The words made Bertha’s stomach ache. “If you say so, but please be careful.”
“I thought we decided you’d stop fretting over me.”
Bertha shook her head. “I decided no such thing.” She squeezed the hand where Annie held the cross. “Do you promise to think about what I said?”
“I promise. We’ll talk some more tomorrow. All right?”
Bertha tried to hide her pleasure but couldn’t. She smiled so widely her cheeks hurt. “I’ll hold you to that. Good night, Annie.”
“Good night, little Bertha. Now go!”
Back in the saddle, Bertha mouthed a silent prayer when Annie waved and then slipped into the darkness. She whirled her horse into the street and headed for home at a full gallop, unsure of the hour or how much time had passed while they huddled in the alley. She only knew she had fulfilled her duty to God and Annie, so whatever remained of the night belonged to Thad. She’d find a way to make it up to him, and they’d spend every possible hour together until he left.
Nearing her lane, she jumped the narrow ditch to cut the corner and thundered toward the house. At the gate, she leaped to the ground and led her horse to the porch. She expected Thad would have tied his horse out front, but it wasn’t there. She told herself it had to be in the barn, had to be somewhere.
“Bertha?”
Her hand froze on the hitching post. “Papa, I didn’t see you. What are you doing out in this weather?”
“You took the words right out of me mouth. I hope you have a reasonable explanation for turning our hair gray this night. Mama is beside herself, Bertha. She’s taken to her bed.”
Bertha rushed to join him on the porch. “Where’s Thad?”
“And that’s what frets you, daughter? No spare word of concern for your dear mother, after what I’ve just told you?”
Bertha ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry her.”
He didn’t answer, so Bertha sneaked a peek at his face then recoiled in shock. “Oh, mercy. You’re not crying–?”
He swiped angrily at his eyes. “Mama wasn’t the only one worried, you know.” He took her by the shoulders and gave a gentle shake. “Where were you, girl? With you all a-flutter over young Thad’s visit, it made no sense that you’d leave.”
“Where is he, Papa?”
Papa looked grim. “Where is he, you wonder? Well, that makes two of us.”
Her stomach lurched. “What do you mean? Didn’t he show up?”
“He came, all right, and found you gone.” He tucked in his chin and furrowed his brow. “Are you saying Thad never found you? That you haven’t been with him this night?”
“Of course not. You’re making no sense at all.”
“Bertha, Thad rode off to search for you but never returned. For his dear mama’s sake, I pray he’s at home warming his backside at the hearth.”
Bertha’s head reeled. She tried hard to grasp what he had said, to lay all the facts in a neat row and sort them out, but they wouldn’t line up. Each time she tried, the only important detail rose to the top and consumed her. She had to find Thad.
“I’ll explain everything. I will. The minute I return. But I have to go bring him back.” She brushed a hasty kiss across Papa’s cheek and rushed down the steps, making it clear to the hitching post before he bellowed from the porch.
“Bertha Maye Biddie! Kindly march yourself right back. You won’t be going anywhere else tonight.”
Unwilling to believe her ears, she turned. “You can’t mean it.”
“Oh, I mean it.”
She shook her head. “But I must.”
“No, miss. Not without good reason. And I’ve heard not a reason, explanation, or apology from you tonight.”
An apology would be easy. She hadn’t meant to hurt them. If he wanted an explanation, she had one of those, too. Could she find fit words to give it?
She hustled back to the porch and blurted out a short account of her story with the promise to fill in the gaps later. Papa’s hurt, angry expression changed to sympathy and understanding as she spoke of her mission to save Annie.
When she finished with another plea to go after Thad, Papa set his stubborn jaw and shook his head. “Mama will have my gizzard on a spit.”
“Papa, please. This is the most important night of my life. Can’t you at least ask?”
Releasing his breath in a rush, he nodded. “All right, then. I’ll speak to her. I suppose I need to tell her you’re home before she frets herself sick.”
Bertha wanted to mention he’d bawled her name loudly enough to alert Mama and half of Jefferson of her whereabouts. One look at his face, and she decided against it.
