by Carla J Gade
“No, Father, you misunderstood what was said. Please, lower your voice, sir.”
“Did I not hear that you are courting her?” Joshua’s father asked.
Honour’s heart pounded as she took another step. The stair creaked and she froze.
The elder Mr. Sutton rambled on. “You were pledged to Emily Guilfold and now that she has married another, you take matters into your own hands and attach yourself to a common quilter?”
“You know nothing of her,” Joshua said.
“Nor do you!” his father snapped. “Joshua, if you are doing this to insult me . . . to retaliate for getting spurned. What do you say for yourself? . . . Do not be contumacious with me young man. Where are you going? We are not yet through . . .”
“Yes—we are. We’ll talk when you calm down, Father. When I do.”
The sound of heavy footsteps came near the stairwell. Honour turned to retreat up the steps, lest she be thought eavesdropping. The hem of her gown caught on a nail protruding from the baseboard. As she leaned over to release herself, a hazy feeling assailed her and she went tumbling into the darkness.
7
Joshua ran to the alcove at the bottom of the stairs at the sound of tumbling, followed by a large thud. There lay Honour in a contorted heap. O, Lord! Please, no! “Father, come quickly!”
Joshua dropped to her side. Honour’s hair spilled onto the floorboards all around, but he saw no blood. His heart thumped as he placed his fingers on her neck to feel for a pulse. “Praise be God,” he breathed.
Father rushed up behind him. “What on earth!”
Joshua lifted his head, imploring his father. “Get some help . . . please, make haste!”
As Joshua knelt surveying her limp body, a child’s voice shrieked. “Honour!”
Temperance peered down at her sister from the top of the stairs.
“I’ll help her, Tempe.”
Mrs. Wadsworth and her assistant appeared behind the stunned girl. The anxious group made their way down the steep stairs. “Be careful, Temperance, we do not want you falling, too,” Joshua heard Mrs. Wadsworth say.
The ladies carefully stepped around Honour’s motionless body. Mrs. Wadsworth held Temperance back by the shoulders. The little girl sobbed. “Is she dead? She cannot be! She is all I have.”
Temperance wilted to the floor and cupped Honour’s cheeks. “Honour, please wake up. Please God, don’t let her die!”
“The poor girl. She’s barely recovered from her other injuries. She must have been lightheaded, though she hadn’t complained,” Mrs. Wadsworth said. “She shouldn’t have exerted herself so these past few days.”
The other worker put her hand on Tempe’s shoulder, “She’ll be all right, you’ll see.”
Father entered the alcove, catching his breath. “I sent Redmond for Doctor Westcott. It’s a good thing I stopped by the shop this afternoon with the landau.”
Joshua clamped his jaw, censuring his thoughts. It was no time to place blame. As the afternoon sun streamed in through a window, something shiny glinted on the floorboards. A shilling. And two more. Honour must have been on her way down to return them. He should have known she’d not accept the money from him, proud as she was. If anyone were to blame, it was himself. He was the cause of her fall.
Joshua’s heart sank. He lifted her arm and began to pat her wrist. “Miss Metcalf, Miss Metcalf, can you hear me?”
“Try my vinaigrette.” Mrs. Wadsworth reached into her pocket and handed him a small silver container. Joshua opened the egg-shaped trinket, containing a mixture of perfume and vinegar, and waived it near Honour’s nose—without effect.
“It is safe to move her?” Joshua asked his father.
Father clutched his jaw and shook his head. “I do not know, but she cannot stay here.”
Tempe’s silent tears streamed down her freckled cheeks. Joshua grabbed her small hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, and she sniffled.
“Let’s take her to the parlor. Please step back everyone.” Joshua scooped Honour up and carried her to his family’s lounging room, located behind the large gallery of the store. As he made his way past the long counters and display tables, Father waited for the doctor by the front door. A nosy customer peeked over Father’s shoulder. He instructed her to return another day and latched the door. Joshua never thought he’d hear such words on his father’s lips.
Joshua lay Honour on his mother’s velvet chaise, where mother reclined on many long days spent at the store. The ladies entered behind him.
