The Paper Marriage

by Bronwyn Williams

  Which was the wrong way, as attested to by her various bruises.

  “Comp’ny coming,” Peg sang out.

  Rose groaned. “At this time of night?” It was still light, even though supper had been hours ago. Still, she’d better be up and dressed in case her presence was required. With Bess gone, she had assumed the role of hostess. The magistrate’s wife had ridden out to visit one day last week.

  “Well, I’ll be-swigger,” she heard Crank say. Both men had tried earnestly to clean up their vocabulary after she had reminded them that Annie was getting old enough to pick up a few words. She’d even said, “Mm, mm” the other day. It had sounded enough like “Mama” to bring tears to Rose’s eyes.

  Stiffly, she pulled on the dress she’d removed earlier when she’d put on Luther’s trousers. Like just about everything lately, it felt damp. She dragged a brush through her hair and bundled it back, tying it with a ribbon. It would have to do, she told herself irritably as she walked stiffly through the house. Anyone who came to call at this hour of the evening deserved…

  “Matthew?” she whispered. Oh, my mercy, he was home.

  Chapter Twelve

  He looked older. Silhouetted against the last streak of light in the western sky, he looked gaunt, as if he’d been ill. Rose stood and stared for a full minute before realizing she was barefooted, wearing a limp gown with no undergarments, not so much as a single petticoat. Her hair was not even braided.

  “Matt, are you ill?” she whispered. From the way he was staring at her so intently, she thought he might be feverish. His eyes were burning like banked coals.

  “I’m not ill. Where’s Bess?”

  Even his voice sounded different. “She left a few days after you did. Something about seeing her publisher about another project.” Her response came without thinking as her mind raced ahead. He’s home. He’s exhausted. Something’s wrong. He needs me.

  Crank had gone outside to bring in his saddlebags. Peg was taking care of his borrowed horse. Heavenly days, he didn’t even have the strength to do that, she thought. The Matt she knew would have taken care of his horse, even a borrowed one, before seeing to his own comfort.

  Standing in the open doorway, Rose glanced past him. Correctly interpreting her look, Matt said, “He’s not here.”

  “Is everything all right? Did you get your ship back? Is Luther all—”

  “In answer to your questions, no, it’s not, yes, I did, and yes, he is. Now, if you’ll kindly step aside, madam, I’d like to come inside my own house.”

  Rose jumped back as if she’d been scorched. “I didn’t mean—that is, of course you may. I was only—”

  He’d called her madam. There’d been nothing even faintly respectful in his tone.

  “Tell Crank when he’s done outside, I’ll have a bit of whatever he has left from supper and a kettle of hot water.”

  It was a command, not a request.

  What did you expect him to do, embrace you? For all he knows, you’re no more than another employee.

  She turned away too quickly and staggered against the wall as tortured muscles protested. Before she could recover, his hand gripped her elbow. “Steady, there. Have you been hitting Bess’s brandy?”

  Close. She’d had a generous dose of Peg’s painkiller. “If you must know, I was almost asleep.”

  “This early?” He steered her toward the kitchen, his grip no longer quite so punishing. Once inside, Rose pulled away to light the table lamp while Matt dragged out a chair and dropped onto it. His shoulders slumped, as if he’d been holding himself erect by sheer will alone.

  Despite her own discomfort, it was all Rose could do not to gather him in her arms. Besieged by a storm of conflicting emotions, she turned toward the kindling box, bent too quickly, yelped and clapped a hand to her back.

  Matt’s chair clattered against the wall. He was beside her instantly. “What the devil is wrong with you, woman?”

  “Nothing is wrong with me,” she snapped back.

  Nothing, that is, but a serious lack of common sense.

  You’d think she had never before felt pain. Heavens, this was nothing. A few bruises, a bit of chafing, a few aching muscles… “Sit down while I get the fire going. Crank left some fish stew in the cool house.” She turned toward the back door, moving as gracefully as one could possibly move with a strained back, a bruised behind and badly chafed thighs.

