by Linda Hughes
Meg looked at the weapon and squinted in contemplation. “Yes, I believe I do. I figured that must have been you, must have been this cabin I was in, although it was dark at night and stormy so I didn’t really look around much, except for seeing that.” She nodded at the corner. Meg looked at her intently, causing Abby’s chest to ache, so mindful was she of her mother. “I snuck away from my nanny because I was sure my little brother must be in the woods and the big people hadn’t looked in the right places. I wanted to find him. But all of a sudden I realized I was lost. All the trees looked alike and it was getting dark. I didn’t know which way to go to find our house. I was terrified! And an Indian woman — you — came along just as it started to rain cats and dogs. We were near your cabin so you brought me in here first. You wrapped me up in a blanket and started for my house in that storm. My dad was in the woods, soaking wet, hollering my name and half crazy. He was so happy to see us! He carried me home and I never saw you again. I never thanked you. Did my father ever thank you?”
“Oh yes, your father came here the next day to offer his personal thanks. That was very nice of him. In fact, the men in your family have always been kind to me. Your grandfather, Herbert senior, even insisted that I come and live in the big house when my parents died. But I knew your grandmother didn’t like the idea and, besides, I couldn’t imagine living with her, so I begged to stay here. That’s when your grandfather insisted I come to the big house for breakfast at least a few times a week. If I didn’t show up for a few days he’d send someone over to check on me. You come from a family of good men, Meg.”
“I didn’t know that about my grandfather and you. The old shanty boy had a heart. That warms my heart. And I’m glad my father came to thank you for taking care of me.”
“Oh, no thanks were needed. I knew everybody at the big house would be frantic to find you so we couldn’t wait for the storm to end. When we came in here for the blanket, you saw my bow and arrows, and asked me if I would use it to shoot the man who took your brother. Believe me, I would have if I’d known who to aim at.”
“I don’t remember that but it sounds like me. I missed my brother so much. I still do. I think all the time about how old he’d be now and what his life would be like. I think he’d be my best friend.”
Abby reached across the table and took Meg’s hand. The young woman used the other hand to dab at the moisture at her eyes. Abby let silence soothe their memories as they sipped their hot tea for a couple of minutes. Then she decided it was time to move on and ask the necessary question.
“What brought you here today, Meg?”
“Well,” Meg said, fingering the edge of her tea cup, “I’ve decided on something and one of the servants at the house said you’re good at helping people decide if they’ve made the right decision. She said you are friends with the servants there and come over in the morning a lot. It’s the Irish girl, Peggy, the most recent upstairs maid.”
“Yes, the servants at the house have always been very kind to me. I consider them to be good friends.”
She didn’t want to reveal that she and Meg’s mother had been close for years. That they had always kept secret, knowing that a wealthy white woman and poor Indian woman being friends would never be acceptable in their town. They both would have been run out on a rail. Even the servants in the house didn’t know. Elizabeth knew that Abby had been visiting that kitchen since she was a child, but back when she was still at home, Elizabeth never came down. For one thing, she wasn’t up yet that early in the morning. But, more importantly, they wanted to keep their relationship private. They both enjoyed it too much to lose it.
Meg said, “I can’t believe I never saw you in the kitchen when I was a kid. I wasn’t allowed to go in there much. I think my nanny thought I’d be in Cook’s way. But when Nanny took her afternoon tea in her room Cook always snuck me into the kitchen for my own little ‘teatime.’ How I loved that.”
“That sounds like Cook. Such a generous, loving woman. Your nanny used to come down to have tea and biscuits with us early in the morning sometimes, before you were even out of bed. She was a nice woman. I’m glad that after you went to boarding school she married that widower with small children. Last I knew she’s been very happy.”
“Yes, Cook got a letter from her last year. Those kids are grown up now and the oldest is married and has a child. She’s a grandmother.”
“But! You didn’t come to talk about any of this, did you?” Abby patted Meg’s hand. “This decision that you’ve made: What is it?”
