“And what about Fritz?”
“Yes, Fritz.” Her voice cracked. Saying his name brought a pain so intense, she wrapped her arms around her middle. She didn’t know how she’d recover from losing him. But she would, just as she had begun to piece her life together again after losing Maria—one day at a time. She sat quietly a moment, thinking of the way she’d memorized Fritz’s face with her fingertips, the way he laughed at her silly mistakes. How they taught each other things. But their relationship must end before it really started. It was the only way.
At last, she looked into Alma’s concerned eyes and said, “I’ll tell him I’m leaving tonight.”
*
An hour later, they reached the Lancasters’ home. Alma had asked to stay overnight with her again, one last time, and Francesca was glad for it. To have a friend at her side before she stole away into the early morning dawn gave her a small measure of comfort.
They’d scarcely made it over the threshold when Janie breezed into the kitchen, a smirk on her face. Claire paused at the stove, and Charles leaned against the prep table, his characteristic stiffness forgotten. His blue eyes were soft, and regret deepened the creases in his forehead.
“Miss Ricci—Francesca,” he said, “Mrs. Lancaster requests your presence in her bedroom.”
Francesca removed her cape and set her handbag on the table. “Yes, I know. Alma, why don’t you wait in the bedroom.”
Alma nodded.
Claire left the pot she was tending on the stove and grasped Francesca by the shoulders. “Deep breaths now, my lamb. It may not be as bad as you think. Remember, she is only a woman, and somewhere in her chest is a heart. Appeal to her, woman to woman. Mother to mother.”
Francesca managed a smile and kissed the dear woman’s soft, round cheek. “Yes, my friend. I will.”
Mrs. Cheedle set the ledgers she had tucked under her arm onto the kitchen table. “Francesca,” she began, “I did my best to dissuade her from any rash action. I emphasized your strengths. And there are many. I wanted you to know that.”
It struck Francesca then that they would miss her. They had grown to enjoy her company, her cooking, her dependability, her sense of humor, or maybe it was more than that. She wasn’t merely a hired hand, just another immigrant who worked themselves to the bone with little to gain but a hope that those who despised them would look the other way and forget they existed. That wasn’t the case for her. She’d become a part of the household, a member of a family of sorts. She belonged. For the first time, she had a family in her workplace, and a family in the Brauers. She could hardly believe she must leave them all behind.
Swallowing hard, she squeezed the housekeeper’s hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Cheedle. Will you write a reference letter for me?”
“I’ve already finished it, dear. It’s on your bed. I couldn’t sleep last night.”
Francesca surprised her with an embrace and an Italian kiss of gratitude on each cheek.
As she took the stairs, a strange sense of calm stole over her. Deep down, she’d always known her time at the Lancaster home would be limited, a stepping-stone to something else. It was simply time to move on.
She walked in measured steps across the dining room and through the pristine parlor that always appeared as if it was never used. Pausing at an end table near the window, she admired the array of delicate porcelain boxes in various shapes painted by hand and shipped from France. Limoges boxes, Mrs. Cheedle had explained, each worth a fortune. Francesca stroked her favorite Limoges, an oval box with ocean-blue lid and a rose vine that tangled across its top. The box rested on a dainty pair of golden feet that matched the ornate design of its golden clasp. The box next to it gleamed white and pink and summer green, and the last was round and showcased a scene of a fox and rabbit in a glen. She’d need to say goodbye, too, to all of the beautiful things she’d never known existed until she’d become part of the Lancaster household. The kind of things she’d likely never see again in her life.
She continued to the mistress’s bedroom with leaden feet and knocked softly at the door though it stood ajar.
“Come in.” Mrs. Lancaster’s voice floated into the hallway.
“Good evening, Mrs. Lancaster. You sent for me.”
The mistress sat rigidly at her vanity, the sequins of her rose-colored evening gown sparkling in the candlelight. “I’ve heard some unsettling news, Miss Ricci.” Her eyes grazed Francesca’s form, resting momentarily on her midsection before returning to her face. “Mrs. Cheedle informed me that you are pregnant.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, meeting the mistress’s eye.
“Soon, you’ll be unable to perform your duties here. And once you have a child, well, we can’t have a newborn and an unwed immigrant under our roof. People talk, I’m sorry to say. You understand, I’m sure.”
Francesca was surprised by the mistress’s regrettable tone. “When should I go, ma’am?”
“Why don’t you begin looking for another position. You may stay until you find one.”
Touched by her generous offer, Francesca smiled sadly. “Thank you. I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s not what it seems.”
Mrs. Lancaster looked down and touched her chignon with a long, elegant hand covered in cream silk. And then she stood, facing Francesca fully. “I’m embarrassed to say I misjudged you. You’re the best cook we’ve had, Francesca. I’d be happy to write a reference letter for you, wherever you should go.”
She’d been prepared for an angry dismissal, perhaps some abusive language to remind her of her lowly status. Instead, Mrs. Lancaster’s sudden warmth brought a rush of tears to her eyes. “Thank you, ma’am. You’re very kind.”
“Yes, well.” Mrs. Lancaster looked away and reached for a tub of cream on her vanity. “Good luck to you.”
Francesca abandoned her manners and all she had learned in the Lancaster household, and laid a hand gently on her mistress’s shoulder. “You gave me my first home in America. I’m grateful. I will never forget it.” Before the tears could come, she darted for the door.
“Francesca, wait! One moment.” Mrs. Lancaster took something from her vanity and, pulling Francesca’s hand in hers, gently slipped a gold band on her ring finger, smiling triumphantly. “I thought it might fit. I didn’t always have this house, you know. My son has worked very hard to support us both.”
Francesca stared in disbelief at the gold band on her hand. “But I couldn’t. I—”