Embers of Love

by Tracie Peterson

  Deborah pushed down a feeling of uneasiness. She could see by the look on Mr. Perkins’s face that something wasn’t right. “If you don’t mind, I’ll pick out a couple of your journals to read and be on my way.”

  Dr. Clayton nodded and Deborah smiled at Mr. Perkins. “I hope your family is well.”

  “They are, Miss Deborah. Thanks for asking. How about your family?”

  “They, too, are doing well, thank you.” She turned and without another word slipped into the doctor’s office. She could hear Mr. Perkins begin to speak, and although she picked up a journal to glance through, it was his words she focused on.

  “I’m sorry to come here, Doc, but there’s been some trouble. As you’ve probably heard, Miz Foster’s son died.”

  “I had heard,” Dr. Clayton replied.

  “Well, it’s got folks riled up.”

  Deborah had feared it would be like this. She had hoped Dr. Clayton could escape the ire of her community.

  “My guess is that Mrs. Foster is behind the rumors I’ve heard.”

  “True enough, Doc, but the fact is, there’s talk about me getting rid of you.”

  Deborah stiffened and forgot about the journal. The very idea of the townspeople listening to Mrs. Foster rather than accepting the truth was more than she could stand. She could barely refrain from rushing back into the waiting room to speak her mind.

  “Butch Foster most likely died from loss of blood and infection,” Dr. Clayton replied. “I honestly didn’t expect him to survive. Wounds of that nature are life-threatening. Still, Mrs. Foster should never have moved him. I’m sure she wasn’t overly worried about cleanliness, and it would have acerbated his condition.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Doc, but . . . well, folks are easily swayed in this community. Especially by one like Miz Foster.”

  “With her superstitious nonsense, no doubt.”

  “Doesn’t much matter, Doc. I’m not at all sure what should be done. Folks aren’t comin’ to see you like I’d hoped. It seems they only come for care if there’s no other choice. Still, I know it’s not your fault.”

  “What is it you want me to do? I can leave, if that’s what you’ve come to suggest.”

  Deborah leaned closer to hear the response. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if Mr. Perkins would answer. Finally, he spoke in a slow, even tone. “I suppose I was hoping you might have a suggestion.”

  Silence hung in the air and Deborah wanted nothing more than to interject her own thoughts on the matter. She was ready to rejoin the men when Dr. Clayton replied.

  “I guess the best thing we can do is pray about it.”

  Pray? When people were spreading lies and speaking ill of a good man? Surely there was something more. They should call a town meeting or send someone to reprimand Mrs. Foster. Of course, the poor woman was suffering the loss of her son, but that still didn’t give a person the right to lie about someone else.

  “I think you’re right, Doc. God has His hand on the situation. I tend to react too quickly and not spend enough time considering what the Lord would have me do.”

  “It’s easy enough to forget to seek Him first.”

  “Well, I need to get back to the mill. I don’t plan to let folks dictate decisions to me, but I want you to know that it probably won’t be easy for you in the days to come.”

  Deborah heard Dr. Clayton chuckle. “It hasn’t been easy yet – might as well not expect it to change now.”

  She waited until she heard Mr. Perkins leave before marching into the waiting room. “Pray?” she asked, her voice a little louder than necessary. “You want to pray about it?”

  He shrugged. “Seemed like the right thing to say and do. I can hardly change people’s minds by myself.”

  “But that woman is out there spreading lies about you. You can’t just sit idly by and allow for that. She’s made enough trouble already.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then headed toward the office. “I can’t force people to like me. Nor can I force them to believe me.”

  Deborah followed on his heels. “This is utterly ridiculous. Mrs. Foster is maligning your name and reputation. You’ve done nothing but serve this community in an admirable and professional manner. It’s not your fault that she’s full of ignorance.”

  Dr. Clayton made his way into the examination room, and she marched right behind him. When he said nothing, she continued. Her anger was getting the best of her, but it didn’t matter. “You have a right to defend yourself.”

