by Ann Shorey
Matthew jerked as though he’d been struck. “Ruby?” He turned to Ellie. “Did you know about this?”
Hand to her throat, Ellie shook her head. “She hasn’t said a word to me.” She frowned, recalling. “But I haven’t seen much of her lately, either.”
“How involved?” Matthew asked Karl.
“She’s the seamstress. Ben says she’s been at the hotel every afternoon since the notice went up.”
9
After Molly and Karl left, Matthew strode to the edge of the cornfield. He leaned on the top rail of the fence and inhaled the earthy fragrance of freshly turned soil. Ordinarily he took pleasure in evening trips to survey his newly planted crops, but tonight he saw the furrows through a haze of dismay. His family acted as though it was his reaction they needed to worry about. He was just the messenger. Lifting his eyes to the indigo sky, he focused on the evening star. One star among thousands. He’d never felt more alone.
In better times, he’d have taken his worries to Ellie. She’d listen, and whether or not she offered advice, talking it out would have helped him. Matthew shook his head. Over the past month, he’d avoided broaching any subject that would cause her distress.
Several days after Molly’s visit, Matthew sat at the kitchen table studying for Sunday’s sermon while Ellie worked in the sitting room sewing Maria’s dress. A plum-colored phaeton clipped past the window on its way to the front door. He recognized Beldon’s vehicle. No one else drove a carriage that grand.
Matthew jumped to his feet, tucking his loose-fitting linen shirt into his waistband. The thought crossed his mind to dash upstairs and change from his stretched-out black felt slippers into his Sunday boots, but he stopped himself. If it were Ben at the door, he wouldn’t worry about his slippers. Why shine himself up for Mr. Beldon?
Ellie set her sewing aside and joined him at the door. Her blonde hair was braided and drawn back in a neat circle at the nape of her neck. A crisp white apron covered her black dress. With pride, he put an arm around her shoulders and opened the door at the first knock.
“Reverend.” Marcus Beldon swept his hat from his head with a flourish. “And Mrs. Craig.” He bowed in her direction. “I trust I’m not intruding. I wanted to exercise my team, and found myself out in your part of the county.”
“We’re pleased you stopped by.” Matthew opened the door to the parlor and gestured toward twin upholstered settees positioned at either side of the cold hearth. “Please come in and rest yourself.”
He waited for Beldon to be seated, then sat facing their caller. Ellie stood behind him. “Would you like some tea?” She directed her question toward Marcus Beldon.
“No, thank you. Anything from your lovely hands would be a delight, but I’ll only be staying a short while.”
Matthew glanced up to see a flush bloom on Ellie’s cheeks at the man’s flattering tone. “I notice Mrs. Beldon isn’t with you.”
“Unfortunately, she suffers from a sick headache and asked that I go out without her.” The settee creaked as he shifted his weight. “She sends her regards.” He paused, moistening his full lips with the tip of his tongue. “We are both extremely sorry for the loss of your beautiful child.”
Matthew swallowed hard. The mention of Julia brought tears to his eyes, which he fought to conceal. He darted another glance at Ellie.
Her eyes clouded. “Thank you. She was beautiful, and such a joy to me.”
Beldon studied Matthew and then looked back at Ellie. “I understand this is the fourth time the Lord has called one of your children home.” His features melted in sympathy. “What a tragedy for you.”
Matthew stood and moved next to his wife, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, it is tragic. But we must let the Lord do what seems good in his eyes.” He cringed inwardly. That sounded so pompous!
Ellie tipped her head and scowled at him. At the same time, she shrugged her shoulder free of his grip. “It’s kind of you to call,” she said. “I’m sure the two of you have more to discuss than our personal losses.” She nodded at their guest. “If you’ll excuse me?”
He rose and bowed in her direction. “Certainly. Always a pleasure, Mrs. Craig.”
After Ellie left the room, Matthew studied Beldon for a moment, uncertain how to proceed.
His guest saved him the trouble. “From last Sunday’s sermon, I gather you’re still opposed to culture in our little community?”
