I would have to impress him. I might not know how to be a wife, but I could be a mother. I could devote myself to raising Marybeth and keeping his house. I would show him that I was not a bad investment. I would have to find a way to prove my worth to him.
Mrs. Reynolds was humming quietly to herself as she set the table. There was a delicious smelling thick pea soup with a crusty loaf of toasted bread, roasted mutton with a currant jam and a plate heaped with roasted vegetables. It smelled decadent and my mouth watered from the smell alone.
“It looks delicious, Mrs. Reynolds,” I said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” she said with a nod and a smile. “It was a pleasure to not have to deal with the child today. Normally I’m trying to cook with that little wrench tangled up in my ankles. I had forgotten how nice it was to cook uninterrupted.” She was smiling broadly and she kept up her small tune.
I smiled, but the moment her back turned, my smile fell to a frown. Just a nanny, a governess, was that all I was to be? I had not spoken to my husband since the morning. I could count the words I had said to him on two hands.
I heard his heavy footfalls as he came down the stairs. He had washed and dressed for dinner and I could smell his peppery soap when entered the room. He nodded at me and pulled out my chair. I sat gingerly on the edge of it as if I was worried I might have to jump up at any moment.
We ate in silence. I had little appetite. Still, I savored every bite I put between my lips. Mrs. Reynolds was a good cook. The soup was thick, the roast melted on my tongue. I was used to porridge and thin broth at the orphanage and although nervous, I managed to appreciate this new decadence.
Mr. Forth ate with great relish. I was pleased to see that he had good manners. He always used his napkin and never wiped his fingers on his shirt. He cut his meat and put the knife down between each bite. I couldn’t help but watch him. His movements were filled with confidence and he never dropped anything, neither his knife nor fork slipped off the place.
He sipped from a glass filled with a tan whiskey. Next to me I had a glass of red wine. The only wine to ever pass my lips before today was sacramental. I took a delicate sip finding it thick and sweet. When I finished my first glass Mrs. Reynolds was quick to pour me another.
I was desperate for him to speak to me. I wanted him to say something and at the same time, I was terrified of what he might say. I wanted to know what he expected of me this night. He was so much older than I, more successful, much more worldly. I wanted him to take me by the hand and explain what was to come.
“Would you like to see the library?” He asked me as Mrs. Reynolds took our plates away.
“Yes, that would be nice,” I replied.
He led the way down the long hallway towards the back of the house. Darkness had fallen outside. I had not yet seen the library. On my tour with Marybeth, we had skipped over this room, books didn't interest her. The library was a large room with a huge fireplace on one wall. There were books lining the walls which were kept safe and dry behind panes of glass. There was a massive desk against one wall, the wood so dark it almost looked black.
I regretted eating anything at all. My stomach was twisting in knots and I felt lightheaded from the wine. Mr. Forth bent over to build the fire as I took a tentative seat in one of the two chairs in front of the hearth. I watched his form as he laid the kindling in the fireplace and lit a fire starter.
What would he do with those hands? Where would he put them? Underneath and intermixed with my fear was an excitement and curiosity that terrified me. I had kept myself pure in all ways. No man had ever touched me. That had all passed now. I had been saving myself for my husband and now my husband was the man standing before me.
I imagined myself standing before him and taking off my nightgown. I imagined his eyes appraising my body, his hand pulling me into bed with him. The thought made me blush. I had been taught that even thinking such things was a sin and now I was expected to actually do them. What if I couldn’t do it? What if there was something wrong with me? What would happen then?
“Was Marybeth well behaved?” He asked. The fire was roaring and he placed a log on top of the kindling.
“Yes,” I answered, I managed to stop myself from saying “sir” although the word was on the tip of my tongue. I was still watching him as he had not sat down. Instead, he had gone to a small cabinet where he poured two small glasses of a deep red liquid.
“You can be honest with me,” he said, as he handed one of the glasses to me and sat down in the other chair.
“She needs some work on her manners,” I admitted. “But she is far from a lost cause. She just needs a gentle, but firm, hand to guide her.” The drink smelled strongly of alcohol, but when I tested a sip I found it even sweeter than the wine from dinner.
"It's port," he explained. "Are your rooms to your liking? You may reshape them any way you need. The dressmaker comes tomorrow. See that you have all that you desire."
“The rooms are lovely, far lovelier than what I am used to. You have been very generous,” I said. I wanted him to say something about how I was expected to repay him, there was another half to this bargain. He gave me shelter and in return I performed my wifely duties, whatever they happen to be.
He nodded and stared into the fire. “They did not tell me how you came to live in the orphanage, only that you had lived there your entire life. Do you not know who your people are?”
“No,” I said shaking my head. “As it was told to me, I was found on the steps of the church swaddled in a blanket. They said I was only a few hours old. I was lucky to be found quickly, had I spent much more time outside I would not have lived to see the morning.”
He nodded and said nothing for a long time. My head was starting to swim, but I still finished my glass of port. I held the empty glass passing it between my hands. The silence was deafening, I had to break it. I took a deep breath and blurted out, “What about your parents?”
