Love Once Again

by Joann Simon

  "Ayuh," Mawson nodded.

  Christopher watched thoughtfully as Bayard disappeared through the crowd toward the door. He'd liked the man and had a feeling that their meeting might one day prove worthwhile to him. He tucked Bayard's name and address away in his mind for future reference.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jessica's first week in the Beard household was a blur of activity and adjustment, and she was left with little energy or time for introspection or self-pity.

  She'd gone down to the kitchen that morning after the Christmas party to find Molly already busy preparing breakfast. With Kit fed and settled in the cradle by the fire, Jessica had only a few minutes to eat a quick meal before taking up her new duties. Molly's thoughtful guidance was invaluable as Jessica gathered up dustpan and brooms, ash bucket and dust rags, and set out to light the dining room fire.

  She'd felt like a fumbling mass of nerves and ineptitude as she struggled to get a fire roaring and the room warm before the family descended for breakfast. She'd lost valuable time in the task and had to rush with the dusting of the table and sideboard, sweeping the crumbs from the previous day's meal off the carpet, and scraping from the table the worst of the dripped candlestick wax. When the room was finally presentable, she'd moved on to the parlor, where she repeated the cleaning ritual; only there was more to be done in this room—more furniture to be dusted, torn bits of wrapping paper to be picked from the carpet, a tea service to be removed. She'd just about finished the parlor when she'd heard the sound of footsteps and voices issuing from the main staircase. As she briskly swept the carpet, she thought of her vacuum cleaner at home and how she'd taken that luxury for granted.

  Lugging the now heavy bucket of ashes, she went on to the study. The men had used this room the day before.

  Dirty brandy glasses littered the side table and the desk, cigar ashes lay scattered on the rug. Jessica went first to the fireplace and, kneeling at the hearth, began shoveling. It took three trips, once she'd finished with the cleaning, to bring the tea service, the glasses, the ash bucket, and her cleaning materials back to the kitchen.

  "Not a peep out of him," Molly had assured her as Jessica bent over Kit's cradle. "How about a bit of coffee? It's left over from the family's breakfast."

  "That would be wonderful," Jessica had sighed. How she'd been longing for a cup of that rich restorative all morning, but with supplies short because of the war, the servants were allotted leftovers.

  Afterward, revived, Jessica had headed upstairs to start the bedrooms. The Beards' room required little work except to make up the bed, clean out the fireplace, and lay a new fire to be lit that evening. Amelia Beard certainly was neat. No clothing was left discarded in the dressing room, and dirty linens had been placed in a sack, which Jessica carried from the room with her after she'd emptied and wiped the washbowl and put out fresh towels.

  Next was Elizabeth's room, and Jessica dreaded the thought.

  It was far worse a sight than it had been the previous morning. Now there were three dresses flung over the chair, a nightgown dropped on the floor. The dressing table top was hidden by the articles strewn over its surface; a book lay open on the rug beside the bed; water had been splashed on the floor from the washstand, and a dirty hand towel lay crumpled by the bowl.

  Sighing, she had started with the bed, untangling the sheets and blankets and carefully smoothing the quilt.

  She'd stuffed the dirty nightgowns in with the other laundry and shaken out and rehung the lovely dresses in the wardrobe, checking first to see if they were soiled. Jessica had mopped the floor, dusted, swept, and cleaned the fireplace. She was just arranging the crystal vials and silver-backed brushes on the dressing table when the door of the room had opened and Elizabeth stepped in. Although her eyes had swept the room, she made no comment on the drastic improvement.

  "Ah, Jessica, just the one I wanted to see," Elizabeth had said haughtily. "I have some things that will need mending if you will take care of it this afternoon." Going to the wardrobe, she'd carelessly withdrawn a couple of gowns. "Here, the hem is torn. And on this one the lace. And these petticoats." She took several from the dresser. "I forget where they are ripped but I put them aside for that reason. That should do it for now." She'd tossed the petticoats on the chair, then went to the dressing table to extract a folded lace handkerchief from the drawer. "In all the confusion yesterday I neglected to advise you I will need you both in the morning and in the evening to help with my dressing. Rachel has been filling in since the last maid left, but she has so much to do . . . and then, it is not the responsibility of the kitchen maid. I will expect you this evening. We will probably be retiring about eleven."

