Yellow Crocus: A Novel (26 page)
Lying down, gripping her shell, a peace settled over Lisbeth. She felt free. Though she was frightened and confused, in some ways more than before she made her decision, it was done. She was not going to marry Edward. Now she needed to make a plan for her life.
She thought late into the night. She recalled all the women she knew who were not married: Mrs. Gray, Aunt Beatrice, and Miss Taylor, the comportment instructor. She considered following each of their paths. She thought of all the young, and not young, men who were available for marriage. She thought and she weighed, imagining a future for herself with each option. Finally she chose the best, though unlikely, possibility.
T
he next day, Lisbeth led Mother to believe she was taking the buggy to visit Mary, though she never stated it outright. Her parents would be dismayed if they knew where she was actually heading.
After driving for nearly an hour, Lisbeth pulled up to a modest but well-built home. Roses and marigolds in full bloom formed a colorful border along the edge of the front yard. Green paint covered the stairs leading up to a large porch with white wicker furniture. Lisbeth slowly climbed the stairs, counting with each step 1..2..3…until she reached seven. She willed herself to breathe along the way. Fearing the rapid pounding of her heart was making her face flush, she paused on the porch to fan herself with a handkerchief.
She opened the screen door to reveal a shiny front door painted to match the stairs. After striking the wood three times, she put her arm at her side to wait through the eternity it took for the door to be opened. A large negress peered out at Lisbeth.
“Yes, mistress, may I help you?”
“I am looking for Mister Matthew. Is he home?”
“Yes. Come sit down while I fetch him.”
Lisbeth was escorted to a small living room with a plain couch, two chairs, and a grand piano. The room was comfortable, not intimidating. Lisbeth was still standing, gazing around the room, when Matthew arrived. His hazel eyes popped open and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Elizabeth? What a surprise. How lovely to see you,” Matthew called out. Delight shone in his face. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Do you perhaps need a favor for your wedding? Whatever it is, I will be happy to be of service.”
“Oh, Matthew,” Lisbeth replied. “I truly hope you can help me.”
Lisbeth breathed deeply to prevent tears from seeping out. Matthew, sensing her distress, invited her to sit while he went for lemonade. When he returned, Lisbeth was pacing in front of the couch.
“Please sit,” she implored. “I realize it is unconventional for you to sit while I am standing, but I must walk while I talk. I have come to realize in the past few days that I am not so conventional. I have a question for you. As you can see, I am nervous about it. It is not seemly. I hope you will forgive me. Actually, I have more than one question.”
“Elizabeth, you can ask anything of me. Do not be concerned about being offensive,” Matthew replied as he hovered on the edge of his seat. His own emotions mirrored Lisbeth’s as he shook his leg and tapped on his knee. His eyes followed Lisbeth as she paced in front of him.
Lisbeth wiped her sweating palms on her gown, stopped pacing, swallowed hard, and finally stammered out her first question, stumbling for the correct language, “Have you ever… as a man and woman…with a slave…?”
Full of shame, she looked at the carpet, unable to be more articulate. Biting her lip, hoping he understood, she waited for a reply.
“Are you asking me about relations?” asked Matthew, sounding extremely incredulous.
“Yes!” Lisbeth exhaled. She was relieved that she need not say more. Her cheeks burning with humiliation, she confirmed, “Relations.”
The room pounded with silence. Lisbeth did not look up because she did not want to see the look on Matthew’s face.
Shock in his voice, Matthew replied, “That is your question of me?”
Lisbeth nodded.
“I am surprised,” Matthew agreed. He shook his head. “No, I cannot say I have…had…relations.”
Lisbeth was relieved. Her instinct had been correct.
“My next question may be more shocking,” she told him. “Give me a moment.”
On the drive here she had considered how she would ask him this question. She had rehearsed what she would say. But now, no words seemed appropriate. She took a drink and a few deep breaths. The tension built, but the perfect words did not come to her. Eventually she stammered out, “I…I am not going to marry Edward Cunningham.” Those words were like a dam breaking inside Lisbeth. She looked directly at Matthew and asked in a rush, “May I come with you to Ohio? As your wife? I need a husband. You are not engaged. You are about the only man around here who is not. Besides, we both enjoy Shakespeare.”
Matthew collapsed against the back of his chair. He stared at her, confused. “You cannot possibly be serious?”
The adrenaline rushed out of Lisbeth’s body. Suddenly she was unable to hold herself up any longer and sank down into the couch. Trembling on the sofa, she wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.
Mustering up her last bit of energy, she politely responded, “I hope that you can forgive me for being so forward. I see now that I am being foolish. It was my best idea. But I understand you would not want me for a wife.” She stood to leave.
