At the Fringes of Society: A Boston Family's Survival in 1900 Halifax, Nova Scotia

At the Fringes of Society:

A Boston family caught up in Canada's Great War and the 1917 Halifax Explosion

by Evelyn Cohoon Dreiling

July 2016

Published by Evelyn Cohoon Dreiling on Smashwords.com

Table of Contents

Prologue - The Original Guilded Age

Chapter One - Boston 1909

Chapter Two - Pub Night

Chapter Three - Boston 1910

Chapter Four - The Investment

Chapter Five - The Titanic

Chapter Six - The Suffragettes

Chapter Seven - Desperate Times

Chapter Eight - Escape to Canada

Chapter Nine - The Flight to Nova Scotia

Chapter Ten - Alex Joins the Navy

Chapter Eleven - The Chocolate Factory

Chapter Twelve - Alex

Chapter Thirteen - The Halifax Explosion

Chapter Fourteen - After the Explosion

Chapter Fifteen - The Big Moirs Layoff

Chapter Sixteen - The Hearing

Chapter Seventeen - End of the War

Chapter Eighteen - The Next Generation

Chapter Nineteen - Annie and Andrew

Chapter Twenty - The Exam

Chapter Twenty-One - Jeff and Nicole

Chapter Twenty-Two - Halifax Settlement House

Epilogue

Acknowledgement

Bibliography

Endnotes

Main Characters:

The Philburn Family Tree:

Sir Roger Philburn, patriarch of one of the eminent families of Boston in 18th, 19th centuries. Lives in mansion in Beacon Hill, Boston. Died in 1914.

Annie Philburn McNutt, daughter, born in Boston, lived many years in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Married to Andrew McNutt in 1898, divorced in 1906. Remarried.

Andrew McNutt, husband of Annie. Canadian, descendant of Scottish Nova Scotia family, railroad engineer. After divorcing Annie, married to Montrealer, Ellen Tracey who was born in St. Columban, north of Montreal; Ellen died within two months of marriage. Married Mildred, born in Pictou, Nova Scotia and lived in Pictou; worked as engineering consultant for CPR.

Walter Werner, aka Werner Jaeger, American whose family originated in Poland. Married to Annie in 1910. Self-styled investment dealer in shaky investment schemes that often failed using Roger Philburn's money. Died in prisoner of war camp in Saskatchewan 1917.

Alex McNutt, son of Annie and Andrew. Born 1900 in Boston. Lived in Halifax from 1914 to 1920; employed with Canadian Navy as radio/telegraph operator. Moved to Boston to marry Beth Simpson (born in Boston), joined U.S. Navy Reserve and attended Naval College.

Nicole McNutt, daughter of Annie and Andrew. Born in 1898 in Boston. Lived in Halifax from 1914 to 1928. Worked as waitress. Married Jeff MacKinnon December 1928 and moved to New York City.

Jeff MacKinnon, born in Windsor Junction, Nova Scotia in 1896 on a farm. Married Nicole and moved to New York City. Jeff wants to pursue music career. Jazz musician.

Rose Philburn McConnell, born in Boston, sister to Sir Roger Philburn. Widowed at age 60 when John McConnell died. Lives in New York City.

Prologue - The Original Gilded Age

The 1860s -1890s - years in which many of the recently immigrated Americans had, along with their silver tea sets, bone china, elegant furnishings, staff and other status markers, imported the best and the worst of the British class system. Four years of war in the mid-19th Century to end America's ties to Britain may have engendered a more egalitarian set of laws and freedoms, but the arrival of the industrial age spurred the irresistible desire for instant riches as well as status. Boston and New York became magnets for the up and coming entrepreneurs along with investors with their predatory tactics; these cities may have instigated the businesses which fuelled the incredible burst of economic activity but the culture of the British elite also drifted over from London to America's Atlantic shores.

The young and ambitious wealth-seekers were in reality seeking respect and status until it reached a point where this ethical pursuit of wealth gave way to the crass acquisition of mansions, Bentleys, maids and butlers, mainly window-dressing, but labelling these wealth-seekers as grasping to the point of embarrassment. These nouveaux riches were instantly recognized and shunned by the true Boston Brahmins. The lengthy trips to European capitals, the shopping trips to couturiers in Paris were mainly centered in culture and learning for many Americans seeking a more authentic life, but the style-conscious and status seekers were attracted as well. For those who were able to find the right balance, demonstrating their competence, the most satisfying aspect was acceptance in the gentlemen's clubs and their appearance in the newspapers' society pages, to be toasted and cheered for their successes.