Matthew bristled. “If you call consorting with stage performers ‘culture,’ then yes, I am. I’m concerned that our young people will be led into a life of corruption, or worse.”
“That’s hardly likely to happen. My father—”
“Your father’s not here. You are. Please speak for yourself.”
Still standing, both men took a few steps from side to side like prizefighters facing off. Beldon’s immaculately pressed suit and dove-gray silk waistcoat gleamed in the soft light that flowed through the uncurtained windows. He focused his dark-lashed eyes directly on Matthew.
“Very well then. I’m concerned that you are not the person to be leading a congregation. In addition to your misguided attempt to deny Beldon Grove the opportunity to see a classic Shakespeare performance, I noticed at church last week that you spent considerable time greeting your flock personally.” He raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s proper? In the churches we attended in Virginia, the common people kept a respectful distance between themselves and men of the cloth. How can you expect to influence anyone to your way of thinking if you’re no different than they are?”
Matthew bit the inside of his lip. “It’s not my way of thinking, it’s the Lord’s way.” He stalked to the front door and held it open. “I’m sorry you don’t approve of how I treat my parishioners. What is suitable in the eastern states doesn’t always travel well.”
“Propriety always travels well, Reverend. You’d best keep that in mind.”
After Beldon left, Matthew strode back to his papers and Bible on the kitchen table and flung himself into a chair. He stared at the page spread open before him. A red haze of anger blurred the printed words. He placed his elbows on the tabletop and buried his face in his hands, wondering what Marcus Beldon could possibly have against him.
He startled when Ellie spoke from the doorway.
“Wasn’t it nice of Mr. Beldon to take time from his law practice to pay a condolence call?” She walked over to the worktable and poured cream from the morning’s milking into a crock. “He’s such a gentleman.”
A faint smile rested on her lips.
Ellie leaned across the top of the cookstove and brushed blacking onto the cold surface as though she could scrub away the argument she’d had with Matthew the previous night. Each stroke of the brush protested his refusal to listen to her plea for help. She stopped polishing and stood motionless, trying to decide how to proceed.
Across the room, Aunt Ruby sat at the kitchen table with a swath of crimson fabric draped over her knees. As she plied a needle through the cloth she said, “Guess what I heard at the hotel yesterday?”
Ellie forced her attention to her aunt. “I expect you’re going to tell me.”
“Well . . .” The older woman shifted in her chair. “You know Mr. and Mrs. Beldon live there, don’t you?”
Ellie nodded.
“Mr. Forsythe told me, in confidence of course, that it’s Mrs. Beldon who holds the purse strings in that family. She’s the one who pays the rent on their suite and on the parlor he uses for his solicitor work.”
Ellie dropped the rag she used to polish the stove and faced her aunt. “How would he know that? Surely Mrs. Beldon doesn’t confide in him.” An image of Zilphah Beldon came to her mind. A mousy woman with a hunched back and a sharp tongue. It had crossed her mind more than once to wonder why a man as magnetic as Mr. Beldon married such an unattractive woman.
“Mr. Forsythe says her father sends bank drafts addressed to her for their keep. The desk clerk told him.” Aunt Ruby’s reply sounded d
efensive. “He’s staying right there in the same hotel, for pity’s sake. He can’t help but notice how she orders her husband around.” She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “Mr. Beldon’s law practice in Virginia failed. She’s giving him one more chance to make good.”
Mrs. Beldon reminded Ellie of the biblical proverb, “It is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and angry woman.” She turned to her aunt. “I feel sorry for Mr. Beldon. His wife seems . . . difficult. We shouldn’t listen to empty gossip.”
“I don’t think it’s merely gossip. Mr. Forsythe seemed quite sure.”
Aunt Ruby’s voice dropped to a softer pitch whenever she mentioned the owner of the touring company scheduled to present Macbeth. For a moment, Ellie studied her. Aunt Ruby’s faded blue eyes were lit with fresh color and snap. Even her hair looked different. Instead of a severe center part with wings of hair slicked back over her ears, she had pulled some strands loose and curled them near her face.
“You look happy.”
