The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Shannon Farrington

  Whispering a prayer and drawing in a deep breath, he told Smith of his chance encounter with Booth. He described the carriage ride to the train station and his visit to the Branson Boarding House.

  Smith listened silently. His steel-gray eyes seemed to penetrate Henry’s very soul.

  “I assure you, Detective,” Mr. Davis said, “this man had no knowledge of Booth’s plan when he met him, nor had he any knowledge of the connection with Miss Branson and Lewis Paine.”

  Smith again focused his attention on Henry. “Did you know Paine was a patient at the Army General Hospital on Pratt Street?” he asked.

  “Not at the time, sir. I only learned of that after the fact.”

  “How?” Smith asked.

  Henry’s first thought was Rebekah. She had told him that detail, but he did not wish to bring her name into the conversation. “The newspapers,” he said. It was true, after all. She had been reading them. That was how she had recognized Paine as being Powell, the escaped prisoner from her ward. Henry had read the article for himself early this morning.

  “I see,” Smith said. “And why tell me all of this now?”

  “I had thought to come to you earlier,” he said.

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, sir.”

  “So you mean that as the trial of the conspirators progressed, you thought you, yourself, might soon be under suspicion.”

  Henry swallowed again. “That did cross my mind, Detective.”

  Davis then handed the man Henry’s statement. “May I point out, Detective, that Councilman Nash did come to you of his own free will, and he has graciously provided you with documentation of these events.”

  Smith eyed the paper shrewdly before laying it aside and once again leveling his penetrating gaze at Henry, who held his breath for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Councilman Nash,” Smith said finally, “I know all about your ride to the train station and your ill-timed visit to the Branson Boarding House. I have known from the beginning.”

  Henry’s jaw dropped. “You’ve known from the beginning? How?”

  “Witnesses, of course. You’ll be pleased to know that they each insisted your only crime could be kindness or, at the most, a bit of campaigning.”

  Henry could feel himself reddening. All of this for nothing...? Why didn’t I just tell the truth to begin with? Oh, God, forgive me for my weakness. If only I had...if only I had reached out to You in the first place...

  “So you see, Councilman, you’ve wasted the attorney’s valuable time, not to mention mine, and you have vexed yourself for no good reason. I advise you to return home, look after your new bride and leave me to my business. I have bigger fish to catch.” He called for the corporal. “Show these men out.”

  Dazed and bewildered, Henry exited the provost marshal’s compound.

  “Well, that certainly went easier than I expected,” Davis said.

  “Indeed,” Henry replied. “Do you think this will be the end of the matter?”

  “It would seem so...but should the detective approach you again, do not hesitate to call upon me.” He handed Henry his card, then added, “And might I suggest, if there is indeed a next time, do not wait so long to do so.”

  Henry took the card and then shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  They went their separate ways. Walking home, Henry told himself he should be relieved, but he wasn’t. His life was far from settled, let alone happy. He wondered exactly what he should say to Rebekah when he saw her. “I’m sorry... I’d like to make this work... The children need a mother and you are so good with them”?

  Nothing sounded right. Nothing seemed sincere. He had hurt her deeply. He did not wish to do so again. God help me. I want to start over completely with her...but I don’t even know where to begin.

  * * *

  Sunlight was filtering through the large oak tree. Grace lay on Rebekah’s lap, staring up at its gently swaying branches. Kathleen was seated beside them. She had found an inchworm crawling on a nearby rock. Mesmerized, she studied the creature intently.

  The garden provided the serenity and solace that each of them seemed to need. Kathleen was enthralled with the world around her. Grace was content, and as long as Rebekah focused on her present surroundings, on the colors, scents and sweet faces before her, she felt peace. The moment she dared think of the past or the future, however, the knot in her stomach tightened.

  And it shows on my face. She knew that for a fact, because when Rebekah had gone to fetch Kathleen after receiving Henry’s unexpected letter, the little girl observed, “Your face has lines.”

