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“They’ll think we’re generous.” Daddy downed his lemonade in one swallow and patted Mother’s arm. “It’ll be fine, Eugenia.” He slipped into the parlor to refill his glass.
Mother’s lips had set into a grim line that only grew thinner the moment she saw Felicity. “That jacket doesn’t match your gown.”
Beatrice shot Felicity a sympathetic look. Everyone in the family knew how unbearable Mother could be when she was nervous.
“Take it off.” Mother waved Felicity upstairs and then glanced at the clock. “Stop. There’s not enough time. We’ll have to make do. But take that ridiculous ribbon out of your hair. You look like a floozy.”
“I think it’s lovely,” Beatrice said softly, but of course Mother ignored her opinion. She ignored everything about Beatrice except the children.
Before Felicity could remove the offensive ribbon, Daddy returned with his drink and whistled. “Don’t you look pretty, little one.”
Felicity could always count on him to lift her spirits. “It’s just an old gown.”
“It looks beautiful to me.” He pecked her cheek and escorted her into the parlor with the pomp of a princess to a ball.
“It might be acceptable for a masquerade,” Mother sniffed on their heels. “This is merely dinner.”
Felicity tried to let the slight bounce off her, but Mother’s comments had a way of sticking to her like a burr. No matter how quickly she pulled them away, some of the barbs stuck tight.
“I think I’m past the morning sickness,” Beatrice said in an obvious attempt to change the topic. She was expecting her second baby in December.
“I was never sick,” said Mother. “Not a single day.”
Felicity felt sorry for her sister-in-law, who bravely bore Mother’s snubs. Beatrice didn’t come from a good enough family to suit Mother. The Foxes ran a dress shop—respectable but not the upper-class connections Mother wanted for her only son.
“How is little Tillie?” Felicity asked. Beatrice had named her first child Matilda after her grandmother, again irritating Mother.
Beatrice brightened. “She’s such a dear, cooing away in her own special language. My mother loves watching her, but I do miss her, even for a few hours.”
Blake laughed. “I don’t think we’ll ever untie Tillie from her mother’s apron strings. It was hard enough getting Beattie to turn her over to Grandma so we could come to dinner tonight.”
Beatrice blushed. “She’s just a baby, dearest.”
“Speaking of dinner,” Mother said, cutting off the line of conversation, “apparently my wishes are to be ignored. Felicity, set another place at the table.”
Despite having a cook, housekeeper, gardener and butler on staff, Mother always expected Felicity to take care of any last-minute changes. Felicity chafed at the directive, but getting upset would not change Mother or charm Robert. She stifled her resentment and obeyed.
Once in the dining room, she discovered the housekeeper had heard Mother’s fit and already added a place setting between Felicity and Robert. All Felicity had to do was rearrange the sterling place card holders to put Robert on her right.
Within two minutes, she returned to the foyer to find that Mr. Robert Blevins had arrived. Tall with strawberry blond hair, Mr. Blevins lacked the ideal figure extolled in the ladies’ magazines. He was a bit too broad across the midsection and narrow in the shoulders. A little too much brilliantine for her taste, but elegantly coiffed, his wavy hair was parted down the center. He sported a mustache with the tips curled and waxed. The red-and-white-striped silk waistcoat and white linen suit weren’t quite appropriate for dinner, which Mother thankfully did not point out.
He tapped his gold-knobbed cane on the slate floor, and with a flick of the wrist, he caught it midlength before depositing it into the umbrella stand.
Mother batted her eyelashes like a debutante. “Call me Eugenia. Everyone does.”
He gave her his full attention. “Very well, Eugenia. And if I may say so, your gown would disgrace every lady at Carnegie Hall.”
Mother fairly warbled. “And you are quite handsomely dressed yourself. Blevins, you said? Any relation to the Blevinses of Newport?”
Felicity blushed at her mother’s lack of tact, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“The very ones,” he beamed, chest thrust out.
“You don’t say. Felicity!” The screech was a call to battle. “You must meet my daughter.”
Felicity glided near. “You called, Mother?”
“Ah, Felicity, there you are. I’d like you to meet the engineer for the airfield project, Mr. Robert Blevins. Do you go by Robert or Bob?”
“Whatever suits you, ma’am.” He bent elegantly over Felicity’s hand, kissing it lightly. His mustache scratched like Daddy’s, and she resisted the urge to giggle. “Or you, Ms. Felicity.”
“Ah, such manners,” Eugenia crowed. “Few young people today have good manners.”
“I can see your daughter does.” He gave Felicity a wide smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Felicity returned his pleasantries, eager to remove Mother from the conversation. “You’ll be here long?”
