by Carré White
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
When she returned, she brought a tray, with an envelope resting near the teapot. “Here you are.”
“I’ve correspondence?”
“You do.”
I took the letter, glancing at the sender. “My stars.” Nathanial had written me! I felt a moment of pure, unexpected joy. I opened the lettersheet eyeing an elegant scrawl. I sank into a plush chair reading.
Dearest Trinity,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to apologize again for our first meeting. In retrospect, I behaved boorishly. I am sorry for putting you ill at ease. That was not my intention. You are now my father’s wife. I should therefore offer you the respect you so rightly deserve.
I wish I had stayed longer at the house. I left too soon. I find my mind will not rest for all the questions rambling around in it. I want to know about your past, where you’ve been, what you’ve seen, but I am not there to ask. Perhaps, you will do me the honor of enlightening me with a letter of your own. If my questions are not topics you wish to discuss, I will understand.
I purchased a few extra things for you. While you were with the seamstress, I asked Mrs. Barney to include several of these items. I hope you are not offended. Forgive me for taking such liberties. The locket, I thought it pretty. You may ignore the paper inside. That was … a moment of weakness.
I shall close now. It’s late here. I only wanted to apologize again for my behavior. Do forgive me.
Yours,
Nathanial Witherspoon
I read the letter again and again, my eyes admiring the handwriting, the elegant, manly scrawl. He wanted me to write him. I would, but I did not have the time at the moment, needing to ready myself for morning callers. Mrs. Dexter sent Penny to me, the maid braiding my hair and arranging it artfully on top of my head. I held the letter, reading it as she worked, Nathanial’s words sinking into my consciousness.
Since marrying Mr. Witherspoon and coming to live in West Virginia, I had grown used to the luxuries of the mansion, the transition being far too easy. If I were to return to the boarding house, such a change would be traumatic now. I felt like a queen, my needs anticipated by the servants at every moment of the day.
Yet, although my life had transformed overnight into something most would consider a dream, I felt strangely empty inside—exactly the same as I had felt before. The desire to be connected to another, a deeper spiritual and romantic union, well, this eluded me completely. In the middle of the night, after I had left my husband’s bed, I found myself alone, sleeping in cool sheets, the evenings growing colder and colder. My head lay upon the pillow, my heart yearning for something—someone else.
***
Nathanial and I communicated regularly by post, a steady stream of letters arriving and departing, like ships crossing in some dark channel during the night. Anticipating his correspondence oftentimes drove me to emotional extremes. If Mrs. Dexter brought a tray in with no mail, I would be decidedly vexed about it, behaving unpleasantly. If she produced a letter, I quelled the desire to jump for joy, privately tearing open the correspondence to read what had been written.
I wrote him one afternoon, after having succumbed to a crying spell, my heart feeling as if it bled.
Dearest Nathaniel,
You have outdone yourself, sir. A package arrived earlier today containing the most magnificent gown I have ever seen. You must stop this. Every stitch of clothing I own has been in your hands. I hardly know what to think anymore, or, perhaps, you have missed your calling. Should you have been a dressmaker? I tease you, sir. But you needn’t send anything new. I won’t be able to fit into them anyhow soon.
Mr. Witherspoon asks when you will return. I ask too. I adore the locket. I won’t ignore the paper inside. I do believe I know what it means.
Yours truly,
Trinity
Several days later, I received a response.
Dearest Trinity,
I adore dressing you. I imagine exactly what each outfit might look like, how it might cling to your curves like a second skin. I do wonder at that comment you made. Why will you not fit into your clothing soon? The only reason I can think of is pregnancy. Are you with child? I am at work at this instant, needing to concentrate on a legal brief, but you occupy my mind, as usual. Even from a distance, you are a distraction.
On other matters, I have not spoken a great deal about Miss Victoria Peterson. I am expected to offer for her. It has been far too long now, and her family is, well, her father, is applying pressure. I had supper with them the other night. He pulled me aside to lecture me on keeping his daughter waiting so long. I dare say; I might have to offer for her. I have been dragging my feet. I wanted to tell you this now. I don’t want you to hear about it from the paper or from one of my father’s friends. I wish to spare you that shock.
Please clarify the statement I asked about earlier. Are you with child?
Yours truly,
Nathanial
I sat in the parlor with the letter, my fingers trembling. I had written a few words, and he had all but guessed at my condition. Doctor Watson had confirmed it a few days ago, saying I was in the early stages of pregnancy. Now Nathanial will ask Miss Peterson to be his wife. The pleasure I normally derived from his letters vanished, my eyes filling with tears. Feeling weary and aggrieved, I ventured to my room, where I lay on the bed sobbing, my emotions once again in turmoil.
Mrs. Dexter came upon me a moment later. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Trinity.”
“What?” I glanced at her. She had to know or guess at my distress or, perhaps, she was truly in the dark.
“Supper is nearly served. Mr. Witherspoon is asking about you.”
“I’ll come down.” I pushed myself to a seated position, staring glumly at the pretty bedroom.