  "Very well." Jessica's tone was mild, though she was seething at Elizabeth's imperious attitude.

  Elizabeth had seemed about to leave the room, but at the door she turned for one parting comment.

  "Mama tells us you are married, with a child."

  "Yes."

  "And your husband is out to sea." The gray eyes in the pretty young face were narrowed. "But, then, mama always has had such a soft heart for a sad story. By the way, in this house I am used to being addressed as Miss Elizabeth by the servants. And see that my oil lamps are filled. They were sputtering last night." With a rustle of silk skirts, she was out the door.

  Jessica had glared after her, her hands clenched into fists in an effort to contain her anger. The arrogant little brat! She had the greatest urge to tell Elizabeth precisely what she thought; precisely who she was—

  not the meek and mild servant that Elizabeth seemed so anxious to put in her place, but an intelligent and sophisticated woman who'd once owned a house in this very neighborhood, who was a successful businesswoman, who'd been married to a man whose social stature made the Beards' seem insignificant. She'd chastised herself for the last thought—she was beginning to sound as petty as Elizabeth—but, oh, the girl made her angry! Yet despite her fury, or perhaps because of it, she realized just how thoroughly her hands were tied, how dependent she was on this employment. She had no choice for the moment but to grit her teeth and bear it. All of it.

  Roughly gathering up the garments needing mending, Jessica had carried them up to her room, then returned to the bedroom to finish the cleaning. As she stepped down the hall toward the bedroom behind the master suite, where she presumed the Beards' elder daughter and her husband had slept the previous evening, the door to that bedroom had suddenly opened, and an attractive brown-haired young woman stepped out, stopped abruptly as she saw Jessica in the hall. Her startlement had quickly passed, and in a moment she'd smiled.

  "You must be the new maid. Mother mentioned you had arrived. I am Mary Weldon."

  "How do you do." Jessica had immediately liked Mary's friendly and unaffected manner, so like her mother's—and so unlike her sister's—and returned the smile. "I was just going in to clean the room, but if you prefer I will come back later."

  "Not at all. I only came up to get my shawl." She hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, softly.

  "Mother has told us of your misfortune. I am truly sorry."

  "Thank you."

  "She says your son is a darling."

  "I tend to think so." Jessica grinned.

  "Before we leave tomorrow afternoon, perhaps you would not mind if I stopped into the kitchen to see him."

  "Please do."

  "I know my mother is aching for the chance to coddle him again, and . . . well, you see, Mr. Weldon and I are expecting our own at the end of summer. We made the announcement to the family last evening."

  "Congratulations!"

  Mary had flushed. "We are both delighted, as are my parents, but I have never had much opportunity to be near an infant . . . heavens, not since Elizabeth was born. Of course, there were the neighbors' offspring, but I never paid a great deal of attention to them at the time."

  "Well, Kit would enjoy all the attention he can get," Jessica had laughed, "that I can promise you. Please do come by and s
ee him. If I'm not there, he probably will be. Cook is keeping an eye on him while I work."

  "Thank you, I will." Mary had smiled graciously. "And welcome. I hope you will be happy here."

  "I am sure I will."

  With another quick smile, Mary had turned and departed down the hall. Jessica went into the bedroom, but the encounter had left her feeling better.

  In the early afternoon she'd toured the cellars with Rachel—the laundry, the buttery, the wine cellar, and the storage rooms. And all the while she'd worried about Kit-felt guilt at having left him so long in the care of others. Then there were linens to be folded and sorted in preparation for changing the beds the next day—and the mending Elizabeth had left her, which took longer than she'd expected because of inexperience with the fine stitchery required. The work had been interrupted when Mary made her promised visit to see the baby. It was a pleasant diversion, however, Mary's warm personality putting Jessica Completely at, ease as they had chatted of newborns, the month of waiting, the preparations to be made. Jessica couldn't help wishing that Mary lived in the house, and not her overindulged younger sister. It was amazing that two such opposing personalities could have been raised in the same family.

