Embers of Love

by Tracie Peterson

  “It would seem that the past is not nearly as important as the present,” Deborah’s mother interjected with a smile. She picked up the tray of grape tarts and extended them toward Harriet Decker. “Would you care for another?”

  For a moment, Deborah thought Mrs. Decker would refuse, but from the woman’s expression, she’d very much enjoyed the first two. She reached for the tart and continued. “I completely agree with Mrs. Vandermark. It is the present that holds the key to your future, and your future is with Stuart Albright.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way,” Lizzie replied. “I do not love him, Mother, and realize now I was only marrying him to prove to you once and for all that I could make my own choices. Now I’m doing that again. I’m making my choice not to become his wife.”

  “But you are already his wife – at least on paper.”

  “I spoke with Dr. Clayton, who is a learned man,” Deborah interjected. “He suggests that if Lizzie’s signature does indeed bind her in marriage, an annulment would be quite easy to secure, given that the marriage was never consummated.”

  “But Stuart does not wish for an annulment. He is quite willing to forgive your flight and move forward in the marriage. The Albright family represents the very best in society and politics. They are dear friends of President Grover Cleveland and can offer Elizabeth introduction into the best places in society.”

  Lizzie frowned. “But none of that interests me. Honestly, Mother, until I came here to Angelina County, I wasn’t sure what did interest me. Now I know. This place is exactly what I was searching for all along.”

  “You are better than this place.” Mrs. Decker looked to Deborah’s mother. “I have no issue with the fact that you have chosen this way of living for yourself, but my daughter was hardly raised to do menial labor. Why, look at her hands! They’re horribly stained.”

  “We all have stained hands,” Euphanel replied. “We’ve been pickin’ grapes and puttin’ up jam. Stains are just an unfortunate part of the process. Getting dirty is a part of life here in Texas.”

  “Which is exactly my point. Your daughter may have been raised to such an existence, but mine was not. Elizabeth was raised to see the value in being an independent woman – in thinking for herself.”

  “Yet you condemn me for that very thing, Mother. How is it you can speak of such qualities as admirable and valuable in one breath and fault me for them in another?”

  Mrs. Decker eyed her daughter for a moment and tried her best to soften her stern expression. “Elizabeth, I do not fault you for wanting to stand on your own two feet, but you hardly have the skills needed to do so in this land.”

  “I beg to differ with you,” Deborah’s mother said. “Lizzie is quite capable. She has eased my work load considerably. Whatever else might be true, Lizzie lacking skill is not an issue here. She learns quickly and seems to genuinely enjoy working with her hands.”

  “I do,” Lizzie agreed. “I find this work to be satisfying. There is something quite noble – and dare I say it matches perfectly with your suffragette beliefs of providing for one’s self and family. The average woman here in East Texas must be mistress of many skills. Not only is she needed to serve alongside the men, but she is primarily responsible for the benefit and well-being of her family. She must plant gardens and reap the harvest. She must prepare foods that can last through the year so that her family will not be in need. She must tend to the sewing and mending.”

  “These are hardly duties that will make a difference in the world,” Mrs. Decker said rather haughtily. “I raised you for something better.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “I thought you raised me to be a good woman – to make choices that would make me happy no matter what society said. You once told me, ‘While society may scorn me for my decision, my conscience rewards me in full.’ Well, Mother, my conscience rewards me for making this choice.”

  Mrs. Decker turned red, and Deborah briefly wondered if the woman had stopped breathing. She looked quite angry and turned to Deborah’s mother. “I do wonder if you would excuse me to speak in private with my daughter.”

  “I have no desire to speak with you in private, Mother. Not if you have come to harangue me. I will not be Stuart’s wife, and I will not return to Philadelphia. The matter is settled. You cannot convince me to do otherwise.”

  “I have never been so insulted. You are in such a state of mind that you cannot even be civil with your own mother.”

