Callers

"Goodbye Mrs. Johnson" Ramona chimed as her guest was escorted out of the parlor. Her head was beginning to spin. All afternoon she had been sitting in the stuffy parlor taking callers. Ever since her mother had died, floods of well to do women came to call, checking in on her out of respect for their lost friend. Ramona tried with all she could to greet them and entertain just like mama, but she was finding it difficult. She had been to cotillion and finishing schools her entire life, yet she still found greeting guests exhausting work.
She remembered Sarah sitting at her side, learning how to be a lady,  and smiled to herself as she remembered Sarah's first attempt to pour tea at cotillion. She had gotten distracted and filled Ramona's cup so full that the hot, brown liquid flooded off her saucer and drenched the lace table cloth.
"A lady keeps her eye on the cup at all times!" their teacher had scolded Sarah. Ramona could see Sarah's blue eyes rolling at this rebuke, and hear her mumble of "I am not sure I want to be a lady" that only she could hear. Ramona chuckled to herself at this memory. She and Sarah had met at the local cotillion back in 1907, when they had both been on the brink of womanhood at 15 years old. Sarah had made Ramona laugh countless times at her impersonations of their teachers, sarcastic remarks and continual trips and spills. Sarah made Ramona see how silly society was and how much fun it was to laugh at yourself.
Oh, how she had missed her friend when she won her scholarship to attend college, and how envious she was that Sarah could escape the stuffiness of sitting rooms and teas, while Ramona was stuck taking callers for her sick mother. Guilt flooded her at this thought. Memories of her old resentfulness flooded her. How much she loathed herself for wishing to be off with Sarah when her mother had needed her help. She shook her head, attempting to rid herself of these thoughts.
"Miss Ramsey" Gerald said in his stuffy voice.
Ramona looked up at him. "Yes" she said.
"You have another caller."
Ramona bit her lip. Another caller? Who on Earth could it be?
"Who is it, Gerald?" She asked.
"A Miss Sarah Turner."
Ramona felt her headache vanish as she heard the lark sounding voice fill the hall.
"Mona! Are you gonna let me in or not?" She heard Sarah shout.
Ramona looked up and saw Gerald clench his jaw at Sarah greeting. He hated when rules were broken  in regards to etiquette.
"Show her in Gerald" Ramona said, feeling a smile cross her face.
And just then, a short, brown haired someone walked threw the door.

Rewind; Spring

The stench of chalk fills Sarah's lungs.  Itching to open the window, she peers over the edge of her small island of books and out to the green lawn below.  Springtime, come early this far west.  How is it so hot in this room?  She tugs absent mindlessly at her collar, this jacket is too high for her taste.  Her fingers brush down, leaving a smudge of ink on her white blouse.  Oblivious to all except the smell of chalk, how is it that the other ladies in this seminar can stand it?  Surly she must not be the only one with a churning stomach.  She leans forward, digging her fingertips into her temples.  Hot, so hot.  In another world, a fly buzzes languidly around the window.  In another world, the professor is calling on her.  She slumps forward.  A hand is on her shoulder, and the world is spiraling forward into her hands as her breakfast biscuits churn. 
Miss Turner?  Turner?  Sarah?
Black.

Gibson Girl

Car Sick

Bump,bump, bump. Ramon felt herself being jostled to and fro, up and down, as her father's new automobile made it's way down the street. Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as her head began to swim. She wished that her corset had not been laced so tight.

"ooooh" she let a low moan slip past her lips. 

"Are you alright dear?" Her father asked, a look of concern playing across his graying brow. 

Ramona nodded sheepishly. 

"I know you don't like riding in the car, but it is the fastest way to get there." 

Ramona nodded again. She could feel the color leaving her cheeks with every turn of the car. She had to say something. Had to take her mind off of how ill she was feeling. 

"Father," she said in the strongest voice she could muster "Who are we meeting again?" 

She noticed a smile forming under her father's bushy gray mustache. 

"Just a colleague of mine Mona." 

Ramona raised an eyebrow. "A colleague?" 

She looked in to her father's hazel eyes (they were the exact shading as her own), he was hiding something, and Ramona could only guess what. He had done this before. Every now and then, like this afternoon, he would tell Ramona to get dressed up because that evening they would be going out to meet a "colleague" of her father's from the bank. These "colleagues" would be amiable men that her father wished for her to marry. The last one had been dreadful. He had had mosey brown hair, watery eyes, and had smelled strongly of whisky. Ramona grimaced at the memory. 

"What is his name?" she asked in an indifferent tone. She could care less what his name was. He would be just like all the others. Some social climber hoping to marry her to make his way in Boston society. 

