Shadows of Love

by Gail MacMillan

  “I was never his lawful wife, and I was never privileged to bear his name or his child,” she said softly, “but, as God is my witness, I loved him and I always will. If there’s justice in the Beyond, I’ll be his wife in eternity.”

  ****

  Leaving Colin in Bridgit’s and Mary’s care, I returned to Peacock House. Caroline had no reason to harm me, since I had not a shred of tangible proof against her, I tried to reassure myself. At any rate, I was wise to her ways now and would be on my guard.

  I found the mansion in an uproar of bustling, hushed-voiced servants. Gram had collapsed on her arrival home from the funeral, Rose informed me in an urgent whisper. It was her heart, the maid said. Abraham was with her. The elderly Mrs. Douglas was not expected to survive the night.

  “She’s had attacks for years,” the young Irish girl said. “She called it indigestion and kept taking the brew the Indians make from the plant foxglove as a remedy, but we knew what her pains truly were. She’s been in delicate health for months but refused to admit it. The funeral today was more than she could bear. Now she’s sinking rapidly.”

  ****

  Rose brought me the message near midnight. Gram wished to see me. Her ashen face stilled my questions. I knew Gram had taken a turn for the worse.

  In her luxurious room, the curtains open that she might see the first gently falling flakes of the blizzard to come, Gram lay propped up on her pillows. Mrs. MacDonald, the housekeeper, was hovering nervously about and came quickly to me when I entered.

  “Thank goodness you’ve come, Mrs. Madison,” she whispered. “She’s most unwell.”

  “I’ll sit with her,” I said, looking past the woman into Gram’s hollow face. “You may go and rest.”

  “Perhaps we should summon Mr. Douglas…” The housekeeper looked doubtful.

  “Obey the lass, Victoria.” Gram’s voice rose from bed, a gasping painful sound. “Allow me this moment alone with my granddaughter.”

  Still the housekeeper hesitated.

  “Go!” Gram ordered, her tired old voice a harsh grating cry in the quiet room.

  “Very well. But I’ll not be responsible for what happens. Good night, ma’am.”

  “Farewell, Victoria. God bless you.”

  The resignation in the old woman’s words sent the austere housekeeper out of the room with a broken sob.

  “Come closer, Starr.” Gram moved her head wearily and tried to raise a hand to signal to me.

  Quickly I went to sit on the edge of her bed.

  “There are things you must know, things I must tell you before I go,” she wheezed. “Are you aware my husband Josh was a privateer?”

  “Yes.” The lump in my throat made speaking painful.

  “My Josh made his money during the war in 1812.” The old woman’s eyes grew vacant, lost in memory. “The war was over when we set sail for the Caribbean to settle on a little plantation he’d bought there. Abe was in his early twenties. He worshipped his father as the swashbuckling hero he truly was.”

  She paused to gather her breath, and I reached out to take her cold, limp hand in mine.

  “All went well until we were off the Florida coast,” she continued. “Shortly after midnight one moonless night, we were attacked by a French privateersman. Josh had disarmed his ship, with the declaration of peace. No match for them, we were boarded, and the Frenchmen declared us prisoners in a war they had not yet been informed was over.”

  She stopped, rested, then took up her story, traces of her old ascerbic spirit coming through.

  “They were ruthless barbarians. They killed my husband in cold blood.” She panted as memory overwhelmed her.

  “Please, you must rest. You can finish your story later,” I begged.

  “For me there will be no later, my sweet,” she wheezed. “I must tell you now. Abe had a sister…a beautiful child of seventeen, who was also with us. When Abe demanded that Charlotte and myself be set free, they beat him and bound him and me to the mainmast. My son and I were forced to watch as my daughter was violated again and again.”

  Her dark eyes filmed with tears and her voice shook.

  “Gram, I’m sorry, so very sorry,” I breathed, horrified.

  “Charlotte was never a robust girl.” She shuddered, then continued. “It had been because of her delicate health that we had decided to settle in warmer climes instead of in New Brunswick, which we loved. She died that night. Abe was left with an obsessive hatred of the French and all they stood for. That included their Catholic faith.” She looked up at me, the fire in her dark eyes fallen to two last glowing embers. “Now you will understand…why he treats Barret as he does. It’s the boy’s French Catholic blood he hates, not the lad himself.”

