The Pattern Read online

  The music started again, and again they seemed to move in perfect step. At length the melody ended. Yet, they remained facing each other. Mr. Chalmers’s booming voice jovially announced, “Line up, ladies and gentlemen, for musical chairs.”

  Reluctantly Ross stepped back, bowed slightly, and relinquished Johanna. A row of chairs, numbering one less than the assembled guests, was placed down the middle of the long room.

  The musicians started playing a lively march, and the company began moving in a circle around the room, giggling, shuffling a little, attempting to anticipate when the music would stop and they would have to rush for a seat. As one by one a chair was eliminated and one or more persons had to drop out, the circle grew smaller and the fun and hilarity of the suspense grew louder. Every once in a while Johanna would catch Ross’s glance. He was so tall and lanky that watching him scramble for a chair was comical. What pleased her the most was that he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself and had lost that slight awkwardness. Although his shyness touched her, she was elated that he could enjoy such fun.

  Soon there were only a handful of marchers left, Ross and Johanna among them. The musicians, enjoying the sight as much as the onlookers clustered around the periphery of the room, changed the tempo from fast to slow to trick the hopeful remaining players. Johanna was almost weak with laughter, and once when the music stopped abruptly, she and Ross landed unceremoniously on the same chair. In a gentlemanly manner, he shifted and stood up, leaving her seated while a more boisterous young man slid into the only other chair left empty. Ross joined the spectators as Johanna stayed in the game. With two chairs and three people left, the room became noisier than ever, people cheering on their favorites. When the music halted, Johanna made a dash for a seat, and as she did she lost her balance and went crashing, sending the chair sliding, herself collapsing in a heap with upturned crinolines and taffeta ruffles. One small dancing slipper, with its tiny heel, went skittering across the polished floor and out of sight.

  Burton ran to help the laughing Johanna to her feet. Leaning on his arm, she hopped to the side of the room, where someone pushed a chair for her to collapse into. Johanna’s laughter suddenly came to a swift halt when, from across the room, she saw her mother’s disapproving expression. Johanna felt a sinking sensation, which was quickly replaced by one of rebellion. What had she done that was so horrible? Just played a silly game to the fullest. What on earth was wrong with that? She turned away from the admonishing face just as Ross came up to her, bearing her small satin shoe in his open palm.

  He knelt to slip it back on her foot. As his hand held the arch, Johanna felt a tingle running up from her foot all through her. Involuntarily she shivered. He glanced up at her, and for a single moment their gazes met and held, as if seeking an answer to an unspoken question. Then people gathered around, and their voices crowded out the sound of Johanna’s heart beating so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it.

  Hours later Johanna was sitting in front of her dressing table, dreamily brushing her hair, when her mother entered her bedroom.

  Johanna had been reliving the evening. At least the part after she had been introduced to Ross Davison. Following that, the rest of the party had simply faded into a backdrop. She hardly remembered the carriage ride home, the excited voices of her sisters discussing the evening. She had seemed to float up the stairs and into her own bedroom on some kind of cloud. Now her mother was talking to her in a tone of voice that was edged with severity, chiding her about something. Johanna blinked, looked at her mother, and tried to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “I simply cannot believe it, Johanna! I thought your years at Miss Pomoroy’s had taught you some reticence, some proper behavior. I am shocked to see that—given the opportunity—you are as much a hoyden as ever!”

  Johanna, outwardly submissive, listened to her mother’s lecture while continuing to brush her hair. Eighty-two, eighty-three, eighty-four, she counted silently, wondering if her mother’s tirade would end at the prerequisite one hundred strokes.

  “I expect you to set a good example for your younger sisters, Johanna. This was Elly’s first grown-up party, and she worships you, you know, imitates everything you do: your mannerisms, your likes, dislikes—unfortunately, your bad traits as well as any good ones you might exhibit. I am thoroughly ashamed of your lack of decorum tonight, Johanna. And with that—that roughhewn young man, whose parlor manners also need a great deal of improvement.” All at once Rebecca realized Johanna was not really listening. Hadn’t she heard a word? Maybe the child was tired. Perhaps this could wait until tomorrow.

