Trouble the Water_A Novel

by Jacqueline Friedland

Miss Parsons turned from Douglas to Abby and back to Douglas again. Abby saw a look of regret pass across Miss Parsons’s weathered features as she perhaps concluded that her own plans to attach Abby to her nephew were suddenly foiled. She looked toward Abby with an audible sigh, as though she had always known this moment would come.

  “Come, Neil, let us walk in the garden.” Miss Parsons looked at Douglas, keeping her eyes trained on him as she added, “but, Abby, you just holler if you need anything.”

  Neil followed Miss Parsons, but turned to Abby on his way through the door.

  “All right?” he asked, apparently reluctant to leave her with Douglas, even though he himself had known her for less than an hour. She nodded at him, and he left to follow Miss Parsons. Abby turned back toward Douglas, deciding she would not offer him a seat, would not offer anything.

  They regarded each other in silence for a moment, Douglas’s eyes roaming repeatedly over Abby’s entire person. The silence between them stretched, but Abby would not speak first, would not dispense so much as a whisper to ease whatever discomfort, whatever shame, he might be feeling. Let him bask in it, soak it up, and swell with the affliction of it.

  She could see Douglas struggling against himself, emotions battling behind his eyes, manipulating his face, creating a sand-storm across his anguished features. “I don’t know how to start,” he finally confessed, his voice reserved now, so much quieter than when the others had been in the room. “I have been rehearsing this moment in my head for months, imagining the ways I would explain, how I could make you comprehend the depth of my commitment to you, and now that it has finally arrived, now that I stand here before you, that at long last, we are once again breathing common air, I find myself mute, an imbecile.”

  Abby answered curtly, “Well, whatever you’ve come to say, you needn’t bother. You’ve done your gentlemanly duty now, tracking me down to offer a proper apology. But please, have off with you. My only wish now is that you will cease harassing me, so be the gentleman to which you aspire, and take your leave.” She folded her arms across her chest, as though trying to hold onto her own bravado.

  “Please, Abby,” he stepped closer, reaching to touch her elbow, but she twisted quickly, pulling away. She would not let his touch influence her, and what right had he anyway, to place his hand upon her person.

  “Just hear me out,” Douglas continued, working his hand through his hair, disrupting it, dark locks charging to disorderly angles. I have been searching the world over for you. I’ve gone to hell and back. Well, Wigan and back. I was such a blundering idiot not to realize sooner where you’d gone, but now that I am here, please, just listen.” He looked at her with pleading eyes. “If you still want me to leave after I’ve said my piece, I won’t argue.”

  “Wigan?” Abby asked, surprise getting the better of her. For all the weeks since her departure, she had imagined him at the Elling estate, sipping on brandy alongside Cora Rae, or whichever foolish woman would follow in Douglas’s parade. Those times that she wondered if he was searching for her, she had found so many reasons to convince herself she was coming un-screwed, it was difficult now to accept the meaning of his words.

  “Yes, Wigan,” he answered, his lip ticking up to one side abashedly. “Just come and sit for a moment so I might enlighten you about the torture I’ve suffered since that dreadful afternoon in the study.” He motioned toward the couch and raised a pleading eyebrow.

  Abby pursed her lips and considered him. She so desperately wanted cause to forgive him, a reason to topple into his arms, but she couldn’t allow it. She wanted to scratch off every layer of her skin for considering the possibility, ever the idiot, suffering what she deserved. Surely he was about to toss her a bevy of lies and nonsense, but the sooner he laid out his business, the sooner she could disperse him. His sculpted jawline, now dusted with late-day stubble, and the temptation from his words was only augmenting her own agony. If this was the surest way to be rid of him, so be it.

  “Fine, ten minutes. No more.” Abby forced herself to meet his gaze with only challenge in her eyes as she returned to the petite sofa. She again tried to banish the spark of hope that was creeping into her blood, persistently returning to taunt her each time she tried to choke it down.

  Douglas sat across from her, adjusting the chair so he was close enough to reach out to her.

