watches with disinterest. She doesn’t look much better, her face puffy and green. A piece of cold toast lies untouched on her plate. We haven’t spoken since our fight, and I get the impression that she’s feeling just as bad as me.
Emeline is oblivious to the tension, playing with paper dolls in her lap, making them ask each other to dance and then tossing them up in the air and watching them flutter back down. She hasn’t stopped talking about dances and balls since yesterday, trailing behind me everywhere I go, listing off all the dresses she would wear and the dance steps she would debut in our ballroom.
Just as I’m pondering how I might make amends with Catherine, Father barrels through the door in a search of some breakfast to take back to his study. He drops a distracted kiss on the top of Mother’s head before taking a plate and piling it with toast and bacon.
“I’ll be late at the mill today,” he says, surprising exactly nobody. “That Ezra Clarke still won’t be reasonable about the price for his land. Barrett suggested a town meeting where we can address his concerns and hopefully get some more of the townspeople on our side, but of course the church is still undergoing repairs from all the water damage.” He adds an angry spoonful of eggs to his plate with a grunt. “I want this deal done soon,” he says more to himself than to us.
It comes to me in a flash. I clear my throat delicately, putting aside my plate. “Why don’t we hold it here, in the ballroom?”
Father looks up sharply, glancing between Mother and me like he accidentally wandered into the wrong room with the wrong family in it. He opens his mouth but before he can say anything I hurry on.
“It’s criminal that we have such a beautiful ballroom and never use it.” Looking at his blank face I realize I need to appeal to his business sense, so I add, “And the sooner the meeting is held, the sooner the mill can be built and that’s good for business, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but...” Father absently stuffs a piece of toast into his mouth and chews slowly. He’s still standing by the sideboard, plate in hand. When he swallows he looks thoughtful. “It’s not a terrible idea.”
I steal a sidelong look at Catherine who is staring listlessly off into space. “And afterward there could be refreshments and maybe even dancing.”
Mother stares at me, mouth ajar as the egg slides off her knife. Catherine looks up sharply to see if I’m joking. I plunge on.
“Isn’t that the way these country functions usually go? There’s always cider and entertainment afterward. All the townspeople will come to hear what you have to say if they know there will be dancing. Besides, it will give us something to look forward to.”
This last point is a lie. I will dread this meeting and all the small talk and dancing and smiling faces that go along with it, but I know that Catherine will not, and I owe it to her to at least try to be a good sister; otherwise, I have no one to blame but myself for our relationship. It won’t be as formal as a ball, but it will be a compromise, something Mother can handle, and, God willing, me as well.
Emeline’s gaze darts between Father, Mother and me, her eyes shining with hope. At the very least, I can take comfort in the fact that I’ll be making Emeline happy.
Father turns to Mother. “What do you say, Martha? Do you think you can shine up the ballroom and act the hostess?”
“Yes, of course,” she says without enthusiasm. “We should hold the meeting here.”
“Excellent.” Father licks some jam off his finger and gathers up his newspaper. “I’ll leave you ladies to the planning then.”
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