Nobody's Secret (3 page)

“I bet you would go if Vinnie asked,” she muttered, slapping the horse’s flank. Jasper neighed and reared up, jerking the rope out of her hands.

“May I be of assistance, Miss Nobody?” A voice from behind her made her jump.

She stumbled backward and would have fallen except for the pair of strong arms that caught her.

“Mr. Nobody?” She recovered her balance. Almost reluctantly, she extricated herself from his grasp.

“I saw you from across the Common and thought I would come and renew our acquaintance.” He stepped forward. He was wearing oilskins that fit his tall frame as if they were cut for him. Hatless, his golden hair was dark with rain and plastered to his head. He shook out his coat and water splashed off in every direction. Drops clung to the blond stubble on his chin.

Emily smoothed her damp hair and wiped the moisture from her face. Even though she did not look her best, she was pleased to meet him again and said so.

Mr. Nobody stepped forward and took Jasper’s halter. “May I?” he asked politely.

“I would be grateful. The beast is more stubborn than . . . than . . .” Emily would normally have finished the sentence with a comparison to herself, but she was loath to say so to him.

“Than a mule?” he asked, eyes twinkling, almost as though he knew what she was thinking.

“Nothing so commonplace,” she protested, but she couldn’t think of anything better.

“There’s a secret to dealing with a stubborn beast,” he said. “Turn him around.” He led Jasper so that his hindquarters were facing the doorway. Without hesitating, the horse backed into the stall.

“Good boy,” Mr. Nobody said, rubbing the horse’s long nose.

“That’s a useful trick,” Emily said.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes you need to attack a problem from a different direction.”

Emily remembered he had spoken about accounts needing to be settled. “Are you reconsidering how to tackle your dilemma?” she asked.

“I thought I knew what I was going to do, but there might be a kinder way. After all, family is family, no matter what their crimes.” He pulled a silver flask out of his pocket. He offered it to her, but wasn’t surprised when she refused.

Mr. Nobody took a small sip; Emily could smell the brandy in the air, blending with the dust from the hay and the pungent smell of wet horse.

Crimes? “What did your family do?” Emily asked with an avid curiosity she didn’t try to conceal.

“I can’t say yet—I need to be certain of my facts. But if I’m right, there’s hell to pay . . . and perhaps a little fun to be had. Lord knows that my family deserves to be taught a lesson.” He shook himself. Jasper snorted and shivered in the same way. Emily turned away to hide her grin.

“Families are oftentimes unaccountable,” Emily said. “Mine doesn’t understand me in the least. Mother is afraid of the world outside, so her highest ambition for me is to be a perfect housekeeper, like her. She had a fine education, but . . . ”

“I thought you said an education was all a girl needed?” he teased.

“I didn’t say that exactly,” Emily said. “In Mother’s case, it’s been a complete waste. She avoids any sort of argument or discussion about philosophy.”

“What about your father? You said he was with the College.”

“Father’s no better,” Emily retorted. “He buys me books all the time, but tells me not to read them.”

“Why not?” Mr. Nobody leaned forward, eager for the answer.

“They might put ideas in my head,” she said slyly.

“Too late for that!” He threw back his head and laughed. “Miss Nobody,” he cried, “what a fortunate happenstance that I encountered you. I needed to laugh today.”

A smile played on Emily’s lips. “I did, too,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair into her bonnet. “Mr. Nobody, I’ve been thinking about our talk yesterday. You said you preferred travel to education. Why?”

He looked puzzled. “To see what’s next, I suppose. To reach to the next horizon. Why do you ask?”

“I love my home and hate venturing far from Amherst. But how can I make a mark on a world I never visit?”

He leaned against a wooden pillar that held up a loft stuffed to the brim with bales of hay. A shower of gold dust floated down around his head, creating a halo. “What kind of mark do you want to make?”

Emily hesitated. She had kept her secret from her family and friends, but it would be so easy to tell him. “I like to write . . . poems,” she said in a low voice.

“A lady poet.” He considered it. “I look forward to seeing your work in print. ‘An Ode to a Stubborn Gelding,’ by Miss Nobody.”

“Publish?” Emily took a step backward and bumped against Jasper’s side. “I couldn’t do that!” Her skin crawled at the thought of strangers reading her little poems.

“Miss Nobody, don’t worry.” He reached over and stroked her hand. His touch burned and soothed at the same time. “Just write about adventures you have here at home. Later you can worry about publishing.”

As he spoke, there was a break in the dreariness of the rain. A vista opened through the alley into the Common. “If I’m to finish my business, I have to go. Perhaps you can direct me to the law offices of Mr. Dickinson?” He ran a hand over his wet hair.

Emily went very still. “Why?

“He handled some business for my family,” he explained.

She relaxed. “He’s away trying a case in Boston,” she said, “but his office is above the Graves and Fields store, opposite the hotel.”

“You’re very well informed,” he said. “Tell me, does he have a good reputation? Is he honest?”

“Of course he is!” Emily’s voice was raised.

He stepped back, holding up his hands in mock sur render. “It was a question only, Miss Nobody.”

Emily realized if Mr. Nobody was one of her father’s clients, her chances of remaining anonymous were slim. “He’s my father. My name is Emily Dickinson,” she admitted.

Every aspect of his face expressed his dismay. “Please accept my apology. I had no intention of insulting your father.” Putting his hands to his heart, he entreated her to forgive him.

Emily inclined her head with mock solemnity. “Your apology is accepted.”

