The Promise of Morning

by Ann Shorey

  Ellie watched Matthew and Mr. Wolcott ride away. Matthew had never left without saying good-bye before. Heavyhearted, she turned back to the stove and grated lye soap shavings into the wash boiler, then dropped in an armload of her sons’ grimy shirts. The water changed from clear to muddy gray. Just like our lives.

  The house was quiet. The children were at school, and now Matthew was gone too. She could put her plan into action. Ellie stepped back from the stove and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the hem of her apron, then climbed the stairs.

  She headed straight to the clothespress in their bedroom. Even knowing she was alone, Ellie still checked over her shoulder before kneeling to open the drawer that held Matthew’s personal possessions. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

  The fragrance of stored sunshine rose from her husband’s clean shirts and underthings when she opened the drawer. With trembling hands, she reached beneath the stacks of clothing and drew out a slim walnut document box.

  Ellie groped around the bottom of the drawer, her fingers searching for the small brass key that fit the lock. Nothing. Defeated, she sank back onto her heels. Now what? She lifted the box and shook it. The contents teased her with rattles and whispers. She tipped it on its side and shook it again. This time the hinged lid flew open. Folded papers sifted onto her lap. Several pen nibs rolled under the clothespress and two wooden pen holders clattered past her knees.

  She’d intended to look through his papers without disturbing their order, but that was impossible now. Ellie bent over and fished under the clothespress for the runaway nibs. She gathered four of them and prayed none were hiding next to the wall. Once the nibs and holders were back in the walnut box, she turned her attention to the pages in her lap. A letter from the presiding elder, appointing Matthew to the Beldon Grove church. Several drawings of the church building in various stages of construction. A credit receipt from Wolcott’s Mercantile for last year’s corn crop. Then a sheet of yellowed paper, folded inward on all four sides, caught her eye. Ellie’d never seen it before.

  It was too old to be from Grandpa Long. Curious, she unfolded one side of the letter, then stopped, a tingle of guilt prickling her throat at the idea of spying on her husband. A voice inside told her to put everything back and leave the room. Instead, Ellie opened the fragile document carefully, so as not to tear the paper. A lock of auburn hair tied with a blue cord nestled in the center of a sheet covered with faded script.

  Ellie traced the silky curl with her index finger. Matthew had told her about the sweetheart he’d lost years ago in Kentucky. But he hadn’t told her he’d kept a lock of her hair. An arrow of jealousy impaled her heart.

  Angry, she pushed the auburn curl to one side and started to read.

  Dear Brother Matthew,

  Since we don’t know where you are, we are sending this to the Elder of your conference and pray it reaches you.

  Our dear Mother went to the arms of her Lord on Monday last after a brief sickness. She asked for you at the end. I’m sending a lock of her hair for you to remember her by.

  Pa is worse than usual. Sister Molly has been a blessing to us boys. We all send greetings and hope this finds you well.

  Y’r Brother Adam

  Ellie lowered the paper and blinked back tears. The date written at the top of the sheet was March 11, 1825. His mother. He’d kept this, and his grief, hidden for over twenty years. She lifted the lock of hair, seeing it with fresh vision. His mother’s hair was the same color as the twins’.

  She stood and walked to the window, staring out at their cornfields. For the moment she forgot the distance that had crept between herself and Matthew and concentrated instead on the kindhearted man who’d won her love when she was still a girl.

  She turned back to the clothespress, where the contents of the walnut box lay strewn across the floor. Ellie placed the curl back in the center of the paper and closed the sides over Matthew’s memories. Praying she wouldn’t be found out, she replaced the contents of the box as she hoped they’d been arranged and tucked the polished container into the drawer.

  Not until later did Ellie remember she hadn’t found the envelope from Grandpa Long.

  That afternoon Ellie pegged Matthew’s laundered shirts onto the clothesline with special care. She smoothed his white cotton Sunday shirt, then took one hand and pressed a sleeve to her cheek. Lord, help me to be kind-spoken to Matthew—even though I can’t be all that he wants in a wife.

  A breeze ruffled the hanging garments, reminding her of the scripture that compared the Spirit of God to the wind. Comforted, Ellie lifted the empty basket just as Matthew rode into the yard.

