“Other than that, she’s a swell person,” Tilly murmured sarcastically. A splendid creation, fashioned from rosebuds, dried leaves, and a broken strand of pearls, was taking shape beneath her nimble fingers.
Dorothy wet a finger and tested the crimping iron to see if it was hot. “I think Mrs. Govenor would like to be more social and pleasant. She just doesn’t know how.”
“I don’t know why you’d say anything nice about her after the way she treated . . .” Abby swung a look toward Angie, who pretended to be lost in private reverie. “She wouldn’t visit her daughter even when Laura was dying.”
“In fairness,” Molly said briskly, “none of us believed Laura was dying until very close to the end. It’s possible the Govenors weren’t aware how grave the situation was.”
Everyone looked at Angie and she abandoned the silly pretense that she wasn’t avidly listening. “I know about Laura,” she said, stating the obvious. She cleared her throat. “Her name is going to arise on occasion. Please don’t feel awkward on my account.” The words sounded stiff even to her ears.
“It’s hard not to, now that we know Laura was living with your husband,” Dorothy said tartly.
“Now just hush,” Molly said in a sharp tone. “We liked Laura, so let’s remember who she was, not what she did. And the same goes for Sam.” She frowned at the top of Angie’s head. “We don’t have to judge and we don’t have to take sides.”
“Do you hate Laura?” Abby asked curiously.
“I thought I did,” Angie admitted after a moment. “But I’m not so sure anymore.” How could she hate a woman whose children hugged her before they went to sleep? Even Lucy had given her a quick clumsy hug last night.
As if on cue, Lucy and Daisy ran in the back door, bringing the scent of fresh air and licorice sticks. Immediately the women stopped talking, but the girls didn’t notice. They bounced around the kitchen, waving Angie’s fan, pulling on her long gloves, holding her pearl eardrops to their ears.
“When do I have to wear a corset?” Lucy asked, fascinated by Angie’s heavily boned evening corset.
“I believe thirteen is the usual age,” Tilly answered.
“Well . . . that depends,” Abby said with a discreet cough.
Daisy touched the ribbon hemming Angie’s corset. “Mabel Hooser wears a corset and she’s only eight.”
Abby nodded. “My point exactly. Poor little Mabel already needs a corset.” She sighed.
“Will Gramma and Grampa be at the party?” Daisy asked Angie.
“I suppose so, but I don’t know for certain.” The possibility of running into the Govenors horrified her.
“I think you and Gramma will be the prettiest ladies at the party,” Daisy said, leaning close to inspect the hairdo Molly and Dorothy were arranging.
The comment gave Angie pause and surprised her. Because the girls had seemed eager to escape Winnie Govenor’s company, Angie had assumed they disliked their grandmother. But suddenly she saw another possibility. Maybe they’d just been tired of sitting in school all day and had wanted to play outside, where they could run and skip and work off the day’s energy.
Lucy met Angie’s uncertain frown. “Miss Lily is having a ball tonight, too. She ordered a gown from Paris especially for her party. I wish we could see her in it.”
“How on Earth do you learn about such things?”
Lucy shrugged. “Germaine Jablonski heard about the gown from her second cousin, who heard it from someone who knows the daughter of Miss Lily’s second cook.”
“I don’t think your grandmother would approve of this talk about Miss Lily,” Angie said, watching both girls carefully.
They laughed. “Gramma doesn’t approve of anything.” Daisy smiled with obvious affection. “That’s the way she is.”
“She wants us to be ladies.” Lucy raised an imaginary cup and extended her little finger, managing to look graceful and ridiculous at the same moment. “Gramma said it’s easier to learn the rules of etiquette at our age than later when we’re grown.”
Lucy’s simple statement revealed a crack in Winnie Govenor’s armor. The woman who had sold pies out of her back door had not made an easy transition to wealth or to the tangle of etiquette that accompanied social elevation.
“We don’t mind. Gramma corrects us because she loves us,” Daisy said confidently. Not a hint of doubt shadowed her smile.
“She wants it to be easier for us than it was for her,” Lucy added. The fascinated silence of the women in the kitchen clearly puzzled her.