The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark

by Lawana Blackwell

  “Right away.” Mr. Trumble reached for an amber-colored bottle, pulled out the stopper, and poured out about a tablespoon of the white powder into a square of brown paper. As Andrew tossed it back into his mouth, wincing at the bitter taste, Julia hurried for a dipper of water from the pail at the far end of the counter.

  Thoughtfully, the shopkeeper scooped out a peppermint ball from a glass jar and handed it over. “This’ll get the taste out. One for you, too, Mrs. Phelps?”

  Julia politely declined as Andrew put the candy in his mouth, and resisted the impulse to smile, for the dignified Vicar of Gresham now resembled a hamster with two bulging jaws. The effect only lasted a second before he spat the candy into his hand as if it were poison. “Hurts!”

  “Oh, I should have thought about that,” the shopkeeper said with a slap on his own forehead. “Sweets can make it worse.”

  There was nothing Julia could do besides offer sympathetic little murmurings, so she paid for the medicine and put the rest of the bottle into her reticule. Andrew, caught up in his own agony, waited mutely.

  “Next time now, be sure to wake me,” Mr. Trumble told them as he handed over Julia’s change. “I wouldn’t want desolation to drive you to the riverbank to chew on a tree.”

  Julia and Andrew exchanged glances. She understood that he had likely meant desperation, but chewing upon a tree?

  “Salicin.” Mr. Trumble explained with a chuckle at their confused expressions. “It’s made from willow bark, you see?”

  After expressing appreciation for this bit of information, Julia thanked the shopkeeper and guided her suffering husband back out to the trap. “Andrew, this is ridiculous,” she said, picking up the reins again. “It’s only going to get worse.”

  “Can’t hurt any more than this.”

  I’m not too sure about that, Julia thought, but having never had a tooth extracted, she had no choice but to heed his wishes in the matter. “Then you should at least be in bed. We can visit Mrs. Hayes another day. You know all she’s going to do is complain about her husband. I’ll send Luke to explain.”

  He shook his head, causing Julia to wonder if all men were this stubborn about their work. “She’s likely to show up at the vicarage if I don’t come. And I’m feeling better now.”

  There was nothing to do but drive the trap southward and fume silently, her frustration divided between Andrew and Mrs. Hayes. Some quarter of a mile past the Bow and Fiddle, she reined Rusty to the east, down a dirt drive flanked by hedgerows frosted with white hawthorn blossoms. Black-and-white cattle grazed upon grass shiny with dew, and in the near distance sat a cottage and several outbuildings of mellowed stone. A deceptively tranquil scene, Julia thought. Minutes later she was reining the horse to a stop in front of the stables. She turned to her husband and found him fast asleep, his chin touching his chest.

  “Andrew?” she nudged after debating whether she should turn the trap around and head back for home.

  “Huh?”

  “We’re here.”

  “Oh.” He blinked and looked sheepishly at her. “The medicine.”

  “And your tooth?”

  “Much better.” This time his smile seemed more genuine. He patted her hand. “Thank you for being so patient with me, dear.”

  “Oh, that’s not so difficult,” Julia replied, her resentment evaporating.

  A ruddy-faced man in work clothes advanced upon them as Andrew was helping Julia from the trap—Luther Hayes. He didn’t seem surprised to see them. After they had exchanged greetings, he took the reins from Andrew to loop around a post. “We’ve some new calves. Would you care to see ’em before we let ’em out to pasture?”

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” Andrew replied. The three walked some seventy feet to peer over the wide gate leading into the barnyard, where a half dozen calves were either nursing or nuzzled up against their cud-chewing mothers.

  “Young animals are so winsome, aren’t they?” Julia said to Mr. Hayes as they both watched Andrew hold out a stalk of hawkweed in an attempt to coax a calf closer. The animal did not budge but regarded him with cautious interest in its brown eyes.

  “Aye, they are,” the man agreed. “And we’ve four more ready to calve any—”

  He was interrupted by a wailing sound from the vicinity of the hay barn so filled with agony that chills pricked Julia’s back.

  “What was that?” Andrew asked, quickly rejoining her side.

