Goddess Born

by Kari Edgren

  “That’s the point,” she said, softly patting my hand. “Now don’t worry anymore about William. His heart will mend once he finds another pretty girl to adore. For the time being, I just need to keep him away from Phoebe Trumble. The last thing my family needs is to have William disowned for running off with a Presbyterian.”

  “He would never marry her!” I cried, mortified by the idea. Phoebe was without question the most beautiful creature in town. She also happened to be the most conniving and not a proper match for someone like William.

  “You know what she’s like,” Nora said. “Fluttering her eyes and making those sweet faces until every boy in the room is half-mad in love with her. I think the only thing that has saved my brother so far was his unrequited love for you. Now you’re safely out of the way there’s no telling what could happen. Anyway, enough about William, I want to hear everything about Henry. Is it true he looks like a Greek god?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “No one will tell me anything,” she huffed. “The ladies are so concerned with offending my virginal ears that I’ve had to start listening at doors to get anything good.”

  “And what have you heard?” I had grown increasingly anxious as to what the upright ladies of Hopewell were saying behind my back.

  “That you two are sleeping in separate rooms,” she said nonchalantly.

  I should have guessed. “And what is their opinion of my sleeping arrangements?”

  “There are two distinctive camps, so far as I can tell,” she started. “My mother, Anne Boyle and Susanna Appleton think you and Henry just need some time to get comfortable with each other and then the rest will come naturally. Martha Oswald, Betsy Trumble and Rachel Dowling, on the other hand, say you need to stop beating around the bush and get the deed done. Last I heard, they’re still deciding who’s going to take you aside and make sure you know what goes where.”

  “I feared that was coming. Have there been any volunteers?” It would be nice to know which ladies to avoid.

  “Martha Oswald offered, but Anne vetoed the idea, saying that Martha’s bluntness would only cause more harm than good, and quite possibly put you off from Henry for the next year.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” I said, rolling my eyes. “As if I haven’t already delivered a dozen babies since my mother died.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” she said, her own irritation evident. “Someone would have to be a simpleton indeed not to figure out how the little ones were made in the first place. But it so pleases the ladies to think we’ve been adequately sheltered and still believe babies grow of their own accord. Why ruin the happy delusion? When the time comes for the designated one to bestow her wifely wisdom, just blush and nod as though you’ve never imagined such a thing in your life.”

  “And what do you think?” I asked. Not that it mattered, but I wanted to know my best friend’s opinion. “Should I wait or just get the deed done?”

  “Well, that depends,” she said, looking truly contemplative. “Does he really look like a Greek god?”

  We both started laughing so hard that we collapsed back against the sofa. But after some more prodding and in an attempt not to overly bias her opinion or have her think me a braggart by proclaiming him the handsomest man I had ever laid eyes upon, I finally admitted that Henry was tolerable enough and not entirely without physical advantage. Nora then insisted on hearing every minute of my journey to Philadelphia, from the moment the carriage left Brighmor until I returned with my cousin. For the most part, I obliged, only leaving out the part about Henry being an indentured servant and the real reason Dirk Fletcher and his band of miscreants had attacked us on the way home. At the end of my story, she declared Henry a true hero for saving my life while simultaneously ridding the world of evil.

  The rain continued to fall outside as we talked and I found myself stealing long glances out the window looking for Henry and wondering when he would return home. My distraction must have been evident for Nora proclaimed that if the conversation could not hold my attention then I might as well play a song or two on the harpsichord to pass the time. She spoke as though my behavior had left her little choice, but I wasn’t fooled for a minute. Quakers did not approve of musical instruments, though Nora adored singing and if I just happened to be in need of playing then it was her Christian duty to assist me. We had been going through this same routine for more than ten years, since the harpsichord first arrived from England. Fortunately for me, my father loved to hear me play, and since my mother had been a Catholic, there was no fuss about having the instrument at Brighmor.

