The Scholar

by Tess Thompson

  My heart sped up by about a hundred beats per minute. “What do you mean by right away?”

  “Before the end of summer. As soon as possible.”

  My mind raced ahead. I’d need a house for us. In the meantime, we’d have to stay at the big house. It wasn’t ideal for starting out as newlyweds. “We won’t have a home of our own ready. Will you mind? Your mother can remain in the cottage.”

  “I won’t care as long as you’re wherever I am.”

  “Louisa, you mean that?”

  “I truly do.” She looked into my eyes and what I saw there was the future. Our future.

  I kissed her before telling her the inevitable. “My family will expect a ceremony.” I was unsure how much of the pomp and circumstance Louisa could endure. She wouldn’t want all the attention. However, my family had expectations. “Mama will want you to have a wedding gown and photographs taken.”

  “I understand,” Louisa said. “But I don’t want to marry at the church. Not without Father.”

  “The courthouse?” Mama would not like it, but it was understandable that it would be too painful for Louisa.

  “A party here afterward? Will that satisfy them?” Louisa asked.

  “Yes, that will have to be good enough.” I leaned down and kissed her again. “You’ve made me a happy man.”

  “I hope to.”

  ***

  I went in search of my parents. Papa and Mama were in the library having their tea.

  “Theo, you’re looking dapper.” Mama made me think of a cherry blossom with her hair in a low bun at the nape of her neck and wearing a pale pink dress. “I love your new suit.”

  I thanked her. The light linen suit supposedly kept a man cool during warm months. However, at the moment, the fabric did nothing to discourage perspiration from gathering at the back of my head. I tugged at the tie around my neck.

  “What can we do for you?” Papa asked.

  I looked up at him. “Nothing, really.”

  “We can see something’s on your mind,” Mama said.

  “Louisa and I want to get married sooner rather than later. Will you host a reception for us?” It just rushed out of my mouth. I followed my question with a gulp of whiskey that subsequently burned a line of fire down the back of my throat.

  “What’s the rush?” Mama asked.

  “We don’t want to wait.”

  “I remember being that way about Quinn. I couldn’t wait to marry her.”

  “Yes, me too,” Mama said. “It’ll be tight, but I think we can get everything organized. Lizzie’s a wonder, as you know. But what about a dress for her?” She answered her own question. “Annabelle will have to make something simple.”

  Papa’s gaze had shifted from me to the spot where the portrait of my birth mother had once hung. Now it was replaced by a painting of the five original Barnes siblings. Mama had had it painted the year after she’d married Papa. Flynn and I had been ten, Jo fourteen, Cymbeline seven and Fiona four. Flynn and I wore sailor suits. The girls wore matching dresses in white. We’d stood in the warm garden all afternoon. At one point, Fiona had dropped over in a dead faint. Cymbeline and Flynn had fidgeted the entire time until finally, in frustration, the painter sent us all away, painting from his original sketch instead of the live version.

  “What is it, Papa?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking of Ida,” Papa said. “How difficult life was and how she left you all alone without a mother.”

  “Are you comparing Louisa to Mother?” I asked.

  Papa shook his head. “No, not at all. I’m reminding you that every marriage has challenges from time to time. I want you to know you can always come to us with any of your worries. If I hadn’t had Jasper and Lizzie back when you were all small and before Quinn came, I would have been in trouble.”

  “I’ll come to you if I need to.”

  Papa leaned forward with his fingers folded together between his knees. “I’ve never told you this, but one night right after Fiona was born, I found her over the crib with a knife in her hand.”

  I stared at him, aghast. “But why? Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know. I’d never been more terrified in my life,” Papa said.

  “What else?” I asked him. “I can see in your eyes that there’s something else you want to say.”

  He let out a breath, his strong chest rising and falling. “Of all my children, it’s you I’ve worried about the most. Your sensitivity and the burden of finding your mother. I want you to have a joyous rest of your life. Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “I couldn’t be surer.” I smiled at him and then at Mama. “I’ve gotten Mrs. Lind’s blessing. Louisa’s agreed to a party here after the actual ceremony.”

  Mama smiled as she exchanged a glance with Papa. “Lovely. We can invite everyone out after the church service.”

  “Louisa doesn’t want to get married at the church. Not after what she believes they did to her father.”

  “But where if not the church?” Mama asked, sounding horrified.

  “The courthouse,” I said.

  “Oh, I see.” Mama folded her hands in her lap. “Whatever she wishes is what shall be.”

  I knew it hurt her to think of me getting married anyplace other than the church. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “You’re my son. I’ll always be here for you,” Mama said.

  “As will I.” Papa and I both stood and shook hands. “You’ve always made us proud. I know you always will.”

  I echoed Louisa’s sentiment from earlier. “I hope to.”

  20

  Louisa

  * * *

  Theo arrived at the cottage to escort Mother and me to dinner. My stomach fluttered at the sight of him dressed in a tan suit with his dark curls hanging over his forehead.

  “You both look lovely,” Theo said to my mother before kissing my hand.

  “Thank you,” I said, flushing.

  He turned to Mother. “Mrs. Lind, may I escort you to dinner?”

