The latter days of May passed slowly. Rebekah cared for the children. Henry cared for the citizens of Baltimore. Each morning he rose with the sun and left early for City Hall. One day, however, she came down the stairs, girls in hand, and found him waiting in the foyer. He was dressed in his silk vest, tie and black frock coat. Rebekah tried to ignore how handsome he looked.
“I thought you would be at City Hall by now,” she said.
“The council isn’t meeting today, and the Wainwrights are coming later to conduct their scheduled interview.”
Scheduled interview? Rebekah didn’t remember him ever mentioning anything of the sort. She knew from that day at the Merchant’s Exchange that there was to be an interview, but Henry had never told her a specific day or time.
For one quick moment, she was tempted to blame herself for not being prepared for the arrival of guests, but she quickly shoved that thought aside. It isn’t my fault. “I was not aware that this was scheduled for today,” she said.
Kathleen crossed the space between them. Henry lifted her into his arms. When he nuzzled her neck, she giggled.
“I know,” he said to Rebekah. “I apologize. I forgot to tell you. In fact, I didn’t remember myself until just this morning.”
Oh, gracious. That means extra work for Hannah. She told herself she was angry, but it was hard to remain that way toward a man who apologized, especially one who showed such affection to children. “Have you anything to serve your guests?” she asked, her sense of duty taking over.
“Hannah has tonight’s dessert already prepared. We could serve that, if it is not an inconvenience to you.”
“It is of no inconvenience to me,” she said.
He nodded. “Sadie has offered to take the girls for a stroll when the Wainwrights visit. I would appreciate it if you would stay here to greet our guests.”
And there it is, she thought, her emotions swinging back to their previous state. Another political request. He wanted her there so the refreshments would be served and they could present the appearance of a happy, well-functioning home. Just like he wanted me to host the sewing circle. She was tempted to tell him to serve his own cake at both events, but Elizabeth is a friend of mine. It would be rude not to greet her today...and I have so missed visiting with our other friends.
Rebekah sighed. “Very well. I will do so, but I need to change my dress.”
“Of course.”
Sliding from his arms, Kathleen scampered toward the dining room. Henry held out his hands. “I’ll take Grace to Sadie,” he said.
Resisting the urge to keep the child to herself, Rebekah handed her to him. Grace’s little legs wiggled with excitement, especially when Henry held her at eye level and smiled. “Good morning, pretty girl. How are you today?”
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Rebekah returned to her room. There she exchanged her simple cotton day dress for the blue taffeta tea bodice and skirt she’d worn on the rare occasions when she’d received a social call in her father’s house. Removing the pins from her bun, she brushed out her long, dark hair, then rolled and braided it into a more fashionable style. Henry had never said a word about her hair. Had he even noticed it the night it lay loose about her shoulders?
What does that matter now? she asked herself as she steeled her resolve for the duty that lay before her.
When David and Elizabeth arrived, Rebekah greeted them warmly, served the lemonade without spilling a single drop, then sliced Hannah’s spice cake and distributed the pieces.
“Thank you, my dear,” Henry said when she gave him his.
The words that had once made her heart swell now grated on her. My dear. She knew he did not mean that. She was not dear to him. He was speaking that way only because David and Elizabeth were listening. Her task now finished, she turned to go.
“Please stay.”
Stay? Rebekah froze. She told herself once again that Henry was asking only to make a good impression on his guests, but her curiosity got the better of her. She had never been included in such a gathering before. She would like to stay, if only to learn more of the world outside her new home. Cautiously she claimed the seat beside her husband.
Across from her, Elizabeth was already sketching away. David was balancing a reporter’s journal on one knee and his dessert on the other. Henry asked him how his newspaper was faring.
“Very well,” he said. “We’ve yet to match the Baltimore Sun, but our circulation is improving.” He glanced at his wife and grinned. “I think Elizabeth’s artwork has a great deal to do with that.”
A pang of jealousy struck Rebekah, and she immediately scolded herself. It wasn’t right for her to begrudge Elizabeth’s happiness. Forgive me, Lord. I’m sorry.
The conversation shifted from pleasantries to more pressing matters. David asked about the business of the council in regard to the president’s death.
“Well, as you are aware, there have been no riots, no public disturbances, so the police force is no longer on high alert,” Henry said.
