by Janette Oke
Belinda’s eyes widened. “He did?”
“Said he never did thank you—properly—for your part in his surgery.”
Belinda felt a swirl of emotions that came with the memory. It had been one of the most difficult experiences of her life.
“What did you tell him?” asked Belinda.
“Just said that an elderly lady had been brought from the train to us and that you’d gone off to the city to become her private nurse. He seemed happy for you.”
A few more minutes of silence slipped by.
“Luke,” asked Belinda slowly, “do you think the city is where I really belong?”
He was quiet for a while, then said, “That’s a question only you can answer.” He turned his head to look into her face, and Belinda nodded.
“It’s just . . . just . . . I don’t know anymore,” she admitted. “I . . . I don’t seem to fit here.”
“What is ‘fitting’?” Luke asked. “How does one feel when one ‘fits’?”
“Well, I . . . I guess like I used to feel,” Belinda stammered. “I never used to even think about fitting before.”
Luke nodded. “When I’d been away . . . to get my training,” he said slowly, “and came home again . . . well, I wasn’t quite sure if this was the place for me or not. I sure didn’t fit in the same way I had before, but I decided that there was little use looking back. That really wasn’t where I wanted to be anyway— a young squirt tagging along after Doc. So it seemed like the only thing to do was to make myself a new place, a new ‘fit.’ One of my very own. And I set to work doing that. I feel quite comfortable in my little spot now . . . and Abbie and the kids, they seem happy, too.”
“I guess that’s what I’m going to have to do,” agreed Belinda, and she thought of Boston. She didn’t really look forward to settling permanently in the big city, but to her thinking there was really nothing else that she could do—at least for now. Aunt Virgie needed her—and she certainly didn’t seem to have a place here in the country anymore.
She sighed deeply. Life could be so complicated.
“Hey,” Luke said, reaching across to squeeze her folded hands. “I have faith in you. You’ll know the right thing to do when the time comes.”
“But . . .” began Belinda, “I . . . I can’t just put it off forever . . . and . . . and drift. I have to make up my mind sooner or later.”
“And you will,” said Luke. “I’m counting on it.”
They had reached their destination. Luke hopped down and turned to help Belinda, then tied the team and lifted his black bag from the buggy.
“Let’s take a look at Becky’s throat,” he said to Belinda, and they entered the house together.
It turned out to be simple tonsillitis, and Luke left some medicine and soon they were on their way again.
“It’s always a relief when it isn’t something serious,” Luke said, and Belinda nodded in agreement. If only life could always be so simple and straightforward, she thought.
Marty asked Belinda if there were any neighbors she wished to visit. Belinda pondered for a few minutes. All her school chums were married women, and a number of them had moved from the area. She shook her head slowly. “Only Ma Graham, I guess. I don’t really know who else is still around.”
And so Belinda and Marty hitched the team again and started to the Grahams’.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been over to Ma Graham’s myself,” Marty confessed. “I keep tellin’ myself thet I must git goin’, but then somethin’ more comes up thet needs doin’, and I put it off again.”
Marty had been “doin’” all the time Belinda had been home. The garden produce had to be brought in and put in the root cellar, and the apples had to be picked and stored and the kraut had to be made—and on and on it went. Her hands were always busy, yet she had not allowed Belinda much opportunity to help.
“Now, you don’t want to go back to Boston with yer hands all stained an’ rough,” she would scold mildly. “You jest sit there an’ talk whilst I work.”
Belinda had not cared for the arrangement, and she had usually found some tasks, such as churning butter or mixing up a cake, while the two of them shared the kitchen.
But now it was visiting day. Marty seemed to look forward to the break.
“Ma’s been a mite poorly,” she informed Belinda.
Belinda quickly turned, concerned, to ask what the problem was.
“Luke says it’s jest old age, plain an’ simple. She’s had a busy life—a hard life, Ma has, an’ I guess thet one can’t help it when it shows. She blames it all on her gallbladder,” Marty went on.
