Trinity: Bride of West Virginia (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 35)

by Carré White

  “Are you comfortable, my dear?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  I wore a traveling suit with full upper sleeves, the jacket and skirt a mauve color. Several black feathers sprouted out of the top of my hat, with black satin ribbons. I kept my gloved hands in my lap, as the carriage jerked slightly, the driver directing the horses towards a busy thoroughfare. I had been to Boston before—many years ago, having been in an orphanage there. The austerity of those years tumbled around in my mind, the bleakness of that existence a stark contrast to how I lived today.

  “Something’s on your mind.”

  “I’m just … the last time I was in Boston … I was eighteen.”

  “The Orphans asylum.”

  I glanced out the window at red brick buildings, the first floors occupied by shops. “Yes.”

  “You’ve spoken so little about it.”

  “Because it’s not very interesting.” Memories flooded, most unpleasant. “Whoever thought I’d come back like this,” I murmured.

  “Pardon?”

  I turned to look at my husband, seeing an older man in a top hat. “My circumstances have changed so drastically since then.”

  “Are you happy being my wife?”

  That question startled me, my mouth pursing. “I … of course I am. You’ve been far too kind and generous. You’ve saved me from an uncertain future.”

  “I wonder sometimes that the age difference might be a hardship for you.”

  “No. I don’t mind.” Other things were of grave concern—Nathanial, but I pushed it aside.

  Federal style row houses filled my vision, the architecture new looking and elegant. Well-dressed men and women strolled on brick sidewalks, some walking dogs. We weren’t far from the Charles River, the Esplanade a few streets away. The leaves had fallen from the trees, the air brisk. Our driver directed the carriage towards a five-story row house, the windows bordered by black shutters.

  A moment later, the door opened, the steps having been let down. My husband alighted first, offering a hand, which I took. “Thank you.” I gazed at the house, seeing lace curtains in the second floor windows. “It’s pretty.”

  The front door opened, revealing a man dressed in livery. He waited for us, as the driver took our bags. “Good afternoon. Welcome. I’m Gregory Land. I’m Mr. Witherspoon’s butler.”

  “There, good chap.” Mr. Witherspoon beamed. “I hope we didn’t catch Nathanial out.”

  “He’s here, sir.”

  The butler directed us into the entryway, the floors black and white marble, with a staircase to the right. The driver deposited our bags, leaving them inside the doorway. A chandelier illuminated the space, casting light on polished furniture and expensive-looking artwork. A man appeared at the top of the steps, and I recognized him instantly, my belly flipping over in anxious knots.

  Nathanial grinned, descending slowly, wearing a fawn-colored suit with a black necktie. Not having seen him for several weeks, I wasn’t sure how I would feel at this moment, hoping the attraction between us to have diminished. His eyes lingered on me.

  “I see you made it in one piece.”

  “Indeed we have.” Mr. Witherspoon patted him on the back. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen the place. The remodel is quite handsome. You’ve done a fine job, son.”

  “Thank you.” He took my hand, kissing my gloved fingers. “You look lovely, Mrs. Witherspoon. Pregnancy becomes you.”

  “Stop it,” I giggled. “I’m not even showing yet.”

  “I do believe I recognize that traveling outfit.”

  All the clothes I wore he had chosen. “You should.”

  “Congratulations on the engagement. It’s about time, Nathanial. Where is the lovely Victoria?”

  “She’ll be along for supper. Do you wish to see your rooms?”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Witherspoon glanced up. “I imagine they’re at the top of those stairs, eh?”

  “I’ve one bedroom on this floor. You may use it, if you like.”

  “That’s a capital idea, Nate. My leg’s still not as it should be.” He gripped a cane. “However, I’ve a great deal more energy now than before. Having a young wife’s given me the incentive to look after my health. I do have to keep up with her, after all.”

  Nathanial gazed at me. “I can imagine.”

