Afterward, cake was served, and the girls, excited again, rushed to Dalton with their presents. He thanked Rebecca for her hand drawing of Eagle’s Landing, with depictions of all of them outside on a summer’s day, promising to frame and hang it near his desk. The child was gifted, the drawing that she had worked on for days true to form.
He opened the paper parcel Sisi handed him and withdrew a handkerchief. Dark blue trim had been embroidered around the edges, his initials in matching thread at a corner.
“You did this?”
“Actually, it was Myrna,” Sisi admitted. “But I wrapped it.”
“And it was beautifully done,” he assured her.
Myrna felt a wash of warmth as his curious gaze swung her way.
“I did some needlework in the past,” she said. “It’s to replace the one I took.”
Memory of the kiss that followed made it hard to breathe. By the intent manner in which he stared, she wondered if he recalled that intimate occasion.
“I thought you worked as a librarian.” Jeremy disrupted the moment. “It’s what you wrote.”
She nervously fiddled with the stem of her goblet, realized she did so, then pulled her hand away. “I did assist at the Astor Library, but only for the first months of its opening.”
“Better than the textile mills from what I hear,” he concluded.
“That was never an option.” Her focus went to Sisi, who never would have survived if Myrna had secured a job at one of the mills. Likely Sisi would have been forced to work alongside her. Myrna wouldn’t have left her sister alone in the tenement for such long hours. Her former neighbors, a mother with a daughter four years older than Sisi, worked at the mills from sunup to past sundown every day, and she had often listened to their accounts of atrocious working conditions and watched as their health deteriorated through the year.
Had Myrna chosen such a path, her sister might be dead now.
“I make my home above my shop, but it’s small, so you won’t have much to do,” Jeremy said. “You’ll take care of the upkeep of both places and greet my customers, assisting me as needed.”
At his sudden enthused summarization of her life, Myrna felt trapped.
“I haven’t agreed to go with you,” she stated quietly, wishing to conclude the topic with little fuss and much haste. “As I said, there’s much to consider.”
“Just letting you know how things will be, to help you decide.”
To her surprise, Sisi walked up to her chair and motioned for Myrna to bend down. Her little sister cupped her hand around Myrna’s ear. “I don’t like him,” she whispered. “He looks like the wolf.”
With the present company sitting across from her, now was hardly the time for such a discussion. She looked at Sisi. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Later came that night as she tucked Sisi into bed.
“Why did he come?” she asked, frowning.
“He’s our cousin.”
“I don’t like him. He has big teeth like the wolf in the story.”
He did have big teeth, but the rest of his features worked well together to give a pleasing appearance. After his initial introduction, he had been kind, so Myrna didn’t understand her sister’s strong abhorrence.
“I like Uncle Dalton. He looks better and acts nicer.”
Myrna agreed but didn’t air that aloud, either. “Jeremy is family. We should give him a chance,” she gently chided, pulling the blanket to her sister’s chin. “I want you to be nice to him.”
Sisi nodded reluctantly, and Myrna kissed her good-night. Once in her own room, she finally opened the letter with trembling hands and sank to her bed. She read her father’s shaky scrawl three times. It was all there, as Jeremy said.
Father had asked her unknown cousin to help if she should contact him once Father passed away, lauding her abilities and that she would make a good wife. Writing that it would be beneficial for them to marry, he followed with his request that Jeremy take care of both Myrna and Sisi.
“Oh, Papa,” Myrna lamented, wishing now that she’d never written to her cousin.
Her father had only been looking out for her welfare. Myrna knew that, but marriage for her was inconceivable, or at least it had been....
Her tentative friendship with Dalton had evolved into something more precious, though neither of them acted on the difference or spoke of it. He never again tried to kiss her, but she sensed the shift between them, with the soft, intent way he would sometimes look at her...the gentle touches to her arm or shoulder when he would move past...the little nuances that caused her heart to beat like the fragile wings of a butterfly.
Not that it mattered. Their worlds were too differing in extremes, and she belonged to the one her cousin offered. Still, Myrna resisted her father’s wishes, not yet reconciled to make the decision that would tear her and Sisi away from Eagle’s Landing. Weeks ago, to escape this place and the master who ran it was her fondest hope, the letter a coveted link to bequeath that objective. But now...
If Myrna didn’t feel ready to weep at the misfortune so suddenly cast her way, she would laugh at the irony.
Chapter 11
The following morning, Jeremy joined Myrna and the girls in the sunny nook where they took their breakfasts. Neither Rebecca nor Sisi looked pleased to see him, but to their credit they did not misbehave or stare at his bad table manners.
Afterward, the girls had planned an hour with Mrs. Freed before lessons, and they scampered out of the room, leaving Myrna alone with Jeremy. Before she could make a polite excuse and go, he stopped her, walking fast ahead of her to the door and blocking her escape.
“I don’t have an answer for you yet,” she said quickly.
“I wanted this chance to talk alone. Don’t be upset.” He shook his head in confusion. “I thought you wanted to come to me. Your first letter implied it. You took the train.”
