CHAPTER 3: Sauce on Satin, Silence on the Tables

Maren crossed the ballroom so quickly that the orchestra forgot how to finish the measure it was playing.
She dropped to her knees in front of Clara, not caring that the hem of her mauve gown touched the floor. With a linen napkin, she wiped the sauce from the child's chin and then from the front of the dress, though she knew the stain would not come out.
'Look at me,' Maren whispered. 'You did nothing wrong.'
Clara tried to breathe, but the first breath broke into a sob. The sound was small, yet it seemed to move through every table in the room.
Guests lowered their eyes. A banker studied his champagne. A cousin turned away. The photographer lifted his camera and then slowly lowered it, as if shame had suddenly become too heavy to frame.
Maren held Clara against her shoulder and felt the child shaking through the satin.
Behind them, Adelaide set the empty plate on the table with perfect care.
'Do not make a scene, Maren,' she said. 'The dress can be replaced.'
Maren looked up.
'That is not what you damaged.'