by Carré White
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good day, sir.”
“Have a safe trip, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
“I will. Thank you.”
It would take more than a day to arrive home, spending the night in Philadelphia before boarding the morning train. We reached the East Pike Street railroad depot in the late afternoon, hiring a carriage to take us home. Mrs. Dexter stood on the front steps of Witherspoon Mansion to greet us, the driver, Roger French, coming out to take our bags. Exhausted from the journey, Mr. Witherspoon retreated to his room for a nap, while I went to mine for tea, sitting alone near the windows, feeling a slight draft through one. It had snowed in our absence, the ground covered in several inches of white.
After having had tea, I sat down at the desk to draft a letter, dunking the dip pen into an inkpot and scribbling noisily on a lettersheet.
Dearest Nathanial,
I am not sure where to begin this letter. I firstly wish to thank you for your hospitality. I very much liked your house in Boston. You’ve done a fine job with the renovations, although I am hardly one to judge. I know little about such things.
I don’t know what to think. Your behavior was quite awful. I must tell the truth. You have disappointed your father. You have shocked me. I wish you the best; you know I do. I hope you can make things right with Miss Peterson. She is a lovely woman. She would have made you an excellent wife.
I shall close now. I don’t know if you will even write me in return.
Yours truly,
Trinity
Folding the paper, I wrote the address on the back, handing it to Mrs. Dexter. “Can you mail this?”
“Yes, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
“Thank you.”
“Mrs. Hanover’s been asking about you.”
“I’ll make morning calls tomorrow. It’s too late today.”
“What do you want for supper?”
“Nothing too troubling. Soup and bread would be fine.”
“I’ll see if cook can make a stew.”
“I’m not terribly hungry. I ate on the train.” The corset I wore felt tight, pinching at my sides. I longed to remove it and don a simple tea gown.
“Is there anything else?”
“I might have a bath, actually.”
“Shall I draw it for you?”
“No, I can do it.”
“Might I say, you seem in better spirits, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
“Trinity. Call me Trinity, please. I do?”
“Yes. You were a touch melancholy before.”
I had begun to make peace with my situation. “Being married has been an adjustment. I … feel better about it.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You’re aware that I had never met Mr. Witherspoon before we married. His age was a bit of a shock. It’s not … well, I never expected to marry someone quite so old. My fanciful imagination had something a bit more romantic in mind, but fantasies rarely translate into reality.”
“Not in this case,” she murmured.
“I’m trying to make the best out of the situation. It’s been … difficult.”
“You’ve hidden your feelings well. I see them because I’m closest to you. No one else would ever guess at your struggle.”
“I’m glad.”
“I’m an employee here, but I would never betray your confidence. I pride myself on discretion. Absolute discretion.”
“That eases my mind.” She had seen the letters to and from Mr. Nathanial Witherspoon. She had to know there was something between us, but I did not care to enlighten her.
“I’ll bring your tea.”
“Thank you.”
***
I quickly settled into life again, meeting Mrs. Hanover for tea the next morning, where we discussed the knitting club. I wanted to help with the new library as well, hoping the project would keep me busy. I spoke with Doctor Watson about my medical scare in Boston, and he examined me again, finding nothing of worry. Relieved at my health, I relaxed into the pregnancy, ordering bigger clothing at the Ladies’ Emporium and choosing the wallpaper for the baby’s room, along with ordering furnishings.
More than a week later a letter arrived, Mrs. Dexter bringing it in on a tray. I sat in the parlor with knitting. “For you, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
I eyed the folded lettersheet. “Thank you.” Opening the paper, I scanned it.
My love,
I trust you are in good health. Your letter surprised me. I thought you would never write me again. You said we were not to communicate any longer. I guess that is out the window? I should have said goodbye to you, but I could not bring myself to do it. I am a vile beast now, you know? I have no manners. Why pretend to have them? I wish you were here still. I would rather have you in my house and angry with me, than you being so far away. I don’t ever recall feeling such anguish. It is not something I would wish on my worst enemy.
Yours eternally,
Nathanial
I held my face in my hands, not knowing what to think of that letter.
“Is everything all right?” Mr. Witherspoon stood before me, a coat on, with a hat in his hand.
“Yes, just fine.” I forced a smile. “Where are you going?”
“For a walk. The brisk air shall do me good.”
He had been in fine spirits lately, taking daily walks, his gait improving. “Shall I join you?”
“You were out all morning. You should rest.”
“All right.”
I watched him go, pleased he was feeling so well. Then I left the knitting on the sofa, taking the steps to my room. I sat at the desk and wrote.
Dearest Nathanial,
You are not a vile beast. I don’t think that way about you. I am unhappy with how you broke things off with Miss Peterson. That was poorly done. She deserved far more consideration than you showed her, but it is too late now. I forgive you for that. It is over and done with. I understand your motivations. I did tell you not to marry someone you did not love. You listened to my advice—perhaps a little too well. I hope you meet another woman whom you can love. You should not spend the rest of your life pining after me.
