Chapter Five
The week passed slowly and laboriously. Every morning, Henry attended city council meetings and listened to his fellow members debate how to handle the uncertain future. Every evening he returned home to assist Hannah and Sadie with the children. He was physically and mentally drained.
Grace cried incessantly unless held. Henry found himself often trying to balance her in one hand while poring over council minutes or business letters. Kathleen evidently followed Hannah or Sadie about the house sullenly by day. She took to shadowing Henry each evening.
Since she’d shown interest in his various books and atlases, Henry let her have the pick of anything in his study. She’d thumb silently through the pages, pretending to read or studying illustrations. One night, while examining a map of New England, she suddenly asked, “Is this where my mama and daddy live?”
Henry wasn’t certain if she was erroneously using present tense, longing for her former home in Virginia or if she believed the map was of eternity. He chose to address the former. Laying aside his own reading, he shifted Grace a little higher on his shoulder, then beckoned Kathleen closer.
“No,” he said. “That’s Massachusetts. Your family lived here.” He found the page for Virginia and showed her the location.
Kathleen’s forehead furrowed slightly. “Will I ever live there again?”
Henry drew in a breath, wondering what to say. “Perhaps when you come of age, you may wish to return to your old home, but for now, it’s best that you and your sister live here with me.”
She didn’t say anything to that. Henry then noticed a bedraggled jonquil fastened to her bodice. It instantly reminded him of what Rebekah had done with his pink roses. Did all young women do this with the flowers given to them? He had honestly never noticed before.
“That’s very pretty,” he said to Kathleen.
She fingered the fading yellow petals. “The flower lady gave it to me.”
“Yes. I remember. Her name is Miss Van der Geld.”
Henry had yet to tell Kathleen that “the flower lady” would soon be taking up residence in their home. Perhaps he feared the potential anxiety the thought of such change would bring Kathleen. Perhaps he still held out hope such a change might not be necessary. Perhaps tomorrow he’d wake up to find Detective Smith had concluded his investigation, and there were no more conspirators to be found.
But he knew the latter was highly unlikely.
And I could not break the engagement now anyway, he thought, not after it has been publicly announced. I would not embarrass Rebekah like that... And given what I’ve witnessed of her father’s treatment of her, how could I leave her in such a home?
Henry wouldn’t put it past Van der Geld to marry her off to someone else to suit his political agenda. While there were many good men in Maryland leadership, there were some who were not. Henry did not wish to see Rebekah in the household of a drunkard or a violent man—or even one who would be indifferent to her happiness, as his own father had always been of his mother’s.
I will care for her. I must make this work...for everyone involved.
“She had flowers like my mama,” Kathleen said.
Henry wasn’t sure what to say to that, either. Would Kathleen welcome a woman who reminded her in some small way of her mother? He hoped so. “Miss Van der Geld is going to come live with us soon,” he explained. “She has agreed to become my wife.” He paused to gauge Kathleen’s reaction. All his niece did was blink. Henry swallowed back a multitude of feelings, then shifted Grace once again so he could draw the older child up onto his lap.
“Miss Van der Geld will become your Aunt Rebekah. Would you like that? Would you like having an aunt?”
He could see the uncertainty on her face. He felt his own.
“Will we live here?” Kathleen asked. “In this house?”
“Yes,” Henry said. “You and your sister.”
“Will you be here with us?”
The question cut him to the core. “Yes, pretty girl. I will be here. I will always take good care of you.”
Kathleen laid her head against his chest. Henry’s heart was pounding. He had made a promise to her. He prayed he’d be able to keep it.
* * *
On the day before the wedding, Rebekah’s dress arrived. She had hoped for white—which was all the fashion now—or at least something befitting the season of spring. No matter how nervous she was about the impending union, she still wanted to be a beautiful bride. However, she had not been given the opportunity to choose her fabric.
“Midnight blue is fitting in a time of national mourning,” her father had insisted, and so the dress had been crafted to his liking.
At her mother’s insistence, Rebekah stepped into the dark silk and turned about, watching herself in the looking glass. Although the color was not what she wished, it was a beautiful gown.
Even her mother seemed pleased. “Yes,” she said, “it fits exactly as it should.”
It was not quite a compliment, but Rebekah chose to take it as one. When her father then stepped into the room, she dared to ask for his praise, as well.
“Do you approve of the gown, Father?”
He scanned her up and down with little more emotion than one would show reading a grocery list. “It will do,” he said.
It will do? Was that all he thought? Her heart sank. What must I do to gain your affection? Have I not done everything you have asked of me?
“The ceremony will take place tomorrow evening promptly at six,” her father reminded her. He then turned to his wife. “Make certain Fiona has her trunks packed.”
Susan nodded obediently.
“I have business to attend in the study,” he said. “I do not wish to be disturbed.” With that, he exited the room.
A profound sadness rolled through Rebekah. Here it was, the last night in her father’s house, and although he had never shown her any affection, she had hoped tonight, perhaps just once, he would tell her that he loved her.
