Chapter 2: A Quiet Rebellion

Savannah’s voice rang out, sweet and clear, but her eyes were sharp as glass. The staff exchanged worried looks, some already whispering about what this meant. I caught the tail end of a joke from one of the gardeners about Savannah’s infamous lemon cake disaster. I couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

I dabbed my eyes with a tissue, stepped aside, and watched this display of sibling affection with great interest, curious how long it would last.

I folded my arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching the scene play out like a sitcom rerun. The staff filed out, some with relief, some with resignation. I caught Savannah shooting me a victorious look, but I just smiled back, unbothered. Let her have her moment.

I never knew that not having to get up early to handle household affairs could be so relaxing. I could sleep in every day, enjoy lazy breakfasts and snacks, and, best of all, never have to look at those endless account books. Honestly, after just one day, I was hooked. This is the life a proper young lady should have!

For the first time in years, I woke up with the sun on my face and no list of chores waiting. I lingered over breakfast, read the morning paper cover to cover, and even took a walk around the garden. The world felt wider, brighter. I laughed at the thought that this was what I’d been missing all along.

As for Savannah, desperate to prove herself, she was completely unprepared for running the household. Always trying to outdo me, she bungled half the tasks, sending the Whitaker household into utter chaos. At one point, Uncle Mark’s court suit was nearly washed with his gym clothes, and Trevor’s classmates waited an hour for cold food. Uncle Mark fought with Savannah, but Trevor always defended her, refusing to let his precious Savannah sister be blamed. Uncle Mark, both furious and helpless, suggested letting Aunt Susan manage the household with Savannah. The authority hadn’t even warmed in her hands—how could Savannah agree? For some reason, at this critical moment, she sent her old nanny to find me. The woman, round-shouldered and thick-backed, pointed at me with the same arrogance as her mistress. "Second Miss is busy in the front hall every day, but eldest Miss is so lucky, staying in this little room just a few days and already looking healthier."

The rumors of disaster drifted up to my room on the scent of burnt toast and spilled coffee. The household was a mess—laundry piling up, meals late, tempers flaring. I took a perverse pleasure in the chaos, savoring every complaint that reached my ears. When Savannah’s old nanny finally came to see me, she looked me up and down like I was a prize hog at the county fair.

I couldn’t help touching my face, feigning delight: "Really?"

I grinned, pinching my cheeks for good measure. "I guess all this rest is finally agreeing with me."

The nanny was thrown off by my response and went straight to the point: "Second Miss sent me today, worried you might be bored. If you’re willing, you can take over the kitchen and laundry again."

She tried to sound like she was doing me a favor, but her impatience was obvious. I could see the desperation in her eyes, the way she shifted from foot to foot. It was almost endearing.

I pointed at the open book on the table: "No, I’m quite busy."

I tapped the cover for emphasis, as if the latest novel was the most important thing in the world. I glanced back at her, waiting to see if she’d push the issue. She hesitated, caught off guard by my refusal.

The nanny was stunned, gaping for a long time, incredulous: "You don’t want to? But that’s the kitchen!"

She said it like I’d turned down an invitation to the governor’s ball. I almost laughed. The kitchen, once my prison, now held no appeal. I shrugged, nonchalant.

The kitchen always had plenty of perks. If I took over now, I could compete with Savannah in the future. But why should I be the one cleaning up their mess? Did they really think I had no cards left just because I lost my authority? I smiled sweetly: "Trevor was right that day; I’ve read too little. So, you see, I’ve been buried in books lately! Oh, since you’re here, please ask Second Miss when she can find me a tutor?"

I stacked a few more books on the table for effect, making it look like I was deep in study. I even pulled out a notebook and scribbled a few lines, just to drive the point home. The nanny’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

I also had Quinn give her a large bill. The nanny stared at it as if it were a hot potato—she dared not take it, as that would mean she truly had to run the errand. In the end, she left dejectedly. When Quinn closed the bedroom door, she spat fiercely at the threshold. "Shameless! They get in trouble and can’t fix it, so they bother my lady. Do they really think my lady is here to clean up their messes?"

Quinn was always fiercely loyal, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. I smiled at her outburst, grateful for her presence. She picked up the empty tea cup and refilled it, still muttering under her breath about the nerve of Savannah and her crew.

Afraid I would be upset, she added, "Miss, should I have Bobby pick up some Popeyes fried chicken for you?"

Her offer made me smile. Fried chicken from Popeyes was my comfort food, the cure for any bad day. I nodded, already tasting the crispy skin and warm, greasy goodness.

Bobby is Quinn’s brother and my little helper. "And grab a bottle of wine from the corner store," I said.

