* * *
Radstone had promised to tear up Tom's indenture papers after the wedding, but a week later he still had not done so. “All in good time,” his new father-in-law promised, when Tom reminded him. “What's the hurry? After all, some day everything I own will belong to you.”
But Tom had no intention of staying until Mr. Radstone's demise. As soon as the papers were destroyed, he planned to take his new wife and leave for the Ohio Territory. The idea implanted during dinner at Mr. Merkel's house months ago grown into an obsession.
Land existed for the taking in the West, the quiet-spoken solicitor had said. Farming in the wilderness would be hard work, far harder than pruning Lord Marlowe's prized rosebushes, but Tom had no doubt he was equal to the task. His late father and grandfather had been farmers, and their ancestors before them. Growing things came naturally to him. Hadn't Lemley always said so?
Meanwhile, Tom swallowed his disappointment and continued to work in the smithy, waiting with growing impatience for Mr. Radstone to release him from his indentures. His father-in-law's peremptory behavior chafed more than ever, but Tom forced himself to bite his tongue and bide his time. At night, he dreamed of the day he and Mabel could set up their own household on the other side of the mountains. It was all that kept him going.
In their attic room, Mabel listened to his plans without comment. Today, she was knitting a soft blanket from a skein of light-blue wool.
“Well?” he asked, finally noticing her silence. “Do you not want to go away so we can have our own farm?”
She looked up. “Of course, Tom. It is just that ... it will hurt my father's feelings if I abandon him so soon after getting married. Besides, he needs you in the forge.”
“He'll find another assistant. He cannot expect us to live with him forever.”
“Perhaps not. But it is so late in the year! By the time we arrive in Ohio, it will be too cold to plant crops.” She put down the knitting, looking at him with big, pleading eyes. “Wouldn't it make more sense to wait until spring, dear?”
He considered her words and nodded. It would take time to make the preparations, and it would not be wise to arrive so soon before winter. “All right,” Tom said reluctantly. “It will give me more time to save for the kind of wagon I want, strong enough for the kind of traveling we'll be doing. We'll need horses, too. And a milk cow.” He scowled. “At the rate your father pays me, or rather, doesn't pay me ....”
She smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Tom's anger drained away. In spite of her changing his plans, he found himself enjoying indulging her whims, like one would humor a kitten. His initial disgust at his homely wife had turned into pity. Now it was turning into another emotion he could not identify, but which, he realized with surprise, had something to do with tenderness.
The winter was long and unusually cold. The only thing that kept him going was knowing he could escape when spring arrived. He saved every penny that Mr. Radstone grudgingly granted him and went into town frequently to oversee the progress on the sturdy wagon he had commissioned. When the flowers in the courtyard were about to bud, he knew it was time. “Tomorrow,” he told Mabel when he returned. “We'll tell your father tomorrow. Everything is ready. All I have to do is ....”
He realized she was not listening. Her pale face was glowing with some inner happiness, and he belatedly realized that there was something different about her. “What is it, Mabel?” he said, studying her closely.
“Can you tell?” She turned toward him eagerly. “Haven't you noticed? I have been wanting to tell you for the longest time, but I wasn't sure how you would feel about it ....” A blush flamed in her cheeks.
He fumbled for a chair and sat down heavily. “Do you mean you're—?”
She nodded. “I have known for nearly a month. Betty scolded me for not telling you sooner, but I was afraid that ....” She looked down, and twisted her fingers in her lap. “I wasn't sure you would be happy about the news. I thought you would be, Tom. But with you, I'm not always sure how you feel about things.”
After the first shock, he began thinking furiously. “Well, this doesn't have to change anything,” he said half to himself. “Plenty of women travel when they are with child. It makes sense, even, to start a new family at the same time we start a new li....”
Her smile had disappeared, and she was staring at him. “You mean ... you mean you still want to go?”
“Of course. Why not?”
“But ....” Her voice trailed away.