  Lizzie got to her feet. “I have been nothing but civil. You and Stuart arrived here uninvited and proceeded to argue against what I want in life. You tell me I’m a rebel and a disappointment, all the while insulting the things I’ve come to love. Furthermore, I fail to understand why you are suddenly in support of my marrying Stuart. You have no respect for marriage – you’ve said so on many occasions.”

  “That was before,” Mrs. Decker replied, seeming to regain control of her emotions. “You are the type of young woman who needs a man to help guide her. You are not as self-sufficient as you would like to believe. Your mind simply does not work in the same way as a woman of more worldly understanding.”

  “Excuse me?” Lizzie looked at her mother in disbelief. “You have long told me women are not only equal to men but superior in many ways. Now you tell me that I am the exception? That I need a man because my mind is too frail to possibly retain concepts important to living on my own? Well, perhaps you are right, but understand this: I will not be wife to Stuart Albright. I might very well take a husband, but it will not be anyone’s choice but my own.”

  With that, she stormed off, leaving her mother to stare after her in gape-mouthed surprise. Without warning, Mrs. Decker turned to Deborah. “I blame you for this. Elizabeth would never have done this without your encouragement.”

  Deborah nodded. “I think perhaps you might be right, and for that, I congratulate myself. Lizzie would have been most miserable married to Stuart Albright. She deserves to find true love and happiness, and I believe perhaps here she has done exactly that.”

  “With that backwoods bumpkin brother of yours?” Mrs. Decker asked, her voice rising ever so slightly to emphasize the insulting words. “You can hardly expect me to be overjoyed at the prospect of that.”

  “Mrs. Decker.” Euphanel put aside her cup and saucer. “I cannot allow you to come into my home and insult my son. G. W. is a good man with a loving heart and strong work ethic. Your daughter could do far worse.”

  “Equally, she could do far better. I do not say these things to insult your family but rather to point out the truth. My daughter is educated and refined.”

  “But you also said she needed a man to guide her,” Euphanel countered. “It seems to me you have different standards for different women. Either we are all intelligent and capable or we are not.”

  Mrs. Decker was momentarily taken aback. After a long silence she regained control. “Elizabeth was not born to this life of hard work and sorrows. She would never be able to withstand this difficult environment, nor could she possibly respect a man such as your son.”

  Deborah sipped her tea to avoid betraying the way Mrs. Decker’s words reminded her of her own heart. She had said and thought similar things. She knew that an uneducated man – a man who couldn’t read or understand the concepts of science and world history – would never be of interest to her.

  “I don’t believe your daughter is that shallow,” Deborah’s mother replied, furthering Deborah’s own guilt. “A good woman would look beyond the surface of things that could easily be changed and reflect instead upon the heart. A good woman would be far more interested in whether her husband loves her and is willing to treat her with the same love and respect as Christ had for the church. I believe Lizzie understands a great deal. She is hardly the kind of person who would refuse a man simply because he lacked education or social standing.”

  Deborah wanted to agree, but the words stuck in her throat. She felt strongly about the very things her mother spok
e out against. What kind of woman did that make her? She wanted – no, needed – to have a man to match her intelligence and love of learning. She needed to know that he valued education and that he would want to see their children educated.

  East Texas was full of people who were smart enough in the ways of everyday life. There were truly good, admirable people who had no more than a few years of home education. There were loving, kind, gentle folks who couldn’t read more than a few words, who would never write letters or read a variety of literature. Deborah loved many people who fit that description. Most of her family would definitely fall into that category. But when it came to considering a husband – someone with whom she would spend every day of her life – Deborah knew she longed for something more.

  Her heart sank. Maybe she was destined to spend the rest of her life alone.

  “I don’t expect either of you to understand the problems that this can cause,” Mrs. Decker stated, drawing Deborah’s attention once more. “The Albrights are powerful people. They could cause a great many problems for Elizabeth if she refuses to honor her word. They will not appreciate their son being shamed in this way.”

