South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) (3 page)

      “Rebecca was a vision, and Loo did such a fine job as a flower girl, I can just imagine the proud smile on your face. And Timothy, oh Phillip, you would have been just busting at the seams. He’s done so well. He did so much for all of those injured men. He’s a fine son, my dear. You did a great job, we did a great job. We only got the one son, and I know we always tried to do our best. I was proud for both of us.       

      “Rebecca is expecting again. Perhaps a son for them this time?

      “I miss you Phil, more than you can imagine. I’m doing well, you would be proud of that too, and I know it is exactly what you would want for me, as I would for you had I gone ahead without you. I’ve moved down to the cottage now. It’s more my size, alone, and easier you know. The house just reminded me too much. I knew you’d understand.

      “I’m going back to the celebration now, my love. You are always in my heart.” Isabel stood up to go back down the path and saw Timothy waiting several feet away.

      “Paying a visit?”  The man took her arm and walked beside her back towards the house.

      “I wanted to tell him how proud he would be today.” She smiled up at her son warmly.

      “I miss him too, Mom.” The big man hugged her warmly and then led her back down the path to the celebration.

Chapter Four

     
T
he gala lasted late into the evening and as dusk approached many of the guests waved goodbye appreciatively. The remaining couples moved indoors to the ballroom, most dancing with high spirits.

      Emma watched the pairs closely, enjoying their energy and the wholesome attitudes of the people. She tapped her foot to the strains of the music and longed for the vitality to dance again. In the late evening she walked out to the gardens for a breath of fresh air before retiring and found Roland had finally sat down on a wooden bench.

      “Worked your leg enough for today?” she asked candidly.

      Roland eyed her calmly and nodded.

      “I fear I have no knowledge of your injury, so it puts me at a disadvantage as to what are appropriate questions and what might be considered prying.” She tucked her thin shoes under the bench and arranged her skirt neatly.

      The man turned to her, without speaking, and studied her profile. She was so thin it was difficult for him to decide if she might be attractive, but her manner was very forthright he found her very disarming. No one talked to him about his injury any more. Everyone knew what had happened. They all knew he had nearly lost his leg and that the surrounding nerve damage affected how he might perform as a man. The doctors said it might change in time, but he was not up to the humiliation of finding out either way. They tried to explain to him that he would be perfectly capable of living a normal life otherwise, once the leg healed, but it would be a slow process. But after that was all said, the topic was avoided by everyone. He couldn’t help but feel a combination of relief and a bit like he was being shunned at the same time. It was as if everyone were afraid to bring it up to him. He understood that, but the girl’s curiosity was not unappreciated.

      “What do you want to know?” he studied his cane and scowled.

      “Whatever you would say to me about it,” Emma faced him squarely.

      Roland bowed his head and began hoarsely.

      “Nearly lost my leg, and more. It’ll come back they’re telling me, but not without time and working at it.” His mind traveled back to the horrible night of the accident.

      “Lightning hit. Never seen anything like it. Broad daylight, the mill was running hard. We had a big order and more men than usual in the place. It was hot, we had been hoping for rain all morning and every opening to the mill was wide open to let the air in. It was a loud snap. Like when you fell a tree, right before it goes. Then…” his voice trailed off and his face grew dark. “I tried to cut off the power to the blade, it slowed it down, but not soon enough. It came right off, right into the mill. Three men hurt badly. It took Phillip, Tim’s father, right out the door.

      “There was blood everywhere. Tim went crazy tying on tourniquets and piling us up on the wagon to get us all up to the house. That tiny wife of his was white as a ghost, but she never turned away. That woman is something else.

      “Tim took care of us all. Bringing in some fancy doctors and turning his home into a hospital practically. He hired nurses and put in things to help us all get about. Paid for everything. All that talk about how the mills need unionizing. Not the way Elgerson runs it. No union would give us what that man has. His mother had just lost her husband, but that didn’t stop her. She was spooning food into us every day, changing some nasty bandages. She never stopped. I worked for that man for years and he’s been nothing but good to me. I owe him and his family a lot.”