“What is it, Mabel?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “But to be among strangers when the baby is born .... It would be so hard! So lonely! I could not bear it. Please, Tom, cannot we stay here, at home, just until the baby is born? Here, with Betty, and my father? It will not be much longer. A few months ....”
And then it will be autumn again, he thought, looking down at her little hand clutching his. Another year of misery? He had thought marriage would bring independence, the ability to plan his own future. Now, he felt more shackled than ever before. Freedom felt more remote and unattainable than ever.
Looking at her downcast face, however, he knew he could not disappoint her. It would be too cruel. “All right,” he said, swallowing hard. “But just until it is born.”
Beaming, she jumped up and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you! I have already thought of a name. Clara if it is a girl, after my mother, and Thomas if it is a boy. What do you think?”
“Those are perfect names.” He accepted her show of gratitude grudgingly, admitting to himself that her delighted smile brought him pleasure. She would never be a beauty or a great wit, but she loved him unquestioningly as no one ever had, with a fierce and loyal devotion that gratified him. And pregnancy became her, he thought, looking down with surprise at her excited face. Her thin figure had filled out, her pale cheeks had grown rosy. Her joy made her a real person, not a shadow, as he had once thought of her.
In spite of the unwelcome delay, he reminded himself that escape was closer than ever. Spring would be here soon; in the meantime, he hoarded every dollar that came his way, tucking them under the mattress and withdrawing them only to purchase essentials for the trip. His dreams helped the long, cold months pass until his wife was brought to her delivery bed.
For the first time, his optimism began to waver. The labor was difficult. He had never seen a woman brought to the birthing bed, and although Mabel smiled at him and faintly assured him that all was well, it was soon clear that it was not. When her cries began to weaken and her grip on Tom’s hand relaxed, the midwife shook her head, and told Mr. Radstone he’d best send for the doctor. Radstone, who had been downing glass after glass of rum downstairs, sent Henry off with a kick and a curse. The doctor arrived in due course, running upstairs, and the door closed, with Tom left to pace in the hallway, leaning his ear to the door from time to time to check on progress.
After several hours, the doctor came out wiping bloody hands on a rag. He gave a Tom a shrug and a look of sympathy. Tom brushed by Betty, who was guarding the door, without a glance, hardly aware of her presence. The midwife looked up as she was placing a blanket-wrapped bundle in a bassinet.
“Stop. I want to see.” Tom grabbed the midwife by the arm and stared down at the perfect face of his tiny daughter. A crest of downy hair, closed eyes, a slight bump inside the folds of the blanket, hardly even there: motionless, like a tiny doll cast aside by an impatient child.
A chill ran through him and he forced himself to turn to Mabel, fearing what he would see. Her eyes were half-closed, and her hair straggled across the pillow like dead grass against a bank of snow. Her breathing was shallow and ragged. Bending over her, he gently took her fingers, which felt like bird claws swallowed up in his large hand.
“It is all right, Tom.” Mabel's voice was a whisper. She tried to smile but the effect was grotesque on her thin, exhausted features. “I shall be better soon. Everything will be as we planned. We'll get to the Ohio cou
ntry yet. The three of us: you, me, and little Clara.
So she did not know the child was dead. He had not had the heart to tell her, after all she had been through, so he sat down, his weight causing the straw mattress to sink, and held Mabel’s slight, childlike body close to him. She felt as empty and weightless as a dried pod.
“Yes, Mabel. It will be all right. Everything will be just as we planned. In the spring, when you're better. When the flowers bloom ....” Whispering reassurances, he held her until her eyelids fluttered shut and her head fell back.
It took a moment for him to realize she was gone. Not just the baby, then, but his wife too? In that moment, he felt as if someone had raised a sledgehammer and smashed something inside his chest, the shards stabbing into his flesh like pieces of broken glass.
As he stared in disbelief at Mabel's peaceful face, he was overwhelmed by the wave of grief that swelled over him and left him reeling. How could he have lost both of them so quickly? If only she had not conceived. He was the one who had done this to her…!