“I know you ask... spirit guides…” she faltered, “for information. I’ve always known you were here but never had the nerve to come before, so this is hard for me. But this is the problem: I’ve made arrangements to sneak into the asylum to see my mother. I haven’t seen her since they took her away when I was six years old. I want to see for myself if she’s really insane. My father says she is but he won’t tell me what makes him think so or why he had her committed. If she’s in there because he wanted to get rid of her — some men do that, you know — then I want to help her get out.
“I know that my father is in love with our head housekeeper, Hannah.”
Ah, Abby thought. The girl has either heard house gossip or is very perceptive. Of course they were in love; everyone at the house and most people in town knew that. But Abby didn’t feel it was her place to reveal that to this young woman. She needed to be strong enough to confront her father for answers to some questions.
“And you think your father had your mother committed so he could be with Hannah?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. She’s only worked there for seven years but they’ve known each other, from what I hear, much longer.”
So, it was household gossip she’d been hearing.
“Why don’t you ask your father?”
“You mean, just march in and ask him?” Meg sounded incredulous.
“You don’t have to march. You could simply walk up to him and ask. Find a good time, like when he’s reading his paper in his study.”
Meg gnawed at her lower lip. “I, I never considered that.”
“Didn’t you just turn twenty-one years old?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a grown-up now, Meg.” Abby reveled in giving advice to this girl. It made her feel motherly. Lizzie’s daughter had been in her humble cabin for less than twenty minutes and already Abby loved the girl.
She hadn’t even asked her ancestor spirit guides to come through yet, but it was time. “So, your question is whether or not you’re making a mistake by planning to see your mother. Is that what you want me to ask the spirit guides?”
“Yes,” Meg offered in a mere whisper.
“Are you afraid you’ll find out she truly is insane? What do you fear should you find that out?”
Abby almost expected Meg to cry but instead the young woman showed enormous strength. She was more of a grown-up than Abby had suspected. Meg sat up straight and spoke clearly. “I don’t know if I can handle knowing for sure. I know that’s what everyone already thinks. But if I know for sure I can never again pretend that it might not be true.”
“I see. Let’s ask the spirit guides what they think of all of this.” Abby placed her palms on the crystal ball out of habit, even though she didn’t need it to communicate with her ancestors. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing, and let the trance come over her. “Dear ancestor spirit guides,” she rasped, “please help this young woman with her dilemma. Should she visit her mother in the asylum or should she leave well enough alone?”
The message came through so strongly it felt to Abby as if the spirit sat beside her and shouted in her ear.
“Yes,” Abby said to Meg. “Go.” The fortune teller paused, listening. Stunned at what she heard, she knew she couldn’t tell Meg the spirit guide said she must go because it would be the only chance she would have to see her mother. “Go,” Abby repeated and opened her eyes.
Meg sat transfixed.
&
nbsp; Abby felt conflicted. She didn’t want Meg to see her mother. She, too, feared what she might find out for the same reasons Meg feared going. Yet, as usual, the spirit guides had spoken through Abby and she had no control over what they said. She felt exhausted.
“That’s all they can say about it at this time,” she said.
“That’s all I need. Thank you so much, Abby. I hope you won’t mind if I come to see you again sometime.”
“No, I don’t mind at all. That would be nice.”
Meg drank the last few sips of her tea, pulled four dollars out of her pocket, and laid the folded bills on the table.
Abby patted her hand. “You don’t have to do that, dear. I’m glad to do this for you. You feel like family to me.”
Meg smiled, Lizzie’s smile. “Please take it. I wouldn’t feel right otherwise. At least this time.” She started to rise from her chair and then halted, plopping back down. “Um, this is rather silly, but I do have one more question about something else.”
“Yes?”
“I’m going riding with a young man this afternoon. A very handsome, nice young man, I think. I want to tell him about my mother. My fiancé in Chicago broke up with me when he found out about her…. Oh, you know about that, don’t you?”
