Ambrosia

by Rosanne Kohake

  One dark and rainy afternoon Ambrosia sat quietly sketching before a warm fire in the library. Lily was silent for the moment as she struggled to pen a letter to a friend who had recently written to her. “Reverend Walsh! What a pleasant surprise!”

  Ambrosia’s head shot up in surprise when she heard Lily’s greeting. Lily rose and hobbled toward the reverend.

  He was a larger man than Ambrosia had expected, his face full and striking, his thick shock of unruly hair prematurely steel gray. A wide smile lit his light brown eyes as he shrugged off a rain-drenched cape and stepped eagerly forward to grasp Lily’s hand. They exchanged a warm greeting before Lily turned a beaming face toward Ambrosia and made an introduction.

  “I feel very fortunate to meet you, after all this time,” the reverend said as he took Ambrosia’s small hand in his warm, strong grasp. “Lily has told me so much about you.’’

  Ambrosia managed a weak smile. His eyes, though warm and magnetic, had noticed her black gown. She was grateful he had said nothing about it. “Lily’s told me a great many things about you too, Reverend. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  It was a lie that tasted bitter in her mouth. In truth she had no desire to meet him or any of Lily’s friends.

  She lowered her eyes and turned her attention back to the sketch of Mandy she had been working on. She was relieved when she heard the reverend and Lily take a seat across the room. The reverend told Lily about a young woman newly widowed, in need of immediate assistance so that she and her five children might travel to Philadelphia where the woman’s family lived. Ambrosia thought about excusing herself from the room but decided she would be less conspicuous if she remained where she was and said nothing. She went on with her sketch, catching bits and pieces of what was being said, enough to know that Lily immediately wrote a bank draft to the reverend for an amount sufficient to cover the woman’s traveling expenses. Ambrosia winced as she heard Lily invite the reverend to dinner and held back a sigh a relief when he declined. She heard him rise and retrieve his cape. But suddenly he came toward her and stood beside her. She lowered her piece of charcoal and bit her lip nervously as he openly studied her sketch. “You are very talented, Mrs. Rambert.”

  “Thank you, Reverend.” She was feeling more ill at ease with every passing moment.

  “I am happy to see that you are recovered from your illness.”

  Ambrosia said nothing in response to that. There was very little she could say.

  “I am looking forward to seeing you at Sunday services, as soon as you feel strong enough.” She met his eyes and saw the hint of a challenge there, even as he extended his huge, warm hand again. Ambrosia hesitated for a moment before she allowed him to take hold of her hand, trying hard to think of an answer. Before she could think of anything, he was smiling widely. “Lily always tells me that my sermons are inspiring. You’ll have to decide that for yourself, of course. But I think you would fit in quite nicely into our congregation. I do hope you’ll come.”

  Church services the following Sunday proved an uncomfortable experience for Ambrosia, since the church in the village was quite small and the members of the congregation so well acquainted with one another that an outsider was immediately recognized. Ambrosia was painfully aware of the eyes that followed her from the moment she and Lily stepped into the small, unadorned clapboard-and-stone building. She kept her own eyes carefully lowered as she took a seat in the rough-hewn pew, holding Mandy tightly in her arms. The building reminded her a little of the country church she had attended as a child, but the people here were different. The overwhelming majority of them were poor, Ambrosia realized in one quick glance. Many were immigrants wearing strange kinds of clothing, some of it as worn and ragged as she’d ever seen. The few obviously wealthy members like Lily sat here and there in the church rather than in special seats reserved for the elite. There were no hymnals, no organ or musical accompaniment for the songs sung before and after the minister’s sermon. And the sermon was different to Ambrosia as well. Reverend Walsh first read from the thirteenth chapter of John, then spoke of the command Jesus had given his disciples to love one another. The reverend made no threats of eternal damnation and never mentioned the wrath of the Almighty God. Instead he reassured the people of God’s love and forgiveness, the same love and forgiveness, he said, that each man was meant to offer to his brother.

