by Lorin Grace
“Elizabeth?”
She scrubbed harder. If she wasn’t careful, her skirt would rip long before it came clean.
“Has something happened?”
She lifted the sodden skirt from the water and inspected the location of the stain, then plunged the skirt back into the water with enough force to splash a good portion of the water out of the tub. Gideon jumped back to avoid his boots being soaked.
“Whoa there. Tell me what is wrong.”
Elizabeth stopped scrubbing and stood up. She wiped her hands on her apron before settling fists on her hips.
“Do you really want to know? Or are you pretending to care? I thought you were a man of his word. You lied to me. Here you are some minister, and you lie like the rest of them.”
“Wha—”
“You promised. Now what am I to do? Father will never believe me. At least now I know why he didn’t come for me.” She pulled a sealed packet from her pocket and held it up as a general would a rapier to signal the charge.
Gideon recognized it as the letter she’d asked him to post the morning after her attack. He’d forgotten about it when he’d left the lean-to and returned to Porters’. He reached for it, but she stepped out of his reach.
“You can’t have it. I must post it now. But what am I to say? ‘I gave it to the preacher to post, and he hid it?’ Father will never believe it is the truth. Nor will he believe I confessed all in this letter with a tale like that. For weeks I have lived in dread that he would show up and find a new punishment for me, especially when I told him I see the error of my ways in my letter. I thought he must have believed me when he didn’t come. But he never knew, did he?” Elizabeth cast an accusing glare at him.
Chastised, Gideon stared at his feet, trying to form an explanation. He’d meant to discuss the letter with her. He’d reasoned she’d been so upset when she wrote it she must have disclosed more than she intended to about the attack and Mina’s fall. He opened his mouth to say so, but Elizabeth continued, her voice rising.
“He never knew of my shameful plan to prove to Joanna that she wasn’t the only one who could catch you. Nor how embarrassed I was to realize I was no better than the strumpet he thought me to be, wishing I could sink into the floor of the church like a lost button between the floorboards. Nor how my own willfulness finally resulted in Mr. Butler’s unwanted attentions. Then how my selfishness nearly killed my aunt. I begged for forgiveness for all of that. I realized my ruination lost me more than my good name because it lost me forever to you. How could I have told my father how much you helped me in one sentence, then blame you for not sending my letter? How?”
Gideon wasn’t sure what to say. In the part of his heart that had died with Ruth, there was the smallest of movements, like a new plant forcing its way into the sunlight.
“I can’t. I can’t.” Tears streamed down her face. “I’ll be fortunate if he lets me marry a fishmonger now. He will never let me stay, and Aunt Mina needs me. For the first time in my life I am useful. Needed. And it’s all going to end.” A sob caught in Elizabeth’s throat, her eyes filling with misery. She stared at him for a long moment before she turned and ran.
Gideon’s first thought was to go after her, but chasing her down the street would not be easily explained. Instead he tied Jordan to the fence post. No point in unsaddling him. He’d give Elizabeth a few minutes to reach her rock and calm down before he found her and tried to explain.
From the parlor window, Mina watched the retreating form of her niece. Going to the thinking boulder, more than likely. She waited for Gideon to follow and grew more disappointed each minute the clock ticked by.
The back door opened, and Gideon called, “Mina?”
“In the parlor.” Mina’s hands worked a set of knitting needles. Gideon stood in the doorway and ran his hand through his hair. She looked at him, but her hands didn’t slow. “Where did my girl go in such a hurry? You two didn’t start a fire, did you?”
“No, but I upset her enough.”
Mina’s eyes narrowed, and her hands slowed.
Gideon squirmed like a schoolboy caught with a frog in his pocket. “She found the letter to her father she wrote after that terrible Sunday. She’d asked me to post it because of—” Gideon brought his hand to his face. “And with you injured, I told her I would, but thought I should wait a couple of days until one of my own letters could reach her father and maybe talk her into reconsidering what she wrote. I wanted her to reconsider what she had written to her father, so I didn’t mail the letter. And I never got around to talking to her.”
“You read it?”
“No. But she was so distraught I assumed her letter would be of the same tone.”
The needles resumed their click, click, click in Mina’s hands. “No wonder she was so worried about her father coming.”
Click, click, click.
“So are you going?”
“Where?”
“After her! I assume she went to the rock below the ridge in the back field. At one time it was one of my favorite thinking spots.”
Gideon raised a brow. “I can’t imagine you sitting out there.”
The clicking stopped. “I wasn’t this old all my life. It is a lovely walk and a good spot to pray. Henry knew where to find me when we’d had a row. My Elizabeth is pretty smart to find my rock.”
Gideon made no move to leave.
“Go on now.”
“Before I go, I want to know if letting Elizabeth’s, um, inner clothes soak in the tub will hurt them. I finished my things and her skirt, but—” Heat started to crawl up the back of his neck.
Mina bit back a smile. “They’ll be just fine.”
Gideon’s boots echoed as he crossed through the kitchen. He paused at the door. “And Mina, don’t you go finishing the laundry, or you may have more than the good doctor to answer to.”
