Hope Rekindled

by Tracie Peterson

  “And what of it? I have not played you false.”

  She looked at him and shook her head. “I suppose you haven’t. You said there would be no love and that is certainly true.”

  He pounded his fists on the desk. “And why should there be? You came into this marriage carrying another man’s brat in your belly. You were just as desperate to save face as I was to reap my inheritance.”

  Stuart’s words had the impact of a slap on the face. Jael steadied herself by taking hold of the back of the chair. “I want a divorce.”

  “No.” He stared at her as if daring her to challenge him.

  “I’m sorry, Stuart, but I was a fool to marry you. I should have faced my father’s wrath and dealt with the consequences. I could have come to Deborah. I suppose I always knew that. You were simply a convenience.”

  He jumped to his feet. “As were you. And now you are an inconvenience.”

  “Then let me go. Give me a divorce.”

  “I will not, and you will not pursue this subject any further. In fact, should you dare to bring it up to your father or the Vandermarks, I will make you pay.”

  His words seemed suspended in the silence that followed. For just a brief moment, Jael had hoped he would agree to end their marriage and let her go on her way—perhaps even settle a small amount of money on her. But it was clear he would not.

  “Why, Stuart? Why do you insist on remaining in a marriage where there is no love?”

  “Marriage was never about love, and those fools who think otherwise are as simpleminded as you.” He crossed to where she stood. “Marriage is nothing more than an arrangement to benefit those joined together.”

  “But I’m not benefiting.”

  He grabbed her roughly and forced Jael against him. She fought to free herself, but Stuart buried one hand in her hair and wrenched her head back to expose her face. Kissing her hard and without feeling, he pulled her head until Jael thought her neck would snap. Perhaps that was what he had in mind. Perhaps he would kill her and put her out of her misery—tell everyone she had fallen down the stairs. She went still in his arms and waited for the end. When it didn’t come, she opened her eyes to find Stuart staring at her with an odd expression such as she’d never seen.

  “Well? Why don’t you finish it?” she taunted. “Kill me now so I might at least be free of you that way.”

  He let her go as if she’d suddenly become painful to touch. He staggered back, looking like he’d been gut punched. Jael righted herself. “I will have my divorce, Stuart. You won’t stop me.”

  She turned and walked out the door. Her only thought was to pack her things and go to Deborah. The Vandermarks would take her in. She knew they would.

  Jael had made it to the stairs when Stuart caught up with her. “If you dare to try leaving me—divorcing me—your beloved Deborah will pay with her life.”

  The words froze her in midstep. Could he possibly be serious? Jael turned and faced him. Evident satisfaction played across Stuart’s expression.

  “I thought that might get your attention.”

  “You could kill another person?”

  Stuart’s maniacal laugh left Jael doubting his sanity, but his reply removed all doubt. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” He narrowed his eyes. “And I seriously doubt it will be the last.”

  “Sit and rest. You look quite weary,” Mrs. Maynard said as she ushered Christopher into her sitting room.

  The house was simple but clean. Christopher took a seat where the older woman pointed and waited to hear what was sure to come.

  “The fire started in the middle of the night. The weather had been cold and fires were necessary to keep the house even slightly warm,” she began. She sat nearby and studied him with a mother’s gentle expression. “They believe the chimney flue got too hot and something caught afire.”

  Between his shock and exhaustion, Christopher could only nod at the explanation. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm had finally arrived.

  “Your mother, God rest her soul . . .”

  “What?”

  “Oh, my dear, I hardly know how to tell you, but they’re gone. Your ma and da. They perished in the fire.”

  This wasn’t happening. Christopher felt as if he might be sick. He forced back bile. “And the children?”

  “The children? Oh, gracious me, they survived. Your ma saw to that. She got them out first and then went back for your da. Of course, the fire had grown by that time. Your brothers tried to go into the house to bring them both out, but the neighborhood men stopped them. They knew it was too late. The house began collapsing, and even the chief of the fire brigade said that nothing could be done but to try and contain it. As you can see . . . well, it claimed two other houses, but no other lives.”

