"Hannah!"
She had never imagined he could raise his voice to her like that, but she stood unflinching, her eyes not moving from Banham's face.
"Madam, do not speak of repayment. A gift is just that, a gift, freely given in the spirit of being a good neighbor."
"God willing, we will be better neighbors to you." She kept her voice strong. "Please give my regards to your family."
He bowed. "I will, Mistress Powers." Then he bobbed his head stiffly in Gabriel's direction. "Good day to you, Mr. Washbrook."
Her feet were rooted to the ground while she watched him mount his mare, one slender leg rising over her back. She watched him ride off. The mare's long tail fluttered gracefully.
"I scarcely think I know you anymore." Gabriel's breath touched the back of her neck.
She shivered but did not turn. "Nor I you." Holding Daniel on her hip with one arm, the cinchona bark in the other, she headed toward the house.
Gabriel came behind her and grabbed her arm. He took Daniel and set him down on the grass. She held on to the sack of cinchona bark with her free arm, clutching it like a shield.
"Why did you not tell me of his visit?"
"Because you hate him and all his family, but he was only being kind."
"Kind!" His mouth twisted. "He visits you in secret." Gabriel's fingers sank into her arm. "I saw the way you looked at him."
Hannah gritted her teeth. "Let go of me."
"I am losing you," he said in disbelief, "to that whoremonger's son."
She avoided his eyes.
"I never thought you could turn on me like that." Pain shot through his voice. "You are besotted with him. Deny it."
"My mind is my own. Don't you dare upbraid me like that. I am not your wife. I never vowed to obey you."
"You do begin to take after your sister."
She hugged the sack of cinchona bark to her chest. "What are you saying, Gabriel?"
"You heard me."
"You mean to say that if ... if I cross you, I will meet the same end?"
He reeled backward.
"In a grave by the river?" She raised her voice to a shriek that made Daniel whimper. If she was being cruel, it was to punish him for the way he had chastised her in front of Banham, her one and only well-wisher.
"There it is!" His voice broke. "You would never believe, even when I swore an oath on the Bible. No words of mine will ever be good enough to convince you. Why do you not just call me a murderer to my face instead of meeting that yellow-haired fop behind my back?"
The dogs gathered around them and howled. Ruby nuzzled Daniel and licked his face.
"If you believe I killed her, you can go. Now." He pointed to the woods into which Banham had vanished. "Take the child and run after him. Mayhap he will hear your cries and come back for you."
Wrenching her arm free, Hannah let the sack of cinchona fall and picked up the crying child. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Hush-a-bye."
"If you think they would treat you better than their servants..."
"Enough."
"They would call you a whore and our child a bastard, as surely as they call me a murderer. You know well what would happen if you put yourself in their hands."
She started walking away from him.
"Within the year, you would be big with Paul Banham's child, for they say that no female in his household sleeps in peace. Ah, but you prefer the son to the father. And I saw the way he looked at you."
Hannah swung around. "In pity," she said. "He looks at me in pity." She moved away from him as fast as she could with the screaming child in her arms. He could easily have caught up with her, but he let her go.
She dashed past the garden and the empty servants' shacks, leaving the cleared land behind. A trail of hoof prints and broken branches led into the forest. Could she still catch up with Banham? She whooped and shouted. Let him hear and turn back. She would allow him to take her and Daniel with him. She cried out as loudly as she could. Only the rushing river and the wind in the trees answered her.
She hugged Daniel, kissed away his tears. It wasn't an impossible distance to walk, but it was already late afternoon, judging from the sun's position in the sky. If she attempted the journey, she and the child would be caught out in the forest after dark. Flies buzzed around her head. She was too numb to swat them away. She didn't know how long she stood there, a damned woman, lost in that place between leaving and turning back. When she thought of facing Gabriel, her anger made her half blind. Daniel on her hip, she blundered down the paths, which eventually led her to the creek. Beside a shallow eddy, she stripped off his swaddling and soiled clouts, then bathed him, rubbing cool water over his hot sticky skin until he stopped crying. She sang to him until the fearful look left his face. If she could shift her shape, she would take the form of a bear that could provide for her cub on her own, defend him with teeth and claws. Why had God cursed human females by making them so vulnerable?
