by Carla J Gade
The reverend’s wiry eyebrows twitched. “Though I suspect you are not entirely comfortable here.”
“Not entirely, sir.”
The minister nodded, “You are Joshua Sutton, the tailor’s son, are you not?”
“Yes, I am.”
“How well do you know this young lady?”
“I am briefly acquainted with her, as Sutton’s Clothiers and Mrs. Wadsworth’s Mantua Shop have occasion to do business with one another. But we are not attached, if that is what you are asking.” An embarrassed grin formed on Joshua’s lips and he shook his head in denial. He had no interest in forming an attachment even to one as lovely as Miss Metcalf.
The man cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. “You might consider it.”
Was the reverend jesting or accusing? Joshua swallowed. “Pardon me, sir, but I am uncertain of your implication. I assure you it is as I said. My intent was for her well-being. Would you have me marry her simply because you found me here alone with her? I assure you it is entirely innocent.”
The man issued a sardonic grin. “It is why some couples seek me out mid-week. In fact, I wed a young couple this morning at Widow Lankton’s home. Her niece, you know. I understand you are acquainted.”
Joshua grimaced.
“Pardon me, son. I should have refrained from mentioning it. But I thought it would be of particular interest to you. You must be relieved to see her settled.”
Joshua clenched his jaw and stared at the stone floor. It should have been he who wed Emily Guilfold. But now, his name was marred, and her reputation sullied, despite her attempt to “settle.” Though she did not confess any sin, some assumed. Why else would she marry so soon after she’d broken off their own attachment? Because of it, some said Joshua had been inappropriately engaged with her. He hoped the gossip would abate until matters could be set straight. He’d refrain from going to taverns for a while—and mayhap Sunday meeting. Though Mother would tan his hide if he was absent from their family pew.
“Yes, Miss Guilfold informed me she was to marry by special license. Though I did not know the marriage was to occur this day.”
“Mistress Leach, now,” the minister said. “By all appearances the couple wed in haste, but you may put yourself at ease. Widow Lankton assured me it was for the best, though I am not at liberty to discuss it in detail.”
Why must the old man ramble on so? Joshua’s character was blemished; he did not need to dwell on it. Nor did he wish to hear about “Mrs. Leach.”
A soft groan came from Miss Metcalf and the two pivoted in her direction. Joshua would deal with his irreverent thoughts later.
“Does she need an apothecary? A physician perhaps?” Reverend Cooper asked.
“I suppose that she does.” Joshua went to the door and pushed it ajar against the pressure of the wind. Ice pellets continued to descend, now mixed with rain. He hoped it would subside soon. “I should go for Dr. Westcott.”
“I have seen storms as this in my lifetime. You should not go out again until the torrent ceases. I fear it may continue for some time,” the clergyman said.
Joshua shut the door. “But what of Miss Metcalf? I tried to keep her awake by talking, as I feared she might’ve obtained a concussion.” Joshua glanced at her still form. “Perhaps we should wake her.”
“Sleep might be best for now, son. At least, until the storm has passed.”
Miss Metcalf murmured unintelligible words. The men shifted their attention toward her, and then the reverend bowed his head. While Reverend Cooper entreated the Lord in silence, Joshua knelt by her side. He cast aside his own misery, as a strong desire to stroke her deep auburn locks and calm away her fears emerged from some place deep within.
He brushed a loose tendril from her pallid face. “Hush now, all is well.”
“Joshua?”
Reverend Cooper cleared his throat following a quiet “Amen.”
Joshua withdrew his hand. He would not allow himself to succumb to such feelings.
Yet, as the beauty slipped into unconsciousness once more, it occurred to him that she’d called him by his Christian name, Joshua. Worse yet, he addressed her in kind. Honour. Sweet, talented, and lovely Honour. Everything the beguiling Miss Guil—Mrs. Leach—was not.
2
Honour stepped around a puddle in front of the manse and drew in a refreshing breath of air. Though midsummer had been remarkably cool, with the dismal weather that had settled upon Boston of late, today the sky was blue, with nary a cloud to see. A chill remained in the air, but the day was indeed sublime, and she relished the opportunity to ride in the carriage parked before her. The carriage made a grand impression with its cheerful shade of green. Temperance would love it.
