Bon Marche by Chet Hagan Read Free Book Online Page A

it were. Charles speculated that she was two, perhaps three, years older than he.
    The younger Statler daughter, Martha, was the beauty he had seen in the portrait in the entrance hall. But the painting, Dewey thought, was only a weak approximation of her loveliness. The blue eyes were of such translucence as almost to disappear at times, depending on how she tilted her head in the light. She was of a shy nature; that was immediately apparent. And although she might have been four or five years younger than Katherine, Martha was more buxom. More of a woman, Charles decided.
    He was immediately taken with her, even though it was Katherine who seemed more interested in, and more intrigued by, him.
    It was during the serving of a hot creamed soup—Dewey couldn’t identify the ingredients—that MacCallum’s identity became known.
    â€œWell, Mr. MacCallum,” Statler said, “what have you to report on the progress of my daughters’ studies?”
    â€œFather,” Katherine protested, “our guest certainly isn’t interested in talk of ciphering and penmanship.”
    â€œPerhaps Mr. Dewey will excuse just a moment or two of family discussion,” the father responded sternly. “Mr. MacCallum?”
    â€œLatin continues to be … uh … vexatious for both young ladies. On the whole, though, I’m pleased with our progress.”
    The tutor was choosing his words carefully.
    â€œMiss Katherine continues with her proficiency in mathematics, and Miss Martha remains more interested in literature. But as you’ve instructed, sir, I’m making every effort to balance their … uh … enthusiasms.”
    A slight smile came to Statler’s face. “And with little success, eh?”
    â€œWith some, sir,” MacCallum answered flatly.
    Statler turned to his daughters. “Young ladies, we have had this discussion before, and we’re going to have it again, I’m afraid. I must insist that you be more cooperative with Mr. MacCallum in those studies that you’ve decided are dull or boring. Well-roundedness is what I want in your schooling—and what I shall have!”
    â€œFather, please!” Katherine protested once more, inclining her head toward Charles.
    Statler laughed lightly. “Someday, Mr. Dewey, you may find yourself in a similar situation as the father of daughters who imagine themselves grown and capable, even though they’ve barely escaped puberty.”
    â€œFather!” This time Katherine squealed.
    â€œOh, very well,” Statler shrugged, “the table is yours, Katie.”
    She turned to Charles, all brightness and enthusiasm. “Do tell us about Yorktown, Mr. Dewey.”
    Charles lied.
    The truth of his lack of knowledge of the surrender of Cornwallis—an event he had used only as a vehicle for his desertion—was something he didn’t want anyone to know. He had no choice but to lie.
    Carefully, he kept the lies to colorful generalities.
    â€œThe flags and bands and thousands of troops—well, it was a magnificent sight.”
    And: “General Washington appeared in his full-dress uniform, of course, presenting a regal picture.”
    And: “The Comte de Barras represented the French naval forces in the absence of Admiral de Grasse, who was ill, I’m afraid.”
    That last, at least, was a fact.
    As he spoke, a leg of lamb on a huge white platter, its exterior crisply roasted and its aroma delightful, was placed in front of Statler.
    Martha spoke for the first time. “Did you see General Lafayette, Mr. Dewey?”
    â€œUnfortunately, from my vantage point—”
    Katherine interrupted with a giggle. “Martha is partial to Frenchmen—” A hand went to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Dewey. That must have sounded terrible! I didn’t mean to—”
    â€œThat’s all right, Miss Katherine. There’s no offense.