When Tamora was settled, her arms locked around Brownkin and her head pressed into the pillow, Amelia could almost believe Tamora was like any other little girl. Almost. She dimmed the lamps and went to stand at one of the windows that looked out toward the carriage house and horse barn. They were lighted and she could see the silhouettes of the waiting grooms and the remaining visiting horses and carriages.
At a movement in the shadows just below the window, she looked down. A man emerged, but she couldn’t see his face. He stopped and tilted his head up. Was he watching her? Though the nursery window was dark, she stepped back, her heart quickening.
After a moment she made herself look again. Now there were two forms below, and as they came together, she was sure she recognized them both.
Chapter 23
AMELIA
December 1878
By the week before Christmas, everyone but Amelia seemed to have forgotten the incident with the swing in the ballroom. Invitations still arrived, even from Pinky Archer and the Beauforts, and Randolph had planned a big early New Year’s Eve supper to take place before the Archers’ late-night party.
If Tamora had forgotten the incident itself, she certainly hadn’t forgotten how it had made her feel. How Randolph had made her feel. No longer was the ballroom on her frantic, barefoot circuits around the house, up and down the stairs. She had often stood at the ballroom doors until either Amelia or Harriet slid them open for her so she could go inside and run around the edges of the room. With her eyes half closed and her hair flying behind her, her fingers traced the wallpaper, with its pattern of Oriental girls and strange old men. If Harriet tried to warn her about the chairs or fireplace, she would scowl and continue on. Now she ran along the gallery, passing by the ballroom doors as though they didn’t exist, the expression on her face unchanging.
The other change was in the way she acted in Randolph’s presence: She wanted nothing to do with him at all. He, like the ballroom, had ceased to exist for her. At dinner, if he passed by her chair and touched her hair, she would swat violently at the air as though brushing away a gnat, making Randolph laugh.
The first time it happened, Harriet admonished her. But Randolph replied with, “Leave her be. An animal doesn’t know when it’s being naughty.”
He winked at Aaron who, to his credit, falteringly suggested that he was surely joking, that Tamora was a lovely little girl.
Amelia knew Randolph had meant to shock her, and so did not respond, but she was silently grateful to Aaron. Besides Harriet, he was the only one who had offered any sort of apology, boldly taking her hand in the front hall a few days later, saying that he admired her tenacity and dedication to her daughter. That he was certain that Randolph wasn’t a bad man, but only a man who felt helpless in the face of his daughter’s limitations.
Was he so naïve? If so, she liked him for it. But she found it a little difficult to understand why he hadn’t helped Tamora that night. She had softened, though. Truly, she felt that he was her only friend in Bliss House.
“Please forgive me, Amelia. I want to be my better self when I am around you.”
She had laughed then. Was he trying to win her good opinion by flattery? A woman who was years older and a generation wiser in experience?
He seemed to catch how she’d heard him, and he colored and gave her an abashed smile.
On impulse, she spoke more seriously. “Don’t tell Randolph what you’ve said. Don’t criticize him about Tamora. He doesn’t like to be criticized, and he will surely trace it back to me. She is well, and I am here. All will be well.”
“All will be well,” he repeated. For a very awkward moment, she imagined he might kiss her. If he had, it would have seemed the most natural thing in the world. In the world inside Bliss House, that is. Outside—well, outside didn’t matter because she felt more and more as though she had little or no business outside the house. Let Randolph travel. Let him spend his nights out of the house, away, or with whoever was in the cottage in the woods. A single night or a dozen. It didn’t matter to her anymore. Or so she reminded herself whenever she suspected she was in danger of forgetting what he’d become to her.
Despite her constant preoccupation with Tamora, she refused to give up what she knew was her rather childish delight in the Christmas season. Her parents had always kept their celebrations religious and low-key, but she had loved to visit the homes of her friends who celebrated with parties and colorful decorations.
