Nora hesitated, then replied, “I don’t see any harm in it. You’ll be here only a week, and God knows you deserve a good time. I just say—be careful.”
“I will, Nora. I’ll be very careful.” Rebekah was three years older than her cousin, but Nora felt a maternal protectiveness welling up inside of her. She wished the man had not been there, and she resolved to keep a close eye on Rebekah. Taking the kiss that Rebekah put on her cheek, she left the room, thinking, It’s only a week. Surely nothing can happen in a week.
She slept poorly that night, wishing with all her heart that she had handled the affair better.
She wished it even more by the end of the week, for Marlowe had taken Rebekah out every night. Nora had tried more than once to tell the girl that it was improper, but there was always a quick defense in Rebekah’s answer.
“It’s only this week, Nora—then I’ll be going home. I’ll never see him again.”
Nora had talked to Robert, but he only said, “I don’t know what I can do, Nora. I don’t know the man, really, except in a business way—and not very well at that!”
A sense of foreboding would not leave Nora, and she tried to warn Rebekah, who would not listen. “Oh, Nora, it’s so sad! Tyler was married six years ago, but his wife died in childbirth—her first.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and she whispered, “He’s so lonely, Nora!”
“He’s too good-looking to be lonely, Rebekah.”
He is handsome, isn’t he?”
It was all so awkward—and Nora felt responsible for at least some of the problem. Clearing her throat, she said, “Rebekah . . . I know you’re a good girl. But Tyler’s a man of the world. It would be tragic if you . . .” She floundered, then said angrily, “Well, has he tried to make love to you? I’d be surprised if he hadn’t!”
Rebekah’s eyes flashed, and she retorted defiantly, “Yes—he tried once. But when I told him that I couldn’t do—such a thing, it never happened again!”
Nora gently laid a hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “I’m just worried about you, Rebekah! You’re so . . . so young!”
“I’m older than you are, Nora!” For once Rebekah spoke with a trace of anger, and she shrugged off Nora’s hand. “I’m twenty years old, and very likely will wind up an old maid—unless my father marries me off to a rich widower with three children as he tried to do with Louise.”
“Your sister? The one who ran away?”
“Yes.” The anger went out of her, leaving a mist of misery in her eyes. “She writes every year, Nora—and my father tears the letters up without opening them.” She sighed. “These few days are all I have, Nora. I’m going to go with Tyler until Friday. Then I’ll get on a coach and ride out of his life. And I’ll hate these days forever—because I never knew that life could be so—” She broke off and flung herself on the bed, weeping.
Nora stared at her helplessly, then left the room.
All week Nora yearned for Friday to come so that she could sleep again. But when Friday came, she was totally unprepared for what happened.
After breakfast Nora went upstairs to have a last talk with her cousin. Rebekah had been very quiet at the meal and her face was paler than usual. She found the girl all packed and standing at the window looking out at the blooming apple trees.
“All packed?” Nora asked brightly. She went over and put her arm around the other, saying fondly, “It’s been so good to have you, Rebekah! I want you to come back very soon. I’m writing to tell your parents that we must—”
“Nora, I’m going to marry Tyler.” Rebekah turned and her face was swollen from weeping. There was a sadness in her eyes, but a defiant light as well. Cutting off Nora’s protest, she added, “We’re going to New York to be married—and there’s nothing you or anyone else can say to stop me.”
Nora felt as if the world had suddenly dropped away. “Rebekah, this isn’t right! Your parents—have you thought of them?”
“Yes. They’ll tear up my letters—just like they tear up my sister’s—but I’m in love with Tyler. Even though there’s no way my father would have him as a son-in-law.”
“But you don’t know Tyler, Rebekah!”
“I know he loves me!” There was a sound of a carriage drawing up, and she looked out the window. “There he is—I’m going.”
Putting her arms around her cousin, she said, “I’m sorry for putting you through this, Nora. It’s awful of me—but it’s my one chance at happiness!” She tore herself away, picked up her bag and fled from the room. Nora heard the front door slam and she went to the window. Marlowe stood waiting, and Rebekah ran to him. He put his arms around her, said something, then helped her into the coach. Nora could see that Rebekah was still weeping.