Abby shrugged.
“I still forget sometimes; everybody knows everything in this town. Okay, so he dumped me because of my mother. I want to tell this new man right away, so if he can’t handle it I won’t waste my time. What do you think?”
Abby cocked her head and looked at Meg thoughtfully. “I think he already knows,” she said.
“Oh. Of course. Everyone knows.” Meg laughed. “I should have known. It’s going to take me a while to get used to living in a small town again.” She stood up, but Abby stayed in her chair.
“Meg, dear, the spirit guides tell me this is a very good man. You will have a wonderful ride this afternoon.”
At that, Meg Sullivan beamed. “Thank you, Abby! I hope to see you again soon.” She shot a long glance at the painting above the mantle before leaving the cabin.
Once Lizzie’s daughter left, Abby took the folded dollar bills, went to the fireplace, pulled out a stone near the edge on the side, and pulled out a small burlap sack. She pulled on the strings that opened the sack and placed the money inside, along with hundreds of other one-dollar bills. She closed the sack, carefully secured it back in its hole, and replaced the stone. The sack was almost full, which meant she’d soon need to put its contents in the most recent metal box buried in the yard along with all the other metal boxes full of cash.
Abby was a good Chippewa. She knew how to prepare for the future.
She poured herself another cup of tea, sat in her rocker, and pondered what to do. It confounded her that the spirits had said this secret visit would be Meg’s only chance to visit her mother. What did that mean? Meg would see her mother but then be caught and never allowed in again? That seemed the most logical explanation. And then Meg might be even more intent about getting to know more about her mother by going through her cottage.
Abby had wanted to visit Lizzie’s cottage one more time to explore that mysterious cave but had been afraid to go lest Meg be walking around and see her going through her mother’s things. Abby wanted to see if she needed to get rid of anything in the cottage — she had no clear idea of what it might be — that would cause the young woman distress. Perhaps there were indiscreet paintings, lurid books, or unsavory magazines. She’d never seen those things herself when she visited there, but she hadn’t ever gone through the place and Lizzie did have a decidedly wild side. Now, though, how could Abby possibly examine the cottage with Meg about?
Her ancestors were mum, so Abby decided to finish bundling and hanging her herbs. That she could handle.
16
“Hello, Herbert. Come in.”
“Elizabeth.” Herbert Sullivan, hat in hand, stepped into her room and she closed the door. Without another word, as was the routine that had developed over the years, he sat at the table, keeping his hat in his lap. As usual, he was fastidiously attired in a suit, dress shirt, and tie. A natty silk handkerchief peeked out from his pocket. He sat up so straight Elizabeth imagined the starch from his shirt had infiltrated his body. He never completely settled into the chair. It always seemed to Elizabeth as if her husband was reluctant to touch anything in her room. Let alone her.
She joined him and picked up the silver teapot off its silver tray, and poured hot water on top of a teabag that sat in a Blue Willow cup. All of this, of course, like everything else in her room, had been provided by her dutiful husband. Like all her clothes, he’d also paid for her latest outfit, which she wore today, a delightful lavender morning frock. Its delicate fabric graced her gentle curves deliciously, with a low neckline framing her décolletage and the mid-calf length showcasing her shapely gams. Turning sideways in her chair, she crossed her legs toward him to emphasize her milky silk stockings and cream-colored heels with pearls on the buckles. She knew she looked stunning.
Not that Herbert would notice. He hadn’t seen her as a real woman in years, possibly the only man on the planet who didn’t find her alluring. Her little game of dressing to try to sway him had been going on for as long as she could remember. She hadn’t won yet, but refused to give up. Not that she wanted him to touch her; the game alone amused her.
Her husband poured himself a cup of steaming coffee from the metal urn always provided for him by a nurse. He took a hasty sip as she dipped her teabag a few times, and drew it out to place it on the saucer.