Randolph was not at the breakfast table, as he so often was not. Whether he’d gotten up early and left or had never come home, she wasn’t certain and simply put the question out of her mind. Maud cleared away his unused dishes from the table with a little moue of disapproval as Aaron and Amelia discussed cutting greens for the house.
“We left a lot of beautiful evergreens standing in the woods, and there’s rhododendron as well. It might be on the yellow-green side, but once we get it indoors and you put some ribbon and pinecones with it, it will look fine.”
Amelia tried to imagine Randolph suggesting that he knew anything about how winter rhododendron might look, or where he might find some, and she smiled.
“Harriet and I will get Tamora ready for the weather, and we’ll be right down. Will you get some baskets from Maud, and ask her to have some chocolate ready for us in an hour or so?”
Mason would be bringing a fresh-cut tree to the house on the weekend, and she had miles of gold satin ribbon and a large number of German glass ornaments: moons, stars, colorful balls. Also wax angels, crosses, and bells. So many bells in different colors. She had purchased them at Mister Schwarz’s Toy Bazaar on Broadway and had them sent to Bliss House so they would be waiting for Christmas. There were toys, too, of course. New dolls. Always new dolls even if Tamora only glanced at them. One was sure to become her new favorite if it happened to be wearing the right color dress or had the correct color of hair. She had been in a ginger phase since she’d become so attached to Brownkin, though he was definitely a ruddy brown. Who knew what connection she’d made in her head between the brown, seedy squirrel and the ginger-haired dolls.
Christmas would, finally, offer some reason for cheer in Bliss House. Surely even Randolph’s impulsive cruelties couldn’t ruin such a happy time.
Gatchel’s Ladies Fine Shoes in Lynchburg had sent her two pairs of boots on approval. They were thinner and less sturdy than the leather boots she’d always gotten up east, but there was no time to have the boots she’d left behind in New York sent down. She grabbed the black pair from her room and hurried to ready Tamora, who was not being cooperative.
“Tamora, darling. Your friend Aaron is waiting. We’re going out in the snow. You love the snow!” Actually the day was warming, and the layer of white was melting quickly. They would have to hurry. Simply walking through the woods rarely amused Tamora. The out-of-doors was too unpredictable. Too alarming. How Amelia wished that the garden were more mature, its shining boxwood maze tall enough to hide in. The ridiculous statue of Hera with her peacock dominated the yard-high bushes.
Harriet, still contrite (and, Amelia was certain, sober), was more patient than usual, speaking to Tamora in the rhythmic singsong that appealed to her more than any other voice. Amelia heard it, saw how it worked, but she felt too ridiculous to use it herself.
“You go on, Missus Bliss.” Harriet was working to get Tamora’s second shoe on. “If I can get this one on her, she’ll be fine. She likes her new coat very much.”
For once, Amelia didn’t hesitate or worry about helping Harriet. She kissed Tamora’s clean blond hair and left the room, her thoughts already on the woods and the evergreens she would gather with Aaron. And, of course, on the chocolate that would come later. Feeling like a schoolgirl, she hurried down the stairs. Aaron emerged from the dining room wearing his overcoat and carrying two large baskets. A small saw was tucked inside one, and there was also a roll of twine. When he saw her, a smile broke across his face. She felt a pang at knowing that Aaron
—a houseguest, almost a stranger—was the only one in the house with whom she could share her happy feelings about the coming holiday. Tamora had no sense of it. Everyone else but Randolph was a servant. Like her parents, Randolph had never done much to celebrate Christmas, though he usually made sure he stayed closer to home for the last two weeks of the year. She briefly considered going back upstairs to tap on his bedroom door, to see if he wanted to go with them. But her only motivation was duty. Propriety. Seeing Aaron’s broad smile changed her mind. Randolph would probably mock them for doing something he considered servants’ work.
This was not New York, and she didn’t care what the servants thought about her going into the woods with Aaron. Besides, Harriet and Tamora would be with them.
If only they weren’t.
The thought shocked her. Aaron was only being kind.
“Is something wrong? Is Tamora not well?”
