by Lorin Grace
Lucy huffed. “That did not go at all well.”
“I think we are lucky he didn’t threaten to remove us from the pew and the church rolls.” Samuel wrapped Lucy’s cloak about her as a protection from the lightly falling snow. “I’d best get you home before this gets worse. I’ll talk to Ma about saying our vows in the parlor next week after church.”
Lucy tilted her head toward the privy behind the church. “Give me a moment?”
Elizabeth rubbed her bedroom windowpane to clear the frost that had accumulated on the cold glass. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Samuel was coming out of the parsonage gate alone with a bundle in his hand. She could not be certain what he held through the wavy glass. Had he managed to annul his ridiculous marriage to that boorish Lucy Simms? Or had Lucy died? She could not wait until tomorrow to find out. Surely he would court her now.
Elizabeth rushed down the stairs and grabbed her cloak, fastening the silver frog and pulling up the hood. She checked her reflection in the mirror and adjusted the hood to frame her face, then pulled one curl forward and grinned. Perfect.
Taking one step toward the door, she paused and turned back to the mirror. She ripped the fichu from around her neck and adjusted her stays. The cloak was parted at the perfect angle to frame her assets. She ran out the door before she could rethink her boldness, or be seen by her father.
Samuel checked the horses while he waited for Lucy. He hadn’t liked the one’s gait on the way into town, but he wasn’t familiar with the Marden’s animals. He did not find an injury, but he decided he wasn’t taking any chances. Next week he would use Old Brown. The horse would balk, as no doubt Old Brown considered being hitched to a sleigh beneath him, but Samuel would not have to worry about arriving safely at his wedding or home with the sure-footed animal.
Catching him by surprise, a woman rushed up behind him and grabbed his arm. Thinking it was Lucy, Samuel turned, a smile on his face and a kiss not far behind. His smile quickly faded as he jerked out of the vise grip on his arm. Elizabeth pressed herself closer, letting the cloak fall open more.
“Is it true? Are you rid of that insipid girl?”
Samuel stepped back, attempting to put distance between them. “Miss Garrett. I believe I made it perfectly clear last Sunday that I am a married man.” Samuel continued backing around the front of the horses.
Elizabeth stalked him like a wildcat stalking its prey. “But, Samuel,” she purred. “Don’t you know we were meant for each other?”
Samuel reached the front of the sleigh and weighed his options. If he crossed behind the horses, would she be stupid enough to follow? He knew he could navigate the traces safely but doubted she could in that dress. The chances of her getting kicked and injured were too high. He held up his hands. “Stop! Miss Garrett, another step could get you kicked.”
Elizabeth stopped. When the horse closest to her stomped his foot, she stepped back.
Lucy came around the side of the church in time to hear Samuel yell, “Stop!” She paused for a moment before realizing he was not talking to her but someone hidden from her view. She continued toward the sleigh, wondering what the problem was. Then she noticed Elizabeth stalking around the sleigh. Problem indeed. Jealousy flooded her for a moment until she recalled Samuel’s description of Elizabeth throwing herself at him at church. She paused, not wanting to be too hasty in her reaction.
“Miss Garrett, I suggest you return home. I am waiting for my wife to come back and wish to have no further conversation with you.” Samuel backed around the conveyance, putting more distance between them, but Elizabeth followed him.
“You expect me to believe that you want to be married to that frumpy thing?”
“What you believe is not my concern. I am happily married to Lucy and request that you cease demeaning my wife.” Samuel’s words had a hard edge to them. Lucy’s heart soared at his defense of her. She hurried the last couple of strides to his side, then slipped her arm through his.
“Good afternoon, Elizabeth.” Lucy took in Elizabeth’s lack of proper attire before Elizabeth grasped at the open cloak and closed it.
“Miss Simms,” she began.
“Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Samuel Wilson,” Samuel corrected as he turned to lift Lucy into the sleigh.
Elizabeth sputtered, and for one blessed moment, Lucy hoped she might have run out of things to say.