  His mother was dead. His father, too. He had never once allowed himself to really consider the possibility. Oh, he had certainly expected his father to pass sooner than later. The man’s health had been precarious, and the last time Christopher had seen him, it was clear to him as a physician that time would take its toll and Da’s life.

  “I wish I could have given you some forewarning,” Mrs. Maynard continued. “The telegram took every free cent I had, and I couldn’t afford to say anything more.” She leaned forward. “As it was, they gave me the word quick for free. I told the telegraph operator what had happened, and he felt it imperative to get you here in a hurry.”

  Christopher could hardly believe what he was hearing. It seemed like a bad dream. Perhaps he had fallen asleep in the carriage and was even now simply caught in a nightmare. He looked up and refocused his eyes. No, this was happening. He was fully awake.

  It just didn’t make sense. He wanted to know so much more—wanted answers. How could this kind of thing have happened? Instead, he nodded, making a mental note to see that the woman was repaid for contacting him. “Where are . . . where are my brothers and sisters now?”

  “They’ve been staying here with me, but at this moment, they’re in school. I told them it was better for them to go than sit around here mopin’. Your ma and da were laid to rest day before yesterday. We considered waiting for you, but I had no way of knowing if you’d even received the telegram.”

  Burying his face in his hands, Christopher tried hard to think. Exhaustion clouded his thoughts and pain filled his heart.

  “Why don’t you take a rest? The children won’t be home for another three hours. I have a room ready for you at the top of the stairs.”

  He looked up. “What? A room?”

  She nodded and got to her feet. “I figured you’d need a place to stay.”

  “I can go to the hotel.”

  “Nonsense. I have the space and you needn’t spend your coin that way. There will be plenty of other expenses. The accommodations ain’t much, but the bed is comfortable. Now, come along. I’ll show you the way.”

  Christopher looked at her for a moment and then got to his feet. “Are the children . . . were they hurt at all by the fire?”

  “Only their hearts,” she replied. “The wee ones, especially. They cry in the night, and though she won’t say it, Miss Darcy frets about this house catchin’ fire, too. I tried to comfort her, but she’s a force to be reckoned with, that one.”

  “And the boys? Jimmy and Tommy?”

  She nodded with a knowing look. “They’re angry. They couldn’t save their ma and da. They’re madder than any two young men have a right to be. The days to come won’t be easy for any of you.”

  Christopher was silent, for what could he say? Nothing made sense, no matter how hard he tried to force coherent thought.

  “Come along, now. I’ll fetch your suitcase later. You have a rest while you can.” Her voice was soothing and gentle. “I loved your dear ma. Bertha was my best friend.” She wiped at a tear as it trailed down her cheek. “The days are much darker now.”

  He nodded and followed her up the rickety wooden stairs. The polished finish had long since dimmed with continued wear;
a clear path marked an outline on each step. At the top, Mrs. Maynard paused only long enough to regain her breath.

  “I’m . . . getting too . . . old.” She offered him a smile. “This is your room right here.” She managed to cross to the door and open it. “Sleep and when you wake, I’ll have something for you to eat.”

  “Thank you,” Christopher said, barely able to form the words. He entered the room and turned in surprise at the sound of the door closing.

  He stared at the wall for several moments trying to clear the cloudiness that dimmed his ability to reason. The truth wearied him. Christopher turned to take in the rest of the tiny room. A single bed had been pushed up against one wall. An open window displaced the musty odor of a room long closed and unused with scents of the pending rain. Christopher sat on the edge of the bed, pulled off his coat, and threw it over the footboard. He took off his shoes and eased back onto the bed. Mrs. Maynard had been correct—it was quite comfortable.

  Christopher gazed upward at the unmistakable evidence of a leaking roof. The stains made strange patterns—hazy pictures, really. His vision blurred, and he blinked hard. He could make out what looked like a profile of Queen Victoria, and to her right, a rather sorry looking rabbit. But tears soon overwhelmed his eyes.

