I nodded, relief almost palpable as I let his words sink into my mind. All of the effort and time wasted. There had been nothing to fear all along. Mr. Honeyfield was incredibly kind and understanding.
“Yes, sir.”
“Now then, what is it that is troubling you today?”
I hesitated, and after searching his face, decided against my initial thoughts of creating a fictional tale. And then I shared with him our most recent conversation, and as I spoke, I felt more and more confused.
Mr. Honeyfield, to my surprise, was smiling at the end of my tale.
“It seems to me that there might have been slight miscommunication that occurred.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Let me see if I understand. You have been afraid of my reaction to your relationship with Miss Bannerman, correct?”
I tensed slightly at his words, but I nodded in reply.
“And you believed that by keeping your relationship in the dark, that you were honoring her and ensuring that her reputation would remain spotless to the public eye?” He smiled. “Miss Bannerman, it seems, was hoping for something else.”
“I do not know what you mean, sir.”
“Have you ever considered proposing to her?”
Dumbfounded, I could only stare at him. Here we were, master and servant, speaking so very plainly about matters of the heart. How was it that he was so perceptive? Was it that apparent? Were my feelings written on my face as plainly as if they were in the book he read?
“You would have my blessing, you know. I planned to offer you a small home just outside the estate once I returned from my stay in Bath. It appears as if this is as good a time as any.”
“But sir…” I my words caught in my throat. “Sir, she may not want anything to do with me any longer.”
“Nonsense, my boy,” he laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “Certainly you must see now that this is what she was hoping for? She was attempting to maintain civility, but I am certain that a proposal is what she meant by ‘a change’.”
My heart stopped beating for a moment. Could it be? Could I dare to hope for it?
“How can you be so certain, my lord?”
“I was married for seventeen years, Mr. Clarke, and have two daughters. I am fluent in the language of women,” he smiled at me more broadly.
“Will you accept my offer? I expect two of my best employees to be at their best at all times, and if that means providing them a means so they can be together, I am happy to do it.”
“Sir…” I said, unable to find the words to say. My gratitude surely would not be enough. “You are a great man, going to such lengths for us servants in such an extravagant manner.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I do it because I care about you, all of you.” He looked me in the eye and said, “You are like family to me. And I will always care for my family.”
I never had a brother, and my father and mother were often far too busy to be able to spend much time with me. Family was a concept that I had noticed from afar. But I believed Mr. Honeyfield. I realized then that I had been incredibly blessed to be admitted into this home, a place where all were treated with kindness and honesty.
I nodded. “But what do I do about Miss Bannerman?”
“Speak with her, of course. Tell her what I have offered.”
“What if she refuses me?” I said, unable to conceal my fear. It was all that prevented me from embracing my joy with open arms.
“I think you will find that she will not.” He gestured to the door. “Now go. I will see you when you are ready to accept my offer.”
I couldn’t believe it. I simply stared at him, smiling so wide that my face felt as if it might stay that way forever.
“Go,” he said once more, laughing as he did. And so I did.
I ran through the doors, out into the halls, and called her name as I ran. Many of the staff peered out of rooms and doors as I passed, but I cared not. I had to find her, and tell her the good news! I had to make things right, and I wouldn’t let her go so easily.
I finally found her, standing beside a window in the eastern stairwell, staring out into the night. The light from the candle she carried hid some of her features in shadow, but I could see the trails that the tears had left down to her chin, some still shining fresh.
“Abigail.”
She did not turn to look at me.
“Abigail, I was a fool. I did not understand what you had meant when we spoke earlier.” I walked up beside her, but still she continued to look out the window into the night. The candle flickered.
“I meant what I said, however. I have been the happiest in all my life, but that had nothing to do with our circumstances. It was simply because I knew you, and that you were in my life every day.”
I watched the back of her head, but still she would not look at me.
“I said I never wanted it to change because I could not imagine my life without you in it. I couldn’t imagine a day going by without seeing you smile, or hearing your laugh. I never wanted it to change because I never will be able to stop loving you, but what I want more than anything is for your love to remain, and for you to always love me the way you love me now.”
At these words, she turned to face me.
“I never wanted you to think that I didn’t wish for our relationship to progress. I had contented myself with the idea that we may never be able to be married. But I was content with that, because it still meant that I could be with you. I would rather have you in my life than not. Can you understand that?”
Her eyes stared into mine, and I felt my strength waver. I blinked and pressed on. “But that reality is not one we must live in! Mr. Honeyfield has offered us a house, Abigail! A place for us, beside the estate, so we may be married!”
“What?” she breathed, her face pale, her eyes wide.
I stepped closer to her and took her hands in my own. “I apologize for being a thick-headed fool, but I love you more than words could say. I wish more than anything for you to be my wife, I always have. I just never knew how it could be, so I never wished to give you any false hopes.” I bent down on my knees. “Miss Bannerman, I love you with my whole heart, body, and soul. Would you please end my agonized suffering and be my wife, so that we may continue our life out in the light, and away from the shadows?”
