Emily's House

by Amy Belding Brown

  “Not yet.” She laughed. “I think it does men good to make them wait, don’t you? It teaches them patience and protects them from pride.” She gave me a quick look. Her eyes were sparking. “At least one hopes so.”

  “Wisha, you make it sound like a game,” I said.

  “And so it is,” she said. Then, “Didn’t you keep your own beau waiting for an answer?”

  I was staggered. Couldn’t think how she knew. It was three years since Patrick left and she’d never said a word in all that time. “I did indeed,” I said. “But it wasn’t to be teaching him patience. ’Twas my own undecided heart kept me from saying yes.” I took up my knife and started chopping parsley for the mutton stew. “Maybe it’s the same for yourself.”

  She stopped her kneading and wiped her hands on her apron. I wondered if I’d been too bold. Tried to mend it quick. “Or maybe it’s not. For myself, ’tis all in the past now. I’m done with love.”

  “I don’t understand how it’s possible to be done with love,” she said after a minute. “In my experience, it’s never past. I’ve tried locking it away in a drawer, but the key never leaves my pocket.”

  I wondered who she was talking about—what love had she tried locking away? I tried to think. Maybe Samuel Bowles, the newspaper man who sat with her during the Squire’s funeral? It surely wasn’t Mr. Higginson—for all her pleasure at his letters, I’d seen no sign they were lovers. Nor even heard any rumors. For some reason, Sue Dickinson popped into my head. Maybe she was more than Emily’s friend. Don’t know where that thought came from, but it wasn’t a pretty one.

  “Sure, it wasn’t that way with Patrick and myself.” I wiped my knife clean and scooped the parsley flakes into the pot. Wished I had a pint of ale to give it more flavor. “Not certain it was true love at all, to tell the truth,” I added. “But it’s just as well. I’ve always been shy of getting married. It can shackle a woman, surely.” She didn’t say anything and I was glad of it. I wanted her to stop talking about love. Didn’t like where it was taking my mind. “It’s not for everybody, I’m thinking. There’s a deal of freedom in staying single.” I carried the pot across the room and set it on the cooker.

  Had my back to Emily when she spoke. “For my part, I’m glad you didn’t get caught in his snare, Maggie. I can’t imagine happiness without you close by.”

  Surprised me, it did, and melted my heart. I felt the heat run up my neck and into my face. “You’re very kind,” I said.

  “I’m many things, Maggie—legions, perhaps. But I’ve never masked sincerity with kindness.” She said it in a low voice. “I need you so that I can be myself. When you were sick with typhoid, I was miserable—terrified that I might lose you.” Her voice split.

  I turned to look at her. “ ’Tis all right, Emily. I’m not going away.”

  A long sigh came out of her and she leaned toward me. So I opened my arms and let her fall into them. I felt the sorrow and happiness coming from her. Such a quare perfume, it was—sweet and bitter, mixed.

  * * *

  Austin was spending more and more time at the Homestead. When he wasn’t trysting with Mabel Todd, he’d sit and talk with Vinnie and Emily about Sue. She was too sociable, he’d say, always putting on grand receptions, theatricals, and fancy picnics. It wearied him and cast him down. What he liked was quiet and a book to read or a fruit tree to graft. He was a solitary like Emily, something Sue didn’t respect.

  I was rolling my eyes hearing such nonsense. If there was ever a man who was loud, it was Austin Dickinson. Had a booming voice and a heavy tread and always tramped across the floor like he was in army boots.

  But Emily would sigh and say she understood his sensibilities and Vinnie would pat his hand and tell him Sue would soon see the error of her ways. Sure, it seemed to me he was leaving out his own part in the situation. Didn’t look to me like he was a bit solitary—not when Mabel Todd came around, surely.

  * * *

  Came a morning Vinnie showed up in the kitchen and sat herself down at the table, slumping her shoulders like a schoolgirl in a mood.

  “What’s troubling you?” I said, for it was plain she wanted me to be asking. I served up her breakfast and poured myself another cup of tea. Figured I was likely in for a long listen.

