Though Waters Roar

by Lynn Austin

  “Let me do that, Grandma,” I said as I knelt beside her. “I want to learn how.” She taught me to change an automobile tire that day, step by step, and I wished the boys from school could have been there to watch me work. They thought all girls were helpless and empty-headed like my sister, Alice. I would have loved to show them how wrong they were. Grandma was right—why wait to be rescued when I was perfectly capable of rescuing myself? Her example inspired me—and it was one of the reasons why I had refused to call anyone on the telephone to come and rescue me from jail. I had thought of Grandma’s words as my cell door slammed shut: “Only women in fairy tales wait to be rescued.”

  After Grandma Bebe and I fixed the tire that damp May evening and started down the road toward home again, I was eager for her to continue the story of my great-uncle Franklin and grandpa Horatio.

  “So how did you end up marrying Horatio Garner, Grandma? If you went home to the farm and he went back to Roseton again, how—?”

  “Patience, Harriet, patience. I’m getting to that part . . .”

  Bebe couldn’t wait to tell her mother all about the Anti-Slavery meeting as they prepared breakfast the next morning. “You should have come last night, Mama. Lucretia Mott came all the way from Philadelphia, and she told us that—”

  “Not now, Beatrice . . . please . . . and mind what you’re doing— you’re letting the bacon burn.”

  Bebe slid the cast iron skillet to a cooler place on the stovetop, then turned the crisping pieces with a fork. The fat sizzled, stinging her bare arms like wasps. She knew better than to raise the subject of equality for women after her father and brothers trooped in from the barn, but when the men had eaten their fill and she and Hannah were alone, Bebe brought up the subject again as they washed the breakfast dishes.

  “It was such an interesting meeting last night, Mama. Mrs. Mott said that we proved our equality with all the work we did during the war. She said we’re entitled to the same rights as men, seeing as we were created equal.”

  Hannah put away the stack of plates she had dried and closed the cupboard door. “But I don’t agree that men and women are equal, Beatrice. God created us to be different, with different skills and qualities that complement one another. Women don’t have the muscular strength to be blacksmiths and men don’t have the tenderness required to nurture a baby. To say that we are equal is foolishness.”

  Bebe looked up from her scrubbing, genuinely surprised that her mother disagreed. “But didn’t we work just as hard as men while they were away?”

  “Those were special circumstances. I don’t think you’d want to do men’s work for the rest of your life, would you?”

  “No . . . but Mrs. Mott said that women are considered inferior to men, and we’re not inferior, Mama. So it isn’t fair that—”

  “It’s not a question of who is superior; it’s a question of who is the head of the household. Someone has to assume leadership in the home, and God decreed that it should be the husband. This isn’t something for you or me or Lucretia Mott to decide. We can’t change what’s written in the Bible. ”

  Bebe felt confused. Everything had seemed so clear to her at the meeting last night, but she didn’t know how to explain it to her mother the way Mrs. Mott had. Bebe finished scrubbing the last pot and handed it to Hannah to dry. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

  “Listen, Beatrice. The roles God has given us as wives and mothers are of the utmost importance. The standard He set for us is found in the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs. We are to be a helpmeet to our husband so that he can accomplish his God-given work. And we are to raise obedient, moral, God-fearing children.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what Mrs. Mott said last night. And she said our work is just as important as what men do—maybe even more important.”

  Hannah smiled and spread her palms. “Then what more could you possibly want?”

  Again, Bebe felt confused. “Well . . . Mrs. Mott said that women deserve the same civil rights as men, including the right to vote.”

  “Why would you want to vote, Beatrice?”

  “I-I don’t know . . . That’s why I need to go to the next meeting, so I can learn more about it. She said that women like us helped win freedom for the slaves, and that equality for everyone should be our next goal. That’s what I want to do, Mama. I want to help accomplish something important.”

  “The most important thing that any of us can do is to serve God and build Christ’s kingdom. My religious convictions were what led me to help all those slaves escape. I was simply doing the work that God gave me to do.”

