“Well, you can kiss any chances you had of reuniting with Sylvester Conway goodbye,” she announced, definitely piqued.
Eleanor dried herself then slipped a clean nightgown on over her head. “You’ve spoken to Sylvester?”
“I didn’t have to. His mother paid me a visit early this evening.”
“His mother?” Now Eleanor was curious.
“The woman who controls the Conway fortune.” Willa nearly choked on the words. “She said to inform you that her son would not be calling on you ever again.”
Eleanor removed the towel from her head and began drawing a comb through her long, heavy hair. Dante’s compliment about it touched her thoughts. She tried to push it aside, but felt an odd pleasure in it. “That’s a relief.”
“A relief!? You find some humor in this…this outrage?”
Suddenly contrite, she answered. “Of course not, but—”
“To think that a gentlewoman of her stature and reputation should come to my home, believing we are willingly harboring the Jezebel who has sullied her dear son’s name—”
“I may be a lot of things, and right now I realize you think very little of me,” Eleanor interrupted, quelling her own anger, “but I’m hardly a Jezebel.”
Willa gasped a sob and pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. She blinked back a sheen of tears. “You couldn’t possibly have done anything worse to us, Eleanor.”
Eleanor actually felt sorry for her. Willa’s life was superficial and vain, but it was the only life she had ever known, and now it was in jeopardy.
“I would never have gone with Dante if I’d thought for even a moment that we wouldn’t be back in a few hours. I would never purposely do something to harm your reputation, or Calvin’s. Surely you know that. I’m sorry this all had to happen, sorrier than I can say.” And she meant it.
Willa shook her head, her eyes still shiny with unshed tears. “That’s not good enough. An apology just isn’t good enough.”
Attempting to remain calm, Eleanor braided her damp hair. “What else can I do?”
Willa swallowed convulsively. “You’ll have to move out.”
There was a brief, sinking sensation in Eleanor’s stomach. “I see. And Calvin agrees?”
A quick, jerky nod. “Oh, you know he doesn’t want to, but this isn’t good for business, Eleanor, surely you must understand that. Why, they could let Calvin go just because of the gossip.”
For once, Eleanor did not even think of disparaging Willa, even to herself. This entire disaster had landed on her sister-in-law’s shoulders, and to save her family and her name, she had done what she’d had to do: convince Calvin to put his own sister out into the street. And oddly enough, Eleanor didn’t blame her. She actually applauded her.
“I’ll look for lodgings in the morning,” she promised.
“Mrs. Lauder has a room,” Willa offered, her voice quiet. “Calvin and I will pay your rent for a month.”
“That’s not necessary, Willa. I’ve saved money from my piano students, and future lessons will help me pay Mrs. Lauder.”
Willa’s expression became even more grim, and Eleanor sensed there was additional bad news. “I do still have my piano students, don’t I?”
After a long pause, Willa’s answer was almost contrite. “I’m afraid not.” She looked quickly at Eleanor. “I had nothing to do with their cancellations. They all…obviously heard, and made their own decisions.”
“I understand.” Eleanor wondered if this was just a bad dream, for everything seemed quite unreal. “Well, then, I might have to take you up on that rent money, at least until I can find other employment.”
Willa gave her a nervous smile and edged toward the door. “Of course. Good night, now.” And she was gone.
In bed, Eleanor continued to think about her predicament. Oddly, she wasn’t afraid of a tentative future; she almost relished it.
She wasn’t pleased at having to be back in Mrs. Lauder’s clutches, but she vowed she wouldn’t stay there long. Hopefully she could find a room closer to the orphanage. That would be ideal. She had given a brief thought to asking the nuns if she could stay there, but that was expecting too much, even for them. It would be selfish of her to count on those wonderful women to harbor her like a criminal.
But she still had to have an income. What could she do? Even if she regained all of her piano students and got new ones, it was not a lucrative profession.
