A Practical Arrangement

by Nadja Notariani

  The winter barley, sprouted and growing, bathed the fields in spring green. In the following weeks, the summer crop would be sown. That crop would be malted and distilled into whiskey, she knew, and she made up her mind to study the process from start to finish.

  “Mrs. Masterson,” Tad O'Leary called, waving from the field. He meandered over to greet her.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. O'Leary,” Evangeline responded kindly. “The barley comes along nicely.”

  “I reckon you're correct, ma'am,” Tad agreed. Tall and lean, Tad shared his mother's red hair, his a much deeper shade. He was a quiet man, young, not much older than Evangeline. “It is a long way from the house, Mrs. Masterson. I'll walk you back.”

  “Very well,” she conceded. Fatigue encapsulated her, no doubt from lack of proper sleep. The late night fiasco with her husband bounded to the forefront of her thoughts again. “I do enjoy a brisk walk,” she added, increasing her pace.

  Tad fell in beside her, continuing a few moments in silence before replying. “Clears the mind,” he observed quietly. “Ma'am,” Tad addressed after another bout of silent progress, “that fancy woman lied to you.”

  Evangeline eyed her companion warily.

  “Mr. Masterson rode in on his own mount. The lady and her fellow followed. I would hold my tongue, except I saw the horse put himself away, gear still on. Neither of those two unhitched him from their carriage – they left their own horses to be tended by our stable hands.” Tad shrugged his thin shoulders. “I thought you should know is all.”

  Evangeline pondered Mr. O'Leary's observations. The question remained; would she risk believing some reasonable explanation to be had? Augusta Preston's words echoed in her mind, hardening her resolve to protect her heart. Mr. O'Leary had not heard that! Silent companions, they followed the fields' borders, soaking in the sunshine, each absorbed in private reveries. Cherry Hill's house came into view as they crested the last rolling swell, and in the distance, she spied Thomas stalking toward them. Evangeline's blood ran cold. Straight and proud, she maintained her unhurried pace.

  Bread and butter!

  Anxious worry unfurled.

  “Mr. Masterson,” Tad nodded.

  “Where were you, Mrs. Masterson? I've searched half of Cherry Hill.”

  The hard set of his jaw and clipped tone stirred her ire. “I wanted to see the winter fields.” She offered no apologies.

  Thomas looked Tad O'Leary up and down, a strange glint in his eyes. “I believe your presence is no longer necessary,” he dismissed coolly. “Mrs. Masterson will walk with me.”

  Tad O'Leary nodded his understanding, but he met Thomas' harsh gaze, unflinching. Turning at last, he nodded again. “Mrs. Masterson, good day.”

  Evangeline started toward home.

  “Evangeline,” Thomas called from behind. “Come here.”

  She paused, looking over her shoulder. “I'd like to return to the house.”

  In an instant, he was beside her. “Evangeline, stop. I want to talk to you.”

  Her brown eyes glazed with cold fury. “I believe, Mr. Masterson, I heard everything I should need to this morning. What more could you possibly add?” She blinked, her expression devoid of emotion.

  “I've not spoken to you today,” he replied, confusion showing on his handsome face.

  She hated that handsome face in this moment, cursed those mercurial eyes, so deceiving with their false depth. “That is quite right, Mr. Masterson. You have not.”

  Thomas met her stride. “You refuse to hear me out?”

  “On the contrary,” she stated offhandedly. “I've no means with which to silence you.”

  “Evie, wait. Please.”

  She sighed, a resigned sound. “You need no longer perpetuate your ruse with silly endearments. Evangeline will do.”

  “What ruse? Evie, damn it, listen to me!”

  Stilling, Evangeline looked at him expectantly, ready to indulge him as one would a child.

  “I have only a vague recollection of last night, Evangeline. This morning, Mrs. Preston...”

  She could tolerate a great deal, but blatant lies threatened her patience. “Say no more. It is unnecessary. I've no wish to be party to details of your assignations with Mrs. Preston.”