  “You do understand, don’t you, Johanna? Anything you do reflects on the family. People are ever ready to gossip or spread untrue rumors. I would not want anyone to get the idea—” Again Johanna’s expression looked faraway. Her sweetly curved mouth was—smiling. Rebecca’s voice sharpened. “Johanna!”

  “Yes, Mama. I do. I didn’t mean to—I was just having fun.”

  “I’m sure that was all there was to it, dear. But we can’t give the wrong impression—you see?”

  “Yes, Mama,” Johanna replied demurely.

  Rebecca leaned down and kissed the smooth brow, cupping her daughter’s cheek for a moment with her hand. Her eyes swept over her daughter. Johanna was fulfilling her childhood promise of beauty. Her complexion was lovely, her eyes, with their sweeping lashes, truly beautiful, Rebecca thought fondly. But we must be careful that her gaiety and vivaciousness aren’t misunderstood.

  As soon as the door closed behind her mother, Johanna put down her hairbrush and studied her reflection in the mirror. Was it possible? Did she really look different? Something had happened tonight, and she seemed changed somehow.

  In a way, that shouldn’t have surprised her. She felt different. Ever since she’d come home less than a week ago, she had felt oddly displaced. The familiar seemed unfamiliar. Even getting used to being with her parents and two younger sisters again had presented problems. However, Johanna knew it was something more than that. Deep inside, there was a heart hunger she couldn’t explain or even understand. A need for something to give her life meaning and purpose.

  Johanna blew out her lamp, climbed into bed, and pulled the quilt up to her chin. She shut her eyes, squeezing them tight, and the image of Ross Davison came into her mind. He was different from most of the young men she knew, the ones she’d smiled at and teased at picnics, flirted with and danced with at parties.

  He might be a bit awkward and unsure of himself socially, perhaps not good at small talk or such. He was already into a man’s life, a doctor, healing the sick and injured, saving lives. It made the lives of most of the other young men she knew seem shallow by comparison.

  Up until recently Johanna’s life had been that of a schoolgirl—simple, uncomplicated, filled with friends, fun, light flirtations. Now Ross Davison had stepped into her life.

  His eyes seemed to look into her very soul. It had been almost as if he recognized that longing within her she had not ever spoken of to anyone.

  Suddenly Johanna saw a possibility of something deeper and more important. She wasn’t exactly sure just what happened tonight. She only knew that something had and nothing would ever be the same again. It both excited and frightened her.

  Chapter Two

  At breakfast the following day, Rebecca announced, “Johanna, I want you to take the fruitcakes around to the aunties. You may take the small buggy. If you don’t dawdle or stay too long at each house, you should be back by noon. No later, because I shall need it myself this afternoon when I go to help decorate the church for Advent services.”

  Delivering fruitcakes to her cousins was Rebecca’s holiday custom. Since she used a secret Shelby family recipe handed down to her by her mother-in-law, she knew that this was one thing none of them could duplicate. Fond as they all were of each other, nonetheless an unspoken but very real rivalry existed among the cousins.

  “Yes, Mama, I’ll be happy to.” Johanna
cheerfully accepted the errand, glad of the opportunity to get out of the house and thus escape some of the household chores Rebecca daily allotted to each daughter.

  Immediately Cissy protested. “Why does Johanna get to do all the fun things?”

  The difference in their ages always rankled Cissy. It was something she had not had to deal with while Johanna was away. After her first welcome to Johanna at her homecoming, Cissy had reverted to petty jealousy. Rebecca sent her a disapproving glance. “Because Johanna can drive the trap, for one reason. For another, the aunties haven’t seen her since she came home.” Then she added, “And stop frowning. Your expression is as unbecoming as your attitude.” To Johanna she said, “I’ll put the fruitcakes in a basket and then have Thomas bring the trap around.”