The dark side of this rapid accumulation of capital and wealth brought about ruthless speculation in unregulated investment areas such as the railroads. Railroad bonds were the darlings of the investment world in London since the dawn of the steam engine, George Stephenson's Rocket and the quick proliferation of railway lines connecting the main industrial centers in England, especially the mill towns. These bonds became profitable very fast, with investors easily doubling their profits. Once the railroad building began in New England, the quick returns guaranteed a similar effect as the railroad builders could barely keep pace with the surging demand of investment capital.

The railroad building boom had the beneficial effect of stimulating rapid growth and development of all types of new machinery, farming and building tools, as well as transportation of goods and services and public transportation. Spin-off industries fared very well and provided employment, if sporadic, for people with limited skills. Railroad contractors became notorious for skirting good business practices and some companies produced no financial statements, built unprofitable lines with no concern for profitability or accountabilityi. There was little concern for the plight of the ordinary worker and new immigrants paid the price with low wages, long hours, and unsafe working conditions. It was only a matter of time before unscrupulous traders and salesmen would infiltrate the market and draw the dreamers into their grasp.

The Gilded Age was a term coined by Mark Twain in his book The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today written in 1873 and which became a symbol of graft, political greed and corruption.

Chapter One - Boston 1909

1909. Annie did a hurried straightening of her bustle and corset under her new green satin gown bedecked with two strands of pearls, a wedding gift from her husband. She held herself upright, with pride as her mother would have wished and smiled faintly as she descended the running board of the grey Packard. She glanced back to see Walter, dressed in his formal attire, affecting a little tap of his jewelled walking stick on his black top hat as he went by the fine ladies waiting in line for the doors of the new Opera House to open for the first time. The grand opening was a gala affair with the impresario, the versatile British musician Henry Russell giving his premiere performance in the United States, his choice of program, La Gioconda.

At last the doors were opened, and the crowd rushed in, forgetting their posh manners as they took in the magnificent surroundings. The huge building was later described as a jewel-box of an opera house. Walter and Annie made their way up the wide circular steps to their box. Walls and ceilings were adorned with paintings, rich tapestries and elaborate gold-leaf cornices and supports, with huge chandeliers gleaming and glass candles cascading down the walkway. She shifted about in her velvet lined chair; she was growing restless without really knowing why. Had not her father offered her a pair of the most exclusive tickets in town? She would be seen by all the grandees of Boston, something her parents were always keen to do, and her new husband relished the idea of being introduced to all the finest Boston families as well.

Walter, feigning a need to walk towards the smoking room even though he did not smoke, strutted through the crowd, top hat and tails, walking stick in hand, looked the picture of old money, although nothing could be farther from the truth. Annie walked alongside, sometimes falling behind as he casually strode along, heedless of the fact that Annie's gown was a trial to walk in with its flouncy silk skirts and overskirts. She stood upright as she nodded gracefully at people in attendance stopping occasionally to say a few polite words while whispering behind an opened fan, with some of her parents' acquaintances who were keenly interested in this ingénue of a husband obviously masquerading as a member of the Boston aristocracy. Some ladies took note of how young her husband looked. The formal dress wear seemed to accentuate the fact that Walter, with his big round face, full cheeks and dark curly hair, looked more like a slightly overaged child, something Annie felt self-conscious about. She kept up the pretence for the sake of the family, but underneath it all, she was tired and impatient with the whole business.

Lately her thoughts had been drifting back to her former husband, Andrew as she recalled his handsome face always smiling, his charm and easy manner with her friends and acquaintances. She met him quite by chance when she was out in the shops loaded down with parcels one day and he offered her a ride in his carriage. He could always make her laugh and she had to admit, she loved him still. What could have possessed her to let him go? But of course she knew. Her father, always a very dominant part of her life, had never approuved of the marriage, and had only consented initially because of Annie's begging and pleading.

