Love is Come (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Heather B. Moore

  Pearl reentered the room, carrying a small box. She set it on one of the low tables and lifted the black ornamental lid. The inside was lined with wax paper and a fine, pale green powder filled the space. “Add a few pinches of this powder to warm water and spread it at the base of Mrs. Janson’s neck and on her chest several times a day.”

  Nelle stepped closer and bent down to smell the powder. It had a faint aroma of mint, mixed with a deeper floral smell. “What will it do?”

  “It’s supposed to calm the nervous heart,” Pearl said, replacing the lid, then wrapping the box in plain brown paper. She pressed this package into Nelle’s hands.

  “Thank you,” Nelle said. “I hope she will try it.”

  Pearl rested her slim hand on Nelle’s shoulder. “The most important thing she can do is believe.”

  Nelle nodded, for she knew by now not to discount any of Pearl’s advice.

  Tilting her head, Pearl added, “You feel something for this Mathew Janson, don’t you?”

  Nelle opened her mouth, then shut it. She’d tried hard to forget about and conceal any feelings she might have for Mathew. Yet Pearl had glimpsed them from a conversation about his mother?

  “He is engaged to my cousin, Alice.”

  “Ah.” Pearl looked down at the package in Nelle’s hands. “Unadulterated love between a man and a woman is rare and only comes once in a lifetime, if ever at all. If love comes to you, you must seize it.”

  Love is come, Nelle thought, the words of the poem returning to her mind. Pearl was echoing the same words that had affected Nelle so much. “He wanted to break things off with Alice, but I told him not to.”

  Pearl’s gaze lifted to meet Nelle’s. “That is more than I was ever offered,” Pearl said in a soft voice. “I no longer regret my past. I know that at one point, if I could have gone back and married the man I loved, I would have accepted the sacrifice and endured many things, including the wrath of the villagers and the disappointment of my parents.”

  Pearl’s words struck Nelle to the core. “With both my parents dead, every decision seems to be another large mountain to climb,” Nelle said softly. “I feel as if I am just struggling to breathe most days, in order to make it to the next day.”

  Pearl drew Nelle close and embraced her. “I know you are living from moment to moment right now. But have you considered that your feelings for Mathew might be a priceless gift at this difficult season in your life? Listen to your heart, and don’t turn away from a lifetime of love.”

  Nelle leaned into Pearl, relishing the woman’s comforting embrace. Was Mathew a gift, as Pearl had suggested?

  Nelle let out a sigh and drew away from Pearl. If only she had the courage this woman did. She knew little about Pearl’s life in her homeland. One thing was certain, this woman had a special power about her—the power to comfort and heal and uplift.

  “Thank you,” Nelle said, grasping Pearl’s hand. “Thank you for everything. I’ll let you know how Mrs. Janson fares as soon as I can.”

  “You do that,” Pearl said, squeezing Nelle’s hand.

  As Nelle left the shop, she had the strangest feeling that Pearl’s words had been a good-bye. She turned to look at the quaint door with its mottled glass window. It looked as it always had. She would be returning soon anyway. If magic were real, Nelle would say there was something magical about Pearl.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mathew had just spent a fruitless half hour trying to get his mother to eat something. She had refused everything except for the smallest sips of broth—not nearly enough by any means. But it was better than what the nurse had accomplished. His mother wouldn’t even respond to the nurse’s prodding anymore, so Mathew had sent her into another room for a much-needed rest.

  He knew there was much that could be said about the trials his mother was going through. It was also a trial for him to care for her, especially when the doctor had all but given up hope and had continued to recommend rest.

  When he heard someone knocking at the door downstairs, Mathew set the lukewarm soup on the end table.

  Apparently, the entire staff of servants were taking siestas. Mathew couldn’t blame them in the least. It seemed like they’d all been up most of the night, worrying over his mother’s health. Now that she was hardly responsive, a depressing pallor had settled over the entire household.