  Her mother’s reprimand subdued whatever else Cissy might have argued. At least temporarily. However, when Rebecca left the table, Cissy stuck out her tongue at Johanna, who ignored her and went to get her hooded cape. She was pulling on her leather driving gloves as Rebecca emerged from the kitchen area carrying a willow basket packed with the gaily beribboned rounded molds of fruitcakes. Johanna drew a long breath, relishing the combined smells of brandied fruit, cinnamon, nutmeg. “Umm, smells delicious, Mama.”

  “Take care, and try to be back on time,” her mother’s voice followed her as Johanna took the basket and started out.

  “Yes, Mama,” Johanna promised as she opened the front door. She gave a cheery wave to her sisters, a pouting Cissy and a resigned Elly, both assigned to polishing silver.

  Outside, Thomas, the Shelbys’ “man of all work,” waited beside the small, one-seated buggy at the front of the house, holding the mare’s head. Thomas was husband to their cook, Jensie, brother to Bessie, the maid. All three had worked for her family as long as Johanna could remember.

  “Morning, Thomas,” Johanna greeted him, then paused to rub Juno’s nose and pet her neck before climbing into the driver’s seat.

  “You be careful now, Miss Johanna. She’s feelin’ mahty frisky this mawnin’,” Thomas cautioned, handing her the reins.

  “Thank you. I will,” she said. She gave the reins a flick and started down the winding drive out onto the county road.

  The morning was bright, sunny, the air crisp and clear, and Johanna felt lighthearted and free. She was glad to be home, back in Hillsboro, after the long months away. At boarding school, her independent, happy-go-lucky spirit felt hopelessly surpressed by the strict rules. She had the secret intention that during this Christmas vacation, she would persuade her indulgent father to let her stay home rather than go back to the academy. She felt she’d had enough education and enough of the restrictive life at school. Cissy could go in her place!

  As they moved along at a brisk pace in the winter sunshine, Johanna enjoyed traveling over the familiar roads, breathing deep of the pine-scented air. She was actually looking forward to having a visit with each auntie as she delivered her mother’s special holiday gift.

  Johanna’s “aunties” were not really her aunts. They were her mother’s first cousins. And they all had the same first name: Johanna. Their grandmother, Johanna Logan, had five daughters and one son. Each daughter named their first daughter Johanna in honor of her. The only one not named Johanna was Rebecca, the daughter of the son. His wife, the only daughter-in-law in the family, had refused to have her daughter christened Johanna. All the first cousins named Johanna were called by other names to distinguish them from each other. Thus there was Aunt Hannah, Auntie Bee, Aunt Jo McMillan, Aunt Honey, Aunt Johanna Cady.

  Thinking of the aunties, Johanna often wondered if her mother ever resented the fact that her mother had broken with tradition and not named her Johanna. She never said and somehow Johanna had resisted asking. Her mother rarely talked about her childhood or her life before marrying. It was as if everything began for her when she became Mrs. Tennant Shelby. It seemed she had become part of his life and left her own completely, proud of her husband’s prominence, their place in Hillsboro society.

  Families were funny things, Johanna mused as she turned off the main road and took the rutted lane that led to the Breckenridges’ home, the one closest to the Shelbys’, her first stop. She and her sisters were the only girls in the family. The other relatives on both sides who had children had boys. Johanna had never given it much thought, but recently she had noticed that her mother quite bristled when the other aunties talked—or the better word was bragged—about their male offspring. Would her mother have rather had sons?

  Johanna wondered. However, she’d heard several of the aunties sigh and verbally declare they pined for a daughter, making such remarks as, “such comfort, so companionable, considerate in old age.” So maybe it all evened out in the end, Johanna decided as she pulled up in front of her Auntie Bee’s. She knew this would be a happy reunion. Auntie Bee, childless herself, doted on the Shelby girls, and secretly Johanna was her favorite “niece.”

  Winding the reins around the hitching post, Johanna ran up the porch steps. She raised the brass knocker and banged it a few times before Auntie Bee, who was somewhat hard of hearing, opened the door. “Why, Johanna, how lovely to see you! Come in, dear!” she said, beckoning her inside. “My, you get prettier every time I see you.”

  Johanna gave her a hug, relishing the familiar fragrance of violet eau de cologne she always associated with this aunt. “I’ve brought you Mama’s Christmas fruitcake!”

