by Emma Ashwood
Her first words to him were, “What do you mean he didn’t make it?”
“David Jones is dead.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A Bleak Future
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” The preacher continued but Ruth didn’t hear as her thoughts drifted from the present and her here and now.
The morning was cold after a night of rain, and for the most part, her fellow mourners all wore thick coats to ward off the harsh weather. The chilliness of the city couldn’t be compared with the all-pervasive frostiness inside her heart, as she stood in the cemetery to bury her husband. The numbness had settled on her from the very moment the police officer uttered those four words that freed her of her shackles.
David Jones is dead.
It was wrong to rejoice at a death but that was exactly what she knew the servants to have done when news of their master’s demise reached them. Ruth had tried her best to feel a decent measure of sorrow, but all that came was the guilt of being unable to garner even an ounce of grief at her husband’s passing. He couldn’t be thought of as young, but it was nonetheless a shame for him to have died at forty-eight. His nights of binging had finally caught up with him and his heart had been unable to take it any longer.
Guilt assuaged her for she felt her inability to bear him a son had driven him to drinking so heavily. But her mother repeatedly disabused her of such thoughts, reminding her that David had always been known to be a heavy drinker. Had her father not been so desperate to save his shop, he would have investigated the character of the man and possibly spared Ruth the ordeal. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered but that she was finally free of the loathsome man.
Her mother, upon hearing the news, had rushed down to the house to offer not only comfort but also her congratulations. For her life would start anew and perhaps, this time, follow a positive path. Ruth hadn’t wanted to think of the future just then, her only concern was to arrange the burial.
A gloved hand slid into hers. She turned to see her mother’s pitiful gaze, and she smiled weakly at her.
“It’s over.”
It took Ruth a moment to realize that she was referring to the funeral and not her sad marriage to the deceased. She turned to see the gravediggers already filling the grave. People were dispersing and some came forward to offer their condolences. She endured the tense moments of feigned respect and outright lies from the well-wishers.
“He was such a wonderful man.”
“The kindest man who ever lived.”
“He was the epitome of humility.”
But why? Ruth wondered. Were they scared that David would reach out from the grave and cause them harm if they told the truth? Or were they just trying to be respectful of the dead?
Her mother’s thoughts were of a similar nature when she whispered beside her, “Lying lot! Even in death they’re still afraid of the detestable man. Kindest man that ever lived. Ha! More like he was the vilest man whom we ever had the misfortune of having cross our paths. He should rot--”
“Mama, please,” Ruth hastily interjected as yet another sympathizer came forward.
Over the head of the sympathizer Ruth saw a woman crying profusely, unable to hold her emotions in check. She was in the soothing arms of another woman who was offering her words of comfort. Even though the crying woman had a veil over her face, Ruth recognized her as the woman with whom she had seen David at the park. Compassion moved her to offer her condolences to the woman who was obviously distressed at David’s death. She must have truly loved David. Everyone who attended the burial had been dried eyed except for her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” her mother snapped and held her back. She had followed the direction of her daughter’s gaze.
“Mama, I just want her to know how sorry I am that she lost the man she loved.”
Her mother’s gaze was incredulous. “Man she loved? Oh darling, you’re still very naïve. She isn’t weeping for that man, she’s weeping because her financial security is gone. She would have to vacate the house he provided, and unless she finds herself another wealthy married man to leech off of, she will be without the means she has grown accustomed to.”
“But— “
“You would really offer sympathy to the woman who was having an affair with your husband?”
“Mama, you already know how it was with David. Perhaps if I had— “
“Hold it right there, missy. David wasn’t capable of loving and there was absolutely nothing you could have done to change that. I want you to stop feeling any form of guilt. The man wasn’t a nice person. At least now, you are at liberty to find your daughter.”
At the mention of Maisie, Ruth’s eyes glistened with tears. Thoughts of her were never far from her mind and on the night of David’s death, she had wished he had died before he took her daughter away. She had later been ashamed of the thought, but she missed Maisie terribly and longed to see her again. Her daughter would have been at home with Nanny Brown, waiting for her return and she would have told her that the man who used to insult her would never do so again. Her mother was right. She was now liberated to search for her daughter.
It was only proper for them to hold a small reception at the house for David’s sake, though Ruth had been hard pressed to organize it. Many carriages lined the street as theirs pulled up in front of the house. She was grateful to have her mother at her side to help her endure the company of those waiting in the house she could never call a home. Her father hadn’t attended the funeral, pleading malaise. Ruth hoped it was nothing serious because she didn’t want to lose him despite not having spoken a word to him in a long while.
Ruth said goodbye to the last of the sympathizers and heaved a sigh of relief. Her mother put her arms around her and placed a kiss on her cheek.
“I’m so proud of you for holding up well and playing the part of the perfect widow and hostess.”