Honour’s arm slipped off the couch. Mrs. Wadsworth picked it up and rubbed her wrist and patted her hand. “Come now, Honour. Wake up, child, wake up.”
As Joshua looked down at Honour’s still form, the feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him. He could not lose her now, so soon. He had only just begun to feel what it was like to care for a woman this way. Someone his heart chose.
Mrs. Wadsworth proceeded to straighten Honour’s clothing, and the ribbons of her chatelaine dangled at her side. She picked up the shears and let out a gasp. “Blood!”
Tempe winced.
Mrs. Wadsworth untied the shears and smaller pair of scissors from Honour’s skirt. “Let me get these away from her. We need to see where this blood is coming from.”
“I’ll go see if the doctor has arrived,” Mrs. Wadsworth’s apprentice said as she hurried from the room.
With trepidation, Joshua scanned Honour for a telling sign of red, when Tempe burst out, “Beneath her stomacher!”
The V of Honour’s embroidered insert gracefully decorating her bodice concealed a blotch of crimson seeping through the folds of fabric at her waist.
“This way.” Father ushered the doctor into the room, the apprentice following.
“Hello, Doctor Westcott. We’ve discovered a wound that is bleeding.” Joshua pointed to Honour’s waist.
The doctor approached Honour and set down his black leather satchel, leaning over Honour inspecting her thoroughly. “We need to apply pressure to the wound. Mrs. Wadsworth?”
“Yes, doctor.” Honour’s employer stooped down by her side.
Joshua handed Mrs. Wadsworth a clean handkerchief from a nearby drawer.
“Like this. We need some more clean cloths . . . and fresh water,” the doctor instructed.
“I’ll get some,” Father said.
“’Tis Miss Metcalf again,” Dr. Westcott said grimly.
“Again?” the apprentice asked.
Mrs. Wadsworth turned to her worker as she pressed on Honour’s injury. “Yes, Maisey. She was injured in the hailstorm while you were away.”
“Mr. Sutton rescued her then, too,” Tempe said.
“She didn’t say anything about it. Why must she be such a martyr?” Maisey asked.
Joshua glowered at her and shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t care if she saw him.
“She did not wish anyone to know of her ordeal. Now do you see why I disdain gossip? Partial truths tend to spread about, regardless of one’s desire for privacy.”
“Thou shalt not bear false witness. That is the ninth commandment.” Tempe looked at Honour and pouted. “I forgot to tell Honour we practiced that one in school today, too.”
“Who is the child?” Doctor Westcott asked.
“Her sister,” they all said at once.
Doctor Westcott frowned. “Has the girl anyone else?”
“No. Their parents and brothers were all . . . It is only the two of them.” Joshua sighed.
“Everyone needs to step out of the room,” Doctor Westcott said. “Mrs. Wadsworth, please remain while I examine her. I need you to loosen her stays so her breathing is not restricted. And I will need to get to the wound.”
Joshua’s face reddened as he exited the room. Maisey and Temperance followed chattering about whether Honour would be able to recover from being stabbed with scissors. As they went to the storefront, Joshua’s father looked at him with worried brow. “How is she, son?”
“Doctor
Westcott is examining her now.” Joshua’s mouth drew into a grim line.
Father placed his hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “I know the Great Physician is looking after her, as well.”
Tempe sidled up to Joshua and clung to his arm. He looked into the girl’s frightened eyes and offered a weak smile. He certainly hoped that God was watching over Honour. If not, what would become of her little sister? What would he do without the woman who had claimed a piece of his heart?
Honour woke beneath the comfort of a soft counterpane, but it was not her own. As she pulled herself up, a dull pain pierced her abdomen and she drew in a sharp breath. She looked about the room, with fine baroque furnishings and lavish draperies at the windows. Where was she?
“It is about time you awoke. We thought you had decided to sleep forever. Though we prayed you would not.” The melodious voice of Mrs. Sutton carried across the room. She rose from her tall desk and ambled toward Honour. “Try a sip of this, dear. Dr. Westcott said it will relieve the pain.”
