by Leah Moyes
“I, uh, wait . . . did Lizzy and Abby say this?”
“It does not matter who informed me, if there is any ounce of legitimacy to this incongruous behavior—” Mrs. Gilford lifted a handkerchief to her mouth and coughed. “—I will not be less inclined to release you at once!”
“Mrs. Gilford, please believe me,” I pleaded gently, considering her weakened state, “I have only encouraged your daughters to love learning, not rouse them to rebellion.” A slight flash of relief crossed her face, although she remained somber. “Honestly,” I continued, “your daughters are beautiful, smart, and talented young women and will be an amazing addition to any fine family in England. I would never teach them to go against your traditions. I’m sorry, but you were not told the truth.” She studied my face carefully. I hoped she believed me.
“So, there are no further misunderstandings; instruct only what I have employed you for.” She turned and took one step. Then circled back and said, “please keep in mind who has made it viable for you to remain here despite how you arrived,” and walked away. The inference was both elusive and direct. She must know more than I give her credit for. Was it possible the real governess she hired showed up, and was turned away?
I remained in the hallway a few minutes after she had left, trying to absorb the conversation. Had the girls completely misinterpreted what I intended when I spoke on dreams and goals? The lesson was so brief, hardly anything could’ve been misconstrued, yet Mrs. Gilford’s words seemed specific about women's rights. I have always been an advocate of women's independence, but here? It’s 1878! I’d hardly hang myself. This home was the only security I knew of. My only option of getting back to 2010 had to be within these walls. Why would I jeopardize that? That's just it—I wouldn't! But who would?
“Was that mum?” Abby asked sweetly. It was heartbreaking that even after Martha's time away, she didn't come into the classroom to speak with the girls. It didn't entirely surprise me, though. Martha’s appearance shocked me and most likely would have alarmed them. Her decline had to be only a matter of time.
“Yes,” I responded, coming back to the present.
“She sounded upset,” Lizzy inquired. “Is everything acceptable?”
“Um . . . ” I debated whether to ask them, but figured we should clear this up soon so no other misunderstandings could happen. My job and life kind of depended on it. “Well, yes, she mentioned that I taught you, girls, to—”
“To what?” Lizzy urged.
“Well, to choose education over marriage.”
“Blimey!” She cried, startled.
“I’m not sure what that means,” Abby spoke with refreshing honesty.
Lizzy ignored her sister and spoke with distress. “You have afforded us much clarity on a variety of subjects, but to incite us to insubordination against our papa? It would provoke immeasurable discord!”
“Exactly,” I said, dumbfounded. “How do you suppose—” I stopped cold. My eyes caught a glimpse out the window that overlooked the nearest garden. One woman led another woman by the hand to a bench near the roses. The familiar profile of Margaret emerged, and she fawned all over Mrs. Gilford. Everything suddenly became clear.
“What were you saying?” Lizzy noticed my distraction and stretched forward to see what caught my attention.
“Lizzy,” I contemplated, “have you mentioned anything of our studies to anyone . . . like maybe Margaret?”
“Very little,” she laughed. “Except yesterday when we went riding, she seemed quite captivated in our discussion. Ordinarily, all she can engage in is herself and Merritt, but on this occasion, she persisted in attaining familiarity about our studies.”
“What did you tell her?” I tried not to arouse suspicion.
“How much I adore you as our governess.” She smiled and added. “I regaled her with the knowledge of a female professor in America . . . at a university, no less.”
“How did she react?”
“Quizzical, I presume. She—” Lizzy labored to find the right words. “She contradicted its possibility.”
Abagale watched the interchange with increased fascination. Her nose scrunched.
Lizzy’s eyebrow rose. “Now that I recall, I believe in the intimacy of a whisper she uttered, perjury.”
“What do you believe, Lizzy?” I asked calmly.
“I believe you are not a deceiver. Miss Margaret has yet to see your sincere and devoted nature as we have, but once enlightened, she will dote on you with admiration. I am sure of it!”
