“Yes.” She looked up at him, and her heart sank as she recognized the face of sorrow. “She can’t hurt me, Win.” Her words were barely a whisper, knowing how audible their voices were on the second floor. “I need you to back off and let me work this out. She’s your mother, and you don’t want her to leave here with bad feelings between the two of you.”
“I won’t let her be cruel to you.” It seemed he’d taken a stand, and Ellie nodded.
“I won’t, either. But she’s disappointed in your choice of a wife, and it won’t make it any better if you argue with her over it. Either she’ll grow to accept me, or she won’t. Nothing you say is going to make a difference.”
A suggestion of hurt firmed his mouth and he backed away a step. “All right. Have it your way, Ellie. Again, I won’t interfere. Unless she is downright rude to you, I’ll stay out of it.” He turned to the sink and rinsed the wash basin, then pumped the water to refill it. “I’ll help you with supper as soon as I wash my hands.”
Ellie moved the casserole dish to the stove, and opened the oven door. The fire was still hot enough to bake bread, she decided, so surely it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to reheat the meal Ethel had sent. She slid it onto the rack and closed the door, then sought out the assortment of crocks and bowls in the pantry.
By the time supper was finished, Ellie had been regaled with stories of balls and galas in Saint Louis. She’d heard more than she ever wanted to know about the ins and outs of society’s most prestigious families, who had married whom over the past two years, and what had happened to each and every person Win had ever known. Especially the young women, the socially correct, beautiful creatures who inhabited the world Winston Gray had once dwelt in.
“…and the wedding was fabulous, with eight bridesmaids. Do you remember Dorothy Hastings? Of course you do. What was I thinking? Why, you were her escort at the Christmas gala the year you graduated from college.”
Ellie rose from the table, gathering her silverware and plate, then halted beside Win, to lift his from before him. He glanced up at her.
“I’ll help you, Ellie. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll clean up.”
She placed a detaining hand on his shoulder. “I don’t mind, really. I need to move around anyway. I was tired of sitting so long.”
Mathilda’s eyes surveyed Ellie’s length. “I’m sure you can’t be interested in such happenings anyway,” she said cooly. “I fear the life Winston left behind is beyond your understanding.”
“I think you’re probably right,” Ellie agreed. “Around Whitehorn, the biggest social event of the year is usually a barn raising or a square dance at the Grange hall. I remember when the schoolhouse was built a couple of years ago, before Kate arrived in town. And then the townsfolk all got together to put up a house for them when James married her. Most everybody turned out for that.”
“I didn’t know about that, Ellie,” Win said, rising to take the dishes from her hands. “It must have been before I got here. You mean the house next door?”
“That’s the one,” she said. “It was the only vacant lot on the street. Used to belong to the man who owns the lumberyard. Of course, Kate and James have worked hard to make it look like it’s been there forever. Kate planted…” Her voice trailed off as she glanced at Mathilda. A look of utter boredom drew down the woman’s narrow lips, and Ellie deliberately clutched at the plates that Win held.
“Give me those back,” she muttered. “You sit down and let me take care of this.” She’d done all the palavering she was going to for one night. Bad enough she’d gone and made such a disaster of a first impression on the woman. Now she was boring her to death. “Where’s my teakettle?” she asked Win, glancing at the stove. “I can’t make tea without it.”
“I must have left it upstairs,” he said. “Use a saucepan for now.” His glance in her direction held a frustrated frown, and she hesitated, unwilling to make him uncomfortable.
“All right. Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked, turning to Win’s mother.
“I don’t suppose you have any sort of imported English blend, do you?”
“I believe it’s imported from Saint Louis, as a matter of fact,” Ellie said carefully, stifling a giggle as she reached for the flowered teapot she kept on the buffet. She ought to use the small packet of herbs Ruth had brought, she thought with a glimmer of amusement. That would guarantee the woman a good night’s sleep at least.
“I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone,” Win said, drawing his trousers on with haste as Ellie watched. Swathed in a quilt, she sat in the middle of the bed, sleepy-eyed and yawning.
