“Hannah has kept me and this household in order for years, and she’s done exceptionally well looking after my girls.”
My girls, Rebekah thought. So he had claimed them as his own.
“Are you hungry?” he then asked her.
“I’d be happy to serve you,” Hannah added.
While Rebekah greatly appreciated the offer, she politely declined. She couldn’t have eaten a bite. The butterflies were still fluttering.
After they bade Hannah farewell, Henry showed Rebekah a door to a section of the house that belonged to his father. “This is where he stays when he is in town.”
“Does he stay with you often?”
“Only when he comes to visit. He prefers his home in Annapolis.”
Rebekah would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved to hear that. Granted, she did not know her new father-in-law very well, but so far she did not particularly care for him. There was an insincerity about Harold Nash, a quality she sincerely hoped had not been passed on to his son. Thankfully, she’d seen no evidence of it in Henry so far.
“The last room on this level is the study,” Henry said.
As he opened the door, she gasped. The room smelled of cedar wood and overlooked the garden. Stately bookshelves lined the walls but there was a cozy aspect to the room, as well. Greenery lay just beyond the windowpane.
“How beautiful,” she said, turning about. “Is this where you work?”
“When I am home.”
She longed to ask him more about his work, but her father had told her repeatedly it was unseemly for a woman to ask questions concerning a public servant’s duties.
It is enough to be granted entrance into such a place, she thought. “It is a lovely home.”
“I am pleased that you approve, my dear.”
My dear? Rebekah’s heart flip-flopped. Did he really mean that? Was she dear to him?
Henry crossed the floor and picked up a small book from the table. “This is the book I told you about,” he said. “Remember?”
It was the promised floral guide. She remembered their conversation about it, of course, but what astounded her was the fact that he had. “Thank you. I shall enjoy reading it.”
A bell sounded, and James soon appeared at the study door. “There’s a man here to see you,” he told Henry.
A slight frown creased her husband’s brow. At that moment Sadie, the young maid Rebekah had seen on her earlier visit, stepped to the threshold, announcing that both children were fast asleep. Henry nodded contemplatively. “Very good,” he said. “Will you please show Mrs. Nash to her room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you excuse me?” he asked Rebekah.
She offered him a polite smile. “Certainly,” she said, and she followed Sadie to the second floor.
The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but she was efficient and very well mannered. In addition to tucking in Grace and Kathleen, she had unpacked Rebekah’s trunks and laid out her set of combs and brushes. Even Joseph’s bedraggled tulip had been placed in a vase of water. It seemed odd to see her things put about so, in a strange room.
“Will you be wantin’ to take down your hair, Mrs. Nash?” Sadie asked.
Did she? Rebekah didn’t know, but she supposed she should. “Yes.”
Sadie motioned to a seat in front of a dressing table, and as soon as Rebekah sat down, she began removing pins. Rebekah studied herself in the looking glass as her thick chocolate-colored hair fell about her shoulders. She had never considered herself pretty. Her features were too large, her jaw too sharp, but one thing she was proud of was her hair.
Is he pleased with it? With me?
Sadie brushed out the locks, then asked, “Which nightdress will you be a wantin’?”
Nightdress? Should she put one on just yet? Was the routine of this house “early to bed, early to rise”? Surely Henry would return to give her further instruction regarding the children. Shouldn’t I be ready to receive him properly? If I am not...
Sadie was still waiting for an answer, but Rebekah wasn’t entirely sure what the correct one was. “Thank you for your assistance, Sadie, but I’ll see to the rest.”
The maid smiled, nodded and then pointed to a bell pull near the mantle. “Just ring that if ya need me.”
“I will. Thank you.”
With that, Rebekah was alone, and as on that day in the garden, she suddenly had a strong urge to escape. Again she surveyed her surroundings. It felt wrong to be here. This is Henry’s home, not mine. What makes me think I am capable of being mistress of such a place, mother to his nieces, wife to him?
