"This is New York City. We live up river."
"I'm glad you don't live here. I wouldn't like it. It looks like London. I'd be afraid here."
"It's nothing like London, Nat. You don't know what you're talking about." He still couldn't keep the angry edge from his voice when he talked to her. He left her, thankful that he had the excuse of the brewery equipment to see to.
Callie, Jamie, and Natalie waited on the deck until he came back to get them. As they stepped off the gangplank, Stephen spun at the sound of a friendly, familiar voice.
"Hello, Steviel Welcome home!"
Standing tall, Stephen could just see the top of Jack Tolbert's head as he threaded through the crowd, leaping to wave over the shoulder of the man in front of him. The man stepped aside, letting Jack push through. He pulled off his hat, beaming with smiles.
"Hello, Callie darlin' . . . pretty as ever and just as sweet, eh? Did you miss me, darlin'?" he asked impishly as she greeted him. He clapped Stephen on the back, then noticed Natalie standing somewhat behind and to the side of Stephen and Callie. "Ah, Stevie! You did it! You brought me home a fair English flower for my very own."
Stephen shook his head, beginning helplessly to laugh as Jack pranced and chattered about them. Callie gave Stephen a healthy elbow to his ribs. He glanced at Natalie and became serious. "Jack—shut up. This is my sister, Natalie Foxe—Mrs. Foxe," he said meaningfully, hoping Jack would remember the letters he had written to him.
Jack was planning rather than remembering. "Mrs. . . . Oh, well, she's here and lovely and so am I. I don't see any husband lurking about. You won't mind her having a new and thoroughly harmless admirer, will you, Stevie?"
"Natalie is a widow." Then firmly and slowly he hissed, "Think, you damned monkey!"
Jack's impish expression disappeared. "Oh, blessed heaven . . . damn my mouth. I'm sorry, Steve-forgive me. I'm such a damned fool. Callie, forgive me. Mrs. Foxe . . ."
Stephen put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "Enough, for God's sake. You're no good as a penitent. See if you can find us a carriage."
"Yes, oh, yes. That's why I came. I have a carriage. I'll never say another foolish word as long as I live. I
swear it!" he declared, pounding his chest. 'The carriage is right over here. Follow me. You do forgive me? I am such a damned fool. It's just that I was so glad to see you. Forgive?"
"Yes, you damned ass. Stop your braying. Take us to the carriage." Stephen grinned.
"Damned assl? That's a singularly rotten thing to call your best friend. God alive, it's good to see you again. Nobody's called me a lousy name since you've left."
"Tell me what's happened. What was the final harvest? Is it all in? Was it what we hoped it'd be?" Stephen walked ahead with Jack talking animatedly.
Walking at a more leisurely pace, Callie said uncertainly, "You'll get used to Jack in time, Nattie. He isn't half so bad as he first seems."
"Why should I care about Mr. Tolbert? Is he someone important? Did Albert know him?"
"No. He's not particularly important, I don't suppose. He sort of comes with the house though," she said, then climbed into the carriage, neatly avoiding Jack's helpfully extended hand.
Natalie showed no interest as they drove to the steamship landing. She boarded the ship without comment.
"We live on this river, Nattie. Isn't it beautiful?" Callie said, trying to stir some response and not seeing how anyone could resist the Hudson in autumn.
Natalie said nothing. She wore a perpetually worried and distracted expression that disturbed Callie. She did not look well, and Callie worried about her quiet withdrawal. "You can see this river from the front windows on the second floor, and in the winter when the trees are bare, you can see it from Peter's study."
Natalie looked sharply at Callie. "Is Peter there?"
"Not now," Callie said, and went on. "Would you like a room overlooking the Hudson?"
"No ... no ... I don't want to be near Peter's river. Take me far away."
Callie said nothing. She no longer knew what Natalie did and didn't understand. She seemed to have everything in a jumble, some of it fantasy, some of it real. Callie worried often about having her live with them. But what was one to do with a relative afflicted as Natalie was? There was no place to put her. No doctor to cure her. It was the family's duty to see to its own regardless of their personal feelings. There was no other acceptable choice, and Callie repeated to herself a vow to resign herself to what had to be.
