by Holly Bush
William Crawford carried his wife up the grand staircase, his daughters and several servants fluttering behind him. Dr. Roderdeck was called, and Mildred prepared Mrs. Crawford’s bed. Zeb followed behind, one eye on Jennifer and one on Luther handing Jeffrey Rothchild his coat and hat. He watched as the door to Jane’s suite closed and reopened moments later when William came out, slowly closing the door behind him and staring at him as he stood across the hallway.
“My wife is ill,” Crawford said, glancing back to the door he had just closed. “The doctor says she needs an operation, but Jane says she will have none of it. I’m at loss as to what to do.” He looked then at Zeb, narrowing his eyes, in a way that made Zeb think that he had just noticed who he’d been speaking to. “Who has employed you to interfere with Rothchild?”
“I have hired myself.”
“Don’t be glib, young man. I understand you were hired by Jolene’s husband to guard his wife. What puts Jennifer in your purview?”
“Rothchild is dangerous. His family fortunes are not as solid as you may think, and he is desperate to marry your daughter and solidify his position at your bank.”
“And what of your finances? The secretary to a wealthy man, yes, but you may be just as much a fortune hunter as you say Rothchild is.”
“I am no fortune hunter. My wealth is more than ample, and is diversified in many investments including stocks, land, and bonds,” Zeb said. “Feel free to examine my bank accounts.”
“Then what are your interests in my daughter?”
Zeb stared at Crawford. “She is vulnerable, and I want to take away her fears and worries. I want her to smile.”
* * *
“Dear Lord, I am exhausted,” Jennifer said as she sank into the flowered chintz sofa in her rooms.
“It is nearly midnight,” Jolene said from the stool she sat on close to the fire. “I thought Dr. Roderdeck was never going to leave. Even aside from the fact that mother called him a Polish spy.”
Jennifer rolled her neck from side to side, slipped off her shoes, and pulled her feet underneath her. “She fired one of the cleaning girls last week and told Mrs. Gutentide that the girl had devil eyes and was casting a spell on her while she slept.”
“She is paranoid, that is for certain. Mildred is even beginning to be frightened of her. She told me tonight that mother accused her of poisoning her food.”
“Mother is in so much pain,” Jennifer said. “I wish she would take the laudanum the doctor prescribed until her surgery.”
“I can hardly believe she agreed to it.”
“What choice does she have? Dr. Roderdeck was clear that she has little chance of surviving if she does not have the surgery and even then . . .” Jennifer sniffed. “I do not want her to die. Even knowing how cruel she can be.”
“Of course you don’t. None of us do,” Jolene said and stood, stretching her back and then taking a seat beside her. “Zebidiah came to see me this afternoon.”
Jennifer turned to her sister. “You’ll be planning your return trip. I’m sure that Max is looking forward to seeing you.”
“Zebidiah did come by to tell me that we are leaving Saturday morning for Washington, and that he will be making an immediate return to see to your safety,” Jolene said and stared at Jennifer. “How remarkable, I said to him at the time, as her family knows nothing of a threat to her safety.”
Jennifer looked at her hands. “Perhaps Mr. Moran is exaggerating.”
“I don’t believe he is.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Nothing, or at least very little. He feels you are in danger but will not tell me why. He has hired one of the servants here, a friend of your maid Eliza’s, and I would guess he is rather physically intimidating, to guard you while he is taking me back to Washington. He said you need to be safe while you address other issues. He did not betray you. What are the other issues?”
“Mr. Moran is a gentleman, after all,” Jennifer mused. “He would not speak out of turn.”
“Tell me,” Jolene insisted. “Tell me every sordid detail if there are any. Mother is ill, father is beside himself, and we must rely on each other.”
“I am so embarrassed! And foolish! I hardly know where to begin,” Jennifer said, with a shake of her head.
“How did you meet Mr. Rothchild?”
