by Lorin Grace
Elizabeth sat beside him and tugged on his sleeve. “You did just now, and that expression you wear is far too innocent. Who is the fortunate soul? Where does she live? You must tell me.”
“Why should I tell you anything?”
“Please?” Elizabeth hugged his arm.
Nathaniel tapped his finger on his chin. “Very well, then. Her name is Cecilia, and she lives in Philadelphia. I am hoping to convince our uncle to find someone else to travel all over for him and let me oversee his business there.”
“Is it as serious as all that? Have you asked for her hand yet?”
“No, not yet, not until I know what type of life I would be giving her.” Nathaniel drained the last of the liquid in his glass and set it on the table.
“So you would live there?”
“I think so. Cecilia is quite fond of Philadelphia, and I have no reason to set up business here.”
“You would leave me?”
“You are the one who is leaving. The chances you’d come back are rather nonexistent. You’ll meet some farmer down in East Stoughton, get married, and have a whole farming family.”
Elizabeth jumped up. “A farmer! You must be joking. I am going to Brookline to my aunt.”
“Aunt Lydia? Where did you get that idea? Can you imagine Father sending you there when he is intent on your reformation? He told me this morning you were to go to his aunt’s in Stoughton.”
Elizabeth balled her hands into fists and turned to leave.
Nathaniel grabbed her arm. “Stop. If you go storming in there and upset mother, your last supper in this home will be ruined. Be calm, and we can discuss this.”
She tried to shake her brother off but without success. “Let me go.”
“Not until you listen to me. Now sit back down. Father will be here at any moment. If he sees us fighting, he will send us both to our rooms.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes but complied. “Fine. So what is this about East Stoughton? I’m positive Father said I am to go to my aunt’s.”
“I am sure he did; he simply never said which aunt.”
“But the only aunt I know is Lydia.”
“You were young when you met her, but I believe Grandmother’s sister, Aunt Mindwell Richards, visited when Grandfather died.”
“Mindwell?” Elizabeth shivered, a sister of her grandmother would be horrid. Grandmother Garrett only ever wore black and quoted the Bible at least ten times in every conversation. A sister named Mindwell would be doubly bad.
“Father said she is widowed now but still keeps the farm. She needs help, and you’ve been volunteered. Father is sure she can reform you.”
“Me? On a farm?” Elizabeth stifled a laugh.
“That’s what you would have gotten had you caught Samuel Wilson. He washed up at Harvard. He will never be a doctor. Though not many doctors are better off than the poor farmers who pay them in eggs.”
“Where is East Stoughton?”
“East of Stoughton.” He grinned and raised his empty glass in another mock salute.
Elizabeth batted her brother’s arm. “Nate,” she said in a warning tone.
“Someplace south of Boston, maybe fifteen or so miles. Farms and forests, fewer people than here but not much different. Someone spotted a bear there a couple of years ago. Or was it a wolf?” Nathaniel tapped his chin. “Bear, I am almost certain.”
“You are teasing me. There would not be bears so close to Boston.”
“Never been there myself, but Father said it is still quite wild. Though my guess is that since the war, it has become more settled. I don’t think he’s visited our aunt in years. I’m sure you will find a few men there. They are building a church and a new school, so there must be some businesses.”
“Aunt Mindwell? Farmers? Bears?” Elizabeth stared out of the window, repeating the words. The front door slammed. “Father.”
Nathaniel shook her gently. “Lizzy, you will survive and conquer. You always do.” He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “You’ll be well enough off. Don’t let the cat out of the bag until Father does.”
“I’ll keep the secret, but only for Mother’s sake, not yours.”
Nathaniel stood and offered his arm. “Supper?”
Mother had asked Cook to prepare several of Elizabeth’s favorites for supper, but Elizabeth only picked at her food. Nathaniel’s revelation had turned her stomach to stone. She couldn’t even force the molasses-baked squash down.
How could Father have deceived Mother so? Mother had mentioned Aunt Lydia no less than seven times since they’d sat down to supper. Elizabeth had bitten her cheek more times than she could count, having come close to setting Mother straight about her destination. Her last night or not, the temptation to yell at her father over his deception and the overwhelming injustices of this past month was great.
Nathaniel must have sensed her feelings, as he kept frowning at her and shaking his head whenever she opened her mouth to speak.
Elizabeth spooned another bite of squash into her mouth, trying to shut out her mother’s voice. A pointless exercise, she was almost relieved when her father interrupted.
“Stop. Enough of this nonsense! There will be no balls or outings. Elizabeth is going to be reformed, not pampered.”
“But Lydia—”
“But Lydia nothing. I said she was going to her aunt’s, not your simpering sister’s. Lydia couldn’t reform her parlor curtains let alone a headstrong girl.”
“But I assumed—”
“Yes, you did, and I have heard enough of your plans to know I was correct to contact my Aunt Mindwell Richards.”
Rebecca dropped her spoon and sent it clattering to the floor. “Aunt Richards? Is she still alive?”
“Of course, she is alive.”
