The Right Wife

by Beverly Barton

  Maggie stopped outside of room six. She wanted to see Aaron again, to know that he was alive. It was foolish to be here, foolish to need to see a man who was practically a stranger, foolish to long to keep him safe from all harm.

  She had never before felt this peculiar attraction to a man. It was wrong, probably a sin, to have such wanton feeling. A woman should never think about kissing a man, touching a man. Not unless he was her husband, and then, only if he made the first move. She could remember Ma and Pa kissing. They had kissed a lot, so it had to be all right for married folks. She knew there were wifely duties a woman performed. When she had been courting Benny, Daisy had tried to tell her about such things.

  She could not allow herself to fall in love with Aaron Stone. She had made Pa a promise, and nothing or nobody could stand in the way of its fulfillment. Judith was going to become a lady, even if it killed all of them in the process. And Micah would learn to be a gentleman of sorts, with an education and an occupation that Pa could be proud of. Meeting Aaron now had been a cruel trick of fate.

  Maggie knew she had to think of her plans for the future. A fine husband for Judith, a respected position for Micah, a home and a husband for herself... eventually. It would be years before she could think about marriage, and then it would have to be to a simple man who would want a simple woman like her. There could never be a place in her life for a man like Aaron Stone.

  But for now, she would go in and say hello, and tell him that Judith had been greatly worried about his health. She would see with her own eyes that he was alive and well, and then she’d say good-bye and that would be that end of it. Cousin Wesley could take them home, and they’d begin their new life in Tuscumbia.

  Her hand trembled on the doorknob as she turned it, opening the door slightly. She peeped inside before entering, and saw Aaron, eyes closed, lying peacefully in the big, oak bed, and the feather pillows in disarray, one resting above his head. Against the high, ornately carved headboard.

  “Mr. Stone?” Her voice cracked with emotion. She wanted to rush to him and at the same time she wanted to run back down the hallway and flee the hotel.

  There was no answer. She tiptoed into the room. “Mr. Stone, are you awake?”

  No reply came. She moved quietly to the bed, standing silently staring down at Aaron. He was a very big man. Even reclining, he dominated the room. The sheet had slipped below his waist, revealing the unbuttoned top of his Nankeen trousers and the broad expanse of his naked chest.

  My, but he is a beautiful man, Maggie thought. His body was hard and muscular, and covered with a layer of dark golden hair that appeared brown in the dim light coming from a nearby oil lamp.

  She moved so close to the bed that her knees brushed the side. “Mr. Stone, I’m so glad you’re going to be all right.”

  Aaron was breathing deeply, his body relaxed in sleep. Maggie reached out and touched his arm, her eyes inspecting the white bandage that strapped his chest. He felt warm, but not so hot that she worried about a fever. She moved her fingers to his face, touching his strong jaw. She wanted to kiss him good-bye, but instead she allowed her fingertips to brush across his full lips. He sighed and moved, readjusting his big body. Maggie jerked her hand back, holding her breath, afraid she had awakened him.

  Within minutes, he settled himself and was resting again. Maggie knew she couldn’t stay there just staring at him. She had to go before Wesley came looking for her.

  Just as she reached the door, she heard the sound of Aaron’s groggy words. She didn’t understand what he was saying, but knew he was talking in his sleep. Again he mumbled something incoherent, and then, quite clearly, she heard him say, “Maggie.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as she stood in the doorway looking back at the drugged man who had just called her name.

  “Good-bye,” she whispered, tears of regret falling from her sad eyes. “Oh Aaron . . . good-bye.”

  Chapter 3

  Bright springtime sunshine had replaced the shadows of dawn, and somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed. The smell of fresh coffee and hot biscuits filled Maggie’s nostrils when she entered the kitchen with an armload of dirty clothes. Wesley sat at the square kitchen table, his Bible opened and a cup of well-sweetened coffee in his hand. Since his mouth was filled with the last bites of a jam-covered biscuit, he was able only to nod at Maggie as she breezed through the kitchen and onto the back porch.

  Daisy sat in a straight-backed, pine chair at the edge of the porch, her slender fingers gripping the pole of a churn as she moved it rapidly up and down.