Honour took a sip of the bitter herb tea. “Mrs. Sutton, why am I here?”
“You took a terrible fall down our stairwell. The shears hanging from your chatelaine stabbed you in the abdomen in the process. You also obtained a concussion.” Mrs. Sutton frowned with concern.
Honour groaned as she rubbed her neck.
“Your neck is quite bruised . . . and all sorts of pretty colors. And your right thigh,” Mrs. Sutton said.
My right thigh? She saw my thigh? Had anyone else seen it?
Honour closed her eyes and took in a slow breath, willing this to be merely an unpleasant dream. Lord, please help me. Instead, the aches all over her body made her keenly aware she was living a nightmare.
“My sister? Where is she?”
“Not to worry, dear. She is in good hands. Mrs. Wadsworth has been taking fine care of her these past few days.”
“Days?” Honour’s gaze darted around the room looking for . . . a clock? What would that tell her? How confused she felt. “How long have I been here?”
Mrs. Sutton took a cool cloth and wiped Honour’s brow. “This is your fourth day.”
“Four days? But what about . . . my work . . . Tempe’s school . . . ?” Honour started to sit up, but Mrs. Sutton gently laid her hand upon her arm.
“My Joshua has been seeing to that,” Mrs. Sutton said.
“He has?”
“He is this moment retrieving her from school.”
Mrs. Sutton dipped the cloth into a porcelain bowl and wrung it out. “Temperance did not want to leave your side for the first two days. She was beside herself with worry.” She continued, gently patting Honour’s neck. “We decided that the best thing for her was to keep her regular schedule. So she comes with Mrs. Wadsworth and Maisey each morning to see that you are well, and Joshua brings her to school and back again. They should arrive shortly.”
“I am relieved Tempe has been well cared for. I would never want her to miss school. She is a bright child,” Honour said.
“Precocious she is. Charming, too. I think my husband has taken a liking to her.” Mrs. Sutton smiled as she straightened Honour’s covering.
Mrs. Wadsworth peeked through the door and made her way near. “Honour! How good it is to see you up. You had us all exceedingly concerned.” She took Honour by the hand. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“I certainly have felt better. I hear my head has taken another battering. And I managed to stab myself with my shears.” Honour pulled her hand over the covers, close to her wound.
“Dr. Westcott says that your first head injury contributed to your fall, thus making your condition worse. But it was the fall down the stairs that nearly broke your neck. If it hadn’t been for your stays, those shears might have gone clear through.” Mrs. Wadsworth turned toward Mrs. Sutton and chuckled. “Armor, for females!”
“Ow . . . I guess laughing isn’t something I should do until I heal.” Honour’s smile faded.
“You said Dr. Westcott had seen me? It is the second time I have seen him recently. I don’t know how I shall afford it.”
“Sutton’s Clothiers will pay your bill for this injury. My husband insists,” said Mrs. Sutton.
“I do not know what to say. It is exceptionally generous.”
“Dear, girl. It was our negligence that caused the fall. Joshua found a nail protruding from the baseboard lining the stairs. Although, Joshua chooses to blame himself.”
“Why ever would he do that?” Mrs. Wadsworth said.
“That boy carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had given Honour those new shears only moments before and feels he somehow contributed to it.”
“’Tis nonsense. Your son is a fine young man, but he takes too much responsibility for things,” Mrs. Wadsworth said.
“You’d never know it by his amiable countenance, but he indeed takes life too seriously at times,” said his mother.
“I owe him so much,” Honour said. “I owe you both as well. Mrs. Wadsworth, how are you getting along in my absence?”
“Maisey is picking up the slack. But she hasn’t quite the skill you have. Her stitches are not as fine, overly long. Please keep this confidential will you? Pity she does not heed my instruction better. She is contracted as my apprentice, but if truth be told, I wish you’d come along a little sooner.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Sutton whispered. Mrs. Wadsworth let out a tiny gasp.
Maisey was standing in the doorway, her mouth ajar. She turned and ran.