Soon Daniel was hungry. The only thing on hand to feed him were the raspberries that clustered at the creek bank, but she was reluctant to give him too many for fear of making his bowels run. When the sun dwindled behind the trees, the mosquitoes grew vicious. In the last light of day, she carried him back to the house.
***
The door was propped open. The dogs, gathered near the porch, leapt to greet her, but she lurched through their midst, ignoring Ruby's quivering face. The smell of frying fish drifted over the threshold. Gabriel stooped in front of the fire. Sweat dripped off his face. Bruised dark circles rimmed his eyes. The look he gave her was haunted, as though he feared she had truly deserted him.
"You must be hungry," he said, voice choked.
After changing Daniel into a clean clout and swaddling, she sat at the table. Gabriel poured her a mug of goat's milk, which she spooned into Daniel's mouth.
When the catfish was golden brown, Gabriel cut it in two, giving her the bigger portion. He watched her eat, the way he had when she first came to his house. When Daniel cried, he took him before she could protest. How trustingly her son nestled in his father's arms, how tenderly Gabriel held him. For the first time in her life, she thought she had grasped the meaning of the word mystery. The longer she knew Gabriel, the more of a riddle he became. She would never unravel him. There was too much of him for her to comprehend.
"If you ever speak to me again as you did today, I will leave you," she said, "and never come back."
"I know, Hannah." He looked at her so sorrowfully that her eyes filled with tears.
Daniel nodded off to sleep against his father's shoulder. After tucking the boy into bed, Gabriel returned to the table and sat across from her.
"If it pleases you, we will be friendly with the Banhams. You have been lonely here long enough. I see how it pains you. If it would make you forgive me, I will take you downriver to pay a visit." It tore at her to see how much those words cost him. On her account, he was prepared to bury the grudge he had inherited from his father along with this land and the rents he couldn't pay. "I am sorry, Hannah. I beg your pardon." He folded his hands, as if in prayer, and rested his forehead on them.
***
Hannah used Banham's honey to make cherry preserves. Then, a fortnight after his visit, Gabriel took her down the river, as promised. She carried the stone crock of cherry preserves in a basket packed with straw so it wouldn't crack on the boat journey. At Banham's Landing, she held the present before her, an offering in exchange for the gifts they had received, to prove that she and Gabriel could be gracious.
In his father's arms, Daniel babbled his excitement at the sight of all the new faces that came out to meet them. Hannah tried not to lose her composure under the observation of so many eyes, among them those of the midwife and the two manservants who had come bearing shovels, accompanying their master on his first visit. She prayed it would not be too awkward facing Richard Banham after he had witnessed her fight with Gabriel.
That morning she
had bathed and used precious sugar for sugar water to tame her unruly curls. Despite the heat, she had ironed her good cotton gown. Gabriel had insisted on wearing his buckskins as though this were any other day, never mind the fact that he possessed good breeches and a decent waistcoat. Yet it was a miracle that he had agreed to come at all. Hannah had thought it unwise to protest his choice of attire.
As they neared the gabled wooden house with its shutters drawn against the July heat, a door opened. Richard and his kinswomen stepped out. The Banham girls were as jarringly pretty as she remembered, pink and white as apple blossoms, except this time there were only two of them.
Richard hailed his guests. "Master Washbrook, you do honor us with your visit." He made no attempt to hide his incredulity.
Gabriel nodded—the closest he would come to bowing. "It is Hannah Powers who honors you. She has come with a gift for your family."
While Gabriel remained bolt upright, Hannah curtsied, then held out the basket with both hands. "I have made cherry preserves with honey."
Bowing stiffly, Banham kept his attention on Gabriel. "You are both welcome here. I am sure my stepmother will be delighted to receive your gift."
