Confessions to Mr. Roosevelt Read online

  “I remember that night as if it was yesterday. I wore my hair up, dressed with a blue silk flower that matched my gown. The beading on my evening dress glittered in the candlelight reflecting off the crystal chandelier. A string quartet, brought out from Kansas City, was positioned on the landing at the top of the stairs, and waiters moved through the crowd serving glasses of champagne. Papa knew that some people would object to the alcohol, but teetotalers, he said, could drink our cook’s ‘godawful’ sarsaparilla punch laced with cherry syrup.”

  Nettie giggled, giving Ellen a glimpse of the long-ago Nettie. Ellen could imagine Nettie descending the mansion’s staircase to make a grand entrance at her own party, then plucking a champagne glass from the tray of a passing waiter.

  “My crowd was impressed with the champagne. Most everyone from our gang was there. I don’t think I ever laughed so much as when Will Pascall pulled me into the middle of the hall and tried to imitate a courtly minuet as the quartet played, and then there was Millie, who almost tumbled into the potted palms after just one glass of champagne. I was never sure if she was inebriated or just lost her balance while flirting outrageously with this new man who had recently arrived in town . . .” Nettie’s voice trailed off.

  Ellen waited for her to continue, but Nettie seemed to have retreated to a place only she saw.

  Minutes passed before Ellen asked if there was anything else Miss Vine wanted to add. The woman shook herself out of her reverie. “I don’t want people to forget what my father—Mother, too—did to make this a good town. Lots of town companies failed, but not Papa’s.” With the last words, Nettie’s voice rose.

  Ellen said she would be sure to include that in the interview and quietly closed the notebook. Mrs. Hewitt might be disappointed with the result, but Ellen decided her job was finished. She’d interviewed one of Mrs. Hewitt’s prominent people. She had something to type up and put into the waiting file. The interview had been a strain, and she couldn’t think of any reason to continue. Just as she began to thank the woman for her time and say goodbye, the mantle clock began to chime.

  Nettie Vine looked startled and then stricken. “Mrs. Castle! The time! Mrs. Castle! I’ll be late! The train!”

  Ellen bolted from her seat, taking a step toward the woman, who was struggling to stand.

  The housekeeper intervened, stepping between her charge and Ellen. She put an arm around Nettie’s waist, helping her to her feet. Ellen suspected Mrs. Castle had been hovering near the door during the entire interview.

  “No, no. There’s plenty of time to get to the depot.” The woman kept an arm around Nettie while glancing sideways at Ellen. “If you wouldn’t mind letting yourself out, Miss Hartley.” The woman nodded toward the door.

  Ellen grabbed up her bag, stuffing in paper and pencil as she hurried through the double doors into the sunshine. Walking back to her car, she turned once to stare back at the house, wondering exactly what had happened. She heard the sound of doors slamming and the start of a car’s motor. Ellen got to her own car just as an old Ford backed out of the Vine driveway. At the wheel was Mrs. Castle. In the passenger seat was Nettie Vine. Ellen shook her head. Surely a woman in her eighties didn’t still greet passengers.

  Ellen felt sneaky, and a little idiotic, following Mrs. Castle. She could turn off onto another street and go back to the courthouse, but she didn’t. She had to see for herself. The Ford pulled into a space near the train station. Ellen slowed and parked in front of a ramshackle diner offering “cheap eats” to travelers. She walked to the depot’s street-side entrance. The sound of a train’s whistle sounded in the distance. Cautiously, she peeked around the door. Nettie and her housekeeper sat side by side on a bench. Mrs. Castle leaned close to Nettie, saying something into the woman’s ear. Then, she drew back. They sat silently as the westbound train drew into the station.

  Ellen almost expected Nettie to hurry out onto the platform and wave to arriving passengers. Instead she sat, shifting her gaze from the passengers boarding the train to the arrivals entering the station. When the last one passed, Mrs. Castle put an arm around the woman’s small shoulders, helped her to her feet, and turned toward the exit. Ellen jumped back unseen and went to her car. She had no explanation for what she had just witnessed.