Mina chuckled. She had no intention of doing the laundry. Not when that particular boulder could be seen from the upstairs window.
Cutting through the fields behind the barn was the fastest way to reach the boulder, but Mina rented out those fields, and his horse would damage the recently planted crops. So Gideon chose to go around by the road, as Elizabeth had. At least she’d left by the road. She could have gone elsewhere. He aimed Jordan up the road and kept a sedate pace. No point in setting tongues to wagging.
As he passed the building that served as both post office and stage stop, a sudden realization filled him with dread. He stepped inside. “Afternoon, Mr. Thomas.”
“Ah, Mr. Frost, the post has come. I’ve not finished sorting it. Do you care to wait?”
Gideon shifted. “Did Miss Garrett happen to post anything today?”
“You know I am not supposed to answer any questions like that. But I suppose you are here to pay the penny she owes. I wouldn’t have let her send it, but being Mrs. Richards is housebound, she probably didn’t realize the thicker letter would cost more. Just made the post she did.”
Gideon pulled a coin from his pocket and set it on the counter. No way he could retrieve the letter now. And if he wrote his own note, it would not likely catch up to Elizabeth’s, but it was worth a try. He took another coin from his pocket. “May I have a piece of paper and the use of your pen?”
Mr. Thomas handed Gideon the inkwell and gestured to a waist-high shelf. “You can write over there.”
Gideon dipped the nib in the ink.
28 April 1798
Magistrate Garrett,
You have no doubt received a missive from your daughter either this day or one past. The letter is dated two months ago. Please do not blame the delay on Elizabeth, as it was I who intercepted and detained the letter knowing she was overwrought when she wrote it. I know not what the letter contains, but I have a guess. Please know your
daughter has much changed this spring in all her actions and deportment. Her presence here has been of much comfort and help to Mrs. Mindwell Richards. Please do not react to Elizabeth’s letter in haste.
Your Servant—
Gideon paused. How should he sign it? The last short note to Mr. Garrett he signed “Reverend,” as he wished not to explain how he knew about Mina’s fall and Elizabeth’s injuries. Although he had yet to officially declare his intention to leave the church, he felt guilt using the clerical title. But with what little he knew of the magistrate, he figured that using his title would help his cause the most. So for the last time in his life, Gideon signed,
Reverend G. Frost
Elizabeth turned the sodden cloth over, but there was not a dry space to be found, so she used the corner of her apron instead. She should go back and apologize to Gideon and finish the laundry so Aunt Mina would not be tempted to do it, but her face was likely to be red and blotchy from crying, and she had no wish to be seen yet.
Her anger at Gideon had cooled. His interference had given her time with Aunt Mina, after all. If her father had come a few weeks ago, she would have had to leave Aunt Mina while she was still incapable of caring for herself. Her aunt got around much easier now, and it wouldn’t weigh on her mind so when Father did come. It was better she leave. She had all but blurted out her feelings for Gideon. She could never be a preacher’s wife. Her reputation would ruin him. If she stayed longer, her fondness for him could only deepen. Discovering he could laugh—a pleasant surprise. She would miss him more than she would Aunt Mina. She could write her aunt, but not Gideon.
She turned her face to the sun and soaked in its warmth.
Another thing for Mother to be scandalized over—she was brown as an Indian, but a bit of tanned skin would match her work-worn hands. Once she’d thought less of the girls at home, like Lucy, who worked so hard. But now she knew there was something very satisfying about going to bed tired, watching Gideon ask for a second helping of supper, or seeing Aunt Mina’s smile whenever she mastered a new skill.
Mother would never consent to allow her in the kitchen. Too bad—her bread was almost as good as Cook’s. What would she do if she had to return home?
Had she been idle and vain because she’d had nothing else to do, or was it truly her nature to be so? Aunt Mina kept her too busy to while away her time. Not that she didn’t have fun reading out loud or listening to her aunt’s stories while spinning. But at home, she never did anything of note. Perhaps that was why she had behaved in so many regrettable ways.
If she did go home, there were many apologies to make. Some could be made by letters, she supposed. A few would need to be written. After all, hadn’t what’s-her-name moved to Ohio or someplace west with her husband? At least he’d married her despite the lie Elizabeth had circulated. Shame flooded her. She would compose a letter tonight. Perhaps her father would forward it. She would have to write one to him too. And what of Samuel and Lucy? Could she face them? She needed to say so much more to Lucy, whom she’d tormented all through school. It would be best done in person. Otherwise they might not credit it.
Elizabeth counted the number of visits she would need to make after her father came to fetch her. She hoped he would give her time to complete them before packing her off someplace else. Tears filled her eyes as she chastised herself.
A footfall alerted her to Gideon’s presence. Time to return. Aunt Mina needed her home. As she gathered her skirts to hop down, Gideon stepped close enough she couldn’t make good her escape. He held out a fresh handkerchief.
“I am sorry.” They said in unison, the ridge bouncing the words back to them.