"They have both passed. My mother passed when I was very young, my father when I was nineteen," he said. "My father inherited the ranch from his father, but hard work was not a gift my father possessed. I have worked very hard to return it to its former glory."
“It is a beautiful parcel of land,” I said. “The house is finer than any I have ever been in.” The shadow of a smile crossed his face at my flattery.
“I wonder at the lack of fine houses you have seen. There are many finer than this,” he said. “This is your house, too. There is nothing here that is off-limits to you. I do ask that you not leave the property without an escort. We are safe here, but bandits lurk in the woods. You would be too pretty of a prize for them to pass up. Do not leave without telling me first.” He finally turned away from the fire and looked at me and I could see the worry in his eyes.
“Of course,” I answered. The look in his eyes had been more intense that I had anticipated. It was a far cry from the disinterest he had shown at the ceremony. Perhaps he was thinking of what was to come when were alone upstairs.
“You must tell me if you need anything at all. I wish for you to be happy here,” he said. The sincerity was clear in his voice.
“I’m sure I will be.” He nodded and looked back at the fire. When would it happen? When would he invite me back to his room, to his bed? The anticipation was starting to drive me mad. My heart was pounding, every time he moved I thought this is the moment, but he was only adjusting in his chair, or refilling his glass.
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. He opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a long sigh. “Today was a very busy day,” he said after clearing his throat. “I am going to retire. I will see you in the morning. Sleep well.”
He stood up and I with him. My mouth hung open and I quickly snapped it shut. He nodded to me and then he was leaving, walking out of the library and heading to the stairs, leaving me all alone. What was I supposed to do? Was I meant to follow him? This wasn't what I had expected. I had always been told
that my husband would take my hand and guide me, not leave me all alone while he went to bed.
Chapter Six
I cried myself to sleep that night. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. Did I want my husband’s attention or did I fear it? It was a little bit of both. But being rejected so callously hurt me more than I expected. I felt ugly and useless and foolish. I wished I had never accepted his proposal. I wished I were still back at the orphanage asleep under the eaves.
I woke early, as I always did, but Mr. Forth had already breakfasted and was in the field. Marybeth was waiting for me, eager to show me her newest paper doll. This day was much like the last. Mr. Forth was out of the house most of the day and I entertained Marybeth while Mrs. Reynolds cooked and cleaned.
The dressmaker came. He laid out delicate and light fabrics. There were bright yellow and green swaths of fabric for me to choose from. They were soft and fine and when faced with such a selection, I froze completely unsure of what it was I wanted. It was more than I deserved and I wanted to send the dressmaker back out. I was not Mr. Forth’s proper wife. I did not deserve to be treated like one.
Holding back my tears, I stood with my arms outstretched as the seamstress took my measurements and Mrs. Reynolds held the fabric up to the light. I let her decide what to choose, she knew Mr. Forth better than I. Secretly, I hoped that she would pick out colors and patterns that he would find favorable.
He came in each night smelling like hay and cow and dog. He would take his boots off on the porch and shake himself off, bits of grass and twigs falling off of him to be swept away by the wind. I would have been happy to help him. I would have brushed the brambles from his shoulders and placed a sweet kiss on his cheek. But instead, I lurked inside watching him through the windows.
Each night we sat down to our solitary dinner.
“Will you tell me what you do out in the fields all day?” I asked him.
“I check on the cows and see that their babies are growing nicely. I make sure there is no sickness or mites among them. The dogs and I move them to more fertile grazing lands. I train the horses, clean their shoes. I place the order for the feed,” he shrugged. “There is always work to be done.”
“I am happy to help you,” I said.
"It is not a work for a woman. Besides, you are a great help to me in this house. I heard Marybeth say please and thank you today and Mrs. Reynolds has not been this happy in many years."
My heart fluttered at his praise. More. I wanted more of his praise, hoping it could lead to something else. His dark eyes flicked to mine and held there for a moment.
"You coming here has been a blessing to this house," he said. I nodded and lowered my head staring at my full plate in front of me. I remembered all my hungry days at the orphanage. I used to dream of food, imagining the bread and sweets that I could never have. I felt ashamed that I did not enjoy the food in front of me more. There was little I really enjoyed. I could not forget that I was not truly a wife to my husband. I felt like a fraud sitting at the table. I should have been in the back with Mrs. Reynolds, sweeping and washing dishes, that was where I belonged.
"Mrs. Reynolds, I would ask you a question," I said. I had been in the house for five days. Five days of learning my way around and instilling the manners proper to a lady in the young Marybeth. For five nights I had slept alone.
On that sunny morning, we were canning blackberries in the kitchen. Three barefoot boys had come knocking on the door with buckets overflowing with the dark and sweet berries. They had picked them up in the mountains and were selling them cheap.
Marybeth had been sent outside and I could see her splashing in a wooden tub next to the pump. She had “helped” as much as she could, but mostly had eaten fistfuls of blackberries and smeared the juice all over herself.
“Ask me anything, dear, other than my age, of course.”
