When neither acknowledged her presence, she extended the book of poetry. “I located a book I think you’ll enjoy, Mrs. Mifflin.” She hesitated for a moment. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to interrupt your private conversation.” They startled and turned toward her in unison. Neither said a word; they simply stared at her. She tapped the book with the index finger of her left hand. “You told me to retrieve a book from the library.”
It seemed foolish telling Mrs. Mifflin what she already knew, yet it appeared she needed to be nudged from her silence. The woman stared a moment longer. “Oh yes. I did, didn’t I? Well, there isn’t time for reading at the moment. Cyrus has returned for the noonday meal.”
“So I see.”
Mr. Mifflin stood and tugged on the hem of the too-small vest that didn’t quite cover his protruding belly. “Melinda!” He stood and said her name as though she had just appeared. “I told Dorothea that I wanted to speak to you, and here you are.” He made it sound as though she’d dropped from the ceiling.
“You have word about the storm?” Her fingers tightened around the volume of poetry.
“I sent a telegraph early this morning, and already I’ve had one in return.” He smiled. “The damage on the mainland was somewhat greater than on the islands, though none of the damage is of a magnitude to cause concern. Mr. Nordegren would be on his annual vacation at this time, so I sent an additional telegraph to Harland Fields, since he takes charge during Mr. Nordegren’s absence. I told him that if there was anything they needed, he should contact me. He sent word they’re accustomed to these storms, and they’ll have the water damage cleaned up in no time.” He swung his hands wide. “So you see, there’s no reason for continued worry.”
“I’m surprised you received word so soon, but you’ve set my mind at ease. I thank you for your kindness—both of you.” Melinda pressed the book to her chest and backed up a few steps. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll tend to some matters while the two of you enjoy your lunch.”
Mr. Mifflin’s normally pale complexion darkened to a ruddy shade. He fumbled in his vest pocket rather than look at Melinda. “Yes, yes. We’ll do that. Come along, Dorothea.”
Mrs. Mifflin grasped her husband’s arm. She patted Melinda’s arm as they passed by. “You see? I told you Cyrus would take care of this. No need for worry.”
Melinda waited in the hall until the couple made their way toward the dining room. Once they were out of sight, she rushed to the kitchen, where the aroma of fish chowder filled the room. Still clutching the book to her chest, she leaned against one of the worktables and exhaled a huge sigh.
Napkin tucked in his collar, Matthew sat at the table awaiting the noonday meal. “Good news, Melinda?”
She grinned and nodded. “Very good news.”
Sally lifted a tureen of the soup and headed toward the dining room. “Well, wait until we’re all in here to tell it.”
Once they’d gathered around the table, she repeated Mr. Mifflin’s report. All of them celebrated with her, but it was Sally who grasped her arm before she left the room once they’d finished their meal. “I truly am sorry about what I’ve done, Melinda. I hope you’ll forgive me. If a life on that island with Evan is what you want, then I hope your dream will come true.”
Melinda swallowed the lump in her throat, touched by Sally’s apology. The woman seldom apologized for anything, especially her bad behavior. “Thank you, Sally. And you are forgiven, but I do hope you won’t read any more of my mail.”
The maid winked. “Since the missus was so willing to let the cat out of the bag, I can tell her you’ve taken to hiding your mail from me.”
“And you’ll be able to honestly speak those words, because that’s exactly what I’ll do.” Melinda winked in return.
The following morning, Melinda tucked the letter she’d written the previous evening into her pocket. She would wait until Matthew prepared to take Mr. Mifflin to work and ask him to post it on his way home. She could trust Matthew—he didn’t count steaming letters open as one of his skills.
At the sound of a tap on her door, she glanced toward the clock, fearing she’d misjudged the time. There was a half hour remaining until time for breakfast. She was unaccustomed to anyone knocking on her door, especially so early in the morning. Opening the door a crack, she peeked out. “Sally! What are you doing up here? You should be cooking breakfast.”