  Jessica's last task of the day had been the most burdensome. She'd steeled herself before climbing the stairs to assist Elizabeth with her undressing, promising to bite her tongue. She'd succeeded with an effort as she'd unbuttoned Elizabeth from her gown, hung it in the wardrobe, and helped the girl into a lacy nightdress. She said not a word of thanks to Jessica and criticized her for not being quick enough.

  "I will catch my death if you do not hurry with that nightgown. No, the pink one, as I told you!"

  Jessica had remained silent as she dropped the soft folds over Elizabeth's blond head and held the matching robe as the girl slipped her arms into the sleeves. She'd retrieved the discarded camisole and petticoat from the floor while Elizabeth had seated herself at the dressing table and begun removing the pins from her hair.

  "I do believe in one hundred strokes a night, but I am so weary this evening. Would you, Jessica." It wasn't a question.Jessica had taken the silver brush being handed her and started to brush Elizabeth's long tresses.

  "You really should do something with your own hair," the girl had commented as she appraised Jessica's reflection in the mirror. "It is quite untidy."

  "Yes, I know, but if you will recall, I lost my belongings, and having no pins, have had to make due with a ribbon."

  "Well, take some of these old pins of mine. I was going to throw them out anyway." Elizabeth had reached into one of the dressing table drawers, removed a dozen bent pins and dropped them on the glass table top.

  "That's very kind of you," Jessica said, forcing a shade of gratitude into her tone.

  "We cannot have the neighbors thinking one of our servants is not neat about her appearance."

  "Quite so."

  It was after eleven-thirty before Elizabeth had let her go. Jessica was drooping by the time she collected Kit and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Only six hours of sleep, Jessica thought as she settled the baby, undressed, and climbed beneath her own quilt. How long could she keep up a schedule like this? But within seconds of dropping her head on the pillow, she was sound asleep.

  Once the holidays were past, Jessica slipped into a routine. There was no question that her work was physically demanding, but she was getting more rest now that the family was on a normal schedule and retiring earlier in the evenings. Bertram Beard was always pleasant on the few occasions she saw him in the house. He was away the better part of the day, either at the mill or at his business in town. In even the coldest weather he had his gelding saddled for the three-mile ride into the center of Eastport.

  With her first week's wages—one dollar—Jessica made a trip to the corner market and bought hairpins, a hairbrush and a toothbrush, the latter of which she was surprised to find, and some inexpensive cream for her chapped hands and lips. Little was left from her wages by the time she returned to the Beards', but her purchases had been necessities.

  Much to Jessica's relief, Kit was adapting easily to his new environment, receiving more than his share of attention, thanks both to Cook and to Amelia Beard, who was in the habit of dropping into the kitchen while Jessica was at her duties to cuddle and play with the child. Under Mrs. Beard's efficient management, the household ran smoothly. Her orders were always tactfully given, and followed through by the servants without the smallest complaint, but still Amelia complimented Jessica several times on the job she was doing.

  "I have absolutely no fault to find," she told Jessica one morning. "Everything is spotless, and Elizabeth seems pleased with the assistance you are giving her."

  Jessica was so very tempted to comment that that was a wondrous thing, since Amelia's youngest daughter certainly never had any praise for Jessica when they were face to face, only more and more demands. But Jessica realized that such a remark wouldn't go over well. Amelia was aware of some of her daughter's faults, but was totally blind to the depth of them. Jessica just smiled and said a polite thank-you to Mrs. Beard.

  "And I wanted to tell you," Amelia continued, satisfied that everything in the household was going as it should,

  "that I have had lengths of material sent up from Mr. Beard's store—a nice, sturdy cotton for a new uniform for you and some soft flannel for the child. I have left the bundle on the hall table. You can take them up to the workroom and begin anytime you wish."

