by Sara Donati
Elizabeth left her aunt alone with Nathaniel for short periods of time, and thought perhaps that with enough exposure they might come to like each other. Of course, Elizabeth did not mention to him her aunt’s proposed scheme for laying pipe to bring water into the cabin, or for improvements to the chimney. Nor did she tell him about the many suggestions for more traditional furnishings, stout shoes, flannel undergarments, the addition of pork to their diet or brood hens to their livestock.
Most of the time she was alone with her aunt, and little by little she had the stories of her first year in the New World drawn out of her. Some things Elizabeth did keep back, quickly relearning the skill of deflecting curiosity when it strayed into dangerous areas. She did not, would never, tell her the whole story of Jack Lingo, for she believed she knew the limits of her aunt’s open-mindedness. They spoke of England, too, and of uncle Merriweather’s death. Then, on a cold afternoon with the newly harvested pumpkins and squashes piled around them like a galaxy of small glowing suns in the coming dusk, they spoke of Julian, and Elizabeth saw tears in her aunt’s eyes, and found her own, then, finally.
On the day before they planned to begin the return trip to Albany, Elizabeth took Hannah with her to spend the day at her father’s, leaving a disgruntled Liam behind in Falling-Day’s care. It was to be one of Aunt’s traditional teas: the men were banished, and the women could sit comfortably and talk openly.
They were a small group: Aunt Merriweather, Elizabeth, Amanda, Hannah, and Kitty freshly out of childbed. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and her hands shook slightly. Elizabeth had seen that expression before, when her cousin Jane’s new daughter had been two weeks old. As if the infant’s constant demands had caused Jane to forget the boundaries of her own body.
Elizabeth knew that Kitty’s condition did not escape her aunt, but in a very uncharacteristic way she overlooked the slightly rumpled gown and unkempt hair. Aunt Merriweather had plans for this tea, and Kitty would not be excused until she was satisfied.
Curiosity filled the sideboard with scones and cakes and tea brewed according to directions, and then disappeared into the back of the house, where Elizabeth followed her to ask for her company at the table. She had been feeling vaguely worried about Curiosity all week, ill at ease about the way she had vanished suddenly into the guise of a household servant in the shadow of aunt Merriweather’s expectations.
“She don’t want nobody like me at her tea table,” Curiosity said firmly, fixing her attention on the churn. “You go on now, and talk to them. Tomorrow they’ll be gone and things will get back to normal around here.” She scooped up another slab of pale butter beaded with water, slapped it onto the mound on the board before her, and began to work it mercilessly with her paddles.
“She means well, Curiosity.”
“Yas’m, the lady is just a visitor and don’t wish to cause no disruption in the household. I heard tell.”
Elizabeth could not suppress her smile. “I’m very thankful to you for all the trouble you’ve taken under challenging circumstances. But please do come, Curiosity. I believe that she’s planning to bring up the subject of Richard, and your word counts for very much with Kitty.”
The tension in the bony shoulders eased a little. “I don’t do anything but show her the way. The same way I will do for you and for my own daughters, when the time come. With a little charity,” she added, pointedly. She sent Elizabeth a sideways glance. “What’s this about Richard Todd?”
Once Elizabeth had related aunt Merriweather’s predictions about Richard’s return to Paradise and a renewed interest not so much in Kitty, but in Julian’s widow, Curiosity took off her apron, wrapped a fresh bandanna around her head and joined them. There was some irony in the fact that it took Richard to unite Curiosity and Augusta Merriweather in a common cause, which Elizabeth appreciated but could not mention to either of them.
“But I don’t understand,” Kitty said when the subject had finally been broached. She had been concentrating on the child in her lap, and her gaze shifted only reluctantly to the women seated around the table, all with their attention on her.
“Kitty,” said Curiosity, rattling the spoon against her saucer to get her attention. “There’s a simple question here, child. What are you going to say to the man when he shows up and starts talking marriage again?”