But Elizabeth tried one last time. “You can’t be married to her. You don’t even know who her father was. Her mother was nothing more than a tro—”
“Enough! Hold your tongue. I’d be very careful where you repeat your mother’s gossip.” Samuel settled into the sleigh and put his arm around Lucy. “As you are proving, Miss Garrett, one’s parentage and one’s character are two very different things. Lucy’s character is above reproach. The same cannot be said for a woman who would repeatedly foists herself on a married man in a state of undress such as yours. Good day.” Samuel flicked the reins, and the horses set off.
Elizabeth stood in the middle of the street, staring after them, her cloak flapping in the wind.
As they rounded the corner, a piercing scream caused the horses to prick their ears and speed up. “Whoa, there, steady now. It’s not a panther.”
Papa Marden had told Lucy that a panther’s shriek sounded similar a woman’s, but until now she’d never believed it.
“I am sorry you had to witness that, my love. I was as stupid as Pa’s mule when I didn’t run from her last fall. Forgive me?” Samuel peered at Lucy.
Lucy appraised him. “I think I shall, but it may cost you.”
Samuel raised a brow. “Cost me what?”
“I shall think on it. A pirate such as ye is bound to have some treasure to share.” Lucy’s eyes sparkled with mischief belying the innocent face she tried to wear.
Samuel placed a hand just above her knee, sending a shiver up her spine that had nothing to do with the cold wind that had started to blow. “Aye, lass, I can think of something to share. Would a kiss be payment enough?”
Lucy’s eyes grew wide. If she wasn’t careful she would end up taking her vows in the snow as Emma had. She swallowed with difficulty before answering. “Yes, just one on the porch, when you drop me home.” Any more than that and she would be much more like a wench than she had ever pretended to be.
Twenty-nine
The week was the shortest week of Lucy’s life. It started well enough with the reverend using her scripture as the text for the sermon. Samuel had been embarrassed as he’d listened to her choice—1 Samuel 2, verse 26. “And the child Samuel grew on, and was in favour both with the Lord and also with men.”
Snickers sounded from almost every pew. Emma pointed out that it was a good thing the twins had not been around to hear it. Daniel, Mark, and Sarah tried to make up for their absence, asking their brother if he was “in favor with woman too” so often that Emma threatened to send them to bed right after dinner.
Since Sunday, Lucy found that she didn’t have enough time in the day to get everything done. There was so much cleaning and cooking and sewing. Each night she fell into bed exhausted, only to think of something she’d forgotten.
She sorted Papa Marden’s clothes. Most things were too small for Samuel but about right for the twins. Emma had not needed Benjamin’s clothing for her boys, so that had been donated to the church relief boxes. Lucy, though being almost the same size as her mother, found she was not yet equal to wearing her mother’s clothing, and so she packed it carefully away for now, knowing that in time she might find wearing her mother’s clothing comforting.
While cleaning the wardrobe, Lucy had come across a small chest carved with her mother’s initials. Locked. So far her cleaning efforts had not revealed the existence of a key. She left the chest where she’d found it, knowing Sarah would be unlikely to discover it.
Old nightmares were replaced with new ones. On Tuesday night, she’d dreamed that she stood with Samuel, pledging her troth, only to have a sleeve fall off her dress because it was just basted together. Twice she dreamed that she wore her old shift without any covering. Thursday she’d dreamed all the food had spoiled and that Elizabeth had tried to wrestle her out of Samuel’s arms.
Lucy and Emma worked at a feverish pace to sew a dress from the lengths of cloth Lucy had received for her birthday. At Emma’s urging, Lucy had stitched the fanciest dress she’d ever owned. Feeling that it was not practical in the least, Lucy reasoned that the dark-blue petticoat could be used without the fancy overdress until Emma pointed out that it would wear out faster, leaving the overdress without a match.
“In the summer, it would be beautiful with a white petticoat trimmed in lace. You could retrim the sleeves and bodice to match,” Emma suggested, her mouth full of pins during a final fitting. “That would give you another year of it not feeling old. Providing you still fit into it come summer.”