  Seated together on the wooden bench, I started with some basic scales for Nora to warm up and then moved to a familiar repertoire of our favorite songs. On occasion I would join her in singing, adding my own contra soprano to the melody, but mostly I just played and listened to her sing. We had gotten through a good half dozen songs when I glimpsed someone standing by the door. Stealing a quick look, I saw Henry leaning against the wall, watching us. Nora’s voice was so lovely, I played through to the end of the song before bringing his presence to her attention.

  “We have an audience,” I said, when the last notes faded away.

  Henry clapped his hands, applauding our performance as he stepped the rest of the way into the drawing room. “That was magnificent,” he said, meeting my eyes, and I smiled at his approval.

  “How long have you been listening?” I asked.

  “Not nearly long enough,” he said, returning my smile. I would have been content just to stare at him but Nora surreptitiously reached over and pinched my leg.

  “Henry, let me introduce my dearest friend, Nora Goodwin. Nora, this is my husband, Henry Kilbrid.”

  Nora scooted off the bench. “Pleased to meet you, Henry Kilbrid.”

  “And you, Nora Goodwin. I do not think I have heard sweeter music in all my life.”

  “Then you ought to get out more often,” Nora said, dismissing the compliment in her normal manner, though I believe she only did so to hide her embarrassment at being caught so flagrantly disregarding her faith. “And how are you finding our fair colony of Pennsylvania? I hope it is tolerable enough and not lacking in physical advantage.”

  I coughed slightly at her direct use of my own description of Henry. He had changed into dry clothing but his hair, though neatly combed, was still wet from being outdoors much of the day, and in truth he looked nothing less than divine.

  “It bears all the signs of being an advantageous land,” he said cordially. “Though the weather is warmer than I am used to.”

  “Have you ever been to Greece?” Nora asked him. “I’ve heard the heat there surpasses the Devil’s kitchen at certain times of the year. It’s no wonder the Greek gods were believed to reside on Mt. Olympus.”

  Nora said all of this without giving the slightest inclination of how carefully she was choosing her words, but I knew exactly what she was up to and how this was an attempt to tease me for not telling the complete truth earlier. While keeping my eyes on Henry, I slyly took hold of her hand, making sure to keep it well hidden in the folds of our skirts, and gave it a fearsome squeeze. Nora didn’t so much as flinch, but pulled her hand back and then stepped out of my reach.

  “No, I haven’t been any further south than Rome,” Henry admitted. “How have you gained such knowledge, living where you do?”

  “My grandfather was a sailor, or more precisely a pirate, before coming to the Colonies to find a wife and invest his ill-begotten gains in a large tract of land for farming. During his travels, he visited most of the known seaports, and on long winter nights would relay some of these adventures to his grandchildren.”

  Henry looked highly amused by Nora’s story. “I see,” he said. “But I was actually referring to the Devil’s kitchen. Did your grandfather also visit this place or did you learn about it through o
ther means?”

  “I admit it was pure conjecture,” Nora laughed. “But I’ll wager it gets terribly hot in there with all those miserable souls simmering away in his pot.”

  I was practically holding my breath just waiting for Nora to say something about a special pot for young ladies prone to fibbing, but the sound of carriage wheels came from the front drive, diverting our attention.

  “Oh, goodness,” Nora said. “We will have to continue this conversation another time for I’m sure William is in a rush to get home.” She darted a glance in my direction and I knew she meant to spare her brother the displeasure of running into Henry.

  “I look forward to it,” Henry said. “Good day, Nora Goodwin.”

  “It was a pleasure meeting you,” she said. “Selah, would you mind seeing me out?” Not that I could have done otherwise since she had taken my arm and was guiding me to the door. Out in the entryway, she leaned over and whispered in my ear. “You little liar,” she hissed. “It’s no wonder William came home in such a state yesterday, with your husband looking the very image of Adonis.”

  I tried to interject, but she shushed me and went on. “Take my advice and place your claim on Henry at once, before Phoebe Trumble casts her eyes upon him and decides she would make him a better wife.”