She turned from the window, feeling sick, and trembling so hard that she had to sit down on the bed. Tears of angry frustration filled her eyes. It was the first time she’d ever wept for anyone else, and all she could think of was: Rebekah—you don’t even know him!
CHAPTER TWO
A MARRIAGE IN NEW YORK
Rebekah looked down at the counter, comparing the items piled there with the list in her hand. “I think that’s all, Mr. Laughton,” she said. “What does everything come to?”
The storekeeper was a tall, thin man with a large nose and sharp blue eyes. He touched each item with a bony finger as he quoted the price. “Well, now, Mrs. Marlowe, the milk’s two cents for the quart, two pounds of beef at six cents a pound, one chicken for eighteen cents, four pigeons at one cent apiece; the pickled herring comes to five cents, and the oysters exactly twelve cents.” He tallied the figures on a pad quickly. “That comes to fifty-three cents. Will there be anything else?”
“Oh yes, I do need some ink powder.”
“Ah!” Laughton turned and pulled a small green bottle off the shelf. “Now here’s something you might like to try—bottled ink.” He handed it up to her, adding, “Nothing I hate worse than mixing up ink powder! Always get it too thin or full of lumps. Only five cents for that bottle.”
“What won’t they think of next!” Rebekah marveled. As she held the bottle up to the light, the storekeeper gave her an approving glance. She was a good customer, quiet and uncomplaining. He remembered the first time she’d come into his store three months ago—a brand new bride. Her husband had brought her in and said, “You must let this lady have anything she wants, Mr. Laughton. We’ve just gotten married this morning, and she’ll be a regular customer!”
She had been wearing a dowdy dress on that first day, Laughton remembered, but now she looked stylish in one of the outfits he had sold her from his own stock. The first three months of her marriage had already worked their magic, giving her an air of confidence she hadn’t possessed before.
Today she had come in wearing a blue silk bonnet tied with ribbon under her chin and a sage green cloak, which she had set aside to do her shopping. Her bell-shaped skirt, made of dark linsey-woolsey, was stiffened by whalebone stays sewed into the skirt itself—without a hoop. Her green silk bodice was plentifully supplied with lace on the collar and the sleeves. The skirt was not long; it showed about three inches of leg above the shoe tops—a new fashion that had taken New York by storm. On her feet were delicate high-heeled shoes made of damask.
“Your husband still away on business?” Laughton asked, putting the groceries in a sack.
“Oh, no, he came back just yesterday.” She put her cloak and hat on and left the shop. Walking briskly along the streets, she paid little heed to the noise and the bustle around her. It had taken her a few weeks to get accustomed to the big city, but Tyler had kept her at such a pace that now she felt at home.
For Rebekah, New York was a tremendous change from the quiet, even pace of her small southern hometown. She had accompanied Tyler everywhere, the two of them laughing over the wave of curiosities that were sweeping the city. They had gone to peep shows, wax figure displays, and dozens of other things. He had practically dragged her to see a “Female Samson,” an Indian wo
man who, lying down, could support the weight of six men standing on her body. Another time they had viewed a creature that was billed as a “living alligator, four feet long.”
She had quickly discovered that Tyler could not be still. She would have loved to spend quiet evenings at home with him, but he rarely would agree. He was an inveterate gambler, and Rebekah spent many evenings alone while he pursued cards, billiards and backgammon. Racing meets, horse races, bowling matches, cock fighting—he was interested in all of these. Concerned, Rebekah had asked once, “But, Tyler, you can lose lots of money gambling, can’t you?”
“I don’t lose, sweet—not in the long run.” He had grinned at her, then given her a quick kiss. “I may lose for a time—but my luck always comes along, and I make a killing. Never fails!”