  “Do you suggest they mean to harm her?” Deborah asked.

  Mrs. Decker met her gaze. “It is possible.”

  “Then Stuart can’t possibly love her.”

  “Love is not the only thing of importance here,” Mrs. Decker replied. “As I said, I don’t expect you to understand, but I do. I know what this could mean to Elizabeth’s future – perhaps even to mine. I will not see my causes suffer simply because my daughter could not keep her word.”

  Deborah didn’t know how to respond. She supposed it was possible that powerful people like the Albrights could cause harm to Lizzie. She didn’t know to what extent they could reach her here in Texas under the protection of G. W. and the rest of the family, but she wasn’t a fool. Stuart Albright already struck her as a man to keep under a careful watch. Perhaps there was more at stake here than she’d first thought.

  –––––––

  G. W. introduced the work crew to the visitors he’d brought. Rob was busy harnessing the mules but took a moment to shake hands with Mr. Wright and Mr. Bishop. He nodded to Stuart Albright, then turned to his brother. “We’ve got more damaged seedlings. Looks like the rooters were at it again.”

  “The rooters?” Mr. Bishop asked.

  “Feral hogs,” G. W. explained. “They have a particular fondness for the pine when it’s in a young state. He pointed to a tree that had gone undamaged. “Over there, you’ll see what I’m talkin’ about.”

  He crossed to where the new pine stood. Long grasslike needles had showered down to settle around the seedling stem that was only some twenty inches tall. It looked rather like a clump of grass from afar. “These young trees are quite tender, and apparently very tasty. We are trying to save ’em so that we’ll always have trees to harvest. They can stay in this small state for seven or so years. During that time, they’re quite vulnerable.”

  “Can’t something be done to corral or kill the beasts? What about fencing?” Mr. Bishop asked.

  “Folks around here don’t take well to fences. As you probably saw on your ride out here, animals pretty much run where they will. They graze on the forest grass at will. If we were to put in a fence or even set up traps, it would cause a lot of hard feelings in the community.”

  “It hardly matters what other people want,” Albright piped up. “This is your land, is it not?”

  “It’s ours alright, but we try to be good neighbors, as well. Open grazin’ is the law of the land.”

  “It really isn’t all that critical,” Mr. Bishop added. “The point of logging this area is to bring in the wood and move on.”

  “Cut out and get out,” G. W. muttered.

  “That’s right. There’s no concern to us about replanting. It simply takes too much effort to cultivate and care for a new crop of trees, as proven by your comment regarding these wild hogs. The cost would not be worth the effort,” Mr. Wright declared. Mr. Bishop nodded.

  “Well,” G. W. said in a slow drawl, “isn’t that part of the reason you’ve come west for your lumber? You’ve stripped out the forests back East and now find that there’s little there to profit you?”

  Albright narrowed his eyes. “That seems a rather opinionated thing to say.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? I’ve heard that over and over. Nobody wanted yellow pine for the longest time. It wasn’t until after the war that folks outside of Texas even started givin’ it much of a look. Now with shortages of other woods, they’re suddenly interested. I’m not tryin’ to be overly opinionated, as you suggest. Just statin’ the facts.”

  “It is true that the forests in the East and around the Great Lakes are seeing a great depletion,” Mr. Bishop said thoughtfully. “But by coming here and utilizing the yellow pine, we can give those forests a chance to grow again. I hardly see a problem in that. By the time we are able to harvest the Texas wood, it may well be time to start to work again on the white pine.”

  “Well, I happen to believe that God called us to be good stewards of the land,” G. W. replied. “My father told me that it was important to cultivate it and allow for the replenishin’ of what we took from it. So that’s why it’s important to me to see these seedlings protected.” He squared his shoulders and looked each man in the eye. “Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you some of the work we’re doing today.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Deborah drove Mrs. Decker back to Perkinsville with a reluctant Lizzie at her side. The day was uncomfortably hot, and word had come that severe storms on the coast might be headed their way. With the heaviness of the afternoon, Deborah thought the rain might actually benefit them – release the tension. Too bad there wasn’t something equally beneficial to relieve the tension of Lizzie’s situation.