“I’m having a good time.” Aunt Ruby anchored the needle in the fabric. Her eyes sparkled. “I feel part of something bigger than myself—important, I guess you’d say. I’m forty-six years old, and never done anything but be Arthur’s wife. Down there at the hotel, Mr. Forsythe goes out of his way to include me in all their preparations.” She flipped the cloak out in front of her and folded it while she talked. “You should see how busy everyone is. Those props are so heavy. It takes two men to tote them to the second floor. And the wardrobe. So much sewing to do. Mr. Forsythe says I’m the best seamstress they’ve ever had.”
Ellie returned the brush to a box that held the cake of stove polish and screwed the wooden cover tight. She’d hoped for an opening to share her thoughts, but so far her aunt had done nothing but talk about Mr. Forsythe and the goings-on at the hotel.
Ellie cleared her throat, then blurted, “I have something to tell you.”
Aunt Ruby set the cloak on the table. “What is it?”
Ellie hesitated. What if she sided with Matthew? “Uh, well, nothing.”
“Come on. You can talk to me. Are you and Matthew having troubles?”
Ellie’s cheeks warmed. “Why do you say that?”
“Things haven’t been the same between you since . . . Julia passed on.”
“It’s more than Julia.” She moved a chair forward and sat facing her aunt. Her words poured out, tripping over each other. “I believe my father remarried. I’m sure I have brothers and sisters somewhere in Texas. But Matthew won’t listen when I talk about it.”
Aunt Ruby closed her sewing basket and stared at Ellie. “What on earth makes you think he remarried?”
“A man needs a wife. Especially if he’s homesteading land. He settled there twenty-five years ago. Surely in all that time he found someone to marry.”
After a long moment, Aunt Ruby sighed and reached for Ellie’s hand. “We would have heard. Besides, the letter didn’t say anything about a wife.” She squeezed Ellie’s fingers. “Your family is right here. There’s no need to pretend you have another one.”
“I’m not pretending.” Ellie pulled her hand away and stalked to the window, her back to her aunt. “I see it does no good to talk to you, either.”
Footsteps clattered on the porch. Ellie turned at the sound of children’s voices, glad of the distraction. She hurried toward the stove. “I need to get a fire going. They’ll be wanting to eat soon.”
Her children roared into the room, followed by Matthew. Harrison led the pack. “We did it, Mama. The last two acres are planted.”
Jimmy pulled the dipper from the water crock and gulped several swallows. “Got done before noon too.”
On her knees, Ellie poured live coals from a bucket into the firebox. “Good,” she said, her voice muffled behind the stove door. After the tinder caught and blazed, she placed kindling over the flames and stood. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew frown when he spotted the folded garment Aunt Ruby held.
She grasped the cloak to her chest and stood. “Time to head home. Arthur’ll be wondering about his dinner.” She pursed her lips. “One thing I can count on with Arthur—he’s always hungry.”
Maria ran to her. “Are you coming to hear us recite this evening? Mama made me a new dress and I memorized a very long poem.”
“We’ll see, precious. Might be I’ll be busy at the hotel.” Aunt Ruby laid the folded cloak on the table and hugged her great-niece.
After she left, Maria leaned against Ellie’s side. Her blue eyes were wide with hurt. “Aunt Ruby always comes to Spring Recital. Doesn’t she love me anymore?”
“Of course she does, but . . .” She stopped, at a loss to understand Aunt Ruby’s actions. Bending, she kissed Maria’s dirt-streaked face, then patted her bottom. “Go clean up. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Ellie watched her daughter dash to the washstand on the porch, her thoughts still on her aunt’s puzzling behavior.
The next afternoon, Matthew dropped Ellie off at Wolcott’s Mercantile. “I’ll stop by for our order after I call on the Sims family.” His voice sounded distantly polite.
Ellie nodded, matching his distance with coolness of her own. “I’ll be at Molly’s working on her honeycomb quilt.” She stepped onto the board sidewalk without waiting for his assistance.
After the wagon rolled away, she watched until he had turned the corner and headed north. Prairie wind blew dust from the wheels into her face, stinging her tear-filled eyes.
