Sorrento Girl Read online

  The elder Mr. and Mrs. Lewis were over by the fountain, deep in conversation with Mr. Ferguson, who’d just retired. After Ann’s semester of student teaching in his classroom, he’d announced his upcoming retirement and had recommended her to the school administration at Seattle Prep. They’d offered her the job, and she had accepted. She would start in the fall.

  Ann smiled as she watched Sally and David play on the shaded front porch of her home with a train set that had belonged to Paul. She’d rescued it from the attic of the house in Tacoma before it had been sold. The toy engine David was pushing along the tracks looked very much like the Empire Builder, the train that had first brought Ann to Seattle, nearly ten years ago.

  That adventure had been the beginning of what had brought her here. She was grateful for all of it—her growing faith, her marriage to Paul, their beautiful home, the friendships, the lessons, the fun, the heartaches, and now, the diploma she held in her hands. None of it had been easy. It had required courage, honesty, and strength—along with the help of some good people.

  Ann’s life had been a great adventure, so far, and now, she was ready for the next chapter.

  Coming Soon

  Palmer Girl

  The Historic Hotels Collection ~ Book Two

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  One

  Elizabeth Nordeman realized it was too late to avoid being spotted. The last space on her dance card was about to be filled. Taking one last discreet sip from the glass she’d been holding, she set it on the passing silver tray of a uniformed waiter. Then she turned and smiled politely at the elegant woman and the young man who approached her. Elizabeth had seen them making a beeline toward her place at the base of the grand staircase where she’d paused to catch her breath after the last Quadrille. She’d been hoping to make an early exit and go back upstairs to her family’s apartment without anyone noticing.

  Drawing near was Bertha Palmer, their hostess, and judging by the determined look on her face, her motives were clear. Every high society woman of Chicago, minus the ones with marriageable daughters of their own, seemed to have united around her mother’s cause, which was to introduce Elizabeth to every eligible bachelor of high social standing in the city.

  Elizabeth could sense her mother watching the scene from across the Palmer House ballroom, as if to will her daughter to make an effort and maintain the manners she’d taught her. So far this evening, she’d been dutiful. Never mind, this event was the last place she wanted to be at the moment.

  “Mr. Harold Pierce, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Elizabeth Nordeman. Miss Nordeman recently arrived with her family from New York. Her father, Cornelius, is a colleague of your father’s.” Mrs. Palmer introduced the eager freckle-faced man at her side to Elizabeth in an efficient and breezy manner that was mixed with a trace of a southern drawl. “Miss Nordeman, Mr. Pierce, is a student at Northwestern University. I’ve known his family for years.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Pierce,” said Elizabeth, giving a curtsy, then extending her hand.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he kissed her hand. “May I request the pleasure of your company for this next dance?”

  Mrs. Palmer excused herself and moved along to her next guests. Elizabeth, having no other option, accepted his offer and followed Mr. Pierce.

  The following song, a waltz, allowed Mr. Pierce the opportunity to pepper Elizabeth with unwelcome questions. He exercised a familiarity she was unaccustomed to from someone she’d just met. “What brings you to Chicago, Miss Nordeman?”

  Ignoring his breach of etiquette, Elizabeth did her best to answer politely, while still focusing on the steps of the dance, which seemed different than any she’d learned before.

  “The World’s Columbian Exposition, sir,” she answered.

  “But that isn’t happening until next year.”

  “Very true, sir, but my father works for the Exposition Corporation. There’s much to be done before it opens.” Elizabeth didn’t elaborate any further on why her father had uprooted the family and brought them to live at the Palmer House for the next eighteen months. Anyone who read the papers already knew at least part of the story—or thought they did.

  “Aha, I see. That’s why Mrs. Palmer said our fathers were colleagues,” said Mr. Pierce, stepping on Elizabeth’s toe. “My father is responsible for bringing the fair to Chicago.” Knowing this was an exaggerated boast, and that a great many people had contributed to the effort, Elizabeth merely nodded, thinking to herself the man before her was somewhat pretentious.

  The look of approval on her father’s face as she waltzed past him was apparent, and it strengthened her resolve to please him. Even if it meant dancing with Harold Pierce. When the waltz ended, Mr. Pierce offered his right arm to Elizabeth and escorted her from the dance floor. “May I offer you a refreshment, Miss Nordeman?”

  “No, thank you.” Elizabeth made a point of closing her fan, a sign most men in her circle would have understood to mean she wasn’t interested in further conversation, but Mr. Pierce persisted.

