by Robyn Carr
Through it all Emily never released her own tears. If the ache in her throat threatened to spill over, she reprimanded herself; she had been through worse and would rely on her strength, discipline, and faith. At least Patricia’s monthly flux had brought their family one final relief. But ideas and desires did not light the girl’s eyes anymore. In her eyes now there was a cold and frightening rage that Emily not only understood, but remembered.
Work was all Emily could depend upon. John and Noel were the only boarders left, and Susan Pendergast had decided to board with her friend rather than return to the Armstrong household. The funds had been so depleted that Emily was prepared to discharge Sophia to find other work. The thought of not seeing her dearest friend almost every day caused agony, but she could not be selfish now. She could not survive with an empty house and had instructed the girls to move their belongings back into her bedroom to make even Susan Pendergast’s empty room available. Mrs. Fairchild’s room had been scrubbed down and tidied. It was late, and she was tired, but she filled a bucket and prepared to scrub the Macintosh’s empty room.
“Emily,” he said.
She turned away from the sink tub and looked at Noel. She briefly considered all she had lost.
“John has taken Sophia home, Emily. Your daughters are upstairs. Come onto the porch.”
“I have work to do, Mr. Padgett,” she replied stiffly.
“Why won’t you let me help you?” he asked. “Whatever you ask, it’s yours.”
“There is nothing you can do to help me. Just let me do my work. We’ll have boarders in this house again.”
“Damn the boarders. Emily, you need rest, not more work. You need a strong arm, a--”
“I do not! I cannot rely on someone’s strong arm now! I have daughters to see to, a house to manage. Let me be!”
He moved toward her and grasped her upper arms. “I love you. Why do you turn me away now?”
“Love?” She laughed humorlessly. “Your love, your courting and tempting and all these girlish notions it brought on caused me to glance away from my daughter long enough for her to be ruined! Haven’t you asked yourself even once whether Patricia would be spared had we not skipped off to the fair without her? Lord, it was not the fair! It was my foolishness! And after all I should have learned!”
“Good God, Emily! You can’t blame yourself for that! That girl was bound for it! If it hadn’t been the fair, she would have run off some other time.”
“I knew she was troubled, angry, defiant. Yet all I thought about was sitting on the porch, as fanciful as she! I don’t blame you--they aren’t your children. But I am long past these notions of romance and should have paid closer attention to my responsibilities. This is my fault.”
“No. No more than it was your mother’s fault that you married badly.” Shock widened her eyes, and she stared at him in confusion. “I heard the story you told your daughters, Emily, I heard and I know why you feel like you do. I can make it right for you. Let me.”
She stared another moment before she gave a huff of laughter and shook her head. “Make it right for me? No one can ever make that right for me--no one will ever remove that stain from my past. All I can do is carry on, take care of my children, manage my--”
“I’ll marry you. Let me take care of you, and them. Emily, I want you. You don’t have to carry these burdens alone.”
“But I am alone! Marry? I can’t marry!”
“I know you love me, Emily. You’re tired, maybe sick. But you’re not--”
“I can’t marry!” she whispered furiously. “I’m not widowed!”
Noel actually withdrew slightly, though he continued to hold onto her arms. He looked into her eyes for an answer and saw tears well up there, the first tears she had shed since all the trouble began.
“Widowhood is a story,” she said quietly, two uneven streams running down her cheeks. “Only a story. Ned Armstrong plied me with promises because he thought my family had money. He left me. He never even knew I carried Lilly!”
Noel rubbed the back of his finger along her cheek, wiping away the wetness. “He’s been gone eighteen years, Emily. He isn’t coming back. No one ever needs to know--”
“It’s too late for all that, Noel. Don’t you see? There is no room in my life for a man. Only twice in my life have I given in to such emotion, and twice it has cost me dearly. It’s buried in me; I won’t let that happen again.”
“You can’t blame love for this misery. Emily, you’re a clever woman, sensible and strong. You don’t have to be alone all your life. You don’t have to give up any happiness you might have just because he wronged you.”
