City of Liars and Thieves (11 page)

“Oh, Elma.” I took her into my arms. She came willingly and I rocked back and forth, stroking her hair while her tears soaked my dress. I wanted to comfort her, but I could not deny her words. It was exactly as Elias had said. Ezra Weeks was well enough acquainted with our family to know that Elma was practically an orphan, without fortune. That would be enough for him to write her off as unsuitable for his dashing and promising younger brother.

Elma wiped her eyes, pulling away as suddenly as she had submitted. “It's been a long day.” She straightened her skirt. “I'm exhausted.”

She did look worn out. “Go get some sleep,” I said.

Elma went up to her room and I picked up my knitting, but I was too troubled to darn a single stitch. The politics, the lies, the money, and the ambition—all of it was wrong. I had never trusted Levi, and now he was confirming my worst suspicions, dragging Elma into a pool of ever more complicated lies. Perhaps Ezra's disapproval was for the best. Elma still had time to make a more appropriate match and get away from this political quicksand before she sank in deeper. I was considering how to broach the topic when I heard a loud scream and a thud.

Rushing upstairs, I found Elma lying unconscious on the third-floor landing. Levi was kneeling by her side and Croucher stood above them.

“How dare you speak to her like that,” Levi said, rising to his feet.

“You, Levi Weeks,” Croucher said, pronouncing each word as clearly as I had ever heard him speak, “are an impertinent puppy. Mrs. Ring”—he turned to me—“don't trust this lout. He's up to no good.”

Elma's eyes fluttered, and I knelt down beside her. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, yet her hands cradled her belly, gently rocking.

“She's been frightened nearly to death,” I said. Though, in truth, it was I who was suddenly afraid.

“You're a filthy old man!” Levi said. He was hovering so close to Croucher that, had they been outside in the frosty air, their breath would have mingled.

“You've fooled that girl into believing you're some kind of Adonis,” Croucher said.

“Someone has to look out for her.”

“I'd say you and Elias Ring have been more than obliging.”

It was impossible to ignore Croucher's biting sarcasm. “Leave Elias out of this,” I snapped. I meant to convey outrage, but the mention of Elias's name made me feel even more vulnerable.

“Levi?” Elma said. Her voice was as faint as a whisper, but he heard. He shot a final furious look at Croucher before kneeling down to gather Elma in his arms. She nestled close to his chest as he lifted her and carried her into her bedroom.

I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that whatever had passed between the two men had not turned violent. But when I joined Levi and Elma in her room, horror replaced fear. Though he had laid her on the bed, she continued to cling to him with her arms laced around his neck and her eyes fixed on his. Her dark hair fanned across the pillow, luminous and full, and her complexion glowed with a distinctly feminine beauty. After two babies of my own, I recognized her condition in an instant. Elma was with child.

First Day dawned bright, but when I stepped outside I was blasted by an icy gust, and not even the sun could warm me. The clear skies were a ruse, the kind of brisk stillness that precedes a bitter storm. I exhaled and watched my breath blow away, as fleeting as a midnight dream, then retreated to the warm parlor.

Church bells chimed. Elias and Charles put on their coats to go to meeting, but I lingered. I might not find a better time to talk with my cousin. Elma had pulled a chair close to the warm hearth. Her knitting lay on her lap, but she sat motionless as if deep in thought. I told Elias to go on without me, sat down beside Elma, then waited for her to speak. Without uttering a sound, she rose and, standing behind my chair, wrapped her arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder.

“Caty, I can't bear to make you sad.” Her voice was so faint I could hardly hear, though she was practically whispering in my ear. She was clearly under some sort of spell.

“Nothing could make me love thee any less,” I said, hoping she would speak frankly if she felt understood and safe.

Elma walked to the window. “Levi says it's not sinful to keep our love a secret for a little time.”

The sky was darkening and a sprinkling of snowflakes had started to fall. I was waiting for her to confess her condition, and I had no idea how to respond. Disappointment and anger were irrelevant emotions, though I was not beyond them. Above all, I was scared.

“It is not much of a secret, Elma. He was in thy bedroom!” I tried softening my tone. “We've always told each other everything.”

She nodded, though I had the impression she was reassuring herself, not agreeing. “Levi and I are to be married,” she said.

“What?” I should have been relieved, but my frustration bubbled up again. “But why must thee stay silent all this time?”

The shadow of the winter sky through the window clouded her features. “Levi wants to tell the families, his and ours. He plans to tell you himself, but not quite yet.”

My concern had transformed into exasperation. “What is he waiting for?”

Elma sighed. I forced what I hoped was a compassionate smile. “He doesn't want Ezra to know.” Her voice broke.

I took a deep breath. “Regardless of what Levi may think of his brother, it's not right to deceive him.”

Her response was as sharp and sudden as a slap to the face. “I'm respecting Levi's wishes. If you listened to Elias, perhaps this would be a happier home.”

