Remembrance

by Spaeth, Janet

  “So that’s what we need to do?” Eliza asked. “We need to be Hannah to Mrs. Adams’s Tim.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Hyacinth said, with a smile. “For the moment, unless our landlady—or anyone—becomes totally outrageous, we’ll abide by the rules. They’re strict, I’ll give you that, but not without reason, I’m sure.”

  Her advice made sense. Yet, Eliza thought as they left the boardinghouse with Mrs. Adams’s frowning face watching them from the window, it was a bit too much. Well, she thought philosophically, she could try. It wasn’t as if she’d live in the boardinghouse forever.

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the air was icily crisp. Eliza tugged her scarf up tighter around her face, and then dug her hands into the muff she’d brought along. With no wind to lash at their faces, this was the perfect day to explore a wintry Remembrance.

  “Do you remember where you lived?” Hyacinth asked as they headed to their right.

  “I thought I did, but it feels like somebody rearranged all the houses. I was sure it was down this road, but these other homes weren’t here so everything looks different. I’m not sure.”

  For fifteen years, she’d built the town in her mind, and rebuilt it and rebuilt it. It was the home where she went in her dreams, it was the place she fled to in her memory when she was feeling alone, it was the solace she sought when her soul ached. She knew exactly what it looked like, right down to the snow-covered branches outside the church.

  “We can find it, I’m sure,” Hyacinth declared. “We’ll wander until we do. How long can it take us, anyway? Remembrance isn’t that big.”

  The town had changed much, but the core was still essentially the same, Eliza realized as they walked along the snow-packed roads, stopping only to exclaim over a bright blue doorway or a stained-glass transom. There was a pride evident in Remembrance, a sense of community that she had been too young to notice as a child, but which she saw in the tender care the Robbins family received at the church.

  “This is it.”

  There, in front of her, was the house she and her parents had lived in. In many ways, it hadn’t changed much. The clapboards were white and the shutters were black, and the red flower boxes were still in the front.

  In other ways, though, it was completely transformed. She and her father left with the house wrapped in the dark specter of illness. The rooms themselves hung heavy with sadness. Now it seemed to sparkle with renewed life. Signs of children were obvious: a wagon abandoned near a bush and filled with snow, a doll propped in one window and a cloth dog in another. A room had been added to the side, and bushes had been planted on each side of the front door.

  “How are you feeling?” Hyacinth asked softly.

  Eliza shook her head. “I don’t know. Not bad, I know that. I was so heartbroken when we left here. I think we both knew that my mother wouldn’t live, but there was that glimmer of hope that maybe a doctor in the city could save her, and we chased that hope. I’m glad to see that the house isn’t so depressed—oh, now I’m being silly. How can a house be depressed?”

  Hyacinth shrugged. “That probably falls under the heading of ‘mysterious ways.’ I imagine that, at the very least, when your mother was so ill, when you knew she was dying, you saw things differently. I know that’s what happened when my Matthew passed on. I felt as if God threw a black veil over everything. Nothing looked the same, nothing smelled the same, nothing tasted the same.”

  Her words shot Eliza back into the past, into the days of pain. Losing her father was still a raw grief, too. “Exactly.”

  She was suddenly transported back to Remembrance fifteen years ago. It was the start of a summer filled with promise. Eliza had loved summer, loved the juicy strawberries, the sweet corn, the little fish that nibbled on her feet when she waded in the river.

  And then her mother got very sick. Days and nights were indistinguishable, as the curtained windows blocked out any bit of sunshine that her mother might have found painful. It happened so quickly that it seemed like a dream, one that she’d wake up from and her mother would be well and they’d be on their way to the berry patch to get the best selection before the birds got there.

  The fever stole not only her mother but it also snatched away her father’s smile and stripped her young life of joy.

  Tears burned at her eyelids as the horrible pain returned full force, undiluted by the years. She missed her mother desperately, grieved for her father anew.