I am slowly coming to terms with my situation. Your father is a wonderful man. He is kind and generous. He is impatiently waiting for this baby. He shall be an attentive father. I am happy to be able to give him a child at this stage in his life.
Will we see you for the holidays? I doubt we can come to Boston again. I hope you are feeling better now. I wish only the best for you, Nate.
With love,
Trinity
Folding the letter, I scribbled the address on the back, staring out the window at the falling snow. It would not be long now before we set up a Christmas tree and decorated it. Mrs. Dexter said there were boxes of ornaments in the attic. I needed to plan several parties as well, New Year’s being one of them.
***
The days came shorter and shorter; the periods spent indoors increasing. Busy with my knitting and the new library, I scarcely had time to ponder my predicament, going about my daily duties with vigor and enthusiasm. I joined my husband at night, as he requested, slipping from his bed once he slept. This arrangement suited me fine, whereby I could sleep in my own bed, whilst he snored in his.
A few days later, another letter arrived, and a small package came with it. Mr. Witherspoon had gone to work, taking a meeting with other mine owners in the area at the local hotel. I sat in the bedroom, having closed the door behind Mrs. Dexter. A mixture of curiosity and apprehension drifted over me, wondering at what might be in the box.
I used a pair of scissors to cut away at the string, lifting the lid gingerly. Within, I found something small wrapped in tissue paper. Removing the paper, I held what looked like a silver heart ornament, which was meant for the Christmas tree. Inscribed in a pretty script I read, Mr. and Mrs. Witherspoon’s First Christmas December 25, 1890. I smiled at it, finding it lovely.
Then I opened the letter.
; My love,
I hope this finds you in good health. You needn’t worry about me. I am still alive. There is another present at the bottom.
Yours eternally,
Nathanial
Reaching into the box, I withdrew a small velvet pouch. Loosening the top, I pulled out a gold chain embedded with diamonds. At the end of the chain, I found a blood red ruby in the shape of a heart, surrounded by even larger diamonds. Stunned, I gazed at the present, knowing it was wildly inappropriate and outrageously expensive.
“Oh, gracious, Nate. It’s too much.”
Chapter Seventeen
February 1891
Elise arrived shortly after ten, braving blustery conditions, a storm blowing in from the east. The fire blazed warmly, hot chocolate bubbling in a pan in the kitchen and tea as well. Hearing the clatter of a carriage, I left the sofa, approaching the door. Mrs. Dexter arrived.
“I got it.” Flinging open the door, a gust of wind threw snow into my face. “My word, it’s rather inclement out there.”
Mrs. Hanover alighted, bundled in a warm cloak. She hurried up the steps. “How awful! I thought perhaps the worst was over for the season, but I’m wrong.”
“Come inside before we all blow away.” I giggled cheerfully, Mrs. Dexter reaching for her things.
“Thank you.” Her gaze drifted over me. “I haven’t seen you since January.” She had been out of town visiting relatives. “You’ve grown larger.”
“I'm at four months now, so yes, I’ve expanded a little.” I touched her shoulder. “Do come into the parlor, where it’s warmer.” We settled on the sofa, Mrs. Dexter bringing refreshments out. I clasped my hands in my lap, gazing at my friend, who I suspected had news.
“My family is well. The children are back in school, which they protested against quite loudly.” She laughed. “I’m home alone now. How’s the library coming along?”
“They’ll break ground in the spring, after everything thaws out.”
“You look happy, Trinity.”
“I do?”
“There’s a sparkle in your eye I’ve never perceived before.”
“I hadn’t realized that. I’m just glad to be feeling as well as I am. Mr. Witherspoon’s anxiously anticipating this baby, but it’s some months off still.”
“How’s his health?”
“Much improved. Mrs. Dexter’s changed his diet, and he’s been walking more. He’s as sprite as a young man, or so he likes to say.”
“I’m happy to hear it. He’ll need all that energy to run around after the little one.”
“The nursery’s done. You should come up and see it.”
“The wallpaper arrived?”
I confided to her about Nathanial, divulging he had feelings for me. We wrote each other still, although his letters remained melancholy and jaded.
“Oh, yes, it did.”
“You really do look happy. I despaired you might never smile again.”
“Was I truly that dour before?”
“I sensed it in you. You seem more at peace now.”
“I’ve settled into my new life. You know how far I’ve come. Witherspoon Mansion is a far cry from an orphanage. It’s like night and day. I never thought I’d live in such luxury.”
“I take it all for granted, I’m afraid. I’m in the house I’ve always lived in. My parents were wealthy. My mother especially.”
“Mine were poor immigrants, who died when I was very young.”
“That is sad.”
“Perhaps, it was all meant to happen this way. I know God has a plan for everyone. A certain preordained destiny brought me here. I’m exactly where I should be.”
“You really have made peace.”
“I don’t have a choice, and I don’t wish to be miserable my entire life. My husband is a good man. I couldn’t have married any better.”
“Nathanial?”
I sucked in a long breath. “He’s still making noises.”
“Writing you?”
“Yes.”
“And you write him?”