  CHAPTER 11

  OPAL’S GROVE, 1870

  NETTIE

  Nettie stood at the top of the staircase, peering around the banister for a glimpse of Malcolm. He saw her and gave her one of his devilish smiles just as the maid ushered him into Sylvester Vine’s study. Nettie clapped her hands in excitement and hurried back to her bedroom.

  She tried to imagine the scene downstairs. Papa would be seated behind his heavy mahogany desk, his fingers steepled in the manner he always assumed when discussing weighty issues. Malcolm would be offered the good leather chair. They would ask after each other’s health and then touch on the weather. Finally, they would turn to the matter at hand.

  Nettie moved to the mirrored vanity and studied her reflection. She pinched her cheeks, although they were already rosy with anticipation. Malcolm was at this very minute asking her father to consent to their marriage. Impatiently, she paced to the window. Did this sort of thing usually take so long? Surely, Papa would have sent word by now that she and Mother were to join them in the study to celebrate the news and perhaps discuss wedding details.

  Unable to stay in her room, Nettie silently crept to the top of the staircase. Her mother was just crossing the foyer, dressed to go out.

  “Mother! Where are you going? Father will be calling for us at any moment.” Nettie flew down the stairs.

  Opal Vine slowly turned to face her daughter. “Marie Antoinette, please lower your voice. Mr. Mahan has left by the study door. Your father has refused.”

  “That’s impossible!” Nettie stood to block her mother’s way.

  “My dear, you and that common laborer could have saved your father from this ordeal. After all, we made it clear some time ago that we do not approve of him as a suitor.” Opal spoke slowly, as if explaining something complicated to a small child.

  Opal Vine stepped around Nettie, fussing with her gloves. “Please, don’t make a scene. It will do you no good. I was thinking we should go back East. It is time you were married to someone befitting your station. I’m going to write your Aunt Ruth.”

  The idea of returning to family in Philadelphia and Boston left Nettie cold. Her last visit had been miserable. Instead of being the center of attention, she felt overlooked. She wasn’t the prettiest, the most popular, or richest girl in her relatives’ wide circle of friends and acquaintances. It had been a shock, as had the realization that many regarded her as an unpolished country cousin. She had no desire to repeat the experience.

  “I don’t want another trip. I want Malcolm.”

  Opal Vine shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.” With that, she sailed through the door, bound for an afternoon visit with a neighbor.

  As if nailed to the floor, Nettie stood in disbelief. Mother had to be wrong. Papa never refused her. She crossed the hall to her father’s study. She knocked on the door and entered the room.

  “Papa . . .”

  Sylvester Vine, his face drawn into a long frown, stopped her with a look. “The matter is settled, dear girl. That man’s name will not be uttered in this house again. Now, go to your room and rest, or whatever it is young ladies do when they behave foolishly.” He dismissed her with a wave of a hand and returned to the open ledger before him.

  Nettie backed out of the room in shock. As she quietly pushed the door closed, she felt as if she were being swept down into a bottomless pit. Her parents had turned against her. Malcolm was gone.

  No! Malcolm isn’t lost. Without stopping to throw a cape around her shoulders or tie on a bonnet, she raced from the house. She had to find him. Pulling up her skirts, she ran down the street toward the town square. She would try the lumberyard first. If he wasn’t there, she would go to Malcolm’s boardinghouse.
Let people talk if she was seen there. She didn’t care. She was Marie Antoinette Vine. She deserved to have what she wanted, and Malcolm had been hers since she first spied him across the room at her homecoming party.

  Stopping to catch her breath when she reached the square, she stood on tiptoes, craning her neck for a glimpse of Malcolm. Surely, he came this way. She was about to turn in the direction of the lumberyard when she spied him. He was talking to Ivy Williams, a smile flashing at something she said. Nettie’s hands clenched in anger. More than once, she’d seen him make a point of speaking to Ivy or finding an excuse to stand near her.

  A hot flush of rage coursed through her. Nettie barely registered the woman with a shopping basket or the old farmer she pushed past to reach Malcolm. By the time she came to a stop, Ivy was across the street.

