by Delia Parr
“You may not have been very tactful, but at least you were being honest. Don’t you . . . do you ever think about having your own family someday?” she asked as she toyed with the knitting stick, turning it over and over again in her hand.
He swallowed hard. “I think perhaps I did at one time. Very much so.”
Her hand stilled. “But not now.”
“No,” he admitted.
“Is that . . . is that because of the stigma of our pending divorce?”
Anxious to move past the subject of his shattered dreams, along with their current legal difficulties, he answered her as honestly and tactfully as he could. “From my perspective, life is far too unpredictable to consider marriage at all. Having a wife and children is simply risking disaster. I wouldn’t want to bring children into this world and leave them orphaned, like my parents did, and have my children raised by someone hired to do the job, like my brother and I were. I’d also prefer not to die with my wife and my children, like my brother did,” he admitted, still troubled by memories that had resurfaced so suddenly again today.
After drawing in a deep gulp of air, he continued. “It’s easier to avoid all of that by remaining single, and if you doubt what I’m telling you, you might want to ask some of the women at the Refuge if they enjoy the misery they’re mired in because their husbands died or abandoned them, leaving them virtually homeless, with broken hearts and fatherless children and no way to support themselves.”
When she looked at him, her eyes were glistening with sadness. “You can’t isolate yourself from life’s troubles. No one can. If you’d take the time to talk to some of the women like I have, you’d learn that they all have one thing in common beyond their reduced circumstances. It’s something you’ve given them because of your support to the Refuge, even though you don’t like to discuss it.”
He waved his hand to dismiss her words. “If you’re referring to the firewood, then I assure you I only had it delivered because you’re so adamant about volunteering there. I really had no other option, unless I wanted to take the risk you’d fall ill. That building was uncommonly cold.” He got up and added a log to the fire, since the sleeping room was turning chilly.
She leaned forward in her seat. “Your motive isn’t as important as your actions,” she argued. “Whether you deliberately intended to help those women or not, all they know is that you cared enough to have firewood delivered or that you paid for the knitting tools and yarn they need to help themselves. What they have in common now is that you restored their faith, and you gave them hope. That’s what they need to face the future.”
He snorted. “For how long? A week? A month? Sooner or later, they’re bound to lose hope again or have their faith tested over and over again until it’s gone. Wouldn’t it be easier all around if they faced that reality? Isn’t that all any of us can do?”
Her eyes widened. “Only if we give up and try to live without faith in God, who fills us with hope every time we lose our way.”
“As I see it, faith in God just isn’t enough, and hope is just a temporary reprieve from heartache . . . which is why I need to talk to you about Irene.”
Annabelle stiffened. “What about her?”
He let out a long breath. “I need to talk to her tomorrow morning about a very personal matter. I think she’d find it comforting if you were there with me when I did.”
“Why? What’s happened?” she asked, and her eyes flashed with alarm.
He retrieved the letter he had received that afternoon from his pocket. “Since you and Irene have become friends, I don’t think she’d mind if I shared this letter with you. It was addressed to my father,” he said and handed it to her. “Once you’ve finished reading it, I think you’ll understand how difficult it will be tomorrow when we have to tell her that her only child, Ellis, is dead.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Annabelle woke up well before dawn, having slept only a few hours. And the moment she spied the letter Harrison had left with her, she knew the nightmare she thought she’d had during the night was not a nightmare at all.
As surprised as she had been to learn that Irene had had a son, she was doubly surprised to discover they had been estranged from one another for more than twenty years. It was deeply troubling to know they would never see each other again, at least not in this world.
Though Harrison had not been able to shed any light on the reason that Irene and her son had become estranged, Annabelle prayed she would be able to think of a way to help Irene through the tragedy that had befallen her. Before she dressed and left her room, she sat down to reread the letter one last time:
Dear Mr. Graymoor,
I have been asked to notify you that Ellis Cannon succumbed after a brief illness on the 12th of November past at the age of forty-six years, seven months, and twelve days.
On his deathbed, he requested that I contact his mother, Widow Irene Cannon, who was in your employ when he left Philadelphia eleven years ago. I am hopeful she is still a member of your staff, and you can convey his dying wish to her: that she grant him forgiveness for what he did to her and her employer.
Please also extend to her my prayers, as well as my reassurances that he was a recent, but much-loved and respected member of our small community of faith.
I am enclosing a brief note from his widow, Melanie. At her request, this note is to be read only by Ellis’s mother, and I trust you will see that it is placed directly into her hands.
With deepest regards,
Reverend Samuel Reagan
Farmington, New Hampshire
She refolded the letter and laid it aside only long enough to dress. Although she was more than curious to know exactly what Ellis had done to both his mother and the Graymoors, she was more hopeful that Irene would reveal what message Melanie’s note contained.
Just as he promised last night, Harrison was waiting for her just outside the library, and he was already wearing his heavy winter outerclothes. “Are you absolutely certain this is the best time to tell her?” he asked as he followed her down the main staircase to the front door.