“Last spring at one of the first garden parties. I’m not even sure which one anymore. I thought he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. He made it clear from the beginning that he was interested in me, and there were very many lovely young ladies in attendance,” Jennifer whispered. “He fussed and fawned over Mother and Father. What a fool I was.”
“We are all fools at some time. Go on.”
“I met him on several occasions over the summer, and it was clear to me at the time that he angled to be seated next to me, or dance the first dance or the last with me. I was flattered. I thought he was in love with me.”
Jolene shrugged. “Of course, you would think that. Why wouldn’t you?”
“I have not had many serious admirers, as Mother remarked often, and for once, she and I were in agreement that Mr. Rothchild was handsome and charming. It is so exhausting to be at odds with Mother constantly. She thought Mr. Rothchild was everything that I could wish for in a husband, and I believed her, or I wanted to believe her. But he did present himself as a prosperous man from a good family, who’d been educated well, at least in the beginning.”
“You are assuming far too much blame for whatever predicament you are in,” Jolene said. “Mr. Rothchild is a handsome man, and he wore the right clothes and used the correct fork and spoke in a way you were accustomed to. We are all drawn to what is familiar, to what seems normal, but those things are mostly superficial. One never knows another person until they have spent some time with them and seen them under duress. Once you did spend some time with him, I believe you discovered something unpleasant, and meant to distance yourself from him.”
Jennifer looked at her sister. “Yes. That is exactly what happened. Yes.”
“I know it is what happened because you have always been the good and dutiful daughter, and even having a mother such as we do has never influenced your natural kindness. You have been witness to multiple family crises and have managed to stay neutral and calm. I admire you.”
Tears filled Jennifer’s eyes. “I did not realize until this moment how desperate I was to hear some word of praise or appreciation from my family. I can hardly believe such a beautiful, accomplished woman as you admires me.”
Jolene covered Jennifer’s hand where it lay on the settee. “Your behavior has always been exemplary and you have sacrificed much for this family. I have been ashamed, especially as of late, that I have not carried some of the family burden. I am the oldest, after all. There is an expectation there that I have not lived up to.”
“But Little William died of the influenza, and Turner, too. It is no wonder you were unable to concentrate on anything but your own sanity.”
Jolene stood and poured herself a cup of tea. “My son’s death is a tragedy I will never escape from; however, his memory fills me with joy for the time I had with him. I didn’t always feel that way. As I’m sure you were well aware, I was bitter about events in my life. I am no longer,” she said and turned to Jennifer. “Turner did not die of the influenza. He hung himself in my rooms with the drapery cords. Alice and I found him just as he died. I was in the carriage ready to leave and realized I needed to change my gloves. Alice and I went back to my rooms . . . and there he was. Swinging and gurgling, and still, I think, able to see us.”
Jennifer covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh dear Lord!”
“Did I drive him to it with my accusations that he brought the influenza into our home and killed our son? Perhaps. But ultimately, I did not hang the cord, or put the noose around his neck, or push over the chair stacked on a side table he’d balanced on. Turner killed himself. How desperate must one be to take their own l
ife? Did he suffer from melancholia? Most likely,” Jolene said, reseated herself, and looked at Jennifer. “There. I have revealed all of my secrets.”
“I am not a person who easily shares her feelings, but I must in the face of your courage,” Jennifer said, and walked to the other side of the room, touching the drapery and feeling the chill through the window. Maybe there was some comfort in speaking to an inanimate object such as a pane of glass when making these sorts of confessions, she thought. Looking away instead of into her sister’s face gave her some sense of anonymity, even knowing that Jolene could hear everything she said.
