Breakwater Beach (18 page)

He jumped out of the way. The projectile smashed into the wall and fell to the floor with a thud.

The ivory combs he’d brought her scattered across the room as she swept them off the vanity. “Take this, sell it! I stole it for you! For us!” She ripped jewelry out of a box and flung it across the room. Gold rings and gemstone necklaces rained down. Earrings skittered across the floor.

Edward ran over and gathered her into his arms to hold her still. “I’ll have no more of this! If you want to travel, I’ll dispatch you on a steamship, and you can meet me in a port somewhere. I must fulfill my contract, amass enough money to pay off the mortgage, and provide some savings. Then, I’ll have Mr. Sanders teach me to be a gentleman farmer, and you’ll be pregnant and sick of me being around. I promised you in a year, or two. Seven months have already elapsed!”

She squirmed out of his grasp. “Why can’t you hear what I’m saying, Edward? It’s you I want. I can bear anything, if you’re with me.” Her eyes glistened with tears; her voice trembled.

“What more do you want from me, woman? I’ve spent the last four years of my life working to give you all this. Is that not worth anything to you?” He’d fallen in love with her fierce independence, but she’d also inherited her father’s far less endearing sense of entitlement.

Edward stormed past Sara cowering in the hall. The back door slammed against the shingles as he exited; the ringing in his ears took forever to cease.

He paced the length of the porch and back—several times—until his heart stopped pounding and his gut untwisted. She’d given up a life of wealth and privilege and sacrificed her title, status, and inheritance. It was foolish to have assumed material things would satisfy her. He’d tried his best, but maybe he should have just walked away the first day they met instead of luring her away to the indignities she was now enduring.

He paused on the back porch, in the same place they’d lunched so pleasantly upon her arrival. Katherine mucked out a stall, and then carried buckets from the trough. Water sloshed over her feet, saturating them. Sara hung laundry over the bushes to dry in the weak sunshine. Jared Sanders came across the brown grass carrying two dead chickens by their necks, still dripping blood. Sara took a bag of produce he had tucked under his arm, and they went inside. Katherine and Sara had adjusted because they had found companions. Elisabeth had no one except Bethea, who’d dragged her into an awful misery.

If he gave up the commission, they would be bankrupt. Elisabeth had underestimated the sacrifices she’d have to make, and even if she went back to London, would have to create a new life. If she took him up on the offer, it would be a de-facto divorce since he couldn’t set foot in England again. They were tangled like fish in a net, unable to push through the seine and free themselves, unable to retreat.

Footsteps scuffed the wood. Elisabeth came out, dressed in a simple wool dress, eyes red from crying.

He extended his arms. “I love you, Elisabeth.”

She raised both hands and shook her head in gesture of hopelessness. Edward brushed the once alabaster skin of her face, now red and chapped. A smattering of freckles stained the bridge of her nose and cheeks, remnants of gardening in the summer sunshine. He kissed her work calloused hands, the fingernails filed short, cuticles cracked. He noted her feet, clad in work boots, crusted with mud. She was no longer a lady, now no more than a housemaid.

“Do you regret leaving England, Elisabeth?”

Her voice projected no emotion. “Not for one second. I’ll fight her for you, Edward.”

“Who?”

“Whoever you visit, when you’re away from me.” Her voice accused.

Good God, where did she ever get that idea?
“There is no one else, Elisabeth. You’re the most important thing in the world to me. Everything I do is for you.” How could he possibly reassure her?

She didn’t give him a chance. She turned her back and walked away.

Chapter 19

June 25, 2009

When Liz drove back up to the house, three girls hung out windows while their partners clung to ladders on the outside cleaning the glass. Liz watched them work in teams, raising and lowering the frames, banging the stubborn sashes with rubber hammers to loosen them. As she stepped inside, the sea breeze carried an odd scent of bleach and pine cleaner that routed the musty, dank smell. Light blazed in through huge windows. The stained glass sparkled, projecting rainbows onto gleaming wood floors.

She’d been gone only two hours, but the cleaning crew had removed years of neglect, offering a tantalizing vision of what it would be like once the renovations were complete. For the first time in more than a year, a genuine smile tickled her lips and contentment replaced the doubts running through her mind.

“We cleaned and put some lamps in your bedroom, but you’re going to need a lot more. Have ya towels fer yer room, Miss Lizzy?” Mae helped haul grocery bags out of the trunk.

“Yes, in the car.”

