A Convenient Wife (27 page)

His hands traveled the length of her arms to cup her elbows, and he drew her from the wall's support to lean against his chest. She felt the tender caress of long fingers against her nape, the warmth of his breath against her ear and throat as
he bent his head to kiss the soft skin. And she could only nod her head, then shake it quickly, as though her thoughts were muddled.

“Who's upset you?” he asked, his voice hardening, his head lifting, even as his palm cupped her chin, forcing her face into his field of vision. “Is there someone in the kitchen, Ellie?”

She nodded then, and as he dropped his hands from her and turned toward the door, she reached for him. “Wait. Don't go in there yet. Let me catch my breath first.” It would be all right. Win was here, he'd take care of her now.

And I'll stand behind him and let him protect me.
The words shattered her pose, and her shoulders lifted, her fingers wiping at the single tear that had fallen from each eye. She would not cower before Win's mother. For the last time in her life, she'd been put down, allowed someone to use her as a doormat. No more.

“I'm all right now,” she said, only the barest quaver in her voice betraying the fear she could not totally subdue. “Your mother is here, Win. She came in on the afternoon stage, and must have walked over here. Kate's in there with her.”

“What did she say to you?” His words were like river ice, those chunks taken each winter from the river and stored in sawdust in John's warehouse. Amos Carlton paid dearly, she'd heard, for the privilege of having his ice chests filled throughout the summer months, and John had made a tidy sum with his venture.

“Answer me, Ellie. What did my mother do to you?” His lips were thin, almost colorless, and she thought idly she'd never seen him so angry. Except for the morning he'd carried her back to town on the back of a horse and tucked her into his bed.

“She's not very happy with me,” Ellie said carefully. “Kate's keeping her busy while I came to find you.”

His eyes were glittering chips of green, and faint color rode
his cheekbones. “Well, you've found me, sweetheart.” His hand clutched the knob and the door was wrenched open.

“Mother? Why didn't you let us know you were coming to visit?” he asked, the polite words lacking any trace of welcome. He stalked into the kitchen, tossing a nod in Kate's direction and approaching the woman who stood at the table. “I'd have met you at the stage if you'd sent a wire.” He bent and his lips touched the air an inch from her cheek.

“How is Father? I assume Uncle Geoffrey arrived back in Saint Louis safely?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Mathilda said cooly. “I certainly managed to do just that, as far as your wife is concerned.”

Win's sharp gaze cut back to Ellie. “Did mother introduce herself nicely?” he asked.

“Why, yes,” Ellie said. “She said she was Winston's mother, and then was gracious enough to watch Tyler while I cleaned up his mess.”

Kate smothered a snort, turning it into a chuckle, and stood, holding the baby up to her shoulder. “I believe I'll just wrap up this young man and take him home now,” she said, her grin wide as she turned it in Win's direction. “How about tossing his heavy blanket over him for me, Ellie?”

Ellie did as Kate asked, tucking the covering around Tyler so the wind couldn't get to him, then helped Kate ease her arms into her coat. The large garment covered Kate and the baby, too, without any trouble, and Ellie bustled about, gathering up the soiled diapers and Kate's tote bag.

“Here's your belongings. I'll see you later,” she said, opening the door and holding it wide for Kate's exit. “If you and James would like to join us, I'm sure there's enough casserole to go around,” she said hopefully.

Kate offered a blank smile and shook her head. “No, I think you have your hands full, Ellie. I'll just trundle on home and find something for supper.” She peered back over Ellie's shoulder. “It was pleasant meeting you, Mrs. Gray. I'm sure
I'll be seeing you again.” And then she was gone, bent over the baby, heading into the wind as she crossed the yard.

“I think you and I have some things to discuss, Mother,” Win said as Ellie closed the door. “Why don't you come down to my office while Ellie gets supper on the table.”

“Win?” Ellie held her head high and met his gaze without faltering. “Your mother has had a long trip, and I'm sure your talk can wait until after she's had a chance to eat and freshen up.”