  In the yard, Auntie Gem, an ebony-skinned old woman, stood over two huge cast-iron pots filled with hot water and heated from the fires beneath them. The smell of smoke, lye soap, and buttermilk made for a strange combination.

  “Bring your things on here, Miss Maggie,” Auntie Gem said. “I done finished with the Gowers’ washing.”

  Maggie and Daisy exchanged smiles, knowing they had both taken an instant liking to the small, energetic woman. Maggie walked across the backyard and handed Auntie Gem the clothing.

  “Is Mr. Wesley still in my kitchen?” the old woman asked, sorting the clothes and, one by one, dropping them into a pot of boiling water. Taking the long, wooden batting stick propped against the shed, she poked and punched until the clothes submerged into the soapy wash-water.

  Maggie laughed. “He just finished off another biscuit. That’s the fourth one since breakfast an hour ago.”

  “Land sakes, that man’s always underfoot eat’n and munch’n,” Auntie Gem said. “I don’t reckon Miz Gower come down yet.”

  “Why no,” Maggie said. “Is she ill this morning?”

  Auntie Gem chuckled, deepening the heavy lines in her dark, aged face. “Miz Gower’s always sickly. She can’t make it downstairs till the sun’s high in the sky. I just reckoned she might be down to give you your orders for the day.”

  “She did that last night,” Maggie said, smiling. “I’m to see our clothes get washed, make all the beds, help Jude wash dishes, and dust everything in the house, the—”

  “She done put Mr. Micah to work too, ain’t she?”

  “Yes, he’s to go to the store every day and help Uncle Chester until we can save up enough money for his schooling.”

  Maggie joined Daisy on the porch, taking a seat beside her. They both observed Auntie Gem as she hummed, her work-hardened old hands busy at their task. Her black dress had faded to charcoal from repeated laundering, and her long gingham apron was already stained from morning chores. Around her heart, she wore a dark scarf under a ragged calico bonnet.

  “Is there enough room for you both in that shed?” Maggie nodded toward the small, one-room building close to where Auntie Gem was working. Although the structure was sturdy and well kept, it badly needed a fresh coat of paint.

  “Auntie Gem’s a good soul,” Daisy said. “Ain’t much room, but it’s clean. She tried to get me to take the bed, but I told her I was fine on that pallet on the floor. Don’t worry about me none, Miss Maggie. You take care of yourself.”

  “I’ll speak to Uncle Chester about getting you some kind of bed. You can’t sleep on that dirt floor come winter.”

  “What about you and Mr. Micah and Little Jude? That Miz Gower seems like a mighty hard lady.”

  “Aunt Tilly’s a mite high strung, and I’m afraid she has different plans for us than I do, but I aim to speak to her today.”

  “What you planning on saying?”

  “I want to find a way to earn some money. I know Aunt Tilly won’t pay a cent on educating Micah and Jude, so it’s up to me.”

  “How’s a young gal like you going to earn any money around here?”

  “As a seamstress,” Maggie informed the other woman. “I made over all Ma’s things for you and me and Jude. Look how good that dress fits you.”

  “I know you got talent in your fingers, and you was a real wonder with your ma’s old sewing machine, but—”

  “No buts,” Mag
gie said.

  Daisy continued churning as Maggie looked over her own handiwork, admiring the way the blue and green calico dress clung to Daisy’s slender curves. She knew she could be a seamstress. She made everything she and Jude and Daisy wore, many items constructed from her ma’s wardrobe. She had even made most of Pa’s and Micah’s shirts.

  “Cousin Margaret,” Wesley called from the doorway.

  Maggie turned, seeing Wesley’s large frame, dressed in a dark suit and tie, filling the opening. “Yes, Wesley. I’m out here with Daisy.”

  “I thought you might care to join me in the back parlor,” he said. “I know you read and write, so I thought perhaps you could assist me with notes on my Sunday sermon.”

  “Of course, Wesley.”

  “Good. Good. I’ve already asked Cousin Judith to join us for Bible reading and a morning prayer. She can finish her chores later.”

  “Aunt Tilly wanted the dusting finished before noon.”

