Chapter 12 Sarafina

CHAPTER 12

SARAFINA

JUNE 6, 1895

I've time now—too much of it—to think about things, which has made me miss you deeply. Falling in love with a stranger is easy. But falling in love with a friend is far more complicated, as there's always the chance that, if things go awry, both your love and your friendship could be smashed on the rocks of resentment.

With you, because of your strength and generous heart, I never worried about those treacherous seas. I knew that, together, we'd sail them without mishap.

—letter to Sarafina Dove from William Day

Sarafina had her aunt Emily Anne to thank for her new career. A scant month ago, Miss LaFont—in a dramatic way reminiscent of a Shakespearean play—had ordered Sarafina to leave her school and never return. It had all happened after an especially disastrous morning when Preacher Caldicott from the First Baptist Church of the nearby town of Glory, North Carolina, came for tea.

Miss LaFont seemed inordinately excited about the coming visit, and Sarafina and her fellow students quickly realized why when the new preacher turned out to be both handsome and youngish, if a little round in the middle. It was obvious by the way Miss LaFont fluttered her lashes at his every word that she'd already grown fond of his company.

Things went fine until they ran out of sugar after the preacher poured four heaping spoonfuls into his tea. Miss LaFont immediately sent Sarafina to the kitchen to refill the bowl. Glad of the respite, Sarafina had obliged. The sugar was kept in the butler's pantry, and it was there, while Sarafina was on her tiptoes, reaching for the tin, that the preacher—who'd excused himself on the vague pretext of needing "a breath of fresh air" after a sudden cough—had taken it upon himself to try to steal a kiss.

Shocked, Sarafina had reacted without thought. She'd used the tin she'd just grasped to wallop her attacker right in his pursed mouth and had sent the portly man—bleeding from both lips and dizzy from the blow—plummeting to the ground, his flailing limbs hitting and dislodging every shelf as he went. Glass crashed and tins bounced all around them, flour puffing into the air like a cloud that rained white upon the preacher's face and black frock coat and dusting Sarafina's dark blue skirts.

Everyone came running. The girls had been shocked and breathless as the preacher, woozy and red-faced, climbed to his feet and, cupping his split lips, staggered away without a word. Miss LaFont, her hopes of at long last finding her own true love cruelly dashed, had subjected Sarafina to a screeching diatribe that ended in banning her from ever again darkening the door of her school.

Sarafina couldn't have been happier at this outcome. Thankfully, after hearing the details of the event, her aunts had applauded her actions, calling them "justified and brave."

Of course, her father had been far less understanding. Before they could send him a letter explaining the events of the day, he'd received a hand-delivered missive from Miss LaFont giving her own shaded version of Sarafina's expulsion. He'd been furious, but not furious enough to make an extra trip out to see her. Instead, he'd vented his anger in a long letter to his sisters, filled with thundering underlines and shouting exclamation marks. Sarafina was unsure exactly what he'd said in that letter, as, after reading it, Aunt Jane had consigned it to the fire and said simply, "He's angry. That's all you need to know. Write him and explain the situation and leave the rest to me and your aunt Emily Anne." What they said to Papa, Sarafina never knew, but he never mentioned the incident again.

Sarafina hoped things would go back to the way they had been before she'd begun attending that horrible comportment school—her time relatively free and her own—but alas, her aunts had other plans. Every morning at breakfast, they handed her a list of chores to do while they were busy with their daily errands and activities. Although she hated housework, she completed the tasks with only a small amount of complaining. It wouldn't do to garner more scrutiny, as she was determined to keep her aunts from realizing that every Tuesday, while they were at their weekly meetings, she met William at her fishing spot.

She enjoyed those Tuesday meetings more and more. When William missed a week because of a job he'd just taken, Sarafina missed him terribly. Even though they did the same thing every week—she fished or wrote while he read—each visit seemed fresh and new. He was always surprising her, too. After she'd complained for a few weeks about having to pay larger and larger sums of breadcrumbs to the greedy Blackwing, William had found a way to end the crow's greedy ways. For weeks, unbeknownst to Sarafina, he had practiced making a hawk's sharp call. When Blackwing appeared and started demanding far more breadcrumbs than Sarafina had brought, William had cupped his hands around his mouth and made the call, which was so real sounding that other hawks had answered. Soon, several were flying in circles over their fishing hole.