  “You can’t keep away from her, can you?” Nettie gasped, catching her breath.

  Malcolm’s head swung around, and, before she could say more, he grasped her hand, tucking it under his arm and pulling her next to him in a vise-like grip. “Let’s walk,” he commanded in a low voice. “You don’t want to draw attention.”

  “I’d be pleased to walk you home,” he said louder for anyone passing them to hear.

  Nettie seethed but let him draw her to the side street, away from the square.

  He winced as Nettie dug her fingers into his arm, but he refused to release her.

  “What were you doing with that seamstress?” Nettie hissed. “I’ve seen you talking to her before, all charm and smiles.”

  “Jealousy does not become you, Miss Vine.” Malcolm kept his voice even. “If you must know, I was offering her my felicitations on her upcoming marriage. She’s marrying that cow herder. Surely you and your friend Delia know all the news about town.”

  “Of course, I know it. It’s all some of Mother’s friends talk about. I could scream listening to them praise her skills and worry over who’ll do their sewing after she’s on that farm.” Nettie tried to pull away but failed.

  “You once tried to court her. I know that.” Nettie persisted.

  “No.” He would never admit that Ivy had caught his eye early on, but that was as far as it went. His confidence in wooing her was derailed in short order when she rebuffed him at every turn.

  His long stride pulled Nettie along. “I have spoken to her on many occasions, but I have courted you. And for that I have been shown the door by your father.” He suddenly released Nettie and turned to walk away.

  She reached for his arm, pulling him to a stop. She was not going to give up Malcolm. Mother didn’t understand that. Neither did Papa.

  “I don’t care what Papa says. If he won’t give his blessing, we’ll run away. When we’re married, they’ll have to accept you.”

  “They will never accept me.” Malcolm’s voice was edged with anger. “Your father didn’t even have the decency to offer me a chair. I had to stand, hat in hand like a beggar. It was humiliating.”

  He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. “I’m leaving town.”

  “You can’t!” Nettie stamped an elegantly clad foot.

  “I won’t stay in a place where people will soon know that Sylvester Vine doesn’t think enough of my character to allow me to marry his daughter.” He started to walk away. “There are lots of other places to find work. I think I’ll head west. Maybe I’ll go all the way to California.”

  Nettie caught up with him. “I’ll go with you. I’ve some money. At least, Papa has money that he keeps in his study safe. I know the combination. That will get us started.”

  He shook his head. “Normally, your spur-of-the-moment impulses are amusing. But this? I know you well enough to see this would just be an adventure to you. You’d soon tire of it, and of me. It makes no difference how much money you manage to filch from your father. The money will run out, and I can never give you the things you take for granted.”

  Nettie protested that nothing mattered but being with Malcolm.

  Malcolm turned to look at Nettie squarely. Her face was flushed with excitement. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “We have to discuss this somewhere else. The neighbors are probably peeking out their windows as we speak. Meet me in our spot down by the river in an hour. We’ll make our plans. Perhaps we could leave on the Wednesday morning train.” He turned and walked away before Nettie could say more.

  She watched him until he turned down a side street. She fought the urge to laugh and spin like a pinwheel. Self-control was not in her nature, but for Malcolm, she would behave as if she accepted her parents’ decision. She took measured steps walking home. She slowly made her way up the driveway to the barn at the back of the property. Her pony cart and her father’s buggy sat inside to the left. The remainder of the ground floor contained stalls for two horses and Nettie’s pony.

  Nettie told the hired man polishing the buggy to hitch up her pony. He doffed his hat, waiting until she was well on her way to the house to spit a wad of chewing tobacco in her direction.

  Passing through the kitchen without a word to Cook, Nettie headed to her father’s study. Since the accident that killed Rex Louis, Nettie’s parents insisted she tell them when she was going out in the cart. This was no time to disobey the rule and draw attention to herself. She knocked at the study door. When no answer came, she opened it a crack. Her father’s coat and hat were missing from the peg next to the side door. She slipped inside. With her father out of the house, this seemed an ideal time to check the desk drawer where money was kept. If there was enough, she wouldn’t have to worry about opening the safe.