She could apply for a position as a nanny or a housekeeper. She had Willa to thank for giving her plenty of experience for that position, she thought wryly.
And she was a passable nurse, having cared for her mother through her long, sad illness.
Eleanor decided that she was fortunate that she could do something, that she hadn’t been so indulged that she’d grown up knowing how to do absolutely nothing useful.
The door squeaked open. “Aunt Ellie?”
“Come in, Lydia.” Eleanor scooted over in bed and raised the quilt as her niece climbed in beside her.
“I feel so sad for you,” Lydia murmured as she snuggled close.
“Oh, my dearest,” Eleanor crooned. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll be fine.”
They were quiet for a while, then Lydia asked, “What did you do on the island?”
Eleanor inhaled, remembering the sights and smells, knowing she would never forget a moment of what had happened to her. Knowing that if she never found a man to love her as she hoped she would in her dreams, she would still have memories of Dante. “Well, first we looked for wood and built a fire.”
“And then what did the pirate do?”
“He explained why he had wanted me to come sailing with him in the first place.”
“And why did he?”
Eleanor told Lydia of Dante’s work, of the papers he wrote on his voyages. She explained that he had wanted her to see some of the flowers and wildlife that grew in their very own Boston Harbor. She talked about his voyages to far off places to save the whale and the sea otter and those big, huge turtles he had told her about weeks before.
She told about exotic places he had been, and that he hoped the papers he was writing would get people to understand that if they killed all the sea animals, there would be none left for the children who are born in the generations after Lydia’s.
She explained that if all of those wonderful sea animals were to be slaughtered, the only way other children would ever learn about them would be in books.
Actually, she told her everything she had learned at Dante’s townhouse, and nothing of what they had actually done on the island.
Lydia sighed. “If he’s afraid those animals will be gone, why doesn’t he write a book about them himself?”
An insightful question. “Even though he can write about them factually, perhaps he doesn’t feel he has the knack for writing about them in an entertaining way.”
“I wish I could see those creatures, Aunt Ellie; then I could write about them.”
“And you’d do a wonderful job,” Eleanor assured her, knowing it was true.
“But he is wonderful, isn’t he, Aunt Ellie?”
“He’s a very special person,” she admitted.
“He was nice to you there, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Eleanor answered. “He was nice to me.” He was wonderful to her. He was, unfortunately, the man of Eleanor’s dreams. Although it was dark in the bedroom, she felt Lydia’s gaze.
Finally she spoke. “I heard Mama tell Papa that the pirate would never marry you, even though he’s responsible for what happened.”
There was truth in that, Eleanor knew it. “It isn’t all his fault, Lydia. I’m responsible, too, because I went with him, even though we had no chaperone.”
“But do you think he would marry you?” Lydia pressed.
“No,” Eleanor answered, remembering their conversation on the island, and knowing it was true. “I had asked him a question about something else, and he told me that he would never be a husband. Th
at he would never marry.”
“But,” Lydia urged, unable to give up the subject, “if he asked you, would you marry him?”
Eleanor smiled into the darkness. It wasn’t a question she had even dared allow herself to ask, because if truth were told, except for his womanizing, Dante was just the sort of man she would want. Of course, he would have to love her, and because she knew he didn’t, it was all moot anyway.
“In a make believe world, if he proposed, and I could change a few of his bad habits, and if I were sure that he loved me as I loved him, I would marry him.”
Lydia snuggled closer. “I knew it. He likes you, Aunt Ellie.”
Yes. Eleanor knew he liked her, and she liked him. As a matter of fact, she was afraid it was beginning to feel like more than that, and it worried her.
As Lydia slept beside her, Eleanor realized that since she’d come home, she hadn’t given Dante too much thought. And she knew why. It was easier to look forward to her future if she forgot about him, for to remember what he’d been to her those few brief days, and to even dream that it might continue, was to tempt folly.
