Edward’s dory reached shore first. He scrambled out, ran to Elisabeth, and stopped when he saw the grim trio. After a peck on her cheek, and a quick handshake for Paul, he reached for Bethea’s hand and held it. “What’s wrong?”
Elisabeth looked at her friend who said nothing. Her chest tightened, and her head ached.
Kyle climbed out of his boat and ran toward them. “Bethea, are you ill? You’ve lost so much weight.”
“Caleb’s dead. Two months, fever.” Bethea’s voice was barely audible.
Kyle grabbed his wife and held her close. His grasp was so desperate, Elisabeth feared he’d crush Bethea’s fragile bones. Edward put his hand on Kyle’s trembling shoulder.
“I’m so sorry.” Edward lowered his eyes, shocked, visibly shaken.
Elisabeth’s words came out so bitter they hurt her tongue. “We need to get her out of the wind and cold. She’s very frail.” She placed a gloved hand on Kyle’s trembling shoulder and tried to mellow her voice. “The doctor did all he could. We tried everything.”
Kyle swept Bethea up and trundled her to the carriage. Elisabeth bundled her in blankets as Kyle got in next to her. They cried in each other’s arms. Edward wordlessly loaded their things next to Elisabeth. His seat was full of bags so he joined Paul. Elisabeth wished she could have ridden outside, for her own relief as well as to give the Vauxhalls some privacy. The clopping of hooves and rattle of harnesses, occasionally punctured by a desperate sob, were the only sounds.
On their way home, Edward joined Elisabeth inside the carriage. “That wasn’t the sort of welcome any of us expected.” He picked up her hand and tried to make eye contact.
She stared straight ahead and tried to contain her anger but it boiled over at Edward’s insensitivity. “I tried to reach you through Mr. Somersell. He assured me he would cable that the boy was ill. I see he didn’t keep his word.”
“I didn’t receive anything. I’m sorry. It must have been horrible.” Edward bent forward and looked into Elisabeth’s eyes.
“Bethea is inconsolable. I’m worried about her, but now that Kyle is back perhaps she’ll recover somewhat. Wilhemina Howell died giving birth. Her husband still doesn’t know, and his daughter is being nursed by a neighbor.”
The carriage bumped and clattered up the hill. Edward smiled as the house came into view. “It’s so good to be home.” He helped Elisabeth down.
Paul led the horses to the barn.
Sara opened the door. “Welcome home! Leave your things there, Captain. We’ll go through and launder them, if the sun ever comes out.”
Her voice was too lilting and grated on Elisabeth’s already shredded nerves.
“Please tell me there is some good news.” Edward dumped his bags on the porch and went inside.
Sara continued to chatter. “Katherine and Paul are betrothed. And Mr. Sanders has been making sure we have enough wood and provisions.” She quieted when she saw Elisabeth’s sullen face.
Edward warmed his hands by a fire in the parlour.
Katherine peeped into the room. “I’ll get tea together.”
“And I need to start dinner. Something special you’d like, Captain?” Sara asked.
“Anything at all,” he answered.
A log collapsed into ash and a flurry of sparks flew up. Elisabeth nestled against Edward and rested her head on his shoulder.
“So I suppose you are happy to see me.” He kissed her forehead.
“Of course I am.” She was empty of emotion, unable to feel anything, which was better than persistent fear of impending doom.
“You’re not acting like it.”
Did he still not understand?
“Will you have tea here, Captain?” Katherine brought in a tray.
“Congratulations, wonderful news about you and Paul. I’d like tea in my room, a hot bath, and to rest in a warm bed.” Edward rose and stretched.
“Very good, Captain. I’ll bring it up, stoke the fire, and run the bath.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll go up with him and take care of everything.” Elisabeth snatched the tray from her so roughly that water spilled from the spout.
“Of course.” Katherine’s cheeks flushed, and she crept from the room.
“You scared her,” Edward said.
Elisabeth paused on her way upstairs. “She’ll soon be married and must understand a wife’s desire to be with her husband. Alone.”
Edward tossed a log on the fire and poured their tea. Elisabeth ran the bath for him, changed into her nightclothes, and turned down the covers. She warmed herself by the fire, until Edward joined her. The sight of his damp, rippling muscles, even more defined after months of heavy work, conjured a momentary spark of desire, which was quickly extinguished by guilt. Caleb and Wilhemina were dead. The Vauxhalls were suffering.
“Now, I’m fit to be next to you.” He took her into his arms.
Elisabeth pulled away. “You can’t leave me here alone again, Edward.”
“Let’s not discuss it now. It’s time for a reunion befitting a couple after a seven-month absence.” He let his hands do the rest of the talking.
Elisabeth let him lead her to the bed. She forced the sadness from her mind. Her husband was home, and she should be grateful for that. They would talk about it, but now was not the time. She lay down, distinctly uncomfortable under Edward’s hungry stare. Watching him lower his trousers made her feel like a scared virgin all over again.
He stretched out next to her. “Come to me, Elisabeth. I’ve been dreaming about this moment for months.”