  Bebe huffed in frustration. She wished she could explain it better. Her mother just didn’t understand. “Well . . . well, maybe this is the work God is giving me to do. That’s why I want to go to another meeting.”

  Hannah hung the dish towel near the stove to dry and rested her hands on Bebe’s shoulders. “If you would determine in your heart to put that same amount of time and effort into Bible study and prayer, you would find the purpose and contentment that you’re seeking.”

  “Yes, but . . . can I still go to the meeting?”

  “That’s up to your father, Beatrice.”

  When Bebe’s father learned what the meetings were about, he forbade her to attend any more of them. She voiced her frustration to Hannah, who responded by reciting Bible verses such as “godliness with contentment is great gain.” Bebe resigned herself to living a boring life on a boring farm outside a boring town—but she was not very happy about it, let alone content.

  She found it especially hard to be content whenever she shopped in the general store and heard the other women discussing the meetings. Mrs. Harrison never failed to invite Bebe to come back. She invited her once again after Bebe drove into town on a beautiful Indian summer day to buy vinegar and salt and the other supplies that she and Hannah needed to make pickles and sauerkraut.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Harrison. I would love to come again. Maybe when the harvest is over.”

  She hurried out of the store to avoid further conversation and noticed an unfamiliar horse and buggy drawing to a halt across the street. No one she knew could afford such a fine rig. Three other women from town had stopped to stare at it, too.

  “Who in the world could that be?” one of them asked.

  “Someone who is lost, no doubt.”

  But to Bebe’s amazement, the man who stepped down from the high leather seat to tie the horse to the hitching post was none other than Horatio Garner. He looked as rich as the king of England in his waistcoat and bowler hat and shiny black shoes. He would have been right in style on the streets of Philadelphia, but he looked quite overdressed among the simple, hardworking people of New Canaan. The other women stared at him, as slack-mouthed as a string of dead trout.

  Horatio turned when he’d finished securing the reins, and headed across the street toward the women. When he spotted Bebe his grin outshone the moon. He swept off his hat and bowed, his fair hair and reddish beard glinting like gold in the sunlight.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Monroe. How fortunate that we should meet this way. You’re the very person I came to see.”

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  “Yes, you!” His laughter filled the quiet street. “Why are you so surprised?”

  She didn’t know what to say. Happiness and dismay began a tug of war inside her heart. She was thrilled to see Horatio again, but he had stumbled upon the real Bebe Monroe, dressed in a patched skirt and a faded shirtwaist, not the idealized version of her that he had met in Philadelphia. Now he would see that her life in the village was as dull as a log of wood, that she lived in a simple frame farmhouse, and that she worked as hard as his servants did.

  “Will you excuse us, please?” he asked the gaping women. He grasped Bebe’s elbow and gently led her away. “Is there a café where we could find a bite to eat?”

  Now it was Bebe’s turn to laugh. “This isn’t Philadelphia, Mr. Garner. There’s no café. I
n fact, you’ll have to drive all the way back to the last town you passed just to find a place to sleep tonight.”

  “Is your home nearby? Perhaps I could trouble you for a glass of lemonade on the porch?”

  “I live two miles down that road,” she said, pointing. “But I’m quite sure there are no lemons in the pantry . . . and I wouldn’t know how to make lemonade, even if we could afford such luxuries.”

  “How is Franklin doing?”

  “Good . . . good . . . a little better every day.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear it. And although he is my very good friend, the truth is that it was you I came to see.”

  Bebe’s heart thrummed inside her chest like hummingbirds’ wings. She tried to speak but nothing came out.

  “I’ve missed you, Beatrice,” he said softly. “Ever since you left Philadelphia, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.”