“What do you suggest, Noel? That we marry in a lie and live out our days worrying that someone will find out I was never widowed? Would you make me an adulteress just to satisfy yourself?”
“I’m suggesting a decent life, a chance to be happy, to have a strong arm to lean on.”
“Here? In Philadelphia? Or out in the plains of Wyoming, where you have your business, your land? Noel, we can’t--”
“Emily, if you can’t leave here, I won’t make you go. But we were meant to be together, you and me.”
“No. I made my choice many years ago, and it still holds me. I can’t borrow any more sins. I’m still being punished for the first ones. I won’t pretend a marriage that is not true, and I won’t let romantic notions divert my eyes from my responsibilities.”
“Emily, you love me. I know you do!”
“I thought--”
He wouldn’t let her finish. He covered her mouth with his and held her tightly against him. He was forceful--he never thought he would embrace Emily like this. But his mouth was hungry on hers, desperate. His arms tightened around her. He was aware of how frail she had become. When he realized that she didn’t resist him, when he finally tasted the salt of her tears, he slackened his hold. He whispered against her lips. “I know you love me. Let me take care of you.”
“You said you only wanted me to be happy,” she replied.
“Would you be happier without me?”
“I can’t! No matter how much you offer me, no matter how sincere you are, I would be compromised. I could let you take care of me, pretend to be your wife when I know I am not, and live knowing only my shameful weakness. Is that what you want--that I should admit how weak I am and find solace in sin?” She shook her head. She pushed his hands away from her. “It’s not our fault that it can’t be.”
“Why do you hurt yourself with pride? How can you punish yourself for feeling love?”
“Pride is what I used to survive! A good and decent life was mine because I was stronger than these feelings! It isn’t love that hurts us--but letting love convince us to live immorally never stops hurting! Men can’t understand because men never pay the price!”
She turned her back on him and continued to fill her bucket.
“You don’t believe that. You’re just confused, hurt.”
“I think you’d better leave my house, Noel,” she said, not looking at him.
“Why? Because if I stay you’ll discover something stronger than all these ideas that keep you alone? Because if I stay you’ll find out you can’t turn your back on your feelings forever?”
She turned back to face him. Anger welled up inside, but she was unsure at who or what. “Ned did this to me, though he had other reasons for trying to wear down my resistance, but it’s all the same. Give in, he begged me, for love. For love to make it right! If you stay here, I might only learn to hate you for showing me every day how incapable I am of making my own choices!”
Had she slapped him it would have been less painful. He backed away a step. He looked at the fury in her eyes and the determination of her raised chin. He knew he was no match for all her suffering and self-blame.
“I’ll go,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ll go and let you have all your hardship. You can tell yourself it’s the only way if you want to. You can blame yourself for every misery in the worl
d if you want to. I’ll go so you can’t think of me like you think of him. I’m not someone who’s trying to wear you down for my own purposes, and maybe you’ll remember that later. If I’m guilty of trying to tempt you, Emily, I only wanted to tempt you to share happiness with me.”
He turned and went to the back stairs, to his attic room. She stood, her back against the sink, looking at her empty kitchen. It was getting harder and harder for her to collect herself, to ward off fear and loneliness. She turned back to the sink pump and worked it up and down, filling her bucket. She took the scrub brush, rags, and lye soap and climbed the stairs.
She knelt on the floor of the little room and thought of Annie and Jamie. Their joyful nuptial bed was naked of even the straw tick, and there was no sign of all the love and hardship that had happened here. She applied the water, soap, and brush.
Dear Father in Heaven, she silently prayed, if I could be given one understanding in all my lifetime, I would ask to know why You gave women enough strength in their bodies to bring forth a population, enough love to nurture nations of young, enough faith to carry them through the worst of times, enough wisdom to keep teaching them long after they’ve ignored the lessons, enough vigor to keep believing in life…and so few rewards. Can we not have love? If there is enough love to conceive them, feed them, even bury them, is there none to spare for a moment of peace and comfort?
