“I almost died once before, did you know that?” He moved one of his pieces to the far side of the board, and she dutifully crowned it.
She remembered Bertha’s recounting of his attempted murder, something involving a Russian anarchist. “How very scary that must have been.”
“There I was, sitting in my office in Pittsburgh, having a meeting, and I looked up to see a man with a gun. I was shot twice in the neck, stabbed multiple times in the legs and chest. I refused to be put under during the four hours it took the surgeon to remove the bullets. The doctors saved me, but you know who truly saved me?”
“Who?”
“My first daughter. When the madman pointed his gun at me, there was a flash of light, and I am certain it was Martha. She blinded him so that he misfired. Martha saved me.” He held out his right hand, the one with the tiny bite marks. “Of all my scars, this is the one that haunts me most. My daughter suffered for four years. In comparison, my wounds were nothing.” He took the last of Lillian’s checkers pieces with a satisfied flourish. “Did you throw the game on purpose, to cheer up an old man?”
“Never.”
They both smiled.
“Will you promise me you’ll take care of my daughter after I’m gone? She’ll need guidance. You have a good head on your shoulders, you understand the way the world works, I can tell. Will you watch over her?”
Before she could answer, the door flew open and Miss Helen entered, carrying a tray.
“Papsie, I’ve brought you a hot toddy. That will set you right. Isn’t that what you always told me when I was ill, that a hot toddy was the cure?”
“I don’t want it. For God’s sake, stop fussing over me. Send it back.”
Miss Helen’s face fell. She banged the tray down on the sideboard and sat at the end of the sofa. Her father refused to move his feet to make room, so she perched uncomfortably, half on and half off. “How was the game? I see you’ve bested Miss Lilly. She’s terrible at games.”
“Not because she’s terrible, but because she lets her opponent win,” Mr. Frick answered. “Miss Lilly is a smart one, you ought to listen to her.”
“What have you been talking about?” Miss Helen eyed Lillian suspiciously.
“Miss Lilly has been my confessor,” he said. “Exactly what I needed. I feel much better now.”
Lillian could have choked him if he hadn’t already had breathing difficulties. Pitting people against each other was as natural to him as breathing. Perhaps it worked in the business world, but his family, already frayed, was falling apart.
“Who knows what will happen once I’m married?” said Miss Helen. “Mr. Danforth and I may very well decide to revisit our staffing requirements.” She pointed to a chair in the far corner. “Miss Lilly, please take the New York Times and sit over there. Mark which articles you think my father would like to hear me read out loud.”
Again with the commands, not to mention Miss Helen’s not-so-subtle threat to fire her. But Lillian obeyed, planting herself in the most uncomfortable chair in the room. Mr. Frick was ill, she reminded herself. The family was under a great deal of stress, wondering how their world would go on after his death, wondering if they’d be able to manage without him at the helm.
“Papsie, while she does that,” Miss Helen said, “I will read to you from The World. Would you like that?”
“I would. Very much.” He settled back down, content at having put Miss Helen and Lillian at odds.
What if Lillian ran off with Mr. Danforth?
Richard. She’d have to get used to calling him by his Christian name if she were to elope with him. There were times, like today, when she was sure Miss Helen didn’t deserve him; Richard was far too kind and good for the likes of her. They’d be miserable within a month, and no doubt Mr. Frick would torture him in what little time he had left, as he did the others. If she accepted Richard’s proposal, Lillian would be free from the entanglement of cruelty in this house, and she’d have a decent life, as the wife of a good man. She had earned that, hadn’t she? But even as she considered her options, she knew it wasn’t right to accept a man’s hand in marriage out of spite. She had to drill down further, figure out if she was willing to take such a leap of faith. And she only had until Monday to do so.
As Miss Helen read out loud to her father, Lillian leafed through the Times. Mr. Frick preferred the business items, but she scanned the arts section first. God only knew how long Miss Helen would take, just to keep Lillian squirming in the corner.