Bristol swallowed and closed brimming eyes. The papers shook in her fingers. She sensed it would be best to fold the sheets and not read on. But of course she couldn’t do that.
Young Wainwright has made a point of honor to call here at least once a month during the entirety of yer exile. I confess to my shame that I received the lad coldly and threw him off the Adams property when first he showed his face. But in the last six months I have come to see Wainwright’s value and to appreciate his dogged tenacity. I now see that only my foolish pride has stayed my hand from calling ye home. In death I give ye what I denied ye in life: it is yer father’s dying wish, made from the sanctity of his deathbed and witnessed by none other than an ordained minister of our Lord, that ye, Bristol Ellen Adams, wed Caleb Wainwright.
Stunned, Bristol blinked and stared at the words. She rubbed her temples and met the affirming nod of Samuel Parris. This wasn’t possible, she thought wildly. Deathbed wishes were serious, binding events; to refuse was nearly unthinkable. But... dear God! She returned her eyes to the pages, shaking her head to focus on the heavy scrawl.
Young Wainwright showed the sense not to discuss ye on his visits. But I have now talked a marriage with him, and he do give his word. The lad admits he’s been waiting for ye to return. He confesses he feels morally bound to ye until ye either wed him or release his obligation.
Bristol understood her father would have interpreted Caleb’s statement to refer to the whipping. But in her heart, Bristol knew Caleb’s reference was to the settler’s cabin and what happened there so long ago. In another lifetime. A sense of unreality numbed her mind.
Wainwright further agrees to see to the welfare of yer mother and sister when ye are wed. I’d not like to see Hannah wed again and put a man free on the acres I gave my legs and life for. But I know she can not work the fields herself. I am advising yer mother to sell my farm, but the coins won’t last forever. I go to my reward content that yer mother won’t be forced door to door on the dole like that nasty-tempered ingrate Sarah Good. Hannah and yer sister will have a roof and a full belly with ye and Wainwright.
Bristol’s dazed eyes lifted to Hannah and Charity, both bent over their own letters. Tears slid down Hannah’s wrinkled cheeks, and Charity’s face was pale as chalk, her freckles standing in sharp relief. Bristol drew a shuddering breath. Not only had her own future been arranged, but she was now responsible for the care of Hannah and Charity as well. Their future was linked to her own, and all of them depended on Caleb Wainwright. She lifted the letter toward a candle for more light, and read on.
Do not think I soften out of humility brought about by my coming death. I do not hand ye yer dearest desire from a need to leave this world on good terms with ye. That is a truth, aye, but more, I impress on ye that I see the match between ye and Wainwright as God’s will, hitherto misinterpreted by his humble servant Noah Bains Adams. This marriage be God’s will, and the last dying wish from the deathbed of yer loving father.
The letter continued, filled with fond memories and a stiff attempt to express love by a man awkward with expressions of verbal affection. Bristol read the first half again, hoping she’d dreamed her father’s last wishes. She had not. The second reading was as clear as the first.
Reverend Parris cleared his throat discreetly, and Bristol started. They all watched her. “Are you prepared to discuss the arrangements?” Samuel Parris asked.
“Mama, do you know what is in my letter?” Bristol’s voice emerged in a strangled whisper.
Hannah mopped her streaming eyes. “Aye,” she answered quietly. Tenderly she folded her own letter and slid it into her apron pocket. “I hold no objection; it was your father’s wish.”
Charity sat like white stone, her eyes blank and fixed in space. Alarmed, Bristol wondered what might have been in Charity’s letter to produce such a stricken expression. Then her mind returned to the coming hurricane of events.
Reverend Parris rubbed his palms together, assuming an air of brisk efficiency and usefulness. “The first banns will be read at Thursday town meeting, and I’ll order a notice for the publishing post.” No question existed but that the wedding would occur. “I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling the services of a magistrate for November 1.” He stood, his mission completed. “I would be pleased to attend a wedding party and extend my blessings,” he added hopefully.
Bristol watched, her mouth opening, then pressing into a distressed line. Everything was happening so fast! One moment she was free to contemplate her life at leisure; then, in a stroke, her future had been carved in granite. All arranged and neatly complete: With difficulty she centered her eyes on Samuel Parris. “Mr. Parris, wait!” Her hands rose and fell. “I... Will you be seeing Caleb? I mean, before the first banns are read out?”
Affronted, Reverend Parris sniffed. “Of course, Mistress Adams, I needn’t be reminded of my duty. The young man will be duly informed.”
“Would you ask Caleb to call here immediately... before the banns are read? I would appreciate it if you would deliver that message.” Her thoughts spun in wide arcs. “I... we... there are matters to discuss,” she finished lamely.
Reverend Parris drew himself to a frosty height. “It is my duty and my obligation to render what assistance I can to my flock.” Grandly he swept from the house.
For a moment a heavy silence stifled the parlor. Then Bristol’s despairing eyes swung toward her mother. “Oh, Mama, I’m to be wed!”
Charity toppled from her chair in a faint.