His hesitation was minute, and he obliged her with a short nod. “All right. I'll take her upstairs to the room you had when you first moved in here.”

“Take the teakettle with you,” Ellie said. “There's plenty of warm water to fill the pitcher, and soap and towels on the washstand.” She looked at Mathilda, aware of the faint signs of travel, the shadows beneath her eyes. She'd missed them at first, caught up in the disdain that glittering gaze had shot in her direction. Now she read rightly the weariness the older woman struggled with.

True, the shoulders were straight, the back rigid, but a sigh escaped from those prim lips as Win extended a hand to usher her from the kitchen. “Win?” Ellie called his name, and he halted as his mother crossed the threshold into the hall, turning his head to answer Ellie's summons. His eyes were grim, his jaw firmly set.

It would not do that Win's first encounter with his mother, after all this time apart, should be filled with conflict. “I'm sure your mother is weary, Win. Save the talk for later.” She held his gaze and his mouth worked, as though he bit back words, and then he nodded abruptly and the door closed behind him.

She envisioned them climbing the stairs, Win carrying the valise, his mother's footsteps firm and square upon each step. The faint sound of movement above told her they were in the hallway, and she waited, catching the barest murmur of
voices through the ceiling vent that allowed heat to permeate the upper floor of the house.

A similar vent allowed warm air to rise from the hallway at the front of the house. Ellie recalled nights when she'd heard Win's movements as she nestled in the bedroom, where even now his mother was looking at the simple provisions the room afforded.

She turned to the stove, lifting the coffeepot to sniff the strong brew. Win would no doubt want the most potent drink available when he came back to her, but this was beyond redemption.

Opening the back door, she tossed the dregs into the yard and shivered in the cold wind. “Ellie?” He was behind her, drawing her back into the warm kitchen, closing the door behind her, and taking the pot from her hands. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him, and her heart sank as she recognized the face of sorrow. “She can't hurt me, Win.” Her words were barely a whisper, knowing how audible their voices were on the second floor. “I need you to back off and let me work this out. She's your mother, and you don't want her to leave here with bad feelings between the two of you.”

“I won't let her be cruel to you.” It seemed he'd taken a stand, and Ellie nodded.

“I won't, either. But she's disappointed in your choice of a wife, and it won't make it any better if you argue with her over it. Either she'll grow to accept me, or she won't. Nothing you say is going to make a difference.”

A suggestion of hurt firmed his mouth and he backed away a step. “All right. Have it your way, Ellie. Again, I won't interfere. Unless she is downright rude to you, I'll stay out of it.” He turned to the sink and rinsed the wash basin, then pumped the water to refill it. “I'll help you with supper as soon as I wash my hands.”

Ellie moved the casserole dish to the stove, and opened the
oven door. The fire was still hot enough to bake bread, she decided, so surely it wouldn't take more than ten minutes to reheat the meal Ethel had sent. She slid it onto the rack and closed the door, then sought out the assortment of crocks and bowls in the pantry.

By the time supper was finished, Ellie had been regaled with stories of balls and galas in Saint Louis. She'd heard more than she ever wanted to know about the ins and outs of society's most prestigious families, who had married whom over the past two years, and what had happened to each and every person Win had ever known. Especially the young women, the socially correct, beautiful creatures who inhabited the world Winston Gray had once dwelt in.

“…and the wedding was fabulous, with eight bridesmaids. Do you remember Dorothy Hastings? Of course you do. What was I thinking? Why, you were her escort at the Christmas gala the year you graduated from college.”

Ellie rose from the table, gathering her silverware and plate, then halted beside Win, to lift his from before him. He glanced up at her.

“I'll help you, Ellie. Why don't you sit down, and I'll clean up.”

She placed a detaining hand on his shoulder. “I don't mind, really. I need to move around anyway. I was tired of sitting so long.”

Mathilda's eyes surveyed Ellie's length. “I'm sure you can't be interested in such happenings anyway,” she said cooly. “I fear the life Winston left behind is beyond your understanding.”

