Where We Belong Read online

  “I agree. Lake Park can’t be far. By the time we get there it’ll be lunchtime, and we can buy some roasted peanuts from one of the vendors. Do you have any money?”

  “A little.” Flora always carried loose change in her pockets in case she saw a street beggar. The youngest urchins tugged especially hard at her heart.

  Rebecca and her sister continued down Michigan Avenue, arm in arm, passing gracious homes on one side of the avenue, and rows of spindly trees on the other. Beyond the trees was a narrow lagoon, separated from Lake Michigan by a spit of land where the locomotives entered and exited the Great Central Depot. Even from this distance Rebecca could hear the steam whistles hooting and see smoke pluming into the clear, blue sky. Sailing ships of all sizes and shapes dotted the distant lake. Freedom and excitement beckoned her.

  An hour later they reached Lake Park and sat on a bench eating peanuts and watching squirrels chase through the trees. They composed a mental list of all the places they hoped to see and the European cities and countries they planned to visit. Rebecca thoroughly enjoyed dreaming of exotic places but soon realized it was time to walk home. They needed to arrive before Rufus left to pick them up from school.

  They reached their large, wood-frame house weary and overheated, their faces flushed. Father had built the house the year he’d married, probably imagining the many parties and dinners he and his wife would hold in the spacious parlor and dining room, the dozens of children who would fill the upstairs bedrooms. But the rooms remained empty, mostly unused all these years.

  The moment Rebecca and Flora walked into the foyer, their housekeeper, Mrs. Griffin, flew at them like an enraged hen. “Here you are!” she shouted. Rebecca wasn’t sure if she was about to box their ears or embrace them. Their other servants also came at a run. Their cook, Maria Elena, made the sign of the cross, then used her apron to mop tears from her eyes. She burst into such a torrent of babble in her native Italian that Rebecca couldn’t tell if she was scolding them or rejoicing at their return. Rufus, their driver, leaned against the wall in relief when he saw them, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He’d been a slave in New Orleans before purchasing his freedom and had worked as Father’s faithful driver for as long as Rebecca could remember. “Thank heaven you’re safe,” he said.

  “Of course we’re safe. Why wouldn’t we be?” Rebecca asked.

  The housekeeper’s face turned a vivid red, her features scrunched with emotion. Their butler, Griffin, laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder, his face stern. “We received a note from the headmistress of your school saying you’d gone missing.”

  Flora gave a stage-worthy gasp. “You thought we were missing?”

  “The headmistress was alarmed because several schoolgirls saw your carriage arrive, but then you vanished. We didn’t know what to tell her. Rufus insisted that he’d delivered you to school on time—”

  “I did! I know I did!” Rufus said, still braced against the wall. “That school bell ain’t even ringing yet. All them girls still outside.”

  “I hope you didn’t involve Father,” Rebecca said.

  “No. Rufus went out searching for you and returned empty-handed,” Griffin explained. “We were just deciding what we should do next.”

  The cook finished wiping her eyes. “You are giving us a terrible scare!”

  Rebecca didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but Flora’s dark eyes swam with tears at the sight of their trustworthy servants’ distress. “I’m so sorry we frightened you,” she said. “We never dreamed you’d be worried about us. I feel terrible!” The cook offered Flora a corner of her apron to dry her tears.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Rebecca said. “I should have thought it through more carefully. But the day was just too beautiful to stay inside. We didn’t think anyone would miss us. . . . Rufus, please don’t say anything about this when you fetch Father from work. I’ll explain everything to him once he’s home, I promise.”

  “Yes, Miss Rebecca.”

  With the tension defused, Rebecca and Flora went upstairs to their room. They could have each had a room or two to themselves on the spacious second floor, but they preferred to share the same one, as they had since their days in the nursery. “That was awful,” Rebecca said, closing the door behind her. “We’ll have to make it up to them, but we can’t let it derail our plans.”

