by KQ Salsbury
He inclines his head as if to encourage me to reveal my purpose in coming to him now.
“Well, I…that is…” I stammer. Fidget with my apron. My cheeks feel flush.
“Elizabeth,” he says calm and low. I note he moves much closer now. “I do hope you will soon return to being comfortable in my presence.”
This makes me look up quickly. I do not want to seem anything other than appreciative and honored by his attentions, for I am. I truly am.
“Oh, no! I am not so much uncomfortable as perhaps…confused. What ever would make you choose me? There are many finer ladies in the area and you are a fine, fine man and I cannot imagine that I would polish up nearly nice enough to sit next to you for Sunday services. I am poor and my mother a scandal. I haven’t a thing to offer you.”
“Elizabeth,” he repeats, again calm, again slow, something more I cannot name in his tone. His hand slowly rises and encircles my wrist, fingers run in circles. “In truth, it might have been better between us if you were but a few years older or I a bit less long in the tooth. But, it seemed any minute one of the men in town would come calling and take your hand.
“You are patient, dutiful, and intelligent. The mere fact that you strive and overcome the…unfortunate lot life has dealt you, well, it only endears you to me. You dote upon Sarah and at every turn you do more than is asked of you. I have seen these so-called ‘fine ladies’ you measure yourself against and you are better than them in so many ways.
“To not have you a part of our home is an arrangement I cannot abide. You are better for this life and it is the consummate fool who would not make you an offer.”
I can only imagine the vibrant hue my cheeks must be at his praise. “Thank you so very much, Sir.”
“I would, however, ask that you endeavor to start calling me Harrison, please.” He shakes his head, laughing softly.
“Of course…Harrison.”
I had not noticed earlier, but the heavy sound of boots in the hall suddenly stops outside the doorway. We both turn to see Nathan framed in the doorway, his eyes fixed on where his father and I touch.
He huffs. “Headed out to check fences. Back after dark.
It is about as much as he’s uttered since Mr. Montgomery came demanding he honor the arrangement with his daughter.
“I will join you short-“ Harrison begins.
Nathan is already walking away. “No. You appear quite busy,” he says, his voice terse.
After a moment, Harrison clears his throat and takes a step back. “I must apologize for Nathan. He does not seem to be adjusting as well as one might hope.”
I nod. Of course, it would not be easy for Nathan to think that the person who has been his maid would now require him to regard with greater esteem.
“It cannot be easy for him.”
“How so?” Harrison seems especially curious for my further explanation.
I force myself to assume the posture of one more comfortable than I feel, as it seems to be his wish that I am.
“He does not seem to want a thing to do with the Montgomery girl much less marry her. Marrying at all would seem to hamper him.” My eyes widen. I wonder if I have spoken out of turn. To my relief, Harrison appears amused rather than irritated. “Further, I suppose he is not favorable to our…union.”
He grabs his hat from the hook and speaks in a tone that seems to be a bit too casual. “That is a thought. What would make you think he’d be opposed to seeing you and I married?”
For a moment, I wonder why he is feigning ignorance. I suppose he is just trying to surmise my opinion in the guise of inquiring about his son’s. It should be more than evident to anyone that Nathan Judson did not want the likes of me for anything more than a handmaid much less a stepmother.
“I don’t think he has thought of me as a son would a mother,” I explain, though I don’t know why.
Harrison chuckles softly and before I realize what is happening, he places a kiss on my forehead before heading outside. “I’d say that is the truth of it.”
Chapter 6
Never have I fought so much to keep the dust down around the washing. It swirls and ebbs and now the clothes hanging damp on the line look dirtier than when I started.
Coughing, I take yet another long draw from the water I brought with me. The day is not hot, but the wind is wreaking havoc. A huge gust whips my hair loose from its bun and down around my face. I look up the hillside, to where I know Nathan would have gone to string fence.
Trying to focus on the task at hand, I anchor a pillow case to the line with an extra pin, but I am plagued with concern. Nathan did not take anything with him. Not as far as I know. No food. No water.
Lunch is long past. Nathan did not come back to eat.
Harrison is in the fields. Nathan is over the horizon.
The wash is now all strung. Nathan’s sheets are at the far end.
Try as I might, I cannot keep Nathan from my thoughts. Nathan’s well-being. I’m thinking only of his welfare.
I sigh. I feel so…disloyal. I’m not fooling myself. Old habits die hard.
In haste, I make a sandwich and fill a large jug. In short order, I reach the section where he is working.
His arms tug at the wires, pulling taut the metal as well as the corded muscles I can see move beneath his shirt even from a distance.
As I make my approach, the wind howls and his hat takes flight, tumbling down until it is near my feet. He never stops working.
Hat in hand, I get close enough to hear that he is talking to himself though I cannot make out the words.
“Nathan?” I say, but he does not turn.
“Nathan!” I say again and then again, thinking my voice is being carried away. “Nathan!”
“I can hear you well enough,” he says, never turning to face me. “You should not be here.”
My breath catches. He sounds so…angry.
“It is not the most pleasant of days to be out long hours.”
