Miss Helen looked sweet, in a soft white dress and a long strand of black pearls around her neck, an ensemble suggested by Lillian to make her look a little more modern, a little more bride-like. Unfortunately, she punctuated her comments at dinner with a strange, high-pitched laugh that made her sound a little unhinged. Lillian hoped she’d not respond to Mr. Danforth’s proposal with the same, or he’d go running for the hills.
After the first course was served, Mr. Frick lifted his glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”
Lillian noticed that Helen’s glass was almost empty. That explained the giggling. She tried to catch her eye, but Miss Helen was already calling the footman to refill everyone’s glasses.
“It’s grand to have the family together, again,” intoned Mr. Frick. “Nothing makes a man happier than to see his children content. Even if they sometimes disappoint.” His delivery was dusted with sarcasm. The rest of the family stiffened in their silk damask chairs, sensing that Mr. Frick was in one of his moods.
He turned to his son. “Childs, I’m proud that you’ll be carrying on the family name, long after I’m gone.”
“That’s right, Father.” Mr. Childs gave Miss Helen a smirk. “You have your grandson. Dixie and I couldn’t be more thrilled.”
“Now, Father,” interrupted Helen, “I can carry on the family name equally as well.” She looked over at Lillian. “Two years ago I changed my name from Helen Childs Frick to Helen Clay Frick. Remember, Father, how happy that made you? And now I’m to be married, which means I may give you a grandson as well.”
Mr. Childs guffawed, but Mr. Frick shushed him with a look.
“Weddings make me sentimental,” Mr. Frick said. “Perhaps because they remind me of things, people, who were lost. But life moves on, and now I know the Frick name will not be forgotten. I have my collection and my offspring, both of which will carry on after I’m gone.”
“Please don’t be sad, Father,” cried Miss Helen. “I can’t bear it.”
Mr. Childs put down his glass without drinking. “How interesting that the collection comes first,” he murmured.
Miss Helen spoke up. “Childs, don’t be beastly to Father today, he’s not been well. Which you’d know if you ever ventured to visit us.”
“Quit it, sis.”
The tension in the room made Lillian want to stand and upturn the entire table. Mr. Frick’s maudlin drivel seemed solely aimed at driving his children against each other, as if he were King Lear.
“You’re a bully, Childs. You always have been.” Miss Helen turned to Lillian. “You know what he used to do when I was a child? He’d hide under my bed and grab my feet when I went to climb in. Or he’d make me stare into a mirror and tell me I was ugly until I cried.”
“Both of you, the teasing needs to stop,” said Mrs. Frick. Lillian looked over, shocked that she’d made a stand instead of fading into the wallpaper.
“Now, now, there’s nothing wrong with a little teasing, Adelaide,” answered Mr. Frick. “What else do these children have to make them resilient, having lived in grandeur with thirty servants their whole lives?”
“Twenty-seven,” corrected Mrs. Frick.
The pause before Mr. Frick spoke was as thick as a summer storm.
“You like your numbers, don’t you?” said Mr. Frick, finally. “Then how about this one: sixty. Not quite an old woman, but close.”
Mrs. Frick looked miserably out the window, as if she wished she were anywhere else than this dining room.
Miss Helen rose from her chair, reaching for something in her pocket. “Father, look what I’ve had made for you.”
She took out a small miniature and gave it to him as Lillian cringed. She’d done everything she could to dissuade Miss Helen from this idea. And to present it now, in front of the entire family?
“Let me see.” Mr. Frick pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered down at the object, which in his big paw of a hand looked like a piece of sea glass.
Lillian already knew what he held: a picture of Martha that had been painted when she was around four or five, red-haired and pink-cheeked, wearing a white lace top and looking serenely out from a thin gold frame. Miss Helen, in a moment of what she considered inspiration, had commissioned an artist to add the figure of herself as a young girl next to that of her sister. They looked almost like twins, except Miss Helen’s likeness had blonder hair and a larger forehead.