She blushed. Was she so transparent? If he had somehow been able to read her mind, it would mortify them both. “Oh, she won’t be hurried. That’s how it is with her sometimes. Harriet is very good with her.”
“But Harriet’s not you, is she?”
The sun was even brighter than she’d feared, and the snow bloomed with circles of soggy, dormant grass and dirt. Tamora stepped carefully, anxious to walk only on the snow. Harriet stayed close by her, telling her not to worry, that her boots would keep her feet dry. Tamora liked warm baths, but she hated puddles and getting her shoes dirty.
When they’d first stepped into the drive and Aaron started around the garden and toward the woods west of the house, Amelia almost asked him if there wasn’t somewhere else they might search. As though sensing her discomfort, he walked somewhat north, instead of due west, where the cottage was.
A part of her was deeply curious about the cottage. She had seen it from her window and had even once gone to the gate at the other side of the garden, imagining she might confront the girl living there. The girl was a mystery, though Randolph had begun to whisper when they were in bed together about the things he did with her. All she knew was that the girl was very young, and shameless. Did others in town know about her? She doubted whether someone like Pinky Archer or Cyrus Beard’s gossipy wife, Sharon, would be able to keep from gossiping about the girl if they knew. Testing Amelia to see if she knew or cared that she was being so publicly shamed.
There might even be more than one woman living there.
“Two women are best. Two are miraculous.” Randolph had told her, in the false sanctity of the bed they shared, how much he enjoyed being with more than one of his whores at a time. “Like succubi. Jealous of one another, each more daring than the other.” Then the details would come. Details that made her sick and excited at the same time. Knowing he had betrayed her. But as she had never complained to him, but simply accepted, was it even a betrayal?
The baskets were nearly full. Most of the pine boughs they’d collected had long, fragrant needles and were sprinkled with sticky cones the size of the end of Amelia’s thumb. She and Aaron worked together, laughing at the difficulty of cutting the flexible branches with the thin, equally flexible saw. Sometimes their gloved hands met, but Amelia pretended not to notice.
“Tamora!”
Amelia turned in time to see the back of Tamora’s blue coat as she ran out of the little grove of pine trees and toward a cluster of oaks that still fluttered with dark gold leaves that the wind seemed to have forgotten. Harriet was running after her. Beyond the oaks, Amelia could just see the clearing with the cottage. She put her basket down to go after them, but Aaron touched her arm.
Before she could object, Aaron, too, was running behind Harriet, and now dodging past her. But Tamora was running quickly and soon disappeared from view.
What if she keeps running? What if she is never found?
Amelia shook off the treacherous thought and followed, hoping Tamora would eventually run for home. But they had spent little time in these woods, and Amelia was sure Tamora didn’t know to look for the big house through the trees to find her way.
She found the other house, though. The cottage.
When Amelia reached the three of them, breathless, she found them standing at the edge of the clearing. Harriet leaned heavily against a tree, her bosom heaving beneath her serviceable black coat. Aaron had turned back toward Amelia and was waving her away. He looked a bit ridiculous in his panic—for it was panic on his face.
The woods were strangely quiet. A handful of melting snow fell from a tree branch and landed on the ground in front of Amelia, yet it made no sound.
Tamora was watching Randolph, who was walking carefully down the cottage’s porch stairs. He wore his overcoat, but it was open and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. Beneath the waistcoat was a shirt, but no collar, and his hair was disheveled. His lip curled with either concentration or distaste as he descended. It was a strange sight: Randolph, always so self-possessed and careful of his appearance, of his actions, was definitely not at his best. He looked dissolute, like a rough man of the street who had borrowed a gentleman’s fashionable coat and expensive suit. Yes, this was her husband. Not the husband he showed to her, but the husband he truly was. The husband who would keep a mistress within sight of his own home and whisper in the dark to his wife about the things he liked to do to her.