She scrubbed tears into the floor with her brush. The only sound in the boardinghouse long after everyone had gone to sleep was the soft swishing of Emily’s scrub brush.
Noel Padgett had writing paper in his satchel. He penned out the street address where his aunt lived so that he could be located if there was ever need and his gratitude for the room and board. He folded the paper over a considerable stack of bills and tied it closed with a string. He printed Mrs. Armstrong’s name on the outside and left it on the worktable in the kitchen. The sun was not up when he crept out of the quiet house and went to the carriage house to retrieve his saddle. He made his way down the muddy road, his carpetbag heavy with all that he had accumulated in the way of clothes since he had arrived. His heart was heavy, too. He hoped Emily would change her mind. He would have stayed to convince her if he could bear the thought that she might only end up thinking of him as she thought of Ned.
He wanted Emily in ways so powerful, so final and desperate, that in the end, if he stayed, he might prove himself no better than Ned.
Chapter Nine
When Lilly heard the sounds of birds through her opened window and woke to the soft pink of early dawn, she sat up and jostled Patricia. “Wake up, Patricia. Mama is already awake and working. Come on, we have to help.”
“Ohhhh,” Patricia moaned. “It’s so early.”
“Come on,” Lilly said, already out of bed and pulling off her nightgown. “Mama needs us. We have to help her. Don’t be lazy now.”
Lilly found her blouse and skirt and quickly dressed. She pulled the brush through her hair, but didn’t bother with morning washing or braids. Emily had been going to bed very late, long after both the girls were asleep, and rising early, before dawn on most days. Fatigue and grief were showing on her: she had lost weight she could ill afford to lose and her radiant complexion had become sallow, her eyes weary. Lilly knew her mother would not rest until she had her house under control again--until there were boarders, a full table, and money in her jar for emergencies.
She was confused when she didn’t find Emily in the kitchen. She saw a packet for her mother on the worktable, but the stove was cold. She went through the back door to look in the yard, then checked the parlor to see if she sat there with her sewing. Emily was nowhere to be found.
“Mama?” she called as she went back upstairs. The door to Susan Pendergast’s room was closed and she opened it. She opened the door to the room in which Mrs. Fairchild had died. And then she went to the smallest room. “Mama!” she gasped, rushing in.
Emily lay facedown on the damp floor, the scrub brush still gripped in her hand. Lilly knelt by her, turning her over and lifting her head. “Mama? Mama, are you all right? Mama!”
Emily’s eyes opened, but her head lolled listlessly. She stared at Lilly for a moment, almost unseeing. And then she whispered, “Oh, Lilly…” Her voice was weak. Lilly felt her brow; she was feverish.
“Mama, what’s the matter? Did you fall?”
“Lilly,” she whispered again, helpless.
A million fears rushed through Lilly’s mind. She was afraid her mother was dying. Some illness had attacked her in the night, and they hadn’t even known she hadn’t come to bed! Or had someone hit her, leaving her unconscious on the floor? Had she slipped on the soapy floor, lying injured and insensible through the night? It took a moment for Lilly to gather her wits enough to gently lower Emily’s head to the floor and rush out of the room to get help. First she went for Patricia who was just dangling her legs from the bed. “Come quick, something’s happened to Mama!” Then she went to John’s room, banging on his door. “John, help me. Something’s happened to Mama!”
John was quicker into his pants than Patricia was getting the robe to cover her nightgown. Lilly and John lifted Emily and carried her into her own room, to her own bed. Lilly was struck by how light her mother was in her arms. “What is it?” Patricia asked over and over. “What happened to Mama?”
Emily opened her eyes long enough to see that John was helping to place her in the bed. “Oh, John,” she sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“Mrs. Armstrong, can you tell me what’s wrong? Did you fall? Are you ill?”
“No…no…it’s nothing,” she whispered, but she didn’t seem able to lift her head.
“Lilly, get Mr. Padgett and send him for the doctor,” John instructed. “Patricia, fetch Sophia. I’ll sit with Mrs. Armstrong.”