  “No, you kids go ahead. I’ll be there shortly. I have to put on my brooch still.” Mother waved us along.

  I gave Theo my hand and we walked out of the cottage. He stopped for a moment just outside the door. “We have a few minutes before dinner. Would you like to walk now that it’s a little cooler?”

  “I’d love to,” I said.

  We strolled down the path that led out to the gardens. The vegetable garden was enclosed behind a wire mesh to keep the deer and bunnies from eating the harvest. As we passed by, I spotted green tomatoes on the vines, some beans ready for picking, and pea plants already turning yellow in the midsummer sun. Potato plants, green and short, were at least a month from being ready to share their fruit. I liked the idea of the root vegetables growing deep down in the warm, damp soil. They were safe down there while they grew.

  I was accustomed to thinking of the world this way, in terms of food and safety, shelter from the elements. Having had so little of that the first nine years of my life, I assumed I would stay obsessed with these two ideas forever. Was part of growing up accepting the past we could not erase?

  “The other night, my father told me something I never knew about my real mother,” Theo said after a few minutes of compatible silence. “He said that shortly after Fiona was born, he caught my mother over the crib. She had a knife in her hand.”

  “Oh, Theo.”

  “If he hadn’t caught her in time, who knows what might have happened.”

  The thought of any woman doing that to her own baby baffled me. “Do you remember much about her?”

  “Not really. Other than she was often in her room for days and days. Lizzie mothered us the best she could, but there was a void in our hearts until Quinn came. It got me thinking about you and your mother. Do you know anything about her?”

  “She died when I was around three. I don’t remember her at all. Sometimes I think that’s a blessing. Missing her might have made everything unb
earable.”

  “You have me now,” Theo said softly as he raised my chin upward with the tips of his fingers.

  The compassion in his tone and with what I could only interpret as love in his eyes quickened my pulse. I threw my arms around his neck. “I’ll do my best to be a good wife to you.”

  He captured my mouth with his, crushing me against him. I kissed him back. A wave of something I’d never felt before rushed through me. It was the feeling of the air before a thunderstorm—the dense ripeness before the clouds released their moisture and lightning streaked the sky and the thunder boomed. The tension before release. I’d not known my body was capable of wanting such a thing.

  When we parted, he brushed my bottom lip with his thumb. “I have hope that someday you’ll feel what I feel, and that’s enough.”

  Hope. Dare I be hopeful, too? “Theo, I’m—” I stopped, unable to tell him yet of this tension inside me. Someday, maybe, but not yet. “Thank you for your patience.”

  “You’re welcome.” He brushed my lips with his once more, before nodding toward the house. “Now, we should head inside. We don’t want to be late for dinner.”

  ***

  A few days later, I wandered down to the creek after lunch. The day was oppressively hot and humid, and I was restless and damp with perspiration inside the cottage. Mother had gone straight to her bed after eating a few bites of food that I’d brought from the big house. She’d said she needed a rest, despite having slept late. I let her be, knowing that fussing would only agitate her.

  I perched on a rock and took my shoes and stockings off to put my feet into the water. A crackling of a twig caused me to look back up the hill to see Cymbeline. Wearing a drab brown cotton dress, she carried a walking stick that she jammed into the ground after every step. I couldn’t be certain, but I think she was talking to herself under her breath.

  I called out, hoping not to startle her. “Cymbeline, down here.”

  She waved at me with her stick, then charged down the slight slope to meet me. A red cotton scarf was tied over her curls. Her eyes were slightly puffy, and the slope in her shoulders told me she her spirits were low.

  “How are you this morning?” I asked.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes, I do.” I wasn’t entirely sure I did. She had a storm brewing in her dark eyes that frightened me.

  She plopped down on a nearby log and let out a tremendous sigh. “I’m furious.”

  “About what?”

  “That I have to be afraid to go anywhere on my own simply because I’m a woman. Simply because I’m the weaker sex, I’m not safe. Doesn’t it make you mad?”

  “Yes, it does.” Black dots danced before my eyes. I felt a sudden pressing against my chest. Regardless of my wishes, the memories of that night crawled to the surface. The man’s teeth. They’d been rotten. His breath had smelled of decaying trash.

  “Louisa, has a headache come?” Cymbeline’s anger seemed to subside as she rushed to my side.

  I tugged at the collar of my dress. “Warm. I’m too warm.”

  Cymbeline went to the creek’s edge and scooped water into her hands and rushed back to me. “Hold out your hands.”

  I did so, making them into the shape of a cup. She poured the water into them.

  “Splash that over your face.”

  Again, I did as she asked. The water cooled me somewhat, but the heat immediately returned. “I’m so hot.”

  “Let’s swim.” Cymbeline tore her scarf from her head and tossed it in a grassy spot. “Take off everything but your underclothes.”

  “But what if someone comes?”

  “No one will. Everyone’s napping at the house it’s so hot. Even Fiona, who normally practices in the afternoons.”

  Against my better judgment, I unpinned my hat and pulled my loose-fitting dress over my head. I had a plain cotton slip on underneath. Even without the dress, I felt cooler. Cymbeline took off her dress, revealing that she wore her bathing costume instead of a slip. She held out her hand. “Come on, let’s go in.”

