by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
The breath froze inside her lungs, and she put a hand on her belly. Did she want to have a baby, Randolph’s baby? It would be a fitting tribute to him, but she knew he wouldn’t want her to be the mother of his only heir. Lord, Your will be done in this. If I am to be the mother of Randolph’s child, let it be a son. He would have liked that. And help me to train him up to be an honorable man who follows closely after You.
“All done.” Maggie nodded at her. “Now you look the proper widow and very becoming in black.”
She gazed at her reflection. “But black is so dreary. Do you know that in Mississippi the governor tried to pass a law banning mourning clothes after the War Between the States? Everyone had lost someone, and it was depressing to have the whole state in black.”
“Now we aren’t in Mississippi, are we? We’re in Washington State. And that war was over long before you were born.”
Randolph hadn’t had the wife he wanted, but maybe she could be the kind of widow he would have been proud of. “Maggie, what do we have to fill my basket?”
“You aren’t going to feed the birds? Today?”
“It stopped raining. They have to eat. They were expecting me yesterday.”
Maggie took a deep breath. “I’ll have Scotty hitch up the carriage.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Maggie held up her hand and went on quickly. “I don’t want no fuss from you. You’re a widow now, and I won’t have you walking around when you are in black.”
She opened her mouth to object.
“One word of fuss from you and I’ll have Scotty bolt this door shut. I’ll talk to Scotty and meet you in the kitchen.”
“Maggie.”
The housekeeper turned in the doorway with a look of determination. She was a feisty woman, and she was just trying to look after her mistress.
“Thank you.”
Vivian had the basket half full by the time Maggie entered the kitchen.
“The carriage will be around front in a jiffy.” Maggie walked into the pantry and came out with a paper sack. “I was so upset yesterday that I had to bake. I think those birds will like these gingersnaps.”
“You’re a peach.” She put them into her basket, and she walked out front with Maggie as Scotty drove up in the carriage. Scotty helped her into the carriage then assisted Maggie with her own basket for shopping.
Maggie insisted that she be dropped off at the fish market first, and Scotty stayed with Vivian. She didn’t object, because she knew that Maggie would win. She left Scotty in the carriage and went down to the beach. She barely sat when Peter came running with the others close behind.
“Where were you yesterday? We couldn’t find you.” Peter jumped up onto the log next to her.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.” She didn’t want to explain her troubles to them. They had enough of their own. “Let’s thank the Lord for this food.”
They joined hands and all said, “Thank You, Jesus, for this food. Amen.”
She handed out the food. “How is that other loose tooth of yours?”
Peter bared his teeth, or at least what was left of them, then fished in his pocket, pulling out a white baby tooth.
She smiled. “It came out.”
“He kept pulling at it until it came out,” Tommy said, looking half jealous that Peter would be getting another penny. “There was blood all over his face.”
“Can I have another penny?”
Betsy looked up. “That’s not polite. You don’t ask people for money.”
“But she gave me one last time.”
She had forgotten the pennies. “I haven’t any. I’ll bring you one next time. One for each of you.”
Peter wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Why’re you wearing black?”
“Peter! That’s not nice,” Betsy piped up.
“Well, I don’t like black. It makes me sad.”
It made her sad, too, but out of respect for Randolph she was almost glad she was wearing it.
Betsy put her hand on Peter’s arm. “It means she knows someone who died.”
Peter looked at Vivian with big brown eyes. Eyes that could melt any girl’s heart. “Who died?”
Betsy huffed and shook her head.
“It’s all right, Betsy.” There was no reason not to tell them. “Have you ever heard of Captain Carlyle?”
They all shook their heads except George. “He’s your husband, and a mighty fine captain, from what I hear.”
“That’s right, but his ship sank.”
“Did he swim to shore?” Peter’s eyes rounded even more.
She wrapped her arm around the boy. “No. He didn’t.”
“He’s the one who died, silly,” Betsy said.
Peter sat up straighter and frowned. “He shouldn’t have died. Didn’t he know you would be sad for him?”
She hugged Peter. His simple comment warmed her heart. “He didn’t have a choice. He was on his ship when it got struck by lightning.”
When Betsy had eaten part of her food and put the rest in her pocket, Vivian took out the yard goods scraps, needle, and thread. “First, I’ll show you how to thread a needle and sew two pieces of fabric together.” If Betsy could learn simple sewing skills, maybe she could apprentice with a real seamstress and not live her life on the streets or in some seedy back room.
Vivian was tired by the time she returned from visiting the children. She stared up at the two-story blue Victorian house. She didn’t feel as though she belonged here, but where else should she go? Wasn’t the house hers now? She entered and walked around, slowly surveying everything in it. Nothing of hers was there. It was all Randolph’s. He wouldn’t like for her to start changing things, but she didn’t feel comfortable here knowing Randolph disapproved of her. Would he want her out of his house?
A throat cleared behind her. “Ma’am.”
“Yes, Maggie.”
Maggie looked a bit nervous but squared her shoulders. “I know you said not to, but there will be a seamstress arriving momentarily to measure you for a new mourning dress.”
