Free Noon at Tiffany's by Echo Heron Page B

need to take care lest he tries to cheat me out of the fortune I stand to make from the job. Father would never let me live it down.
    I encountered Belknap and Clara Wolcott at the new Metropolitan exhibition. They seem to regard the rest of the world with shared smugness, as if there were a joke in the works and they alone knew what it was. I admit I resented not being invited into their circle. Even more troubling was the sight of her on his arm. Still and all, I’m relieved to see Belknap in the company of a woman other than his mother.
    Tomorrow the board decides on my glass lampshade idea. I’ll try to collar Mitchell, who will assuredly knock the proposal down, as I suspect Father has already poisoned the waters.
    Little Annie Olivia is ill again. The sweet child cries for me, but I cannot tolerate seeing her suffer. L.C.T.

~ 5 ~
    Miss Todd’s Boardinghouse
    September 26, 1889
    Dear Ones,
    When I returned from Tiffany’s, I found Ida B. Smith camped by the fire grate. She refused to eat or drink and yowled piteously if touched. One of the boarders, Miss Julia Alling (of the Tallmadge Allings), claims to know all about cats. She examined Ida B. and said the poor thing was in a bad way, with nothing to be done about it. Seventy-five cents of chloroform gave her a peaceful death (Ida B., not Miss Alling).
    Miss Todd sent for the ASPCA, but they refused to come, so I wrapped Ida in one of my old undergarments and laid her out in a gift box. I asked Abe (Miss Todd’s colored handyman) if we could deposit her in the waste can. He informed us it was against the law, so I decided to put her in the river, but the washerwoman said I’d better not if I didn’t want to be arrested on suspicion. Miss Alling predicted someone was sure to see me and call the police, who would drag the river and undoubtedly find a dead baby—a fish having meanwhile made off with Ida B—and I would end up in the Tombs.
    So, off I trudged to the board of health (ironically across from the Tombs), where I announced that I had a dead cat in the box. After some amusement at Ida B.’s expense, they said they didn’t want her and directed me to the Department of Public Docks men, who, as could be expected, didn’t want her either.
    At two this morning, I gave Ida B. Smith a proper burial under Miss Todd’s peony bushes, grateful to the dear little thing for dying while the ground was still pliable.
    Henry Belknap has asked George and me to accompany him to the Metropolitan lecture series on Charles Rennie Macintosh’s European Arts and Crafts Movement. It’s a delight to see how perfectly George and Henry’s personalities are in balance—a floating bubble and a rock.
    Speaking of rocks—as in millstones around my neck—Miss Northrop has been particularly critical of my work as of late. I refuse to be offended, preferring to believe she is jealous of my inventiveness. Her own work is excellent, but predictable.
    Much love, Clara
    P.S. Emily, my dear sister, taking into account how you love to tell people what to do and correct them when they make innocent mistakes, it’s clear that in choosing the teaching profession, you have chosen a fitting vocation. Because of your diligence in returning all of my letters with the spelling errors circled in red, I have been shamed into purchasing a proper dictionary. I’ve discovered all manner of fine words, for instance, “punctilious” and “nitpicking.”
    September 27, 1889
    L OUIS PLACED THE velvet drape over the lamp and set it to one side of his desk.
    Henry threw up his hands in exasperation. “You would think just one of the other board members would have voted in favor of the lamps, especially after hearing Mrs. Tiffany’s declaration that she wanted several permanently installed in your entry hall, so they would be the first and last pieces of decoration seen by your guests. For God’s sake, every woman in New York knows that Louis and Louise Tiffany set the trend in home