David nodded. “For that we can be grateful. With the war ended and those suspected of conspiring against Lincoln now on trial, do you think the city will see a return to peace and prosperity?”
“I do hope so,” Henry said. “Economically, things are looking up. Several banking and trading institutions are already reestablishing business connections with the South. That will be helpful not only locally but also to the other cities.”
David scribbled down the quote. Elizabeth continued to capture Henry’s likeness. Rebekah watched the proceedings with a measure of intrigue and cynicism.
“I’m told by a reliable source that the federal government plans to maintain a military presence in Baltimore throughout the remainder of the year,” David said. “Do you think the soldiers’ presence will be a help or a hindrance?”
Only then did Rebekah see her husband hesitate. When his jaw shifted slightly, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of the prison he had so desperately hoped to escape or the one he now found himself trapped in with her.
“I hope the soldiers will be a help,” Henry said. “Transitioning from war to peace has not been easy, especially now, with the assassination. There is a lot of uncertainty about which way the country should go.”
David nodded. “Indeed. Some citizens want tighter federal control. Others want the power returned to the states. What would you like to see?”
“As a councilman or a private citizen?”
“Both.”
Again, Henry paused. “I hope we never again witness what we’ve seen the past four years. Hundreds of thousands dead, including the president...” He shook his head sadly. “I hope the local, state and national leadership will never forget the suffering this nation has endured. I hope we will seek divine wisdom in the days ahead, for surely history shows we aren’t wise enough on our own.”
As angry as she was with him, Rebekah had to admit, it was one of the most humble answers she had ever heard.
“There is also the matter of funding the Freedmen’s Bureau,” David said next. “Now that Lincoln is dead, many fear the money to assist the former slaves will be cut off completely.”
Henry nodded. “The council is looking into measures, ways to assist locally, should that happen.”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Elizabeth said. Laying aside her drawing pencil, she turned to Rebekah. “I was thinking, given the current circumstances, that perhaps the sewing circle could do something to help.”
Rebekah was surprised that David and Henry had allowed the interview to change focus, but she was highly intrigued by Elizabeth’s suggestion. “Help? In what way?”
“We could make clothing, knit socks, other items. We’ve done it before for others.”
Yes, they had, only she had not been allowed to participate. A sense of pride, of purpose, surged within her. I will participate this time, regardless of the circumstances, regardless of Henry’s reasons for arranging them. This is how I will manage. I’ll care for the children. I’ll help those less fortunate. I’ll stay so busy that I have no time to mourn the life I had hoped for. “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Rebekah said.
“Then you’d like to join us?”
“Oh yes.”
“Splendid!” Elizabeth said. “We can discuss it further with the girls next week.”
“Very good,” Rebekah replied. “I shall look forward to your arrival.”
* * *
Henry had thought the interview with David and Elizabeth Wainwright had gone well. He had enjoyed the couple’s visit, but more so, he had enjoyed having Rebekah beside him. At first he’d taken Rebekah’s interest in matters at the Freedmen’s Bureau as a positive sign. She was intrigued. She was smiling. She was engaging her guests in conversation; perhaps eventually she would do the same with him.
However, the moment Mr. and Mrs. Wainwright departed, so did her lively manner. When Henry tried to tell her he thought her desire to assist the freedmen was charitable indeed, she immediately withdrew from him.
“I’ve fabric to purchase,” she said. “I’d best do so before the shops close.”
“Have you enough money?” he asked, although he was fairly certain she did. Rebekah was downright frugal with her personal allowance, never spending a dime, at least as far as he could tell.
“I do,” she said. She thanked him for the inquiry, but her tone lacked warmth. He did not wonder why.
He started to tell her how pretty she looked in that ruffled dress, with her pagoda sleeves trimmed in white lace and ribbon. She’d dressed her hair, as well, rolling and plaiting it as she had that night he’d come to dinner in her father’s home. He didn’t say anything, however, for Sadie had returned. Rebekah was now delivering instructions concerning the children.
“I won’t be gone long,” she promised.
He watched as she kissed each child. An odd feeling resonated inside him. Was he jealous of her affection for the girls? How could he be? Didn’t he want her to love them?
When Rebekah left the house, Kathleen turned to him.
“Can we read the books?” she asked.
Henry smiled genuinely despite the conflict within him. “Of course, pretty girl.”