  She looked at me. “Did you know Emily’s received a proposal of marriage?”

  I couldn’t think what to say, for hadn’t I promised Emily not to tell? Yet I’d never been certain Emily was serious. Luck was with me, though, for Vinnie didn’t wait for my answer.

  “Judge Lord asked her months ago, Maggie. Months!” Vinnie’s fork clinked on the plate. “All in secret. She never told a soul.” She was quiet for a minute. “Maggie, he’s an old man!” Her voice was all lonesome and sorrowful, like she was going to start keening. “He was our father’s friend.”

  “She’s happy enough when she’s with him,” I said.

  She shook her head and waved her hands about. “It’s always been all flowers and birdsong with Emily. Everything pretty and sweet.”

  Sure, I knew that wasn’t true. Emily had her share of troubles like everybody else. And there was nobody with a sharper tongue. Even her poems were full of needles and blades. And the Judge was the same.

  “She’s not thinking clearly,” Vinnie went on. “Can you honestly imagine her living in Salem? She hasn’t even walked past the gate in years.” And she burst into tears.

  “Oh no, Miss Vinnie—you musn’t cry!” I did what I could to comfort her, and after she calmed a bit, she told me Emily had come to her room and showed her a coral ring and bracelet the Judge gave her. Undid the clasp and pointed to an engraving on the inside of the bracelet.

  “Little Phil, it said! Can you imagine?” Vinnie wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I suppose that’s another one of her jests, since Judge Lord is as tall as they come. But it made my skin creep, Maggie.”

  I was nodding and patting her shoulder and making tender sounds. Didn’t tell her I’d heard the Judge call Emily Jumbo and knew the nicknames were a joke between them, for she was small as he was large. I told Vinnie I’d surely know if Emily promised the Judge she’d marry him. And, in truth, I didn’t think Emily would be going anywhere. “A woman who waits long to be answering isn’t likely to be saying yes,” I said. I gave her my clean handkerchief to wipe her tears and blow her nose.

  “I don’t know, Maggie,” she said. “She’s changed since Mother died. It’s as if something came loose inside her.”

  I hushed her again and poured her a cup of tea. Sometimes there’s nothing more useful can be done.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  In September Judge Lord was well enough to come to Amherst again. Emily was in raptures to see him and the pair of them filled the house with their laughing for a week. After he left, I kept a close eye on her, and she went back to writing letters and poems and tending her plants, though she seemed more downcast than usual after the visit. One day, when we were in the garden cutting back dried lily stalks, I asked what was troubling her.

  “I was just musing about how glorious these lilies were only a few weeks ago,” she said. “Like triumphal banners. And now every one of them is dead.”

  “Aye,” I said, “but I’m thinking it’s not the reason you’re in low spirits. ’Tis something else on your heart.”

  She gave me a smile that wasn’t really a smile.

  “Is it Judge Lord, then?” I said. “Is it himself you’re fretting over?”

  “He’s very dear to me,” she murmured, but the way she said it told me it wasn’t the reason.

  Took a while, but she finally came out with it—she was missing Sue, who’d stopped coming by the Homestead, fearing she’d meet Mabel Todd. Sure, I should have known it all along. Emily couldn’t be happy if Sue was sad.

  * * *

  At the end of the month, Gib came down with a f
ever and dysentery. Dr. Bigelow said it was typhoid. Sure, my heart went out to the tyke, for I knew too well what that was like. The whole family was tormented with worry and no one could sleep a wink from one night to the next. Austin went around scowling and Sue’s face was red from crying. Dr. Bigelow came every day but the poor lad kept sinking, and at dusk on the fourth of October, Betty came bursting into the Homestead to tell us the crisis was on him.

  Emily was beside herself. Up and down the kitchen and along the Northwest Passage she paced. She was wringing her hands and the sounds she made were close to keening.

  I tried to settle her but she would not be settled.

  “I can’t bear it,” she moaned, staring out the kitchen window, though it was too dark to see the Evergreens.

