The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Shannon Farrington

  You shouldn’t be. “Julia, I am not with child.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you certain?”

  A forceful knock sounded upon the front door. Anxious to put this particular conversation to rest, Rebekah hurried to answer it before James could reach the foyer. She should have let the man attend to the matter, however, for Rebekah was not at all prepared to receive the guest who stood before her.

  Cold dread washed over her. “F-father,” she stammered, “what a surprise.”

  Chest out, jaw sharp, he glared at her. “I am here to see your husband,” he said.

  Rebekah swallowed hard. Why? “I-I’m afraid he isn’t here.”

  Theodore Van der Geld’s frown deepened. That all too familiar chill seized her again.

  Noticing James, her father pushed past her and commanded him, “Fetch me a sheet of paper and an envelope. I wish to leave the councilman a note.”

  James did as he was told. Rebekah watched in horror as her father then strode toward the parlor, only to stop at the threshold when he beheld her friends.

  “Well, I see you are frittering away your time as usual,” he said to her.

  We aren’t frittering, she wanted to say. We are helping the freedman. We are doing important work! Work you would surely be proud of if only you would take the time to notice!

  “Ladies, that is all for today,” he said, as if he owned the house.

  Not one of her friends moved. They simply looked to her.

  Stay! Rebekah wanted to say. This is my house. Not his! But the expression of absolute authority on her father’s face kept her silent. She knew what would happen if she crossed him. She dared not have her friends witness it.

  James returned then with paper and ink.

  “Never mind,” her father said to him. “I will wait for the councilman’s return.”

  Her father waved James away, but the man hesitated. She saw the concern on his face. Do you wish to dismiss me? he seemed to be asking. She wanted to tell him to throw the man out, but what authority could a freed slave assert over a state legislator? She could not put James in such a position.

  Rebekah nodded, tried to smile. “Thank you, James. We won’t be needing a letter after all.”

  He nodded to her and turned to go. Her father was now glaring at her friends. Not one of them had ventured to close her sewing basket, so he stepped into the parlor to encourage them to do so.

  “I’ll wait here for your husband’s return,” he told Rebekah as he commandeered the chair in which she had been sitting.

  The women looked at her the same way James had, all except Julia. Rebekah spied the scowl on her face.

  No, Julia. Don’t say anything. It will only make things worse.

  At that moment, the front door opened. Rebekah turned to see Henry stepping into the foyer. The tension within her mounted.

  “I d-did not except you home s-so soon,” she stammered.

  He laid his hat and gloves on the table. “We adjourned early.”

  She wondered if her friends could hear the unsteadiness in her voice. It was bad enough to have her father interrupt their gathering and reveal his disdain for her. Now her friends would once again witness the strained relations between her and her husband.

  She moved toward the front door so she would at least be out of their view. Henry thought she was coming to greet him personally. He smiled at her. “How goes the sewing circle?”

  He brushed her arms lightly with his hands, as if he was seeing if she would welcome an embrace. Rebekah shivered at his touch, embarrassed once more by Julia’s speculation of pregnancy, further disconcerted by her own conflicted heart. She wanted to trust her husband. She wanted to be sheltered, especially right now.

  She could hear her father’s heavy footsteps approaching.

  “Councilman. I wish to speak with you.”

  Rebekah did not turn to face him. She was too busy watching her husband’s reaction. Henry’s look hardened. “Delegate Van der Geld.” He then looked back at her. “Are your friends still here?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Councilman—”

  Henry held up his hand. “One moment, Delegate.”

  Fear chilled Rebekah’s spine. Snatching her hand, Henry led her to the parlor.

  “Ladies,” he said, “forgive me for not greeting you sooner. How good to see you again. I trust all is well.”

  Rebekah’s heart was beating rapidly. What would her friends do now? What would her father do?

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said. “We are well, and we were just leaving.”