  “No problem. A half hour of her time will suffice.”

  Maggie and Judith sat side by side on the velvet settee, listening to Wesley’s prayer. His voice carried loudly through the stillness of the small room, his flowery words evoking a sense of reverence.

  Jude, head bowed, hands folded, eyes tightly squeezed shut, fidgeted in her seat. Her henna-gold locks, plaited in two long braids, hung down her back. Her blue cotton dress, with several discreetly hidden patches, covered her petite frame from high-collared neck to full, frayed hem.

  Maggie silently said “amen” to Wesley’s prayer and listened as he began to read from Psalms. Ever so slowly, her mind wandered, and she began her own heartfelt prayer, heard only by God:

  Please let Aaron be well and fit. Keep him safe always. Let Micah be a big help and please Uncle Chester down at the store today. Help Judith to keep her tongue and remember her manners. Look over Daisy, for she has no one else to protect her. And Lord, give me strength and patience so I can keep my promise to Pa.

  Maggie was busy clearing the dishes from the dining table while Mathilda Gower, dressed in brown muslin, sat sipping a cup of sassafras tea.

  “Please tell Auntie Gem to fix me some more tea, Margaret. I do believe it has already restored me this morning.”

  “Of course, Aunt Tilly,” her niece said, hurrying toward the kitchen with a handful of dirty lunch time dishes.

  Just as she was returning with a fresh pot of tea, Maggie heard the front door open, and sounds of talk and laughter came from the foyer.

  Judith bounced into the dining room with a smiling Thayer Coleman by her side.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? May is quite a glorious month.”

  “He does talk so pretty, don’t he?” Judith said.

  “Doesn’t he,” Maggie corrected, in a whispering voice, looking from the handsome, well-dressed man to her open-mouthed aunt.

  “My . . . my dear Mr. Coleman, to what do we owe this honor?” Mathilda asked, obviously surprised by the young man’s appearance in her dining room.

  “Well, Mrs. Gower,” Thayer said. “I was on my way to see Miss Maggie, on a mission of mercy, when who should I see swinging on your gate but little Miss Judith, who most graciously invited me in.”

  Mathilda glared at Jude, her silver eyes issuing a warning to never again play on the gate. “You’re calling on Margaret?”

  “Yes ma’am.” Thayer turned to Maggie. “I’d appreciate it if you could come down to the Parshall House and see Aaron.”

  “I—” Maggie started to reply.

  “Mr. Coleman!” Mathilda gasped, her fat hand gripping her throat in a gesture of shock. “You must admit that such a request is highly improper. My niece is, after all, a young lady under my protection.”

  “I assure you, I meant no offense,” Thayer said. “I’m well aware of what an upstanding young lady your niece is. I’m simply here hoping to call upon her Christian heart to be of assistance to a wounded friend.”

  “How so, sir?” Wesley Peterson asked as he strutted into the dining room and stood behind his mother’s chair.

  “Now, son,” Mathilda said, “please let us hear Mr. Coleman out.”

  “Again, sir, I ask how can Cousin Margaret attending upon Mr. Stone be of help to him?” Wesley’s fat cheeks reddened as his thick fingers grasped the wooden rounds of his mother’s high-backed chair.

  “I’m afraid we’re having a rather difficult time keeping him in bed as the doctor requested,” Thayer said, carefully gauging the mother’s and son’s reactions. “He refuses to eat a bit, demands his cigars, and has been abusive to those of us who only want what’s best for him.”

  “Why, pray tell, would you expose Margaret to such a vulgar display of temper?”

  “I thought perhaps a pretty face and a soft voice might be more persuasive. I assure you that I would accompany Miss Campbell there and back. And she could even bring along her servant. I believe that would be proper.”

  “Oh, my, my,” Mathilda said.

  “I beseech you, Mrs. Gower, on behalf of a friend who needs some Christian kindness.” Thayer bestowed his most charming smile on the reluctant Mathilda.

  “I think this entire matter is quite improper,” Wesley said. “Cousin Margaret, do you wish to see Mr. Stone again?”

  “I do,” Judith said.