The midwife roughly shook his shoulders. “Come along, sir, that'll do no good. You're a young man, you'll have another chance at a family. Get along now, I shall need to prepare the body.”
As she pulled the sheet over Mabel's face, he obediently stood and blundered from the room.
* * *
Two days later, Mabel was buried with her baby daughter in her arms. Tom watched stone-faced as the unvarnished pine casket swayed on its cables into the grave. The Merkels were among the mourners, but he scarcely acknowledged them.
The house, which had taken on a semblance of happiness the past year, especially in the small room beneath the eaves, was now plunged into mourning. Betty, her eyes red, sniffling constantly, folded up the unused baby clothes and packed them away. She did her best to console Tom, and he listened politely, but inside he felt numb. Even Henry had sense enough to let him alone.
He thought of the women in his life he had lost to death. His mother. His sister. His wife. His daughter. Mabel had loved him, given him everything, and this was the result.
As the days passed and the household went back to its usual routine, Tom gradually came to realize that there was nothing holding him here anymore. Neither Mabel nor the baby. Finally, at last, he was free.
He waited another month before acting. That seemed a decent interval. Then, one evening as his father-in-law closed up the smithy, Tom said matter-of-factly, “I have decided to leave next week.”
“You're not.”
Tom looked at Radstone. His gut clenched and a wave of perspiration sprang out under his collar. What did he mean by that?
Tom tried to speak calmly. “You knew that I was planning to leave before.... before....” He took a deep breath and plunged on. “My plans have not changed.”
“Everything has changed,” Radstone countered, hanging up his hammer and removing his leather apron.
“But ....”
“The forge is busier than ever. Henry is an incompetent fool, and I haven't the time or patience to train a replacement. I have invested three years in you already, and you are just now becoming worth your keep.”
Tom could no longer control his long-banked anger. “You have no right to stop me,” he snapped. “I'm no longer indentured to you.”
“No?” Radstone's thick-lipped smile grew broader.
Tom felt his face grow tight. “What do you mean? You said you would tear up the papers ....”
“Did you really think I would do something so foolish?”
“But you said that when I married Mabel—“
“While Mabel was alive, we had an agreement. Mabel is dead now.”
“But ....” Tom shook his head to clear it. He could not believe his ears. “You gave me your word.”
“I did, and my promise was valid as long as you were married to my daughter.”
“But you gave me your word ....” He was repeating himself, stupidly.
Radstone's smile vanished, replaced by a threatening scowl. “You fool! I paid for your crossing from England. I trained you and fed you until you were finally of value to me, and now you expect me to just let you walk away?” The blacksmith's bulk blotted out the light from the small window. “I paid for you. Every mouthful of food you've eaten and every thread on your back. If you refuse to stay, I shall thrash you within an inch of your life. Do not have the impertinence to bring up the subject again.”
Tom's face felt as if it were melted onto his skull, like glass on a blowing tube. “You cannot keep me here,” he said unsteadily. “I have already bought my wagon, my supplies. I shall leave tomorrow, with or without your permission.”
“And I shall advertise to have you brought back, dragged by the bollocks if necessary. In fact, I shall insist on it. As for the wagon....” Radstone smiled again, a ripple of his heavy features. “I ordered it sold. Do not worry, I shall add the proceeds to your last month's wages, when your indentures are up in five years.”
Tom shook his head, dazed. “But I'm your son-in-law, your heir! Why would you do this to me?”
“Did I not make it clear that relationship no longer exists? You have no choice but to obey. Now get out.”
Tom could not control his mouth enough to speak. His hands opened and clenched helplessly. Then, as if sleepwalking, he turned and walked out.
He found himself walking past the entrance to the courtyard, past the staring, slack-jawed Henry, into the street. His legs kept walking, as if they had a mind of their own. He had no idea where he was going, or why, nor did he care. All he knew was he must get away from the house, as far away as possible, before he strangled the other man.