  “Sit down,” Matt said gruffly. He dragged another chair away from the table and seated her none too gently. When she couldn’t hide a slight grimace, he demanded to know what in God’s name had been going on. “Dammit, Rose, you’re in even worse shape than I am.”

  The slamming of the screen door announced the arrival of the two old men. Rose was torn between making her escape and staying to hear the news. Matt might be reluctant to tell her what had happened when he’d gone to buy back his ship, but he could never hold out against Peg and Crank.

  “Ruint another good pair o’ boots, I see.” Crank stared accusingly at Matt’s sandy, salt-rimed foot-wear. “You set right there, boy, while I get you some supper. Peg, stoke up the fire. Rosie, what the devil are you doing out of bed? That dose I give you should’ve laid you out till dinnertime tomorrow.”

  His haggard face a study in confusion, Matt looked from one to the other. “Has something happened to Annie?” It was the only reason he could think of why Rose would have taken to her bed at this hour with one of Crank’s homemade remedies.

  “Annie’s fine. She’s growing so fast you won’t recognize her.” Rose shot Crank a warning look that only added to Matt’s suspicions.

  Something was wrong. As tired as he was, he knew he’d never sleep until he got to the bottom of it. “Anybody want to tell me what the devil is going on here?”

  It was Peg, now that he’d stoked the fire and set the kettle on to boil, who filled him in. Rose could have swatted him if she hadn’t been quite certain that any sudden movement would have done her in.

  Lord, she ached. The cornstarch she’d used on her chafed thighs was damp and sticky. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might’ve scraped the skin on her back when she’d fallen against the fence.

  “Our Rosie’s been busy since you been gone,” the carpenter said smugly. “Soon’s she told us what she wanted to do, me and Crank offered to help out by standing watch over Annie’s nap. John, he’s been a big help, too. Dixon’s boy’s about as useful as tits on a boar hog, but he tries. Seldom a day goes by that he don’t ride out to see how she’s coming along.”

  Matt sighed. Leaning back in his chair, he heel-toed his boots off, leaving them where they lay. “Go on,” he said darkly.

  Taking him at his word, Peg cleared his throat and prepared to launch into a recital of everything Rose had done since the day Matt had left.

  “I’m sure Matt would much rather hear about Annie’s new skills,” Rose suggested.

  Ignoring her, Peg cleared his throat again and settled back to disclose every pathetic detail of her shabby attempts at self-improvement. “Well, now, I reckon it commenced when her garden died. First off, we had us this three-day blow out of the nor’east, and then—”

  Her small store of patience exhausted, Rose interrupted. “To make a long story short—”

  “As the good book says,” Crank put in, and she glared him to silence.

  “If you must know, I decided to learn how to sail and how to ride, since gardening clearly isn’t among my skills. I’ve never been taught a single useful thing in my entire life, and it’s about time I learned. And you might as well know that once I’ve mastered the art of sailing and staying on top of a horse, I’m going to learn how to cook. Crank’s promised to teach me. I already know how to wash clothes.” Her fierce look defied him to comment.

  Over a three-day growth of beard, Matt’s eyes took on a decided gleam. Damned if she wasn’t something, all right. Just what, he hadn’t yet figured out, but she’d bear watching until he made up his mind what to do about
her.

  “What’s Annie been doing all this time?” he asked mildly.

  “Playing. Napping. She’s a happy baby. She doesn’t demand my constant attention.” It was more of a challenge than an explanation.

  Matt lowered his gaze to the steaming mug of tar-like coffee Crank placed before him. “Then I take it you’re preparing for your next position.”

  Some of her belligerence gave way to wariness. “My next position?”

  “After you leave here. Once my wife arrives, I’ll hardly be needing your services.”

  With a look of dismay, she started to speak, then bit her lower lip and fell silent. If he weren’t so damned tired from getting by on three hours’ sleep out of every twenty-four, Matt might have felt some satisfaction. He had her right where he wanted her, didn’t he? Even if she suspected he’d stopped off in Norfolk to see Bagby, she couldn’t be certain how much he’d learned. Evidently she intended to bluff it out.