“Yes, but as I told you in the telegram, much has changed since then. And I was coming to be with family. Not to be a wife.”
He lifted his brows slightly and stared as if her words held no significance. “Your telegram alarmed me, which is why I came to investigate.”
“You had no cause for alarm.”
“Didn’t I?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, flustered.
“You’re a governess here, Myrna, and a governess is all you’ll ever be. Is that what your father wanted for you? To serve the wealthy and live as a servant? After what happened to your family?”
“I can’t think about this right now,” she hedged, wondering how much he knew. “I have to prepare lessons.”
He put up his hands in a placating manner. “Forgive my impatience, but I expected you here waiting for me. Seems like I’m the one who must do the waiting, for you to see reason.”
His tone came quiet and undemanding, but she felt cornered.
“There’s much to consider,” she said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “You are my cousin, and I was traveling to be with our family. What you are proposing now is much different. Here, Sisi is happy—”
“Sisi’s a child. She can be happy elsewhere. Are you sure there isn’t more holding you back?” he mused. “These people aren’t like us, Myrna. We’re family. We have to stick together.”
Myrna felt fatigued with the subject. “Please, not now. I must go.”
“All right. But ask yourself how your parents would feel if they knew you were in a position like your mother once was.”
Her head snapped up in horror. “You know about that?”
“That wasn’t your father’s only letter. I discovered the rest of your history when I wrote to your former employer at the library.”
“You wrote to Mr. Jenkins?” Embarrassed heat warmed her face. She could frame no answ
er.
He nodded once. “Do the Freeds know about the old scandal? About Sisi? About the trouble you found yourself in last year?” At her continued silence, he grimaced. “If they did you wouldn’t still be in service. The wealthy thrive on reputation, you know. It’s their daily bread. Think on that, Myrna.”
With that, he moved aside.
Troubled, she hurried past him and out the door.
* * *
Dalton looked at the square parchment his mother had brought to him earlier.
The preparations for the spring ball that his family hosted each May had begun. He had shown frank surprise upon hearing that his mother still planned to host the event this year, but understood her expressed wish to reach out to their town and bring the people together in a cheerful atmosphere.
“There’s been enough grief and death in this house for some time to come,” she had told him. “I’ve had enough. It’s time for change. If I make the social faux pas of the century by throwing a ball in my time of mourning and tongues start to wag, so be it.”
Dalton fondly smiled. As beloved as his mother was to the populace, offering her help or a listening ear, he doubted the citizens of Hillsdale would regard her unkindly. Some age-old traditions were meant to be broken, and to see his mother excited about a project again was worth every bit of censure he might receive from those dogged to custom.
The door opened, and Myrna stepped inside. Seeing him, she hesitated.
He motioned her forward. “Please, come in. I’ve been looking over an invitation to a ball our family is holding.”
“A ball?” she asked, approaching his desk.
“Yes, in four weeks.” He handed her the placard. “What do you think?”
She studied the script and handed it back. “You might wish to add an apostrophe to ‘evening’s entertainment.’ Otherwise, it looks lovely.”
He stared at the invitation, noting she was correct about the missing punctuation. “You have sharp eyesight.” An idea occurred, one his mother had teasingly alluded to weeks ago, but now he wished to put to the test. Opening his brother’s ledger, he turned to the page he’d been unable to decipher, and handed her the book. “Can you read this?”
“Oh, my.”
He grimaced. “My thoughts exactly.”
“You own a textile mill?” Her eyes snapped to his. “Isn’t that like a factory?”
“It’s the same concept, machines that mass produce, but not on such a grand scale.” He stared at her. “You can actually read that?”
“Yes. It’s a basic report of a recent visit there and the conditions, including those of the workers, along with a brief accounting of financial profit with the manager, Thomas Orley. And a few lines about the need to replace some machinery.”
Dalton gaped at her in amazement then grabbed his new ledger and a pen, dipping it in the bottle of ink. “If you wouldn’t mind reciting word for word while I transfer it to these pages?”
“Of course.” She seemed tense, but smiled and took the seat across from him. For the next several minutes, her soft voice unveiled the mystery of months. He took the book from her, quickly ruffling to another page.
“I’ve made out the names of those with an asterisk beside them, but others I cannot decipher. Also the places of locale next to their names. If you wouldn’t mind?”
Again she cited while he jotted.
“It is uncanny how alike this is to my father’s writing,” she mused. “He didn’t always pen all of his vowels, either, and his scrawl was just as shaky.”
“You have been most helpful, Myrna. A true godsend.” As he spoke, he used the blotter to soak up excess ink then turned his eyes up to her. He thought it enchanting how her cheeks flushed with rose at his compliment. “I can at last lay this business to rest and act upon what I have learned.”
Her smile was feeble at best. “This mill you own, from what the account said, the working conditions are poor....”
He nodded for her to go on when she hesitated.
“I had neighbors who worked at a factory with poor working conditions. A mother and her daughter. A child. The girl developed a horrid cough that never ceased. Both grew ill, though they continued to work long hours.”
