Trinity: Bride of West Virginia (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 35)

by Carré White

  “I did.”

  “Now, you’re free.”

  “I can’t think of that at the moment. I’ve a funeral to attend.”

  “Everything is on the verge of changing again.”

  “Ever since the fire, my life’s been as dramatic as an Italian opera. Even now, I wonder what will happen.”

  “I doubt you’ll be a lonely widow for long.”

  “I’ve a year of mourning in my future, maybe two.”

  “That’s a bit outdated now. I don’t think anyone truly adheres to that anymore. It’s impractical. With the rate of mortality, if a woman mourns for two years for each death in the family, she’ll be dressed in black her entire life.”

  A grin emerged. “True.”

  She smiled kindly. “I do wish you all the best. Being closest to you, I’ve seen your suffering. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, my dear. You’ve handled it with grace and dignity.”

  “But … I never should’ve … I never should have fallen in love with Nate,” I whispered. “I wish I could’ve stopped that.”

  “Our hearts go where they want. We hardly have any control over that. Despite such temptation, you still managed to behave with decorum. You put your husband first in all affairs, even at the expense of your own happiness.”

  “Thank you, Lilith.”

  “You’re welcome, Trinity.” She hugged me. “I’ll send Penny to you straight away.”

  Two hours later, we left the house for the funeral, the snow having stopped falling. The chill in the air felt laden with moisture, the coldness sinking deep into my bones, despite dressing warmly. Nathanial and I traveled in a carriage to the church, the mourners having gathered already, the entire town arriving for the service. A profusion of flowers adorned the area surrounding the pulpit, the open casket having been arranged for the viewing.

  I paid my respects, gazing upon the body of my husband, peaceful in repose. The members of his household arrived as well, some leaving roses in the casket. Were it not for Nathanial, I would have felt abandoned in my loneliness, his presence a comfort. The hearse that brought my husband to the cemetery waited outside, accompanied by a team of black horses and adorned with ostrich feathers and flowers. At the gravesite service, we stood in the cold, listening to the pastor, while the body lowered into the ground. An elaborate monument stood nearby, engraved with names, waiting to be placed. Mr. Witherspoon’s first wife, Jacqueline, was buried here, along with Nathanial’s older brother, Laurence.

  The citizens of Clarksburg gathered, rich and poor alike, to bid Mr. Witherspoon farewell. From the looks of it, workers from the mine arrived as well, their clothing coarse-looking. They braved the cold, as we did, standing shivering in the greyish morning.

  Nathanial held my hand, his features pale. We had spoken little today, having been besieged by despondent friends, who gazed at us with mournful eyes. A feast waited at the house, Mrs. Dexter having arranged it for family and friends, although most of Mr. Witherspoon’s family had passed on before him.

  I longed to hide in my room, but that would not be possible. It would take all my strength to make it through the day.

  Chapter Twenty

  I sat before the dressing mirror, working the pins from my hair, burnished locks falling down my back. Exhausted from having been on my feet all day, I yearned for a hot bath. Nathanial remained downstairs, having summoned Preston Heriot, Mr. Witherspoon’s solicitor. They read the will, which had nothing to do with me, as I had been told it remained unchanged.

  After having a bath, I returned to the room to find Nathanial sitting before the windows. “Is everyone gone now?” We’d had a house full of people all day.

  “Yes.” He eyed the robe that hid my figure. “Come here.”

  I went to him, noting a teapot. “Did Mrs. Dexter bring tea?”

  “She did.”

  “What sort?”

  “Chamomile.”

  “Oh, good. That would be lovely.” I poured a cup, settling in next to Nathanial.

  His hand landed on my thigh, startling me, something indefinable lurking in the depths of his eyes. “I’ve made some decisions.”

  “You have?” I sipped the tea, the warmth spreading in my belly.

  “I don’t wish to manage the coal mine.”

  “I see. What will you do with it?”

  “Sell it.”

  “The entire business?”

