“Oh, dear. You didn’t know. Mercy me, had I any idea …” Mary’s voice petered out unhappily.
“I was told only that she drowned.” Caroline’s voice was quiet. “Please tell me the truth. I—need to know.”
“That she drowned is true enough, but …” Mary paused, looking troubled. “Perhaps I should not be telling you this. If she was your sister, you must have loved her. I fear that the knowing will cause you pain.”
“We were sisters, half sisters, really, but I had not seen her in fifteen years, and we did not grow up together. I saw her perhaps twice a year until she left England. Though I loved her as I remembered her to be, I know little more of her than if she had been a stranger. Your words will not cause me any pain that I cannot bear. And if I am to make my home here, it will help me to know.”
“Yes.” Mary seemed to accept that, but still she hesitated. When at last she continued, her words were almost reluctant. “From what James has told me, I gather that she imagined herself a witch. She was not, of course, or she would not have ended so miserably, because of course we all know that witches float. What she was, was mad. She—oh, I cannot tell you this!”
“Please!”
Mary flushed, and looked down at her baby playing happily on the floor. When her gaze returned to Caroline, Caroline saw embarrassment, but also determination, in the soft brown eyes.
“She pursued—men. Any man. All men. She was insatiable, I was told. James—she tried to seduce James, which was what led to his moving out of the house and, eventually, to our being wed. And Daniel too, I think. He was gone when—when she died, and he would not have left Matt except for cause. They are all most devoted to Matt, you know. ’Twould not surprise me if she had tried her wiles on all of them. She certainly attempted many in the town, until Matt took to keeping her locked up. You see, there was once a latch on the outside of the door where Matt now sleeps. ’Twas her room then, and Matt would lock her in it, for her own safety and that of everyone else.”
“He locked her up?” It was scarcely more than a whisper. Caroline was so appalled by what she was hearing that it was all she could do to form the words.
“After she first tried to kill herself, so that she would not get the chance again. He saved her that time, you know, though it ended up costing him dear.”
“Matt?”
Mary nodded. “ ’Twas one night when Davey was but an infant. She escaped from her room, no one knew how, and fled to the barn, where she barricaded the doors from the inside. Then she set the place afire, meaning to incinerate herself along with the animals that were put up for the night. In the end, ’twas the animals that were her salvation. Matt heard them screaming to be free and, with the others, ran to put out what he thought was no more than an accidental conflagration. Discovering the door barricaded, they burst it down, though flames by that time had spread everywhere. Robert told James that Elizabeth was halfway up the ladder to the loft when they won through. She cursed them most foully as she climbed, in words so hideous that Robert would not repeat them to James. Matt went after her while the others fought to rescue the animals. He managed to drag her down from the loft and thrust her out the door just as the roof came down.”
“Dear God!”
“Had it not been for his brothers, Matt would have perished that night. A beam fell on him, trapping him. He was afire when they got to him, and they risked their own lives to get him out.”
“No wonder he is afraid of fire!”
“So you know that much, do you? ’Tis as well. Quite innocently one time when he came for a meal I asked him to build up the fire in my kitchen, and he gave me such a look and walked out of my house. ’Twas only then that James told me how he had been affected by what he had suffered. I was quite mortified, but James forbade me to speak of it to Matt, not even to apologize, and the matter was never mentioned by anyone again. Perhaps the knowledge will save you from a similar mistake.”
“Yes.” Caroline felt dazed as she tried to assimilate what Mary had told her. Of course, so many things now made sense—the wariness of the Mathieson men toward her as a woman, the distrust of the children, the tension in all their voices when they spoke of Elizabeth. Why had she not been told? Thinking back, Caroline hit upon what she guessed was the answer: with his particular brand of arbitrary chivalry, Matt had thought to protect her.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course.” But Caroline wondered if her answer was true. It was impossible to imagine her sister mad. Caroline thought back to the lively, auburn-haired young woman whom she only vaguely remembered. Her clearest recollection was of Elizabeth patting her much younger self on the head and laughing. The reason for the pat, and the laughter, were shrouded in the mists of time.