He leaned forward. “I value human life above all else. You have no cause for concern. I’ll look into this and do all within my power to ensure that our working conditions are safe for all.”
Her smile again was faint but seemed more genuine. “I believe you.” Her words came soft and wondering, as if she just realized they were true.
Dalton knew how difficult it was for her to trust and felt as though he’d won a small victory. He picked up the placard. “I must drive into town and drop this off at the printer’s. I’ll stop in at the mill on my way home.”
“And I should collect the book I came to get for the girls’ lesson.” She rose from her chair.
“Tell me,” he said thoughtfully before she could walk away, “do you know how to waltz?”
“Waltz?” She blinked, taken aback by the question. “No, I was never taught.”
“Then I shall look forward to teaching you...at the ball,” he added when she looked blankly at him.
“According to the invitation, that’s a little over four weeks away.”
“Yes?”
“I might not be here then.”
“Where would you go?” At the memory of their unwanted guest, he sobered and moved around his desk toward her. “You cannot seriously consider leaving us to go with your cousin?”
“It’s what my father wanted.” She sounded discontented.
“You think you would be happy stuffed in a shop, dusting clocks all day long?”
“What other option do I have?”
“A home, here, with us.”
She looked impatient with the conversation. “As I told Jeremy, I’ve not yet decided. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must go.”
She hurried past him. He remained fixed, frustrated with the situation and wishing he had never agreed to send a telegraph to her cousin. He didn’t think it was only resentment at the man’s sudden appearance that led to his suspicions that Jeremy McBride was no wise choice for Myrna.
* * *
The days stretched into a week. Still, Myrna gave Jeremy no answer, haunted by his reminder of her family’s scandal but still not ready to leave what had become a haven in her storm. Or, truth be told, Dalton.
In the second week, Sisi grew sick with a bad cold. Myrna kept up lessons with Rebecca and spent the rest of her time doting on her bedridden sister. Jeremy sent a telegram to his shop, receiving in return a wire from his apprentice stating that nothing had come up he couldn’t handle, but he would contact him if it did. Thus assured, Jeremy settled into life at Eagle’s Landing.
“Hello.” Mrs. Freed’s voice came from the doorway.
Myrna smiled and set down the book she’d been reading—the fourth time now. The complicated friendship of Jane and Mr. Rochester intrigued her, and she wondered how Jane knew it had become more than that for her, turning into love.
“Please, come in,” she invited.
“I see that she’s sleeping.” Mrs. Freed smiled fondly at Sisi then turned her gaze to Myrna. “But have you slept?”
“Here and there. She’s doing much better.” The soreness in Sisi’s throat had disappeared and the cough also dwindled. Thankfully, according to Dr. Clark it wasn’t Pertussis, which had been Myrna’s greatest fear, since Sisi had been struck with the ailment as a child.
“Might I have a word with you in your room?”
Curious, Myrna rose from her chair and followed the older woman.
In her bedchamber, she looked with puzzlement at the array of colorful gowns on the bed.
“I hope you don’t mind that
I took the liberty.” Mrs. Freed picked up a dress of shimmering mauve. “With the ball only a little over two weeks away, there’s no time to secure a new dress, but you look about the size that Roger’s wife was. Shorter in height, but Genevieve can adjust the hem. Thankfully, the gowns are still considered the mode of fashion.”
Myrna shook her head in a slight daze as the woman swept toward her and held the dress to her form with a practiced eye. “Hmm. Perhaps the green.” She replaced the blue in her arms for an emerald silk.
“Has Mr. Freed not spoken to you? I don’t know if I’ll be here for the ball.”
“But you haven’t yet reached a decision? So you’ll be prepared if you should decide in our favor. I admit freely that I hope you’ll stay, Myrna. It’s been lovely engaging in our parlor chats. Try this one.”
Feeling powerless under such determination, Myrna allowed the woman to help her exchange her day dress for the ball gown. Mrs. Freed fluffed the many flounces and studied her.
“Lovely. We need go no further. The gown will require hemming, and you’ll need a wider hoop, easily obtained... Come, see what you think.” She brought her to stand before the looking glass.
Myrna gaped at her reflection, the expensive gown flattering her high coloring and making her feel like a princess. “But I’m only the governess,” she whispered, not having meant to air the words.
“And certainly the most lovely governess in the state,” Mrs. Freed said with a smile at her reflection. “Don’t allow simple titles to cloud the worth of who you are as an individual, Myrna. There’s no dishonor in teaching and caring for the children of others.”
Soothed by her words, Myrna asked the question haunting her for weeks. “How do you know when a decision is the right one to make?”
“The light of it warms your heart,” Mrs. Freed said without hesitation. “Once made, the knowledge becomes a part of you, and you realize all is as it should be.” She squeezed her shoulders. “I know that you’re in a difficult place. Perhaps you think it’s unfair of me to try to persuade you to stay—at least for the ball. In the end, however, I want what’s best for both you and Sisi and pray that God will grant you the wisdom to understand what that is.”
Governess's Dilemma (9781460320600) Page 11