She thinned her lips. Just because she had money didn’t mean she should waste it. “You have wasted her time then, because I’m not commissioning another mourning dress. This one will do fine, and if I need another, we can dye one of the many other dresses Randolph bought me.” Randolph had spared no expense on her wardrobe.
“She’s a widow.”
Vivian relaxed her mouth.
“She has a small son to provide for.”
Maggie knew just how to pull at her heartstrings. “Is she bad off?”
“She’s going to lose her home soon.”
“When will she arrive?”
Maggie went to the window. “I think that’s her walking up the street.”
“Hurry. Help me get out of this dress.” She headed for the stairs.
Maggie trailed after her. “Why?”
“I’ll wear the gray dress or another one. If I’m wearing black, she might think I don’t really need a mourning dress.”
“You’re a wealthy woman. You don’t need a reason to purchase another dress.”
“Just help me out of this.” She knew that this woman would want meaningful work and not just charity handouts.
Maggie unhooked the back of the bodice. The doorbell chimed.
“Put her in the parlor and then come back up to help me.”
As Maggie hurried from the room, Vivian shucked out of the rest of the dress. She got her gray dress and had the skirt on and fastened and the bodice pulled on when Maggie returned.
“She’s in the parlor. I served her tea and gingersnaps. Her son is a little cutie. He’ll steal your heart.”
She put her hand on her stomach as Maggie hooked up the back of her bodice. Would she be having a son?
She wanted to rush down the stairs and greet this poor widow, but she took the stairs slowly and entered the parlor to see a sunny-faced woman smiling at her four-year-old son.
Maggie cl
eared her throat. “Mrs. Parker, this is Mrs. Carlyle.”
The woman stood, straightening her blue dress and schooling her smile. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” She put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Harry won’t be any trouble; I promise. He’s a good boy.” The poor woman looked so nervous.
Vivian smiled at the blond woman. “It’s no problem. Please sit.” Mrs. Parker didn’t look like a widow. She hadn’t really expected the woman to be dressed in black, but without it, she looked like any other woman. How long a widow? How long would she herself be required to wear mourning garb?
She turned to the boy and held out the plate of gingersnaps. “Would you like a cookie?”
The boy looked up at her with big brown eyes. When he nodded his head, his blond curls danced. He reminded her of Peter with blond hair. He didn’t take a cookie; instead, he looked to his mother, who nodded. Mrs. Parker held up one finger, and he reached out a chubby hand and took just one.
“What do you say, Harry?” Mrs. Parker prodded.
The cookie hovered between his lips, but he managed to say, “Thank you.”
Mrs. Parker turned her blue eyes on her. “Thank you, Mrs. Carlyle, for the cookie as well as the opportunity to interview with you. I wore my best dress so you could see my sewing. I also made Harry’s clothes.” She held out her arm for Vivian to inspect her work.
“Please call me Vivian.” She made a show of studying the dress then looking at Harry’s clothes. She wanted the woman to think she’d given it thought and wasn’t just handing out charity. Some people were proud. But if you got hungry enough, or your son got hungry enough, even a proud person would stoop to accepting charity … and even lower.
“Please call me Abigail.” Abigail handed her a small patchwork of fabrics. “I brought this so you could see my stitches.”
The stitching was even and smooth, better than Vivian had ever done. “Abigail, as you can see, I’m in need of a mourning dress, and rather quickly so. How soon would you be able to complete it?”
“If I work very hard, a week.”
“Fine. I’ll have Scotty bring round the carriage while you take my measurements, and we can go choose a pattern and fabric right now, if that suits you.”
Abigail smiled. “The sooner I have all the materials, the sooner I can have your dress completed.”
Vivian took Abigail and Harry to an uptown shop, purchased everything needed to make the dress, and dropped them off at their little house with a FOR SALE sign in the front yard. It warmed her inside to know she was helping a woman in need. A side benefit was that Maggie wouldn’t harp on her for having only one appropriate mourning dress.
When she returned home, Maggie met her at the front door and handed her an envelope. “This came by special messenger.”
She turned it over. Benton, Attorney at Law. Randolph’s lawyer. She broke the seal.
“Mr. Jackson is waiting for you in the back garden.”
What was Conner doing here in the middle of the day? It must be important. He had a store to run. She thanked Maggie and went out back. Conner stood in the yard by her lilac bushes, whose leaves were beginning to turn color. “Conner, is everything all right?”
He turned and met her on the stone patio. “How are you doing?”
“You left your store and came here in the middle of the day to ask me how I am?” But then why shouldn’t he? Scotty had been at his store first thing two mornings on her behalf. “I’m fine.”
Maggie came out and set a tea tray on the patio table. “Shall I serve?”
“I’ll do it. Thank you, Maggie.” She sat at the table, setting down her envelope, and gave Conner a cup of tea.
“Thank you.” Conner took a sip then set his cup down before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out an envelope similar to hers. “I came about this. I’ll come and get you and take you. You shouldn’t have to go alone.”
