Deliverance from Evil

By Corinne Taylor

A marvelous job with such insight into my mothers thoughts. I surely enjoyed the research on the events of each year in her life that stood out. I am sure my mother is very happy with the outcome.
Florence Montfort Prender

CORINNE TAYLOR tells the compelling story of Florence Schneider, a young debutante in the late-Victorian, high society of Washington D.C., who sidesteps a local array of handsome, eligible men and falls in love with Tom, a stranger to the city.
Despite her other unrelenting suitors, Tom proves himself to be her truelove and an ambitious young man of great promise. With his impressive academic credentials and glowing references, he attains the blessing of her father, and their future appears golden.
Vulnerabilities, romantic idealism, and unscrupulous behavior converge within the young couples seemingly idyllic relationship and, ultimately, lead to a perplexing tragedy.
What occurred in 1915 plagued Florences family with fear and suspicion, and left a wake of unanswered questions. Meticulous research into archived information has put these questions to rest, and a mystery is revealed that has lain dormant for four generations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Sep 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781458205407

Corinne Taylor

Corinne Taylor has roots in Washington, D.C. that go back seven generations. She and her husband of thirty-five years have four adult sons, two grandchildren, and live in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. This is her third work of historical fiction.

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Copyright © 2012 by Corinne Taylor.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0539-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0540-7 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0541-4 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012913464

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Abbott Press rev. date: 11/20/12

Contents

Author’s Note

~Prologue~

~Introduction~

Part One

~ 1 ~ Family Values

~ 2 ~ Halloween Scare

~ 3 ~ Gladys

~ 4 ~ Halley’s Comet

~ 5 ~ Summer Into Autumn

~ 6 ~ Christmas Party

~ 7 ~ New Year’s Eve

~ 8 ~ Infatuation

~ 9 ~ Unbound

~ 10 ~ Secret Love

~ 11 ~ A Familiar Stranger

~ 12 ~ Rain Beaux

~ 13 ~ June Week

~ 14 ~ The Train Giveth & Taketh Away

~ 15 ~ Keeping The Secret

~ 16 ~ My Debut

~ 17 ~ Ring In Christmas

~ 18 ~ Cinderella And Suffragettes

~ 19 ~ Trip To The Farms

~ 20 ~ Impromptu Visit

~ 21 ~ Double Rain Beaux

~ 22 ~ Ambiguous Heart

~ 23 ~ First Fight

~ 24 ~ The Temptation Of Emmett

~ 25 ~ Official Announcement

~ 26 ~ Wedding Plans

~ 27 ~ Torrential Spring

~ 28 ~ May’s Flowers

~ 29 ~ Get Me To The Train On Time

~ 30 ~ Getting To Know You

~ 31 ~ Pomp and Circumstances

~ 32 ~ At The Farms

~ 33 ~ Ring Under The Bureau

~ 34 ~ Tom In The City

~ 35 ~ Business Spree

~ 36 ~ Wedding Or Not

~ 37 ~ Holy Union

~ 38 ~ Post Wedding

~ 39 ~ The Mornings After

~ 40 ~ Dream Home

~ 41 ~ My Present Happiness

~ 42 ~ A Lesser Ideal

~ 43 ~ Tardy Tonic

~ 44 ~ Cold Days Ahead

~ 45 ~ Marital Time Share

~ 46 ~ Infringement

Part Two

~ 47 ~ Baiting Ambition

~ 48 ~ Master Crook

~ 49 ~ Secret In Plain Sight

~ 50 ~ Give The Poor Dog A Bone

~ 51 ~ The Note

~ 52 ~ Cold Biscuits

~ 53 ~ April, 1915

~ 54 ~ Opportunity For Redemption

~ 55 ~ Argo Angst

~ 56 ~ Big Time For A Swell Chicken

~ 57 ~ Bad Time For Chicken

~ 58 ~ All’s Well That Seems Well

~ 59 ~ All’s Ill That Seems Ill

~ 60 ~ Damage Control

~ 61 ~ A Gig For Goons

~ 62 ~ The Last Dance

~ 63 ~ Promises, Promises

~ 64 ~ Sweetheart Of The Letters

Part Three

~ 65 ~ The Aftermath

~ 66 ~ The Deed

~ 67 ~ On The Run

~ 68 ~ Diverted And Detained

~ 69 ~ Confrontation

~ 70 ~ Grief

~ 71 ~ In The News

Part Four

~ 72 ~ Tom, 1953

~ 73 ~ Tom, 1911

~ 74 ~ Commencement

~ 75 ~ A Good Bet

~76~ Tom, 1953

~ 77 ~ Tom, 1911

Part Five

~ 78 ~ Florence, 1915

~ 79 ~ Tom, 1953 Full Circle

~Epilogue~

To Flo

Flo painstakingly transcribed her mother’s diary and recollections and kept this story alive in the telling of it. I am so grateful for her sharing it with me.

I was taught as a young girl

That if the devil shows up

He would be suave and silver-tongued

Uttering the very words I wanted to hear

Intent on conveying total concern for me

Love would be the catch-word

Author’s Note

In her recollections, Florence stated "In all its particulars, this [story] is exceptional as a melodrama of actual life—[If one wrote it] as fiction, it would subject the author to a charge of gross invention."

