by Marie Silk
Mrs. Spencer raised her eyebrow at Jane. “Shouldn’t you be making up the ladies’ rooms now?”
Jane looked down at the floor. “Right away, Mrs. Spencer,” she said.
After Jane left for the servants’ stairs, Mrs. Spencer turned to Mrs. Malone. “Are you going to tell me what that was really about?”
“It was nothing, Ma’am,” she answered, slowly wiping the butcher block table with her apron.
“I see,” replied Mrs. Spencer, even though she was not convinced. “Then carry on, Mrs. Malone.”
Upstairs in the house, Mary checked the Bible for the tenth time to see if a relative of the same name was listed in the Davenport family records. Abigail walked into the room to check on her. “How are you feeling today, Mary?” she asked.
“I’m all right,” Mary said distractedly. “Did Ethan tell you about the tombstone we saw yesterday?”
Abigail nodded. “He mentioned it before he left for Philadelphia this morning. It must have been terribly unsettling for you. Have you found any answers to who was buried there?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mary said, closing the family Bible and handing it to Abigail. “I was never told that I was named after anyone.”
Abigail sat at the tea table and poured a cup for Mary. “How did you sleep last night?”
“Very well, thank you. The tea you are giving me is certainly helping. How is Clara?” asked Mary.
“She keeps to her room. She asks that no one disturb her unless a letter comes from Joe. The only words she speaks to me or the servants are about whether a telephone call or letter has come for her.”
“It’s a shame,” replied Mary. “And no one knows what happened with Joe.”
“Sam told me that a man came by the ranch this morning to collect Joe’s livestock. He even had a bill of sale signed by Joe himself.”
“Then I suppose it means Joe is still alive, at least,” Mary said. “It’s awful the way he has left Clara like this with no explanation. If I were her, I would not want to hear from him at all!”
“Even so, she seems desperate to receive word from him. I only hope she can recover from this. Oh Mary, I nearly forgot to tell you. Firstly I will tell you that everyone is all right—but there was a fire at the Valentis’ farmhouse.”
Mary’s face fell. “Oh no. Do they need a place to stay?”
“It is only Phillip there now. Last night when he returned Clara’s car, he explained that Serena and all of the children went on to his parents’ home in Pittsburgh. Phillip is staying behind to repair the damage,” Abigail replied.
“I wish there was something we could do to help. Oh Abigail, I feel so useless lying here all day while you and the others do everything. I’ve decided to see William at the clinic tonight and tell him about the pain.”
Abigail was relieved. “I am glad you will finally tell him. At the very least, William can give you medicine to help with the pain.”
“I would take it gratefully. Abigail, I’m certain you are anxious to get back to your son. I will try not to take up too much more of your time,” Mary said bashfully. “I’m going to write an advertisement in search of a nanny.”
“I’m sure you’ll find someone soon. Most of all, I hope that you and William find a solution to help you heal,” Abigail said kindly.
“Thank you, Abigail. I hope so too.”
Later that afternoon at the Valentis’ farmhouse, Phillip was busy repairing the kitchen wall. He was startled to hear a knock on the open door. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands and face before answering the door.
“Serena?” called Clara’s voice.
Phillip went to meet Clara at the door. “Serena’s not here. It’s just me.”
“Oh—hello Phillip,” she said. Her face appeared pale and tired, but a hint of concern was evident through the sadness. “My housekeeper told me about the fire. I came to see if Serena and the children needed new clothes or anything else.”
“I should have listened to you about cleaning out the chimney before it was too late,” he admitted. “We’re lucky the fire was contained to the kitchen. I asked Serena to take all the children with her to our parents’ house. At least now I know my children will eat well and I can get the house ready.”
Clara nodded but her expression was stoic. “I meant to tell you that Gabriella is welcome to come over to the house and learn how to properly use a cook stove—under the watchful eyes of our cook, of course. I suppose I haven’t had the chance to come by and say anything the last few days.”
“It’s understandable,” Phillip replied. Clara looked down at the floor and Phillip decided to change the subject. “I only wish I had put the house on the market before anything like this happened.”
She looked up at him. “You are moving?”
“I think so,” he said. “I can’t find enough work here to make ends meet anymore. I’ll have to move the children back to the big city so we can—well, so we can start over. I discovered I’m no good at raising crops. I thought I could learn, but when my family is depending on me, there’s not much room for mistakes. I’m no farmer.”
Clara seemed deep in thought while Phillip spoke. She responded in a serious voice, “You may not be a farmer, but you are a father and a war hero. You earned your right to be a citizen. At least you have respectable things to your credit.”
“Doesn’t seem to count for much right now,” he grumbled. Then he cringed. “Forgive me, Clara. I shouldn’t complain to you of all people. You gave me work and helped our family make it this far. It was ungrateful of me to say those things just now.”
“You can be honest with me, Phillip. In fact, I wish everyone would be honest with me instead of only trying to say nice things all the time.”
Phillip thought a minute before saying what was on his mind. “If you mean it, Clara, then you won’t mind me saying that I knew there was something about that Joe Blake I didn’t trust. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before, but I didn’t figure it was any of my business.”