“Jeffrey began escorting me to functions or meeting me at the doorway of an event, making it seem as though he and I were always together. I wasn’t even aware on some occasions that he’d be riding with Mother and Father and me, and now I believe Mother arranged it to be that way. It was very romantic at first and he told me he could not get enough of me. He would hold my hand while I sat out many dances with other gentlemen as he would say he couldn’t bear being parted from me. One of the bank’s vice presidents retired and Father told me that he was considering Jeffrey. I approved heartily. Now Father says I asked him to hire Jeffrey, but I didn’t. But then . . . well, Jeffrey’s behavior stopped being flattering and began to be stifling. Even if I was going to the lady’s retiring room, he waited for me. If I stopped and spoke to a friend from Ramsey, Jeffrey would interrupt and tell me that he needed to speak to me. He wanted to know everywhere I went, everyone I spoke to, and everything I did.
“I’d really become tired of it all, and that’s when I decided to visit you in Texas. I thought it would cool his passion. We argued over my going and he was very adamant that I shouldn’t be traveling alone and that he would be worried about me and that Mother needed me and, well, what he said made me feel very needed and cared for. Looking back, it was not said out of a sense of caring for me, but rather to make me feel guilty. And I did. Feel guilty, that is.”
“But you came to the Hacienda anyway.”
Jennifer nodded and glanced at her sister. “The day I left was the beginning of the violence. I thought he had resigned himself to the fact that I was going; he had not, however. On the morning I left, he stopped here and walked me into the little room near the parlor. Supposedly to talk privately, and I was hoping that he would apologize for being so high-handed, and even knowing he was not the right man for me, I was hoping he’d kiss me. He hadn’t yet, you see, and I’d never really been kissed and well . . .”
“You were curious.”
“Yes, I was. I was even thinking that if he kissed me that all his hovering would bother me less and I would be content to marry him. But he was not going to apologize or be nostalgic. He was furious! He said he could not believe I was going through with the trip knowing it displeased him. The next thing I remember, I was on the floor of the room, in horrible pain, Jeffery’s face above me. I asked him what happened, and he told me that he hated to punish me but that was the nature of a relationship between a man and a woman. Then he yanked me to my feet and told me to straighten up in a hurry or I would miss my train. I let him lead me out the door and into the family carriage. That is when he kissed me, before he handed me in that is, for all to see.”
Jolene groaned and shivered. “What a sickening display that must have been. How were you able to travel?”
“It was a long and arduous trip. And then the Dallas train station was overrun with people trying to escape the influenza and my maid, a silly thing who was no help, ran away from me with half of the cash money I’d brought with me. I barely had enough to hire a wagon, and then the driver left me in the middle of nowhere. Thank God Max came riding by.”
“Did you tell Zebidiah any of this? Is that why he is concerned for your safety?”
Jennifer shook her head. “No. When I arrived at the Hacienda and Melinda was so ill, Max asked me to tend Mr. Moran. He was the only one in the bunkhouse and he was in a deep, fever sleep when I lifted my blouse to see if my bruises had faded any more. I was still having some trouble breathing.”
“He was not asleep, I presume?”
“No. He was not. He asked me several times when he was well how it had happened. He was very persistent.”
“I’m sure he was. He still is where you’re concerned. Has he told you he intends to tender his resignation to return to Boston and keep you safe?”
“Yes,” Jennifer said. “It is such a sacrifice. I know he cares deeply about the work he does. I hate to see him lose this position, but I am finally able to sleep at night, knowing that he will keep Jeffrey away from me.”
“It is interesting, is it not, that Jeffrey wanted you to do as he requested, to change for him, and Zebidiah is willing to change for you in order to serve you best? One man has his own interests at heart, and one has only yours.”
Jennifer blushed. “He is a very busy, important man, though. Once Jeffrey understands that I will not be marrying him, Mr. Moran will move on to other matters.”
“Has Rothchild hit you again?”
Jennifer started to shake her head, to deny it, but stopped and looked at her sister’s concerned face. “Yes. We were at the theatre and he took me for air after the first act and pulled me into a closet. He hit me again. Very hard. It was right before I was to come to Washington and he did not want me to go. I told him I wouldn’t. But Eliza employed Luther to take my bags on the day before and I told Jeffrey I was meeting friends for a luncheon. I left it for Father to tell him.”