Charge me not, for this work is mostly true. As the story unfolded in the pages of her diary, my heart went out to Florence and, surprisingly, to Tom. I hope I’ve conveyed their story well enough that your heart too will follow.

Prologue.jpg

~Prologue~

Just two miles southwest of my home, Rock Creek wends its way over a stony bed. For many miles it has rushed from a mountain spring, fed by several small creeks and storm water, and here, in the District of Columbia, it pours into the Potomac River, and then, finally, via the Chesapeake Bay, it makes its relatively small contribution to the Atlantic Ocean.

The creek navigates through a heavily wooded and rocky area on the west side of the District. When I was a little child, this area was established as a park, long after people had made it a favorite destination. The stretch of windy Beach Road was itself a means of entertainment, accessible in minutes from the heart of the city by horse-drawn carriage or motor car.

Nature beckoned me to the park. It was a respite from the clamor and commotion of the city, as well as, from illness, unease, and long winters. I went there to breathe the fresh air, to experience the serenity, and to follow mindlessly the tracks of raccoons, and the split-hoofed track of deer that come in the night, to drink. There, alongside the creek, I embraced the splendor of nature. Each year it offered a wintry color palette of bark grey and snow white, and the first real glimpse of spring. Trees lined the banks of the creek. Some, with their recumbent boughs, arched the narrowest widths, snow-covered and dripping with icicles in winter, while the fresh, light green leaves of the willows shivered in the ides of March. As early as April, I waded in the shallow pools, where the water was warmed by the sun-heated rocks, and into the latter part of fall, I immersed myself in the deepest, stillest portion where it remained warm. On the hottest of summer days, I would tread water, stirring the cooler water down-under, thus bringing it nearer to the surface to cool myself.

Land along the creek was dotted with foundations of old homesteads and war fortifications. Old mill houses barely stood the ravages of time, with the exception of Peirce’s Mill. It was a tea house in my day, a romantic little luncheon place which I frequented. Formed by long walks on hard beaten paths, my memories are of the area’s natural features, as they once were, and when it was a setting well-suited for romantic picnics. Beneath the surfaces of the land and the creek could be found ancient artifacts, evidence of days past.

It’s wrongly thought that one can bury the past. There’s always someone to come along and dig it up, or else, it is ever present, in one respect or another. There is a tendency with death to abandon the next generations to carry the load. That is, unless, a proper and wise perspective is allowed to dispel its myths and enlighten the mysteries.

The earliest recollections that I have of my childhood days are happy and beautiful thoughts, ones that are full of home life and the deep devotion of mother and father. Thank goodness for this upbringing, as it necessarily informed the difficult days that were to come, days that I spent a lifetime trying to bury.

You see, as a young debutante, my mind was full of fanciful thoughts, and it had no room for a reality that was not void of conflict. Interaction with my many beaux naturally brought conflict, as they were fully present to me. No man could live up to my perfect ideal. No man, that is, except Tom.

With one kiss, he gained my full attention, and then proceeded to feed my idealism through correspondence. To my mind and heart, he was the embodiment of the perfect man. He showered upon me daily missives of love expressed beautifully. He romanced me with flowers and gifts, and his short visits that kept me travailing between the height and the depth of emotion left me wanting for more of him. I held fast to him, and I strove to have my ideal prevail over intrusions of reality.

Before my death in 1989, I hadn’t known whatever became of Tom. A charming, attractive, and intelligent man, skilled at manipulation as he was, I was sure he had remarried, as had I, and after receiving the governor’s pardon, he surely had restored his reputation and built a successful career. For many years, I feared him, even to the extent that he might do harm to my children, but eventually, the day came when I awoke, and I thought nothing of him.

It wasn’t until my golden years, with a matured sense of what love means, I began to recall my love for him. I reassessed whether I had loved him at all, and I strived to understand whether he ever loved me as he claimed. I came to the conclusion that we both had been challenged in this regard, both ignorant of what it means to truly love.

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~Introduction~

In the early 1900’s, no other city in the country was like mine. It was so very vibrant with people who fascinated me. I noticed some wore strange fashions and spoke with unusual accents. Later, of course, I was to learn of all the foreign delegations that were present in the city of Washington, and that all the states in the union sent representatives to the Congress. Their homes were opulent and designed solely for entertaining. The city was also vibrant with beautification projects and activities. There was always building going on, monuments being dedicated, and parades—so many parades!

While some swamp land and dirt roads remained on the outskirts, the city’s streets were mostly paved or bricked. Broad, tree lined avenues, like spokes on a wheel, extended from the Capitol. Pennsylvania avenue was dense with shops and hotels. There were parks with lawns, fountains, and statuary located on the squares, circles, and triangles formed by the intersecting streets. The Central Market was downtown, and I always wanted to go with Mama for I enjoyed the bustling activity and the ride to and from.

The sidewalks were made of brick and concrete, leaving room for trees planted along the way. It was nothing to walk many miles in a day, but there were also the street cars and horse-drawn carriages, and as far back as I can remember, automobiles were coming more and more into common use. Papa had one of the first cars in the city. Once, as he approached an intersection with a policeman in the middle of the street, Papa put out his hand to signal a left hand turn and the policeman shook it! Mama wasn’t too keen on them, at first, because of the noise and spewing exhaust, but in time, she began to appreciate their usefulness.