Sarafina was delighted with the outcome. Not only did the hawks scare away all the other birds, including Aunt Em's tattletale crow, but Sarafina didn't have to worry that the hawks might reveal her secret meetings to her aunt Em. Her aunt was not fond of birds who ate their brethren, saying in a cross tone whenever she happened to see one flying overhead, "They're traitors, those birds! Every one of them!"

And so, free from Aunt Em's spies and no longer forced to attend Miss LaFont's hated school, Sarafina's time at the fishing hole with William was now even more idyllic, and they were getting closer each time. She was just beginning to believe that things couldn't get any better when, for some reason she never fathomed, Aunt Emily Anne got a bee in her bonnet.

Sarafina thought that Aunt Em's most notable quality was the way she moved in and out of her special world and real life. There were days when she barely spoke to anyone at all, humming to herself, or murmuring exclusively to the birds that came to sit on her windowsill every morning. But then, out of the blue, usually over a biscuit or a cup of hot tea, she'd say something surprisingly sharp that let everyone know she hadn't completely abandoned this world. Not yet, anyway.

So it had been one morning when she and Sarafina were sitting at the breakfast table that Aunt Em had said in a calm tone, as if she were talking about the weather, "I don't mean to be rude, my dear, but you seem to have too much free time on your hands."

Sarafina, her fork halfway to her mouth, had paused. "I've been staying busy. I've been doing chores, working on the mending, writing my stories, fishing now and then, and—"

"About that fishing. According to my poor Blackwing, there is a hawk infestation at the lake."

Oh no! Did that stupid bird tell her about William? Sarafina refused to give up her one afternoon a week with William. She couldn't. Those hours had become the brightest, best parts of her life.

Pressing a hand to her uneasy stomach, Sarafina cast a careful look at Aunt Em, but could tell nothing from her serene, rather disengaged expression. Of her two aunts, Sarafina loved Aunt Em just a smidge more. She was a tiny woman with soft brown hair that curled around her face and round cheeks, her smile adorably dimpled. Where Aunt Jane, who was tall and angular, tended to be stern when she was displeased, Aunt Em used a more subtle and yet far more painful method of reproach. Over the years, she'd mastered the art of guilt and could send a person—namely Sarafina—sad, lamenting looks that cut with the precision of a surgeon's knife.

Aunt Em gently set her teacup back on its saucer. "When you're done with breakfast, change into your lavender dress."

Wait. What's this? Bewildered, Sarafina asked, "May I ask why?"

"The color suits you." Aunt Em smiled her usual cheerful, distant smile. "You need something more to do than mere chores and sitting at a lake while— Ah, there's your aunt Jane."

"I made more toast." Aunt Jane set the plate of toast in the center of the table and resumed her seat. She selected a piece and started to butter it. "You were telling Sarafina something just now. Did I interrupt you?"

"Not at all," Aunt Em replied calmly. "I've decided that Sarafina needs a job."

Aunt Jane dropped her toast butter side down on the tablecloth.

Sarafina's mouth fell open.

"Close your mouth, dear." Aunt Em picked up Aunt Jane's toast and set it on the edge of her plate. "Mr. Edward Day will be coming by later this morning to speak with her. I've already suggested she wear her lavender dress. It suits her, doesn't it?"

Aunt Jane put her butter knife down with a clink. "Edward Day, the editor of the Dove Pond Register , is coming by to speak with Sarafina about a job ?"

Aunt Em blinked. "Is there another Edward Day?"

"No! But I—" Aunt Jane pushed her plate away and took a deep breath. "Emily Anne, I hate it when you do this. Please start at the beginning."

Aunt Em delicately wiped her fingers on her napkin. "It began when Mr. Day heard that our Sarafina is quite the writer."

Aunt Jane blinked. "From whom?"

