by Joann Simon
Jessica gritted her teeth and made polite conversation through the balance of dinner, hoping Bayard would soon excuse himself and leave; but he seemed in a mood to have a long chat with Christopher, and Christopher did not put him off. As the coffee was being cleared away, Christopher rose.
"Jessica, you will not object if Robert and I retire to my study for a while? There are some things we must discuss." He touched her arm absently. "We may be awhile, so you go on upstairs. You need your rest."
Since any protest from her would have seemed rude, she nodded her head.
"Good night, Jessica." Bayard smiled as he, too, rose to follow Christopher. "And I promise not to keep your husband too late."
"Good night." Her voice sounded disgruntled even to her ears, but neither of the men seemed to notice as they stepped out of the room.
By the time Christopher came up, much later that evening, Jessica had already fallen asleep, so there was no chance to finish their discussion that night. And the following morning he was off early to the office, not even waking her before he left. She was left with her questions and arguments still spinning in her mind, to be left unanswered again that evening: Christopher did not come home from the office until very late. By the next day, picking up the thread of their conversation seemed impossible. Christopher's mood suggested that he had forgotten all about it and thought everything was as it should be, and Jessica's own temper had cooled enough for her to think back and remember Christopher's last comment about cherishing what they did have and not looking for arguments. Was she asking too much? Wasn't it enough that they were together again? Still, no more could she erase the feeling that Christopher had been wrong in accosting her than she could forget that it had been Rhea Taylor who had instigated the dispute. Although in the next weeks she let the subject lie, it wasn't one she could put blithely from her mind.
Despite all, their Christmas holidays were happy ones, Christopher going overboard with gifts for Kit, and the child dancing about the house on Christmas morning in ecstasy, filling the rooms with laughter.
There'd been a surprise visit from Mawson and Abbey late in the afternoon, and they'd stayed to have a cup of good cheer, Mawson sliding down on the carpet beside Kit to assist with Kit's new building block set.
Not until their guests had left and Kit had fallen exhausted into an early bed did Christopher and Jessica exchange their own gifts for each other before the fireplace. Jessica had noticed Christopher's curious eyes surveying the large tissue-wrapped gift in the corner several times that afternoon, and now, as he tore away the wrappings, she knew from the expression on his face how deeply he was touched. In his hands he cradled the three-foot-long, perfectly detailed scale model of his newly launched merchantman that, with Mawson's technical advice and some purloined plans, she'd had a local craftsman create. Christopher looked up at her as the ship was fully revealed; then his eyes went back to the model. Studying every inch of it, he ran his fingers carefully over the string rigging, the miniature barrels on the deck, the captain's cabin, and last, over the gold embossed nameplate on the bow. When he set the model on the carpet and came to her, he seemed almost too moved to speak. He only took her in his arms and, gently, hugged her as close to him as her swollen girth permitted.
"Thank you," he whispered. "You always seem to know the perfect gift." He paused for an instant, composing himself. "For yours, you will have to let me go into my study, where I hid it from inquisitive eyes.
Wait here—no peeking."
"I promise." After seeing his happiness with her gift to him, Jessica needed none other for herself; yet she was curious, watching the door for his return, wondering. Jewelry, perhaps? A gown? Or perhaps even a fur?
She heard him call before he came in sight of the door. "Cover your eyes, and do not sneak. Are they covered?"
"Yes."
"If I catch you looking, I will turn around and hide this until next year."
"I promise . . . I won't look."
She heard his footsteps, muffled by the carpet. He seemed to be going toward the couch. She restrained her overflowing curiosity with an effort through seemingly endless minutes of silence.
"All right. You may look now. No, turn around—face the other way." As he spoke he came to her side and put his arm about her shoulders.
She turned. There, propped on the couch, facing her head-on, was a life-size framed portrait of their son, so alive she almost jumped. Kit was seated at the edge of a chair, in his best attire, yet ready at any moment to bound off the chair in search of adventure. Everything about his young personality was there—the impish, happy smile, the dancing blue eyes, the inquisitiveness. She couldn't believe it.