“It’s the only time of the day when we can count on her to be totally alone. If she needs more time by herself, which I would expect to be the case after we talk to her, I want to take her back to my room, where none of the other staff will be able to disturb her,” she replied and preceded him out the door while he finished a yawn. “You’re not accustomed to being awake this early, are you?” she teased.
He closed the door behind them. “I’m accustomed to being awake, but I’d typically be ending an evening out and getting into my bed, not out of it.” He let her take the lead as she walked them around the house toward the path that led to the cottage and beyond.
There was not a breath of wind this morning, but the temperature had dropped considerably since yesterday. By the time they reached the path, light flurries of snow were beginning to fall, but she had no second thoughts about coming to see Irene outside and hoped he would not, either.
“I can’t imagine where you might go to stay out that late, unless it’s at that island place I heard Philip say something about this afternoon. Will we be going there together for an event?” she asked in an attempt to distract them both from thinking about their troubling mission.
He lost his step on a patch of ice and nearly stumbled before he caught himself. “To Petty’s Island? That’s hardly a place for respectable men, let alone women. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a member of the gentler sex there, even among the workers, and rightly so.”
“But you’re respectable, and you go there.”
“My friends and I go there,” he admitted, “but we certainly don’t mention it to anyone else. If you want to avoid any more gossip than is already swirling around both of our names, I suggest that you not mention it, either. Especially tonight. This soiree is one of the most important events of the season’s festivities, and we absolutely need to attend,” he cautioned and looked up at the sky.
“I’ll have to keep a good eye on the weather. If these flurries build up into a full-fledged storm, we could end up being stranded in the city tonight.”
Her heart skipped a beat and latched on to an unexpected opportunity to avoid running into Vienna or Eric or anyone else who posed a threat to her. “I’m not certain I should leave Irene tonight, especially with another snowstorm brewing,” she ventured.
“As long as the weather holds, I think she’ll probably want you to go. Even so, I need you to go with me tonight, which means that Irene will simply have to do without you until tomorrow.”
Surprised and disappointed by his lack of empathetic support, she stiffened her back, but decided not to press the issue right now. Instead, she quickly told him that her chat with Irene about their sleeping arrangements had gone well. “At least you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” she suggested. She stopped as the path veered off into the woods and shook her cape to knock off the fresh-falling snow that was clinging to it. “We’re not far from the bench now.”
He stopped and looked around. “I remember the place. I used to go there from time to time myself when I was a boy. It’s a good place to think. My brother and I used to sit out here a lot. He taught me how to whittle a bit there, too,” he murmured and his gaze grew distant, as if he were reliving the moments he had spent there. “Do you want to go ahead, tell her I’m joining you both today, and come back for me?” he asked.
“I can’t see that it will help much. She’ll only worry herself while she’s waiting,” she said.
“Now that the snow is starting, it’s getting even more slippery. I don’t want you to fall,” he explained when he offered her his arm.
She cringed and accepted his offer. “Actually, Irene and I both took a spill the other day, and I’d rather not do it again. Are you certain you don’t want to speak to her alone?”
He shook his head. “Since she can’t read the note from her daughter-in-law, either, one of us will have to do that for her, too. I suspect she may want you to read it to her instead of me,” he replied as he started them down the path.
The closer they got to the bench, the faster her heart began to beat, but the moment she spied her friend sitting there on the bench, her heart started to pound. She did not know what made Irene turn around to face them as they approached her, but she knew that the smile in her eyes would soon give way to tears of grief.
She followed Harrison’s lead and was satisfied to be merely an observer as they sat together on the bench with Irene sitting between them. He was both tender and gentle with the older woman when he gave her the news of her son’s death. When the shock of his news gave way to a flood of tears, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and Annabelle held on to her hand. Even Jonah seemed to sense there was something wrong and scampered off to sit behind a nearby tree and watch from a distance.
When Irene’s tears finally subsided, Annabelle handed her a handkerchief. “You’re a dear, dear girl,” Irene whispered and eased from Harrison’s arm to wipe away the tears on her cheeks, as well as a few snowflakes, before they froze. “I suppose I knew in my heart that this day would come, but I was so hoping it wouldn’t be for a good long while or before Ellis had righted the wrong he had done,” she murmured.
Irene sniffled and wiped away fresh tears. “Although Harrison knows what Ellis did, I want you to know, too.” She tugged Annabelle’s hand until it rested on her lap with her own. “After his father died, Ellis lived and worked with me here at Graymoor Gardens for Harrison’s father. But Ellis was just as restless and dissatisfied with his life as his father had been all the time we were married. One Sunday, he refused to go to services, and we argued about that. Before I knew it, we were arguing about things that he’d let build up for years. He hated being poor. He hated being a servant, but most of all he blamed me for making his father so unhappy that he died young. I left for services without him, but when I got back, hoping we could sit down and talk things out, he was gone. He . . . he’d stolen a horse from the stable and taken some silver and jewelry from the house, which only added shame to my name as well as his own.” Another fresh flood of tears erupted when she glanced up at Harrison. “Ellis never ever tried to contact me again, not even to tell me where he’d settled, and he never made any effort to pay for what he had stolen.”
