The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Shannon Farrington

  “Mama! Mama!” she cried.

  Rebekah gently brushed the matted hair from the little girl’s forehead and spoke tenderly. “Wake up, love. You are dreaming.”

  Kathleen only cried louder. “No! No! Mama!”

  Rebekah’s heart broke for her. The child had done so well these past few weeks. Rebekah couldn’t help but wonder if the tension exhibited today between her and Henry had caused this insecurity. Guilt raked her heart. This is my fault. I know it is. God, please forgive me...

  Rebekah took Kathleen in her in her arms. Rocking, she held her close and whispered in soft, soothing tones, “Shh...it’s all right, love, it’s all right. I’m here...” I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.

  The poor girl never fully awakened, but as Rebekah continued to speak comforting promises, Kathleen eventually began to settle. Rebekah had hoped to quiet her before Grace was awakened, or worse, Henry. The former still slept. The latter, however, was now standing in the doorway.

  How long he had been there, she did not know, but his presence made her heart pound.

  She inadvertently drew Kathleen closer. “I’m sorry she woke you,” she said.

  He crossed the room and ran his hand lightly over the sleeping child’s head. “I couldn’t sleep, either,” he said.

  Rebekah tensed even further when he claimed the chair beside Kathleen’s bed. Clearly he intended to stay. Why? Was he waiting for her to apologize for her earlier behavior? She didn’t want to find out what would happen if she missed the opportunity.

  “I’m sorry I lost my temper before,” she said, “and I’m sorry I didn’t let you or Hannah know where I was taking the children. I didn’t think I’d be gone so long.”

  “I know you didn’t.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, as well.”

  He was staring at her with the same intensity as earlier, but the harsh tone was no longer there.

  “I didn’t mean to get angry with you,” he said. “Despite how it sounded, I was truly worried about your well-being.”

  “My well-being?”

  Rebekah laid Kathleen back upon her pillows as Henry told her of an encounter with Detective Smith. “It was foolish of me to think the conversation today would be cause for alarm. The detective does not suspect you of any wrongdoing. He said so.”

  Rebekah breathed a sigh of relief, for she had wondered this herself.

  “I let my past fears commandeer my reasoning,” Henry said, “and for that I am sorry.”

  He had said nothing about her accusations. Rebekah’s heart was pounding, not with fear but with a feeling she’d never experienced before and could not name. Rapturous as it was, the moment was all too fleeting.

  “I understand you were quite the nurse,” Henry then said. “The detective told me you received several commendations for your service at the hospital.”

  Rebekah’s cheeks warmed, not with pride but with shame. Quickly she returned her attention to Kathleen.

  * * *

  Henry saw the look of apprehension come across her face. Obviously she did not wish to discuss her time at the hospital. But why? Had the repeated deaths she’d surely witnessed there wounded her, or was there a particular soldier she’d been fond of? Had her father put an end to the relationship because he’d thought the soldier unsuitable? Was that why she had been forced to leave?

  Is that why she has no interest in me?

  He wanted to know, not because he felt he had a right as her husband, but because he yearned to understand. There was so much he didn’t know about her, so much he wanted to learn.

  She was tucking Kathleen’s blankets around her, carefully avoiding his eyes.

  “You are so good with her,” he said. “One would think you had been mothering all of your life.”

  Her jaw twitched. “My brother Joseph had frequent nightmares,” she said. “I was the one to comfort him.”

  “You were? What about your mother?”

  Again, the twitch. It was followed by a shrug. “She never seemed to know what to do for him.”

  Henry felt his indignation rise, not toward her but again toward her family. What kind of a mother doesn’t comfort her children’s nightmares? In what kind of a household exactly had Rebekah been raised?

  How thankful he was to have had a mother who offered affection. Both he and his sister had known their parents’ marriage was not a happy one, but neither had ever doubted they were loved by their mother or, for that matter, God. Henry and Marianne had been nursed through illnesses, given numerous second chances when they failed and taught that mistakes could be forgiven. His Heavenly Father knew he was far from perfect, and He did not expect Henry to be. What He did expect was Henry’s willingness to let God change his character.

  Sadly, I haven’t always done that, but not a day went by now that Henry didn’t pray for God to take control in his life.

  “Your brother was fortunate to have you,” he said, “fortunate to know your love.”

  Rebekah didn’t say anything to that, but his compliment seemed to have struck a chord. He could tell by the way her mouth shifted and by the expression in her eyes as she turned to him. She looked so vulnerable. Everything within him wanted to reach for her. Caution, however, kept him where he was.

  “Your family wasn’t all you hoped they would be, were they?” he asked. “I’m not all you hoped I would be.”

  Even in the moonlight, he could see the blood rushing to her cheeks.

  “Talk to me, Rebekah. Tell me what you are thinking.”

  She fiddled with the blankets once more. “I’m not thinking anything.”

  Allen Tilney’s invitation to Ohio again crossed his mind. “Have you ever considered leaving Baltimore?” he asked. “Have you ever thought of going somewhere entirely new?”

  “What?”