"Christopher, how . . . when did you get this portrait painted without my knowing it? It's marvelous! It's Kit. Oh, I love it—I love it!" She turned to grip him about the waist.
He laughed. "Well, it was not easy. Mrs. Hart and I had a little conspiracy. We worked out an arrangement with a good portraitist in town, that whenever there were moments available, he would come here, or Kit would go there, usually when you slept in late in the mornings or went upstairs for an afternoon nap. It was rather a rushed affair, particularly to finish this up. I think that is why it seems Kit is falling off the end of his seat."
"No, that's Kit completely. Have you ever known him to sit full and still in a chair for more than a few seconds at a time? The artist was excellent to have caught him so well. Who is he?"
"A total unknown. I saw him painting on the docks one day. He seemed to have a great deal of promise, and after he had shown me some of the work he had done, I hired him. I do not regret the decision."
"Nor do I." She reached up her head to give him a kiss on the cheek. "We have no other pictures of Kit yet. I really cherish this because it catches him at a perfect age. In watching him grow up, I've really missed having photo-graphs to look back at."
Christopher sighed, and Jessica knew instantly that he was feeling dismayed about her missing yet another twentieth century wonder. She didn't want him to think that way, and quickly tried to turn his thoughts from disappointment.
"Where shall we hang it?" she asked excitedly. "Here? In the living room?"
"I was thinking of it more as something to be hung in our new home, although we certainly shan't hide it for the time we have left here. I was thinking of the front hall, although that is rather out of the way except for visitors. In the drawing room over the fireplace would be better, do you think? Or would you prefer our bedroom?"
"The drawing room. As much as I would like to look at it every morning when I rise, I'd like our guests to see our family, and we won't have a portrait gallery at the new home like you had at Cavenly. In time, perhaps . . ."
"Most likely after we are long dead," Christopher
chuckled, "when there has been time to collect family portraits."
They pulled a little closer in each other's arms as she looked up to the vivid blue eyes watching her. "I am really so thrilled with my gift."
"And I."
"It's been another wonderful Christmas. Thank you, Christopher."
"Thank you, my love." He cupped his hand under her chin. "And soon we will be in our new home, our second child will be born. I am so very happy, Jessica."
"So am I." She couldn't mention to him then the twinges of discontent that had come to her from time to time. This was Christmas; let them have this untarnished moment of joy. She only smiled at him, the warm love that came from deep inside her glowing in her eyes as his lips met hers and they shared a long, sweet kiss.
By mid-January Christopher informed Jessica that the house in Eastport was ready for them. There was still some minor work to be done, but with Jessica's due date approaching, he did not want to postpone the move any longer.
It was a sentiment with which Jessica agreed wholeheartedly.
It was a joyous moment for them all as they rounded the curve of their newly graveled drive on that clear but cold day and saw the gracef
ul outline of their new home on the rise ahead, its mellow stone walls proud in the slanting afternoon sunlight. From its appointed spot, at the center of the half circle the drive formed before the front doors, rose the not yet completed fountain. The Sound waters in the distance, across what in the spring would be a stretch of green lawn, were a sort of outsized facsimile of the swan-filled lake on Cavenly's grounds.
Kit's hand in his, his other arm around Jessica's shoulders, Christopher ushered his family up the front steps and through the wide double front door held open by one of the two maids Jessica had hired in New York. Because of close family ties in that city, Mrs. Hart had reluctantly decided not to come with them to Connecticut, but had accepted the housekeeper's position with Mawson and Abbey instead. Christopher's mood was ebullient as they stepped into the high-ceilinged front hall. Ahead of them a graceful staircase curved upward, the railings branching off on either side along a small balcony from each end of which halls led off to the eight bedrooms in the house.