Aaron was obviously distressed, but it felt strangely normal to Amelia. That was the horror of it. Her training, her moral sense, her dignity all screamed for her to vehemently register her disgust—if not in defense of herself, then because of the presence of others. Yet she couldn’t scare up even a whisper of indignation.
Aaron came to stand beside her, perhaps intending to offer her comfort or support. He at least had the sense not to speak.
Behind Randolph, the girl looked out of the door. Amelia caught a glimpse of a pale, terribly pale, oval face, a face that might have belonged to a dark-eyed ghost. The girl—for she was definitely a girl, and not a woman—was as small as Amelia’s sister had been at ten years old, and her shapeless gown exposed her thin, smooth neck and collarbone. She seemed cold and anxious. Amelia’s eyes were hungry for her and held her gaze for a moment. But she could not ignore the girl’s bulging stomach.
Randolph hadn’t told her about the pregnancy. What had he been waiting for?
Randolph, undeterred by the sudden appearance of an audience, adjusted his hat and walked toward Tamora and Harriet.
He sees me as well. I know he sees.
Before he reached Tamora, the door behind him closed.
“Let’s go back to the house.” Aaron spoke quietly, again touching Amelia’s arm.
Amelia moved away. Not abruptly, but definitely.
Tamora started toward Randolph, and Randolph, obviously surprised and pleased, stopped and opened his arms to her. But she darted around him and ran with a shriek up the stairs of the cottage. Reaching the closed door, she began to pound for it to be opened. She pounded and pounded as they all watched, but it never did.
Chapter 24
KIKU
December 1878
It was a week before Christmas, and Odette finally pronounced Kiku’s broken ribs healed. Still, when Kiku breathed too deeply, she felt a small pain that she was sure meant her child was still in danger.
“I never heard such nonsense. There’s no way your tiny little rib is going to float down there and poke the baby. Have you never seen the inside of an animal? You’re not a pig that’s made mostly of ribs. The baby’s way down here.” Odette put a warm hand on Kiku’s belly, cupping it just below her protruding belly button.
After Randolph had kicked her at the end of October, Kiku’s pain had been excruciating, and Mason had wanted to call in a doctor. He and Odette had argued over which one to contact, because he didn’t know if Doctor Beard would want to treat Kiku. He didn’t treat black folk, and Mason didn’t know if Kiku would be considered white enough. “No doctor!” Kiku had called from the bedroom, even though it hurt to yell. Even th
ough she knew it was rude to eavesdrop. They were her ribs, after all. In the end, they all agreed that Randolph would not want any doctor to know she was there, and Odette and Mason did their best to treat her themselves.
Randolph had finally come to visit her again in mid-November, and complained that the bandages were unnecessary, that she could not possibly be that badly injured. But he had not, to her surprise, made her remove them when he took her. Fortunately, his visits weren’t frequent, though she knew it wasn’t because he regretted what he had done to her. Amelia was installed in the house.
Kiki no longer bothered to attempt to diminish her pregnancy around him, and he did not speak directly of it again. Reluctantly, at Odette’s request, he had provided Odette with more money to buy another pair of dresses that could encompass Kiku’s growing belly. But he had told Odette that they would have to be fixed afterward to work as regular dresses. It was the only time he mentioned anything that might occur after the birth. On the future of the baby itself, he remained silent. Still, Kiku thought about that future. Every day, she prayed that the child inside her was a boy and not a girl. She would never forgive herself if she gave birth to a girl. Would death be worse than what Randolph might do to her girl child? She knew the answer. But would she be brave enough to kill it in order to save it? Again and again she prayed that she would not have to.
“Where are you? You’re a million miles away.” Odette folded the bandage and put it in the laundry to be washed.
“Randolph will be pleased.”
Odette made an aggravated noise. “Maybe he shouldn’t have kicked you in the first place, and then he wouldn’t be so awfully inconvenienced.”
At least Odette had never said I told you so. They both knew that she had been right to suggest the abortion, or to at least break the news to him earlier. Though there had been no guarantees that he wouldn’t have acted exactly as he had.
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