  They spent the rest of the afternoon preparing a report for Father as carefully as they would complete a school project, neatly detailing the costs of traveling by rail to New York, then by steamship abroad. Deciphering the information from Cunard’s enigmatic brochure proved nearly as difficult as translating hieroglyphics, but Rebecca eventually cracked the code and printed out the necessary details in her own hand. Father valued a well-researched proposal. In fact, he often gave them a topic to study, then listened as they presented their conclusions, reasoning and debating the issue with them over dinner. It probably never occurred to him that most girls their age didn’t interact with their fathers this way. Or that in most homes, meals weren’t conducted like board meetings. Rebecca knew that outsiders might view her father as cold and distant, but she adored him.

  Dinner seemed hastily prepared that evening, probably due to the afternoon’s upheaval. When Father finished his last bite of food and leaned back in his chair, Rebecca seized the moment. “Father, Flora and I have prepared a proposal we would like you to consider.” She handed him the first page. “Since our school is limited in what it’s able to teach, we believe we could learn a great deal more if we took a trip abroad. As you can see from our list, there are several places we would like to visit, along with many interesting things we would like to see and do in each place, such as viewing the Egyptian collections in the Louvre in Paris.”

  Father stroked his silvery beard as he studied the page. “This looks quite thorough. . . . I suppose it might be time to broaden your education.”

  “In that case, we’ve prepared another list of projected travel expenses,” she said, handing it to him. “And this third page details some of the possible railroad and steamship schedules. We thought the summer months might be a good time to go, after school is out.”

  “This summer?”

  “Yes, Father,” they said in unison.

  “Please?” Flora added, gazing up at him with her melting brown eyes.

  Father took a moment to think. He was a great believer in the Bible’s warning to “let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath,” and Rebecca was counting on this to work in her favor. At last he tapped the pages into a neat pile and laid them on the table. “You’ve done a good job. But first you’ll need to learn French. Once you’re able to read and converse with some fluency, I’ll take you to Paris. The same holds true for any other language you master. As I’ve often told you, we were put on this earth to do something productive with our lives. Rich or poor, we each have a God-given calling to fulfil. It’s simply a question of finding out what that might be. Perhaps a trip abroad will help you girls with that search.”

  Rebecca felt like dancing. “We couldn’t agree more, Father.” She and Flora exchanged excited grins. Father probably believed he was buying time by making them learn French, but he had no idea how determined Rebecca was. “Will you hire a French tutor for us?” she asked.

  “Right away?” Flora added.

  Again he thought for a moment. “Yes. I’ll ask your headmistress to recommend someone.”

  Rebecca’s glowing excitement dimmed. She winced as she searched for a way to introduce the next subject. “Father . . . I’m sorry, but I’m afraid the headmistress isn’t too pleased with me at the moment. You see, I coaxed Flora into skipping school today so we could research those travel times and expenses for you. We never imagined that anyone would miss us or worry about us, but it seems that the headmistress did.”

  “You went off alone? Without Rufus?”

  “Yes, Father,” they said in unison. Rebecca was counting on him to remember th
e second half of that Bible verse: “For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.”

  “As you can see,” she said, “we easily found our way around Chicago and home again without becoming lost. And we accomplished our goal, which you have right in front of you. We wanted to demonstrate that we’re old enough and mature enough to travel.”

  “But of course we’ll still need you to come with us to Europe,” Flora added.

  Rebecca waited. Father didn’t seem angry; he rarely lost his temper, and when he did, it was usually over something he read in the newspaper about the political wrangling in Washington. When Rebecca could no longer endure the suspense, she said, “I don’t suppose the headmistress will be pleased about our absence, but perhaps it would ease things with her if you wrote a note of explanation for us to take to school tomorrow. If you could please ask her to excuse our truancy—”

  “And recommend a French tutor,” Flora added.

  “—we would be very grateful.”