“I’m not alone,” she pointed out dryly. “I have your mother for company.” And then at his frustrated look, she relented. “I’ll be fine, honestly. And I’m sure you don’t need to be worrying about me in the next few hours. You’ll have enough to do.”
“It sounds like a nasty situation,” he agreed, sitting to pull on his boots. “Matt Darby said the Kirkpatrick family lost just about everything they owned in the fire. Must have had a blocked chimney or something. Anyway, the two youngest children are burned, and Matt said the mother is in bad shape, too.”
“I’ll get your bag for you,” Ellie offered, easing to the edge of the bed, her toes searching out the warmth of her slippers.
“Stay there,” Win told her. “Matt’s out in the hallway, waiting for me to get dressed. I can grab my bag on my way past the office.”
“How about something to eat?” Suddenly, Ellie felt a chill sweep through her at the thought of Win being so far away in the middle of the night. “Can I make you something to take along?”
He shook his head. “No, you stay in bed and cover up. I’ll put a couple of chunks of wood in the stove and check the fire in the parlor stove, too. Just leave the door open so the heat will come in.”
“All right.” She tucked her feet beneath the quilt and scooted to the headboard. “Be careful, you hear?”
“I hear,” he told her, leaning over the bed to kiss her lightly. And then he bent again and pressed a longer, firmer kiss against her mouth, his hand at her nape to hold her in place for his caress. “Take it easy when you get up, Ellie. No cleaning house or washing clothes, you understand? Just sit in the rocking chair and work on those little flannel things you’ve been sewing.”
She smiled up at him, watching as he bent to blow out the candle beside the bed. And then he was gone, his words to the man waiting in the hall barely audible, the sound of Matt Darby’s deep voice holding a note of desperation. She heard the sound of the stove door in the parlor clang shut, and in moments the outside door closed, and Ellie snuggled in the depths of the quilt. The sun wouldn’t be up for hours, and daybreak would only bring another session with the woman upstairs.
Her brave words to Win rang hollow in her ears as she recalled the sheer bravery of her statement. She can’t hurt me, Win. Let me work this out. “She’s already hurt me,” Ellie admitted in a whisper, and then her shoulders stiffened. “But better me than Win.”
Chapter Sixteen
Breakfast was a disaster. It seemed that coddled eggs were Mathilda’s usual repast and Ellie had never heard of them. “I can do scrambled or fried, or boil ’em in the shell,” she offered, willing to oblige. “We have bacon hanging in the pantry, or sausage fresh from the butchering out at the Henderson place. Win took care of their children when they had whooping cough a while back and they brought us half a side of pork.”
“In payment for Win’s services?” Mathilda asked. “Don’t the people here pay in cash?” She looked toward the pantry, as if the meat in question might be hidden behind the curtain.
“Sometimes,” Ellie said simply. “Other times, they pay him in produce or jars of canned fruit or vegetables, or sometimes meat. Once in a while, he comes home with eggs and butter, if his patients don’t have any money on hand. At least we can eat well.”
Mathilda seemed to find no trace of humor in Ellie’s remar
ks. She folded her hands on the table in front of her and sighed. “And if they don’t pay, I suspect he doesn’t dun them for it, does he?”
Ellie hesitated, unwilling to admit her ignorance. “Doesn’t dun them?” she asked.
“Send them bills. Ask for payment.” Mathilda sighed heavily as if to emphasize Ellie’s lack of knowledge. “It’s the usual procedure.”
“Not here, it isn’t, ma’am,” Ellie retorted readily. “Folks do the best they can, and when times are good, they pay in cash. Other times they make do.”
“He wouldn’t have this problem in the city,” Mathilda said, watching suspiciously as Ellie took four eggs from the heaping bowl on the buffet. “What are you going to do with the eggs?”
“You said you wanted them coddled,” Ellie said patiently. “If you’ll tell me how to cook them that way, I’ll do it.” Placing them on the stove, she went to the pantry and took down the slab of bacon, wiping it with a clean cloth. Her sharpest knife made short work of the slicing, and she placed eight thick pieces in her large skillet. “Do you want bread plain or toasted in the oven?” she asked Mathilda, unwrapping the last loaf from baking day.