“Has she thought of having surgery?” asked Belinda.
“Well, to do thet, she’d hafta go to the hospital over to the city, an’ Ma don’t want to do thet. Says she’d rather jest put up with it.”
“That might not be a good idea,” Belinda continued.
“Well, wise or not, thet’s the way us old folks think sometimes,” said Marty, and Belinda smiled at her mother putting herself in the same age group as Ma Graham.
They were welcomed with love and enthusiasm by the older woman. “Belinda, let me look at ya!” she cried. “My, don’t ya look nice. So grown-up and pretty. My, how the years have flown. Seems jest yesterday ya was here delivering me another granddaughter.”
Belinda remembered. It had been the first delivery Luke had allowed her to help with.
And it was on my way home that Drew stopped me, she silently remembered and felt her cheeks flush slightly.
Like Ma said, it had been a long time ago.
“An’ you, Marty,” Ma teased. “Seems it’s been almost thet long since I’ve seen even you.”
Marty laughed and the two women embraced.
Tea was soon ready and the three sat down for a good chat. Time passed quickly as Belinda caught up on each member of the Graham family. Ma even had some great-grandchildren. She beamed as she spoke of them.
All too soon it was time to go. Marty left with the promise that she wouldn’t wait so long to be back again, and Ma promised to have one of her boys drive her over to the Davis farm one day soon.
“Thet was a good idea, to visit Ma,” Marty said to Belinda on the way home. “I’m so glad ya thought of it. Ma always did hold you as somethin’ special.”
“I’ve missed her at church,” Belinda said. “It seemed strange not to see her there.”
“Well, it’s her bad leg thet keeps her from church,” Marty informed her daughter. “Ya notice how she can’t take a step without thet cane—an’ she can’t climb steps at all anymore.”
Belinda had noticed, and it bothered her. It was just one more thing that was changing—and she was helpless to do anything about it.
Eventually the day came for Belinda to return to Boston. It was cold and windy, and Belinda shivered as she pulled on her coat. She realized now she should have brought something warmer. The weather had been so much milder when she had left Boston that she hadn’t thought of what it might be six weeks later.
Her simple country frocks had all been hung back in the closet. Belinda noticed Marty’s eyes lingering on them there.
Belinda commented carelessly, “Who knows when I might be back again?” But she couldn’t help wondering if Marty thought, just as she did, that she might never wear those dresses again.
“Ya better wrap this heavy shawl around yer shoulders,” Marty said, handing her one, and Belinda did not protest.
The trip into town was a quiet one. They seemed to have said everything there was to say. Now the thought of the separation ahead made talking difficult.
“Yer sure you’ll be warm enough?” Marty asked anxiously as Belinda returned the shawl.
“It’s plenty warm on the train,” Belinda assured her.
“Ya won’t need to git off?”
“Not until I get to Boston.”
“Do they know when to expect ya?”
“I left the schedule with Windsor,” responded
Belinda. “He’ll be there with the carriage to meet me. He is most dependable, Windsor is.”
Marty nodded.
The family gathered, as it always did, at the station to see her off. Even the youngsters had been allowed to leave school early so they could be on hand for Belinda’s departure. Also, as always there was a great deal of shuffling about and making small talk while they waited for the minutes to tick by.
At last they heard the shrill of the whistle in the distance. The train would soon be pulling into the station. Belinda began her round of good-byes, leaving her ma and pa for last.
She hated good-byes. The tears, the hugs, the promises. She wished there was an easier way to take one’s leave. But it was the doubts that made this good-bye most difficult. Belinda had so many doubts—so many questions. She wondered for the hundredth time if she was doing the right thing. When would she be home again? What would bring her back? Some tragedy? She prayed not. But who could tell? Her mother and father were getting older. Belinda had seen firsthand the aging of Ma Graham. In a few years’ time her ma and pa could age like that, she knew.
