Fairer than Morning by Rosslyn Elliott

framed by broad-brimmed hats.
    â€œSo pleased to meet you.” Ann took the other woman’s hand and marshaled her best etiquette from her classes with the Welsh schoolmaster. “I’m Miss Ann Miller, and these are my sisters, Miss Susan and Miss Mabel.” When Mrs. Holmes cocked an eyebrow, Ann hastily added, “We’re traveling with our father, Mr. Samuel Miller of Rushville.”
    Mrs. Holmes smiled and squeezed Ann’s hand gently before releasing it. “Such a charming family.”
    Mrs. Holmes turned to greet the other two women who stood by. They wore tailored walking dresses in muted good taste, only their scarlet-and blue-feathered hats hinting at prosperity. The elderly woman in the dark blue dress took Mrs. Holmes’s proffered hand with some reticence, but apparent good will. “I’m Mrs. Lewis Burbridge of Pittsburgh, and this is my granddaughter, Miss Louisa Burbridge.”
    Louisa Burbridge, fair-haired and retiring, turned striking gray eyes to Ann before dropping her gaze to the floor. Ann took pity on the girl’s shyness and spoke warmly to her. “We’re headed for Pittsburgh. How wonderful to have traveling companions who can tell us about the city.”
    â€œWe’re also going to Pittsburgh,” Amelia Holmes said. “Papa is going to look for a runaway slave, so we thought we’d tour the North while he plays the hunter.” She giggled.
    Mrs. Holmes shot her daughter a forbidding look. “Amelia! Hardly a subject for polite company.”
    Amelia fell silent, which left a brief hush. Louisa Burbridge was pink, and Mrs. Burbridge fiddled with the strings of her handbag. Perhaps they were abolitionists. The Millers did not approve of slavery either.
    Mrs. Holmes cheerfully addressed Ann as if Amelia had not spoken. “Miss Miller, what takes you to Pittsburgh?”
    Ann didn’t know if she should tell them her father was a saddler. Something told her the Burbridges and Holmeses might not be accustomed to associating with craftsmen—not even master craftsmen. It would be a long voyage if they decided the Millers were not genteel companions. But honesty above all. “My father has business there with the O’Hara family,” she said. “He has been commissioned to make a saddle for Mrs. O’Hara.”
    Mrs. Holmes made no response, but lifted her chin ever so slightly, which gave the unfortunate impression that she was looking down her nose. Then she averted her posture from Ann to address Mrs. Burbridge. “Rather dry weather for March, isn’t it? Not much snow this year,” she said.
    The weather. One couldn’t choose a more obvious conversational snub. Slow warmth spread across Ann’s cheekbones. Over Mrs. Holmes’s rounded shoulders, Amelia eyed Ann, her expression bland as milk.
    â€œMrs. Burbridge,” Mrs. Holmes said sweetly, “I believe I know of the Burbridges of Pittsburgh. Wasn’t there a Burbridge who acquitted himself bravely in our struggle for independence? At Yorktown, perhaps?”
    â€œWhy, yes, that was my husband’s father.” Mrs. Burbridge smiled. “I’m so pleased that someone remembers our heroes. Colonel Burbridge is gone these twenty years, but we still miss him sorely.”
    Ann stood at a loss, holding her sisters’ hands, while Mrs. Holmes nattered on with her back to them about her love for Revolutionary history and her own father’s part in the victory at King Mountain.
    Louisa Burbridge stepped around the Holmes women, pulling aside her heavy green skirt so as not to brush them in passing. “Your father must be a master of his craft,” she said to Ann. “The O’Haras are a fine family. We were so sorry to lose Captain O’Hara. He did a great deal for our city. Will you be staying with them?”
    Louisa now stood with her back to the Holmeses, transforming their snub into a mere parting of ways