He finally looked at her face. “Meg is home,” he said without preamble. “She arrived by train a few days ago.”
Elizabeth did her best to look surprised, even though she already knew the girl would be coming. Abby had told her that.
“Well,” she said, “it was a month ago you told me her fiancé broke their engagement, so I guess this is no surprise.”
“I’m glad she’s home. Right now she needs to be around fam… people who care about her. She seems to be handling it well.” He gulped at the rest of his coffee.
Elizabeth slowly sipped her tea, enjoying his discomfort and doing her best to drag out their conversation to force him, in his politeness, to stay as long as possible.
“Herbert,” she said, “why do you still come here? Hannah brings me everything I ask for. I’m curious about your visits.” She sipped slowly on her tea.
Her husband looked stricken. “Why, it’s my responsibility. You are, after all, my wife.”
“Ah, I see,” she said, setting down her teacup. “I did my duty to you as a wife by providing children, one of which you still love today, so my reward is your monthly presence in my asylum room, where you had me committed. Is that it?”
He reddened. “Elizabeth, we both know this is the best place for you. I thought you were happy here.”
“Oh, I am. Happier than having to share a bed with you. But I just wonder if you ever feel even a twinge of guilt that you’ve had your wife put away.”
He stood abruptly and secured his hat on his head. “As usual, Elizabeth, our conversation is going nowhere.”
Herbert walked to the door, reached for the handle, and turned back to her. She didn’t get up, continuing to calmly sip her tea.
“Is there anything you need this month?” he asked.
“Let’s see…. Besides one of those fabulous Rolls-Royce Silver Ghosts I’ve seen in magazines, with my own driver to take me wherever I want, there’s a list there on the stand by the door of the paint I need.”
He picked up the piece of paper, stuck it in his pocket, and left.
Elizabeth stared at the closed door and laughed.
17
Meg could see him from half a mile away. She’d been watching anxiously, thinking she saw a man on a horse about a mile up but losing sight of the image where the shoreline meandered in and out of knolls and sand dunes that barred a straight view to Traverse City from the beach. But w
hen he rounded the final curve there remained no doubt: Jed the handsome man kept his promise. He rode along the beach from town, coming to see her.
She clicked her tongue and lightly pulled the reins to coax Millie to head in that direction. The mare clopped along nonchalantly in the sand, headed for the man and his horse.
Waving vigorously when he first saw her, he tapped his dark brown horse to gallop toward her. She waved in return but didn’t press Millie, old as she was and not inclined to be in a hurry anymore. Her father only had two good riding horses left because he had a motor vehicle. Seeing that he owned a large chunk of Ford Motor Company stock he felt it his duty to set an example for the town and felt certain it wouldn’t be long before more and more cars were seen on the roads. In the meantime, it turned out it was customary to let the two head groundskeepers borrow the two remaining horses on Sundays. But he offered to get Meg a nice riding horse if she pleased. Half of the stables had been turned into a garage but the other half could still hold four of the animals. She’d told him she’d like very much to have a good horse to ride, but for now was stuck with sweet, docile, graying, old Millie.
As Jed neared, Meg could see that his horse was a spry, young quarter horse. And that Jed appeared to be much the same.
Their horses finally came head to head. The riders smiled at each other.
“Hello, Meg,” Jed said as he dismounted.
“Hi, Jed.” She got down and patted Millie’s neck. “Beautiful day for a ride. Glad you came.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. My only concern was that you wouldn’t show up.” He smiled again, flashing broad, white teeth. He took off his hat, tussling his sandy hair and, once again, just like on the train, Meg had an urge to run her fingers through it. Rather than a proper riding outfit like hers, he wore Levi blue jeans, a blue-and-white ticking shirt open at the collar, and well-worn but polished boots. No spectacles today. Incongruous with the rest of his attire, his felt fedora hat completed his look. She found his potpourri of clothing style to be utterly charming.