Sadie took Grace upstairs for a nap. He led Kathleen to the study. She chose her customary atlas. Nestled on his lap, she turned the big, dusty pages.
“Look at this one,” she said. “It’s a funny shape.”
“That’s Michigan,” he said. “Soon you’ll be big enough to read the names of the states for yourself.” Not that he was in a hurry to forgo moments like these. He kissed the top of her head, only to discover Kathleen’s hair smelled of lavender water. Just like Rebekah’s.
“I’m learning my letters,” Kathleen announced. “Aunt Rebekah is teaching me.” She found a capital K. “See, that’s in my name.”
“Yes, it is,” Henry said. “Very good.”
The conflict inside him intensified. His wife’s bond with Grace and Kathleen was strengthening. The ties that bound her to him, however, were weak and thin. He knew he couldn’t force a relationship with her, even if he did truly wish there was more to what they presently had. Henry supposed he’d been naive in thinking a prayer of confession and an apology would be enough to start over. Was complimenting her dress and hair what was needed? Or if he did so, would she think him even more insincere than she already did?
Tired of the atlas, Kathleen asked for another book. “What about a Bible story?” Henry asked. “I’ll read you the one about Esther.”
“Who’s that?”
“Esther was a beautiful young lady whom God used to save her people from a very bad man.”
“She was a ’portant lady?”
“Yes. She was very important. She was a queen.” He squeezed her gently. “Just like you.”
The little girl giggled, then hurried to fetch the Bible.
Following the story, Rebekah returned. She called for Kathleen from the hall. Sliding from Henry’s lap, the little girl hurried for the door. He trailed after her.
Rebekah greeted the child with a warm embrace and a smile. Her enthusiasm faded when she noticed him. Henry forced himself to ignore the chill her frostiness invoked.
“Was your shopping successful?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied with all the cordiality one would give a complete stranger. “I’ve all the fabric I need.”
Rebekah led Kathleen toward the staircase. Not knowing what else to say or do, Henry returned to his study. Frustrated, he blew out his breath.
How do I mend the damage, Lord? His Bible was still lying on the table. He picked it up. He’d spent much time in the Scriptures lately. It was here he had once learned the principles of honest business and public service. It was here he was certain he’d find the secret to a happy marriage. He knew God wished for children to be reared in a loving, Christ-centered home. He’d heard Reverend Perry say such words before. Henry wished now he had paid more attention.
He wasn’t certain exactly where to look, but he thought he remembered seeing instructions among Paul’s writings concerning husbands and wives. Finding what he was looking for, he settled himself into a chair and began to read.
“Husbands love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church and gave himself for it...”
He heaved another sigh. Christ is perfect. I am far from it. He realized that as much as he wanted to, he could not love his wife as he should. He could not undo the damage he had done. But God can...
And so he continued to read.
* * *
The city council was to convene at noon. Henry was just leaving the house the day Rebekah’s friends arrived for the sewing circle. He spoke with them momentarily in the foyer.
“I understand good news is in order,” he said.
Rebekah knew exactly what he meant. She’d seen the one encouraging newspaper story among the rest of the disheartening articles. The prison camps were closing, and the former rebel soldiers were returning to their families. Julia’s brother, Edward, and Trudy and Elizabeth’s brother, George, had been held at Point Lookout as prisoners of war.
“Oh yes!” Julia exclaimed. “Our brothers will soon be returning home! At long last, the war is finally coming to an end!”
“Indeed,” Henry replied with a smile, “we are so pleased for you.” When he looked to Rebekah, his smile faltered.
Her heart squeezed. He will never look at me the way Sam does Julia, nor the way David looks at Elizabeth. Never. “Yes,” Rebekah forced herself to say cheerfully, looking to her friends. “We are very pleased.”
With that, Henry bid the ladies good day and went on his way. Rebekah was grateful he did not linger any longer. The tension between them would soon be obvious to anyone in the room. How was she to explain their circumstances to her friends? They were newly married. They were expected to be happy.
As the front door closed behind him, Rebekah determined to put all thoughts of Henry aside. I will waste no more time thinking about him today. I have other matters to attend. The ladies commandeered the parlor. Rebekah settled Kathleen and Julia’s two-year-old daughter, Rachael, on the settee in the corner of the room. She handed them each a cloth doll that she had fashioned from fabric scraps last evening. When the little ones were content, Rebekah showed her friends the fabric she had purchased for the freedmen.