She threw her arms around my neck, bending down level with me, and she cried loudly into my shoulder.
“Yes!” she shouted, between sobs. “Yes, you fool. Yes!”
I laughed out loud, and felt tears in my own eyes. “Then come, we must go tell Mr. Honeyfield!”
We were married underneath the lilac trees behind the house, with all the staff and the Honeyfields in attendance. Miss Judith cried profusely, and Ms. Henrietta even appeared to be moved. Mrs. Gardener had prepared a phenomenal meal for us all, and as I stared at my dear wife, Mrs. Clarke, I suddenly felt as if for the first time that my life was made entirely of golden sunlight, both without and within.
THE END
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Bonus Story 1 of 20
The Runaway
I look down at the words written on the page in front of me. I have had to read them nearly a dozen times to make sure I’ve understood them correctly.
My dearest Ruth,
I can no longer stand not being in your presence. As it is, I wait with baited breath for your letters to arrive. Now, I beg you to please accept my proposal...
He wants to marry me. Abel O'Connor of Medina, Texas wants to marry me, Ruth Watson of Ridgefield Connecticut.
I can barely contain the enormous grin which spreads easily across my face. Nor can I ignore the happy butterflies dancing in my stomach which fly out in a string
of giggles.
I have to put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. My father is asleep downstairs and, if I wake him before he’s ready, there will be hell to pay.
Of course, there will also be hell to pay if I don’t get dinner started in time. Father insists on dinner being ready as soon as he wakes from his overlong afternoon sleep (usually preceded by far too much whiskey).
It’s been like that ever since Mama died, a sort of hell on earth living with Father. But, all that changed when Abel came along. Abel and his eloquent, sweet, wonderful letters.
As quickly as I can without smudging the ink on the paper, I jot down acceptance of his proposal to Abel and fold it neatly. I will have to take it to Pastor Jamison tomorrow so that he can post it for me.
Our church pastor is the only one who knows that I’ve been writing to Abel consistently for two months. It was Pastor Jamison who posted Abel’s advertisement for a wife on the church door. It was also Pastor Jamison who encouraged me to write to the young man, despite not telling my father. Pastor Jamison even arranged to have a photograph of me taken to send to Abel. It made me blush when Abel praised my appearance in his next letter.
The reply to Abel’s proposal in my hand represents the first time I have ever intentionally disobeyed my Father. My hands tremble as I seal the envelope shut and rush down the stairs to begin preparing dinner.
No sooner have I gotten the pot out to begin the soup when I hear a stirring from Father’s bedroom. My heart leaps into my throat. He’s coming and I’ve barely started.
My hands begin to shake again as I fire up the stove and pour the leftover stock into the pan. I continue to shake as I hear his footsteps come closer and closer. Finally, they stop just behind me. I don’t turn around to look, but, I brace myself for a beating.
“What’re you making, Ruthie?” he asks.
I’m surprised. He never calls me Ruthie when he’s cross. In fact, he hasn’t called me Ruthie since Mama died two years ago. That’s when the drinking started. That’s when I became simply ‘Ruth’.
“Potato soup,” I answer, trying to keep a tremble out of my voice. I am sure he will find something to say about my choice of meal. He always does. Before he answers, I close my eyes and try to bring to mind a line from one of Abel’s letters. This is a technique I have learned to shut out my father’s insults. I combat them with thoughts of Abel’s gentle words of praise.
“Better have some bread to go with it then,” Father says. Once again, he does not sound the slightest bit angry. Despite myself, I turn around to look at him in surprise.
He looks every bit as poorly as he always does. His black hair, which used to be combed and slicked back when Mama was here, is now a tangled mess. A dark stubble lines his face, which he always used to take such care to shave every day. And, despite his frequent naps, dark shadows still play beneath his eyes.
But there’s a spring in his step today that is rarely there. He looks at me, and to my surprise, a slight smile appears on his lips.
“You’ll want to make enough for three as well,” he says. “And clean yourself up a bit when you’re done. We’ve got a guest for supper tonight.”
“Who will be joining us?” I ask curiously. I hope it’s Pastor Jamison. He’s been asking my father to invite him round for supper since Mama died. Father always refuses. He also refuses to go to church with me on Sunday. He says a God couldn’t save Mama from dying of cholera is not worth worshiping.
My heart swells with the thought that the good pastor might have gotten through to him.
“Mark Ashton,” Father says. My heart falls immediately. Mark Ashton, the old tavern keeper in town is the other reason my Father’s taken to drink. Father goes to the tavern every night after supper and often stays drinking until dawn, leaving me to do the early work on the farm on my own.
I know Mark Ashton keeps Father drinking in hopes that I’ll come to the tavern to retrieve him. It’s no secret that Mr. Ashton is...fond of me. Even before Mama died, he was trying his best to get me to accept his various proposals.
And, after Mama died, Ashton took full advantage of my father’s frequent visits to the tavern.