  “She wouldn’t dare!” I exclaimed.

  “Don’t be so stupid. I would have been tempted myself if you weren’t my dearest friend,” she confessed, and her eyes became even more serious. “There was something else I heard when the ladies were talking. They are in agreement that a marriage is no marriage at all until it has been properly consummated.”

  “Good heavens!” I gasped. “But, Nora, I can’t.” I may have spilled the entire truth to gain her understanding if William hadn’t knocked right then.

  In one fluid, well-practiced motion, Nora crossed her arms over her heart, and I recognized at once the secret sign from our earliest childhood. We had done it a million times, swearing to our friendship and promising to love each other always. I copied her movements without a second thought.

  She then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good luck,” she said, slipping out before I could utter another word.

  When the door closed behind her, my shoulders fell forward as I buried my face in my hands, grieved by this last bit of news.

  “Is everything all right?” Henry asked, coming up behind me.

  Straightening my back, I turned and gave him a pleasant smile. “Yes, everything is fine.” In truth, the whole matter had become a big, tangled mess.

  We may pretend at being married and alter a few facts here and there as needed. That didn’t mean I was about to invite Henry into my bed to further sustain our charade. Not that I would have minded if he were truly my husband, but we weren’t really married. Well, I didn’t think we were at any rate, and it wasn’t like second opinions were readily growing on trees in Hopewell.

  But this was all beside the point. We had entered into an agreement and our relationship would remain appropriate regardless of how well we got along or how handsome he was or even how badly I wanted to run my hands up under his shirt and along his bare chest...

  Oh, will you just stop it! I struggled to get hold of my thoughts. Not only were we not married, but by purchasing his contract I had in fact paid for Henry to act as my husband. If our relationship progressed into more intimate territory under such terms he would be degraded to a kept man, and I would become the most wretched of women—nothing less than a Jezebel. The very idea made my head hurt.

  These worries must have shown on my face, for his eyes filled with concern. “Selah, what’s wrong?”

  Although I guessed he would take the news in stride and behave in a gentlemanly manner, I lacked the heart to discuss the matter further. “Nothing,” I lied, trying to keep my smile in place, but then thought it best to give some excuse to forestall any more questions. “I’ve taken a sudden headache is all. Perhaps it would be best if I rest for a while.”

  He stepped aside and I hurried up the stairs. Wishing to be alone, I was rather perturbed to reach the hallway and catch the sound of someone softly humming from inside my room. The door was cracked open just enough for me to glimpse Alice at my dressing room table, batting her eyes flirtatiously at the mirror. The humming stopped as she puckered her lips into a kiss.

  “Aren’t ye a pretty thing,” she said to her own reflection. “The master won’t help giving ye a smile.” Then she picked up my tortoise shell combs and tucked them into her hair.

  I pushed open the door and strode into the room. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Alice jumped up and snatched out the combs, dropping them on the table. “Beg yer pardon, ma’am. I was sent to fill the water pitcher.”

  “Kisses and hair combs are not needed to fill a pitcher,” I said angrily. “You were preening, Alice Reed, and don’t try to deny it.”

  Her face went red with shame. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

  I stared at her, deciding what to do next, when a rather brilliant idea popped into my head. Through her misbehavior, Alice had just given me the means to find out who was gossiping behind my back. For sure, it would be awkward if Alice proved the culprit, but I was determined to know the truth.

  Biting back any further reprimands, I smoothed my face into a smile. “Don’t fuss about it. You may have the combs if you like.”

  She shook her head. “No, ma’am. It ain’t right.”

  “They’re my combs and I’ll decide what’s right or not. Besides, now I’ve seen how pretty they look in your hair, I’ll never be able to wear them again with any satisfaction.”

  “Mrs. Ryan will have my head if she finds out what I’ve done.”

  I walked to the table and picked up the combs. “Then we shan’t tell her,” I said, placing them in her hand. “It will be our little secret.”