  Her voice was fading.

  “I understand,” I said softly. “You’ve been brave to tell me, Grandmother. Thank you.”

  “Don’t waste your pity on me,” she wheezed. “Be sorry for Barret, who suffers still. Love and understand him, child. I entrust him to your care. He’s very precious to me.”

  She touched my cheek. “Farewell, granddaughter,” she whispered. Her hand slid to the quilts, her eyes closed, and she was gone.

  ****

  Caroline, Abraham, Jared, and I gathered in the parlor after Gram’s funeral. I served tea before a low-burning fire on the hearth. Abraham and Jared leaned against the mantel, hot rum drinks in their hands. Abraham had aged visibly during the past year. As I looked up at him, an involuntary sense of pity rose in me. Death was robbing him of his cherished dream of being patriarch of New Brunswick’s most powerful clan.

  Then Caroline spoke, and the lines of defeat and spiritual fatigue seemed to melt from his countenance.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said, her voice quivering. “I’m going to have Randall’s child.”

  The mug of rum dropped from Abraham’s fingers. Its contents spilled out into a wide, dark patch on the thick carpeting.

  “Are you sure, girl?” he asked, hoarse with emotion.

  Caroline nodded and lowered her head. Tears escaped her violet eyes and glided down her beautiful face.

  “That was the reason we quarreled,” she choked, dabbing at her eyes with a lace square. “He said I’d been responsible for our childlessness. He said I’d allowed myself to become pregnant simply to keep him from…from that fish-shed doxy. Did you know, Father, he was planning to leave me for her?”

  She gave a shuddering sob. Abe went to her, raised her to her feet, and with a supportive arm about her slim waist began to help her from the room. Shocked by her insidious lies, I watched in stunned silence.

  “You’re overwrought,” Abraham said gently. “You must rest, my dear. Nothing must spoil this miracle you’ve announced. Nothing.”

  He turned to me. “Pack your clothing and get out. I withdraw my offer to purchase your bastard.”

  When they’d gone, I rounded on Jared Fletcher.

  “It’s your child, isn’t it?” I cried. “You put her in a family way and then you had Randall murdered! Now you’ll pass your bastard off as the Douglas heir. My brother-in-law told me he’d been struck from behind. Now I know who did it.”

  “My God, Starr, how can you think such a thing?” he muttered. “Perhaps it is my child Caroline is carrying. What does it matter? I love that woman. I’ll marry her as soon as it’s decent for me to do so, and old Abe will die happy, believing he has the grandchild he’s always wanted. Randall was a good man. I wish to God I hadn’t fallen in love with his wife. I deceived him, but as God is my witness, I didn’t kill him!”

  Eyes blazing, he dashed the rum remaining in his mug into the fireplace. It raised a hissing, alcohol-scented steam into the air as he turned and strode from the room, a tall, handsome figure in a black frock coat.

  My knees went weak, and I sank back into my chair. I had no proof Jared Fletcher had attacked Randall. Only the garbled, unwitnessed words of a dying, alcoholic man recalling—perhaps dreaming—a blow to his head gave my accusati
on any credence.

  It would be pointless to tell Barret or anyone else my suspicions. Jared Fletcher was well liked and respected. My husband viewed him as a good friend. Only I, who had once seen Jared naked in Caroline’s bed, heard his threats on that same afternoon, and listened to Randall’s muttered suspicions of an attack could believe the man capable of killing his lover’s spouse.

  ****

  Abraham did indeed send me packing on the day of Caroline’s announcement. For a time, my son and I continued to live with Bridgit and Mary. But when spring arrived and Barret’s return became imminent, I took some of my friends’ supply of firewood and moved back into my own cabin.

  The morning Barret’s ship was expected to arrive was accentuated with blustery winds and snow flurries, much too cold to bring to the wharf a baby who’d had pneumonia. I left our son with Mary while I made my way to the village to wait for my husband.