“This will make good, suitable clothing,” Elizabeth said.
“Indeed,” Julia replied, “but before we begin, there is another matter.”
“Oh,” Rebekah said. “What’s that?”
A round of giggles ensued as brown paper packages emerged from sewing baskets. They were soon thrust in Rebekah’s direction.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she asked, although she had a fairly good idea.
“You didn’t think we would let you get married without a proper start,” Julia said with a laugh.
A proper start... Rebekah swallowed back the lump forming in her throat and tried to smile. “You are too kind.”
“Go on!” Trudy said impatiently. “Open them!”
“Yes,” Sally added. “Don’t keep us waiting!”
Rebekah felt awkward, but what else could she do, given the circumstances? Her friends were insistent. Reluctantly she untied the string on the first package. Beneath the paper was a delicate lace pillow.
“That’s mine,” Sally said.
“How lovely! Did you make this?” Rebekah asked.
Her friend blushed. “I did. I thought it would look nice in your parlor.”
Rebekah was truly touched. All the work that went into this... “It’s beautiful.”
“And now for the next one,” Trudy insisted, handing her another package. She had given Rebekah a copy of The American Frugal Housewife, a book full of cleaning remedies, housekeeping strategies and anything else a woman would need to know about managing her home.
Elizabeth presented her with a large box of candles. Julia gave her a painted silk fan and a flowerpot full of seedlings.
“What’s this?” Rebekah asked, not recognizing the plant.
“Chinese balloon flower,” Julia said proudly. “I thought you would like it. I’m told Martha Washington once grew it in her garden at Mount Vernon.”
Rebekah’s throat tightened even further.
“Do the blooms really look like little hot air balloons?” Trudy asked.
“Indeed they do,” said Julia. “They are floating all over my garden right now.”
Rebekah did her best to keep back her emotions, but all she could think of was the night Henry had told her about his service in the aeronaut corps. How much she had wanted to float through the clouds with him! “You are too kind,” she repeated. “Too kind indeed...”
“There’s one more,” Sally said, handing her a rather large package. “This is from all of us. We finished it only yesterday.”
Rebekah unwrapped the paper to find a beautiful nightdress, its neckline embroidered with, of all things, tiny pink roses. Unable to contain her emotions any longer, she burst into tears.
“Oh,” Trudy gasped, looking almost equally distressed, “don’t you like it?”
“It’s lovely,” Rebekah tried to say through her choking sobs. “It’s just... I don’t deserve it.”
“Oh, of course you do,” said Sally.
“No...really... I don’t...”
Julia and Elizabeth exchanged knowing glances.
“It’s happened, hasn’t it?” Elizabeth said.
Rebekah’s cheeks burned with shame. So it is obvious. Everyone knows my marriage is a lie! She stared down at the gift in her lap, a gift she knew she’d never wear.
“You and Henry have had your first quarrel, haven’t you?”
First quarrel? Her head came up. Is that what they all thought? It went way beyond a simple quarrel, but Rebekah couldn’t bring herself to admit this. All she could do was cry.
From the corner of the room, Kathleen was eyeing her with a look of concern. Rebekah tried for her sake to rein in her emotions, but was unable to stop the tears. Thankfully, Sally took it upon herself to distract the children. She scooted in between Kathleen and Rachael, marveling over how well they had, or at least, had tried, to dress their dolls.
“I suspected there had been a quarrel when we met Henry at the door,” Julia said. “He just didn’t seem himself.”
“Indeed.” Elizabeth smiled sympathetically. “And neither did you. But rest assured, Rebekah. All will be well soon enough. If it makes you feel any better, David and I weren’t married twenty-four hours before we had our first disagreement.”
Julia gave a little laugh. “Samuel and I weren’t even married before we had ours...”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, “we all remember that. Here we were making lace for your gown, and we worried there wasn’t even going to be a wedding.”
“At least Henry doesn’t have to worry about losing Rebekah,” Trudy remarked. “They are already married.”
Yes, Rebekah thought. We are. She knew her friends were trying to console her, and she appreciated that. But if they only knew...
Elizabeth looked again to her. “Would it help to talk of it?” she asked.
Absolutely not, Rebekah thought. She could feel herself reddening further. “I don’t think so...”
