Chapter 4: Grace, Aptly Named

"Miss Hannigan says a man don't look at your brains!"

THE NEW YORK TIMES

JULY 30, 1933

BUSINESS FEATURES

WALLSTREET TYCOON OLIVER WARBUCKS' FINDS WIFE IN SECRETARY,

ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT; USES ADOPTION AND MARRIAGE TO BOOST

POLITICAL ASPIRATIONS

-By The Associated Press-

The ink has not yet dried on the adoption certificate of Ann Marie Mudge, 10, whose adoption by billionaire business mogul Oliver Warbucks became official earlier this month, though it seems Warbucks' is taking no chances: adding yet another contingency to an increasingly elaborate business scheme. The first round of invitations to Warbucks' late summer wedding to his private secretary, Miss Grace Farrell, were mailed this week, in lieu -it would appear- of any official statement. The news comes as a shock to the manufacturing community, which -just last month- was reeling with political fallout when it was announced that Warbucks' would close two factories in favor of streamlining his production lines, thereby cutting costs and putting upwards of three hundred employees out of work. In a well-plotted effort to mend his public image, it was decided that Warbucks' would host an orphan in his home for a week, boosting public opinion and serving to represent the billionaire as family-oriented in the backlash of his latest business maneuver. When a nation-wide search for the orphan's parents -conducted by Warbucks' estate- yielded no results, a statement issued through the New York Board of Orphans soon announced the adoption of the young orphan by the magnate himself. A formal adoption party was held over the Independence Day weekend, in which it was rumored President Franklin Roosevelt and First Lady Eleanor were in attendance, further increasing speculation that Warbucks' will soon sign on as a financial backer to President Roosevelt's New Deal, a political stance that would upend the majority of the opposing Republican party. It would appear that Warbucks' has made a major political power-move via his adoption of orphan Annie and unprecedented engagement to Grace Farrell; certainly both developments are already serving to portray the billionaire as more identifiable, though perhaps no less scandalous…Private secretary Grace Farrell has maintained a permanent residence at Warbucks' estate for several years, lending speculation to the nature of the relationship between employee and employer over Miss Farrell's course of employment. Thirty-two year old Farrell, an alumni of Seven Sister's Barnard College with a degree in Liberal Arts, was raised in Long Island…(continued pg 8)

Oliver's coffee cup rattled against its saucer as he threw the newspaper onto the table in disgust, startling Grace as she looked on apprehensively. Annie -oblivious- looked up from her oatmeal, watching the exchange between her Daddy Warbucks and Grace with wide eyes as Oliver fumed.

"Damn press!" Oliver spat furiously, "Damn image! I'll buy out that paper and fire them all!"

A gentle breeze rustled the branches of the large oak tree beside the terrace and its shadow cast a pretty, swaying pattern upon the linen tablecloth that covered the outdoor table where they sat. Grace's engagement ring sparkled in the early morning sunlight and she bowed her head ashamedly, feeling deeply guilty for the trouble this had caused.

Oliver reached again for the paper, shaking it out before snapping it open to the article.

"Oliver," Grace cautioned, laying a hand to his arm, "Don't…"

"This is ridiculous!" Oliver ranted scornfully, ignoring her, "I'll sue!"

Grace cast a wary glance at Annie, who seemed to have forgotten all about her oatmeal and was concentrating intently on the goings-on before her.

"Why don't we finish breakfast," Grace suggested gently, reaching pointedly across the table to spoon another serving of oatmeal into Annie's bowl. The little redhead ignored her and continued staring openly at Oliver, who threw his linen napkin onto his plate and abruptly pushed himself away from the table.

"Breakfast is over," Oliver seethed, striding past the table towards the open doors of the house. Grace rose from her chair and made to follow, but Oliver refused to be consoled, "Not now, Grace!" he barked, brushing her away. Shocked, Grace sunk back into her chair, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. She lifted the vile newspaper with a shaking hand before sighing and letting it flop back to the table. The terrace was silent in Oliver's wake, and Grace and Annie stared at one with another with matching expressions, listening distantly to the echoing sound of his shouts as he stalked off through the house, bellowing orders at the staff.