Elizabeth might have laughed at aunt Merriweather’s expression, divided evenly between reluctant admiration and horror at such an uncloaked presentation of the facts. She might have laughed, if it were not for the puzzled and distinctly defiant crease between Kitty’s brows.
“I cannot imagine that he should,” Kitty said. “I am a widow, now, after all.”
“Men rarely forget about money and connections,” aunt Merriweather said. “It is one of their more dependable appetites.”
Hannah looked wide-eyed from face to face, her cake forgotten on the plate before her. Elizabeth wished suddenly that she had left the little girl behind at Lake in the Clouds, but there was almost no way to turn back the conversation at this point, and Hannah would never leave without a struggle.
“You do not know Richard as I do,” Kitty said firmly. “No one does. I grew up with him, and I can appeal to his better nature. If I should have that chance.”
“That is the worst kind of folly for a woman, to think that she can change a man by marrying him,” aunt Merriweather said.
“You heard tell of the tiger and those stripes he so fond of,” Curiosity agreed.
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “What we are trying to say, Kitty, is that if Richard is still interested in marriage when he returns, we hope you would think very carefully about his motivations before you reconsider.”
Kitty’s head came up quickly, her cheeks sparked with red. As if he understood the fact that he was at the center of this controversy, the baby on her lap began to fuss. Amanda leaned over to burble at him. He settled, mouthing his fist with great sucking noises.
“I am not so sure of any of this,” Kitty said finally in a strangled tone, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.
“Katherine,” aunt Merriweather said sternly. “Perhaps I must be blunt. You are no longer without connections. To marry is to compromise what you have gained.”
With a rebellious flash in her mild blue eyes, Kitty said: “That did not stop your niece.”
There was an immediate response on Elizabeth’s lips, but her aunt silenced her with a severe glance. “Let me understand you clearly, then. You intend on marrying Dr. Todd should he renew his offer?”
Kitty’s chin trembled, but she held it high. “I will listen to what he has to say.”
“It’s what menfolk don’t say that’s the problem,” Curiosity muttered.
Kitty stood up abruptly. “I think it is very—cruel of you to talk to me this way, all of you. I have lost my husband so recently, and you are asking me to put aside the friendship of the one person in the world who has always stood by me—”
Curiosity reared up to face the younger girl, fists on hips. “Now I got to tell the truth and shame the devil,” she interrupted, sucking in one cheek and pushing it out again. “I don’t see Dr. Todd hiding around here. I didn’t see him here even a week ago worried about was you going to bring that child into the world without a name, or not.”
“He would have come, if he had been able,” Kitty said, jiggling the baby madly against her shoulder. He let out a wail almost as indignant and sorrowful as the look on her face.
“Oh, dear.” Amanda sent a pleading look to her mother, whose thunderous expression was fixed on Kitty. Elizabeth wished now that they had told her about Richard’s activities in Montreal, as painful as it would have been to her.
Kitty said: “You need not pity me. Richard will come still. He promised me that he would. And if he still wants to marry me although I am a widow, then why should I not—” Her gaze moved around the table in search of a kind and understanding face, but found only dismay, irritation, and anger. “Ho
w else shall I ever get out of this village and into the world?”
“Katherine Middleton,” said aunt Merriweather calmly. “The world is yours without Richard Todd, if you so desire it. You and your son are welcome at Oakmere whenever you like. You can make your home with me.”
“—Or with us, at Downings. We would love to have you.” Amanda broke in on her mother.
“You see,” aunt Merriweather said. “As the widow of my late nephew you are your own mistress. Marry again, and you are subject to your new husband’s whims.”
Kitty stood there swaying slightly, as if she could not quite make sense of these words.
“Either set down, or hand over that boy before you drop him,” Curiosity said, holding out her arms for the baby.
The blank stare on Kitty’s face lasted for a long moment, and then she swallowed visibly, and handed her son to Curiosity. She sat down heavily, and turned to Elizabeth with a questioning look.