I smiled at her confidence and ignorance, grateful that she didn't see what I saw in Margaret. Mostly, because they will be sisters soon, and though I wished for a different outcome, the girls would have to come to their own conclusion without my slanted prejudice.
“Anything else?”
Lizzy hesitated.
“It’s okay, you can tell me the truth,” I encouraged. Only because I sensed there was more.
“Most of the time, I delight in our time together,” she glanced away. “However, occasionally when my intellect is challenged, I grow weary.”
“Hmmm,” I pursued, “do you believe learning should be a challenge?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “though, I find it unnecessary sometimes. I plan to wed favorably, Miss Katharine. I won’t have much use for mathematics or science when I’m too busy managing my own estate.”
“I have no doubt you’ll marry well, Lizzy.” I placed the chalk at the bottom of the board and wiped the excess dust from my hands against my dress. “But please, think of this as you prepare your dowry, and daydream about your future status. History tells us many women who married nobility or into a monarchy, for example, were knowledgeable about matters of state. They spoke multiple languages, understood geography, finances, and politics, and at times assisted their husbands in difficult life-altering decisions. Women, like Cleopatra Selene, the wife of Juba II, Borte Ujin, wife of the famed Genghis Khan and Caroline of Ansbach, wife to King George. Although they are only a few examples of many, when I studied them, I learned of the enormous contributions they made to not only their families, but to their country, and ultimately to history.”
It had been less than ten minutes since my caution came from Mrs. Gilford about similar talk. I had no intention of making the mistruths accurate, so I proceeded with caution. I hoped that they understood my intentions came genuinely.
“Dear girls, please do not misunderstand me. To be admired as an accomplished, beautiful, and charming wife would be complimentary to any woman. But to add intelligent, proficient, and skilled to your title, well, that would be invaluable.”
“Miss Katharine,” Abagale cooed, “Will you be our teacher forever?”
I laughed tentatively. “I’d love to . . .” My eyes shifted only to Lizzy. “But a teacher is only as good as her students. If they are not teachable, there is no reason to proceed.”
Lizzy’s countenance wrinkled deep in thought, but she remained silent.
“Well, I think we’ve had our fair share of serious conversation today. Anyone want to sneak a lolly and take a stroll?”
The answer was clear when each girl grabbed my hands. Before I could blink; we slipped into the kitchen, ready to raid the icebox for a popsicle.
Once outside and on the trail towards the river, Lizzy’s demeanor rejuvenated to her energetic self, but not before she sidled up to me and whispered, “Miss Katharine, I would like my husband to think I am not merely beautiful, musical, or a capable hostess, I want to be intelligent.”
“Lizzy,” I leaned in, respecting her secret. “I’d be happy to do all I can to be a part of that.” Then kissed her cheek.
While the girls danced near the water, my thoughts shifted back to the serpent that slithered with shrewd intent in the rose garden. Her forked tongue spewed lies and slandered me to others, particularly Mrs. Gilford. This was no longer a childish game. Medusa, the mythological monster, had upped the ante.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Jeff!” My scream consumed every part of me. Terrified, I stared at the lifeless body. “Jeff!” My cry shrieked through the eerie silence; my hands desperately grasped his unresponsive form. No response. Blood . . . whose blood? Rancid smoke and the odor of twisted metal filled my cavities. My eyes burned with no relief. I reached for him again, stretching my fingers, agonizingly into an empty abyss of air. Vivid lights flashed in a pulsating sequence all around me. The little air that seeped through my constricted throat tasted putrid.
Crack! The ear-splitting explosion jolted me violently out of bed. Out of bed? I met the hardwood floor with a painful thud. Drenched in sweat, I used the collar of my nightgown to clear my eyes.
Lightning flashed through the window and lit up my entire room. A string of earth-shattering booms followed. My eyes anxiously scanned the room, Jeff wasn't here, and there was no car. A series of rapid breaths came forcefully as my head hit the floor. I sobbed hysterically.