  Father gave a curt nod after a moment and pushed back his chair. “Very well.” He might as easily have said, “meeting adjourned.” He got as far as the door before adding, “The next time you have a change in plans, I advise you to tell someone where you’re going.”

  “Yes, Father,” they said together.

  When he was gone, Rebecca and Flora slid off their chairs and hugged each other. “We’re going on our very first adventure!” Flora said with a squeal.

  “No, it will be our second one, Flora. Today counts as our first.”

  Chapter 3

  PARIS

  SUMMER 1860

  Father suffered from seasickness for the entire voyage across the Atlantic. He managed to drag himself off his bed and out of his cabin to dine with Rebecca and Flora every evening but never ate much. Rebecca, on the other hand, took to the waves like a seasoned sailor. She and Flora spoke only French with each other and practiced conversing with any other French-speaking passengers willing to talk with them. Father had seemed very surprised that they had mastered the language so quickly, but he was pleased—even though it meant honoring his word and taking them to France after school let out for the summer.

  “Your daughters have a natural gift for languages,” their French tutor had told him. “I recommend you employ a Greek tutor when you return from Europe. The young misses have expressed an interest in learning that language, too, and I believe they would learn it very quickly.” Rebecca had made a wager with the tutor in order to get him to recommend Greek lessons, betting him that she and Flora could get perfect scores on their French grammar test. When they had, he had honored the bet. Then he’d nearly ruined everything by adding, “Although it’s quite unusual for young girls to study Greek. Quite pointless, too, no doubt.”

  Once their French studies had been well underway, Rebecca and Flora spent every spare minute with their cook, Maria Elena, learning a rudimentary knowledge of Italian. They couldn’t read it very well, lacking a proper book to study—though Rebecca wasn’t entirely sure that Maria Elena could read her native language, either. But they learned Italian well enough to converse with hotel clerks and restaurant waiters and to ask for directions to the Colosseum or Saint Peter’s Basilica. Most importantly, they learned it well enough to impress Father and convince him to add Italy to their itinerary.

  They landed in the port of Dover in Great Britain and boarded a train to London, spending two glorious weeks exploring that wonderful city with its pomp and pageantry and palaces. “London makes Chicago and even New York City seem brand-new,” Flora commented. Father had a chance to recover from his seasickness during that time, but it came roaring back on the short but tempestuous voyage across the English Channel to Calais. After a journey south through France by train, they arrived in Paris—glorious Paris! But by the time they checked into their hotel on the Rue de Capucines, Father felt so dizzy that he stumbled up the stairs and into their suite like a drunken man.

  “We’ll see everything tomorrow, girls. I promise,” he told them. He lay flat and perfectly still on his bed, eyes closed. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday,” Rebecca pointed out. “Dimanche,” she added in French.

  “Monday, then. . . . The Louvre, the Palace of Versailles, whatever you’d like. Just let me rest now.”

  “What about dinner?”

  He groaned like a dying man. “Order room service.”

  That proved to be great fun for Rebecca, trying new foods and testing her command of French as she ordered coq au vin and escargots from the menu, then conversing with the waiter who delivered it.

  Sunday turned out to be a gorgeous summer day. They were in Paris! And Father still couldn’t move his head, much less rise from his bed without being overcome by waves of nausea. His face looked as pale as his silvery hair and beard.

  “Should we be worried about you?” Rebecca asked him.

  “Not at all. I’ll be fine tomorrow. Prepare an itinerary for us. Then check with the concierge about hiring transportation and a guide for the week.” He probably figured the assignment would fill the rest of their day, but Rebecca and Flora arranged a full week’s worth of sightseeing before noon.

  They sat by the open window in their room, the curtains fluttering in the breeze, as they nibbled from their room-service cheese and fruit plate and stared with longing at the tree-lined avenue below, jammed with people and carriages. Sunday in Paris in the summertime appeared to be the day that the entire population of the city poured from their maisons and appartements, determined to enjoy themselves. Laughing, chattering Parisians filled every boulevard and avenue as far as Rebecca could see. And many of these gaily dressed people were streaming right past her hotel. Where were they all going?