“I think you're probably right,” Ellie agreed. “Around Whitehorn, the biggest social event of the year is usually a barn raising or a square dance at the Grange hall. I remember when the schoolhouse was built a couple of years ago, before Kate arrived in town. And then the townsfolk all got together
to put up a house for them when James married her. Most everybody turned out for that.”

“I didn't know about that, Ellie,” Win said, rising to take the dishes from her hands. “It must have been before I got here. You mean the house next door?”

“That's the one,” she said. “It was the only vacant lot on the street. Used to belong to the man who owns the lumberyard. Of course, Kate and James have worked hard to make it look like it's been there forever. Kate planted…” Her voice trailed off as she glanced at Mathilda. A look of utter boredom drew down the woman's narrow lips, and Ellie deliberately clutched at the plates that Win held.

“Give me those back,” she muttered. “You sit down and let me take care of this.” She'd done all the palavering she was going to for one night. Bad enough she'd gone and made such a disaster of a first impression on the woman. Now she was boring her to death. “Where's my teakettle?” she asked Win, glancing at the stove. “I can't make tea without it.”

“I must have left it upstairs,” he said. “Use a saucepan for now.” His glance in her direction held a frustrated frown, and she hesitated, unwilling to make him uncomfortable.

“All right. Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked, turning to Win's mother.

“I don't suppose you have any sort of imported English blend, do you?”

“I believe it's imported from Saint Louis, as a matter of fact,” Ellie said carefully, stifling a giggle as she reached for the flowered teapot she kept on the buffet. She ought to use the small packet of herbs Ruth had brought, she thought with a glimmer of amusement. That would guarantee the woman a good night's sleep at least.

 

“I don't like the idea of leaving you here alone,” Win said, drawing his trousers on with haste as Ellie watched. Swathed
in a quilt, she sat in the middle of the bed, sleepy-eyed and yawning.

“I'm not alone,” she pointed out dryly. “I have your mother for company.” And then at his frustrated look, she relented. “I'll be fine, honestly. And I'm sure you don't need to be worrying about me in the next few hours. You'll have enough to do.”

“It sounds like a nasty situation,” he agreed, sitting to pull on his boots. “Matt Darby said the Kirkpatrick family lost just about everything they owned in the fire. Must have had a blocked chimney or something. Anyway, the two youngest children are burned, and Matt said the mother is in bad shape, too.”

“I'll get your bag for you,” Ellie offered, easing to the edge of the bed, her toes searching out the warmth of her slippers.

“Stay there,” Win told her. “Matt's out in the hallway, waiting for me to get dressed. I can grab my bag on my way past the office.”

“How about something to eat?” Suddenly, Ellie felt a chill sweep through her at the thought of Win being so far away in the middle of the night. “Can I make you something to take along?”

He shook his head. “No, you stay in bed and cover up. I'll put a couple of chunks of wood in the stove and check the fire in the parlor stove, too. Just leave the door open so the heat will come in.”

“All right.” She tucked her feet beneath the quilt and scooted to the headboard. “Be careful, you hear?”

“I hear,” he told her, leaning over the bed to kiss her lightly. And then he bent again and pressed a longer, firmer kiss against her mouth, his hand at her nape to hold her in place for his caress. “Take it easy when you get up, Ellie. No cleaning house or washing clothes, you understand? Just sit in the
rocking chair and work on those little flannel things you've been sewing.”

She smiled up at him, watching as he bent to blow out the candle beside the bed. And then he was gone, his words to the man waiting in the hall barely audible, the sound of Matt Darby's deep voice holding a note of desperation. She heard the sound of the stove door in the parlor clang shut, and in moments the outside door closed, and Ellie snuggled in the depths of the quilt. The sun wouldn't be up for hours, and daybreak would only bring another session with the woman upstairs.

Her brave words to Win rang hollow in her ears as she recalled the sheer bravery of her statement.
She can't hurt me, Win. Let me work this out.
“She's already hurt me,” Ellie admitted in a whisper, and then her shoulders stiffened. “But better me than Win.”