  “I shall only need one of those minutes, I think,” Douglas responded, “to convince you of what I want forever.”

  She waited, steeling herself, as he continued, “I give you my word as an English gentleman that all I am about to say is as true as your father’s love of carving.”

  He could swear to her all he wanted, but it didn’t mean she would believe him, no matter how searing her pain.

  He sighed and began, “Gracie confessed to arranging the incident with Cora Rae. It was staged by the Cunningham girls simply for your benefit so that you would forsake me and create a space for Cora Rae.”

  Gracie! How dare he thrust blame at Gracie. Abby would not believe ill of Gracie simply on Douglas’s word. As she stumbled to form a question, Douglas continued, “What you saw in the study was my effort to remove Miss Cunningham as she attempted to bludgeon me with her mouth. Never would I have betrayed you like that.” He began reaching out toward her hand, but then pulled back. He studied her for a moment, silently imploring, beseeching, before continuing. “I would have arrived here sooner if not for my misguided intuition that you had returned to your parents in Wigan. Had I been thinking more clearly, I would have realized Wigan was the last place you’d run. The positive news is that my trip to England reunited me with your uncle Matthew.”

  Matthew! Was Douglas insane? After everything he knew about Abby’s relationship with her uncle, why would he mention the man’s name? Surely this was the last way to ingratiate himself. Perhaps she had misinterpreted the reason for his visit. Perhaps he wasn’t here to make amends at all. Again Abby tried to articulate a thought, struggling between the various outrages, but Douglas held up his hand to delay her. “Thanks to our meeting, I have discovered a method to destroy every last bit of wealth and stature that man ever managed to finagle. I have realized it would be appropriate to fill you in on the details of that, as well as the other topics on which I had formerly been so tight-lipped, but not until we’ve sorted through the business of us. And also the news about your father, who has been promoted again.”

  “Promoted again?” Abby asked, her curiosity again commandeering her words.

  “The foreman took ill while I was in Wigan. The owners grew impatient, and instead of awaiting the other man’s recovery, they asked your father to fill the open position for the foreseeable future. Apparently loyalty is not the employers’ strong suit, but it was certainly a boon to your family.”

  “My da is the foreman?” Abby asked, defiantly. “Of the whole Upperton Mill. You’re certain?”

  “From what I understand, your father will now be able to settle his remaining debts and relocate your family, move out of Wigan rather quickly. I imagine they won’t miss it.”

  To think, her father as foreman, the good fortune her da utterly deserved. She barely had time to notice the cheer she felt for her family before Douglas asked, “If you’ll permit me to return to the subject at hand?”

  She nodded at him, becoming further unglued, this entire afternoon so unexpected and mystifying.

  Douglas seemed steady in his concentration as he continued, “You’ve shown me that the best way I can pay tribute to those I love is by doing that which I believe in. From knowing you, I finally understand that perseverance is the truest test of heroism. You, Abby, have inspired me to return to the fight against slavery, to use my life for more than profit and routine. Most importantly, I am here to return to you. Not that I ever left. All this time you are the one who has been missing, but it is I who have been lost, lost without you.”

  He reached for Abby’s hand again, and this time she did not fight him.

&nbs
p; She surveyed his face, from his hairline to the cleft in his chin, and she wanted to believe him, so desperately she wanted to. But she couldn’t. He was an expert in lies and deception, as he needed to be for his abolitionist work. She couldn’t bare herself again, couldn’t chance the torment, not when she was finally, finally starting to heal.

  “I’m sorry, Douglas, I don’t believe you,” she told him as she stood, swiping her skirts into place with a gesture of finality. She needed him to withdraw at once, her resolve faltering with each passing second. “Please go.”

  “No, Abby, please.” Douglas was standing now, too. “I worried you might feel this way, because what reason have you to trust me now, but please, I beg of you, consider the possibility that I speak the truth. What happened between us before you left, that cannot be feigned. If you will not accept my word on the matter, perhaps you could rely on the word of another.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here,” he held it out to her, “if you could just read this.”

