by Lorin Grace
Tim stopped at the doorway before answering. “I think it may.”
He ignored the laughter coming from Dr. Morton as he left the building.
Sarah’s head nodded in rhythm to the breathing of the infant. Try as she might, she was no replacement for the child’s dead mother. Neither was the goat’s milk. She couldn’t remember any of her nieces or nephews fussing so much, but then, she had always been able to pass the child off to Lucy when the time arose.
The baby needed a wet nurse. Why hadn’t Tim or Mrs. Morton been able to find someone willing? Even with Mrs. Duncan’s wild stories, some woman must want the pay. A goat and a spinster were no replacement, although Mrs. Morton maintained the baby could suckle directly from the goat “quite satisfactorily.” Orphan homes in London did it all the time. The nanny goats had been trained to stand over the cradles.
Sarah tried to picture her goat standing over Rose’s basket. Every time she did, the goat ended up eating a prized quilt or running around the house, knocking something over. The alternative of taking Rose to the shed was not as chaotic in her mind’s eye. But if Nanny kicked while Rose ate … Sarah shuddered. No goat was going to kick Amity’s baby.
Whenever Rose slept sweetly, like now, Sarah relished the feeling of a tiny one in her arms. It had been years since she had let herself dream of motherhood.
The baby squirmed.
Sarah tensed, waiting for the cry she knew would come. Instead, a loud burp filled the room, and Rose snuggled back into her shoulder. Sarah knew she should lay the child down in the basket and try to get some sleep too. They had been up hours before the cock crowed, and the church bell had already announced the noon hour. Her stomach grumbled. Breakfast consisted of a wedge of cheese and stale bread as there wasn’t much else prepared in the house, and there wasn’t much of that. Some mother she would make.
Sarah stood, intent on finding some food for herself, when a knock interrupted her. Whether it was the knock or her sudden jump, the result was the same. The baby began to wail.
There would be no chance her caller would leave with the racket. Sarah opened the door. When had it started raining?
Tim looked as haggard as she felt. Without a word, she opened the door wider and let him in. She hoped the letter writer was avoiding the downpour and staying inside.
“I come bearing a gift.” Tim handed her a pewter baby bottle. “It was mine when I was little. Mother says I was one of those babies who could never eat enough.”
Sarah took it in her free hand and shook it, hoping to distract Rose. “Look what Dr. Dawes brought you. Ever so much nicer than using a rag.”
Rose stopped crying. For a moment.
“Shall we try it?”
Sarah swayed with the baby. “Anything to get her to calm down.”
Tim took the bottle out to Nanny and filled it. He brought it back with a scrap of cloth. “If you think the end is too hard on her mouth, you can cover it with a cloth. But it is pretty smooth.”
Sarah sat in the parlor rocking chair. Greedy sucking sounds filled the room. “You may have saved my life. Rose and I were just discussing what a terrible mother I am. She can’t rest, and I have no food in the house. It is a good thing this is only temporary.”
“I think you would make a wonderful mother. You aren’t old enough to be on the shelf yet.”
“I can’t ever be a mother.”
Tim watched as tears collected in Sarah’s eyes.
“You could if you would give me a chance. I know you are still in mourn—”
“Stop! Just stop!” The tears poured unchecked down Sarah’s face. “I can’t have children, so there is no reason to give you or anyone else a chance!”
Tim scooted to the edge of the chair. “What do you mean you can’t have children?”
“When I lost—” Sarah spoke through her sobs, only some of the words intelligible. “So much blood … Emma said … I shouldn’t …” Sarah gasped, her eyes wide.
For a second Tim thought she would bolt and drop Rose. He knelt in front of them to prevent either from happening and covered the hand holding the bottle with his.
Sarah took several deep breaths. “I guess I’d rather you heard the truth from me and not from whatever happens at the school-board meeting.”
Tim took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears from Sarah’s face. “What is going to happen at the meeting?”
