The House of Closed Doors (27 page)

“Your stepfather is currently in Chicago, I hear,” was his response. “You will not see him for another two weeks.”

I felt both disappointed and relieved. “So my mother will be alone with Bet.”

“I believe that to be the case. There is no visitor at your house that I know of.”

“Martin, I have been longing to see Mama. Would it be possible to drive me to my home tomorrow, after it is dark?”

“That will be very late, Nell.”

“My mother keeps late hours; lying in bed makes her feel short of breath. And Martin, my new dress is finished,” I smiled gratefully at him, “and Sarah is well dressed and bonny. We will make our appearance in glowing health and can at least put my mother’s mind to rest on that point.”

“Very well.”

“And I will stay there until Stepfather returns, Martin. As long as you promise to visit every day.” Coward as I was, I felt better knowing that I could enjoy my old friend’s pleasant, undemanding company while I nerved myself up for the confrontation with Hiram.

Martin smiled, his beaky nose throwing a shadow over his face. “Of course; and I will be your protector should the need arise.” I smiled with relief; he had understood me. But his next remark made me sit up straighter.

“I would like to be there when you talk to your stepfather‌—‌”

“No!” I did not really know why I objected, but Martin’s next remark was to the point.

“Listen to me, Nell. I would like to be there, but I do not think it wise.”

I let the silence stretch out between us, knowing what he meant. Martin was deathly afraid of his own temper; becoming like his father was his deepest fear. If Hiram admitted his guilt to Martin’s face… but I also knew that would never happen. Around Martin, Hiram would be guarded. Alone, I believed I could extract a confession, simply because Hiram was so arrogant that he would believe that I, a mere woman in his household, had no power to raise the world against him.

“I will be your protector,” Martin said slowly, “at a distance. Nell, we must find some way to make it clear to Hiram that I know what you know and that I am watching out for you. And I will watch my own back very, very carefully,” he said in answer to my unspoken anxiety. “I am not Jo or Blackie. We only have the slimmest evidence against Hiram, and I am not sure whether we could ever bring him to real justice. But perhaps with the two of us ranged against him, he will at least harm nobody else.”

Martin was silent for several minutes, apparently thinking things over. And then he smiled.

“I will miss your companionship of an evening, Nell. But your mother awaits you, and you are right: it is time for you to go home.”

THIRTY-FOUR

M
y heart beat very fast as Martin handed me down from the gig, balancing Sarah expertly on his left arm. Sarah crowed and grasped Martin’s prominent nose, causing us both to laugh. We were about a hundred yards from my house.

I was smartly attired and so was Sarah, who did not seem to mind at all that she was expected to stay awake so late in the evening. The few clothes I now owned were in a carpetbag that Martin swung down from the gig.

“Are you sure that you do not want me to come with you?”

“Martin, you are very kind, but it is extremely late.”

Martin sighed. “I will call tomorrow, then. Do not think that I will neglect you, Nell.” He swept me into a tight hug with his free hand, and then handed Sarah to me. Leaning in, he kissed Sarah gently on the forehead, and then I felt his lips brush my own cheek. He smelled of soap and clean linen.

Martin handed me the carpetbag, which I took in my right hand. With Sarah’s little hand clutching at my new dress, I threw one last look back at Martin, standing by his gig, and then turned my face toward my mother’s house.

I
did not wish to pull on the front doorbell as if I were a visitor. I lifted the latch on the gate leading to the rear of the house and felt my way carefully along the uneven stones of the path to the kitchen door. Sarah waved her arms vigorously and made “wa-wa-wa-wa” sounds.

The door to the kitchen was latched, and I could see the glow of a lamp inside. Bet would have sent Marie to bed by now, but she never retired until my mother did. I knocked gently on the kitchen door.

I thought I heard a faint exclamation of “Mother of God!” inside, and the scraping of a chair on the floor. The door opened a crack, and a familiar voice said, “Who’s there?”

“It is Nell, dear Bet. Do let me in.”

The door was flung back instantly, and Bet stood there holding a small lamp in her hand. Her bushy hair was beginning to come down from its topknot, and her chocolate-colored eyes were as round as pennies. I could not stop my face from breaking into a fond smile.

“Miss Nell, and in the middle of the night!” She had the good sense to drop her voice to a near-whisper. “Get you inside now.” She grabbed the carpetbag, ushered me in, and shut the door.