  I had hoped whatever attraction there had been would have faded. I had even prayed on it, asking God to remove any romantic feelings I might have had. As I stood there in Nathanial’s house, staring at his handsome visage, it became clear God had not heard or answered that particular prayer.

  “Gregory, why don’t you bring Mr. Witherspoon’s things to the guest bedroom on this floor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there a water closet down here?” My husband asked.

  “Yes, sir,” said the butler. “I can take you there directly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be happy to entertain Trinity.” Nathanial grinned. “Some refreshment is waiting in the parlor.”

  “That sounds nice.” As Mr. Witherspoon departed, I found myself alone with Nathanial, the foyer suddenly empty. “Your house is … beautiful.”

  “The house is functional. You’re beautiful.”

  Something pleasing fluttered in my belly. “Thank you.”

  “You seem happy.” He escorted me into the parlor, where a grand piano stood. “He seems happy. It’s a very happy situation, isn’t it?”

  His behavior perplexed me. “How are you?”

  “I’m about to shackle myself to a woman I don’t love in the least, but other than that, I’m perfectly fine.” He took a seat on the sofa next to me, his arm resting on the back.

  “Goodness,” I breathed, slightly stunned at the seriousness of the conversation.

  “I’ve been wanting to discuss things with you, but you so meanly forbade me from communicating.”

  “Nathanial.”

  “I wanted to get to know you better. I actually want to know everything I possibly can about you, but, if we cannot communicate, that becomes rather difficult.”

  “You know why—”

  “I’m well aware that you’re married. I’m not stupid. We’re family after all. Most families speak to one another. They send letters and cards and things. You’re my stepmother. I thought we might have some sort of relationship.”

  Oh, dear. He was terribly cross. “Can I get a word in edgewise?”

  “I’m not sure I should let you speak.” A hint of humor flashed in his eye.

  Now I wondered if he had been serious. “I’m sorry. I thought it prudent we not communicate.”

  “Change your mind.”

  “We wrote letters like lovers,” I whispered, fearing we might be overheard. “I thought it better to squash such things, not encourage them. I … haven’t any experience with these sorts of situations.” I scratched my forehead, embarrassed by the conversation. “I think I read too much into your letters. I needed to distance myself.”

  “I’ve never been cut down like that.”

  An incredulous smile masked my nervousness. “Oh, I’m sure you have. I didn’t intend to cause you harm, not deliberately anyway. You must realize why I stopped writing.”

  “No. Please explain it to me.” He sat forward, his look stern. “Do tell me, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

  “Like I said, I think the correspondence was inappropriate. That’s all.”

  “And?”

  Why was he being so difficult? “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

  “That you love me. That you think about me every minute of every day. That you wish we were together.”

  My mouth fell open. “I shall do no such thing.” He had to be jesting. “Are you playing a joke, sir?”

  “I’d never tease about something like that.”

  Prior to arriving in Boston, I vowed to remain strong during this visit. I lectured myself up and down about not letting silly, fanciful feelings cloud my judgme
nt. I had only just begun to come to terms with having married a man much older than myself. I was settling into my new life in West Virginia, eagerly awaiting the birth of my first child, although it was many months away. I prayed about this issue, asking God to take away any desires I might still have for Nathanial. I realized then that absolutely nothing had changed between us, other than time and distance.

  Stunned by the things he had said, I stared at him, not trusting myself to speak. I had been waiting for this moment for weeks, knowing we were coming to Boston. His gaze drifted to the necklace, the silver pendant hanging from my neck.

  “I suppose I should be grateful you’re here,” he murmured. “At least I can speak to you now.”

  “We came to attend your engagement party.” The conversation had slipped into something safer, but the air around us prickled with tension. “I’m looking forward to meeting Victoria Peterson.”

  “She’s nothing like you.”