  They began to walk on. “I felt as if my heart had been slashed by a great knife. It hurt so bad, as a matter of fact, that I thought I was dying, too, and I actually went to the doctor. He said that yes, I was sick—heartsick—and the only way to recover was to grieve Matthew with my whole being and move on.”

  “That seems a bit, I don’t know, callous,” Eliza ventured.

  “Not really, although at the time I thought he was horrible to even suggest such a thing. No, I must say that I’ve never forgotten Matthew. Never. I also had to forgive him for dying—and come to terms with the fact that God took him from me.”

  “How did you do that?” Eliza found herself clinging to every word. “Did you forgive God?”

  Hyacinth laughed. “Oh, my dear, one doesn’t forgive God! We can understand Him a bit more, but I wouldn’t call it ‘forgiving.’ I wish Matthew hadn’t died, but he did, and now it’s time for me to let myself love again.”

  “And that’s why you’re in Remembrance.”

  “That’s right. Edward and I have a mutual friend who thought we’d enjoy each other’s company. He introduced us by a letter, and Edward and I took it from there. I came to love him so much.” Hyacinth’s face grew soft. “He is a good man.”

  “But what about Matthew? How can you love twice?”

  Hyacinth put her arm around Eliza. “That is the most astonishing thing. God created this fragile thing called a heart, and then gave it the most amazing ability—the capacity for love that expands as needed.”

  “But hearts can be wounded. And sometimes they don’t recover.” She thought of her father, who never healed from his beloved wife’s death.

  “There’s the mystery—because sometimes they do. Sometimes they do.”

  Eliza pondered what Hyacinth said. Her own heart had been pounded terribly, and letting herself love again was too great a risk.

  Oh, she was simply being silly. Moving to Remembrance had pretty much taken care of that danger. How many eligible men were even available? This was a small town, after all.

  ❧

  They were about to complete their survey of Remembrance, having come nearly full circle in their tour, when Hyacinth pointed out a small house behind the mercantile. “If I remember correctly, this is the house I’ll be renting. Let’s go peek in the windows.”

  “Are you sure we can? What if it isn’t the right place?” Eliza asked nervously.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s right. Edward described it well enough in the letters. He said it had a birdbath in the front, and do you see any others with a birdbath? And he said it was behind the store, and this is. And it certainly looks empty.”

  Eliza trailed after Hyacinth. She’d feel a bit better if she knew for sure—

  A small body cannonballed into her. “Got you!” the reedy voice shouted as the boy’s arms wrapped around her legs.

  She recognized one of the Robbins boys. He couldn’t have been more than six years old. “You startled me!” she said, snatching off his knit cap and ruffling his hair. “What are you doing?”

  The boy took the cap back and shoved it on his head. “I’m protecting this for Mr. Collier,” he said, throwing his chest out proudly. “He asked me to keep an eye on it, and I am.”

  Eliza knelt in front of the child. “Do you know why? Because Mrs. Mason here is going to move into it.”

  “Oh.” His face sagged. “I’m so sorry, ladies. I thought you might be robbers.”

  “Well, we could have been,” Hyacinth said, joining them. “You wer
e certainly Johnny-on-the-spot with paying attention, too.”

  “My name’s not Johnny. It’s Paul.”

  “I see.” Eliza fought back a smile. He was so serious. “I’m glad to meet you, Paul. I believe I saw you in church this morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I was there. Say, I’m sorry I tackled you like that. Do you think Mr. Collier will be mad at me?”

  “You did a good job, Paul,” Eliza said. “And no, he won’t be angry. If anything, he’ll be proud of how vigilant you were.”

  “You must live near here,” Hyacinth said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pointed to a house two lots down. “You should come visit us sometime.”

  “We will,” Eliza said, rising to her feet and brushing the snow off the front of her coat. “We’ll see you again soon!”

  As they walked toward the Collier house, they chuckled over the little boy’s solemn caretaking of the house. “At least I know I’ll be safe when I live there,” Hyacinth said.