  “We’ve had to pen up one o’ the bulls. A bad tooth. Mrs. Rhodes is comin’ this morning to pull it.”

  “Yes?” Another bellow pierced the air. “Does that happen often?”

  “Only once here,” Mr. Hayes replied. “Some five years ago. He’ll have to be put to sleep with some o’ that chloroform, of course. They don’t take kindly to knives.”

  “Knives?”

  “Why, yes. The gum has to be slit so’s pliers can get a better grip.”

  Andrew’s face went pale. Threading an arm through her husband’s, Julia said, “We should look in on Mrs. Hayes now. Thank you for showing us the calves.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Andrew echoed in a strained voice. “Will you be joining us inside?”

  The dairy farmer shook his head. “With all due respect, Vicar, I would just as soon stay with the bull.” And then as if fearing he had offended Julia, he touched the brim of his hat. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  No ready reply presented itself to Julia, so she just nodded. She was accompanying Andrew up the walkway through a garden, which almost rivaled the squire’s in its profusion of well-tended flowers, when the cottage door opened. Mrs. Hayes, framed by the doorway, squinted at them. “I was expecting you last night,” she said in a voice laden with umbrage. “Didn’t James tell you it was important?” James was one of the farm workers when he wasn’t running errands for Mrs. Hayes.

  “And good morning to you too, Mrs. Hayes.” Andrew doffed his hat. “Your garden is looking especially lovely today.”

  “You’re baiting her,” Julia whispered. With a calm smile she explained to the woman as they reached the door, “We were entertaining supper guests when your note arrived and knew you would understand our waiting until this morning.”

  It didn’t matter that the guests were Jonathan and Elizabeth and the Clays. Family members and old friends were due the same courtesies as any other guests. Had there been an actual emergency, Andrew would have left at once. But he had been summoned by Mrs. Hayes enough times in the past to know that this wasn’t one.

  Mollified only a little, the woman frowned and glanced past them. Her blond hair was drawn back so tightly that the comb marks were visible. “You’ll need to fetch Luther, Vicar. He’s—”

  “Busy in the barnyard,” Andrew cut in. “Will you allow us inside, Mrs. Hayes?”

  “But—”

  “Or shall we stand here and chat?”

  The woman looked stunned but stepped back to allow entrance into the parlor. She nodded them toward an austere mahogany-framed settee, the seat upholstered with figured brocatelle, then sat in a matching chair. “I don’t see how you can put Luther to rights if he’s not here,” she whined. “He spent almost all of yesterday afternoon at that smithy’s.”

  “I can lecture him until I’m blue in the face,” Andrew replied. “But I can’t undo the damage from what goes on here every day.”

  Julia held her breath. She had never heard him speak so bluntly. It’s his tooth, she realized, for he kept his jaw almost rigid as he spoke. But why take it out on a distraught woman—even if she was a bit of a nuisance?

  “What do you mean, what goes on here?” Mrs. Hayes asked, fingers worrying the ivory cameo pin on her collar. “I’m a God-fearing woman, Vicar. You know that.”

  With an audible sigh, Andrew answered, “I’m afraid you talk too much, Mrs. Hayes. And most of what you say is of the complaining nature.”

  She gaped at him while two red spots spread across the severe lines of her cheeks.

  “The Scriptures sa
y that it’s better to live in the wilderness than with a contentious woman. You must either change your ways or resign yourself to many more years of loneliness in your own cottage.”

  Julia noticed a slumping of the woman’s shoulders and wished she could get up and put her arms around her. But whatever Andrew’s mood, she knew his counsel to be good, and she must not interfere.

  “H-how?” Mrs. Hayes asked.

  Andrew must have sensed that he was pushing too hard, for he sat back a bit and said more compassionately, “Your garden is lovely, Mrs. Hayes. But the most beautiful flowers in the world can’t bring you the joy that a good marriage can. I would advise you to put as much time and effort into your marriage as you do your garden.”

  She asked again, with still a trace of a whine in her voice, “How, Vicar? It’s rare that he even listens to me.”

  “Then listen to him for a change.”