  “Would you be wanting to go over, then?” I asked, knowing her likely answer would be no.

  But she turned and looked at me, her face lit like a candle. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I want to go.”

  “I’ll take you across.” I got her shawl before she could change her mind, plucked up the lantern, and led her out into the dark.

  Night was Emily’s natural element—gentle on her eyes and heart. But she looked a ghost in her white dress, gliding along the path with the yellow lantern light falling on her hem. The house was cold as a tomb when we stepped inside. I followed her up the stairs to Gib’s room. My nose stung from the smells—ammonia and fever and vomit.

  Vinnie was sitting just outside the door. When she saw Emily she gasped and stood up. “What are you doing here?”

  Emily paid her no mind but went straight in where the poor lad was thrashing and moaning. Sue sat beside him, weeping with her head in her hands. Austin, who was standing at the foot of the bed, brought a chair from the corner and set it next to Sue. Emily swayed and sank down.

  The poor child was not in his right senses. He cried out and fell into a terrible silence, then cried out again. It was plain his fever was raging. I couldn’t bear doing nothing. I spotted the basin of water and a cloth on the washstand and wrung the cloth out and laid it across his forehead, but he dashed it to the floor. Dr. Bigelow loomed in the doorway, his long face grim as ever I saw it. I plucked up the wet cloth and stepped out to give the doctor room, for there was little to be had with the lot of them hovering around the bed.

  I watched as he drew back the sheet and pressed his listening tube to Gib’s chest. He took the poor boy’s pulse and poked his belly. His mouth made a straight line above his beard and his eyebrows fluttered up and down like white moths. It was plain the boy was sinking and even a doctor can’t give hope when there’s none to be had. It was in God’s hands now and all of us knew it.

  I crossed myself and whispered an Our Father. Emily was talking to Gib in that sweet way she always had with the lad. She promised him an extra slice of gingerbread when he got well, and told him she’d seen an owl in the pine tree outside her chamber window that very morning. She stroked the blanket over his legs. He stopped thrashing and lay still. Seemed like magic, it did. She went on talking, telling him how dearly he was loved and saying he must lie still and get well or she’d not be bearing it at all. Sure, I don’t know why he attended so to her voice.

  Then she started shaking. She’d not taken her eyes off Gib since she went in the room, except to cast a worried look at Sue. Dr. Bigelow closed his bag and backed away. I had the feeling he felt himself bested by Emily’s spell. The only sound in the room was Sue’s sobbing. Emily pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her mouth.

  “Emily?” I said, but she seemed not to hear.

  Gib cried out and rose up on his elbows, then sank back on the bed. Austin groaned and reached for him but the lad thrust his father’s arm aside. “Open the door—they’re waiting for me!” he said in a high, clear voice.

  His poor mother looked up, her face white as Emily’s dress. And didn’t everyone in that room stare at the doorway to see who he was meaning? But there was only myself. It was ghosts he was seeing, surely. I remembered my own typhoid fever visions and they were so bitter I would have run if Emily hadn’t reached for me.

  “I’m going to be ill, Maggie,” she said, her voice shaking like her hands. “Help me.”

  I hurried her down the stairs and out the door, where she retched into the rhododendrons before we went back the way we’d come, with herself leaning on me every step. I put her straight to bed and there she stayed. Late the next afternoon Vinnie came in with the awful news Gib had died in his mother’s arms just before five o’clock. All of us were buckled with sorrow. It harrows the whole world when a child dies.

  I fixed my strength on caring for Emily, who was sick as ever she’d been.

  * * *

  The Dickinson family was in shambles after Gib’s dying. Emily stayed in her bed, barely able to lift her head off the pillow. What strength she had she used writing notes to Sue. Note after note she wrote, and my poor feet complaining with all the running back and forth to the Evergreens I was doing. There was no more talk of Emily’s romance with the Judge.

  It was Christmas before Emily was up and about, but nobody had the stomach for festivities. I was glad for my own family in Kelley Square, where the mood was brighter. The laughing and singing and sweet cakes were welcome after so many bleak days.