How Honour hoped Tempe was all right since she had been unable to tend to her sister while absent from her. It was so kind that the Reverend and Mrs. Cooper allowed Honour to convalesce overnight in their home.
“Shall we?” Joshua Sutton extended his hand and helped her into the carriage. “Please sit here. Facing forward will be more comfortable.”
Honour offered a meek smile. “I thought you would sit there. It is your conveyance.”
“’Tis my father’s coach. And I shall, if you do not mind.”
Honour settled onto the tufted black leather seat, and Joshua sat beside her. “Thank you. It was most kind of your father to allow you to bring me home.”
He grinned. “I shall thank my mother for you. She is the generous one in the family and suggested it.”
“You must favor her then.” Honour adjusted her calash, averting her eyes from Joshua’s. When he chuckled, she found that it could not be done. She simply had to look at him. His eyes were as blue as the cloudless sky, with rays of sunshine spilling from the corners.
The well-attired driver turned back, his silver buttons gleaming in the sun. “Ready, Sir?”
“Yes, Redmond. To Mrs. Wadsworth’s Mantua Shoppe on Hanover, at the sign of the needle—should it still be up.”
Honour shot a glance at Joshua. There was so much damage in evidence from the storm, despite the pleasant day. How had Mrs. Wadsworth’s shop fared? The carriage lurched forward at the driver’s command, jarring her aching body. A tiny moan rattled in her throat.
“Miss Metcalf, are you well enough to travel? I hope I have not presumed too much.”
Honour rubbed her arm. “Not at all, Mr. Sutton. I am sore yet, but well enough and anxious to go home to see my sister.”
“She will be waiting for you then?”
“Oh, yes, I hope so. She is only eight years of age.”
“So young. Have you other siblings?” he asked. “I, myself, have a younger brother and two older sisters. Both married and with a few youngsters of their own.”
“No . . . it is only the two of us.” The spoken words pierced Honour’s heart and she released a ragged sigh.
“Forgive me, I meant not to intrude upon your personal matters.”
Honour looked straight ahead to the cobbled street before her, holding back unshed tears, and thankful her oversized bonnet concealed her moist eyes. An awkward silence descended upon the pair while she regained her composure.
“There is no harm done, Mr. Sutton. I have spoken little about my family since their passing, except to Mrs. Wadsworth and Reverend Cooper and his wife.”
“I beg your pardon; I did not mean to intrude. But if perchance you should like to talk, I am happy to lend you my ear.” Joshua tugged on his earlobe beneath his cocked hat and grinned.
Honour released a small laugh, but doing so brought a fresh wave of pain to her head. She cupped her face in her hands and rubbed her temples.
“Forgive me, I meant not to aggravate your headache.”
“The city shall soon recover and so shall I.” I must. Though the roads were mostly cleared of the hail and debris, crews of men and boys were busy shoveling the balls of ice into waiting wagons. “Whatever will they do with it all?”
“Some of it melted w
ith the rain last night. I suspect that businessmen will harvest what they can for icehouses. The rest, I suppose they’ll dispose of in the harbor. I heard the hail measured a foot high in some places.”
Workers bustled about repairing the exteriors of the many buildings lining the street—chipped bricks, damaged clapboards and shingles, broken windows and signs. “This fine day certainly bears no resemblance to yesterday.”
“’Tis a new day indeed,” Joshua said. “Yesterday was a day of destruction, while today offers promise. If these citizens had not hope, we would not see them working so hard to restore what belongs to them . . . or paying another to do so. The colonial spirit endures, despite the burdens we find so cumbersome.”
Honour hiked her chin. Surely he referred to the Townsend Acts imposed on the colonies by the king. “What if one owns nothing? What motivates a person then?”
Mr. Sutton narrowed his eyes and replied with a grin. “Faith?”
“And what if one has lost faith?” She regretted the question as soon as it was upon her lips. Would he guess it could be someone like her?