  Looking as surprised as if receiving it weren’t an annual event, Auntie Bee declared, “How dear of her! And I know it’s delicious. Let’s slice a piece and have some tea. You can stay for a visit, can’t you?”

  “I probably shouldn’t. Mama wants the trap back by noon.”

  “Not just for a wee bit?”

  “Well, I guess—why not!”

  “Why not, indeed! Come along inside. No mistake about its being December, is there? Lots of frost this morning when your Uncle Radford set out for his office.” Auntie Bee took Johanna’s cape and hung it up, saying, “Now you go right on in the parlor, where I’ve a nice fire going. That’ll take the chill off you after being out in the cold air. I’ll get our tea and slice the cake.”

  “Can I help you, Auntie?”

  “No, dearie, you just go on in and make yourself comfortable. I won’t be but a minute.” Auntie Bee bustled out to the kitchen.

  Auntie Bee’s quilting frame was set up in the cozy parlor, and Johanna went over to examine the one she was working on. When her aunt came back in carrying the tray with tea things, Johanna told her, “This is very pretty, Auntie, and I like the colors—what’s the pattern called?”

  “It’s called the Tree of Life. In the Bible, a tree is the symbol of all the good things of life: plenty, goodness, and wisdom. All God’s gifts to humankind we’re to enjoy on this earth—our families, our home, what he provides—the abundant life the Scripture speaks about.”

  Johanna regarded her aunt’s serene expression, the sincerity with which she spoke. Surely she never had a doubt or an uncertainty, unlike Johanna, who always questioned everything. “You really believe that, don’t you, Auntie?”

  “Of course, dearie. What’s not to believe?” Bee put one hand on the open Bible on its stand beside her quilting frame. “As it is written in Proverbs 3, ‘Happy is the man that findeth wisdom. She is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her.’”

  After consuming a large piece of fruitcake and a cup of tea, Johanna turned down her aunt’s urging for a second helping of each and departed for her next stop.

  As she drove away, waving her hand to her plump aunt standing on the porch waving back, Johanna wondered: had her aunt never had a rebellious thought, a longing for something different than a placid existence? Was she always so at peace, as perfectly content as she appeared? Johanna sighed. She herself had so many unfulfilled dreams, so many romantic fantasies and desires. Perhaps her aunt’s kind of serenity came eventually with age? She didn’t really know. In her own heart a restles
sness stirred, a deep yearning for an experience that did not even have a name. Was she to constantly search for something she might never find?

  As she approached Aunt Hannah Mills’s house, Johanna hoped she would not have to listen to a prolonged recital of her aunt’s ailments. Aunt Hannah tended to complain at length of various aches. The consensus of family opinion was that most of them were imaginary. Today Johanna was in luck. At her knock, the door was opened impatiently, and Johanna got the immediate impression she had come at an inopportune time. The household was in the midst of holiday cleaning. Behind Aunt Hannah, through the door to the parlor, Johanna saw Suzy, the maid, kneeling at the hearth, polishing the brass fender, the fire tools, and the andirons. The frown on her aunt’s face faded at once when she saw Johanna.

  “Why, Johanna, child! What a surprise!” she spoke, trying not to sound irritated by the unexpected visit. This aunt was known in the family as a fuss-budget about her home—for her, cleanliness was truly next to godliness—and twice a year the entire house was scrubbed, cleaned, polished to a fare-thee-well. Christmas was one of those times. Yet since hospitality was a cardinal rule practiced by all the family, she welcomed Johanna inside.

  “One of your mother’s lovely fruitcakes!” she exclaimed with feigned surprise as Johanna handed it to her. “My, my, I don’t see how your mother manages to do all she does. A houseful of girls to look after, a large household to run, all the entertaining she does, besides her charitable activities. Of course, she has been blessed with good health!” Aunt Hannah sighed lugubriously. “Not like some of us.” She drew her small bottle of smelling salts from her apron pocket and inhaled. “I have felt quite unwell since…well, I believe I overdid it when—”