She turned toward him, but the touch of his hands tracing her back and bottom, though gentle, hurt her cold, stiff muscles. His beard scraped her cheek. Elisabeth closed her eyes and hid her face against his neck. Oblivious to, or not caring about her discomfort, he rolled her onto her back, pushed up the nightgown, and sprawled on top of her. Each gasp as he fondled her breasts and private parts was more from shock than pleasure.
Too excited for patience and small talk, Edward entered her. But she couldn’t allow him into her heart or mind, wishing instead it would soon be over. It was, and he rolled to his side, rested his head in the crook of her arm, and dozed. She tousled his hair, needing his comfort, but there was none. Had he become accustomed to indulging in similar impersonal interludes over the last few months?
“Next time, I’m going with you.” Elisabeth strode into the bedroom.
Edward had hoped after a few days things would settle down, but she remained sullen and withdrawn. She turned her back and stared out the bay window.
“Elisabeth, being at sea for that amount of time would be most difficult for you.”
“And it’s not difficult burying babies, and holding women’s hands in labour, watching them die? I teach the children and sometimes they never return for lessons, like Caleb. I go to services, sit in our pew, and hate God for taking innocent lives. And then wonder if I’ve offended him enough that tragedy will visit me as well.
“I live in this huge, empty house with all its luxuries, thinking of the others, cold and hungry. My womb bleeds every month, and reminds me I’m likely barren and have an absent husband in love with the sea!”
Edward had never seen her clench her fists or raise her voice in such a manner. He put his hands on her shoulders to stop the pacing. “Do you want to go back to London then? To your family?” Immediately sorry he’d allowed his frustration to spout like a frightened whale, Edward held his emotions in check. She’d been miserable and unsettled since her arrival. Things had not improved during his absence, and no matter what he’d done she hadn’t responded.
Her now familiar icy glare bored into him, stabbing deeper with every syllable. “I left that life behind when I came here, Edward. And I’d not be welcomed back.”
&n
bsp; “Elisabeth, you knew what I was when you married me.” A sliver of hope prevented him from reminding her how she’d refused to heed his warnings and ignored his misgivings.
“I don’t understand why I can’t go with you. Plenty of other captains take their wives and even their children along.” She braced her hands against his shoulders and pushed him away.
Edward held on to her wrists. He had to remove the romantic notion of a seafaring wife from her mind. “Enough of this! Pirates, filth, disease, rough seas, shipwrecks. How many more reasons do you need?” Why would I subject you to that?”
He drew her back toward him and kissed her hands. “I am more concerned about your welfare than your availability to provide me with marital services. Life at sea is a man’s destiny, and for good reason. Women can endure it, but not for the sole purpose of a man’s selfishness. Your world is here, with the other women. Think of all the good you’ve done for all the townspeople.”
She pushed him away and circled like a shark around a bleeding victim. “All the good? Captain Howell will return to find his wife dead, and his daughter being wet-nursed by another man’s wife. Bethea is nearly dead from worry and grief, and if Kyle had been here, no doubt . . .”
He took her firmly by the shoulders once again. “Kyle’s presence would not have changed the outcome. The child would still have died. And what if they had been aboard the ship, far from medical attention? Would tossing his body overboard have made it easier? And would you care to give birth at sea, where no one has any knowledge of the conduct of such things? Would you abandon your desire for a child because of the risks?”
“No, of course not. Stay here with me. I won’t let you go.” Far from hysterical, her voice implied steely resolve.
No matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. She was acting like a spoiled child.
“Don’t ask me to give up my livelihood, Elisabeth!” He released her.
She backed away, the space between them now wider than it had ever been. “Why can’t you understand? Bethea needed Kyle by her side, not me! Mrs. Howell last looked into the eyes of a stranger. All we could give her was assurance we’d care for the babe. Her husband should have been with her to say goodbye. The last man that touched her was Doctor Fergus, his arm up inside her to his elbow, trying to stop the haemorrhage, while she lay there naked and dying! I was the one who slept in the house with the body to keep her company. Who will be with me, Edward?” Elisabeth picked up a hairbrush and hurled it at him.
He jumped out of the way. The projectile smashed into the wall and fell to the floor with a thud.
The ivory combs he’d brought her scattered across the room as she swept them off the vanity. “Take this, sell it! I stole it for you! For us!” She ripped jewelry out of a box and flung it across the room. Gold rings and gemstone necklaces rained down. Earrings skittered across the floor.
Edward ran over and gathered her into his arms to hold her still. “I’ll have no more of this! If you want to travel, I’ll dispatch you on a steamship, and you can meet me in a port somewhere. I must fulfill my contract, amass enough money to pay off the mortgage, and provide some savings. Then, I’ll have Mr. Sanders teach me to be a gentleman farmer, and you’ll be pregnant and sick of me being around. I promised you in a year, or two. Seven months have already elapsed!”
She squirmed out of his grasp. “Why can’t you hear what I’m saying, Edward? It’s you I want. I can bear anything, if you’re with me.” Her eyes glistened with tears; her voice trembled.
“What more do you want from me, woman? I’ve spent the last four years of my life working to give you all this. Is that not worth anything to you?” He’d fallen in love with her fierce independence, but she’d also inherited her father’s far less endearing sense of entitlement.
