Skirting Tradition

by Kay Moser

  “A flask,” Maude concluded.

  “Great! The last time we tucked her into bed, we left her with her flask.”

  “But you also sent for Mr. Bellows, didn’t you, Tory? Surely he—”

  “He’s cruel to her,” Sarah blurted.

  “What are you saying?” Miss Victoria demanded. “What has he done?”

  “I—I—don’t know exactly,” Sarah admitted. “I just remember him saying ugly things about her, and she stayed in bed with terrible headaches after he left in the morning.” Sarah looked up into Miss Victoria’s face and whispered, “She cried. I think she was afraid.”

  “Poor woman,” Maude muttered and turned back to smooth Mrs. Bellows’ hair off her face.

  “Blast him!” Miss Victoria exploded. “He won’t get away with it. I am going to—”

  “What has that wife of yours done to set Edith off this time?” The three women heard Mr. Bellows shout at Mr. Hayden. “She was a perfectly sane woman—or at least as sane as any woman could be—before you brought that—”

  “Watch what you say, Bellows!” Mr. Hayden warned. “Whatever is wrong here is not Victoria’s fault. Your wife did not turn into a drunk overnight and certainly not because I got married!”

  “My wife is not a drunk!”

  “Is that a fact? Well, come in and see for yourself. She’s unconscious in the parlor and reeks of alcohol.”

  Seconds later, Mr. Hayden bounded into the parlor with Mr. Bellows close behind him.

  “Where is she?” Mr. Bellows demanded.

  “Over here.” Maude stood and pointed down at her patient. “Out cold.”

  “Well, she’s just fainted, that’s all,” Mr. Bellows insisted as he strode across the room and stood over his wife. “Idiotic woman! I can’t keep running home every time she faints. I’ve got work to do!”

  Miss Victoria flushed scarlet and stalked to his side. “Your wife is sick, Mr. Bellows! She needs help. She’s not an idiot!”

  “She was fine until she saw the likes of you!”

  “I doubt that very much,” Miss Victoria countered. “People don’t start drinking for no good reason. Something—or someone—is torturing her so much she’s escaping into liquor. I wonder who that someone might be?”

  “See here, you red-headed vixen!” Mr. Bellows shook his fist at Miss Victoria.

  “Don’t threaten my wife!” Mr. Hayden commanded. “Move aside, Victoria. Mr. Bellows is leaving. He can wait for the doctor on the verandah.”

  “You called the doctor? Great! Now the whole town will know about this!” Mr. Bellows turned on Miss Victoria and shouted, “Why couldn’t you stay in Europe? We don’t need women like you in Riverford!”

  “That’s exactly what you do need!” Maude yelled.

  Hayden pushed Maude aside and grabbed Mr. Bellows by the lapels.

  “Gentlemen!” Another male voice boomed from the door. “Calm yourselves and step aside,” Dr. Shockley ordered the men as he pushed his way between them.

  Everyone fell silent as the doctor leaned over the unconscious woman, checking her pulse.

  “She has these fainting spells all the time,” Mr. Bellows said. “Nothing to worry about. Just one of those female things.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Dr. Shockley snapped. “She reeks of whiskey.”

  “Nonsense!” Mr. Bellows said. “Edith never touches alcohol.”

  “She has now. Dead drunk.” He stood up. “Let’s get her home and into bed and hope this is a one-time thing.”

  “It isn’t,” Mr. Hayden said. “She’s been over here in this state at least twice before.”

  The doctor nodded. “Not surprised. Well, we’ll deal with that later. As for now, Hayden, you and Mr. Bellows will have to carry her home. Get to it. I’ve got patients waiting.”

  “We’ll have to take her out the back,” Mr. Bellows said as he tried to sit his wife up. “I don’t want the neighbors in on this.” He turned and glared at Miss Victoria. “You keep your mouth shut, you hear me?”

  “Don’t speak to my wife that way!” Mr. Hayden commanded.

  “I’ll speak to her anyway I like, and you—”

  “Enough!” Dr. Shockley intervened. “Bellows, pick up your wife. Hodges, help him. I’ve no time for schoolyard quarrels.”