“But I thought—”
“Mrs. Garrett, enough of your thoughts. Now, you are going to listen to mine. We will leave at first light, and we will travel to your sister’s, as both Nathaniel and I have business with Joshua. If the weather holds, we can be there for a late supper. Then the next day, I will take Elizabeth to East Stoughton. There she will be expected to help keep house and cook.”
“Father, how could you? I am not a servant!”
Even Nathaniel jumped when Ebenezer’s fist hit the table. “Did you learn nothing in school? This is not England. You are equal, not better, not worse. It’s time you understand this and stop putting on airs.”
Rebecca had recovered enough to protest. “A farm? Cleaning? Cooking? She has never done any of that.”
“Whose fault is that? Did your own mother not teach you such skills? I know of myself she did. Your meals were some of the best I had, but you’ve failed your daughter by teaching her only how to stitch fancy clothing. You have left her with no choice but to marry a wealthy man for his money.”
“What is wrong with that?”
“Mrs. Garrett!” Ebenezer’s voice rang with warning.
Nathaniel locked gazes with his sister.
Comprehension dawned. Father had married Mother in hopes of becoming his father-in-law’s successor. This was why he treated their mother with such disdain—he had fallen for a pretty face and a future job. Elizabeth didn’t want to be married to a man who could not abide the sight or sound of her. Was she of use to do anything else? Tears filled her eyes, and the image of Nathaniel started to blur.
“May I be excused?” Elizabeth did not wait for an answer before retreating to her room.
Elizabeth flopped onto the bed in Aunt Lydia’s guest room. The sun had set hours ago. She’d spent most of the day either sleeping or pretending sleep as her brother and father had discussed everything from the president’s policies to business prospects. Even in the cool January morning, the enclosed carriage had become stiflingly warm be
fore they’d reached Reading, where they’d changed horses. Nathaniel had attempted to start a conversation more than once. Her father had reprimanded her for sulking.
Elizabeth did not give voice to her questions. How could she ask him if her suspicions were correct about his marriage and her future?
She paced the luxurious room. The downside of sleeping all day was that now she couldn’t. Aunt Lydia had offered to console her over a cup of the finest chocolate, but Elizabeth had no desire to listen to her Aunt bemoan her fate. Lydia would repeat the same three sentences over and over, all focused on her own loss of a companion. After a late supper, Elizabeth realized living with Aunt Lydia would have been a torture all its own.
Beyond her great-aunt Mindwell’s name and where she lived, Elizabeth knew little of the circumstances she would soon find herself in. She tried to recall anything she may have heard about her aunt. Grandmother Garrett had several sisters. Elizabeth had never paid attention to the stories she’d told. Only one comment came clearly to her mind—something about Mindwell being the most misnamed sister, considering Grandmother was named Patience and her other sisters Charity, Virtue, Prudence, and Empathy. Elizabeth was not sure how to interpret that information.
Grandmother Garrett had urged Elizabeth to hurry almost as often as she quoted the Bible. Patience seemed to be a virtue she lacked. The old woman had passed before Elizabeth’s ninth birthday, so the memory of grandmother’s impatience didn’t mean much. By her way of thinking, each of the names was hideous.
Great-grandfather, a Puritan minister, believed children should live up to their names. Given the amount of time her Grandmother had spent scolding and quoting scripture, he’d passed something on, but it certainly wasn’t the virtue of patience. So what would Aunt Mindwell be like? Or should she call her Aunt Richards?
Uncle Joshua confirmed Nathaniel’s description of East Stoughton. His words echoed in her mind: “It is astounding such a backward place still exists so close to Boston and all of its conveniences.”
A picture of a cabin surrounded by woods filled her mind. Elizabeth paced the room as her imaginings grew—a stooped old woman dressed in black with a black-lace cap, knitting on the porch; bears howling in the woods and the old woman shrieking. Elizabeth jumped.
When she realized the sound she’d heard was the cats fighting in the alley, Elizabeth sank onto the fainting couch, her heart beating fast. Best not to imagine things.
For a moment, earlier in the day, she contemplated running away. But with no way to support herself, she knew the plan was foolishness. Her only option was to go to Aunt Mindwell and bide her time. How long could the old lady live, anyway? A few well-written letters might convince Father of her reformation. She would return home before spring reached full bloom, midsummer at latest. Maybe Mother would plead her case. When Nathaniel wed, she would go to Philadelphia and stay with him. Cecilia’s friends may have brothers. In the meantime, she must plan carefully. She discarded the thought of trying to get Aunt Mindwell to want to send her home. The chances of her father finding something even worse for her were too high.
The clock in the hall chimed midnight.
Six
The golden hues in the quilt Mrs. Richards had placed on the bed gave the gabled bedroom a cheery feel, though the room was sparsely furnished and less than her spoiled grandniece was likely used to. Gideon thought it a wasted effort.
A creak of the floorboards alerted Gideon to the entrance of Mrs. Richards, who kept insisting he call her Mina. He stood aside and waited for her instructions.
“Place the rug by the bed.” A rather unnecessary direction as no other space large enough for the small rug existed. Gideon unrolled the rug and laid it in the indicated spot, adjusting the edge a bit to the left to cover an area where the floorboards were still uneven despite the repairs he’d finished earlier that week.
