“I think you’ll probably get arrested again,” Genevieve said. Anna, along with several other well-known women, had been arrested two years prior while protesting women’s exclusion from the statue’s dedication.
Anna Stewart, in fact, was often being hauled away by the police during political protests over one cause or another. The arrest at the statue’s dedication was not even the one that had ended Genevieve’s engagement. That had been a protest over universal access to birth control outside City Hall. Genevieve had often wondered whether Ted—or really, Ted’s family—had been so scandalized not because of the jailing but rather because Anna had been speaking publicly about the delicate issue of birth control.
Anna broke her stance and beamed again. “Oh, that would be quite fitting, wouldn’t it?” She collected the fallen pamphlets and organized them into a small pile, then sat back and finished her biscuit with a contented air.
“Where is Charles?” Genevieve asked. Her brother kept his own separate bachelor residence a few blocks away but typically managed to appear whenever food was served. She glanced at the windows uneasily. Charles was, like all the Stewarts, tall and athletic; having him in the room would make her feel more at ease.
Genevieve’s father answered from behind a stack of books at the corner desk. “I believe he had a meeting of the Architectural League this afternoon,” floated Wilbur’s deep, burly voice.
“What are you buried in back there, Papa?” asked Genevieve, straining her neck to catch a glimpse of her father around the precarious pile. “Come out before we finish the biscuits.”
“Nellie brought me a plate back here, thank you very much. I knew I couldn’t trust you ladies to leave me any.” Wilbur’s kindly, bearded face suddenly appeared above the small tower. “But I shall emerge nonetheless, to give you a kiss hello.” Wilbur came out from behind his cluttered desk and leaned over to kiss Genevieve’s cheek before settling into a deep leather armchair to her right.
“Here, darling,” he said, handing Genevieve several pieces of folded paper. “I was buried in a letter from your brother.”
“Gavin wrote?” Gavin was an archaeologist currently undertaking fieldwork in Egypt. In their correspondence, he frequently assured her that life in a tent was much less glamorous than she believed, primarily consisting of sand and bugs. While Genevieve knew this intellectually, she couldn’t picture her brother’s life without imagining him in scenes inspired by 1001 Arabian Nights: Gavin drinking tea on a lavish silk cushion, Gavin being attended to by a gorgeous woman in wide, billowing pants, Gavin wearing a fez. Normally she would grab at the letter, but today she felt too drained. And she wanted was to get this business about the ball sorted.
“Mother, did you receive the usual invitations for the weekend?”
Anna glanced up from the pad upon which she’d been writing, undoubtedly a draft of the rousing speech she intended to give at the upcoming rally. “Yes, yes. I haven’t answered them all yet,” she replied distractedly.
“Might I look through them?” Genevieve hesitated, feeling a trifle unsure. She shot a quick glance at her mother, who had returned to scratching frantically upon her pad. Another glance confirmed that her father was now consulting one of their many volumes on Egyptian history, as he often did after receiving a letter from Gavin.
“I thought I might attend the Bradleys’ ball on Saturday.” She carefully studied her fingernails, pretending to be suddenly deeply concerned about her manicure. She fervently hoped her parents would remain engaged in their pursuits and give her the quick and distracted “Of course, darling” that typically accompanied any announcement of plans from their adult children.
Genevieve risked a peek up from her cuticles. No such luck. Both Anna and Wilbur were gaping at her, mouths slightly ajar, nearly identical looks of utter astonishment on their faces.
“Elmira and Amos Bradley?” asked Anna dubiously, blinking. “The Koola bird Bradleys?” She looked at her daughter as if she were a rare specimen of bug from Egypt come crawling out of Gavin’s letter: with surprise bordering on shock, fascination, and an underlying vague, intellectual distaste.
Genevieve nodded. “Yes, and yes,” she muttered, giving her fingernails her full attention again.
Her mother gave her own slow nod. “I see. And were you encouraged to attend by anyone in particular?” she asked delicately, seeming hesitant herself now.
After a slightly puzzled pause, Genevieve realized her mother was asking if a potential suitor wanted to accompany her to the ball. Her gaze flew back to her mother’s face, which now held an expression of vague intellectual distaste mingled with slight apprehension.
“No,” she said firmly. “It’s for work.” Which, she consoled herself, was not entirely a lie. “Someone will be in attendance with whom I ought to speak.”
Genevieve felt her mother’s keen eyes bore into her forehead as she carefully picked chocolate crumbs off her skirt.
The quiet moment seemed to drag on for years as Genevieve continued to inspect her skirt for stray biscuit, but probably lasted only fifteen seconds or so. Finally Anna answered, “Well, I suppose that’s fine, if it’s for work,” and turned her attention back to her speech writing.
Genevieve exhaled quietly, relieved that part was complete. Now she just had to get through the ball itself.
Leaning appreciatively into his deep, red leather office chair, Daniel propped his booted feet onto his large mahogany desk and read Genevieve’s article on a best-baby contest again. Damn, he thought admiringly. She was good. Very good. She’d caught the essence of the whole event: the alternating boastfulness and boredom of the show parents, the slight pathos of poor families in their barely clean best clothes hoping for a premium, the wild exuberance of the children, and the utter ridiculousness of the entire affair, with a subtle wit that was clever enough to be noticed by most readers but not so sharp that it was condescending.
Ah, Miss Palmer, he thought, folding the newspaper carefully and putting it aside. Genevieve. He’d thought of her