She turned off High Street with all its busy shops into a narrow lane lined on both sides with houses. The July heat had been soaked up by the bricks paving the street, and now they sent up waves that made the straight lines of the houses seem to quiver. As always, she had a quick surge of pride as she turned down the walk to her own house, which was as rigidly rectangular as a barn, without any projecting wings, bow windows, or architectural frills of any kind. Plain as it was, when Tyler had brought her from the hotel after a week and said, “This is your new home, Rebekah!” she had loved it. He had rented it for what seemed to her an astronomical figure, but laughed at her protests. “I’ll have you in a palace one day,” he’d promised.
Before she went inside, Rebekah spoke briefly to Mrs. Vander-Welt, who was working in her flower garden. The high-ceilinged rooms were cool, and she went straight to the large kitchen to put the groceries in the larder. Tyler was still asleep, but he would want a hot breakfast when he awoke. She started to make a fire, but after fashioning a small pile of shavings on the grate of the huge fireplace, she discovered that she had carelessly snuffed all the candles. “Oh, blazes!” she grumbled and rose to get the fire maker. Holding the flint over the lint and wood shavings, she pulled the trigger of the fire maker, which struck the flint, causing a spark to fall. She blew on the smoldering pile until a tiny tongue of white smoke curled up, then burst into flame. Soon the cedar was crackling, releasing a pungent odor.
While she waited for Tyler to awaken, she picked up a book and read at the oak table. It was a book one of Tyler’s friends had loaned him, The Nun, or the Perjured Beauty, written by a woman with the unlikely name of Aphra Behn. Rebekah read for ten minutes, then snorted and put it down, “What nonsense!” Reaching into her pocket, she once again pulled out the white envelope that had arrived at the post the day before, and reread the letter inside with a sad smile on her face.
Replacing the envelope into her pocket, she roamed the house restlessly for about an hour longer until it was time to awaken Tyler. He was stretched out on his back, his mouth open, and she had to shake him out of a deep slumber. He groaned, but finally said with some irritation, “All right, Rebekah! I’m up! I’m up!”
“Go shave and I’ll have breakfast all ready by the time you have finished.” She went back and made grits, battered eggs, and bacon. She put a bright yellow tablecloth on the table, then thoughtfully placed a bowl of yellow daisies in the center. Bringing the steaming plates to the table, she set them down and stepped back to admire her work, turning as Tyler came in. “Aren’t the flowers gorgeous?”
“Beautiful,” he said sleepily. “Just like you!” He grinned and came to give her a hug and a kiss. She recognized the smell of his breath—he had already had a drink that morning—but she said nothing. Stepping back, he reached into the pocket of his robe. “Got an anniversary present for you while I was in Boston.”
“Why, our anniversary won’t be until April!”
“This is for our third anniversary, sweet. Three months of gloriously happy married life!”
“You are crazy!” Rebekah smiled, but was pleased. “What is it?”
“You can take it out of my pocket.”
She reached in and felt something with a rough hairy surface about the size of a fist. “What in the world—?” She pulled it out, then took one look and dropped it with a disgusted cry. “Tyler!”
He gave a whoop of laughter, scooped it up, and held it in one hand. “You don’t like it? But it’s a genuine shrunken human head from Brazil.” He stared at the grisly article, adding, “Look at how perfect the features are! Wonder how they got the skull out?”
“It’s awful!”
His eyes gleamed with humor as he put the head up on the mantel. Turning back to her, he pulled a small box from his other pocket. “Well, you’ve scorned my first gift—maybe this will please you a little more.”
She took the small box, opened it cautiously, then looked up with wide eyes. “Why, Tyler!” She took out the large glittering butterfly shaped pin and stared at it. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful! But you shouldn’t have spent so much!”
“Had a good night at the card table in Boston,” he informed her. Pinning it on, he took her in his arms and kissed her again. His hands moved along her back. “Never thought I’d get so foolish over a Little Puritan Maid.”
That was his pet name for her—ever since they had left Virginia. He had used it on their first night when they stopped at an inn. He had asked for one room, but she had whispered, “Tyler—I can’t stay in the room with you. Not until we’re married!”