I winked at Quinn, who grinned back, already halfway out the door. She knew my tastes better than anyone.

"You got it!"

Her voice echoed down the hallway as she left, and I settled back into my chair, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.

When I was eating fried chicken and drinking apple wine, I heard that Savannah had invited her cousin and aunt to visit—ostensibly as guests, but really to help her. I shook my head. Her aunt was widowed last year and had long wanted to move into the Whitaker house; now that she’s invited, it’ll be easy to let her in but hard to send her away. But what does it have to do with me? I took a big bite of chicken—delicious!

The chicken was perfect—greasy, salty, just the right amount of crunch. I licked my fingers and poured another glass of wine, listening to the distant sounds of Savannah’s new allies making themselves at home. Let them have the house. I had my feast.

Savannah struggled for a season before barely getting the household in order. I knew this not because I paid much attention, but because Mr. Lee from the front yard sent word through Quinn. That day, I was rocking in a chair, fanning myself in the sun, while Quinn stood beside me, excitedly imitating Mr. Lee. She said Savannah bought five pots of yellow roses and three pots of spring orchids from the best gardener in Maple Heights, all thriving and expensive enough to make one weep. She also ordered banquet tables from Oak & Vine, the top restaurant, at $500 per table, to be delivered in three days for a ladies’ luncheon. Mr. Lee asked Quinn whether to approve the expense. Mr. Lee was Mrs. Whitaker’s old retainer, and before Trevor was made trustee, she had ordered that these old retainers only obey me. As for after he was made trustee, she didn’t say, but everyone understood. If I had no ulterior motives, they could still listen to me; if I did, they would listen to the trustee. I was once grateful for this order, as it let me firmly hold authority for eight years. But now, I can’t say what I feel, only that people’s hearts change easily. Now that Trevor stands opposed to me, he hasn’t visited my room once in three months. By rights, Mr. Lee shouldn’t ask my opinion anymore. I suppose Savannah’s extravagance scared him; as a staff member, he can’t contradict his boss, so he can only hope I stop her. Yes, I always cared about every penny for the household. I remembered that day in the main living room, Mr. Lee stood at the front of the staff, calmly watching me lose power. I smiled: "Of course approve it. Now that Savannah is in charge, how she spends money is up to her. Tell Mr. Lee, don’t ask me about such things in the future, just do as you see fit."

The numbers Quinn rattled off made my head spin. I pictured the yellow roses, the shining banquet tables, the bills piling up like autumn leaves. I could almost hear Mrs. Whitaker’s voice scolding me for being too frugal, then praising me for saving a dollar here and there. I wondered how long Savannah’s spending spree would last before someone noticed the coffers running dry.

Quinn’s eyes sparkled, and she happily ran off to deliver the message. I rocked in my chair, my thoughts drifting with the clouds. $500 per table. When Mrs. Whitaker brought me from the Whitaker family’s distant relatives, she also paid my uncle $500. My uncle used the money to marry, have children, and only after three years did he come back for more. Trevor always said I cared too much about money, but he grew up in luxury and doesn’t know what money means to the poor. I once thought the one to spend freely after I lost control would be Trevor, but I never expected Savannah, always proud of her refinement, to jump out first. After all, it’s a flower-viewing luncheon—how can refinement be measured in money? But I wonder, after three months, when they see the meager profits from the estates and shops, how long their elegance will last.

I closed my eyes, letting the sun warm my face, remembering the days when $500 was more money than I’d ever seen. I wondered if Savannah would ever understand the value of a dollar, or if she’d keep spending until there was nothing left. It didn’t matter now. I was out of the game.

Savannah’s flower-viewing luncheon began, and ladies from all the best families came. To let this country bumpkin see how real society entertains, she even sent me an invitation. When I left my room, I saw artificial silk flowers tied to every treetop every five steps, staff in new uniforms, and even the plates of pastries before the ladies were rare treasures from the pantry. Savannah also invited Melody, the cellist from Oak & Vine, so the ladies could enjoy music during the flowing wine. Tsk tsk, what extravagance. Seeing me arrive, Savannah stood up gracefully, and I noticed her dress was made of newly produced southern cloud silk. This fabric is called 'an inch of silk, an inch of gold'—truly luxurious, though it doesn’t match her usual low-key style.

The house looked like a page from a glossy magazine—flowers everywhere, the air thick with perfume and pride. Savannah floated around in her silk dress, her hair perfectly curled, her smile as bright as the afternoon sun. I caught a few of the ladies eyeing me, whispering behind their hands, waiting to see how the 'country cousin' would embarrass herself.