“Emma!” Lucy reddened at the insinuation. Standing on a chair with Emma pinning the hem, Lucy stood trapped by her dress and a woman with a mouth full of pins.
“Can’t blame an old lady for wanting more grandchildren, can you?” Emma continued without letting Lucy respond. She’d mastered the seamstress’s closed-mouth way of talking with pins in one’s mouth. “Even after you make Sarah a dress from the dark blue, there will be enough left of both fabrics to make a couple of smocks for my grandchildren.”
The color on Lucy’s face deepened. She knew her mother would be teasing about the same thing if she still lived, but it did not lessen her embarrassment.
“It is a fine thing to make a babe’s first dresses from the mother’s wedding clothes. It helps the father remember how things got this far. Helps him love the babe too. Men are not too keen on them when they are crying.”
Lucy found her voice. “Papa Marden was. Well, he was until they were soiled.”
Emma laughed. “Even the best of fathers wants to hand the baby off then. Don’t you worry. Daniel, Matt, and little Beth all gave Samuel plenty of training. He knows what to do with a wet wee one.”
Samuel chose that moment to come in from the barn. Lucy leaped off the chair, scurried out of the room, then proceeded to listen to mother and son through the door.
“I told you, son, you need to knock. She doesn’t want you seeing her dress before Sunday.”
“Ma.” Samuel dragged out the name.
“I see you rolling your eyes. It is important to her. Didn’t your father explain things to you in the woodshop?”
“He told you?”
“Of course he did. You don’t think the only thing he does is brush my hair at night, do you? That is our chance to talk without you and your brothers listening in. Best tradition your father ever started, brushing my hair. You might consider it too.”
Lucy came back into the room in her brown work dress, her cheeks flushed and her mop cap slightly askew. If his mother had not been there, he would have crossed the room and planted a kiss on her slightly upturned lips until they’d bloomed into the full smile he craved.
It was the longest week of Samuel’s life. He went to Lucy’s each day, often bringing Emma, who complained that her house was too quiet with only Daniel and Mark around. He did not find it quiet with his youngest brothers dogging his steps all day. The hours he spent carving, cleaning stalls, and taking care of both farms seemed to drag by.
Samuel spent very little time alone with Lucy that week as either his mother or Sarah were usually nearby. His little brothers seemed to be underfoot more often than strictly necessary, giving him cause to wonder if they were under Ma’s orders to “help him.” He was smart enough not to inquire.
The result was that he had more than sufficient time to devote to creating gifts out of the maple burl. Replacing the broken mortar was more practical than frivolous, but he found the matching pestle he carved to be more a labor of love since it wasn’t needed. He carved a band of flowers around the mortar bowl and caught himself humming “Lavender Blue.” He couldn’t wait for spring to see if the little vale was as perfect as he remembered.
The little trinket box was more precious to him, as was the cameo he hoped she would keep in it. He’d purchased the cameo in Boston. Carved from a shell reportedly from the West Indies, it reminded him a bit of piracy, and given their first kiss, was even more perfect than when he’d first spied it in the jeweler’s window. Unlike the mortar and pestle, this gift would not be given on Christmas morning but on the morning of their wedding so that Lucy could wear the cameo with her new gown.
With Lucy’s approval, he’d incorporated several pieces of his furniture into their home. The chest his father had built the day of the lectures found a place in their bedroom. For once he believed that one of his father’s tangible reminders was a good thing. He wanted a dovetail marriage. He tucked the rocker he’d made four years ago up in the hayloft and out of sight. He planned to carve some flowers on the back. Samuel reasoned he had a few months to finish it before his wife would want a rocker of her own. Then he would start on a cradle.