Andrew was a railway engineer with the Grand Trunk Railway, a growing enterprise with tentacles reaching all across the eastern sections of Canada and the northern United States and established by a consortium of financiers in both the United States and Canada. His work took him away to Canada for long periods of time, something which distressed Annie quite a bit. She remained in her father's house during this time, caring for their two children, Nicole and Alexander, awaiting the day he would settle his family in a fine home in one of the better Boston neighbourhoods, as he had promised. But Andrew kept delaying the purchase of a home, waiting for a significant promotion that would permit him to purchase a suitable house with his own money. He was not going to degrade himself to ask her father for a sum of money to buy a property, his pride would never countenance that. He was engaged in several construction projects around Montreal and Toronto, leaving Annie on her own, growing more and more restless. She even accused him of having affairs. In truth, Andrew did not look forward to living in the same house with her father and was glad for a reason to stay away. He was not entirely blameless; he did do a bit of innocent philandering although he always denied this. Annie's father took advantage of her distress to underline his complete unsuitability for marriage into the Philburn family and to encourage her to seek a divorce.

The day Andrew showed up at the house on that Christmas Day was a day burned into her memory. The children, Nicole and Alex, were at a children's Christmas party. She was upstairs, preoccupied with some minor task when there was a knock at the door. Brigitte, as always, answered when the butler had a day off, and Annie rushed to the top of the stairs when she heard angry voices downstairs.

Who is that calling on us unannounced on this special holiday? her father bellowed.

'Tis the master Sir. 'Tis Andrew. she answered.

My land, close the door immediately, I have no patience with interlopers today! he retorted.

Annie stayed in the shadows, straining to hear. She dared not come downstairs when her father was angry.

Brigitte tried to shut the door, but Andrew was insistent, stating that he had to see Annie. She always had a soft spot for Andrew with his bright smile and charming manners, and she certainly didn't want to be rude. But she knew she couldn't disobey Sir Philburn.

Brigitte was a red-headed feisty, down-to-earth Irish maid who had been in service at the Philburn residence for years. As opinionated as she was, she found herself in trouble with the butler, Drew, on many occasions for being too familiar with her Lady Annie. He had to keep reminding her that she was a servant and as such should know her place and not proffer opinions unless she was asked first.

He has gifts for the children, Sir. said Brigitte, guessing that this would not make much difference with the mood Sir Philburn was in.

Shut the door immediately, I order you! he yelled.

Standing alone at the top of the stairs, Annie was unable to work up the courage to defy her father, to go down to talk to him. And anyway, she was angry with him for waiting so long to contact her after she had sent that letter requesting a divorce. She intended to frighten him with that threat and in retrospect, feared she was only half-sure she really wanted to go through with this.

Brigitte closed the front door and glanced up the stairs; the look in her eyes told Annie that she thought her very foolish for showing no backbone where her father was concerned. Annie turned on her heel and went back to her bedroom, continuing with her task and feigning indifference. But in reality she feared she had made a huge mistake. Meanwhile Brigitte collected four large gifts that Andrew had left on the porch and brought them upstairs, all the while cursing Annie under her breath for being such a fool.

Gifts for the children, Ma'am. she said, lowering her head so she wouldn't antagonize Annie any further and she began pulling the door behind her when she heard sobbing. She shut the door quietly.

Walter

To hear Annie's father describe him, Walter was a dream of a son-in-law. He came from a prominent family which immigrated from the Austrio-Hungarian Empire in the 1860s bringing with them their business acumen and entrepreneurship. Walter learned from his grandfather who operated a small carting business on the waterfront, and his father who continued the business when his grandfather's health started to fail. But Walter was impatient to learn more; he knew that the most important element of running a successful business was proper financing.

Walter's self-image and the way he projected himself had the effect of influencing other people, so great was his ability to convince and cajole. When he looked in the mirror he saw a very polished, dapper young man, attractive to the ladies, cultured and urbane to his contemporaries. The chubby, dimpled cheeks and stubbornly thick curly hair became invisible in his sight, instead he was the picture of elegance and sophistication.

Walter was a quick study; he learned the mannerisms of the upper class of Bostonian society sufficiently so that chameleon-like he could fit in wherever he went. He was eager to adopt these mannerisms in order to fulfill his lifelong ambition of financial independence and was determined to take whatever steps were necessary to achieve this. If it meant charming and seducing a rich heiress, he was prepared for that too.

Walter and Annie

Walter first met Annie at a social affair at the Philburn Mansion in the fall of 1906. Sir Roger had invited a number of social grandees, businessmen who would profit handsomely if the latest railway enterprise, the prime choice of Bostonian investors, could bring their plans to fruition. Sir Philburn was in the midst of negotiations to purchase stock in a new railroad company.