Mina placed her hands on her hips and studied the room. “Well, what do you think?”
“I hope she appreciates the trouble you’ve gone to.”
“Oh, she won’t. At least not at first. You forget, you are a rare gem. So many of your generation are too self-centered.” Mrs. Richards reached up to pat Gideon’s arm. He towered almost two heads above her stooped frame.
Mina tottered down the narrow stairway, Gideon following, his head bent so as to not bump it on a beam. Again. He wished she would use her cane. In the two weeks he’d worked for her, he noted the cane spent more time in the corner than in her hand. When it did occupy her hand, she was using it to reach something overhead rather than to support her aging body. He mentioned his concern once, only to find another use for her cane. The whack to his shin hadn’t hurt much, but the strength behind the reprimanding rap had caught him off guard.
“Would you like some dinner? Might be the last good cooking you eat for a while.”
Gideon raised a brow. Mrs. Richards’s talent in the kitchen rivaled his own mother’s.
“I’m going to give up cooking for a while. I fully expect there won’t be anything edible for at least a week.” Mina chuckled as she spooned a savory smelling stew into a bowl.
“If you own to so little faith in your niece’s help, then why is she coming?”
Mina set the bowl on the table and reached for the bread, but Gideon beat her to the loaf and sliced a piece for both of them.
Mina accepted the slice and shook her head. “You spoil me, young man.”
He pulled out a chair for her and waited for her to sit before gathering the last of the meal and joining her for a prayer. He ate several bites before continuing his questioning. “You didn’t answer my question. Why did you agree to her living here? You clearly believe she will be of little help.”
“Because God isn’t sending her here so she can help me. He wants her here so I can help her.”
Gideon set his spoon in his bowl.
Mina continued. “Preacher Boy, haven’t you learned yet that things are not always as they seem, especially when God sticks His oar in the water?”
She studied him for a moment before shaking her head and continuing to eat.
He tried to shrug off the nickname. She called him Preacher Boy occasionally as she’d discerned the real reason for his presence in what she insisted on calling Curtis Corners instead of East Stoughton.
And what did she mean about God sticking His oar in?
For all the old woman’s oddities, it was her relationship with God that puzzled him the most. She talked about Him as a friend when she discussed her daily reading and her prayers at meal times felt different.
He finished his meal and cleared both of their dishes.
“Leave the soup over the fire. I expect my nephew and grandniece anytime now, and I am sure they will be hungry.” There was a bitter tone to her voice.
Gideon wondered if her eating an early dinner had anything to do with the impending company.
“I’d best be heading out. Reverend Porter asked me to look in on a couple of his parishioners down Brockton way this afternoon. I’ll be back before sundown to do the chores.”
“Did he give you good directions this time?” Mina laughed. The last set of directions indicated a right turn where a left should be taken. It was a wonder Gideon returned before finding the seashore.
Gideon handed over a folded piece of paper.
Mina scanned it and harrumphed. “Good enough, but mind you, don’t eat any of the Widow Snow’s pickled beets. You’ll likely get a bellyache before you’re halfway back. And wear your scarf today. Just because there is no snow on the ground, doesn’t mean it isn’t cold.” She handed the paper back to him.
A grin quivered at the left side of his mouth as he put on his greatcoat. He didn’t dare give the smile full bloom lest Mrs. Richards guess he grinned at her mothering him. He escaped out the back door.
/> Brown. Brown. Gray.
The scenery did little to help Elizabeth’s mood. Woods full of skeleton trees and muddy fields attested to the recently melted snow. Rock outcroppings popped up now and again to break the monotony. Farmhouses occasionally dotted the road, eventually giving way to a close-knit grouping that included a store, and a church, or school.
Her father hadn’t spoken for the past five miles. Elizabeth was glad of that. She could not endure another lecture with her fate so near. If she heard one more time how much of a disappointment she was or how wanton her behavior had become, she would leap from the buggy and walk. To where she knew not, but walk she would. Without Nathaniel as a buffer, her father’s conversation had focused only on one subject—her failures.
South of Randolph they passed a church, which despite showing signs of weathering, did not look quite finished. Not long after, the houses bunched together again. At a fork in the road, her father headed west.
“Ah, we must be here. See the new school?”
Startled at her father’s voice, Elizabeth followed his pointed finger to the red brick building. Why, the building couldn’t be more than two years old! What type of place was this and so close to Boston! Not even a proper town. Elizabeth gripped the seat and closed her eyes. If only Mother were here, she would turn Father around.
The horses stopped in front of a small white gabled house with green shutters. At least it was not a log cabin—better than she hoped. Two tall trees stood in the yard. The corner of a red barn peeked out just beyond the house. Other well-kept houses dotted the street, giving her hope of some society.
Elizabeth waited for her father to give her a hand before descending from her seat. The wind tugged at the hood of her cloak. As she grabbed the soft wool with her free hand, a man on horseback trotted around the house as she stepped away from the carriage.
Oh, he was tall! Elizabeth discerned little of his face from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. She thought his nose might be a bit crooked and his eyes dark. He barely spared a glance their way.