by Sara Donati
Now the mistress directed her to take hot water and fresh towels to the young lady who had checked in yesterday afternoon. “And whatever else she requires,” said Mrs. Mulroney. “Spare no effort.”
Which was what an innkeeper said when a guest was known to make free with his purse.
A half hour later she knocked lightly at Miss Wilde’s door and was surprised almost beyond speech by the appearance of the young woman who answered. Slightly built and no more than plain, Miss Wilde was wearing a bodice and skirt that should have long ago been cut up for rags. The hem had been dragged through the mud, and brushing had not taken away the stains; there was a hole in her stocking the size of an egg, and the seam where bodice met skirt was gaping. More telling still, her hands were red and rough with work, and her skin sun-darkened.
Herlinde saw all this in a few seconds, and then bowed her head not to give away her thoughts, which were very simple: What was a countrywoman of no means doing in this room in the finest inn in Johnstown?
Instead she said, “Your bathwater, Miss Wilde.”
The young woman stepped aside.
Herlinde went about her work. She stoked the fire and poured hot water into the basin, folded towels and set them out. All the time her gaze kept drifting back to the slight figure standing at the window.
She was about to withdraw when someone scratched at the door. A glance at Miss Wilde made it clear that she had no intention of answering, and so Herlinde went.
Young Matthew Turner held out a package, rain spattered, and danced from foot to foot until she took it from him. Then he dashed away.
“From the dry goods store. Shall I unpack it?”
Strictly speaking this was not something she should offer to do; she was not a lady’s maid or secretary. She was a maid of all work, and nothing more. But it had been such a long time since she had had the pleasure of opening up a parcel, and she was curious about this odd young woman who dressed so poorly and seemed so out of place.
Miss Wilde nodded without turning around. “Please.”
It wasn’t until that point that Herlinde noticed the bed, and the piles of new clothes, some folded, some laid out, that covered its entire surface.
In spite of herself, Herlinde was interested. Most of the things she could see were plain, but all were of very high quality. There was no lace, nor any embroidery or fancy pleats but still, a small fortune spent in carefully made, good quality gowns and the other things a lady needed to consider herself properly attired.
This young woman of no means or style, in this room with all these riches. An odd and intriguing combination of facts.
Herlinde sat down on a stool to open the parcel, carefully setting aside string and paper. Inside she found fine milled soap and talc that smelled of lilacs, and a dozen fine lawn handkerchiefs with lace trim, tied together with a silky blue ribbon.
And finally, a dresser set with carved ivory handles on mirror, hairbrushes, and combs. A very expensive dresser set, as Herlinde knew well because she had been visiting it regularly at the mercantile. She had even reckoned out how long it would take for her to save enough money to buy it, on her meager salary. At least two years, if she put aside every penny she could spare and did without other things she liked.
But here was the beautiful and very valuable dresser set, and Miss Wilde wouldn’t even turn to see it. It was silly to moon over fancy things she did not need and would never have; Herlinde was determined to be sensible and make the best of her situation, which was considerably better today than it had been a month ago.
“Miss Wilde,” she said. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go.”
She turned, and the misty half-light lit her face so for a moment she looked not so much pretty, but striking.
Her voice came a little hoarse. She said, “I’m getting married this afternoon.”
In her surprise Herlinde paused. “Oh,” she said. It was not enough, but nothing else came to mind. In English you were never to congratulate a lady about such a thing, that much she knew. The phrase came to her.
I wish you joy. No, that was too forward.
“May I wish you joy?”
Over the next few hours while she went about her work, Herlinde thought of Miss Calista Wilde, who had clearly come into a reversal of fortunes as many people dream of but few achieve. And yet, to Herlinde she looked like a person in mourning.
—
They were married in the same parlor where Daniel and Martha had married, almost exactly a day later. Callie wore the yellow gown Ethan had bought over her protests, along with the straw bonnet with its ivory silk roses and pale yellow buttercups clustered on the brim. It suited Callie, he was glad to see. At the right moment he produced a simple gold band and put it on Callie’s finger.
She looked very young, with a glow to her face that came from prodigious scrubbing, Ethan was sure, rather than any kind of bridelike emotions.
When the paperwork was out of the way Mrs. Cady stepped up to offer them supper.
“Your cousin and his bride wouldn’t stop yesterday, but I hope you will, Mr. and Mrs. Middleton. I’d like to hear the news from Paradise. We’ve all been so worried since word came of the flood.”
Ethan glanced at Callie. “Shall we stay for supper?”
“We aren’t starting for home?” She looked toward the door.
Mrs. Cady’s eyes went very round at such a rude reply, but her husband picked up the thread of the conversation.
“I certainly hope not,” said Mr. Cady. “Not in this weather.”
Another storm was coming on, pushing shards of light before it.
“Oh,” Callie said in a voice nothing like her own. “Well then, yes. Thank you, we will stay for supper. You are very kind.”
