“What a horrible thing to say.” I clenched my fists. “How can you even consider not joining? I am only sixteen, Mama. This isn’t some casual drive—it’s the opera. Everyone will see me alone with him!”
She snorted. “I thought you would be delighted to spend time alone with your sweetheart.”
“It’s actually the last thing I want, and he’s not my sweetheart.” The absurdity of the statement, of the situation, of my mother! I had to convince her to call the whole evening off. I had no desire to see Clarence Wilcox and his brewing insanity. My wrists were still tender from yesterday’s outburst.
Plus, if she canceled our opera attendance, then maybe I could sneak away. Maybe I could go to Machinery Hall and help the Spirit-Hunters get their dy***ite. More importantly, maybe I could confront Daniel. I refused to believe Peger’s word until I heard Daniel’s own explanation.
Mama gripped my shoulders and wrenched me around to face her. “Mr. Wilcox had better be your sweetheart, Eleanor.”
“And what will you do, pray tell, if Clarence isn’t interested in me at all?”
“Clarence?” A squeal erupted from her lips. “Do you call him by his Christian name? Oh, Eleanor!” She flung her arms about me and squeezed.
“No, Mama.” I battled the embrace and backed away. “I do not address him as Clarence. We’re not nearly as close as you imagine.”
“That is not what Mrs. Wilcox said.” She lifted a single, accusatory eyebrow. “Mrs. Wilcox said Clarence speaks of nothing else. Of how different you are.”
“Different? That’s hardly flattering.”
“It is a compliment.”
“It is ridiculous. That’s what it is.” I pulled my shoulders back. “I will not go without you.”
“You will. What more could you possibly want?”
“Anything!” I threw my hands up. “I’m only sixteen. How can I know what I want yet? Maybe I’ll want a tall man with... with blond hair. A-and green eyes.”
Mama hissed and her eyes bulged. The reaction fueled my rant further.
“And maybe a man who isn’t afraid if I say what I want, who doesn’t care about... about etiquette and fashion and stupid, stupid Grecian bends—”
“Enough.” She took quick, shallow breaths, her nostrils fluttering. “I do not know what this little revolt is, but be certain of one thing: I am your mother, and you will obey me.” She straightened to her full height. “Mr. Wilcox honors you with his attentions. He comes from a wealthy family. His father and your father were friends once upon a time, and if my Henry considered the Wilcox name a worthy connection, then so will you.
“And, Eleanor, keep in mind that when I am dead, you will have no one left to care for you.”
“Elijah—”
“Elijah?” She shook her head slowly. “Where is my son now? He does not even care enough to return home. Your only hope lies in a husband. Only he can love and provide for you. Only a marriage and children of your own will ever offer you a chance at happiness.” Mama’s eyes lost focus, as if she stared into some other realm only she could see. “Trust me.”
I swallowed my sharp retort and turned away. She had no pity from me. Once I might have clung to her, I might have believed her words and fretted over her desires; but I no longer did—I no longer could. I was capable of thinking for myself, and at that moment, my mind was reciting her earlier words: His father and your father were friends.
“When?” I blurted. “When were they friends?”
She blinked. “Who?”
“Father and Clarence’s father. They stopped being friends, didn’t they? When? Why?”
“I scarcely remember—it was so many years ago. Something to do with business. Mr. Wilcox and some other men wished to leave behind the railway industry, and Henry did not like it.” Her eyes squinted with suspicion. “Why do you ask?”
“So... so I don’t say anything inappropriate in front of Clarence—in case he still harbors his father’s attitudes.”
“If he still harbored his father’s attitudes then he would not be spending time with us. Luckily, his mother recently wanted to reconnect with me. If our luck continues, then the other families will also be as generous.”
“What families?”
“The Weathers, the Suttons, and the Bradleys, of course. Do you ever listen to anything I tell you?”
Frederick Weathers, James Sutton, and Clinton Bradley. Three quite headless and quite dead young men.
I lurched at Mama and grabbed her robe. “The Gas Trustees? Did they offer Father a position in their business?”
“Yes, but Henry refused.” Mama pushed me away. “Why do you ask?”
I ignored her question. “Why did Father refuse?”
“Eleanor, calm yourself!”
“Just tell me,” I pleaded.
“I do not know why he refused. All he ever said was that he did not want to play their game.”
My excitement deflated, and I stumbled to my bed. Once again the strange game of intrigue—but what was it?
“What game?” I groaned. “I don’t understand.”
“And I do not understand why you are so curious.”