Banham's overlooking her so completely left her punctured. Had he lost all regard for her after she had played the shrew by screaming at Gabriel in front of him? Or was this his way of showing deference to Gabriel, whose temper and jealousy he feared to incite?
"A present for your household," she said after Richard had introduced his stepmother and the twin sisters, Alice and Nell.
Mrs. Banham seemed a trifle nervous, the color high in her cheeks, but she also seemed genuinely happy to have visitors. "Most thoughtful of you, Mistress Powers, and how good to meet you at last. Our Richard has told me much about you."
Hannah took Daniel from Gabriel's arms. "This is our son. I hear you also have a boy only a few months older."
They stood eye to eye, young mother to young mother. For all her youth, Mrs. Banham was sallow-faced and hollow-cheeked. When she smiled at Daniel, Hannah observed that one of her eye-teeth was missing. But her neckcloth was filmy with Flemish lace and she wore pearls at her throat.
"Had we known you were coming, we would have waited until your arrival to serve dinner," she said.
Hannah's protest that they were not hungry was lost in the shuffle of feet as they were shown into the house. The whitewashed hallway was refreshingly cool, the oak floorboards polished to a shine. Mrs. Banham opened a door to a bedchamber where a flaxen-haired boy fisted a rattle under the watchful eyes of his nursemaid. The boy's eyes widened when he saw Daniel.
"This is our Edward." Mrs. Banham reached down to stroke the child's downy head.
Hannah set Daniel on the floor beside the other tot, who reached out a shy hand to touch Daniel.
Mrs. Banham guided Hannah out of the room and shut the door. "Don't fret about leaving him. If he gets hungry, the wet nurse will tend to him."
Hannah was about to object to leaving her son with strangers when she reminded herself that this was the way of the gentry; infants and children were confined to the nursery until they were old enough to command adult manners. At any rate, she imagined it would be good for Daniel to share the company of another little boy.
In the parlor, servants arranged a circle of cherrywood chairs around a matching tea table. The shutter slats let in just enough light to reveal the room's elegance while still keeping out the heat. The massive looking glass over the mantelpiece reflected crystal candlesticks and walls stenciled to mimic patterned silk. A slender-legged spinet occupied one corner.
"The girls are accomplished musicians," Mrs. Banham said. "Perhaps later they will play for us."
Hannah gazed in awe at the wooden instrument, inlaid with ivory and different woods. She had never heard spinet music, though Father had described it for her, saying it sounded sweeter than the flute. Had May ever sat in this room and listened to the Banham girls play?
Servants produced a tray of buttered wheaten bread and red currant tart with clotted cream, which must have been left over from the main meal of the day. Mrs. Banham poured the tea herself with careful attention, as though this were what she had been born to do.
"Some prefer India tea, but I think China tea is the finest in the world. My father was a tea merchant, and that was what he always said."
She served the guests first. When she handed Gabriel a porcelain cup as fragile as an eggshell, he held it uneasily, as if afraid he might crush it.
Though it was comfortably cool in the room, Alice and Nell flapped their lace fans. Hannah wondered whether they did it out of habit or boredom. The soft hiss of moving air stirred the ash-blond curls around their white throats. Eyes darting over the top of their fans, they kept looking from her to Gabriel and back again. With his buckskins, sunburnt face, and long black hair, he looked like an Indian wandered out of the woods. His face was stoic, thoughts and mood well concealed.
Mrs. Banham made a great show of passing out the victuals, though she ate nothing herself. Her hands kept fluttering at her sides. She reminded Hannah of a high-strung horse. Any little noise or commotion might cause her to bolt.
"I believe you met the girls once before, Mrs. Powers?"
"Indeed I did," said Hannah. "And their sister. I believe her name is Anne."
"Anne is now married and in Virginia," Nell said. Then she lowered her eyes and fanned herself briskly.
"You must miss her." Hannah tried to soften toward the girls.
"She writes to us," said Alice. "But we've not seen her in over a year."
"I know what it is," Hannah said, "to miss a beloved sibling."