  She gave me a shy smile. “Yer all kindness, ma’am.” Holding on to her new treasures, she bobbed a curtsy and hurried toward the door.

  “Alice,” I said, stopping her at the last moment. “Would you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I’ve recently learned that someone from Brighmor has been gossiping about my marriage. Do you have any idea who it could be?”

  Her eyes widened with fear. “I promise, it weren’t me, ma’am.”

  “I wasn’t blaming you, Alice. I only wanted to know if you had heard anything.”

  She glanced nervously down at her feet. “Yesterday morning at breakfast the servants and field hands were talking about ye and the master. It weren’t nothing but idle chitchat. No one meant any harm by it.”

  “And you’ve no idea who might be sharing this idle chitchat with my neighbors?” I prodded her.

  “No, ma’am.”

  I looked at her closely, but saw no signs of deceit. “Do you promise to tell me if you hear anything?”

  She squirmed uncomfortably under my gaze.

  “It would be tremendous a favor,” I continued. “A favor that would have to be repaid somehow.”

  Her hand tightened around the combs. “I promise, ma’am, but I don’t know nothing.”

  “Oh, very well,” I sighed. “Please ask Karta to brew a cup of willow bark tea. I’ve a terrible headache coming on.”

  She curtsied and dashed from the room.

  Finally alone, I sank into the chair by the hearth to mull over my problems. In a matter of minutes, my mind was practically turning circles.

  A marriage is no marriage at all until it has been properly consummated.

  Yet to help prove my innocence, the good ladies of Hopewell needed to know that my marriage remained unconsummated.

  What if Phoebe Trumble set her mind on winning Henry? To be sure, Henry seemed an honorable
man, but honor or not, there was hardly a man alive who could withstand Phoebe’s feminine wiles.

  Yesterday, I believed the gossip would work in my favor. Now, I didn’t know what to think. My best hope was that Alice would soon discover the source so I could curtail any further talk. Otherwise, the rumors would continue and I would have lost my favorite hair combs for naught.

  * * *

  These thoughts weighed heavily on my mind throughout the rest of the week as the rain finally abated and I began making social calls once again. From time to time, I debated divulging everything to Nora or telling Henry of our newest problem, but in the end decided to keep quiet in the hopes that this too would pass. “Wait and see” had provided good advice in the past, and there was no sense making mountains out of molehills.

  By the time Mary laced me into my plainest gray cotton frock in preparation for Quaker meeting on Sunday morning, I had some satisfaction that the townspeople must have moved on to fresher gossip. Nothing more had crossed my ears on the subject or even been alluded to by any of Hopewell’s most respected matrons. This was good news indeed, to have one less concern when Henry and I walked into the meetinghouse together.

  Unlike conventional Christian churches where the congregation sits facing a pulpit of some sort, Quakers sit on long wooden benches facing the center, the men on one side and the women on the other. Elder members or distinguished guests—such as those recognized with the gift of ministry—take their places on raised benches at the far end of the room. It was on one of these raised benches, sitting alongside Edgar Sweeney and Gideon Boyle, that I spied my accuser and sworn enemy, Nathan Crowley. His attention was currently diverted to one of the windows and I took a quick moment to study his countenance for any hint of what trouble he may have had planned for this morning. I didn’t know exactly what to look for other than a malicious smile or a wicked glint in his eyes. After a minute all I could surmise was that his cheeks looked a bit gaunt since we last met at Brighmor a week ago.

  Taking my own seat next to Nora, I watched Henry settle in between Matthew Appleton and Thomas Dowling on the other side. I had told him some of what to expect from a Quaker meeting, and he didn’t seem surprised when no one greeted him, but sat instead in stony silence with their heads bowed. When the meeting officially started, the silence continued, stretching on for the greater part of an hour as each member quietly reflected and sought inspiration from their inner light. By now, I had grown accustomed to this time of stillness, and actually found it quite peaceful. Henry, on the other hand, had to stifle several yawns, which earned him stern looks from more than a few of the men.