  When the service ended, most of the congregation gathered outside the church to talk with the minister and other churchgoers before departing for home. There was discussion about sick members of the parish, as well as talk about the family of a young man who had recently died, anti a young couple who had just announced their engagement. Everyone knew everyone here, and everyone was eager to meet the young woman who had come with Lily to services. There were countless introductions and so many brief, smiling nods of welcome that Ambrosia was sure she would remember no one. Several women seemed to stare at her black gown, but not a single person remarked on her clothing. Instead, there was much attention paid to her baby, and hundreds of questions about Drayton, followed by looks of disappointment when Lily said he was working in the city now, and no longer a doctor. Only one elderly woman greeted Lily as a friend and warmly touched the baby’s hand, then froze and turned her back on Ambrosia the moment she heard her accent. “Don’t mind her,” Lily whispered. “She lost both her boys in the war.”

  Ambrosia bit her lip, understanding the woman’s rude behavior all too well. She managed a smile for the last person out of the church, an ancient, hunched-over old woman with sparse, corkscrew curls here and there about a deeply wrinkled face. Bea Hanover moved as slowly as a tortoise, and reminded Ambrosia very much of one in her huge green hoop skirt with mended lace trim. She grasped Ambrosia’s small hand tightly in her thick, gnarled fingers and leaned forward on a large wooden cane. “So you’re the one who married our Dr. Rambert,’’ she announced so loudly that Ambrosia knew she was terribly hard of hearing. “Well, where is he?” she demanded. ‘’I need to talk to him about my headaches.’’

  “My husband is working in the city,” Ambrosia mouthed in what she hoped was a voice loud enough for Bea to hear.

  “Why are you making him do that?” Bea pressed shrilly. “He belongs here, you know.”

  “I told you Drayton had taken over his father’s business in the city, Bea,’’ Lily broke in, noticing the color in Ambrosia’s cheeks.

  “Yes, you told me,” Bea admitted begrudgingly. “But what’s she doing here if her husband’s living there?”

  “Ambrosia has been ill,” Lily told her in a sharper tone.

  “Indeed!” Bea was still holding fast to Ambrosia’s hand, but now her eyes ran pointedly up and down the length of her, as if still questioning why she was here and her husband was elsewhere. “You tell him I said he ought to come back here,’’ she half screamed at Ambrosia. “We need a good doctor. Haven’t had one since he left.” She paused, eyeing her up and down again. “If I married a man like Dr. Rambert, I certainly wouldn’t want him living in the city,’’ she said bluntly.

  “We really must be going now, Bea,” Lily insisted, disengaging the older woman’s hand from Ambrosia’s and turning the younger woman toward the carriage.

  “You tell him what I said,” Bea called even more loudly as Lily and Ambrosia walked away. “You be sure and tell him.”

  Debbs assisted Ambrosia into the brougham, and she sank into the thick leather seat with a sigh of exhaustion. She had expected the stares, the curiosity about her dress, the questions about her manner of speech which so clearly betrayed her Southern background. But she had not anticipated the interest in Drayton since he had been gone for so long, for months even before the start of the war. And yet she ought to have expected it. She was his wife, after all. His wife, she thought numbly, even though she had never really been a wife to him. She pushed the troubling thoughts from her mind, unable to deal with them now.
She held Mandy a little closer and reminded herself that she would be back at Elmwood soon, that she would once again be safe and secure.

  Lily was silent for a little while as the carriage began its journey home. She knew that Ambrosia was troubled, that this morning would have been difficult for anyone, but especially for a woman who had isolated herself for months. “I’m glad you came to services with me this morning,” Lily said finally, breaking the silence. “It gives me such joy to introduce you to all of my friends.”

  Ambrosia’s eyes were dark and skeptical as they met hers, then quickly looked away.

  “You mustn’t let Mrs. Reed upset you,” Lily went on. “As I told you, she lost both her sons in the war and she hasn’t gotten over that yet. That doesn’t pardon her rudeness, but it does help to explain it. As for Bea Hanover, well, she’s all of ninety-three years old and practically destitute. I suppose that gives her some excuse for indiscretion... though I must admit that she was the same way years ago.’’