  She hurried toward him, smiling. “I’m glad to see you. Where’d you and Mr. Wolcott go?”

  His gaze met hers, then dropped to the saddle horn. “No place special. Ben went to town. I rode a ways east, looked over the countryside.”

  “What for?”

  “Do I need a reason?” He tapped Samson’s sides with his heels and rode on to the barn.

  Deflated, Ellie stared after him. She spun around and stalked toward the house.

  On Thursday afternoon, the kitchen door opened and Uncle Arthur called Ellie’s name.

  “I’m in the sitting room.” She dropped the shirt she was mending for Harrison into the basket beside her rocking chair and walked to the hallway. “If you’re looking for Matthew, he took the children out to help replant the acre next to the creek.”

  “Nope, looking for you.” His fringe of hair lay flat around his scalp, bearing the marks of the hat he held in his hand. “Ruby sent me to see if you’d come help her this afternoon.”

  Ellie chuckled. “Now that’s something new—Aunt Ruby asking for my help. What does she need done?”

  “Sounds like one of them actors tore his stage getup real bad and she’s got to make him a new costume before tomorrow.” Uncle Arthur looked uncomfortable in his role as go-between. “Said to tell you she’s got it all cut out, just needs another pair of hands to help with the sewing.”

  She wondered what Matthew would say to the request. He hadn’t spoken much for the past few days. She knew he was upset with her decision not to risk having more children, but it was unlike him to retreat into silence the way he had. She flicked a glance out the kitchen window toward the creek. Matthew’s broad-brimmed straw hat was barely visible beyond the branches of the willow trees. She hoped he wouldn’t be too perturbed—after all she was doing a favor for Aunt Ruby.

  She smiled at her uncle. “I’ll get my sewing basket.”

  Pairs of flirty-tailed wrens darted in and out of the hedgerows as Uncle Arthur’s buggy rolled toward the Newberry farm. Bubbling birdsong drifted through the warm afternoon.

  Ellie leaned back against the seat, lifting her face to the sun. “It’s good to be out on such a lovely day, Uncle. I’m glad you came to fetch me.”

  “Ruby’ll be happy you could help.” He flicked the reins over the horses’ backs. “Git on there.”

  Surprised, Ellie realized they were passing the lane that led to her aunt’s house. “Why aren’t we stopping?”

  “Ruby’s at the hotel. Seems like she does everything but sleep there these days.”

  The hotel! Ellie felt the thrill of forbidden fruit. She’d never have dared visit the place on her own, but the decision had been taken out of her hands, hadn’t it? Pent-up curiosity won out over her sense of duty to her husband. She leaned forward in anticipation when Bryant House came into view.

  While Arthur escorted her to the sewing room, she stole quick glances around the hotel. Green velvet drapes outlined windows in the parlors they passed as they walked down the ground floor hallway. In the center of one room, a display of iridescent plumes in a brass vase rested on a round, marble-topped table.

  She drew a breath. “Oh, Uncle, can we stop for a moment?” Not waiting for an answer, she stepped over to the table and touched one of the feathers. “How beautiful!”

  “As are you, Mrs. Craig.�
�� She jumped at the sound of Mr. Bel-don’s voice. Ellie had forgotten he lived at the hotel. Had she trespassed?

  Flustered, she acknowledged him with a nod. “I’m just leaving.”

  “No need.” He came toward her, impeccable in a fawn-colored suit. “These are public rooms. Stay as long as you wish.”

  A spicy smell, reminiscent of cloves, drifted over her. Mr. Bel-don’s nearness caused Ellie’s heart to beat in her throat. She loved Matthew. She did. So why did she feel drawn to this dark-haired man who caused her husband such discomfort?

  “These feathers.” She tried to control her voice. “What are they?”

  “Why, peacock tail feathers, my dear. Have you never seen a peacock?”

  She shook her head.

  “Truly one of God’s wonders. When the male wants to attract a mate, he spreads his tail until he has a spectacular fan of color on display.” He smiled, demonstrating by spreading his broad fingers apart in a fan shape. “It’s quite a sight. Makes one want to take a closer look.”