“I might really go with them to England? To live?”
“The invitation was made,” Elizabeth said.
Aunt Merriweather said: “We shall spend the winter visiting and we shall come back here before we sail—to greet the newest member of the family.” She inclined her head slightly in Elizabeth’s direction; the closest she would come to acknowledging her pregnancy in public. “Your son will be old enough to travel then, and you may sail with us. I hope you will.”
“I had no idea,” Kitty said.
“But now you do,” aunt Merriweather said firmly.
The child in Curiosity’s arms suddenly began to twist and arch as the small face screwed itself into a knot of misery to produce one long and plaintive wail. In response, two circles of moisture appeared on Kitty’s bodice. She made a small distressed noise, glancing around herself in panic and embarrassment. Elizabeth felt a tugging in her own breast; whether out of sympathy with Kitty, or with the child’s hunger, she was not quite sure.
Curiosity stood, making sympathetic noises. “No need to carry on, Kitty. Let’s just get you to your room. He won’t be satisfied with nothing but what you got to give him.”
Kitty nodded. At the door, she turned back. Above the baby’s wails she said: “I understand that your concern is for the child, rather than for me. You think Richard would only want me because of Ethan, and the land …” She paused, and there was a fresh rush of color on her face. “Perhaps you are right about that, but perhaps you are not. I should still like to hear what Richard has to say.”
“Of course, by all means,” aunt Merriweather said. “It might be quite edifying.”
Leaving the room behind Kitty, Curiosity paused at the door to throw Elizabeth a sour grin.
“Well, that was nicely done,” said aunt Merriweather, sitting back with a satisfied expression. “Dr. Todd will have a harder time of it, anyway. You must be sure to keep her mind focused on the alternatives, Elizabeth, once he begins whispering in her ear.”
“Richard is not the type to whisper in anyone’s ear,” Elizabeth said. “But I shall try to be the voice of reason. And there is Curiosity.”
Aunt Merriweather seldom smiled very broadly, but a definite grin turned her face into a sea of fine wrinkles. “She is a treasure, that woman. I suppose there would be no chance of having her accompany Katherine—” In response to Elizabeth’s frown, she inclined her head in surrender. “Your father does depend upon her. We mustn’t take everything away from him.”
Elizabeth was unwilling to bring up the subject of her father at the moment, in front of Hannah. But something else was weighing on her. “Aunt, had you thought—perhaps Richard does truly care for her.”
“Hmmmpf.” A gnarled hand waved away that possibility, diamonds flashing yellow and blue in the afternoon sunlight. “He hadn’t thought of her for months, I’m sure. He’s been overly occupied with the daughter of the lieutenant-governor—what was her name, Amanda?”
“Giselle.”
“Very French,” Aunt said, in the same tone she might have said cannibal.
“Her mother was Parisian, I believe,” Amanda said. “But I observed Richard with Miss Somerville, and I don’t think it was anything more than a flirtation. I doubt a marriage will come of it.”
“I disagree,” said Aunt, pressing her mouth into a thin line. “It would suit me very well if he should marry her. I do not like the idea of him snowed in here with Katherine for the entire winter.”
“Usually we don’t get snowed in for more than a few weeks at a time,” suggested Hannah helpfully.
Aunt Merriweather’s gaze turned toward her. “You have had a very instructive tea, Miss Hannah. But you look doubtful. Tell me what you are thinking.”
With a small shrug, the girl put down her cake plate. “It wouldn’t be polite.”
“Would it not?” Aunt Merriweather raised one brow and tilted her head in Hannah’s direction: an invitation, or perhaps a summons to be less than polite.
After only a short hesitation, Hannah said: “Hector and Blue went after the Hauptmanns’ cat once. Got her cornered and that was that.”
Amanda drew in a small sigh of dismay; Elizabeth did not know whether to laugh or cry. But Hannah’s expression was serene, and she returned aunt Merriweather’s sharpest scrutiny without a hint of anxiety. She wondered how Nathaniel could have ever doubted that this child was his: even the tilt of her head spoke of him.
