The Secret of Fair Hill: A Refuge in Fair Hill Book 2

by Faith Cummings

  THE SECRET OF FAIR HILL

  Faith Cummings

  Copyright 1988 Edwina Cummings

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  To Debra with much love and gratitude.

  Without you, the Beckers would not exist.

  THE SECRET OF FAIR HILL

  The farm lay silent, virtually empty under the October sun. The milk cows grazed in the pasture; The chickens scratched for food near their coop. Our white cat lay on the porch, sunning herself, and watching the empty road.

  No one stirred in the house. There was sickness here, and the house was under quarantine. Neighbors came to milk the cows, taking the milk, except the little we used, the rest was sold in town.

  My father, Joseph Scott lived here with my mother Katherine and me. He and mother were very ill. I worked long, tedious hours to nurse my parents and do the work around the farm. The help the neighbors gave with the milking did not go unnoticed by me or my parents. The rest of the work I did myself.

  Leaving the window from which I viewed the farm, I sat down beside my parents' bed, I wiped my father's hot face with cool towels.

  "I don't imagine you've gotten much sleep lately," he said, being in one of his lucid moments.

  "I rest when need be, Pa," I answered quietly. He saw the weariness about my eyes. My face was solemn.

  "I guess you probably do get some, but not enough. You must guard against getting sick yourself, Barbara."

  "Doc says I'm fine. He comes often to see you and Ma." My mother lay beside him, tossing with fever and incoherent.

  "Does Doc say we'll make it?" Father asked weakly.

  "He says he doesn't know but he's doing all he can." I assured him, getting my towel wet again from the basin.

  "You should tend your mother," he urged. "She's much worse this morning than I am." He was right. I was sure my mother stood less of a chance of surviving than he did if given proper care.

  "I'll bathe her in a moment," I said applying the towel again.

  " Let me hold this," he said, placing a weak hand upon it. "It does feel wonderful!" Letting him hold the towel on his forehead, I went around the bed to my mother and bathed her hot, wasted body. She seemed to revive a little with the touch of the cool water, but there was no recognition in her tired face.

  The Doctor arrived. He knew that I would either be with my parents or asleep. He entered the sick room and saw me there, seated beside the bed in which both of my parents were now sleeping.

  "How are they?" He asked, coming to stand beside me.

  "I don't think it is good, Doc," my voice betrayed my weariness. My long blonde curls were tangled and hung untidily about my shoulders. My gingham dress was wrinkled and water marked. He drew me from the chair, turning me toward the door.

  "Go and rest," he commanded. I'll wake you if there's any drastic change." He promised, seeing reluctance in my face. "We don't want you getting sick too, remember."

  * * *

  Making him promise again that he would call me, I left the room on leaden feet. Around midday, the doctor woke me and told me that my parents would not live much longer.

  "Pa was awake and talking this morning,"

  "Sometimes that happens," he agreed. "But neither of them has awakened at all since I arrived. They're much more ill than they were when you went to rest." He told me all this on the way from my room down the hall to that of my parents. When we entered, we found Mother already dead. Father, who was barely clinging to life, reached out a weak hand for me.

  "You did all you could," the doctor insisted. "There was nothing more either of us could have done for her." My father's eyes opened for a moment then. I took his hand in mine, holding it tightly, hoping he could gather some strength from me.

  "I'm not going to be with you much longer," he told me in a barely audible whisper. "When I am gone, sell the farm and everything on it. Take the money and go to your Uncle in Vermont. He's very wealthy and will take care of you."

  "Uncle Alan doesn't even know about me." Even now I was objecting to his request. "Tell him you're my daughter and he won't turn you away." I agreed. He seemed relieved that he could make his wishes known to me before passing.

  "You just rest now," I said gently. "I'll go to Uncle Alan after everything is taken care of here." My father only lived another half hour, then joined my mother in death. "I'll go and get Ben Larsen to make the coffins," The doctor said after a silence. "Do you want to come with me?" Rising silently, I followed him from the room. There was nothing more to be done.

  There was no need for us to leave the farm. Ben Larsen and his wife Lily had come to see what they could do to help. They were just getting down from their wagon when we came out of the house.

  "I'm afraid we need a couple coffins, Ben," the doctor said quietly. Aunt Lily came to me, putting a protecting arm about my shoulders.

  "You can come and stay with us," she said firmly. "There's no reason for you to be here by yourself."

  "Lily's right," the doctor agreed. "You're still healthy and we want to keep you that way. "You need good food and rest." His tone was insistent. Too stunned and weary to object, I said nothing. It was easier to do as I was told. My gray eyes followed Uncle Ben and the doctor to the wagon while Aunt Lily went inside to lay out the bodies of my parents and prepare them for burial. Uncle Ben would take me to his farm where he would build the pine boxes that would hold my parents. He would then bring them to the farm and help his wife with the burial preparations. But I didn't go with them. Instead, I reentered the hushed house and slowly followed Aunt Lily up the stairs. I wanted to help her prepare my parents' bodies.