  “Oh?” Henry looked back at Rebekah, then again to her friends. “You don’t have to go on my account. Stay. Finish your work.”

  She felt him squeeze her hand. She knew what he was expecting. He was expecting her to follow his lead. But at this point Rebekah didn’t wish for anyone to stay. She tried her best to keep her composure, to formulate some sort of response to her friends, but her mortification at her father’s rudeness toward them and now Henry’s handling of the situation was so great, she couldn’t find the words.

  “Thank you,” Sally said sweetly, “but you’ve obviously much to which you must attend. We should go.”

  Rebekah nodded her approval, tried to smile. The moment she did so, Henry let go of her hand. He bid the ladies a good day. His tone toward them was pleasant, but she knew he was angry with her. She hadn’t followed his instructions. She chanced a glance behind her. Her father looked just as angry, even though she had followed his.

  The women gathered their sewing supplies and headed toward the door. Julia hugged her before leaving.

  “I’m sorry for teasing you so,” she whispered.

  “It’s all right,” Rebekah managed, for Julia’s gentle needling had disturbed her far less than what had followed.

  “We’ll meet again next week,” Julia insisted. Rebekah did her best to offer Julia a smile. Then she shut the door behind her.

  James had already seen to Henry’s gloves and hat, so Rebekah quietly moved toward the staircase, intent on looking in on Grace and Kathleen. Her stomach was churning. Her head was pounding. All she wanted to do was escape the presence of her father and her husband before whatever battle they were intent on having commenced.

  Henry called for her. “Rebekah, come here, please.”

  She froze, sucked in a breath. She didn’t want to go anywhere near that parlor.

  “Rebekah?” Henry was now standing in the entryway.

  She reluctantly returned. “Y-yes?”

  Her husband drew her up beside him. Rebekah instinctively resisted at first, but gave in. Across the room, her father had reclaimed her chair. He looked like a king on his throne.

  “Now, Delegate,” Henry said. “What is so urgent that you thought it necessary to disrupt my wife’s charitable activities?”

  The tone with which he spoke made Rebekah cringe. What is he doing? She’d never heard anyone speak to her father in such a way before. No man dared think himself entitled to speak to him—much less scold him—as an equal.

  Her father certainly seemed to take offense at Henry’s tone. Standing, he puffed out his chest. His eyes narrowed. “I have come, Councilman, to solicit your presence for an upcoming campaign rally.”

  “Yours?” Henry asked.

  “Yes.”

  Rebekah held her breath as they stared at one another. She wanted to flee from this showdown of authority. Henry, however, kept hold of her. Why are you so intent on keeping me here? What is it you want from me?

  “I will not be attending your rally, Delegate Van der Geld.”

  Rebekah gasped.

  Her father was equally surprised. “You won’t?”

  “No,” Henry said firmly. “I do not appreciate you coming here
and—”

  “Councilman, if I were you—”

  “You are not me, sir, and—”

  Henry did not have the opportunity to finish the sentence, for Sadie then stormed into the room. Her cry spilt the charged air like lightning. “Mr. Henry! Miss Rebekah! Come quick!”

  Rebekah’s heart dropped from her throat to the pit of her stomach. A mother’s instinct told her something was the matter with one of the children. Henry knew, as well. The look on his face instantly changed.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s Miss Kathleen. She’s burnin’ up with fever!”

  Rebekah raced toward the staircase. Sadie followed close behind. All determination to do battle with her father apparently evaporated, for the last thing she heard Henry say was, “Sir, I am confident you can see your way out of my house.”

  Then he came charging up the stairs, as well.

  Chapter Thirteen

  All thoughts of her father and the way Henry had responded to him vanished. Rebekah’s mind was filled now with only one person—little Kathleen. Reaching the nursery, she confirmed Sadie’s description of fever.

  “I’ll have James fetch Dr. Stanton,” Henry said.

  Rebekah saw the fear in his eyes, felt the same emotion in her own heart. The poor child was lying on the bed, pale except for her flushed cheeks. Her skin blazed like fire.