Quite suddenly the aroma of the apple pies at her elbow made Caroline feel ill.
“I should not have told you.” Mary, who had been watching her changing expressions, sounded remorseful.
Caroline gathered herself. “No. No, I needed to know. I understand much now that I did not before. They—Matt and his brothers—were careful in what they said of Elizabeth before me. But I knew that something was wrong.”
Hope, having lost her poppet, began to wail. Mary leaned down and scooped up the child and her toy.
“Perhaps I had best rout out Hannah and Patience, so that we may go.”
“Wait!” The sharpness of Caroline’s voice surprised even herself. When she continued, she moderated her tone. “Can you tell me—what became of her? The—the body, I mean.” She would visit, take flowers, try to understand what had driven her sister to lose her reason. Perhaps, if she, Caroline, had arrived sooner, she might have been able to make a difference in Elizabeth’s life. But then came the guilty thought: had Elizabeth lived, she would still have possession of Matt.
“You need not worry. She had a Christian burial.” Mary’s voice was soft with compassion. “Indeed, Matt had quite a battle with the dominie over it, which is the reason for the bad feeling between them that persists to this day. The Reverend Master Miller refused to allow Elizabeth to be laid to rest in the cemetery beside the church on the grounds that she was a witch. So Matt got out there and dug the grave himself, with his brothers pitching in to help, and dared anyone to stop him. Of course, no one tried. The Mathiesons are very wealthy, you know. Why, this farm is the finest for miles around! Anyway, the family said words over her, and the grave was later blessed by an itinerant minister who did not care if he incurred the dominie’s wrath. For a long while I feared that some who took the dominie’s side might try to dig her up, but the grave has been undisturbed. Perhaps common sense prevailed in the end: after all, she did drown. Or perhaps they are afraid of Matt. But in any case you may take comfort from the knowledge that she is now at peace.”
Caroline said nothing as Mary rose from her chair, restoring the poppet to her pocket and rebalancing the baby on her hip.
“I hope I haven’t caused you too much distress. But I agree with you, ’tis best that you know.”
“Yes.” Caroline rose too. “I do thank you for telling me.”
“If there is anything else you wish to know, or if I can help you decipher the sometimes incomprehensible behavior of these Mathieson men, please do not hesitate to come to me. I would like to count myself your friend.”
“Why, thank you. I would like that too.”
“And now I really must round up Hannah and Patience. I fear James will be wroth with me if I do not get home in time to have supper on the table when he comes in. One trait they all have in common is a fondness for having their stomachs well filled. As you must know. Robert has raved to James about your cooking.”
“Has he indeed? How very nice.” Caroline’s response was mechanical.
Mary headed for the stairs, while Caroline, still in a state of semishock, trailed behind. She had much to mull over as she climbed. Only when she entered Matt’s room was she at last wrested from her abstraction.
What did
it was the sight of Matt, his bare shoulders broad and muscular against the sheet that she had painstakingly laundered, his crisp curls inky black against the pillow slip that she had bleached in the sun, smiling and trading quips with Hannah Forrester, who simpered as she sat on the edge of the bed feeding Matt spoonfuls of broth that she, Caroline, had prepared and carried up to him only minutes before the visitors arrived!
Confound the duplicitous wretch! ’Twould serve him right if he choked on the bloody broth!
24
“Well, hello there, Mary. Did you bring my niece to visit me, then neglect to carry her upstairs?”
Matt looked up to spy them in the doorway. He seemed completely unembarrassed to be caught sipping broth from a visitor’s spoon. Considering the fact that he had insisted to Caroline from the very day after he was injured that he was perfectly capable of feeding himself, she could only suppose that he was quite without shame.
“ ’Tis good to see you, Matt, although I actually came to further my acquaintance with Mistress Wetherby and cannot stay longer even to allow you to visit with Hope. James will be getting hungry this evening as usual, I fear, so I must hurry home. Ladies, ’tis time we were going. The afternoon grows advanced.”