I was kept from seeing the section of the city where the negroes lived, apart from the rest of us, and the alleys where impoverished families were crowded together in horrid living conditions. That was their life, and I had mine. All I genuinely experienced was from within my own circle. My father made his reputation and fortune in Washington, where society was wide open to the nouveau riches, a circumstance not found in other East Coast cities. This is the city in which I lived, and grew, and fell in love.

My father, T. F. Schneider was an architect and a builder of thousands of various dwellings. My earliest memory was living in the house my father built on Q Street, where I was born, and then, when I was about five or six, we moved to the Cairo. Papa’s revolutionary design created the Cairo as a hotel for elegant apartment living. Built of brick and stone supported by a steel skeleton, no one, but he, was confident in this innovative structure. The first steel-framed building, and the city’s first and only skyscraper at one hundred and fifty-six feet high, was an architectural triumph. It was, for a time, one of the most luxurious hotels in Washington. The Cairo, as it was called, drew the famous, the rich, and the mighty. It was here that my story took place.

I was just a girl of seventeen when I first laid eyes on Tom. I was in the budding stage of life and, as I tended to think in terms of ideals, I made him the object of my idealism. With little experience of love and life, this was easy to do, especially as my most significant relationships affirmed the ideals I had been formulating. Other girls my age thought the same as I, moving within the conventions of the late-Victorian era—marry young and in love, and seek a union that will provide for our well-being and maintain our status in society. This way of thinking compelled a necessary dependence upon a man. Therefore, all I dreamed of was a future happiness in my own little home. It was a simple dream, but a dream that would cost me much.

Part One

It was a singing hour, when little winds

and fresh-blown sunlight quivered on the leaves,

And lilac fronds hung scented thrillingly;

And all was glad as singing birds are glad,

My wild heart glad with all the things of June.

~Widdemer

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~ 1 ~

Family Values

I was four years old in 1898, the year my sister was born, and in another year and a half, I would have a brother. Up to that time, I had been the sole recipient of my parents’ love and affection. My siblings’ arrival into our family’s world was, at first, a disruption, as I would no longer have Mama and Papa’s undivided attention. Soon, however, I came to realize the devotion of my mother and father always remained with me, and my world was a happy one.

My mother dressed me in the highest fashion of the day and while, at times, I felt such styles were constraining and itchy, I developed an appreciation for my wardrobe. My nursemaid, Sophie, dressed me, and I looked forward to the praise my parents would lavish upon me. I learned early to behave like a lady in society, and I was primed on my manners before social affairs with a proper curtsy and a How d’you do?

Though we had every luxury that riches could buy, Mama never entrusted us entirely to the care of nursemaids. It was under her careful and guarding eye that we grew—Franklin, Ethel and I. When we reached school age, we played only when our lessons were completed. We valued obedience, and we came to appreciate the difference between what was right and what was wrong. I mention this now, as it was to play a vital part in the years that followed. I cannot remember ever having told an untruth about the smallest matter, and in our petty disagreements as brothers and sisters often have, it was always my part to tell how it happened to Mama. I was a spunky, determined, little girl whose occasional naughtiness never escaped my father’s reprimand.

At six years old, my first day of school is one I can always remember, for I was proud and happy. Through all my years of schooling, I did well in my studies and always stood among the head of my class. Though not conceited, I was proud of my achievements. Sometimes, I noticed children around me cheating on their spelling tests and other examinations, but I considered cheating most dreadful and wondered how the children dared to accept undeserved honors. I worked hard at my lessons so that Mama and Papa would be proud of my accomplishments. My first friendships with other girls my age occurred in school; I always enjoyed the games we played, coupled with fun and laughter. This added to my happiness as my world expanded outside my home life.

My family spent summers at various resorts, from the New England coast, down into Virginia, and though, at times, I had my little childish sorrows and heartaches, those were sweet, happy days. In the summer of 1905, when I was eleven, I paid a visit to my Aunt Bessie in Cleveland. She was devoted to me, and I always enjoyed our trips to see her. While there, a family friend, Mrs. Hayes, from Pittsburgh, brought her nephew, Walter, to visit. I had always disliked boys and dreaded his coming. When I learned I was to be paired with him, I told my mother, I don’t like boys.

She said, You don’t have to like this boy, or any other, but you must be polite.

Being polite to boys, for a time, was an act of obedience. Unbeknownst to me, Walter, who was much older than I, was to be my first suitor. After making his acquaintance, I decided he was a big, kind hearted chap who, to my mind, was altogether harmless. I came to like him as a brother, and when he left, I promised to write to him, should he write to me first.

~ 2 ~

Halloween Scare

Franklin sat cross-legged on the floor staring up at me with eyes full of fright just as I had hoped. They followed the trail of blood all the way to the creek, and there they caught a glimpse of the ghost of Matchitehew carrying his bloody hatchet. He had demanded and taken another sacrifice, a male child, from the white man’s village. Oh, his was a most terrible, black heart.

Florence, stop scaring your little brother, and come now to help me carve the jack o’ lantern.

May I help too, Mama?

You can scoop out the seeds, Franklin.

Mama had helped us make our costumes, mostly from old clothes, various scraps, cloth, and crepe paper. Franklin wore a phony mustache, a big, bushy one like Papa’s, and an old derby hat belonging to Papa that was much too large as the brim covered his eyes. I posed as a gypsy queen and Ethel as a fairy. If not for the pixie wand, she would merely look like a ballerina in her tutu and slippers. Walking from house to house, along Q Street, we went trick or treating. During the entire excursion, Franklin was distracted.