“Bring ‘em up. There’s somethin’ interestin’ to see.” Mae tromped up the central staircase, dusting the balusters as she went.

Liz unloaded the bags into the pantry and refrigerator, both of which were spotless. She grabbed three huge Filene’s bags from the car and dragged them upstairs.

Mae tossed them to the girls. “Wash your hands, make up the bed, and fix the bathroom. No curtains or shades?”

“I have to measure and find something big enough to fit these windows,” Liz answered.

“Ya can close the shutters. These are the originals, and they work.” Mae demonstrated the mechanism.

“I like the light coming in so I want something airy and translucent.”

“Green and gold would work nice with the bed linens ya picked.”

“Those are my favorite colors. I’m going to paint and paper the room in that palette.” Once again, a shiver of excitement ran through her.

“Lizzy, look what we found pushed into the dormer under a pile of boxes. It was turned backwards and in the dark it blended in with the wall.” Mae led her into an eave in the walk-in closet, which was as big as a small bedroom.

Her heart pounded when she read the shipping labels on the battered trunk, dated 1875. “Do you think there is anything still inside?” Given the layer of dust on top, Liz knew there was. Her hands shook as she undid the latches.

The lid was jammed, and Mae banged on it with one of the rubber hammers. “Oh, Lizzy, there’s got to be something in here.” She rattled and pounded again when it failed to budge.

Melancholy welled up inside imagining the woman, probably the same one whose saddle she’d found, who’d left it behind.

Mae jiggled one more time and raised the lid.

Liz scooted closer, on her hands and knees and peered inside. “Ah, look!” Breathless, she wiped her dusty hands on her pants before daring to handle the neatly packed clothing inside. What she thought was a muslin wrap turned out to be a delicate chemise that resembled a long slip with lace trim, the off-white linen gentled by the patina of age. Emotion oozed out of the fibers as if the owner’s soul had been liberated from a dark, lonely prison.

Liz examined the garment. “This is English linen, Irish lace though. I believe these are whalebone buttons.”

Mae, uncharacteristically quiet, wiped her eyes. “Bless her soul, the dear that left this all behind.”

Liz peeled away layers of yellowed muslin wrap separating silk and velvet dresses, coordinating hats, and high button shoes stored in their original boxes. Undergarments, corsets, garters, and hosiery were wrapped in linen bags. The aroma of lavender still lingered from a sachet tucked in the corner. “Let’s hang them up.”

Mae arranged the dresses in the closet. “Ya won’t be findin’ this clothin’ in the Sea Captain’s Thrift Shop.”

“No, these are treasures.” Her gaze passed over a gaudy daffodil yellow dress, and stopped on sumptuous green silk brocade. Like the chemise, the garment seemed heavy with the weight of memories, dreams, and desires. She shook out the gown and held it up against her. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Mae hung the nightgown on a hanger over the closet door. “The sachet kept it fresh, and the wrinkles will come out in time. A real lady lived here. The best of everything.”

Liz fingered the hem of the chemise. “So simple, yet so elegant and feminine.”

A cold gust of wind blew through the open windows.

“Where did that come from?” Mae scurried to pick up the discarded muslin wrappers. “I’ll launder these tomorrow and hang them outside to dry in the sun.”

A shutter broke loose from its catch and thumped against the house. Liz re-fastened it and zipped her sweatshirt. As the girls fluffed pillows and turned down the covers on the four-poster bed, she had another flash of
déjà vu.

“We’ll be back tomorrow to polish the woodwork and clean the fixtures, Lizzy.” Mae piled the last of the garbage bags into a heap in the driveway and hopped into her van.

“Thanks, Mae.” Liz waved as she drove off and ran for her chiming cell phone.

The caller ID flashed
Jay
. “How are you doing up there in the haunted house, Mom?”

His voice echoed in the sudden, eerie silence. “It’s not haunted. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful it looks, all cleaned up. How are you doing?”

“Fine. I’d be better if you were still home in Boston, near all your friends.”

“I’ve already met a few people. I needed to get away from Beacon Hill. I kept expecting your father to come home.”

“I wish I could visit, but I have to work. Maybe sometime later in July. I can’t wait to get up there to see it.”

She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but allowed the protective mother to emerge. “Jay, please be careful, and don’t wear your Red Sox cap on the subway.”

“Don’t worry. Got to go, Mom. Have some clam fritters at Kate’s for me.”