Blinking hard, she walked into the busy store. Conversation ceased the moment she entered. Several women turned their backs and busied themselves scrutinizing the merchandise. Ellie remembered the cool greeting she and Matthew had received from the Sims sisters the previous week.
She stepped up to the counter, keeping her head averted from the other customers, and handed Mr. Wolcott her list. “Nothing special today. Just flour, vinegar, and such. Matthew will pick it up later.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Craig.” His gaze lingered on her. “You all right?”
“Just a little tired. We were late getting home last night.”
Mr. Wolcott smiled. “Those youngsters of yours did themselves proud. Didn’t miss a lick, no matter what the teacher threw at them.”
Ellie warmed, remembering her children’s perfect recitations. “Harrison had me worried once, but he came through.” She met the storekeeper’s eyes. “It was good of you and Mrs. Wolcott to be there.”
“Wouldn’t miss Spring Recital for the world. Without young’uns of our own, me and Charity kind of take an interest in all of them.”
Tears threatened again at his kind tone. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d break down in front of everyone. Wrapping her shawl tighter across her chest, Ellie backed away from the counter.
“Matthew will pick up our things later,” she repeated, then hurried out the door.
The wind blew steadily from the west, pushing her along Jefferson Street in the direction of Molly’s cabin. She clutched her swirling skirts as she passed Carstairs’ picket fence and turned the corner onto Hancock.
“Mrs. Craig!”
Penelope Carstairs waved at her. “I have the slip you wanted from my lilac bush. Can you stop in for a moment?”
Ellie turned. “Of course. Thank you for remembering.”
As she followed the buxom young woman, she glanced over at aromatic purple flowers covering the bush in one corner of the yard. A vision of a similar planting outside her kitchen window filled her mind.
Stopping on the porch, Penelope lifted a leafy shoot wrapped in wet burlap from a crock next to the door. “It’s started to root. I hope it does well for you.”
Ellie extended her hand to take the dripping bundle. “This will be lovely. I’m going to plant it as a memorial for our little Julia.”
A closed expression came over Penelope’s face. “Yes, your loss is most unfortunate. Surprising such a thing could happen in a preacher’s family, i
sn’t it? Makes one wonder.”
A pain started near Ellie’s heart and filled her chest. She stepped back, gripping the lilac shoot. “Wonder what?”
“Well, a preacher and all. Is it . . . a judgment?”
Darkness filled Ellie’s vision. “Who’s saying such things?”
Penelope’s face reddened. “Uh, different folks. I don’t believe it, of course.”
Somehow Ellie got down the steps and out of Carstairs’ yard. Walking as fast as she could without breaking into a run, she headed for her sister-in-law and sanctuary.
10
Ellie held her needle between trembling fingers and studied Molly’s face. “You’ve already heard? Why didn’t you tell me what people were saying?”
Molly’s expression showed dismay but not surprise. “I didn’t think it was worth repeating.” She shook her head and gazed at Ellie across the quilting frame. “There’ve just been a few remarks here and there, far as I know. Karl and I wonder who started it.”
Ellie knew her husband didn’t deserve this poisonous accusation. He’d always been steadfast in his devotion to the ministry of their church. “Do you think Matthew knows what’s being said about him?”
“I couldn’t say. Why don’t you ask him?”
“I can’t.”
“Why ever not? That’s the best way to tackle a problem—head on.” Molly’s gold-flecked eyes shone with love and concern.
A moment’s silence fell between the two women.
Ellie poked her needle into a six-sided patch of flowered cloth and joined it to an indigo hexagon already pieced to the quilt top. Then she sighed, abandoning her stitching. “Matthew and I seem to be at odds with one another right now.”
“Is it about Julia?”
“That’s a big part of it . . . but there’s more.” She tilted her chin upward and took a deep breath. Beginning with the letter from her grandfather, Ellie related how she learned of her father’s recent death, the confrontation with Aunt Ruby, and then her own conviction that her father had left a wife and children somewhere in Texas. “Matthew thinks he’s protecting me by refusing to make inquiries. And Aunt Ruby called it a fantasy.” She noticed Molly’s dumbfounded expression. “You don’t believe they exist either, do you?”