A Love Woven True

by Judith Miller

  ‘‘Well, I think there are many exceptions to that observation,’’ Jasmine said with a grin. ‘‘Your sister, Kiara, being the first one that comes to mind.’’

  ‘‘Aye, and for sure ya’re right about Kiara as well as yarself, ma’am,’’ he hastily added. ‘‘But most times the pretty lasses depend upon their looks rather than their skills ta carry them through life. Do ya na think that’s so?’’

  Mr. Maxwell gave Paddy a hearty laugh. ‘‘Sometimes it’s best to cease defending yourself. I believe this may be one of those instances. Why don’t you go ahead and care for my horse,’’ he said, giving the boy a quick wink.

  Paddy left the others and approached the horse. ‘‘Top of the day to ya,’’ Paddy said as he reached up to stroke the animal’s mane.

  ‘‘For sure ya’re a lovely one. I don’t suppose yar owner would be havin’ time for me to unhitch ya and treat ya proper, but we’ll be doin’ our best.’’

  Paddy walked back to the wagon, released the brake, and then came alongside the mare once again. ‘‘We’ll just be headin’ over yonder for somethin’ to drink.’’ The animal seemed completely at ease with him. Kiara often told him he had a gift from God. A sort of ability to know what the horses were thinking, and because of this the animals would work for him in ways they would not for other people. Paddy didn’t know if that was exactly the truth, but he knew he loved the beasts.

  As the horse drank her fill, Paddy studied the pattern of her coat. He hadn’t seen but one other strawberry roan in all his life. The mottling color was a wonder, to be sure. The undercoat was basically that of a chestnut, but the body was covered with white hair, giving it a pinkish tint against the reddish brown. Paddy thought it quite lovely.

  He ran his hand down the muscular shoulder and forearm, immediately noticing the clubbed right foot. The inward turn wasn’t overstated, but it was enough of one that a trained eye could easily spot the trouble.

  ‘‘Ya’re a fine one,’’ Paddy said, running his hand up the mare’s leg. ‘‘For sure ya don’t let your infirmities stop ya.’’

  The mare turned her head ever so slightly and bobbed it up and down as if agreeing. Paddy gave a hearty laugh. ‘‘Ya’ll do just fine, I’m thinkin’. I wouldn’t mind havin’ ya meself. meself.’’ He walked the mare back to the barn and resecured the brake. ‘‘I’ll be findin’ yar master and lettin’ him know ya’re ready to go.’’ Paddy glanced over his shoulder conspiratorially and added, ‘‘But first a wee treat.’’ He pulled out a piece of dried apple and offered it to the mare. She gobbled the treat quickly, then nuzzled his hand for more.

  ‘‘Now don’t be greedy, lass. Come back and see me again, and thar’ll be more of that.’’

  Paddy walked away whistling a tune. He loved his life here in America. He sometimes remembered the bad days in Ireland. The pain of losing his da and ma had been like nothing he’d ever known, but Kiara had always been good to him—always watching out for him. Even when there’d been no food, his sister had found ways to see that he ate—even when she went hungry. The memories sometimes turned him to great anger and sorrow, but then like a fog lifting from those emerald shores, he’d remember those days were gone and could no longer hurt him.

  ‘‘Like Kiara says, they can only be hurtin’ me if I let them.’’

  ‘‘Who you talkin’ to?’’ Obadiah asked as Paddy entered the barn.

  ‘‘Meself. I’m the only one who’ll be listenin’ to such foolery,’’ Paddy replied with a grin.

  Obadiah laughed. ‘‘And what you be tellin’ yo’self?’’

  ‘‘That the bad things of the past can’t be hurtin’ me unless I let them.’’ Paddy’s serious tone had a sobering effect on the broad-shouldered man.

  Obadiah nodded slowly. ‘‘Dat be da truth—no foolery there. I think that most of da time. Bad times come to mind, but they be in da past and need to stay dere.’’

  ‘‘Aye, ’tis true,’’ Paddy answered, knowing that the black man had much more to fear from his past than did Paddy. ‘‘ ’Tis true.’’

