For Her Honor: The Gentrys of Paradise

by Holly Bush

  “He delivered it early this morning and Mrs. Clair laid it on her desk to give to you and forgot all about it.”

  “Won’t you come in for a moment? Or are you heading down to the garden with the others?”

  “I am not,” Violet said. “I’m a trifle tired.”

  “Perhaps I could get us a glass of iced tea from the kitchen and we could sit here and get to know each other,” Emmaline said. “I’ve opened the window and there’s a nice breeze.”

  “Oh.” Violet clapped her hands together softly, looking at Emmaline wistfully. “That would be wonderful. I’ll just step into my room for a moment and freshen myself.”

  Emmaline had already made herself known to the Clair House cook, Miss Gertrude Flanders, a tiny woman, happily humming and overseeing the cleanup of the evening meal. Soon Emmaline was climbing the stairs with a tray carrying a pitcher of tea, two glasses filled with chipped ice, and a plate of lemon cookies. It made her think of Paradise and Mabel.

  Emmaline left her room door open and Violet joined her, still wearing the frilly high-necked dress she’d worn all day. Emmaline had changed into an old skirt and shirt that she left open at the collar. She plopped down at her desk chair and Violet sat down in the only other chair in the room.

  “I can come back another evening, if you’d prefer to read your letter.” Violet nodded to the envelope still lying on Emmaline’s desk unopened.

  Emmaline shook her head. “No. I’ll read it later. Please tell me about yourself. How did you come to Clair House?”

  Violet blushed. “It has always been a dream of mine. I’ve been writing since I was young girl and as much as I love it here, I feel terribly guilty. You see, my parents are elderly, having had me late in life, and my father is ten years older than my mother. He is bedridden now, and she is of a sickly constitution.” She sniffed, touching a lace- edged hanky to her nose. “Of course, they are well cared for while I am here. I would have never done it if my father hadn’t insisted. I am quite satisfied to care for them rather than pursue my writing, but Father wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Are you able to get away to visit them?”

  “Oh, yes. I go almost every Sunday after church and some Saturday evenings, too. Father sends his carriage for me and I visit with them both. Where are you from, Emmaline? When will you get to see your husband next?”

  “Six months from now, I think, unless I travel to Winchester for the Christmas holiday.”

  “Six months! But won’t you miss him dreadfully?”

  Emmaline stared at the envelope. She would miss him. She already did, even as angry as she was. Was that the nature of marriages? That she could be furious with him and still wonder what he was doing and if he was thinking of her. Or was it possible that Nettie was right—that she was not immune to soft feelings and that she had fallen in love with her husband. And knowing that he didn’t trust her, that he wasn’t convinced she was aware enough to understand the dangers the city presented, that perhaps he thought she would have relations with another man, hung on her.

  “I already miss him.”

  Violet patted her hand. “Of course, you do. He’s so very handsome and gentleman-like.”

  “Yes. Yes, he is,” she replied. Violet said good night shortly after, and Emmaline wondered if it was because she’d stared at the envelope, turning it over and again in her hand and saying little. She washed her face and hands, pulled on her favorite nightgown, and climbed into bed to read.

  * * *

  DEAR EMMALINE,

  I did not feel right leaving Philadelphia without at least speaking to you further on the subject we argued on yesterday afternoon. If you remember when I proposed marriage to you, you asked me how I could respect you. I told you then, and I’ll repeat it here, whatever happened that night, was just a small part of a life you have lived well. I’ve never, ever thought that you found yourself in that situation because you were without discretion or character. I thought you were taken advantage of and I still believe that after coming to know you. I should have never said what I did, and I am sorry. I would never, ever suspect you of having some sort of relationship with another man. I trust you implicitly, Emmaline, even when I am frustrated.