Will you please come on?! Seven year-old Ethel pleaded with some aggravation as we repeatedly had to stop, wait for little brother, and hold his sack of candy for him until he had finished his adjustments and was ready to move on to the next house.

Six year-old Franklin lifted his hat and pressed the theatrical mustache to his upper lip, and replied, Aw, hold your hosses; I’m comin’.

Let’s get this show on the road, I said, cheerfully coaxing them onward. I tried to lighten the mood and keep everyone happy. Mama is preparing the party for us to return to just as soon as we are finished visiting the neighbors. Won’t that be fun?

The party was fun at the start, but I remember little of it as I was suddenly taken ill. I was confined to bed and remained in this state for quite awhile. I felt Mama’s and Papa’s concern for me. I heard the commotion of the doctor arriving and Mama greeting him at my bedroom door. I lay still, unable to move, when I felt the chilled metal cup of the stethoscope placed on my chest. The doctor’s hands poked at me, and then held on to my wrist. Next, I felt the comfort of a damp cloth across my forehead. I heard Papa ask the doctor if it could be food poisoning, and then the doctor asked Papa, Could it possibly be that the Halloween candy had poison in it with the intention of doing your children harm?

No, no, no, not in this neighborhood. Papa rejected that theory.

I heard the doctor give instructions to my mother, and soon I heard another voice, that of a nurse, who had come over from the hospital to stay with me. I felt so awful, I could not lift my head from the pillow, and while I could not speak, I listened to the soft voices around me.

Mama allowed no one to see me except Papa. The time passed slowly, and the days, all melded together, were pitifully uncomfortable until the day I noticed the sunshine coming in through my window. Mama was seated next to it, for the good light, with her head bent over her work—sewing. As soon as she noticed I was aware, she lodged her needle, smiled at me, and then rose to go to the door to call Papa.

Little by little, I grew stronger, but it was not until spring, when I was almost twelve years old, that I was able to be up longer than three or four hours a day, and even then I was terribly weak and was never out of Mama’s sight for a minute. I could not have any company; I merely saw people, but never stopped and chatted.

In June, we went to Atlantic City in hopes that the sea air might benefit me, and the piers and amusements would again interest me, but I cared for nothing, and the crowds frightened me. In the four months we spent there, I never once went out on the pier or into those souvenir beach shops on the boardwalk. Mama was my constant companion, and I learned to love her better than anyone could imagine.

Florence, dear, you have a letter.

Seeing the postmark from Pittsburgh, my stomach flipped, and Mama, upon hearing my groan, took the envelope from my hand to open.

It’s from Walter, she said. He is such a polite boy. He writes that he’s coming here to Atlantic City. I felt faint at the thought I would have to see anyone. You must write back to wish him an enjoyable vacation and invite him to call.

I could see there was nothing to prevent Walter’s coming. With Mama’s help, I wrote back to him, and on the day he was to call, she helped me to dress.

I’m not certain I wish to see him, I replied, as my stomach flipped, and I weakened at the knees.

There’s nothing to be frightened of, Florence. You know Walter. Now go wait for him on the porch and make him feel welcome.

Within the hour, I watched him come up the walk, dressed like a man in a white linen suit. My palms were sweaty, and I hadn’t any idea what I would say, so I recalled Mama’s admonition, always be polite, and the meeting passed easily after all. He carried the conversation and invited me for a stroll on the boardwalk.

In the following days, I saw him a few times, and although it hadn’t been too bad a time, still, I felt as a great load was lifted off my shoulders when he finally left for his home.

I told Mama, Boys are good enough, but an awful bore.

In a few years you will think differently, for many can be quite charming. I promise you there will always be the occasional bore, but you are never to tell them so.

Was Papa charming?

Indeed, he was.

And handsome? I giggled.

Yes, and he had a kindly manner. Of course, not all men are like your father. To discover a young man’s genuine nature, you must look beyond his outward appearance. Family pedigree and flowery speeches don’t make the man.

Repeatedly, I wanted to hear the story of my parents’ courtship. They modeled the happy marriage I was certain to attain. I knew one day I would have to start liking boys, but at this time, I didn’t dare think of it.

We returned home in the fall at which time a private tutor came to the house, but after several weeks, I became a bundle of nerves and could not continue my studies. I begged Mama to take me out to the country to see the landscape’s fall colors, so we passed the time by taking long rides. As the days cooled, we spent more time indoors reading, which I loved to do, and embroidering, which I found to be quite soothing.

I promptly and politely answered Walter’s letters, and so when he arrived in Washington for a visit, I felt I knew him well enough that I wasn’t entirely nervous this time.

Have you a boyfriend yet, Florence? Walter asked. Or, are you still not interested in boys?

Walter and I were in the library playing checkers. I felt I could not concentrate, so he was winning every game.

I have nothing in common with boys. They stay to their world and me to mine.

Walter laughed. I’m sure I had no idea why he thought this funny.

I imagine they will soon start encroaching upon your world, Florence, for you are quite a beautiful girl.

My mother taught me to be gracious in accepting compliments, but this made me blush. Abruptly, unable to focus on the game, I excused myself to see when dinner would be served.