The word ‘widow’ hit Ruth with a bang. It was shocking that she had never thought of herself as one before then. A widow. She was only nineteen and yet she was already a widow. It seemed quite pathetic to her. Where would she go from here, she wondered.
“I’ll be back in the evening,” her mother said as she wrapped herself against the outside weather and took up her reticule.
Her mother would have loved to stay with her for a few days now that there was no one forbidding her presence, but for her father’s ailment. Ruth understood that she had to leave.
She clung to her mother as she had as a little girl afraid of some imagined threat. Her mother comforted her and left.
Left alone in the house, the young widow was at a loss for what to do. She wandered around the house before finding herself in the nursery. David had ordered all its contents to be removed and burned, leaving her without a physical reminder of her daughter. Only her memories could never be wiped away. She looked around the empty room, fell to the ground and wept.
**********
"What are you trying to say?" Ruth enquired in confusion of the attorney exactly a week after David's funeral. Ruth had gone on with her life as if she had never been married to him. Quite understandably so since there were times while he lived when he didn't come home for days. It was therefore very easy for her to adjust to his absence in the house. It came as a surprise when his attorneys requested her presence in their offices in Upstate New York. She supposed David would have left a will, but never supposed she would have a mention in it. Nor did she want anything from him, even in death. Her plan was to continue living in his house, pending her daughter being found, at which point she would be happy to find alternative lodgings. Shock had been her reaction when the attorneys informed her that David had died not only intestate, but also heavily in debt. Since she had known David to be a wealthy man, she instructed them to explain the meaning of their revelation to her in layman terms.
Ruth loathed being looked upon with pity, such that the two men were throwing her way. She wished she were anywhere but this sm
all office with its oversized cabinet positioned against one wall and stacked with files besides a somewhat untidy table filled with papers.
The older of the attorneys sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair. It was obviously his task to relay the bad news to her because his younger partner had barely spoken since her arrival.
The attorney leaned forward and laced his fingers atop the wooden table. He gazed at her keenly and explained the situation.
"You see, Mrs. Jones, while it isn't good to speak ill of the dead, please permit me to say that your late husband wasn't a wise man."
Ruth couldn't argue with that. David had been a lot of things, but wise? She didn't think so.
"Please continue," she urged when the man ceased speaking to stare at her intensely.
"He visited the Rosebud Bar Room every night. He was fond of heavy drinking and often bought rounds for all the patrons when he was sufficiently imbibed. The owner of the establishment afforded him special treatment and was wont to urge David, when he was in his cups, to spend lavishly, thereby filling his own coffers all the more. On two occasions, I had to stop your husband from doing that even though he raged and cursed. As time went on, his earnings couldn't keep up with this frivolity and his visits to the bro--" He looked away abruptly, turned a rosy hue and cleared his throat.
Ruth wanted to assure him that his half-spoken word was no reason for embarrassment since she was well aware of his affairs. However, the attorney’s words were already building anxiety in her heart, so she remained mute.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am," the attorney pleaded and continued, "He began borrowing huge sums of money from the bank and no one questioned him since he was a partner there. He also started to handle...some other things which drained his finances even further."
Ruth had a fair idea what the 'other things' might be. She had heard rumors about him taking his mistresses on trips out of the state, to places like Philadelphia, and acquiring houses and expensive dresses and jewelry for them.
"With such practices," she heard the attorney saying, "it was within a short frame that he built up extensive debts that he couldn't hope to repay."
The widow remained as quiet as a mouse for she knew with dread what was coming next.
"David died a penniless man and I'm sorry to tell you that the bank is moving for a foreclosure on his house to pay off at least some of the money he borrowed. So, Mrs. Jones, I'm sorry but you have to vacate the house and find somewhere else to live."
Ruth couldn't remember how she got home, but she just found herself somehow before the large oak door. She could remember the attorney offering his apologies repeatedly after informing her that she was to be evicted. Maybe she thanked him, she couldn't be sure. A certain numbness had taken over her mind, soul and body just as it had on the occasion of David's funeral.
It wasn't that she was overly fond of the house but to be rendered homeless was a devastating blow. When she woke that morning, loving the rare sunshine bestowing its warmth on her body through the drawn drapes, she had smiled, something she hadn't done since her daughter was taken from her. She had toyed with the idea of going to the garden behind the house to pick flowers for the vases in her room and the drawing room, but thought against it, having to prepare for her meeting with the attorneys with no idea that they would be bearers of awful news.
"Darling, you're back," her mother called from the door of the drawing room and moved forward with outstretched hands to embrace her daughter. Her steps faltered when she saw her daughter's face, white as snow, and her mouth trembling.
Adrenaline pushed her forward and she clasped the young widow's hand in alarm and questioned her.
"What is it? I came here a few minutes ago and was told you were at a meeting with David's attorneys. What did they say? Don't tell me he willed everything to that mistress of questionable character!"