Walter had finessed an invitation to the grand mansion in Beacon Hill; he took great care with his appearance, determined to impress the other guests. He pretended to be right at home as he entered the great house but he could not help gazing at the sumptuous surroundings in the hallway and drawing room. The Butler, Drew, collected their top hats, capes and walking sticks in a most efficient manner and gracefully led them into the large sitting room. Walter inserted himself into little clusters of guests, mingling conspicuously and introducing himself while they sipped their cocktails and made idle talk. Soon the guests were ushered into a great dining room, the table resplendent in crystal, silver and bone china on a pure white tablecloth, with large chandeliers capturing the bright reflections and diffusing the light in the large room.

Walter was trying hard not to let his nervousness show as he committed to memory the names of the prominent men, and their wives, among the businessmen in this group. He was careful to acknowledge his host and pay him a compliment or two.

After several courses were complete and the cigars and drinks were passed around, Sir Philburn began making his pitch. He explained, without divulging too much information, that he had knowledge of prominent New York bankers who were buying up real estate rights for a new railway route and that he was seeking additional investment money. Walter listened intently. It struck him after Sir Philburn gave out some additional details of the investment scheme, that this was a plan he knew about also. He stirred uneasily in his chair as he tried to figure out how to deal with his insider information, knowing that a misstep could have grave consequences for him. After all, he hardly knew most of the men there.

Sir Philburn, I wonder if I might comment on this investment offer, if you please. he said, trying to sound diffident although he was quaking in his shoes.

All eyes turned towards him, some were scowling at him. Sir Philburn had a rather startled expression. Yes, er ... Werner is it? he asked.

Sir Philburn, I would like to suggest that you and your esteemed gentlemen here pause to consider some of the facts in this case. Is this railway company not the same New York Westchester and Boston Railway Company that was placed in receivership up till five years ago? he looked around at the faces, still scowling.

Oh, I hesitate to say, I believe it was but it has been taken out of receivership, as you have pointed out. The stock has been safely placed in a holding entity by the bankers. If enough capital could be raised, the holding entity is ready to transfer its assets over to this New England Railway company; it has the potential to take over all of the southern New England railway transportation corridor.ii Sir Philburn countered. He wore a very self-satisfied look.

That is quite right, Sir Philburn. But, if I may add, I do find it distasteful that it always seems to be the New York Bankers and financial houses that have the last say in these matters, and it would be a coup if enough money could be raised by this esteemed group to take over control of this project entirely right here in Boston. he added. I believe it is in our power to do so.

All round the table the men were shouting Hear, Hear! and clapping. Sir Philburn looked on Walter with amazement. This young man definitely had potential.

Later in the evening, Annie stood at the entrance to the drawing room. She had chosen a pale blue gown that set off her blue eyes and curly blond hair to advantage. As her father gave her the signal to enter, Sir Philburn rushed over to escort her as he presented her to his colleagues.

And I would like you to meet a fine young gentleman, my dear, who seems to be ready to take on the financial world by storm. This is Walter Werner. He smiled.

Walter approached her and said "Enchanté mademoiselle" in excellent French, and he bent over to take her hand and kissed the back of it delicately. Annie was entranced. This rather odd-looking but charming fellow definitely aroused her curiosity. They made a bit of small talk while she stood demurely, staying close to her father. Soon the room was so filled with cigar smoke that Annie asked Walter if he'd like to step out on the patio for some air. They became better acquainted, with Walter taking in her beauty while carefully calculating all his moves for maximum effect. He smiled to himself. This was the opportunity he was hoping for.

It was in the spring of 1906 and Walter was drawn more and more into the Philburn family circle. After a simple courtship with few surprises or adventures, Annie accepted the natural outcome and agreed to marry this remarkable young man whom Sir Philburn believed should have been betrothed to her from the beginning.

So Annie, always compliant when it came to her father, felt she had no choice but to marry Walter.

Annie's maid, Bridget, could only shake her head in bewilderment as she continued her final cleaning in the kitchen. Everyone was exhausted after serving another sumptuous dinner and Brigitte was helping the staff. All were looking forward to a few moments of quiet when they could sit around the large wooden table and chat.

I guess milady is going through with it. She says she will marry Walter, ain't that the livin' end? she grumbled.