  She would not let him abrade her will any further.

  “No, please, just go. If you respect me as much as you say, you will leave me be, take your letter, and abide my wishes.” Her voice had faltered to a near whisper, “Please . . . go.”

  Douglas exhaled a heavy breath as he looked down at her, conflict evident across his taut features.

  “I understand that I have thrown so much at you today, and certainly I wish to respect your wishes. I will go and give you the breadth to think over what I’ve said, or time, or both. But I am not leaving Stockbridge. I am not giving you up.” He placed the envelope down on the table. “If you would read this, I do think it would help.”

  When she remained silent, he added, “I will send word to the headmistress of where I am staying, and I will wait there. Indefinitely.”

  He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a small box. “Also, this. It belongs with you.” He placed the box next to the envelope and quietly left the room.

  As he disappeared through the doorway, a fat tear rolled down Abby’s cheek. She wiped furiously at her eyes, denying them their relief. She would not relent, would not yield. She would be nobody’s plaything, even if it meant a lifetime of solitude. She picked up the envelope and walked toward the fireplace, but it was July, too hot for a fire. She held the envelope between her two hands, ready to tear it if burning wasn’t an option, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She looked back toward the table. She supposed she could at least see what he left in the box.

  Removing the delicate wooden lid, her breath caught as she saw her equestrian necklace glistening up at her. Well. So he had purchased an expensive trifle for her not once, but twice now. But what of it. His purse would hardly notice the deficit, and she refused to be bought with jewels. She heard voices in the outer room and realized Miss Parsons and Neil were returning. She hastily stuffed both the letter and the necklace into the pocket of her dress. She would rid herself of them after tea, just as she must rid herself of their dispatcher altogether.

  33

  STOCKBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

  1846

  Abby waited until she heard the bite of the lock behind her before she let her composure slip. Leaning against her bedroom door, she shut her eyes and tried to control her breathing. She would not cry. She had made the right decision, sending Douglas away. Her behavior had been strong and self-preserving, as a girl like her needed to be.

  After Douglas left, Abby had tried to resume socializing but found she was simply too shaken and distracted. She told Miss Parsons and Neil that Douglas was a friend of her former patron in South Carolina and had been anxious to ensure Abby’s safety out of loyalty to his deceased friend. While Neil seemed ready to accept Abby’s explanation, Miss Parsons had regarded her in silence, the corners of her mouth turning down before she shifted her broad body and resumed her post on the chesterfield. Abby had lasted only a few minutes longer before she made her excuses, explaining that the man’s visit had come as a shock, dredging up painful memories of the fire she escaped in Charleston, and asking if they could resume their meeting in a few days.

  And now here she was, sinking to the floor of her quarters, alone as she should be. Why had he come now, after all this time? She had finally surrendered her last hope of his innocence, of his devotion, and now, now, he appeared. Well it was too late, and she wouldn’t be moved. She would not put herself at risk again for such devastation, not when he had already failed her once so completely. She had been foolish to entertain the possibility of him to begin with, and she would not be so foolish as to chance it again. She stared at the wrought-iron legs of her narrow bed, barely seeing the curved feet or the white coverlet hanging over them. Instead she saw Douglas’s face, the regret and pain, the iridescent shadows under his eyes. She realized now, upon reflection, that he’d lost weight since they’d last seen each other, and she wondered for a flash if there could be any truth to his statements, his postulations of personal anguish. Well, even if he regretted the consequences of his actions, she could not rely on him anymore; he’d made sure of that.

  She remembered his promise to find lodging nearby and pitched her head against the door in frustration. He should have gone, returned to Charleston. Maybe if she just read the letter he left and then sent word responding, maybe that would be sufficient, and he would go, release her from the torment of his proximity. The sooner he departed, the easier it would be to banish him from her thoughts. She reached into her skirt pocket for the envelope, still unsure she would open it. What if the words written were simply more lies, more fodder for confusion? She first pulled out the box with the necklace and set it down on the floor beside her. She reached back in, startling to find the pocket empty. Standing in a panic, she reached into her other pocket and found nothing but a hard candy she’d taken from the kitchen earlier that day. She quickly scanned the floor where she’d been sitting, seeing nothing on the crosshatched rug nor the wood planks around it. Suddenly desperate for that letter, she raced into the hallway, retracing her steps back toward the parlor.

