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"Oh, Margaret!" Mother said, waving her eldest daughter over to where she was sitting. "Why don't you help me? Now what exactly do you want this to say?"
"Want what to say?" Margaret raised an eyebrow and walked over towards her mother.
"Well," Mother began, putting down her quill. "I was lying awake last night, and had all sorts of thoughts plague my mind. The house, the children, the food, the coming winter, and so on and so forth. Eventually, one thought pushed them all out of the way. Your engagement!"
Margaret cringed, but knew her mother did not want to hear it, so she nodded towards her mother to have her continue talking. Her mother did not notice Margaret's reaction one bit.
"Well he's been over for family dinners, he's popped over during the day, but we haven't had a formal engagement dinner! With all of our best clothes, best food, we must really impress him! A rich man such as he is used to luxury, and we shall not disappoint!" Mother said. "And the best formal dinners have written invitations, instead of chatter in the streets. So what would you like your invitation to say, Margaret?" Mother raised up her eyes to look at her daughter and crossed her arms.
Go to hell. "How about, the Davidsons request your presence at our table for a formal dinner?" Margaret said.
"Good start, good start." Mother said, writing it on the thin paper in her fancy handwriting. "I will add at the end of that sentence 'to celebrate the engagement of Mr. Iverson and Miss Davidson', okay? Okay. Now, I think that adding the time, date, and such shall be fine. Do you agree?" Like always, Mother answered her own question before Margaret even had a chance to put in her opinion. "I think it is just fine! Now, I believe that tomorrow night shall be enough notice. Would you care to invite anyone else?"
Alexander. "Perhaps…Charlotte?" Margaret said. "She would certainly bring spirit to the table!"
"Fine, fine, I'll make up one for her too." Mother said, dismissing Margaret by bending back down to her work. "Oh, Margaret!" she added, snapping her fingers as if she just remembered something. "Could you please do me a favor? You know the cinnamon bread you love so much? Well I'd like to make some for Mr. Iverson, and I need a bit more sugar in order to do so. Could you run down to the merchant's shop and pick some up for me? Thank you, darling."
Margaret nodded and went to go get her hat. Then she froze. Merchant's shop? Oh no, that's where Alexander was! She had to be quick, hopefully he wouldn't see her. She walked as fast as she could down to the shop, and quietly pushed open the door.
She scanned the room. Uh – oh, Alexander was helping a customer in the corner of the store. At least he was occupied. She scurried up to the owner of the store, quiet as a mouse, and very quietly asked him for half a pound of sugar.
He smiled. "Are we playing the quiet game?" he whispered back.
Margaret covered her mouth to muffle a giggle. She nodded and whispered back. "Don't let me lose!"
He smiled back at her and filled a parcel with sugar. He placed it on the scale. After a little bit of adjustment, he handed it to Margaret and wished her a good day. Relieved that she had escaped a
confrontation with Alexander, she went to scurry out the door.
"Margaret?"
Crap! Margaret thought I was so close! Gently she wheeled around on the heel of her shoe. Yes, it was Alexander who had spoken her name, as if she could possibly mistake his voice.
"Alexander." She stated, not even looking into his eyes.
"Margaret, we should talk." Alexander began. "I need to-"
But Margaret didn't hear what she said, for tears filled her eyes and she rushed out of the door and back to her house.
The rest of the day, and the next morning, was filled with planning. Breads, tarts, vegetables, fruits, and meats were baked, steamed, and smoked. Mother barely slept, leaving the bustling kitchen only to reconsider her choices in tablecloth.
"Mary!" she called for the youngest of the Davidson sisters, for this was a matter of importance that Margaret would simply not understand. "Mary, I need your help with the napkins."
Mary came bustling in the room. She had been assigned the parlor and living room, and was doing an excellent job in making sure they were pristine. She had scrubbed, dusted, mopped, washed, rearranged, and swept until the house looked as if it was new!
And she certainly looked like she had worked hard. Her hair and been put up into a milkmaid's braid, but little strands of brown hair poked out of the complicated plait. Streaks of dust and dirt streaked over her face and the uncovered parts of her arms. Dust covered the parts of her skirt were she was clearly kneeling, scrubbing the wooden floors. There were slight bags underneath her eyes, for she had awoken two hours earlier than normal in order to help with the cleaning. But her beaten down appearance was quite the opposite of her personality.
"Oh Mother, I think you should use the lace napkins. They are not of a finer cloth, but they look so much nicer with this tablecloth, not to mention they look more expensive than they actually are. And that's what this is about! Presenting Margaret in a way where she looks, rich, worthy of high society."