“The other two maids are able to stir a pot of oatmeal and scramble eggs.” Not waiting for an invitation, she pushed her way into the room. “I don’t want to be seen by the missus. I got something to tell you.” She closed the door behind her and motioned Melinda to the other side of the room.
Her heart hammered and her chest tightened as she followed Sally across the room. This wasn’t going to be good news. She could see it in Sally’s eyes. “What is it?”
“I heard the mister and missus talking last night. About the storm down in Georgia. The mister lied to you.”
The room swirled and Melinda grabbed hold of Sally’s arm. “No! He wouldn’t.” Even as she spoke, she knew Mr. Mifflin would—both of them would. She moved to the side of the bed and sat down. “Tell me exactly what they said.”
Sally dropped down beside her and scooted close. “That storm was a hurricane. He said there was lots of damage in Biscayne, but he didn’t know for sure about Bridal Veil because all the telegraph wires are down.”
“What?” Melinda twisted around to look Sally in the eyes. “But he said . . .”
Sally bobbed her head. “We both know what he said to you. But the truth is that he couldn’t send or receive any telegrams because the wires are all down.” She glanced toward the door. “He told the missus to be sure and keep any newspapers out of the house because there’s been a few articles in the newspaper, and there’s sure to be more once the telegraphs are back to working.” Sally grasped Melinda’s hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’m truly sorry, Melinda, but I figure it’s better to know the truth than to be thinking everything is fine and dandy when your Evan might be—”
“Did Mr. Mifflin say if there had been any deaths reported?” She squeezed the maid’s hand until she grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but please tell me the truth.”
“He said one newspaper reported there had been some deaths in Biscayne, but they didn’t have reports from all of the coastal islands.” Sally got to her feet. “I’m sure he’s all right, Melinda. You need to keep yourself busy while you wait for word. I’m sure Evan will mail you a letter as soon as he’s able. He’ll know you’re worried about him.”
Melinda knew the maid was correct. Evan would write—if he was able. But what if he’d been injured and needed her? They had pledged their love to each other, and it was only right that she go to him. He’d do the same for her . . . she was certain he would. She jumped up from the bed and paced back and forth. “I need to do more than sit here and keep busy, Sally.”
The maid frowned. “Now look what I’ve done. You’re going to fret and stew. I shouldn’t have told you.” She glanced toward the clock. “I got to get back downstairs, but promise me you won’t tell the missus I was listening at their door.”
Melinda looked up, her mind in a daze. “What?” She shook her head. “No, I won’t tell them it was you, Sally. Thank you for telling me.”
Sally tightened her lips into a tight seam. She turned around when she neared the door. “Don’t do anything you’ll later regret, Melinda. Think things through before you make any plans.”
“Would you tell Mrs. Mifflin I sent word that I’m not feeling well and won’t be down until later this morning?”
Sally nodded. “That will be the truth—you’re white as a bedsheet.” She peeked out the door before she slipped into the hallway.
Once the door clicked behind her, Melinda tried to gather her thoughts. Though it was difficult to believe Mr. Mifflin would tell her outright lies, she believed Sally had spoken the truth. After all, Mrs. Mifflin had been clear that
she thought letter writing and any possible relationship with Evan should cease.
Surely they realized she would eventually hear of the hurricane and know the truth. How did they plan to explain? More fabrications? She imagined Mr. Mifflin explaining away his deception by saying he’d been telegraphed incorrect information or some other such story. Perhaps they thought she would hear from Evan by the time she learned of the hurricane and her worries would have already vanished—and Mrs. Mifflin wouldn’t need to fear losing her lady’s maid.
Melinda longed to understand why anyone would do such a thing to another. Would Mrs. Mifflin withhold such information from a friend, or was this form of treatment reserved only for servants? Then again, perhaps they withheld the truth whenever it worked to their advantage. Dwelling on what they had done wouldn’t help her. Right now she needed a plan.
She would not remain in a house where people lied in order to control her actions. The very thought sickened her.
“I don’t know exactly what to do, Lord, but I know I need to learn the truth.”