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~ 3 ~

Gladys

I had often thought about what Walter had told me; boys would want to be with me. I think by the time I was a young teen, my heart had begun to call for romance, but it wasn’t a romantic love from a man’s attention I wanted. First, I would form a fanciful ideal, and I desired to look for someone to model.

It was strange how I chose Gladys, a beautiful young society girl, for my idol. We had never met, nor had I ever spoken a word to her, but to me, she was the epitome of the ‘Gibson Girl.’ She was tall, with reddish brown hair, an oval face, and sparkling hazel eyes. A stately, rather haughty girl, she gathered her hair in a bunch on top of her head, and her handsome features brought admiration from all who saw her. For half a year, never a day passed that sometime during it, I did not yearn to see her, and in my daily routine, I often would. I failed time and again, as I endeavored to get an introduction, and I lay in my bed and cried myself to sleep from disappointment.

I found myself following her from place to place. First, I followed her into Huyler’s, where I sat down beside her to have an ice cream soda. Next, it was to the skating rink, after I read she enjoyed that entertainment. I would go to the matinee in hopes that she might be there. I know she realized how strange these chance meetings were, for her face always wore a puzzled expression, and as her eyes stared at me, I could feel the color creep into my face.

I treasured her pictures I found in magazines and newspapers. She modeled the fashion and hairstyle that became all relevant to me. I became more selective in my wardrobe, and I changed the way I wore my hair according to what I thought would please her eye. I piled my curly black locks high on my head in graceful puffs, and tied a band of fancy ribbon around my head to hold them in place, which every one said was very becoming.

One day, while I was passing by her house, I saw baggage men carrying away some trunks. I rushed to the nearest store, bought a paper, and turned to the society page. She was going to New York preparatory to sailing for Europe on a trip that would last six months. Tears filled my eyes; six months without a glimpse of her seemed most cruel. For many days after she left, I dreamed as I sat in my window seat and drew pictures of my ideal, perfect representative of womanhood.

My worship of her seems all sheer foolish now, but no doubt, it was preparing me for entertaining boys and for a courtship that would one day follow. It is well we never met for, possibly, I endowed her with qualities she never possessed, and my childish admiration would have tumbled, dreams shattered, causing me disappointment. I now know I had attributed to her all the idealism of my young nature, just as I later did my husband.

~ 4 ~

Halley’s Comet

I heard Mama shout from the other room: Thomas Franklin Schneider, Junior! What in the world are you wearing? I left my book on the window seat and went to see what was the matter. Indeed, it was something. Franklin had on a sort of mask that covered his whole face, and it didn’t quite fit.

How can you breathe? I asked as I ran into the room just in time to see Mama remove it from his face.

Aw shucks! Franklin’s face was red and sweaty.

Where did you get this? Mama’s voice was stern.

Mr. Patterson gave it to me. He said I could have it.

You will return it to him right now. Never mind, I will return it to him.

But Mama, Franklin started to cry, I won’t be able to breathe.

You certainly won’t if you strap this on your head, again.

But, Mama, Hal’s comet is coming. Its tail is going to squirt me with gas that will kill me unless I have this gathmak.

What in the world? I started to laugh, but restrained myself when Mama shot me ‘the look’.

Franklin. You are talking about Halley’s Comet?

Yes. Hal’s comet. He nodded his head for emphasis.

It was May 1910. Halley’s Comet was to make an appearance in our galaxy. It was expected the earth’s orbit would pass through its tail, and this led to all kinds of news reports, such as alleged queer events taking place and of snake oil salesmen selling defensive apparatuses to gullible people who had been worked up into a panic.

You needn’t worry, child. We are in no danger, Mama reassured him.

’Tis a good thing too, I interjected, as you’ve only brought one gasmask home. No considera— Again, Mama’s glance caused me to stop midsentence.

This is a wondrous event, Franklin, Mama said soothingly. A telescope has been set up on the rooftop for people to look through the lens and see Halley’s Comet in the night sky. Won’t that be fun?

It will be fun, Franklin, I was helping the situation now. You will be allowed to stay up past your bedtime and see something you won’t see again until you are one hundred years old— Mama looked at me as if this was unlikely. Or, some such time as that, I quickly added.

The suggestion of staying up past bedtime did the trick, restoring Franklin to his happy-go-lucky self.

The cost of looking through the telescope is one penny, how do you intend to earn a penny? Mama asked him.

Instantly, his face dropped.

Oh, all right! Mama smiled big and wrapped him up in her arms. I’ll give you a penny.

And one for Ethel?

Yes, and a penny for Ethel.

Mama looked up at me and smiled. I, too, got a penny to see a most wondrous event through the telescope.

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~ 5 ~

Summer Into Autumn

Ethel was floating in the water while hanging onto the hull of our little row boat. For the better part of the afternoon, we drifted leisurely on the lake, bathed in the sun (which Mama frowned upon), and cooled off with dips into the cold water. I watched as puffy clouds in the sky moved about forming fanciful shapes.

Do you think it is hot at home in the city? Ethel asked.

Certainly, of course, it is. Shading my eyes from the sun, I looked over at her and responded with some annoyance. To my mind, my little sister rarely made sense.

Where do people swim to cool themselves?

Well, there is the pool, but not everyone has one, and there’s always the creek.

Do you suppose they must sit in front of a fan all the day long?

Now thoroughly agitated, I put an end to this line of questioning. Ethel, at this very moment, I choose not to think of how we could very well be suffering at home where it is desperately hot and humid.