  “It’s a dirty business. Have you ever been to the mine?”

  “No.”

  “People toil endlessly in the pits of the earth, breathing in soot that will eventually kill them. I won’t be a part of that.”

  “How awful. I didn’t know, but I’ve seen horrible factory conditions in my time.”

  “It’s a filthy secret. I hate the business. It’s why I left Clarksburg in the first place. I decided long ago that I’d rather earn a living in another manner.”

  “Being a solicitor.”

  “Yes. I was ten years old the first time I saw the mine. It’s an image I’ll never forget. People are black from head to foot working there. They spend years underground, hardly ever seeing sunlight. Then tunnels collapse, killing them. They’ve had fires too, devastating ones. Every few months there’s a death or more. That mine is killing people.”

  “Will you have a buyer for the place?”

  “I already do. It’s taken care of.”

  An unpleasant thought entered my mind. “What of the house?”

  “I’ll sell it.”

  “What of the people who work here?”

  “I’ll give them severance pay. I can’t take them with me. I’m sorry.”

  “W-what about me?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “I do. I was not provided for in the will. I doubt he gave anything to his unborn child.”

  “He never had a chance to change the will after marrying you. I believe he thought he had more time. He should’ve had more time.” Nate’s features darkened. “He should still be here, anticipating the arrival of his child. I saw the nursery. It’s lovely.”

  “I wasted my time and Mr. Witherspoon’s money making it up. I won’t live here or even use the new furniture. The baby will never see it.”

  “You may take as much of it with you as you can. Ship it all to Boston.”

  “Boston?”

  “Where you’ll be living from now.”

  “Do I not have a say in the matter?”

  “That’s where I shall be. I thought you wanted to be with me?”

  “I do, but I’ve a year of mourning in my future.”

  “You can mourn in Boston.” He sipped tea. “Do you have someplace else to go?”

  “No.” Something bothered me. “I can’t live in a house with an unmarried man. People will talk.”

  “I don't care for idle gossip. It matters little to me.”

  “Because I’ll be the one shunned by good society. Your reputation shall remain unscathed.” Bitterness laced my tone.

  “They’ll treat you with all the respect you deserve, Trinity.”

  I wasn’t as certain. “I doubt it.”

  He took my hand, kissing it. “Let’s go to bed. It’s been a trying day.”

  “All right.”

  ***

  I slept in his arms, indulging in the closeness, his breathing even and quiet. In the morning, Mrs. Dexter arrived with a tray, although I ignored her, snuggling closer to Nathanial. We slept even later, exhausted from the day before. He roused before me, traipsing around the room in flannel sleepwear. A short while later, he kissed my forehead.

  “Are you unwell, Trinity?”

  “I’m fine.” I stretched my arms over my head, gazing at him. He had gotten dressed, his face cleanly shaven. The spicy scent of his cologne teased me. “Where are you going?”

  “To town. I need you to get ready, my love. You’re coming with me.”

  “I am?” I sounded slightly groggy. “All right.” I slid from the bed, finding the slippers
at my feet. “Goodness, what time is it?”

  “Past ten.”

  “Oh, drat. Sorry.”

  “You were tired.”

  “I’ll just be a moment.” I hurried to the armoire, retrieving a black skirt and shirtwaist. I hurried for the water closet, bathing and changing, struggling with the buttons on the shirt. When I returned to the room, Penny waited for me.

  “I’m to do your hair, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

  “Thank you.” I sat at the dressing table. “Where’s Nathanial gone?”

  “He’s downstairs.”

  “Oh.” After the maid arranged my hair, a hat hiding all of her hard work, I found Nathanial in the parlor, reading the newspaper. “I’m ready.”

  He lowered the paper, smiling. “Indeed you are.” Getting to his feet, his polished black boots shone, catching the light from the window. “Then we shall be on our way.”

  Roger waited by the carriage, opening the door for us. Once inside, we trundled down the drive to the street, the ground hidden by a blanket of snow.

  “Where are we going?”