Several hours had passed when Sally once again tapped on Melinda’s door. “The missus wasn’t happy. She had an appointment this morning, and Mary had to help her dress and fix her hair. Poor Mary. She couldn’t do anything to suit the missus. The girl came back downstairs in tears. I’m supposed to tell you that you need to be up and about by late this afternoon. There’s a party of some sort, and you’ll be needed.”
The woman’s gaze settled on the clothing Melinda had removed from the wardrobe. “Would you ask Matthew to bring up my old trunk from the storage shed out back? I believe that’s where he put it when I moved here.”
Sally’s mouth gaped open. “You’re leavin’?”
“I must. But I need to accomplish a great deal before Mrs. Mifflin returns. I’m going downstairs to make a telephone call. I need to contact my brother.”
“But you can’t give up a good job without the prospects of something else. It’s not sensible. Evan hasn’t even asked you to marry him.”
Melinda said nothing but fixed Sally with a stare. The woman finally seemed to realize that Melinda’s mind was made up.
“Matthew’s gone. He’s taken the missus to her appointment, but I can ask Timothy, the young fella that helps with the gardening, if you’d like.” Sally shook her head. “I don’t think you should use that telephone. The missus says the operators repeat every word they hear. Word travels fast, so if you want to keep your conversation private, you best send a note.” She pointed to the desk. “Write a note. Timothy can take it to your brother after he brings your trunk from the shed.”
“I don’t think I need to worry about the operators telling Mrs. Mifflin what I have to say, Sally. Once she returns home, I plan to tell her myself.”
They walked down the front stairs, and while Melinda rang the operator, Sally went off in search of Timothy. After asking the operator to connect her with the Dangerfield residence, she listened to four short rings followed by one long. Finally a servant answered. Melinda did her best to speak with as much authority as possible. “This is Melinda, Mrs. Mifflin’s lady’s maid, calling from the Mifflin residence. I need to speak with Lawrence Colson. It’s an emergency.”
She was surprised when the servant didn’t question her further. “I’ll have to send someone to fetch him out in the barns. Shall I have him return the call, or do you wish to remain on the line?” Though it would make more sense to hang up, she didn’t want to take a chance that Lawrence wouldn’t call back. If he was gone for some reason, she’d prefer to have the Dangerfields’ servant tell her. “I’ll remain on the line, thank you.”
While she waited, Sally returned to report Timothy had taken her trunk up the back stairway and placed it in her room. “I had him bring along the two suitcases you brought with you, as well.”
“Thank you, Sally. I’m sure that I’ll put them to good use.” Melinda still held the receiver to her ear. “I’m waiting on my brother to come to the phone. He’s out in the barns.”
Sally gave a nod. “If you’d like, I can go up and begin to fold and pack some of your belongings.”
The offer surprised Melinda. The woman wasn’t usually generous with her time. “You don’t need to do that, Sally. I’m sure you have other work that needs your attention.”
“Nothing that won’t wait. I’d like to help. It’s the least I can do after telling all of your business to Mrs. Mifflin.” She waited for a moment, but when Melinda didn’t immediately respond, she touched her arm. “Please. I truly want to do something to help you.”
Melinda wasn’t sure what to do. She could certainly use the help, but she didn’t want to get Sally in trouble should Mrs. Mifflin return home earlier than expected. “Go ahead and begin. I’ll be up as soon as I speak with Lawrence.” The smile that spread across Sally’s face was as bright as sunshine on a summer day. “You’d think I’d given her a raise in pay,” Melinda murmured.
“Hello. This is Lawrence Colson. Who’s calling, please?”
“Lawrence. It’s Melinda. Listen carefully.” She related all that had occurred over the past few days before she inhaled a deep breath. “I’m leaving for Georgia later today, Lawrence. I have enough money saved to pay for my train ticket, and I have enough to purchase one for you, if you’ll come with me.” The silence was deafening. “Please say you’ll come with me, Lawrence. I don’t want to travel to Georgia on my own.”
“Melinda, this is madness. Think about it for a moment. Unless your friend has proposed, you are imposing yourself . . . Well, I don’t mean it exactly that way. But . . . well . . . has he asked you to marry him?”