She shifted Jamie's weight to her other arm, then put him down and walked the deck with him. Natalie remained where she was as if rooted in place. She looked frightened and lost. "Are you tired, Natalie?"
Natalie took a fearful backward glance at the black smoke and cinder billowing from the smokestack. The deck was hot and beginning to vibrate as the steamship gained speed. She moved closer to Callie. "The .. . ship . . ." she quavered. 'Tie . . . he's going to do something ... to the ship."
"Natalie . . . this isn't the same ship we were on before. Nothing is wrong. You are feeling its engines, that's all."
"It's . . . it's on fire . . ."
Callie smiled reassuringly. "Here—take Jamie's other hand. Well go to the salon. You should have told me the ship makes you nervous. But there is nothing to worry about. All the steamships shake when the engine works hard. Ask Stephen about it. He knows all there is to tell."
They remained in the elegant salon the rest of the hour-long trip. Just before their stop, Stephen and
Jack joined them. "I looked for you on deck," Stephen said as he plucked Jamie from Callie's lap and held him high over his head. "We're almost home, little man. Come along with your Uncle Stephen and see your country. Why have you got him down here, Cal-lie? It's a beautiful day."
'We were a little tired," she said.
He glanced at Natalie. "I see. Well, Jamie, you're going to have to learn to go on your own steam if you're going to wear everyone out. He is getting heavy," Stephen commented, surprised, and then offered to carry the little boy the rest of the way for her.
Jack drove them home. He and Stephen had apparently talked, and were now both ablaze with altruistic ideas of helping Callie with her two charges and getting the house in order. Fortunately their good intentions lasted long enough to carry into the house the boxes, valises, and baggage they had brought with them on the steamship. The rest would come later.
The farm looked the same as it had last spring. When they had left the hops were not yet full grown; in returning the hops had been harvested and once more the wires stood barren at the top. The one difference in the landscape was the tall brick building being constructed on the far boundary of the farm.
Though Stephen tried valiantly to keep his mind on organizing the household, no intentions, good or saintly, were enough to keep him from inspecting the new brewery.
Callie took Jamie upstairs, handing him over to Mary Anne. She hugged him tightly. "It's good to have you back, Miss Dawson." Jamie poked an exploratory finger at her face. "He hasn't forgotten mel See, miss—he knows me." Then Mary Anne's long face grew solemn. "I'm sorry—we're all of us sorry, Miss Dawson, about what happened to Mrs. Berean. Poor
little tyke without a mama." She hugged Jamie again. "Will he be coming back—ever?"
"I don't believe I like the tone of your questions, Mary Anne."
"Did he do what they say he did? Did he really slaughter them both in cold blood? I could just see him doin' it. He was the kind that could, you know."
"Mary Anne! He did nothing of the sort," Callie said shortly.
"Well, he is in prison ... he must have done something. Poor Mrs. Berean . . . such a pretty little lady. Seems like it always happens to them who have everything to live for, don't it?"
"Give Jamie a bath, Mary Anne, and there'll be no more gossip about this. I can see tongues are already wagging falsehoods. Jack Tolbert should learn to keep his mouth shut. And so should you. Peter Berean pays your wages, and I won't stand another word
said against him. If you plan to say here, you'll remember that. He was always good to you; you might keep that in mind the next time you feel like slandering him. Make certain Jamie has a good nap this afternoon. No excitement—it's been a long trip."
She went downstairs, more disturbed than she liked, to show Natalie the house. Natalie was vague and disoriented. She kept looking for the familiar rooms of the house in Kent. Callie had to explain two and three times what each room was and how it connected to the others. Natalie looked confused and unhappy.
"I'll take you to your rooms, Nattie. You'll feel better after you've put some of your own things in the house."