  Rebekah smiled, hoping to wipe away any such traces. Whatever Kathleen had spied clearly troubled her. “I was deep in thought,” she said.

  Kathleen scooted from her bed. The wary expression remained. “’Bout what?”

  Rebekah drew her close to her heart, wanting to reassure her. “Nothing you need concern yourself with, love. All is well.”

  She had said the words but knew how hollow they actually were. Life was far from well. Kathleen had lost her mother and her father. Was she about to lose her uncle, as well? How Rebekah wanted to shelter her and her little sister.

  “I love you,” she said as she brushed a wisp of hair from Kathleen’s cheek.

  The child turned to her, her eyes blue as a clear September sky. She smiled. “I like havin’ a’ Aunt Rebekah.”

  Rebekah kissed the top of her head. Kathleen then returned her attention to her inchworm. Grace now stared at Rebekah, her dark blueberry eyes intense and alert.

  What is going through her mind? Rebekah wondered. Does she think I am her mother? Her real mother? Rebekah would have felt privileged to claim the honor but knew herself to be insufficient for the task. She was mastering feedings, diapering and rocking, but can I actually be the mother she and Kathleen need? Can I do it alone if it comes to that? Would she even be allowed to do so? If Henry could no longer care for them, would Delegate Nash contest his son’s decision to give her custody?

  Rebekah shut her eyes tight, wanting to pray but hesitant. God would not wish to be bothered with her fears. What was she, after all, to the likes of Him? A failure, a weak-willed woman, a sinner.

  Rebekah’s head snapped up as the door to the house opened. Henry had returned. She didn’t know whether to feel relief or resentment, thankfulness or fear.

  Kathleen waved to him happily. “Come and see what I found!”

  He came at once, a smile on his face, although Rebekah noted it seemed a bit forced. There were lines on his face, as well, particularly his forehead. Kathleen failed to notice them.

  “See my worm?”

  As he bent down to appreciate Kathleen’s discovery, Rebekah stood. Taking Grace, she moved to the opposite side of the garden. The daylilies there would soon be in bloom. Rebekah studied their long green pods intently, searching for the first hints of orange. After a moment, she heard Henry approaching. The gravel was shifting beneath his feet.

  “Rebekah? May I speak with you, please? It concerns Detective Smith...”

  The fear she’d felt previously had given way to a different emotion: anger. She did not wish to speak to Henry about this subject—or any other, for that matter—but knowing Kathleen was watching, Rebekah obliged. Biting back all she wanted to unleash, she turned to face him.

  “I spoke with the detective just now,” he said, his voice low. “He did not believe my actions to be criminal. Therefore, we will have no further trouble from him.”

  Rebekah forced herself to take a breath. She told herself she should be grateful. Grace and Kathleen would not face a future of ostracism from society, but her agitation only grew.

  “We will have no further trouble...”

  We. He’d said the word as if th
ey were actually a couple. We may be bound by law but not love. Grace, dissatisfied with the way she was being held, wiggled. Rebekah shifted her from one arm to the other, then returned her attention to the unopened lilies. The petals trapped inside the pods were struggling to burst free.

  “Did you receive my letter?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Rebekah replied, refusing to meet his gaze. She wouldn’t chance doing so. If she did, she was certain her temper would make itself known.

  The letter was still in her skirt pocket. She felt like tossing it in his face. She wasn’t fooled by his false apologies and promises of wealth. She knew why he had written it. She knew what it really was. She could recognize a bribe when she saw one.

  Her father had been a master. The rings, the dresses he gave his wife, were payment for her acting the part of a supportive, contented woman in public. Nights at the theater or other outings were designed to make the voters think him attentive and in love with the woman he had married.

  And now you seek to do the same...

  Henry stepped closer. The smell of soap powder from his freshly laundered shirt overpowered the scent of the garden. It nauseated her.