  He quickly told her about his friend’s letter. The look of alarm on her face slowly gave way to one of quiet reflection. Rebekah was listening intently but offered no indication of what she actually thought.

  Taking a chance, Henry left the chair in which he had been sitting. He moved to the edge of Kathleen’s bed, claiming the space beside his wife. Rebekah looked as though she’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe. Was it because of his proximity or because of what he had suggested?

  “It wouldn’t have to be Ohio,” Henry assured her. “We could go anywhere you wanted to go.”

  “What about your position on the city council?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly. “Your political future?”

  “I’d give it up for you.”

  She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Perhaps he had. All Henry knew was, he wanted to make her happy. He took her hand in his. It was trembling.

  “Rebekah, I...” Dare he say it? Was he actually in love with her or did he simply wish to be? He didn’t know. He had never been in love before. He had told her less than the truth when they had wed. He never wanted to be dishonest with her again. “...I care for you,” he said instead.

  Her dark blue eyes were searching his, as if she was desperately trying to decide whether or not he was sincere. Henry stroked her hand lightly with his thumb. For a moment he forgot how to breathe.

  From across the room, Grace began to whimper. Rebekah immediately ripped back her hand and rushed to the cradle.

  Henry watched her closely. Her long brown hair was bound in a braid that fell down her slender back. Her dressing gown swished slightly as she settled the baby. Rebekah must have felt his eyes upon her, for she then said, “The council convenes early tomorrow, doesn’t it?”

  It was a veiled request, but he recognized it for what it was. It was a request for him to leave. “It does,” Henry said. Swallowing back his disappointment, he rose. “Thank you for looking after the children,” he said, and he quietly stepped from
the room.

  Chapter Twelve

  The cobblestone streets were silent. Silver stars twinkled over the slate rooftops of the city. Grace was now content, and Kathleen had long since returned to sleep. Rebekah, though, was as restless as ever. Returning to her bedroom, she walked the floor for hours, chewing on Henry’s words.

  He said he was sorry. He said he cared for me. Does he really mean the things he said, or is he only speaking the words he thinks I want to hear?

  She tried not to be drawn in by the memory of those moments, but she couldn’t help herself. Moonlight had revealed a trace of stubble on his jaw, a firm yet gentle set of his mouth. He had spoken to her tenderly. He had taken her by the hand. Did Henry know how his touch affected her? Did he realize how badly she wished for him to take her in his arms, yet how much she feared it at the same time?

  Charm was indeed a politician’s skill, but the way he had treated her tonight was causing her to question seriously the defenses she had erected against him. Henry wasn’t a forceful man, at least she didn’t believe so—not anymore. Not after he’d responded to her temper with gentleness and apologies. Was the selfless, humble nature with which he engaged the children and that he had demonstrated to her tonight the real man?

  He had talked of giving up politics, of leaving Baltimore behind. He’d said he would do so for me. Father has never given up anything, for anyone.

  Though running away had been a desire of Rebekah’s for years, running away with Henry was another matter. If she were to go to Ohio, or anywhere else, would she find the life, the love she had always dreamed of, or would she discover further heartbreak?

  At least here in Baltimore, I have my friends. I have my work for the Freedmen’s Bureau. I have my own family. The last might not be all she wished them to be...but better the trouble you know than the trouble you don’t, she thought.

  Sighing in exasperation, she sank to the bed. Hannah had said that in time things would settle, that Rebekah would ease into the task of being a wife and mother, that Henry would learn to be a good husband and father. She wanted to believe that was true. He has admitted his faults and apologized for them. He tells me he seeks the Lord’s counsel, that he wants to start again.

  Could they? Who exactly was Henry Nash? Can I risk giving him my heart once again?

  By the time Rebekah dressed the following morning, her husband had long since left the house. Kathleen showed no memory of her nightmare, but the effects of a disturbed rest were evident. She was quiet, if not cross, while Rebekah brushed her hair and braided it into place. At the morning meal she showed little interest in her eggs or even the possibility of playing in the garden. By early afternoon, Rebekah had Sadie put her down for a nap.

  Truth be told, Rebekah wished for one, as well, but her friends were soon to arrive. Though her unresolved feelings toward Henry still weighed heavily upon her mind, she made certain she was all smiles when the others entered the parlor. Rebekah served the tea and cake and talked of the sewing projects for the Freedmen’s Bureau. Her friends were impressed with the clothing she had crafted thus far and were eager to begin their own sets of shirts and trousers. Needles threaded, thimbles in place, they soon set to task.

  “I received a letter from Emily yesterday,” Julia announced as she finished off a seam, then snipped her leftover thread.

  “Did she say what she and Evan will be doing now that the war is over?” Trudy asked.

  “They are to remain in Washington until the bulk of the military hospitals are closed,” Julia told them, “but Emily says Evan is eager to return to Baltimore. He would like to set up house here in the city.”

  “I imagine they would wish to be near her parents,” Elizabeth said, “especially now that they have little Andrew.”

  “Did she say anything in particular about the baby?” Sally asked.

  Julia grinned. “Only that her stern-faced military husband melts whenever his son smiles at him.”