      Emma sat quietly and listened to the man’s story. She was sure he had never told it to anyone.

      “I got up as soon as I could. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, just a bad roll of the dice. We’re meeting in a day or two about reopening.”

      Emma studied his face as he looked up to her. She sat silently, waiting for him to continue.

      Roland watched her. He saw no pity in her eyes, but instead a calm acceptance, as if she knew what he hadn’t said, or, if she didn’t know, then a feeling of understanding. She returned his look openly, never turning away.

      “Which is harder to overcome? The accident that changes your life, or the wrong choice that changes your life?”  She watched his face for a reaction to her question.

      “I suppose if it’s an accident, or a bad choice it doesn’t matter as much as what you do to fix it.” He furrowed his brow.

      “It looks to me like you’re doing your best. You may be right, Roland,” she mused.

      It did not go unnoticed by the man that the girl said his name familiarly, as if she had said it every day. Like a close friend or family. He considered that it might have something to do with her accent, or rather that her manner was resigned, as if she had surrendered herself to life. Roland found it comfortable, but he watched her cautiously. She might make a fine companion, but he needed no woman in his life now.

      “You’re Rebecca’s cousin. You came from England?” He figured he knew the answer, but thought she might keep talking if he asked.

      “London,” she replied. “I think I might like it here better though. Does the sky get this blue a lot? It’s so open and beautiful.”

      “It can get even bluer in the winter, when the snow is on the ground.”

      “Then maybe I should find a way to stay. Do women work in your mill?” Emma laughed.

      “No, not usually,” he looked at her sidelong. “There’s always woman’s work though. Tim keeps a good sized staff, but I suppose you don’t want to be working for your cousin. There’s always cleaning work around. Do you cook?” Roland stroked his chin.

      “I do. I actually enjoy cleaning, but I’ve never done it for hire. I’m not sure I would take on a place like this.” She looked up at the big estate and imagined what it would be like to wash the windows.

      “I could use some help. I mean if you’d like something to start with,” he bit off his words. He wondered what he was thinking. He knew nearly nothing at all about the girl. She seemed genuine, not fussy in any way. He wondered if it would have been a better idea to talk to the Elgersons first.

      “Thank you,” she responded cautiously. She didn’t want to take a job just because he felt sorry for her. This man had been badly injured and she knew little about him. Emma smoothed her skirt nervously and excused herself.

Chapter Five

           
 
E
mma found refuge in the sturdily built guestroom of the big house. She closed the door behind her and sunk down into the upholstered chair. Her head pounded and her stomach churned. She wanted it to pass, and wished it all away. The symptoms were subsiding, further and further apart all the time, but the pain and craving had not stopped completely.

      She laid her head back and fell, as if in a haze, surrendering to the pain as her mind drifted.  She thought back to the party in London, to the first time she met the gypsy, Pesha. He was so funny, laughing with her and her friends, and convincing them that his medicine was the best. Just a friendly extract that would make them happy, he had assured, and that it was perfectly fine to take. Everyone was taking it for coughs, but it also made you feel so relaxed. Her friends seemed to know all about it and she was ready for something new. A new experience sounded fun.

      With Rebecca gone nothing seemed enjoyable anymore. There were the parties, but her friends were so absurd, living the daredevil lives of the well-to-do. Becky was more sensible, more honest and they could talk about anything. Becky never made her feel as if she were cowardly, but more like she was being mature. She wished, as she had hundreds of times since that day with the gypsy, that Becky had been there.

      She remembered that the mixture was terribly bitter, and she drank much less than her friends. It was a deep red brown and it sounded so harmless. Tincture of Opium. She would come to know it later as Laudanum.