  She marched away. This time, Thomas did not follow. Evangeline never looked back, unaware as Thomas stood alone, pain etched upon his handsome face.

  * * *

  Uncle Winston slapped Thomas heartily on the back. “The fields come along well, nephew.”

  A halfhearted smile flickered across Thomas' face.

  Winston furrowed his brow. “Perhaps we should retire to your study, Thomas. Your aunt and wife will surely not miss our company for a spell.”

  Thomas watched his wife, smiling and conversing with Aunt Dorcas. “Surely,” he admitted with regret.

  A week had passed. Seven awful days. Evangeline avoided him at every opportunity. He'd possessed her body each night, desperate to renew the connection between them through touch when words could not penetrate the barrier she'd erected around herself, but Thomas had never felt more empty or alone. Not once did she deny him his husbandly right. What she denied him was her heart. Her body had been given, but she'd averted her face from his, shutting herself down and him out. He'd tried to explain, but his wife would hear nothing of it, insisting the matter forgotten. She conversed amiably when cornered, tended to Cherry Hill perfectly, but Thomas knew for certain his wife had retreated from him.

  Uncle Winston poured them each a tumbler of whiskey and settled in the wide chair, gesturing for Thomas to join him. “What seems to be the trouble?”

  Downing the amber spirits in a gulp, Thomas poured another and sat, turning the glass in his hands. “I've a serious problem.” Relating what little he could remember of the night in question, he proceeded to explain the following morning's conversation with Augusta Preston. “I had been carrying on an affair with Mrs. Preston, but I ended it well before engaging Evangeline. I wanted nothing more to do with her! That morning, Augusta insisted we'd resumed the affair. It is a lie; you must believe me. I'd never have betrayed Evangeline. I can't explain how it came to be, but I love her.”

  Winston listened quietly, holding his questions for the time being.

  “I informed Augusta I'd no desire to continue any sort of relationship with her. She threatened to tell Evangeline otherwise. I remember having a few drinks at the club but not heading out. Apparently, I could barely speak or stand by the time Mrs. Preston and her brother brought me home. I've no evidence to prove my claim. It will be Augusta's word against my own, and after seeing me so far in my cups, what reason could my wife have to take my word?”

  “I've never known you to lie, Thomas. For all your carrying on in the past, you were truthful – to a fault at times, I might add. Tell Evangeline the truth,” Winston advised. “She's an intelligent woman of sound sense. Better you tell her before Mrs. Preston has a chance.”

  “There's more,” Thomas lamented.

  “What more could there be?” Winston wondered incredulously.

  “Somehow, Augusta knows about my need to marry. She's also threatened to tell Evangeline I married her only to gain my inheritance.” Thomas sighed, raking his hand through his black hair. “I don't deny that was my initial thought, but everything has changed. Augusta has twisted notions and believes her threat will induce me to continue our affair.”

  “You will not, I assume.”

  “Never!” Thomas declared vehemently. He stood and paced the room. “I've lost her already.”

  “Surely you exaggerate. Your wife seems quite content,” Winston chuckled dismissively.

  “With everyone but me,” Thomas replied dryly. “She believes the worst of me.” He stopped, considering his next words carefully. “I cannot say with absolute certainty what occurred in the Grey household. What Evangeline has shared with me about her mother left me enraged, Uncle Winston. It leads me to believe it will be much more difficult to gai
n her trust now that I've lost it. She is distant, almost fearful of me at times since that night.”

  Winston stared into his empty glass a long time. “What I say, I say in the strictest confidence, Thomas.”

  Bile rose in Thomas' throat. He nodded understanding.

  “Opal Grey suffers from severe bouts of depression.” Winston's eyes softened. “She is a good woman inside.” Sighing heavily, he continued. “Albert confided in me long ago, revealing his own struggles – and unfortunately, Opal often acted out against Evangeline, especially when the girl was young. It caused Albert a great deal of concern, but as Evangeline grew older she seemed well-adjusted. It is the reason they didn't have more children after Melody.”