Melinda ignored the question. She knew the foolishness of leaving a good job to go off in search of a man who might or might not love her enough to make her his wife, but she couldn’t help herself. She loved Evan. She needed to know if he was safe. She needed to see that he was alive—even if he didn’t want her.
“Please come with me, Lawrence. Please. I promise I’ll never ask anything else of you.”
For a moment he said nothing and Melinda feared he would refuse. “How much time do I have before we depart?”
Unable to withhold her excitement, she shrieked with joy. “You’ll come with me? Do you mean it?”
He laughed. “You’ve ruined my hearing with that screaming, but yes, I’ll meet you at the station. What time?”
“You have to be there by four o’clock. And Lawrence, don’t be late.”
“I’ll meet you there—four o’clock.”
Making this journey would be so much easier with Lawrence along. She whispered a prayer of thanks as she hiked her skirt and ran up the steps. “And please keep Evan safe. Please.”
———
Lawrence considered his sister’s actions rash, but they played right into his own needs—the most urgent of which was to put some distance between himself and Cleveland. His sister’s emotional decision to go in search of a man who hadn’t even declared himself would normally have caused Lawrence some worry. She was, after all, the last of his family, and he did desire for her to remain safe.
When he’d seen her installed as a lady’s maid to Mrs. Mifflin, Lawrence had felt it acceptable to make his own way in the world. It wasn’t that he no longer cared about Melinda, but rather he felt inadequate to help her. In truth, he didn’t feel capable of helping much of anyone.
He forgot about his duties and made his way quickly to the small room he’d been given off the stable. There was precious little to pack, but what few things he had, Lawrence intended to keep. Within a few minutes he was all but ready to go.
“Where have you been?” a gruff male voice called as Lawrence made his way to the far stall in the stable.
“I’ve been packing. I’m needed elsewhere.”
The older man gave him a look that suggested Lawrence had lost his mind. “And what of your job here? You’ve not given notice.”
Lawrence shrugged and gave a smile. “I suppose yo
u can consider this my resignation. A family member is in need of my help, and I can’t refuse.”
Melinda completed her packing, and Timothy placed her trunk and cases in the front hallway, ready for her departure. She sat waiting in the parlor for Mrs. Mifflin’s return. When she heard the horses clopping along the front driveway, she stepped to the foyer.
Mrs. Mifflin swept past her. “I’m pleased to see you’re feeling better. I hope you’ve pressed my gown.”
“No, I haven’t pressed your gown, but I’m sure Mary will see to it.”
The woman stopped and turned toward her. “And why would Mary see to it?” She noticed the trunk and cases. “And what are these? Do we have unexpected guests?”
“No, they are mine. I’m leaving, Mrs. Mifflin. I’m going to Bridal Veil to see if Evan has been injured in the hurricane.”
The older woman’s complexion turned ashen, and she motioned to the parlor. “I must sit down. Come in here.” Melinda followed her into the room. Mrs. Mifflin opened her fan and flapped it with enough ferocity to cool both of them. “You’re not thinking clearly, Melinda. My husband explained that there was no need for worry. There was only a storm, but you’ve let your emotions get the best of you, and you’re acting in an irrational manner.” She looked up at Melinda. “Do sit down so that we can talk.”
“I don’t have time for a lengthy discussion, Mrs. Mifflin. I plan to leave for the train station very soon.” She had more than sufficient time before the train would arrive, but she knew that if she delayed her departure, the older woman would attempt to prevent her from leaving.
“You can’t do this. You haven’t given me proper notice. I have engagements and need your assistance. This is totally uncalled for and improper behavior for a lady’s maid. Now sit down and be reasonable.”
Melinda remained standing. “Mrs. Mifflin, I know there was a hurricane and that the destruction in Biscayne was significant. I also know that there has been no word from Bridal Veil and the damage to the island is unknown at this time. Although you knew of my concern for Evan, you and Mr. Mifflin gave me false information. I fail to understand how you could be so cruel. I love Evan, and I must go to him.”
To Love and Cherish Page 9
