A softly lit cottage sat in the shadow of a darkened church. Was this her destination?
“I’m sorry… I didn’t know… how else to do it. George is fading and they—”
A whoosh filled her ears. A storm of blood and air she was not sure would ever return to their right place within her skin.
“Fading?”
Not fading. Surely he didn’t mean…? She pressed her hand to her neck. To the wild slam of her pulse.
“Hurry.” He gripped Finella’s hand and dragged her faster than her legs had speed to follow.
Her garbled questions went unanswered and even with the prickle of the broken hoop, their speed never slackened until they reached the front door.
Mr. Jones burst in. Still holding Finella’s hand he squeezed her into a small front bedroom.
They stood there, hand in hand, while George Gleeson, ashen and pasty, smiled at them from his bed.
5
Shadrach dismantled the trestle tables and slid the tops along the back verandah of the already crowded church house. Didn’t these people have homes to go to? Horses to water? Hearts to hide?
The funeral of their preacher had brought every villager and farmer to the Cowes churchyard, but the food was all eaten now, and the bitter-long day ended.
“Excuse me.” He returned to the verandah with the last of the tables. “Excuse me, please.”
If they wouldn’t leave, at least he could force their conversations to continue away from the house where he knew Miss Mayfield sat in the parlor receiving comfort from the womenfolk.
With the funeral over, he had to talk to her. But how foolish to ask a newly bereaved young woman to look at you as a suitable replacement for the man she’s just buried. Shadrach let the trestle drop with an irreverent, ironclad bang.
“Shadrach Jones, do you have any idea where your sister is right now?” Mrs. Lawson yelled from the doorway where she shook a tablecloth.
“Not exactly.” He hoped Molly sat inside the kitchen where he’d left her. “Why do you ask?”
“Not exactly means not at all in my book. She’s in the room I gave Miss Mayfield. Won’t come out for anyone’s coaxing. You’d best get in there and rescue her before this day worsens, if that’s possible.”
Weariness washed over him. Molly could be curious but if Miss Mayfield saw her as a pest it would be another reason for her to keep her distance.
Not that he particularly wanted much to do with her right now. But a promise to a dead man was still a promise.
“I’ll get her. It’s time we were going home, anyway.” He tried to pass Mrs. Lawson, but she yanked at his sleeve.
“And when you’re done, I need to speak with you. In private.” Her solemn face had not changed all day. Stoic and busy with endless teapots, she’d worked with a diligence like any other day in her service to George.
Shadrach nodded and stepped into the dark hallway leading to the second bedroom. A quick peek into the parlor rewarded him with no glimpse of Miss Mayfield, only the disapproving eyes of matrons who had, no doubt, tried but failed to draw Molly from her mischief.
Ivy Trilloe stood by the closed bedroom door. If meddlesome had a face it sported her eyes, ears, and nose. She eyed the door handle the way a gull might watch a forgotten crab basket. Greedy. Daring.
“It’s a cruel thing to leave such a girl to her own devices when you so obviously have better things to do, Mr. Jones. Brother or no brother, Molly needs the care of a woman. Someone who’ll devote their energies to keeping her safe and teaching her to be useful.”
He tapped on the door, glad for a place to land his clenched fist. “She is safe. And useful.”
“For how long? Do you think there won’t come a day when your back’ll be turned and she’ll not wander further than you think she can? You already live too close to the sea and her eyes are charmed by every pretty thing that twinkles.”
“You cannot have her.” He wanted to yell the words but kept his simmering temper in check. “I know you’re concerned for her welfare, but she really is fine. With me. Today’s been… a trying day, for everyone.”
He longed to be home and away from people. To grieve in a place where no one could find him. Where he could deal with life’s knots and bruises his own way.
“Shadrach. You’re a farmer. You spend hours outside. Surely you’ve already had moments of frustration with Molly at home.”
“We’ll work it out. My sister and I.”
“Fine. Be stubborn.” She threw her hands in the air. “But my offer remains open for the day you come to your senses and need a safe place for her to live.”