“Being out is better than the alternative.” He rears back with his mallet and hits a post.
I frown. For him to not feel comfortable in his own home…
“I never wanted this,” I say against the wind.
He turns now, a fire I’ve not seen before behind his eyes. Looks me up and then down.
“Never wanted what?” He gives me a measured look.
“I would wish you to be happy and well.” It seems the better part of the truth.
His shoulders tense. Jaw clenches. “I am quite well-fed and healthy. You’ve done your job. No worries on that count.”
“I only thought you might be in need,” I say, holding out the bag and jug of water.
He tosses his hammer down creating a divot in the earth and throws his bare head back.
“Oh, yes. Yes, Elizabeth. I need.” He steps closer, quickly as if the wind pushes him to me. “I have needs. A bit late for you to finally take note.”
“I don’t …I don’t understand.” Have I not spent these past months in pure dedication to him? His meals, his wash, his errands.
“Of course you don’t.” He shakes his head. “Return to my father now, Elizabeth. Your dress to greatly conforms to you in the wind and your charms must be wasted on me.”
Gasping, I tug at my skirts. “Of course they are! You’ve made it abundantly clear I am not worthy of you!”
My hand flies to cover my mouth. I cannot believe I’ve spoken so. How pathetic I am.
I run. Run until I can no longer hear Nathan call after me, until I can see the house clearly, until I can deny that the wetness on my cheeks is tears.
Chapter 7
“Elizabeth, I can sleep on the trundle.” Sarah looks positively giddy at the changes of the evening.
Harrison, no doubt having noticed my upset that I failed so spectacularly in hiding when I returned from Nathan in the fields (but mercifully not inquiring as to the reason,) directly suggested I take the rest of the day off.
He had the best of intentions in s
ending me home. Unfortunately, my mother was in a right temper when I arrived. It seems the blacksmith has eloped with the banker’s middle daughter and dashed Cynthia’s hopes.
Of course, mother would have been mad if Cynthia left, too. This is the way of it.
In her biggest ruckus to date, Mother had yelled and kicked and screamed. She got the notion in her head that I must have been fired and jilted as I came home early and I was helpless to convince her liquor-addled mind to the contrary.
As I had nowhere else to go, I grabbed what little I could and returned to the Judsons’ to finish out the day. After that, I had no plan.
Sarah found where I stored the bundle of what little I own in the world and soon I found myself rooming with her. Harrison had insisted.
Now here, discussing what is to be my shared room with Sarah until I am wed, I fear Nathan’s reaction upon finding I am already a permanent resident.
“I am your guest, Sarah. You sleep where you please and I will take the other.”
“You are family not a guest.” She skips over and rolls out the trundle and proceeds to bounce on it mercilessly.
I consider her words the remainder of the day.
These thoughts still occupy my mind as I dish up the supper stew (Nathan’s favorite, but his father likes it perhaps almost as much) and bring rolls to the table.
“Will you not sit with us, Elizabeth?” Harrison says as I set the table.
Nodding at the unusual invitation, trying to ease into this new role, I bring a helping for myself.
The meal is quiet except for Sarah’s chatter about her day. Harrison interjects periodically.
Nathan has not spoken since his late return home from the fences. Merely grimaces and picks at his food.
Sarah becomes very animated in her recount of the morning and the atmosphere is finally starting to feel less tense when Nathan and Harrison both reach for the last roll.
The men look at one another and Nathan sits back suddenly, the legs of his chair scraping along the floor, then he leaves the table altogether and both roll and half a bowl of stew behind.
A few moments later, the front door slams.
Harrison sighs heavily. The roll remains alone in the basket.
Hours later, we settle in. Sarah is not the most agreeable person with whom to share a room…for one who wishes to sleep, at least. Though I do not think sleep will come easily on any count. Nathan has not returned since storming out during dinner.
“Do you think father will want the wedding at the church or here?” She whispers up to me from her spot.
“Either will do.”
“Has he spoken of a date yet?”
“Not as yet.”
“Has he kissed you?”
“Sarah!”
“What? It is nothing for sweethearts to kiss. He wants to marry you – so he must be sweet on you.”
I pull the covers up to my chin. “I suppose.”
“What will you wear?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. Let us sleep, Sarah.”
A moment of silence. Then, “Is he taking you on a honeymoon?”
Blood runs cold in my veins.
I think back on the long ago words of the general store matron. Having an inkling of what transpires between man and wife, and some astounding imagery provided by the animals in the barnyard, I cannot suppress a vision of Harrison mounting me from behind like a stallion in spring.
With that, I pull the covers up to my nose.
Unbidden, the vision shifts to Nathan behind me, wrapping his arms completely around me, pulling me flush against the hard muscles I’ve watched work, burying his face in the nape of my neck, holding me tightly to him as he takes me.
An unfamiliar tension coils in my belly.
This is the moment when it becomes clear to me that I will not being sleeping at any point tonight.
Would Harrison be so…aggressive? I cannot picture it. Harrison is the portrait of genteel.
The flicker of an idea - of his kind eyes very near my own, his warm hands touching me elsewhere besides my hands – runs through me, settles in an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant tension under my skin. I shake it off.
