she’d been with me. And I’m sure that each of those times, she was with Tom Estabrook.”
“What was he like?”
“He seemed like a nice enough fellow. I mean, I liked him, and he was handsome, but boys like him just didn’t court girls from the Hill like us. He worked in a factory, and we’d been raised to want more than a man with grease on his hands. It wasn’t done. He was very polite and also a bit self-conscious. He didn’t seem to know how good-looking he was. He seemed interested in reading and travel. He made some kind of joke about the weather once, saying he wanted to visit Texas, but he didn’t think he could ever live someplace like that. Too hot. Libbie had him read many of her favorite books, but I think she was disappointed in his scholarship. He was more interested in comics and adventure stories than fine literature.”
“How many times did you have to lie for her?”
“I don’t even know,” she admitted, shaking her head. “Lots. We claimed we were going to meetings about nursing at the college or that we were going shopping or to the nickelodeon. You have no idea how much I regret what I did, Frank. Maybe if I’d been brave enough to stand up to her, she might still be alive. But Libbie had a very strong personality. You simply couldn’t say no to her.” She sighed, obviously tired after telling Frank all this. Her fork shook as she ate her cake.
“Do you know how serious it was with this other boy?” Frank asked, pen poised.
“I can guess. As I said, Libbie could be very impetuous, and I think it got her in a lot of trouble. I saw the sparks. After all, I was with her when she met him.”
Chapter Seven
Ithaca, New York
June 1916
“ I tell you, trying to decide how much to bale when the hay comes in… I’m not one for math, and having to take the number of bales and multiply it by their average weight…it’s a challenge. It’s never been my strong suit, averages. Pa says that we can bring in a good haul if we just…”
The voice faded away as if Hiram wasn’t even talking. The first time that Tom Estabrook saw Libbie Morgan, he was struck dumb. Right there on State Street. It was the darnedest thing. She was strolling with a friend down the sidewalk, her pleated white shirtwaist a startling contrast to her silky black curls and extraordinary blue eyes. A bright blue sash topped an ankle-length navy lawn skirt. And her hat was adorned with an assemblage of ribbons and flowers in various hues of blue.
Tom had met up with his friends Hiram Gordon and Jimmy Devenport, who were in Ithaca buying some farm implements and leather goods at Hedden’s. Or what had been Hedden’s. Old Aaron Hedden had moved to Idaho years ago but had sold his business on State Street. It still offered bridles and harnesses for sale. Until the last year, it had also been a busy livery stable, but that business had been falling off.
As she exited the milliners around the corner on Cayuga Street, the girl seemed very pleased with her new purchase. Not a little vainly, she cocked her head to and fro, trying to catch her jaunty reflection in the surrounding shop windows. She and her friend giggled over a joke, and her eyes flirted with half the boys as she walked.
“And the bumper crop of berries we’ve got now. You wouldn’t believe it! Pa thinks we can fetch a pretty penny at market for these doozies,” Hi said.
Hi and Jimmy were oblivious to the thunderbolt that had struck their friend. They ambled along, thumbs tucked into suspender straps.
After a moment or two, Hi and Jimmy realized that Tom had not kept pace with them. They turned to find him standing dazed on the sidewalk in front of Smith’s Bakery, a tentative smile spreading across his earnest features.
Hi followed the direction of Tom’s gaze and discovered it had locked on the girl with the hat full of blue flowers. Tom wasn’t alone. The girl had turned heads up and down State Street, that was for sure.
She and her friend
“What was he like?”
“He seemed like a nice enough fellow. I mean, I liked him, and he was handsome, but boys like him just didn’t court girls from the Hill like us. He worked in a factory, and we’d been raised to want more than a man with grease on his hands. It wasn’t done. He was very polite and also a bit self-conscious. He didn’t seem to know how good-looking he was. He seemed interested in reading and travel. He made some kind of joke about the weather once, saying he wanted to visit Texas, but he didn’t think he could ever live someplace like that. Too hot. Libbie had him read many of her favorite books, but I think she was disappointed in his scholarship. He was more interested in comics and adventure stories than fine literature.”
“How many times did you have to lie for her?”
“I don’t even know,” she admitted, shaking her head. “Lots. We claimed we were going to meetings about nursing at the college or that we were going shopping or to the nickelodeon. You have no idea how much I regret what I did, Frank. Maybe if I’d been brave enough to stand up to her, she might still be alive. But Libbie had a very strong personality. You simply couldn’t say no to her.” She sighed, obviously tired after telling Frank all this. Her fork shook as she ate her cake.
“Do you know how serious it was with this other boy?” Frank asked, pen poised.
“I can guess. As I said, Libbie could be very impetuous, and I think it got her in a lot of trouble. I saw the sparks. After all, I was with her when she met him.”
Chapter Seven
Ithaca, New York
June 1916
“ I tell you, trying to decide how much to bale when the hay comes in… I’m not one for math, and having to take the number of bales and multiply it by their average weight…it’s a challenge. It’s never been my strong suit, averages. Pa says that we can bring in a good haul if we just…”
The voice faded away as if Hiram wasn’t even talking. The first time that Tom Estabrook saw Libbie Morgan, he was struck dumb. Right there on State Street. It was the darnedest thing. She was strolling with a friend down the sidewalk, her pleated white shirtwaist a startling contrast to her silky black curls and extraordinary blue eyes. A bright blue sash topped an ankle-length navy lawn skirt. And her hat was adorned with an assemblage of ribbons and flowers in various hues of blue.
Tom had met up with his friends Hiram Gordon and Jimmy Devenport, who were in Ithaca buying some farm implements and leather goods at Hedden’s. Or what had been Hedden’s. Old Aaron Hedden had moved to Idaho years ago but had sold his business on State Street. It still offered bridles and harnesses for sale. Until the last year, it had also been a busy livery stable, but that business had been falling off.
As she exited the milliners around the corner on Cayuga Street, the girl seemed very pleased with her new purchase. Not a little vainly, she cocked her head to and fro, trying to catch her jaunty reflection in the surrounding shop windows. She and her friend giggled over a joke, and her eyes flirted with half the boys as she walked.
“And the bumper crop of berries we’ve got now. You wouldn’t believe it! Pa thinks we can fetch a pretty penny at market for these doozies,” Hi said.
Hi and Jimmy were oblivious to the thunderbolt that had struck their friend. They ambled along, thumbs tucked into suspender straps.
After a moment or two, Hi and Jimmy realized that Tom had not kept pace with them. They turned to find him standing dazed on the sidewalk in front of Smith’s Bakery, a tentative smile spreading across his earnest features.
Hi followed the direction of Tom’s gaze and discovered it had locked on the girl with the hat full of blue flowers. Tom wasn’t alone. The girl had turned heads up and down State Street, that was for sure.
She and her friend
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