Isabella_Bride of Ohio

by Debra Parmley

  “What brought you to America?” He leaned back in his chair and accepted the cup of coffee Mrs. Blevins brought him, nodding at her and giving his attention back to Isabella.

  “There has been terrible unemployment in Sweden and American wages are higher than they are in Europe. Father was looking for a better life for us as the lack of industrial jobs there has been bad and he saw it as only getting worse. He saw an advertisement in the Hemlandt, which is a Lutheran magazine from the United States and is read in Sweden. He came over to take a job working as an engineer for a company in New York and brought mother and me with him. We sold everything and had planned to start a new life here, but the journey was difficult. We traveled aboard the Stockholm-Lubeck steamship service and had to take the train to Lubeck. From there on the train to Hamburg and then boarded a ship to the British port of Liverpool where we then changed to a transatlantic liner bound for New York City.”

  Tom raised his eyebrows in an expression of surprise and admiration. “That was quite a journey.”

  “Yes it was and it was hard on my parents. The journey by sea became difficult and mother took ill first. But father caught the illness soon after and by the time we arrived at Ellis Island, the authorities separated us because of the quarantine. I lost them both. They never left Ellis Island. I wasn’t allowed to see them before they passed, but I have the letter father wrote from both of them and I have his Bible. Both are precious to me. I have kept them with me ever since.”

  Donald spoke up. “It is a shame you lost your parents. But you have a new life here now. A better one.” He spoke as if that was the end of it. She did not want to make him think she was ungrateful.

  “Yes. A new life and a new beginning. This is a lovely village. The people are so friendly here. Not like New York City or Lawrence, Massachusetts.”

  “How did you end up in Massachusetts?” Tom asked. “That’s quite a distance from New York City.”

  “After burying mother and father in New York City, my funds were low and I needed to take a job. I heard about the factory job in Lawrence at the mill and used most of my remaining funds to travel there and find room and board. I had only been there a few weeks when the factory caught fire and burned down.”

  “I heard about that fire. It is fortunate you were not killed.”

  “Yes, I am. Very fortunate.”

  “Had it not been for the fire, we would not have been brought together. And now Isabella is here, safe with me and not having to work long hours in a factory.” Donald reached out a hand, resting it on her knee as he stared at Tom.

  “Yes. This is how Donald and I met. One of the factory supervisors connected the ladies who were single with a matchmaker not far away who helps mail order brides find husbands. I met with her and sent a letter to Donald. I had found work with a very nice family but the job was only to last for one month until their regular girl returned. I don’t know what I would have done next had Donald not offered for my hand in marriage.” She reached her hand out for him and her husband took it, the very picture of devoted husband and wife.

  Now if he would just hold my hand when we are alone. If he would just learn to be tender and show me some affection. We have only been married two days. Perhaps with time he will. This marriage is new to him too.

  Tom set his coffee cup on the table next to him. “Well, I am glad things worked out for you and I wish you both the best. Thank you for the coffee and cakes.” He rose to go.

  “But of course. Thank you for your visit and for returning Donald’s money.”

  “Yes,” Donald said. “It is most appreciated. Come back any time.”

  They walked to the door and said their goodbyes and then Tom was gone. Isabella had enjoyed his visit.

  How wonderful to see Tom again. I am so glad he came.

  A floating, happy feeling filled her from head to toe. And Donald seemed happy as well.

  I wonder if I will ever see Tom again?

  Chapter Nine

  Isabella entered the little bookstore, excited that the village had one. With Antioch College nearby the store was a thriving busy spot. She opened the door and stepped inside as a bell over the door jingled.

  “How may I help you?” the proprietor asked.

  “Oh, I shall just browse through your poetry or perhaps your shorter stories.”

  “Poetry is over here.” The man pointed. “Browse to your heart’s content. If you like mystery stories, we have the first American edition of Sherlock Holmes. A Study in Scarlet. It just came out.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled and headed over to look at the display for A Study in Scarlet. Not long afterward the bell over the door jingled again. Glancing up, Isabella automatically smiled when she saw Tom.

  He was still in town.

  She had seen him three days ago when he returned the money and she had thought he had left and she might never see him again, so this was a pleasant surprise. Eagerly, she walked towards him.

  Catching her eye, Tom smiled back. “Hello, Mrs. Jenks.”

  “Hello, Tom,” she replied. “Thank you again for returning the money those men stole from me.”

  Tom shrugged. “It was nothing. I’m still sorry I couldn’t make it into town for your wedding.”

  “Oh I would have loved to have you there,” she said and gave him a large smile for it was true. She had wished him there and but for a few days he might have been.

  “I’m sure it was a beautiful ceremony. Was there a photographer? I would love to have seen you in your dress.”

  “No unfortunately there wasn’t. I suppose my husband simply did not think of it. There were so many details to take care of quickly for us to be wed.”

  “That was the wedding over at the Yellow Springs United Methodist church everyone was talking about, right? With all the out of towners?” Confused, Tom and Isabella looked around until they found the source of the question, a white-haired, bespectacled lady on the other side of the bookshelves next to them.