  “I would appreciate it if you would at least grant me the decency of accompanying me to the boardinghouse,” Lizzie’s mother stated as Deborah pulled the wagon to a stop near the commissary. “There are a few things I’d like to speak to you about – in private.”

  Lizzie sighed. “I suppose if I refuse, you’ll just continue to nag me about it.” She got down from the wagon and looked back up to Deborah. “I’m sorry about this. Do you mind waiting?”

  Mrs. Decker gave a huff and looked away. It was clear she didn’t like her daughter seeking someone else’s approval before agreeing to see her mother alone.

  “Not at all. Mother sent some grape tarts for Dr. Clayton. I’ll just go deliver them. I’ll meet you back here at the wagon.” Deborah took her brown skirt in one hand and secured a hold on the wagon with the other as she climbed down. Together, she and Lizzie assisted Mrs. Decker from her perch.

  “I won’t be long,” Lizzie promised.

  Deborah lifted the basket of tarts from the wagon and made her way down the dirt street to the doctor’s quarters. The air was thick with soot from the mill. With very little wind, the smoke seemed to blanket everything. It only added to her anxiety.

  Knocking at the waiting room door, Deborah felt a sense of relief when Dr. Clayton opened it. He smiled and stepped back. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

  “More so than you know. Mother has sent her black grape tarts,” Deborah said, holding up the basket. “They are quite delicious.”

  He closed the door. “I must say were it not for your mother, I might never get a decent meal.” He paused for a moment and shook his head. “No, that isn’t exactly true. Mrs. Perkins has me to the house at least once a week. The preacher and I share their table and hear all of the latest gossip about the town. Annabeth and Maybelle Perkins are better than having a newspaper’s society page.”

  Deborah nodded. “I know that to be true.” She pulled the plate of cloth-covered tarts from the basket and placed them on a small table by the door.

  Dr. Clayton seemed to immediately sense her mood. “Something is wrong.”

  She
met his gaze. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Does this have to do with Mr. Albright and Lizzie’s mother?”

  “Mostly it has to do with Mrs. Decker. She has no consideration for Lizzie’s desires whatsoever. She came to visit and went on and on all morning. Even at lunch, which Mother graciously invited her to, Mrs. Decker made everyone miserable. I couldn’t wait until I could suggest I drive her back to town.

  “Lizzie accompanied me and on our journey here, her mother berated us both until I very nearly thought I’d push her from the wagon bench.” Deborah looked away. “I wouldn’t really have done it, of course, but she just keeps insisting that Lizzie is married to Stuart Albright and that she should remain so! Furthermore, she’s insisting that Lizzie leave with them when Stuart returns from observing the logging operations with G. W.”

  The doctor motioned to one of the chairs. “Why don’t you sit and tell me all about it? Did you mention to Lizzie the possibility of getting an annulment?”

  “I did. She said that if her father finds out that she truly is legally married, then she will journey to Houston or wherever necessary and arrange an annulment.”

  “So why this degree of contention?”

  “I can’t really put my finger on the exact problem. Mrs. Decker is clearly up to something, but I can’t figure out what that might be. Lizzie is quite clueless, as well. There seems to be some reason Mrs. Decker stands behind this marriage – even though she’s divorced herself. But I’m ranting, and that’s hardly fair.” She forced a smile. “How are things coming along for you here?”

  “Miserably. I have managed to see one patient, but otherwise, it’s remained as quiet as a graveyard.”

  Just then the door burst open, nearly startling Deborah out of her skin. She saw the worried expression of Jeren Perkins and knew something must be horribly wrong.

  “They’re bringing an injured man from the mill. There was an accident with one of the saws. He’s nearly cut off his arm, and he’s bleeding profusely.”