as if he came from the most socially and politically prominent family in Illinois. His father, who was governor of that state, could not come today.
I peeked into the dining room. The table was open as long as it could go and covered with the whitest of damask cloths. A dozen or more candles in silver candelabra waited to be lighted. Silverware gleamed. Soon the table would be laden with preserved meats from France, turkey and cured ham, mounds of mashed potatoes, green vegetables, iced melon, chocolate-covered strawberries, the softest of Mammy Sally's biscuits, and later the lightest of wedding cakes, covered with filmy whipped icing from Giron's Confectioners.
At the front door Nelson stood with Betsy and Pa, greeting guests. Soon most everyone was seated in chairs in the front parlor, talking in whispers and waiting to see the bride.
Everyone but Grandmother Parker.
"Go upstairs and get your sisters," Betsy rushed by me and whispered.
But I couldn't move. My eyes were glued to Nelson and Pa, still waiting at the front door. And past him to the front drive where any minute, I knew, Grandmother's carriage would pull up.
I heard it before I saw it. Heard the wheels on the limestone drive, the snorting of the horses, the rattling of the harnesses. She was here!
Everyone else sensed it, too. In the front parlor people craned their necks to look out the windows. Some got up and went to the windows.
"Look at that," one elderly man said. "She looks as imperious as the day she rode into town from Pennsylvania as the bride of Major Robert Parker."
Everyone agreed. I went out the front door to greet her. She was wearing her lavender with the high neck and long sleeves, and she was as straight and as lovely as a bride herself. I was afraid to hug her, afraid to muss her dress, but she enveloped me in her arms.
"Grandmother, you came."
"Of course I did. Did you expect me not to? Where are my girls?"
She came in the hall asking the question, "Where are my girls?"
"Grandmother Parker, we're ready to start," Betsy said, standing in front of her.
"Not until I see my girls in private."
Ninian and his friends came out of the back parlor then at the sound of her voice. They each, in turn, took her hand and kissed it. Then I led her up the stairs to Elizabeth's room. Looking down from the top of the stairs, I could see Betsy standing there, hands on her hips, looking angry as a fox in a leg trap.
E LIZABETH AND N INIAN LEFT . It was an eight- or nine-day trip to Springfield, depending on the weather. Ninian was to be a member of the Illinois legislature. His father was the richest man in Springfield, and he and Elizabeth were to occupy the largest house. Oh how I envied Frances, going to live with them in a couple of months.
Springfield is still the frontier. Yet, Elizabeth told me, they have a society all their own. They adhere to all the social rules. And it is a town that attracts politicians. I would so dearly love to go.
But I'm not finished with my schooling. And after Elizabeth left, Pa finally came out and told me, yes, I was to board at Mentelle's during the week.
"Liz, too?" I asked.
We were in his study. "No. She is to come home each day." He did not look at me.
"Then I'm being put out of my own home."
"No, Mary. You will always belong here. I just feel it's better this way."
"You mean Betsy does."
"Mary, you'll be a mile and a half from home. Many girls your age go to boarding school. It is really Liz who is the loser. Betsy doesn't think she is mature enough for the experience. You should be flattered that she thinks you are. The experience alone will add to your personality, your list of achievements, and your social graces. Right now some fine young man whom you will someday marry is away at boarding school getting the best preparation for life. Does my daughter deserve any less?"
My father's charm would be the death of me yet, I decided. He could persuade a savage Indian to take tea in the parlor.
I
I peeked into the dining room. The table was open as long as it could go and covered with the whitest of damask cloths. A dozen or more candles in silver candelabra waited to be lighted. Silverware gleamed. Soon the table would be laden with preserved meats from France, turkey and cured ham, mounds of mashed potatoes, green vegetables, iced melon, chocolate-covered strawberries, the softest of Mammy Sally's biscuits, and later the lightest of wedding cakes, covered with filmy whipped icing from Giron's Confectioners.
At the front door Nelson stood with Betsy and Pa, greeting guests. Soon most everyone was seated in chairs in the front parlor, talking in whispers and waiting to see the bride.
Everyone but Grandmother Parker.
"Go upstairs and get your sisters," Betsy rushed by me and whispered.
But I couldn't move. My eyes were glued to Nelson and Pa, still waiting at the front door. And past him to the front drive where any minute, I knew, Grandmother's carriage would pull up.
I heard it before I saw it. Heard the wheels on the limestone drive, the snorting of the horses, the rattling of the harnesses. She was here!
Everyone else sensed it, too. In the front parlor people craned their necks to look out the windows. Some got up and went to the windows.
"Look at that," one elderly man said. "She looks as imperious as the day she rode into town from Pennsylvania as the bride of Major Robert Parker."
Everyone agreed. I went out the front door to greet her. She was wearing her lavender with the high neck and long sleeves, and she was as straight and as lovely as a bride herself. I was afraid to hug her, afraid to muss her dress, but she enveloped me in her arms.
"Grandmother, you came."
"Of course I did. Did you expect me not to? Where are my girls?"
She came in the hall asking the question, "Where are my girls?"
"Grandmother Parker, we're ready to start," Betsy said, standing in front of her.
"Not until I see my girls in private."
Ninian and his friends came out of the back parlor then at the sound of her voice. They each, in turn, took her hand and kissed it. Then I led her up the stairs to Elizabeth's room. Looking down from the top of the stairs, I could see Betsy standing there, hands on her hips, looking angry as a fox in a leg trap.
E LIZABETH AND N INIAN LEFT . It was an eight- or nine-day trip to Springfield, depending on the weather. Ninian was to be a member of the Illinois legislature. His father was the richest man in Springfield, and he and Elizabeth were to occupy the largest house. Oh how I envied Frances, going to live with them in a couple of months.
Springfield is still the frontier. Yet, Elizabeth told me, they have a society all their own. They adhere to all the social rules. And it is a town that attracts politicians. I would so dearly love to go.
But I'm not finished with my schooling. And after Elizabeth left, Pa finally came out and told me, yes, I was to board at Mentelle's during the week.
"Liz, too?" I asked.
We were in his study. "No. She is to come home each day." He did not look at me.
"Then I'm being put out of my own home."
"No, Mary. You will always belong here. I just feel it's better this way."
"You mean Betsy does."
"Mary, you'll be a mile and a half from home. Many girls your age go to boarding school. It is really Liz who is the loser. Betsy doesn't think she is mature enough for the experience. You should be flattered that she thinks you are. The experience alone will add to your personality, your list of achievements, and your social graces. Right now some fine young man whom you will someday marry is away at boarding school getting the best preparation for life. Does my daughter deserve any less?"
My father's charm would be the death of me yet, I decided. He could persuade a savage Indian to take tea in the parlor.
I
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