Papa opened the door then turned and wagged his finger. “Don’t expect miracles.”
She raised her brows. “Too late. I need a miracle with all that’s at stake.”
He disappeared inside but returned right away, his heavy foot-steps echoing through the house. It didn’t bode well for her cause. It meant Mama wasn’t in the market for Francis Biddie’s blarney.
The screen opened and Papa joined her on the porch. “Her mind is made up. She absolutely forbids it.”
Bertha’s head expected the answer, but her heart clung to hope. “No. Please go try again.”
“She’s in no mood for it, daughter.”
Bertha stamped her foot in anger, and frustration loosened her lips. “Who wears the trousers in this family anyway?”
Silence. Papa held her gaze, but shame veiled his eyes. Bertha bit her bottom lip and wished she’d bitten her tongue. When she uttered the unimaginable words, she’d leaped a forbidden line and didn’t quite know her way back across.
She touched his arm. “Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry.”
He patted her shoulder. “No, sprite. It’s a fair question. And here’s your answer, since you asked. Your mama herself wears the trousers and holds me on a short tether. I allow it because otherwise it’s impossible to live with her.”
Considering the amount of time Bertha spent dancing around Mama’s ire, his words plucked a familiar chord. She’d never considered her papa a fellow survivor of Emeline Biddie, the whirlwind. Seeing him as such forged a kinship that had little to do with blood ties.
“I did try, Bertha. I even asked if I could fetch Thad for you. She said it’s unseemly to disturb the family at this hour.”
Bertha crumpled onto the porch swing. “Blast unseemly! When I’m mistress of a house, I’ll make my own rules. I’ll talk as I wish, dress as I wish, go where I want, when I want, and never, ever wear shoes. If my daughter asks for something important to her, I’ll care more about her feelings than the opinions of others.” She lifted wet, sorrowful eyes to his. “I will, Papa. I swear it.”
He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Don’t stay out much longer, darlin’. There’s a cold wind a-blowin’.” Then he stepped quietly to the door and went inside.
Bertha sat on the damp, drafty porch remembering how glad she’d been such a short time ago. The song she’d warbled to her empty room while dressing for Thad rose up to mock her.
Why does gladness cheer me?
Why everything so bright?
With a heavy heart, she crowded the song from her mind with more fitting lyrics.
Wilt thou be gone, love, wilt thou be gone from me?
Gone, I must be gone, love, I must be gone from thee.
She stood up and walked into the house, furious with her parents, Annie, and God.
Sunday, January 21
Bertha opened her eyes and grimaced. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth and covered with a thick, unpleasant coat–one part mint and three parts glue. The Sozodont. The peppermint-stick flavor of the tooth powder never hinted at the hideous aftertaste. She groaned and struggled to free her arm from the quilt pulled up to her shoulders and saw the green cotton sleeve of her favorite dress. Why was she in bed fully dressed?
A strong sense of urgency fairly lifted her from the mattress, but
she couldn’t imagine why. She threw back the cover she’d fumbled for sometime in the night and swung her feet to the floor, shaking the fog from her head so she could think.
“Papa!” she shrieked, scrambling across the cold floor for her shoes. “Papa, come quick!”
Her parents’ startled faces appeared at the door. Papa, still bare-foot and dressed in his nightshirt, rushed to her side. “What is it, child? Are you ailing?”
“I need you to take me to Thad’s house right away.”
Mama, her robe pulled hastily over her gown and her hair tied up in curls with strips of cloth, slumped against the door frame. “Bertha, for heaven’s sake.”
“I got the idea last night. If we get there before he leaves for the station, we can go with the Blooms to see him off. Mama, I knew you wouldn’t allow me to go alone, but Papa can drive me.”
Papa rubbed the stubble on his chin. “It’s a mite early, darlin’. What time does Thad’s train leave?”
“I don’t know. That’s the trouble.”
Mama squinted down at her. “Don’t tell me you slept in your clothes.”
Embarrassed, Bertha looked away. “With time so precious, I didn’t want to waste it getting dressed.” She finished fastening her shoes, a pair she’d picked to gain her mama’s favor. “I must see Thad before he goes–to explain about last night and ask him to forgive me.”