The women respected her privacy and after a few moments decided that, given the circumstances, they should go. As they prepared to depart, Rebekah felt a mixture of relief and guilt. Here it was, her first opportunity to host the circle, and her guests were leaving early because she couldn’t conceal her emotions.
If I am going to remain in this arrangement, I must learn better self-control—if not for my sake, then for the sake of Grace and Kathleen. It will not benefit either of them to be surrounded by rumors of their aunt and uncle’s unhappiness. “Perhaps you could return here next week,” Rebekah said, “and we’ll work then on the clothing for the freedmen.”
“That is a lovely idea,” Elizabeth said.
The women each hugged Rebekah before leaving. “Don’t be discouraged,” Julia whispered. “I’m sure whatever has happed between you and Henry will work itself out. Disagreements come to all relationships. It is how they are navigated that determines the future. You love Henry and he loves you...just keep that in mind.”
“I will,” Rebekah said, but only she knew how empty that promise really was.
She walked them to the door. After they had gone, Rebekah stood in the foyer until she felt Kathleen tugging on her skirt. “Why did the ladies bring you presents?” she asked. “Is it your birthday?”
Her eyes were wide with interest, as blue and captivating as those of her uncle. Rebekah did her best to smile. “No. It isn’t my birthday. They brought presents because I have married your uncle Henry.”
“Oh. When I get married, will I get presents?”
“I imagine so.” The thought of Kathleen one day finding herself in a loveless union sent a shiver down Rebekah’s spine. But surely Henry would not allow such a thing, not when he adores this child so... Surely he would want her to be loved as much as I do.
Rebekah lifted her into her arms and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for playing so nicely with Rachael while the ladies visited.”
“She’s little,” Kathleen said, as if the maturity difference between two and four was incalculable.
“Yes, she is, and I appreciate you being so kind to her. You are a good girl.”
Kathleen smiled broadly.
“Would you like to help me put the presents in their proper places?” Rebekah asked. “Then, when your sister wakes from her nap, we can go outside.”
Kathleen nodded and slid from Rebekah’s arms. They placed Sally’s pillow on the parlor settee and Elizabeth’s candles in the cabinet where Hannah kept the others. Kathleen carried the potted balloon flower to the back door, while Rebekah took the remaining gifts to her room.
Rebekah mentioned none of presents to Henry when he returned home that evening. As much as she appreciated her friends’ kindness, it didn’t seem right to take joy in wedding gifts when their marriage was anything but joyous.
* * *
Henry had hoped the time spent with her friends would be good for Rebekah, that he’d return home to find her in a more cheerful mood. However, she was as formal and guarded toward him as ever and seemed even sadder than usual. At dinner it was Kathleen who told him about the wedding gifts.
“There was a pillow, a book, candles, flowers for the garden...”
“Is that so?” Henry glanced at his wife. She was staring at her plate, a flush on her cheeks. Evidently she was embarrassed by her friends’ generosity or perhaps thought he would be. He wasn’t. “That was very kind of your friends to think of us,” he said.
“Yes, it was,” she replied without looking at him. Her attention was on Kathleen. “Finish your supper and we’ll go to the parlor.”
Kathleen nodded eagerly, then looked to Henry. “Aunt Rebekah promised she was gonna to teach me how to sew.”
It warmed his heart to see the way Rebekah was mothering the child and how Kathleen was responding. “Is that a fact?” Henry asked as cheerfully as he could. “I’d like to see that. Would you mind if I joined you?”
Rebekah turned her attention to him with a look of surprise. Kathleen offered the same.
“You’re gonna learn to sew?” his niece asked.
“No,” he said. “I think teaching me would be too much to ask of your Aunt Rebekah.”
Kathleen giggled. “You’d pro’lly stick your fingers.”
“Probably,” Henry agreed.
Rebekah gave no indication whether she wished for his presence or opposed it, but Henry knew there was no hope of building a relationship if they did not spend time together.
The meal now concluded, Sadie brought in Grace.
“She’s all fed and diapered, miss,” the maid said.
“Thank you, Sadie,” Rebekah replied. “I’ll manage her for the rest of the evening.”
“Yes, miss.”
As Rebekah took the girls to the parlor, Henry went to the study to gather his letters and various proposals the city council was considering. Returning then to the front of the house, he claimed the chair next to his wife. Again, she said nothing.