“You mean work.” His words came out low, and if she heard him, he was not sorry.
He would rather die like George than give Molly to the Trilloes. Yes, they were wealthy enough with their general store and bake house. Childless and comfortable. Molly might benefit with them as adoptive parents, but she deserved more than a life of floor sweeping, shelf dusting, and whip dodging. She deserved a brother who loved her. Protected her. Fought for her.
He ignored the retreating Mrs. Trilloe and tapped the door again. “Molly, it’s me. Please come out. It’s time to go home.”
A key twisted in the lock and the face of his sister appeared behind the heavy door. Her hair looked more disheveled than usual. Tears stained her cheeks, but the crying was over. Perhaps she’d rested on the bed. Her dolly tucked under one arm, she let him take the other and usher her into the hallway.
“What were you doing in there? Did you touch anything you shouldn’t have?”
Molly shook her head. If she’d broken or messed with Miss Mayfield’s things he would have to make amends.
“I saw a mirror and brush. A pretty brush. So I…” She showed him how she tried to fix her hair to sit atop her head. Instead, it swung across her back in a thick plait.
Shadrach searched the room as best he could. The mirror and brush sat on a dresser and nothing appeared disturbed.
“Come on then. Let’s say goodbye to Mrs. Lawson and get home before it’s too dark.’”
A gaggle of wives dried cups and saucers in the kitchen. Mrs. Lawson hung her towel, squeezed past, and directed Shadrach and Molly to the verandah. If she had a stern word for him, she’d not be afraid to share it. Even today. But, her lectures came with a hint of care and, on occasion, even a smile.
Mrs. Lawson sat Molly in a chair on the now empty verandah. Dusk hovered over the village and a line of pink faded out of the inky sky.
“Sit here pet, while I fix your hair.” She undid Molly’s ribbon, finger-combed her long black hair and divided it into three. He did this too, every morning, but it took him longer. Mrs. Lawson collected all the fly away wisps he usually left untamed.
“Listen to me, Shadrach Jones. I’ve been meaning to say this all day.” She kept her eyes on Molly and he strained to hear her whispers.
“I was a faithful housekeeper to Mr. Gleeson. Loved him like a son. Who could blame me with my own three babies in the ground?” She took a deep, sorrowful breath. “Some may think I overstepped my mark, but I knew what he needed and was pleased to make it my service to God. I am ashamed to admit I took it too far the day the two of you spoke last, before you fetched Miss Mayfield from Melbourne.”
She peeked at him. “I didn’t mean to. I was only coming to bring fresh sheets.” She held the plait with one hand and wound the ribbon around the end with the other. “But I lingered where I shouldn’t have and overheard words that passed between you.”
Shadrach didn’t know why she confessed this now. It was no news to him she was possessive of George. Perhaps this was her way of grieving.
“I know you’ll miss him, Mrs. Lawson. He was lucky to have you.”
She rested her fingers on Molly’s shoulder. “Your bond with Mr. Gleeson was also strong, especially at the end there. Wasn’t it? You of all people still owe him a service no other can fulfill.”
With a sick twist to his gut, Shadrach leane
d in. “What are you talking about?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about.” She finished tying Molly’s hair. “And it’s eating you up. I can tell by the miserable look on your face. You haven’t a clue how to keep your promise to George regarding Miss Mayfield.” Her voice lowered. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. Mr. Gleeson knew nothing I overheard under this roof would spread thanks to me. But you…” she tipped an elbow his way, “have a girl to talk to.”
Shadrach wanted the night to fall and cover him under a blanket of pitch. He’d made far too many promises for one lifetime. He was sure of that. First to his mother about Molly. Now to George about Miss Mayfield and with Mrs. Lawson in on the secret, he’d not be allowed to forget it.
“Not sure today’s the best day for it. I’ll take Molly home and see if I can come up with a plan.”