  “Why did he stand for it?” Thomas railed.

  “Thomas,” Winston explained, “Albert blames himself. He was not ready to settle down when he married, and consequently, he betrayed his wife's trust on more than a few occasions early in their marriage. He grew into a man; she succumbed to bouts of nerves.”

  “I see,” Thomas acknowledged. “It does explain my wife's reluctance to trust me. She expects an inconsistent nature.” He ceased his pacing. “No wonder she's pulled away from me. But how can I convince her otherwise after the events of that night?”

  “You'll tell her the truth, Thomas.”

  Winston's declaration hung in the silence between them a long spell.

  “She may believe Mrs. Preston over me,” Thomas admitted.

  “If she hears only Mrs. Preston's version of the story, Thomas, your silence will be construed as guilt. And make no mistake, Mrs. Preston will employ the gossip machine.”

  “My wife does not want to hear my side of the story,” he ground out wearily.

  “And has that stopped you in the past?” Winston demanded. “As to your state the other night,” the older man contemplated somberly, “I believe I shall poke around a bit. Can you remember anything? Who was at the club? Why were you there?”

  “I met with Benjamin Smith, the metal worker, about the stands for the distillery vats, but I've no recollection of much after concluding business.”

  “All right, my boy. Leave it to me. I shall get to the bottom of the matter.”

  * * *

  “Have you been to call at Grey Manor, Aunt Dorcas? Is my mother well?”

  “Everyone is well – and quite busy with Melody's wedding preparations. Your sister is aflutter with the nerves of a first time bride!”

  “I've sent an invitation for her to visit me,” Evangeline relayed with a smile. “I hope to spend time with her before the wedding.”

  “That will be splendid. A visit will do you both good.” Aunt Dorcas paused, readjusted her skirt, and smiled oddly. “And in other news,” she transitioned with twinkling eyes, “how are you faring after that unfortunate business with Mrs. Preston?”

  Evangeline gasped aloud, then proceeded to turn four distinct shades of red. “But how ever do you know of that?”

  “Oh, my dear,” Dorcas patted her hand, “some ladies foolishly speak when – and to whom – they should not,” she chuckled heartily.

  “And how can you manage to laugh over so awful an incident?” Evangeline implored. “It was a most unpleasant night.”

  Aunt Dorcas balked. “Do not harbor pity for that woman. She reaps what she sows.”

  What?

  Evangeline remained silent, unsure at what exactly her Aunt referred. Not wanting to openly speak any ill of the woman's nephew and hesitant to reveal the sordid tale if Aunt Dorcas was unaware, she waited, hoping her new aunt would continue.

  “Mrs. Preston revealed the entire night's events to Mrs. Rhodes, who promptly repeated the silly woman's humiliation to anybody having ears.”

  “What?” Evangeline choked out, confusion mounting.

  “When Thomas refused her she was incensed from what I gather. But I still cannot believe she showed her face at your home. She thought to exploit the situation at seeing him stagger from the club late that night, so she followed him home. The silly creature foolishly exposed her scheme to Mrs. Rhodes. That woman, while eager to repeat any sordid tidbit, will never perpetuate an outright lie. Who would give her ear again if she wrongly reported? Thank goodness Thomas threw her out!”

  “Threw her out? Refused her? Oh, Aunt Dorcas!” Evangeline related the evening's events from her own perspective, the two women filling in bits and pieces of the convoluted story. “I've behaved terribly,” Evangeline lamented. “I would not let him explain after what I overheard Mrs. Preston saying.”

  “Now, dear, don't judge yourself too harshly. All will be remedied easily enough.” Dorcas patted her hand. “I had no idea you were suffering with such a misunderstanding or I'd have come right away. Why, I've not even spoken to Uncle Winston about the matter,” she chuckled.

  “What should I do?” Evangeline asked, hesitating before adding, “Did Thomas marry me only to gain his inheritance?”

  Aunt Dorcas grew serious. “No, Evangeline. He loves you. He did have to marry, dear, as did you. But I know my nephew. He looks at you with adoration and respect.”