“Some months, I imagine.”
Perfect. “Then we’ll have a lot of time to get better acquainted.”
“Come, Blevins, we’re all in the parlor,” said Daddy, clapping the man on the back. “You’ve had a look around the site, I hear. Can the project be done?”
“Of course.”
Blake added, “We’ll have the airfield completed by August.”
“Under budget?” Daddy asked.
Robert nodded. “If Mr. Hunter agrees to the smaller hangar and your figures on the cement are correct, it can be done for two thousand less than projected.”
“Two thousand, eh?” In the blink of an eye, Daddy had ripped the man from Felicity’s grasp. The three men huddled like schoolboys on a ball diamond plotting the next pitch. How on earth was she to get Robert interested in her with Daddy and Blake monopolizing his attention?
Another knock on the door meant the unwelcome guest had arrived. Felicity edged toward the parlor, looking for a means to recapture Robert’s attention. Let Mother greet Jack Hunter. The man was married and of no interest whatsoever.
Smithson opened the front door, and Mother greeted the guest with decided coolness.
“Good evening, Mrs. Kensington. Ms. Kensington.” The warm, familiar voice flowed over her like honey. That voice. His. Her heart fluttered in a most unwelcome way. It couldn’t be. “I’m glad you’ve recovered.”
“Recovered from what?” asked Mother.
Felicity tried without success to fan away the heat that rushed into her cheeks. Everyone was staring at her, expecting an answer, but what could she say? How could she explain away his comment? The only solution was to give a vague answer. She forced a slight smile, the kind used by the elite girls at Highbury. “Yes, I have. Thank you for asking.”
He smiled back with such evident pleasure that Felicity half regretted treating him so coldly. He couldn’t help his birth. In fact, he’d done well to overcome it. Why tonight Gabriel looked nothing like he had earlier in the day. His hair had been combed into submission, and he wore a perfectly cut dark gray suit. By all appearances, it had been crafted by an exceptional tailor.
“I’m so glad.” His rich baritone embraced her a little too much.
That horrible warm and tingly feeling returned with tidal force. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Mother stared at her. Who had invited him, and why had he accepted? Surely he’d known how awkward this would be. Thoughts shot through her head quicker than swallows into a barn.
She must look like a fool, but she couldn’t get past the difference in Gabriel. He didn’t look like a laborer, a poor man or even a minister.
He looked like a suitor.
Gabriel had never seen such beauty in the parlors and theaters of New York, and he’d been to plenty. Though his parents followed solid Christian values and didn’t flaunt their hard-earned income, others of their acquaintance didn’t feel the same way. He’d seen more than his share of exquisite gowns and lavish jewels, all of which, his parents pointed out, did nothing to save a person’s soul. But on Felicity, the deep green taffeta shone. Her eyes sparkled brighter than the finest jewels. Her hair, drawn exquisitely to the side, gleamed like polished ebony.
He wanted to kiss her hand, a gesture he ordinarily found absurdly elitist, not to mention outdated. Yet such perfection demanded the highest manners. He bowed slightly and held out his hand, expecting to receive her finely tapered fingers.
She didn’t move.
He smiled, trying to warm away her fears.
Her mother practically glared at him. “Felicity, have you already met Reverend Meeks?”
Felicity stood as unmoving as a porcelain doll.
“Reverend Meeks?” A foppish redheaded man extended his hand.
Gabriel had seen him on the train. Though they’d shared the last leg of the journey, each man had kept to himself. Gabriel worked on his sermon while this man jotted in a little notebook like those used by reporters. Gabriel had been surprised when he got off the train in Pearlman. Why would a city newsman travel from Detroit to an ordinary small town? Gabriel certainly didn’t expect to see him here tonight.
He shook the man’s hand. “Pleased to meet you Mr….”
“Blevins. Robert Blevins.” The man’s idiotic grin betrayed him as a fool, more concerned with appearance than substance.
“He’s one of the Newport Blevinses,” said Mrs. Kensington.
“He’s an engineer here to design my new airfield and flight school,” Mr. Kensington explained.
An engineer? Gabriel looked again. In his experience, professionals dressed modestly, but perhaps that was only in his circles. It would explain the notepad. He must have been making notes on the project.
Kensington then quickly introduced his son, Blake, and daughter-in-law, Beatrice, a blue-eyed blonde that most men would find attractive but who paled beside Felicity. Both greeted him warmly, and he hoped they could become friends.
Mrs. Kensington maintained an artificially bright smile throughout the introductions but did not echo the warmth of Beatrice’s greeting. “We will be a bit crowded at the table tonight,” she sniffed, darting a glance at him, as if he was somehow the cause.