  “It’s going to be a very long, boring day,” Flora said with a sigh. She lifted the delicate teacup with her pinky finger extended, the way they’d been taught in school.

  Rebecca leapt to her feet. “It doesn’t have to be boring. We can find something fun to do on our own.”

  “Without Father? . . . I mean, sans Papa?”

  “Why not? What would it hurt if we took a stroll around the block? Or maybe two blocks? Or maybe we could walk to La Seine and watch the boats? I don’t think it’s very far. . . . Please, Flora?”

  “Won’t we get lost?”

  “Of course not. We didn’t get lost when we explored Chicago on our own, did we?”

  “Well, no. I suppose a short walk wouldn’t hurt . . . if you’re sure you know the way.”

  They set out from their room in great spirits, leaving a note for Father saying they intended to circle the block and come right back. “Excusez-moi . . .” Rebecca said as the uniformed doorman swept open the door for them. “But where is everyone going?” she asked in French.

  He lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug as if the answer should be obvious to anyone. “It’s Sunday, mademoiselle.”

  “They’re all going to church?”

  He gave a dismissive snort, erasing the idea with a toss of his head and a wave of his white-gloved hand. “I think not, mademoiselle.”

  “But . . . is there a parade today? Is this a special . . . ?” She couldn’t think of the word for occasion.

  “Parade? There is no parade, mademoiselle.” He seemed irritated that she would even ask such a ridiculous question. “There is the Jardin des Tuileries, the Rue de Rivoli, the Champs-Elysees!” His gestures grew more exaggerated with each place he named.

  “Merci beaucoup,” Flora said. She tugged Rebecca’s arm to move away from him. “Did you understand him?” she asked. “Why did he seem so angry?”

  “I don’t know. It’s one thing to learn a language and another thing to understand the people who speak it. Come on.” She merged into the stream of pedestrians, pulling Flora along with her.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The same place everyone else is.”

  “But . . . how do we know where that is? I thought you said we were only g
oing to circle the block and come right back.”

  “Listen, do you really want to sit inside our hotel room on such a beautiful day? Let’s have an adventure, Flora. You want to see Paris, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course, but shouldn’t we wait for Father?”

  “If we do, we’ll never get past the front door of our hotel. He’s proving to be a great disappointment as a traveling companion. We’ll need to leave him behind if we want to see the world.”

  “But . . . but we’re just schoolgirls, Becky! All alone . . . in a foreign country!”

  Rebecca released her sister’s arm. “You can turn around and go back if you want to, but I’m going for a walk.”

  Flora looked unsure for a moment as she stared at Rebecca, but she finally smiled and linked her arm through hers again. “You’re fearless, aren’t you?”

  “I refuse to live my life like a timid, simpering damsel, waiting for a knight in shining armor to rescue me. It isn’t fearlessness that propels me, it’s curiosity. Why learn about the world through books when we can visit exciting places, see new things, and experience life firsthand? Besides, the Lord knows when the end of our days will be. We don’t need to fear.”

  They merged into the crowd and continued down the street until they reached an intersection. Everyone seemed to be turning to the right, so Rebecca and Flora joined them. Rebecca searched for a street name so she could find her way back but didn’t see one. She looked for a landmark instead, but the lovely, palatial stone buildings that lined the avenues all looked the same to her. Nevertheless, she knew their hotel was on Rue des Capucines and was confident she could retrace their steps. They passed numerous outdoor cafés, where people dined at tiny tables in the open air, and it looked like such fun she wished she could join them.

  “Why on earth have we been taking our meals in our room, Flora, when we could be eating out here?”

  “Because Father told us to order room service and—”

  “Wouldn’t it be much more fun to sit in the fresh air along the sidewalk and watch the people go by?”