by Webb, Carole
Echoes of the Heart
By Carole Webb
Copyright 2012
All Rights Reserved
“If ever thou shalt love,
It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is enthron’d
~~Shakespeare
One
The upcoming wedding made Raeden feel unhinged, basking in the flood of warm, yellow sunlight pouring through tree branches did not help, and once again she became overwhelmed with anxiety. She sat up flipping her deep chestnut hair across her shoulder. This feeling had become a constant nightmare and wished she would wake up and find it just a dream. It was not!
Always enjoying her times alone with her companion D’Artagnan, lovingly nicknamed Arte, the blood bay stallion, she rode into the meadows, the scent of meadow flowers enlivened her senses and the pristine brook, which meandered through her favorite resting place, a romantic melody in her ears and fear and dread in her thoughts.
White flakes of tree blossoms blew in the gentle breeze resembling a light snow. The lazy afternoon and beautiful wildflowers in their yellow and red jackets could not dull her torment.
Raeden’s attire included a boy’s shirt and pants tucked into shiny black riding boots and a well-worn hat covering her thick mane of long gleaming curls. Her artistic gifts included sewing and tailoring and the riding apparel she had made of soft suede did not hide the rounded curves beneath.
Her costume would certainly make her mother shake her head in frustration. Disappointment becoming a constant between them, always in conflict over the things that made Raeden happy and the steady rebellion she could not suppress. She could not remember when it started, the incarcerations to her room only reprieved by her father when he returned home from the bank he owned in town.
Raeden didn’t understand this thinking, after all the late1800s had become quite progressive. Times had changed significantly and archaic notions no longer held importance and her manner of dress any one’s business but her own. Women’s Suffrage movements made people more aware of the injustices and Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, one of her favorites, became a best selling novel. Women would be voting before long then, there would be great advancement, but for now, she had to cope.
From the age of twelve, she loved fashions, colorful fabrics and the art of creating beautiful clothing. She polished her talents while attending finishing school in the east by making one of-a-kind gowns for many girls at school. They paid her handsomely and she admitted pride in her accomplishments, though she could never mention this to her mother.
She hoped to do fashion design, travel to Paris one day, and survey her gowns twirling in ballrooms, envious women asking who designed them.
Her mother, Sophia Madison Newell, a sophisticated woman of means from New York, married her father, Samuel Newell, from a wealthy family in the east. Their marriage bore four children, Thomas, Craig, Raeden and Cynthia who they raised in St. Louis. The Newell Bank, owned by her father brought him success while making a fortune when the railroads spread further west. Most in town perceived their house located on
Main Street as an attraction. Considered one of the most eligible young women in St. Louis, her family expected her to marry since she had turned twenty-one, past the age some thought a woman should have a family. Raeden’s dark chestnut hair streaked with crimson contrasted with her deep green eyes and her silky skin often showed a slight color from the sun, much to her mother’s dismay. Her medium height went perfectly with her full bosom and diminutive waist.
Her parents—actually her mother—had selected their husband of choice, Christopher Wentworth, a tall handsome blond-haired man with strong stature. His family also came from wealth and he doted on Raeden but she knew something was missing when with him.
Dreams of love eluded her. There must be more to life. Of course, Christopher would insist she be a dutiful housewife and discontinue the nonsense of creating gowns inspiring envy in all her friends. Her fear mounted with each passing day. In forty-eight hours, she would be a married woman.
As golden rays of sun dropped in the azure sky, she mounted Arte, eyes taking in the beauty of the panorama. The fragrance of dogwood assailed the air. An eagle swooped down searching for prey, its massive wingspan spreading a moving shadow along the rolling pasture. Even her horse appeared hesitant to leave the lush meadow grasses but gentle coaxing eased him into an even strong stride toward home. His gait smooth and fast, he covered the distance without breaking a sweat. Hard chiseled muscles flexed under his glossy coat, glistening in the sun’s last rays fanning orange hues across the dusky sky.
