“The limb will heal,” she said gently.
“Do hearts?” he responded cryptically.
She didn’t have an answer for that.
The couple on the other side of the station stood up, their arms linked together, and slowly made their way toward Silas and Eliza.
“Mrs. Mason, we’ve arranged to have you stay at Mrs. Adams’s Boardinghouse. I’m sorry, I didn’t know your daughter was coming, too.”
“Oh, bless your heart, as honored as I’d be to have her as my own, she and I just met on the train.” Hyacinth reached over and squeezed Eliza’s arm as Silas reached for her bag. “I’m hoping that she and I will become good friends, and that she’ll become a part of the Collier family, too.”
Eliza froze, and even without moving her eyes, she saw Silas’s reaction. He, too, stopped mid-motion, his arm halfway to her bag, his mouth agape.
Hyacinth broke the ice of the moment by laughing. “Well, that’s not exactly what I meant. Of course we don’t want her to be part of the family.” She stopped as Silas stood up, his face flooded with crimson. “That’s not right. I mean she could be, and—Oh, someone give me a shovel. I’m digging this hole way too fast!”
Eliza swallowed. This wasn’t going at all the way she’d featured it would. In her hurried plans, she’d imagined that she’d come to Remembrance and hide while she gathered her dreams about her. She hadn’t even thought where she might stay.
“Actually, I’ll be on my way now—” she began, but Silas interrupted her.
“Please, allow me. The boardinghouse is just across the road and down a bit, and I’m taking Mrs. Mason there anyway, so one more in the wagon is no trouble.” He picked up Hyacinth’s bag in one hand and hers in the other, and once again, his warm golden eyes met hers. “So, Miss—” He stopped. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Davis. Eliza Davis. And I’m pleased to meet you.”
Color washed over his face. “Thank you. I’m glad to meet you, too.” He cleared his throat. “Shall we go?”
They left the little station and went outside. Snowflakes sparkled through the air, turning to water as soon as they touched her skin. Silas helped her into the wagon and handed her a lap robe to cover her legs and feet. She tucked herself under as much as she could, burying her hands in the blanket’s warmth. She sat, trying to ignore the couple behind her as they spoke soft words that lilted in the night air.
Beside her, Silas stared straight ahead as he led the horse away from the station and down the snow-covered road.
The incongruity of her situation was almost overwhelming. Within twenty-four hours, or just a bit over it, she’d watched her romance destroyed, abandoned her home and business, left the city she’d called home for fifteen years, returned to a place she obviously hadn’t remembered at all well, and now she was sitting in a wagon with people she didn’t know, being led to a place she’d never seen.
She’d had no plans at all when she’d left the city in a heartbroken rush, and headed for what seemed to be home—to Remembrance.
Under the cover of darkness, she peeked at Silas. He could be a murderer for all she knew, and she’d willingly gotten in the wagon with him and let him take her to a place she knew nothing about, where she would stay. She had clearly gone off her bearings to trust him so completely, but there was just something about him, something about those cider-colored eyes behind the staid wire-rimmed glasses, that made her feel comfortable with her decision to go with him.
She was in Remembrance. She hugged the thought to her.
Remembrance!
Her eyes couldn’t take in enough of the small town. It had changed so much since she’d left, and what she hadn’t been old enough to recall, her mind created. The school had seemed big, but now it looked small. The white house on the corner with the blue shutters—hadn’t that been a small reddish house before? And she didn’t remember the mercantile being on that street at all.
The moon was almost full, illuminating the town as they drove to the boardinghouse.
It wasn’t far. Soon Silas brought the wagon to a stop and leaped out.
“My uncle and I would be pleased to have both of you come to supper tomorrow evening,” he said as he lifted the bags from the wagon. “By the way, if you’ve a mind to attend services in the morning, the church is not at all far from Mrs. Adams’s place. She usually brings over the churchgoers.”
Edward snorted. “Usually? Humph. Like they have a choice.”
Eliza sat in the wagon, reluctant to leave the comfortable cocoon of the lap robe, and studied the building where she’d begin her new life in Remembrance.