Father and Ashton have become increasingly close of the past few months. I would be lying if I said I could not see where that friendship was heading.
I try not to let Father see my disappointment. I merely nod to him and turn back to the soup, thinking of a bread I could bake quickly enough for supper.
“He’s taken quite a shine to you, you know,” Father says behind me. My heart falls further at this and I nearly drop the spoon I’m using to stir the pot.
“Who has, Father?” I ask, pretending as though I don’t know.
“Don’t play dumb,” Father says a familiar growl returning to his voice. “You know exactly who I mean. And, you’d better be on your best behavior tonight or you’ll answer for it.”
I don’t turn around to look at him, but, I can imagine the expression on my Father’s face. I’m sure his face is red, angry and puffed. And I know he’ll grow angrier the longer he has to wait for an answer.
“Of course, I’ll be on my best behavior, Father,” I answer.
“Good girl,” he says. “Mr. Ashton will be joining us in two hours. Make sure supper’s on the table and you’re looking your best.”
“Yes, Father,” I answer again, without turning to look at him.
I hear his feet pad back to his bedroom. The soup will take nearly two hours to be ready. I’ll have to leave it on the lowest heat possible to keep it warm. My mother’s Irish soda bread is the simplest and quickest bread recipe I know. That won’t take long either.
That means I might have time to slip out the back door and rush my letter across the street to Pastor Jamison at the church. I was planning on waiting until tomorrow, but if what Father says about Mark Ashton is true, I don’t have much time before I receive another, much less welcome marriage proposal.
While the bread rises on the window sill and the soup is simmering on the stove, I run up the stairs, grab my letter and slip out the back door. I very much hope that Pastor Jamison can get my letter to Abel before my Father seals my fate forever.
Chapter 2
“You ungrateful little cow!” Father screams at me as he throws another of Mama’s porcelain plates at the wall behind me. I duck just as the plate breaks behind me.
“Father, please, listen! I can’t–”
“You get a perfectly good marriage proposal and you say no?” Father asks. I’ve never seen him so angry. I know he’s been drinking; in fact, he’s just come from the tavern. That must be where he heard I had turned down Mark Ashton.
“I didn’t say ‘no’,” I plead, my voice trembling. I stand and move back against the wall. “I only said I needed time to consider–”
“Consider what?” Father spits back at me. “Do you think someone else is going to come along? Someone richer, someone younger? Do you think anyone else would even think of marrying a poor, ugly thing like you?”
This has become his favorite insult since Mama died. Occasionally he’ll look at my stringy dark hair, flat chest and tall awkward frame and lament that he created such an ugly child.
I struggle to remember the words Abel wrote to me. You have to be the loveliest woman I have ever laid eyes on. That’s what he wrote after I sent my picture to him.
I try to believe Abel’s words praising not just my looks but my eloquence and kind disposition over my father’s gnawing insults. It is surprisingly difficult. I do not know why my father’s taunts are far easier to believe than my fiancé’s praise.
As my Father stumbles closer to me, I close my eyes to try and remember the joyous, incredible treasure Abel has sent me in my bedroom, hidden under my pillow.
I try to remember that there is a train ticket for me there. A train ticket for Medina, Texas and I leave tomorrow.
But, try as I might, I can’t hold onto thoughts of my prize when my Father grabs my a
rm and painfully begins to haul me up our wooden steps.
“If you need ‘time to consider’,” he sneers as we climb the stairs finally reaching the door to my room. “You can do that considering in here.”
He tosses me in my room. I land on the hard floor and look up just in time to see him grab the key from its place by my door.
“I don’t care how long it takes,” he says still standing in the doorway. “You won’t leave this room until you’re ready to marry Mark Ashton.”
With that, he slams the door behind him and I hear him pound his way back down the stairs.
It may seem odd but, being locked in my room doesn’t bother me one bit. Pastor Jamison and I had already arranged for me to sneak out of my room tonight. All I’ve done by turning down Mark Ashton’s proposal is ensure that my Father left me alone earlier than planned.
Quickly, I rush for my sheets. I tied them into knots after my visit with Mark Ashton that morning, in preparation for tonight. I open my window and throw the sheet ladder out the side.
There are no downstairs windows on this side of the house and, even if there were, I know my Father. He’ll either head back to the tavern in the other direction or he’ll go back to the kitchen and his own private stash of whiskey.
Sure enough, I make it down the ladder without incident and head to the church.
When I knock on the door, Pastor Jamison opens it for me. He is white-haired with a weather worn but rosy and very pleasant looking face.
His pale blue eyes widen slightly upon seeing me at the door. He had not expected me to come before nightfall. He smiles nonetheless.
“Come in, Ruth,” he says hurrying me into the meeting hall. I see him look around cautiously before closing the door behind him. It is a small town and, if anyone sees me enter the church or leave the town boundaries tomorrow morning, Father is sure to get word of it.
Sunlight and Shadows Page 4