The House of Closed Doors (34 page)

Hiram’s face was drawn but expressionless; whatever was going on in his mind was shuttered off as he responded with careful correctness to the speeches of condolence, his handsome visage composed into an expression of reverent sorrow. I was too busy to pay much attention to him, and by the time the last of the visitors left, I had fallen, exhausted, into my own bed. I barely had time to whisper “goodnight” into the darkness, in the direction of Mama’s resting place, before sleep took me.

FORTY-FOUR

W
e buried Mama on a hot, windy day in late September 1871. What little grass grew in Victory’s graveyard was parched and yellow from weeks of drought, and the wind whipped dust from the mounded clumps of soil heaped up in preparation for the burial. From where I stood next to Hiram, my tears hidden under my heavy veil, I could see the simple, dignified double grave of my father and little brother. That was where Mama should lie, I thought. But Hiram‌—‌who assumed the role of grieving widower with aplomb‌—‌had purchased a more prestigious spot for them both and had given instructions for an elaborate grave marker in the shape of an angel.

Two days after the funeral, Hiram left for North Carolina again.

I was glad of it. I had been avoiding him assiduously whenever he was in the house and had invited Martin to dine with us twice in a row so that I would not be alone with my stepfather. So I kept my eyes on my plate as Martin occupied Hiram with political small talk and made sure I escaped to bed before Martin was out of the house. And then, even with my door locked, I slept badly.

To make things worse, now that Mama was gone, I was nominally in charge of the running of the household and responsible for my stepfather’s comfort. That was intolerable.

“I will have to leave.” I paced the floor of the parlor just as if I had been Hiram, the black silk of my dress swishing gently around my feet. Martin was seated in Hiram’s chair, having just partaken of afternoon tea with me. The room was lamplit, as the drapes remained half-closed‌—‌Bet would not have it otherwise. At least she had taken the covers off the mirrors.

“And go where?” Martin leaned forward and counted off the possibilities on his fingers. “If you stay in Victory, Hiram will simply demand that you come home and resume your responsibilities as the lady of the house. Unless you marry?” He smiled at me sideways, his eyes twinkling with amusement as I shook my head vigorously. “You cannot go to Mrs. Lombardi, as Hiram will hear of it. You could go to your relatives in the East, I suppose.”

I suppressed a mild epithet as my foot caught in a loose fold of carpet, and I only saved myself from falling flat on my face by an undignified hop. Recovering myself, I tried to keep my voice steady and neutral as I replied. “That course of action is not to my taste, Martin. I am not particularly fond of my cousins.”

“Do you intend to run away to Chicago, then? And live on what? Although,” he leaned back as an idea struck him, “it would not be entirely impractical. If we could find you a respectable woman to stay with, I could give you enough money to live on until you find employment of some kind. It will not be easy, of course, not with a baby.”

I laughed. “I have a little money to start with.” I withdrew my bunch of keys‌—‌Mama’s keys, passed to me upon her death as a token of my new responsibilities‌—‌and opened the heavy glass-fronted cabinet where Mama had kept a miscellaneous assortment of porcelain figurines. Lifting a lady in a voluminous pink dress, I withdrew the heavy purse hidden under her hollow skirts and gave it to Martin.

“I always wondered why only Bet was allowed to dust this cabinet. Almost as soon as Hiram was out of the house after the funeral, she showed me its secret.”

Martin grinned as he peered into the purse. “Nell, that is a respectable sum of money.” He tipped some of the silver dollars into his hand, scrutinizing them. “Dated before the War… How did your mother come by them?”

“My father gave them to her when I was very small. He had a theory that a woman should never depend entirely on her husband, it seems. So he began putting aside a dollar from time to time as soon as they were married.” I smiled. The link to my father was even more precious to me than the coins. “He told her to keep them close always, but Bet says he never asked where they were. He wanted the money to be entirely Mama’s.”