Belinda shivered at the thought.
“You need a heavier coat,” Marty said again.
“I have one in Boston, Mama, and I won’t need one until I get there. Really. The train will be nice and warm.”
Marty held Belinda close as though to protect her from the chill of the wind and the pain of the world.
“Write,” she whispered. “I ’most live fer yer letters.”
“I will,” promised Belinda.
“An’ don’t worry . . .’bout home. We’re fine,” continued Marty.
Belinda wondered just how much her mother knew about the feelings that churned through her insides.
Clark held her then. She felt his arms tighten about her, and for a fleeting moment she was tempted to change her plans. But she knew she had to return to Boston. She kissed her mother one last time and then, amid shouts of “good-bye,” she climbed the train steps and selected a seat just as the big engine began to move the cars down the tracks.
Belinda leaned from the window and waved one last time.
The train was taking her back to Boston. Back to where I belong, thought Belinda.
But her mind hurried on.
If that is so, she asked herself, why do I feel so empty inside? Why are my cheeks wet with tears? Why do I feel as if I’ve just been torn away from everything that is solid?
Belinda didn’t have the answers.
TEN
Back to Normal?
Belinda had arranged her return so she would be back at Marshall Manor the day before Mrs. Stafford-Smyth was due home. This would give her a chance to be settled in and able to give full attention to the older woman upon her arrival.
Dependable Windsor met Belinda at the station, just as she had known he would. Belinda thought he seemed almost glad to see her, though she was sure he wouldn’t have thought it proper to admit as much. Belinda smiled to herself as she settled in among the robes he had brought. The cold wind was blowing in Boston, also, and in true Windsor tradition, he no doubt had noticed the light coat Belinda had worn as she left.
The house looked the same—big, beautiful, and inviting. Belinda tried not to compare it with the little farm home she had just left, but it was difficult not to do so. She was looking forward to having indoor plumbing once again. It would be so nice to soak leisurely in a tub filled with warm water from a faucet. Belinda felt as if she had scarcely had a proper bath since she had left Boston. Taking a bath in a galvanized tub just wasn’t the same.
Even the usually distant Potter seemed pleased to see her and bustled about asking how she could be of service and what would Miss like for her dinner. Belinda could scarcely believe her eyes and ears.
Windsor insisted on carrying her suitcase and hatbox up the stairs, and Belinda followed close behind, eager to see if her room was really as pretty as she remembered it.
She sighed deeply as she looked about her. Everything was just as she had pictured it. She motioned to Windsor to set her suitcase by the bureau and excused him with a simple “Thank you.”
She was looking forward to a nice, sudsy soak. Even as she thought about it, she could hear water running and crossed the room to find Ella already in the bathroom.
“I thought you might like a nice bath, miss,” Ella explained, and Belinda gratefully assured her that she would.
“You just hop right in, miss,” Ella said on her way out of the bathroom, “and I’ll unpack for you. What do you wish me to lay out for dinner, miss?”
Have I truly lived like this? Belinda asked herself. And then, Yes. I’d quite forgotten. Before I left I’d gotten used to being treated like a . . . a pampered lady of leisure.
“Something simple,” she smiled at the maid, “seeing as I will be dining alone. I really am very tired and feel the need for my bed far more than the need for food.”
“Of course, miss,” answered Ella.
“You pick something,” Belinda called over her shoulder as she headed for the tubful of warm water.
It was delightful to lower herself into the warmth and the suds and let the water soak away the fatigue from her back and shoulders. Belinda would have lingered longer had not Ella called to her.
“I’ve finished the unpacking, miss, and laid out your gown. Cook said she will serve in half an hour. Do you wish me to do your hair?”
Belinda considered the offer. It would feel good to have Ella do her hair again. It seemed so long since she’d had it done properly. But she was weary—and she had little time. She called back, “No thank you. I’ll need to hurry. I’ll just pin it up myself for tonight.”