“How old is this girl?” The question was directed to Elizabeth, but Hannah answered for herself.
“I’ll be ten this winter, ma’am.”
Aunt Merriweather stared, but Hannah never blinked. Suddenly the old woman’s face lost its stony cast, and one corner of her mouth curled reluctantly upward.
“I understand you have a talent for medicine,” she said. “Did you try to save the cat?”
“There wasn’t anything to save once they got done with her, but I’ve got her skeleton. My father helped me wire it together. Do you want to see it?”
“Thank you most kindly for that generous offer,” said aunt Merriweather. “Perhaps another time.”
· · ·
After another hour in her aunt’s company, Elizabeth set off for home with Hannah. She wanted the exercise and the fresh air; she needed the time to organize her thoughts, and so she refused the company of Galileo which Aunt pressed on her so urgently.
They had just turned the path into the woods that took them out of view of the house when Amanda showed herself behind a pine tree, gesturing at them with frantic small motions of her pale hands.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asked, concerned. “Are you unwell? Shall we walk with you back to the house?”
Without a word, Amanda took her arm and pulled her off the path, through the jumble of foliage in reds and yellows and browns which crackled loudly underfoot. A grouse ruffled up indignantly from a meal of birch leaves and scurried off.
“Amanda, what is it?”
“There is nothing amiss with me, but I must have a word with you, and tomorrow there will be no time or opportunity.”
“Hannah,” said Elizabeth. “Could you please go on ahead? I will catch up with you.”
“Can I call on Dolly?”
“Yes, I will come by and get you there. But I won’t be long.”
When the girl had disappeared down the path, Elizabeth turned to her cousin.
Amanda could barely meet her eye. “I have something I must confess to you. While we were in Montreal, Dr. Todd gave me a message for Kitty.”
“For heaven’s sake, Amanda. Why did you not say so?”
Amanda pressed her hands together in front of her face and closed her eyes. “Mother forbade me to tell anyone, especially Kitty.”
What Elizabeth wanted to do, if only she could, was to walk away from this information; she wanted to forget the harried and unhappy look on Amanda’s face; she wanted never to hear Richard Todd’s name again.
“I don’t know, Amanda—”
“Oh, please, cousin. Please, I have no one e
lse to turn to.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, and pushed it out again. “Go on, then.”
In a rush, Amanda recited: “He said to tell Kitty that he would be back in Paradise before first snow, and that she should make her wedding clothes ready.”
“I see.” Elizabeth pressed a finger to the small ache that was blossoming between her brows. “And the young woman, Giselle?”
“I believe it was just a flirtation, although Mother does not. My mother does mean well, Elizabeth. She wants what is best for Kitty and the child.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth murmured. “I see that.” A late oak leaf floated down to rest on the great drift of birch foliage, like a dull brown pebble on a beach of jewels. Overhead a kinglet called with a thin, high seet-seet-seet.
“Will you tell Kitty?”
“I think not, not right away. When he gave you that message Richard could not have known that Kitty would marry Julian. Perhaps he will see things differently when he arrives here, and it would be cruel to make Kitty hope.”
“But I think he truly cares for her,” Amanda said. “I believed his concern was real.”
“Then why did he not send word all these long months?” Elizabeth shook her head. “He may be concerned for her welfare, but if he truly intends to marry her I fear it has more to do with other matters. Perhaps he is still under the impression that he needs her testimony against me. What a terrible muddle this is.”
“It is most wickedly selfish of me, but I do so want Kitty to come to England with Ethan. It seems to me that it might be the right thing for them. If not for your father.” Amanda averted her face as she said this, pale now, with so much of her earlier prettiness subdued.
“Amanda, you and I have had no time at all together in this brief visit. I wanted to talk to you, to know how you are. Do you—” She hesitated, looking for the right words. “Do you still have difficulty sleeping?”