  "I'll let Reverend Schmidt know and tell him he'll need to do the funeral service. When do you want to have it, Barbara?" The doctor asked from the door as I stopped for a moment on the landing.

  "Day after tomorrow," I said. The Doctor mounted his waiting horse and followed Uncle Ben from the farm.

  "You don't have to do this," said Aunt Lily as she turned at the top of the stairs to see me following her.

  "I want to help, Aunt Lily, You don't mind, do you?" I asked in a small, tired voice. "No, of course not, dear, I just thought perhaps," her voice trailed off as I reached the top. She hugged me close for a moment There were tears in her warm brown eyes. She was like family to me. She had always been like a second mother. It was good to have her with me now. We entered the room and began our work, both of us shedding unheeded tears. When we had the bodies prepared and dressed, Uncle Ben and two of his sons had returned with the simple, rough pine boxes. They carried the bodies down to the parlor and placed them in the waiting boxes. They would remain here until the funeral so that the neighbors could pay their last respects.

  "Are you coming back with us then?" Aunt Lily asked as they finished.

  "Yes, if you're sure I won't be in the way," I answered slowly. They had seven children.

  "Barbara, you could never be in the way anywhere," Uncle Ben said with a hug. "We love you. You remember that." His voice was full of emotion, and he wiped tears. "You can stay with us.”

  "Yes, just come and live with us," Mark, the eldest boy said smiling and squeezing my hand. My father had warned me that he was interested in me but I had thought he was teasing. Evi
dently he wasn't.

  "I'll come for a few days. My father told me what he wants me to do. I think I should do it." We left the house and got into the wagon. When we reached their home, the clock on the mantel was striking six. The boys and Uncle Ben went out to do the milking and the girls went to do the rest of the chores. I entered the kitchen to help Aunt Lily with supper.

  "You don't have to do the cooking," Aunt Lily told me.

  "I need to do something," I said. "I can't just sit."

  "After all the work you've been doing these past few weeks, you should rest. But you can sit at the kitchen table until supper is ready. "I hesitated for a moment then followed her advice. While she worked to put supper on the table, I looked around me at the familiar kitchen. I remembered spending countless hours here in this house, playing with the older girls and growing up as part of this family. There was a calendar on the wall and I noted that November of 1887 had begun. According to that, my parents had been ill for 2 weeks before they died. The doctor said it was scarlet fever. Everyone wondered why I didn’t catch it, nursing them every day and not getting much rest, but somehow, I had escaped the illness.

  I sat with the family that evening, saying little and trying to be interested in what was going on around me. After supper, I asked if I might be excused to get some rest. Aunt Lily and the others could see that I was very tired and urged me to go and get some sleep. I went up to the room the three girls shared and prepared for bed. They had set up another bed for me and I stretched out gratefully upon it, wrapping the warm covers about me. The evenings were beginning to get cold here in Wisconsin. Winter was in the air. I nestled down in the quilt, wondering if sleep would ever come to my tired body. It seemed as though it had been years since I had rested. I always slept lightly while my parents were ill, worried that they might call for me. Now, there was no need to worry. My parents were dead. They would never need me again. But I would need them. I needed them now. I loved the Larsens very much but they were not my parents. How would I live now without my parents to care for me? I worked hard beside them on the farm and did my share of the chores since I could remember. What would life be like now? How would I manage without them? It was unfair of them to leave me so quickly when I wasn't yet old enough to take care of myself. At fifteen, I still felt very young at times, and at other times, very grown up. But then, they hadn't chosen to leave. It wasn't their fault that they had gotten ill. But why did they have to die? One minute I felt angry with them for leaving me and the next I was angry with myself for being unfair. I was confused and frightened. Why couldn't I stay right here in the safety of this quilt forever? I was glad that, for a few hours at least, I could remain where I was and not have to talk to anyone. Hot tears stung my eyes. I let them fall. It was good not to have to think. It was good only to feel for a moment. I let my grief pour forth. I cried soundlessly, not wanting anyone to hear me and come to help. No one could help now. There was no way that anyone could bring my parents back. There was no way that anyone could understand how I felt. I let the tears fall until I was asleep.

  * * *

  When I awoke the next morning, I found the other girls still asleep. Rising quietly, I dressed, smelling breakfast cooking from downstairs. It was time to awake. I wanted to help with the chores or with meal preparations.

  "Did you get any rest?" Aunt Lily asked as she turned to see me there.

  "Yes, more than I thought I would. I was very tired."

  "I know you were. You've had a lot to deal with lately."

  "May I help with breakfast?"

  "I've got things just about done, dear, but you can collect the eggs if you like."

  Glad to be of use, I took the egg basket from its place.

  "I'll be back soon," I said.

  The boys were already out helping Uncle Ben with the milking and other chores. He was also still milking the cows at my parents' farm. The meal was ready when we all returned.

  "It's getting downright cold out there," Uncle Ben said shivering a little as he entered. "We could have snow soon."