  I think Austin was shattered as Sue by Gib’s dying, but instead of mourning with her, he turned to Mabel. And she was keen to comfort him. Any fool could see where things were heading. Saint Valentine’s Day, it was, Mabel came rapping on the front door. When I opened it she walked in and plunked herself down on the parlor sofa. Kept glancing out the window, so I knew right off she was looking for Austin. Vinnie came in from the library and told me to brew some coffee and settled herself next to Mabel. Sure, it was plain she was in on Mabel’s scheme but I wasn’t in the mood to be smiling on their frolics.

  When I came back with the coffee, Mabel was chattering away about decorating the house she and her husband were renting. Austin came just after four and up she jumped and went right to him, even put her hand on his chest in plain sight of Vinnie and myself. And didn’t he cover it with his own?

  “Will you be having coffee?” I asked him.

  “No, Maggie,” he said without looking in my direction. “I’ve something important to show Mabel.” He gave her a bold look anybody with a brain in her head could catch the meaning of. And he swept her out of the room.

  The pair of them closed themselves in the dining room for two hours. They surely knew I was in the kitchen, just the other side of the wall. I would have plugged my ears if I could, for the wanton sounds coming through that wall near turned my stomach. When they finally came out, glowing with their immorality, I couldn’t look at them. Good thing they didn’t say anything to me, for I couldn’t have bit my tongue hard enough to be civil.

  After that, they met two or three times every week. It got so they didn’t even try to straighten the dining room before they left. When I’d go in later to set the table for supper, I’d find sofa pillows tumbled on the carpet, and the afghans Mother Dickinson had made strewn about the room. Like regular appointments, their meetings were. We all knew to expect them. If Emily was in the kitchen, a knock on the front door sent her scurrying upstairs while Vinnie hurried to greet Mabel with a cheery laugh. Within the hour Austin and Mabel would be closing themselves into the dining room and I’d be spending the next three hours pretending not to hear what was plain to any creature with ears.

  Sue took on Emily’s habits and wouldn’t leave her house. Betty said she kept to her room with the drapes drawn and wore only the deepest black night and day. Sure, I felt sorry for the poor woman and even worse for Ned and Mattie. They were grown by then—Ned a college lad of twenty-two, and Mattie lovely and stylish at seventeen. Both of them missed Gib awfully and were cross and bitter with their father, blaming him for hurting their mam. To be sure, I blamed
him myself. I’d never liked him much and now I couldn’t respect him either. I cast down my eyes when I saw him so I didn’t have to look at his face. And Mabel Todd—I couldn’t look in her direction at all. Sin is still sin even when it’s dressed in silks and furs.

  * * *

  Then came a doleful day in the middle of March with the rain coming down so hard it looked like gray blankets dropping from the clouds. A knock on the front door turned my heart to stone but I went to answer. It was as if I knew I’d be finding bad news on the other side. And I was right about that—there stood a lad with the wet dripping off every inch of himself though he was holding a big umbrella. When he handed me the telegram and I saw it was for Emily, that stone rolled over in my chest. I gave him a quarter from my pocket and told him if he’d come around the back he could dry off a bit and there’d be a slice of cake for him. But he said no, and who could blame him? Nobody wants to be in a house when Death comes calling.

  I took the telegram straight up to Emily, who had already got up from her writing desk when I opened the door. The look of dread she gave me was the same as my own. She opened the telegram and I think she read it, though she was staring as if she couldn’t understand the words. Then she crushed it against her breast and sank down in her chair.

  “Emily?” I said.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes. But she was holding it out to me. So I read it.

  Judge Lord was dead.

  I believe a sound came out of my mouth, like the mewl of a kitten. But Emily, she made no sound at all.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  We shuttered the house for a month, draped mourning crepe over the front gate, and closed the doors to all but family. One good thing came of that—it kept Mabel Todd out. Austin and herself had to do their sinning elsewhere.