B
reakfast was a disaster. It seemed that coddled eggs were Mathilda's usual repast and Ellie had never heard of them. “I can do scrambled or fried, or boil 'em in the shell,” she offered, willing to oblige. “We have bacon hanging in the pantry, or sausage fresh from the butchering out at the Henderson place. Win took care of their children when they had whooping cough a while back and they brought us half a side of pork.”

“In payment for Win's services?” Mathilda asked. “Don't the people here pay in cash?” She looked toward the pantry, as if the meat in question might be hidden behind the curtain.

“Sometimes,” Ellie said simply. “Other times, they pay him in produce or jars of canned fruit or vegetables, or sometimes meat. Once in a while, he comes home with eggs and butter, if his patients don't have any money on hand. At least we can eat well.”

Mathilda seemed to find no trace of humor in Ellie's remarks. She folded her hands on the table in front of her and sighed. “And if they don't pay, I suspect he doesn't dun them for it, does he?”

Ellie hesitated, unwilling to admit her ignorance. “Doesn't
dun
them?” she asked.

“Send them bills. Ask for payment.” Mathilda sighed heavily as if to emphasize Ellie's lack of knowledge. “It's the usual procedure.”

“Not here, it isn't, ma'am,” Ellie retorted readily. “Folks do the best they can, and when times are good, they pay in cash. Other times they make do.”

“He wouldn't have this problem in the city,” Mathilda said, watching suspiciously as Ellie took four eggs from the heaping bowl on the buffet. “What are you going to do with the eggs?”

“You said you wanted them coddled,” Ellie said patiently. “If you'll tell me how to cook them that way, I'll do it.” Placing them on the stove, she went to the pantry and took down the slab of bacon, wiping it with a clean cloth. Her sharpest knife made short work of the slicing, and she placed eight thick pieces in her large skillet. “Do you want bread plain or toasted in the oven?” she asked Mathilda, unwrapping the last loaf from baking day.

“Toasted will be fine. And fix the eggs however you wish.” Like a queen overseeing her subject, she sat at the table and watched as Ellie prepared the meal.

“You're not used to pitchin' in, are you?” Bringing a plate with two fried eggs, half the bacon and a thick slice of toast to place before her guest, Ellie blurted out her thoughts.

“Pitchin' in?”
Mathilda looked up from her plate. “Did you expect me to help?”

“Didn't you ever have to do for yourself?” Ellie asked quietly. “Or did you always have someone else to cater to you?” Not waiting for a reply, she settled herself on the other side of the table and folded her hands. “Win always asks the blessing. Do you want to do it instead, since he's not here?”

“I believe it's the place of the man of the house to say grace,” Mathilda said.

“Well, we don't have a man in the house this morning, so it'll have to be one of us, I guess.” Ellie waited a moment, and then bowed her head. Win always mentioned the hands that prepared the meal, but Ellie felt foolish asking God Almighty to bless her own hands, so she left out that part. The rest was easily said and she lifted her fork to pierce the yolk of her egg, watching as the thick, golden river ran toward her bacon. A bit of her bread sopped it up and she lifted it to her mouth, aware of Mathilda's eyes on her.

“Your manners are atrocious,” the woman said simply. “I should have expected as much.”

Ellie placed her fork on the table with a thump. “And just what does that mean?”

“I can't understand for the life of me why Winston married you in such a hurry.” She waved a hand as Ellie opened her mouth to speak. “You were carrying a child, and Win seemed to feel his decision to give the family name to a child of unknown heritage was allowable. But I cannot condone such a thing.”

Her gaze raked Ellie as she lifted her cup and sipped from its contents, and then she cleared her throat. “I understand you're a passable cook, and your house seems reasonably clean, but you obviously—”

“Hold on,” Ellie said firmly. “Winston married me because of some of that. I'm a good cook, and I keep his house clean and his laundry done up. And my manners are just fine. Win has never complained about the way I eat.”

Mathilda interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Perhaps he should. I think you took advantage of him. It was convenient for you to marry him, wasn't it? He provided a name for your child, and a place for you to live. And wasn't it handy that he turned out to be decent looking and the possessor of a tidy bank account.”

