Chapter 16

Palmyra: November 1829

“Jack is gone.”

I had never seen Georgie look so pale in her life. I pulled her into the house and made her sit down.

“Mother came to the school this morning. It was terrible, Esther. I couldn’t get her to stop crying.”

“What happened?”

“He didn’t come home last night. His bed hasn’t been slept in.”

“That’s unusual for Jack, isn’t it?” Georgeanna’s youngest brother is one of my favorites. High-spirited and fun-loving to a fault, nevertheless he has a good head on his shoulders, and there is no guile, no meanness in him. “How old is Jack now?”

“Fifteen. Esther—no one saw him yesterday; I mean, he wasn’t in any of the places he should have been. That is just not like him.”

“No . . .” My head was whirling, trying to hit upon some clue, some slender thread of light to lead us out of the darkness.

We worried at the matter for nearly half an hour, until we were startled by the throaty chime of the town clock and Georgie jumped up. “Lunch is over. I must get back to school now.”

“I will come by later,” I promised. “Send someone if you need me.”

After she was gone the house seemed so quiet, and her misery hung in the atmosphere like a bad odor. “I’ll go visit Tillie and the baby for a few minutes,” I determined, “and be back in time to finish my ironing and get dinner started before Eugene gets home.”

When I arrived at Theodora’s, the girl her father had engaged to help her answered the door and leaned forward on her toes to whisper, “The mistress is lying down with a headache, and I should hate to disturb her.”

I hesitated. Tillie, I knew, was with child again, and I disliked the thought of disturbing her, too. As I tried to make up my mind, I felt, rather than heard, a presence behind me and detected the strong scent of a man’s cologne as a figure brushed past me.

“Where is your mistress?” The speaker’s tone was harsh as well as imperative.

“She is resting in her room, sir.”

Gerard Whittier had failed to even notice me, or at least to acknowledge my presence there on his doorstep. Ruth’s cheeks colored and she threw me a helpless glance. “Is it necessary to disturb her at this moment, sir?”

“It is necessary to disturb her, Ruth. Go bid her come to me, and be quick about it.”

I slipped in behind him and shut the door quietly. Perhaps I would be of assistance . . . if it were not too private a matter.

I heard loud cries from the direction of the nursery; the fretful, somewhat annoying sounds young children make when their comforts and desires have been ignored. I took a few steps down the hallway. Ruth came out of Tillie’s room and paused, uncertain how best to proceed.

“Let me take care of Laurie,” I suggested. “Tell Tillie I am here and will bring the child in to her after I have settled him.”

Ruth nodded gratefully and ducked back into Tillie’s room, while I entered the nursery and picked up the little one, whose sobs stopped as soon as I held him and he heard the sound of my voice.

“You can feel the ugly vibrations when Papa talks that way, as well as any adult can,” I crooned. “Shame on him for behaving so.” I hummed as I took off his wet nappie and dressed him in dry clothes. By the time we reached the sitting room the conversation there was well under way.

“You cannot fault me! I held my peace all morning—just to be certain I waited until the lunch hour had passed. I am trying to be fair, Theodora—”

“It is not like Peter to—simply disappear,” Tillie faltered.

My heart gave a painful jump. I entered the room uninvited, feeling the tension like the heavy folds of a curtain I had to push my way through. “Pardon me,” I began pleasantly, as though detecting none of the confusion and vexation at my presumption. “Perhaps I can shed some light on the subject.”

I repeated what Georgie had told me earlier. “Well, that settles the question, doesn’t it?” Gerard rubbed his long, dry hands together in satisfaction. “The two boys have gone off on a lark together.” He chuckled under his breath, but the sound was not a pleasant one. “I hope what adventures they have are well worth it—for they shall certainly answer for their insolence when we get them back home.”

Tillie’s face was white already. I saw her tighten her lips against speaking the hasty word. I labored under no such restrictions!

“Peter is not your son, sir. Nor are you, in point of fact, his employer. It is not for you to revel in the contemplation of what ill fate will befall the boy.”

“Ill fate!” Gerard’s distaste for me, for my presence in his home, was as evident as if he had just been forced to swallow a pint of vinegar. I had to work to keep myself from smiling at his discomfort. “Discipline, just discipline to quell a boy’s pranks, Mrs. Thorn. Surely you can understand that.”

“Not as you understand it or would administer it; no, sir. With your harshness you would quell his spirit, not his naughtiness, and there is more harm in that than good. Besides”—I drew myself up a little as I dandled his son on my knee—“I do not agree with your judgment of the matter, not in the least, sir.”

“Oh?” A slash of black eyebrow was raised against me. “Pray tell, then, what do you think?”

“I believe these boys, both good boys with sterling reputations, have—” How could I say this? I had little more than a vague feeling to go by. “Have gone off on some business of their own, that they consider important.”