  With a moan, he rolled to his side and drew the pillow to his mouth to muffle his cries. He was a grown man, but at the thought of his mother burning to death, he was once again a young boy. Why couldn’t he have saved her?

  Lizzie’s father, Brian Decker, sat across the dinner table and marveled at his grandchildren. “They are a perfect delight.” He reached over to wipe a bit of applesauce from Rutger’s mouth. “I must say, they remind me very much of you when you were small, Lizzie.”

  “I’m so glad you are here to share in our joy of them,” Lizzie answered. “Oh, Father, they have been the biggest blessing amid this adversity.”

  Mr. Decker had only arrived that afternoon, and Deborah knew her brother and Lizzie were overjoyed and relieved to have him present. G.W. had been soliciting advice from his father-in-law, a lawyer, and now the man had come to share some answers with the family.

  Lizzie handed Annie a small piece of buttered corn bread. “We’ve all been quite beside ourselves.”

  “I gathered as much from your last letter. It seems that Mr. Albright is refusing to yield any kind of advantage to you.”

  “I went to talk to him,” G.W. interjected. “Just like you suggested in your telegram. He wasn’t in any mood to discuss options.”

  Mr. Decker straightened. “I’m sorry to hear that. Did he say why?”

  “No. He only told me that should we dare to sue him for breach of contract, he’d tie us up in court for years to come. Seein’s how he’s gotten his way in any other legal issues regarding the mill, I’m inclined to think he’s got powerful friends and can do just about whatever he likes.”

  “Well, I reviewed the contract several times, as well as shared it with colleagues to get their professional opinion. The fact of the matter is, Vandermark Logging does have an agreement to sell your lumber exclusively to Zed Perkins’s sawmill. Still, while there should have been some noted date on how long they could force you to remain idle due to their ‘act of God,’ it’s water under the bridge. At this point, we need to find a way to make a mutual agreement benefit both sides.”

  Deborah immediately felt guilty. While the contract had been Zed’s requirement, she had been the one to make many of the changes. She’d never thought to add any kind of time frame on such a matter. After all, they were dealing with a man for whom their father held nothing but the highest regard. A handshake had always been good enough in the past, but when Zed needed a signed contract in order to secure his bank loan, Deborah had seen no reason not to comply. Neither could the rest of the family. It wasn’t their fault that Zed had found it necessary to take a partner at a later date. And it certainly wasn’t their choice to have Stuart Albright involved in any part of the business. Still, guilt gnawed at Deborah’s conscience. If she had been more knowledgeable about contracts, perhaps she could have prevented this.

  “I don’t think you’ll ever talk Stuart into doing anything beneficial for us,” Lizzie replied. “He hates me, so he hates the Vandermarks. It’s just that simple.”

  “Well, I will speak to him nevertheless,” her father said as Rutger reached out to offer his grandfather a handful of mushed corn bread. Mr. Decker laughed and rubbed the boy’s head. “No thank you, little one.” He glanced to Annie and shook his head. “I can’t get over how they look like you, Lizzie.”

  She smiled and glanced G.W.’s way. “So my husband continues to remind me. I suppose that isn’t as surprising, however, as the unexpected arrival of two babies instead of one. This double blessing came as quite the shock.”

  “Oh, it shouldn’t have,” her father said. “You were, after all, a twin.”

  All gazes turned to Mr. Decker, and the room fell completely silent. Even the twins looked at him in noiseless wonder for several heartbeats, and then Annie let out a squeal of delight and Rutger followed.

  “What?” Lizzie asked.

  Her father blew out a long breath. “I thought your mother had told you.”

  “Told me what?” Lizzie looked most perplexed.

  Lizzie’s father put down his fork. “That you were the firstborn of two baby girls. You had a twin sister who died at birth.”

  “Why did no one tell me before now?” Lizzie asked. “Even when I wrote to Mother about the babies, she never said a word.”