"Stephen Magathan" He father answered proudly. 

"Magathan?" She asked 

"Yes, a good Scottish lad" there was a hint of a smile in his voice as he said this, his thick Scottish accent revealing it's self a little more than it had. 

Ramona rolled her eyes. Her father was always proud of finding "good Scottish boys" for her to meet.
The car continued to bump up and down as it made it's way through the streets of Boston. Ramona felt herself feeling sick again. Why couldn't they have taken the carriage? Yes, it was slower than the automobile, but she could not stand riding in this car one more moment.
At that thought the car screeched to a stop. Ramona sighed a breath of relief.
"Well done Freguson!" her father exclaimed to the driver, "we made it in very good time."
Ferguson helped Ramona and her father exit the car, as a Valet opened the door to the restaurant.

The buzz of clattering silver, china, and Chrystal  filled the air. Ramona's father took her arm and led her to a table where a young man with a head of dark hair sat.

Upon seeing them he stood up. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and Ramona had to admit, he pulled the look off very well. He was clean shaven, and had bright green eyes that were adorned with long, dark lashes.
Oh great, Ramona thought, he is handsome.
He reached out to take her father's hand.

"Good evening Mr. Ramsey." he said in a strong, confidant voice, with a small hint of a highland accent.
"Stephen my lad! Good to see you!" Her father replied with great enthusiasm. "This is my daughter Ramona."He said, gesturing to her.
Stephen bowed his head to her, as she made a small, half hearted curtsy. Ramona's father sat down, leaving a seat open next to Stephen. He pulled back the chair for her and she sat down with as much grace as she could after the bumpy ride.
There was little talking during dinner.
Ramona ate her lamb, carrots, and potatoes, listening to her father and Stephen talk about Scotland, the bank, Scotland, the weather, and Scotland for two hours. Stephen occasionally asked her a question or two, but she did not contribute to the discussion much. She learned that Stephen had come from the Highlands when he was six with his mother and father. He had attended university at Harvard, and it turned out that he was a lawyer that helped her father at the bank with legal matters. He seemed like a nice person, but for some reason Ramona was determined to dislike him.
She was watching the light play off the crystal glasses at their table when her father exclaimed,

"Pardon me children, but I must excuse my self for a few moments" he rose and walked towards the restrooms.

Ramona felt heat rising to her cheeks. He always did this. Every time her father and her had dinner with some gentleman, he would excuse himself before desert to go to the restroom.

She heard Stephen clear his throat.

"So..." he said, in a little less confident voice than he had earlier, "Your father tells me you are interested in music."
Ramona had to keep herself from rolling her eyes. He was talking to her about her music?
Oh Goodness. 
"Yes," she said, rather coolly.
"Do you play an instrument?"
"I do" she replied.
He looked at her, his green eyes fixed on her hazel ones. They were the exact same green as her dress. Goodness why couldn't she think of a reply.
"And what do you play?" He asked, still staring at her.
Ramona felt her throat dry. She hated talking to strangers, especially men like this. He would ask her questions and all the time he would have a hidden agenda. Just like William had. She reached out and took a sip of her water before she replied.
" I play the Violin" she said.
"A very pretty instrument. How long have you played?" Ramona was getting tired of his questions.
She looked at him again. He look like he was earnestly interested in what she was saying. But why should he be? It was not as if they would meet again after tonight.
"Why do you care how long I have played?" She asked, ice evident in her voice.
He looked confused at her sudden rudeness, but she did not care. She was going to get to the bottom of this. "Why do you care about anything I say? All you care about is fortune and getting closer to my father through me. You are not interested in my music or my hobbies or my friends. All you care about is the money." The words had spilled out of her lips before she could stop. Everything about him reminded her of William. except for the eyes. William had brown eyes.
"Your father told me about what happened last year... with your fiance." He said his eyes, still fixed on her. "You see, I understand what you are going through"
"How could you possibly know what I am going through?" she asked. She had been betrayed by the man she loved, and lost her mother in one years time. How on earth could he understand?
"Well," he began "I was betrayed by my fiance two years ago. She ran off with another man, and I lost my father a year and a half ago" His eyes left hers and he looked lost in thought for a moment. "Your father wanted us to meet because he thinks I can be a good friend to you. Nothing more. He understands that you have been hurt and need a friend, just as I do."
Ramona looked at the crystal glass again. She did need a friend. With Sarah off on her adventures, she had been terribly lonely the last year. Perhaps she should try being Stephen's friend.
"We can be friends, Stephen. As long as you promise me one thing."
His green stare met her hazel one.
"What?" he asked, somewhat amused.
"You have to promise not to fall in love with me."
He looked at her with an eyebrow raised.
"Alright Miss Ramsey, I promise I will not fall in love with you" And he held out his hand.
Ramona took it in her own. "We shall shake on it" and they did.