  Mathew stood, crossing the bedroom, and walked down the hallway to the top of the stairs. He felt exhausted, and his muscles ached from too little sleep. He heard Samson barking outside, a happy bark that soon quieted. This gave Mathew an idea of who the visitor might be. Hurrying to the bottom of the steps, he opened the front door.

  The warm afternoon air rushed in, and the woman on the porch turned to face Mathew.

  “Nelle,” he said, and seeing her was like finding a pool of clear, cool water in the desert. She’d returned when he’d least expected it.

  “I brought an infusion from the apothecary shop in town.” She held out a small package. “If your mother is willing to try it, this mixture is supposed to help with heart conditions.”

  Mathew took the package and led Nelle into the front hall, shooing Samson back outside. He opened the wrapping and took out a small box, filled with an herb-scented powder. “What apothecary shop?”

  “The one owned by Pearl,” Nelle said. “She said to mix a few pinches of this powder with warm water and to spread that infusion over your mother’s neck and chest several times a day.”

  Mathew tried to remember if he had seen the apothecary shop in town. The general store carried medications, infusions, and poultices. Maybe that’s what Nelle meant, although he didn’t know anyone named Pearl. A new employee, perhaps?

  “I suppose we could try it now,” he said, wishing something as simple as an infusion of herbs really could help his mother. Perhaps it would make her feel more comfortable…The last thing the doctor had told him before leaving that day was to make his mother as comfortable as possible. This thought only filled Mathew with dread. “Can you help me with the infusion, Nelle?”

  She didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”

  They both seemed to know Mathew was asking for more than help applying an infusion; he was asking for whatever support and comfort Nelle could give.

  “Did the doctor say anything else?” she asked.

  “To make sure that she’s made comfortable.”

  Mathew knew he didn’t need to explain further, for understanding was plain on Nelle’s face. They walked up the stairs together and entered his mother’s room.

  The nurse stood as they entered, leaving a bit of sewing on the chair she’d been sitting on. “Miss Thompson,” the nurse said.

  As Nelle greeted the nurse and explained what she’d brought from the apothecary shop, Mathew moved toward the bed. His stomach tightened at the sight of his frail mother beneath her covers, her face, so pale, and her eyes, sunken even in sleep.

  With a lump forming in his throat, he crossed to the washstand and set the box on the table. Nelle met him there, and together, they measured the power and stirred it into warm water in a small bowl. She picked up the bowl and walked to the bed. She sat next to his mother and gently pulled the covers down to expose her neck. With careful strokes of her fingers, she spread on the infusion.

  His mother’s eyes fluttered opened, and she whispered something, but it wasn’t comprehensible. Then her eyes shut again as her breathing evened out.

  When Nelle had finished, she handed the bowl to Mathew and went to the washstand to rinse off her fingers. She handed the box of herb powder to the nurse and instructed her to reapply the infusion in two hours.

  “I’ll be back,” Nelle promised, “to check on her and see if there’s any improvement.”

  With little conversation, Mathew led Nelle back down the stairs, and they walked into the parlor. Then Mathew stopped and leaned against the doorframe as he watched Nelle wander about the room, trailing her fingers along the backs of the sofa and chairs.
He liked that she was here with him, even at this difficult time. He liked that she felt comfortable enough to stay despite all that separated them.

  She glanced over at him, her eyes filled with compassion, her mouth set in a serious line. “Do you think your mother would like to hear some music?”

  Mathew knew his mother would likely not be aware of anything, let alone the distant sounds of the piano, but he said, “Yes, I believe she would.” It would be comforting for him—that, he knew.

  Nelle gave a small nod and settled herself on the piano seat. She began to play a slow melody, soft as a whisper. Soon the volume grew, and the music seemed to swirl all around Mathew. He left his post at the door and settled into a chair that gave him a view of Nelle’s profile.

  For a long time, he watched her play, and for a long time, she seemed content to let him. When she finally stopped, Mathew wasn’t sure how much time had passed or even whether he had listened the whole time or had drifted into a half-sleep during part of it.