Margaret rolled her eyes, but continued to scrub the many dishes in the kitchen sink.
"Very true." Mother agreed, nodding her head. "Go fetch them, if you will."
Mary scurried off. Mother then turned around and walked back into the kitchen, back to Margaret. "Now Margaret," she said. "Mr. Iverson will be coming over here in just two hours. I shall run a bath, you must start getting ready."
"Yes, Mother." Margaret agreed. But what kind of primping or preparing could possibly take two hours?
Well she would soon find out. First, she had to take a bath. Mary scrubbed peppermint oil through her hair to make it softer, and lemon juice to make her blond hair even blonder. Her face was also scrubbed with lemon juice, to get rid of the few freckles she had. Her skin was first cleaned with lard soap, and then rinsed with buttermilk to make it smooth.
She was dried off, and her shift was slipped over her head. Mother combed through Margaret's long hair, while wet, it hung down to her waist. Mary, in an effort to speed up the drying process, used her hand fan to wave the cool air at it. After an hour, Margaret was now clean and had dry hair.
Margaret had a mix of mashed avocados and olive oil spread on her face, and Mother and Mary began the task of tackling Margaret's unruly, curly hair. It was brushed, and brushed, and brushed until it shone like the sunrise. After that, the avocado and olive oil mixture was gently washed off, leaving Margaret's face glowing.
She put of a silk petticoat, so she could feel it against her skin. She was then given false hips, one of the few times she had even worn them. She did not even have a set of her own, for she saw them as uncomfortable and ridiculous. She wore her mother's pair, and Mary planned to dress in her own, for Mary had embraced fashion. A padded, fluffing petticoat was slipped on next, to give the full skirt of her dress even more volume. Three more petticoats were layered over it.
Margaret then tightly gripped the pole of her bed, for she had to wear a corset – and it had to be tighter than normal. Both Mother and Mary worked to squeeze all the air out of Margaret's lungs, but giving her a ridiculously small waist. Margaret gasped for a few minutes, but her breathing eventually stabilized a bit, and she was able to breathe, however little it may be.
The dress was slipped over her head, and other than her near – completed ball gown, it was Margaret's best dress. It was minty green, with a violet stomacher. Little robin's egg blue and violet flowers dotted the skirt, while mint ribbons twisted over the stomacher. The little buttons on the back of the dress were done up.
Margaret's hair was pulled up into a high bun. Little whisps of hair were wrapped in rags to be curled. Her hair was voluminous, and made the abnormally large bun look small in comparison. Little natural twists and curls of hair flowed back into the bun, making it even prettier than it already was. When she was finally deemed ready, the rags were yanked out of her hair, revealing the complete, shined – up Margaret Davidson – soon – to – be – Iverson.
"You look lovely!" Mary exclaimed, clasping her hands together.
"You do look beautiful, Margaret." Her mother smiled. "Made all of our hard work worth it! Now come, come. Take a look in the mirror."
Margaret walked over to the ornate full – length mirror, and spun around. For two hours work, it was a lot to show. She looked simply beautiful. She smiled. And sighed. If only she wasn't looking beautiful for Iverson.
"We must get ready." Mother said, grabbing Mary's wrist. "Mr. Iverson should be here any minute now, and we do not wish to be late for our own engagement! Now, go downstairs. Greet whoever comes first – Charlotte or Mr. Iverson." With that, mother and Mary ran out of the room and into their own respective rooms, to change into nicer gowns and put their hair up.
Margaret went down the stairs. She spun in the living room, and her father clapped for her. "You look lovely, Maggie." He smiled, hugging her shoulders.
Margaret smiled back at him. Just then, she heard a knock at the door. She opened the door, and there stood Charlotte.
"Are you ready for this fine engagement?" Charlotte asked, using her mocking snooty voice, and sticking her nose in the air. "The invitations were okay, I am used to embossed, I will admit."
Margaret covered her mouth to hide her laughter. "Come in, come in!" she said, ushering in her best friend.
Charlotte no sooner had a seat that Iverson came to the door. But he did not knock, he just walked in like he owned the place. Of course, Father did not object. Mother did not either, for she rushed down the stairs, while putting an earring in, in order to greet him. Mary followed shortly.
The Davidsons and company sat down in the parlor, and conversed over appetizers. Margaret tried to talk as much as possible, for her mother told her that it would be better if she said little to nothing. Charlotte, being Charlotte, said as much as she usually did, which was a lot.
After some discussion on topics of general interest, the party moved to the dining room. Iverson pulled out a chair for Margaret, and Mary and Mother simply went to pieces over what a gentleman Iverson was.