“She … someone … is going to tell … that I carried Mark’s child. We were supposed to get married, then the war came and … ten dollars a month. Mark said he would only be gone for a while. Four months passed and … he died. All I got was a letter with his forty dollars.” Tim raced to put the pieces together from her half-finished sentences. Mark wasn’t the only one to join up for the ten-dollar monthly pay offered by the militia. The long goodbyes of a couple already engaged could naturally lead to a child.
Tim caught the new tears as he absorbed what she said. How could the girl of his dreams have carried another man’s child? Pain filled him, but he didn’t move, couldn’t move.
“He was going to come home and marry me. But I lost him and the baby on the same day. Emma promised no one would ever know … so sick for so long. I wanted to die with them. But I didn’t. I kept the forty dollars … in case.” Sarah moved the baby to her shoulder and blew her nose in her own handkerchief. “The irony—he sent me just enough to pay the magistrate. I hid it for so long, and now everyone will know. I can’t teach anymore. John will be furious, and I won’t be able to go to Indiana and start over. If I am fortunate, Samuel and Lucy will take me in and I’ll live the rest of my life pining for the two men I loved and can never have.”
Rose burped, and milk dribbled onto Sarah’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tim, I shouldn’t … I should have never spoken … but now you know the truth.” For the first time in days, she looked him in the eye. “I need you to know the truth. Whatever is said at the meeting will be worse. And by the time the gossips are done, I’ll be lucky if Samuel and Lucy will talk to me. But at least someone will finally take Rose since I am unfit. I hope they will love her.”
Tim stood. The only thing he could concentrate on was the sour milk running down the sleeve of Sarah’s dress. “Let me hold her while you go clean up.” He reached for Rose, but Sarah refused to give him the baby.
“You need to go before there is another note and your reputation is ruined because of me.”
“Note?”
“All summer someone has been sending me notes, telling me to stay away from you. If she is watching now … us, alone in the house, you kneeling in front of me. Then I don’t know that she will wait. This morning I made up my mind to tell the truth to the people who would most be hurt––you, Samuel and Lucy, and maybe John. Then I’ll pay the fine. I just want a chance to talk to Lucy before …” Sarah sniffled, “before everyone knows.”
The notes had been about him? Sarah’s initial revelation was more than he could process, but someone who would use her past to manipulate her? That he could try to stop. His last bit of goodwill. “Do you have these notes?”
Sarah nodded.
“May I see them?”
Sarah crossed the room and reached for a book with several papers stuffed in it. Rose squirmed, and Sarah brought her hand back to support the child. “They are all in there other than the first one, which I burned.”
Thirty-four
Sarah left Tim in the parlor and went to put Rose down. Maybe she would sleep for a couple hours. She used the cloth from the wash basin to clean her dress.
The pain she expected to come from confessing to Tim hadn’t come. Yes, he was lost to her, but he had never been hers, really. Now he knew why, and something inside Sarah felt less heavy. She had been brave. She would rent a buggy and go out to Lucy’s tonight. Teaching wasn’t the only job in town. The bindery hired several women.
She washed her face and returned to the parlor, where Tim sat staring at her notes.
“You see? You need to l
eave.”
He pulled one from the stack. “Is this why you tried to get me to take someone to the concert in June?”
“Yes.”
“And this one with the newspaper clipping—did you find it in the door when you came home from Swanson’s near the end of July?”
“How did you know?”
Tim shook his head. “Just a hunch.”
“Before you go, I need to say something else. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. If I had, you would have never shown any interest in me, and we would have never have k—” The word wouldn’t come out, so Sarah pointed to the stairway. “I’ve been so afraid all summer that for years someone would find out or tell about my past. But now that I’ve been honest with you, I don’t hurt so much. As soon as Rose wakes up, I am going to rent a buggy and go tell Lucy.”
“The truth shall set you free?”
“Something like that. I know how you feel about the camp followers, and I don’t blame you for thinking the same of me. I just hope someday you can forgive me.”
“Sarah, I—” Tim took a step toward her.