  Miss Victoria approached him and lowered her voice. “There’s one thing, Doctor. Mrs. Bellows has a flask of whiskey in her lingerie drawer.”

  Dr. Shockley nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” He pinched his lips together momentarily before adding. “This is not about you, Mrs. Hodges. She is sick.”

  “I know, and I’m determined that she get proper treatment.”

  “You better plan to fight Mr. Bellows to the death then,” he said as he left the room.

  Maude came to Miss Victoria’s side. “Go upstairs and calm down, Tory, before Hayden gets back.”

  “No, I plan to be right here when Hayden returns.”

  “There’s no need to have a fight over this.”

  “I don’t plan to have a fight, Maude. I just plan to set a few things straight in this marriage.”

  “Tory ...”

  “You take Sarah into the library, and the two of you get to work in there.”

  Maude sighed, shook her head, and motioned for Sarah to follow her as she left the room.

  ***

  For a half an hour, Maude and Sarah worked in silence. They could not hear whatever was going on in the parlor between Mr. Hayden and Miss Victoria, but when Miss Victoria stormed in later, they knew there had been some definite venting.

  “My head is bloody, but unbowed!” she exclaimed as she slammed a wooden box onto the desk and withdrew paper and pencils.

  “‘Invictus,’” Maude informed Sarah. “William Ernest Henley wrote it.”

  When Sarah looked blank, Maude struck a fierce pose and began to quote.

  Out of the night that covers me,

  Black as the pit from pole to pole,

  I thank whatever gods may be

  For my unconquerable soul.

  Miss Victoria glared at her. “Oh, do shut up, Maude!”

  But much to Sarah’s amusement, Maude jumped up onto the window seat, thrust her clenched fist high into the air, and, with her voice rising melodramatically, declaimed:

  It matters not how strait the gate

  How charged with punishments the scroll.

  I am the master of my fate:

  I am the captain of my soul.

  Sarah broke into applause. “That’s wonderful! I’ve never heard anything so dramatic!”

  “For pity’s sake, don’t encourage her, Sarah. She’ll never stop,” Miss Victoria grumbled as she sketched briskly.

  “Au contraire, ma amie, Sarah is on my side.” Maude smirked at Miss Victoria. “And now she’s going to advance in mathematics. Come, Sarah, we have worthy work to do.” Maude grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her across the library. “As the immortal Tennyson wrote—

  ’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

  Push off, and sitting well in order smite

  The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

  To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

  Of all the western stars, until I die.”

  “Oh bother!” Miss Victoria proclaimed as she jumped up. “I’m going to find Hayden and apologize or whatever it takes to smooth this mess over.”

  “Well, you won’t have to look far,” Maude informed her. “Because here he comes up the walk.”

  Miss Victoria rushed out of the library, and Sarah joined Maude at the window to watch the two meet on the porch and embrace.

  “All’s well that ends well.” Maude sighed. “That’s the name of a Shakespearean play, Sarah, but we’ll get to that later.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Frigid northers blew out of Canada, across the plains, and into Texas for the first two weeks of March, and Victoria dashed around her garden, covering up plants and moving the recently acquired
camellias into the house. Every window sported a fluffy-flowered, glossy, green-leafed promise of spring—a promise Victoria needed.

  I was never good for anything on dark days. She grimaced as she stood at the library window, peeping past a dashing striped red-and white camellia out into her grim and foggy side garden.What a mess it is out there! No one’s planted anything in years. She sighed, dragged a chair over, and picked up a sketch pad. What’s needed is a plan.

  Charcoal in hand, her fingers flew across the paper, transforming the ice-crusted dead grass and long-abandoned lanky holly shrubs into a future spring wonderland. I’ll just keep the hollies on the boundary with the Bellowses. Her hand stopped, the charcoal frozen an inch above the paper. I wonder how Edith Bellows is this morning. She shook her head impatiently. Better not to think about that.

  “Finally.” Sarah sighed from the heavy mahogany desk where she had been studying since dawn. Victoria watched as Sarah pushed her mathematics book aside and reached for her beloved Latin.

  “You started very early this morning, scholar. In fact, you’re making quite a habit of dawn meetings with your books.”

  Sarah grinned. “I confess. The minute my eyes pop open I can’t wait to get down here.”