I resumed my daydreaming while Ethel swam in circles around the boat. As we did every summer, we had escaped the blistering heat and suffocating humidity in Washington, and in 1911, we were enjoying a more pleasant climate in the pine woods of Maine. Indeed, ours was a carefree, happy summer spent boating out on the lake, camping under the stars, and hiking through the woods. Often, we spent the afternoons under a tall shade tree reading aloud to one another—well, Franklin was usually high up in the tree, but he was listening.

Florence, there are several young girls, your age, here in Haven. Wouldn’t you like to get to know them?

I should say I would! I exclaimed with delight. I had only so much patience for entertaining my little brother and sister.

There happens to be a dance party tomorrow night that I’m sure you will enjoy.

I always enjoyed parties, and I found there other girls with whom I had much in common. Of course, there were the boys, ubiquitous now at every party. They seemed so young and awkward. I thought of them as too young, even though I, myself, had just turned seventeen, but as all young girls, I was sure I exhibited the maturity of a young woman. I had learned to dance at Miss Clark’s studio and had enjoyed that very much, but it seemed it always fell to me to dance with the boys with two left feet.

It wasn’t long until we became a gang, always together out on the lake or spending afternoons in each other’s homes learning needlework. We passed many hot afternoons lounging around in cool negligees sewing and developing a rather rebellious philosophy on fashion. Together we formed our own idea of how to dress; we vowed to each other we would not wear corsets like our mothers, and we would put up our hair in curls and ribbons. All conversations ultimately led to the subject of boys and how best to gain the attention of the one we might like.

With all the freedom and fun, the summer passed too quickly, and hardly before we knew it, October had brought change in the weather, which meant it was time to make our return trip home. We travelled by water, going ashore in Boston for a visit with my grandparents. From the port of Boston, we steamed into Baltimore and then rode the train the thirty miles south to Washington.

The countryside was splendidly adorned in fall colors. Orange pumpkins and hay bales dotted the farmlands we passed, and yellow buttercups grew in fallow fields. Carts filled with the harvest of apples, peaches, and more went to market in Baltimore pulled by mules, or draft horses, in the direction from which we had just come.

Once settled at home, I was anxious to arrange a visit with Virginia. She had been merely a casual friend of my own age, but through our correspondence during the summer, we discovered we had much in common and once together, we became inseparable. She was a real chum and my ideal companion, and I was sure we were forever friends. At her home, she gave teas and dances where I had met many young boys, none of whom interested me. It was Virginia’s mother who had arranged for an excursion to the Naval Academy to attend a hop with midshipmen. There, I would have my first dance with a man—other than my father.

We had a grand time enjoying every moment of music performed by the Navy Band, and the dancing was—well, it was all grown-up. I felt advanced in age as I encountered the impeccable etiquette of upright, handsome men in uniform. The midshipman who escorted me to the dance was remarkably good-looking with big brown eyes and light brown curly hair. His name was Arnold. He had broad shoulders and a manly way that attracted all the girls. At last, I had a dance partner who was taller than I! He seemed to enjoy my company as well, for when I was dancing with another, he stood by waiting to take the next dance with me, and, once he took notice of my discomfort with a dance partner, he came to my rescue and cut in. He was a young man with whom I could look forward to keeping company. I remember thinking how very much I hoped he would call on me at home. Before the evening’s entertainment had come to an end, Arnold suggested that we all go for a sail in the morning. We didn’t mind in the least extending our visit.

Out on the Severn River, in the cramped space of the boat, I discovered to my utter disappointment that Virginia was not the ideal friend I thought her to be. After Arnold had taught me to sail with a turn at the tiller, he suggested we go forward. We were seated next to each other in front of the mast, talking, when Virginia came to join us, leaving her escort high and dry. She stationed herself next to Arnold and usurped his attention all afternoon. Arnold, I could tell, was truly uncomfortable as he, time and again, excused himself to turn his conversation to me. From her overtly flirtatious behavior and the strange looks she threw my way, I discerned Virginia was not the girl I first thought her to be.

Together in the coming months, we attended a variety of social events, and the better I knew her, the more confirmed I became in my suspicions that she was not a true friend. I held firm to my disposition: no matter how much I admired a person, if I found them deceitful or untruthful I lost all respect for them. I could turn away instantly and was through with the friendship forever. As it happened with Virginia and me, she disappeared entirely out of my life. At first, I was lonesome missing my best friend, and a few pangs of regret caught in my heart, but soon they healed, and I found a new friend.

Mary Pierce and I quickly discovered we were kindred spirits. A Richmond girl, she often made extended visits to her grandparents’ country estate here in Washington. She was a lovely blonde-haired girl who was sweet, lively, and true. She had qualities far above anyone else I knew. I enjoyed her cheerful and optimistic demeanor, and while she was always ladylike in public, she could also be spunky and fun-loving. Only her family still called her Mary—to her friends, she was Fritzi. We immediately attached ourselves to one another that autumn, and after spending day after day together, in only a month we felt like lifelong friends.

We laughed much, especially as we talked of the boys, and we entertained each other with stories of our families and our travels. We shared ideas for needlework, discussed the fashions displayed in magazines, and late that autumn of 1911, a particular young man became a topic for our conversations.

We were in my pretty, blue, and white bedroom. Fritzi lay on my bed while thumbing through a McCall’s, and I sat as I usually did, in my plush-with-pillows window seat.