Kensington laughed, a deep guttural chortle meant to put everyone at ease while simultaneously exerting control. “The better to get to know each other, eh? I told Eugenia that you’re an easygoing fellow, Pastor, and won’t mind sharing a full table.”
That wasn’t all Gabriel had to share, judging by the glances Felicity cast at Blevins. The engineer rewarded her with an extended arm. “May I escort you to the parlor, Ms. Kensington?”
She eagerly accepted, and Blevins cast a look of triumph at Gabriel. “After you, Reverend.”
“No, no.” Mrs. Kensington brought the procession to a halt. “Dinner is ready.” She took her husband’s arm and headed in the opposite direction, drawing her daughter and Blevins with her. “Mr. Blevins, you will sit in the place of honor.”
The change in direction put all the couples in front of Gabriel. Eugenia and Branford Kensington led the way, followed by Felicity and Blevins and then Blake and Beatrice. Gabriel trailed behind, the only one without a partner.
At the entrance to the dining salon, ostentatiously outfitted with Irish linen, gold table service and English porcelain warmed by gold chargers, Eugenia Kensington turned to Gabriel, almost as an afterthought. “You may say grace, Reverend.”
At that moment, Gabriel saw the future stretching before him in one long, straight road through a barren desert. Gone were the camaraderie and familiar joking he’d enjoyed at dinners in the past. Gone were friendships and openness. Now he was Reverend Meeks, the pitiable wallflower, never truly welcome except in crisis. These people didn’t want a leader. They wanted to put him in a cupboard and take him out for Sunday worship and weddings, none of which would be his. Mrs. Kensington’s excessive attention to Blevins made it perfectly clear that Felicity was off-limits.
His place setting was the only one without a hand-scripted place card perched on the back of a sterling swan. He was the unanticipated guest, the outsider. Mr. Kensington’s invitation must have been made on the spur of the moment, a gaffe that his wife could not forgive. Everything was meant to demean Gabriel, yet as he stepped to the table, he couldn’t help but be pleased.
Eugenia Kensington’s stained red lips pursed so tightly that they looked like the tied-off end of a balloon. Felicity blushed madly. Gabriel folded his hands and closed his eyes in grateful prayer.
He was seated beside Felicity.
If Felicity had known Gabriel Meeks was the extra guest, she would have placed him as far away as possible, certainly not in the chair beside her. Every step toward the table was torture. Robert was on her right, and Gabriel was on her left. How could she bear it?
Robert pulled out her chair, and though she glued her attention on him, she felt Gabriel’s presence. His clean cotton scent rivaled Robert’s perfumed hair treatment. She sensed when Gabriel lifted the water glass to his lips, when he put the napkin on his lap, when he picked up his fork. She felt it all with the combined excitement and dread of waiting for her first dance. Would he try to talk to her? Did he feel anything for her? Would he tell Mother that she’d swooned? Worst of all, was he here to press his suit?
The cook placed steaming Chesapeake clams on the table, and Felicity’s stomach turned.
“Let me serve you, Ms. Felicity.” Robert proceeded to fill her plate with shells.
She stared at the clams, not daring to touch them lest she lose the contents of her stomach.
“Had them shipped fresh from the Bay,” Daddy bragged.
“I prefer Littlenecks myself.” Robert grinned round at the whole table. “We dig’em up on the Island every summer.” He smiled directly at her, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes betraying his age. He had to be at least thirty-five. “You’d like it there.”
The hint should have made her heart dance, but Gabriel ruined that opportunity with a volley from her left. “I thought you summered in Newport, Mr. Blevins.”
Felicity picked at the clams. Gabriel was trying to trip up Robert. She could guess why, but it didn’t make her any more comfortable.
Robert laughed. “True, true, but we visit friends on Long Island from time to time. Need to keep in touch and all.”
Daddy seconded that, defusing the crisis. Felicity took a deep breath, but she still couldn’t stomach the clams. She pushed her plate away.
“Not hungry?” Robert asked.
She nodded, and he scooped her clams onto his plate.
“Clams don’t settle well for me either,” Beatrice said.
Felicity could have blessed her for that but not the next comment that came out of her mouth.
“Do you have a beau, Pastor?”
Felicity choked and coughed into her napkin.
Gabriel handed her a glass of water. “Are you all right?”
She was definitely not, but she nodded and sipped the water to calm her throat.
Then to her dismay, he proceeded to answer Beatrice. “No, Mrs. Kensington. Not yet, that is.”
Beatrice smiled. “If I can do anything to help.”
Help? Felicity glared at her sister-in-law.
“No, thank you,” Gabriel said hastily. “If you don’t mind, this is something I’d rather do on my own.”