Drew was shaking his head. She always submits to the inclinations of Sir Philburn, you know that. Although I have to confess, I'm not convinced she loves Walter. he said.

Of course she doesn't. Methinks she's just afraid of angering her father. She had no end of trouble when she married Andrew because he didn't approuve, and she doesn't want to make that mistake again. But she ought ta know her own mind, she should. I wish she could stand up for herself more. Brigitte sat down with a cup of lukewarm, leftover tea and took a sip. This is awful, I'll make some fresh.

Sadie, the kitchen maid, joined them once the tea was made. Lord Almighty, I'm ivver so happy to get the load off me feet. Oof! Yes, that sweet Annie, she could have a fine gentleman if she wanted, but to end up with the likes of him, my sweet Jesus!

Ye'll burn in hell with that foul tongue of yours, Sadie said Brigitte. They continued to sip their tea and comment on what could happen to their dear Annie.

After the wedding

Annie faced her wedding day with a sense of trepidation. She was stunning in her beautiful slim full-length gown of white lace over pale golden silk and her simple lace veil. As she walked with her new husband down the aisle, she won many admiring glances from the guests. Walter seemed to be trying to outshine the bride with his formal tuxedo and top hat, nodding and smiling as he strutted beside her.

The reception hall was a cluttered, noisy affair, with much champagne flowing, merry dancing and many speeches. At the end of the evening Annie was so tired, she wondered how she would find the strength to deal with the intimacies that were part of the wedding night ritual. But Walter had other plans.

The guests were leaving one by one, and Sir Philburn took care of the formalities, urging Annie to go upstairs with a little knowing smile. Annie found it strange that Walter left the church soon after they walked out, and went off with his friends in another carriage while Annie had to return to the mansion with her father. He only made the briefest appearance at the reception, and then left again. She met Brigitte at the bottom of the stairs, and they went up together. She looked in on the children who were both sound asleep.

A few weeks ago, Annie had returned from her trousseau shopping in Paris, a gift from her father as per the custom of the times. Brigitte had laid out her dainty silk night dress and tea gown and she helped her remove her wedding gown.

After Brigitte left, Annie succumbed to her fatigue and laid down in the bed. She was grateful for a few moments rest while waiting for Walter to arrive. But she couldn't relax, the events of the day kept spinning in a repetitive cycle as she tried to allay her fears. Did she choose the proper gown for her wedding, considering she was divorced? The seamstress had assured her that she would be fine so long as she didn't wear white, but she had chosen white lace over the golden silk, would that be inappropriate, would it set tongues wagging among society? Didn't she get all the speeches right just as she had memorized them? Was her father really being critical of her when he made that joke about her making a mistake the first time around?

She got up and went over to the window. It was a starless night and the trees were faintly illuminated along the main entrance as they swayed in the gusty wind. Thoughts of Andrew came unbidden, as she struggled with the emotions that pulled and pushed her, making her feel tense. Was not her father happy at long last? Even her mother would be supportive of this marriage if she were still alive. So why was she so miserable?

Lady Philburn was how the staff addressed her, it would never do to drop the formality. Her mother always appeared in public in her long black dress buttoned up to the neck, with long black sleeves; her arms were always crossed as she clutched her embroidered handkerchief which she twisted constantly; she wore her hair pulled back tightly in a bun, giving her an austere look. Annie was twelve years old when she started getting her 'instruction' in earnest; she remembered the scornful glances her mother would give her. She never received any encouragement from her in spite of the fact that she was always striving to be the dutiful daughter, always struggling with the many lessons a young woman needed to learn in this tightly regimented Edwardian Age. She recalled the many times her mother would upbraid Annie at mealtime to sit up straight at the table - to never place her hands on the table - to use the correct silver service - to remain quiet around adults unless spoken to - so many rules. She never seemed to get it right.

Annie made one more check in the mirror, she was ready. She paced up and down in the room. She laid down on the bed again. An hour passed, and Annie woke up with a start; she was disappointed with herself for not staying awake. She did not want to be caught asleep on her wedding night. She checked the time and glanced about but Walter wasn't there. She continued to wait, staring up at the ceiling. Then she decided to sit up so she wouldn't fall asleep again. More time passed. Soon she heard a loud racket down the hallway.