“No one in my family holds you responsible for what Ellis did,” Harrison reassured her.
“I’m so very sorry,” Annabelle crooned. “It must have been very difficult for you after Ellis left the way he did.”
Irene swiped away her tears. “I never doubted that the good Lord would watch over my boy, and I never lost hope that I’d see him again one day. Harrison’s father, bless his forgiving heart, set it up so I’d never have to leave here, so if and when Ellis wanted to find me or to make amends, he’d know where to look. I know now that that won’t happen, but I’m grateful to God that he found his way back to his faith before he passed and had a wife who wanted to contact me.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Annabelle asked.
“Just sit with me while Harrison reads the note from Ellis’s wife.” Oblivious to the falling snow, she clasped Annabelle’s hand with both of her own and looked up at Harrison. “I’m ready now.”
He nodded solemnly and opened the note, but paused to clear his throat before he started reading. “ ‘Dearest Mother-in-law, I encouraged Ellis to contact you for many years, but he could be a stubborn, prideful man, as I suspect you know all too well, and he was so ashamed of what he had done to you and the Graymoors. Several months before he took ill, he promised that we would come to see you in the spring, for he wanted to see you in person to beg for your forgiveness. Sadly, that is not to be, but I hope you find it a comfort to know that he loved you and that he wanted to reconcile with you and your employer.’ ”
When Irene started to weep again, Harrison paused to let her cry until she was able to compose herself. At last she nodded for him that she was ready to hear the rest. “ ‘Ellis was a loving husband to me for the seven years we were married, and he was a good father to our daughters, Kathryn and Susan. Since I have no relatives of my own, I am turning to you for help. I have enough funds to last for the next few months, but we live in a very remote area. There is no way I can support myself and the children here, and I dread the thought that we would become a burden to our friends and neighbors. Since you live in a large city, I am hopeful you will agree to help me find a position there that would allow me to provide for my children, that would also be near you so you might come to know them. If you can open your heart to us, you can reach me through Reverend Reagan. Sincerely, Melanie Cannon.’ ”
“I’ve lost my son, but I have two grandchildren,” Irene murmured. “Grandchildren!” she repeated and tugged on Annabelle’s hand. “That’s a blessing I never expected to receive.”
“If you like, I can be of help,” Harrison said. “What would you like me to do?”
Irene turned and looked up at him. “After what Ellis did, I don’t expect you to make a position here for my daughter-in-law, but please let her stay here with her girls for a spell. If my friend Prudence hadn’t taken real sick a few months back, I would have been able to arrange for them to stay with her in the city. But she had to let all her boarders go, and the weather’s been so harsh for the past month or so, I haven’t even been able to visit her. She may have even lost her boardinghouse by now.”
She pressed her hand against his coat and snow immediately started falling on her hand. “If you let them all come here, I’ll sign a paper that says you can fire me whenever you think I’m too old to work anymore, or you think I’m overstepping my bounds. Just let them come and stay here until Melanie can find work in the city. I’ll fix up the garret in the cottage for them, and you won’t even know they’re here.”
“And if I do?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“I’ll set them in their places, just like I do with you,” she
replied.
He patted her hand. “Melanie and the girls are welcome to come. Now, why don’t we all go back to the cottage where it’s warmer. While we’re there, Annabelle can write your letter for you, and I promise I’ll post it for you first thing once I get back to the city,” he said and helped her to her feet.
Annabelle rose but walked behind Harrison and Irene as they returned to the cottage arm in arm and listened to the plans Irene was making. She knew from experience that Irene’s preoccupation with the daughter-in-law and granddaughters right now was merely a way for the woman to cope with the tragic loss of her son.
But she also knew that once the shock wore off and the reality of her son’s death finally set in, Irene would grieve and grieve deeply, just as Annabelle had done each time she had lost one of her parents. When that happened to Irene, Annabelle vowed to be there for her new friend, ready to listen and to offer what comfort she could, for as long as she needed her.
For now, however, she had a letter to write for Irene, and unless there was a monster snowstorm brewing, she also would have no excuse for not attending the soiree tonight with Harrison.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Irene’s grief turned out to be as deep and as overwhelming as the massive snowstorm that developed during the day she learned that her son had died, burying the landscape under five feet of snow.
After being virtually isolated from the outside world for nearly two weeks and celebrating a very somber Christmas out of respect for Irene’s mourning, Annabelle was actually looking forward to bidding this past horrific year a final farewell by attending the festivities tonight in the city with Harrison. She’d never really celebrated on the eve of a new year, but Annabelle could not imagine a better time to start the tradition than tonight.
She also hoped that the coming year would mark a new beginning for both of them. They should be receiving word very soon that their divorce had already been granted, which was yet another good reason to celebrate tonight—their marriage would end sometime this month.