26
Oddly, no one had asked for a detailed accounting of Bristol’s stay in London. At first she felt an outpouring of relief; English pleasures were New England sins. Then Bristol experienced a mild sense of surprise, and finally disappointment. Many times she would have enjoyed remembering Aunt Pru and Uncle Robert aloud. Jean Pierre she didn’t allow herself to think about.
This lack of interest baffled Bristol immediately following her return; then gradually she understood the villagers could not turn aside from their own urgent problems long enough to examine the concerns of others.
Therefore Bristol felt no real surprise when Caleb’s questions were as shallow as the rest had been.
“Did you visit The Tower of London?” he inquired politely.
“Aye.” It was all the answer required; he didn’t probe for further elucidation.
They sat facing each other in the Adams parlor, both stiff and uncomfortable. Whenever Bristol glanced at Caleb Wainwright, she thought of the Duke of Easton. But Charles Easton would have turned up his aristocratic nose at the leather coat and breeches Caleb wore. And she noticed Caleb’s sandy hair was thicker and longer than Charles’s, more unruly. Also she remembered Charles Easton as shorter and less muscular than the man sitting across from her. But the resemblance was startling nonetheless. Bristol sighed. Thinking of Charles and how he’d bored her, then drawing parallels with Caleb—it was not a good beginning.
She slid a look toward Caleb from beneath her long lashes and tried to approach this first meeting from another angle. Instead of comparing him to Charles, she compared him to the Caleb she remembered. And decided this was not the same man she’d left behind.
The simple, open features Bristol recalled had matured into an honest strength. A man had emerged from the clay of young adulthood. Though Caleb clearly felt ill-at-ease, he didn’t shrink from the conversation as he might once have done; he sat in his chair with the expression of one determined to see an awkward business through.
“Did you see London Bridge?” he asked next. Pond-blue eyes touched her face, then moved away, and Bristol realized he saw changes in her as well.
“Aye,” she answered, impatient with this inane exchange. She wondered if he would ask about every London landmark he’d heard of. Nervously Bristol smoothed her skirt and waited for his next question. Today she’d chosen a white blouse with billowing sleeves. A dove-colored bodice ended in twin points above a skirt the shade of rich brown earth. She pushed
a glossy wisp of red hair beneath her dust cap and wondered for the hundredth time if she should have chosen a plain cap instead of the frilled one.
Silence filled the uncomfortably chill parlor, and both studied their hands. Then they both spoke at the same moment.
“I think we...”
“There’s something...”
Caleb smiled, the first time he’d done so since arriving, and Bristol felt a little better. Returning his smile, she lifted a hand and deferred to him. “You first.”
Instantly his strong square face sobered. Unable to remain seated, he stood and approached the window, judging a light dusting of fresh snow with a farmer’s eye for moisture. He turned then and met her eyes directly. “You know of course that Noah desired us to wed.”
“Aye. But, Caleb, there are things I think you should know...”
He lifted a large work-hardened hand. “In a moment, Bristol. First, it’s important that you understand how I feel.” Gazing toward the frozen mud in the lane, he gathered his thoughts. “I am willing to wed you... I gave my promise long ago, and I”—a flush of red lay heavy on his neck—“I ruined you for marriage to anyone else. My responsibility is clear.”
Bristol’s cheeks flamed, and she clutched her hands in her lap. Listening, she heard nothing tentative in this new Caleb. Hints of strength in the boy had hardened in the man.
“It’s our duty to marry. This length of absence brings changes; I’m not what I was, nor, I suspect, are you.” He studied her from the corner of his eye, seeing a glint of sorrow in her green eyes, a new womanly confidence in her posture. “Some of the changes, we can see. Others will appear as we... as we live together on a daily basis. It’s important you understand that I accept whatever changes there may be. I’m prepared to wed and provide you and your family a decent home.”
Bristol lifted her eyes. “Before you make further commitment, Caleb, there are... things you should know.” She intended to tell him about Jean Pierre and the baby. Whether to tell him she still loved Jean Pierre, she hadn’t yet decided upon. Bristol drew a breath. “There is a man in—”
Caleb cut into her words. “Bristol... no.” He returned to his chair and leaned forward, hands on knees. Serious blue eyes probed hers. “A year and a half is a long time. I know things happened to you. You may even have felt strongly toward... toward someone. But you came home. And if you’re willing, we’ll wed. I believe if our marriage is to have any hope of success, we must put the past behind us. Our lives begin now. Here today. Whatever happened before this minute is not important, not anymore. Talking about the past will only pain us both.”
Dropping her gaze, Bristol stared into her lap. Instinctively she sensed the wisdom in what Caleb suggested. What good would it do to talk of pirates and beatings? What good would it do him to know another man had held her, another man’s seed had grown for a brief time in her body? He was right. Such knowledge could only pain them.
“Bristol, I’ll never ask you about anyone else. I don’t want to know.” He looked away, and his jaw knotted. “And I don’t want you to ask me.”
Surprised, Bristol lifted her head. It hadn’t occurred to her that Caleb too might harbor ghosts. He’d returned to the window, and she couldn’t see his expression.
When he turned, his face was composed. “Is that agreed?”