It was probably as well, Caroline decided, that this exchange between Matt and Mary took place without so much as a glance being cast at her. Caroline, biting her lip, barely managed to keep her tongue still as it was. If Matt had spoken to her in terms that had required an answer, she couldn’t have been held responsible for what she said. Though why she should feel so outraged by the scene she and Mary had interrupted she couldn’t imagine. She certainly had no claim on Matt! Nor, she told herself vehemently, did she wish to have a claim on him!
“Oh!” In response to Mary’s words, Hannah looked around with a trilling little laugh. “I had not realized how the time was passing. When I saw that Mr. Mathieson was not eating, I just had to see if I could not coax him to take a bite or two. He must keep up his strength, you know, if he is to heal.”
“Mr. Mathieson said the broth tasted much better when Sister wielded the spoon.” Patience got to her feet from where she had been sitting in the high-back chair near the bed, decorously playing propriety.
“I am sure it does,” Caroline answered sweetly, for the remark had been directed to her. Nobly she refrained from giving into the impulse to cast a dagger look at Matt, who at last turned his eyes toward her. He frowned at something he apparently saw in her face, and opened his mouth as if to speak. Before he could get the words out he was silenced when Hannah, with commendable dexterity, slid a spoonful of broth between his parted lips.
“Hannah? If you are quite ready …?” Mary lifted her eyebrows at her friend while Matt swallowed.
“Oh, yes. I don’t believe that even my help can get any more of this down him. It’s been allowed to grow quite cold. But he’s taken a good bit—and may have some of my apple pie for dessert,” Hannah concluded, getting to her feet as she addressed the latter with a smile to Matt. She placed the spoon in the bowl, set the bowl on the bedside table, and turned to survey Matt with a proprietary air that made Caroline, for no reason that she could think of except that the woman plain irked her, want to stomp her feet.
“I will look forward to it.” Although Matt didn’t return Hannah’s smile with other than a faint twitching of his lips, there was to Caroline’s ears more gallantry in that one statement than in anything he had said to her since he had met her. Deliberately forcing herself not to scowl, Caroline strove to maintain a pleasant expression as the sisters moved toward the door, and she stepped back to let them pass.
“Perhaps I should leave you my recipe for broth? I’m sure what you’ve prepared is quite nourishing, but mine is extremely tasty as well. I’m convinced that Mr. Mathieson wouldn’t find it such a trial to get it down.” The condescending tone of this brought a militant sparkle to Caroline’s eyes. But before she could reply, Mary most fortunately forestalled her.
“Eating Mistress Wetherby’s broth is surely not a trial, Hannah,” Mary chided gently as the sisters joined her in the hall.
Hannah gave a trill of guilty laughter. “Oh, you know I didn’t mean that! It’s just that I am so concerned for Mr. Mathieson’s welfare—although of course I’m sure you are doing the best you can.”
This was addressed to Caroline in the tone one might use to a superior servant. It caused Caroline to wonder just what the town grapevine made of her position in the Mathieson household. With a silent grinding of her teeth she concluded that, courtesy of Captain Rowse and the Lord alone knew whom else, her status was that of an unofficial kind of bound girl. The thought rankled and brought with it angry blood that rose to stain her cheeks. She could feel Matt’s eyes on her back and thought that he might be able to see her profile as well. Thus despite her annoyance she managed a stretching of her lips that she hoped might be mistaken for a smile.
“I would very much appreciate your recipe,” she said with absolute falsity. “Although perhaps some other day, since Mistress Mathieson is in a hurry to get home.”
“Oh, yes, we really must be going. And please, call me Mary.” This was said to Caroline with a smile. James’s wife, at least, was prepared to treat her as a member of the family. Although, upon consideration, Caroline decided that that was at best a dubious honor!
“Thank you. And you must call me Caroline.” Another forced stretching of her lips made her feel as if her cheeks might crack.