  “But he hardly speaks to me either.”

  “Why make the effort if he’s only going to be interrupted with some complaint? Conversation—even in a marriage—is not unlike a game of catch, Mrs. Hayes.”

  “Catch?”

  He gave her a grimacelike smile, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. “You played it as a child, didn’t you?”

  Her expression softened with memory. “Oh yes, Vicar.”

  “The object of the game was simple, wasn’t it? You toss the ball back and forth. A good conversation is built upon the same principles. After you’ve had an opportunity to speak, you allow the other person the same courtesy. It wouldn’t be much fun to play catch with someone who refused to toss the ball back to you, now would it?”

  He rose from the settee, so Julia got to her feet as well. “And now we’ll leave you to do what you have to do.”

  “What I have to do?” she asked, looking up at both of them.

  “Mr. Hayes is proud of those new calves. I would imagine if you spent a little quiet time at his side, he would be happy to tell you how he’s tending to them.”

  She sat there wrapped in silence while Andrew and Julia started for the door. Julia paused to pat the woman’s shoulder before following him out of the cottage. After Andrew had loosened the reins, handed them to her, and settled into the trap beside her, she heard the door open again. Mrs. Hayes was hurrying purposely through the garden in the direction of the barnyard.

  “Weren’t you a little harsh with her?” Julia asked. The trap gave a slight lurch as Rusty started down the drive. “Her husband has to share some of the fault.”

  “Her husband isn’t the one who sends for me. And I didn’t intend to be harsh.”

  “Is it the tooth?”

  Instead of replying, he asked, “Can you drive this all the way to Shrewsbury?”

  “Now?”

  He groaned when a wheel hit a rock and jarred the trap.

  “We’re on our way,” Julia assured him.

  They had traveled but a mile when she caught sight of a figure walking in the road ahead. He glanced over his shoulder and then moved to the side. Julia touched Andrew’s sleeve. “Is that—?”

  “Harold Sanders,” her husband mumbled.

  “Are you up to offering him a ride? Surely the cheese wagons have long since passed.”

  After a slight hesitation, Andrew gave her a pained nod and moved closer. But when Julia reined Rusty to a stop, the man just grinned and made no effort to come closer.

  “We’re going to Shrewsbury, if you would care for a ride,” Julia offered.

  He touched the brim of his felt hat respectfully. “No, thank you.”

  “Are you quite sure? It’s a long walk.”

  “He’s sure,” Andrew mumbled.

  “I’m sure,” the man answered.

  The plan was as good as any that was ever made, Harold thought as he watched the trail of dust following the vicar’s trap. It pleased him so much that he chuckled every time it crossed his mind. And Papa says Mercy and Jack and Edgar are the bright ones. All he had to do was saunter up to the oldest Meeks boy during May Day and ask when his sister was going to fetch her spectacles.

  Happily he kicked a rock into the hedgerow on his right. A wood pigeon flapped from the spot with angry screeches. He hadn’t known what time Miss Clark would be setting out for Shrewsbury, but figured it would be near the same hour she had left the week before last. Just to be on the safe side, he had set out this morning before the sun came up and before his father could wake and put him to work. Even the cheese wagons had rumbled past almost an hour ago. But he didn’t want to cover too much distance on foot, for that would mean less time in the carriage with Miss Clark. So he took infant steps and waited.

  And it was the second part of his plan that pleased him the most. Hadn’t she advised him on May Day to buy another suit of work clothes? Now he had a perfect excuse for going to Shrewsbury, one that would at the same time show her that he thought she was bright. He would ride with her to the spectacle doctor, telling her that he could go to the clothes shop from there. As soon as she and the girl went inside, he would race to the shop, make his purchase, and be back before they could leave. Miss Clark would be too mannerly not to offer him a ride home, and didn’t she say she wanted them to be corg-able?

  About a quarter of an hour later his ears again picked up the sounds of hooves and wheels, so he hastened his steps so as not to be seen idling—in case it was Miss Clark. It was only when the rumbling was loud enough to be almost upon him that he allowed himself to turn and look.