  Nettie moved around the desk, sat in her father’s chair, and reached for the bottom right drawer. As she pulled at the handle, she noticed the open ledger on the desk. The money drawer forgotten, she studied the last entry made by her father. She knew little about business or reading columns of numbers, but she understood the final notation well enough. Three hundred dollars to Malcolm Mahan. It took a moment for the meaning to take hold, but there could be no other explanation. Sylvester Vine had given Malcolm a good amount of money.

  She stared at the ledger. Malcolm hadn’t said a word. She raced out of the room to find her cape and hat. He would explain everything, she was sure. Hadn’t he agreed to run away? The train on Wednesday. That’s what he said. Now, all that had to be done was talk out their plan for leaving.

  CHAPTER 12

  ELLEN

  Friday was payday. Audrey accepted Ellen’s offer of a ride to the courthouse but fidgeted with impatience when Ellen insisted on stopping by the post office to mail the short, chatty notes written to her parents and the aunt and uncle in Tulsa. A much longer letter was addressed to Nancy.

  “Stop fussing.” Ellen slid back under the wheel. “We’re early as it is.”

  Audrey tapped a finger on the edge of the open window as Ellen maneuvered the car into traffic. “I know, but I can’t wait to get my hands on that money. I’ve been thinking about going to a beauty parlor to get my hair cut properly. It’s a mess and getting worse every time I take those dull scissors to it. And I wouldn’t mind having a new dress to wear when I sit down with Mrs. Hewitt tomorrow.”

  Audrey wasn’t wasting any time in her search for the next job. Her plan was to make Iris Hewitt an ally. “I bet she goes to library meetings and conferences around the state,” Audrey said as she explained her plan to Ellen. If anybody knew about job openings, it would be Mrs. Hewitt.

  Ellen agreed, offering only one piece of advice: Audrey should visit the woman’s pride and joy, the Kansas Room.

  After Ellen parked the car, she turned and gave Audrey an appraising look. She was wearing a dreadful dark-purple dress printed with giant cabbage roses. Ellen suppressed a comment about Audrey’s taste in clothes. After all, she was still wearing hand-me-downs from Louise, many of them looking somewhat threadbare and faded after almost five years of wear.

  “Go to the beauty shop we saw just off Main Street. In fact, I’ll go with you. My hair could do with a
trim,” Ellen said. “But don’t buy a dress. Come with me to the Methodist Church tomorrow morning and look for something at the clothing bank.”

  Before Audrey could object, Ellen went on. “Miss Ivy would be thrilled to meet you, and she’d love to help.”

  “Really?”

  Ellen nodded. “Now, let’s get this meeting over with.”

  Iris Hewitt was once again standing just inside the door to the basement office. As Audrey and Ellen stepped in and began to look for a place to sit, Iris pulled Ellen aside. Ellen waited for the woman to chide her for not turning in Ivy’s interview. She had her explanation ready, but Iris had other things on her mind.

  “I’m so pleased you were able to interview Miss Vine. I wasn’t sure she’d actually do it when the time came,” she said. “Grover Calley at the newspaper is going to start featuring the interviews next week, and it will get everything off on the right foot to have Miss Vine’s in the first issue. Of course, hers will appear along with our other leading citizen, Mrs. Bright.”

  Remembering the look on Agatha’s face when Nettie’s name was mentioned, Ellen knew that teaming the two together was a mistake. She had no idea what history lay between the women. She simply knew Agatha would hate being paired with Nettie Vine.

  “Of course, Miss Vine should be first,” Ellen conceded. “But perhaps the other person should be a man. That way, readers will have a man’s perspective of the pioneer years, along with a woman’s. I don’t think Mrs. Bright would mind being in a later edition.”

  Iris beamed. “An excellent idea. I’m sure Grover will agree.”

  The room was filling up, and Ellen grabbed a chair next to Audrey.

  Mae Swenson, the poetry lady, wandered in looking confused. Ralph Reynolds followed, his expression smug.

  Ellen leaned close to Audrey’s ear. “What’s with Ralph?” She’d decided to stop calling him “professor.”