Sixteen
Nothing at the rooming house had changed. Mrs. Lauder stood in the doorway with her hand out for the rent, her hair still a color of red that could not be found in nature, her spittoons splattered with her own tobacco spittle, and her cough no better than it had been before.
And as Eleanor took the dusty stairs to her room, the crone informed her that had it not been for Willa and Calvin Simmons’s generosity, Eleanor would not have found a room, for the landlady did not take kindly to rumors or scandals. Eleanor didn’t believe a word of it, but she didn’t argue. What was the point?
She kept herself busy at the orphanage, and on her way home each afternoon, she searched for more lucrative employment. The nuns had been wonderful, though, promising to continue paying her to give the children piano lessons. It was something, and she was grateful for it.
She had looked for Dante there, but had not seen him. One of the sisters had told her that he had gone to New York on business just after they had returned from Middle Brewster. No one knew how long he would be gone.
Part of Eleanor had been disappointed, but she was relieved, too, because she had no idea how she would feel once she saw him again.
Toward the end of her first week at the boarding house, Mrs. Lauder met her at the door. “You got a caller,” she announced, pointing a bony finger toward the parlor.
A flurry of butterflies attacked Eleanor’s stomach, for she had thought, maybe hoped, it was Dante.
It was not.
As she stepped into the room, a tall, thin man with a hawklike face turned from the window. He studied her briefly, his gaze lingering on her face before he finally issued a small smile. “Good day, ma’am.”
“Good day,” she answered, then moved toward him.
He handed her a card. Jonathan Keller, Attorney at Law. A San Francisco address was scripted beneath the name.
Puzzled, she asked, “What can I do for you, Mr. Keller?”
He went to the slant-front desk, opened a handsome leather case, drew out an envelope, and handed it to her. “I have a letter that was to be delivered to you upon the death of Amos Rayburn.”
With shaky fingers, Eleanor took the envelope and stared at her name on the front, written in Amos’s stark script. She glanced up. “You came all the way from San Francisco to deliver this?”
His expression was grim. “I just recently heard about the captain’s death, and I had business in New York, so thought a personal delivery was proper.”
Eleanor inhaled, realizing she was nervous. “Well, thank you, Mr. Keller. I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Excuse me, ma’am, but I’ve been asked to wait until you’ve read it. You may have questions.”
“I see.” She opened the envelope, slipping her thumb along the closed edges, then pulled out the letter. She sat on the worn settee and took a deep breath, expelling it slowly before she began.
Dear Eleanor,
As you read this, you already know that I have somehow met my death. I have much to tell you, so will not be egregious in my explanations.
You may or may not already know that your brother, Calvin, gave me $5,000 if I would marry you. To be blunt, I needed the money, so I agreed.
That, alone, might have been a shock if she hadn’t just learned of it. She read on.
Before you realize how much you despise me, which you have every right to do, do not think that I wasn’t pleased to have such a bright, unpretentious girl as my bride. I was. But I often wondered if you ever questioned my especially long treks to sea, for when other whaling wives were entertaining their husbands every year or so, you usually did not see me for two or more. I am compelled to tell you the truth, albeit I am a coward for doing it this way.
As I write this, you have just told me about the babe you carry. I am cautiously elated, for I will not deny that I desperately want a son.
I want a son, you see, because I already have five daughters.
Eleanor gasped and read the line again. Her gaze flew to the lawyer, but he stood with his back to her, gazing out the smudged window. She returned to the letter.
And a wife. Her name is Genevieve. We have been married for over twenty years.
Eleanor’s insides quaked. “You knew of this other family?” she asked the attorney, stunned at his assenting nod. Again, she continued to read.
So you see, my dear girl, I am a bigamist, and I willingly became one for two reasons. Because whaling is not providing for my wife and daughters, I need money to support them. And I desperately needed a son, but my Genevieve is no longer a strong, healthy woman. She is ill.