  Elinor hurried to the front door as the persistent knocking grew louder with each passing moment. She pulled on the doorknob and looked down into the watery blue eyes of a young boy dressed in a ragged shirt and breeches. Elinor stared at the child’s crusty fingers surrounding the soft, supple beauty of a small bouquet of roses, momentarily taken aback by the contrast.

  ‘‘Mrs. Brighton?’’

  His voice brought her back to the present. ‘‘Yes. Are these for one of my boarders?’’ she inquired.

  ‘‘No, ma’am. I was told they’re for you.’’ The child thrust the bouquet toward her hand.

  Elinor reached to take the offering. ‘‘Who sent you?’’

  ‘‘Don’t know. There’s a note in the flowers,’’ he said before racing back down the street.

  She held the mixture of greenery and pink roses to her face, inhaling a fragrant whiff and permitting herself to be transported back to another time, happier days when she was married to Daniel and life was filled with joy and excitement. Removing her cut-glass vase from the uppermost shelf of the china closet, Elinor remembered how she would scold Daniel for picking the neighbors’ flowers as he came home from work on a summer’s evening and how his deep laughter would fill the room while he placed the flowers in water.

  ‘‘Stop this reminiscing or you’ll soon be weeping,’’ she chided herself while discarding the damp paper surrounding the bouquet. The boy had been correct. There was a note tucked deep among the flowers. The words were written in a strong masculine script:

  Dear Mrs. Brighton,

  I realize my behavior earlier this week was far too bold. Please accept my apology. It is my fervent desire you will accept my offer of friendship. I ask nothing more.

  Your humble servant,

  Oliver Maxwell

  ‘‘Oliver! I never expected such gallantry,’’ she murmured.

  The sound of the front door closing echoed through the house and was soon followed by the chattering girls returning home for supper. Elinor automatically checked the clock sitting on the mantel. It appeared she was on schedule and the meal would be ready on time.

  ‘‘Are those flowers for Jane?’’ Nancy Engle inquired while walking into the parlor.

  Elinor glanced over her shoulder. ‘‘No, they’re for me.’’

  ‘‘For you?’’ Nancy turned toward the other girls, who were now entering the room behind her. ‘‘Why would you receive flowers?’’

  ‘‘Yes, do tell us,’’ Jane concurred. ‘‘I’m especially interested since we have no way of knowing if the flowers were actually sent to you or meant for one of us.’’

  Elinor’s jaw tightened. ‘‘Have I ever lied to any of you? These flowers were sent to me, but if you believe otherwise, please take them,’’ she said, yanking the flowers from the vase. She thrust the dripping bouquet at Jane, who was staring at her in open-mouthed surprise. ‘‘If they’re so important to you, by all means take them,’’ she commanded through clenched teeth.

  Jane stepped back, her gaze fixed on the dripping stems. ‘‘You’re getting water on the rug.’’ She pointed toward the floor while taking another step away from Elinor.

  ‘‘I don’t care about the water or the carpet. If you girls think these flowers belong to one of you, please take them.’’ Her words were low and measured as she once again propelled the flowers toward the group. ‘‘I am not a liar or a thief, and I certainly am not so anxious for a bouquet that I would claim flowers sent for one of you.’’

  Jane nudged Nancy’s arm. ‘‘I didn’t mean to imply you were lying,’’ Nancy said. ‘‘It was an honest mistake. Harry Lorimer said he was going to send Jane flowers. Didn’t he, Jane?’’ Nancy turned a pleading gaze toward the girl.

  ‘‘He did say he was going to send flowers, but we believe what you’ve told us, Mrs. Brighton,’’ Jane said. ‘‘Please don’t be angry. We meant no harm.’’

  Elinor tur
ned on her heel and placed the flowers back in the water-filled vase. ‘‘Instead of boarders who are intent upon educating themselves and doing good works, the Corporation sends me the ill-mannered, unpleasant workers. All of the fine, upstanding girls are sent to board with the other keepers. I have yet to have one girl who thinks about anyone except herself,’’ she muttered as she returned to the kitchen.

  An abnormal silence pervaded the supper table that evening. The girls filled their plates without the usual chatter, occasionally glancing toward Elinor with uncertainty. There was no diatribe about disliking the food she had prepared, nor was any comment made when the evening meal was served a half hour late. In fact, Elinor decided afterward, the evening had been the epitome of civility.