I met a most intriguing fellow at the Georgetown hop, said Fritzi. You know, the one and only invitation you’ve declined all year.

I’m truly sorry I missed it, I replied.

I wish you could have seen him, she said dreamily.

Who is he?

It seems no one we know is acquainted with him. I had to make inquiries.

Really, Fritzi? A total stranger?

Do you want to hear this, or not? she asked defensively.

Yes, yes, do tell. I had yet to see my friend lose her head over a boy.

I was dancing with Joseph Wyatt—you know of him, Michael Smith’s cousin. Well, as we neared another couple, this Adonis presented himself to cut in, and we traded partners. Apparently, Mr. Wyatt believed I was acquainted with him, and I thought him to be an associate of Mr. Wyatt’s, she laughed. He was such a fine dancer, so smooth and elegant, she said dreamily. We continued dancing to the following number, and then he returned me to Mr. Wyatt. Later, he stood with us watching the couples on the dance floor, and a conversation ensued regarding a desire to tour the city.

Fritzi, you didn’t extend an invitation to a perfect stranger! Butterflies flittered in my stomach at the thrill of such a notion.

No, no, I wouldn’t—I couldn’t! she declared. I only conversed with him because he stood beside Mr. Wyatt. I merely stated the city was much prettier in the springtime when the trees were green and the azaleas were in bloom. He replied he would only be here for a short while, not long enough to see springtime.

You haven’t told me his name.

Mr. Tom Forney. What I know, I overheard from a conversation in the powder room. Apparently, three of the other girls questioned him while dancing and shared with each other what they had learned. He currently is attending classes at Georgetown after having graduated at the top of his class from a university in Ohio. She paused. Was it Ohio State or Ohio Northern? I don’t recall which. He intends to pursue a law degree at the University of Michigan. Really, that’s all I know.

It seems to me, I responded, you’ve not taken notice of a very important fact.

And what might that be?

That he is from the west and very different from the boys to whom we are accustomed.

That shouldn’t be an eliminating factor. Sarah Jorgensen married the doctor from San Francisco.

Have you looked at a map lately? Do you realize how very far away it is from home and familiar society?

It’s only about twenty hours, by train, from here to Michigan. She murmured.

You have studied the train timetable?! I laughed and threw a pillow at her. She threw it back at me. You haven’t seen him! she exclaimed with glee.

The conversation regarding Mr. Forney resumed the next day as we were horseback riding on her grandfather’s estate. Surprisingly to me, it took a curious turn.

He’s very attractive, Fritzi said.

Are we still speaking of Mr. Forney?

We are.

You’ve made it clear you think he’s handsome.

And he’s tall, with blond hair—just your type.

My type? I reined my horse around and stood to face her. You have been indicating to me all this time that you fancied him for yourself.

She gave her horse a kick and loped passed me.

And, by the way, I shouted ahead, I wasn’t aware I had a type.

I caught up to her, and at a walk now, side by side, Fritzi grinned and raised her eyebrows at me. For the remainder of the ride, I considered whether I had a type or not.

Ch3.jpg

~ 6 ~

Christmas Party

It was ten days before Christmas. Holiday greens and billowing red ribbons decorated the light posts and doorways of Washington’s elegant homes and public buildings. As I walked to the city’s central business district, I passed large, handsome houses set far back, fronted with deep lawns; their hedges and trees lined the street. Uniform rows of simple, Federal-style townhouses lined the city’s few main thoroughfares, including Pennsylvania Avenue and F Street. My destination was F Street, and there, in front of the Woodward and Lothrop Department Store, I stopped to appreciate each of the elaborate, animated window displays that Woodies had unveiled for the Christmas season.

Each year, a selected Christmas story, told chapter by chapter, stretched from one window to the next along the building that covered the entire block and, each year, Mama had inspired our imagination with a trip downtown to see the windows and visit with Santa Claus.

I may be too old to sit on Santa’s lap, I had told Mama that morning, but if I were to take Ethel and Franklin by the hand, I would enjoy the tradition with them as they experience the magic of it all.

Why, that’s positively generous of you, Florence. It’s often been said, it’s as children we ought to enjoy the Christmas spirit. Let’s plan to go to Woodies on Christmas Eve, right after dinner.

I had this to look forward to, but meanwhile, in reveling in this year’s unprecedented display, I nearly lost track of the time. I realized, as I reached the main entrance, I would be late to my own party if I didn’t hurry. After trying on every party dress in my wardrobe and deciding I had to have something quite different, I had come downtown to find a dress. This would be the first party to which I’ve invited both young men and women, and of particular interest was the mysterious Mr. Forney who had captured the fancy of my closest friend.

The massive doors of the department store swung open as a group of young women exited the store, and at once, the effluvium of perfumes wafted through the air. I hurried inside to the women’s fashions and asked for Mrs. O’Malley, the department’s manager. I knew Mrs. O’Malley would make suggestions as to what would be appropriate for me to wear, and she would be prepared with needle and thread to tuck, here and there, where necessary for the perfect fit.

Miss Schneider, it is a pleasure to see you again. With what may I help you today? We have a beautiful white ermine muff we’ve received only this morning, perfect for—

Mrs. O’Malley, I interrupted her in my haste. I knew you would be the person to help me find a most impressive dress for an affair this evening.