  Rebekah shifted in her seat. She was glad Evan Mackay took pride in his family, but she still didn’t know what exactly her husband thought of his. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this offer to leave politics was simply a play for some grander scheme. But what? she wondered. And in what role would I be cast?

  “Are you all right, Rebekah?” Sally asked. “You look rather pale.”

  Her thoughts must have again shown on her face. Rebekah inwardly scolded herself. “Kathleen didn’t sleep well last night,” she explained. She didn’t tell who else couldn’t sleep, either. The memory of her husband’s nearness, the tenderness of his voice, made her skin tingle.

  “Is Henry home today?” Trudy asked.

  “No,” Rebekah replied. “He’s at City Hall.”

  “Are things better this week?” Elizabeth asked.

  Rebekah felt the heat creep up her neck. It must have shown on her face, as well, for her friends giggled. Her embarrassment grew. She knew what they were assuming. We share a home, the child-rearing responsibilities, but nothing more... Rising quickly, she moved to fetch the teapot. For one quick second, her vision blurred.

  I must be more tired than I thought. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice. They were once again busy with their work.

  Rebekah refilled the teacups, then moved to shut the parlor window closest to her. A steady breeze was blowing the draperies, one much too strong for her today. She felt a little chilled. Upon returning to her seat, Sally mentioned the trial of Mary Surratt. Apparently she had been following the newspapers, as well.

  “Do you think she really is guilty of conspiring to assassinate the president?” Rebekah asked.

  “I don’t know whether she is or not,” Elizabeth said, “but David tells me they are holding her in the most deplorable conditions, that the cell is barely habitable.”

  “Has he seen her?” Julia asked.

  “No, but a source where she is being held says conditions are filthy. David thinks they are treating her that way on purpose, to make an example of her.”

  Rebekah did not comment on any of the discussion. The topic hit all too close to home. To think that Henry married her in the first place to escape the possibility of similar prison conditions was positively nauseating.

  And yet, she couldn’t help but think, if he hadn’t, I would still be in my father’s home. I wouldn’t be hosting the sewing circle, and I would never have known Grace and Kathleen.

  “Did they ever release the actors from the theater?” Sally asked. “I heard they were holding them, as well.”

  “All but one,” said Elizabeth. “Although I believe he is a stagehand.”

  Rebekah tried to steer the conversation in another direction. “I’m surprised you were able to join us today,” she said to Elizabeth. “I thought you’d be busy at the paper.”

  “Actually, I must head back there soon.”

  “Another interview?” Rebekah asked.

  “No. The editor has called a staff meeting.”

  “And how is your Mr. Carpenter?” Sally asked.

  “Oh, he’s not my Mr. Carpenter,” Elizabeth said with a grin. “He’s Trudy’s.”

  All eyes immediately turned to Elizabeth’s now red-faced twin sister. Even Rebekah was curious.

  “Are you courting?” she asked.

  “No,” Trudy said quickly.

  “But she hopes to be soon,” Elizabeth teased.

  She, Julia and Sally giggled. Rebekah did not. The last thing she found humor in now was potential romance. Be careful, she wanted to tell Trudy. He may not be all he appears to be. Be certain you find out who he really is before you agree to anything.

  “I never said I wished for Peter Carpenter to come calling,” Trudy insisted.

  “You didn’t have to,” Elizabeth said. “It’s been written all over your face since the moment you starte
d working at the paper.”

  “Are you an artist now, as well?” Rebekah asked, again hoping to nudge the conversation in a more comfortable direction.

  “Oh no, nothing like that,” Trudy said. “I have no talent for such things. I’m a proofreader. I’ve been working one day a week, just to help them.”

  “Them or him?” Julia teased.

  Blushing once more, Trudy owned up to what was now obvious to everyone in the room. “Well... I suppose...both.”

  A round of laughter ensued. Rebekah’s throat, however, felt tight. In fact, it had been that way all afternoon.

  “Rebekah, are you certain you are all right?” Sally asked. “You don’t look well at all.”

  “I know what’s wrong with her,” Julia quickly answered. “I can tell by the look on her face.” She turned to Rebekah. “Have you called yet upon my father?”

  Rebekah blinked. Your father is a physician. Why should I call upon him? Had Dr. Stanton some concoction for wiping away the pain of the past? Had he a prescription that enabled one to discern truth? She glanced about the room. Knowing looks and smiles passed over the faces of her other friends. She realized what they were thinking.

  “No...” Rebekah said, quickly shaking her head, “No. It’s not that—it isn’t possible.”

  “You’ve been married now for more than a month,” Julia observed. “It is possible.”

  “No,” Rebekah insisted. “It is not.”

  At that, Julia only laughed. “What do you think, Elizabeth? Will there be a future city councilman or a gracious hostess of society?”

  Blood was coursing through Rebekah’s ears, thudding so loudly it surely must be heard by everyone in attendance. She didn’t think her throat could get any tighter, but it had.

  “Hush, Julia,” Elizabeth chided. “Can’t you see you’re embarrassing her?”

  “Am I?” Julia asked as if the thought had never occurred to her. “I’m sorry, Rebekah. I’m just happy for you.”