“And so I wondered when we might plan our trip.” Meredith sat on the chair closest to his. “I thought we should wait three weeks—that would allow Grandfather a little more time to recover. What do you think?”
“Our trip?” Alex looked up at her, a quizzical expression on his face.
“Yes. You said that once Grandfather was better, we’d go see my family.” How could he have forgotten saying that? It was a fairly big promise to make, much larger than telling her she could go buy a new hat or some such thing. She’d already shopped for new hats three times in the last year at his bidding … what did a woman need with so many hats?
He shook his head. “Surely you can see that’s impossible now. Grandfather will need me more than ever. A trip is out of the question.”
Meredith suddenly felt ill. How . . . how could he change his mind like that? “What if I went by myself? It’s a short trip, after all—a hundred miles is easy by train.”
He closed his eyes, and she could see the muscles in his jaw working. When he opened his eyes again, they were full of fire. “You are my wife, and as such, you will stay here. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Alex.” She turned and left the room, unable to say anything else, and nearly ran into Grandmother Bingham, who was standing in the hall just outside and must have heard everything. “I’m sorry,” Meredith whispered, making her way for the stairs.
Once in her room, she threw herself on her bed and sobbed. She should have known he wouldn’t let her go alone—he’d already said no to that idea—but she’d thought he would take her. That’s what he’d said. Now she didn’t know what to believe anymore.
***
The next morning, Grandmother Bingham invited Meredith to come to her suite of rooms for breakfast. Cook had put together a very nice assortment of pastries, as well as bacon and eggs and sausage and just about everything Meredith could have imagined or wanted. Grandfather and Alex had already left for the office, so it was just the two of them.
After Meredith had eaten her fill, Grandmother topped off both their teacups, then held hers and gazed into its depths.
“When we took Alex in, we knew we were doing the only possible thing to be done,” she said, her voice sounding far away. “Our friends wondered if we would be able to give him everything he needed, considering that we were getting on in years, and they thought we should place him with an orphanage. But he’s our family. We couldn’t ever give him away to strangers to raise.”
She plopped another cube of sugar in her tea, but still didn’t drink it. “We did our very best for him—we saw to his education, we took him to concerts and museums in New York, and we trained him up to have a brilliant career. But there were certain lacks in his character that we weren’t able to train out of him, things that his mother had taught him or neglected to teach him, or perhaps our son was the culprit. Whoever it was, they created some terrible habits in Alex, things he has not overcome to this day. One of those things is a sense of entitlement, and I’m afraid you saw evidence of that last night. When he doesn’t get his way, he becomes very . . . angry.”
Meredith toyed with a crumb on her plate. “I’ve often wondered if I should have insisted on a longer engagement. That might have given me the chance to learn this about him.”
“Or he could have kept it hidden from you that much longer.” Grandmother finally took a sip of her tea. “He’s a good boy, a charming boy. He’s intelligent and quick-witted, eager to please . . . and then there are those moments when it seems he’s another person entirely. I recall one birthday when he didn’t receive a gift he wanted. He’d been given some very nice things, but he was furious. He broke the telescope his grandfather had purchased for him—just pushed it over right onto the floor. He went without his supper for that and had no outings for a week, but he never showed the slightest bit of remorse for it.”
“Were his parents too lenient with him?” Meredith asked.
“I believe so, yes. I observed his mother giving in to his tantrums on several occasions, and my son did the same. I think he was tired of the arguing and so he just gave in. Then of course when Alex came here and started living under our roof and being expected to abide by our rules, there was quite a bit of conflict.”
“I can imagine so.” Meredith left the crumb alone at last and looked up at Grandmother Bingham. “What am I to do, then? I have no desire to spend my entire life giving him his way in everything just to avoid his anger. That’s no sort of life for me, and it’s certainly not good for him.”
“I agree, my dear. I agree entirely.” She reached out and patted Meredith’s hand. “My best advice would be to keep being your beautiful, independent self. Be patient with him, but don’t allow him to control you with his tantrums. I believe that a good woman is just what he needs, and I’m ever so thankful that he found you.” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she spoke, and Meredith couldn’t help but be touched. Yes, she would be patient, but she also had to be herself. Life would simply not be worth living otherwise.
Chapter Fourteen
“There now. That ought to sate your appetite for a night out.” Alex pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the small table in the hallway. “Was there enough dancing for you tonight, my dear?”
“There was, and I’m quite satisfied.” Meredith placed her gloves as well as her fan next to her husband’s and joined him in the sitting room. “I’m very glad we went.”
“I wish we weren’t obligated to these types of social events. I’d rather pick and choose where to spend my time instead of being informed that I must go. But we did get a new contract out of the evening, so I suppose that was all right then.” Alex lit a cigar and got it drawing before he took it from his mouth and spoke again. “You looked rather well tonight.”
Meredith looked down at her new pale green silk. “Thank you. It did move beautifully on the dance floor.”
“I’m not the only one who noticed how well you looked.” Alex took a puff and released it. “Colonel Baldwin seemed rather taken with you.”
