Miss Oliver At Home

Chapter Ten

Olivia felt like a madwoman on Saturday, rushing about and making sure everything was "just so" for the party. Her mother had been considered the best hostess in all of Beverly, and Olivia felt obligated to uphold that familial distinction. Any event organized by the family of John Oliver must be as flawless as possible.

Lillian had nearly burned her face over the oven on Friday evening, cooking a myriad of elegant desserts. The kitchen table was now piled with a dozen dishes, each overflowing with cookies, miniature cakes, apple tarts, and lemon scones. Lillian had undoubtedly inherited her mother's culinary abilities, and Olivia stared in wonder at what her sister had accomplished with so few resources and no white sugar at all. It couldn't be afforded.

Olivia poked her fingers until they bled, making over her old party dress for Lillian. Her sister had protested, insisting that she didn't need it, and why didn't Olivia fix it up for herself? But Olivia had been determined, and spent four hours pulling open the skirt seams so that it hung down in floating tendrils, which whispered delightedly over a smooth silk petticoat that was originally a curtain at Oliver House. The bodice needed a few adjustments, and Olivia made a wispy white scarf to fill in the neckline. It was worth the hard work when Lillian put the dress on at midnight and stood before the tall mirror in their bedroom.

"Oh, Liv!" she finally managed, turning a serious face to her sister. Her eyes were wide.

"There," said Olivia. "Now, no one can say that we are out of date. I wanted you to be as fashionable as you are pretty, and the dress just about does it. You can have my pearl bracelet to wear with it."

"Do you think I will look too fussy?"

"Of course not," said Olivia. "I told everyone that it shall be quite distinguished a party as any we used to have at 5th Street, and I am determined to live up to my promise. I will don my 'gown o' roses,' as we used to call it, and look almost as nice as you. And Edwin will part his hair and wear a starched shirt, as much as he hates it. I'll make it up to him by letting him display his stamp collection on the coffee table for the next week."

Jessica came over the next afternoon to help the girls set up for the party. Miss Edda had given Lillian the key to the cellar, where they found half a dozen old tables and chairs. They carried them carefully up the stairs, cleaned them off, and placed them around the yard and patio. There would be more than enough room for food and a place for nearly everyone to sit.

"We'd better drag the pink 'Queen Anne' chair down for Aunt Phyllis," said Lillian. "Just to be safe."

Olivia dug through the boxes in the closet and found her prized collection of outdoor torches, the colored glass shimmering softly as they came into the light. She arranged them about the yard, prepared to ward off the coming dark. Although evening fell sooner as the autumn wore on, the party would continue into the night.

The girls dragged the record player out of the apartment window and set it down on the fire escape. They stacked their favorite records neatly beside it, with the Fairy Godmother's album on top, in the place of honor.

Tired, they sat back against the warm bricks that ran under the apartment window and let their feet hang between the railings of the fire escape. They had come to use the escape almost as frequently as the stairs in the front hall - it was such fun to run past Miss Edda's window and wave - and it had become a favorite place to sit with a book and a glass of iced tea.

"Well," said Jessica at last. "You really do have a sweet place here. It's not Oliver House, but it's got such a nice feeling to it that I almost want to come and live with you. Maybe it's you three who make it feel that way. My townhouse still seems foreign after two years, and even Dad's place has always been too stately to be called home. I'll admit that I pitied you girls the first time I saw this place, but now... I almost envy you." She grinned lovingly at her cousins.