  “It would hardly change people’s minds if I did.”

  “It might,” she declared. “You don’t know what might convince them.”

  “That’s true, but more important, I do know that losing my temper won’t help.”

  Deborah couldn’t believe his calm. She wanted to shake him. “Mrs. Foster will turn this entire town against you, Dr. Clayton. She will poison the minds of the people and scare them with her threat of curses. It’s not right, and I intend to see that it stops,” she said, waving her arms in the air for emphasis. “This challenge should not go unmet.”

  Dr. Clayton turned away from her and walked to the washstand. Without warning, he picked up the pitcher and turned to face her. “Do you need my help?”

  Deborah looked at the pitcher and then to Christopher Clayton’s face. She immediately felt foolish for her outrage. A sense of embarrassment washed over her.

  “I’m sorry. I suppose I am rather out of line.”

  He grinned. “I appreciate your defense of me. I doubt anyone else would offer me such support. You are a formidable opponent, Miss Vandermark, and if any one person could rectify the situation, I believe it would be you. However, I am coming to see more and more the value of prayer.”

  She nodded. “You humble me, Doctor. I do apologize for losing my temper. I hate ignorance.”

  “As do I,” he agreed. He replaced the pitcher on the washstand. “More than you will ever know.”

  –––––––

  Later Deborah accompanied her mother to the Foster residence. The run-down, unpainted house seemed dark and ominous, and the yard was nothing but dirt and dried-out herb patches. It was an appropriate setting for viewing the dead. Deborah was convinced little of life had existed in this place for some time. Mrs. Foster lived her life steeped in superstitions. The living water of Christ had no place among her elixirs and potions.

  “I don’t imagine Mrs. Foster will be too happy to see me,” Deborah whispered to her mother. “I was there when Dr. Clayton worked on Butch.”

  “I know, but I think it’s good that you’ve come. By staying away, you would only give her reason to believe herself right,” Mother replied. “This way, you will come face-to-face with her accusations and dispel them.”

  “I can hardly raise a fuss in the middle of the viewing.”

  “I didn’t expect you to raise a fuss,” Mother said with a hint of a smile. “I think your very presence will offer an attitude of innocence.”

  They approached the front step and encountered Sadie Foster, wife of Mrs. Foster’s oldest son, Matthew. Mother reached out to take hold of Sadie’s hands. “I’m sorry for your family’s loss.”

  Sadie nodded. “Thank ya kindly. Ma Foster will appreciate your comin’.”

  “We brought a corn bread casserole – two in fact,” Deborah’s mother told the young woman. “They’re in the wagon if you want to send someone to fetch them.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks again.”

  Deborah followed her mother into the darkened house. Candles had been lit throughout to reveal the somber setting. Butch had been laid out in the front room, coins on his eyes and a cloth tied around his face to keep his mouth from falling open. The air was heavy – putrid from death and decay.

  Dressed in patched trousers and a too-small coat, Butch scarcely resembled the robust man he’d once been. Deborah noticed the clock on the wall had been stopped, in keeping with the superstitious traditions. The family believed that it was im
portant to stop all of the clocks in the household lest they stop on their own, foreshadowing another death in the family.

  Likewise, the mirrors were covered and the stairs were roped off. If a step were to squeak under the weight of any person while the dead body was still in the house, the Fosters believed that someone in the family would die within the year.

  Mrs. Foster caught sight of them and approached with a look of displeasure. Deborah told herself it was just her state of grief that caused such an expression.

  “Margaret, I am so very sorry for your loss. I know your grief is great, and I’ve been praying for you,” Euphanel said.

  “It’s true,” Mrs. Foster replied. “I ain’t hardly myself, and the loss of Butch is more than I can bear.”

  “Deborah and I want you to know that if there’s anything we can do to help, we are here for you.”

  The older woman looked at Deborah and scowled. “Ain’t nothing that one can do to help. She was with that butcher when he cut away my boy’s arm.”