  It was her all right. She was driving a wagon today, not a carriage, and from the bed the four Meeks children were eyeing him curiously. The pair of horses slowed to a stop, and Harold forgot about the children at the sight of the smile on Miss Clark’s face. Why, it was as if she was happy to see him!

  “Good morning, Mr. Sanders,” she greeted him from the seat. “Are you on your way to Shrewsbury?”

  “Uh-yes,” he replied and glanced at the children again. But perhaps the wagon was better, he told himself, for he would share the narrow seat with only Miss Clark. She would be close enough to smell the hair tonic he had bought from Mr. Trumble, Sir Lancelot’s Fine Grooming Pomade for Distinguished Gentlemen.

  “…in the back?”

  He realized that Miss Clark had been speaking and blinked at her. “Huh?”

  “I said, would you mind riding with the children? We’re a bit late, but I can’t drive the horses too fast for fear of bouncing one of the little ones out. You could help Phoebe make sure that they don’t try to stand up.”

  There was nothing he could do but nod and climb on in back. The Meeks children stared somberly at him, except for a girl of about seven who gave him a timid smile. He forced himself to smile back and then grabbed at his hat as the horses started off again, this time at a canter. After a while the children grew used to him and began to chatter. He didn’t scold when they began kneeling in order to peer out the sides because he was getting bored himself just looking at the bed of the wagon. After enough time had passed for him to be sure that they weren’t going to take any risks, he turned and edged closer to the seat.

  “It’s a nice day if it don’t rain.”

  Miss Clark turned her face only long enough for a quick glance, “I beg your pardon?”

  He raised his voice over the rattle of the wagon. “It’s a nice day if it don’t rain.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said with another backward glance.

  “I’m gonter buy that suit of work clothes today. Remember…you said it was a good idea? But you don’t have to let me out anywhere. I can get there from that spectacle doctor’s shop.”

  Miss Clark turned her face toward him again, but this time wore a little frown. “Mr. Sanders, will you please watch the children?”

  With a sigh he resumed his post. Then he paid closer attention to what the youngest girl was sitting on—a large wicker hamper, probably made by those mick Irish who lived down Whorton Lane. I’ll wager there’s food in there. Of course. Why else wou
ld all these children be along—for the ride? So if he happened to be hanging about after his quick dash to the ready-wear shop, Miss Clark would have to invite him to have lunch—especially after he had done her a favor by watching the children. And then he would have a chance to chat with her, for surely it would be in a park where the children could play.

  It would have to be a park. Or else what were they planning to do? Spread a picnic on one of the storefronts? Or the middle of the street? That notion made him chuckle, and the youngest boy looked at him. Harold grinned back.

  Chapter 21

  You should have reminded her yesterday, Lydia told herself, Mrs. Tanner’s admonition echoing in her mind. Then she wouldn’t have had to scurry about the kitchen this morning with her mother and the cook, boiling eggs, slicing beef and bread, and squeezing lemons for lemonade. All this caused her to set out for the Meeks’ a half hour later than she had planned. And the children, having waited in their school clothes in their tiny garden, felt nature calling the minute Lydia brought the wagon to a stop in front of their cottage.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come with us?” Lydia had asked Mrs. Meeks as the children dashed for the privy.

  “I believe I would enjoy the peace and quiet more,” the woman had answered. “But will you need me to tend them?”

  Lydia assured her that she could manage just fine with Phoebe’s help. But it was only when they were on the road that she found herself with misgivings over the weak-sighted girl’s ability to keep a brother or sister from tumbling from the wagon. She gave the reins another flick, coaxing Wellington and Nelson into a trot. She was actually grateful that Mr. Sanders had been on the road today. If she could make up for some of the lost time, perhaps Mr. Rosswald’s office wouldn’t be too crowded yet.

  The first inkling that this was not to be was when the horses turned onto High Street, and she could find no place to leave the wagon. They had to travel another block before she could finally pull the horses to a halt, which presented another problem. If the street was this crowded, there would surely be no room for the children in the oculist’s waiting parlor. And if she managed to squeeze them in a corner somewhere, what fun would that be?