  “I wouldn’t expect her to be. She’s undoubtedly far more refined and elegant. I feel like a country bumpkin.” Something he said earlier bothered me. “And why would you marry someone you don’t love? If I had a choice … I would never have … well, I had no choice. Life is too short to be unhappy. If you’re not certain you love her, you shouldn’t marry her.”

  “You’re in no position to dispense marital advice, Trinity.”

  “I may not be, but take heed from my situation at least. Don’t do what I did.”

  “I know Victoria. I’ve been dangling her around on the end of a string for ages. I owe her a marriage. She deserves that much, at least.”

  “You should do what you feel is right for you.”

  “If that were the case, I’d steal you away in the dead of night and take you to Europe. We’d live happily in a little villa in Italy. We can forget about all of this.”

  I stared at him with my mouth open.

  Chapter Twelve

  All it took was one conversation, and my emotions were in turmoil again. I paced the bedchamber, admiring the pretty carpet at my feet. Although not as large as the one in Clarksburg, it was quite grand, with an electric light chandelier, darkly carved furniture, and an enormous four-poster bed. I sat at the dressing table eyeing myself, seeing a woman with wide blue eyes, my skin glowing. Pregnancy did agree with me, although I still felt twinges of queasiness here and there.

  Nathanial planned a small dinner party, with only Victoria in attendance. The engagement soiree would occur in two days’ time, with half of Boston in attendance. I braced myself for the meeting, afraid of how I might feel observing them. That poor girl deserved to have a husband entirely devoted to her, not one whose affections ran to another.

  A light knock sounded on the door. “Come in.” I turned to see the maid, who had kindly done my hair.

  “They’re waiting for you, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I hadn’t realized the hour grew so late. “I’ll be right down.” My husband took a bedroom on the first floor, but I remained certain he would require I see him after dinner. Then I could return to my room to sleep.

  Catching one last look at myself in the mirror, I stared at my outfit, a white lace concoction with puffy sleeves. It had been one of the many Nathanial sent to me. He was far better at choosing my clothing than I was. Not wanting to keep Victoria waiting, I hurried for the door, hearing voices below. They had gathered in the parlor; someone was laughing, which sounded like Nathanial. When I reached the threshold, he seemed to sense me there, looking over his shoulder. Our eyes met for a second, the sweetest thrill racing through me. I hadn’t prepared myself for this reaction, the feeling of unadulterated joy in his presence.

  “There you are, my dear.” My husband got to his feet. He was dressed smartly in a dark, three-piece suit, a stark contrast to his white hair. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized the time.”

  A woman sat on the sofa, her blonde tresses gathered in a large mass with a bun at the top of her head. She stood then, her height impressive with a graceful, swanlike neck. Stunned by her appearance, I stared at her, marveling at our differences. Intelligence sparkled in her clear grey eyes.

  “May I present my wife, Mrs. Trinity Witherspoon.”

  Victoria nodded. “How do you do?” Her tone sounded almost musical.

  “I’m fine. Thank you. How are you?”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “Let’s have a drink before we go in for supper.” Nathanial took a seat in a wingback chair, his feet encased in shiny black boots. He held a crystal glass, which looked nearly empty. A servant approached with a decanter, pouring a splash of amber fluid. “Thank you.”

  Someone handed me a wineglass, which I had a small sip of, leaving it on a nearby table. Not knowing what to say and feeling horribly shy, I sat by my husband, who beamed.

  “What do you think of Victoria, Trinity? Is she not a striking woman?”

  Being put on the spot, I murmured, “She’s every bit as beautiful as I thought she’d be.”

  Victoria smiled, her features softening. “That’s kind of you. You are just as lovely as I thought as well.”

  “And it’s about bloody time my son makes an honest woman out of you. He’s kept you waiting long enough.”

  Despite Mr. Witherspoon’s uncouth outburst, her look remained serene. “I had every faith my patience would be rewarded.”

  “You’re a prize worth catching. Miss Peterson is a graduate of Smith College. I hear you’re moonlighting with Professor Burton at Harvard. What are you doing there again, my dear?”