Sarah held a hand up. Her bravery only went so far. “Please don’t. Just say goodbye.” Stupid tears were forming again.
“Don’t rent a buggy. I’ll be back at four. I need to go see the twins today and weigh them. Mrs. Morton is still with someone, and we are a week overdue.”
“You don’t need to do that. If the person who writes these notes sees …” Sarah waved her hand helplessly.
“You are still my friend. If nothing else, tonight may be quite upsetting. I wouldn’t want you driving the buggy back when you are upset or with Rose upset.”
Sarah bit her lip. She shouldn’t accept, but it would be safer. “I’ll accept your offer for Rose’s sake.”
“I’ll see you at four.” Tim put on his hat and left.
Sarah shut the door and went to join Rose for a nap.
No wonder Sarah has been in mourning for four years. He should have guessed. Maybe because they had been friends, or maybe because of all the good he had seen, his heart kept telling his mind the same thing. Jesus didn’t condemn the woman taken in adultery.
He turned onto High Street. Rose and Sarah were not the only ones who could use some sleep. Several women stood outside the milliners. Tim slowed his horse and parked the carriage. Letters in hand, he hurried down the walkway.
“Miss Page, may I speak with you?”
“Oh, Doctor, how good of you to stop.”
The rest of the women stayed near the window. It didn’t afford him much privacy, so he kept his voice low. “Why did you send these to Miss Marden? Did you really think I would want to court a woman capable of blackmail?” Tim held the notes in front of her.
“Oh … I … oh …” Miss Page fanned herself. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”
The women were inching closer, so Tim moderated his tone. “I don’t understand how you could have written ‘Forty dollars is a lot of money. Stay away from Dr. Dawes,” and left it on Miss Marden’s doorstep.”
“Oh! I would never do such a thing!”
“Don’t play the fool. I recognize your hat. I saw a woman with that hat drop off this note. I sat behind you in church when you gossiped with your friends—again, in this hat. Just what do you hope to accomplish at the school-board meeting?”
“Oh, this hat isn’t mine. I borrowed it from Miss Brooks.”
“Do you often borrow Miss Brooks headwear?”
Miss Page touched the brim. “No, this is the first time I’ve ever had the occasion. It went so well with my new dress. But she was wearing it in church.”
“Miss Brooks?” Tim called to the group of women. “Could you help us sort out a conundrum?”
Miss Brooks left the other women and came to Miss Page’s side. She paled when her eyes locked on the papers Tim held. “Where did you get those?”
“You are familiar with the contents?”
The color came back to Miss Brook’s face. She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “So, you finally know your precious Miss Marden is not a bit better than she ought to be. I was going to wait to show my evidence at the meeting, but that may not be necessary.”
Tim gritted his teeth. “What evidence?”
Miss Brooks opened her reticule and pulled out a folded paper. “A letter in her own hand and signed by her, addressed to a Private Mark Wilson. Shall I read it to you? It will be read tomorrow evening. Miss Marden declares her love and confesses they are in the family way. So cute the way she did it. She begs him to come home with all haste so they can stand before Reverend Woods as one.”
The other ladies had joined them, making no secret of listening in.
“I believe that is enough, Miss Brooks.” Tim reached for the letter, but she tucked it into the bodice of her dress.
“That’s not the best part. It took me forever to find out what she meant when she told him they should not have spoken their vows like his parents. Did you know Mrs. Emma Wilson never truly married? Yet she is buried in the graveyard next to her supposed husband. Then there is Sarah’s half sister. That marriage is also cloaked in scandal. You should thank me, Doctor, for saving you from an importune match. The only thing I can’t figure out is where her baby went.”
“Saving me? Just how should I thank you? Should I fall at your feet and beg for your hand?”
“Me? I think not. I did it for Parmelia. No one sees her for what she is worth.”
Miss Page clawed at the hat, untying the ribbons. “Oh, Clara! How could you! I couldn’t court Dr. Dawes now, and Miss Marden was always nice to me.”
