The House of Closed Doors (35 page)

“And I will make a point of seeing Bet as soon as I return‌—‌as soon as I can do it without Hiram knowing.” Martin grinned. “Isn’t life complicated when we engage in deception, Nell?”

I ducked my head in a nod. That was a lesson I had learned all too well in the last eighteen months.

“You should not be seen leaving Victory with me,” Martin continued. We were speaking in hushed tones, but now he raised his voice. “Bob! Have I not told you enough times that when you have nothing else to do, the stairs and sidewalk should be swept? Get to it.” The jingle of the bell told me that Bob had complied.

“I will have to come back here,” Martin continued, “and if I am seen with you, I will get trouble from Hiram. Listen. Take the river road as far as the portage landing. I’ll go round by the main road; there’s that stretch that branches off to the portage. How will you travel? By hired cart, I suppose. So it will take you four hours… I will be there before you. And carry a pistol. I will give you one.”

I smiled, shaking my head. “I don’t know how to fire a gun, Martin. But I will take my father’s big horsewhip. Would Tuesday be too late, do you think? I dread Hiram coming home before I can leave.”

“But if you leave on Saturday or Sunday, there will be more people on the road. Tuesday will be quiet. And Hiram has been gone less than a week. Unless it is an extremely brief visit, he will not return.”

I nodded, but a small knot of worry curled itself into the bottom of my stomach. I had no idea what Hiram would do now.

FORTY-SIX

T
he smooth track ahead of me was scattered with leaves that had begun falling early, exhausted by the drought and already brown and crisp. The motion of the cart whipped them into rustling acrobatics, and the sound as they were crushed beneath the wheels provided a counterpoint to the steady rumbling of the cart and the regular thud of the horse’s feet on the cracked, parched mud. Overhead the sky was an even, rich blue without a trace of cloud; to my left the river, sluggish at its banks but fast and sparkling in the middle of its broad, brown expanse, added the occasional gurgle to the sounds all around me.

I was not accustomed to handling a horse and cart, and it had taken some time for the tension in my shoulders to relax. I was driving a kind of small, lightweight dray, which I had chosen for the extra room‌—‌Sarah was asleep in a traveling basket wedged tightly between my two carpetbags‌—‌and because it had four wheels. I did not want to try rehitching the horse, should the occasion arise, into the shafts of a two-wheeler.

I risked a quick glance behind me; Sarah was sleeping peacefully. I quickly returned my gaze to the road ahead. I had already learned that I was not a good enough horsewoman to keep the carthorse‌—‌even though he was a steady, sweet-tempered animal‌—‌fully under control while I shifted my weight round to look at the cart or the road behind me. If my father had lived, he would have made sure I could ride a horse and drive like an expert. But Mama had never thought of such a thing.

Not being able to see behind me made me nervous, and I made sure Papa’s whip was by my side. I had twice been scared nearly out of my wits by a rider suddenly whisking past me, his approach masked by the noises of my surroundings. And now a hot breeze rustled the tops of the trees, and the dust from the road was blowing in my face. And I wanted to look behind me, every minute.

What was I afraid of? Robbers? I had little enough of value with me, just Mama’s purse of silver dollars that I had sewn into my skirts just under the waistband. It made a heavy lump that I could certainly feel, but it could not be seen by casual eyes.

I scrubbed my hand impatiently over my face, cursing the dust. This was much harder than I had imagined. I thought longingly of our parlor, which suddenly seemed a haven of peace and comfort. I felt a pang in my breast as I thought of my parting from Bet; I wished I had been able to explain my plans, but if there was even the slightest chance of Hiram bullying them out of her, I did not want to risk it. Her face had looked drawn and lined as she assured me that she trusted me to do the right thing and hugged me as tightly as if I had been her own daughter.

The horse stumbled slightly, and I felt my heart give an answering jolt. How long had I been on the road? My arms were sore from the unaccustomed position holding the reins, and my derrière was suffering from bouncing on the hard wooden bench. I realized I was not nearly such a country girl as I imagined myself.

We jogged along for another interminable stretch, and I gradually reconciled myself to the fact that I would have to stop. I had no idea how far I had to go before we reached the portage landing. I thought I knew the road, but now every tree and bush seemed to resemble the next. We had passed the prettiest spot on the river a long while back, and I had grimaced at the sight of the clump of young willows that marked the end of my childhood and yet had given me the greatest gift I had ever known.

Now the road was endless, and I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I was parched‌—‌why on earth had I stowed my water-flask in the bed of the cart instead of hanging it somewhere within reach?‌—‌and I needed to avail myself of the bushes. My mouth felt gritty, I had to keep blinking to clear the dust from my eyes, and my bladder was very aware of the bouncing motion beneath me. What’s more, Sarah was making the little noises that would eventually become a full-fledged roar of hunger.

The undergrowth to my right had become very dense, a jumble of tall goldenrod and sunflowers flanking the path and a stand of young serviceberry bushes beyond. A spindly ash tree by the river held out an inviting branch, just right for tying up a horse. I sighed and spoke to the animal, pulling on the reins. He stopped obediently, and I clambered down in a stiff, ungainly manner that would have had Martin in fits of laughter. Blast the man‌—‌why could he not have arranged a meeting place closer to home? I hastily tied the horse’s reins around the branch, hoping that I knew what I was doing. I lifted out Sarah’s crib but did not dare take it into the woods with me, thinking of biting insects, nettles, and poison ivy. I nestled it well away from the river and the horse’s hooves and practically ran for the bushes.

The position necessitated by my, shall we say, activities made it impossible for me to see Sarah, but I could hear her complaining wail. She would have to wait until I had drunk some water and found a patch of grass to sit on, I thought hard-heartedly. I was sore in every muscle and as dry as a coal-scuttle.

I pushed through the dense patch of bushes, noting that Sarah sounded a little happier. Good. Perhaps she had seen something that would keep her amused until I was ready to feed her.

And then I nearly fainted.

FORTY-SEVEN

I
t was Hiram, of course. The prickling sensation on my back that had been with me during the entire journey had not been my imagination. How, in the name of all of Bet’s saints, did he come to be right behind me? There was something so demonic about his sudden appearance that for a moment I was paralyzed.

His back was to me, but I knew it was he. And he was holding Sarah. And the whip‌—‌I had left it on the bench of the cart. Oh, God.

I found the strength to move forward, and my boots crunched on the dried leaves. Hiram turned slowly to face me and smiled.

I swallowed hard as fear plummeted into my belly. I kept my voice as even as I could. “Why don’t you give her to me, Stepfather? She will need changing and nursing.” Sarah, used to seeing Hiram in the parlor, was cooing and gurgling happily into his face, her hunger apparently forgotten.

Hiram’s smile did not reach his eyes. “She’s so very small, isn’t she, Nell? So very small.” He walked a few steps backward, bouncing Sarah in his arms and looking the very picture of a doting grandfather. He was getting very close to the river.

I think I tried to say something, but it came out in a kind of squeak. I took two or three steps forward, and Hiram took the corresponding number of steps back‌—‌toward the river. I stopped.

“How did you find me?” The thin, wavering voice that came out of my parched mouth and tight vocal cords barely sounded like mine. I had to keep him talking, had to hope for a miracle‌—‌someone to come by, perhaps. This road was used regularly this time of year. Perhaps Martin was nearer than I thought. Perhaps I should scream. Did I even have the strength to scream? I felt as if all my limbs had melted.