  Her mother squeezed Deborah’s arm but looked at Margaret Foster. “Sawmills are such dangerous places. No one could have known that blade would break loose and sever poor Butch’s arm. The loss is great, and he will be missed.”

  Deborah admired the way her mother chose to respond. Mrs. Foster was clearly at a loss for words. She nodded and turned to look at her son’s displayed body.

  “The loss,” she finally murmured, “is one that should be avenged.”

  CHAPTER 18

  SEPTEMBER 1885

  Lizzie knew the time to confront Stuart could no longer be delayed. G. W. had shared what he’d learned from Stuart on their trip through the Vandermark forests, and Lizzie felt she finally had some idea of why her mother so adamantly accepted the marriage. If Stuart’s father had a way to help further her mother’s suffragette cause, she would push for Lizzie to do whatever was needed. Never mind whether or not Lizzie loved the man.

  I’ve been so foolish, Lizzie thought. It was childish to act out against Mother, and I’ve only managed to create a mess for myself. She sighed. The sooner she talked to Stuart, the better.

  Making her way to the front room after supper, Lizzie braced herself for the job at hand. She had already told G. W. of her plans – Deborah, too. Now, she just needed the gumption to see it through.

  “We’d like to leave tomorrow,” her mother was telling Mrs. Vandermark as Lizzie entered the room. She looked up. “That is, if Elizabeth will stop this nonsense and pack her things.”

  Rather than confront her mother’s comment, Lizzie fixed her gaze on Stuart. “I’d like to have a word with you. Would you join me outside?”

  He smiled and his blue eyes seemed to spark to life. “Of course.”

  “Finally,” Lizzie’s mother grumbled. “Now perhaps we will be able to go home.”

  Lizzie frowned as she made her way to the porch. The warm glow of light spilled out from the open living room windows. Having no desire to be overheard by the people in the house, Lizzie stepped to the opposite side. It was a little darker there, but she would still be able to see Stuart’s face. That was important to her right now. If he lied to her, she hoped she’d see it in his expression.

  “I want to know the truth,” she began. “No more of this nonsense. I do not intend to return with you and Mother. I want to know what you stand to gain by imposing this marriage on me.”

  Stuart looked stunned. He put a hand to his chest. “You wound me. You were the one who accepted my proposal. You planned the wedding quite enthusiastically, as I recall.”

  “I was wrong to do so,” Lizzie replied. “I was wrong to agree to marry you. I could never love you, and a marriage without love would be a nightmare for both of us.”

  “What convinces you that you can’t learn to love me? Is it that Vandermark man? Do you fancy yourself in love with him?” His words were edged with a tone of sarcasm. Instead of a jealous sweetheart, he sounded like a displeased father.

  “This isn’t about G. W. I decided not to marry you before ever meeting the man. This is about us.”

  “Well, it should be, but it isn’t.” He stepped toward her, lowering his voice. “Elizabeth, I have watched you these last few days. You are clearly infatuated with G. W. Vandermark. I’ve tried to be patient about it, but no more. You are my wife, and you must return home with me.”

  Lizzie narrowed her eyes and cocked her head ever so slightly to the right. “Why? Tell me now what you stand to gain. Why is it that you need me to return with you as your wife?”

  Stuart looked surprised and then turned his head aside rather quickly, and Lizzie knew he was preparing to concoct some sort of story. “I want the truth, Stuart. If you lie to me, I’ll know it.”

  “Oh? And what makes you so sure?”

  “God.” She gave him a look of confidence that she didn’t quite feel. “I have come to believe He will give me an understanding of whether you speak truth or lies.”

  He laughed, but his expression revealed that Stuart wasn’t quite sure of the situation. For a moment, she feared he might turn for the house, but he held himself fast. She waited for him to speak, praying he would just drop the façade and speak openly. The silence became an unbearable discomfort. Lizzie knew this was his way of controlling the situation, but she wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand.