Callie led Natalie upstairs. She had decided to give Natalie the rooms farthest from Jamie's. There was also a sitting room adjoining the bedroom, and Callie had no doubt that there would be times when she and
Stephen would have to confine Natalie to her rooms for Jamie's safety as well as Natalie's. The luggage Stephen had brought up earlier was outside Natalie's door. Natalie accepted the rooms without comment; then she went back to the hall, touching the boxes she had marked herself. She paid no attention to the valises that held her clothing; she wanted only the boxes that contained the figurines and trinkets that Albert had given her. Callie removed the packing tissues, handing each figurine to Natalie. Soon she was frowning. "Did you realize you have two of everything?"
"Yes."
"But why?"
'That is the way I like them. Albert does too. It makes it so nice to arrange them. One was never alone as long as I had two." Natalie took two small china shepherds and placed them on the mantel facing one another. She arranged each set of figurines precisely; always together, and always facing.
Callie found it disturbing, her mind going back to Peter and Stephen's description of the two guns placed so precisely on the door lip, nose to nose, Stephen had said. She wondered briefly if Natalie ever had meant to kill Rosalind. Had it been herself and Albert she had meant to "free," as she put it? The pair of them. Together. Face to face.
Natalie stood back to admire her handiwork. "Don't they look lovely? They each have a place of their own. They are in their proper places, aren't they? I wish Albert were here. He always knows where to put them . . . where they'd be happiest."
"Maybe if you mixed them up a bit . . . turned them, or put the lamb with the shepherd . . . like this." Callie rearranged two of the pairs. 'Isn't that better?"
"No!" Natalie screamejl and grabbed the offending
figurines, hurling them against the marble fireplace. She stepped on the shards, grinding them into the soft stone.
"Nattie! Why did you do that!?" Callie stooped, picking up the tiny colored pieces of the lamb. The shepherd was beyond reclamation. "Oh, Nattie . . ."
"They belong in their own places. Never anywhere else. Never! You made them tainted and dirty!"
"All right/' Callie said, getting up and moving cautiously to the door. "All right, Nattie. You put them wherever you want. I'm sorry I touched them. I wont ever again."
"Albert likes everything neatly ordered," Natalie said positively.
"Then you have done everything just right," Callie said and left Natalie talking to herself about Albert and the pairs and order.
When Callie went downstairs she was upset and grumpy. She was itching to complain to Stephen for having run off to the brewery, leaving her alone to deal with Natalie. She knew he was somewhere in the house. She had heard him come in earlier, moving about, singing to himself in the best of spirits while she watched Natalie destroy four perfectly lovely figurines because they had not been placed to stare at one another nose to nose. She turned at the landing and saw him.
He was standing in front of the hall mirror struggling with his cravat.
"Where are you going?" she asked harshly, surprised to see him dressed in his best. Unconsciously she pushed at her tumbling hair and smoothed her gown.
"There are doings in Kingston tonight. Jack and I thought we'd go." He untied the cravat again. "Can you do something with this?"
He turned so she could work on the tie. "It didn't
take you long to fall in with Jack's ways. How long will you be out?"
"Not long, I guess. Unless Jack has improved in the last few months; these things are never as much fun as he thinks. You don't mind if I go, do you?"
"Why should I? You do as you like," she said offhandedly.
"I could stay home." He put his hands on her shoulders. "I wouldn't mind if you'd rather I stayed. Shall I?"
"Of course notl" She said it too heatedly. "Why should you? I've . . . I've got work to do. This house is still in an upheaval. I suppose you'll be wanting the cook to put your supper on early?"
Stephen's hands dropped to his sides.."No. Bea is an understanding woman as well as a good cook. She let me eat in the kitchen while she prepared it"
"How thoughtful."
"Don't be like that. Smile. Blame me. Bea didn't upset your supper; I did."
"You've upset nothing. It makes no difference to me where you eat," Callie said, annoyed as she walked back toward the staircase. "I do hope .you have a lovely time."
"Thanks." Stephen waved as he went out the front door.
Callie sat down on the step. "Drat! Just drat to you, Stephen Berean. Have a good time . . . see if I care where you go."