Martin gave a shout of laughter. “I always did like Red Jack. And Aunt Amelia and Bet had this hidden in plain sight for all these years.” He retied the purse strings and handed it back to me.

“I have already written to Mrs. Lombardi asking for her advice. She has many acquaintances within the institutions in Chicago. One of them may well need a seamstress… and they may accept Tess. Martin, if I can find a way to bring Tess along with me, I intend to. Like me, she needs broader horizons, and I‌—‌and I want my friend back.” I swallowed hard; I was not given to crying, but the last few days had weakened me.

“One thing at a time, Nell.” Martin laid his large hand lightly on my shoulder. “Let’s think about finding you a place to live first. You have enough to tide you over while you seek employment, but you cannot make grand plans.” He squeezed my shoulder, shaking it gently. “Not if you are determined to remain independent.”

FORTY-FIVE

“I
have heard from Mrs. Lombardi,” I hissed at Martin from beneath my heavy veil.

“And good morning to you, Mrs. Govender.” Martin’s tall frame was set off well by the heavy mahogany counter in his store, and his hair glowed against the dark wood of the cubbies ranged behind him. He chucked Sarah under the chin; she blinked sleepily at him, as I had only just lifted her out of her new baby carriage.

“Er‌—‌yes. Good morning.” I rolled my eyes heavenward. I certainly could not remain in Victory if I could not even remember my own married name. “I will need fifteen minutes of your time, Mr. Rutherford. We should discuss your crapes and bombazines.” I motioned a wave to Augusta Rudd and nodded politely as she sailed past me to the door with a hard stare at Sarah.

“And a
very
good day to you, Miss Rudd,” Martin said dryly as the doorbell clanged against the rapidly closing door. “Now, Nell, speak fast before I am interrupted again. Or‌—‌“ he stuck his head through the door that led to the storeroom. “Hallo there! Bob! Come and mind the counter for a few minutes.”

A youth of about fifteen popped out of the door like a rabbit from a hat and regarded me with insolent brown eyes.

“I’ll thank you not to stare, Bobby Staley.” I hitched Sarah up in my arms and followed Martin into the large, neatly ranged back room. Bob pushed his tongue into the side of his mouth and was about to insert a grubby finger into one ear when he saw Martin’s glare and thought better of it.

“Make yourself useful and roll the ribbons,” Martin called to Bob through the half-shut door. He waited to be sure that the boy complied with his instruction and then turned back to me.

“Martin.” I threw up my veil, breathing in the mingled smells of linens, cottons, wools, and dye. “I have heard from Mrs. Lombardi. She is going to Chicago.”

Martin raised his eyebrows, and I continued before he could speak. “She and her husband are going to talk with some minister or other about going out West. She says she is weary of fighting the governors’ plans for the Poor Farm, and in any case, her husband has been longing for the challenge of the frontier territories.”

Martin shrugged. “Great opportunities out there, they say. So when will she arrive in Chicago?”

“The third of October. They will stay for two weeks or so‌—‌the men will visit several of the local missionary organizations, and Mrs. Lombardi intends to shop and amuse herself with the children. But don’t you see, Martin? I can get away before Hiram comes home and wait for the Lombardis to arrive. They will stay at the Sherman House Hotel; I can afford to stay there for a short time, I am sure. And you will help me find something more permanent, will you not? I would feel so much better if the Lombardis are with me while I am finding my feet.”

Martin closed his eyes and crossed his arms, evidently thinking through my plan. When he opened his eyes his expression was serious. “And what will you tell Bet and Marie?”

I sighed. “Marie gave notice this morning, Martin. She wants to go home to help her mother with the new baby, and I said she could go at the end of the week. And Bet‌—‌well, I think that she would not stay on if I left. She could have retired years ago; she has money that her husband put in railroad stocks and has never spent much of her wages.” I smiled, feeling rueful. “It’s strange, Martin. I cannot afford to keep servants, but Bet could. She loved Mama too much to leave.”