Saturday's Lady

Ten

"I have to tell you something," said Emma as soon as she stepped off the train.

Anne raised an eyebrow. "Is it about why you're wearing gloves? Or why you just talked to me like an American instead of like Emma?"

"It is, actually," continued Emma, switching to Irish. The words had started to stick to her throat; they didn't come as easily as they used to. It filled her with a strange sort of sadness. "You have to promise not to tell the girls. I'll tell Iain and Mary myself."

"This must be some secret," remarked Anne, taking her sister's arm as the two girls began to walk to the farm. Anne gasped suddenly. "You married some rich man in secret, and now you're telling us only because he wants to take you to New York or Paris!"

Emma bit her lip. "That's closer to the truth than you think." She drew a deep breath. "The reason I haven't been coming home is because there are all these parties, and Mrs. Remigrant needs me to attend them. Not to cook for them or iron her dresses for them, she dresses me up and gave me a fake name and now she's trying to make me a good match."

Anne stared at her for a moment, but kept walking down the dirt road. The long brown grasses swept their skirts as the wind blew.

Emma went on. "She's told everyone I'm her niece from New York and she takes me to all these dinners and parties-- I didn't even know there were this many rich people in Denver-- and I dance with all these rich men, and now I'm courting one man who--"

"WHAT?"

"--who has shares in the railroad, and I think he wants to marry me, but I don't know how I feel about the whole thing, and it's been keeping me awake and away from home, and I think I'm just imagining things, but I don't know!" She finished in a rush of words. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before, Mrs. Remigrant said I couldn't tell anyone, but just recently she said I could if you promised to keep it a secret. It would be the death of both her reputation and mine if it got out."

Anne was silent, looking ahead with a furrowed brow. Her arm was tight around Emma's. "It's a lot to take in," she murmured after a moment. "How long has this been going on?"

"I've been going to the parties for more than a year-- since I turned sixteen. Please don't be angry with me, I would have told you if I could."

Anne's face broke into a reassuring smile. "I'm not angry! I'm just trying to process this." She laid a hand softly on Emma's hand. "I know you wouldn't have kept the secret if you didn't have to. Who is this man that's got such big intentions?"

The farmhouse began to come into view. "His name is Duncan McDonald. He's a very nice man who loves to travel. He's told me all about Europe and how beautiful it is, and he's so smart, Anne! He went to Cambridge and it seems he's read every book on the earth."

"How do you feel about him?" Anne's face was impossible to read.

Emma sighed. "I think he's a lovely man," she said slowly. "It's nice to have someone pay attention to me like that. I never could have pictured myself even plausibly courting such a wealthy man, but I worry he might like me as Mrs. Remigrant's niece and not as, well, me."

They were at the door of the house. "You've expanded," remarked Emma, looking at the house. There was a new room off to the side with a window facing them, covered in a blue gingham curtain.

Anne opened the door with a smile. "We're not really children anymore. We couldn't all fit in the loft. So now it's just me in the loft, and the girls have a bedroom."

Emma looked around the house. It looked mostly the same as ever-- Anne had kept it clean and neat, and it seemed less crowded with the three girls moved to the bedroom. It was just like Anne to have a whole room built and then give it to someone else. It may have looked selfless-- and it was, to a point, but Emma knew Anne would want some peace and quiet, and this way she had her own space. Besides, Anne would feel bad about having the bedroom to herself.

Anne tied an apron over her skirt of flowered lawn. "Would you help me with supper?"

Emma took off her gloves and set them on the dining table-- she realised there was nowhere else to put them. "Of course. Where's my old apron gone?"

Dinner was almost ready when the door opened and a flood of children rushed in. Well, there were only three, but it had been so long since Emma had really been home and seen children that it was almost overwhelming. And then there was Charles O'Flaherty, who walked silently with a smile on his face to Anne, who had her back turned, opening the cabinet to get plates.

"Oh, you!" laughed Anne as he hugged her from behind, then she wriggled her way out to face him. "Can't you see I'm busy?" But she threw her arms around his neck with a giggle, and Emma looked away, busying herself with setting out the silverware. The three girls were all squabbling at the basin, undisturbed by the show of affection.

After a moment Emma heard Anne push Charles away. "Go wash up, love, dinner's almost ready."

"Alright, alright," he said playfully, and released his hands from her waist.

Emma looked at her sister, who was smiling widely as she took the plates from the cupboard. A strange thought entered her mind, and she went over to Anne.

"Anne," she whispered slowly, "does Charles... live here?"

Anne turned to her with a scandalised look on her face. "Of course not!" she gasped. "He lives down the road with his sisters and his mum, like he always has. He just comes to help with the farmwork. You know that."

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. "Aren't you two engaged yet?"

Anne looked wistfully at Charles, who was talking with the girls and laughing. "There's evidently not a ring, yet," she said, holding up her left hand, "but he's asked me if I would marry him, once things are more certain. Once we know where we'd live, and all."

Emma nodded with a grin. "Congratulations, Anne. I should have asked earlier."

She thought about how strange this was-- how stiff and formal her relationship with Duncan was, where they couldn't even say each other's first names in public; and then how open Charles and Anne were. They'd just kissed in the kitchen like it was nothing, without even a proper engagement. Emma had already spent plenty of time dreaming up her own plans for an engagement party-- who would be there, what they would eat-- and she realised then how much she'd changed in the past year. Here was her sister, happy with so little, who threw around pet names and kissed her not-quite fiancé in front of children. It was something Mrs. Remigrant would have absolutely fainted at.

And Emma thought how strange it was, as she sat down to supper, that she had been wondering whether she'd rather have emeralds or pearls on her engagement ring.

Do you think Emma is changing for the better? For the worse? Both? Let me know in the comments!