“I think I’ll do that tonight. Bye.” The reality of utter aloneness in a strange place closed around her. To distract herself, Liz wandered through the upstairs bedrooms. The girls had removed years of soot from the fireplace mantles. The rooms still needed painting and decorating, but the house did look better than she had expected.

Liz opened the door leading to the attic—and the widow's walk, which opened without difficulty this time “I never did get up there.” She climbed the tower stairs to the roof. The door hung crooked on its hinges and ajar, plastered with cobwebs. She stepped gingerly out onto the insect-riddled wood.

A panoramic view of Cape Cod Bay opened up before her. Colorful kites drifted in the breeze. The sounds of children playing on the beaches carried in the wind. Humidity in the salt air made her hair cling to the back of her neck.

“Too short to put it up, too long to be comfortable,” she said. “I think I’ll get a haircut. I kept it long for you, Gerry.” She glanced around, hoping he’d respond somehow, but there was nothing but wind whistling through the railings. She traced the whorls, recalling him running his fingers through her hair.

The sun ducked behind a cloud and a gust sent a chill down her back. Being so far up, so far away from everyone and everything turned the pleasant moment into another reminder of how alone and distant she was from everyone and everything she had once known. She tugged the door closed after her and went down to unpack her clothes and personal things.

Liz decided on a prominent spot for Gerry’s ashes, next to his picture on her dresser. It was six p.m. and hunger knocked for the first time that day. She wandered down Paine’s Creek Road to Kate’s.

“I’ll have the fritta and chowda special,” she told the counter boy, noting how her Boston twang was already more Cape Coddish.

She waited for her number to be called. Families, friends, and couples laughed and shared French fries and onion rings. Impossibly big ice cream cones dripped down happy children’s arms, staining tongues funny colors, raising multicolored dots on their clothing.

“Numba sixty-three,” called the counter clerk.

“That’s us,” she said.
How could I have forgotten there is no one with me?
No one seemed to notice the crazy lady talking to herself. Liz took her order, sprinkled some malt vinegar on the fritters, and ate them while walking the short distance to Paine’s Creek.

Carloads of people were already there to watch the bright orange sun go down over the bay. Liz perched on driftwood at the other side of the crescent shaped beach, near the tide pool where she had spent so many summers watching Jay hunt for crabs, eels, and killies. She dipped her feet in the water. Emerald strands of seaweed attached to the rocks streamed like mermaid’s hair around her feet. Crabs darted sideways into hiding, small fish bounced off her ankles. Kayakers rode the current out of the heart of the salt marsh, through the labyrinthine creek.

She finished her chowder. The sun set, couples cuddled, children dug holes in the sand and watched the gentle waves of the incoming tide fill them in. Dusk stained the sky purple and gray. Before long, Liz sat on a deserted beach, unable to drag herself back to the empty house and all its relics.

Chapter 20

April 1876

Sunshine had banished the frost, but a stiff breeze blew off the bay. Elisabeth watched Jared Sanders thrust a shovel into the ground.

He turned over the dark earth and a tangle of worms wriggled away. “This soil is rich and fertile.”

“When do we begin planting?” she asked.

“The hardier root vegetables and peas can go in now. The rest in late May. Soon, I’ll be very busy. I wish I didn’t have to sit all winter and then scurry all spring and summer putting in my crops. Don’t dread fishing as much now, but that water is still frigid.” Jared jabbed the spade into a compacted area with his foot, and stopped to wipe his brow with a yellowed scrap of linen.

“You’ll be much too busy to help me, so I’ll study what you’re doing and try to keep up.” She’d never expected him to do all the work, yet he didn’t seem to mind.

Jared shoved the handkerchief into his pocket and turned over more soil to break up the heavy clods. “When do you expect Edward back?” He paused for a moment and leaned on his shovel, watching her intently, waiting for a response.

“It was a short run to Florida. He promised to bring back citrus for us. Might I help you, Mr. Sanders? You’re getting breathless.”

“Thank you, no, Mrs. Barrett. Fruits used to be a novelty, but with the railroad, the general store now stocks out-of-state goods.”

“Yes, I understand most shipping is done now by rail.”

“Edward mentioned that by next year, he expected to be a gentleman farmer. It’s good you’re getting a head start this year.”

Maybe next year Edward would be helping her plant their garden. “We already have the chickens and cows. I’ve done better with milking, though Sara is much better at making the cheese and butter.”

Sara came across the yard. Jared quickly picked up a hoe and continued tilling. His arm and chest muscles rippled from the manual labor. Working men always intrigued her.