So Radstone had sold the strong horses that Tom had selected with such care and paid to have boarded until he was ready for them, had gotten rid of the custom-built wagon, with the barrels of seed and tools already lashed to the sides? He pictured himself wrapping his hands around Radstone’s neck and squeezing until the older man's eyes bulged and his tongue lolled out of his fleshy mouth, kicking the villain's ribs until his skin burst and blood gushed out. And then....
Tom had never before indulged in violent fantasies, but for several moments he allowed himself to wallow in dreams of revenge. When he roused himself, he found that, in the blindness of rage, his feet had brought him to the heart of Providence. Coaches and people in city clothes bustled in every direction, while straight ahead rose a familiar neat red-brick building with a polished brass plaque.
“If you should ever need anything, Tom, remember we are here.”
Mrs. Parker had come to visit him several times since his marriage. She had befriended Mabel and knitted baby clothes which had gone unused, and attended the funeral. The kindly woman could not help him, but her son-in-law was a lawyer. Maybe he could do something.
As Tom pushed the door open, Mr. Merkel looked up with a smile of recognition and set aside the document he had been perusing. “Tom, my dear lad! What a pleasant surprise!” Then he saw the look on Tom's face, and his smile fell away. He stood. “I know you are still suffering from your tragic loss. Please accept my most sincere condolences.”
Tom acknowledged the words with a curt nod. “That's not what brings me here.”
Mr. Merkel studied him closely. “Would you prefer to go upstairs?” he said after a moment. “I can lock the door if you like.”
“There is nothing that cannot be told here.”
Mr. Merkel gestured at the chair across from his desk, and Tom took it. The silence lengthened. “Is it my legal services you require?” Mr. Merkel asked at last, taking off his spectacles. “Or my services as a friend?”
Tom cleared his throat. “Mr. Radstone,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “promised me he would free me from my indentures after I married his daughter.”
Mr. Merkel's eyes filled with sudden comprehension. “Ah.”
Tom realized the other man must know about the circumstances of his sudden marriage. Perhaps it did not reflect well on
Tom why he had agreed to wed the master's daughter, but he did not feel the need to explain that his feelings for Mabel had changed over the past year. That was no one's business but his own.
“Mr. Radstone feels he is no longer obligated to live up to his agreement.” Tom's voice was rough. “I wondered if, as his lawyer, he might have left with you some document that would—”
“That would prove your case?” Mr. Merkel's pale hands played with the papers on his desk, as his forehead creased with thought. “I am sorry, dear fellow, but I have nothing that will help you. Mr. Radstone may have intended to do as he told you, but with nothing in writing, it cannot be enforced. It is your word against his. And unfortunately…."
“As an indentured servant, my word is worth nothing.” Tom's words burst forth bitterly.
“You must go back.” Mr. Merkel's tone was kind but firm. “I sympathize with your situation, but unfortunately, the law is on his side. If you leave, he could have you brought back and horsewhipped, even put to death. Think of it, Tom. You have only five years left on your contract. Surely you can wait.”
“I have waited long enough. I can wait no longer.”
But his words were empty, and they both knew it. Tom sensed Mr. Merkel rise from his chair, accepted the other man's handshake, and turned blindly toward the door, too dejected even to put on his hat. He heard his host offer an invitation to Sunday supper, but made no response. Without Mr. Radstone's permission, he could not attend anyway. As it was, he faced punishment for having come today.
But when he arrived home, Mr. Radstone did not confront him right away. Perhaps the master sensed, rightly, that Tom might turn on him like a dangerous beast. Henry stayed away as well, unusually sensitive to the undercurrents of tension, staring at Tom from a distance as if afraid of him. As for Betty, Tom sensed her unvoiced sympathy. Since his marriage, the black cook had in some ways become the ally he had hoped for, but now even she could do nothing to comfort him.
The Gardener Page 17