  CHAPTER• 10

  MALCOLM GAVE his youngest son a sidelong glance. The little boy had disappeared and was now a man of twenty and four years. McKinley’s youth had evaporated as quickly as fog rising off the bayou, and the realization caused a twinge of sadness to seep into Malcolm’s heart. Too late, he had acknowledged a lack of involvement with his children during their youth. Back in the days of their childhood he had eased his conscience by telling himself rearing children was a mother’s responsibility. After all, he had the plantation to run and little time for anything else. It wasn’t until after Madelaine’s death that he’d given serious consideration to the fact that his wife might have fared better with her bouts of melancholy had he helped more with the children—or at least had given her more attention. But it was impossible to change the past—one could only hope to do better in the future.

  McKinley brushed aside a golden-brown wave of hair that was creeping downward onto his forehead. ‘‘You’re particularly quiet this morning, Father. Are you reconsidering our visit to President Taylor?’’

  Malcolm jerked out of his reverie and met McKinley’s puzzled gaze. ‘‘No, of course not. In fact, Zachary would be irate if he discovered we were in Washington but failed to call upon him. That fact aside, I’m anxious to hear how he has been doing since we saw him last fall. After reading newspaper accounts for the past several months, I’d like to hear Zachary’s version of what’s been happening in Congress. I’m certain we’ll receive a colorful recitation.’’

  McKinley drank a final sip of coffee and placed his cup on the matching white china saucer. ‘‘Did you send word we’d be visiting? There’s always the possibility he’s away from the city. As I understand it, folks in these parts often escape the heat and dangers of the city. I believe they have trouble with fever, just as we do in the South.’’

  ‘‘I sent a letter back in May telling him we planned to visit in late June or early July. I did pen a note after our arrival last night and left it with the hotel clerk. He promised to have it immediately delivered to the president. Besides, I doubt Zachary would depart the capital with Fourth of July activities in the offing. Have you finished your breakfast?’’ Malcolm asked while surveying McKinley’s empty plate.

  McKinley nodded and patted his flat stomach. ‘‘I’ve gorged myself as much as I dare. If I eat any more, I’ll need to have my buttons set over at least an inch.’’

  ‘‘Then we’d best leave—I don’t want to be party to such a calamity,’’ Malcolm said with a wide grin on his face as he pushed away from the table.

  McKinley touched his father’s arm and nodded toward the front desk of the hotel. ‘‘The clerk is signaling for you, Father.’’

  Malcolm’s gaze shifted to the portly clerk, who was waving a folded missive above his head. Malcolm advanced with quick strides, arriving at the desk in record time. ‘‘May I assume that message is for me?’’

  Thick fleshy folds settled over the clerk’s collar as he lowered his head and thrust the letter toward Malcolm. ‘‘From the White House,’’ he proudly announced while glancing about the lobby.

  As Malcolm began to unfold the envelope’s contents, he noted the clerk’s beefy torso extended across the counter. ‘‘I’m certain you’re not attempting to read my personal mail,’’ he said as he met the man’s inquisitive eyes.

  The clerk jumped away from the counter. ‘‘Oh no, sir,’’ he said, shaking his head like a wet dog attempting to dry itself.

  Malcolm scanned the contents of the letter and told his son, ‘‘Zachary will be expecting us for the noonday meal. We have ample time to do a bit of exploring about the city before then. Why don’t you hail a carriage, McKinley?’’

  The clerk was once again leaning across the counter. Eager anticipation filled his face. ‘‘You’re joining the president for dinner?’’

  ‘‘You appear to have a penchant for prying into the business of the hotel guests, don’t you?’’

  ‘‘I apologize, sir. It’s just that I’ve never met anyone personally acquainted with the president.’’

  The excitement in the man’s voice lessened Malcolm’s irritation. ‘‘Truly? Well, Zachary Taylor is a mere mortal made of flesh and bone. No different from the rest of us.’’

  ‘‘My children will be agog when they hear I’ve met someone who dined with the president.’’

  Malcolm’s looked deep into the clerk’s eyes and was taken aback by the awe reflected in the man’s gaze. ‘‘Here—take this to your children.’’ Malcolm handed him the missive emblazoned with Taylor’s strong signature and strode off toward the front door.