Elizabeth shook her head. “You owe me nothing. I should not have berated you. I never asked you why. I assumed that—” She waved her hands in a helpless manner, the handkerchief fluttering about like a caged bird.
Gideon snagged the corner of the cloth, stilling the fabric. “Yes, I do. I presumed to interfere where I should not have. I did not mean to leave the letter this long. Only long enough you might have enough clarity to consider what you may have written.”
“Did you read it, too, then?”
Gideon shook his head. “Given your distress and the thickness of the packet, I assumed you’d written of the events of that day in such a way as to make your role far worse than it was. I thought to protect you from your father’s recriminations for a time as well.”
Elizabeth stared at Gideon. She should have known he’d harbored no ill intent. She lowered her eyes. “I have made a mess of it again. You will be well rid of me, I think.”
Gideon wrapped the end of the handkerchief around his finger, bringing his hand closer to Elizabeth’s. “One is never well rid of a friend.”
Elizabeth looked up, her eyes searching his. “Friend? After what I’ve done to you? If you knew what a vile creature I am, you would never claim such a thing. The crimson gown incident is nothing compared to what I have done. The people I have hurt and the chaos I have caused. I fear I have ruined more lives than my own. No, you cannot be my friend, Mr. Foster. It will only lower your esteem in the eyes of all those who know you.”
He gave the cloth a final tug, bringing her hand into his, then held it for a moment before he answered. “I have no doubt that in your past you did things you are not proud to claim. But I have watched you these past months. You are so different from the angry, defiant girl who stood in Mina’s kitchen attempting to wash clothes. You have done nothing to me save accuse me of hiding a letter, which I did. The greater shame in that Sunday does not lie with you, nor does it taint me, if that is what you speak of. Although those first few meals you prepared were want to kill me.” His smile grew slowly, reaching his eyes.
Elizabeth pulled her hand away and covered her mouth in a vain attempt to hide the giggle. “I wasn’t trying to make you ill.”
Gideon leaned against the boulder, a chuckle on his lips. “But you did try to do that which you had never been asked to do, and you did so valiantly. I’ve cooked for myself for several months, and it did not improve as yours did.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Why was that?”
“After my Ruth died and the baby with her, I became so sullen not a single congregant would invite me to dinner.”
“You loved her very much, didn’t you?”
Gideon studied the trees beyond the rock wall on the ridge. “At first I thought the pain would take me too. When it didn’t, I was so lost. Working for Mina was what I needed. She taught me things about life no amount of study did.”
“So, will you be leaving, then, to take your own church?”
“No. Now that I have my cobbler tools, I intend to set up shop or join one of the shops up in Randolph. But I will stay with Mina until she no longer needs me.”
“I am glad of that. I would worry so if aunt were alone.” And perhaps I will know a little of your life, too, when I am gone. Surely Aunt Mina will write of you.
“You are sure he will come for you?”
“He won’t allow me to continue to sully his name here. If I remember half of what I wrote, I would expect him in no less than a week. Unless he has more pressing matters.”
“Lizzy, I shall pray he does not come in haste.”
“Lizzy? No one has called me Lizzy since I was six.”
“Does it offend you? Elizabeth seems so pretentious sometimes.”
Elizabeth furrowed her brow and shook her head. “No, I like Lizzy. My brother used to call me that until Mother lectured him. He still does if she is not around.”
“Then come, Lizzy, we’d best get back before Mina attempts to finish the laundry.”
Elizabeth scooted awkwardly to the edge of the rock, trying to keep her skirts in proper order. Gideon pushed himself away from where he leaned and reached out to her. “Allow me.” He placed h
is hands on her waist and lifted her down, not immediately removing them when her feet touched the ground.
“Friends, Lizzy.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and offered his arm for the walk across the field to where Jordan waited.
Mina dropped the lacy curtain back into place, wishing she could hear the conversation.
“Please bless them, Lord,” she whispered as she headed for the stairs, adding a prayer for her descent as well.
Twenty-Four
Magistrate Garrett tugged his vest back into place and straightened his coat. His hat lay on the coach bench beside him. His little trip to Boston had extended for four days but had accomplished little. The coach wheel breaking north of Billerica had slowed his return by another half day. Another couple of miles and he would be home to face his wife’s relentless tales of domesticity and idiotic questions. Chances were, as soon as his clerk learned of his return, he would come around to the house, ending his wife’s chattering.
The absence of their children was felt keenly around the dining table. He hadn’t realized how much intelligence Elizabeth had contributed to the conversation until she’d left.
Ebenezer asked the coachman to let him off at the front door and sent word to the town hall that he would be in the next morning. The message should be enough to send the clerk to his door in no less than three-quarters of an hour.
Rebecca appeared by his side before he closed the door. She raised a cheek for a kiss.
“I was worried when I did not receive word of your delay.”
“You know politics—takes twice as long as you think it should.”
A frown wrinkled his wife’s brow. “But you could have sent word.”
Ebenezer handed his coat and hat to the maid who’d appeared.