  “Rebekah, please understand... I know I have done wrong and I am truly sorry. I know I haven’t sought the Lord’s counsel much in these past few weeks, but I make you this promise—I will from here on out. I want to make this marriage work. I want to be a good husband to you and a loving father to Grace and Kathleen.”

  “A loving father...” The words shouldn’t have cut her so, but they did. He loved Grace and Kathleen. He just didn’t love her.

  The baby began to cry. Rebekah’s eyes blurred, also. All her life she had wished to be dear to someone—her father, her husband, God... What was so wrong with her that she was unable to secure affection?

  Henry touched her on the sleeve. “Rebekah, please look at me.”

  She couldn’t, wouldn’t. Hoisting Grace onto her shoulder, Rebekah forced herself to speak. “I understand, Henry. I, too, want what is best for Grace and Kathleen.”

  She kept her attention on the flowers until at last the gravel shifted again. Henry returned to Kathleen. Rebekah swallowed back her pain.

  Separate spaces, she thought. Separate rooms. We’ll come together only for the good of the children, or when his work deems necessary. I’m destined to relive the life I saw my parents live. But she told herself there was no point in being angry or disappointed. My marriage is what it is. I have a roof over my head, plenty to eat. I have more than most. The sooner I resign myself to this arrangement, the better off the girls and I will be.

  She tried her best. That night, she dined with Henry and answered his questions politely concerning what she and the children had done before his arrival. Later she helped Kathleen dress her dolls and comb their hair. She fed Grace and rocked her to sleep, then put both her and her sister to bed. Afterward she went to her own room. Finding her knitting needles, she started a swaddling blanket for the baby.

  She did the exact same things the following day.

  On Sunday they went to church. It seemed odd to be claiming Henry’s pew, when her family was seated six rows ahead on the opposite side of the aisle. Rebekah studied them. With her father absent, her brother, Teddy, was seated in his place, just as he always was whenever the head of the house was in Annapolis.

  Rebekah returned her focus to the family with her. Wrapped in her newly finished blanket, Grace slept soundly in one of Rebekah’s arms. Kathleen leaned upon the other while quietly thumbing through the hymn book. A few moments later, she switched to leaning on Henry.

  Rebekah sang the customary hymns and did her best to concentrate on the sermon Reverend Perry delivered rather than think of the man sitting just inches from her.

  Anger bubbled inside her. Disappointment burned her soul. She loved the children and they cared for her, but she wanted more. She had always wanted more.

  She looked again at Reverend Perry, finding herself irritated with him now, as well. Where was this all-encompassing peace, this soul-satisfying love of which he spoke? God must be selective in whom He grants it, she thought.

  Just as the preacher was concluding his message, smack in the middle of the congregation’s most reflective moments of silence, Grace woke with a jolt. Whether she was wet or hungry, Rebekah wasn’t certain, but she was most definitely cross. Her face twisted in protest. Rebekah knew what was about to follow. She bounced the baby lightly, hoping to keep her quiet.

  “Nothing,” her father had always insisted, was “more disruptive in a service than a crying infant!”

  And cry Grace soon did.

  “Shh,” Rebekah pleaded. “Shh.” She put the baby on her shoulder, patted her back.

  Kathleen eyed her with a look of distress. Rebekah could feel Henry’s gaze upon her, as well, his and everyone else’s behind them. Grace’s head bobbed side to side. She arched her back. Rebekah stroked her rigid spine, but to no avail. The baby began to wail.

  Cheeks burning, Rebekah quickly scooted from the pew and hurried for the front door. Once outside, she took up post beneath the maple tree and continued to bounce the child.

  Sunlight now upon her face, Grace was soon perfectly happy, as if she had wanted only to leave the confines of the sanctuary and experience the fresh air. Rebekah ceased her bouncing, but the anxiety inside her did not fade. Was she the cause of Grace’s distress? Had the baby sensed the tension inside her?