His return only added to her fear. When Henry knocked upon the door a moment later, Rebekah knew right away that something was wrong. There was no longer any laughter in his voice, no smile on his face.
Is it my dress? My hair?
A variety of emotions filled his eyes, none of which were comforting. “I merely wanted to wish you good-night,” he said. “It has been a long day. I’ll leave you to settle into your new surroundings.”
With that, he closed the door behind him. Rebekah sank to the bed. He’d given her no further instructions concerning the children, and his sudden change of behavior, his abrupt departure, left her little opportunity to mend whatever she had done wrong.
Just what would morning bring?
Chapter Six
Rebekah lay in the darkness for hours, listening to every creak, every groan the strange house made. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that sleep finally claimed her. When Sadie drew back the curtains and sunlight flooded the room, Rebekah woke with a jolt. The maid promptly set a breakfast tray on her lap.
“Mama said if you’d like something else, let her know. She’d be happy to oblige.”
Rebekah looked the food over. There were eggs, tea, toast and jam. She wouldn’t have been able to eat all of it even if she was hungry—which she wasn’t. “Oh, this is plenty,” she told Sadie. “Please tell your mother I am most appreciative.”
The young maid nodded. “I’m about to bathe Miss Grace, and Mama said to tell you Miss Kathleen is downstairs having her breakfast. Mr. Henry’s already had his, bein’ as he left so early.”
Rebekah’s stomach lurched. He’s gone?
She had thought surely he would speak to her this morning concerning the children. How was she to fulfill the role of mother if she wasn’t sure what steps to take? Why had he left her on her own?
“Mama said the council sent for him,” Sadie offered. “Said it was urgent business.”
So was it work? Was something pressing happening in the city? “Did he say when we should expect his return?”
“No, ma’am. He didn’t. At least not to Mama, but perhaps James might know.”
Yes, Rebekah thought. I shall ask him. Perhaps Henry left some sort of instructions with him. At that, she drew in a breath. It was time to begin a new day. Her first day as a mother. She had no idea where to begin.
Not wanting to offend Hannah, Rebekah ate what she could of the tray, then sent it back downstairs with Sadie. After dressing, she went in search of James. However, he was nowhere to be found.
She went to the kitchen. A pot was steaming on the stove, and bread dough lay upon the table. One meal was finished, and Hannah was already hard at work preparing the next. She smiled when Rebekah approached.
“Well, good morning, Mrs. Nash.”
“Good morning, Hannah.”
Kathleen was sitting at a small table in the far corner of the room, nibbling on her own plate of eggs. She was already dressed, her dark locks plaited and bound. That eliminated any notion Rebekah had of passing the time with the child by brushing her hair and assisting with her clothing. She drew in a nervous breath, then smiled at the girl. Whe
n she failed to receive one in return, the butterflies in Rebekah’s stomach once again took flight.
I can manage this, she told herself. I spent over a year managing a ward full of wounded soldiers. I can surely manage a four-year-old child and a baby. In the military hospital, however, she had been given detailed instructions, a strict schedule to keep. She turned back to Hannah. “I was looking for James. Do you know where he is?”
“Out on errands,” the woman replied, hands deep in the bread dough. “Is there something I might help you with?”
And there went any hope that Henry might have left instructions for Rebekah with Hannah. If he had, she surely would have said so. “No. That’s all right. Thank you for breakfast.”
Again the woman smiled. “I asked Mr. Henry what kind of eggs you liked, but he said he didn’t know.”
No. Of course he wouldn’t know, Rebekah thought. How could he?
“Mr. Henry always takes his poached. He suggested I make the same for you, and if you weren’t pleased, I could make something else.”
She could barely swallow the food, but that wasn’t Hannah’s fault. The truth was, on an ordinary day, she would have thoroughly enjoyed poached eggs. They were her favorite. At least Henry and I have that in common. “I was very pleased. Thank you.”