"From me, of course." Aunt Em brushed a toast crumb into a napkin and placed it to one side to feed to the birds even now lining up on the windowsill. "While at church a few weeks ago, I told Miss Hamilton about Sarafina's short stories. You know them, Jane. She reads them to us by the fire most evenings and—"

"Of course I know her stories!" Aunt Jane burst out impatiently.

"No need to yell. I'm glad you remember them. It would have been so hard to explain that part if you hadn't. Anyway, I didn't realize that Mr. Day was in the pew behind me when I was talking to Miss Hamilton. But yesterday, when I was out and about, I ran into him, and he mentioned that conversation and asked if Sarafina might be interested in writing for his newspaper. Naturally, I said yes."

" What? You agreed to allow our niece to write for a newspaper ?" Aunt Jane looked as if she might burst into outraged flames.

Aunt Em didn't seem to notice. She was too busy wiggling her fingers at the cardinal that was hopping up and down on the sill, staring at her as if she were eating its food.

Sarafina wisely stayed silent. She had a vague, admittedly glorified idea of what being a reporter might entail because they'd been featured in several of the dime novels she loved to read. In them, the intrepid reporters investigated dangerous crooks and morally corrupt individuals, every page filled with excitement and danger. The lives of those fictional reporters were so far removed from Sarafina's sheltered, humdrum one that she'd never thought about pursuing that particular vocation herself.

She knew that all Aunt Em wanted was to keep her busy—in fact, too busy to visit her fishing hole and William. But she found herself wondering if a job like this wouldn't give her even more free-dom.

"No!" Aunt Jane slapped her hand on the table, stiff with outrage. "No niece of mine will write for a newspaper! It's undignified."

Aunt Em smiled at her toast and took another bite.

Sarafina cleared her throat. "Since Aunt Emily Anne invited Mr. Day over, we have to at least talk to him, don't we? It would be impolite not to. He's coming all the way here—"

"No." Every line in Aunt Jane's thin body was taut with disapproval.

Oh dear! This wouldn't do at all. Sarafina clasped her hands together under her chin. " Please let me talk to Mr. Day! Aunt Emily Anne is right. I'm no longer going to Miss LaFont's, so I might as well take a job and learn to write even better—"

"No," Aunt Jane repeated. Her tone could only be called "frigid."

Unperturbed, Aunt Em said, "Sarafina will make a wonderful reporter."

Aunt Jane's mouth thinned. "Our brother won't like it."

"All the more reason to do it," Aunt Em replied with her usual placid smile. "If we ask her father, you know what he'll say."

Aunt Jane's mouth thinned even more. "Marriage."

Sarafina's mouth went dry. "M-m-marriage? Why would he say that?"

"Because he's already said it, and more than once, too." Aunt Em cast her gaze toward the ceiling as if counting something only she could see. "Seven times, in fact. Eight, if you count the last time he started to say it, but your aunt Jane cut him short."

"I was tired of hearing it." Aunt Jane's face was so red that it looked as if she'd been slapped. "I'm sorry to say it, Sarafina, but your father is a fool."

Aunt Em sighed. "He's archaic in his thinking and believes that your ultimate destiny is to become the wife of what he calls a ‘successful man.'?"

"A successful older man." Aunt Jane almost snapped the word in half. "He thinks an older man might know how to control you."

"Control?" Sarafina realized she was now gripping her butter knife as if she were about to stab something. "I don't— That's—"

"Nonsense is what it is!" Aunt Jane said forcibly. "Not all women are ‘destined' for marriage. In fact, some of the happiest women I know live quite comfortably on their own."

"Which is why I'm pleased Mr. Day is coming by today," Aunt Em said in her calm, detached tone. "Jane, our Sarafina is much too young to be thinking of marriage. A gilded cage would never suit her. She's far more magpie than canary."

Was it better to be a magpie than a canary? Sarafina wasn't sure, but she knew better than to ask such a thing of Aunt Em, who, if prompted, could talk for hours about the personalities of various birds. So instead, Sarafina said, "I love to write, so perhaps becoming a reporter will suit me. I won't know until I try."