  But that does not diminish my concern. I find your writing explains much about your person. You’re creative and sometimes everyday realities escape your notice as you are thinking on a higher plane than us mere mortals. I think it explains why you couldn’t be bothered with a wardrobe and why the intricacies of managing a household such as Paradise seem overwhelming to you, although I believe you could do it and do it well if you wanted.

  While I would never deny you this opportunity, although I don’t think I could stop you if I tried, it has caused me hours of concern. My duty as a husband is to see to your safety and comfort and it is difficult for me to have you so far away. I know you will be careful, and that Mr. and Mrs. Clair are responsible people.

  My dearest wish is that you are happy, having reached a goal you set for yourself as a young girl. I’m exceptionally proud of you and find myself bragging to others about my wife, ‘the writer,’ as if I have something to do with your abilities.

  Sincerely and with respect,

  Adam

  * * *

  SHE READ and reread the letter until the house was quiet and settled. Was it possible he was right? Was it possible that she was a bit scatterbrained? Especially when she was concentrating on writing a story? She remembered Betsy complaining to her that she didn’t pay any attention when she was telling her something, even if it was important, like the first time Edwin had said he would talk to Jim about courting her. Betsy had thrown something at her head that day, knocking her fountain pen to the floor, leaving a trail of ink down her skirts. Betsy had left the room in a huff and called for Jane.

  It was true, probably. She’d never wanted to go to the seamstresses for new things, mostly because it would have interrupted the little time she’d had for her writing. Other things just never seemed that important. She’d done her chores, worked at the mercantile, and sequestered herself in her room at the small desk there, barely big enough to turn her pages without knocking a stack onto the floor, and kept to herself.

  Were her and Adam’s reactions to all of this just a case of her nerves, his concerns, and a misunderstanding? He did apologize for saying what he did to Mr. Clair, and just thinking about it made her angry. But was she justified? She thought perhaps she was and she thought he knew very well that he’d embarrassed her and while not regretful of his concerns, he was apologetic for how he’d said it. He thought about things from a different perspective, that was certain. Was that the nature of men and women? She knew that what was significant to her brother Jim, or even Phillip, was often very different from what her mother and her sisters thought. Had she not seriously considered that her husband, a man, would also view the world through a different lens? Good Lord, was she this scatterbrained?

  Had she not considered that she was now married? For good and forever tied to this one person and that there would be ups and downs and, undoubtedly, some unhappiness. That there would be a man who would surpass in importance all things and people that were previously important to her, even the precious ones like her nephew and niece. It was a good thing that she cared for Adam Gentry in the way that she did. He was her husband. They would argue and be angry and make up. She closed her eyes thinking of Adam kissing her when they were both naked and panting with need, impatient to join bodies, and be one. The bed felt very empty without him by her side. Emmaline longed for their easy teasing and trust in all things in their bedroom, and outside of it, that she’d become accustomed to.

  “HAVE YOU HEARD FROM EMMALINE?” Jim asked Adam as they stood side by side helping Matt move a large rock behind his house that now was wrapped with iron chains.

  “No,” he said. “I have not. I’ve written every day, but I’ve not gotten a letter.”

  “Mother received one yesterday,” Jim said while
guiding the horses dragging the rock from its place.

  “Hold up, Jim,” Matt said. “We’ve got to get this chain wrapped differently, but let’s take a break. Here comes Annie with something to drink.”

  Adam leaned on the shovel he was holding. Emmaline had sent her mother a letter and not responded to his? He was more annoyed than he could account for. He took the cold glass of water from Annie and kissed the top of little Teddy’s head where he stood holding his mother’s hand. Matt tickled his son, picked him up and tossed him into the air, eliciting giggles and screams.

  “Put him down, Matthew,” Annie said. “He’s just eaten.”

  Adam turned to Jim, now sitting down on one of the logs they would use to roll the boulder. “Did you read the letter?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.

  Jim shrugged. “Livie’s meal didn’t turn out so good so we went to my mother’s last evening. She read it out loud three times. She hung on every word Emmaline had written, smiling and telling Jane and Phillip that their sister had worked very hard in school and had been rewarded and how proud she was of her.”