“We were never going to get better teaching positions with her there. You said—” Miss Brooks couldn’t complete her sentence as Miss Page flung the hat in her face.
“Oh! I never want to see you again, Clara. I hope Widow Webb tosses you out.”
“Why would she do that? I always pay my rent on time …” Miss Brooks turned and walked back past the milliners.
Miss Page gasped and turned to Tim. “Sarah must hate me if you thought I could …”
“Miss Page, it was not until I saw the hat that I suspected you, although I did assume it was one of the widow’s boarders.”
“Oh, poor Sarah. Will you tell her I’ll sit with her at the meeting? I don’t know what I can say to help her, but I will try.”
“I will tell her when I see her. My apologies for assuming you were responsible.”
Miss Page shook her head. “I gave you reason to doubt my character, or you would not have. Miss Long pointed out to me that I have been far too forward.”
“Still, I hope you forgive my trespass. Good day, Miss Page, Miss Long.”
Miss Brooks. Tim shook his head. Never in a century would he have thought of her. For the most part, she was so quiet and rather mousey. There was the one vicious remark about Amity … had it been Miss Brooks he had overheard gossiping?
Wanting solitude, he took the road west, past the farms, mentally replaying his conversation with Sarah. Jesus didn’t condemn the woman taken in adultery. Neither should I.
A line of their conversation came to mind. “I’ll live the rest of my life pining for the two men I loved and can never have.”
Who was the second?
Thirty-five
Rose slept peacefully in her basket. Sarah carried it out to the front porch as Tim drove up. She had no idea what to say, so she just handed him the basket and went back for the bottle. Tim helped her into the buggy, but he didn’t speak either.
They were more than halfway to Lucy’s before she broke the silence. “Thank you for the bottle. Rose slept for three hours. I think she wasn’t getting enough the other way.”
“My mother thought of it. If Rose likes it, it is hers.”
“I am going to miss her.”
Tim nodded his head.
They didn’t speak again until they reached the house and then not to each other.
&nb
sp; Tim made short work of checking Anna and Emma. “Eight pounds, and seven pounds twelve ounces. Mrs. Morton will be very pleased. She had intended to come, but she was needed elsewhere.”
“Can you stay for supper? If not, Samuel can return Sarah to town.”
“I’d be pleased to. I’ll just go take care of my horse.” Tim left the house with Benjamin trailing after him.
“Sarah, why don’t you bring the baby into my room. I need to feed these two while the girls get supper on.”
Lucy scooped both babies into a hammock she’d made of her apron. “I don’t think I can do this much longer.”
“Do they still sleep all tangled up?”
Lucy changed Anna’s clothes. “They seem to prefer it. And thank heavens they will eat at the same time.”
Sarah wondered how to begin. Tim had been easier because she hadn’t planned on saying anything. She waited until Lucy had the girls settled.
“I’ve needed to say something for a very long time, and I would appreciate it if you would let me get it out.”
The tale Lucy heard was much more coherent than the version Tim had.
“So, do you think I need to confess to Samuel and John? By tomorrow night, the whole town will know some version of it.”
Lucy moved one baby to her shoulder and patted her back. “Do you feel you should?”
“I do, but getting them alone is so much harder.” Sarah lifted Rose from her basket.
“If it makes it any easier, Samuel and I suspected as much.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You were nineteen, a woman grown. There was nothing to say unless you said it first. We wondered if we had been wrong to coerce you into postponing your wedding. But like everything we see in hindsight, we couldn’t change things. Do not give up hope of having a child of your own. Besides the three you know I lost, there were two more, very early on, that I could not carry.”
Sarah nodded. “Still, I cannot have children if I can never marry.”
Lucy placed her sleeping daughter in the cradle. “I think I hear everyone gathering. Come to supper.”
“One moment. Rose is sopping.”
“Welcome to my world. I don’t think I’ve had more than three bites of warm food at any meal in almost eighteen years, maybe longer. But I’ll ask Samuel to wait on prayers.”