She stood up and reached for her shawl. “Hurry and dress, Papa. I’ll go hitch the wagon.”
Mama clamped a hand on her arm as she passed. “Just a minute, young lady. No daughter of mine will go calling on a young man uninvited, and so early on a Sunday morning.”
Papa, who had watched from the door without comment, cleared his throat and leveled a warning look at Mama.
Mama watched his face for a second then nodded and gave Bertha a weak smile. “I meant to say, no daughter of mine will go calling on a young man at this hour–without first washing her face and combing her hair.”
Bertha cried out and jumped up to hug her. “Thank you, Mama.”
Mama pulled back and made a face. “You might want to use some of your minty tooth powder while you’re at it, dear.”
Bertha covered her mouth. “I’m afraid the powder might be part of the problem. I’ll rinse with water and chew a sprig of parsley on the way.” She gave her papa a gentle push toward the door. “Go dress, please. My entire future hangs on how quickly you can slip into your trousers.”
He grinned and rocked on his heels, his thumbs hooked in imaginary suspenders. “I’ll go, but did you happen to notice who’s back in rightful possession of his trousers?”
Mama frowned, so he gave her a playful swat on the bottom. “No sass out of you, Mrs. Biddie. And by the by, I’ll expect breakfast on the table when I return. Eggs, fried bread, and black pudding will do nicely.” He planted a kiss on her check and sauntered to the door.
Horrified, Bertha froze, waiting for the anger, the shock and outrage, the whirlwind to spin off and consume him. To her amaze-ment, Mama’s face softened, and she smiled like a smitten girl. When she saw Bertha watching, she ducked her head and followed Papa out the door, as tame as an autumn breeze.
Somehow Bertha managed to close her gaping mouth. She returned to the basin to splash water on her face and arrange her hair, determined to find an explanation for the miracle she’d just witnessed. She’d start by asking Papa about his astonishing conquest on the way to Thad’s house. Perhaps he could offer a few tips on how she might approach Thad. After last night, she’d need them.
Papa rushed past her door in a whoosh. “Let’s go if we’re going. I’ll fetch the rig.”
“Yes, sir. I’m coming.”
With no time to get warm water, she picked up the ceramic pitcher left there from the night before and poured a cold stream into the basin on her dressing table. She dipped a rag and wiped her face, tucked back a stray curl and pinned it then hurried to the kitchen.
Mama stood at the stove warming milk for black pudding. Still wary, Bertha pushed past her and pulled a few sprigs of parsley from the cold box. Unsure what to make of the strange woman in the kitchen, she tucked the parsley into her mouth and opened the door. “We’re going now. Please say a prayer we reach Thad in time.”
The stranger pointed at Bertha with her ladle. “Speaking of prayer, try to be home in time for church. And don’t forget your wrap. It’s still cold out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she called then grabbed her hat and coat from a hook by the door and scurried out to the wagon.
Papa stood waiting. She rushed over and hoisted herself up before he had time to offer a hand. He gave her a mock frown then hustled around to board on his side.
They were quiet on the ride to the Bloom house. Planning what she would say to Thad distracted Bertha from asking Papa how he’d reclaimed his trousers. By the time she remembered, they were nearly to Thad’s and Papa seemed lost in his own thoughts. Sitting tall on the seat, he wore a silly grin on his face, and Bertha wondered if he sat basking in his recent victory. More in keeping with his character, he likely sat basking in expectation of fried bread and black pudding.
A lump rose in Bertha’s throat as they neared the big white house northwest of town. She twisted on the seat and latched onto Papa’s arm. “What will I say to him?”
He patted her hand then loosened her fingers. “Don’t fret, darlin’. The words will come.”
She rubbed the red marks on his forearm. “Sorry, Papa. I’m just so afraid.”
He tilted her face up to his. “Remember the thing I asked you? About trusting God with the details?”
She nodded.
“Well, if you have a mind to ever trust Him, this is your chance.”