      That first time was heavenly. Emma felt the euphoria flow through her body and mind. A calm pleasant sensation that made her feel totally relaxed, as if nothing in the world mattered at all. She felt no pain, no discomfort, only the perfect bliss, like floating. A few days later they found the gypsy again. And then again. After a few visits she found she needed to drink more to enjoy the same sensation, and then the gypsy left.

      After several months of visits to Pesha’s den, he had moved on and his room was empty and deserted. She asked her friends where she might find more, but they too, were missing the man, and the treatment.

      But it was worse. While enjoying the tincture, Emma had become involved with the gypsy. It was only once, but it was enough. In the throes of addiction, Emma found she was expecting a child. Her world began a violent downward spiral.

      The symptoms of her withdrawal kept her ill for months, and in the end she lost her child. Her friends had either left the area in search of more Laudanum or were fighting their own battles. On the day she was released from the doctor’s care Emma received Rebecca’s wedding invitation. She took all that she owned, everything she had not sold or traded for the medicine, and Rebecca’s tickets, and left her home behind her.

      When Emma opened her eyes, the headache had eased and the house was still. She opened her door and peered into the hall, hearing nothing. She went back into the room and changed for bed.

      “I came so close to winning!” Mark lamented at the breakfast table. “That sure was a fine horse, Pa. Gee. I hated to see it go.”

      “It looked like a fair race to me, boy.” Timothy sat back, sipping his steaming coffee.

      “It was nice of you to put it up for a prize, Tim,” Rebecca commented as she sent Louisa to the kitchen to wash up after her breakfast.

      “It wasn’t too nice for me!” Mark interjected. “Sure, it was a fine idea if I won, but now Samuel Evens has her,” the boy scowled.

      “There’ll be other horses,” Timothy chuckled. “I’m not sitting here with my wonderful family listening to you being a bad sport now, am I?”

      “No, Pa,” Mark smiled in spite of his disappointment. “It sure was a great party. You two should get married more often.” The young man smiled at Rebecca affectionately.

      “That’s it for me!” Timothy threw up his hands. “The next wedding at Stavewood will be all yours!”

      Rebecca gasped. “Well, I suspect it will be a good long time before we need to worry about that. Heavens, Tim. He’s just turned sixteen. Don’t be marrying him off just yet.”

      “There’s no way I’m getting married.” Mark sat back in his chair and held his head up conceitedly. “Besides, there’s no one around here worth marrying anyway.”

      “I thought I saw you talking to Abigail Densmore at the hardware store last week. It looked rather serious to me,” the boy’s father joked.

      “Abigail? Pa, have you ever
looked
at that girl? She spends all her time fussing with her bonnet and pinching her cheeks. The last girl I want is one that spends all of her time fretting over her hair or something.”

      “So you would prefer a girl like, say, Bernadette Shofield? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her fuss over her hair.”

      Rebecca could not contain a giggle.

      “Pa!” The boy dropped his napkin on the table. “I’ve got chores to do.”

      “Finish your breakfast first,” Timothy laughed.

      “Good morning!” Rebecca jumped from the table and took Emma by the hand. “Here, please sit down!” She directed her to a chair.

      “My deepest apologies,” Emma blushed. “I am so sorry to have overslept. Good morning, everyone.”

      “Did you sleep well?” Timothy asked, thinking the girl looked a bit less haggard than the previous day.

      “Wonderfully, thank you.” Emma took a seat beside Mark. “Did you win the race?” she asked the boy.

      Mark scowled and Timothy chuckled. “No,” the younger man replied moodily.

      “Oh, that is a shame. Perhaps the next race?” Emma spread a napkin across her lap as Birget presented the young woman with a generously laden plate of food.

      “I suppose,” Mark muttered morosely. “May I please be excused?”

      “Go ahead, boy.” Timothy smiled.

      “Oh, my! Did I upset the boy?” Emma asked apologetically, admiring the plate set before her.