Lilly’s confusion only mounted when she saw that Mr. Padgett’s room was empty of his belongings. She couldn’t imagine him just leaving. And then she remembered seeing the packet on the worktable and dashed down the back stairs to open it. She saw the money and read the brief note. She didn’t understand why he had gone like this, but her mother was her first concern, and she stuffed the packet into her deep pocket and set off at a run to Dr. Olson’s house. She prayed all the way that he would be there, that he would know what to do, and she was near tears by the time she was rousing the doctor’s household. He answered the door himself in hastily drawn-up breeches. They did not bother with the carriage but rushed back to the boardinghouse on foot while Lilly breathlessly explained how she had found her mother.
Sophia had arrived and was sitting with Emily by the time Lilly returned. Patricia was sitting in the parlor, twitching and fretting. John Giddings was holding her hand, comforting Patricia. “Did anyone think of lighting the stove?” Lilly asked.
“Lilly, is Mama going to be all right?”
“Sitting there jittering about it won’t help. There’s plenty to be done while the doctor is with her. Let’s don’t just sit and--”
“But I don’t know what to do,” Patricia exclaimed, her voice trembling and her eyes watering.
Lilly whirled away from the parlor and went to the kitchen. She pumped water and started the fire. Her hands moved like lightning over bowls, pots, plates. She began biscuit dough and tossed a large hunk of bacon in a skillet. She steeped tea and broke open eggs. She alternately prayed her mother would survive and cursed Patricia’s delicate helplessness. It was nearly an hour before Sophia came to the kitchen.
“Well, girl,” Sophia said gravely. “Your Mama’s used her last bit o’ strength on this house, and now it looks like it’s gonna be up to you.”
“What is it? What does the doctor say?”
“It’s the consumption, child. He say she don’t take care of herself--she can’t keep up without food and rest. She’s down to bones and weak as a kitten. There comes a time when the good Lord demands you take a rest. Dr. Olson says she’s gonna be well, but I says it’s more.”
�
��What more, Sophia? What do you think it is?” “I think that poor girl’s heart’s been ripped out every way it goes, child. First, Miz Patsy. Then the baby and Miz Fairchild. And then--” Sophia pursed her wide lips and shook her head. “She says he’s gone, Mistah Padgett, but I don’t think it likely he jes’ gone. I think she sent him on his way.”
Lilly was stunned. She touched the pocket that held the sizable amount of money and his short note. “Why?” she asked, a long way from understanding. “I’ve never known Mama to be happier than she’s been since Mr. Padgett--”
“If she has her reasons, child, you let her tell about it. Right now she needs caring for. And I don’t think Miz Patsy’s gonna be the one, do you?”
Lilly wondered how Patricia had become so lazy, self-indulgent, and helpless. They had been raised by the same strict, energetic mother. They had been taught the same, been given the same chores, the same disciplines, had the same model. Yet Patricia had none of the virtues Emily had stressed.
Lilly searched her memory and realized that Patricia had always glided effortlessly through life by using her ineptness or her delicacy as a tool. She fell ill easily, had many complaints, and was always excused for no good reason except that it seemed more expedient to leave her alone than to insist, over and over, that she improve. Lilly and Patricia cleaned up supper dishes on alternating nights, but Lilly frequently cleaned up messes that Patricia had overlooked. If she forgot to dump the dishwater, Emily or Lilly would do it rather than call her back. If she was given a task of sewing, her stitches would invariably have to be torn out and redone, until it was hardly worth the bother to ask her in the first place. She made the biscuits taste bad by not measuring the ingredients, and Lilly or Sophia would be sure to do the next batch. If she was asked to wash clothes, it took her hours and hours and she would forget the soap; then they would have to be washed again. When Lilly asked her to help while Mama was sick by taking the wagon with rolls or pies to the brownstones to market them, Patricia would have trouble keeping up, or her legs would be sore from walking, or ultimately she was so unenthusiastic that she hindered rather than helped in sales.