April 1888
Della Eustice Stout knew two things in life. The first was that a girl could become a spinster in less time than it took a hansom cab to get from Grand Central Station to the Brooklyn Bridge. And the second was that if Uncle Ulysses was so upset he had to send her home before he could talk about it with Aunt Fanny, then something was terribly, terribly wrong.
She grabbed hold of her straw hat, the large feather on it tickling the side of her neck as she ran. The other hand clutched at her stays. She knew she shouldn’t have coaxed Anna to pull them quite so tight - now she could barely breathe. She stopped her headlong flight and leaned against a lamp post, bending at the waist to take deep breaths and hopefully calm the dizziness that threatened to send her into that too-familiar blackness. She knew she fainted too often - Mother always told her so - but if a girl was going to land the most eligible bachelor in New York City, she had to have the smallest waist. And she was determined to do just that.
Her head cleared and she straightened her back, then walked quickly but sedately toward home. Thank goodness she lived only a few city blocks away from Cousin Effie’s house. The darkness of evening was quickly falling, and she watched a man coming toward her along the street, lighting lamps as he went.
She was dying to know what all the fuss was about. She loved to hear of others’ tribulations, so long as it didn’t impact her. And in this case she wasn’t sure - that was why she had to get home. She hoped it wouldn’t be anything so bad for her poor uncle. Maybe he’d just had a bad day at the office he shared with her father. Yet if that were the case, why was he in such a state? The two brothers had always been close and shared everything, even once courting the same woman, now her mother. She knew Mother had been very beautiful in her youth, and still was - people often remarked on it. It made Della feel plain by comparison
She pushed open the heavy front door of her house and peered into the parlor. There was no one around, so she followed the hallway to the kitchen. The cook, Mrs. Pippin, looked up at her with a smile. “Good evenin’ to ya, Miss Della. Are ya lookin’ for someone in particular?”
She nodded. “Yes, Mother. Is she around?”
The cook frowned. “I believe she is, though I hain’t seen her for a while. Why don’t you try her rooms upstairs?”
Della waved her thanks and hurried off. She passed by the library and found her father there, sitting alone. The smoke from his cigar circled his head in the darkness. She paused. She’d never seen him this way before. He was usually so jovial, so cheery, that she wasn’t sure what to do.
But Mother would know. She left him there and skipped up the stairs two at a time, almost losing her footing on the slick timber. Sally must have waxed the floors. She regained her balance, smoothed her skirts and bustled into her mother’s rooms through the slightly ajar door. She too sat in semi-darkness, at her dressing table, brushing her hair slowly and regarding her reflection in the looking glass.
“Mother?” whispered Della, gingerly tiptoeing forward.
Her mother laid the hairbrush on the table and turned in her seat to face her daughter. “Oh, Della, we’re ruined.”
“What?” Della’s brow furrowed. What in Heaven’s name did she mean, “ruined”?
Her mother put her face in her hands and began to sob. Della rushed to her side and searched a drawer for a clean handkerchief. She handed it to her mother and knelt beside her, waiting.
Della’s mother sat up and pressed the handkerchief to her reddened eyes. “Thank you, my dear.”
“Mother, what’s happened?”
“A scoundrel, a good for nothing low-life rotten rascal of a man, has swindled your father and uncle out of everything they own. They’re in debt too, and as if that wasn’t enough he’s been spreading the vilest lies about them all over town.” She blew her nose loudly into the handkerchief and stood up to pace across the room.
Della stood as well, her hands pressed against her forehead, eyes wide with disbelief. “How can that be? Father has a good reputation - people know him. They know he wouldn’t do anything wrong.”
Her mother paused to blow her nose again, then continued pacing, waving her arms around wildly and crying as she did. “It’s no use. This man, I don’t even know his name, has fixed it so no one will listen to your father’s side of the story! He’s destroyed us!”
Della’s heart fell, and she felt panic rise from her stomach. How could this be? Who would do such a thing? She knew she wouldn’t get anything more of use from Mother, so she decided to run back downstairs to see Father. But as she dashed down the long hallway, she heard crying coming from the room her sisters shared. She stopped, pushed their door open and saw them sitting huddled together on a bed, their arms around each other’s shoulders and crying. She wondered where her younger brothers were — likely hiding somewhere, or perhaps still playing in the back yard.
She sighed and stepped into the room. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. She sat beside them on the bed and laid a hand on Pearl’s shoulder as her youngest sister hiccuped.
Hattie sat straight, sniffled and looked at her through tears. “How do you know?”
“Because Father will work something out. I know he will.” She forced a smile, hoping to set her sisters at ease.
It worked - their tears slowed. They sniffled a few more times, then sat still, their faces morose. “What do we do now?” asked Pearl.
“Well, first things first — let’s go down and have some supper. Nothing seems quite so bad on a full stomach.” Della’s voice was brisk and cheery, but her hands trembled as she spoke.
They all stood and walked arm-in-arm down to the dining room, where the aroma of fresh baked rolls and hearty chicken soup wafted out from the kitchen to greet them. Della’s stomach growled, and as she sat she noted the fine bone china, silverware and the crystal chandelier that hung over the long table. She frowned. How long would their house look this way? She had no way of knowing, since she still didn’t know how much damage the swindler had done. But she did know that her chances of finding a good match with one of New York’s most eligible bachelors would dwindle. She’d call on Robert Wilkins first thing in the morning and see about renewing his interest in her.
That decision made, Della felt the fog of despair lift a little. She’d go see Robert, and after their engagement everything would be just fine … for her, at least.
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