A round of giggles ensued as brown paper packages emerged from sewing baskets. They were soon thrust in Rebekah’s direction.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she asked, although she had a fairly good idea.
“You didn’t think we would let you get married without a proper start,” Julia said with a laugh.
A proper start... Rebekah swallowed back the lump forming in her throat and tried to smile. “You are too kind.”
“Go on!” Trudy said impatiently. “Open them!”
“Yes,” Sally added. “Don’t keep us waiting!”
Rebekah felt awkward, but what else could she do, given the circumstances? Her friends were insistent. Reluctantly she untied the string on the first package. Beneath the paper was a delicate lace pillow.
“That’s mine,” Sally said.
“How lovely! Did you make this?” Rebekah asked.
Her friend blushed. “I did. I thought it would look nice in your parlor.”
Rebekah was truly touched. All the work that went into this... “It’s beautiful.”
“And now for the next one,” Trudy insisted, handing her another package. She had given Rebekah a copy of The American Frugal Housewife, a book full of cleaning remedies, housekeeping strategies and anything else a woman would need to know about managing her home.
Elizabeth presented her with a large box of candles. Julia gave her a painted silk fan and a flowerpot full of seedlings.
“What’s this?” Rebekah asked, not recognizing the plant.
“Chinese balloon flower,” Julia said proudly. “I thought you would like it. I’m told Martha Washington once grew it in her garden at Mount Vernon.”
Rebekah’s throat tightened even further.
“Do the blooms really look like little hot air balloons?” Trudy asked.
“Indeed they do,” said Julia. “They are floating all over my garden right now.”
Rebekah did her best to keep back her emotions, but all she could think of was the night Henry had told her about his service in the aeronaut corps. How much she had wanted to float through the clouds with him! “You are too kind,” she repeated. “Too kind indeed...”
“There’s one more,” Sally said, handing her a rather large package. “This is from all of us. We finished it only yesterday.”
Rebekah unwrapped the paper to find a beautiful nightdress, its neckline embroidered with, of all things, tiny pink roses. Unable to contain her emotions any longer, she burst into tears.
“Oh,” Trudy gasped, looking almost equally distressed, “don’t you like it?”
“It’s lovely,” Rebekah tried to say through her choking sobs. “It’s just... I don’t deserve it.”
“Oh, of course you do,” said Sally.
“No...really... I don’t...”
Julia and Elizabeth exchanged knowing glances.
“It’s happened, hasn’t it?” Elizabeth said.
Rebekah’s cheeks burned with shame. So it is obvious. Everyone knows my marriage is a lie! She stared down at the gift in her lap, a gift she knew she’d never wear.
“You and Henry have had your first quarrel, haven’t you?”
First quarrel? Her head came up. Is that what they all thought? It went way beyond a simple quarrel, but Rebekah couldn’t bring herself to admit this. All she could do was cry.
From the corner of the room, Kathleen was eyeing her with a look of concern. Rebekah tried for her sake to rein in her emotions, but was unable to stop the tears. Thankfully, Sally took it upon herself to distract the children. She scooted in between Kathleen and Rachael, marveling over how well they had, or at least, had tried, to dress their dolls.
“I suspected there had been a quarrel when we met Henry at the door,” Julia said. “He just didn’t seem himself.”
“Indeed.” Elizabeth smiled sympathetically. “And neither did you. But rest assured, Rebekah. All will be well soon enough. If it makes you feel any better, David and I weren’t married twenty-four hours before we had our first disagreement.”
Julia gave a little laugh. “Samuel and I weren’t even married before we had ours...”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, “we all remember that. Here we were making lace for your gown, and we worried there wasn’t even going to be a wedding.”
“At least Henry doesn’t have to worry about losing Rebekah,” Trudy remarked. “They are already married.”
Yes, Rebekah thought. We are. She knew her friends were trying to console her, and she appreciated that. But if they only knew...
Elizabeth looked again to her. “Would it help to talk of it?” she asked.
Absolutely not, Rebekah thought. She could feel herself reddening further. “I don’t think so...”
The women respected her privacy and after a few moments decided that, given the circumstances, they should go. As they prepared to depart, Rebekah felt a mixture of relief and guilt. Here it was, her first opportunity to host the circle, and her guests were leaving early because she couldn’t conceal her emotions.
If I am going to remain in this arrangement, I must learn better self-control—if not for my sake, then for the sake of Grace and Kathleen. It will not benefit either of them to be surrounded by rumors of their aunt and uncle’s unhappiness. “Perhaps you could return here next week,” Rebekah said, “and we’ll work then on the clothing for the freedmen.”
“That is a lovely idea,” Elizabeth said.
The women each hugged Rebekah before leaving. “Don’t be discouraged,” Julia whispered. “I’m sure whatever has happed between you and Henry will work itself out. Disagreements come to all relationships. It is how they are navigated that determines the future. You love Henry and he loves you...just keep that in mind.”
“I will,” Rebekah said, but only she knew how empty that promise really was.
She walked them to the door. After they had gone, Rebekah stood in the foyer until she felt Kathleen tugging on her skirt. “Why did the ladies bring you presents?” she asked. “Is it your birthday?”