  Ambrosia’s eyes fixed on Mandy and her fingers toyed with the edge of the baby’s blanket. “Drayton must have been a fine doctor before the war for so many of them to remember,” she said softly.

  Lily let out a sigh as she untied the satin ribbon of her bonnet. She was relieved that Ambrosia had finally spoken of her husband, after carefully avoiding any mention of him for weeks. “He was far more than just a doctor to them,” she said with heartfelt pride. “He was someone who came whenever anyone called on him, someone who brought children into the world with joy, someone who stayed with those in need, regardless of their ability to pay, someone who comforted those forced to deal with death...” She stopped for a moment, thinking how ironic it was that Drayton had never allowed anyone to comfort him when he was forced to deal with death, and how tragic. “He truly cared for them, you know. He’s that kind of man. People don’t forget that.”

  Ambrosia bit her lip, a deep frown touching her brow as she stared down at Mandy’s face. She remembered the way Drayton had looked after the wounded soldiers at Heritage, not only his own men but the Rebel soldier as well. And she remembered the way he had cared for her after the men had attacked her in the stable...She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fingers about the blanket, fighting tears of shame and guilt at the hatred she had screamed at him. How viciously she had tried to destroy him, and all because he had seen her weaknesses, had tried to care for her. She forced away the hot, stinging tears of regret, knowing that she must not think about this. She must not.

  “I always enjoy the minister’s sermons,” Lily said after a few moments, pretending to study the passing woods. “He is full of love, that man. And he never tires of preaching love and forgiveness. I suppose that’s because we need to hear it again and again. We need so much to know that we are forgiven, no matter what we’ve done in the past.”

  Still unable to speak, Ambrosia gave a nod. But a part of her knew that no matter what Lily said, Drayton would never forgive her the damage her hatred had done.

  Chapter 38

  A sudden flurry of holiday preparations banished the lingering memories of summer and replaced them with visions of bright, festive days before a crackling fire. Ambrosia had never celebrated Thanksgiving Day before, since it was primarily a New England tradition. Lily, who normally followed a flexible meal plan worked out with Sheba or Sarah each morning, took a great deal of time going over the holiday menu with the cooks as well as with Ambrosia. Debbs was sent into town fully a half-dozen times in search of special ingredients Lily insisted upon for her special recipes. And beginning days before, Lily oversaw every step of the preparation herself, from the turkey and bread stuffing and cranberries to the pumpkin pies that were integral parts of the celebration.

  Ambrosia listened attentively as Lily spoke of ‘’family traditions,” most of which had been passed down from Henry’s family rather than her own. ‘’I used to think it all very stuffy and pompous,’’ Lily admitted with a wistful sigh as they sat breaking bread the evening before Thanksgiving. “But there is something comforting in carrying on such traditions from one generation to the next. Think of it, Ambrosia. Someday Mandy will be sitting in her own home, teaching her daughter the very things I’m teaching you.”

  Ambrosia happily took part in the holiday preparations, since she was anxious to keep busy and thankful for the laughter and kinship Lily lent to every task. Finally, after weeks of feeling very little beyond fear and timidity, she was beginning to develop a sense of belonging here, a sense of being important to life at Elmwood. Finally her heart was beginning to heal.

  Thanksgiving Day began with an early-morning service at the church in the village which Drayton did not attend since he arrived at Elmwood so late in the day, well after noon. More than once during the minister’s sermon, Ambrosia was aware of Bea Hanover’s eyes upon her, questioning her husband’s absence on this special day. Fortunately a cold drizzle prevented the usual gathering outside of church, and the parishioners sought the shelter of their conveyances immediately after the services.

  Though Lily was clearly piqued by Drayton’s late arrival and unconvinced that work had forced him to remain in town a few hours longer than he’d planned, the traditional meal was a wonderful success. Drayton expended a great deal of effort in charming Lily out of her irritation, and he seemed to enjoy the meal more than anyone else. “No one can serve up a Thanksgiving dinner the way you do, Lily Collinsworth.’’ he told her with a contented smile. He took one last sip of coffee, then leaned back in his chair. ‘’The turkey was perfect, the stuffing superb, the pie by far the best I’ve ever eaten.’’

