Woman's Own Page 3

  Lilly considered using Emily and Sophia and their widowhood as an argument for her independent study, except she could hardly explain reading philosophers and scientists as a way to earn money. Nor could she justify reading improper novels just because she was bored with comportment lessons. She liked newspapers that were considered dangerous, like the Woodhull and Claflin paper, which expounded on “free love” and communal living. There was literature on the suffrage movement and temperance that was difficult to come by, since the library stock was chosen by a man. She was delighted with Oliver Twist, but she wanted to read Tom Jones also. There were women who wrote essays about their belief that if Negro men could vote, women of all colors should be likewise entitled; Sylvia Stratton’s school taught that a woman should accept and support the political preference of her father or husband, if not both. Well, Lilly did not have a father, might never have a husband, and was certainly not without opinions of her own. She had decided she had better do some more extensive studying.

  The reason Lilly had for doing what she had done would never satisfy her mother.

  The boardinghouse was not neatly divided into tenants and owners. You could not share all your meals and rooms without also sharing everybody’s burdens and triumphs.

  Mrs. Fairchild had been with them the longest, since 1870. She was the most trouble. Emily said it was because she was unhappy, but Lilly thought that was just an excuse. Mrs. Fairchild’s only son, Walter, had married a very domineering woman. Before their first year of marriage was over, he realized that his wife and mother could not live peacefully under the same roof. Mrs. Fairchild, whose husband had built the house she lived in, was put out to board. Although Walter visited her twice weekly, paid her board and expenses, and took her to church and dinner every Sunday, he lived with his wife and children in the house his father had built, while Mrs. Fairchild lived in a rented room.

  If this arrangement made Mrs. Fairchild unhappy, she showed it strangely. She was not only finicky, rarely finding anything to her liking, but she held up her son and daughter-in-law as examples to everyone. If the stew was too bland, Marlise used a spice that would make it right. And Marlise’s biscuits were so smooth and creamy. Her grandchildren were so tidy and polite and her son’s shoe-repair business was so successful he had taken on employees. “If it’s such a good business, why doesn’t he build a bigger house and bring you into his family again?” Lilly had once asked out of sheer annoyance. In her opinion Mrs. Fairchild ought to show more gratitude to the Armstrongs. But Lilly had been reprimanded and disciplined for being cheeky.

  John Giddings had been in their house the second longest, since ‘71. He was nearly thirty, a newspaper writer, unmarried, and a perfect boarder. He always paid for his room and meals on time, even if he had not been in residence; he often traveled about in search of a story. John was punctual and polite. Emily would ordinarily consider it unpropitious to give room and board to an unmarried man; she could, on occasion, demonstrate such prickly virtue. But she had known John’s parents before they died, and John was very respectable. Lilly suspected that the fact that he was homely--lanky, bespectacled, rumpled, and timid--also put Emily at ease with the way the neighborhood would view this bachelor boarder.

  Jamie and Annie Macintosh, a young married couple who happily occupied the smallest room, had moved in two and a half years ago. They craved both privacy and economy, for they wished to lease a tenement of their own as soon as their first child arrived. But this arrival was tenuous; Annie was now pregnant for the third time, her first two pregnancies having ended in miscarriage. Those tragic losses had united the household in sadness, but this time it looked as though Annie would succeed. She was in her sixth month. Emily allowed Annie to help with light chores for a discount in their rent and they scrimped on the meals they ate with the others. Emily said they were happy crowded in that little room because they were young, in love, and couldn’t get close enough. She had said so rather wistfully and Lilly wondered if her mother was ever lonely, despite her many protests to the contrary.

  There was one more boarder, not in residence at the moment. Lilly hoped she wouldn’t return. Miss Susan Pendergast was a middle-aged schoolteacher whose parents had died a few years ago. She had taken a room just after the Macintosh couple, having found her parents’ house difficult for an unmarried woman of limited income to maintain. Susan insisted on being addressed as Miss Pendergast by Patricia and Lilly. She had departed in a tiff two days ago. The issue was her annual summer visit with her brother’s family in Newport. As she was discussing her summer plans, Emily asked Susan if she would kindly make her room, usually reserved for her, available. If Susan would store her more personal belongings, Emily could rent the room during the Centennial Exhibition, an event that was drawing thousands of visitors to Philadelphia.