Perhaps he will look upon marital relations as a duty himself, as I am much younger.
Maybe he will consummate and never venture that path with me again. Surely he no longer wants more children.
Deep breath. Calm. He only wants a helpmate.
Someone to cook and clean and tend house.
Someone to look after Sarah.
A sudden intake of air as reality hits me. Sarah startles at the noise I’ve made.
I already do all those things. There is no point of marrying me…unless for more.
Chapter 8
“Elizabeth,” Sarah says after what must have been a dreadfully long silence for her. “Would you be mad at me if I told you I left my studies on the porch?”
It is such a welcome change of subject that I cannot help but laugh in relief. “No, Dearest. I might be mad at you if you had not. It was nearly a dust devil earlier today. Reminded me of the drought we had when I was your age. If the winds returned tonight, your books would fly south for winter.”
I ruffle her hair and grab a lantern to light my way to retrieve her books.
As I weave a path through the living room, the metal handle makes a scritch-scratch sound in the stillness of the house and, reflexively, I place my hand on the hot glass to quiet it. Of course, this was not the wisest course of action, but I think my whimper is far less disturbing that the squeaky metal.
Mercifully, the front door is near silent and I find Sarah’s books on the porch swing just as she said I would.
The swing creeks when I lift the books.
A coyote howls in the distance.
I’m no coward, but the animal’s call alarms me and I stand up straight and quick and step backward swiftly with the thought of getting indoors foremost in my mind. In my rush, I misjudge the layout of the porch and crash into a hard pillar.
Or so I thought.
I thought wrongly.
Arms encircle me from behind, a strong hand clamps down at my waist to steady me and the other wraps around my own where I hold the lantern that still swings from our impact.
“Elizabeth?” Nathan’s voice is odd and low behind my ear.
“Y-y-yes?”
His breaths push against my back. The heat of him is everywhere. Too much is happening all at once. Warm air on my neck. Tickling rustles as he fists the fabric of my slip…oh, my slip!
“Oh! I-I am so sorry!” I shake and start forward. “I’m not decent!”
But he doesn’t even seem to notice my movements and holds me fast. Pressure from his thumb at my hip. Radiant heat, circling, coiling.
“No…yes…” It’s as if he’s talking with himself. “Is there now to be no where I might go without being taunted?”
Where his hand covers mine, the lantern sways again as his fingers slide between my own.
“Every day, Elizabeth. Every day you come here and I work harder to steal moments with you than I ever work in the fields.” His whisper is rough, ragged in my ear. “Every single day. Every day I rise before the Almighty and try and guess your path. To do some pointless task along your route. I find you and thank you when others would not. At meals, I sit where you could sit near me…yet you do not.”
The impropriety of our position is not lost on me but I can only focus on his words and the effort to not let my knees buckle out from under me.
“Every day I tried to coax some hint that you would…genuinely want me. That you’d not endure me only because you thought you had to. That my touch might be welcomed not suffered for the sake of keeping your job.” His palm envelopes my hip, fingers splayed.
“Na-Nathan, what are you saying?” My voice is weak, unaided by air.
He continues, presses flush against me, then speaks through clenched teeth. “Dates with simpering idiots and peacocks until I cannot bear t
he thought of one more moment shunning their advances – and never once did you see in me whatever it is that leaves the lot of entranced.
“I hoped against hope that you might find me more intriguing than blasted chores. And yet you did not. No, you do not… and now I know why.”
Releasing me, the thin fabric of my gown falls back around me and he pushes away. “Tell me true, Elizabeth. Did you set your sights upon my father on day one or did you wait until you had counted the silver?”
With every fiber of my being I want to slap him. But I do not. I do not because I have felt the sting far too many times growing up and vowed that this would be one of the many ways in which I would distinguish myself from my mother.
So, I settle for stomping on his foot. Hard.
“You do not mean that, Nathan Judson,” I spit.
Startled, he responds slowly. “You’re right. I do not mean that. Forgive me. You have been ever honest and true. It is one of the things that draws me to you.”
My voice will not obey me. My slip, the night, the lingering heat of his touch, his words are all too much to process.
I hold the lantern higher, away from me so I fall into darkness, and toward his face. Toward his face to, to light it, to see if he could possibly be sincere.
“Nathan,” I say finally, my voice cracking. His eyes are bloodshot. If he smelled of the familiar stench of alcohol, I’d blame drink. “Who am I to dream you any more than a kind employer?”
“Not kind enough, it seems.” He pauses, seems to deliberate, then he gives a short, humorless laugh. “Of course I was kind. Do you think yourself unworthy of kindness as well?”
“It does not seem especially kind to waste my efforts and have me fix lunches for dates you do not actually have.”
He has the decency to look ashamed, but says nothing.
“I don’t understand...anything. You are being nonsensical. Shun dates? Seek me out?” My eyes narrow. “Are you quite alright?”
“No, Elizabeth,” he grinds out through his teeth, then steps away from the glare and leans his arms upon the porch railing. “I am far short of alright.”