“Goodbye, Matthew,” Lisbeth stated. “Thank you for your time. I apologize for placing you in this uncomfortable situation. I would appreciate it if you would keep this conversation in strictest confidence.”
“Elizabeth, you misunderstand me,” Matthew replied.
He moved next to her on the couch. He reached up and lightly rested his fingers against her arm. She sank back down to the cushion. She was acutely aware that her shaking knee was only inches away from Matthew’s.
He looked intently at Lisbeth and went on. “I did not mean to say that I do not want you as my wife. What I cannot understand is why you want me for a husband?”
Desperate to make her case, Lisbeth blurted out, “To be honest, I want a good man rather more than a good husband. I believe you are such a man. I saw Edward…lying with a slave. I am ashamed to say I did not realize such things went on before, but I found that afterward I could not pretend any longer that slavery is beneficial to the negroes. My parents have always insisted that we are kind to our slaves, that they needed us to give them a good life on earth, and they need us to help them be Christian so they can have salvation for eternity.”Anger rose in Lisbeth’s voice as she spoke more adamantly. “But it is not Christian to lay with a girl. I cannot pray to God each night married to him. I believe I can if I am married to you.”
Lisbeth searched Matthew’s face, looking for signs of understanding. Matthew slowly nodded his head.
“I can only hope to prove your faith in me justified,” Matthew said. He laughed, and then with a bemused grin on his face he asked, “You are entirely serious? You want to marry me? You understand I am going to Ohio to farm? I will have no bondsmen, only paid field hands. I will not have a house even as large as this one, only four bedrooms and no parlor.”
“I understand. I am willing to go if you will have me,” Lisbeth replied.
“Are you free to marry? Will your parents approve?”
“Yes, I am free,” Lisbeth replied though she had not yet broken her engagement to Edward, “and no, my parents will not approve. But they cannot force me into a marriage of their choosing. I am willing to marry you without their blessing. I am of age. They can do nothing to prevent it if I have my birth certificate.”
Matthew went down upon one knee and took Lisbeth’s hand in his. He was trembling. Staring into her eyes, he spoke clearly, “Lisbeth Wainwright, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Lisbeth gazed at Matthew’s gentle and hopeful face, his beautiful hazel eyes. A chill traveled down her spine. This was more than she had hoped for. Matthew was such a kind man. She had made the right choice.
Tears of hope and relief glistened in her eyes. “Yes, Matthew, I will.”
Impulsively she leaned in to hug Matthew. But then, suddenly feeling shy, she pulled herself back. Her improper question was bold enough. She did not wish to risk further diminishing Matthew’s respect.
Clearing his throat, Matthew returned to the couch. “When shall we do this? Would you care for a wedding?”
“I would like to get married as soon as possible, if you are willing, by a justice of the peace.”
“Whatever you would prefer is fine with me.”
Having given this thought in the midst of the night, Lisbeth suggested a plan. “I prefer that we go to Charles City on Monday. Afterward, when it is too late, I will inform my parents.”
Of course, she would inform Edward as well, but she would not speak of that with Matthew. They agreed to carry on with their lives as they had been until Monday morning. Matthew walked Lisbeth to her buggy and carefully assisted her into it. She felt his eyes upon her as she drove away. Lisbeth reveled in her good fortune. She had found a way to salvage her life.
Detached from all that was going on around her, Lisbeth suffered in silence through dinner that evening. As always the conversation was filled with speculation about the ongoing disagreements with the northern states and the arrogance of abolitionists. There were long-winded arguments in favor and against secession from the Union. Lisbeth paid little attention to the talk. Soon she would be living in a free state and would not have to be concerned with the politics or morality of slavery. She was leaving all this behind.
Misinterpreting Lisbeth’s quiet mood, Mother noted, “I am so glad to see you have fully recovered, Elizabeth. You are remarkably at ease this evening. It bodes well for your ability to take your place at White Pines.”
After her nightly prayers, Lisbeth did not climb into bed. Instead she sat in a chair reading by a dim oil lamp. She refused Emily’s offer to fetch warm milk. She waited, struggling to stay awake until well into the night when she could be certain the entire household was deeply asleep. At two o’clock in the morning she left the sanctuary of her room.
Carrying the oil lamp, she carefully crept along the hallway, down the front staircase, and into Father’s study. She crossed to his desk and started pulling open drawers. She was seeking her birth certificate. She had no idea where it might be. The top drawers held ink, pens, a knife, and other odds and ends. The bottom drawers held ledgers and papers. There were records from crop sales going years back, but no birth certificates.