Mr. Sutton crossed his arms and thought a moment, then donned a smile and said most assuredly, “Love.”
“I have heard it is the greatest of all three.”
“Indeed it is. What is it that motivates you, Miss Metcalf?”
“All I do is for Temperance, my little sister.” Honour fiddled with the ribbons of her bonnet, her thoughts drifting afar. “She is all I have left in the world, and all I have to love.”
Joshua squeezed her hand, this time allowing his hand to linger. Her gaze floated from their hands toward the bruise on his cheek, shadowed beneath his brown felt brim. How different he looked today, from the man who spirited her off yesterday looking more like a pirate than a gentleman. Now he dressed in a fashionable day suit befitting the son of a merchant tailor. His ash-brown hair, pulled neatly in its queue, peeked beneath a cocked hat, his face freshly shaven. His countenance now vacant of alarm instead held calm concern.
The glow of sunlight shone in his eyes and she could see her faint reflection in them. Unspoken reassurance drifted through the soft breeze, encouraging her to continue.
The carriage rocked back and forth in rhythm with the team’s gait as Honour bared her soul. “We were on our way to America when a ship of French pirates came upon us. My mother, father, and my brothers, Thomas and Wesley, were on deck when they fired upon us. We were making our way up the stairs from our cabin, Temperance and I, and the explosion knocked us down. We huddled under the steps and heard their screams. My sister tried to go up, but I pulled her back and swaddled her against me in the quilt I was carrying and covered her ears from the thunder of cannon shot and ammunition battering the deck above.”
“How frightful,” Joshua said.
“An American frigate arrived to rescue us, but it was too late. Too late for our parents and brothers.” Honour trembled, and Joshua wrapped his arm around her shoulders. There she found the strength to share her innermost fears. “Yesterday afternoon, the sound of the hail on the cobbled streets brought me back there again. This time alone.”
A torrent of long pent-up tears released, and she buried her head against Joshua’s chest, wanting never to be alone again.
Joshua held her so close she could almost feel their hearts beat in one accord. In his smooth, deep voice, he spoke barely above a whisper. “You are not alone now, Honour. You are not alone.”
The carriage came to a stop in front of Mrs. Wadsworth’s Mantua Shoppe. Joshua slid his arm out from behind Honour’s warm back. He straightened in his seat and tipped her chin up with the back of his fingers. “We are here, Miss Metcalf. You are home.”
He looked into her eyes, still dampened with tears, and offered a gentle smile. “Allow me to help you.”
Honour took some shallow breaths, and stood while he supported her elbow. The driver opened the carriage door and lowered the steps. Joshua climbed and reached up to assist her.
As she began her descent, Honour wilted. Joshua captured her in his arms and carried her to the shop. Mrs. Wadsworth greeted them, holding the door as they passed through. “My dear girl. Thank you for sending us the message, Joshua. We were sore afraid.”
Face-to-face, Honour said, “You may set me down, now, Mr. Sutton.”
Releasing her was the last thing he wanted to do. Sometime, within the past day—nay, within the past mile, as the brick and clapboard buildings blurred by, something akin to affection stirred within, and altered him. How could that be? He’d sworn off women, lest he get involved with another Emily Guilfold—Mistress Leach.
As Mrs. Wadsworth settled Honour in a wingback chair and coddled her, the sound of the women’s voices faded as thoughts floated through his mind . . .
He had never felt, longed for, anyone like this before. The arrangement with Miss Guilfold was to benefit their families. She never loved him, nor he her. He’d been committed to her for three long years, until she became of age. Why he and not his brother, who was better matched to her in years and common interests? Yet, in haste she married another merchant’s son—Edmund Leach. The man far exceeded her in age and in wealth, or so he thought. But of late, Joshua heard rumors of the Leach family’s holdings being in a state of decline. What would she see in the roué? Might she truly love the man? Although Joshua did not love Miss Guilfold, he’d grown to care for her and certainly did not wish to see her taken advantage of. Might she be taking advantage of Leach?