  The ship had arrived early, I discovered when I got to the wharf. Most of the crew, eager to be reunited with families or a pint of ale, had disembarked. The cargo would be off-loaded later in the morning. As I waited by the gangplank, the captain, a young man of no more than twenty-one, came down the ramp and turned to me.

  “You’re Seaman Madison’s woman?” he asked, his nose in the air.

  “I’m Captain Barret Madison’s wife,” I corrected. The thought of my husband taking orders from this overbearing boy disgusted me.

  “He’ll be disembarking shortly.” He ignored my retort. “Due to insubordination, he suffered an accident. Seaman Kelly is bringing him ashore.”

  Strutting like one of the Peacock House birds, he walked away. My heart pounding, I could barely keep myself from boarding the ship to find Barret. Injured, that popinjay had said. Good God, how severely?

  Then I saw them coming toward the gangplank. Barret had one arm draped about Johnny Kelly’s shoulders. In his other hand, he clutched a makeshift walking stick.

  “Barret!” I cried as they reached the dock. “Oh, love, what’s happened to you?”

  “That fool of a captain ordered me aloft in a gale,” Johnny Kelly explained. “Captain Madison knew I lacked the experience and skill for the task. He went in my place…and fell.”

  “I’m all right, Starr.” My husband tried to reassure me, but one look into his drawn face told another story. “But fetch Randall, will you? I have a deuce of a sore shoulder and back.”

  As I searched my reeling mind for the words to tell my husband of Randall’s death, I became aware of someone standing beside me. I turned to face Jared Fletcher, wearing a fur-collared greatcoat, his hands encased in black leather gloves. Since he’d assumed command of the Douglas fleet, he dressed elegantly and looked every inch a man of wealth and importance.

  “I’ll see to the captain.” He stepped forward and relieved Johnny Kelly of his task. “Easy, Barret. I’ll help you home. Come along, Starr. It’s cold, and your husband needs warmth and rest.”

  As he and Barret started away, Johnny Kelly stopped me. “He saved my life, missus,” he said, his eyes moistly bright. “I will never be able to repay him. He’s a great man.”

  ****

  “Gram, Randall…both gone?” Barret’s tone was incredulous as he leaned forward over our table while Jared dressed his lacerated back. “Sweet Jesus!”

  “Barret, let me put you to bed,” Jared finished his work and was wiping his hands on a towel. “You’ve had a rough voyage, and now this miserable news. I know how you felt about the old lady…and Randall. But things will look better once you’re rested and stronger. You’ve lost a good deal of blood, and…”

  “And I can’t even have the comfort of lying with my wife after weeks of celibacy.” Barret straightened, flinching with the effort. “I’m too bloody broken up.”

  “Come on, my friend.” Jared helped Barret to his feet. “You need your rest. I’ll look in on you in the morning.”

  “Why?” I asked, when Jared had returned to the main room after settling Barret in bed. “Why would you help Barret, after all that’s happened?”

  “He’s my friend,” he said. “Professional rivalry aside, he’s the nearest thing to a brother I’ll ever have. I know you don’t believe me, but I could never wish either of you any harm.”

  He headed for the door but added, “I gave him a dose of laudanum to ease the pain. He should rest easy for a few hours.”

  When I went into the bedroom, I found Barret lying on his belly between the sheets. His ragged breathing told me he was fighting a lot of pain. I undressed and went to join him.

  “Barret,” I said softly, sitting down beside him and touching his burning forehead with a cool hand.

  “Cover yourself, Starr,” he rasped. “Don’t make me lust as well as ache. My hips are…” He broke off with a grunt of pain as he tried to turn his back to me.

  I looked down and grimaced as I saw again the ragged tear above his buttocks.

  “Barret, my love, why do you insist we stay here under the thumb of that vindictive old man? We could be happy somewhere else, somewhere there is no one to persecute us. Say we’ll move away, please.”

  “No!” My husband’s voice was a ragged command. “I will stay near him until…”

  “Until what? Until one kills the other with this madness?”

  “Go to bed, Starr. Just go to bed. In time you’ll understand.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Barret was worse the following morning. When I awoke, I found our bed soaked with his sweat. His labored breathing frightened me. Although he forced a crooked smile as I put my fingers to his burning forehead, I knew he was very ill.