Reliving the accident was always as tormenting as the incident itself. Only then, I still held Jeff's body in my arms, and now they were painfully empty. The thunder cracked again as the rain pelted the window with a tremendous fierceness. I feared it would break under the strain. I wasn't used to such storms, and it frightened me more than expected. I need to get out of this room. I needed to get away from the images of the mangled car and the scent of death. I hastily grabbed my robe and stepped into the black hallway.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one affected by the strength of Mother Nature. In the shadows, I spotted Merritt with a single flame surrounded by a handful of servants. He moved his light in my direction once I appeared.
“Are you well, Miss Katharine?”
“Yes,” I choked out a weak answer. Through the dark, I could see his alarm. He moved closer; my eyes couldn't lie. I was a mess.
“Nothing to fret over, these walls amplify the sounds worse than they really are.” My chest heaved while stabilizing my breath. The booms continued in steady succession.
“Joseph,” Merritt pointed to a young man who came from downstairs.
“Please take Arthur with you and check on the horses. They get quite restless at these times.”
“Joseph?” I whispered in between narrow exhales. “He can’t be the Joseph, from your story, he’s too young?” I sat in the closest chair and pulled my knees up to my chest. Merritt’s confused expression led me to believe he forgot our Truth or Dare conversation.
“The Joseph?” He tilted his head. “Oh,” it clicked. His face dropped a little. “No, it’s his son.” Once the men disappeared downstairs, Merritt and I were alone.
“May I see you to your room?” His question came with an urgency, seemingly aware of our intimate circumstances.
I remained silent.
“Katharine?”
“I can't.” Tears quickly filled my eyes. “Please, Merritt, I’m sorry, I can't.” The dreadful image of Jeff's listless face embossed deeply in my head. I couldn’t go back into the room just yet.
“It's all right.” His voice soothed.
“No, it's not!” I unjustly snapped. “He's gone.”
“Who's gone?”
I pressed my fists into my eyes.
“Katharine, who’s gone?”
“Jeff.” I slurred. It wasn’t Merritt’s fault, but anger consumed me.
“Who is Jeff?” Merritt sincerely inquired as he dropped to one knee and faced me directly. I pulled my nightgown sleeve over my face. It was instantly soaked. He ignored any standard decorum and pulled me in for a much-needed embrace. The gentleness in his touch brought a comfort that I had missed for a very long time. He didn’t release until I did.
Once my sobs slowed to a sniffle, Merritt’s whisper tickled my ear. “Allow me to manifest a seldom seen treasure in Charlock.” I found his eyes. They were compassionate and inviting. “It’s guaranteed to ignite your senses . . . like nothing you’ve ever seen before.”
He stood slowly, offered his arm, and led me down the staircase directly to the ballroom. The room remained pitch black for only a brief second. The lightning flashes that exploded on the outside of the enormous windows created an unusual reflection off the giant chandelier's carved crystals. He was right. As I watched the intermittent sparks of staggering brilliance, I truly had seen nothing like it. It glowed almost as if it were on fire.
“The only time I have ever witnessed it, radiate in this fashion, is during a raging lightning storm.” Merritt confessed, “A rare vision.”
“It is,” I sniveled. The tears slowed down. Any word I could use to describe its splendor would be grossly underrated. It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. “How did you know about this?”
“My grandmother showed it to me. The storms frightened me as a young boy, and I cried incessantly through each one.” Merritt chuckled, “She wanted me to see how beauty could arise from something so dark.”
“What a clever woman.”
“Quite.”
“Were you close to her?”
“Oh, yes. She was my mentor.”
“She died when you were fourteen, didn’t she?”
“How did you know that?” Merritt turned to me. His eyes filled with surprise.
“Th—the girls . . .” I stuttered. Swiftly trying to cover up. “The girls mentioned it to me.” Although it truthfully came from the one journal I read. Mrs. Gilford included a passage where her mother spoke of Merritt as her greatest treasure.
His face grew somber through the split-second bursts. “Yes, her death devastated us all.”