“I do.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that must be. To be so in love, yet … ”
“It’s out of my hands. I’ve asked—begged God to manage it. I’d go mad trying to sort it all out myself. I can’t live in that type of misery, pining for something I can’t have. For my own sanity, I’ve had to accept the situation just the way it is. There are always choices in life. I’ve made my bed here. This is where I shall stay.”
“Of course. I never thought for one moment you might do something silly like run off with him.” She eyed me closely.
“I’ve … imagined it, but no. I wouldn’t.” Our beverages arrived. “Would you like tea?”
She grinned. “Of course.”
***
Later that evening, I prepared for bed, brushing the tangles from my hair. After sliding my feet into a soft pair of slippers, I left the room, as I did nearly every night, walking across the hallway to Mr. Witherspoon’s chamber. He had a light on, sitting in bed reading.
“Hello, my dear.”
“It’s not stopped snowing.” I crawled into bed with him.
“I surmise we might have a foot or more tomorrow.”
“The children will love it. They’ll be out playing in it.”
“Indeed.” He grinned. “You look lovely tonight.”
“You say that every night.” I tossed the slippers to the carpet.
He closed the book, his look contemplative. “Are you happy here, Trinity?”
“Yes.” Surprised by the question, I stared at him. “Of course.”
“I must apologize.”
“For what?”
“For how we were married. I … was far too eager to wed you. Had you looked different, I might’ve waited.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you were hideous. I might’ve given you money and sent you away.”
His honesty astonished me. “Oh, my. No,” I giggled.
“But, you came into City Hall as beautiful as you are now, although your clothing was hardly suitable. It didn’t matter. I took one look at you and I wanted to marry you on the spot.”
“But, if I had been ugly … ”
“I might’ve waited. I never thought I’d share that with you, but I want you to know the truth. I understand if you find it deplorable.” He grinned crookedly.
“I don’t know.”
“Then I married you with all due haste. I … all but forced myself on you that night. I should be ashamed of it, but I justified those actions. You were my wife. I never stopped to think how you might feel about it. You had no experience with men prior to that.”
This conversation astounded me. “I would’ve liked to get to know you a little better, but … ” I shrugged. “You were rather eager.”
“I am sorry about that.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I’ve come to truly care for you, Trinity. I miss you when you’re out with your morning calls. I miss you when I’m at work. I find you’re often on my mind. I care about your welfare, emotional and physical. I worry you might hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“But it’s taken quite a while for you to be happy here.”
“This is all so new to me. I’ve never … lived in such luxury. I’ve never had a relationship with a man before. It doesn't mean I’m unhappy. Things have taken a while to grow on me.”
“Do you think I could be one of those things?”
I stared at him. “Yes. I admit, at first I doubted it, but now … I feel differently.”
“I behaved unfeelingly towards you. I never considered your thoughts on anything. I just took what I wanted.”
“We are married. It’s your right, sir.”
“You’ve never called me John.”
“I haven’t?”
“You’ve always called me Mr. Witherspoon. We mustn’t be so formal.”
“I thin
k it’s a habit.”
“Will you accept my apology?”
“I will, but you don’t have to apologize. I’ve been rather moody myself.”
“I’ve noticed. You hide away in your room. You write letters. I’m not certain to whom, but you’re in communication with someone. Whatever the letters contain often leave their mark on you. You’re either quite gay about it or upset.”
“I … write to old friends. We share stories.” I hated to lie, but I could not tell him the truth. I hadn’t known my emotions were so transparent.
“I try not to interject myself into your personal life. I’ve been content with the way things are, as you’re always with me at night, but that’s a bit shallow, isn’t it? I let things slide, as long as I get what I want. Perhaps, I should be asking you exactly whom you’re communicating with. Is it an old lover?”
“No. I’ve no lovers.”
“But it’s someone you care about.”
“I care for all my friends. It’s just a friend.”
His fingers closed over mine. “Fine. I shall leave it at that.” He lifted my hand, kissing it. “You’ve brought me such joy, Trinity. I’m grateful each day for your presence in my life. It’s given me a second chance at things. I cannot wait to see this baby. I do hope I’ll be around long enough to watch it grow up.”
“Why, of course you will.” His health had improved dramatically. He oftentimes walked without his cane now. “You’ll be able to run after it and chase it down.” I giggled at that happy thought.
“I will.” He grimaced, his face twisting.
“Is something wrong?” A strangled sound came from his throat, his hands gripping at his chest. “John?” I sat up, staring at him, as he groaned. “What’s the matter?” Mr. Witherspoon fell to his side, tumbling from the bed, landing with a thud. I sprang to my feet, coming around to the other side of the mattress, where he writhed on the carpet, gripping his chest. “Oh, my God!” I ran to the door, throwing it open. “Help! I need help!”
Mrs. Dexter appeared, wearing a nightgown. “Yes?”
“There’s something the matter with Mr. Witherspoon.”
The entire household suddenly came alive, lights coming on and people arriving, Roger French being one of them. Our driver knelt by the side of the bed, gazing at his employer.