Bertha nodded again and leaned against his arm, her heart too full to speak. Her breath caught when they pulled up and stopped in front of the low picket fence surrounding Thad’s yard. She sat up and stared past the tall magnolia, past the smaller Eve’s necklace, and down the cobbled path to the two-story house, wondering which window stood between her and Thad.
Papa set the brake and shook his finger under her nose. “You sit tight till I come ’round. We’ll have no more hurtling into wagons, young miss. You’ll wait for help like a proper lady.”
“Yes, Papa. But hurry, please.”
He grumbled but climbed down and hastened around to her side. Together they rushed up the walk to the white double doors. Papa questioned her with his eyes and she nodded, so he lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall. As the door swung open, Bertha thought her heart would burst. She held her breath and readied the words she needed to say.
“Mr. Biddie. Little Bertha. What a nice surprise to find you on our doorstep.”
Bertha’s body wilted. She couldn’t answer Mrs. Bloom because Thad’s words still pressed her tongue. Papa cleared his throat then slipped past Bertha and lifted his hat.
“Mornin’ to ye, me lady. Apologies for disturbing your fine household so early on the Sabbath morn. But we fancy a short chat with your boy, if you don’t mind.”
Leona Bloom lifted her brows. “Of course. One moment, please.” She left the door open and slipped away. Bertha stared at the entry, waiting for Thad’s broad shoulders to fill the empty space.
“You all right, love?”
“Yes, Papa.”
After a wait that lasted forever, Thad’s lanky little brother appeared with his mama on his heels. Cyrus looked nervous and clearly couldn’t imagine what Papa might have to do with him. He squinted out the door, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. “Yes, sir, Mr. Biddie?”
Disappointment and impatience warred in Bertha’s gut like cats in a bag. Papa gave a nervous little laugh and addressed Mrs. Bloom. “While we’re double-blessed by young Cy’s handsome face, I fear it’s Thad we mean to see.”
Cy stepped back, his cheeks going crimson. Mrs. Bloom tented her fingertips over her lips and shook her head. “Of course you do. How silly of me. It’s not as if I
didn’t think of Thad first, but since. . . Well, you see. . .”
The door swung wider, and Thad’s papa appeared behind his wife.
“Why, Francis, how nice to see you.” He leaned past his family to clasp Papa’s hand then frowned at Mrs. Bloom. “Leona, where are your manners, dear? Don’t leave our guests on the stoop.”
She flushed a bright pink and moved away from the entrance. “Oh my. Forgive me, Abel. I’m not myself with all that’s gone on around here.”
Mr. Bloom motioned them inside. “Come in, come in, before you ice over.” He held out his hand. “This way to the parlor, folks. Leona, brew some tea to warm their bones.” He glanced at Papa. “Unless you prefer coffee, Francis.”
Papa waved off the coffee and the parlor. “Don’t go troubling your good wife, sir. The warmth of your foyer is sufficient. We can’t stay long.”
They stood discussing foul weather and trading good-natured remarks until Bertha feared her pounding head might explode. At long last Papa pulled her forward, and Mr. Bloom turned his attention her way.
“Look who this is.” He accepted the hand she offered and kissed it. “Bertha, you’re lovelier each time I see you.”
“You’re too kind, sir. I wonder if I might be allowed to see Thad now?”
Papa cleared his throat again, louder than before, and laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. “What my wee daughter means to say–”
“Hold up. You came to see Thad?”
Mr. Bloom wore a puzzled look. Behind him, Mrs. Bloom pressed a hankie to her lips and spun away from the door, leaving Cyrus staring after her with startled eyes. Mr. Bloom lowered his head and frowned then took hold of Bertha’s hands. “I thought if anyone knew, it would be you, dear. Thad’s gone.”
Bertha peered into eyes so like Thad’s and tried to make sense of his words. “Gone? You mean he left for the station without you?” She looked from Mr. Bloom to Papa to Cyrus, trying to work it out. She couldn’t imagine Thad’s family not seeing him off to school. Well, no matter. She would. A renewed sense of urgency pulsed through her heart. “It’s so early I doubt the train has arrived. There’s still plenty of time to catch him before he leaves, and we can all ride to the station together. Won’t Thad be surprised?”
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