“Convenient? I never thought of it quite like that, but I suppose that door swings both ways. I'm a convenient wife, I
guess. I just happened to show up at the right time, when he needed somebody to hang around and serve his meals when he gets home and look after his office and wash up behind him.”

She rose and bent over the table, aware that her face was flushed and her good manners were totally absent. “I don't give a good gol durn about his money. I've never asked him for a thing.”

“I noticed you're wearing his ring,” Mathilda said smartly. “And whether you know it or not, it's worth a tidy sum.”

“Wives usually wear rings. And I'm his wife.”

Ellie sat down with a thump, aggravated with herself at allowing the woman to rile her so. A noise at the door caught her attention and, as she watched, Ethel stuck her head in. “Just wanted to tell you that I'll be gone all day, Ellie. Mary Ellen Gladwin is having her baby, and they've asked me to come, since Doc is busy, out taking care of the Kirkpatrick family.”

“Thanks for coming by, Ethel. And I'm much obliged for the casserole. We enjoyed it last night.”

Ethel waved away her thanks and cast an inquiring eye at Mathilda. “You're Doc's mama, I understand. Did your trunk get brought by this morning? I heard that Mr. Waverly offered to drop it off. Tess told him it would do him good to get out of the emporium and let the stink blow off for a while.”

“Yes, it came earlier,” Ellie said. And with another wave, Ethel was gone. No hope of a respite for her today, Ellie thought gloomily. Kate was at the schoolhouse, Tess was at the store, and Win was on a house call, probably not coming home for hours, if the burn victims were as bad as he'd expected them to be. It promised to be a long day.

 

By noon, Ellie was facing the fact that snow might be a factor in Win's return from the his trip outside of town. Beginning before breakfast dishes were done, the flakes had
grown to monstrous size, and the yard was covered with six inches of fresh snow, on top of four or five that had fallen in the past two days.

She rubbed at her back, aware of a nagging ache, and wished for a moment for Win's strong hand to press firmly against the spot. No sense in that, she reminded herself, punching down the bread dough, then covering the pan and setting it to rise again. He wouldn't be home for hours probably.

Contrary to Win's orders, she'd already baked coffee cakes and two pies and now was almost ready to put a pork roast in the oven for supper. There would still be room for two loaves of bread, she decided, slicing onions and readying the meat for cooking.

Mathilda had busied herself going through Win's office, looking at his books there and checking out his instruments. Then she moved on to the parlor, rearranging the shelves against the inside wall, where he kept the majority of his reading matter. Ellie heard her moving around, and several times, she made her way to that part of the house, asking if there was anything Mathilda needed.

The last foray had borne fruit, and Mathilda had allowed as she might like a cup of tea and a piece of coffee cake. For the first time today, Ellie thought she might have done something right, and her smile was genuine when she placed several slices on the plate and carried it to the parlor, where she placed it on the low table in front of the sofa. The butter was fresh from Tess's store only a couple of days since, and bore the distinct pattern of a daisy on its surface. Like a brand on cattle, that small bit of decoration let Tess's customers know who had churned this batch of butter.

Ellie leaned back, then sat up straight, finally propping a cushion at the small of her back. Nothing seemed to help, and the frequent pain was making her edgy.

“Do you always wriggle around so much?” Mathilda asked
sharply, eyeing Ellie nervously. “You're not going to have your child this afternoon, are you?”

“Of course not. Win thinks I've another week, or maybe two, before that happens.” Again the pain seized her, across the small of her back and finally edging toward the front on either side, to where the spasms met beneath her belly. “Besides, aren't labor pains supposed to be in the front?”

“I really couldn't say,” Mathilda said. “Mine were, but then I've a notion if it can be done in a way that will cause disruption, you'll manage to discover it.”

“You really aren't willing to give me a chance at all, are you?” Ellie asked, aware of the pain that shimmered in her words. “I thought I might be able to prove to you that Win didn't make a mistake when he married me, but you won't let me.”