  We splashed into the water. Cymbeline let go of my hand and dived headfirst into the deep middle of the creek.

  She came up out of the water and shook her head like a dog. “Don’t look so scandalized,” Cymbeline said. “This is how we can swim when no one’s around.”

  I wasn’t sure about getting my head wet, but I gingerly tramped into the water until I could no longer touch. The water cooled my overheated skin. “This is heaven.”

  “If I could spend all my time down here, I would,” Cymbeline said.

  We swam for a few more moments before hauling ourselves out of the water and collapsing in the grass.

  I watched a lone cloud float above us for a few minutes. Cymbeline seemed lost in thought. I stayed quiet to give her time to think. After a few minutes, she rolled over onto her side and looked at me. “Louisa, I’m sorry about that night. You deserved to have some fun, and I ruined it. Sometimes I hate myself.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault,” I said. “Viktor said it too. As did you. There’s no reason why a young woman shouldn’t be able to get fresh air without being afraid for her life.”

  “Yes, but the truth is, we can’t.” She rolled to her back again and put her arm over her eyes. “I’m as mad at myself as I am the rest of the world.”

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  She lifted her arm from her face and turned just her head to look over at me. “I shouldn’t have gone out there, but I couldn’t stand watching Viktor and that Emma acting so chummy.”

  “I thought you didn’t want Viktor?” I asked her without an essence of humor. This was a delicate subject. I didn’t want to drive her away by teasing her. I understood contradiction only too well.

  “I don’t know what I want,” Cymbeline said. “Other than I don’t want him to be with anyone else.”

  “The way he ran out to rescue you, I don’t think he wants anyone but you. He knew the exact time you’d left.”

  “He did?”

  “He pulled out his watch and saw how long you’d been gone and panicked. Ran outside without hesitation.”

  Cymbeline returned to her side. “He was very brave, wasn’t he?”

  “He and Theo both.”

  “Did you ever hear the story about how he saved Josephine?” Cymbeline asked.

  I smiled. “Of course. Everyone knows that story.”

  “Ever since then, I had to stop thinking of him as my nemesis.”

  “Friend instead of foe?” I asked.

  “Right.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe the reason you wanted to beat him at everything is because there’s a part of you that’s liked him all along?”

  “It’s occurred to me, yes.” Her mouth twitched into a smile. “Even though it makes me mad. He’s always been so good at everything.”

  “As have you.”

  “But what use are any of my talents? I’m doomed to a life as someone’s wife or die an old maid with nothing to show for any of the hassle of living. What will I have accomplished with my life? Nothing.”

  “A family?”

  “Is that what you want?” Cymbeline asked. “To marry Theo and have babies?”

  “There are worse fates.”

  “But down deep inside, if you had a choice, what would you do?”

  I thought for a moment about how to answer. It was hard to think of what to say. I’d not contemplated a situation where I could choose. “I have no idea. All I know is that my early life was about survival and after Father died, it seemed it would be again. I don’t have the luxury to be an old maid. There’s no one to take care of me if I chose to live alone.”

  “Is that why you’re marrying Theo?” Cymbeline asked. “To be safe?”

  “I’d be lying if that hadn’t factored into the decision at first. Now, though, it’s different.”

  “What is?”

  “I can’t imagine marrying anyone else. He’s the on
ly person I’ve ever known who I’ve been completely myself with. The only one who hasn’t made me apologetic for my existence.”

  “Like how?”

  I hesitated, buying time by sitting up and wrapping my arms around my knees. The sun had already dried part of my cotton slip. “What happened to you that night, with those men. I had something similar when I was a child. Only I didn’t have anyone to protect me.”

  “What happened?” Cymbeline’s voice was as dry as the twig she’d snapped earlier.

  “My father took me to the man. For money. He did what I’m afraid those men would have done to you if we hadn’t come.”

  “Louisa, no.” Cymbeline’s eyes filled with tears. She abruptly sat up and threw her arms around me. “I’m sorry.”

  I waited for her to let go before I continued. “I’ve avoided marriage because of it.”

  “Yes, of course you would.”

  “I’m ashamed, even though I know what happened was not because of anything I did.”

  “So, when you tell me it’s not my fault—you really know,” Cymbeline said.

  “Theo’s the only man I could have ever told the truth about what happened to me. Despite it all, he wants me just as I am.”

  “He loves you, that much is obvious,” Cymbeline said.

  “I don’t want him with anyone else either. That thought makes me…how do I even say it?”

  “Like you want to crawl out of your own skin?”

  “Yes, like that,” I said.

  “That’s how I feel every time I see Viktor and that girl. I can’t stand it.” She covered her face with both hands. “Oh no, this is awful.”

  “What is it?” I asked gently, knowing what she would say next but also understanding she needed to say the words out loud. That was the thing about words. They were stronger when spoken than when simply bouncing around in one’s head all the time.

  “Everything adds up to one conclusion. I can’t imagine being with anyone else but Viktor. If you’re correct that this is how we know which is the one for us, then I’m in deep trouble. Because then I should marry Viktor.”