Bristol nodded slowly. “Aye,” she murmured. “Caleb... I...” Bristol swallowed, wondering how best to phrase this. “You’re right. People change. Things happened, and... and I’m not the foolish young girl I was. And you aren’t...” She stopped and drew another deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that the new people we both are shouldn’t be held to the promises of the children we were. What happened that day in the settler’s cabin... it isn’t enough to build a life upon. You owe me nothing.”
He stared at her, shocked.
Bristol’s hands fluttered, and her eyes begged for understanding. “We’re different people now. I know you don’t wish to discuss the time between, and I’ll respect that. But, Caleb, that time did pass, things did happen, and they left a mark on us both. We aren’t the children of the settler’s cabin, we’re adults now.” She stopped. Reading the appalled censure in his eyes, she knew she hadn’t reached him.
“Bristol,” he said in a low tone, “you have changed in ways I wouldn’t have believed possible.”
“That’s exactly my point,” she said helplessly.
“Listen carefully. Though your attitudes may have altered, for whatever reason, attitudes in this community have not.” He continued to stare. “Honor and duty are still revered here. Responsibility and obligation aren’t taken lightly. They remain the measuring sticks by which a man judges his life. The settler’s cabin did happen. And I am responsible. I know my duty. This is—”
“Caleb, I seduced you.”
His cool gaze didn’t flicker or move from her face. “I am responsible,” he repeated. “In addition, this marriage is Noah Adams’ dying wish. A man’s last wish merits respect, and I gave Noah my word. Finally, there is the common good.”
Bristol blinked. “The common good?” she asked weakly.
Again he stared. “Aye. Of course. What if everyone behaved as we did?” His sturdy cheeks pinked. “Then refused to accept responsibility for their passions. How long do you imagine this village would remain a decent and godly place to live? What sort of community are we building here if a man turns his back on his duties and obligations?”
Bristol suggested no answers; she had none. Except... in her heart she knew this marriage was wrong; they were miles apart in viewpoint. But for Caleb, not to marry would be a worse wrong.
She remained in the cold parlor long after Caleb’s horse passed through the gate. It was settled, then. They would marry. And neither had mentioned the word love.
Slowly Bristol’s thoughts moved backward, and her fingers rose to touch the gold chain beneath her blouse. Her emerald eyes dulled. She mourned Jean Pierre La Crosse. Now she let herself remember, allowed a brutal craving to tear at her heart. And when she’d recalled every whisper, every caress, she felt drained and empty. And filled with longing for him. Let go, she admonished herself. Let go and get on with the business of building a life.
And how better than to marry Caleb Wainwright? Staring at the window, now dark, she listed the reasons why she should marry Caleb. First, it would help her forget Jean Pierre—at least she prayed it would. Marriage provided a direction to her floundering life. It was her father’s last wish. The union would guarantee Hannah and Charity a home.
Against these reasons lay a desire not to be pushed into a new life. An inability to ignore her love for Jean Pierre and a lack of feeling for Caleb Wainwright, plus a nagging worry that something simmered just below the surface which she could not see, concerned Bristol greatly. If she could discover a valid reason to defy her father’s last wish and escape the marriage to Caleb, Bristol knew she’d seize it eagerly. She examined her thoughts again and found no loopholes.
Face blank, she unclasped Jean Pierre’s gold chain. It piled heavy in her palm, catching what light remained in the room. Bristol stared at the gold links for a long moment, remembering; then she dropped to her knees and carefully pushed the fine chain through a wide crack in the planking. Her fingers shook, and her shoulders dropped. In time, maybe she could forget; maybe she could feel an affection for Caleb Wainwright. Her sore heart did not believe it.
Later, Hannah asked, “Did you work out the details?” She placed a trencher of venison stew before Bristol and Charity, then took her place at the table after a long squinting glance at Noah’s empty seat.
“Aye,” Bristol answered listlessly. She had no enthusiasm for discussing her conversation with Caleb.
“Did he mention his house?”
Bristol spooned a chunk of venison. “No. He didn’t.”
Hannah blinked in surprise. “Caleb built the third-largest house in the village. And he has two bond servants. You’re catching a well
-to-do husband, missy!”
Charity choked on an odd sound and pushed from the table. “Excuse me, Mama, I don’t feel well.” She fled into the bedroom and slammed the door.
Hannah squinted and shook her head. “I don’t know what’s gnawing at Charity. Lately she’s been...” At a loss for words, Hannah waved her spoon.
They ate in silence. Bristol swallowed automatically, and her eyes returned time and again to the closed bedroom door. For several days, since the reading of the letters, Charity had barricaded herself in the bedroom when she wasn’t needed for chores. She’d dismissed the fainting incident by saying she didn’t feel well, and in truth she looked ill. But Bristol had an uneasy feeling there was more to it.
She continued to be bewildered by the changes in Charity. That her sister was unhappy could be seen by anyone, but Charity withdrew into a wall of distant silence and refused any attempts at real conversation.
Bristol tore a piece of bread and turned the problem in her mind. Something must have happened during her absence to produce Charity’s marked character change. But what? Charity, meek, sweet Charity, had been content and even happy when Bristol left for England. Bristol clearly recalled seeing Charity’s face shine with happiness not a week before she sailed.
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