      “Mark is being a bit of a poor loser this morning. Don’t worry about it.” Timothy rose from the table. “If you ladies would please excuse me, I have some paperwork to complete before tonight’s meeting. I’m sure you both have plenty of catching up to do and would prefer me out of the way anyway.”

      “Oh, please don’t let me chase you from your dining table, Tim.” Emma rose.

      “No, no. Sit down. Enjoy your breakfast.” Timothy kissed Rebecca softly on the cheek and strode out of the room.

      Rebecca watched Emma sit back into her chair and examined her closely. She appeared to have regained a bit of color from a good night’s sleep. Rebecca had found her sleeping soundly in the chair, early the previous evening, and decided she looked so pale and thin it would be best to leave her to get any rest she could.

      “I’m so glad you came, Emmy. I have missed you so terribly. So, tell me dear, what do you think?”

      “Think? Becky did you fall into a dream? My heavens, this house is amazing! I never imagined from your letters. And Timothy! You are a very lucky girl.” Emma studied her cousin’s face wistfully, tears welling in her eyes.

      “Emmy? Whatever is wrong?” Rebecca placed her hand on her shoulder and patted it softly. “Something is wrong. I knew it. Emma, I have never seen you so thin. What is it?”

      “I’ve been very ill. I’m much better now, you needn’t worry.” The endless hoard of stories and explanations Emma had concocted on her trip flashed through her mind. A dozen lies and scores of excuses all seemed so pointless at the moment. “Really, much better,” she reaffirmed, but she saw that her cousin knew her better than that.

      “You’ve been ill, how?” Rebecca asked firmly. Everything about Emma’s behavior spoke of deception and avoidance. “Tell me,” she stood her ground.

      Emma pushed her plate away in sudden distaste and began to relay her experience with the gypsy, the Laudanum, all of it. When she reached the story of her miscarriage Rebecca wrapped the taller woman in her arms and hushed her softly. Emma laid her head against her tiny cousin’s silky hair and cried out her pain.

      “Then it’s good you are here,” Rebecca announced after some time. “You stay here until you are well. I could use your help anyway. Louisa is a handful, and the gardens are always in need of a good weeding, I could use your help there. You are better in the garden than anyone I know. And soon, although not everyone knows, I’ll have another child. Family is just the thing to have around when a child is born.”

      “I won’t impose too much, I promise. In fact, Mr. Vancouver was saying yesterday he may need some help around his place, too. Another baby, that’s wonderful!” Now that Rebecca was asking her to stay, Emma felt she might be imposing.

      “Roland?” Rebecca looked surprised.

      “Yes, he mentioned it yesterday. Is there some reason I shouldn’t consider working for the man?”

      “No.” Rebecca furrowed her brow. “He’s had a very hard time since the accident. He is an unusual man, Emma. I imagine he could be difficult to please.” Rebecca liked and respected the man very much, but she had seen his dark moods in the last few months and wondered if her cousin was up to the task.

      “Can you imagine anyone too hard for me to please, Becky?” Emma felt challenged by her cousin’s hesitance.

      Rebecca had seen flashes of the man’s temper. She had seen how angry he was with himself over not having acted quickly enough to stop the mill blade. It was as if he blamed himself for all of it. He was often moody while recuperating, though never rude. She knew he ran Tim’s mill with an iron hand, a method that Timothy found wonderful, but she often wondered if it was too severe. Timothy would explain to her that it was a huge responsibility, perfect for Roland, but that did not necessarily make him a suitable employer for Emma. Her cousin looked thin and weak and was fighting a hard battle. Rebecca thought a tangle with Roland Vancouver could be too much.

      “He’ll be around. Let’s finish our breakfast and go upstairs. I have the most beautiful things to show you. I have a machine that sews. We can talk about Roland later.”      

      Rebecca enjoyed her tea while Emma savored her breakfast, and then the two women climbed the stairs, arm in arm.