Friday morning, Emma, Lucy, and Sarah ensconced themselves in the Wilson’s kitchen baking a Great Cake. Emma preferred to bake the cake in Lucy’s oven, but moving it would be too difficult. The recipe called for forty eggs, five pounds of flour, four pounds of sugar, four pounds of butter, and an equal amount of fruit. Since just family would be in attendance, Emma decided they could safely cut the recipe in half. It would still take over five hours to bake. They also prepared soups and suckets. The candied oranges were Sarah’s favorite sweetmeat. Squashes were brought up from the cellar and boiled for pies.
The boys made general pests of themselves. Emma’s broom threatened them more than once that morning. Mark found himself peeling potatoes after sticking his finger in the cake batter. Daniel pinched a sugarplum and found himself scrubbing the parlor floor. Samuel was wise enough to not get caught when he stole a few sugared almonds, along with a kiss. The kiss did earn him a stern look from his mother, so he retreated before she noticed the almonds in his hand. Samuel and his brothers vacated the house after being told that dinner would be nothing more than cheese and bread.
When Thomas and the twins returned home well after dinner, Emma rushed to tell her husband the news.
Thomas smiled ear to ear when he learned of Sunday’s wedding.
Thirty
Elizabeth Garrett had not worn such a dower dress to Church in her life. To be forced to wear it on Christmas Eve was almost more than she could bear. She’d played sick last week and was glad of it when she learned that Lucy had chosen the sermon text, as was her right as a new bride. This week her father had refused her pleas, and so Elizabeth found herself seated in the Garrett pew more than ten minutes before services. Even with her back to most of the congregation, she noticed the entry of the Wilsons—both families.
Just a peek at Samuel revealed that he was dressed as neatly as ever in his finest coat and new breaches. Was that a new waistcoat? She fumed at the sight of Lucy. The girl almost looked pretty. Her blue dress rivaled any in Elizabeth’s wardrobe. The print was exquisite, the lace delectable. Mrs. Wilson did tat the finest laces in the area, so, of course, she would have given some to Lucy. And the hat! She hadn’t seen finer this season. It must have come from Boston. The cameo—she had to get a closer look at it. If only her father would let her near. It had to be a wedding gift. She had not seen its equal.
Mr. Garrett chose that moment to enter the family pew. Seeing his daughter’s gaze, he nudged her over and sat so that he blocked her view of both Wilson pews. For Elizabeth, the sermon was very long indeed.
I wonder if this is how Elizabeth feels each week. Lucy was aware of the many admiring eyes upon her. Samuel’s possessive hand on her back ad
ded a thrill all of its own. Several women delivered compliments before taking their seats. Other’s nodded as she passed. Sitting in the pew next to Samuel, she found she had no desire to look to the front of the church as she should. She kept peeking at him. He traced patterns upon her wrist for most of the service, the feelings his thumb evoked were very distracting. All too soon the service was over, and they stood for the final hymn.
Samuel thought Reverend Woods had deliberately preached an extended sermon this morning. Was it possible to recite Isaiah and Luke so slowly? However, when the services were over, the noon bell chimed just as it should. Samuel was glad Reverend Woods had refused the invitation to officiate the second wedding. He could not abide a second long-winded sermon today. Pa said he would like to say a few words but promised they would be short. Samuel gave Lucy’s hand a squeeze, wondering if she were just as excited as he was.
The Wilson’s large parlor overflowed with laughter and love. Thomas tried three times to quiet his brood. Finally, he sent Joe and John to opposite sides of the room as he had when they were little. His grandson shrieked in Junior’s arms until he settled in the embrace of his grandmother, where he put his thumb in his mouth and promptly fell asleep.
Samuel adjusted his collar instead of rubbing the back of his head. Ma threatened him with the back of her wooden spoon if he rubbed it even once that afternoon. He doubted she would, but he didn’t want to push his luck.
Before him stood Lucy, more beautiful than even an hour before. In her hands she held a bouquet of dried lavender and some other flowers Carrie had provided. Her maple-syrup hair had been twisted and turned and pinned into something he itched to undo. One tendril had been pulled over her left shoulder. He longed to wrap it around his fingers. Lucy blushed under his scrutiny.