  Nelle still sat at the piano, her hands folded in her lap, her head bent forward. The afternoon sun had melted against the horizon, casting orange and gold colors through the window, which splashed them about the room.

  Mathew rose to his feet and walked slowly toward Nelle. She didn’t move, didn’t look up. He stood behind her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. They felt warm, solid, and soft. He left his hands there as he breathed in tandem with the rise and fall of her shoulders.

  He was surprised she didn’t draw away or turn and look up at him. If his mother weren’t upstairs, ailing in her bed during what might be the last week of her life, Mathew would have declared this moment the most perfect of his existence.

  “Mathew?” a faraway voice said, breaking into his contemplation. He lifted his head and listened for a moment. Was someone calling to him from outside?

  Nelle stirred beneath his touch. She turned and grasped his hands. “It’s your mother,” she said, her tone sounding astonished.

  “Mathew?” the voice came again, clearer and stronger now. It was definitely his mother’s voice. He felt frozen in place. Was she in pain?

  Nelle stood, her hands still grasping his. “Come, she’s calling for you.”

  Mathew walked out of the parlor with Nelle, his mind spinning in a hundred different directions. He started up the stairs and then stopped, for his mother was walking along the upper hallway. Her hair was matted about her face, and her robe seemed to drown her small frame. But there was color in her cheeks, and her eyes were bright.

  Impossible. Was this the type of rally he’d heard about? When a person who was close to death suddenly had a day full of unnatural energy?

  His mother stopped at the top of the stairs, her thin hand grasping the banister. “There you are. I must have overslept.” Her eyes went to Nelle, who was standing by Mathew, looking equally astonished at seeing his mother there. “Hello, Nelle. Your music was beautiful. I’m sorry I’ve been such a poor hostess.”

  “Mrs. Janson,” Nelle said, recovering her wits before Mathew had. “What are you doing out of bed? You’re supposed to be resting.”

  “Oh, that’s all I’ve heard for weeks,” his mother said, waving a hand. “Take it easy. Rest up well. Don’t overdo it.” She stepped down a stair. “I’ve had enough rest to last me years. I’ve a mind to have supper in my own dining room. Where’s the cook? I’m famished.”

  Mathew rushed up the stairs to meet her before she could fall or collapse. When he reached her, she firmly linked her arm through his as if it were any other day, and she hadn’t just been on her deathbed.

  He led her down the stairs, one careful step at a time, although it seemed his mother was perfectly steady on her feet. Nelle met them halfway up the stairs and grasped his mother’s other arm. Nelle cast him a questioning glance and smiled.

  He wished he could warn Nelle that he thought this was a false promise, that his mother was probably in some strange resurgence that would surely cease at any time. But he didn’t want to say anything in front of his mother as they continued to the dining room.

  While Nelle went to speak with the cook, Mathew asked his mother questions about her health. She waved them off and said, “Tell me how the crops are going. Harvest is in a few weeks, is it not?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “I haven’t been keeping track of the calendar like I usually do.”

  “You’ve been in bed for weeks, Mother,” Mathew said in a quiet voice. “The doctor wants you to rest as much as possible.” As he spoke, he studied her closely. A faint pink hue flushed her cheeks, and her eyes were clear and bright still. Her voice had even lost its tired and raspy quality from before.

  “The doctor is a good man,” she said. “But the infusion Nelle brought feels as if it’s penetrated deep into my heart and strengthened it.” She patted Mathew’s hand. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve heard more than you think I have, and I know Nelle brought something new to try.” She leaned back in her chair and smiled. “I’m feeling so much better.”

  That is obvious. He didn’t know if he dared smile back. He didn’t want to deliver any devastating news to his mother right now. If she only had a short time left, he wanted it to be peaceful and not filled with anxiety.

  As Nelle reentered the dining room, her gaze went immediately to his mother, assessing her condition. Nelle’s brows lifted in surprise to see his mother chatting comfortably and looking every bit the lady of the house that she’d always been formerly.