To the right of the marble-floored hall in which they stood was a large drawing room, a smaller replica of the main salon at Cavenly; beyond that was a cozier sitting room. To the left of the front hall was an anteroom, which Christopher referred to as the smoking room, and beyond that the spacious dining room, taking up the whole west corner of the house. Behind the main staircase a long corridor stretched the length of the house, and off it ranged three short wings, giving the house the shape of an E, in the first of which were the kitchen and servants' workrooms; in the second the family breakfast room; in the last, Christopher's study.
"Well." Christopher grinned. "You have not seen it in several months. What do you think? Have the decorators followed your instructions?"
"To perfection, from the little I can see. It's so wonderful to be in our own home. It is like Cavenly—
particularly now that I see it finished. It brings back so many memories. Happy memories, Christopher."
"Yes . . . I am sure you are right," he said wistfully. For a moment they were both thoughtfully silent, then Christopher hugged Jessica's shoulder and turned to the waiting maid. "Clara, will you see that tea is served in the drawing room in about twenty minutes? Milk and cookies for the boy. The fires are lit in there?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." He smiled to his wife. "I thought we might celebrate this first afternoon in our new house. Shall we go up to see the bedrooms and freshen up?"
Kit, who had been silent until now, perked up. "Yes, want see my room, Daddy. All my toys come yet?"
"They should be here, unpacked and waiting for you, young man."
In his eagerness the child began pulling his mother and father toward the stairs.
At Christopher's prompting, Jessica had hired a real English nanny to watch over Kit and the new baby, but she would have nothing to do with Christopher's idea of a third-floor nursery, much though he had protested that it was a true tradition and one that he had been brought up with. She did not want her children set apart from Christopher and herself. Instead, Kit would have the room across the hall from theirs, and they brought him there now.
Kit had already met his nanny, Mrs. Bloom, in New York, so there was no awkwardness as they bustled into Kit's room, where she was finishing the unpacking of Kit's things.
"Well, good afternoon to you, Master Kit," the affable gray-haired woman said warmly. "And to you, sir and ma'am. Welcome to your new home."
"Thank you," they responded simultaneously, Jessica adding, "The room looks lovely. You've done a fine job.""Only try my best. And such a nice room to work in, plenty of sunlight."
Kit was casting significant glances between his mother and the toys piled along the bedroom shelves.
Jessica gave him a nod, and he was soon pulling down his favorites.
"We will be back in a moment to collect him, Mrs. Bloom," Christopher said as he led his wife to the door. "I have a feeling he will not miss us."
"Not for the moment, it would appear." Mrs. Bloom beamed down on her fully occupied charge, and Christopher and Jessica stepped across the hall to the master suite. Their bedroom had been modeled after the room Christopher had occupied at his beloved Cavenly.
As Christopher swung the door wide, Jessica looked excitedly about the interior of the room. "It's marvelous," she cried, her eyes sweeping the large bedroom with its impressive canopy bed, jewel-toned oriental rug, finely crafted dark wood wardrobe and nightstands, framed hunt scenes on the walls, armchair placed cozily before the marble-trimmed fireplace. "They have put everything where I told them to, Christopher. Did I remember it correctly? I saw the original room only so briefly when we snuck up the hidden back stairs that day."
"Your memory is accurate indeed. I almost feel I had stepped back three and a half years in time. Unfortunately, I did not incorporate the hidden stairs in this house."
"Just as well, or we might lose our son in those dark passageways." She stepped quickly about, examining everything, running to the windows to see the view that faced the Sound, adjusting the placement of a bud vase on her dressing table. Grinning ear to ear, she returned to her husband, who stood inside the doorway watching her every movement.
"Oh, Christopher!" She ran into his waiting arms. "I'm so happy!"
"Yes." His voice was deep, full of feeling. "Another new beginning . . . and this time nothing will mar our happiness."
"Yes. Everything will be better for us here." Suddenly she felt her worries in New York could be forgotten. Now that they were in this house, everything would be all right.