“There’s a good take of eggs. And extra milk,” Sara said.

Elisabeth took the basket to lighten her load. “I’m going to distribute some to the other families.”

“You could sell it, you know,” Jared said.

“I have no need to do that. Bethea Vauxhall is in much better condition than last winter, but the extra will do her good.”

“Would you like me to bring them to her?” Sara asked.

“I think I shall make a stop to see her, and to the Williams home, on my way to the library.” 

“I’ll finish your garden, Mrs. Barrett,” Sanders said.

A twinge of guilt pricked. The man had plenty of his own work to do. “Only if you agree to take supper with us tonight, Mr. Sanders.”

“Of course.” He smiled broadly, and his blue eyes twinkled.

Sara’s gaze met hers, and Elisabeth thought she saw a flash of anger. 

“Well, I’ll be off then.” Elisabeth took the milk pail from Sara and went back to the house.

Since Katherine’s marriage, Sara seemed more anxious for Sander’s almost daily visits. It would be good for them to have some time alone. They would make a nice couple.

Paul harnessed Ruddy to the small ladies’ carriage. As she drove off to do errands, Elisabeth noticed Sanders digging alone. Sara was nowhere in sight.

Foghorns roused her. The wails turned to shorter blasts, indicating a ship returning to port. Elisabeth threw off the covers and ran up to the widow’s walk. Cape Cod Bay shimmered beneath the blue sky. The gulls were quiet; it must be high tide and the pickings slim. The ship on the horizon was too far from shore to be sure, but it was a three-masted schooner.

Her heart raced, and her fingers grasped the railing so tight they hurt. As the ship drew closer, the sail of Somersell shipping flapped beneath the American Stars and Stripes as
The Sea Mist
sailed into Breakwater Harbour. Joyful tears filled her eyes, and she dashed down to her room to dress.

“Is it him?” Sara called up.

“Yes. Please ask Paul to harness the horses for me.” Elisabeth took off her chemise and slipped on a day dress with no undergarments.

Sara came to tidy up the bed linens and hang up her things. “He’s already in progress. I’ll prepare breakfast for both of you.”

Elisabeth hurried downstairs and outside where she found Katherine holding the geldings while Paul secured the harnesses.

“It gets done faster this way.” Katherine rarely helped in the house since she’d married, preferring the outdoors and the company of her husband.

Elisabeth climbed in, pleased that the younger sister was so happy after being snatched out of London so unceremoniously. If only Sara could find a similar measure of comfort. “You’ve become quite a horsewoman, Katherine. I must teach you to ride.”

Katherine looked down, then at Paul. She must already be pregnant. A deep jealousy bubbled inside. Despite her longing for a child, and her ministrations to the women and children, she seemed to be the only one unable to conceive. Kyle was gone as much as Edward, yet Bethea was expecting again.

Stop this jealousy. The Lord provides what each needs and you’ve nothing to complain about, Elisabeth Barrett.

Paul finished up and drove her to the Vauxhall’s. Perhaps it was the warm temperature, the sunshine or the passage of time, but the small farm now teemed with life. Chickens ran about, and cows lowed in their stalls.

Bethea stopped tilling her garden and approached the carriage.

“They’re back, Bethea. Step up.” She extended a hand to her friend.

Paul helped her in.

“You shouldn’t be toiling so hard,” Elisabeth whispered as Bethea settled in to the seat next to her.

“I’m not yet even two months along, and no one save you knows. I wanted to tell Kyle first.” She was smiling, had some colour on her cheeks, and her dress was no longer hanging off her frame.

Again, Elisabeth pushed the jealousy aside. Bethea faced the death of her son. She deserved the comfort of a new baby.
This Sunday, you’ll pray for absolution for your covetous thoughts and offer prayers for a safe confinement for both her friend and her maid. And give thanks your husband is safe.

By the time the carriage arrived, the men were ashore. The welcome was a good deal more pleasant than the previous time, with tender hugs and kisses and tears of joy. The four of them rode home inside the carriage together, bantering with Paul outside. Even the horses stepped higher and fussed less. Happiness, and the anticipation of even more, filled Elisabeth. Warmth baked the envy away.

Edward doled out gifts and settled in for a welcome bath, made even more luxurious by a dollop of some salts Elisabeth dropped in. The floral scent was surprisingly pleasing, perhaps because it reminded him of her.