  “City hall.”

  “You have business there?”

  “I do indeed.”

  “Will I wait for you in the carriage?”

  “I hope not. Your presence is vital.”

  “It is?” The last time I had gone to city hall was to marry Mr. Witherspoon, images of that day lingering in my mind. I glanced at Nathanial, seeing a man in a dark suit and hat, his expression bland. “When will you be leaving?”

  He glanced at me. “In a few days. I’ve some affairs to settle here. You’re coming with me. It’s when we’re leaving.”

  “I suppose. You seem determined to dismiss my concerns about the propriety of things and the judgment of others. I know I’m not from your world, but my reputation is all I have.”

  “That shall be remedied shortly. Here we are.” The steps of city hall appeared before the door. “Shall we?”

  “If we must. I could just wait for you.”

  “No.” He helped me out, leading me up the stairs.

  I wore a scarf around my neck to ward off the chill. Once inside, a cavernous space filled my vision, several people waiting in line to see the city clerk.

  Nathanial went to a window, saying. “Mr. Fletcher’s expecting us.”

  “Yes, Mr. Witherspoon. He’ll be out directly.”

  A moment later, Mr. Fletcher appeared, and I recognized him as the same man who presided over my wedding to Mr. Witherspoon. He smiled politely.

  “Good morning. It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Witherspoon.” He shook my hand.

  “Hello.” I gazed at Nathanial, a sudden thought taking root in my mind. “What are we doing here?”

  “Mr. Fletcher is kindly going to marry us.”

  My mouth fell open. “No.”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Shall we begin?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.”

  Panic raced through me. “I buried my husband only yesterday! Are you mad?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “You can’t marry us, sir. Mr. Witherspoon is clearly out of his senses.”

  “It would be my pleasure to preside over the nuptials.”

  “But … but I can’t remarry so soon. It’s unseemly.” My heart beat furiously in my ears, the situation a shock. “You can’t really mean to go through with this?”

  Nathanial took my arm, escorting me to the side, where he whispered, “I love you. I refuse to wait an entire year to be with you. You mean everything in the world to me, Trinity. I adore the very ground you walk on. I want nothing more than to be your husband.”

  “Yes, we will, but not so soon. Think of the scandal. Please.”

  “I’ve made up my mind. I refuse to wait.”

  “You’re an annoying man,” I grumbled, sounding exasperated.

  “I may be, but I’m not leaving here without being your husband.” He grasped my face, and, although people loitered nearby, he kissed me.

  The soft, sweet caress melted all of my defenses, my knees weakening. An arm went around my back for support. “Oh, gracious. We’ll be the talk of the town.”

  “We’re marrying quietly. I’ll take you home to Boston, and we’ll wait a few months before the announcement. No one will be the wiser.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Are we ready?” asked Mr. Fletcher. “I hate to be a bother, but other couples are waiting.”

  Nathanial grinned. “Yes, we are. More than ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Might we stop by the cemetery, please?”

  Nathanial glanced at me. “All right. To the cemetery, Roger!” he called to the driver.

  “Yes, sir.” The carriage turned in another direction.

  “Why?”

  “I … wish to have a word with Mr. Witherspoon. Alone.”

  “If you must.”

  I could feel his appraisal. “It’s of a personal nature.”

  “Very well.”

  We stopped within a few moments, the door opening. A frigid breeze had me shivering. “Gosh, it’s dreadfully cold today.”

  “If you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m coming to get you.”

  “Yes, Nate. I’m aware of that.” My booted feet touched the ground. “I won’t be long. It’s too cold.”

  I hurried over to a lane which led to the Witherspoon family monument, my husband’s new tombstone a towering memorial. I had not chosen it, Mrs. Dexter having been in discussion with the funeral director. A mantle of white hid the ground, although a mound rose up majestically before the tombstone. I stood there, eyeing the frozen flowers from the day before.