It was a chilly night, especially for early June. A steady rain had settled in over the city, and James had lit a small blaze in the parlor fireplace. As the flames danced and flickered, Henry found himself distracted from council business. It wasn’t the now cozy temperature of the room, nor the soft glow of the hearth. It was the look on Rebekah’s face as she tended to his nieces.
Grace lay in the basket beside her chair, cooing and playing with her toes. Rebekah would reach over every now and again to speak to her or pat her on the belly. Henry couldn’t help but think of how, just a short time ago, the baby had cried incessantly unless held. Grace was becoming secure in her surroundings. Kathleen was, as well. She was seated on Rebekah’s lap, concentrating hard on the fabric and threaded needle in her hands.
“Like this?” she asked.
Rebekah’s voice was full of tender affection and encouragement, rich like coffee, smooth as silk. “Yes, good. Try to keep your stitches in a nice straight line, and make them as small as possible.”
“It’s hard.”
“It is, but it will get easier with practice.”
Henry was captivated. It was more than just appreciation of Rebekah’s patient way with Kathleen, more than the fact that she was willing to help raise the girls despite her and Henry’s flawed marriage. It was as if he was seeing her for the very first time.
Her long, delicate fingers gracefully guided the child’s stitches. Lamplight mingled with firelight, softly caressing her beautiful chocolate-brown hair. Henry suddenly felt the urge to take the pins from it, run his fingers through the thick tresses. “Rebekah, you are very lovely.”
The blurted compliment made Kathleen look up from her stitching and grin, but stunned wasn’t word enough to describe the look on his wife’s face now.
Henry held her gaze. Yes, I mean it. I truly do...
It seemed she didn’t believe him. Distrust darkened her features as she returned her attention to Kathleen. “Yes, love, that’s it. Very good.”
Henry was disheartened by her lack of response, but he supposed he could not blame her for turning away from him. She had obviously taken his words for empty flattery. He tried to recall what he’d read from the Scriptures. How did God win hearts? By being a servant.
While Rebekah continued teaching Kathleen, Henry silently contemplated the meaning of the word. A servant doesn’t demand his way, claim his rights. He does his job, thanklessly, consistently, quietly...
If his father or his fellow council members knew what he was thinking, surely they would laugh in his face. Undoubtedly they’d say he couldn’t manage his own household and therefore was not capable of managing anything else.
But I’m not accountable to them in this case. I’m accountable to God.
So when Grace cried out for want of a dry diaper, Henry laid aside his work. “I’ll see to her,” he promised. He did not pause to gauge Rebekah’s reaction then. He simply claimed the baby and saw to her need.
* * *
Rebekah didn’t know what had surprised her more—Henry’s compliment or his willingness to tend Grace. She had rarely seen a man claim a fussy child before. She’d certainly never seen her father do so. Nor in all her years at home could she remember him sitting quietly in the parlor with her mother. The only room they ever shared was the dining room.
But Henry had passed the evening in her presence as if he wanted to be with her. He had told her she was lovely. Had he actually meant it, or was he simply saying what he wanted Kathleen to hear?
Surely he is trying to give Kathleen what she once had—loving guardians. She would not begrudge a child her uncle’s love, no matter how oddly he might show it. She kissed the top of the little girl’s head. Kathleen looked up at her and smiled.
“I think you are pretty, too,” she said.
Rebekah’s heart swelled. “Thank you, but no one is as pretty as you, love.”
The mantle clock struck the appointed hour. Rebekah laid aside the fabric, much to the child’s dismay. “It is time for you to go to bed now.”
“Do I have to?”
Do I have to? Rebekah knew she must remain firm, but she couldn’t help but take pleasure in Kathleen’s protest. She would never have dared to question her parents’ command. Kathleen, however, felt she could—and truly wanted to spend more time with Rebekah.
“Do as your Aunt Rebekah says,” Henry said from the doorway. His tone, however, was far from forceful. He looked then to Rebekah. “Grace was yawning, so I laid her down.”
He saw to her needs and put her to sleep? “Thank you,” was all she could think to say.
Kathleen reluctantly moved from Rebekah’s lap and went to say good-night to her uncle. Henry surprised her not with a hug but by scooping her into his arms. He tossed her in the air. “The balloon goes up,” he said dramatically, “and...it comes down.”
Kathleen giggled. “Again!”