“Are you all right?” She glanced at the letter. “Did you receive bad news?”
“I don’t know. It was … nothing.”
“Being in your condition, some women feel melancholy. I can make you chamomile tea, if you like.”
“Thank you.” I had to gather my emotions into some sort of order quickly. I should be happy for Nathanial. I had no right to claim him in the least, having married the father. If only … if only he had been the one to put out the ad. “I just need to wash my face. Tell Mr. Witherspoon I shall be down in a moment.”
She smiled sympathetically, eyeing the open letter upon the bed. “I will.”
“Thank you.”
I joined my husband a few minutes later, rallying up good cheer, although I still felt terribly low. He sat at the head of the table, a grey-haired man in a suit. He stood as I approached, pulling out a chair.
“You look handsome this evening, my dear.”
“Thank you.” I eyed the plates, the china having come from France. “I believe the cook made ham tonight, with potatoes and … and some sort of vegetable.”
“That sounds delightful.”
He had every right to look happy, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. The confirmation of my pregnancy had led to an impromptu celebration, my husband opening an expensive bottle of champagne.
Now, he eyed me, admiration shining in his eyes. “You’ll want to decorate a nursery, I presume.”
“That would be lovely.” The candles on the table flickered, casting light upon polished silver forks and knives. “What room will I use?”
“The nearest bedchamber.” He sipped wine, as a servant brought out domed dishes, the food kept warm inside. “Are you all right? You look a little peaked.”
“I did feel a touch queasy earlier, but I'm fine.”
It was imperative I gain the upper hand over these unruly emotions. My dreams had come true—far better than I could have ever hoped for, yet I mourned as if someone close to me had died. I had to make peace with this situation—but how?
Chapter Ten
I refrained from writ
ing Nathanial for more than a week. I so desperately wanted to communicate with him, but I stuffed the lettersheets in a drawer and locked them away, even giving the key to Mrs. Dexter. Now that I was with child, my energies needed to center on the new nursery and pleasing my husband, which wasn’t difficult to do. I had spoken to him about the sleeping arrangements, preferring my own bed to his, because my clothes and things were in my room. He agreed that I would visit him at night, at least until the pregnancy prevented such activities.
Waking in my own bed was a joy, but a persistent unhappiness lingered, like the feeling that I had lost or forgotten something somewhere. I knew exactly what it was, but I tried so badly not to think about it.
Mrs. Dexter brought in tea, a folded letter on the silver tray. I eyed it, feeling a wave of anticipation. I forced my look to remain bland, as she filled my cup.
“I hope you slept well, Trinity.”
“I did, thank you.”
She smiled slightly. “There’s correspondence as well.”
“I see that. Thank you.” I waited until she left the room, reaching for the letter. It was from Nathanial.
My Dearest Trinity,
I have not heard from you in quite a while. I am still waiting to hear if you are with child. Why have you not written me? Is something wrong? Are you unwell? I long to hear from you. Good Lord, I sound like a lovelorn suitor. I should tear this up and throw it out.
I have refrained from purchasing more things for you. I would never typically enter a woman’s store, but when I was there for you, I enjoyed it vastly. Are you certain I cannot send you things? Is there anything you need for the house?
On a side note, I feel I must offer for Victoria. I have been a bachelor too long or, perhaps, not long enough. It would be easier, if you would advise me. I would like to hear your feelings on this matter. I do hope you will write again. Did I say something to offend you? If I did, please forgive me.
If you do not write me in return, I shall be forced to ask Mrs. Dexter what the matter is. Know that I wish only the best for you. I do not want to cause you further distress.
Yours truly,
Nathanial
I sighed, knowing I would have to write him now. Getting to my feet, the bottom of the chair scraped on the polished wood floor. In the hallway, I hurried towards the servant’s stairs, finding Mrs. Dexter in the kitchen.
“I need the key to the desk, please.”
She smiled pleasantly. “Yes, of course.” Withdrawing a bundle of metal from within the pocket of her apron, she slid a key off a large metal clasp. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.”
After returning to my room, I sat at the desk writing.
Nathanial,
Yes, I am with child. I am feeling fine. I have been thinking about our correspondence quite a bit. I do so wish to continue it, but you must know I do not feel the slightest bit of friendship for you. I have been sorting out my emotions over these lonely weeks, and I have come to the conclusion that I adore you. I should not, of course, but I do. Therefore, I must ask that we do not write one another again.
Yours, Trinity
I folded the paper carefully, scrawling his address. Ending our secret communication did not bring me joy or relief in the least. I felt just as miserable now as I had before, but what else was I to do? I could not continue to tease myself with his letters, finding them far too diverting. Or could I?
Handing the letter over to Mrs. Dexter to mail, doubt prickled at me. An hour later, I sought her out, finding her folding napkins in the dining room. “Mrs. Dexter.”
“Yes?” She smiled slightly.
“Has the post gone out yet?”
“It has.”
“Drat.” I turned on my heel, striding from the room. I regretted giving her the letter now, but I hardly knew what to do with myself.