  “Oh, Mr. Witherspoon,” I lamented. “You’re going to be angry with now, won’t you? I didn’t want to marry Nathanial so soon. I had nothing to do with it, I swear.” I wrung my hands, tears threatening. “We could’ve had a good life, you and I. I know it. I … never want you to think I’ve been ungrateful. All the things that have happened in these short months, I can hardly reconcile them. I’ve gone from being a pauper to being a wife and then a widow and then a wife again. My head’s spinning. I do hope you’re content wherever you are now. I never intended to betray you in any manner, but I suppose I have. My affections … were torn at best. I hope you can forgive me. I do hold you in great esteem, and I always will. I’m sorry you won’t see your child born or become an adult. I’m so sorry.”

  Hands gripped my shoulders. “It’s too cold to be out here, my love.”

  I turned, finding myself in Nate’s arms. “I know.”

  “Let’s go back.”

  I shuddered. “Fine.”

  In the carriage, I spoke little, gazing at the falling snow on the other side of the glass. Nathanial sensed my emotions, remaining quiet, until we reached the house. A warm fire blazed, Mrs. Dexter greeting us at the door.

  “There you are. It’s terribly cold. Do come inside.”

  I gave her my coat. “Thank you.” I whispered, “He brought me to city hall. I’m Mrs. Witherspoon all over again.”

  Her eyes widened. “Good gracious.”

  Nathanial came up behind me, rubbing my shoulders. “You’re cold. Go sit by the fire. And yes, it’s true. She’s my wife. You can take your accusing eyes and turn them in another direction, Lilith. I’ll not tolerate any censure from you or anyone else.”

  “Yes, Mr. Witherspoon.”

  I suppressed a grin. “Oh, my word.” I sat in a chair near the fire, which crackled and popped, the heat feeling delicious.

  “I’ve a safe to open,” said Nathanial. “I presume you have the key?”

  “Yes, Mr. Witherspoon,” said Lilith.

  “Good. Go get it.”

  While my husband rifled through his father’s things, I sat and warmed my bones, marveling at the fact that I was suddenly married again. I wore the wedding band from John, not having removed it. A short while later, Nathanial appeared, holding a piece of paper
.

  “You should read this.”

  I placed the teacup on a dainty saucer. “What?”

  “He hadn’t gotten around to changing the will, but this was informative.”

  “It was?”

  “Shall I read it to you?”

  “If you must.” Heated from the fire, I sat with a blanket over my legs, nicely relaxed.

  Nate neared, gazing at me, his look enigmatic. “All right. Here goes.

  January 5, 1891

  To whom it may concern,

  If you are reading this, then I am no longer here. I do hope I have a few more years, but I can hardly dictate when the Lord sees fit to take me, but I digress. I have no desire to change the provisions in my will. Upon my death, I feel certain my son, Mr. Nathanial Witherspoon, shall take it upon himself to see to the welfare of my wife, Mrs. Trinity Witherspoon. I have intercepted enough correspondence between them to know they are in love.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, my god.”

  “If you are reading this, I would like to give the afore mentioned couple my wholehearted blessing. I trust Mr. Nathanial Witherspoon to take the absolute best care of Mrs. Trinity Witherspoon and the child she now carries. I have every hope my son will raise the child as his own. I hold no ill will or grievance to this particular couple. I am neither bitter nor angry. I only wanted to live the rest of my days with a vivacious woman, who was kind and sweet to an old man like myself.

  That is all I have to say.

  Sincerely,

  John Witherspoon.”

  “My word.”

  Nathanial threw his head back, laughing. “Isn’t that rich?” He grinned. “The old coot. He knew the whole time.”

  “He never said a word.” Something bothered me. “How did he get the letters?”

  “That’s a question for Mrs. Dexter, but it hardly matters now.” He sat beside me.

  I took the paper from his hands, gazing at my late husband’s clearly defined script. “He wrote it.”

  Nathanial’s arm went around the back of the sofa. “He did.”

  “Good gracious.” I scanned the paper. “He wasn’t angry.”