  “Aunt Dorcas,” she said cautiously, “may we keep this between us?”

  “Of course,” Dorcas winked, maintaining her stoic expression. “We ladies must help one another navigate this quandary called love. Now, I say it is time for you to let Thomas know he is forgiven.”

  The two women shared a moment of fond affinity before going in search of their husbands.

  * * *

  Thomas looked up from his desk, incredulity showing on his face, still handsome despite the shadow of dark circles under his eyes and the sorrow within his green-gray gaze.

  “Will you accompany me on my afternoon walk today, Mr. Masterson?” Evangeline inquired gently.

  “If you would have me do so,” he replied softly, the question plain in his expression. Turning toward his Aunt Dorcas he asked, “Will you be joining us?”

  “Not today, dear,” his aunt declined. “Your uncle and I will rest awhile before dinner.” She shot a meaningful glance at her husband, who concurred readily.

  “Very well,” Thomas accepted, secretly gladdened. He would explain everything to her and pray she'd accept his word.”

  They journeyed in quiet reflection awhile, neither knowing how quite to begin.

  “Evangeline,” Thomas finally gained his courage, “I wish to explain.”

  She linked her arm with his, the unexpected gesture surprising him into stunned silence a few paces.

  “An explanation is rather warranted, I dare say,” she responded with a faint smile. “But, Thomas, before you begin, allow me to say something.” She paused, awaiting his permission out of respect.

  He placed his hand atop her own on his arm, nodding his assent.

  “You once commented on my pride, and with humility I now acknowledge the rightness of your astute observation. I overheard your conversation with Mrs. Preston in the dining room, and I refused to hear you out due to my own sense of wounded pride. I realize my folly and...”

  “Hush, sweetheart,” Thomas entreated. He stilled then, placing his finger upon her lips. “My uncle informed me that I had to marry to receive my inheritance. When I learned of your father's similar dictate to you, I believed I had found the solution to my dilemma – a practical arrangement that would serve us both.” He pulled her into his arms. “The more time I spent in your company, Evangeline, the further under your spell I fell. I don't know how Mrs. Preston learned of my predicament. She threatened to expose my secret that morning, and I feared you would believe her over me. My reputation does not recommend me in matters such as these. Our affair was no well-kept secret. It ended long before I engaged you; I swear it. She offered to remain silent only if...” He clasped her tighter. “I refused her. Please believe me.”

  “I believe you, Thomas.”

  Evangeline wrapped her arms around him, for the first time embracing him wholeheartedly, without lingering reserve. Thomas exalte
d in the moment.

  “Let us speak no more of it,” she requested, her cheek pressed against his chest. “Rather, let's look upon the fields in one another's company.”

  Thomas took her hand, setting off into the gently waving grasses. “Will you remain with me always among these fields of gold?” His hope-filled expression begged an answer.

  Evangeline fell into his arms, her hair spilling down as he captured her mouth with his own. “Always, Thomas,” she whispered in between his kisses.

  “I love you, Evie,” he murmured against her flesh, sinking into the soft grass, his wife secure in his arms. “Abandon all practicality, Mrs. Masterson, for this moment. I want to make love to you, sweetheart.”

  Thomas received no audible reply, but his wife's body rose in welcome greeting beneath him as he kissed her ardently. He reveled in her willing participation, her taste, her gentle passion. His hands roved her body, unlacing the front of her gown, exposing her to his tactile exploration. Pleasurable sighs stole from her as he feasted upon her breasts, the beauty of her complete surrender kindling his fervid desire. Divesting her of her undergarments with tender care, he at last touched her silken flesh beneath the gown, stroking her with practiced patience. Her cries mounted, growing fervent with need until he could stand no longer to be separate from her. He bared his engorged flesh, coming over her protectively, possessively.

  “I've never made promises carelessly, and I have failed those I love many times in this life. But I swear to you, Evie, you're the only woman I've loved – the only woman I've spoken the words to – and I will never betray or abandon you.”