“Colonel Baldwin? He must be at least a hundred and fifty years old.” Meredith rearranged a few of the objects on the mantel, thinking the maid must have dusted that day without paying attention to placement. “He spoke to me of the weather and his niece’s cats. That was all.”
“He spoke to me about your uncommon beauty and charm.” Alex came to his feet and walked over to her, and she noticed the lingering aroma of alcohol on his breath. He had spent quite a long time in the study negotiating his business deal, and she wondered what all he’d had to drink. Then he grabbed her wrist and squeezed it so painfully, tears came to her eyes and she couldn’t breathe.
“If I ever discover that you’re sharing your . . . charm, Mrs. Bingham, whether it be through a word or a glance or by any other means, you will understand the depths to which I will go to keep what is mine,” he hissed in her ear. He gave her wrist another squeeze, crushing it in his grip. The tears she’d managed to keep at bay now ran freely down her cheeks, and she wondered for one terrifying moment if he meant to break her arm. But then he threw it away from him like a discarded wrapper and stalked away, and she sank onto a chair and cradled her arm to her chest. What had just happened? What on earth had become of her husband, of her marriage?
***
As business increased at the shipping company, Alex’s temper mounted. He showed pleasure when he managed to sign a deal with a new client, and it was true that he now ran one of the largest businesses in Topeka, but the pleasure seemed temporary and gave way to frustration as he struggled to balance all his many responsibilities. His grandfather encouraged him on more than one occasion to hire another foreman, but Alex refused, claiming he didn’t trust anyone to do the job properly.
“Alex,” Meredith said one night, putting her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him, “what’s something you enjoy doing that you haven’t done for a while? I’d love to learn more about your hobbies.”
“I don
’t have time for hobbies,” he replied, not lifting his eyes from the newspaper. “I have a career now, adult things that must be done. Hobbies are for children.”
“Well, what did you used to enjoy doing? Maybe you could teach me a new game or something.”
He finally put down his newspaper and looked at her. “Do you realize that everything you now enjoy comes because of the work I do every day? My grandfather started an empire, and now I am maintaining it. A little space, if you please, so I can relax when I get home would be greatly appreciated.”
“All right. I just hoped—”
He reached out and grabbed her hair at the root, pulling her head down until her eyes were level with his. “We are finished with this discussion,” he said, speaking through his teeth. Then he let her go and went back to his paper. She stumbled backwards, then left the room, holding her scalp. She almost couldn’t make it up the stairs, her knees were trembling so badly.
***
Dear Cissie,
Have you ever walked past people on the street and wondered what their private lives are like, what challenges they face, what skeletons they might have in their closets? I went for a walk this afternoon and wondered if everyone I saw was really as happy as they appeared to be or if they were just pretending so no one would know what was going on inside.
Chapter Fifteen
Topeka, Kansas
1873
Meredith pressed her hands over her mouth and tried not to respond sharply. Alex had come home drunk, again, on the evening they were supposed to be celebrating their second anniversary. She’d already resigned herself to the fact that her life wouldn’t be anything like what she’d always hoped for, but she refused to give in to what he wanted it to be.
“So you don’t get your fancy dinner. So what,” he said as he took off his shoes and threw them toward the wardrobe. “Don’t you have a fancy house? Don’t you have fancy dresses?”
“Of course I do, and they’re lovely,” she replied, doing everything she could to keep her voice calm. “And I don’t care about a fancy dinner. I’d just hoped to spend some time with you.”
“Me? You don’t care about me. You only care about what I can give you.”
“What?” Meredith lost all her patience at that. She could be reasonable to a point, but she would not allow him to speak such lies.
“You heard me. I took you out of your little hole and brought you to a mansion, dolled you up in pretty things, and you only wanted more. You’re a greedy, heartless wretch.”
Meredith took a step forward, her blood pounding in her ears so loudly, it was all she could hear. “You listen and you listen good, Alex Bingham. I never wanted your money. I married you because I love you, and I’ve done nothing for two years but try to keep that love alive. I don’t care about fancy things.” She reached up, unhooked her necklace from around her throat, and set it on the table. “You can have all of them, every single one. All I’ve ever wanted is you.”
He muttered something unintelligible, and then his hand came across her face with such resounding force, she was knocked onto the floor. She lay there, her eyes closed, her heart breaking, terror coursing through her. She didn’t dare move, hardly dared to breathe. She sensed him standing over her. Then he kicked her once in the stomach and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
She stayed where she was until she could breathe again, then pulled herself to her feet. She’d had enough. She’d had more than enough. She gathered up her nightclothes and a dress for the next day and then tiptoed into the hall and across the corridor to the guest room, where she not only locked the door but put a chair under the knob. He would not be hitting her again that night, and if there was any way to prevent it, it would not happen again ever.
***
Meredith was awakened the next morning by Alex’s voice in the hall, pleading with her to let him in. She’d only been asleep for an hour or so, her thoughts churning all night long, her ribs aching from the kick. She didn’t answer, and he finally stomped off.