  Susan was outraged by this change; she had always left for the months of June and July, paying no rent and returning to her room in August. Emily had firmly and inflexibly explained that while such an arrangement was appropriate other summers when she could not attract short-term boarders, this summer, with so many visitors looking for rooms, Emily would be losing money by leaving the room empty while Susan was away. They finally reached a tense compromise: Emily would hold the room for Susan at half the usual price if Patricia and Lilly could use it.

  Susan was angry but she knew that it would be difficult to find new boarding arrangements in August, especially during the Exhibition. So, she left early, moved in with another teacher for the remainder of April and all of May, paying her half-board to Emily for her empty room. Lilly suspected that Susan lived as a guest with her friend.

  Susan might have thought herself clever in leaving early, but Emily would not be outfoxed. She moved Lilly’s bed into the unfinished attic, though small and somewhat unpleasant, and planned to rent every corner of her house. While other owners of boardinghouses were considering putting up quarantine signs to keep the visitors out, Emily was dusting off the welcome mat.

  Meanwhile, for the first time in their lives, Lilly and Patricia did not sleep with their mother. A room of their own was a great luxury and they used it greedily, staying up late at night to whisper and giggle, dividing their space judiciously and territorially. Neither considered that their mother had finally, after many years, achieved space of her own. They certainly did not wonder about how she felt with her newfound privacy.

  This was the Armstrong household. Eight people, plus Sophia Washington, with one boarder away now but soon to be replaced with a visitor to the Centennial Exhibition and not quite a family, but more a community designed to keep its members safe and cared for.

  As Lilly carried the tray onto the front porch, she saw that Mrs. Fairchild wore her usual grimace and John was smiling pleasantly. Emily looked up in surprise that faded into knowledge; very little escaped Emily. “What a thoughtful gesture, Lilly,” Emily said, polite, but not fooled by this sudden considerateness.

  Lilly served the first glass to Mrs. Fairchild, who sipped immediately, greedily. She passed the next glass to John; the boarders were always served first. “Too sweet,” said Mrs. Fairchild. “Next time, Lilly, add more sugar.”

  “But if it’s too sweet--” Lilly stopped herself. Mrs. Fairchild was getting old, her mother said, and they must be more patient than ever.

  “Refreshing indeed. Thank you, Lilly,” John said.

  Lilly would have returned to the kitchen then, but she was caught by the sight of an unusual man walking toward their house. He carried a carpetbag and balanced a huge saddle on his shoulder. He was tall and wore a western hat and a ribbon under his shirt collar. His boots were brown, pointed, and dusty, as was his suit. He looked travel-worn and rumpled, almost as if he had ridden a horse all the way to Philadelphia from somewhere in the West. He moved gracefully down the stone- and pansy-lined path to the porch. He carefully lowered the saddle, dropped the carpetbag, removed his hat, and stared directly at Mrs. Fairchild. “Mrs. Armstrong?”

&nb
sp; “I am Mrs. Armstrong,” Emily said, drawing his eyes away from the older woman. “You must be Mr. Padgett. The hotel asked if they could send you over.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I appreciate it, ma’am. Rooms are pretty scarce just now.”

  Emily stood to face him. He had a thick, untrimmed, unwaxed, sandy-colored mustache that lay like a limp cat’s tail over his lip. Lilly would have found it comical if she weren’t so fascinated. He must be a cowboy.

  “Is it the Exhibition that brings you to Philadelphia, Mr. Padgett?” Emily asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, from the territory of Wyoming as a matter of fact. But Philadelphia is familiar to me--I was born here…traveled west sometime later.”

  “If the hotel is already full, it must mean that visitors are arriving early. Were you informed that the grand opening has been postponed until May?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Seems they ran out of money right at the last minute, but it looks like everything will be on schedule now.”