Her daughter almost let out a hysterical laugh. His mistresses had already got the best from him, they would move on to other men while she, his widow, would be homeless.
"I'm homeless," she finally said, cutting short her mother's outburst.
The woman cocked a perfectly shaped brow. "What do you mean?"
Ruth, sighing, called for a maid and ordered tea before leading her mother back into the drawing room where she explained all the attorneys had told her.
Margaret huffed and puffed as she paced the room. "How dare they do such a thing? Have they no shame trying to throw a grieving widow out of her husband's house when he's still fresh in the grave?"
"It isn't their fault, Mama. It's just business and they want their money back."
Though not placated by Ruth's comment, Margaret directed her anger at her late son-in-law and cursed him for his hedonistic ways. Her daughter remained silent through it all. Spent from her tirade, her mother eventually sat down to take her tea.
"You could always live with us. It would be wonderful to have you back."
Ruth quickly hid the stricken look in her eyes by staring into her teacup. She couldn't possibly return home, no, not after all that had happened. She wouldn't fit, and as much as she loved the house and wanted to be close to her mother, she knew she could never be happy living with her father after all he had done. She would always be reminded of the turmoil he caused and be afflicted by the painful memories whenever she saw him.
No, she had to fend for herself now and decide what to do with the rest of her life.
She sighed. The future looked bleak.
CHAPTER SIX
The Exciting Adventure
Tired after a fruitless round of New York, enquiring as to the whereabouts of her daughter, Ruth forced herself up the stairs to her room. She sat on her bed and choked back a sob. This wasn't the time for tears. Tears would get her nowhere.
Two days! She had just two more days before she was to be thrown out of the house. Her personal possessions were already packed but she remained in the house because the thought of returning to her father's house made her want to weep non-stop. But very soon, she wouldn't have a choice.
Her loud exhale sounded in the room and she lay on the bed, thinking about her life.
The fear of never seeing Maisie again was beginning to take over her heart. Her enquiries over the past three days had yielded no results. Her daughter seemed to have vanished off the earth and she dreaded the possibilities. Another sob caught in her throat, but she was determined she wasn't going to cry.
A mother without a child-- that was what she was. How distressful! And she didn't know what more to do. She had no money with which to hire a private investigator to help her find Maisie and she didn't want to ask her parents even though she was sure her mother would be prepared to give her all the money in her coffers and offer to sell her jewelry to make up any shortfall.
She put her palms together and looked up to the ceiling.
"Dear God, please help me. I don't know what to do," she solicited, and a tear ran stubbornly down her cheek. She hastily brushed it away and rose to her feet to pace her room.
If she had to move into her parents' house, she was determined not to stay long, and what would she do to earn a living, she wondered. Perhaps she could renew her past interest in painting and sell her works. Her father had seen it as a waste of time and had discouraged her from continuing.
"How many female painters do you know?" he had sneered at her when he caught her capturing their beautiful garden on canvas one bright and sunny morning. Hurt by his jeering, she had stashed her paints and not ventured into the art again until soon before she gave birth to Maisie. Once again, the garden had been her subject, being more interested in stills than portraits. It was then that David found her.
"So this is what you do with your time when I'm away at the bank working tirelessly to make your lazy self comfortable in this house?"
She had speedily risen from the grass where she was gracefully seated. To her horror, David strode over to her, grabbed her brushes and broke them after wiping them across the
serene painting, ruining it before kicking the easel away.
"I never want to catch you wasting your time like this ever again or else..." he let the threat hang and walked away, leaving her to stare after him with pent-up frustration.
Maybe just to defy the men who had made her life miserable, she would take up painting again and make her living in that way. She could paint in the guise of a man so her paintings could sell. Brightening at the idea, she stopped moving about and sat on her bed. If only she could find Maisie!
She removed her straw hat and slippers and climbed into bed to nap before going in search once again for the girl who mattered most in her life. Held in the light clutches of sleep, a soft knock woke her and her eyes fluttered open. Her maid, Susie, entered the room. Susie was the only servant left in the house after the news reached the servants that the house was to be sold. Only then had Ruth found out that the servants hadn't been paid in months. David assured them that this was due to issues with the bank that would soon be sorted out. Of course, they never were. Her heart had broken for these people who had families of their own to feed and take care of. She was happy to hear that most had found employment in other households and she prayed they would be treated better than they had been in David’s employ. She missed them and had never been treated unfairly by any of them, but she couldn't keep them on what with her dwindling resources. Every cent she had was spent on hiring carriages to take her around the city in search of her baby. Susie, content with food and board for the time being, was willing to stay because of her mistress.
"Beggin' ya pardon, ma'am but Nanny Brown be downstairs to see ya."
"Oh," Ruth said rising to her feet.
Nanny Brown had always been friendly during her time taking care of Ruth’s daughter. The woman in her late fifties had taken on the role of mother to her whenever she was in need of advice, which Ruth greatly appreciated.