“No need. I have the perfect one.” She looked around. “Seems to me you’ve two problems. Molly could do with a mother or sisterly type. Don’t look at me like that, Shadrach. You can’t ignore the inevitable. Four weeks looking after Molly is just the beginning. You’ll have all your spring chores upon you next. What do you plan on doing then?”
Shadrach leaned against Molly’s chair and let his eyes close. Just a little. Enough to hint at total darkness. He was right. This day would not pass without another lecture from the good women of this village.
Mrs. Lawson patted him on the back. “You’re good with her, to a point, and I’m sure you’ve agonized over this too. You don’t want her growing wild out there without another woman for company.”
He focused on the back of his sister’s head. Mrs. Lawson’s plait mocked him with tightness and precision. It never looked like that when he did it. Most days it flew around Molly’s face. Loose, and … well, wild.
“And then there’s Miss Mayfield. Only family left to her is an aunt in London and she’ll be looking to get back there as soon as possible.”
Shadrach swallowed. “She’s not looking for marriage with a farmer. She came here to be the preacher’s wife. Don’t know why George made me promise foolishness.”
Mrs. Lawson sighed. “Perhaps Mr. Gleeson knew more than we could imagine. You don’t need to consider courting her right away. It’s too soon to muddle with her heart. But you can offer work. Tell her you need a companion for Molly. For when you’re not there.” Mrs. Lawson stroked the girl’s cheek.
“And pay her what?” Surely he was not expected to dip into his meager savings?
“A roof over her head and the type of work Mr. Gleeson would’ve encouraged her to do. Something to bless the people he loved. This house’ll be empty soon enough and the elders will look for another preacher. She knows she can’t stay here forever.”
Mrs. Lawson tapped her temple. “Anticipate her needs, lad. Give her something to hold onto while she sorts herself out. If anything, she gets a chance to know you, and you her. Then… if you both like what you see…” She shrugged.
Shadrach could not hide the roll of his tired eyes. “Do all women plot the course of everyone else’s future? Don’t the menfolk ever have a say?”
Mrs. Lawson smiled for the first time that day. “Most times we aim to have you think it was all your idea in the first place.”
6
September 27
I have come for nothing. Let this book be a record of that. No father to watch regain his health in a climate promised to restore. No husband to honor and serve. Both are buried and lost forever. Perhaps only the loss of my mother can compare.
Of deepest sadness is the absence of words from my fiancé. His life, all but slipped away when I stumbled into his sick room. His first and last message to me, that haunting smile. And there in that clumsy introduction, George nodded and slipped into an eternity where only God chooses who will follow.
Now I have nothing of my own to sustain me. George’s congregation cares for my obvious needs. They feed and warm me. They sit beside me and offer silent company.
I want to scream at the shallowness of their affections, yet I know they are sincere. And I am ashamed. I cannot receive them, and wish for all to leave me, yet when they do, displacement threatens to undo me.
The small house has throbbed with mourners all day. This house, which should have been mine to make into a home, is now a false promise, and I desire to leave it as soon as possible. Mrs. Lawson has ordered me to bed. She’s prepared a tea tree poultice for my leg and insists I rest here with it plastered to my calf.
I will write to Aunt Sarah and make plans for my return to London.
How I longed to stand with my back to the wind and yell over the sea until my voice carried to where Father is buried. To tell him, with George’s help, I’d discovered what we always searched for. That the unknown is no more, and I can live the life he desired for me. With the freedom only knowledge brings.
Without George’s help, how am I to find what will restore me? And why would God allow this journey to end in twofold death… and nothing more?
*
“Five shells, Missy. No more. Leave some on the beach for someone else.” Shadrach called from where he leaned against a moonah tree and watched Molly add to her collection of sea treasures.
The tide crept up the shore and the sun dipped in the west, bathing Cowes in fiery sparks. Was it only a week ago he’d brought Miss Mayfield to a similar sunset only to present her with more loss?
Shadrach kicked at a crusty mound of sun-baked sand and watched it crumble over his shoe. Like an hourglass time moved on, slipping their days forward into whatever it would look like now, without George.