She glanced at her mother. For one quick moment, she saw a similar longing on her face. It quickly passed as Susan lifted her chin.
“You’d best take off that gown,” she said. “You don’t want to spoil it.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Rebekah exchanged her new blue dress for a cotton sacque and skirt. Fiona packed her trunk, and her mother made certain her father was not disturbed by their children. As usual, the day passed in order and silence. The only difference came when Joseph bounced into her room that evening. He had brought her a tulip from the garden.
“I thought you might want to take this with you tomorrow,” he said. “Just in case Councilman Nash doesn’t have a garden.”
She scooped him up and sat down in the nearby chair. She would miss Joseph dearly. “He does have a garden, but I thank you just the same.”
“Will I be able to visit you?” her brother asked.
Rebekah gave him a smile. “I should hope so, for if not, whom shall I conquer?” To demonstrate, she tickled his ribs. Joseph giggled until at last he was able to free himself from her grasp. He then turned serious once more.
“Does Councilman Nash like children?” he asked.
“I believe so. He is most kind to his nieces. And think of how he greeted you when he came to dinner.”
Joseph grinned proudly. “He told me I was a fine boy.”
“And you are indeed. I think you have no cause to worry.”
A dark thought then pressed her mind. Joseph might have nothing to fret over, but she still did. She had told herself she would guard her heart, and only do her duty as a mother, as a wife, but Rebekah couldn’t help herself. With each passing encounter, she found herself being drawn toward Henry Nash. The way he engaged her in conversation, that bashful smile... He seemed
to care for her, but in believing this, was she setting herself up for disappointment?
What if he was marrying her simply because he needed a mother for his two nieces—or worse, because he wanted a male heir? What if I am not able to deliver one? She knew firsthand how dissatisfied her father was that his firstborn had not been a son.
Rebekah quickly shoved the thoughts aside, concentrating instead on her brother. “You must come and visit me in my new home every chance you get, or I shall be very lonely.”
“You won’t be lonely,” he said. He hugged her tightly, then slid from her lap and skipped out the door.
Watching him go, Rebekah hoped his words would indeed come true.
* * *
Just before six o’clock the following day, Henry pulled his carriage in front of the church.
“Are you ready for this?” his father asked.
“No,” he said honestly.
The older man laughed. “Son, if you want to make state delegate one day, you had better learn to give answers that are open to a little more interpretation.”
Running for the state legislature was now the farthest thing from Henry’s mind. He wasn’t looking for advancement. He wanted only to keep the position he had and do it as honestly as he could.
But is that even possible anymore?
His father nudged him. “You’d best not keep your young bride or her father waiting.”
Reluctantly Henry climbed from the carriage and went inside the church. Reverend Perry, Henry’s minister since childhood, greeted him and his father warmly. He was a kindhearted man who, through four years of war and factions in his own congregation, still treated everyone with Christ-like compassion. Henry had always respected the minister and tried to emulate his example. Today he had difficulty looking the man in the eye.
Reverend Perry noticed right away. “Do I detect a hint of anxiety?” he asked with a jovial smile. “No need to worry, young man. While it’s true a happy marriage does indeed require hard work and sacrifice, I’ve no doubt you’re up for the task. You’ve never shied away from doing what is right.”
Until now, Henry thought. Hadn’t he once promised himself he’d never marry a woman he did not love?
His bride’s expression seemed equally anxious when she arrived a few moments later and took her place beside him at the altar. There was no music, no march. There were no guests beyond his father and her parents. At Van der Geld’s insistence, the ceremony was simple and to the point. Anything more than that, he said, would be unseemly in a time of national mourning.
President Lincoln might have entered his final rest and received his reward, but Henry felt his own trial was only beginning. Still, he made his vows before God and His witnesses, honestly promising he would give all his strength to keep them.
When Reverend Perry told him he could kiss his bride, Henry hesitated. He had wedded her, yes, but what right do I have even to touch her? He saw the fear in her eyes. Had she guessed what he had been trying so desperately to hide?
No. She couldn’t possibly.
Feeling the Reverend’s eyes upon him, he offered Rebekah what he hoped was a disarming smile. After nearly knocking noses with her, Henry lightly pressed his lips to hers. Reverend Perry seemed to find the awkwardness amusing. He chuckled. As for Rebekah, one would have thought she’d been kissed ardently from the blush that now colored her face.
My wife, Henry thought. Innocent, trusting and obviously full of faith to bind herself to a stranger like me.
The wedding certificate was signed. Following that, Harold offered congratulations and a charge to Rebekah. “I am leaving for Annapolis on tonight’s train,” he told her. “Take good care of my son.”
She smiled humbly and nodded. A hint of color still darkened her cheeks. “I will do my best, sir.”
No doubt she means it. Henry made the same promise to her father, but Van der Geld seemed more interested in moving on to his next matter of business than in making certain his son-in-law looked after his only daughter.