  "I hope not until after the funeral," I put in quietly. "I don't want to be the only one there."

  "There's no chance of that happening," Uncle Ben assured me. The news has gotten out already. Some folks came by while I was milking to ask how you were."

  "Did you tell them I was well?"

  "Yes, and I told them when the funeral was to be. They said they would be there."

  I spent the morning helping Aunt Lily with the housework. After dinner, I went back to my parents farm to begin the task of sorting out everything that would be sold. There were many interruptions from neighbors coming by to pay their last respects to my parents and to wish me well. Everyone was concerned about what I would do now that my parents were gone. I told them all about my uncle in Vermont and it seemed to ease their minds though they all said they hated to see me go so far. I worked until Uncle Ben came to do the evening milking, then went out to help him. There were eggs to take back to aunt Lily.

  "There's a lot to do," I said tiredly as we milked the cows.

  "I know." He finished with one cow and moved to another nearer me. "I think you should have some help."

  "Aunt Lily has her hands full with the children at home," I said "And besides, it all has to be either sold or thrown away."

  "I guess you're right. Maybe, after the funeral, some neighbors will help." We finished the milking in silence then went back to the Larsen farm. After eating supper, I returned to my old home. It was the custom for neighbors to drop by the night before a funeral to sit with the dead. I should be there as their only surviving child. No one else was there when I arrived at the farmhouse. I went inside and entered the still parlor. There had not been a fire lit here since the weather turned cold so the air was chill. I decided that since the bodies still lay in this room, it was best not to light the fireplace. I lit a few candles and two lamps in the kitchen in case anyone wanted anything to eat. I then returned with the candles to the parlor, putting them on shelves or small tables about the room. After doing this, I stood for a moment near the coffins. The silence was so deep that it was frightening. I hoped someone would come soon and share this vigil with me. It was strange being here alone except for these two unmoving figures before me. I missed them. It would be hard to leave this place. I would not live the simple, happy life I had in this house when I got to Vermont. My aunt and uncle did not live like this. They didn't farm. They lived in a town in a big house with servants to do their work. There would be nothing for me to do there. I looked at my father's still hands, resting now after many years of labor. I would be like that too. No more work to do. No chores to see to, nothing that demanded my attention. What did people who had nothing to do think about? How did they keep themselves busy? What did they do with their lives? I didn't want to find out.

  The kitchen door slammed. I turned from the coffins to greet whoever was arriving, glad that they had finally come. It was Mark Larsen, carrying a bouquet of fall flowers to put near the coffins. I took them, putting them beside my mother.

  "I'm glad you're here," I confided. "It's a little scary being here alone." He seated himself in a chair and beckoned me to do the same. I took one near him. He began to speak, hurriedly at first as if he might be interrupted.

  "Barbara, I know your Pa wanted you to go to Vermont after you sell things here, but he would never know if you didn't go."

  "If I didn't go, Mark, where would I go once I sold the farm?" I asked practically. "You could stay and live with us until we're old enough to marry," he suggested hesitantly.

  "Marry?" I said the word as if I wasn't sure what it meant. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I'm talking about you and I getting married." He said straightforwardly. "You must know that's what I want."

  "My Pa told me once that he thought you wanted to marry me but I thought he was teasing."

  "I really do want you to stay, Barbara. What's the use of your going clear out the
re when I bet they don't even want you at all?"

  "You're probably right about whether they will want to have me with them, but the fact remains that it was my Pa's wish that I go."

  "And the fact also remains that he is dead and will never know what you do."

  "Yes, that may be true, but I will know. I wouldn't feel right not going."

  "So you're not interested in marrying me. If you were, you wouldn't go."

  "I never said anything about marrying you or anyone else. What made you think I would?"

  "I just hoped," he began sadly.

  "I'm sorry Mark," I said rising. "I'm going to put some water on for tea. It's cold in here."

  "Shall I light a fire?"

  "No, we'll light one in the sitting room." I said and went to put the kettle on the fire. While I was doing that, the others began to arrive, some bringing food in case anyone got hungry and some bringing flowers to put about the coffins. The night was long for me in spite of the company I had. We all sat until around midnight, talking about father and Mother. They shared my grief at their loss. Then they all departed to their respective homes for some rest before the funeral. I went back to the Larsen farm for a few hours of badly needed sleep. I lay awake in the room I shared with the girls. I heard their even breathing around me but could not close my eyes. Mark's earnest face kept appearing before me. I wished I hadn't had to say those things to him. He had always been like a brother to me. I never realized that he felt any differently toward me than I did toward him. How long had he loved me. It was good in a way to know that someone felt like that about me. It must be wonderful to have someone love you and to love them back. But I didn't love Mark as he loved me. It would be wrong to stay here and hope that some day I might. I must do as my father asked. It would be better for Mark, and for me. If I left, he would find someone else who could love him in return. I tried to make myself more comfortable and pulled the covers more tightly around me. It was getting very cold.