I was speechless. Eccentric behavior due to lovesickness was one thing, but it could not completely explain what was happening to Elma. I had never known her to be cruel or conniving. Saddened, I joined her at the window and gazed out. Snow was sticking to the windowsill, and the flakes, which had seemed so pure just minutes ago, looked menacing.

“Caty, I'm sorry,” she said, taking my hand and squeezing with gentle insistence. Her skin was soft, but her grasp was as firm as when we walked down the streets of Cornwall as sisters. “This will be over soon. At eight o'clock we're going to the minister's house, at nine we'll be home, and then everyone will know.”

“The wedding is tonight?” After these months of secrets and anguish, Levi would make an honest woman out of Elma. I embraced my cousin, but a shard of doubt still lodged in my heart. Such a swift resolution seemed too good to be true. Or perhaps it merely appears that way now. I have considered and reconsidered the events of that day so often that the only thing I am certain of is that the crystalline snowflakes collecting against the windowpane looked like a bleak, impenetrable wall between the outside world and us.

Elias returned with dire predictions of the impending storm, while Charles struggled to contain his excitement.

“I'm going to make a snowman,” he said, “maybe a whole snow family!”

I stoked the fire, but it couldn't overcome the draft. My fingers were stiff with cold. I started chopping potatoes and the knife slipped, slicing my skin. A bead of blood dripped onto the table. I wiped it with the corner of my apron and it smeared into an angry crimson streak.

Charles rocked Patience in her cradle.

“Gently,” I reminded him.

“She likes it,” he said, rocking faster. Patience was giggling so I said nothing more, though I would have preferred for her to sleep.

The noon meal came and went. The snow continued to fall.

Elias went to secure the store windows, and Elma helped me clear the table while Levi entertained Charles by making shadow puppets on the wall.

“Here's a rabbit,” he said, as his hand leapt through the air. “What? Who's coming?” Fingers misshapen and bent, his left hand crept up upon his right.

“Is it a wolf?” Charles asked.

“No,” Elma said. “It's a lamb, and it has the softest fleece anyone has ever touched, whiter than the whitest snow.”

Her words soothed Charles, and me. The fire finally warmed the room and cast a soft light. I picked up my knitting, nearly convinced that everything would turn out right, if we could all just make it through this evening. Then Levi stood.

“Headed out in this weather?” Hatfield asked.

“I'm going to call on my brother,” Levi said, taking his hat and bundling himself for the cold.

Elma snatched up her knitting as well and concentrated on it intensely. It was not difficult to guess her thoughts. If Levi was going to consult his brother about their marriage, there was a good chance that Ezra might talk him out of it. I cleared my throat, trying to get her attention, but she bit her lip and ignored me.

“Digging holes in the snow?” Croucher asked. Like a rabid dog biting at Levi's heels, he grabbed his hat and followed Levi outside.

Stillness descended, as silent as the snowfall.

“Elizabeth Watkins says that Trinity Church is decorated with evergreen bushes,” I said, trying to lift Elma's spirits.

“Can we go see?” Charles asked.

“I'll discuss it with thy father,” I said. I did not think Elias would object, though lately we rarely found ourselves together: He came to bed after me, sometimes still holding a ledger and a candle, and began work in the store before dawn. Although he claimed to have missed me while I was in Cornwall, he had not reached for me in bed since my return.

The front door banged open and Levi came back into the parlor. There was snow on his hat and shoulders, and he was limping. Elma jumped from her seat and her knitting fell to the floor.

“What happened?” she asked, helping him into a chair.

My first thought was that he and Croucher had finally come to blows, but that was not the case. Not yet.

“It's nothing,” Levi said. “I slipped and fell.”

Elma knelt and examined his knee. His pant leg was torn, but he was more bruised than bloody.

“Charles, will you fetch the liniment?” she asked.

“You won't make it out today,” Hatfield said, looking pointedly away from Elma. I cocked my head, wondering if Levi had mentioned their wedding plans.

“I'm determined to go out tonight,” Levi said. His hand rested on Elma's as he spoke, and she smiled faintly, turning her face from the rest of us.

Charles returned with the liniment and a plaster. As Elma dressed Levi's knee, I could see warmth pass between them like a secret.

I waited until after candlelight, when the house was most quiet, before knocking on Elma's door. She answered immediately, dressed neatly in her pale-green muslin. Together, we had sewn the gown shortly after her arrival. It was her favorite, and she looked beautiful, but the fabric was too light for such a bitter evening.

“Shall I send Charles next door to borrow Elizabeth's beaver muff?” I asked.

Elma studied herself in the looking glass, smoothing the skirt and turning to both sides. “It would suit the dress.”

Charles left, and I sat on Elma's bed while she combed her hair. I was sorry that Aunt Mary would not witness her daughter's wedding, and I tried to ease my conscience by telling myself that she would be overjoyed by the match.

“Well, Elma,” I said, “art thou ready for the march?”