  “Well, Mr. Padgett, all I can offer you is my smallest room, an attic with a dormer window. As tall as you are, you might have trouble even standing to your full height. Did they tell you?”

  His mustache moved slightly, hinting at rather than exposing his smile. “If there’s a bed in it, ma’am, it’ll do better than a bench in the train station.”

  “It is also very expensive--twelve dollars per week in advance.” Lilly nearly choked. That was more than was paid for the largest room in her mother’s house. “I serve both breakfast and supper. Seven in the morning and half past six in the evening. And I’m afraid I can’t hold either meal for you if you’re late.”

  The cowboy did not react to the high rent. Lilly began to worry--when he saw the little room and short bed, he might refuse. How did Emily dare?

  “Seems fair enough, ma’am.”

  “There is no water closet, Mr. Padgett. Although my house is not as fashionable as the hotel, I can offer you plenty of hot water, a basin, clean linens, good food. We have a tub in the pantry and can provide a closed door in the kitchen for your bath. I operate a very simple house. I hope you find it serves your needs.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be just fine, ma’am.”

  If he could afford a hotel, Lilly thought, why would he accept these terms? He must be rich. And foolish.

  Lilly noticed her mother’s posture become rigid. “You won’t be needing…a spittoon, I trust.”

  Mr. Padgett looked down at his boots for a moment. When he lifted his gaze to Emily again, his eyes twinkled exuberantly. His tanned face crinkled deeply at the corners of his slate-blue eyes. “I reckon not, ma’am,” he said with a laugh.

  “I don’t usually board men without their wives, Mr. Padgett, but I’m making this exception because the city is already overflowing with visitors to the Exhibition.”

  Mr. Padgett cleared his throat. “That’s mighty generous of you, Mrs. Armstrong,” he said, and Lilly was quite certain she heard a quiver of laughter in his words. Emily wasn’t fooling him--not at twelve dollars a week with no water closet and a room he wouldn’t be able to stand up in.

  “The city will be full all summer,” she went on. “I am a widow, Mr. Padgett, and I am raising two daughters. I’m sure you will consider these delicate circumstances and adhere to the strictest of protocol.”

  Lilly felt her cheeks grow warm. She wished her mother would not make such an issue over manners. Not everyone needed to be told. But Mr. Padgett did not blush or protest. Lilly saw that beneath his monstrous cat’s tail of a mustache he had a handsome smile. And his eyes were firmly locked into Emily’s.

  “There is no Mrs. Padgett, ma’am, but I suppose I can behave to your liking. At least for a while.”

  “While you’re in my house, Mr. Padgett. That’s all I ask.”

  Behind the cowboy a ragged-looking character approached their house and Lilly frowned in embarrassment. The man shuffled, looked down, held his ruined hat in his hands, and patiently waited while Emily was in conversation. Lilly could smell him from where she stood.

  Mrs. Fairchild began to mutter disapprovingly, and Emily looked around Mr. Padgett to the dirty little man.

  “Yes?”

  “Got any spare, ma’am?”

  “You can wait by the back door, if you like, and if there’s any spare after supper, I’ll fix you a plate.”

  “Thankee, ma’am. ‘Predate the kindness, ma’am.”

  He shuffled off around the house, gaze low and manner ashamed. “Like feeding stray mongrels,” Mrs. Fairchild grumbled. “Won’t try to feed themselves after you start giving the handouts. Lazy filth.”

  Emily ignored her boarder’s disparaging remarks; she was accustomed to Mrs. Fairchild’s complaining and her less-than-generous nature. “Is that thing coming in the house, Mr. Padgett?” she asked, indicating the saddle.

  “Well,” he began with an apologetic chuckle, “it’s a mighty valuable saddle, ma’am. I’d hate to lose it; it’s broke in.”

  Lilly headed for the kitchen, but she listened raptly as her mother and the new boarder entered the house.