Slowly, the birdsong returned, the bees drifted back to the flowers, and Annie went back to her oatmeal. Grace tried to do the same, though the lump in her throat made finishing her cold breakfast nearly impossible.

"Grace?" Annie inquired nonchalantly after a few minutes passing, lowering her spoon, "…Are you still gonna marry Daddy Warbucks?"

The lump in her throat became even more painful and Grace swallowed, forcing herself to smile.

"Yes. Of course, dear."

…She hoped.

The last several weeks had passed by in a blur; every day was spent looking after Annie and planning for the wedding, on top of Oliver's ever-hectic business schedule. Though Oliver was resistant at first -he was adamant that Grace need never work again- Grace had insisted that she intended to remain his secretary even after they were married. It had taken some convincing, but finally Oliver had admitted that there really was no other that could predict his next move the way Grace could. They were a team, and worked as one.

They had set the date for the end of summer, looking to be married as soon as possible. It was a special kind of torture -having finally confessed their love for one another and working in such close proximity every day- and not acting upon it. But Oliver was a gentleman, and intended to treat Grace as such. Before they knew it, the wedding invitations had been mailed, and July was nearly over.

Now, after breakfast, Grace wandered through the house, prolonging the inevitable. Oliver wanted Annie to have both a mother and a father, Grace knew, and it seemed no one was more excited about the wedding than the little redhead. But Annie's question over breakfast had done nothing to ease Grace's conscience…Doubt seeded her thoughts as Grace replayed Oliver's reaction to the article in the Times.

Did Oliver still want to marry her? Could it be that things were moving too fast?

…Was Oliver ashamed to marry her, his secretary?

After a walk in the gardens with Annie following breakfast, Grace had accompanied the little girl to the tennis court for her lesson before turning around and -with deliberate leisure- making her way back to the great hall.

The staff was sullen following their tongue-lashing from Oliver; the mood in the great household was dishearteningly reminiscent of its pre-Annie days. Drake wished Grace a halfhearted good morning as she passed, while the maids smiled only feebly or kept their eyes averted altogether, feigning concentration on their tasks. With a growing sense of despair, Grace made her way down the long hallway towards Oliver's study, drawing even with the heavy double doors before pausing to take a steadying breath. Feeling out of place, she gripped both handles and pushed against the wood, knocking on its edge to announce her presence.

"Oliver?" Grace's soft voice was unsure, and she hesitated near the doorway as Oliver looked up from his paperwork distractedly. Grace hadn't realized, but she'd been holding her breath, and she let it out on a relieved sigh as Oliver's gaze softened immediately and he waved her in.

An unsettling silence settled over them as Grace turned to close the doors. She took a few steps further into the room and then paused, wavering unsurely; Oliver lay his pen aside and cleared his throat softly.

"Where's Annie?"

"Having her tennis lesson."

Oliver nodded, and the silence between them seemed to grow. Grace wrung her hands nervously, frozen in the stretch of space between Oliver's desk and the door. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she opened her mouth:

"You've changed your mind, haven't you?" she burst impulsively, twisting her hands even more rapidly.

Oliver's expression was one of shock, and he drew back in genuine surprise.

"Changed my mind?" he wondered aloud, and Grace threw her hands in the air in distress.

"About the wedding! About- about marrying your secretary!" she continued, her expression turning to one of anguished sorrow, "You've realized- you've realized you don't want to marry me, after all!"

Realization dawned on Oliver and he straightened and stood, closing the distance between himself and Grace in three long strides, enveloping her in his arms as she began to cry.

"Grace," Oliver's deep voice was laced with regret as he realized just how badly losing his temper over breakfast had wounded her. He brushed the hair from her face, gently nudging a finger beneath her chin and raising it so that she was forced to look at him. "I'm sorry," he intoned softly, "For losing my temper…For snapping at you."

Grace took a delicate, shuddering breath and looked up at him from beneath damp eyelashes.