Glancing up from the letter, Eleanor listened to her erratic breathing and the click-clack of the old clock that sat atop the fireplace mantle. They both sounded out of sync, just like her thoughts. She swallowed and bent to resume reading, amazed that with her heart and her brain so scrambled, she could even understand the words.
So, Eleanor, I am a bigamist, a cad, and a selfish bastard who has only used you. And when I’m gone, you will also discover that my shares in the St. Louis have been sold to pay for Genevieve’s medical costs.
I’m sorry to have hurt you. There are a great many things I admire about you, your youth and your strength, among them. While my Genevieve may not survive, I know that with your strength, you will.
Again, I am sorry.
Amos
Fingers still shaking, Eleanor folded the letter and held it in her lap, her gaze fixed on the far parlor wall and the tattered, peeling wallpaper. Her heart beat a savage tempo, and her stomach knotted like harpooning rope.
Mr. Keller cleared his throat. “I also represent Genevieve Rayburn.”
Eleanor blinked and looked at him. “Does she know of me?”
“Captain Rayburn wrote her a letter as well,” he explained. “But what he did not do was provide for them should he…pass on before his time.”
Eleanor tried to laugh, but could not. “And how does this affect me? As you can see, Mr. Keller, he did not provide for me either.”
“Genevieve Rayburn, the captain’s legal wife, is requesting any assets that may be due her.”
Eleanor gave him a sidelong glance. “Mr. Keller, if you can find any of Amos’s assets, the woman can have them with my blessing.”
“They would be hers in any case, madam.”
Her smile was bleak. “Yes. Of course. I fear it will be like squeezing blood from a stone, but I hope you can find something for them.”
Suddenly a thought came to her. “Surely, all of Amos’s daughters aren’t still living at home,” she contemplated. “Are they not able to help with their mother’s care and expenses?”
Mr. Keller’s expression reflected sympathy. “The eldest, who is twenty, is…addled. Retarded, if you will. The youngest is not normal, either. She is slow and has unusual features, including slanting eyes, a rather broad, short s
kull and short fingers. I believe there is a term for it, I just cannot recall what it is.”
All at once, Eleanor felt great compassion for Amos, despite what he had done to her. “I believe they call it mongolism.”
The lawyer nodded. “Yes. Well, as you can imagine, the three middle children are trying very hard to keep their sisters from an asylum, and their mother from dying in the poor house.”
“How very, very sad.” Eleanor couldn’t imagine the anguish the poor family was going through, now that Amos was gone.
Mr. Keller closed his leather case. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”
Eleanor stood, discovering that her knees shook, but she walked him to the door anyway. “I hope you find something, Mr. Keller, but I expect that you won’t.”
After he left, Eleanor stood on the rickety porch, digesting what she’d learned.
So, who was she, anyway? Eleanor Simmons, or Eleanor Rayburn? She shook her head and smiled sadly. What did it matter? Now, at least, she understood why Amos had married her, and also why he had sold his shares in the whaler.
She didn’t agree with his reasoning, but she was certainly in no position to disapprove of his actions. Until she faced a great trauma in her own life, she could not make such a judgment.
She went inside and crossed to the stairway.
“So.”
Mrs. Lauder’s voice from the parlor doorway startled her, but she didn’t respond.
“So,” the crone repeated. “You married a bigamist.”
Eleanor’s spirits sank further. Mrs. Lauder had no doubt been lurking just beyond the door, listening to every word.
“So it appears,” she answered, hoping to end the conversation. She took the stairs to her room, anxious to be alone.
She was looking out the window at the docks, watching the bustle of activity, when the landlady knocked once, then opened the door.
“Yes?” Eleanor did not turn.
“You dropped this,” Mrs. Lauder announced, shoving Amos’s letter under her nose.
Eleanor snatched the letter. In her confusion and disbelief, she must have let it fall to the floor. Now, she had no doubt whatsoever that everyone in Boston would soon know her business down to the most sordid detail.
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