Miss Mayfield would’ve made the preacher proud. She’d held herself together well during the funeral. Dignified, her silent weeping hidden behind that mourning veil.
She should have been a preacher’s bride. She’d brought honor to the funeral of George Gleeson and now it was his turn to act honorably. He shook the sand from the bottom of his trouser leg and kept an eye on Molly who balanced at the edge of a rock pool.
If he ever took a wife, she’d have to share in his poverty and hard work. Finella Mayfield was not used to that kind of life and perhaps never would be. Other than Mrs. Lawson’s plan, he had nothing else to offer, and a part of him was glad. Turning down an offer of work was not nearly as bad as turning down an offer of marriage. Even if it were for clumsy convenience. He joined Molly where she poked at the seaweed with a long twig.
“Look, Shad.” She hooked a strand of green pearl-like tendrils and held them high. “Jewels.” She swung like an angler with her find.
“Very pretty.” He admired her catch.
A blackened piece of driftwood bumped the jagged edge of the rock pool. Too weak to push the displaced branch into the embrace of the little pool, the gentle waves only lapped so far.
Shadrach climbed onto the rocks and tapped the driftwood with the toe of his boot. It plopped into the shallows with a splash. Molly squealed with delight and urged Shadrach to repeat the fun.
“More, Shad? More?” She let the twig slide into the rock pool, dipped her hand into the water and fished out the driftwood. It landed with another plop near Shadrach’s foot. “Again?”
Shadrach laughed at her childlike game, this time exaggerating the kick to create a bigger splash.
Molly didn’t hesitate to thrust her hand into the water once more. Only this time her fun met with a sharp scream.
“Oh, Shad. Bad thing.” She brought her fingers to her mouth. “Something… bit me.”
“Let me see.” Shadrach pulled at her hand. “That’s not a bite. It’s a splinter. Look.” He cradled her little finger and showed her the small fleck of wood wedged in her skin. Molly drew her finger away and tucked it back in her mouth.
“I can get it out if you’ll let me.” He held out his palm and waited.
Molly backed away.
“I have to take it out. It’ll hurt more if we leave it there.”
“No. Don’t want you.” Molly ran alo
ng the shore and up toward the sand dunes.
“Molly, come back!” Shadrach sighed and followed. He should teach Mrs. Trilloe a real lesson and lend her Molly for a day.
But he could never use his sister for fun. It would take every ounce of patience, but he would do whatever it took to ensure her safety and happiness. And if his plan worked, keep his promise to George at the same time.
He quickened his pace to reach her. To reach for all it meant to love Molly Jones.
*
“No, no. I said No.”
From the top of the dunes, Finella heard the sound of someone crying.
She juggled the shell she’d been admiring and raised her hand in a friendly wave, eager not to scare the young girl who slid down the sand in her direction. The girl’s crying gave way to a hiccup and then she stopped to stare.
“Molly, isn’t it?”
The girl sniffed and nodded.
“I’m Finella. Is something wrong?”
She nodded again. “A wood bit me.” Her teary reply came from a finger stuffed mouth. “Here.” She pulled out the wet finger.
Rugged up against the wind, Finella guessed she was the last person anyone would expect on this beach. Instead of the parlor in the little white house, where she’d sat in polite quiet for days, she now perched on an old fishing blanket of Mrs. Lawson’s. “Go exhale your sorrows and breathe in some hope, girl,” the housekeeper had encouraged. “When you’re this close to the sea, you might as well let the wind soothe the aches, even just a little.”
Finella pushed the shell and aches aside.
“You mean a splinter?” she patted the blanket beside her. “Come, sit by me. I’m sure you’ll feel better once you catch your breath.”
Molly sank beside her and their shoulders rubbed together when she nestled into the sand.
Finella dug into her pocket and from the cluster of her chatelaine, extracted a miniature magnifying glass. She lay it flat in her palm.
Carry Me Home Page 4