The boardinghouse was large, its white paint reflecting the moon’s glow with a dazzling brilliance. Blue shutters framed wide windows that were draped with patterned curtains. One curtain fluttered a bit. Someone inside had taken notice of their arrival.
“I don’t intend to carry you in.” Silas’s voice broke her reverie, and she laughed.
“I suppose!” She took Silas’s hand almost absently as she got out of the wagon and, while Hyacinth and Edward murmured reluctant good-nights, she walked up the steps to the front door, with Silas behind her, bearing the bags.
Mrs. Adams met them there, a single lantern illuminating the entry to the boardinghouse. Her steel gray hair bristled out at odd angles, and her barely stifled yawn indicated that they’d woken her up.
“I’ll take them from here,” Mrs. Adams said, reaching for the bags and taking one in each hand. “You know my rules, Silas Collier. There’ll be no men in this house this time of night. Good evening.”
He barely had a chance to lift his hand in farewell before the door slammed on him. “Too late for gentlemen to be here,” Mrs. Adams grumbled. “I run a decent house here, and there’ll be none of that, thank you very much. By the way, I don’t rent rooms to just anyone.”
The landlady sighed and walked over to a tall desk near the front door. She unlocked the desk and removed a ledger book. “I’m going to need some information about you both. Who you are, and how long you plan to stay. Lodging is fifty cents a week, in advance. Hyacinth Mason, I have your particulars, but not yours.” She stared at Eliza. “Who are you?”
“I’m Eliza Davis, and I will need a room until I find a place to live.” Eliza had no idea what else she should say.
Mrs. Adams nodded, her gaze still locked onto Eliza’s face. Perspiration began to break out under Eliza’s coat. It was horribly uncomfortable, being overtly examined like this.
“You’re going to stay in Remembrance?” Mrs. Adams said at last.
“I hope to.”
“I see. Well, fill this out.” She pushed the ledger toward Eliza and watched as Eliza filled in her name and address.
“St. Paul, I see,” Mrs. Adams said, looking at the entry.
“I’ve left there. That was my last address.”
For a moment, the landlady didn’t speak, and then she said, “Payment in advance,” and held out her hand.
Eliza opened her coin purse and withdrew fifty cents. Mrs. Adams took it, along with Hyacinth’s money, and the coins vanished into a tin in the desk. The woman closed the desk and locked it.
“Now, I’ll take you to your rooms. You two are my only boarders at the moment, so there’s no hiding in the crowd. Your rooms are on the second floor, Mrs. Mason, you’re first on the left, and Miss Davis, you’re next to her. Here are the rules. Breakfast is served at seven. On the dot. You’re late, you’ve missed it. Dinner is at noon. Supper at six. I don’t tolerate stragglers.”
As the three of them climbed the stairs, Mrs. Adams continued. “These doors lock at nine each night. You’re not in by then, you’re out. I’ll have your bags packed and on the front steps by sunrise the next morning.”
A pin had worked its way free from the stiff gray hair coiled at the nape of the landlady’s neck, and Eliza watched it in fascination as it swung back and forth, keeping time with Mrs. Adams’s verbal list.
&nb
sp; “Church every Sunday. Bell rings at eight, service begins half an hour later. You’re expected to be there,” she continued with her list as they neared the top of the stairs. The hairpin had nearly worked its way free. “No men guests, except in the parlor, and then just on Saturday and Sunday afternoons between three and five. Dress and act modestly, and that means no taking the Lord’s name in vain. Those are the rules.”
The silver hairpin dangled dangerously, and just as it was about to tumble down the collar of Mrs. Adams’s blue calico wrapper, the woman dropped the bags at the first door and reached up to resecure the wayward pin. “And no animals, not a cat, not a dog, not a chicken.”
Eliza looked at Hyacinth, which was a mistake. Hyacinth rolled her eyes, and a stream of laughter began to bubble up. She disguised it with a quick cough, which apparently didn’t fool Mrs. Adams, who harrumphed.