  “I regret this evening’s festivities are already coming to a close. Thank you for the honor of your company with the last dance. I will call on you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, sir, though I am not at liberty to accept that offer. You may ask my father.” Elizabeth bowed her head toward Mr. Pierce, once again signaling the end of their conversation. At this, she turned on her heel and did not wait to hear Mr. Pierce’s response. She was halfway up the stairs before she heard a loud voice call behind her.

  “I’ll do that!”

  Elizabeth kept walking, pretending not to hear, and let out a sigh. Oh, dear, I hope I didn’t encourage him.

  ***

  The breakfast room smelled like fresh coffee and bacon when Elizabeth joined her father the next morning. Patricia Nordeman always took her breakfast in bed, leaving father and daughter to themselves for the first meal of the day. Looking up from his newspaper, Cornelius nodded his acknowledgment of her presence before asking, “Did you sleep well, my dear?”

  “Yes, father.” Elizabeth placed a napkin in her lap. “And you?”

  “Good, good. You were introduced to Eugene Pierce’s son, Harold, last night, I noticed. Nice fellow?”

  “Pleasant enough, I guess, but I’m not interested in him if that’s what you’re hinting at. He might ask you if he can call on me. Please say no.”

  “No?” Cornelius frowned. “Elizabeth…his family has connections. We must be careful not to offend.”

  “Please?” She paused. “Enough with the matchmaking. I’ll be careful. I promise.” Elizabeth watched as her father put down his paper with a sigh.

  “And what are your plans for today? More shopping?” asked Cornelius. She had been thinking of going to Marshall Field’s to see what was new, but her father’s disapproval of that idea was communicated, clear enough, in the tone of his voice. Elizabeth came up with a new plan.

  “Of course not, father. I was going to take Sissy with me to the flower market. I wanted to put together some new arrangements for the apartment.”

  Since the move to Chicago, Elizabeth had been lonely. She missed Catherine, her best friend in New York. Though she knew it wasn’t proper to form friendships with the help, Sissy, her lady’s maid, was the closest person she had to an ally in the city.

  “Very well, don’t take the streetcar. Take the carriage. I’ll tell Louis to get it ready for you.”

  ***

  Bertha Palmer and Elizabeth’s mother, Patricia, were having tea in the Nordeman’s apartment when she arrived home from the market that afternoon. An array of brilliant flowers, ferns, and grasses, wrapped in brown paper, weighed the women down as they walked past the front parlor. Peeking over the top of some yellow roses, Elizabeth smiled and greeted her mother and their visitor, and Mrs. Palmer laughed with pleasure at the sight of Elizabeth’s shopping haul.

  “I see you found the flower market, dear. I’m a patron of the Horticultural Society, myself.
The perfume from those packages is wonderful. As soon as you unburden yourself, please, join us. I would love to know how you’re enjoying our fair city so far.”

  “Elizabeth, let Sissy take care of those. Please, come sit.” Her mother picked up the porcelain bell to ring for more tea. Elizabeth handed the flowers to Sissy, along with the hat she was wearing.

  “Sissy, please put them in water, for now. I want to create a new centerpiece for the dining room. Oh, and make sure we have some fruit for the arrangement.” She joined the other two women and sat on the settee.

  “If you’re interested in floral design, then you really must come to the garden show next week,” said Mrs. Palmer.

  “Elizabeth insists on creating all our indoor arrangements herself. She created this piece right here,” said Mrs. Nordeman, gesturing with pride toward the display of pink chrysanthemums and ferns adorning the mantle.

  “Well, it’s quite beautiful, I must say!” Coming from Mrs. Palmer, this was a true compliment. She was a woman who was known for her good taste. The Palmer House, built by Bertha’s husband, Potter, as a wedding gift to his bride in 1871, was a grand and splendid centerpiece of Chicago's social life. The city was still trying to prove itself to the country as being worthy of high esteem, in equal rank to New York or Boston, and the building was a point of pride for everyone. Sadly, the original hotel was destroyed only days after completion in the Great Chicago Fire. The current version was not only just as fine as the original, but was also said to be fire-proof. Mrs. Potter was known to be as deeply involved in running the Palmer House as Mr. Potter and was responsible for many of its celebrated features, such as the elaborate floral arrangements which graced the elegant ballrooms, the lobby, and its restaurants.

  “Thank you,” said Elizabeth. “I would love to attend the flower show next week.”

  “Then you will come as my guest. I’ll have my secretary send you the details.” Mrs. Palmer took a sip of tea with an air of finality as if to say that settled the matter. Elizabeth smiled gratefully. She knew it was an honor to have an important lady like Mrs. Palmer take a particular interest in her well-being as a newcomer to the city.