A distance from the house stood the stable with six large stalls and a carriage house alongside. Most likely taking his evening meal, the groom did not greet her so she made her way to the tack room where she unsaddled Arte, brushing him briskly until his coat gleamed then led him into his stall and fed him his ration of grain and hay.
After changing clothes in the tack room, she put away her riding garb in the storage box in the corner of the straw-strewn stall. Raeden did not see the need to listen to her mother’s chastisement once again for dressing like a boy. Quickly sweeping away minute wrinkles in her crisp green day dress, she made her way to the house, hoping to go unnoticed.
The house stood out on the block as one of the largest with expansive porches surrounding the entire three-story structure. In the front yard, masses of well-tended flowers and bulbs made a splendid array of blues, yellows and reds. Fresh cuttings always filled the house with their pleasant fragrance and cheerful hues.
Great mirrors lined the substantial foyer reflecting fresh flower arrangements in outsized imported vases on narrow tables at their bases. Her footsteps resounded on the white marble floors as she approached the wide stairway leading to the rooms upstairs. Her bedroom at the end of a long hallway with thick wool runners of Oriental design faced the morning sun. As she entered and looked around, she realized she would miss her little haven adorned just to her liking when leaving with her new husband. Husband. It sounded so strange and she would be a wife. The very thought made her stomach churn.
The walls painted soft beige offset with light jade green, drapes of the same shade. Cream-colored sheers adorned ample windows let in the bright morning sun. Doilies atop wooden tables held plants in china pots enjoying the life-giving warmth and gave the room a touch of natural character.
She had fashioned a spread of lilac lace with yellow backing and covered her over-sized down pillows adorning her bed in the left corner of the room in the same soft yellow fabric. The colors sang of spring. A sewing machine stood in the opposite corner near a maple table. Trunks over flowing with fabrics, threads and trims lined the wall apposite her window. She spent many hours at the sewing table designing and stitching her creations, alone with her dreams.
A massive fireplace to her right connected to the kitchen below by copper-lined ductwork holding pipes with water warmed by the fire. The wrought iron grate supported by carved metal lions held a charismatic blaze. Relentless in his quest for the modern conveniences, her father had insisted on this new design and not waiting for hot water hauled up the long staircase for a bath suited her just fine.
Once in the comfort of her familiar surroundings, she returned to her immediate dilemma. How could she possibly get married and live the life expected of her? Her family could not understand her desire to be a seamstress and designer, since ample money existed for her to have anything she desired, not to mention the sizeable inheritance she received from her maternal grandparents.
It went against her nature to sit idly by and watch her life drift past in useless, redundant customs she found boring and of no consequence. Wringing her hands, she paced the floor i
n her room trying to make sense of her thoughts.
A soft rap on the door by their housekeeper, Mary, announcing dinner in thirty minutes, Raeden quickly ran water in the copper tub near the fireplace and immersed, wishing she had more time.
After splashing her skin with rosewater and glycerin and drying with a plush towel, she pulled a soft blue dress from her ample French provincial armoire standing on four scribed feet with four large drawers adorned with polished brass handles.
Petal soft undergarments sewn from fine silks in an array of colors filled one drawer. The smooth fabric against her skin made Raeden feel feminine and appealing. A hint of baby blue lace peaked from her camisole lying against the pink swell of her breasts. She pulled the ample chestnut locks on top of her head holding the strands with crystal-topped pins matching her dress.
Sliding a hand down the mahogany banister, she descended the broad staircase to where the family had begun to assemble for supper in the spacious wood paneled dining room accentuated with lacquer-framed oil paintings of still life’s and family portraits. Gleaming Wedgwood china adorned the copious dining table placed under a crystal chandelier. Soft chatter sounded and the warm ambiance comforted her frayed nerves. Sterling utensils atop white linen napkins illuminated small stellar bursts reflecting in the light. A thick Turkish carpet muffled footsteps on the polished oak floors beneath. The aroma of food wafted from the kitchen.