“Yes, pretty nearly.” She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “Oh—I almost forgot. In my top drawer. You'll find that comb. The one Levi gave me.”

I went to the bureau. While part of me was happy she was finally confiding in me, there was another, louder voice still wondering why it had taken this long. The drawer stuck and I pulled harder, remembering the vial of laudanum I had buried there months ago. I rummaged past stockings and undergarments, hairpins and knitting needles, but the little bottle was nowhere to be seen. Elma, or perhaps Levi, had disposed of it after I saw it by her bedside.

“Is it there?” Elma asked, peering over my shoulder.

For an instant, I thought she was asking about the laudanum. I considered asking her where it had gone, but I did not want to dampen her mood and fresh trust in me.

“Why, here it is,” she said, reaching past me. “Isn't it lovely?” She drew back with the ivory comb adorned with its single white ribbon in her palm.

A powerful curiosity, or some equally compelling force, made me reach for the comb. I was sure it twitched or throbbed in my hand. I studied it carefully, running my fingers along the crest. There was an intricate design, a flourish of letters that twisted and curled like an exotic vine. Slowly, I traced each one. There, in soft swirls, was Elma's name.

Elma ran her fingers through the silky ribbon, as I had seen her do so many times over the past six months. The ivory shone against her dark hair as she set the comb in place. I straightened it and smoothed her curls. She was paler than usual, but some agitation was only natural.

“Don't be frightened,” I told her, recalling my own wedding-day nerves. Of course, the circumstances were different. Elma had made her decision weeks or months earlier, when she allowed Levi into her bed. Was she regretting her choice? Her condition?

“Caty,” she said, “do you think I'm being selfish? I mean”—she twisted the ends of her hair, curling what I had combed—“is it selfish of me to marry Levi? I love him so much. I couldn't live with myself if I harmed his prospects….” Her eyes filled with tears.

Yes, Elma's wedding day was different than mine had been.

Charles raced up the stairs with Elizabeth's muff. “There's lots of snow!” he said, bouncing up and down.

Elma took the muff, but her eyes remained fixed on me. Was she waiting for my blessing?

“What's done is done,” I said.

Did I sound like Elias? Would I have said more if Charles were not there? Part of me admired her for following her heart. But I didn't say so, to my eternal regret. I still felt slightly stung by her furtiveness since coming into my home and thought I was being instructive. She would have to be more careful when it came to sensitive matters in the future.

Shrill cries rang through the house, and Elma and I stood absolutely still, as if the baby's voice were the unspoken words between us. How had we come to this cold, impersonal place? In that moment, I blamed Elma—and Levi. Now I know that the fault was mine as well.

“Mama,” Charles said. “Patience is crying.”

Elma drew on her gloves. “Go to her,” she said. “I'm fine. I'll be fine.” Her tone was brusque, perhaps sad, perhaps resentful. I can only pray every day that she was not angry with me as she quickly kissed my cheek.

I went downstairs alone.

The clock was striking eight as I entered the parlor and went to soothe Patience. Levi nodded to acknowledge my presence. An instant later, he took his hat and went out into the entry. I heard footsteps on the stairs and then whispering. I tried to listen but could not make out a single word. The front door opened. They crossed the threshold. The latch fell. I took up the candle and ran to the door to see which way they had gone. There was moonlight, but having a candle made it seem darker.

The quiet house rattled my nerves. The children went to bed without protest, though I would gladly have told a story or cuddled under the covers. I tucked them in, allowing my lips to linger on their soft foreheads. The instant I extinguished the candle, Patience's eyes closed. Charles stifled a yawn, and before I knew it both were sound asleep. Patience lay on her belly with her tiny bottom jutting into the air, and Charles slept with an ease that I had always envied. The sweet perfume of their steady breath filled the room. I watched them for five minutes, maybe more, trying to absorb their calm before joining Elias in the parlor.

The mood there was starkly different. The fire was dying, orange embers disintegrating into ash. I tossed a log in the hearth and Elias looked up.

“I'm surprised Levi would go out on such a night,” he said. He was sitting in a rocking chair, holding a book, though he was perched awkwardly forward and the book was closed. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Levi?” I shook my head. “No, he didn't say.” My stomach fluttered. “It was Elma who told me. Elias, they're going to be wed.”

The chair rocked back and the book fell to Elias's lap. “Why did no one tell me?”

I strained to make my voice sound more optimistic than I felt. “I only heard this morning, and Elma swore me to silence.”

“No respectable woman gets married in secret,” Elias said, seeming more bewildered than angry.

The skin on my neck prickled. I reached to scratch it and felt a chain of hives rising along my collar. I was not prepared to tell Elias that Elma might be with child. Even that would hardly explain why they decided to steal away on the darkest, coldest night of the year. The wind howled, blowing gusts through the desolate street. A sudden blast beat violently against the frosty windowpane, and the candle flickered. “What was that? Did someone cry out?” The snow had stopped falling.

Elias picked up his book. “I didn't hear a thing.” His voice was hollow.