  Zachary entered the room, his twinkling eyes and wide smile momentarily erasing the worry lines from his craggy face. ‘‘Malcolm— and McKinley! I can’t tell you what pleasure it brings having the two of you come for a visit. Peggy has made me promise we’ll dine upstairs in her sitting room. She’s anxious for news about you and the children. And she needs to see for herself that you’ve been taking care of yourself since Madelaine’s death.’’

  Malcolm clasped the president’s outstretched hand. ‘‘If you’re certain she’s feeling up to our visit.’’

  ‘‘I think it will improve her spirits greatly,’’ Zachary replied. ‘‘But first, would you care for a little tour of these rooms?’’

  ‘‘I most certainly would. I cannot imagine coming all this way and not seeing the people’s house.’’

  ‘‘The people’s house is right,’’ Zachary said. ‘‘The people are here morning, noon, and night. That’s one of the reasons my poor Peggy seeks the confines of her room. There is never a moment when this place isn’t overrun. You’ve come at a good time, however. Some of my staff have taken a large assembly of do-gooders and congressmen to one of the local eating establishments. They should be gone long enough to give us some liberty.’’ He motioned them to follow.

  The house was as grand and glorious as Malcolm had often heard said. He was impressed with the variety of furnishings, some which went back to the original orders of James Monroe.

  ‘‘This is a lovely room,’’ Malcolm stated as he followed his friend.

  ‘‘We call it the blue room. Van Buren painted it in such a manner and it’s seemed a natural color to maintain. I like its oval nature.’’

  ‘‘As do I. It seems an entertaining room. Very unusual,’’ Malcolm mused.

  McKinley joined in pointing out the chandelier. ‘‘I believe this style would suit us well in our dining room back home. I know you’ve talked often of replacing the one there now.’’

  Malcolm studied the wood and cut glass encircled with acanthus leaves. ‘‘Yes. Yes. I believe you’re right.’’

  ‘‘I can put you in touch with a workman who might be able to replicate this piece,’’ Taylor told them.

  They continued touring, enjoying many fine parlors and receiving rooms, and even a grand dining room. Malcolm was notably impressed with all of it. ‘‘I’m glad for this opportunity, Zachary. I truly would have hated to pass from this life without seeing this wondrous house.’’

  ‘‘I agree,’’ McKinley added. ‘‘I shall cherish this memory.’’

  ‘‘Now, are you quite certain Peggy will be up to this visit? I certainly wouldn’t w
ant to overstay our welcome or overtax her.’’

  ‘‘To be honest, I think Peggy’s overall health improved once Betty accepted the official role as my hostess. Peggy never did enjoy public life. She prefers the company of close friends and family. And I believe the two of you fit into both categories. But we dare not remain down here discussing anything of a personal nature or Peggy will force us to repeat our entire conversation. She made me promise to bring you directly upstairs.’’

  ‘‘Then we had best do as instructed. Lead the way and we’ll follow along,’’ McKinley said.

  Malcolm gave a hearty chuckle as they walked up the stairway. ‘‘You know, Zachary, the clerk at our hotel would be incredulous if I were to tell him you do your wife’s bidding.’’

  Zachary looked over his shoulder, his smile returning. ‘‘How so? Isn’t that the first rule we husbands are taught?’’

  ‘‘I suppose you’re right, but the hotel clerk was quite impressed that I know you. In fact, I believe I’ve made a lifelong friend. I took a few moments to tell him you’re quite common—even told him he might see you walking about the city unobserved from time to time.’’

  ‘‘It’s one of the few things that helps me maintain my sanity while attempting to deal with those bullies who call themselves representatives of the people. There’s nothing I enjoy more than making my way about this town without anyone taking notice. Amazing the things you can see and hear when folks have no idea you’re the president,’’ he said with a grin.

  ‘‘I’m certain that’s true,’’ Malcolm said.

  An insistent tapping could be heard as they approached an open door. ‘‘Is that Malcolm Wainwright’s voice I hear in the hallway?’’ .

  ‘‘Indeed it is, my dear,’’ the president replied as the three men walked into Peggy’s sitting room.