  Thankfully there was no one about to question her posture as she traversed the halls with her head bent, eyes trained on the floor. The students would be occupied with their study period for at least another quarter hour. As she walked back the way she had come, Abby saw no hint of the envelope she sought, only her own black boots against the floor. When she finally reached the Dudley Parlor, she entered the room in a gust, ready to search between cushions, in nooks and crannies on the floor. To her surprise, Miss Parsons was still present in the room, her back to Abby while she focused intently on a paper in her hand. An envelope lay on the table beside her, its mouth open in confession.

  Stupefied, Abby felt herself come apart further, as though the fabric that held her together as a person was today being unlaced, strand by string, a savage ball of twine, rolling relentlessly downhill. Whatever was contained in that letter, she surely did not wish Miss Parsons to see. Now the headmistress would know for certain that Abby’s tale of woe from Charleston had been nonsense, lies to serve her own purpose. She would surely lose her position at Hadley. How many more ways could Douglas Elling ruin her life?

  At the sound of Abby’s breath catching, Miss Parsons turned with the letter open in her hand.

  She regarded Abby with a stunned expression and then looked back to the letter. Abby braced herself for whatever deluge of censure was to follow from the woman.

  “I’m so sorry,” Miss Parsons blurted, holding the letter out for Abby to take. Abby stepped backward, surprised. When Abby didn’t take the letter, Miss Parsons turned and sat in the armchair Neil had occupied earlier. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, removing her reading glasses and placing them in her lap. “I came back to the parlor because I’d left my folio, and I noticed the letter on the floor.” She folded the paper back into thirds and held it out to Abby again. “The envelope wasn’t marked,” she added a bit defensively.

  Abby cautious
ly reached out for the paper as Miss Parsons handed it over. When Abby moved to pocket it again, Miss Parsons stopped her.

  “You ought to read it now,” she directed. “Seems to me, enough time’s been wasted already.” Abby saw both kindness and regret in the woman’s weak smile as she left the room.

  The last of her resolve evaporating at Miss Parsons’s words, Abby unfolded the paper, anxious now to discover what it held. Expecting to find Douglas’s small, tidy writing, she saw the page was instead covered with large, flowery cursive.

  Dear Abigail,

  I must be the last person from whom you ever expected to receive correspondence. Well, life has a way of surprising us, does it not? You should know, firstly, that our esteemed Mr. Elling, came barging into my home prior to his trip up north, wild in his zealousness as he demanded that I write this letter. Secondly, I suppose I should offer you apology for my assumption that you were little more than a passing fancy, like a carnival to be enjoyed but briefly, before returning to one’s home wishing never to eat confections again. I can assure you that Douglas Elling has viewed you as anything but expendable.

  I assume by now, you’ve heard about my part in the scene you witnessed before you left in such a spectacular fit. Yes, it was all my doing, my scheming, mea culpa, etc, etc. I was asked to write a letter of apology and explanation, but instead I hope you will view this letter as one of solicitation.

  It will come as no surprise to you that I have chased after Douglas Elling since I was a young girl. I imagined myself in love with him. But now, as I see how your absence has affected him, I realize that I never understood what it meant to love another like that. You should see how he frets. In the few minutes I have spent in his presence since your departure, I have seen a man on the verge of complete undoing. He yells and insults, races in circles, never stopping for a moment as he hunts for you, the vein beneath his jaw pulsing out a frenzy of constant panic for your well-being. This is what I have done to the man I claimed to love, this destruction and devastation. When I see the depth of his feelings for you, I realize that what I felt for this hapless man was not love, no it was avarice and my own ambition. I hope it is not too late for me to find someone who overwhelms my entire being, the way you do Douglas.