  “There’s a carriage house in the back; we don’t have a horse or carriage. You’re welcome to use it to store things you won’t be using daily. You needn’t worry that anyone in this neighborhood would steal it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Would you like a tub this evening, Mr. Padgett?”

  He chuckled. “It’s been a long train ride, ma’am.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply--”

  “A tub would be welcome, Mrs. Armstrong. Thank you.”

  “I’ll set water to boil after dinner and inform my daughters.”

  “Was that one of them there, ma’am? That one just gone off?”

  “Lilly is my youngest, Mr. Padgett. I’ll introduce you at dinner.”

  “Why, she’s grown. You hardly seem old enough to have a grown child.”

  “Mr. Padgett, please be careful not to be too forward. I put great effort into keeping a respectable house. Being an unmarried man, your comments have to be--”

  “I imagine looks can lie,” he said, cutting her off.

  Lilly smiled at the exchange and burst into the kitchen, exhilarated. There might finally be something of interest happening in the boardinghouse. If he was really a cowboy from the Wild West, then he might know about Indian wars, scalpings, mining for gold, trail blazing, and breaking wild horses. Maybe he’d fallen in love with an Indian maiden once. “He’s a cowboy!” she exclaimed. “I swear!”

  Lilly pumped water into the sink tub after scraping off all the dishes. She added hot water from the kettle. The spring breeze was heavy with the scent of apple blossoms and ruffled the kitchen curtain pleasantly, but Lilly was morose. She had been reprimanded at dinner, and over one silly question. What was the good of having a cowboy boarder if you couldn’t learn? She had only wanted to know how Indians scalped people. Now there would be more to discuss than her absence from Sylvia Stratton’s school. And her chance of convincing her mother that she had been wise in that choice was now reduced.

  The smell of John Giddings’s tobacco mingled with the fragrant scent of spring flowers; he was no more allowed to indulge his evening pipe in the house than the cowboy would be allowed to spit. John was talking to Mr. Padgett back by the carriage house, asking all the questions that Lilly wanted to ask. She couldn’t hear them clearly, only the hum of male voices mingling with early evening sounds in the neighborhood, the splash of kitchen water being thrown on bushes, the jingling of the lamplighter’s horse, the scraping of a fork against a plate on the back step, conversations in yards and in kitchens with open windows. Patricia’s laughter punctuated the neighborhood sounds occasionally. She entertained both Roger and Arthur on the porch, having told each, by mistake, that the evening was his alone. Patricia made this mistake frequently and deliberately.

  Lilly waited until she had done everything else before asking the man on the back step for his plate. She wished there was so
me way her mother could be convinced to stop feeding beggars. It was not Emily’s compassion that disturbed Lilly, but people’s comments on the inadvisability of having transients and indigents at the door on any regular basis. Emily, as frugal as she was in all other things, would not send them away if there was a little spare meal left over, although she wouldn’t take food off the table for them. But who knew what illnesses they carried, Mrs. Fairchild argued. The neighbors said these jobless men stole, but the Armstrongs had never noticed anything missing.

  “Have you had enough to eat today?” Lilly asked him. She could no more send away a hungry man than her mother could, but she wished, just the same, that Emily would refuse them. “There’s a little more, I think, a biscuit and some coffee.”

  He looked up at her as she stood in the back doorway. His face was stubbled, dirty, and aged, yet there was a child’s timidity in his eyes. Poverty must make even the aged feel like frightened children, she thought. The Armstrongs had once been very poor; Lilly was relieved not to remember that. He wore a Union soldier’s coat, which tore at Lilly’s heart. What if her own father had been reduced to this? “A little coffee’d be mighty welcome, miss. I got no money, but if there’s any chores…”

  “No,” Lilly said, taking the empty plate. “There aren’t any chores today.” Could he have been indigent since the war? Eleven years? Surely he found the coat on a rag pile. The leftover coffee made half a cup, so she added hot water and cream, which they usually used very sparingly, to make it full. She put a dab of jam on the biscuit, knowing she could not possibly fill him up. Then she wished again that she could be spared this feeling of pity, and even guilt.