“What time will you be s’pectin’ supper?” Hannah then asked.
Rebekah balked. Dinner was always served in her father’s home promptly at seven, with no exceptions, but she had no idea what time her husband normally dined. Rebekah didn’t wish to run the risk of doing anything of which Henry might disapprove.
“At what time is Henry accustomed to dining?” she asked.
“’Round six, but he don’t always mind his watch. If he’s got business, sometimes he don’t show until nigh eight.”
“But when he is home he prefers to eat at six?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s keep the same schedule.”
Hannah then inquired what she would care to have served. It felt odd to be plied with such questions, for Rebekah had never been asked her preferences before. But I was never the lady of the house before.
While there were certain foods she liked and certain ones she disliked, again Rebekah was hesitant to put forth her opinions. She didn’t wish to do anything contrary to Henry’s preferences.
“Whatever meals Henry is used to having will be fine,” she told Hannah.
Hannah nodded and then went back to her bread dough. Kathleen was silently watching Rebekah from across the room. Rebekah wondered for a moment if she should have asked whether the child had any meal preferences, but again, she did not wish to do anything without her husband’s permission.
Standing there for a moment longer, she was tempted to ask the cook what she should do next. In her father’s house, she had always been issued orders, told where to go and whom to see. Now she had no direction.
For some strange reason, Rebekah thought again of Mary Lincoln. What had life been like for her those first few days of her husband’s presidency, trying to settle into a strange house, while he saw to the urgent business of the nation? And what must it have been like for her children? Lonely, I suspect.
Kathleen was still staring at her. Loneliness was an emotion Rebekah never wanted this little girl or her sister to experience. Marshaling what she hoped was a cheery, confident face, Rebekah claimed the chair beside her.
“You are to be my Aunt Rebekah,” Kathleen said.
Rebekah’s heart was stirred by the title. “Yes,” she said, “I am, and I would be very pleased to get to know you better. What would you like to do today?”
Kathleen blinked and shrugged her shoulders.
“Shall we find your sister and then decide?” Rebekah offered her hand. The child cautiously accepted. Giving her another smile, Rebekah led her to the foyer.
Sadie was just coming down the staircase with Grace in her arms. The baby wiggled, rooted and began to fuss. “I think she may be ready to eat again,” Sadie said. “She woke earlier than usual this morning, begging for a bottle.”
Rebekah was embarrassed that she hadn’t been woken by the child herself. Had Henry? Had he been irritated by the fact that she hadn’t come to feed the little one? Not that she would have known what to do, anyway. She’d never fed a child before.
But I must learn. And now is as good a time as any to start.
“If you’ll fetch me the necessary items, I’ll see to her,” Rebekah said.
The maid seemed most eager to hand the baby over. “Yes, ma’am,” she said before she flew off toward the kitchen.
A writhing babe now in her arms, Rebekah looked at Kathleen. “We’ll give your sister her bottle, and then we’ll find something amusing to do.”
They moved to the parlor. Rebekah settled in a comfortable chair while Kathleen took up post beside the nearby tea table, eyeing her sister and her new aunt with silent curiosity. Grace’s cry grew louder. Hannah came into the room.
“You sure you want to do this, Miss Rebekah?” she asked. “Sadie can feed her.”
For one quick moment, Rebekah was tempted to relinquish the child. However, she hid her nervousness with a smile and a bit of reason. “You and Sadie have done so much already. Please let me help you.”
Hannah grinned appreciatively, then showed Rebekah how to fix the rag inside the bottle and dab it on the baby’s lips. Grace quickly began to suck.
“There, that’s it,” Hannah said encouragingly. “You’ll want to give the bottle a slight turn every so often or it will leak. My, she is hungry.”
“Then she is growing,” Rebekah said, parroting what she’d heard her friend Julia say many times about her own child.
“Indeed,” Hannah said. “I believe she likes you.”