Sarah uttered a crow of greeting to the oil lamp, then balled her right fist and began to chew on it with enthusiasm, fixing her blue-green eyes on Bet.

The air whistled through the gap in Bet’s bottom teeth as she held up the lamp and gazed on my child. Then her face broke into a smile as if despite herself, and she chucked Sarah under the chin with a rough hand. Sarah immediately took her fist out of her mouth and deftly landed the spittle-coated article on Bet’s fingers.

I could not help laughing, and Bet joined in. She turned and led the way into the kitchen, where she stared at Sarah again by the light of the much larger lamp that stood on the table by her armchair. Untying the strings of Sarah’s little bonnet, she lifted it off her head. A huge grin spread over her rounded cheeks.

“Look at that hair now,” she said, holding out her arms toward Sarah, who turned quite willingly into them. She balanced Sarah expertly on one arm and stroked the tuft of copper-red curls fondly. “The very color of the old master’s. Mr. Lillington would have doted on that head, and no mistake.”

She looked at me as I stood removing my own hat. “And you’re no less bonny than you were when you left, just a mite thinner. We all thought you were gone off across the lakes to Canada, only Mrs. Jackson, she just wouldn’t worry about you. Kept saying she was sure you were safe, and here you are!”

“I am quite well, Bet, and longing to see Mama again. Is it true that my stepfather’s gone to Chicago?”

Bet sniffed. “Yes, he’s off again on political business. It’ll be a few days before he returns.” She looked at me sharply. “Is it that you’re intent on seeing him or intent on not seeing him?” Her eyes were full of questions.

“I need to talk with him, Bet. I am certain that I can convince him to let me keep Sarah.” I saw an expression flit across Bet’s open face that was compounded of relief and puzzlement. She was clearly wondering how I proposed to achieve this feat, but by the way she was looking at Sarah, I somehow didn’t think she was going to try to persuade me that giving up my baby would be the best course of action.

A small bell rang in the corner of the kitchen with a silvery tinkle, and Bet handed Sarah‌—‌reluctantly, I thought‌—‌back to me.

“Mrs. Jackson will be wanting some more of the good lemonade I made yesterday.” She headed toward the pantry and returned with a jug dripping water from where it had been immersed in a large bowl to keep cool. “I will take her a glass, and I will break the news of your arrival.” She looked at me carefully, clearly taking in the details of my dress. “You’d not have been that well dressed at the Poor Farm, I’m thinking?”

I was aware that I looked very elegant. I had studied the fashion-plates in Godey’s Lady’s Book carefully and drawn on Martin’s expert advice, and the result was most pleasing.

Setting Sarah carefully down in the corner of Bet’s armchair, I turned to the small mirror by the hearth, unpinning my hat. “Mr. Rutherford has been kind enough to give me shelter and provide the necessary articles of clothing.” I felt embarrassed to admit that I had been staying with a bachelor but eager to reassure Bet that it had only been Martin.

“Mr. Rutherford, was it?” Bet plunked the jug down on the table and darted toward Sarah, who was preparing to roll toward the edge of the chair. Setting a freckled hand firmly on my baby’s squirming body, she turned a relieved face to me. “I believe your Mama suspected as much. Why else would she be so little worried about you, and not a word from you all this time? Ah, but he’s a good man, Mr. Rutherford. No brother could be more fond of you.” She lifted Sarah up, set her firmly in my arms, and whisked a glass from the cupboard. Setting jug and glass on a tray, she prepared to go upstairs but hesitated at the doorway.

“I need to warn you, Miss Nell. I am worried about Mrs. Jackson. I think her health’s turning for the worse. I hear her coughing a great deal at night, and sometimes there’s pink on her handkerchiefs.”

“Did you consult the doctor?”

“Of course, Miss, but he says the same thing always: light exercise, rest, and no excitement. He says there’s fluid on her lungs because her heart is weak, poor lady. And she won’t let your stepfather send for a better physician from Chicago, neither. She says it’s not like they could take her heart out and put in a new one, so why fuss?”

Shaking her head, she headed for the stairs to my mother’s room. I suddenly wanted to push past her and run straight to Mama; why had I waited so long to see her? Feeling worry gnaw at the pit of my stomach, I followed Bet into the hallway.