“You don’t have to stay here. But I’ll warn you, I’m the only boardinghouse in town.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eliza said meekly. She didn’t trust herself to say more.
“You have my word, Mrs. Adams,” Hyacinth said.
Mrs. Adams turned and faced Hyacinth. “You’re that mail-order woman.”
“I have been corresponding with Mr. Edward Collier.” The color rose in Hyacinth’s face.
“Humph.” Mrs. Adams considered her guest silently before turning to open the door. “I don’t hold with that kind of nonsense, but you’re old enough to know better, and I do not meddle in things that are not my business. This is your room. And yours, Miss, is next to hers.”
“Come see me when you’re settled,” Hyacinth whispered behind the landlady’s broad back before disappearing into her room.
Mrs. Adams led Eliza to the next door. “I didn’t catch your purpose in being in Remembrance.”
You sly thing, Eliza thought, but she simply answered, “I used to live here.”
“Davis is your name, correct? The only Davis family I remember left several years ago. Somebody got sick. The father?”
“No, my mother. We left here to get her medical treatment in St. Paul, but it wasn’t successful. She passed away shortly after that.” Eliza swallowed. How often was she going to have to relive this? There were undoubtedly people in Remembrance who knew her parents. She’d been only a child when she lived here and hadn’t paid much attention to the adults, preferring to play with her dolls and cats. Plus, fifteen years of absence placed a blur over names and faces.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mrs. Adams opened the door to Eliza’s room. “This room will be yours.”
She carried Eliza’s bag in and placed it by the foot of the bed. Then she brushed her hand over the bureau, wiping away an invisible speck of dust, and said as she left, “Have a pleasant sleep. Breakfast at seven, church after eight.”
Eliza surveyed her surroundings. This would be her new home for a while.
The room at the Mrs. Adams’s Boardinghouse was clean, if a bit small. Next to her bed was a bright rag rug, its colorful scraps circling into a kaleidoscope of color. A white-painted nightstand was nearby, and Eliza smiled as she noticed the Bible centered squarely on the top. She could imagine Mrs. Adams placing it there, as if commanding the guest to read it.
She opened the carpetbag, and the clean scent of soap rose from it. One of the women she’d sewn for told her to tuck a cake of soap in her clothing and one in her carpetbag to keep her clothing smelling fresh, and she’d done so ever since. It was better than perfume.
She hung the few dresses she’d brought with her in the armoire, placed her toiletries on the bureau, and tucked her sewing kit in the top drawer of the chest. It was her prized possession—that bag with the assortment of needles and threads and the scissors that were kept knife-sharp. The kit had given her employment before, and it needed to again. She gave it one final tap before closing the drawer.
If only she’d been able to bring her sewing machine! She’d just gotten it a few months ago, but in her hurry to leave, she’d left it in the shop.
For a moment, she stood in the middle of the room. She had done it. She had left St. Paul, left Blaine and his loathsome lies, and come back to Remembrance. Now, her life was going to start anew.
She already had a friend. Two, if she could count Silas, but she wasn’t sure she could. He hadn’t seemed happy to see them at the station—in fact, if she were a wagering woman she might bet that he’d have been happier if he’d gone to meet the train and they hadn’t stepped off.
Still, he looked nice. He certainly didn’t have the oily charm of Blaine—the thought almost made her laugh aloud as she recalled how ungraciously Silas had met them—but there was still something basically nice. He didn’t seem comfortable being ungracious, maybe that was it.
Or perhaps she was trying to find something to like in somebody, anybody, to counteract the distress Blaine caused her.
Eliza wanted to freshen up a bit before visiting with Hyacinth, so she poured a bit of water from the pitcher over her hands and splashed it on her face. It was cold—of course—and invigorating.
She turned to the mirror, and what she saw there confirmed her worst fears. Four hours of traveling hadn’t done her hair any favors. The braid that was wrapped into a knot at the back of her neck was still in place, but all around her face the shorter bits of hair had escaped, surrounding her head with a brown frizzy cloud that made her look as if she’d just woken up. The bow had come untied and straggled down the side of her neck in a trail of wrinkled blue velvet.