  Uncle Arthur moved next to Ellie, taking her arm. “If you’ll excuse us? My niece is here to help her aunt.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Beldon bowed in her direction. “Always a pleasure. Until next time.”

  Her uncle hustled her to an unadorned room at the rear of the hall, where she found Aunt Ruby sitting in a low chair, sewing what looked like a dark gray pair of men’s trousers.

  “Here she is,” he announced.

  Aunt Ruby jumped to her feet. Ellie noted that rather than her usual linsey-woolsey work skirt and apron, her aunt wore what Ellie knew to be her second-best dress. Although the over-dyed green fabric had faded back to yellow, the black flowered calico pattern in the wide skirt still looked bright. The full sleeves flared like wings as Ruby hugged her niece.

  “Thank goodness you could come.” She thrust several cut pieces of gray fabric into Ellie’s hands. “These need to be joined into a tunic. On the stage it will look like chain mail.”

  “Chain mail?” Ellie’s mind still felt fuzzy from her unexpected meeting with Mr. Beldon.

  “It’s what soldiers wore way back when—kind of like knitted armor.”

  Settling onto a chair, Ellie asked, “How do you know all this?”

  “Mr. Forsythe has been explaining things to me. It’s a pure wonder how smart that man is.”

  Completed garments piled up on one end of the table. Ellie mimicked her aunt’s speed, her needle racing along seams and across hems. When she snipped off a trailing thread, she glanced up and noticed Sorrel Forsythe standing in the doorway. His deep-set brown eyes seemed to bore through her.

  “Have you brought a spy into our midst?” When he raised an eyebrow, the lines at the corners of his eyes stretched tight and disappeared.

  Ellie froze at his question.

  Aunt Ruby laughed and glanced at her niece. “Sorrel’s sense of humor takes some getting used to.” She turned to him and said, “I told you this morning I needed help to get done on time.”

  “So you did.” He walked over to Aunt Ruby and rested a hand on her shoulder. “From the looks of things you’ve accomplished your task magnificently.”

  Her cheeks pinked. “It was nothing.” Shining eyes betrayed the outward modesty.

  Mr. Forsythe nodded in Ellie’s direction. “Would you be interested in seeing the stage sets? We’re doing our dress rehearsal this evening—not that I don’t know this play inside and out.” He flicked the fingers of one hand as if to show that it didn’t matter to him whether he rehearsed or not. “But we do need to practice our marks. The stage upstairs is much smaller than anything we’re used to.”

  Practice our marks? He might have been speaking a foreign language. Ellie glanced out the window and noticed that the sun had slipped halfway down the western sky. She stood, holding her sewing basket in one hand. “I don’t think I’d better take the time. My family—”

  “Nonsense, child.” Aunt Ruby took the basket and placed it on the table. “You can’t leave until Arthur fetches you, so you might as well go upstairs with us.”

  Still she hesitated.

  Mr. Forsythe held out his arm, crooked at the elbow. “Come along. The devil’s not crouching at the top of the staircase, I assure you.”

  “Go on with you. You know you’re curious.” Her aunt gave her a gentle shove.

  Giving up her show of reluctance, Ellie allowed herself to be escorted from the room. Instead of using the main staircase she’d noticed when passing through the reception area, Mr. Forsythe headed for the rear entrance.

  Aunt Ruby explained the layout of the hotel as they walked. “These are the stairs the actors use. That way the audience can’t see them in their costumes before the curtain opens.”

  Their footsteps echoed in the enclosed stairway as the trio climbed single file to the stage. When she entered the ballroom of the hotel, converted to a theater for Friday’s performance, Ellie blundered into a heavy piece of canvas hanging from a rope stretched across the stage.

  “Careful. Paint’s still wet on that one.” Mr. Forsythe pulled her back. “Come around here and you can see how it’ll look from the audience.” He guided her past hanging ropes, their ends coiled on the floor.

  Walking from the back of the stage to the front, Ellie thought the musty-smelling canvas backdrops resembled laundry hung out to dry, but when she turned around to look from below the stage, she caught her breath in amazement. A crenellated stone edifice had been painted on the heavy cloth. Green brush strokes along the bottom edge gave the appearance of grass and shrubbery.