She ate alone with Natalie. There was nothing to do or talk about. Natalie was in one of her quiet moods, and went to her room as soon as she had eaten. The house was empty and Callie was idle.
She undressed and climbed into bed soon after supper, determined not to care when or if Stephen came home that night. She lay in her bed, her hands folded
neatly on her chest, her eyes shut, patiently waiting for sleep. She saw Stephen standing before the mirror adjusting his cravat. She felt the quick rush of resentment and rejection she had felt earlier. And then her magical mind rearranged events for her. Stephen turned from the mirror smiling, his eyes bright on her. He asked her to join him. She refused demurely. He begged her to go with him. He said his evening would be spoiled if she stayed behind. And then she said . . . the magic wore off. She could carry the fantasy no farther. She again felt resentful and angry with him. Yet she wouldn't permit herself to examine the reasons for her feelings any more than she'd permit herself to carry her fantasy on.
She began to think of all the acidly clever remarks she might have made to him had she just thought quickly enough. In her mind she verbally abused him and left him bloodied, and then disliked herself for having thought those things.
Restless, she turned to her side, curling her legs up close to her chest. Her eyelids trembled, unwilling to stay closed. Frustrated and discontent, she sat up, slapping angrily at her coverlet. She got up, rearranged the toilette articles on her vanity, and still the restlessness lingered.
She went to Peter's study and hunted through his books until she found a volume on soil preparation she was sure would put her to sleep. She carried it to her room and began to read one dreary page after another. She remained wide awake. The fast ticking clock with the slow moving hands held her attention.
It was well past midnight when she heard him trying to work the front door lock. She waited, listening, but the door didn't open. Finally she could stand it no more. She padded barefoot down the stairs. She
peeked out the side window and saw nothing. She opened the door. He was sitting on the stoop.
"I knew you'd come." He grinned.
"I was asleep/'
"No," he said, getting up slowly. "You couldn't have been asleep. I've been thinking too hard about you. Callie . . ."
She stepped aside for him, getting a strong whiff of whiskey as he passed. "You've been drinking!" she said, sniffing. "And . . . and that's perfume I smell! Where have you been!?"
"With Jack," he said sheepishly.
His hair was damp from the night air, and curling about his face. It made her angrier. "Jack indeed! He doesn't wear perfume as far as I know. You smell like
... like you've been in ... in a bawdy house!" she sputtered, bristling with indignation and something else.
"It was all because of you." He laughed, stumbling toward her as he tried to remove his coat. "Help me get out of this damned thing. I'm stuck."
She yanked the coat halfway down his arms, leaving him in a worse fix. "You should be ashamed coming home like this."
"Callie . . . get me out of this thing."
"You got yourself in, you get out. I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be like Jack," she scolded, leaving him tangled in his coat sleeves.
"But I had fun." He smiled at her as she began to climb the stairs.
"As if that makes everything all right. You never think of anyone but yourself!" She ran to her room.
She still couldn't sleep. How could she have gotten so angry with him? She wasn't even sure what he had done that was so wrong. She hid her face in her pillow, letting hot tears scorch her eyes. She felt better
crying. She didn't know why, but now at last she was beginning to feel safe and very sleepy.
In the following weeks Natalie became even more nervous. There were certain rooms she refused to enter. When Callie tried to persuade her that nothing was peculiar about the rooms, Natalie accused her of trying to help Peter trap her. Callie didn't mention the rooms again.
Natalie continued her strange ways. She slept too much, ate too much, and remained inclined to prefer her own company to anyone but Jamie's. Outside she patrolled the yard as though she guarded it while Jamie played. She wouldn't go near the barns or the brewhouse. The fields didn't exist for her, and the mere mention of taking her to see the hop yard sent her into a tizzy of unintelligible protest.
By the time winter came and there was little to show her in any case, Callie and Stephen had given up on trying to make her feel at home. Beyond the play yard and the confines of her own rooms, Natalie was uncomfortable. They left her to find her own incomprehensible satisfactions with her figurines, dreams, and private conversations with an imaginary Albert.
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