  “Well, your eyes pop open much earlier than mine.”

  “All the years on the farm.”

  “Do you miss it, Sarah?”

  “Only Mother. I miss her, and I’m worried about her.”

  “But she’s doing well?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sarah frowned. “I guess she knows how to deal with pregnancy by now.”

  Before Victoria could formulate an encouraging response, Delphie rushed in all a-flutter. “They’s a telegram!” She waved the envelope in the air.

  “Ah ... so the world is still out there and alive after all.” Victoria ripped it open while Delphie hovered nearby. “Heaven help us!” Victoria jumped from the chair. “Mother and Amelia are coming.”

  Sarah’s mouth fell open. “Next week?”

  Victoria dropped the paper. “This afternoon!” Her eyes began to blaze.

  “This afternoon? Are you sure?” Sarah raced to the dropped telegram. “On the three o’clock train. Why? I mean ... she hasn’t even answered your letters.”

  “A curt thank-you for the Christmas presents. That’s all.” Victoria planted her fists on her waist and whirled on Delphie. “Go air the guest bedrooms and tell Frances to come here at once. Go!”

  Sarah scanned the telegram again. “She doesn’t give any reason.”

  “Of course not! Mother never explains herself.” Victoria paced back and forth as Sarah wisely waited. “But you can be sure there a reason.”

  “How can I help?”

  “How can anybody help?” Victoria threw her hands into the air. “There’s no time!”

  “I’ll send a note to Mr. Hayden.”

  “Yes.” Victoria ran her hands through her hair. “That’s a beginning. And we must reconsider dinner entirely. You know Mother.”

  “Did you want me, Miz Victoria?” Frances spoke up from the door.

  “What I want is a ticket on the first train to New York! After that, passage on any ship leaving for England would be perfect.”

  Frances stared at her mistress, whose red hair was now tumbling down her shoulders.

  “Oh bother!” Victoria jerked her curls back up and skewered them with a comb. “Come into the drawing room, Frances, so we won’t disturb Sarah’s studying. It seems we’re being blessed with uninvited company.” Victoria stalked toward the door as Frances turned to Sarah for explanation

  “Mrs. Atkins is coming with Miss Amelia.”

  Frances’ eyes widened.

  “They arrive at three this afternoon,” Sarah added.

  Frances shook her head and exclaimed, “Lawd a mercy!” as she scurried after Victoria.

  Mercy indeed, Victoria prayed.

  ***

  Sarah sent up a quick prayer for Miss Victoria as she stood on the porch, watching Mrs. Atkins and Amelia come up the walk. Mr. Hayden had met them at the station while the whole household scurried in a valiant effort to prepare for the difficult visitors. Not surprisingly, Mrs. Atkins stopped in front of the three muses fountain, gave it a disapproving scrutiny, and disdainfully pulled her skirt away from it as she passed. Amelia did not seem to notice it at all. Indeed, quite out of character for the vivacious young woman, she kept her eyes on the ground.

  “I see you are still here.” Mrs. Atkins greeted Sarah when she hastened to help the lady up the icy steps. “And I see that the steps have not been properly cleared of ice. No, don’t touch me! Hayden will assist me if he ever arrives.” She cast an impatient glance over her shoulder.

  “It’s freezing, Mother,” Amelia complained. “Let Sarah help you.”

  “Oh, very well, since you can’t tolerate a little cold.” She thrust out her arm for Sarah to take. “Where is Victoria? It’s the height of ill manners not to greet one’s guests.”

  “She’s arranging tea for you, ma’am, in the drawing room.”

  “Left it to the last minute, as usual.”

  Sarah bit her tongue and assisted the woman into the main hall where Miss Victoria met them.

  “Welcome, Mother. Let me take your cape.”

  “No, no, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, Victoria. I hear you’re too busy to greet your mother properly. A little planning would, no doubt, go a long way in this establishment.”

  “It’s difficult to plan accurately when one is surprised by unexpected guests, Mother. Has the telegraph office in Galveston been nonfunctional?”

  “There’s no need to stoop to impertinence.” Mrs. Atkins turned to Sarah. “Here, you, take my cape and help my daughter. Then perhaps you’ll show us to our rooms. We mustn’t tax Victoria’s hostessing skills.”