  “Before you arrived, Elizabeth, our guest was telling me about Harold Pierce.” Mrs. Nordeman took a small sandwich from the tiered tray in front of her and paused when Annette, their housekeeper, entered the room with another place setting. After Annette placed the items on the table near Elizabeth and left quietly, her mother resumed the conversation. “I know his family contributed a great deal to the upcoming Exposition. Harold seems like a nice young man.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he is,” said Elizabeth, wondering if there was a way to change the subject. Thankfully, Mrs. Potter had other matters on her mind. She wanted to discuss the Women’s Building, which would be a highlight of the Columbian Exposition and would feature exhibits that celebrated achievements from women across the world. Mrs. Palmer was on the board of directors. Elizabeth listened with interest, silently hoping that Bertha’s feminist sensibilities might begin to influence her mother, who was more of a traditionalist. Mrs. Nordeman’s personal feelings on the topic at hand were hard to read, as Elizabeth’s mother was a woman of unflagging composure. Her expression remained neutral, as always.

  “It's time I must go,” said Mrs. Palmer when the clock chimed on the hour. She stood and looked intently at the floral arrangement on the mantle while she waited for Annette to gather her hat and gloves. “Miss Nordeman, I believe you have great talent. How would you like to create an arrangement for the lobby downstairs?” Elizabeth’s face grew warm with pleasure. Before she could answer her approval, Bertha added, “Of course, you’ll be paid a tidy sum. We’ll talk more.”

  Elizabeth’s mother interjected. “That’s not necessary. I’m sure Elizabeth would be delighted to offer her services gratis.” Mrs. Nordeman walked into the vestibule with her guest toward the front door. Elizabeth knew her mother disapproved of the idea of her daughter working for pay. She didn’t know whose will would prevail. Both Mrs. Nordeman and Mrs. Palmer were strong women.

  When Elizabeth’s mother walked back into the parlor, alone, she had a small pink box in her hands with a notecard. “A delivery for you,” she said. “It was left at the door.” Her left eyebrow arched with curiosity. Elizabeth took the card and opened it. This candy is sweet, like your smile. Let’s talk soon. -Harold.

  “It’s from Harold Pierce,” she said, not hiding her distaste for the man. Her mother opened the box and frowned. Chocolates. They were beautiful but unwelcome. Such a gift was too forward. Elizabeth knew her mother thought so also. As far as she knew, Harold hadn’t even spoken to her father yet.

  “They sure do things differently here,” Mrs. Nordeman sniffed. Elizabeth nodded. She knew her mother missed New York. Their apartment at the Palmer House consisted of many beautiful rooms, and it was exquisitely decorated in the most luxurious of furnishings. However, it was not comparable in scale or grandeur to the magnificent Fifth Avenue mansion the Nordemans had left behind. It had been a sacrifice for Patricia Nordeman to come to Chicago and leave her New York life behind for her husband. “I’m going to go lie down before dinner. We’re eating in tonight,” Elizabeth’s mother paused, then lifted a chocolate from the box. “By the way, Mrs. Palmer would like a large floral arrangement for the front lobby delivered by Friday. She said to keep the receipts for reimbursement and add something for your labor.”

  Mrs. Palmer is a good influence on my mother, thought Elizabeth. She liked her–admired her, really. Her mother looked tired today. Maybe that was why she hadn’t put up her usual resistance. The steady stream of social activities hadn’t stopped since they’d arrived last month. Every night they attended glittering parties, their grief masked behind beautiful clothes, a busy schedule, and good manners. Elizabeth was happy for a night at home. She hoped it would be just the three of them.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all the trailblazing women who’ve gone first. Amelia Earhart and Lea Puymbroeck Miller are prominent examples of those who used their voices to spoke out for justice and equality, not only for themselves but for others. They're an inspiration to me, in life- and for this book. But those ladies represent countless more women whose stories may never be told. Your bravery has made this world a better place for those of us who’ve come after.

  To my husband, Derek, thank you. You're my greatest encourager. You have helped make this book possible in more ways than I can list here. Thank you for listening to all my ideas and for applying your meticulous attention to detail to these pages. Our love story is my favorite one of all.

  To my daughter, Grace, and my son, Trent, I love you. I’m proud of both of you, and I appreciate the love and support you give and the patience you have shown when my mind has been elsewhere.

  To Maren Kreun and Darcie Wentworth, my very first readers- the practical feedback, and the time you spent answering questions meant the world to me. Thank you for your friendship and your kindness.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  

  A graduate of the University of Idaho with a degree in elementary education, Dawn Klinge began writing online through blogging in 2005. She’s a Pacific Northwest native who loves a rainy day, a hot cup of coffee, and a good book to get lost in. This wife and mom to two young adults is often inspired by true personal and historical accounts. Dawn is a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers Association and the Northwest Christian Writers Association.