“I'm sorry, Merritt. I really am.” My thoughts went to another agonizing death that lingered around the corner . . . one I could not divulge. My heart hung heavy.
We spent a considerable time in complete silence until I spoke up. “Merritt?”
“Yes?”
“Did you ever make it right with Joseph? The older Joseph?” I completely changed the subject.
“Is this a Truth or Dare question?” He lightened the mood.
“Well, if it has to be . . .” I charged impatiently. “I want to know.”
“Then I choose dare.” He appeared completely at ease.
“Really?” My chin rose as a sly smile emerged. “Are you sure about that?”
“Uh,” he faltered, “no, I'll take, truth.” My bluff worked.
“Exactly what I thought.” My nose wrinkled as I recognized Merritt’s ability to get me to chuckle. “Joseph?”
“Yes, Joseph.” He took his time. “Yes . . .” He mumbled. “It wasn't until I graduated from Oxford that I fully recognized the error of my ways. Possibly maturity, responsibility, call it what you may, but I knew I needed to rectify my wrongs. Joseph being one of many.”
“Oh, really?” I grinned.
“Only one question per turn,” Merritt added, recognizing the tone of my voice.
“Well . . . ”
“Well, what?”
“Seriously, Merritt,” I groaned. “You can be most aggravating sometimes.”
“Me?” He asked feigning innocence.
“What did you do for Joseph?”
“By the time I returned, Joseph grew too old to work daily. I employed his eldest son as my groom and compensated the elder a full year's worth of wages, including a horse from my private collection. It paled in comparison to the offense I inflicted, but he will never hunger, and his family will have a lifetime of employ if they choose.”
“I knew you would make it right,” I said, pleased. Quite satisfied that I knew Merritt would not have left it unresolved.
“May I ask an inquiry of you?” He pursued gingerly.
I nodded with some apprehension.
“Who is Jeff?” The compassion in Merritt’s countenance reflected the sparks shooting through the windows.
My eyes fell to my lap; I wanted to tell him so many times. I�
��ve wanted to share this very private part of my life since the onset of our growing friendship. Only getting the words to come forth turned out to be harder than I thought it would be.
Merritt patiently waited with one hand holding mine. The warmth that radiated from his touch should have been igniting but produced a serene calm.
“He was the love of my life,” I said, without crying. “We were going to be married a year ago, in June.” Of course, I meant June 2009.
“What happened to him?” His voice held soft and kind.
My thoughts instantly shot back to my nightmare, and my experience only moments earlier. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. “He was killed.”
Merritt’s arm went instinctively around my shoulders. His fingers lifted my chin, which forced me to look at him. “I’m sorry, Katharine.” His eyes were moist and pained. “Losing a loved one is most unbearable.”
“There were times I didn’t want to go on.” I whimpered.
“To proceed without them—.” Merritt sighed. “Is likely the most difficult undertaking.”
“I see him in my dreams, nightmares mostly. They start out nice. I see his smile, his dimple. The way he gazed upon me, and we’re happy, then it suddenly turns dark. I hate it.”
“I, as well.” Merritt’s voice trembled. I wondered at first if he was still talking about his grandmother, then realized his pain went much deeper. “I, too, lost someone.” He confessed.
I recalled the handprint in the master suite. “Peter,” I whispered.
Merritt’s eyes didn’t blink. “H—how do you know about Peter?”
“I—I don’t really know much, the girls mentioned it.” I probably needed to stop using the girls as my reference to everything, in case he checked.
The creases in his forehead made it apparent the wound remained fresh. He struggled even now to find the words.
“Merritt, you don’t have to tell me. I know how it feels when you aren’t ready.” I related to his silence.
“No.” When he peered up, his eyes were glossy. “I want to. I haven’t said his name in years.” He glanced over to the window as the storm raged on. “I had just turned eight, Peter was four. He was immensely annoying, always trailing behind, and eager to partake in everything I pursued.” His voice faded as he stood up and paced. “I wasn’t aware he’d followed me to the river that day.”