Joshua exhaled and surveyed the room. Gowns, petticoats, and panniers hung from the walls and ceiling. A beautiful mantua was exhibited in a corner unit. Shelves of cloth—some he recognized as coming from Sutton’s—laces, buttons, and accoutrements were set out with precision. He turned toward the windows flanking the front door and beheld the fabric and decorations that were strewn about the windowsills. Mrs. Wadsworth’s displays ruined. A broom leaned against the wall by a pile of broken glass and litter. Glass panes were smashed, looking as though the icy rocks had been thrown at them with harmful intent.
He spun toward Mrs. Wadsworth, who stared back at him, a frown planted on her face, fists upon her hips.
“What you see here is how it is in every shop—your father’s surely, he having such great windows,” she said.
“Yes, I know. Our building was in shambles. Shards of glass everywhere. Repairs have been underway since dawn.”
Mrs. Wadsworth blew out a big sigh, and her eyes watered. “The glazier cannot attend me for another four days. With glass no longer imported due to the heavy taxes, I know not if there is enough to replace it. I should be as fortunate as your father.”
“Then you shall be. I’ll secure the glass and send some of our workers to do what they can for you until the glaziers come. They will likely board up your windows.” Joshua’s brow furrowed. “It will be too dark for working. We will find a space suitable for you to work at Sutton’s for a few days.”
“You would do that for me?” She walked toward him and cupped his face in her hands. “You are surely a saint, Joshua Sutton. Just like your mother.”
Joshua laughed. “Please don’t tell Miss Metcalf.” He made a show of shielding his voice, his gaze alighting on her. “I don’t want her to think excessively well of me. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”
“Oh, we know of your reputation. All the girls in town swoon over you, but none can have you.”
“Nor will any want me, since Miss Guilfold’s rejection and the speculation accompanying it.” Joshua flattened his lips.
Mrs. Wadsworth waved a dismissive palm at him. “You mustn’t allow it to bother you, Joshua. It is nothing more than foolish prattle. You are one of the most outstanding young men in Boston. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“You have not heard then. Miss Guilfold is now Mrs. Edmund Leach. Reverend Cooper officiated her wedding at Widow Lankton’s estate yesterday.”
“I did not hear the banns cried.”
“
They obtained a special license.”
“I see. Well, be glad of it. Now you are free to pursue other options.” Mrs. Wadsworth tilted her head. “Did you hear that, Honour? Our bachelor is available for courting. You’d best join the queue.” She placed her hand over her mouth to contain her mirth.
Miss Metcalf was looking at him most uncomfortably when a strawberry-blonde girl came running in and threw her arms around her neck. “Honour! I knew you would come back. I knew it. I said my prayers, and God listened.”
Honour kissed and hugged the girl who climbed into her lap. It warmed his heart to see such sisterly affection. Miss Metcalf obviously needed the girl as much as her sister needed her.
The girl flailed her arms around with much emotion, describing the storm as it came to destroy the doors and windows of Mrs. Wadsworth’s shop. “And our bedroom window upstairs did not break. God watched over us, Honour, just as you said.”
Though the storm was over, the disaster was not. He needn’t add to it by lingering here when he ought to return the carriage and see what else he could do to aid his own family. Joshua took slow steps backward and retreated from the store—but his mind stayed on the lovely Miss Metcalf, who had already stolen a piece of his heart.
3
Joshua stood in stony silence listening to his father’s tirade. “You mean to tell me you have invited the mantua makers to use our building? We have little enough usable space as it is. Haven’t we done enough for her already?” Father shook his head vigorously. “While you were out on your errands of goodwill this morning, your brother took inventory of the storehouse. The flooded storehouse.”
“I know, Father. I organized it myself this morning and left the men under Andrew’s direction.” Naturally, he had to practically pull his brother out of bed by his nightshirt to do so.
Joshua’s father paced from one end of the office to the other, hands clasped behind his back. “You should have stayed to see the task through. Andrew reports that most of the inventory is at best partially damaged. All that imported cloth—ruined!” Father peered out one of the broken windows. “When are those glaziers going to come repair this broken glass?”