“Do you know where he is?” Clara asked suddenly.
Phillip shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to that. I just know what it seemed like to me.”
“And…how did it seem to you?” she prodded.
“It seemed to me that he wasn’t forthright about the reason he moved here—maybe like there was something in his past he was trying to hide.”
This was news to Clara. She was under the impression that everyone approved of Joe, yet even though she asked for honesty, she was beginning to feel uncomfortable to hear so much of it at once. “You’ve given me a lot to think about today,” she said. “I am very sorry about the fire. How long will it take to have the kitchen back together?”
Phillip chuckled ironically. “It would go a lot quicker if I had help, but I’ll just keep working at it ‘til it’s done. Maybe a week or two.”
Clara noticed that one of his arms appeared to be burned from his elbow down to his hand. “Oh no, you can’t work like this,” she said, pointing it out.
Phillip looked at his arm momentarily before continuing to remove damaged pieces of the wall. “I suppose I did that when I was getting the fire out. I’ve worked a lot harder with a lot worse injury, though. It’s fine—don’t worry about me, Clara. The house will be as good as new soon enough.”
“See? I told you I was tired of people saying things just to be nice,” she reminded him. “It’s clear you’re hurting. Why don’t you stop the repairs until your arm gets better?”
Phillip stopped what he was doing and stared in front of him. “I suppose it’s because even when we’re hurting, we have to find a way to keep going.”
Clara looked at the blackened wall that was half torn down while the words sunk in. “I should be getting back now,” she said quietly. “You know that you can always come to the house if there is anything you need. Our cook will make extra to be sent for you while your kitchen is out of service.”
“I apprecia
te that, Clara,” he said humbly. He watched her turn around to leave. “Wait—I almost forgot.” Clara turned to face Phillip while he took a folded note from inside his pocket. “My sister wanted you to have this.”
Clara took the note from him and nodded, then turned again to leave through the door. As she walked back to Davenport House, Sam suddenly ran out to meet her.
“Miss Clara,” he began, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wondered if you heard about Mr. Blake today.”
Clara felt her stomach turn into knots while both hope and dread filled her heart. “What did you hear? Has he come home?”
“No Ma’am. I don’t think he’s coming back. A man came by to take the livestock away. He had a Bill of Sale from Mr. Blake.”
Clara’s heart pounded in her ears. “Did he say anything about Joe?”
Sam shook his head. “Just that he bought all his livestock two days ago and was here to pick it up.”
“Thank you, Sam,” Clara said, trying to keep her composure. “I am grateful that you helped with the animals like I asked you to while Joe was away.”
“Sure thing, Miss Clara. I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head.
Clara felt tears stinging her eyes as she stumbled back into the house. She went straight to the library and closed the double doors behind her.
Upstairs in the house, Mary was getting ready to leave for Yorktown. She went to Violet’s cradle in the bedroom to kiss her goodbye.
“Softly, now,” warned Abigail with a smile. “I just got her to sleep.”
Mary smiled back at her. “I won’t wake her,” she whispered. “I just can’t stand to be away from her so much.”
Abigail held back tears as she thought of her son Patrick being so far in Philadelphia. “Do you want me to come with you to see William?” she asked.
“It’s you who should be resting now,” Mary said thoughtfully. “I won’t be gone long.”
“Abigail?” Clara’s voice called suddenly from the doorway of the bedroom.
Abigail was surprised to see her. “Good evening, Clara. Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
“Ethan is on the telephone,” Clara announced quietly.
Abigail exchanged worried glances with Mary, then hurried downstairs to the library. Clara peered past Mary to see Violet sleeping peacefully in the cradle. “You’re so fortunate, Mary. You have no idea.”
“How are you feeling?” asked Mary. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you since that night in the library.”
Clara looked confused. “What night in the library?”
“Well, you were there checking the vault,” Mary reminded her. “I was looking for a book and we spoke for a moment.”
“I don’t remember that, Mary. But I have something important to tell you before I retire to my room for the night. I wanted to tell Abigail too, but she had the telephone call from Ethan.”
“It must be the first time Ethan has ever used the telephone—I hope everything is all right,” Mary said, seeming distracted. “What did you want to tell me?”
Clara stood up straight. “I’ve decided to sell the house.”
Mary’s mouth fell open at the sudden declaration. “You have?”
“Yes, I think it is for the best.”
“Clara, I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems a bit drastic under the circumstances. Perhaps you shouldn’t be making such a decision right now.”
“Why not?” Clara asked loudly. “Joe is gone! He sold his livestock and hasn’t bothered to tell me anything about his plans! I’m going to be the town spinster, exactly as I’ve feared. Trust me, Mary. It’s best if I can just begin over somewhere else. I need a fresh start.”
“All right, Clara,” Mary said quietly. “I will tell William tonight and we can discuss other living arrangements.”
Clara nodded, then turned on her heel to leave for her bedroom. Mary went downstairs to leave the house but had a bad feeling when she passed the library. Abigail was there, speaking on the telephone and holding her hand over her heart.