She carried in a tray of tea and cakes, and he saw her place them on a small table near the fireplace. He craned his neck to see where she’d disappeared to, but could only hear the crackle of wood and the tap of her footsteps.

He stepped out of the tub and jumped when Elisabeth came into the bathroom, barefoot and silent, dressed only in her white nightgown. It wasn’t transparent but the way it clung to her curves, it might as well have been.

Edward stood, naked and dripping. Her eyes focused on him, unblinking, her lips parted. A smile tickled her lips. Elisabeth’s fingertips brushed over his skin as she toweled him off, running her hands down his body, lingering on the sensitive area between his thighs until he was erect and throbbing. She sank to her knees, eyes still riveted to his, her mouth wide open, receptive. She kissed his member and took it into her mouth, sending jolts of lightning through him.

His knees wobbled, and he reached down to help her up. “You’ve grown into quite a lover, Elisabeth,” he said, disconcerted by being the pursued, instead of the pursuer.

“I’ve come to realize the only way to seduce you away from my rival is to haunt you with thoughts of what you’re missing.” She raised the chemise over her head, ever so slowly, then let it drop. Her naked body pressed against him. “The sea can’t give you what I can. She can’t comfort you like this.” Her lips fluttered over his neck and chest and her palms massaged his back. She grasped his buttocks and pulled him toward her.

Overcome by the desire to devour her, the need to possess her, Edward picked her up and carried her to the bed.

Elisabeth’s eyes continued to entice. “Come to me.” her arms drew him toward a joyous physical reunion.

The tea grew cold and the cakes stale.

Jared brought fresh fish and joined them for dinner.

After supper, Edward walked with him out to the stable and surveyed the garden. “Elisabeth tells me you visit daily and help them. I can’t tell you how much ease that gives me. This is a big house, and Paul couldn’t handle all the chores himself.”

“Edward, it’s a delightful source of company for a lonely man. I can’t stand by and watch them chopping and carrying wood, and doing all the other tasks. They’ve adjusted to this life, despite being British ladies, but some provisions seem a fair trade for delectable suppers and lively conversation.”

They paused as Katherine led Ruddy out of the barn, checked the cinch on the saddle, and gave Elisabeth a leg up. She slapped Ruddy on the rump, and the mare took off around the property, Elisabeth confidently astride. They jumped two low fences and disappeared into the pines.

Elisabeth on a horse was an image Edward always found endearing, arousing, and symbolic of her mastery, control, and enjoyment of life. “Yes, Jared, it appears they’ve settled in well. If there is ever any expense involved, be assured Elisabeth has a fund for household necessities, or advise me upon my return. Unless, as my wife conjectures, you might take Sara as payment in full.”

Jared laughed. “Sara is a lovely woman, but I’ve no interests in her along those lines. My wife died suddenly, some sort of fever. I swore I’d never expose myself to that kind of pain again. No compensation is necessary. I’m certain if I was ever in need of anything, Mrs. Barrett would be at my side in a moment.”

If Katherine was living in the cottage, and Sara preparing the delectable suppers, then it must be his wife providing the lively conversation. A lonely man, a lonely woman, both with plenty of time on their hands. With his wife’s new sexual appetite, if he was on the high seas for too long, that might lead to more than just talk. His gut ached just thinking about it.

Ruddy trotted back. The riding breeches clung to Elisabeth’s legs, despite the overskirt covering her hips. The effect was far from discrete.

Jared was staring at Elisabeth, his mouth slightly ajar. It was not the look of a benevolent friend. Edward spent his time with crazed sailors and could barely get out of the way in time when they arrived in port. While he had lain, frustrated and alone, remaining faithful to his wife, she had been keeping company—and courting danger.

Edward hurried forward to grab the horse’s bridle, and to reclaim his wife. “Did you enjoy your ride, darling?”

“Very much. Give me a few minutes to see to Ruddy, then I’ll wash up and we’ll have some dessert.”

The tendrils of jealousy multiplied like a vine in the sunshine. Edward helped her dismount, his hands far enough below her waist to mark his claim. She followed Katherine toward the barn.

“You’re a lucky man, Edward.” Jared’s voice seemed soft, sad, wistful.

Edward took that as evidence of Sanders’ benevolent intent, or his acquiescence. “In more ways than one. With the grace of God, I shall swallow the anchor as they say, and by years end look to make a living on land.”

He noted Jared still gazing with more than neighborly approbation as Elisabeth strolled back toward them.

Too bad Sara doesn’t strike his fancy
.
Yes, time to make a living on the land.