He had stared at her with mingled amusement and surprise as if such a thing had never occurred to him—which it had not! “My Little Puritan Maid! We’ll get married soon—but we can’t tonight.”
For the rest of the trip she had steadfastly refused to share a room with him, showing him a side of her character that had brought him up short. When she had agreed to go to New York with him, he had remarked carelessly that they ought to get married—although he had no intention of actually doing so!
He had almost left her, but she was a challenge to him, and her fresh, delicate beauty had so drawn him that he had not been able to go. Finally, when he took a room in a hotel in New York and she had once more staunchly refused to share it with him, he stormed out angrily, leaving her alone. The next day he returned with a minister and a marriage license.
Now he thought of that with a smile. “It seems we’ve been married forever—but you’re sweeter than ever, my Little Puritan!”
She lifted her face and took his kiss, and she, too, thought of that day when he had come with the minister. She remembered how happy she’d been—Tyler’s careless attitude toward marriage shocked her. Having been reared in a home where adultery was something not even mentioned, Rebekah had never imagined anything but marriage was in store for her. When Tyler had returned with Rev. Lowell Johnson, she was tremendously relieved. Granted, the minister was a little seedy—Tyler explained that the man was just passing through on his way to New England. In any case, he had married them, and from that time on she had surrendered herself to Tyler with a reckless passion that had shocked them both.
Now he kissed her again, drew back and said, “The butterfly? Just a trifle, sweet.” He sat down, and as they ate breakfast, he told her of his trip. He called himself an “importer,” though Rebekah never understood his profession very well. “I buy low and sell high,” he had laughingly explained once as she tried to figure it out. “Things are cheap in the Orient, and they’re expensive here—so I buy there and sell here.”
“It sounds so easy, Tyler,” she had said in a puzzled voice. It all made her somewhat uncomfortable, for she was accustomed to stability. Her own father always went to work at nine and came home at six. His business did not change, and there was a rock-like security to it. But Tyler came and went with baffling irregularity. He would announce at breakfast, “I’m going to Philadelphia, Rebekah. Be back in a couple of days.” At other times he would not work at all for a week, and the two of them would spend the time going to plays, races, or anything else that took his fancy.
The way they lived troubled her, and he knew it
. But he also knew his own nature, and had quickly realized that although Rebekah longed for a world that had rules, he could not give it to her. Instead, he bought her things and kept her in a whirl of activities, hoping to distract her from the situation.
Now as he looked across the table, he saw that the gladness had once again gone out of her. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head sadly. “Oh, I got a letter from David yesterday.” Her seventeen-year-old brother had written her several times since she had left. In his first letter he had explained how he knew where to find her: Father tore your letter up—just as he has done with Louise’s. But I pulled the pieces out of the trash and got your address. Father won’t let your name be spoken, but I still love you, Rebekah. She had no way to write him, but each time she got a letter, it numbed her spirit.
“No good news, I suppose?” Tyler asked. “Well, he’ll change his mind when I take you back in diamonds.”
“No, he won’t.” The words were stark, and he knew that she was speaking the truth. Not wanting to face it, he restlessly rose and said, “Get dressed, Rebekah. We’ll go to the races—and there’s a new troop of actors in town.” He pulled her to her feet and kissed her gently. He had grown fond of her, and in his own selfish way, he longed to ease her unhappiness.
That week Rebekah had little time to think of home. Tyler moved around New York, spending money as if it were water, despite her protests. “Money is to spend,” he told her. “When this is gone—why, I’ll just make some more! It’s that simple, so let me worry about money and just have a good time! There’s my Little Puritan!”
****
The long, hot summer was rudely evicted in September by fall, and fled so abruptly that the wood-sellers were caught off guard. The price of firewood shot up as the temperatures went down.
One evening at dinner, Rebekah said, “They brought the firewood today, Tyler, but it cost us dearly.”
When she told him how much she’d had to pay, his face grew livid. “I won’t pay the thieves!” he shouted, cursing as he stalked around the room. “We’ll leave this house—it costs a fortune to keep it up!”
The Reluctant Bridegroom Page 2