8
Joshua took long strides up the stony pathway toward the brown clapboard house to fetch Temperance from Mrs. Hollister’s dame school. About to grab the wrought iron door knocker, the door swung open and Joshua met the austere face of Tempe’s teacher. He lowered his hand and offered a tentative smile. “Good day. I’m here to retrieve Temperance Metcalf, on behalf of her sister.”
“Her sister. Yes, I should like to have a word with you about her.” Mrs. Hollister’s face scrunched into a forced smile beneath her lappet cap.
Joshua tilted his head in interest. “Go on.”
Mrs. Hollister clasped her hands, working her thumbs so hard he thought they might spark. “Given Miss Metcalf’s recent infirmity, it concerns me she will not have the means to continue to pay for Temperance’s schooling. She is already a week in arrears and then some. I have given her extended grace on countless occasions. I have great concern she will be encumbered even more henceforth. I have other students waiting for a space to open up so I may serve them—students whose parents are of stable means.”
Joshua crossed his arms. “This concerns me how?”
“You are her friend, are you not?” Mrs. Hollister planted a hand on her hip.
“Yes, but I’ve no knowledge of Miss Metcalf’s financial matters,” Joshua said.
“I have just enlightened you, Mr. Sutton.” The caustic woman jutted her chin.
“So you have.”
Mrs. Hollister continued, “As you informed me yesterday, there is no way of knowing how long her recovery may take, it seemed prudent to alert you to the tentativeness of Temperance’s situation here.”
“Perhaps I can settle her debt and ensure you I will take financial responsibility until Miss Metcalf recovers.”
“That is most kind of you, Mr. Sutton. As a man of means, I suspected you might offer to help.” Mrs. Hollister feigned a smile.
“I suspect you would. What is the fee?”
Mrs. Hollister’s mouth contorted. “She was going to do some quilting for me, but now I see it is not possible. It was a timely request and now I must find another quilter.” So Honour not only worked for Mrs. Wadsworth, but bartered her services to help meet her obligations, just as she’d offered to repay him for the sewing supplies. She must work her fingers to the bone.
“How much does she owe, Mrs. Hollister?”
Mrs. Hollister held out her palm. “Five shillings, three pence per week.”
Joshua handed her a half
guinea. “We are settled then for the remainder of the week.”
Mrs. Hollister took the coin and pushed it into the folds of her calico gown, deep within her pocket. “I expect her to return the material I gave her for quilting.”
“I’ll see to it. I’d like to get Temperance now.” Joshua planted his foot on the threshold.
Mrs. Hollister held up her palm to halt him. “There is another matter, Mr. Sutton.”
Joshua exhaled. “What is it, Mrs. Hollister?”
The woman threw her shoulders. “It has come to my attention Miss Metcalf’s character has recently come into question.”
Joshua glowered at her, incredulous. “Whatever it is, you are surely mistaken.”
“A most reliable source has made me aware of Miss Metcalf’s recent attempt at thievery. I could scarcely believe it, but when the father of one of my students came to me out of concern, I had to pay heed. You see, the influence on Temperance by Miss Metcalf’s questionable character, may in turn affect her classmates.” Mrs. Hollister issued a labored sigh. “He threatened to pull his daughter out of my school. I fear it is only a matter of time before other parents complain.”
Joshua’s ire rose. “Your sources are grossly misinformed.” How quickly Mrs. Carter had maligned Honour’s character. Joshua eyes darted beyond Mrs. Hollister’s shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tempe. He had to get her out of here.
“There was a little incident . . .” Mrs. Hollister began, but a cacophony of discord erupted from inside the house.
Mrs. Hollister turned, hurrying to her keeping room and Joshua followed. In the corner of the room, a cluster of children of varying ages yelled and teased.
“Liar. Liar.”
“You stole it. You’re a thief like your sister!”
“You’re going to jail!”
“Tempe is a thie-ief. Tempe is a thie-ief.”
“Children, children . . . order!” Mrs. Hollister cried out, to no avail.
A russet-haired boy teased, “Pert-Miss-Prat-a-pace!” And Mrs. Hollister promptly snapped her iron thimble upon his skull.