely. I had no idea you owned such a fine thing. When you said private cars, I thought for sure you meant something in which you hauled cattle at one time or another.” Teasing Jack seemed to be the only way to get along with him. In the brief time she had known him, she realized one thing about Jack Burnett. If things got too serious, he would simply leave for hours at a time.

He took off his hat and cast it into a nearby chair. “Nope. When I was first married, I commissioned this. We’ve got a separate sleeper car, too, with bedrooms for each member of the family. I wanted for us all to travel in comfort. We didn’t use it much, though.” He frowned deeply, as he usually did when speaking about his first wife.

She didn’t know what to say. When he went silent like that, he would usually stalk off. There was no way he could do that on board a train. So they had to find a way to be polite in each other’s company for the duration of the journey. How long would she have to strain at being civil?

“When will we reach St. Louis?” she asked, stripping off her gloves and laying them beside her on the table. She had been living with him now for days, but she had her own room and he rarely stayed for long in the house. The close proximity forced upon them by the car made even small gestures like removing her gloves seem somehow more intimate. Perhaps the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks could be blamed on Texas weather.

“In about a day and a half.” His handsome face had settled into a brooding expression. “But we won’t see Laura right away.”

“Why not? Won’t her school allow it?” Ada withdrew her hat pins. If she stayed busy and kept peppering Jack with questions, perhaps her ridiculous blushing would pass by unnoticed. It was absolutely appalling for a young, serious suffragist to be simpering like a debutante at her first ball. She was stronger than that...wasn’t she? She laid her heavy hat to one side.

“The school will.” Jack rubbed his thumb meditatively over his lower lip. “But my father-in-law might not.”

* * *

Jack strode around the perimeter of the Grand Hall of Union Station, jostled along by hundreds of fellow travelers. The sunlight streaming in from the stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors onto the faces of the passersby. His mouth was dry and his brain feverish. If only Ada would hurry up. But she had insisted on taking time to change and arrange her hair in one of the station dressing rooms.

“Well, why can’t you dress here?” he had demanded, waving his arm at the ridiculously luxurious private car.

“I want to look my best, and there is no full-length mirror here,” she had stated flatly. “I need to see the overall effect of my costume. After all, we have one opportunity to impress your father-in-law.”

So here he was, pacing the crowded station, as Ada primped and preened. He should be happy that she was working so hard to be presentable to his father-in-law. As it was, his anger at having to dine with the old man and meet with his approval yet again was galling.

He took out the souvenir he had purchased for Laura from one of the peddlers in the station. It was a little doll, dressed in silk and lace. A banner wrapped diagonally across her middle read “St. Louis.”

A ten-year-old would still play with dolls, wouldn’t she? He stuffed it back in his pocket.

The clock tower, a massive structure that rose majestically to the ceiling, tolled the hour. Out of habit, he checked his pocket watch to make sure it was keeping accurate time. It was. Both clocks showed that unless Ada hurried up, they would be late to meet Edmund St. Clair.

He circled back around to the ladies’ waiting area and dressing rooms, and as he grew closer, Ada stepped out. She was swaying against the press of humanity swirling around her, but in the midst of utter pandemonium, she was an oasis of calm. He caught his breath a little, looking at her. She was stunning, as pretty as the society debutante she had been raised to be. She had changed into a violet dress trimmed with black ribbons, the dark colors setting off her pale complexion and vivid blue eyes. A wide black hat trimmed with purple feathers was settled atop the waves of her black hair.

He’d grown so used to seeing her in simple housedresses that he didn’t realize how lovely she could be.

He’d have to guard his heart carefully with this one. He had been turned by a beautiful face before, and it had ended in disaster. There was no sense in repeating the process.

“Jack,” she called, raising her voice over the din.

He held up his hand in greeting and made his way over to her side.

“I declare, I’m not used to crowds any longer,” she gasped with a little laugh. “Though I’ve only been in Winchester Falls a short time, it seems to have rubbed off on me already. This seems quite daunting.”

“It’ll be fine. We only have a little ways to go. St. Clair is meeting us at the train-station restaurant.” He tucked her arm into his elbow and ventured out into the milling throngs of travelers. Somehow, he felt calmer now that Ada was with him. So many times he had argued with his in-laws alone. Now he had someone on his side. True, she was somewhat forced to be on his side, but it was comforting, anyway.

He steered them over to the restaurant. St. Clair stood at the entrance, leaning on an ebony walking stick. The old man was as immaculate as always in his Savile Row suit, with a carnation in his buttonhole and his gray hair brushed sleekly back from his head. The old man took in Ada, surveying her from the crown of her hat to the tips of her boots peeking out from beneath her skirt.

“My dear,” he enthused, his thick Southern accent making it sound as though he said mah deah. He came closer and held his hand out to Ada. “You must be Miss Westmore.”

“Mrs. Burnett,” she corrected him, giving him a graceful smile. “Mr. St. Clair, I believe?”

“You believe correctly,” he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand. Then he turned his gaze to Jack. “Burnett,” he barked.

“Sir,” Jack replied. There was no shaking of hands, and no politeness in their meeting. There had been too much ugliness between them over the years.

St. Clair turned his attention back to Ada. “Come, my dear. I’ve reserved a table for our party.” He offered her his elbow.

With a puzzled glance at Jack, Ada broke free of his hold and took St. Clair’s elbow. Jack followed behind them into the restaurant, already beginning to seethe. The old man knew exactly what it took to enrage him, and already he was making progress.

St. Clair held Ada’s chair for her. Once she was settled, the two men sat. The glasses on the table were filled with water and lemonade, and no menus awaited their perusal.