  “Very well. You will not speak honestly to me, so I will bid you good night – and good-bye. I am going to ask Mrs. Vandermark to refuse you and Mother as further company in this house.” With that, she pushed past him and headed for the door.

  He reached out with one quick move to take hold of her arm. “Wait.”

  She stopped in midstep. “Release me, and I will stay.”

  Stuart let go of her, and Lizzie quickly maneuvered away from him. She backed against the porch railing and waited for him to speak. He seemed to consider his words carefully.

  “You are correct. I stand to gain from this union, but so do you. You will have everything a woman could want. I will lavish you with gowns and jewelry. I will buy you a large house in the most fashionable district of Philadelphia. And if not Philadelphia, then New York. You will be free to do as you please. You will have a carriage at your disposal and servants to see to your every need. You may entertain and hold parties, spend your days shopping and visiting your friends – whatever you like.” He paused and took a step toward her. “Elizabeth, I know you do not love me, but in time you might come to a measure of affection for me.”

  “And you would want this kind of marriage? A loveless one, built only on the hope that I might come to have affection for you one day?”

  “I need this marriage,” he answered, clearly more quickly than he’d intended. His discomfort was obvious.

  Lizzie pounced on his error in judgment. “Why?”

  “It’s enough that you know I do,” he replied.

  “No, it’s not.” She folded her arms. “It’s not nearly enough. I need the truth, Stuart.”

  He made a sound that reminded Lizzie of an animal in pain. “You are the most infuriating woman.”

  “Be that as it may, I require the truth.”

  He studied her for several minutes. His shoulders seemed to slump a bit. “Very well. My father has required I marry in order to receive money left to me by my grandfather. There, are you happy?”

  “I did not expect to be happy with your answer, Stuart. I knew you were using me; I just couldn’t imagine what you stood to gain. Now I understand. But why . . . me?”

  “Your beauty, your education, your social skills – they all fit perfectly into what my father mandates my wife should be. To gain my fortune, he must approve. And he’s chosen you, Elizabeth.”

  “But what of my mother? What is her part in this? Have you promised her some vast fortune?”

  “No. She’s been promised something entirely different.”

  “And that would be . . . ?” She let her voice trail off and waited while he shifted his weight and loo
ked away.

  “She will get political help.”

  It was just as G. W. had told her. “You mean her cause will get political support, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Now that you have the truth, just as you required, it’s time to put this nonsense behind us and return to Philadelphia.”

  “I have no intention of returning to Philadelphia. I plan to obtain an annulment.”

  “No!” He stepped forward. “You have no grounds.”

  “I believe we both have grounds. We were false with each other – that alone seems worthy of a judge’s willingness to end this fraudulent relationship.”

  “I won’t stand for it. My father won’t, either. Remember, you’re dealing with men of power.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you or your father. And, for once in my life, I’m not afraid of my mother, either. I have people here who love me. I will not be forced to do as you say, simply because it’s your desire.”

  Stuart stepped forward and roughly grabbed her shoulders. Giving her a slight shake, he scowled. “You’ll do exactly as I say. I have your signature, and that is enough. I will lie or cheat to see that this marriage remains intact. Do you understand?”

  Lizzie felt the old sensation of helplessness return. What if Stuart had the power necessary to keep her in the marriage?

  “In time, you’ll come to see that I’m right – that this is the best way for both of us. You’ll see that the life I’m offering you is all that a woman could want. I will deny you nothing.”

  “Only love,” she whispered.

  “What?” He looked as if she’d hit him in the face.

  “You say you’ll deny me nothing, but you are denying me the thing that matters most. You’re denying me love.”

  “I can give you love, Elizabeth. I promise you that.” He crushed her lips with his own. Lizzie fought against his hold but knew she was no match for his strength. She tried to cry out, but his mouth against hers muffled the sound.

  Just as quickly as he had begun, Stuart pulled away. It was then that she saw G. W. had taken hold of the man. In one fluid motion, he twisted Stuart around and punched him square in the nose. Stuart lost his balance and fell backward with a loud thump.