“You need not see us out. I know the way.” Mary, Hope riding on her hip, was already heading down the stairs with Hannah and Patience trailing her. Moments later they exited with a wave. Caroline, determined not to say what she felt like saying to Matt, waved back, started down the hallway, remembered the bowl and spoon on the bedside table, and turned back to retrieve it. She would have no more reason to return to Matt’s room for the remainder of the day. Daniel could carry up his brother’s supper just as he had done the night before, and the night before that! Since their disastrous encounter of two days previous, Caroline had avoided Matt as much as possible. On the Sabbath, which was the day just past, Matt’s brothers and sons had attended Meeting. To Caroline’s amazement the service was apparently held in two sessions, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Worship, which the colonial Roundheads seemed to take even more seriously than did their English brethren, therefore took up most of the daylight hours. Everyone who could was expected to attend. Matt was excused only because he was bedridden, and Caroline because someone had to stay with Matt. Since she had had no choice but to carry him his meals and perform other services for him until his brothers returned to relieve her of the burden, the two of them had effected a chilly truce. Which she had adhered to all day, and would continue to adhere to until hell froze over! It might even be longer than that before he got a friendly word from her again!
“If ’tis not too much trouble, I believe I’ll have a slice of Mistress Forrester’s apple pie. She’s a most delectable cook. You should try a piece yourself.”
That remark, coming as Caroline stalked across the room to retrieve the bowl and spoon, made her spine stiffen. But not by word or look would she reveal how much his eagerness for the treat irritated her.
“Certainly I’ll bring you some. Though personally I have little taste for sweets.”
“Do you not? ’Tis just as well. Even with two pies, there’ll hardly be enough. Davey and John as well as my brothers are wild about Mistress Forrester’s pies.”
“I wonder that you don’t wed her then, that you may have them every day.” Caroline could not resist jibing as she took herself out of the room before she could give in to her impulse to give his thick skull a sound crack with the bowl in her hand.
“A good cook is worth much, but not that much,” Matt called after her in great good humor. Of course he would have marked her irritation and been amused by it. He was too canny a man not to see when she was annoyed.
In the kitchen Caroline
dropped the bowl and spoon into the bucket of dishes to be washed, then turned to slice the pie. The aroma of cinnamon and apples wafted up to her, tempting her to sample a taste that had somehow found its way onto her finger. It was truly excellent pie, Caroline had to admit. Matt would enjoy it.
The notion rankled. At her feet Millicent meowed, and Caroline cut her a large piece of the precious pie, slid it onto a plate, and set it on the floor. Her cat, from whom she had hoped for better taste, sniffed, took a tentative nibble, and then fell to with a will.
“Et tu, Millicent?” Caroline muttered sourly. It was at that moment that she had the idea.
Had she been a Puritan, she would have said that she had become suddenly possessed by the devil. But being a level-headed Royalist sort, she could only plead an irresistible response to an overwhelming urge. Before she could think better of the deed, she slipped the blade of a knife between pastry and filling of the piece she had cut for Matt, lifted the top crust, and anointed the luscious apples beneath with a liberal sprinkling of salt. Then, still possessed of the devil or whatever evil spirit it was that had slipped inside her skin, she gleefully added an extravagant dash of bitters, a few slivers of finely chopped onion, a glob of mutton tallow, and a couple of cherry pits. She consumed the fruit herself, grinning as she licked the pits clean and pushed them deep inside the pie. She replaced the crust, removed the slice to a clean plate, and carried it upstairs along with a nice cup of tea for Matt.
“Here you go.” ’Twas the most cheerful remark she had addressed to him for days.
“Thank you.”
He was still propped up from lunch. Caroline had only to hand him plate and cup, which she did. Trying to disguise her eagerness for him to get to the pie, she watched as he balanced the plate on his stomach and took a sip from the cup.
“ ’Tis good.” He appeared to savor the tea, his eyes bright blue and curious as he surveyed her over the rim. Doubtless he was speculating as to why she was remaining in the room, after having taken such pains to avoid him for the last two days. To divert suspicion, she turned partially away from him and began to dust the bedside table with the edge of her apron.
This Side of Heaven Page 18