  Two, he mused, could play that game. “Go to bed, Rose, you look like hell.”

  What happened next wasn’t mutiny, but it came close to it. Scowling, Peg issued a rebuke as Crank shook his head and said, “Now, son, that ain’t no way to talk to a lady. Rosie, he don’t mean to hurt your feelings, the boy’s not himself, anybody can see that.”

  Matt shot the old man a withering look. However, Crank was right. Better to wait and fire the opening volley when he wasn’t too tired to take aim.

  Crank plopped a tin plate of cold stewed fish and potatoes in front of him. Peg scowled at the simmering kettle. Rose, with a look that defied interpretation, stood, bade them all a gracious good-night and walked stiffly from the room, the effect only slightly spoiled by the fact that she had a tendency to waddle.

  Long after he stretched out on his own bed that night, fully prepared to fall instantly asleep and not wake until hunger drove him in search of food, Matt remembered the look on her face just before she’d taken her leave. If he didn’t know her for the conniving woman she was, he could have sworn her feelings were hurt.

  Something was going on around here. His two old crewmen, men who owed him their allegiance whether on land or at sea, were in on it. Before he headed north again, Matt promised himself, he damned well intended to find out what it was.

  Rose opened her eyes, yawned and stretched, and broke off with a gasp. Steeling herself, she tried again.

  Oh, drat! Crank had warned her, telling her about the time he’d been carrying a fifty-pound sack of beans over his shoulder when he’d tripped over a cat and fallen down the companionway. “Picked myself up and put in a full day’s work, I did,” he said proudly. “Next morning, I couldn’t get out of bed. For near onto a week I couldn’t move without it hurt something awful. These things always gets worse before they get better.”

  There was nothing seriously wrong with her, nothing a decent night’s sleep shouldn’t have cured. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself, one protesting muscle at a time, to get out of bed. Annie was already awake. She’d be soaked through and hungry by now, and eager to tell the world about it.

  Matthew was home again.

  The knowledge struck like a tidal surge, and as miserable as her body was, her spirits took flight.

  He’d been gruff, but that was understandable. He’d been utterly exhausted, his cheeks gaunt and un-shaven, his eyes dull and red-rimmed. Either the lines in his face had deepened, or he’d developed a few new ones. Evidently the repurchase of his ship hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as he’d expected.

  “But today, my dear Annie, is a brand new day. After a good night’s rest in his own bed, your papa’s bound to feel much better, especially when he sees your beautiful toothy smile, hmm?”

  Rose had never been one to hold a grudge. Well, perhaps she had, but not over a few harsh words. Today the sun was shining brightly; there was enough of a breeze from the southwest to blow away the mosquitoes, and stiff or not, she was more than ready to forgive and forget.

  She only hoped Matt would be as generous.

  Walking gingerly, she collected a clean diaper, leaned over the crib and barely suppressed a groan. “Don’t even think about riding, darling. Papa can buy you a gig and a pretty little mare, and you can travel in style.”

  She peeled off the wet diaper, dropped it in the pail, and wondered how the simple act of sitting on top of a horse could do so much damage.

  Well, of course it hadn’t been quite so simple. The first time, when John had held her foot and boosted her up, she’d slid clean over the animal’s back and fallen against the fence, which accounted for her aching back. John had hurried to her side, obviously concerned, but he’d barely been able to suppress his laughter. If he hadn’t assumed the lesson was over, she might have given up then and there.

  The second time started out much better. She’d managed to climb up on the mare’s back and sit there for almost a full minute before the stupid thing decided to go for a run. With no choice other than to jump and risk being trampled, she’d grabbed a handful of flying mane along with the bridle and hung on, bouncing like a rubber ball, which no doubt accounted for her bruised behind.

  John had run after them shouting orders and laughing fit to split a seam. “Hold on,” he’d yelled.

  “I’m trying!” She’d been holding on every way she possibly could, with both hands and both legs, which explained her blistered palms and chafed thighs. It had seemed hours before she’d hit ground the second time, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

  “But I’m not giving up,” she told Annie as she lifted her up and blew a kiss in the creases of her neck.