  “Why, it’s a castle, isn’t it?”

  Mr. Forsythe smiled. “But of course. The opening scene takes place outdoors.” He pointed at the tops of the other backdrops hanging behind the castle, enumerating each one in turn. “A banquet room, a sleeping chamber, a battlefield.”

  Ellie closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the story as Aunt Ruby had told it to her. She turned to her aunt. “Oh, I wish I could see the play!”

  “I wish you could too.”

  On the ride home, Ellie clutched her sewing basket to her chest. The smell of oil paint clung to her nostrils the same way the image of the makeshift theater stayed in her mind. The thought of people crowding the second floor of the hotel to see Macbeth filled her with envy.

  She forced herself to focus on family and home. Next to her, hands on the reins, Uncle Arthur whistled a tuneless ditty and tapped his toe on the floor of the buggy. The sun had dropped low on the horizon.

  “Would you like to stay to supper?” Ellie asked.

  “Don’t mind if I do. Ruby’s been leaving me to fend for myself lately. A home-cooked meal will go good.”

  Surprised, Ellie glanced at him. “She’s not home by suppertime?”

  “Nope. Not for the past several days anyhow. Eats at the hotel with them actor folks.”

  Ellie felt mild shock. She hadn’t realized her aunt had taken up so completely with the theater troupe. “Don’t you mind?”

  “Sure I do, but Ruby’s Ruby. It’ll be over tomorrow night, and she’ll be back home, making me hop to it.” He grinned. “Been kind of peaceful, come to think on it.”

  When they crossed the bridge spanning the creek that bordered the Craig farm, Ellie looked over the cornfield, hoping Matthew was still at work and hadn’t noticed her absence. But when they entered the kitchen, he was seated at the table.

  He glanced behind their backs. “Where’s Ruby?”

  “Left her at the hotel,” Uncle Arthur answered.

  One of Matthew’s eyebrows dipped in a half frown. He turned to Ellie, his voice rising. “Your note said you were going to Ruby’s. You were at the hotel all this time? With those people?”

  Her heart fluttered in her throat. “I didn’t know that’s where we were going.”

  Uncle Arthur came to her defense. “S’true. Guess she figured Ruby was to home when I came to fetch her. But Ruby’s been working at the hotel for some days now.” He gla
nced out the window in the direction of town. “Makes sense, I guess. Easier than packing everything back and forth.”

  “At the hotel.” Matthew looked down at the floor, fingers pinching his lower lip.

  Ellie knew he was trying to control his temper. She placed the sewing basket on the table and lifted her apron from its peg on the wall. “Supper won’t take long.” She kept her tone light. “Just have to fry up some sausages to go with the beans. I asked Uncle Arthur to stay.”

  Matthew stared at her for a long moment, his eyes dark with anger. “How could you?” The words burst from his mouth. “Week after week I’ve preached against this play. How do you think it looks when my wife parades into the hotel and lends a hand in putting it together?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I did it to help Aunt Ruby.” Ellie blinked hard to hold back tears. “She asked for me. After all she’s done for us, how could I refuse?”

  “She’s right,” Uncle Arthur said. “It was the Christian thing to do.”

  “Christian!” Matthew snorted, glaring at him. “I don’t know what that means anymore.”

  Stunned at her husband’s reaction, Ellie put her hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  He stepped out of reach. “What isn’t?”

  12

  Matthew woke at daybreak Saturday. His first conscious thought was one of relief that Friday night’s play was now a thing of the past and life could settle back to normal. He stirred on his side of the bed, careful to keep an open space between himself and Ellie on the feather tick. He longed to roll over and draw her close, but instead slid out from under the coverlet. As his bare feet touched cold floorboards, he heard banging at the back door.

  Ellie heard it too, and sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Who’d be here at this hour?”

  “Someone must be sick and calling for the pastor.” Matthew snatched his pants from a peg on the wall, slid them on, and tucked his nightshirt into the waistband. “I’ll see who it is.” Barefoot, he hurried from the room.