  She had to find her voice, had to say something. “I-I missed you, too. But I’m afraid that you have the wrong impression of me. As you can see, my hometown is—”

  “I brought you something. I’m dying to see how you like it.” He rooted through his coat pockets while he talked. “I happened to pass a jewelry store one afternoon on the way to my attorney’s office, and I saw this in the store window. It was so dainty and beautiful—it reminded me of you.”

  He pulled out a velvet-lined jeweler’s box and opened it to show Bebe a small gold locket inside. She couldn’t breathe. How was it possible that a handsome, wealthy man like Horatio had come looking for her, bringing her a present?

  “I would be so honored if you would accept it as a gift from me. May I see how it looks on you?” He removed it from the box and reached over her shoulders to fasten it around her neck. They stood inches apart. She smelled the clean, spicy scent of his hands.

  “But I . . . this old dress . . .”

  “Nothing you wore could ever diminish your loveliness.”

  “Thank you, I-I . . .” Bebe felt completely overwhelmed. She wanted to let go of all caution and allow herself to be swept away by Horatio, but she was terrified that he would leave when he discovered the truth about her, and she would drown in disappointment.

  “I forgot to show you, but look—the locket opens.” He took another step closer as he pried it open for her. “See? There’s a place inside to put a picture of your beloved or a lock of his hair.”

  “Oh . . . it’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Thank you, Horatio. No one has ever given me . . . I mean, I’ve never . . . I don’t know what to say. . . .”

  Bebe’s heart lost the battle. The grip he had on her was too powerful to escape, even if she had wanted to. Seeing Horatio again thrilled her, and she was so amazed by the gift he’d given her that she wanted to whirl and dance in the street. She could have floated home on a cloud of happiness. She drew a shaky breath and said, “Come home with me, Horatio.”

  “Thank you. I would be honored.”

  She untied her own horse and wagon and led the way to her farm. Her mother stopped removing laundry from the line to watch as Horatio’s buggy pulled into the yard behind the farm wagon. Bebe took his arm and led him over to meet her mother. Hannah silently eyed the locket.

  “Look who I met in town, Mama. This is Franklin’s friend, Horatio Garner—”

  “I hope that I am your friend, as well, Beatrice.”

  “Yes, of course. But Franklin knew him first, Mama, from the war. And then they were in the hospital together in Philadelphia . . . and that’s where I met him.”

  Horatio swept off his hat and bowed. “How do you do, Mrs. Monroe?”

  Hannah smiled in return. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Garner. I’m sure Franklin will be glad to see you, too. He’s working out in the barn at the moment. If you just walk through that open door across the way, I’m sure you’ll find him.”

  “Thank you.” But Horatio gazed at Bebe, not in the direction where Hannah had pointed. Bebe didn’t want to let him out of her sight and would have escorted him to the barn, but Hannah gently pulled her away from Horatio, linking arms with her.

  “Come, Beatrice. You can help me finish folding the laundry, and then we’ll get started in the kitchen. You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you, Mr. Garner?”

  “Thank you. It’s very kind and gracious of you to offer.”

  Bebe couldn’t take her eyes off Horatio as he crossed the barnyard, mindful of where he stepped in his shiny black shoes. She continued to stare at the empty barn doorway after he’d disappeared through it. Hannah finished taking the clothes off the line, then led Bebe into the kitchen.

  “I see he brought you a present.”

  “Yes. Isn’t it beautiful?” Bebe fingered the necklace, amazed that he would give her something so lovely.

  “It looks very costly.”

  “I-I guess so . . . Horatio’s family is wealthy. His father owns a tannery. They have servants.” None of those statements had anything to do with the joy and wonder Bebe felt at that moment.

  Mama stopped working and turned to look at her. “Oh, Beatrice,” she said with a sigh. “Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that you have feelings for each other.”

  “Really, Mama? Do you really think he has feelings for me?”

  “I don’t know where this is going to lead, but before you get swept away, you need to remember that the strongest marriages are between couples who share the same faith and the same values. If money is the most important thing to him—”

  “It isn’t, Mama! I mean . . . at least it doesn’t seem to be important. He has always been very kind and generous to Franklin. They’re friends.”