***
During the next week, morning callers offered a distraction, Mrs. Hanover arriving without her children. We sat and talked in the parlor, the light streaming in through the lace curtains.
“Mrs. Watson wants to resume the knitting club. We rotate houses. It’s quite diverting. I’ve gotten some marvelous decoration ideas from seeing other parlors. You can join us, if you wish.”
I sipped tea, nodding. “That sounds nice.” Elise and I had spoken several times a week since first meeting, but we had never delved into anything remotely personal.
“Might I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How do you feel about … your marriage?”
“My marriage?”
“The age difference.”
I placed the cup in a dainty saucer. “Yes, that. I wasn’t expecting it to be so extreme, to tell you the truth.”
“A mutual friend arranged for the wedding.”
“Yes.” I did not know if I could trust her in the least, my first reaction was always to be cautious around people. I had been burned far too many times in the past. “Sort of an arranged marriage.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Trinity, I do hope we can be friends. I won’t betray your confidence, if that’s what you’re worried about. I won’t run around all over town spreading gossip either. I swear.”
“I would hope not.”
“I’ve ascertained a few things since meeting you.”
“You have?”
“Yes. You’re all alone in the world. You’re reticent to speak of personal things, truly personal things. You’re quite guarded. I have to ask why, but I’m not certain you’ll tell me.”
“Everyone has something they wish to keep to themselves. I’m no different.”
“Well, maybe one day you’ll share more with me. I don’t mean to pry. I tend to be too open about things. I told you about my crush on Nathanial. I told you about that first kiss.” She smiled wistfully. “What fond memories. I hear he’s engaged.”
I blinked. “He, what?” That particular piece of information had escaped me, my heart twisting painfully.
“Doctor Watson was just in Boston for a conference. He said he saw it posted in the paper.” She eyed me carefully.
I stared at my nails. “He mentioned he might do it.”
“Have you met Victoria?”
“No.”
“Nor have I. He must be smitten.”
My last letter had pushed him to finally offer for her, which had been my intention. But, why did I feel like someone had just taken a blunt knife and carved my heart out?”
“Are you unwell?”
“A … I’m a little queasy.” I patted my belly. “The baby.”
“I was terribly sick early in my pregnancy. I couldn’t keep anything down for a while.”
“I’m not that bad, thankfully.”
“Have you made up the nursery yet?”
“It’s still so early on. I’m worried … I want to wait until I’m further along. There’s a chance I might lose the baby in the first three months.”
“I prayed non-stop when I was pregnant. I didn’t want to miscarry.”
“I don’t want to either.”
She grasped my hand gently. “You’ll be fine. Try not to tax yourself. Don’t drink too much brandy, despite what the doctor says. Spicy foods gave me belly pains.”
“Thank you.” I smiled weakly. “I’ll try to remember that.”
She got to her feet. “Well, I must be going. I have company tonight. My housekeeper is waiting on the menu. We might have veal or pork.”
I stood. “We’ve people over too.” I was forced to entertain nearly every night, Mr. Witherspoon being a social person who adored the company of his friends, although they were all his age. I had absolutely nothing in common with them.
At the door, Elise hugged me. “I shall come back in a few days to see how you’re doing.”
“Tell me about the knitting club. I’d like to join and meet new people. I need to make baby blankets.”
She grinned. “I will. Good day
, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
“Good day, Elise.” I watched her descend the steps, where she walked across the yard, because her house wasn’t far from ours. My husband’s voice rang out behind me. He had been asleep. He typically came down the servant’s staircase at the back of the house.
“There you are,” he said. “Did you hear the news, my dear?”
“What news?”
“Nathanial’s finally asked Miss Victoria Peterson to be his wife. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Yes.”
“The official engagement party won’t be held until December.”
“That long?”
“We shall be going.”
My eyes widened. “Going where?”
“To Boston. Before you’re too far along to travel, we should take a little trip.” He reached out to hold my hand. “Don't you wish to meet Miss Peterson before the wedding?”
“I … do.” I tried my best to smile, feeling gladness for Nathanial, although I still yearned for him. I hoped that feeling would pass. This had to be a silly crush, just like Elise’s crush from years before. If I waited long enough, these fanciful, romantic notions would pass. They had to.
Chapter Eleven
Boston
December 1890
Although traveling for a day and changing trains twice, I hardly felt tired, my husband having slept most of the trip from New York. We had stopped there overnight to see acquaintances of his. He woke shortly before our arrival in Boston, looking slightly dazed and bleary-eyed. We sat in the first class luxury car, being waited on by a friendly porter. I had never traveled in such style before, marveling at how dramatically my life had changed in just three months.
The hustle and bustle of the city filled my senses, the air laced with sweet and noxious smells, reminding me of Lawrence, although the skies looked blue instead of grey. A sleek black “growler” waited, the driver having left the door open. He took our bags, stowing them with ease, while we alighted, settling on plush leather seats. Knowing we would arrive at Nathanial’s house on the North End shortly, I felt a twinge of nervousness. He had not written to me again, although I had secretly hoped he would.