  Maggie’s heart screamed yes. Oh, yes, she wanted to see Aaron. He was a stubborn fool not to follow the doctor’s orders. He could worsen his condition by getting up and out so soon. “If I can help Mr. Stone, perhaps it is my moral duty to do so. Do you agree, Aunt Tilly?”

  All eyes turned to Mathilda, awaiting her response.

  “Wesley, fetch Daisy from the kitchen,” Mathilda said. “She will accompany Margaret. I expect you, as a gentleman, Mr. Coleman, to advise one and all of my dear niece’s benevolence in this matter.”

  “But of course,” Thayer said. “All of Tuscumbia will know of her kindness and your generosity in sparing her for a few hours.”

  “Mother . . .” Wesley hesitated before daring to question his mother’s judgment. “Are you certain about this?”

  “Fetch Daisy!” Mathilda said. “Of course, I’m certain. Hurry up. We don’t want to keep Mr. Coleman waiting.”

  “I want to go too,” Judith said.

  “Nonsense, child,” her aunt said sternly. “You have no place on this charitable trip. You will be assisting me this afternoon.”

  Judith sulked, but knew better than to talk back to her authoritarian aunt.

  “Should I change my dress?” Maggie asked, looking directly at Mathilda.

  “No, no,” Thayer said. “You look lovely, Miss Maggie. We do need to hurry before Aaron does himself any more harm.”

  “Of course,” Maggie said, but she couldn’t help worrying about her appearance. The dress she wore had been made from the same cloth as Judith’s pale blue percale and was just as grayed and faded. Quickly untying the strings, she folded her apron and placed it on the mahogany buffet behind her.

  Daisy joined them, looking nervously from one white face to another.

  “We’re going down to the Parshall House with Mr. Coleman to see after Mr. Stone,” Maggie told the wide-eyed servant.

  “Yes’am, Miss Maggie.”

  “Mrs. Gower, I promise to return your niece safely home as soon as she has soothed the wounded lion.” Thayer smiled, his black eyes twinkling like onyx diamonds.

  “We shall be pleased for you to call upon us again at anytime, Mr. Coleman,” Mathilda practically cooed. “We’re pleased to be of service to you.”

  “I shall forever be in you debt, madam.” With that closing remark, Thayer hurried Maggie and Daisy to the front door and out on the porch.

  Maggie knew that Wesley followed them to the door. She could feel his cold, gray eyes piercing into her back as she walked down the steps and toward the street where Thayer’s open carriage awaited them. She knew that Wesley did not approve of her visit to Aaron. Was he suspic
ious? Had he guessed the truth about her true feelings?

  Thayer opened the iron gate for Maggie, and she rushed quickly to the carriage, Daisy only a step behind. Standing there by the horses was an enormous black man who stepped forward to help Maggie into her seat. She was as impressed by the immaculate newness of the well-tailored suit the man wore as she was by his vast size. He immediately turned to assist Daisy. Maggie noticed the way his dark eyes explored her servant from head to toe. She wondered what Daisy thought of this handsome buck.

  “This is Phineas,” Thayer said. “He’s Aaron’s man. Been with him over ten years. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, sir.” When Phineas smiled, his thick mustache curled upward. “I been looking after that man since he weren’t much more than a boy.”

  Thayer seated himself beside Maggie and motioned to Phineas that they were ready.

  “It will probably be best if you go in Aaron’s room without me,” Thayer said. “One look at me and he’s liable to start throwing things. I’m not sure he’s forgiven me for missing the bullet.”

  Maggie stood outside of room six, feeling hesitant about knocking. Running her hands down the skirt, she smoothed her dress and tried to calm her nervous trembling. Wishing she had taken time to change, she looked down at the blue percale that had been cut from the endless yards in one of her mother’s full-skirted dresses. The material had been slightly worn and faded long before she fashioned it into two dresses, one for herself and one for Jude. She supposed it was just as well that she hadn’t changed. Aaron had already seen her in her Sunday best, the dress she could never wear again because it was hopelessly stained with his blood.

  Taking a deep breath and uttering up a prayer, Maggie knocked on the dark wooden door. Her knock was so light that she knew no one could have heard it. Her second try was more forceful.