“Of course,” I said, my face staring down at the old and stained work table. “No one has spoken of the previous Mrs. Reynolds. I have seen no pictures of her anywhere...” I let the words trail off. I wanted to know everything about her. Was she beautiful and sophisticated, was I just some scrubby child compared to her? Was that why Mr. Forth wanted nothing to do with me?
Mrs. Reynolds looked around conspiratorially and then to my shock she reached far back into a cabinet and pulled out a corked bottle, pouring two glasses she nudged one towards me. I took a sip of the drink and fought back the urge to spit it out. It burned in my mouth and left a trail of fire that went down my chest and into my stomach.
“I would never speak ill of the dead,” Mrs. Reynolds said pouring herself another glass. “But Mary was...not a good woman.” My heart stopped in my chest. I forced myself to be silent. I waited, knowing Mrs. Reynolds would continue to speak if I just let her.
“Her father was a prospector, bought a hill that just happened to have some gold in it. He got very rich, very quick, but money doesn’t buy class. He was a thief and a liar and made far more enemies than friends.
“When Henry was born, the Forth Ranch wasn’t doing well. The elder Mr. Forth had no interest in running it. He was far more interested in playing cards and flirting with girls in the saloon He turned it over to managers who proceeded to pocket more for themselves than they gave to him.
"The ranch was faltering and debts were piling up. The family needed money. Mr. Forth met Mr. Hector at the Black Saloon, the nastiest one there is. Over many drinks, they haggled and bargained and then agreed that his daughter would marry Henry. Her dowry would be enough to cover the Forth debt and the dastardly Hector family would win some good favor being associated with the Forths. They were a family that has lived in this valley since it was first settled."
She poured me another glass and nudged it for me to take a drink. Already I could feel the effects of the first. My face felt flushed, but my fingers and toes were cold. I felt tired but giddy at the same time.
“What was Mary like?” I asked.
Mrs. Reynolds gave me a look and let out a heavy sigh. "A nightmare," she whispered. "She was furious at the engagement, wouldn't even meet Henry's eyes during their courting. And the younger Mr. Forth was as polite as could be. He sent her flowers every day and was at her beck and call, but it was never enough. I remember when she first visited this house, this fine and beautiful house that I keep clean and pristine, she looked down her nose at it and called it a disgusting barn.
"They married, as their fathers demanded, barely even looking at each other during the ceremony. She was quick to seed, though, I'll give her that. After the first month, she was pregnant with child and they split into separate bedrooms and never shared one again.
When Marybeth was born, Mary had no interest in her. She left the child with me and instead went out all day and all night. She would go to parties and teas and dinners, but would do none of those things with her own husband.
“She never saw her daughter or her family. The house was in a state of disarray without a lady to lead it. I was drowning in work once I had the child to care for and Mr. Forth had dedicated himself to fixing the ranch. She only cared about herself. She called him a good-for-nothing and was constantly reminding him of the things he could not afford to buy her.
"She wanted fancy dresses and china from Europe. The damn tart," she spit out the last word and I looked at her shocked that she would say such things about her former mistress. "Lord, forgive my tongue," she whispered crossing herself. "She was never happy. Henry worked like a dog to buy her some dress that she just had to have, but once she had it she would declare it out of style. I had never heard a "thank you" pass between that woman's lips. No matter what Mr. Forth did to try and please her."
“That explains Marybeth,” I said, my voice emboldened by the drink.
"Before Marybeth turned one, Mary took a nasty fall down the stairs. Drunk she was. She hit her head. We did all we could for her. But she never woke up and after a few days, she passed over to God." Mrs. Reynolds crossed herself agai
n and put the bottle away.
I looked around the fine kitchen and down at my new dress. I looked at the wide and fertile fields and the little child splashing in the water. How could anyone look at such splendor and be unhappy?
I gathered a few of the remaining berries and a jar of cool tea. I found Marybeth’s dress, which I had made her remove before we started canning the berries.
“Marybeth, come inside now, please,” I called out to her. I felt a little lightheaded, but in a good way. Mrs. Reynolds was watching me out of the corner of her eye as she stirred the remaining blackberry jam that was still bubbling over the fire.
“Why don’t we bring your daddy a cool drink and some berries,” I said, as I slipped the dress over her head and gave her a small kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Reynolds put a hunk of cheese and a piece of bread on the tray with the drinks and the berries and handed it to me with a knowing smile.
With Marybeth toddling behind me, we made our way to the stables where Henry stood in the shadows brushing one of the horses.
“Daddy! Daddy! We brought you some berries!” Marybeth called out as she raced ahead of me. She stuck her head between the boards in the fence and reached out to touch the horse’s warm flanks.
“What?” Henry asked. He turned towards me with confusion written across his face.
“It is a hot day,” I said as I carried the tray to the shade of a beech tree and placed it on the ground. “Come have a drink and sit with us.”
He came cautiously. Like a stray dog that had been kicked so many times it no longer trusted kindness in any form. I spread out my skirts and leaned back against the tree. Marybeth raced towards me and plopped herself down in my lap and reached for the berries. Henry came over slowly and stood over us a moment before sitting down and reaching for the glass.
[2016] The Precious Amish Baby Page 8