“I think you probably are doing the best you can, Eleanor. But we both know that Winston deserves better. A better home, a larger realm in which to display his talents, and certainly, a wife who will be a credit to him. If I had my way, he'd return to Saint Louis and set up a practice there, since he seems determined to remain in the career he's chosen.”

“Well,” Ellie said with a sigh. “I guess that put me in my place, didn't it?” She rose and lifted the tray, uncaring that Win's mother still held a cup in her hand, and had not finished her coffee cake. “I'll just find something to do in the kitchen,” she said, walking from the parlor into the hall.

Halfway to the kitchen, she felt another aching, tugging pain take hold, and with it came a rush of fluid from between her legs.
“Win?”
She whispered his name, knowing it was futile. He was miles away, perhaps snowed in with patients who desperately needed him. And she was alone. Or might as well be. With only Mathilda to help, Ellie wasn't the least bit certain she could cope with what was to come.

 

Win's stack of wrapped newspapers waited in the depths of the wardrobe, and Ellie bent to pick up several. Covered
with old sheets, they fit across the middle of the bed, and she placed two of them there, on top of the clean sheet she'd put in place. Of all the things Win had told her, the word
clean
rang a bell in her memory. Her wet wrapper lay in the clothes basket in the corner and she was garbed in her oldest nightgown, sitting with a towel between her legs to catch the residue of moisture that continued to flow.

“You're dressed for bed?” Mathilda stood in the bedroom doorway and her gaze was sharp. “Is there something wrong?”

“I think I'm beginning my labor,” Ellie answered, aware of another pain wrapping her in its embrace. She closed her eyes and felt the steady rhythm of it, clenching the bottom half of her body in an ever increasing momentum. And then it eased away, one small increment at a time, until she was limp, gasping a bit as she caught her breath. “I'd say I am definitely going to have this baby.” The words were spoken for Mathilda's benefit, and Ellie looked up to see their effect.

“Who shall I call to come?” Her brows were lifted, her mouth pursed as she eyed Ellie with an expression of horror. “How can we reach Winston?”

“We can't.” Might as well tell her flat out, Ellie decided. “Ethel has gone to deliver a baby outside of town, and Kate is probably still at school. For now I think it's just you and me.”

“I've never delivered a child,” Mathilda said pointedly.

“Neither have I,” Ellie said agreeably. “However, I don't have a choice.” And then she was caught up in another series of contractions, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the slow, steady breathing she'd watched Kate put into practice.

She walked. From bedroom to hallway to parlor, then back, she paced the floor. From front door to back, down the hallway, through the kitchen, she walked, ever listening should the sound of Win's voice pierce the stillness. As one pain after another came on, she paused, leaning against the wall, or the
newel post on the staircase, or the kitchen table. Wherever she happened to be, she waited it out, and prayed for Win to arrive.

The force of her misery was centered in her back, and she recognized that it was different from Kate's labor. Knew that something was not as it should be.

There was no sun in the sky, only gray, hanging snow clouds, that alternately dumped heavy, thick drifts on the ground, or hovered low, bringing on early darkness. James came to the kitchen door during one of her treks to that room, Kate having sent him to check on her. He returned moments later to announce that she'd brought Tyler home early and he was running a fever.

“I'd watch him for her, but I've got a situation going on that I have to tend to,” he said apologetically. “Will you be able to hold out until Win gets here?”

Ellie grimaced. “I really couldn't say, James. This is all new to me. I just know I'm about ready to climb in my bed and let this thing happen.”

She'd done just that when she heard a commotion in the hallway. Mathilda's shrill tones spoke of anger and perhaps a smattering of fear, Ellie decided, but she was too caught up in misery to crawl from the bed and find out. The door opened with a bang and Mathilda's form shielded Ellie from whoever was attempting to enter.

“You can't come in here, you savage,” she said harshly. “You have no place in this house.”

“Ellie?” Ruth's soft tones caught her attention, and Ellie lifted her head from the pillow. “Tell your mother-in-law to let me in.”