  Adam harrumphed.

  “It’s strange, though. Mother never fussed too much over Emmaline when we were growing up, probably because she was always independent. Now she can’t stop talking about her. I think Mother’s feeling a bit guilty. Emmaline is doing fine, though, sounds like.”

  Adam stared off into the woods, thinking of the letters he wrote every night and sent with the stable boy to Witherspoon to mail. It made him want to get on his horse and ride to Philadelphia and see her with his own eyes and shake her by the shoulders and ask her why she’d not written. And kiss her. Oh yes, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to touch that gap between her teeth with his tongue. These past few weeks had been more than he could take. He missed her wit, her company, and her soft, warm body to curl around in bed. A tap on his arm nearly pushed him over.

  “I’m talking to you,” Matt said as Annie walked to the house. Teddy turned and waved as he held his mother’s hand.

  “He’s thinking about his wife,” Jim said.

  Adam shook his head and sat down beside his brother-in-law. “No, I’m not. Well, yes, I am. We had an argument before I left Philadelphia. I write her every day, and haven’t heard from her yet.”

  “What is it? Two months, now?” Jim asked.

  “And you write her every day?” Matt said.

  “I do.”

  “What was the argument about?” Matt asked. “Were you stupid?”

  Adam nodded. “I think maybe.”

  They sat silently drinking their water waiting, Adam supposed, for him to elaborate. Maybe it would be good for him to unburden himself. Maybe these two young knuckleheads, although that was not a fair description, had some advice for him. They were married, after all. So, he told them.

  “She was embarrassed by my comment to Clair, and then I brought up the night she . . . she got with . . .”

  “You didn’t,” Matt said as he shook his head.

  “Well, I was trying to impress on her that sometimes she doesn’t pay attention to everything going on around her and that people can take advantage of a young woman like that. She thought I brought it up because I didn’t trust her to . . .” Adam mumbled.

  “Trust her to what?” Matt asked.

  Adam cleared his throat. “Trust her to be faithful.” He held up his hands to Jim in surrender. “I didn’t mean that, I never thought that, but I wasn’t very articulate, and she was yelling at me. Letting me have it with both barrels.”

  “What did she say then?” Jim asked.

  “She didn’t say much at first. Just plopped down on the park bench looking miserable, and saying she’d never be free with another man, that she was married. Then she dried her eyes, thanked me for bringing her to Clair House and for the tuition. She walked away to the door of the school and never looked back.”

  Every time he pictured her face and heard her words in that stiff, formal voice she’d used that afternoon, he got a little sick to his stomach, and wanted to stop thinking his own thoughts, which was impossible. He looked at Matt and Jim now staring at him. “I apologized. For both things. In person and in a letter.”

  “Had you talked to Emmaline about your worries before that day?”

  “Yes, of course. I couldn’t get it out of mind that she was going to be away from home and that something might happen. I talked to her about it several times, in fact.”

  “Several times?”

  “Yes!” Adam said as he stood and began to pace. “Sometimes Emmaline is so caught up in her own thinking that she doesn’t always realize what’s going on around her. Anyone could snatch her bag on the way to the bank or even . . . I can’t think about that. I wanted her to be wary.”

  “Adam,” Matt said. “Sit down.”

  He sat down again beside Jim, and Matt crouched in front of him, putting him at eye level. Matt stared at him for several long seconds.

  “She’s not Josephine. She’s not going to die just because she’s not here.”

  Adam took a deep breath, feeling the anger wind up inside him, gritting his teeth, and making his fists curl. “This is nothing like that!” he shouted. “Nothing. I was in love with Josephine at the time.”

  “We know,” Matt said. “Feel free to wallop me, or Jim, if you need to punch something or someone.”

  “I don’t need to hit either of you idiots. I just need to make sure that my wife is safe. She’s in a city she’s not familiar with. She’s as stubborn as any woman I’ve ever met.”