Great. Just great. Her first introduction to Remembrance and she looked totally disreputable.
She tried to slick her hair into place. Her hair had been the source of constant struggle since she was born. It was thick and curly and brown, not a pretty brown, she thought, but rather a floorboard brown. With all the wonderful things God could have topped her head with, why this? It was especially unfair here in Minnesota, where most women had Scandinavian hair, blonde and straight.
No, not blonde nor auburn nor even ebony black. Her hair was the color of wooden planks.
She gave up and went to Hyacinth’s room.
“I thought perhaps you weren’t coming,” the older woman greeted her.
“I was lamenting my hair. You have such pretty hair, jet with ivory streaks.” Eliza plopped on the chair.
Hyacinth laughed. “You make it sound so poetic. I like that. So, dear, what do you think of Remembrance so far? Is it at all what you expected?”
“I lived here so long ago,” Eliza said honestly, “that what I expected was impossible. I know that the town couldn’t stay the same way just because I left it, even if in my mind it was so.”
“Well said. Tomorrow would you like to visit your old home again? We could explore together a bit after church.”
“You’ll want to spend that time with Edward. I can venture forth on my own. Somehow I don’t think I’ll get lost in Remembrance.” A yawn took her by surprise. “Oh, I am so sorry! That came out of nowhere!”
“You get some sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Good night—and I’m glad I met you.” Hyacinth gave her a quick hug. “Sweet dreams.”
Back in her room, she began to unwind her disobedient hair, but her fingers were clumsy from lack of sleep. She hadn’t realized until now just how tired she was, but as soon as she sank onto the bed to remove her shoes, the urge to put her head atop the pillow, on the crisp white case edged with green crocheted lace, and pull the green-spotted quilt over her head was nearly irresistible. She fought the fatigue and managed her before-bed rituals, slipping on a white cotton nightgown and hurrying under the covers.
She thought of the Bible as she gave in to her exhaustion, but her hands wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—make another motion. Instead, she began to recite the Twenty-Third Psalm from memory, her lips moving as she breathed the words that had always been such comfort. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down. . .”
Eliza smiled. That was true. It might
be a green quilt rather than a green pasture, but already her soul was feeling better.
Every muscle in her body screamed for sleep. Her nerves were stretched as far as they could go, but even the psalm couldn’t bring the respite she needed. No matter what she tried, she could not sleep. Her body was ready, but her brain was still wide-awake.
She got out of the bed and dug into her satchel until she found the blue knit slippers she’d brought. At one point, she’d planned them for her trousseau, but that dream withered just hours ago, when she saw Blaine Loring with the other woman.
Now they were simply slippers to keep her feet warm against the cold.
She padded to the window. The snow cover reflected the partial moonlight, brightening the darkness. The snow had tapered off, with only a few scattered flakes gliding slowly through the air.
From her vantage point on the second floor, she could see Remembrance laid out below her. It looked peaceful, serene. It had changed so much since she’d left. How old was she then? Nine? Ten? Her father packed them up and moved them to St. Paul, searching for the ever-elusive cure for her mother’s illness. When she’d died two months later, he began searching for a home for his soul, moving with his daughter again and again until he gave up and breathed his last. He was buried in St. Paul, next to his beloved wife.
Eliza put her head down on the chilly windowsill and let the pain wash over her. It was so unfair. She’d lost everything she loved, everyone she loved.
Someday she would cry about it all. Someday. Right now she needed to step back and study her life, to see if she could determine God’s promised path. It was there. She couldn’t see it now, but it was there.
A huge yawn overtook her. Whatever God meant for her future, it was going to have to wait. Right now He wanted her to get some sleep.
As she stood up, a figure moved, a dark silhouette against the whitened backdrop of the new snowfall. The man walked along the town square, his footprints showing gray in the snow. Around he went, until at last he turned toward the line of houses lining the street and vanished around the corner.
Remembrance Page 2