A few moments later her father had returned beaming at them, and told Stephen it was time for them to depart. They made their farewells outside the restaurant. When the car pulled up, Stephen helped Ramona into the car. He held her hand a second longer than necessary. And she looked up at him.
"Goodnight, my friend" he whispered. "I hope to see you again soon."
As the car pulled away Ramona felt her stomach begging to turn again, and this time, it had nothing to do with the bump, bump, bump of the car.

Afternoon Dreams

She couldn't bring herself to tell Mona, couldn't say it after spending five minutes with her old friend.  Mona would be shocked, and upset, and there had just been too many shocking and upsetting things for her in the last year.  But sooner or later she would have to tell her, sooner or later everyone would know...
Reaching the street Sarah turned briskly away from the direction of home and the stuffy sitting room that contained her mother and her unfinished lace pillow cover.  Crocheting be damned, she needed to clear her head the only way she knew how.  The city of Boston was really just an overgrown town, and that added to the sweltering claustrophobia.  Cabs and the occasional automobile crowded the streets, but instead of hailing one Sarah struck out on foot.

Jamaica Pond, surrounded by large summer homes, was the closest thing that Boston had to nature.  It's a shock, after spending a year within a short walk of towering trees and complete solitude. This time of year, the trees were just beginning to leaf out and a few idle rowboats were dotted around the pond.  Smiling, Sarah remembered the time she and Timothy had taken a boat out to one of the small islands in the center.
"For a picnic!" he had promised with a devilish grin.  Halfway out he had dropped an oar and they had spent a hilarious if thoroughly frustrating hour trying to get it back.  By the time they had arrived at the island all the marmalade had melted and run off their bread and the cold Coco-Colas that he had brought were warm and fizzing.  Timothy, and her.  So long ago.  The world of higher education had aged her a lifetime.
Flopping down on the grass, she let herself drift into the blue sky, counting clouds and slowly letting her lids get heavy and close.

She is in a room with a slanted ceiling and a window that overlooks the back of the building and the thoroughfare that runs parallel to the building.   Starlight plays off the wall, a candle gutters on the desk, almost burned out. 
"It's late."
"Stay with me."  His eyes are pleading, soft and grey.  He curls his fingers along the back of her neck, tugging at the stray tendrils that have sprung out of her up-swept hair.  He is beautiful, and in this moment they are the only two people in the world.
"I'm going to get chastised in Chapel already, it's an hour past curfew."
"If you're already in trouble, what's the point in hurrying?"  He pulls slightly and she slips onto the low iron bed. 
"You're trouble, that's what you are."  His eyes spark with amusment.
"I know.  And you're lovely when you're contrite.  Now stay with me, I promise I'll get you home before you have to answer to your dorm mother." 

"Ohh!"  Sarah woke with a start.  The light has changed from late afternoon to falling twilight.  How long did she sleep?  Gathering herself, she shuddered.  Even this beautiful park wasn't safe for young women after dark.  Silently cursing the unfair ways of the world that force women inside at nightfall, she hurried to catch a cab. 
On the way home she twisted her glove off her hand.  In the semi darkness she found the circular spot, located between the forefinger and thumb of her ink-stained gloves.  This spot wasn't the dull grey of her reports and letters home-this spot was darker and rust colored.  Holding it to her breast, she fully realized the lonely truth: not even Mona could know her secret. 

Ink Stains

Ramona looked across the finely decorated table. Everything was perfect. Pink rose filled a crystal vase that reflected the mid-afternoon sun. Her grandmother's tea set sat, ready for use, the white of it's china blending with the golden air that filled the room. She shot a nervous glance at the grandfather clock that ticked away in the room. Sarah said she would be here at 3:00. It was now 3:05. She bit her lip. Where could she be?  Ramona walked to the mirror that hung on the wall of the sitting room. Her auburn hair was fixed in the new Gibson style. A vine of lace was crawling up her neck and bloomed out just below her chin. The blue of her gown made her hair blaze like the fire in the hearth and Ramona smiled at herself in the mirror. She knew it was wrong to be vain, but if there was anything she liked most about her appearance it was her hair. When she had been young, Ramona would sit on her mother's chamber floor as her mother would braid it for her before bed. It was one of her favorite memories of her childhood. Ramona's smile fell as she thought of Mama. Her throat became tight as she choked down repressed tears. No, not now. She could not cry. Everything had to be perfect! She would be here any moment.