  Miss Victoria rolled her eyes as she nodded to Sarah, and Sarah scrambled to help. After giving Miss Victoria an unenthusiastic hug, Amelia trailed behind her mother as she ascended the staircase.

  ***

  “So nothing has changed, I presume?” Mr. Hayden asked Miss Victoria as Sarah poured them cups of tea.

  “You presume correctly; Mother is behaving as usual.”

  “How long are they going to stay?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. After all, I’m only the mistress of this house and her daughter. Why would I be told?”

  “They only brought one trunk.”

  Miss Victoria’s head bobbed up. “One? Are you sure?”

  Mr. Hayden nodded as he sat down beside her.

  “They must be sharing, but how very odd. That’s not like Mother at all.”

  Sarah set the teapot back on the silver tray and murmured, “Actually, it’s Amelia’s trunk.”

  “You unpacked it?” Miss Victoria asked.

  Sarah nodded and watched with pleasure as a happy smile blossomed on Miss Victoria’s face.

  “It would seem that Mother is not staying long.”

  “Not long at all, Victoria!” Mrs. Atkins announced from the doorway. “If that pleases you, I’m glad. Certainly it pleases me.”

  Mr. Hayden jumped to his feet. “Come in, Mother Atkins. Here”—he encouraged as he pulled a chair closer to the fire—“rest. You must still be cold from your travels.”

  “There is a fire lit in my bedroom ... an inadequate one, of course, but still a fire. The most one can hope for, I suppose.”

  Miss Victoria scowled. “Sarah, please pour Mother a cup of tea.”

  “I should think my daughter could pour me a cup of tea.” She locked eyes with Miss Victoria. “After all, it’s not often I impose on her.”

  “Your only imposition, Mother, is the scanty notice you gave me of your visit.”

  Mrs. Atkins sniffed. “A good hostess is always ready to receive guests.”

  Miss Victoria rose, poured her mother’s tea, and handed the cup to her. “Why have you come?”

  “I have my reasons. Oh, do sit down,
Victoria! You can’t intimidate me.”

  Miss Victoria settled back on the settee. “Why have you come, Mother, and with so little luggage?”

  “I shall not need an extensive wardrobe. I leave tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Mr. Hayden asked. “Where are you and Amelia going? Somewhere to escape winter, I suppose.”

  “You suppose wrong. I am returning to Galveston. Amelia is remaining with you. I only came because I consider it highly improper—”

  “You are leaving Amelia with me?” Miss Victoria’s voice rose with incredulity. “You must be desperate indeed.”

  Eyeing her daughter coldly, Mrs. Atkins straightened her spine. “I am never desperate, Victoria. No lady is. I taught you that, of course, but you have abandoned everything I taught you.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Mother. What is going on? Why are you leaving Amelia here?”

  “Because I can’t stay in Galveston,” Amelia answered as she sauntered into the room. “I’m a disgrace.”

  “Not yet you aren’t, young lady! And I don’t intend to sit idly by while you become one.”

  Miss Victoria patted the settee. “Come sit here, Amelia. Sarah, pour another cup of tea, please.”

  “You pour your sister’s tea, Victoria!” Mrs. Atkins rapped the chair arm with her ring. “And send that servant away! This is a family discussion. Have you no sense of propriety?”

  “Sarah is not a servant!” Miss Victoria’s face flushed scarlet.

  “Calm down, Victoria,” Mr. Hayden warned. “There is obviously something amiss, and we need to know what it is.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Amelia burst out. “It’s not the end of the world! Mother doesn’t approve of my fiancé, and I don’t care who knows it. She is forcing me to stay in Riverford, because she thinks, wrongly, that I will fall out of love with him.”

  “I wouldn’t exalt your behavior by calling it love, young lady!” Mrs. Atkins shot back at her. “And if you intend to stay in this family, you will forget him as if he never walked the earth.”

  “I am eighteen, Mother! I am going to marry Carl as soon as—”

  “I forbid it!” Mrs. Atkins rose with impressive speed. “This discussion is at an end. I shall rest in my room until dinner, which I presume will be at the proper hour, eight o’clock.”