  “The cook is warming up some soup and—”

  “I’ve been eating soup for weeks now,” his mother said. “Please tell Cook to bring me something substantial. If I’m going to get better, I need to start with real food.”

  Nelle’s mouth fell open, so Mathew said, “I’ll go speak with her.” He looked over at Nelle, who nodded, seeming to understand that he needed a moment to himself.

  Mathew left the dining room and walked along the short corridor to the kitchen. He could hardly believe his mother was up and about. Every thought and concern he’d had for weeks had been turned upside down. Had the herb infusion that Nelle brought been some sort of a miracle medicine?

  He stopped inside the kitchen to see the cook stirring a pot over the stove. She turned at the sound of Mathew’s footsteps. The gray-haired, thin woman looked as tired as the rest of the staff must be as she asked, “She’s up and around, is she?”

  “Yes,” Mathew said in a heavy tone. “I don’t know how much of it will last, though.”

  The cook nodded in response.

  “She says she wants some real food,” he said.

  The cook smiled, chasing away the tired lines on her face. “That I can do. It will be cold, though.”

  “Thank you,” Mathew said. He turned and headed back toward the dining room. As he neared it, he stopped, hearing laughter. Was his mother laughing? Or was that Nelle? He walked into the room to see his mother still chuckling. Nelle was sitting right next to her, and they were grasping each other’s hands like the best of friends.

  The cold fear inside Mathew began to soften into warmth. Perhaps his mother was truly getting better. He wanted to give himself permission to hope fully, but he still held back.

  “The food will be ready soon, Mother,” Mathew said, crossing to her and kissing her cheek. “I’m amazed you’re doing so well.”

  “It’s the infusion, I tell you,” his mother said, smiling up at him. “Nelle was telling me how she first met Pearl at the apothecary shop. I suppose it’s new in town—I’ve never heard of the place.”

  Mathew settled into the chair on the other side of his mother. Whatever was going on with her health, he wanted to remain as close to her as possible. He watched her with amazement as she prattled on about everyday things—as though she hadn’t just been in a life-and-death struggle.

  The cook came in with one of the maids, carrying two trays of food. Both of the women eyed Mathew’s mother as if they had to see for themselves how she
was doing. She acted as if nothing were amiss and started eating.

  Mathew ate a little as well; he mostly watched his mother. He and Nelle made frequent eye contact, each of them becoming more and more impressed by his mother’s recovery.

  “I haven’t read in ages,” his mother announced, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Let’s go find me something in the library.”

  Mathew rose from his chair and took his mother’s arm again. Nelle also stood, walking with them to the library. Once inside, with his mother searching through book spines, Mathew crossed to Nelle.

  “Is this really possible?” he whispered, lightly touching her arm.

  “It’s quite unexpected,” Nelle said. “Do you think it’s a true recovery?”

  “I wondered the same thing.” Mathew looked down at Nelle. Her blue eyes looked nearly gray in the fading light of the library. “I don’t know what I dare hope for.”

  “Me neither.” Nelle gave him a faint smile.

  “I do know that I want to meet Pearl,” Mathew said. “I need to thank her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mrs. Janson’s recovery had been a miracle, and Nelle was anxious to tell Pearl all about it. A week had passed since her first applications of the infusion, and Mrs. Janson was now walking the gardens, bossing the servants around, and furiously catching up on her correspondence. Mathew had even told the doctor about the herb infusion, and the doctor had been astounded and curious, saying he wanted to speak with Pearl himself.

  Today, Nelle had arranged to meet Mathew and the doctor at the apothecary shop in town. They both wanted to ask questions of Pearl, and Nelle would perform the introductions. Nelle had told Mathew she would meet him in town, for there was no reason to ride together and possibly upset Alice. Although Nelle had come across Alice reading letters from Lucien more than once that week. Letters were probably harmless between the two, Nelle had told herself, and it wasn’t her place to report these things to Mathew. They could work out their own relationship.