“Secret business of their own?” Gerard’s disdain dripped like syrup. He held his hands out, palms up, mockingly conceding the point to me. “I must get back to the bank, dear.”

He rose. He was chuckling softly under his breath; a dry sound, like the scratchings of birds beneath autumn bushes. He planted a kiss on Tillie’s head and walked out of the room. I did not warrant a farewell; I did not warrant his common courtesy. But, what of his son? He had paid him not the least attention, not for one moment had he even glanced at him since we had entered. He passed by our chair in leaving, so that his leg brushed the child’s leg, and Laurie held his arms up. But his father took no notice. Anger, which usually sustains me, did not come to my defense now. I felt only sadness, which swept over me like a great weariness.

When Tillie heard the front door shut she turned to me. “You are right,” she said. “I can feel that you are right. And we must have faith in them.”

How nicely put. “How true. We must have faith in them, sweetness. They will prove worthy of it, I am sure.”

Her gaze met mine. There was resolve in her look, a strength I was not accustomed to seeing there. She is growing, I thought. She will be more for that man to reckon with than he believes.

“Come,” she said, rising and putting her arms out to her baby. “Ruth has brewed some gingerroot tea for me. Come and visit for just a few minutes before you have to go back home.”

I followed her gladly. Our determination had lifted the burden that had pressed on my heart. Oh, the sweetness of such felicitous comrades, I thought happily, realizing at that moment how blessed my life was.

“If the both of you together have come to such a conclusion, I shall abide by it.” Georgie’s black eyes had a luster, like glossy-skinned chestnuts when the sun polishes and enhances their sheen. “It is difficult, though, is it not, to wait and wonder, and hope no harm will befall them?”

“It is indeed.”

“The lot of women—fools that we are, to bear children, and wrap the tendrils of our hearts around them, so that any harm that comes to them tears at our beings as well.”

I looked at her closely. “Are you trying to tell me something, Georgie?”

She flushed back. “Perhaps.”

“Oh, Georgie—”

“I am not certain yet—”

“You will make the best of mothers,” I cried.

“I hope your confidence is contagious when the time comes,” she replied. “James has been asking my father what he must do to earn his place as a partner in the dry goods store.”

I put my hand to my mouth. “He is that determined?”

“That is what opposition will do. Mr. Hathaway has forbidden him to call upon Lena—chased him out with a pitchfork last Saturday.”

I could not help smiling at the image.

“ ‘You don’t come mooning round here until you have something to offer my daughter’—that’s what he said. And I don’t believe James will cross him.”

“Wise decision. They’re just children, Georgie.” We sighed together, and she went on her way.

I could not get to sleep that night, because a noisy wind was whining in the chimney and causing the beams of the house to creak and rumble. Everywhere there were muffled night noises speaking of darkness and loneliness, and a cold that would chill to the bone.

Let them be safe! I prayed, closing my eyes and snuggling closer to Eugene. Whatever could they be up to? I had no idea. But the lonely wind vexed me in fitful swells and whispers, and would not be still.

I meant only to check in on Latisha, for her baby was due any time. Goodness, but her figure was trim still for a woman about to deliver! And she was not discouraged, as I believe I would have been.

It was not until Jonah walked in from work that a sudden light flooded over me. “What have you heard of the boys?” I asked. He hedged, effecting a bland expression. “What?” I demanded.

“Miss Esther, ’tis none of my business.”

“Yes, it is!” I guessed. “Where have they gone?”

He scratched at his chin whiskers and shifted his weight from foot to foot uneasily.

“Latisha . . .” I appealed. But I could see she knew none of this.

“They came down to the boats yesterday morning early. Asked my advice.”

My insides were churning. “Concerning . . .”

“Someone had to decide it—matter o’ fact, I nearly sent for you. But I b’lieve you’d have encouraged them, too.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“Seems Randolph sent a letter to his brother via Jack. He’s holed up in a jail in Schenectady.” He glanced uneasily at his wife. “ ’Tisha . . .”

“I’m all right.”

“He asked the boys to get the money together to bail him out.”

“The nerve of him!” Latisha shook her head in alarm and displeasure. I shared, at least in part, her sentiments.

“You should have come to me, you know.” The nervous shuffling again. “Did you three confide in no one? How did you come up with the money?”

“Peter had a little savings put aside, and so did I. He sold his pony for the rest of it.”

I felt my temperature rising. “Your money is needed for the baby,” I complained. “I shall make sure it is returned to you. Is the pony Peter’s possession outright? What will his father say?”

Jonah shrugged. “Can’t answer either of those questions, Miss Esther. But I thought it the right thing to do.”

“Of course. How long will it take—when do you expect them to be returning?”