  “Why yes I suppose it was,” Isabella replied. Tom eyed the old woman skeptically, but she did not seem to notice.

  “I thought it might have been. I know everyone in this town, but I’d never seen them before. Or you, come to think of it.” She cocked her head to one side. “Or you, my boy.”

  Tom smiled disarmingly and offered his hand. “Tom Allenby. Pleased to meet you.”

  Isabella smiled to herself as the old woman shook Thomas’s hand, then turned to her. “And you are, dearie?”

  “Isabella St-... Jenks,” Isabella replied, catching herself.

  “So wonderful to meet you,” the old woman replied. “I’m Patricia Gearly. Our family has lived here since the town was founded.”

  “It is lovely to meet you,” Isabella said.

  “And where do you live dear?”

  “We live in the white two story house at the end of Jackson street.”

  Mrs. Gearly beamed. “That’s the Matthews house. I know it well. Dottie Matthews and I grew up together.”

  “Is she still in town?” Isabella asked. “It really is a wonderful place.”

  “Yes, she lives with me, now, since her husband passed two years ago. Those yellow roses in the garden are her prize winning rose bushes.”

  “Oh, they are lovely. I just cut some from the garden for our dinner table last night. She must love yellow because there are touches of it all through the house.”

  “Yes, she does,” said Mrs. Gearly, nodding. “How long are you two lovebirds renting the house?”

  Isabella shook her head. “Oh we are not renting the house. Donald owns the house. He is quite proud of it.”

  Mrs. Gearly frowned in confusion. “But Dottie told me you were renting it.”

  Isabella’s stomach did a flip. She did not know what to say. Her face colored as the realization came over her and her heart sunk, taking her smile with it.

  “Perhaps I misunderstood Donald,” she spoke in a low voice as her gaze drifted down away from the town
busybody, embarrassed. Now everyone would know she wasn’t aware the house had been rented. “It has been a rushed and confusing week.”

  I must talk to Donald about this. I must ask him if someone is mistaken, or if he lied to me. And why.

  Mrs. Gearly was suddenly compassionate. She laid a hand softly on Isabella’s arm. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing, honey. Someone probably said something different from what someone else said. We’re all human, you know, people make a lot of mistakes.”

  Isabella, feeling less embarrassed, said, “Yes, misunderstandings can happen so easily.”

  How kind of Mrs. Gearly. Misunderstandings did happen quite often. Why between different languages and different cultures all sorts of misunderstandings could happen.

  “Donald has told me very little actually and we have not known each other long.” Isabella smiled. “He was in such a hurry to marry me. Everything was a rush from the minute I stepped off the train. I had no idea he was so anxious to be married.”

  “Well there you go!” Mrs. Gearly continued. “And besides, what reason would he have to lie?”

  Isabella smiled, then glanced over at Tom. He had been about to say something, but stopped. “What reason would he have…” he said, softly, frowning.

  With a final pat, Mrs. Gearly turned away and continued strolling through the bookshelves. Isabella watched her go, then turned back as Tom touched her on the arm.

  “Isabella, what has your husband told you about work?”

  “Oh he is an accountant for a distillery. But he works from home now that we are married instead of going into the office. Today is the one day of the week when he goes to Dayton.”

  “Hmm. Really. How’s business?”

  “He never discusses the finances with me. But he always has the finest things and he has excellent taste. Oh, if you had seen my wedding dress, why, that alone would have taken nearly a year of my salary at the mill.”

  Tom nodded and seemed to speak to himself. “Yep. I’m sold.” Turning back to her, he smiled, and suddenly the room was much brighter. “That’s good to hear. I hope everything sorts itself out. It was so good to see you again.”

  She beamed at him. “Seeing you was the best surprise I’ve had since leaving Lawrence.”

  ****

  She watched Donald looking through the books in his study and waited for him to notice her in the doorway. But as usual she had been much too quiet and he had not heard her approach.

  She stood close by his chair and cleared her throat.

  He looked up at her.

  Oh it is so hard to ask him this, but I must.

  “I was in town today,” she began.

  “You went into town?” He frowned.

  “Yes, to purchase a book,” she said and held the book up in her hand.

  He gestured to a shelf of books. “These are not sufficient for you?”

  “There are no books of poetry, other than Shakespeare. Though I ended up purchasing this story about Sherlock Holmes.”

  “I see.” The frown had not left his face. “And?”

  “And I was talking to a woman I’d just met. A Mrs. Gearly.”

  “Mrs. Gearly.” He nodded as if he knew the woman.

  “Yes, and she said.” Isabella took a deep breath and then came out with it. “She said our house is a rental. That a Dottie Matthews owns the house.”

  His eyes narrowed and he stood, now towering over her as Isabella took a step back. “She did, did she? And what else did Mrs. Gearly say?”

  “Nothing else, that was all,” Isabella said.

  His features relaxed again. “You must be confused by this. Which is why I did not tell you the full details of our arrangement.”