Her eyes were wide with interest, as blue and captivating as those of her uncle. Rebekah did her best to smile. “No. It isn’t my birthday. They brought presents because I have married your uncle Henry.”
“Oh. When I get married, will I get presents?”
“I imagine so.” The thought of Kathleen one day finding herself in a loveless union sent a shiver down Rebekah’s spine. But surely Henry would not allow such a thing, not when he adores this child so... Surely he would want her to be loved as much as I do.
Rebekah lifted her into her arms and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for playing so nicely with Rachael while the ladies visited.”
“She’s little,” Kathleen said, as if the maturity difference between two and four was incalculable.
“Yes, she is, and I appreciate you being so kind to her. You are a good girl.”
Kathleen smiled broadly.
“Would you like to help me put the presents in their proper places?” Rebekah asked. “Then, when your sister wakes from her nap, we can go outside.”
Kathleen nodded and slid from Rebekah’s arms. They placed Sally’s pillow on the parlor settee and Elizabeth’s candles in the cabinet where Hannah kept the others. Kathleen carried the potted balloon flower to the back door, while Rebekah took the remaining gifts to her room.
Rebekah mentioned none of presents to Henry when he returned home that evening. As much as she appreciated her friends’ kindness, it didn’t seem right to take joy in wedding gifts when their marriage was anything but joyous.
* * *
Henry had hoped the time spent with her friends would be good for Rebekah, that he’d return home to find her in a more cheerful mood. However, she was as formal and guarded toward him as ever and se
emed even sadder than usual. At dinner it was Kathleen who told him about the wedding gifts.
“There was a pillow, a book, candles, flowers for the garden...”
“Is that so?” Henry glanced at his wife. She was staring at her plate, a flush on her cheeks. Evidently she was embarrassed by her friends’ generosity or perhaps thought he would be. He wasn’t. “That was very kind of your friends to think of us,” he said.
“Yes, it was,” she replied without looking at him. Her attention was on Kathleen. “Finish your supper and we’ll go to the parlor.”
Kathleen nodded eagerly, then looked to Henry. “Aunt Rebekah promised she was gonna to teach me how to sew.”
It warmed his heart to see the way Rebekah was mothering the child and how Kathleen was responding. “Is that a fact?” Henry asked as cheerfully as he could. “I’d like to see that. Would you mind if I joined you?”
Rebekah turned her attention to him with a look of surprise. Kathleen offered the same.
“You’re gonna learn to sew?” his niece asked.
“No,” he said. “I think teaching me would be too much to ask of your Aunt Rebekah.”
Kathleen giggled. “You’d pro’lly stick your fingers.”
“Probably,” Henry agreed.
Rebekah gave no indication whether she wished for his presence or opposed it, but Henry knew there was no hope of building a relationship if they did not spend time together.
The meal now concluded, Sadie brought in Grace.
“She’s all fed and diapered, miss,” the maid said.
“Thank you, Sadie,” Rebekah replied. “I’ll manage her for the rest of the evening.”
“Yes, miss.”
As Rebekah took the girls to the parlor, Henry went to the study to gather his letters and various proposals the city council was considering. Returning then to the front of the house, he claimed the chair next to his wife. Again, she said nothing.
It was a chilly night, especially for early June. A steady rain had settled in over the city, and James had lit a small blaze in the parlor fireplace. As the flames danced and flickered, Henry found himself distracted from council business. It wasn’t the now cozy temperature of the room, nor the soft glow of the hearth. It was the look on Rebekah’s face as she tended to his nieces.
Grace lay in the basket beside her chair, cooing and playing with her toes. Rebekah would reach over every now and again to speak to her or pat her on the belly. Henry couldn’t help but think of how, just a short time ago, the baby had cried incessantly unless held. Grace was becoming secure in her surroundings. Kathleen was, as well. She was seated on Rebekah’s lap, concentrating hard on the fabric and threaded needle in her hands.
“Like this?” she asked.
Rebekah’s voice was full of tender affection and encouragement, rich like coffee, smooth as silk. “Yes, good. Try to keep your stitches in a nice straight line, and make them as small as possible.”
“It’s hard.”
“It is, but it will get easier with practice.”
Henry was captivated. It was more than just appreciation of Rebekah’s patient way with Kathleen, more than the fact that she was willing to help raise the girls despite her and Henry’s flawed marriage. It was as if he was seeing her for the very first time.
Her long, delicate fingers gracefully guided the child’s stitches. Lamplight mingled with firelight, softly caressing her beautiful chocolate-brown hair. Henry suddenly felt the urge to take the pins from it, run his fingers through the thick tresses. “Rebekah, you are very lovely.”
The blurted compliment made Kathleen look up from her stitching and grin, but stunned wasn’t word enough to describe the look on his wife’s face now.
Henry held her gaze. Yes, I mean it. I truly do...
It seemed she didn’t believe him. Distrust darkened her features as she returned her attention to Kathleen. “Yes, love, that’s it. Very good.”
Henry was disheartened by her lack of response, but he supposed he could not blame her for turning away from him. She had obviously taken his words for empty flattery. He tried to recall what he’d read from the Scriptures. How did God win hearts? By being a servant.