“Well, we must be off,” he said to his own wife.
Mrs. Van der Geld nodded quietly. Even she hadn’t wished Rebekah a proper goodbye. There were no fond words, no embraces. All Henry overheard whispered to her was, “Remember to hold your tongue.”
And hold it she did, all too well. After Henry assisted Rebekah into what was now their carriage, they rode in silence for the distance of several blocks. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her fiddle with her skirt and tug at her bell-shaped sleeves. He could only imagine what must be going through her mind.
“It must be difficult leaving your family,” he said, trying his best to make conversation.
“Indeed,” she said, “My life with them is...all I have ever known.”
He wanted to promise her that her new life would be a happy one, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Henry had no idea what the future would bring for either of them. He did, however, try to ease her pain. “Your family is welcome anytime in our home,” he said. Our home. Will I ever get used to saying that?
She offered him an unsteady but appreciative smile. “Thank you. My brother Joseph will be happy to learn of that. He was wondering if you cared for children.”
“I do,” he said.
He had meant the statement in terms of children in general, but it singled out the obvious expectation for a man and woman beginning their wedding night. Rebekah realized it, as well. She tugged again at her sleeves.
Knowing he had to say something, Henry cleared his throat.
“Rebekah, I realize our courtship was brief...” and my reason for uniting unconventional at best. “That being said, I don’t expect—” He could feel the tips of his ears getting hot. He knew he was turning red. “What I mean is—I see my role as husband as providing for you, for Grace and Kathleen. And I see yours...well, as seeing to their day-to-day needs, running the home... Anything else can wait until our relationship...”
He stole a glance at her. She understood exactly what he was trying to say. Now she was the one turning red.
Henry quickly refocused his attention on the road before them. “I want to win your heart first,” he said.
Rebekah offered no words in response to his declaration, but he clearly heard the sigh that escaped her lips. Was it one of relief? Disbelief? After all, what kind of man married a woman and then left her alone?
The horse click-clacked his way along.
“I think Joseph will get along nicely with Kathleen,” Henry said when he could bear the silence no longer. “They are about the same age. Are they not?”
“He’s a little older. He’s six.”
“I see.”
They drove the final distance in silence. He’d been sincere in saying he wanted to win her, but now he had his doubts on whether he could actually do so. Our marriage isn’t based on honesty. Aren’t we already at a disadvantage? Pulling the carriage to a stop in front of the house, he climbed down. There is no turning back now, he told himself. Forward is the only way.
* * *
He is willing to build our relationship before building his family. As appreciative as Rebekah was of her new husband’s comments, her stomach was still full of butterflies. Yet when Henry pulled the carriage to a stop and offered her his hand, she pasted a smile on her face, took hold and stepped to the sidewalk.
“Welcome home, Rebekah.”
She stared at the lovely brick Georgian-style home in front of her. Our home, she thought. Yours and mine.
The butterflies collected now in the back of her throat. What kind of home would it be? He had spoken of roles, but with little detail. How exactly did he expect her to run his home, manage his children? How well would she fare with the task—and what consequences would she face if she did not measure up to his standards?
&
nbsp; Hand still in his, she allowed Henry to escort her to the front door. James, who must have been watching for their arrival, opened it immediately. He offered Rebekah a dignified nod.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Nash.”
The title was going to take some getting used to, but it was a hardship she would willingly bear. No longer did she carry her father’s name. Never again would she be known as Miss Van der Geld, but who exactly Mrs. Henry Nash would be remained to be seen.
“Thank you, James,” she said.
Henry let go of her hand so she could untie her ribbons. Rebekah handed James the bonnet. Then, while he saw to her trunks, she glanced about the foyer. A pleasant scent filled the space, and the sconces on the wall glowed welcomingly.
“I believe Sadie is settling Grace and Kathleen for bed,” Henry said. “She hoped to have them asleep before we arrived.”
Rebekah didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disconcerted by that fact. She knew the longer she waited to assume the position of mother the more nervous she would become. But perhaps this is best. I should learn his preferences for his household first, should I not?
“Would you care to see the rest of the house?” Henry asked.
She offered him what she hoped was a steady smile. “Yes, thank you. I would like that very much.”
In addition to the formal parlor on the lower level, there was an elegant dining room and a large kitchen. The latter was not nearly as grand as her mother’s, but it was well stocked and maintained by a most pleasant cook. Her name was Hannah.
“She keeps me well fed,” Henry said.
Hannah, however, disagreed. “Not well enough,” she told Rebekah. “Always puttin’ off meals to get more work done. I’m sure glad Mr. Henry has done found himself a bride. I’s beginnin’ to worry about him. He was fast becomin’ married to that city council and that ain’t good.”
Rebekah was stunned by the cook’s informality and good-natured scolding toward her employer, but when Henry laughed, a far different emotion washed over her. Joy. Apparently this was a home where each person cared for the other, regardless of bloodlines or station.
The Reluctant Bridegroom Page 8