  For the next two days I cared for him until my body and mind ached from strain and fear. Then the fever broke, and I knew he would survive.

  That crisis passed, I faced another. Since Barret had been charged with insubordination, he would receive no wages for the voyage. We’d have no money with which to pay our creditors, let alone to purchase necessities of life for the present and future. I had been relying on Barret’s income to pay several debts I’d been forced to incur in spite of Abraham’s “no credit to Madisons” law in the village. Ben Smith, Gram’s friend, had kindly paid for foodstuffs for Colin and me during the winter, out of his own pocket. Now I must repay him.

  When I was Colin Douglas’s wife, I had often gone to the mercantile for surprise treats for my husband, and Ben Smith had become my friend. He had seen me reduced from a careless, happy bride of the valley’s wealthiest young man to the thin and ragged wife of an absent pauper husband whose child wailed hungrily in her arms.

  Compassion had ached from his eyes each time I came into the store with my dwindling supply of coin. One day when I was a few pennies short, he pulled them from his own pocket and cast them before the hesitating clerk filling my order.

  “Give Mrs. Madison anything she needs,” he said shortly. “I’ll take care of it. Her credit is good with me.”

  “Mr. Smith, I can’t allow you to risk your position like this!” I gasped. “If Mr. Douglas finds out…”

  “But he won’t. Will he, Willis?” Ben looked shrewdly over his spectacles at the young clerk. “It will be just between us three, correct?”

  “Oh, correct, sir, most definitely correct,” young Willis agreed hurriedly.

  As the young man turned away to complete my order, I looked up at the white-haired, frock-coated old gentleman and asked softly, “Why?”

  “You brought life and laughter to that mausoleum up on the hill. You made young Colin happy. I’ve always thought of that boy as my own grandson. And you have a spirit not even Abe Douglas could crush. Most importantly, Ida loved you. ‘Look after my granddaughter if anything happens to me, Ben,’ she said on the day of the ship launching as you were scampering off up the hill to get her medicine. ‘She means the world to me.’ ”

  I knew I must repay this kindly man. In spite of the fact he managed the store, he was not a wealthy man. And I would need even more food now, wit
h three mouths to feed. I must get a job. I had lost my position in the only house in the valley that could afford a scullery maid. That meant I had only one other viable skill to market.

  That afternoon when Bridgit came to visit, I told her my plan in whispers so that Barret might not hear.

  “Will you and Mary take turns sitting with Barret and the baby?” I asked.

  “Of course we’ll help,” Bridgit agreed. “But where will you find work? And what shall we tell the captain if he asks?”

  “I plan to ask Meg for a job at the tavern,” I said. “You may tell Barret I’m sitting up with Ben Smith, who has fallen ill.”

  “Oh, Starr, no!” Bridgit breathed. “That’s a terrible rowdy place. It’s not fittin’ for a decent woman…”

  “Where else can I get work in this valley?” I asked. “I would gladly join you in the fish sheds if they’d hire me, but they won’t. The tavern is the only place where the name of Madison hasn’t been blacklisted, the only place that isn’t Douglas-owned.”

  It was late afternoon when I entered the tavern and approached Meg, who was polishing glasses at the bar. The room was empty save for a traveler munching a steak at a corner table.

  “Yes?” she asked shortly.

  “I’m seeking work,” I said. “I can sing and play guitar. I thought perhaps a performer might help increase your business. If no such position is available, I can cook and wash dishes. I have experience as a scullery maid.”

  “Barret’s very ill, isn’t he?” Her tone softened.

  “Yes.”

  “He had no salary from the voyage because that miserable little excuse for a ship’s master declared him guilty of insubordination, I’ve heard,” she continued.

  “You heard correctly.”

  “Insubordination, of all charges,” Meg huffed. “And from Barret, who all but killed himself doing that old man’s bidding!” She paused, then asked, “Would you be willing to do barmaid tasks when we’re particularly busy?”

  “Of course.”

  “Consider yourself hired,” she said, and went back to polishing glasses.