You’ve grown and blossomed into a stunning young beauty, if I may say so, Miss Schneider, and I’d be most happy to assemble a new winter’s wardrobe for you.

Thank you, I would like that, but right now I need something special for this evening.

After a moment in consultation with her clerk, Mrs. O’Malley turned back to me. I believe I have the very dress that, on you, with your dark hair, will look glorious.

The clerk returned carrying a blue velvet evening dress.

I have this also in red, but I do believe you would look lovely in the blue.

There was no risk in taking Mrs. O’Malley’s advice. She had selected the dress I wore to my first dance in Annapolis. I would trust her to fit me for every special affair, and today, I left quite a happy girl with the blue velvet.

I prepared the hors d’oeuvres with Cook’s help, stationed a small cake in the middle of the table, and surrounded it with cookies I had bought: two chocolate disks, with a crème filling in between, and imprinted with an intricate design. I popped one into my mouth, brushed the crumbs off my hands, and was satisfied all was ready.

As I turned away from the table, I noticed a little hand poke up from the other side and reach for a cookie.

Mama! I cried.

How wonderfully happy I had been all day as I looked forward to, what I was sure would be, the first of many parties, but as the hour approached I became quite apprehensive about my family interjecting themselves into my party. Mama had been on her way into the room and captured the fleeing little varmint.

Ethel! she called over her shoulder, summoning my sister.

She had Franklin by the arm and forced him to stand before me. He was more concerned about eating the cookie, rather than getting a talking-to.

You know, Franklin, stealing is wrong, I said angrily. "Had you asked politely, surely I would have given you two. As it is, you will have to do with the one."

Ethel came in and took notice of the confections on the table. Mama took a cookie, handed it over to Ethel, and spoke sternly to both of them.

You two are to entertain yourselves elsewhere, and you are not to venture into the parlor. Do I have your understanding?

Yes, Mama, they replied.

I picked up two cookies and gave them each another, bribing them for their cooperation as this was to be an important occasion for me. Mama promised, after greeting my friends, she would leave us but for an occasional walkthrough to meet her responsibility as a chaperon. With Mama’s encouragement, I felt better with the plan in place.

When it was time for the arrival of the first of my guests, including Fritzi, I braved the cold out on the balcony in order to catch a glimpse of the much anticipated Mr. Forney. Motoring up to the curb was Mr. Pierce’s shiny, black touring car. His chauffeur opened the passenger door, and out stepped John Stafford, a young man Fritzi and I both knew well. He helped Fritzi out of the automobile, and from the opposite door, another young man emerged adjusting his coat lapel. His head was down as if to ward off the cold, so I didn’t get a look at his face. As I watched him stride up the walkway, there was something in the way he moved that I found attractive. I took a breath, and in an instant, I was in from the balcony and to the door.

I smoothed my dress and waited, wringing my hands in nervousness. Upon hearing Fritzi’s exclusive double knock-knock, Sadie, our housekeeper, was there to answer the door. She smiled knowingly at me before she turned the knob. As she opened the door, I noticed Ethel and Franklin peering around the corner of the entrance hall. I turned to threaten them with a frown. When they didn’t budge, I met Franklin’s eyes with a stern look.

Having been caught, he dropped his head, Aw shucks, I heard him exclaim, and Ethel, in a huff, pulled him away.

Greetings and welcome! Fritzi and I embraced with a kiss. Over her shoulder, I saw the two gentlemen, and I fought to keep my eyes from landing on Mr. Forney. Sadie took her wrap and collected the gentlemen’s coats and hats.

Fritzi swayed deeper into the entrance hall saying, Two more automobiles pulled up behind us with Jonathan, Arnold, Elizabeth, and Lydia.

Not certain of the protocol, I whispered, Should I wait here for them?

She whispered in reply, No, Sadie will show them in.

I shook John’s hand—squeezed it, actually, in my excitement. John was of medium height, with dark brown hair and a dimple in his chin. His father was a banker and friend of my father. We had been in the same class at the secondary school. I remembered him as always being an attentive and jolly fellow.

I’m happy you could come, John. It’s a pleasure to see you again.

Florence, how are you?

I’m very well, thank you.

Knowing me as well as she did, Fritzi took notice of my nervousness and squeezed me about the waist. You look pretty! she whispered.

As do you! Fritzi always looked lovely.

Florence, this is Mr. Tom Forney, the young man from Georgetown I was telling you about. She said this with a wink intended only for me, but I do believe he intercepted it. What an embarrassment this was for my friend, but we both concealed it well enough. Mr. Forney, may I introduce our hostess? Miss Florence Schneider.

Actually, I’m from Ohio, Mr. Forney said with a bow. How do you do, Miss Schneider?

His smile revealed pearly white teeth. I looked into his big blue eyes. I believe my hand extended to grasp his because it suddenly felt quite warm.

How do you do, Mr. Forney? It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

The pleasure is all mine, he assured me.

I led the way to the parlor. Mama stood at its door to greet my friends, after which, except for an occasional appearance, she would leave us to ourselves. After embracing Fritzi, whom she considered as another daughter, she spoke to John.

Please extend my warmest regards to your parents. I trust they are well?

Yes, Ma’am, Mrs. Schneider. They are well indeed. Thank you.

Mama, this is Mr. Forney.

How d’you do, Mr. Forney?

"Mrs.