  “He needs someone to help organize his notes. I confess, I wanted to learn more about his travels to Papua New Guinea, but I’ve been relegated to the file box instead.” She shrugged slightly. “I steal peeks at his artifacts when I can. I find everything there fascinating.”

  “She’s a budding anthropologist,” said Nathanial.

  “Women should have hobbies,” said Mr. Witherspoon. “It keeps them busy until they marry and have children.” He grinned. “We wouldn’t want the smart ones to run amuck. Heaven knows what they’d get into.”

  “I’ve never seen a more fascinating group of natives: the headhunters, cannibals, and bride stealers. It’s the stuff of wild adventure novels or your worst nightmares. Professor Burton has some stories that would curl your hair. He’s fortunate he came home alive.”

  Not having had any sort of education, I envied Victoria, desiring to learn more about academics myself, but that opportunity had passed. “Your work sounds interesting. I’d like to learn more about other cultures.”

  “I’ve an extensive library. You may help yourself to it, my dear.” Mr. Witherspoon got to his feet. “Oh, this leg.” He grimaced.

  “Are you all right?” I eyed him, concerned, although he complained often about the gout that produced shooting pains in his extremities.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll just take a turn around the room to improve the circulation.”

  “Perhaps, we should go in to eat then.” Nathanial left the glass on the mantel before the fire. “Shall we?” He held out a hand to Victoria.

  “Indeed. Are you well enough to eat, sir?” She smiled at Mr. Witherspoon.

  “I can always eat,” he laughed. “I feel better already.”

  When we adjourned to the dining room, the table gleamed with polished silver and the flattering light of a dozen or more candles. We dined on lobster and shrimp, with thick pieces of steak and roasted vegetables. I sipped wine, feeling out of my depth in the conversations, most of what was said going over my head. I tried to appear as engaged as I could, but I had little to offer in my responses. Mr. Witherspoon and Victoria held court, their personalities demanding attention. It was amusing watching them spar over topics, but Victoria always surrendered, letting my husband win, even when I suspected she was right.

  After the servants took the plates away, the men disappeared into the study, while Victoria an
d I sat in the parlor, sipping tea. She appeared happy and relaxed; her expression held a hint of a smile.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” she said. “But, Nathanial says you were a mail order bride. I had no idea those existed still.”

  “I am. I worked in Lawrence for a few years, until the factory burned to the ground. I’m lucky to be alive.”

  “The labor conditions in factories are deplorable. Things need to change. Children should not be working in them either.”

  “I agree.”

  “What sorts of products did the factory make?”

  “Clothing.”

  “I see. Then you’re a skilled seamstress.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Did you make skirts and blouses?”

  “Before the factory burned to the ground, I made what looked like military uniforms. They were shirts and slacks and things. Nothing really nice. I wouldn’t want to wear it.”

  “I understand.”

  “I was trying to earn a living. I needed to pay rent and buy food.”

  “And then you became a mail order bride.”

  “I had little choice in the matter. It was my best option.”

  “Yet, you and Mr. Witherspoon seem well-matched. He adores you. That much is clear from the way he looks at you.”

  “Yes, he’s pleased with the marriage.”

  A lengthy silence filled the air, the weight of words unspoken lingering.

  “But … you’re not as pleased.”

  “I’m adjusting to my new life. I have every reason to be grateful. My circumstances have vastly improved. Mr. Witherspoon saved me from a life of toil. He’s given me more than a girl could ask for.”

  “The Witherspoons are generous to a fault. That’s true.”

  “I’ll have a child next year. I’ll be far too busy with my family to worry about anything else.”

  “I hope to have children as well.”

  I tamped down the green-eyed monster of envy, wishing I could change places with Victoria. She was a talented, beautiful woman who was not only smart and educated, but she was kind. I could find no fault in her, other than the fact that she would soon marry Nathanial.