“Toasted will be fine. And fix the eggs however you wish.” Like a queen overseeing her subject, she sat at the table and watched as Ellie prepared the meal.
“You’re not used to pitchin’ in, are you?” Bringing a plate with two fried eggs, half the bacon and a thick slice of toast to place before her guest, Ellie blurted out her thoughts.
“Pitchin’ in?” Mathilda looked up from her plate. “Did you expect me to help?”
“Didn’t you ever have to do for yourself?” Ellie asked quietly. “Or did you always have someone else to cater to you?” Not waiting for a reply, she settled herself on the other side of the table and folded her hands. “Win always asks the blessing. Do you want to do it instead, since he’s not here?”
“I believe it’s the place of the man of the house to say grace,” Mathilda said.
“Well, we don’t have a man in the house this morning, so it’ll have to be one of us, I guess.” Ellie waited a moment, and then bowed her head. Win always mentioned the hands that prepared the meal, but Ellie felt foolish asking God Almighty to bless her own hands, so she left out that part. The rest was easily said and she lifted her fork to pierce the yolk of her egg, watching as the thick, golden river ran toward her bacon. A bit of her bread sopped it up and she lifted it to her mouth, aware of Mathilda’s eyes on her.
“Your manners are atrocious,” the woman said simply. “I should have expected as much.”
Ellie placed her fork on the table with a thump. “And just what does that mean?”
“I can’t understand for the life of me why Winston married you in such a hurry.” She waved a hand as Ellie opened her mouth to speak. “You were carrying a child, and Win seemed to feel his decision to give the family name to a child of unknown heritage was allowable. But I cannot condone such a thing.”
Her gaze raked Ellie as she lifted her cup and sipped from its contents, and then she cleared her throat. “I understand you’re a passable cook, and your house seems reasonably clean, but you obviously—”
“Hold on,” Ellie said firmly. “Winston married me because of some of that. I’m a good cook, and I keep his house clean and his laundry done up. And my manners are just fine. Win has never complained about the way I eat.”
Mathilda interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Perhaps he should. I think you took advantage of him. It was convenient for you to marry him, wasn’t it? He provided a name for your child, and a place for you to live. And wasn’t it handy that he turned out to be decent looking and the possessor of a tidy bank account.”
“Convenient? I never thought of it quite like that, but I suppose that door swings both ways. I’m a convenient wife, I guess. I just happened to show up at the right time, when he needed somebody to hang around and serve his meals when he gets home and look after his office and wash up behind him.”
She rose and bent over the table, aware that her face was flushed and her good manners were totally absent. “I don’t give a good gol durn about his money. I’ve never asked him for a thing.”
“I noticed you’re wearing his ring,” Mathilda said smartly. “And whether you know it or not, it’s worth a tidy sum.”
“Wives usually wear rings. And I’m his wife.”
Ellie sat down with a thump, aggravated with herself at allowing the woman to rile her so. A noise at the door caught her attention and, as she watched, Ethel stuck her head in. “Just wanted to tell you that I’ll be gone all day, Ellie. Mary Ellen Gladwin is having her baby, and they’ve asked me to come, since Doc is busy, out taking care of the Kirkpatrick family.”
“Thanks for coming by, Ethel. And I’m much obliged for the casserole. We enjoyed it last night.”
Ethel waved away her thanks and cast an inquiring eye at Mathilda. “You’re Doc’s mama, I understand. Did your trunk get brought by this morning? I heard that Mr. Waverly offered to drop it off. Tess told him it would do him good to get out of the emporium and let the stink blow off for a while.”
“Yes, it came earlier,” Ellie said. And with another wave, Ethel was gone. No hope of a respite for her today, Ellie thought gloomily. Kate was at the schoolhouse, Tess was at the store, and Win was on a house call, probably not coming home for hours, if the burn victims were as bad as he’d expected them to be. It promised to be a long day.
By noon, Ellie was facing the fact that snow might be a factor in Win’s return from the his trip outside of town. Beginning before breakfast dishes were done, the flakes had grown to monstrous size, and the yard was covered with six inches of fresh snow, on top of four or five that had fallen in the past two days.