  “And what about Mr. Garner’s faith? Does he trust in God or in his wealth and position?”

  Bebe didn’t know the answer. She turned away so her expression wouldn’t betray her doubts. Horatio had never spoken of his faith.

  “It’s a wonderful thing to fall in love, Beatrice. But make sure that both you and the man you marry love the Lord even more than each other.”

  She nodded but her mother’s words were sliding off like rain on glass. She felt as though she’d been caught up in a whirlwind as she tried to comprehend the fact that Horatio Garner was here—on her farm. He had come to see her. And he had brought her a present.

  Horatio looked even more out of place at dinnertime, seated at the table beside her burly father and brothers. But if Horatio felt uncomfortable, he never showed it. He gazed across the table at Bebe as if she were the only person in the room while he filled the normally quiet dinner hour with a never-ending stream of words. Now that he’d entered her world, Bebe would never be content without him. The emptiness he would leave behind would be just like the ache she felt every time she saw her brother Joseph’s vacant chair or his unused bed. Was this what falling in love was like?

  “What are your plans, Mr. Garner?” Bebe’s father asked when dinner ended and Horatio had praised Mama’s cooking for several minutes.

  “Well, as I explained to Franklin earlier, one of the reasons I’ve come is to pass along the name of a doctor I’ve heard about. He has the knowledge and expertise to fix up Franklin with a brand-new leg. And to show my appreciation for the friendship we shared, I also came to offer him a job in my family’s business. We’re in need of a new clerk, someone to handle the customers’ orders and keep the books.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Garner. I’m sure Franklin is grateful.”

  “I am,” Franklin said. “But I don’t think I’d make a very good clerk. I never cared much for schoolwork—and I don’t think I’d like to sit at a desk inside a building all day. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll do for a job, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Of course, of course. But be sure to let me know if you change your mind.”

  “You’re welcome to spend the night if you’d like more time to visit,” Bebe’s mother said. “It’s too late to travel anywhere else to spend the night.”

  “Thank you. It’s
most kind of you to extend such wonderful hospitality to me. I shan’t burden you for very long, I promise. I noticed this afternoon how hard everyone works, and I would hate to get in your way, especially at harvesttime.” Horatio glanced at Bebe and smiled before turning back to her father. “But there is one other matter of great importance that I would like to discuss with you, Mr. Monroe. Might I have a moment to speak with you in private?”

  Henry nodded in agreement. Horatio started to rise, then quickly sat down again when Henry reached for his Bible to read the evening’s Scripture passage. Bebe didn’t hear a word of it. Her heart galloped in anticipation of what Horatio was about to ask her father, hoping and praying that he was going to ask for her hand in marriage. She thought her father would never finish reading the passage. His closing prayer seemed endless. At last he said “Amen” and scraped back his chair. As Henry led Horatio into the parlor, Bebe abandoned her mother and the supper dishes and ran upstairs to eavesdrop through the vent in the bedroom floor.

  She arrived in time to hear Horatio say, “I want you to know, Mr. Monroe, that I developed very tender feelings for your daughter, Beatrice, during her month-long stay in Philadelphia. I had the opportunity to get to know her as she cared for Franklin, and I discovered what a remarkable woman she is. Those feelings didn’t diminish after we parted. In fact, I found myself unable to get her out of my mind. And so what I am trying to say is that I would be very grateful if you would grant me the honor of marrying your daughter—if she will have me.”

  Tears of joy filled Bebe’s eyes. She longed to cover her face and weep at the wonder of Horatio’s proposal, but then she wouldn’t be able to hear her father’s response. She pressed her fist against her mouth. The pressure of holding back her happiness felt like a dam about to burst.

  “I want you to know that I am able to provide well for her,” Horatio continued. “My family owns a very profitable leather tan- nery, which I will inherit one day. I’m in a position to build Beatrice the finest house in town and staff it with servants and—”