Rebekah’s heart swelled. Grace stared up at her, dark blueberry eyes wide with interest. So delicate, so helpless, Rebekah thought, and so easy to love. Inadvertently she thought of the baby’s uncle, wondering, Will he prove the same?
Shoving the thought aside, she gave Kathleen a smile and then returned her attention to the baby. Hannah, seeming confident the children were in good hands, left the room.
All went well for a few moments. Then milk began to dribble down Grace’s chin. Rebekah turned the bottle as directed but apparently did so much too fast. Milk suddenly rushed out, choking the child.
Oh! Rebekah frantically tossed the bottle aside and heaved the baby upon her shoulder. Upset by the sudden change of position, Grace spewed a mouthful of milk, then let out a wail.
Rebekah quickly patted her back. Milk was running down her own back and bodice, soaking through her corset cover and everything else. The forgotten bottle was leaking all over the nearby tea table, dripping to the floor below. Kathleen was now staring at it wide-eyed.
Rebekah gasped as she noticed the spill. “Oh no!”
Of the same thought, she and Kathleen both reached to right the bottle. Their hands collided. Rebekah succeeded only in knocking the bottle into the poor girl. Now her dress was wet, as well.
Kathleen fanned out her skirt, looking as though she wanted to cry. Rebekah was very near tears herself. Her cheeks burned with shame. “Oh, love... I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
How thankful she was that her new husband wasn’t here to see this. He would think her an incompetent fool. Perhaps that’s what she was. Grace, now beet red, was still screaming, and the milk meant to soothe her was everywhere but in the baby’s mouth.
Hannah returned, her eyes wide at the sight that greeted her. Repressing a smile, she came to Rebekah’s aid. “Here, miss—let me help you.”
“Bless you, Hannah,” was all Rebekah could think to say. The woman took the baby. “Oh, your dress,” Hannah exclaimed.
“It’s all right.” Kathleen is worse off than
I.
“This is my fault,” Hannah said. “I shouldn’t have left you. You just seemed so confident—” She stopped, obviously uncertain if she could speak as frankly with Rebekah as she could with Henry. Rebekah, though, welcomed the friendly tone. In her father’s home, all her mistakes had been criticized with harshness...and sometimes violence. Hannah’s gentle reprimands were painless in comparison.
“No, Hannah. It is entirely my fault. And confident? I am anything but!”
Grace’s was still wailing, but the older woman seemed to take it in stride. “Don’t you worry, now. You’ll master things soon enough,” she assured Rebekah. “Why don’t you go and take care of Miss Kathleen, then change your dress, as well. I’ll finish with Miss Grace, and Sadie can see to the rest.”
The rest, meaning the milk-coated tea table and the stained carpet. Rebekah winced. If my father saw this, he would... She shook off the thought, for it was this family she needed to concern herself with now. She looked again at poor Kathleen.
“Come, love, let’s take care of that pretty dress of yours.”
The child once more reluctantly put her hand in hers. Together they walked upstairs.
“Have you a favorite color you like to wear?” she asked her.
“My mama likes yellow.”
Oh dear, Rebekah thought. Hence the yellow dress Kathleen now wore.
There were no other yellow dresses in the girl’s wardrobe, so Rebekah did her best to encourage her into a cream-colored one. “It’s almost yellow,” Rebekah said.
“But it’s not the same.”
“No, it isn’t,” she conceded, “but if you put this one on for now, I shall make certain your yellow dress is cleaned well so that you can wear it again very soon.”
Kathleen reluctantly stepped into the dress. Sadie arrived the moment Rebekah finished fastening the last of the hooks and eyes.
“If you’ll give me your dress, as well, I’ll see to it now,” she said to Rebekah.
Leaving Kathleen in her room, Rebekah went to change. When she returned, the little girl was at the window. In her hands was a tintype of a woman bearing her and Henry’s likeness.
The Reluctant Bridegroom Page 9