  “I suppose I should have expected as much,” her father answered. “You mother swore everyone to secrecy when the child died. The baby was taken away and buried without fanfare. It was as if there had never been a twin. Your mother refused to speak about her and forbade anyone else to so much as mention the situation of your birth. She wouldn’t even let us name the child. The tiny gravestone I purchased simply says Baby Decker.”

  Putting her napkin to the side of her plate, Lizzie got to her feet. “How can this be? How could Mother do this to me? She had only to be honest. I asked her once if she’d ever had other children, and she told me no.”

  “The death of that baby really upset her, but she would never talk to me about it. I asked the doctor, but he said it was best to let her deal with it as she found fit.”

  “And what of you, Father?”

  He shrugged. “Men are not encouraged to worry overmuch about such things, but it cut me deeply. I have to admit, I was quite upset with your mother’s manner of handling the situation. For her sake, however, I said nothing.”

  “And my poor little sister didn’t even have a name,” Lizzie said, shaking her head. “Was she so unimportant?”

  “Not to me.” He glanced away for a moment. “I called her Elsa. I thought it went well with Elizabeth.”

  “I think I need to be alone for the moment.” Lizzie hurried from the room and Mr. Decker gave G.W. a look of alarm.

  “I never meant to upset her. I honestly thought her mother would have mentioned it at some time or another.”

  G.W. shook his head. “There never was any mention of it. Her ma seldom writes—especially now that she’s gone to England to help the women with their cause. When she heard about the twins, she sent a short note and two silver rattles. She said nothin’ more—certainly nothin’ about the past.”

  “Leave it to Harriet to send something useless and hide the truth,” Mr. Decker said.

  Deborah could hardly believe the news. It shouldn’t have been so startling. Everything she’d read about twins said that being one increased the chances of reproducing them. Even just having twins in the family seemed to strengthen the appearance of other sets. She frowned. There were twins in Christopher’s family, too—his sisters Mary and Martha. She knew how busy the twins kept Lizzie. Had it not been for the help of Deborah, her mother, and Sissy, Lizzie would never have been able to manage.

  What if I have twins?

  The
thought of just one baby was startling, but two babies? How would Deborah ever find time to further her medical studies and help her husband?

  Deborah forced her mind to focus on the people at the dinner table. It was foolish to let such wild thinking discourage her. She and Christopher hadn’t even wed yet.

  “If you can talk him into such a thing, then could we act right away?” Arjan was asking.

  “I don’t know that we should even bother to approach Albright on the matter,” Mr. Decker replied. “We can ask his intentions, talk about the possibility of a lawsuit for breach of contract, but as for the other, I don’t believe I would even mention it. In fact, you would do well to hide it from him all together.”

  G.W. frowned. “That won’t be easy.”

  Deborah realized she’d missed most of the conversation. “What are you saying?” she blurted out.

  Everyone looked at her rather oddly at her outburst. “He’s talking about trading logs for other things,” her mother replied.

  “You sure we wouldn’t be in any kind of legal trouble if we decided to go that route?” Uncle Arjan asked.

  Brian Decker leaned back in the chair and smiled. “Mr. Albright seems to be a man who twists the law to suit his needs. I’m not suggesting that we do anything that breaches the agreement. Your contract states that you will sell logs exclusively to the Perkinsville Sawmill. It says nothing about you giving logs to other mill owners. Nor does it prohibit them from gifting you in some manner.”

  Arjan considered this a moment and nodded. “I suppose you make a good point.”

  Deborah felt as if her head were in a cloud. “How would this work?”

  “As I stated earlier, you could give a shipment of logs to another mill and the owner could in turn give something to you. He could give you goods such as food, material for clothing, lamp oil, equipment; he could even make a payment on your mortgage. No money need ever change hands directly. It wouldn’t even be a formal barter. You would simply gift the mill owner. He in turn would give you a gift.” Mr. Decker shrugged slightly. “There’s nothing in the contract that even hints that gift-giving would be unacceptable.”