  “I quite agree,” Lily returned promptly. “Although I can’t really take credit for the pies. Ambrosia and Sheba convinced me to try a recipe that’s been in the Lanford family for years. And they insisted on making it all by themselves.”

  Drayton’s smile faded as he met Ambrosia’s eyes. He had not expected the announcement, that much was obvious. ‘’Perhaps someone forgot to tell you that Thanksgiving is a Yankee holiday,” he said softly.

  The glow in Ambrosia’s eyes vanished and she quickly lowered her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she had wanted his approval, how much she cared what he thought.

  Lily stared at her nephew in stunned silence, hardly able to believe what she’d heard. A moment later Ambrosia excused herself from the table, and before Lily could say a word, Drayton also excused himself and retired to his room.

  Thanksgiving Day was hardly over when Lily began her annual shopping visits to the city. She was more than a little disappointed when Ambrosia refused to accompany her into town, using the excuse that the baby should not be left with Emily for an entire day, and of course it was far too cold to take her along. Lily assured her that they would return quite early and that the baby could surely survive one feeding of cow’s milk, but no amount of prodding could change Ambrosia’s mind. One day Ambrosia did go with Lily to the small general store in the village to purchase gifts for Jake and Debbs and Emily and Bess, as well as Sheba and Sarah. On that occasion Lily sensed Ambrosia’s embarrassment over her black clothing when she was introduced to an old friend of the family as Drayton’s wife. Perhaps, Lily thought, her reluctance to go into the city was tied to the clothing she had defended so staunchly just a few months before. And perhaps the time had come to give her a chance to break with that part of her past.

  The first deep snow of the season began to fall two days before Christmas. Ambrosia woke on Christmas Eve to find a deep, crystal white blanket of snow covering everything, while the huge wet flakes continued to fall. After staring in awe through a frosted windowpane the entire morning and most of the afternoon, Ambrosia bundled herself in the heavy woolens Lily insisted she wear and ran from the house to frolic in the deep snow. “Isn’t it lovely?” she cried happily to Debbs as she dug her gloved hands into the thick carpet of white like a child and tossed the snow high in the air. “I’ve never
seen so much snow!”

  “You’ll be weary of it soon enough,” he returned with a wry grin as he went back to clearing a path from the stables to the house.

  ‘’Never!’’ she called back as she ran toward her favorite trail through the woods. She paused to shake the glistening flakes from the drooping branches of the first tree she encountered, then ran on, laughingly trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

  Ambrosia had just disappeared down the trail when Debbs saw Drayton coaxing his stallion toward the stables. He rushed out to take hold of the horse’s bridle, assuring Drayton he would see to the animal’s needs. “Go along to the house,” he told Drayton. “Miss Lily’s expecting you, and I don’t believe she’s quite forgotten your late arrival Thanksgiving.”

  Lily was indeed waiting for him when he entered the house. “Well, well, what have we here? A visitor from the city? Or is it a snowman?”

  “I feel like a little of both.” Drayton smiled. He re­ moved his hat and brushed the snow from his sleeves. “Where’s Mandy?” he asked as he removed his gloves and handed them to Lily.

  “Napping...as she always is this time of the afternoon. You’d know that if you spent more time here.”

  “I keep myself busy,” Drayton responded lightly, re­ fusing to allow the comment to affect his good mood. He began to unbutton his coat.

  ‘’I’m sure you do.” Lily waited until he had folded his coat across his arm, then handed him back his gloves and hobbled into the parlor, going immediately to the front window. “Did you see Ambrosia on the way in?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  Lily frowned as her eyes searched the landscape. It was difficult to make out much of anything as the snow continued and shadows began to fall. “Oh, dear. I hope she hasn’t slipped and fallen in the snow.’’

  Drayton paused in arranging his coat and damp outerwear near the fire to dry. “What the devil is she doing out in weather like this?” he demanded as he left his things to join Lily at the front window.