Mrs. Cady served them a roast of spring lamb, chicken and onion pie, and a veal ragout. There was a big bowl of sauerkraut and the last of the potatoes from the cellar as well. She would have rather given them the first of the new peas and beans and a salad, but the garden was late coming on this year and so they must make do, and Mrs. Middleton, won’t you try the sweet pickle relish?
Ethan was glad to see that Callie had lost some of her distracted air if only to apply herself to her food. He himself had had to produce an appetite out of thin air. He did justice to the cook’s skills out of obligation, at first, and then with some real admiration for her talent.
The whole time he talked with Mr. Cady about the damage done by the flood, what rebuilding had been done and what still waited, how much time and money would be invested before they were finished. About the casualties, which had been fewer than one might have expected but still enough to rock the village hard.
“Your own home?” Mrs. Cady asked. “I hope you didn’t lose that as well.”
“Callie lost her place,” Ethan said. He glanced at Callie and smiled. “But we’re going to rebuild. I’ve already started working on the plans.”
The look she gave him, wonder but also irritation, that he would assume so much.
The kitchen maid cleared the table and brought out a gingerbread cake, fragrant and glistening with sugar. At a word from Mrs. Cady she retired back to the kitchen, but on the way she sent one wistful look back to the untouched cake.
Mrs. Cady had drawn Callie into a conversation about the quality of the last batch of meal and where the very best molasses was to be found and did she think tomatoes were truly safe to serve? Because she, Millicent Cady, had never touched a tomato even when the mayor’s wife served them to her on the finest china. Then she asked about apples, and Callie’s expression turned from wary to thankful. Ethan couldn’t tell if Mrs. Cady’s interest was sincere, or if she was being charitable.
When they were ready to leave the lady took both Callie’s hands in her own and kissed her on the cheek.
She said, “I wish you joy, Mrs. Middleton. And when you next come to Johnstown, I hope you will visit with us again.”
Outside the rain had given way, finally, to the gold
en light of a summer evening. Overhead the sky was clear and blameless. Ethan offered Callie his arm just as the door behind them opened again and Mr. Cady called to them.
“Mrs. Cady says if you’ll wait just a moment she’ll send some provisions with you for your journey tomorrow. I believe she intends to give you a large slice of her gingerbread.”
He turned as if listening to someone in another part of the house, and left them there outside, half standing in the open door.
Voices drifted to them down the hallway, Mr. Cady speaking to a man, and then the kitchen maid who had served them, speaking to another servant as dishes clattered.
She was saying, “Looked a fright, didn’t she, when they showed up yesterday. Like a drowned cat. But today I hardly recognized her in that new gown. Everything new from stem to stern, looked like to me, and don’t it make you wonder?
“I’m not saying any such thing, Henrietta, and I’ll thank you not to put words in my mouth. Of course he can spend as much money as he likes on his wife, I wouldn’t dispute that. But all that expensive finery for somebody who’d rather be out working in the fields and don’t care a bit about those pretty things. It’s a waste, say I.
“Will you look, Henrietta, you’ve missed a spot right in the middle of the table and you know how she likes the whole thing to shine. Now what was I saying? Oh, yes, that nice Mr. Middleton, a good-looking man and educated and good-hearted and generous to a fault, and money to burn. And her. It don’t make any sense at all, not unless—”
Ethan reached for the door to shut it, but Callie caught his arm and forced it away.
“I’m just saying I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got something growing under her apron. Why else would a man like that marry such a awkward ugly little thing with nothing to her name but some tore-up old apple trees?”
The walk back to the hotel took no more than ten minutes, and every one of them was utterly silent. Ethan considered things he might say and then rejected each one. When he ventured a glance there was nothing to read from her expression. No trace of anger or hurt. Just the same expression Callie wore every day of her life. Focused on some goal just out of sight.
When they were within sight of the inn, she stopped. Without looking at him she said, “What is in this for you?”
Swallows reeled overhead against a darkening sky. On his face the breeze was warm and damp, and he realized how very tired he was.
Callie was waiting for his answer. He wondered if there was any way for him to say the right things, and decided there was not. He would have to settle for the truth.
Ethan said, “I’m tired of being alone.”
She snorted a short laugh. “You’ve got the whole Bonner clan, all those cousins.”
“I do,” he agreed. “I am welcome at my aunt’s table whenever I care to show my face, and the same is true of all my cousins. They are glad to see me, and they like my company as much as I like theirs.”
“But?”
“I’m a cousin, but I go home eventually to an empty house and I don’t like it. You’re alone in the world too, and we have always got on just fine. I thought we could help each other. Are you regretting this already?”
“You’re the one who should be having doubts. You heard what that serving girl said. That’s what everyone will be thinking, that I trapped you, and forced you into marriage. Nobody will understand why you’d take me otherwise.”
He said, “Nobody whose opinion I value will think that.”
“I think it.” She turned to face him.
“I find that sad.”
She flushed. “You made some promises.”