Edward stormed past Sara cowering in the hall. The back door slammed against the shingles as he exited; the ringing in his ears took forever to cease.
He paced the length of the porch and back—several times—until his heart stopped pounding and his gut untwisted. She’d given up a life of wealth and privilege and sacrificed her title, status, and inheritance. It was foolish to have assumed material things would satisfy her. He’d tried his best, but maybe he should have just walked away the first day they met instead of luring her away to the indignities she was now enduring.
He paused on the back porch, in the same place they’d lunched so pleasantly upon her arrival. Katherine mucked out a stall, and then carried buckets from the trough. Water sloshed over her feet, saturating them. Sara hung laundry over the bushes to dry in the weak sunshine. Jared Sanders came across the brown grass carrying two dead chickens by their necks, still dripping blood. Sara took a bag of produce he had tucked under his arm, and they went inside. Katherine and Sara had adjusted because they had found companions. Elisabeth had no one except Bethea, who’d dragged her into an awful misery.
If he gave up the commission, they would be bankrupt. Elisabeth had underestimated the sacrifices she’d have to make, and even if she went back to London, would have to create a new life. If she took him up on the offer, it would be a de-facto divorce since he couldn’t set foot in England again. They were tangled like fish in a net, unable to push through the seine and free themselves, unable to retreat.
Footsteps scuffed the wood. Elisabeth came out, dressed in a simple wool dress, eyes red from crying.
He extended his arms. “I love you, Elisabeth.”
She raised both hands and shook her head in gesture of hopelessness. Edward brushed the once alabaster skin of her face, now red and chapped. A smattering of freckles stained the bridge of her nose and cheeks, remnants of gardening in the summer sunshine. He kissed her work calloused hands, the fingernails filed short, cuticles cracked. He noted her feet, clad in work boots, crusted with mud. She was no longer a lady, now no more than a housemaid.
“Do you regret leaving England, Elisabeth?”
Her voice projected no emotion. “Not for one second. I’ll fight her for you, Edward.”
“Who?”
“Whoever you visit, when you’re away from me.” Her voice accused.
Good God, where did she ever get that idea? “There is no one else, Elisabeth. You’re the most important thing in the world to me. Everything I do is for you.” How could he possibly reassure her?
She didn’t give him a chance. She turned her back and walked away.
Chapter 19
June 25, 2009
When Liz drove back up to the house, three girls hung out windows while their partners clung to ladders on the outside cleaning the glass. Liz watched them work in teams, raising and lowering the frames, banging the stubborn sashes with rubber hammers to loosen them. As she stepped inside, the sea breeze carried an odd scent of bleach and pine cleaner that routed the musty, dank smell. Light blazed in through huge windows. The stained glass sparkled, projecting rainbows onto gleaming wood floors.
She’d been gone only two hours, but the cleaning crew had removed years of neglect, offering a tantalizing vision of what it would be like once the renovations were complete. For the first time in more than a year, a genuine smile tickled her lips and contentment replaced the doubts running through her mind.
“We cleaned and put some lamps in your bedroom, but you’re going to need a lot more. Have ya towels fer yer room, Miss Lizzy?” Mae helped haul grocery bags out of the trunk.
“Yes, in the car.”
“Bring ‘em up. There’s somethin’ interestin’ to see.” Mae tromped up the central staircase, dusting the balusters as she went.
Liz unloaded the bags into the pantry and refrigerator, both of which were spotless. She grabbed three huge Filene’s bags from the car and dragged them upstairs.
Mae tossed them to the girls. “Wash your hands, make up the bed, and fix the bathroom. No curtains or sha
des?”
“I have to measure and find something big enough to fit these windows,” Liz answered.
“Ya can close the shutters. These are the originals, and they work.” Mae demonstrated the mechanism.
“I like the light coming in so I want something airy and translucent.”
“Green and gold would work nice with the bed linens ya picked.”
“Those are my favorite colors. I’m going to paint and paper the room in that palette.” Once again, a shiver of excitement ran through her.
“Lizzy, look what we found pushed into the dormer under a pile of boxes. It was turned backwards and in the dark it blended in with the wall.” Mae led her into an eave in the walk-in closet, which was as big as a small bedroom.
Her heart pounded when she read the shipping labels on the battered trunk, dated 1875. “Do you think there is anything still inside?” Given the layer of dust on top, Liz knew there was. Her hands shook as she undid the latches.
The lid was jammed, and Mae banged on it with one of the rubber hammers. “Oh, Lizzy, there’s got to be something in here.” She rattled and pounded again when it failed to budge.
Melancholy welled up inside imagining the woman, probably the same one whose saddle she’d found, who’d left it behind.
Mae jiggled one more time and raised the lid.
Liz scooted closer, on her hands and knees and peered inside. “Ah, look!” Breathless, she wiped her dusty hands on her pants before daring to handle the neatly packed clothing inside. What she thought was a muslin wrap turned out to be a delicate chemise that resembled a long slip with lace trim, the off-white linen gentled by the patina of age. Emotion oozed out of the fibers as if the owner’s soul had been liberated from a dark, lonely prison.
Breakwater Beach Page 18
