Free The Chaperone by Laura Moriarty Page B

appeared incapable of even glancing at anyone or anything but her.
    “That’s because you don’t know anything different.” Cora used her napkin to dab at her lips. She, too, looked at Louise. “I know it’s fashionable for young people to think nothing could be more fun than legalized alcohol, but you’ve grown up in a dry state, dear. You’ve never seen the effects of rampant abuse. You’ve never seen men drink up their wages and forget about their families, their children.” Now she turned her gaze to the older man. “I suspect there are more than a few married women in New York who will be grateful to live as Kansas wives have for years.”
    Louise scoffed. “Unless they like a good drink.” The younger man shook his head and laughed, but again failed to catch her gaze.
    The uncle looked at Cora thoughtfully, taking another puff of his cigar. “Forgive me,” he said politely, “but you said you grew up in Kansas, which has been dry for forty years. You don’t look old enough to know anything but Prohibition, either.” He shrugged. “Perhaps the troubles you’re recalling simply prove liquor laws don’t mean people won’t drink.”
    Louise smiled and nudged his arm, as if their team had just scored a point.
    “No,” Cora said, unruffled. “That’s not it at all. I’ve simply known older women who do remember the bad days. When I was a girl, I heard Carry Nation speak. If you grew up in Kansas, I’m sure you did as well. And as I recall, she had plenty to say about her first husband drinking himself to death. From what I understand, she was hardly alone in that experience.”
    The older man raised his water glass. “Now we’ll all be punished together.”
    “That’s one way to look at it.” Cora fixed her knife and fork on the side of her plate, nodding at the waiter. She’d eaten all the corset would permit, enough to hold her over until dinner. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
    “I’ll drink to that!” the man said. He winced and smiled, tapping his head. “Damn. I’m not allowed.”
    Louise clicked her glass against his. “Unless you can be sneaky about it.”
    Cora put her napkin on the table. “Louise. I think we’re both done eating. Nice meeting you, gentlemen. We should get back to our seats.” She rose and undid the clasp of her purse.
    “Please.” The older man waved his hand. “Please! Don’t think of paying. We asked the young lady to sit with us. And your company was a pleasure as well.”
    “Thank you, but I insist.” She put a dollar on the table, fixing him with a look that ensured no further argument. She wished he would quit smiling at her like that. They were old enemies—the drinking man and the voting woman. She didn’t need his esteem.
    “Thanks for trying,” Louise told them. As she stood, she glanced at the younger man and smiled at his uncle. Cora waited until Louise was in front of her, her tall heels moving fast and assured down the aisle, before she turned back, ever so briefly, to wish the men good day.
    She wanted to take Louise to task as soon as they got back to their seats. But first she had to ask her to retrieve The Age of Innocence , which she hoped was still on the floor.
    “I have a bad back,” she explained. They were both still standing in the aisle.
    Louise looked up at her skeptically. “Bet your corset doesn’t help much, either.” Thankfully, she’d lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t deny it. I’ve been picking things up for Mother my whole life.”
    Cora watched as Louise crouched down and searched under the seat. She moved so easily, so lightly. Cora knew many girls didn’t wear corsets these days. They wore just brassieres that actually flattened their breasts—it was the new fashion, apparently, to try to look like a child, a young girl or even a boy. Cora couldn’t tell if Louise’s breasts were bound or if she was naturally small-chested. But everything about her seemed girlish—her haircut, her