“Only if you promise me you’ll go straight to bed,” he said.
“I will.”
Henry honored her request. Kathleen again laughed. Rebekah watched the entire episode with a lump in her throat. All her life she had longed for her father’s embrace. Did Henry realize what he was bestowing on these children?
“I’ll see to her, as well,” he said.
Her heart was so full, all she could do was nod. As Henry carried away a still-giggling Kathleen, Rebekah wiped away a tear. She was grateful for Henry’s devotion to the girls, but oh, how she longed for such affection from him, as well.
No! I mustn’t think of such things. I mustn’t pine. Nothing good will come of it.
Determined to bury her emotions, she picked up her own sewing. I’ll use the time I would have spent settling the children to finish another shirt for the freedmen.
Rebekah was fully aware of the hardships the former slaves faced. While her father might not have given her opportunity for reading newspapers or abolitionist pamphlets, Rebekah still had eyes. She had seen many a slave on the streets of Baltimore. She had ears, as well. She’d heard the discussions of abolitionist visitors at the hospital. It was there Julia had loaned her a copy of Frederick Douglass’s book, the narrative of his life as a slave. Rebekah had read it during her meal breaks.
Even now she shuddered as she remembered reading the tales of backbreaking labor, the beatings, the humiliation of being owned by another. She’d blushed at the horrible stories of white masters fathering slave children. Many of those same women then suffered the despair of seeing those children sold away.
Now, as Rebekah sat in her husband’s comfortable parlor, she couldn’t help but feel condemned for indulging in self-pity over her own circumstances. I have nothing of which to complain. I never have. I should be grateful. I have much more than most.
Once more resolved to discount her own pain, she returned to her sewing. A few moments later, Hannah came into the room. In her hands was a cup of tea. “I thought you might be in need of this,” she said, “with the night bein’ so chilly and all.”
“Thank you, Hannah. That is very kind.”
“No, Miss Rebekah, thank you.”
She lowered her needle, blinked. “For what?”
“For the work you are doing to help the freedmen. For the way you love Miss Grace and Miss Kathleen. Mr. Henry was tryin’ his best, but it’s hard to raise children on one’s own. I know.”
Rebekah’s curiosity got the better of her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked, but she couldn’t help herself. “Hannah, did you love Sadie’s father?”
The older woman smiled. The answer was clear. “I did. I loved my Robert with all my heart, and he did me.”
“What happened to him?”
Her smile faded. “He was a slave like me. He was sold away before my belly grew round.”
Rebekah winced. “So he never saw his little girl?”
“No. A few years later, the master sold me and Sadie, as well. That’s how we came to be with Mr. Henry.”
Rebekah blinked, her thoughts suddenly shifting. “Henry told me he never owned any slaves.”
“He didn’t, least I reckon, not for more than five minutes. He freed me and Sadie the moment he claimed our papers. James, too.”
Oh...so he told the truth about that.
“When Mr. Henry learned about my Robert he tried his best to find him. Then came the war and—well, he says now that the fightin’ has ended, Robert might turn up yet. He’s been askin’ of him at the Freedmen’s Bureau, askin’ of him by way of his friends in the government, as well.”
Rebekah swallowed hard, that conflicted feeling rising inside her once more. How many men would spend the time, the money to track down a former slave? No wonder Hannah thinks so highly of Henry.
The woman then turned the conversation in a way Rebekah had not expected. It told her Hannah knew more about her and Henry’s relationship than Rebekah realized.
“You and Mr. Henry will settle in time,” she said. “The good Lord will help you.”
Rebekah didn’t know how to respond to that. From what she had experienced, the Almighty did not concern himself with her. Jesus had died for her sins, yes, and Rebekah had bowed the knee, promised to serve so that she could escape eternal punishment. But even though the Scriptures testified to the existence of a supreme loving Father, Rebekah could not conceive any guardian who did not forcefully subdue and rule those weaker than He.
And yet, something deep down told her otherwise—that the example her father had given her was not the true reality. There was something more. There had to be. Something that made Hannah believe in the return of the man she had once and still loved. Something that made Henry do what he had done tonight.
Was there more to God the Father than punishment and perfection? Rebekah would have liked to believe so. She would have liked to believe that her husband was more than just a vote seeker, a man hungry for power.
But believing something, no matter how sincerely, doesn’t necessarily make it true.