  What Elizabeth did with her days Jessica wasn't quite sure, although she did see the girl drive and walk out with her mother a few times on short trips to a neighbor's home.

  There being so little of a constructive nature to occupy Elizabeth's hours, Jessica could almost sympathize with her; no wonder she complained of boredom. Jessica did notice some rather good watercolors of scenes around the farm—

  some completed, others half-finished—laid to dry on the desk top in Elizabeth's room.

  "Are these yours?" she asked the girl one morning.

  "What? Oh, the paintings. Yes. It is something to pass the hours."

  "But they're very good. You have a talent."

  "Do you think so? Yes, I suppose . . . that is what Mama is always saying. But where shall the painting ever get me? A poor substitute for a bit of social life. Do you realize in a few months I will be nineteen? And not a single suitor! At my age Mary was constantly attending balls and parties, but because of this foolish war, I must sit at home and twiddle my thumbs!" From her tone one would have thought the war had been declared just to spite her. "Not that I wish to make a marriage like my sister—that little box of a house in town without even a maid, scrimping and saving and still oozing contentment now that a baby is on the way. I intend to find a man who will let me live in style, with a home suitable for entertaining. But how I shall ever meet anyone in this dull community, I should like to know! . . . No, Jessica, that is not the gown I wanted. The yellow one. Perhaps at least the color will make me feel like spring."

  As Elizabeth fiddled with her golden curls before the mirror, Jessica dutifully returned the gown to the wardrobe and brought out the yellow dress and a creamy ivory shawl that Elizabeth would wear with it.

  At least for Jessica there was no question of boredom— tediousness, yes, but with floor and furniture waxing, silver polishing, and window cleaning in addition to her normal chores, she never lacked for something to do.

  It was not until late January that she finally got up the courage to visit the site of the home she'd shared with Christopher. She'd thought of it many times, but had been afraid of her own reactions to that place where they had shared such happiness. Jessica had walked through other

  sections of the neighborhood, always searching for that one handsome face that meant all the world to her, remembering those brilliant blue eyes and the beseeching, torn look in them in those last moments before they were separated. She continued to hold on to a slim thread of hope that she would m
eet him—though in such a small, close-knit community, if a handsome, dark-haired stranger had appeared, someone would have mentioned it.

  Molly offered to watch Kit, so, wrapping her worn cloak securely around her, Jessica set out alone down the drive and onto the lane in front of the house. The day was sunny and warm for late January. The river, iced at the edges, rippled over its rocky bed at the base of the embankment, the rushing water glinting in the sunlight. She knew if she went North up the lane where it cut into the hillside following the course of the river, she would come to the sawmill where Lucas St. John worked. They'd still been sawing planking and boards in that mill when Jessica was a child in the twentieth century, until a tremendous flood had washed out the dam, and the old mill buildings had been left to fall into disrepair and finally collapse in a pile of worn timbers. Nothing marked the site in the nineteen seventies save the remnants of the dam foundations, clinging in places to the rocky riverbed.

  Today she turned south toward the crossroads of the small community. A short distance up the frozen, rutted dirt road was one of the many millponds along the river, this one formed by a dam just below. Opposite it, an open pasture, part of the Beard property, stretched away into the distance.

  At the crossroads a few hundred yards ahead, the buildings became more clustered. Two wood-framed mill buildings adhered to the river's edge. The first of these, Molly had told her, was a part of Bertram Beard's holdings. Jessica smiled. That same building, enlarged and converted to an inn, was still standing in the twentieth century. On the opposite corner was a clapboard structure. A hand-painted wooden sign swinging from the front of the building identified it as the local market where a variety of items could be purchased, from dry goods to groceries. Situated diagonally across the road was a substantial saltbox farmhouse of seventeenth century construction, and Jessica recognized it immediately. The building looked much the same now as in the nineteen seventies, when it had been restored and refurbished. By then, of course, the barns and outbuildings were long gone, and the farmland surrounding the house had been split into building lots, each with its nondescript dwelling. The latter-day view certainly suffered in comparison to the charming scene now before Jessica's eyes.