Someone was coming up the stairs, laughing and calling out to two other men at the foot of the stairs. Annie waited until he had passed by her bedroom door, then she peeked out carefully. One of the wedding guests was making his way unsteadily down towards the water closet, hanging on to the balcony railing and laughing. They obviously had switched from champagne to scotch whiskey, Walter's favourite drink, long before. The other two men soon followed, singing and laughing as they staggered up the stairs also. Annie shut the door tightly. There was still no sign of Walter.

From the narrow servants' passageway behind Annie's bedroom, Brigitte tapped on the door, then emerged softly, closing the door noiselessly behind her.

Are you alright, Annie? You'll pardon the intrusion, but I couldn't help but hear all the noise. she whispered.

It's fine, Brigitte, I'm fine. Just a little tired. She made no mention of Walter, embarrassed that she was still alone in the big bed.

You'll ring for me if you need anything, won't you Ma'am? said Brigitte, as she glanced around the room.

Yes Brigitte, everything's fine. You can retire. And thank you. said Annie

Annie continued to wait, growing more and more anxious. She could no longer stay awake, he would have to wake her when he came up. She collapsed in bed, exhausted.

Annie never heard Walter come into the bedroom. When he climbed into bed, she felt his hands pulling at her roughly and smelt the whiskey on his breath as he started panting. She tried to ask him something but he clamped his hand over her mouth and told her to remove her gown. She tried to but he pulled the gown up, ripping the lace straps as he rose on top of her. She let out a gasp and tried to bring her legs across but he continued pulling her tightly under the knees towards him. Annie struggled hard not to cry out, afraid Brigitte might come running in so she pressed her lips together tightly and grunted in pain as he thrust quickly and clumsily. Within minutes he collapsed and rolled over to the side of the bed and fell into a deep sleep, snoring loudly. Annie lay there sobbing quietly, unable to sleep.

The next morning, Annie waited until he had completed his morning routines before talking to him. She stood in the middle of the room and asked him when he came to bed last night.

It was late evening, my dear, if you must know. he said. And it pained me that my wife could not be waiting for me when I arrived, instead I find her sound asleep.

I did wait for you, Walter, but ... she faltered

Never mind, I see that I must forgive you. See that it never happens again. he said, with a determined voice.

But what were you doing all that time? she asked.

I am not accustomed to being questioned and would ask you to refrain from behaving like a common fishwife! he stated, then he sauntered out of the room.

Annie could only stare after him and wonder at the transformation in her new husband. What happened to the charming suitor who attended to her every need and spoiled her like a child? Her stomach felt queasy, she was shaking. But she had to collect herself, the children would be waiting for her downstairs; she would have to put on a brave face for their sakes.

A few weeks went by, and Annie was dining with Walter and her father when she brought up the subject of an At Home card.

But didn't we already send out Thank You notes to the wedding guests for their gifts? asked Walter.

"Yes, I addressed and mailed those out two weeks ago." She laid emphasis on the I because she was the one who had done all the work. But it is customary to open the home to guests to give them the opportunity to get to know you less formally. I think it would be a proper gesture. she added.

Yes, it is no doubt part of the interminable ritual of wedding protocol. You may do as you like, my dear. said her father.

Alright. said Walter. I will make myself available as long as you let me know in advance. He didn't want to begin arguing in front of Sir Philburn with his new wife at such an early stage in their married life.

July 8th broke sunny and warm, and promised to be hot before the end of the day. Annie, full of trepidation for her At Home day, arose and called Brigitte to help her choose an outfit for her event. They finally agreed on a modern-looking beige silk dress with a black floral design, with slim fitting sleeves and a lightly gathered skirt which looked very flattering, if not a bit avant-garde; her seamstress had assured her that all the best families in Paris were wearing less fullness in their skirts and sleeves.

She rushed downstairs, checking the perfectly shined silverware and sparkling table settings. The kitchen staff assured her more than once that plates of pastries and other delicacies were set aside and ready. She found it difficult to sit as she fussed over the drapes and curtains, chair covers ... Picking up her embroidery, she tried to focus on the intricate pattern, but seemed to be undoing half of the stitches she was working on.

Time passed. Walter had long ago grown impatient with waiting and had gone out, vowing to return as soon as he picked up his newspaper. As she checked the grandfather clock again, she grew more uncomfortable with the thought that many guests had displayed some coolness towards her after the wedding ceremony. She preferred not to think about it at the time, and was focussed on the gaiety of