Raeden faced her Aunt Diane, hoping she would not notice the uneasiness surely appearing on her face. After arriving all the way from South Dakota to attend the ceremony, Raeden didn’t want to disappoint her. Raeden knew she had always been Diane’s favorite since a small child and she looked upon her aunt as a champion of sorts, mostly taking her side against her mother when she attempted to send her off to boarding school after a round of battle regarding the objectionable behavior she could not seem to curb.
“Hello, Rae. You look lovely, dear. This must be another of your gorgeous creations. It looks stunning.” She reached for Raeden and turned her around to see the entire dress. “Did you enjoy your ride? Perhaps tomorrow we can go together, unless everyone is too busy with the wedding.”
“Oh, yes. That would be lovely. We could get up early and have a nice ride.” Diane always wore long pants and rode horses astride which may have been one reason for her own rebellion. An open smile covered her face. “I would love to show you my favorite places. I can’t tell you how happy I am you and Uncle Mike came for the ceremony. It must have been difficult to leave the mercantile.”
“No problem there. We left everything in good hands. We would not have missed this joyous occasion.” Smiling, she whispered, “you being my favorite niece and all.”
Diane’s attention turned to her husband while Raeden’s thoughts wandered. Perhaps she could talk with her aunt and dispel some of her ambivalence of the coming event. She had always confided in her aunt because of the special bond they shared, remembering as a child, her mother speaking about Diane being wild—how she always defied convention by riding in men’s clothing, arguing at school, coming home late from dates and insisting on being treated equal to the males in the family. According to her mother, Diane kept the family in a constant turmoil and had felt relieved when Diane moved to South Dakota with her husband, Mike
Raeden too, had problems with authority and defied her mother regularly. Once in defense of Cynthia, she had actually gotten into a fight at school. Her mother had not been pleased. However, her father seemed occasionally amused as he watched her struggle for independence.
Whenever she felt like an outcast, she would go to her aunt for empathy and understanding and Diane always defended her, causing more dissention between Diane and Raeden’s mother.
When Diane moved after the marriage to Mike, her mother immediately arranged for boarding school in Kansas City and shipped her off, eager to rid her otherwise orderly life of the rebellious youth remaining a constant thorn in her side.
“Ah, sweetheart, here you are.” Christopher approached and bent to kiss her cheek. “You look breathtaking, as usual, my dear.” His arm closed possessively around her shoulder. “May I get you something to drink?”
Looking dashing in his formal attire, his handsome face glowed with a broad smile causing a crinkle in the corner of his eyes. “Yes, I would love a glass of wine.” She hoped it would help settle the sick empty feeling in pit of her stomach. Why couldn’t she feel for Christopher the way he felt about her, always so attentive and affectionate?
He released his hold and turned to get one of the sparkling gold-rimmed crystal glasses from the tall glass-door cabinet standing to his left.
Chatting and laughing, the rest of her family entered the formal dining room dressed in their best to please Sophia. Her mother and father lead the group, followed by Cynthia and her sister-in law, Margaret. Married the previous year, Thomas, the oldest and Margaret expected their first child in November. All looked so cheerful and happy, much the opposite of her current mood. She felt like escaping, taking off where no one would know her.
Thomas and Craig followed the group entering the room laughing and talking about the previous days hunting expedition in the fields on the outskirts of town. Both looked handsome with their tall lean bodies and strong facial features, crowned by a thick top of gleaming black hair. From a distance, except for the color of their eyes they might appear twins.
With Thomas and Margaret in the house, it would be a happy occasion. Everyone missed Thomas immensely, Raeden being very close to her siblings thought the house not the same without him. She could not help wondering if her leaving would also make a difference in the spirit of their family, although she felt they would probably be relieved of some of the tension seeming to follow wherever she went.