“I like how loyal you are, though . . . family should stand together.” The timbre of his voice shifted from penitence to something harder. Emily wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“My father or not,” Emily said, “let me assure you that there isn’t a more honest man in the entire state of Massachusetts.”

“A testimonial I am happy to accept.” He gestured toward the law offices. “Is there anyone in the office to help me?”

“His clerk, Mr. Ripley, should be there.” Emily hesitated and then said, “But don’t tell him you know me, please.”

“Why not? I’m quite proud of our acquaintance.”

Feeling his charm all over again, her eyes dropped to stare at the tops of her muddy boots. “Amherst is like a small pond. Everyone proclaims their business to the rest of the bog. No one needs to know about our friendship.”

“As you wish,” he said, taking no offense. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait,” Emily said. “I’ve told you my name. What is yours?”

“I prefer being mysterious,” he said, with a slightly wicked smile.

Emily scowled, but proffered her hand. “I’m very grateful for your help with Jasper.” He shook her hand with great solemnity. “I hope some day to return the favor.”

“I’m interested in this college of yours,” he said. “Perhaps you would show me around when the weather improves? Tomorrow?”

Emily glanced up the hill to where the First Congregational Church was situated. “I would like to, very much, but tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll be in church for most of the day.”

“What a shame,” Mr. Nobody said. “I love my God as much as the next person, but I find it hard to spend hours on a beautiful summer morning in his house on a hard bench.”

She nodded without realizing it. “Our family box pew is in the very front of the church, and when my father pulls the door shut, I feel so . . . trapped.”

“Like a rabbit in a snare,” he said.

“Wouldn’t it be lovely,” Emily exclaimed, “if we could worship wherever we wished?”

Mr. Nobody squinted as though he were looking toward a faraway place. “I would pray at sea,” he said. “I never appreciated God’s accomplishments until I sailed the ocean. That horizon has no limits.”

“I’ve never seen the sea, only the harbor at Boston,” Emily admitted. “I’m partial to meadows.”

At that moment, the church bell tolled the hour. Mr. Nobody said, “Instead of a bell calling you to worship, we could have a . . . ”

“A bobolink!” Emily supplied her favorite bird. “And the sermons would never be too long.”

“Amen,” he said, and they both laughed.

“Perhaps Monday?” he asked wistfully.

“But I thought you were headed West?” Emily asked.

He nodded. “If I adopt my new plan of action, I may stay for several days.”

“I’d be honored to give you a tour,” Emily said, proud that she kept her delight in check and out of her voice. “Meet me at nine o’clock at the church up the hill, next to the College.”

“I look forward to it.” With a jaunty wave, he disappeared into the mist.

“As do I,” Emily whispered after him.

The stray ships passing spied a face
Upon the waters borne,
With eyes in death still begging raised,
And hands beseeching thrown.

Monday morning dawned bright and glistening. Emily was sitting near the kitchen window overlooking the pond. Squinting in the light, she wrote furiously in her notebook. Her conversation with Mr. Nobody about alternate means of worship had been reverberating in her head, like a moth trapped in a lantern. It seemed impossible that only two days ago she had been standing in the pouring rain with him. Or that she would see him again in just a few minutes.

“How many times do I need to ask you to do your
chores?” her mother asked from the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be churning the butter?”

Emily could hear one of Mother’s “bad turns” announcing itself, and the muscles in the back of her neck tightened. When Mother was ill, her daughters’ plans were of no account.

As though she were trying to catch a wisp of smoke in her fist, Emily saw her plans with Mr. Nobody were in
jeopardy. Shoving her notebook deep in her skirt pocket, Emily rushed to placate her mother, who had settled in her customary rocking chair at the stove.

Emily’s arm knew how to churn butter without super-
vision, so her mind was free to wander. With each crank of the paddle, she unpacked another detail of her meetings with Mr. Nobody. She glanced across the table to where
Vinnie was making a cake. Although she was inclined to
confide in her sister, Emily had kept the handsome stranger a secret. Vinnie would tease her, or ask sensible questions Emily didn’t want to answer. Or, worse, Vinnie would want to join them this morning—and Emily couldn’t bear it if Mr. Nobody preferred Vinnie to herself.

“Is the butter ready yet?” her mother interrupted. Emily was pleased to hear that her voice sounded a bit stronger.

“Almost,” Emily said, her shoulders aching from churning the paddle in the thickened cream. “I wish we could just buy the butter ready-made like Abiah Root’s family does.”

Her mother snorted. Emily and Vinnie exchanged grins at the unladylike sound.

“After all, we can afford butter from the shop,” Emily said.

“’Tis wasteful when we can do it ourselves.”

“But . . . ”

Mrs. Dickinson shook her head. “Emily, it doesn’t matter that we have the means now. Store-bought butter is an extravagance. When I was just married, I had to take in boarders to make ends meet. I don’t know what I would have done without Mrs. Child’s book to help me economize.”

Emily’s sigh was echoed by Vinnie’s exhaled breath. Mrs. Child’s opus,
The American Frugal Housewife,
had haunted their domestic hours since they were babes.

Mrs. Dickinson, ignoring her daughters’ exasperation, paraphrased: “‘Convenience should be a secondary object to economy.’”

“‘Economy is a poor man’s revenue,’” Vinnie continued. When Emily failed to chime in, Vinnie jabbed her in the side with a floury elbow.

“‘And extravagance a rich man’s ruin,’” Emily said so quickly that the words ran together like the egg whites in Vinnie’s batter. “But wouldn’t baking day be a pleasure if we could just scoop in the butter we needed? Without churning for hours and hours?” She held up her hands to display angry red creases on her palms from the wooden paddle.