“And you’ll telephone first thing in the morning if it hasn’t gone away?” Abigail questioned, clearly in distress. “All right, then. And you’ll tell me if he gets worse? Yes. Goodnight, Ethan.” She had tears in her eyes when she looked at Mary. “Patrick has a fever.”
“Oh the poor dear,” Mary responded. She did not want to alarm Abigail with a stronger reaction since they had both witnessed the terrible epidemic that recently devastated the country.
Abigail sat down on the chair in front of the desk. “I told Ethan to call first thing in the morning if Patrick doesn’t improve during the night. I may have to leave earlier than I planned. Forgive me, Mary.”
“You need not worry about us,” Mary assured her. “I’m going to see William tonight, and Clara is feeling well enough to leave her room at least. You mustn’t feel guilty about leaving.”
“Did you speak to Clara just now after I left?” Abigail asked, grateful to change the subject.
Mary sighed. “I did. She said that she will sell the house.”
“Oh?” Abigail stood up but tried to downplay her shock. “What brought this about?”
“I’m not sure. Apparently she found out about Joe selling off his livestock. I think she’s finally given up on him returning.”
“Clara is suffering from the brain fever, though. Perhaps she’ll change her mind about selling the house before anything goes too far. Poor Mrs. Spencer only just started working here.”
Mary nodded and looked at the clock. “I must leave for town now, Abigail. I want to drive over while it is still daylight.”
“Of course, Mary,” Abigail said, slowly lowering herself into the chair again. She picked up the newspaper from the desk and studied the next day’s train schedule.
On Mary’s drive to Yorktown, she slowed her car when she came to the old mercantile that William told her would be the new hospital. A sign had already been placed at the top of the building: YORKTOWN HOSPITAL with a smaller sign that read: OPENING SOON.
Mary parked her car and walked up to the entrance. She noticed a sign in the window with a portrait of a woman accompanied by words that made Mary gasp and laugh at the same time:
Painless Childbirth!
Yorktown Hospital offers
Twilight Sleep!
“If only there were such a thing as painless childbirth,” she marveled aloud. She looked in the windows and could see that hospital beds and other furniture had already been put into place in the new hospital. Mary returned to her car and drove the rest of the way to William’s clinic.
The little bell above the door sounded when Mary walked into the clinic. “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” William’s voice called from behind a curtain. Mary sat down in the waiting area until the patient with William emerged from behind the curtain and left through the front door. “Mary!” William said in delight when he pulled open the curtain. “What a lovely surprise.”
Mary smiled and realized it had been too long since she heard his voice. She rose from her seat. “I missed you,” she said honestly.
“I’ve missed you too,” he said. He lay down on one of the clean beds and groaned in exhaustion. “I’m so tired, Mary. Just pray that no one else comes through the doors tonight. I’m not sure I can stay awake another minute!”
“Oh,” Mary said quietly. She watched him close his eyes and start to breathe deeply. “I can come back another time.”
“Please stay and talk to me,” he murmured, still closing his eyes. “I want to hear your voice. How are things at the house?”
“Where do I begin? Clara told me she intends to sell the house,” Mary replied.
“That seems drastic. Perhaps she’ll change her mind tomorrow. You can’t trust everything she says right now.”
“She seemed rather serious,” remarked Mary. “What will we do if she does sell the house?”
William opened his eyes and turned his head to face her. “In all s
eriousness, we may need to move anyway. If I can’t staff the clinic to treat as many patients as we used to, I don’t know how we’ll keep the doors open. I even wrote to ask the board of directors of the new hospital to see if I could get a position with them. They answered that they have enough doctors coming in and won’t need my services. I wanted to tell you all of this sooner…I just never had the chance.” He closed his eyes again.
Mary thought about the new hospital building and remembered the sign in the window. “William,” she began uncertainly. “Is there such a thing as painless childbirth?”
He chuckled. “I’m afraid that was never the way the good Lord intended it. You’ve attended enough births by now to know it’s not the case.”
“Then what is Twilight Sleep?” she asked.
William opened his eyes again. “Where did you see that?”
“At the new hospital. There is a sign in the window that advertises it,” answered Mary.
William sat up on the bed, his expression changing from tired to disappointed. “Twilight sleep was developed in Germany. I’m familiar with the method, but I don’t like it, Mary. It requires a laboring woman to be injected with morphine and scopolamine—a very strong combination—as a painkiller.”
Mary suddenly felt herself getting indignant. “Do you mean that it’s true a woman needn’t feel the pain? William, how could you not tell me? I nearly died of the pain when I was in labor with Violet!”
“I’m sorry, Mary. I don’t think it’s safe. The pain for a woman in labor is only temporary anyway.”
Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “It must be safe if the new hospital is using it. William, you just can’t imagine the pain unless you’ve been through it yourself. If you had, you would have been eager to help me and the other women in town all this while!” Tears began rolling down her face. “I am going back home now,” she said.
“Wait, I don’t understand why you’re upset like this,” William said, pleading at her with his tired eyes.
“That’s just it—you don’t understand!” she snapped. She stormed away from the clinic and held her sore stomach as she climbed into her car. Mary drove a short way before she parked again and laid her head against the steering wheel. She cried and cried as the months of pain since the day of her operation took their emotional toll.