Ramona paced the sitting room, frequently looking out the window trying to catch a first glimpse of her friend. Finally, and 3:20 Sarah came walking up the newly bricked sidewalk to the house. Ramona quickly straightened her dress and looked quickly in the mirror one last time.

She heard Gerald, the butler, answer the door.

"Good afternoon miss, how may I help you?" He asking in a pompous tone. A lark sounding voice filled the hall in response.
"Yes, I am Sarah Turner. I believe Mona is expecting me."
"This way please" Gerald said.

Ramona sat down in the nearest chair, ready for Gerald's entrance.

"Miss Turner" he said.

Ramona could hardly contain herself from running to Sarah, but she knew it would not be proper to jump and down with her old friend as they had at school. They were ladies now, and must act the part. She rose slowly to greet her friend.

Sarah entered the room after being announced. She stood their, wearing a lavender gown with poofed sleeves the reached to her ears. Which was odd because Sarah was not very tall in height.  Her light brown hair was styled the same way as her own, perhaps to make up for lost inches, but Ramona noticed there were a few hairs flying about. Her bright blue eyes sparkled, just like the vase in the sunlight. A wide smile played across her pink lips. Sarah reached out her hand as if to shake Ramona's, but stopped. She looked up at Ramona, her eyes twinkling still and said,

"Is shaking hands still the thing? Or is it not proper?" her lark song filled the room, as it had filled the hall. For someone so small her voice could fill the room the way her body could not.

Ramona smiled down at her friend "Yes shaking hands is still "the thing"." She replied trying to hide her laughter. As they clasped hands Ramona noticed that Sarah's gloves were stained with ink and tea. Typical Sarah. She thought.

"Please sit" Ramona said, in the most grown up way she could, motioning to the red velvet sofa.

Sarah walked to the sofa and plopped down, in a very ungraceful manner. She looked up at Ramona with a quizzical look playing across her brow.

"What?" Ramona said, becoming self conscious as she sat next to Sarah.

"You look different" Sarah replied.

"Well you have been away for a very long time."

"A year is not that long, Mona"

Mona... goodness, Sarah had been calling her that since they were children. It seemed like a childish name now, almost as if it did not fit in the glowing room.

Ramona smiled at Sarah. "Well..." she said "how was college?"

Sarah beamed at her.

"It was..." Sarah began "Amazing!"

"Really? The boys did not tease you or boycott you and the other girls?" Ramona asked, concerned.

Sarah scoffed. "Well...yes they did. Some of the boys were downright awful. And some of the teachers were even worse."

Ramona clicked her tongue. She had read about women being ridiculed in the college class rooms across the country. With more and more schools opening to women one would think the old prejudices would dissolve.

"But I learned so much!" Sarah continued.

"Oh? Like what?"

"I learned science, and history, mathematics, and English. But not only that, I learned how to stand up for myself around men."

"And why would you need to learn that?"

Sarah rolled her brilliant blue eyes. "Because silly, we women need to take a stand now! I hear about the suffragettes in England who try and get the vote. That is what we should be doing. Not drinking tea."

Ramona felt her face turn a deep shade of red. She probably looked like a tomato with the color of her hair. Why did Sarah always have to ruin things by talking about change. Ramona was perfectly happy the way things were. Of course she longed to go to college and be at Sarah's side, but only because she wanted to learn. Not to prove a point.

"Oh Mona, I am sorry." She must have noticed Ramona's hot face. "I just get carried away sometimes..."

"Do not concern yourself about it Sarah" Ramona said cooly . "You know I would love to be there with you but because of..."

"Because of you mother?" Sarah said in a hushed voice.

Ramona nodded. Tears were filling her eyes again. She looked away, she did not want Sarah to see that it still upset her. She had to be strong, for her father.

"Was it bad? At the end?" Sarah asked. Ramona could tell she was concerned, but she did not want to talk about her mother's death in the middle of tea. All she could do was muster a short nod. She felt Sarah take her hand and she looked into her cool, blue gaze. They sat there a moment. Looking at the sparkles that played of the vase. And just because she needed something to do with her hands Ramona reached for the tea pot.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked

"Yes, thank you" Sarah said softly.

Ramona served them both tea and they sat in silence for a few moments.

Finally Ramona decided it should be her turn to talk and began.

"So" she started, "I can tell by your gloves that you are still writing. What new stories have you been working on?"

Sarah's coy smile flew across her face, and Ramona knew that for the next few hours, she would have very little talking to do.