But Frederick’s secret wasn’t mine to share.
Hopefully, in time Sam wouldn’t worry quite so much about me.
As soon as I entered my room my breath caught. Frederick had left my Saugatuck landscapes hanging in the exact same spot they’d been when I moved out. Even though I knew he didn’t really understand them.
Two envelopes with my name on them waited for me on the thick mattress of my four-poster bed. Beside them lay a wooden bowl filled with more of those mouthwatering little orange kumquats he’d given me the first time I’d moved in.
I opened the first envelope and out slid two sheets of crisply folded off-white paper, bearing handwriting that at this point I’d recognize anywhere.
Dear Cassie,
Welcome back. I am very glad you decided to move in with me again and hope you are glad as well.
I have begun preparing a list of potential lesson topics for us to cover together. Enclosed please find said list, submitted for your approval. Please note that I am so uneducated in the ways of the modern world that I likely do not even know what it is I do not know. If you can think of any serious omissions from this list, please advise.
Yours,
Frederick
ps: As you may have noticed, I included “Coffee shops and how to navigate them” in the list. After what happened at Gossamer’s when I tried to order a beverage, I thought you would agree further education is required.
I huffed a laugh when I got to the final line.
Good call, Frederick.
I reviewed the list he’d included with the letter, worrying my bottom lip as I pondered what he’d jotted down.
Frederick J. Fitzwilliam’s Proposed Modern Day Lessons List
Coffee shops and how to navigate them.
General conversation tips （with specific focus on how to converse with others in such a way that it is not immediately apparent I was born in the eighteenth century）。
Public transportation: how, where, and when?
The internet （since you insist I learn about it）。
“Tick Tock”
A brief summary of all major historical events that have transpired over the past one hundred years.
Leaving aside the fact that there was no way I could summarize one hundred years of world history, Frederick’s list was incomplete. If he wanted to blend in with Chicago in the twenty-first century, one of the first things he needed to do was ditch the three-piece suits, the cravats, and the wing-tipped shoes and pick up some more modern, less formal clothing. I’d assumed he already knew he dressed like an extra from an old Masterpiece Theatre episode and that big changes were necessary—but Teach me what to wear wasn’t anywhere on this list, so I must have assumed wrong.
I quickly jotted down Fashion lessons—shopping spree? at the top of his list so I’d be sure to remember it.
The rest of his list would do, for a start. With some tweaking, I thought I could address his biggest concerns without much difficulty. I didn’t know much about TikTok, but I could show him Instagram. Teaching him about the internet might even be fun. I folded up his letter and his list and put them back into their envelope, already thinking through how best to teach him the things he most wanted to know.
As I pondered, I picked up the second envelope where it lay on the mattress. Beneath it was a long, slim, rectangular silver-and-gold foil-wrapped box that looked suspiciously like a gift.
Did Frederick get me another moving-in present?
I slowly opened the second envelope and pulled out the slip of paper inside.
This letter was only three words long.
Dear Cassie,
For your art.
Yours,
Frederick
Swallowing, I picked up the box and tore open its careful wrapping. The paper he’d wrapped it in was thick and butter-soft. The box inside was pale cream in color, its bottom stamped with the famous Arthur & Bros. forest-green logo. Arthur & Bros. was an art supply store based near the University of Chicago that shipped internationally and made some of the nicest paintbrushes I’d ever personally used.
I opened the box. Inside was a set of forty-eight beautiful colored pencils, ranging in colors from pale pink to a blue so dark it was nearly black. I hadn’t used colored pencils in any of my work since I was in high school and wasn’t certain I’d find a use for these.
The thoughtfulness of this gift, though, was undeniable. I wondered how he’d managed to even get them, given how far away Hyde Park was from his apartment—and how he seemed to have no idea how to pay for things.
I told myself I had to push aside any thoughts of what a generous, thoughtful gift like this might mean.