  “I thought she was a little warm when I put her down to rest,” Sadie explained, “but then so was the room. That’s why I opened the window. I didn’t think she had fever. I’m so sorry...”

  “It’s not your fault, Sadie,” Rebekah insisted. It’s mine. I should have known... I should have seen it... I’m supposed to be the one caring for her.

  Rebekah reached for the nearby water pitcher. The liquid was only tepid at best, but she soaked a cloth in it, then laid it to the child’s forehead. I never should have taken her yesterday to the public gardens. She must have come in contact with the fever there.

  “You did well to call us when you did,” Henry said to Sadie. “But if you would, take Grace down to your mother.”

  Rebekah watched the maid claim the baby from the cradle. Her guilt grew, as did her fear. I am such a fool. I should have removed Grace immediately. Are not most fevers spread by inhalation? The baby is in danger now, as well.

  Sadie immediately took the child from the room. When they had gone, Henry stuck his finger in the water pitcher. “This will do no good,” he said. “I’ll fetch cooler water, and I’ll see if Hannah has any ice.”

  “Ice. Yes. Thank you.” I should have thought of that, as well...

  Kathleen was whimpering, tugging at her sheets, but it was no nightmare plaguing her now. Rebekah’s heart ached for her. “It’s all right, love. I’m here. I’m here...” She continued to blot her forehead. How many times did I do this at the hospital? And how many times did those soldiers—? She shoved the thought aside.

  Henry returned with the pitcher of water. He’d secured a large amount of ice from Hannah. The water was so cold, Rebekah could barely touch it.

  He sensed her hesitancy. “It’s what she needs,” he insisted.

  Without word, Rebekah plunged the cloth into the swirling water. In this matter she trusted his judgment far more than she trusted her own.

  Dr. Stanton arrived, and Rebekah relinquished her place beside Kathleen. From one end of the room, she watched him examine the child. Henry watched from the other. When their eyes met, Rebekah felt as though every thought of hers, every action and every failure lay bare before him. Unable to stand such scrutiny, she looked back to Dr. Stanton. He had finished his task, and was now covering Kathleen with her bedding.

  “You were wise to remove the baby,” he said to Rebekah, as if she had been the one to think of it.

  “Do you know what it is?” Henry asked.

  “I can’t be certain as of yet, but my best guess at this point would be scarlet fever.”

  Scarlet fever! The breath lurched in Rebekah’s lungs. As children, she and her brothers had been spared this particular killer. The house next door, however, had not. Six siblings had once resided in that home. Now there were only two.

  A horror unlike anything she had ever experienced before gripped her. For a moment, she thought her knees would buckle. No! she told herself. Now is not the time for weakness. Now is the time for action!

  “Keep her head cool and her body warm,” Dr. Stanton said to her. “We’ll know for certain in a few hours. The rash follows the onset of the fever.”

  Rebekah nodded firmly.

  The gray-headed physician then looked to her husband. All this time, Henry had been standing against the wall, a grave expression on his face. “I’ll return to look in on her first thing in the morning,” Dr. Stanton said. “But send for me straightaway should the situation worsen, or should the baby—”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but Rebekah had no trouble finishing it in her head, or recognizing its gravity. Should the baby contract the fever... She shuddered at the thought. Grace was too little to survive such an illness. Rebekah could not bear the idea of something happening to her. What would it do to Henry? What would it do to her?

  As Henry escorted Dr. Stanton out, Rebekah returned her attention to Kathleen. She sponged. She prayed. Please, God...please, have mercy on them. Don’t punish Kathleen or Grace because of my sinfulness. Please... I’ll do anything you ask. Anything...

  * * *

  Henry returned to the room to find Rebekah had donned a pinner apron and a pair of white oversleeves, looking every bit the army nurse as she hovered over Kathleen. Soaking the cloth in the ice water, she laid it to the child’s forehead, then repeated the procedure.

