Kelly dismisses the praise, claiming that any able-bodied manwould have done the same.
“Surely you know Hester is mute,” my mother says, as though I’mnot standing between them. “She won’t contribute much to the evening’sconversation, although she did talk as a child. Quite faintly, due to flawedvocal cords, but then illness struck and robbed her of what little voice shehad.”
This is precisely the scenario that I wished to avoid. Let mecrawl under a rock. Or better yet, return to my room.
Kelly intervenes, however. “Words are not always necessary,ma’am. Hester and I communicate just fine without them.”
“How kind of you,” Mama says. “And forgive me for not inquiringbefore. Is there a Mrs. Kelly?”
“Not any longer. I’m happily divorced.”
“Why happily, if I may ask? Most men would never admit to sucha thing in mixed company.”
“Then I must beg your pardon, good lady, but the institution ofmarriage holds no appeal for me. Although I am grateful my former wife and Ihad our Alice. My daughter makes the entire experience worthwhile.”
This shuts my mother up. She expected somethingsuperficial, nothing so vulgar as an honest answer.
My father clears his throat and suggests that we make our wayto the dining room. Kelly moves to my left, the opposite side of my cane, andtucks my hand into the crook of his arm. Father leads our group down the hall.The ice in his drink jangles against the glass as we walk.
“Where do you hail from, Doctor?” he asks.
“Massachusetts, sir.”
“And who are your people? Have we heard of them?”
Kelly’s arm flexes under my glove, but he otherwise seemsunruffled. “My heritage, do you mean, Mr. Grayson? My illustrious ancestors?”
Father is a chronic opportunist. It’s how he’s made his money.I can almost hear the machinery at work in his brain—hoping to take advantageof this new connection if there is a profit to be made from it. “Exactly so,”he says. “They must be an impressive group.”
“No, Mr. Grayson. I’m a mongrel. We think granddad was partlyIrish, having the last name Kelly and all. Still, no one is entirely sure as hewas born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
And that shuts my father up. He downs his drink in oneswallow and walks ahead with Mama. Nicely done, Kelly!
I’m having a hell of a time keeping a straight face. This isthe best family dinner I’ve ever attended. The doctor leans my way. “What?” hewhispers, all innocence. “Did I say something amiss?”
Very amiss, and he knows it.
“Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself. As the saying goes, you cantake the boy out of the gutter but you can’t entirely take the gutter out ofthe boy.”
Kelly pats my arm as we walk. “You find me amusing then? You’reenjoying my social disgrace?”
I nod without a bit of hesitation, and he laughs lightly. “Asyou should, dear girl. God’s made your face for smiling.”
The doctor slows the pace as we turn a corner, making sure thatI manage it smoothly. “I know whereof I speak, Hester. I’ve learned somethingabout those smiles over the course of our brief acquaintance. There is thepolite, impersonal one, and the smirk that says I-know-more-than-you-do.I’ve seen both of them a number of times. But tonight you are mysterious, like Leonardo’sMona Lisa. I am lucky, am I not? For what man does not enjoy variety?”
My, my. I had not taken the full measure of Kelly’s magnetism.He is a danger to the average female.
Fortunately, I’m not average.
After reaching the dining room, Father takes his seat at thehead of the table. Mama and I sit on the opposite end and Kelly is stationed inthe middle. The servants deliver a fragrant bowl of soup to each of us. Tangy,peppery steam rises to my face, and my stomach rumbles with nerves rather thanappetite. Mama scoots her chair close to mine, the sound making me tremble.This is what I’ve dreaded most. Kelly may never think well of me again afterwitnessing my humiliation.
I listen as she scoops up a spoonful of soup, blowing on itseveral times. No, please don’t make me do this. Not in front of the doctor.
But I am nothing if not well trained. I open my mouth and Mamaslips the spoon inside. I normally would enjoy the creamy duck bisque, but itsours on my tongue. We repeat the procedure until the soup is gone. My motherthen gives me a drink of water before turning to her own bowl.
For as long as I can remember, we have followed this procedurewhile dining formally. I can skirt around most household rules, if I amcircumspect, but Mama doesn’t budge here.
Dr. Kelly is quiet as a stone, but I know he’s watching me.Tears of embarrassment fill my eyes, and I blink them away, thankful for thebarrier of my spectacles.
Things deteriorate further as Mama cuts my meat, carrots, andpotatoes. She gives me generous portions of all three until I shake my head,the signal that I am finished. Throughout the meal, talk has been meager atbest, until Kelly asks what he must have been wondering all along.
“Why must you feed Hester, Mrs. Grayson? Why not allow her todo it for herself?”
“It is unseemly for a young woman to fumble about her plate,searching for nourishment.” The chill in Mama’s voice could freeze the blood ofmost men.
Kelly does not back down. “Improvement comes with practice,madam. Everyone should feel capable in their own right.”
My mother doesn’t back down either. “Hester need not besubjected to such experimentation while I am here to help.”
“I see.” He clicks his utensil on the plate once andmercifully, says nothing more.
Somehow we survive dessert, but Kelly is not invited to lingerover port or coffee. My parents bid him adieu and then retire to their privatesalon, leaving me to show him out. Most young ladies of a marriageable age,such as I, would not be left alone with a bachelor of little acquaintance.However, I do not think that my parents consider my virtue tempting