Gently touching the top of her forearm, Christopher stood glass in hand and handed her the wine. His long slender fingers grazed the top of her bare shoulder while he stood gazing into her eyes.
Startled, she jumped at his touch. Hoping it would help ease the queasy feeling, she managed a long unladylike gulp. The closer it got to her wedding day, the more edgy she became, jumping at loud noises and people coming up behind her.
Her father, always the gentleman, was a handsome man of fifty. His thick chestnut hair, passed on to Raeden, had a few silver flecks along temples and sideburns. His hazel eyes switched from blue-green to dusty olive with golden flecks. He pulled out an upholstered high-back dining chair at the end of the table for her mother. “Well, shall we sit? Looks like perfect weather for a wedding, wouldn’t you say?”
“It is going to be the most beautiful wedding this town has ever seen,” her mother responded smiling over the group. Sophia always enjoyed festivities and planning the wedding of her eldest daughter had become an obsession, every detail perfect.
All agreed taking their seats for dinner, chatting while they waited for the first course. The place settings gleamed in the light of the crystal chandelier hanging over the immense mahogany table standing under a white lace cloth. The aroma from roast beef filled her senses making her stomach turn. Sinking into a depression, the thought of eating held no appeal. The sense of impending disaster shadowed her thoughts and sitting next to Christopher seemed only to enhance her frustration.
While everyone dined and talked of the wedding, the dark shroud of doom enveloped her as she stared blankly, barely touching the food on her plate. However, she consumed several more glasses of wine, warming her insides and the effect rushing to her brain. The dread of the following day and all the preparations worsened her melancholy. Should this not be the happiest time of her life? Instead, she felt trapped in a snare with little hope of escape. She picked at her dinner and eventually stopped trying to eat.
While Mary cleared the table, the men drank brandy on the porch surrounding the entire front of the house to enjoy while they smoked fragrant cigars leaning on the rail. She poured a glass of brandy for herself hoping the warm liquid would help settle her nerves.
> Preferring the outdoors on such a warm evening, she joined Christopher out on the porch. Christopher, an extremely good-looking man with his blue eyes and long lashes, stood over six feet tall and by far the most eligible bachelor in the area. Most woman would be happy to have him for a husband, she apparently not one of them.
She could not understand exactly why she hesitated. Christopher made a good companion and she did enjoy his company. He could make her laugh and they discussed books they had read, politics and shared stories from their childhood. Always a gentleman, he treated her with respect but deep down Raeden knew she would not be happy in the life expected of her as a woman of society.
Christopher’s voice held a slight note of sarcasm as he looked down into her eyes. “So, my dear, don’t you think you have had enough to drink tonight? I noticed you did not eat supper and consumed a lot of wine.”
Startled by his authoritarian comment, Raeden stood straight backed, chin held high while a hand dropped by her side, her mouth furrowed in defiance. “Well, I don’t know what business it is of yours. We’re not married yet.” He could not order her around in such a fashion even though he attempted to make it appear concern. She turned briskly and stormed into the house letting the screen door bang behind her. After downing the remainder of the brandy, she raced up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door. She plopped on her bed in defeat, wondering why she had been so rude. She stared wildly across the room, knowing deep in her mind he had no right to make such comments.
Within minutes, she heard footsteps approach and a knock at her door, “May I come in, Rae? I certainly didn’t mean to upset you. Perhaps we can talk.”
As tears stung her eyes, fury mounted. “Go away. I don’t want to see anyone.” She threw herself on her bed and began sobbing. What on earth is wrong? Am I going mad? While her body trembled, a nauseous feeling crept into her stomach as she pictured him returning downstairs, face flushed with embarrassment, a deep frown curling his lips. Knowing her mother would be in a state, probably overheated and fanning herself. She did not look forward to tomorrow when she would have to face all the criticism sure to await her at the breakfast table.