“No more than a couple more days if things go well. Less than a week anyways.”

“And if they bring Randolph back—what then?”

“I suspect he’s havin’ trouble with that arm, the way you and I expected. I suspect he’s run himself into the ground some.”

“I’ll have to think upon it. I shall come up with something, I promise.”

I brought out the sweater and matching booties I had knit for the baby and turned the conversation to happier things, kissing them both good-bye as I left. “Keep in touch, for mercy’s sake,” I admonished Jonah, “if you hear anything at all!”

I went directly to Tillie and told her everything; I knew she could keep the secret. She dug into her pocketbook at once and pulled out some bills.

“I shall send this money to Mr. Sinclair by way of Ruth; she can be trusted.”

“Have you enough?”

“And to spare.” She set her jaw in a determined expression, which was not unbecoming. “That is one area in which Gerard dares not oppose me. He knows who butters his bread, and that my father would not want me treated stingily—” She grimaced a little. “Even if Father’s motives be foremost those of pride.”

I went next to Georgie. Her relief was evident. “I have something for you in return for your troubles,” she said with an impish grin. And she proceeded to lift from a basket behind a chair—I should have guessed it!—a kitten, a kitten as white as new-driven snow, as fluffy as dandelions at seed time.

“My old cat is still home with Mother, you know.”

“But kittens so late,” I marveled.

“Iris believes her ordained task in life is to produce a litter every six months, no matter the time or season!” When she saw me hesitate she dropped the treasure in my lap. “Come, Esther, your house is not really a home, and you’ll admit it, until you have a cat on the hearth.”

I cannot resist the winsome creatures, and she knows it! Of course, in the end I gave in. “Dandelion,” I said, “be it male or female, that is what I shall call it.”

“No, that is a name for yellow cats and tabbies.”

“Dandelion,” I persisted. “It shall mean to me the frothy white softness of the seeds we blew and scattered and wished on as girls.”

“Very well,” Georgie agreed.

“Have you an extra you could take over to Phoebe?” I asked, as I was leaving.

“Yes. I did not think of that.”

“Can I come along when you do?”

“Let us do it right now. Plop Dandelion back in the basket, and we shall let Phoebe choose her own from the three remaining.”

Creatures sensed Georgie’s calm and behaved themselves admirably for her. The kittens curled into balls and rode in the basket that rocked on her arm, causing no disturbance at all. We found Phoebe in the kitchen, her bread turned out warm on the board, a stew bubbling on the back of the black stove. She was sitting beside the fire with Emily’s child on her lap. It was a sweet picture, and I sensed true contentment behind it.

She was delighted at the idea of the kitten, and let the baby’s hands touch and feel before she made her selection, placing the tiny creature against the infant’s soft cheek. Little Esther was nearly ten months old now and made the loveliest noises. Phoebe placed her on the floor with the kitten, and she scooted about, chasing and calling out to the frolicsome bundle of fur.

“I could not love her more if she were my own.” Phoebe’s wonder was in her voice, lending it an almost musical quality. “I did not expect this—a love so fierce and tender.”

“I am glad of it,” I said, kissing her.

“You certainly keep a spotless house,” Georgie observed, looking around.

I wanted to ask about Simon, but did not dare. Phoebe, reading my mind, as she does, gave me one of her gentle smiles. “Things with Simon are improving. In some ways it is slow going with him. At first—at first I believe he was afraid to love me, afraid to even touch me, as if his love would hurt me, as he felt it had somehow hurt her.”

How complicated human beings are! I thought, with a touch of dismay. I rose and kissed both Esther and her mother good-bye. Walking back I asked Georgie, “What will you do with the last two kittens?”

“Keep them, of course.”

“It will get out of hand,” I warned her, “and you’ll have more cats than you have dishes in which to feed them! What will Nathan say?”

“He likes them, thank goodness. In fact, that is one of the conditions I set down when he asked me to marry him.” It is so wonderful to laugh with Georgie when she is in one of her moods!

When I took my own white kitten home Eugene was waiting. “That is where you’ve been!” he said. But he took the delicate thing into his arms, and found a small box and old blankets we could use to make a bed for him.

“Dandelion is better than Fluffy or Snowball,” he decided, when I told him the name. “Cats are women’s substitutes for children. You know that, don’t you?”

I was taken aback by his unexpected comment. “I never thought of it that way before.”

“Babies are the answer,” he said, with a wink.

“But they are ever so much more trouble,” I bantered back, tying my apron and getting out matches to light the stove. “You can’t stick them in a basket and forget them, or push them out to play when they get underfoot.”

“I suppose you are right.” He came up beside me, parted my hair with his fingers, and kissed the back of my neck. “Babies are still to be preferred,” he said. And I wondered where in the world that came from, and what was going on in his mind.