  Can everyone else sense it? Is my inadequacy obvious to everyone in the church? What should she do? Perhaps her mother could offer her some advice. While Rebekah wouldn’t call her a shining example, she had raised five children and had always excelled at keeping up appearances.

  A few minutes later, the church doors opened, and the congregants began descending the steps. Rebekah spied her mother and siblings. Moving toward them, she offered a greeting. Her mother nodded to her as though she was little more than a stranger and then continued toward the carriage. Her brothers did the same, with the exception of Joseph, who waved at her enthusiastically.

  Rebekah watched them go, the great emptiness inside her deepening. Henry’s shadow soon fell over her. He slid his hand around her waist. For a second she dared to think he had perceived her hurt and was trying to comfort her. Her heart desperately longed to believe it, but that couldn’t be the case. He was a politician, just like Rebekah’s father. The congregation, the voting citizens of Baltimore, were watching their every move. Henry Nash wanted to look like a caring husband. That didn’t mean he actually wanted to be one.

  * * *

  How can they be so cold? Henry wondered.

  He’d seen the look of disappointment, of pain on his wife’s face when her family had passed her. Even though they were in public, his first thought had been to draw her close, offer her the comfort and support he could see she craved.

  Babies cried in church. It was a fact. It didn’t mean Rebekah was a poor mother.

  His wife, however, did not wish for his encouragement, and she’d made it known. The moment Henry slid his arm around her waist, he’d felt her stiffen. He had no doubt she would have pulled away from him completely were it not for her friends’ arrival.

  The ladies swarmed around them, offering hugs to Rebekah and congratulations to him. Poor Kathleen was nearly consumed by the bell-shaped skirts. Backing into Henry’s legs, she tugged on his frock coat. He scooped her up into his arms.

  “The girls and I were so surprised to hear of your wedding,” Mrs. Julia Ward said, her own child in her arms, “but we were oh so pleased.”

  Henry swallowed hard, wondering how his wife would respond to such a comment. He wondered, too, what his own face revealed.

  “Y-yes,” Rebekah stammered. “Thank you.” She moved Grace from one arm to the other.

  “What a beautiful family,” Miss
Sally Hastings said. “Rebekah, you must come to the sewing circle once you have gotten settled in your new home. And bring the children. We have missed you so.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Elizabeth Wainwright added. “It has been so long since you’ve joined us.”

  Rebekah nodded—rather sullenly, Henry thought. She had not mentioned attending any circle before, but he didn’t want her forgoing it simply because she had married him.

  “We are looking for a new project,” Miss Trudy Martin—Mrs. Wainwright’s twin sister—announced. She then said to Henry, “In the past, we have knitted socks for soldiers, sent clothing to prisoners.”

  “It sounds like a noble effort,” he replied. He could see the interest, the longing on his wife’s face.

  “When are you planning to meet again?” she asked.

  “As soon as we can agree upon whose turn it is to host,” Julia replied.

  Rebekah repositioned Grace upon her shoulder. Henry was trying his best to read his wife. Did she wish to attend the meeting? Was she worried about managing the children in a friend’s home, especially given what had just happened in church?

  “Perhaps the ladies would care to join you in our home,” he said to her. “Dare I say it would be easier with the children, rather than bringing them somewhere else?”

  The look she gave him was one of surprise, then something else he couldn’t quite read. Appreciation? Suspicion?

  “I believe it would be easier,” she said.

  “Then it’s all settled,” Mrs. Ward said, clearly delighted. From there they determined a date.

  “Oh, this will be wonderful!” Miss Martin said. “Rebekah has never hosted before.”

  Oh no, Henry thought. Had he just volunteered his wife for something she didn’t wish to do? She was smiling at her friends, but was it genuine or for appearances’ sake only?

  He asked her straight out as they walked home. “Did I inconvenience you by inviting your friends into our home?”

  “No,” she said.

  He’d hoped for more than a one-word answer. He tried to encourage further conversation. “You seemed interested in attending, but then when Miss Martin said you had never hosted—”