While Rebekah continued teaching Kathleen, Henry silently contemplated the meaning of the word. A servant doesn’t demand his way, claim his rights. He does his job, thanklessly, consistently, quietly...
If his father or his fellow council members knew what he was thinking, surely they would laugh in his face. Undoubtedly they’d say he couldn’t manage his own household and therefore was not capable of managing anything else.
But I’m not accountable to them in this case. I’m accountable to God.
So when Grace cried out for want of a dry diaper, Henry laid aside his work. “I’ll see to her,” he promised. He did not pause to gauge Rebekah’s reaction then. He simply claimed the baby and saw to her need.
* * *
Rebekah didn’t know what had surprised her more—Henry’s compliment or his willingness to tend Grace. She had rarely seen a man claim a fussy child before. She’d certainly never seen her father do so. Nor in all her years at home could she remember him sitting quietly in the parlor with her mother. The only room they ever shared was the dining room.
But Henry had passed the evening in her presence as if he wanted to be with her. He had told her she was lovely. Had he actually meant it, or was he simply saying what he wanted Kathleen to hear?
Surely he is trying to give Kathleen what she once had—loving guardians. She would not begrudge a child her uncle’s love, no matter how oddly he might show it. She kissed the top of the little girl’s head. Kathleen looked up at her and smiled.
“I think you are pretty, too,” she said.
Rebekah’s heart swelled. “Thank you, but no one is as pretty as you, love.”
The mantle clock struck the appointed hour. Rebekah laid aside the fabric, much to the child’s dismay. “It is time for you to go to bed now.”
“Do I have to?”
Do I have to? Rebekah knew she must remain firm, but she couldn’t help but take pleasure in Kathleen’s protest. She would never have dared to question her parents’ command. Kathleen, however, felt she could—and truly wanted to spend more time with Rebekah.
“Do as your Aunt Rebekah says,” Henry said from the doorway. His tone, however, was far from forceful. He looked then to Rebekah. “Grace was yawning, so I laid her down.”
He saw to her needs and put her to sleep? “Thank you,” was all she could think to say.
Kathleen reluctantly moved from Rebekah’s lap and went to say good-night to her uncle. Henry surprised her not with a hug but by scooping her into his arms. He tossed her in the air. “The balloon goes up,” he said dramatically, “and...it comes down.”
Kathleen giggled. “Again!”
“Only if you promise me you’ll go straight to bed,” he said.
“I will.”
Henry honored her request. Kathleen again laughed. Rebekah watched the entire episode with a lump in her throat. All her life she had longed for her father’s embrace. Did Henry realize what he was bestowing on these children?
“I’ll see to her, as well,” he said.
Her heart was so full, all she could do was nod. As Henry carried away a still-giggling Kathleen, Rebekah wiped away a tear. She was grateful for Henry’s devotion to the girls, but oh, how she longed for such affection from him, as well.
No! I mustn’t think of such things. I mustn’t pine. Nothing good will come of it.
Determined to bury her emotions, she picked up her own sewing. I’ll use the time I would have spent settling the children to finish another shirt for the freedmen.
Rebekah was fully aware of the hardships the former slaves faced. While her father might not have gi
ven her opportunity for reading newspapers or abolitionist pamphlets, Rebekah still had eyes. She had seen many a slave on the streets of Baltimore. She had ears, as well. She’d heard the discussions of abolitionist visitors at the hospital. It was there Julia had loaned her a copy of Frederick Douglass’s book, the narrative of his life as a slave. Rebekah had read it during her meal breaks.
Even now she shuddered as she remembered reading the tales of backbreaking labor, the beatings, the humiliation of being owned by another. She’d blushed at the horrible stories of white masters fathering slave children. Many of those same women then suffered the despair of seeing those children sold away.
Now, as Rebekah sat in her husband’s comfortable parlor, she couldn’t help but feel condemned for indulging in self-pity over her own circumstances. I have nothing of which to complain. I never have. I should be grateful. I have much more than most.
Once more resolved to discount her own pain, she returned to her sewing. A few moments later, Hannah came into the room. In her hands was a cup of tea. “I thought you might be in need of this,” she said, “with the night bein’ so chilly and all.”
“Thank you, Hannah. That is very kind.”
“No, Miss Rebekah, thank you.”
She lowered her needle, blinked. “For what?”
“For the work you are doing to help the freedmen. For the way you love Miss Grace and Miss Kathleen. Mr. Henry was tryin’ his best, but it’s hard to raise children on one’s own. I know.”
Rebekah’s curiosity got the better of her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked, but she couldn’t help herself. “Hannah, did you love Sadie’s father?”
The older woman smiled. The answer was clear. “I did. I loved my Robert with all my heart, and he did me.”
“What happened to him?”
Her smile faded. “He was a slave like me. He was sold away before my belly grew round.”
Rebekah winced. “So he never saw his little girl?”
“No. A few years later, the master sold me and Sadie, as well. That’s how we came to be with Mr. Henry.”
Rebekah blinked, her thoughts suddenly shifting. “Henry told me he never owned any slaves.”
The Reluctant Bridegroom Page 16