  Edward and Silas lived on the other side of the town square. The air held the January thaw warmth, but as the evening shadows overtook their footsteps, a definite chill invaded the day’s moderate temperatures.

  The Collier house looked much like the others on the street, “tall and thin,” as Hyacinth described it, built to take advantage of the fact that heat would rise in the cold winter months, thus warming the upper story a bit more.

  Silas met them at the door, with Edward peering over his shoulder, his excitement nearly palpable.

  Something utterly delicious scented the air. “I hope you both like chicken pie,” Silas said as he took their coats. “Uncle Edward is a talented cook.”

  “But he’s using a crutch!” Hyacinth objected, scurrying into the kitchen.

  Silas looked at Eliza, and they chorused softly, “His precious limb!”

  “I suspect they’ll be in there a bit, finishing up the dinner, and fussing over each other,” Silas said, “so let’s sit in here.”

  The front room was small but neat. A grandfather clock ticked in the corner, and the fireplace crackled as a log fell.

  Near the fireplace were two chairs covered in slick damask. Eliza sat in one and had to grip the arms to keep seated on the stiff cushion. “One of Uncle Edward’s projects to prepare for Hyacinth,” he said as he sat in the other chair. Eliza noticed that he, too, held onto the arms. “New upholstery. He’s sure they’ll become more comfortable as time goes on.”

  I should certainly hope so! Eliza thought, but aloud she merely said, “They will get broken in soon enough.”

  Most of the furnishings in the room did seem new or refurbished, and even the ruinous plaster molding of a bouquet of flowers had been successfully nailed in place, undoubtedly the work of the more-focused Silas.

  “The house is truly finished beautifully,” Eliza said. “I understand that you and your uncle both have excellent carpentry skills.” Mrs. Adams had filled her in on that. “Have you always been interested in woodworking?”

  “It’s something my uncle and I share.” Silas stared contemplatively into the fire. “I grew up near Crookston—do you know where that is?”

  She nodded. Much larger than Remembrance, Crookston was near the border of the Dakota Territory.

  “My family moved back to Pennsylvania when I was thirteen, and instead of going with them, I came here, to apprentice with Uncle Edward.”

  This would explain why she and Silas hadn’t met when she’d lived here. He didn’t arrive until several years after she’d moved away.

  “Did you want to be a carpenter?”

  He looked directly at her with clear surprise. “What an odd question.”

  “One that’s worth asking, I believe.”

  For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he replied, “I was thirteen. All I knew was that I didn’t want to move to Pennsylvania. My father was planning to take over his father’s printing company, and I couldn’t think of anything more dreadful than that.”

  She chuckled. “Ah, the unerring wisdom of youth.”

  “Truly. Uncle Edward offered to take me and teach me woodworking, and it was here in this house and in the shop in the back that I found my calling. Carpentry is—well, let’s just say that he taught me well.”

  “Then this time has worked out for both of you.”

  He shrugged. “According to my uncle, I have a talent for wood. Of course, he could be saying that only because I’m his nephew.”

  “Or he could be saying it because it’s true.”

  He took off his glasses and cleaned them carefully, even though Eliza suspected there wasn’t a spot on them. Silas didn’t seem to be the kind to appreciate compliments.

  “Whatever his reason, I’m here and I’m now a carpenter. Life has a way of changing when you least expect it.”

  “That’s a good way of looking at it,” Eliza said. He had no way of knowing how applicable his words were to her life, too. “Then you’re staying on to work with your uncle?”

  His lips tightened slightly. “I don’t believe so. Remembrance is a small town, and there really isn’t a need for two carpenters here.”

  “But if Hyacinth stays—”

  “But if Hyacinth stays, my uncle will need to retain the business. Having another person in the household—” He broke off before he could finish what he was saying, but she understood. The problem was one facing all the small towns that were starting up: finding an income that would support a family, no matter how large or how small.

  “Reverend Tupper has asked me to talk about something with you,” he said, suddenly changing subjects. “There’s a family in Remembrance who has fallen on some hard times. You saw the father and his children today in church. Jack Robbins is the fellow’s name.”