“Very well, miss,” said Ella, and Belinda heard the door close.
She climbed from the tub and dried on the large, fluffy towel, noticing how soft and white it was.
Perhaps it has been good for me to be away, she told herself. I’ll take more notice of things that I’ve been taking for granted.
Belinda hurried, remembering that Potter did not suffer tardiness with pleasure.
She was almost breathless as she entered the dining room. It seemed so strange to sit down to a table all by herself. Especially when she had just come from a family where several plates usually crowded the table.
But for all the material differences, homesickness tugged at Belinda’s heart as she seated herself and bowed her head to say grace while Windsor stood by waiting to serve her.
The dinner looked delicious, and Belinda might have enjoyed it more had she been less tired—and less lonely. Out of habit she forked the food to her mouth but hardly tasted a thing. After she had done some justice to what had been prepared, she excused herself and announced that she was retiring for the night.
With no early-rising roosters or bellowing cows to awaken her, Belinda slept late the next morning. When she finally did open her eyes and study her clock, she was shocked to see that it was quarter of ten. She threw back her covers and rang for Ella.
Ella responded immediately, and Belinda stopped brushing her hair long enough to say, “Run my bath, would you, please, Ella? I’ve overslept. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth is due in at twelvethirty.”
Ella nodded. “Windsor has been fretting,” she acknowledged.
“Why didn’t someone awaken me?”
“We all knew you were tired, miss. Potter said to let you be.”
“Potter?” Belinda’s eyebrows went up and then she smiled. There had been a time when Potter would have taken delight in seeing her summoned from her bed.
“Cook said to let her know when you were ready for breakfast,” declared Ella, coming in the door.
“No breakfast today—I don’t have time,” Belinda told her. “Tell Cook I’m really not that hungry.”
Ella looked troubled. “She’ll insist on some fresh juice at least, miss,” Ella dared forecast.
“Some juice, then. Up here. And perhaps a scone. That’s all.”
Ella left
and Belinda hurried to get ready.
At the time previously set by Windsor, Belinda was in the front hall, her hat on straight, her warm coat buttoned properly. She was ready to meet the train.
Belinda felt a surge of excitement as the wheels of the carriage bumped along the cobblestone road. It seemed a very long time since she had seen Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. She was looking forward to sharing the news from her hometown. Well, at least some of the news, Belinda thought. She knew she wouldn’t share with the older woman all of the thoughts and feelings she’d had while away.
In fact, the more Belinda thought about it, the more she wondered just what she would be able to share. Her trip home had been so . . . so personal . . . even troubling. Maybe she wouldn’t dare discuss much of it at all.
But she would ask Mrs. Stafford-Smyth to tell her all about her holiday in New York. There certainly would be plenty for them to talk about. She’d hear all about the plays, the concerts, the dress shops. They would talk about all the things Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had experienced—but they would not discuss the conflicting emotions Belinda had battled, she decided.
The train arrived on time, and Belinda held her coat securely about her and scanned the crowd for Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. Windsor spotted her first. “There’s M’lady!” he exclaimed, and even the proper Windsor could not keep an excited tremor from his voice.
Belinda saw her then and ran to meet her.
“Oh, my deah, my deah!” cried the older woman, “how I have missed you.”
There were tears in Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s eyes as she held the girl. If Belinda had doubted the reason why she was back in Boston, she understood and accepted it thoroughly now. She needs me. She really had no one else. A houseful of servants was not family, even though Mrs. Stafford-Smyth cared for each of them.
Windsor ushered the two of them into the carriage, declaring that he would return later for the luggage.
“And how was your trip, deah?” asked the older woman.
“Fine,” replied Belinda. “I was able to see everyone—well, everyone who still lives at home.”
“That’s nice,” smiled the lady. But in spite of the smile, Belinda noted with some concern the tiredness in Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s face.