She picked up her envelope. “I just received one, too. I haven’t read it yet. Maggie told me you were waiting for me. What does it say?”
“It’s about Randolph’s will.”
Her breath stilled in her chest for a moment before she could breathe again. “I hadn’t thought about a will.”
“I’m sure he left you everything.”
If Randolph had had time before he sailed, he wouldn’t have left her anything. “Then why would you have received a notice?”
He looked at her, concerned for a moment. “We’re old friends.”
She hoped Randolph did leave Conner something of value. He’d always been a good friend to her husband. He deserved something for his friendship and loyalty all these years. “I would appreciate the company.”
“The reading is in three days, the day after the funeral, at two. I’ll come for you at one thirty.” He stood, gave her a small bow, and left.
She put her hand on her belly. If a baby was growing inside her, it would be good to know what Randolph had left his child. She opened the envelope and read it briefly. She was to be at the attorney’s office at one thirty, not two. It also said that if that was inconvenient or she would prefer he come to the house, he would make those arrangements.
She went into the parlor and sat at the writing desk. She penned one letter to the attorney saying she would be at his office at one thirty in three days and penned a second informing Conner she would meet him at the attorney’s. Then she sent Scotty to deliver them. Conner came that evening to tell her he would arrive at one and still accompany her; then he stayed for supper.
Chapter 5
Two days later, Vivian sat in the front pew of the church with a multitude of Randolph’s mourners gathered behind her. Most of them likely attended as a social obligation. She wished all but his true friends had stayed home; that would be the best way to honor the dead.
She turned her focus to the wreath of fall flowers with a sash of black crepe. All that there was to represent a life. How sad. I’m sorry it wasn’t me, Randolph. You were a good man, better than me. I might be carrying your son. I’ll raise him well and tell him all about his brave sea captain father.
She was as much a hypocrite as some of the others in attendance. A tear trickled down her cheek. She went to wipe it away with her gloved hand when a black handkerchief dangled in front of her. She took it and looked up at Conner. “Thank you.” She dabbed at her face.
He stood tall and lean and was quite handsome in his black suit. “It’ll be starting soon.” He sat next to her.
Maggie and Scotty sat at the other end of her pew. They were going to sit in the back, but she insisted that they sit up front with her. She didn’t want to sit alone, and they were as close to Randolph as she—probably closer. They had known him longer, and Randolph always regarded them highly. She’d appreciated that Randolph treated them well and spoke to them with respect, from one human being to another.
Minister Sciuto’s words about her husband were beautiful. Then Conner stood up front and shared about his childhood friend.
“I met Randolph twenty years ago. He was ten and I was seven and his brother, William, was five. At a time in my life when the whole human race looked hopeless to me, I admired and respected Randolph. He always looked out for me and William. He was a friend and claimed me as a brother.”
Vivian choked up. In her own troubles, she’d forgotten just how close Conner had been to her husband all his life. He must be grieving terribly. It was a far greater loss for him than it was for her, and that saddened her further. She cried for Conner’s loss. Conner ended by reading a lengthy poem called The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Randolph’s favorite. Since she’d become a Christian, she’d been plagued with the question of God really loving her with her past. So when Randolph had recited this poem for her, she’d latched on to the third stanza from the end. Now she listened for it:
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
It once again comforted her to know that God made her and that He loved her in spite of herself.
When Conner finished, he sat back down next to her. She gripped his hand to comfort him. He squeezed back. The remainder of the service, she sat with her hand in his, afraid to take the comfort from him; he’d suffered such a deep loss.
At the conclusion of the service, she was ushered out a side door to a waiting carriage. The carriage she shared with Conner came immediately after the minister’s carriage. There were no pallbearers to keep him company, and there was no hearse between that carriage and hers. There was no need. There was no body. It bothered her that she couldn’t put Randolph’s body to rest in the ground. But he was a seaman through and through and probably preferred to die at sea rather than on land.
She stood beside an empty grave. Not even a grave. A stone marker to remember the passing of a life. Conner had had an image of Randolph’s ship engraved in the stone:
Captain Randolph Carlyle
Devoted Husband
May he rest at peace in God’s loving arms
March 1, 1868–September 29, 1898
Devoted husband. Conner had suggested putting loving husband on the marker, but Vivian knew that wouldn’t be accurate. Loathing had filled Randolph’s eyes the night he left. Yet she could concede that he might have been devoted to her, at least for a time. If she could only go back and change it all. She knew he wanted to marry her because of her beauty, and she wanted the security of marriage. She would never make that mistake again. She would only marry for love. Someone who could love her in spite of her past.
She gripped the white roses in her hands. Maggie had cut them from Randolph’s own garden and lovingly removed all the thorns for her. A last remembrance of a man who loved the sea and loved his roses. If he could have taken his rosebushes on the ship with him, he would have had no reason to step foot on land.
Minister Sciuto began speaking: “Randolph John Carlyle. Captain. Husband. Friend.”
The minister’s voice faded away as she lowered her head. Tears gathered in her eyes but not for the reason that other widows had tears at their husband’s funeral. So many regrets.