  “Ah, yes.” Eliza told him, in light words, of their encounter with Paul.

  “Yes,” Silas said with a slight smile. “Paul is very responsible. I’ll have to tell him how much I appreciate his apprehension of the possible criminals today. He’s a good child, but in danger of being old beyond his years.”

  He told her more of the situation at the Robbins house. Mary Robbins was quite ill, and Jack was having to let his own work drop to care for her and their family.

  “That can be quite difficult,” she said, thinking back to her own childhood and the similar circumstances she lived with.

  “Indeed it can. The church is helping as best it can, and Reverend Tupper has inquired if you might be able to help with some of your needlework skills. The older women in the church can—and have—done quite a bit, but there is much more.” Silas sighed. “There are six children in the family, and they’re growing so very quickly.”

  “As children are wont to do.”

  “True. I’m going in this next week to do some repairs in the house. Might you—”

  “Yes.”

  “You will?” The relief in his voice was clear. “That’s wonderful!”

  At that moment, the door to the kitchen burst open, and Hyacinth ran out, a smoking pan in her hands. “Coming through!” she sang as she raced across the room and out the front door. Within seconds she returned, without the pan in her hands, but her eyes were twinkling. “We won’t be having turnips tonight.”

  Edward’s face peeked around the corner of the door, and he grinned.

  “I am not going to ask what that was about,” Silas said. “Eliza, I do believe we’d better head toward the dining room before the rest of the dinner goes up in flames.”

  ❧

  The dinner, which Silas had been dreading, passed, and he actually enjoyed it. He could have managed nicely without Uncle Edward pointing out how well Silas and Eliza were getting along, how their friendship was blossoming, how they’d be working together for the Robbins family, even how they both liked chicken pie. He’d stopped short of carving their initials in the tree by the front door.

  Now Eliza and Hyacinth had gone back to Mrs. Adams, and Uncle Edward was inside, puttering around and setting
things back in order, while Silas stood in the winter moonlight.

  But things couldn’t go back into order. Not now.

  A snowflake fell on his cheek, and then another and another. He looked at the moon in the cloudless sky. When he was little, he thought that God lived there, so far away, but he came to know over the years that He was never further than Silas’s thoughts.

  He’d only known Eliza for twenty-four hours, and while he was not a believer in love at first sight, he did believe in the power of friendship, and that’s exactly what he was labeling this as. Hadn’t Professor Barkley himself endorsed friendship?

  Maybe he needed a friend, and that’s what he was finding in Eliza. He hadn’t had anyone he could consider a friend—someone to laugh with, someone to share secret jokes with. Someone who found “precious limb” as funny as he did.

  A gust of wind whipped around the edge of the house, and he shivered. It was time to go back inside and put this day to rest.

  Uncle Edward had finished his final touches in the kitchen and was hobbling up the stairs, one awkward step at a time. Silas rushed to his rescue.

  “Why don’t you let me fix a bed downstairs,” he said, “so you don’t have to do this every night?”

  His uncle shook his head. “There’s nothing like a fellow’s own bed. Just lead me to it. I know I’ve got some sweet dreams ahead of me.” He winked at Silas. “You, too, I suspect.”

  “Humph. I’ll be dreaming of turnips that someone managed to burn, that’s what I’ll be dreaming about. That smell will take weeks to go away.”

  “You think I did it because I don’t like turnips, don’t you?”

  Silas grinned. “Maybe.”

  “There are some things that are more important than turnips, Silas. Love is.”

  Silas patted his uncle on the shoulder. “That’s true. Now get some sleep.”

  In the haven of his own room, Silas eagerly turned to the day’s lesson in Professor Barkley’s Patented Five Year Plan for Success. Sunday, he read, was meant to be a day of rest and reflection. And how did a man do that? Planning ahead, Professor Barkley counseled. Prepare for the Holy Day by gathering your clothes, cooking your food in advance, and laying out the items you would need so they would be at hand.