“I don’t believe that Jeffrey Rothchild will give up easily. He must be furious with you after dinner tonight when Zebidiah made it clear that he would not allow him access to you,” Jolene said and joined her at the window. “You must be very careful. This man is dangerous. I know women personally whose husbands hit them regularly and require some violence as a prelude to sex and are inevitably controlling and strict, much more than the restrictions society already places on women. Sadly there is little done. They brutalize their wives and daughters as well, knowing full well that there are few judges who would not think it is within a husband’s rights to discipline his wife. I believe Jeffrey Rothchild is such a man.”
“But what can he do? Certainly, he will back down now. Certainly he will see that I will not marry him.”
“He is a violent man. Do not pretend to be able to reason with him, Jennifer. Stay in your rooms or close to them while Zebidiah travels with me. I have told him I would go alone, or with a servant and be perfectly fine, but he feels obligated to keep the promise he made to Maximillian.”
“I will be fine, Jolene,” she said and grasped her sister’s hands. “But you must go to bed. You are barely standing.”
Jennifer went to her mother’s room early the next morning. Her eyes were dry and she was tired as she’d not gone to bed until well after midnight and slept fitfully then. Jane Crawford was propped up on pillows, sipping a cup of tea.
“Mother? How are you feeling this morning?” Jennifer asked as she sat down in the chair beside the bed.
“I have nothing to say to you,” her mother said with an arched brow. “You are a spoiled girl. It is a miracle that Jeffrey was ever willing to offer for you.”
“I am not interested in Jeffrey Rothchild. I will not marry him.”
“You are being ridiculous! You must marry him, if he will still have you! Who else will marry you?”
Jennifer took a deep breath. She was determined to be resolved. “I am worried for your health, but you must understand I won’t marry him. Do not invite him to dinner. Do not arrange for any meetings between the two of us.”
“Freshen my tea, Mildred,” Jane said, and sniffed, wrinkling her nose.
Jennifer stood and sat down on the bed beside her mother, who continued to stare out the window. “Mother. Look at me.”
Jane took a slow sip of tea. “This is what ungratefulness looks like,” she said as her eyes met Jennifer’s. “I have put this family, especially my daughters, first,
my entire life, and none of you have been appreciative of my efforts. Julia, running away to live on a farm, embarrassing us beyond belief, all because she wanted Jillian as her own daughter! Jolene, losing my grandson and driving her husband to an illness he could not recover from, and marrying a man so beneath her he would not be fit to shine Turner’s shoes. And now you! Determined to humiliate your father and me by denying what has been said by the best of Boston’s best. The perfect man to carry on our family business, and you say you won’t marry him! You will ruin this family!”
Jennifer stared at her mother, the woman’s red cheeks and her eyes darting from left to right as if waiting for something or someone to climb over the side of her bed. Why had she not recognized her mother’s distance from reality prior to this moment? Why had she doubted her own opinions of events, deferring instead to Jane’s warped view of their family history? They were questions that deserved some introspection, but not now. No matter how much her mother’s insults cut, she could no longer afford to deal with them emotionally, as she had always done, inevitably reviewing her own behaviors, rather than questioning her mother’s version of her daughters’ lives. Jennifer refused to give into tears or hysteria, nor would she slink from the inevitable conversation. If she was to heal, if she was to have a chance at happiness, or even some normal life, she had best begin by objecting rather than acquiescing, because after all, something outrageous said often enough is eventually the truth.
“No, Mother. I will not ruin this family as you say and I will not marry Mr. Rothchild. You must come to terms with this. Jolene is leaving in a few days, and I will be planning a small party for her and some of her friends to be held here at Willow Tree. You are ill and I will handle all of the details.”
“The idea! You will do no such thing! I will not allow it!”
“It is too late. I have made the invitations and spoken to Cook and Mrs. Gutentide,” Jennifer said and turned to Mildred. “Please find me if Mrs. Crawford is in any discomfort.”