As soon as she saw him leaving for the office, she pulled the curtain back over the window, dressed for the day, and slipped outside. She walked as quickly as she was able to the telegraph office, wishing she could draw a deep breath without uncommon pain, and asked to send a telegram to her father.
The clerk handed her a sheet of paper for her message, and her mind went blank. What should she say? What could she say? She’d been writing home consistently for two years, but she’d never given a hint as to what was going on because she believed that a wife should be loyal to her husband, and sharing the details of her married life was not being loyal. Every husband had his faults, and she couldn’t spend all her time dwelling on his.
But this . . . this went far beyond anything she would endure.
Squeezing her wrist was bad enough—it had been bruised for days.
Grabbing her hair was also too much—she had struggled to brush it the next day, it was so tender.
And now, striking her and kicking her—she had a bruise on her cheek, one she couldn’t hide, and one she didn’t feel she ought to hide. The injury to her ribs wasn’t visible through her clothing, of course, but it was no less an injury.
She clutched the pencil and wrote,
Sidney Atwell, Salina, Kansas
Dear Father,
I’ve made a mistake. Please come get me.
Meredith
It was all she could think of, but she knew it would be enough.
***
When Meredith arrived back at the house, she opened the front door cautiously, worried that perhaps Alex had come home for some reason. Instead, she was greeted by Grandmother Bingham, who said nothing at first, but just gathered her into her arms and held her.
“I’m sorry,” the older woman said at last. “I heard Alex shouting last night, but I had no idea he’d harmed you, and now, look at that bruise.” She held Meredith at arms’ length and shook her head. “You deserve so much better than this, my dear.”
“Thank you,” Meredith replied. For a moment, she wanted to confide in Grandmother, to tell her that she’d asked her father to come and she was planning to leave. But what if word somehow got back to Alex? She knew Grandmother would never tell, but what if a servant was listening and felt more loyal to Alex than to her? She wouldn’t say anything—she couldn’t say anything.
“I’ll ask Cook to make you an extra-nice tea tray. I insist that you go tuck yourself right back up in bed and stay there at least until supper.”
Meredith opened her mouth to protest, but then realized that sounded like exactly what she needed. “I think I will. Thank you for everything, Grandmother. You take such good care of me.”
Little spots of color came to the woman’s cheeks. “Well, you do the same for me. It’s about time I returned the favor.”
Meredith went upstairs and gathered more of her clothes, taking them over to the guest room. Then she changed into a soft, warm dressing gown and climbed into bed, wincing as the mattress put some pressure on her ribs.
The housemaid who brought her tray seemed to know right where to carry it, even though Meredith hadn’t said a word about her new sleeping arrangements, and she set it up on a small table right at Meredith’s elbow. There were ham sandwiches and roast beef sandwiches, lemonade, little cakes with jam—everything Meredith liked. She ate until she couldn’t take another bite and was surprised to see that was actually very little. The shock and the pain had taken away her appetite. Then she slid down under the blankets and went to sleep, praying the time would pass quickly until her father came.
Chapter Sixteen
When Alex came home that night, he pounded on Meredith’s door relentlessly. “Open up! You can’t do this forever, you know!”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled the blankets over her head, praying the lock and the chair under the knob were sufficient. She already knew there wasn’t a ledge or anything outside the window he could use to climb i
n that way—she’d checked carefully—and now it was a matter of waiting.
Every minute that ticked by seemed like an eternity.
He resumed banging on her door early the next morning. When she still didn’t relent, he swore, and she heard something crash to the floor. She guessed it was the antique vase on the table in the hallway.
“Alex, come away from there,” she heard Grandmother Bingham say. “She has the right to choose where she sleeps.”
“If she doesn’t come out by the time I’m home from the office, I’m bringing the ax in from the woodpile, and that door is coming down.”
Meredith pressed her eyes closed tight.
She had a little bit of money that she’d set aside from the clothing budget Alex had given her. She could take it and hide away in a hotel but for one thing—here, she did have some measure of protection. For all Alex’s faults, he did love his grandparents, and she didn’t think he’d do anything too awful to her in their house. She immediately shoved aside her memories of the awful things that already had happened—she needed to cling to hope. If she went to a hotel, she would be surrounded by strangers who had no vested interest in her safety.
As soon as Alex left, she dressed, then pulled a satchel from the closet and began to pack. If her father didn’t come soon, she’d hide somewhere—in the cellar, if need be—until a better plan could be made. She would not succumb to this—she could not be made to. She knew that as the husband, the law recognized his rights more than hers, but as a human being, she had a right to be treated fairly, and she would exercise that right if it killed her to do it.
She cringed at the thought. Sometimes figures of speech were altogether unfortunate.
She only took the clothing she’d brought with her, and left behind every gown and every piece of jewelry Alex had given her. She had told him the truth when she said she didn’t care about the money, and she was prepared to walk out with just what she’d brought here. She’d have her self-respect, and that was enough.
Meredith's Mistake (Grandma's Wedding Quilts Book 4) Page 8
