Free Louisa and the Country Bachelor : A Louisa May Alcott Mystery (9781101547564) by Anna Maclean Page B

glasses and lemonade, followed by Uncle Benjamin. The day was breezeless and humid, and we were prostrated by a heat that pressed heavily upon us with invisible hands. It took a great force of will, I recall, simply to fan oneself.
    â€œHe’s a rascal, that young husband of yours,” Uncle said, giving Ida a little peck on the cheek.
    â€œIsn’t Benjamin an old sweetie?” Ida cooed, and gave a coquettish twist to her fan by using it to hide her face, except for her eyes and brows. Eliza coughed gently and caught Abba’s eye.
    Benjamin, dressed in his famous red cap and embroidered slippers and cape, eased himself onto the settee opposite Abba. These two were great friends, despite the long periods between visits, despite Benjamin’s eccentricities. He had married her beloved sister and there was a connection between them that had grown even stronger after that sister’s death. They shared memories no one else had, and there is no bond tighter than that.
    â€œHere, old sweetie,” teased Eliza, handing her father a glass of lemonade. We all settled back into our chairs and listened for a while to the drone of insects, wishing with all our hearts for a breeze to stir the curtains and lift the heat. How I longed for the simple tunics Abba had dressed us in as children, so that I might be free of the layers of muslin, the chemise, drawers, crinoline, bodice, skirts, etc., etc., that encumbered a woman in the name of modesty in those days. I always suspected they were simply trying to weigh us down to prevent a mass escape of females.
    From somewhere upstairs, a child began to wail, and then there was the rhythmic sound of a rubber ball being bounced against a wall.
    Eliza ignored both and sipped her iced lemonade. “I paid my respects to Lilli Nooteboom this morning,” she said. “Such a tragedy.”
    â€œI feel quite faint,” said Ida. She took a silver bottle from her reticule. “Medicine,” she said. She poured a capful into her lemonade, and the Saturday-night smell of gin filled the room. Abba’s right eyebrow cocked up.
    Mrs. Fisher, the housekeeper, came in carrying a plate of sliced melon and making a show of how hard she was working. The glance she gave Ida Tupper was not warm.
    â€œIt is a sad event when a young woman has an ocean between herself and home and her brother dies, leaving her alone in a foreign country,” said Uncle Benjamin, oblivious to the unvoiced female judgments that made the heavy atmosphere even heavier. “Careless of young Nooteboom to fall like that. Mrs. Tupper, may I have a spoonful of that medicine of yours?”
    Eliza opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it firmly. Abba frowned. It was no secret that Uncle Benjamin was fond of what he termed “something stronger than water.”
    â€œOh, dear,” said Ida, making a face like a child who has smashed a plate, cute and guilty at the same time. “My medicine has introduced a note of discord.”
    â€œNonsense,” said Uncle. He held out his cup, and Ida poured.
    â€œAs I was saying, we visited poor Lilli Nooteboom,” Eliza began again. “Now she is alone. Although solitude would not be such an awful thing. No children, no husband or parents . . .” Her voice trailed off and her eyes grew dreamy.
    â€œMiss Nooteboom is a young person of an argumentative nature,” said Uncle Benjamin, shaking his head. “She’s not made many friends in Walpole. A tragedy for her, though. Now she’ll have to stay in rented rooms instead of living in that house he had talked about building for them. A tragedy.”
    â€œFate is mysterious, isn’t it, Louisa?” Eliza asked, breaking out of her reverie. “Perhaps Mr. Nooteboom was meant to live in the lowlands, and height destroyed him. I’m sure there is a metaphor in there somewhere.”
    Uncle laughed. “ ‘Not all is contained in your