Silence fell on the room, heavy as a bear trap's jaws closing and cutting. The Banhams looked at Gabriel, who held his head without blinking. Hannah cursed herself.
To change the subject, she turned to Mrs. Banham. "I trust your husband is well."
A stricken look passed over the lady's face.
"You must pardon my father's absence," Richard said, addressing Gabriel. "He is in England on business of the West India Company."
Hannah caught her breath. To think the wealthy could sail back and forth across the Atlantic as if it were a mere river. The memory of the home she would never see again rived her.
The subject of her errant husband left Mrs. Banham out of sorts. The teacup trembled in her hand, splashing brown liquid into the saucer. Hannah searched for words that would brighten the conversation.
"Mrs. Banham, if ever you are in need of physick receipts, I would be most happy to assist. If colic ever troubles your son, I can mix for you an efficacious gripe water."
"The colic was nearly his death this spring." Mrs. Banham raised her handkerchief to her eyes. "I buried one little boy already. The seasonal ague took him."
"I am sorry, madam." Hannah's face went hot. "Forgive me. If ever I can help you in any way..."
The lady's eyes were downcast, lost in sadness.
"Drink your tea, Mother," Alice said, "before it gets cold."
"All is well on your property, Mr. Washbrook?" Richard asked.
Gabriel nodded.
Nell and Alice traded a covert look.
"Your gown, Mrs. Powers, is most handsome," Nell said, eyes flashing. "And so is your ring."
"Thank you," Hannah replied, flustered.
"India cotton," said Alice. "It looks to be of the finest quality." She regarded Gabriel's buckskins and then went back to fanning herself.
They had uttered nothing discourteous, but their sly smiles said it all. This unkempt man who dressed like a savage and who had neglected the rents for four years had somehow managed to clothe his woman like a lady of quality. The Banham girls seemed to find this hilarious.
Hannah struggled not to weep in humiliation. To think she had yearned for female companionship for so long. Their brother shifted uncomfortably in his chair but did not rebuke them for their disrespect.
"I prefer China tea to India tea," Mrs. Banh
am prattled on like an addled old woman. "Mr. Banham prefers India tea, but I say China tea is the best. My father was a tea merchant. He gave me a silver tea chest for my wedding."
"Have a piece of tart, Mother," said Alice in a too sweet voice.
"The colic was nearly Edward's death." Sloshing tea, Mrs. Banham rocked herself back and forth like a Bedlamite. "Two children born, one already buried. The flux eats me like a vulture. I was married off with a good portion, you know. It paid for two thousand acres in Virginia." Her eyes shone with a febrile glaze.
Nell snatched Mrs. Banham's teacup before it could be dashed to the floor. "Our stepmother has her fits and spells. It will pass. Won't it, Mother?"
"It's the excitement of having visitors," said Alice. "She says she can't bear another day of loneliness and then, when we do have visitors, she gets overwrought."
"Does she need physick?" Hannah asked. "There are herbs which can soothe a troubled humor."
"We have physick in plenty." Richard stared at the opposite wall. "Mercury and laudanum."
Mrs. Banham emerged from her mournful reverie with a jerk of her neck. She fixed Hannah with a stare. "I imagine one day the pair of you will finally fare to Anne Arundel Town to address the magistrates and atone for what you have done." Her face had gone hard and mean.
"Magistrates, madam?" Hannah thought of herself and Gabriel being interrogated. The graves by the river. The testimony of a thief. She burned, unable to hide her dread. Alice and Nell perched on their chairs like hunting falcons.
"To place the banns!" Mrs. Banham exclaimed. "Surely you intend to wed before another unhallowed child is born."
Hannah's spine slumped. Everything went out of her.
Gabriel spoke, startling everyone. "It grows late. If we would travel home by daylight, we must leave."
When he caught Hannah's eye, she thought he had been right about the Banhams all along, that in shunning them, he had been trying to shield her from their malice and condescension. Though the Banhams had nearly reduced her to tears, Gabriel remained in full self-possession. "I thank you for your kind hospitality." His irony cut through their pretense.
The Vanishing Point Page 27