Read Online Clara and Mr. Tiffany by Susan Vreeland - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Vreeland
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took four men to carry each of the four easels to the metal shop to have the leads soldered. The girls were beside themselves with worry. They surrounded the men and held up their aprons along the edges of the easels in case any pieces fell off. The angel’s foot did fall, but a big Swede named Wilhelmina dove for it and saved it.”
“Ah, a fallen angel with feet of glass. I adore fallen angels. Was she wearing white lace? Were her white wings moving like this when she lost her toes?”
He flapped his arms crazily.
“All right, tell me. Why are you being so silly?”
“I’ll give you a hint. White.”
“I don’t want a hint. I want the reason.”
“I’ll tell you at dinner. Hank and I will tell you.” He flapped his wings out the door.
GEORGE GRINNED IN HIS IMPISH way as he passed me a serving bowl. “Here, Clara, have some white potatoes. To go with your whitefish and cauliflower.”
I turned to Merry. “Did George have anything to do with this menu?”
She held up her hands. “None atallatall. The praties is me own favorite, you know.”
“I don’t believe you. George has to orchestrate everything. All right, Puck, now that you have an audience, tell us what’s sizzling inside of you.”
He chewed; he took a drink of water; he flipped his white napkin and wiped his mouth with it. “Hank and I are going to the White City.”
I was puzzled.
“He means the Columbian Exposition,” Hank explained.
“No! Truly?”
“It’s called the White City because the buildings are being painted to look like alabaster,” Hank said. “A swamp outside Chicago is being transformed into canals, promenades, towers, and classical arches and façades. I just received a press release. I’ll be writing about it.”
“Then it’s true, what Mr. Tiffany says. The greatest meeting of artists—”
“Since the fifteenth century,” said Hank. “Some sixty-five thousand exhibits.”
“Among which will be your chapel, peacocks and all,” George said.
“And my Christ window! And the flamingo window. And you’re going to see it all assembled. I’m green with envy.”
“Don’t forget Tiffany and Company’s extravaganza,” said Hank. “Father and son competing with each other on the world stage. Definitely worth my writing about for
The Century Magazine.
”
“
If
we finish on time.”
THAT DOUBT PLAGUED ME , so I worked extra hours almost every day. One evening in early June when I came home from work too late for dinner, Dudley and George were playing the popular new tune “Oh My Darling Clementine” on their zithers. George followed me up to my room, singing,
“
How I missed her! how I missed her
,
How I missed my Clementine
,
Till I kissed her little sister
And forgot my Clementine.
”
“Brilliant. When is your debut at Carnegie Hall?”
“Dudley will be in Paris while Hank and I are in Chicago, so I’ve asked my brother Edwin to check in on you from time to time.”
“I don’t need someone to oversee my activities, thank you very much.”
“Woo-whoo. Why so cranky?”
“I’ll do just fine without your zither duets too, you and Dudley serenading each other across the parlor.”
George screwed up his face in a pout so tight that it made me laugh. He could always make me laugh, no matter how tired I was. I sat at my dressing table, noticed mauve-colored cups under my eyes, and undid the pins in my chignon. They’d given me a headache. George came up behind me and unwound the twist, picked up my hairbrush and brushed from my forehead out to the ends, holding up my hair in his other hand.
“That’s one thing you know how to do. Brush hair.”
“You’ve been overworking yourself.”
“So has everyone else. It’s practically summer. What do you expect me to do?”
“Just what you’ve been doing, dear heart.”
“Mr. Tiffany set too big a task for us. He designed too much, and now he’s driven to complete it all.”
The Lead Glaziers and Glass Cutters’ Union had
“Ah, a fallen angel with feet of glass. I adore fallen angels. Was she wearing white lace? Were her white wings moving like this when she lost her toes?”
He flapped his arms crazily.
“All right, tell me. Why are you being so silly?”
“I’ll give you a hint. White.”
“I don’t want a hint. I want the reason.”
“I’ll tell you at dinner. Hank and I will tell you.” He flapped his wings out the door.
GEORGE GRINNED IN HIS IMPISH way as he passed me a serving bowl. “Here, Clara, have some white potatoes. To go with your whitefish and cauliflower.”
I turned to Merry. “Did George have anything to do with this menu?”
She held up her hands. “None atallatall. The praties is me own favorite, you know.”
“I don’t believe you. George has to orchestrate everything. All right, Puck, now that you have an audience, tell us what’s sizzling inside of you.”
He chewed; he took a drink of water; he flipped his white napkin and wiped his mouth with it. “Hank and I are going to the White City.”
I was puzzled.
“He means the Columbian Exposition,” Hank explained.
“No! Truly?”
“It’s called the White City because the buildings are being painted to look like alabaster,” Hank said. “A swamp outside Chicago is being transformed into canals, promenades, towers, and classical arches and façades. I just received a press release. I’ll be writing about it.”
“Then it’s true, what Mr. Tiffany says. The greatest meeting of artists—”
“Since the fifteenth century,” said Hank. “Some sixty-five thousand exhibits.”
“Among which will be your chapel, peacocks and all,” George said.
“And my Christ window! And the flamingo window. And you’re going to see it all assembled. I’m green with envy.”
“Don’t forget Tiffany and Company’s extravaganza,” said Hank. “Father and son competing with each other on the world stage. Definitely worth my writing about for
The Century Magazine.
”
“
If
we finish on time.”
THAT DOUBT PLAGUED ME , so I worked extra hours almost every day. One evening in early June when I came home from work too late for dinner, Dudley and George were playing the popular new tune “Oh My Darling Clementine” on their zithers. George followed me up to my room, singing,
“
How I missed her! how I missed her
,
How I missed my Clementine
,
Till I kissed her little sister
And forgot my Clementine.
”
“Brilliant. When is your debut at Carnegie Hall?”
“Dudley will be in Paris while Hank and I are in Chicago, so I’ve asked my brother Edwin to check in on you from time to time.”
“I don’t need someone to oversee my activities, thank you very much.”
“Woo-whoo. Why so cranky?”
“I’ll do just fine without your zither duets too, you and Dudley serenading each other across the parlor.”
George screwed up his face in a pout so tight that it made me laugh. He could always make me laugh, no matter how tired I was. I sat at my dressing table, noticed mauve-colored cups under my eyes, and undid the pins in my chignon. They’d given me a headache. George came up behind me and unwound the twist, picked up my hairbrush and brushed from my forehead out to the ends, holding up my hair in his other hand.
“That’s one thing you know how to do. Brush hair.”
“You’ve been overworking yourself.”
“So has everyone else. It’s practically summer. What do you expect me to do?”
“Just what you’ve been doing, dear heart.”
“Mr. Tiffany set too big a task for us. He designed too much, and now he’s driven to complete it all.”
The Lead Glaziers and Glass Cutters’ Union had
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