She rubbed at her back, aware of a nagging ache, and wished for a moment for Win’s strong hand to press firmly against the spot. No sense in that, she reminded herself, punching down the bread dough, then covering the pan and setting it to rise again. He wouldn’t be home for hours probably.
Contrary to Win’s orders, she’d already baked coffee cakes and two pies and now was almost ready to put a pork roast in the oven for supper. There would still be room for two loaves of bread, she decided, slicing onions and readying the meat for cooking.
Mathilda had busied herself going through Win’s office, looking at his books there and checking out his instruments. Then she moved on to the parlor, rearranging the shelves against the inside wall, where he kept the majority of his reading matter. Ellie heard her moving around, and several times, she made her way to that part of the house, asking if there was anything Mathilda needed.
The last foray had borne fruit, and Mathilda had allowed as she might like a cup of tea and a piece of coffee cake. For the first time today, Ellie thought she might have done something right, and her smile was genuine when she placed several slices on the plate and carried it to the parlor, where she placed it on the low table in front of the sofa. The butter was fresh from Tess’s store only a couple of days since, and bore the distinct pattern of a daisy on its surface. Like a brand on cattle, that small bit of decoration let Tess’s customers know who had churned this batch of butter.
Ellie leaned back, then sat up straight, finally propping a cushion at the small of her back. Nothing seemed to help, and the frequent pain was making her edgy.
“Do you always wriggle around so much?” Mathilda asked sharply, eyeing Ellie nervously. “You’re not going to have your child this afternoon, are you?”
“Of course not. Win thinks I’ve another week, or maybe two, before that happens.” Again the pain seized her, across the small of her back and finally edging toward the front on either side, to where the spasms met beneath her belly. “Besides, aren’t labor pains supposed to be in the front?”
“I really couldn’t say,” Mathilda said. “Mine were, but then I’ve a notion if it can be done in a way that will cause disruption, you’ll manage to discover it.”
“You
really aren’t willing to give me a chance at all, are you?” Ellie asked, aware of the pain that shimmered in her words. “I thought I might be able to prove to you that Win didn’t make a mistake when he married me, but you won’t let me.”
“I think you probably are doing the best you can, Eleanor. But we both know that Winston deserves better. A better home, a larger realm in which to display his talents, and certainly, a wife who will be a credit to him. If I had my way, he’d return to Saint Louis and set up a practice there, since he seems determined to remain in the career he’s chosen.”
“Well,” Ellie said with a sigh. “I guess that put me in my place, didn’t it?” She rose and lifted the tray, uncaring that Win’s mother still held a cup in her hand, and had not finished her coffee cake. “I’ll just find something to do in the kitchen,” she said, walking from the parlor into the hall.
Halfway to the kitchen, she felt another aching, tugging pain take hold, and with it came a rush of fluid from between her legs. “Win?” She whispered his name, knowing it was futile. He was miles away, perhaps snowed in with patients who desperately needed him. And she was alone. Or might as well be. With only Mathilda to help, Ellie wasn’t the least bit certain she could cope with what was to come.
Win’s stack of wrapped newspapers waited in the depths of the wardrobe, and Ellie bent to pick up several. Covered with old sheets, they fit across the middle of the bed, and she placed two of them there, on top of the clean sheet she’d put in place. Of all the things Win had told her, the word clean rang a bell in her memory. Her wet wrapper lay in the clothes basket in the corner and she was garbed in her oldest nightgown, sitting with a towel between her legs to catch the residue of moisture that continued to flow.
“You’re dressed for bed?” Mathilda stood in the bedroom doorway and her gaze was sharp. “Is there something wrong?”
“I think I’m beginning my labor,” Ellie answered, aware of another pain wrapping her in its embrace. She closed her eyes and felt the steady rhythm of it, clenching the bottom half of her body in an ever increasing momentum. And then it eased away, one small increment at a time, until she was limp, gasping a bit as she caught her breath. “I’d say I am definitely going to have this baby.” The words were spoken for Mathilda’s benefit, and Ellie looked up to see their effect.
A Convenient Wife Page 25
