The Signature of All Things

think of a grandmother’s death as tragedy!”
    One could almost see the tears crawling back up Retta’s cheeks, reversing themselves and then vanishing completely.
    “And now I must take my leave,” said Retta, fresh as the dawn. “I intend to go for a walk this evening, so I must go home and select the choicest of my walking bonnets. I do so love walking, Mrs. Whittaker, but not in the wrong bonnet, as I’m sure you can understand.” Retta extended her hand to Beatrix, who could not refuse to take it. “Mrs. Whittaker, what a useful encounter this has been! I can scarcely find a way to thank you enough for your wisdom. You are a Solomon among women, and it is little wonder that your children admire you so. Imagine if you were my mother, Mrs. Whittaker—only imagine how stupid I would not be! My mother, you will be sorry to hear, has never had a sensible thought in her life. Worse still, she cakes her face so thickly with wax, paste, and powder that she has every appearance of being a dressmaker’s dummy. Imagine my misfortune, then—to have been raised by an unschooled dressmaker’s dummy, and not by the likes of you. Well, off I go, then!”
    Off she skipped, while Beatrix gaped.
    “What a ridiculous conformation of a person,” Beatrix murmured, once Retta had taken her leave, and the house had returned to silence.
    Daring a defense of her only friend, Alma replied, “Without a doubt she is ridiculous, Mother. But I believe she has a charitable heart.”
    “Her heart may or may not be charitable, Alma. None but God can judge such a thing. But her face, without a doubt, is absurd. She seems able to shape it into any expression whatsoever, except intelligence.”
    Retta returned to White Acre the very next day, greeting Beatrix Whittaker with sunny goodwill, as though the initial admonishment had never taken place. She even brought Beatrix a small posy of flowers—plucked from White Acre’s own gardens , which was a rather daring play. Miraculously, Beatrix accepted the posy without a word. From that day forward, Retta Snow was permitted to remain a presence on the estate.
    As far as Alma was concerned, the disarming of Beatrix Whittaker was Retta’s most sterling accomplishment. It almost had the trace of wizardry about it. That it happened so quickly was even more remarkable. Somehow, in only one brief and daring encounter, Retta had managed to inveigle herself into the matriarch’s good graces (or good enough graces) such that now she had an open warrant to visit whenever she pleased. How had she done it?Alma couldn’t be certain, but she had theories.For one thing, Retta was difficult to stifle. What’s more, Beatrix was getting older and frailer, and was less inclined these days to battle her objections to the death. Perhaps Alma’s mother was not a match for the Retta Snows of the world anymore. But most of all, there was this: Alma’s mother may have disliked nonsense, and she was decidedly a difficult woman to flatter, but Retta Snow could scarcely have done better than to have called Beatrix Whittaker “a Solomon among women.”
    Perhaps the girl was not so foolish as she appeared.
    Thus, Retta remained. In fact, as the autumn of 1819 progressed, Alma frequently arrived at her study in the early mornings, ready to work on a botanical project, only to discover that Retta was already there—curled up in the old divan in the corner, looking at fashion illustrations from the latest copy of Joy’s Lady’s Book.
    “Oh, hello dearest!” Retta would chirp, looking up brightly, as though they had a prearranged appointment.
    As time went on, Alma was no longer startled by this. Retta did not make herself a bother. She never touched the scientific instruments (except the prisms, which she could not resist), and when Alma told her, “For heaven’s sake, darling, you must hushnow and let me calculate,” Retta would hush and let Alma calculate. If anything, it became rather pleasant for Alma to have the silly, friendly company. It was like having a pretty bird in a cage in the corner, making occasional cooing noises, while Alma worked.
    There were times when George Hawkes stopped by Alma’s study, to discuss the final corrections to some scientific paper or another, and he always seemed taken aback to find Retta there. George never knew quite what to do with Retta Snow. George was such an intelligent and serious man, and Retta’s silliness thoroughly unnerved him.
    “And what are Alma