CHAPTER 14
On a snowy February afternoon, Jessica's labor began. The snow had begun as a light flurry about noon, but now it was coming down heavily. She stood at the window overlooking the snow-covered drive waiting for the return of Jim, the caretaker. If he wasn't back soon, she'd never get a message through to the doctor they'd made arrangements with in town. And where was Christopher? It seemed he was away on business so much of the time lately. Knowing his wife's due date was only a few days off, at least he'd gone no farther than his Eastport offices that day; but with this storm, wouldn't he have left for home by now?
She tried to push the worries from her mind. She did not need additional anxiety now. She forced her mind to more pleasant thoughts, of their first weeks in their new home.
They'd settled into the house so quickly, it was as though the house was an old and welcome friend. The staff she'd hired in New York was a good one, and Mrs. Bloom was a jewel with Kit. Jessica sometimes saw the woman as a replacement for the grandmother with whom Kit had not been blessed.
They'd had visitors since their arrival. Bayard and Mawson and Abbey surprised them one Saturday afternoon, chancing the weather and coming up for the weekend—and what a merry weekend it had been, the three men catching up on news, none of them able to talk fast enough; Jessica and Abbey watching and smiling. They'd all stayed up too late, then cleared their heads the next morning with a brisk walk across the frozen grounds as Christopher proudly gave them the grand tour.
Of course, their friends at the Beard farm had also visited. While Amelia and Bertram exclaimed over the main rooms, Molly checked the kitchens and Jeb the stables. Mary and Roger Weldon delighted them with the news that they were expecting again that coming fall. Mary and Jessica had a long chat, comparing notes on their growing families. Now that Jessica was no longer a servant in the Beard household, all barriers to friendship with Mary were removed.
The most startling news, however, came from Lucas and Elizabeth as they stood smiling before Christopher and Jessica and made the announcement of their engagement. Christopher, knowing none of the past circumstances surrounding Lucas and Elizabeth, immediately offered his congratulations, which Jessica quickly echoed. Yet in the back of her mind, she couldn't stop herself from thinking, "So soon?" Yet actually, it wasn't that soon. Almost a year before, Molly had informed Jessica that the two were seeing each other regularly. Why, then, should this feeling of suddenness strike her?<
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As she took Lucas's hand, wishing him well, their eyes met for a long moment and a silent message passed between them. No words were needed to tell her that there would always be a special feeling between them; nor did Lucas need words from Jessica to note the disquietude their announcement had brought her.
As they dropped hands quickly, awkwardly, realizing their contact had gone on longer than convention warranted, Jessica saw the frown of puzzlement on Christopher's brow. He hadn't missed the clasp of her hand and Lucas's, the long look exchanged between them. Afterward he had remained strangely thoughtful for some time, finally coming to her when they had a moment alone.
"You know this Lucas St. John well?" "He was a very dear friend to Kit and me while we were at the Beards'." "Was he?" He'd said nothing more, but during the balance of the afternoon she'd seen his gaze rest several times on Lucas.
Now, as she stood before the window, another pain gripped her stomach. She took deep breaths until it passed, then gazed outside again. Kit would be fine. Jessica had told Mrs. Bloom an hour earlier that her time might be* near, and the nursemaid would keep Kit well occupied. But where was that caretaker? And oh, if only Christopher would come home! She wanted him with her when the time came. Second babies almost invariably came much faster than the first. She wasn't sure how to gauge herself. A birth this evening? In the early hours of the morning? Not that she felt the urgent need for the doctor to be at her side, but only the cook and maids were with her in the house, and she didn't know if any of them had the presence of mind to aid her through her delivery. Mrs. Bloom would surely keep her head, but Jessica already knew that the woman had never attended a birth.
Dusk began to fall, and still no caretaker, no Christopher, in sight. Jessica felt her anxiety grow to the point where her fears could no longer be put from her mind. The snow swirled in dancing whirlwinds; a foot of it covered the drive, and drifts blew up against the house. She went to the kitchen and had the maid light the covered oil lanterns from the storage room, and place them on the hitching posts outside the front and back doors. The light was meager, but perhaps would give some guidance to the men returning home in the storm.