  “Arrangement?”

  “Yes. I have rented the house with an option to purchase it. I was not sure until you arrived if you would find the house to your liking.”

  Isabella’s brow wrinkled.

  If this was so, why did he not tell me so in the beginning? Why as far back as the advertisement he had claimed to own a house in the country. And now to find this is not true…

  Her stomach gave a flip again.

  “You must leave the finances to me, my sweet,” he said. “I don’t expect you to follow complicated business deals. Suffice it to say, I acquired the house temporarily, have assessed your enjoyment of it and will be purchasing it as promptly as the deal is completed.” He shrugged. “The house is ours, you may decorate it as you wish and plant whatever you want. There is no need to fret over the business end of it. You do wish to live here do you not?”

  “Yes, I love the house. It is everything I dreamed of.”

  “You were meant to live in this house and we shall have many happy years here together. Now.” He grew stern with her. “If there is something you wish to know, you will come to me and ask. Not be asking questions around town. Agreed? We don’t want these kinds of misunderstandings.”

  “Agreed.” She nodded. “I do not care for misunderstandings.”

  Or for being lied to. Had he lied? Was he lying now? And if he would lie to me about this, what else would he lie about?

  Chapter Ten

  Donald made a new arrangement with the cook who now only came half days. She would cook and serve breakfast, and the midday meal, but leave before the evening meal, leaving them prepared food, but no one to serve it.

  Isabella carried the tureen of soup into the dining room where she had already set the table and placed the rolls. Then she went to Donald’s study and, stepping inside said, “Everything is ready.”

  He turned and said, “Eat without me. I’ll have something later.”

  “Oh, well all right.”

  He turned back around without another word to her and went back to working on his account books.

  Quietly she walked back to the dining room, ladled out soup for herself and sat. Dining by herself at the large table was lonely and much too quiet. It also left her alone with her thoughts.

  Donald had been spending more and more time hovering over his account books. She could not tell if he had more work or if he was avoiding her. He remained pleasant as long as the cook was around, but after she went home, Isabella could not be sure of his moods. She found herself tensing up the moment the door closed behind Mrs. Blevins, leaving her alone with her husband. Then her stomach would do that strange flipping which seemed to happen more when her husband was around.

  She ate half her bowl of soup, laid her spoon down and placed her hand on her stomach.

  It was no use. That strange flipping feeling was back and she’d not be able to eat more.

  Strange how often my stomach does that now, when it never did before I came to live here.

  She got up to clear the table.

  There is no point in trying to eat when I feel this way. Nothing will settle right. It is best not to.

  Clearing the table she wondered what to do with the soup. It would get cold if she left it on the table. Deciding it would be best not to let his soup get cold, she returned it to a pan on the stove and turned the heat down low. Then she turned to wash the dishes. The cook left her very little to do and she was glad to have an activity of some kind to keep her occupied. It calmed her nervousness to have something to do and kept her thoughts off of how the evening might go, whether he would be in a bad mood, whether he would want intimate relations this night.

  He’d not touched her since the first night. It was so strange, and she could not wrap her mind around it.

  Did he not enjoy it? Is he not attracted to me? Could it be he is sorry for how he treated me on our wedding night?

  She hoped it was the last and that one day he would reach for her in a kinder way, that all might be well between them. She wanted to be a good wife.

  The strangest thing that she could not wrap her mind around at all, was his ability to be tender and good to her when others were around, yet there was this other side of him that others did not see, and it frightened her.

  That he
could be good to her sometimes gave her hope it might one day be better and she clung to that hope. She prayed every night for God to do something to change her situation and for guidance to know what to do. Last night she had resolved to go for a walk every day as that helped to clear her head.

  As she washed the dishes, she wondered if she might slip away for a walk this night. It was not as if he wanted her company in any way. Everything about his posture and his voice had sent the message to leave him alone.

  Well, that is just what I shall do. Leave him alone and go for a walk.

  She hung up the apron in the corner and reached for a coat. Shrugging it on, she stepped out the back door and lingered for a few minutes among the flowers, touching one here and then one there. This was what she needed. To be outdoors, breathing the fresh air, and not thinking of all the bad things but just breathing and being happy to be alive.

  She moved through the garden and then turning the corner just past their yard, she crossed the street and moved toward the Clifton Gorge Park.

  Isabella’s thoughts churned as she walked. It felt better to be out of the house. The air was too heavy in there with something she could not name. Donald said and did all the husbandly things one might expect a new groom to say and do when others were around, but the minute the doors were closed again, closing them off from the world that air descended again. That heavy air which made her feel as if something was wrong.

  She walked along the path across from Jackson Street, which led to the Clifton Gorge. Heavily forested trees and the lighter cooler air which such groupings of trees provided met her. She stepped among ferns and tiny forest flowers, lifting her skirts and taking care not to crush them. The moment she entered and began to breathe the air here, her spirits began to lift.

  Here, away from that house and her new husband she could breathe. And think.