  “And you’re in love with her,” Jim said softly.

  “Look, Jim. I’m sure you’d like to think that your sister and I have ended up falling in love, but it’s just not true. I respect her and admire her. I’m happy to say we’re married and I think she feels exactly the same way.”

  “You got it bad, brother,” Matt said, shaking his head.

  “Bullshit. I’m not in love with anyone. I like her. I respect her. But love, not doing that again.”

  “Like you have any control over it.” Jim barked a laugh. “Sounds like me trying to talk myself out of it.”

  “You were really an ass, Somerset,” Matt said and grinned at Jim. “I knew I loved Annie from early on, but I was just too much of a chickenshit coward to tell her.”

  “I’m not in love with Emmaline,” Adam said.

  “Okay, brother.” Matt put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up to stand.

  Adam followed. “Don’t use that tone on me.”

  “What tone is that, Adam, lover of Emmaline?” he said.

  Adam saw red and heard Jim laughing in the background. He let loose his right fist on his brother’s chin and had some satisfaction as Matt’s head snapped back. He followed with two short fast punches to Matt’s middle. He stepped back waiting for him to respond, pulling his fists up to cover his chin, but Matt’s arms hung loose at his sides.

  “Come on. Come on! Hit me back!”

  Matt shook his head and wiped blood from his chin. “Nope. I’m not mad at you or anybody else.”

  “You should be, damn it! Come on! Hit me!”

  “Not going to do it. I do think you might have loosened a tooth, though,” Matt said, smiling. “Hit Jim this time.”

  Adam looked at Jim, now standing beside Matt, his hands in his pockets. He rubbed his face and turned away from them both. What an ass he was! Here he was hitting his brother and nearly punching his sister’s husband because he couldn’t reconcile the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d fallen in love with his wife. He turned without looking at either of them and started the walk home. They can pull that damn rock out on their own.

  * * *

  “HERE IS ANOTHER LETTER, EMMALINE!” Violet said from her doorway.

  Emmaline turned in her chair. “Oh, thank you.”

  “Your husband is especially attentive! What a lucky wife you are.”

  “I suppose I am.” She accepted the letter from her friend
. “Except I’m not feeling very lucky. He has written me faithfully every day for two months, and I have not written him back once. Now I don’t know what to say!”

  “Are you still angry with him?”

  Emmaline shook her head. “No. We’re going to have disagreements and even though he said something that was hurtful, I don’t think he intended to hurt me, and perhaps some of his observations are correct. This marriage business is confusing at first.”

  “Then write him! He must be most anxious to hear from you.”

  “I just don’t know how to start.”

  “I know. We’ll write a poem to him. An ode.”

  Emmaline smiled at the hopeful look on Violet’s face. “A poem?”

  “We’ll be doing lessons in poetry very soon, so we’ll consider this practice.”

  “We can start after dinner,” Emmaline said. “Will you walk with me to the grocer and the bank before mealtime?”

  “Of course! Let me get my cloak. It’s cold out there.”

  Violet and Emmaline walked swiftly as there was a definite chill in the air and dark clouds that might bring rain hung overhead. Emmaline got the special coffee grounds she liked at the grocer and withdrew money at the bank as one of the students was leaving school and Mrs. Clair was organizing a group gift for her. Violet chattered on the way home, as they walked quickly, arms linked, toward Clair House.

  At the warehouse building they passed a block from the bank, Emmaline could have sworn she saw someone scoot through the door just as they got close to it. But that was impossible. She’d never once seen a buggy or a person near the building and Mr. Clair said it was abandoned, although he was concerned that squatters would take up residence there. Maybe he was right. When they walked past the door, the hair on the back of Emmaline’s neck stood up, sending a chill down her back. She looked quickly at the recessed doorway but saw nothing through the grimy round window. She gripped her umbrella tightly and hurried Violet along.