  Annie chortled. She was delightfully responsive, so Rose kissed her again and said, “Next time, though, I’ll dust down with cornstarch before the damage is done. No wonder men walk the way they do. If I had to wear those scratchy old trousers, I’d probably walk that way, too. Do you think we should tell your papa to powder his thighs before he pulls up his trousers?”

  She bathed the pink, plump bottom and pinned on a fresh diaper. She might as well take advantage of the sunny weather and wash the diapers and Annie’s bedding this morning. It was an excellent excuse to postpone another riding lesson.

  As for her sailing lessons, Sandy usually came in the afternoon while Annie was taking her nap. She was learning how to handle the different ropes, which on a boat were called lines. As confusing as it was, so far sailing hadn’t bruised anything.

  “Come along, sweetie, let’s go see if Crank has your breakfast ready. I’ll bet your papa’s never seen a young lady who can drink from a cup without spilling more than half her milk.”

  With nothing save her own growing experience to go on, Rose had decided that Annie was an exceptional child, advanced in all ways. Poor Billy must have been a wonder. He had certainly been a charmer, if Annie was as much like her late father as Crank and Peg said she was.

  “Here we go, blue eyes, let’s go show off for Papa.”

  Crank had breakfast waiting. Bacon and eggs for Rose, milk and burgoo for Annie. Now that she insisted on participating in the process, breakfast took twice as long.

  No sign of Matt. Not even to herself would Rose admit she was disappointed.

  “How’re you feeling?” the cook asked as he poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down to watch the performance.

  “Wonderfully well, thank you.”

  “Still sore, huh? Told ye so.”

  Rose shot him a fulminating look and steered Annie’s fist-held spoon to her mouth. She was dying to ask if Matt was up yet, but she wasn’t ready to face one of Crank’s knowing smirks. In some ways he was even worse than Bess. As far as Bess was concerned, the world was a stage and she loved nothing more than moving the players around at will.

  Crank and Peg, having made up their minds that their captain’s proxy wedding had been one of Bess’s tricks, were determined to find him another wife. As soon as Bess had left, Peg had said, “It’s been months since he signed them papers. No woman’s tur
ned up to claim the title, which means something went afoul on the other end.”

  “Better a bird in hand than one in the bush,” Crank had said, making no secret of which bird Matt held in the palm of his callused hand.

  Once Rose had realized what they were about, she’d been tempted to tell them the truth, but she owed it to Matt to tell him first. Which she fully intended to do, just as soon as she could get him alone.

  “If you’re looking for the captain, he took that horse of his out to the beach. Didn’t even stop to eat breakfast first.”

  Pretending a lack of interest, Rose wiped a smear of burgoo from her arm. “I believe the sun will hold long enough to dry a line of wash, don’t you?”

  “He got her back, but she’s in bad shape.”

  “The diaper pail’s overflowing, and—” She broke off to stare at him. “Who got who back?”

  “The cap’n. He bought the Swan back, but she’s been treated shameful. Peg’s headed out this afternoon to see to her.”

  So then, of course, she had to hear the entire story, about how Matt and Luther and a handful of deck-hands had sailed the Swan from Boston to Norfolk, had had to stand off for nearly twenty-four hours before they were allowed mooring space, and how Luther had stayed behind until Peg could get there to oversee the repairs.

  “No wonder Matt looked so…so—”

  “Yes’m, he was plumb tore up. Heartsick, I guess you could call it. Loves that ship like she was a woman, he does.” The old cook shook his head, then went on to say, “But that don’t mean he don’t need a wife. No sir, a man needs a woman if he wants to raise himself up a crop of sons. Don’t do no good to lay by a mess o’ worldly goods without begetting a flock of sons to take over. The Good Book talks a whole lot about that.”

  Before Rose could think of a response, Sandy Dixon called through the open back door. “I heard Powers is back, didn’t know if you wanted to sail today or not, but if you want to go out, I can come back when Annie’s taking her nap.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, he came inside and sat down at the table, careful to avoid the blobs of mush Annie had distributed generously on every exposed surface.