  He came alongside her, touched Kathleen’s head. She was so hot and yet she shivered. How was that possible? It was as though a war was waging inside her little body. He looked then at Rebekah. There was a war going on inside her, as well. He could see the tears in her eyes, yet her jaw was set with fierce determination. Henry had no doubt she would spend every ounce of energy she possessed, offer every prayer she had, to bring about his niece’s recovery. He’d do whatever it took, as well.

  “Dr. Stanton suggested we send Grace away,” he said.

  “Away?” Rebekah’s blue eyes were wide with alarm. “Too whom? For how long?”

  “For as long as necessary. He suggested we send her to his daughter, Julia. Her child has already had the fever. So if Grace—”

  He couldn’t bring himself to finish the rest of the sentence. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if a baby not yet four months old contracted scarlet fever. He had buried his mother. His sister and his brother-in-law were in their graves, as well. God, not a child...please...not Grace or Kathleen. “I told Dr. Stanton to take her. Hannah and Sadie are gathering up the bottles and diapers now.”

  The tears in his wife’s eyes spilled over. Henry instinctively reached for her. Her reaction was the same as it had been downstairs when he had tried to comfort her. Her spine stiffened. She immediately pulled away.

  Why did she insist on keeping her distance from him? What am I doing wrong?

  Henry realized he probably hadn’t handled her father’s visit in the way he should have. When the arrogant man had stepped out of the parlor, announcing that he had business to discuss, Henry had thought his blood would boil. It wasn’t the demand for an audience that caused his reaction. It was the look in Rebekah’s eyes. She had been obviously frightened.

  No doubt her father had burst through the door and taken it upon himself to clear the parlor of Rebekah’s friends. They had been embarrassed and in a hurry to leave even though Henry had encouraged them to stay.

  Did I come across as too forceful? Possessive? He’d wanted to show acceptance, of his wife and of her friends. He’d wante
d Rebekah to feel valued, protected. She had come to him for help, or so it had seemed at the time. And instead of easing her mind, I frightened her. She fears her father, and she still distrusts me.

  Rebekah once more laid the cloth to Kathleen’s forehead.

  Lord, help me. I want to understand. I want her to feel secure...

  “I think we need more ice,” she said.

  “I’ll fetch it.”

  Going downstairs, he thought more of the emotions she had displayed before coming to him today in the foyer. He remembered a similar expression the night he had first raised his voice to her. She looked as though she thought I was going to strike her. He recalled what she’d said when she’d learned why he had married her.

  “You are just like my father!”

  Henry suddenly realized just what those words meant. The man in charge of her protecting her, the man who was supposed to love her, had done just the opposite. Henry literally felt sick to his stomach, sickened by what had happened to her, sickened further that he had unknowingly perpetuated her fear.

  Oh God, forgive me... I should have realized... I should have put the pieces together long before this. She fears me because of him. And every time I’ve acted in a way that resembles her father, in stance, in word or in deed, I have reinforced that fear.

  Returning to the nursery, he set the water pitcher on the table, then took up post in the chair opposite Kathleen’s bed. Rebekah’s face was flushed, her jaw still tight with emotion.

  Oh God, help me... What do I say? What do I do? He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to take his wife in his arms, promise her no one would ever hurt her again. But my rush to action caused much damage before.

  He’d never known being a husband, a father, would be so hard. It was a maddening feeling, seeing someone you loved so ill, and another so hurt, knowing no matter how much you wanted to, you could not heal either one of them.

  Kathleen was growing worse. Now she was thrashing about, calling for Marianne and John.

  “Mama! Papa! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”

  Her cries tore at his heart. Henry watched Rebekah cradle the girl in her arms, much as she had the night before. He reclaimed the space beside his wife, gently laid his hand upon her shoulder. She flinched, but he held his place. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s going to be all right.” How he prayed his words would prove true, for all of them.