"But…?" she wondered timidly, and Oliver frowned.

"But what, my dear?"

"You've changed your mind," Grace provided miserably.

"Good Lord, Grace, no!" Oliver chuckled incredulously- he couldn't help it, and this made Grace both laugh and cry harder as she marveled at the foolishness of it all.

"You don't think we're…rushing into things?"

"Quite the opposite!" Oliver insisted brazenly, "The wait is killing me!"

Blushing furiously, Grace giggled and buried her face into Oliver's shoulder endearingly. After a moment, she pulled away, her expression serious.

"And the wedding?" she worried, "What about the press?"

"To hell with the blasted press," Oliver insisted adamantly, drawing her nearer and cupping her face in his hands, "I love you, Grace. You, and Annie…" Oliver drew her nearer still, and kissed her passionately, "...That's all that matters."

Grace sat across from Annie at the dining room table and pushed her dinner about her plate halfheartedly. It was the evening before the wedding, and Oliver had been in Pittsburgh for two days, working overtime in preparation for the work he would miss while they were away on their honeymoon. Though she understood the need for such arrangements, Grace missed Oliver terribly, and his absence combined with the late August heat and pre-wedding nerves made her both tired and cranky.

Tomorrow, she would be a married woman. Grace rose to serve Annie the last piece from the apple pie that Mrs. Pugh had made special for the night before Oliver had left, and her hands shook slightly at her next thought:

Tomorrow, she would share a bed with a man for the first time.

Of course, there had been suitors. There had even been an engagement, early in her college years. Grace blushed, embarrassed at her naïveté. Sure, there had been stories from her college friends…but hearing them recount their tales of dark nights and furtive touches had always left Grace warm in the face and prattling on about how she felt it most prudent to wait for marriage.

She was thirty-two years old, and completed inexperienced in the matter.

Grace contemplated this as Annie finished her dessert, smiling into her tea as she realized that the little redhead had grown rather quiet: her head bobbed tiredly as she struggled to stay awake and finish her pie. With a feeling of guilt, Grace stubbornly pushed her worries of pleasing Oliver from her mind and stood to clear the last of the dishes. It was indeed quite late -their day had been filled with last-minute wedding preparation- and when Grace suggested bed, Annie nodded tiredly, and didn't object.

Slowly, they made their way up the stairs, bidding Punjab goodnight and turning off the lights as they moved throughout the house. In the East Wing, Grace drew Annie's bathwater and tided her playthings as the little girl bathed. Feeling melancholy, she helped Annie into her nightgown and then made a suggestion:

"How would you like to sleep with me tonight?"

They made their way down the hallway to Grace's suite, and Grace unpinned her hair and changed into her own nightgown as Annie scrambled up into the large, four-poster bed and wriggled beneath the cool satin sheets. A moment later Grace joined her, followed by Sandy, who turned once and lay on the bed at their feet.

A soft breeze rustled the branches of the trees outside the window, carrying the lonely sound of crickets through the open balcony doors.

"Grace?" Annie's small voice permeated the darkness, and Sandy's ear pricked at the sound.

"Yes?"

"Are you excited for tomorrow?"

Grace felt her face grown warm, nervous for the next night. She nodded into the darkness.

"Very much so," she answered truthfully.

The room grew quiet again, and Grace relaxed into her pillow, trying to calm herself enough for sleep.

"Grace?" Annie's voice came again a moment later, and Grace couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, Annie?"

"Does this mean…I can call you Mom, now?"

Grace's heart seemed to swell within her chest and she swallowed tightly, feeling suddenly and absurdly hopeful.

"Would you like that, Annie?"

"Yes."

Grace felt her eyes grow bright and she smiled into the darkness, touched.

"Then I'd like that very much."

The room grew quiet once more, as the wonderful notion of what had been decided passed between them. With a content sigh, Annie slipped her hand into Grace's own and settled into her pillow. Grace held the little girl's hand tight, and, tucked safely beneath the covers, the little family -minus one- drifted off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that tomorrow would be perfect.