Aunt Em took a sip of her tea. "Do you promise, as a reporter, to always tell the truth?"

Sarafina nodded.

"And to never ever slant the news toward the wealthy and privileged?"

Sarafina held her hand up. "I promise."

Aunt Jane sniffed, although she looked far less unhappy than she had a moment ago. "I haven't agreed to this yet."

"But you will," Aunt Em said as she reached for another piece of toast. This one she crumbled onto her plate, making more breakfast for her birds. "Sarafina, dear, do you also vow to cover all the musical events in town?"

Aunt Jane cut a gaze her way. "The newspaper should cover those now."

"They should," Aunt Em said sadly. "Yet there wasn't one mention of the coming special cantata choir performance in Sunday's paper."

Aunt Jane was the lead soprano in the cantata. She didn't have a particularly inspiring voice, but what she lacked in ability, she made up for in enthusiasm. "The Register never announces our cantata performances." She sniffed disdainfully. "That's why people don't come."

"It's sad." Aunt Em scraped the breadcrumbs on her plate into a waiting napkin. "So unfair. It's very kind of Mr. Day to come here to offer our Sarafina the opportunity to work ten hours a week reporting on things like your choir's amazing cantata. I suggested that she should attend your practices every Tuesday afternoon so she'd get a better understanding of music. Mr. Day thought that was a particularly good idea."

Sarafina's heart sank. Ah. Now I see what Aunt Em's doing. But it won't work. I'll find a way around it. She would, too. No matter the cost.

Aunt Jane settled her egg cup on her plate. "It's a part-time position, is it?"

"Just a few hours a week," Aunt Em answered as she folded her napkin so the breadcrumbs wouldn't spill. "She'd be doing it under the utmost secrecy as well. Mr. Day was very insistent that she should use a pseudonym. I'm certain, too, that once he realizes how well she writes, she'll be given some of the newspaper's choicest assignments." Aunt Em beamed as if what she'd just said had already come true. "For now, in addition to covering the smaller events in town, he wants her to write a weekly column featuring housekeeping tips."

"Ha!" Aunt Jane scoffed. "As if she knows any."

Sarafina wet her dry lips. "I would need your help with it, Aunt Jane. No one knows how to keep a thrifty, clean house better than you."

Aunt Em gave her an approving look. "Our Sarafina will learn so much from this."

Aunt Jane locked her gaze on Sarafina for a long moment. Then she put down her spoon and delicately wiped her mouth with her napkin. "Your aunt Emily Anne is right. The lavender gown is the perfect choice."

Sarafina couldn't stop from grinning. She couldn't wait to tell William about this. It might mean her Tuesday afternoons would be busier, but if she was going to be working in town, they might be able to meet up there. Of course, they'd have to be careful to avoid the town gossips.

She cast a quick look at her aunts, her heart sinking as she realized they were among that number. I wish they knew him the way I do.

Aunt Jane's spoon gently clinked against the side of her cup as she stirred milk into her tea. "Sarafina, after you change, bring that last short story you wrote, the one about the shoemaker. Mr. Day will want to see the quality of your writing as well."

Sarafina mumbled a quick "Yes, ma'am" and left. She was halfway up the stairs when she heard Aunt Jane say to Aunt Em, "I wish you'd tell me before you did things like this."

"Things like what, dear?" Aunt Em had replied in her usual distracted voice.

Sarafina hurried to her room to change. As she dressed, she wondered yet again what it would be like to be a reporter. Mr. Day was right in suggesting she write under another name. She kicked her morning dress out of the way and pulled her lavender gown from the wardrobe, an idea occurring to her. She'd write under the name V. E. Fine, which stood for Very Exceptionally Fine—that was exactly what she wanted people to think of her reporting.

The front bell rang announcing Mr. Day's arrival, and her heart skipped a wild beat as she checked her appearance in the mirror and then hurried downstairs. If she could get hired as a reporter, then she would no longer write just to amuse herself and her aunts. Now her writing would have a purpose.

She couldn't wait to tell William.