“And I will keep them.”
“Separate beds.”
“Yes. No marital relations, no children.”
“How is that possible?”
Ethan looked at her directly. They had come to the sticking point. He said, “I am incapable of that act that produces children.”
“Physically incapable. You have tried?”
“And failed. I am reconciled to my situation.”
“Ah.” She drew back a little. He wondered if she would ask more pressing questions. Not now, he thought, but someday. Someday her curiosity would get the better of her. And maybe by then it wouldn’t matter.
He said, “So you see, we are well suited. It will be just the two of us, but we have friendship and mutual understanding and common interests. Those things can be enough. I believe that.”
She let out a small laugh, one that sounded almost pleased. She said, “That’s more than most people get.”
“Exactly,” Ethan said. “That is exactly what I was trying to say.”
“People mustn’t know,” she said. “No one needs to know, do they?”
“It’s no one’s business but ours.”
“And if Jemima—if anybody should ask—”
“Ah, well. That’s a question. If you’re willing to go along with it, I will tell anyone who needs to know that this is a proper marriage.”
“That it’s been consummated.”
“Yes. If you’re agreed.”
She looked as though he had handed her a treasure beyond counting. A gift more valuable than any of the things he had paid for with coin, something she had never thought to have. Callie took his arm and they walked on. “Yes,” she said. “We are agreed.”
38
“If I didn’t know better, I would swear you arranged all this,” Martha said.
They were at the kitchen table with the remains of their midday meal spread out before them. Daniel sat across from her with his head resting on his right hand.
She said, “Why do you stare at me?”
That only made him grin, which made her want to pinch him.
The storm was directly overhead now, and a strike of lightning made the window glass shake. Another long, stuttering bluish flash came almost immediately, and then the double boom.
He said, “Why shouldn’t I look at you? You are very nice to look at. And oh, yes, you also happen to be my wife.”
Odd how two words could cause her color to rise.
Daniel got up and leaned over the table to whisper in her ear. “Do you know what we’re going to do now, all alone in the kitchen?”
Her throat was too dry to produce even a squeak.
He said, “We’re going to drag the tub out here and heat water so you can have a bath.”
Her fist came up of its own accord and he caught it neatly before it could connect with his ear. Then laughing, he pulled her up against him and kissed her soundly.
“Bath first,” he said. “And then you can do with me as you like.”
He was her husband, but Martha had no intention of stripping down for him in the Allens’ kitchen. Once the bath was filled with steaming water she banished him, and then she eased down into it inch by inch, drawing in a hissing breath as the heat reached those places that were raw and sore and still, oddly enough, pleasantly aching. Her hair smelled of Daniel. There were other, more practical reasons not to wash it just now, and she listed those for herself. Better to wait until they got home.
Home, to Paradise. Martha rested her head against the edge of the tub, closed her eyes, and for the first time let herself think about what was to come.
Would they go directly to Uphill House? It seemed likely. Almost certainly his family would be waiting for them to do just that. His very large, very opinionated family who had done her so many good turns. Hannah, Ben, Luke, Jennet, Lily, Simon, Gabriel, Annie, and Birdie. Ethan, who had been her teacher. His brothers and sisters, his cousin, father, and mother—who had taught her how to read and write and work long division. His people, and now hers too.
And at some point, when she was ready, Jemima.
From the doorway Daniel called to her. “Do you need any help?”
She drew in a deep sigh. The temptation was great, but bigger still was the fear that Mrs. Allen would come home after all to find them—
“No,” she said. “I�
�m on my way upstairs now.”
It was the most self-indulgent, decadent thing imaginable, but Martha did it. Wrapped in towels she went back to bed in the middle of the day, climbed up the steps to burrow under sheets and coverlets, soft and fragrant.
Daniel sat beside her on the edge of the bed. He looked very serious, but that wasn’t what she was hoping for from him, not just now.
“Won’t you come—rest?” Her voice cracked, and that made him grin.
When they were lying side by side with the storm still howling all around them, Daniel took her hand and folded their fingers together. It was a comforting thing, and Martha found herself on the brink of tears, for no good reason at all.
Daniel said, “This is nice.”
It was. It was wonderful, in fact.
“Nobody knows where we are,” Martha said. “We might as well be on Mr. Defoe’s island, cast away.”
“You like the idea?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I like the idea of a few days of quiet and rest.”
“Just the two of us.”
“Yes.”
“A wedding trip. A honeymoon, is that what it’s called?”
“Oh, no,” Martha said. “A honeymoon is hard work, for the bride most especially.”
He barked a surprised laugh.
Martha pressed her mouth hard and said, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Fine,” Daniel said. “Tell me what you did mean.”
He would wait for her answer and so Martha began, a little grumpily. “In Manhattan when young people go off on a wedding trip, their time is hardly their own. They have to call on any and every relation within twenty miles all along the way, and sit in parlors and try not to look bored when all they want is—”
The corner of his mouth jerked.