Free The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel by Carla Stewart Page A

Iris, Mittie’s twin who bore no resemblance to her sister, had to run to keep up with Mittie, but soon enough they were in each other’s arms, everyone talking at once.
    Then Aunt Sarah put both hands on Nell’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Oh, sugar, you just get more gorgeous every time I see you. Look at you, so cosmopolitan with that darling cloche—” She turned to Iris. “—This is what I was telling you I saw in Vogue .” She turned back to Nell and kissed her on the cheek.
    “That’s from your mama. She came to the station to send us off and sends her love and a package that’s somewhere in all this mess.” A porter stood by with a cart piled with luggage. “Come on, girls, let’s not keep the gentleman waiting forever and a day.”
    Thirty years in America had erased all but a hint of her aunt’s Yorkshire accent, replaced with that akin to warm honey on a hot biscuit. Southern, they called it in the States. To Nell, it was the sound of ice tinkling in glasses of sweet tea, the chirp of crickets as dusk settled on the rolling meadows of Kentucky.
    Nell held Aunt Sarah’s hand and guided her toward the cabstand, and it wasn’t until they were crowded together in the yellow taxi that Nell was finally able to ask what brought them to New York.
    Mittie unlatched the back window, shoved it open, and waved away the smoke of Aunt Sarah’s cigarette. “Sorry. Mother might have given up some of her vices, but not her Chesterfields.”
    Aunt Sarah sniffed and waved the cigarette in its silver holder through the air. “It’s quite fashionable, you know, and besides, I feel I must support the local tobacco-growing economy.”
    Mittie tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Yeah, the way you supported the local bookies.” She quirked her mouth into a fake grin.
    Aunt Sarah’s gambling debacle had nearly ruined Uncle Eli two years earlier. On the same weekend as the Kentucky Derby when Nell had met Oscar Fields, her aunt nearly lost their entire fortune placing bets with an acquaintance, who turned out to be nothing but a gangster. Nell suspected Mittie’s remark was a lingering grudge because her favorite horse had been sold to recoup some of Aunt Sarah’s losses.
    Iris sighed. “Leave it alone, Mittie. We came to shop and have fun.”
    Aunt Sarah took a long draw on the cigarette and said, “To answer your question, Nell, we simply had to get away. Our upstairs plumbing sprung a leak and ruined half of the Persian rugs, not to mention the water spots on the hickory floors. A week of workers banging and carting things in and out would drive anyone mad. Besides, with Iris being a debutante this season, this was the perfect opportunity to buy her a few gowns for the upcoming balls.”
    Iris but not Mittie? Pretty, popular Iris. Mittie, the wild one who defied taming. It was no secret that Mittie would rather jump off Louisville’s K & I Bridge into the depths of the Ohio River than go through the season . She was much happier dressed in jodhpurs and riding boots letting the wind blow through her hair as she exercised her daddy’s champion show horses.
    Aunt Sarah had made reservations at the Algonquin Hotel in Midtown. Once they were in the suite and the porter had been tipped, Aunt Sarah collapsed on the davenport in the sitting room.
    “You know I never sleep a wink in those Pullman cars, and I’ve developed the most dreadful headache. Why don’t you girls do the town without me? Maybe you can catch a Rudolph Valentino moving picture this evening.”
    Iris said, “Mother, are you sure? I don’t want you to miss out.”
    Aunt Sarah nodded. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll order something from room service and retire early.”
    Nell said, “Actually, my roommates and I had tentative plans, but we’d love for Mittie and Iris to come, too.”
    Aunt Sarah put her feet up and lit a cigarette. “There you go, sweet peas. You don’t need me for a wet blanket.” She pulled a